3 34 E
 
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 3".
 
 THE 
 SCARRED CHIN
 
 THE 
 
 SCARRED CHIN 
 
 BY 
 
 WILL PAYNE 
 
 Author of "Mr. Salt," "The Losing 
 Game," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 1920
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919 
 BY WILL PAYNE 
 
 VAIL-BALLOU COMPANr
 
 THE 
 SCARRED CHIN 
 
 2137590 *
 
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 CHAPTER I 
 
 , let him go to the devil! " said Alfred Dinsmore 
 one afternoon in a moment of exasperation, 
 adding ungraciously, " Meddlesome blockhead ! " 
 
 He said it at a meeting of the directors of the Dins- 
 more Company, of which he was president and chief 
 stockholder ; and from that trivial ebullition of ill 
 temper unfolded a series of events which affected his life 
 more profoundly than any calculated decision ever had. 
 
 North of the river, in Chicago, stand two immense 
 structures of dun pressed brick, each covering a large 
 irregular city block. They are of about the same size 
 and exactly alike in architecture. A street separates 
 them, but enclosed passage ways, running above the 
 street at the several stories, connect them like the liga- 
 ments of the Siamese twins. Their uniform dun bulk, 
 arising from a swarm of small, dingy buildings, give the 
 impression of a great, mediaeval castle dominating a 
 cluttered, ragged city. The roof of each building sup- 
 ports an enormous electrical sign, " The Dinsmore 
 Company," whose glow reaches many miles out into the 
 lake at night. 
 
 The environment is mean mostly shabby brick 
 
 1
 
 2 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 buildings on ill-paved, ill-cleaned, belittered streets ; but 
 a shabby environment is no disadvantage to the Dins- 
 more Company. Its business is transacted by mail 
 what is known as a " mail-order house," selling mer- 
 chandise of all sorts to patrons over the country by 
 post. And ground is comparatively cheap up there; 
 hence the selection of that dingy site. 
 
 The twin dun bulks, with their several stories, corn- 
 tain acres of floor space; but not enough acres. The 
 growing business demands more room. Alfred Dins- 
 more had foreseen that. For a year the company, act- 
 ing through various agencies, had been quietly picking 
 up parcels of realty in the smaller city block to the 
 east looking to the time when the gigantic dun twins 
 would become triplets. The company bought virtually 
 the whole block covered with shabby buildings that 
 would be razed, to give place to a new structure of 
 pressed brick matching the older two. 
 
 One of those shabby buildings narrow and four 
 stories high was used as a hotel, whose grimy face 
 would have dismayed wayfarers with nice taste. But 
 wayfarers in that particular region were not much af- 
 flicted with nice tastes. The name of the establishment 
 was the Sheba Hotel, presumably referring to the cele- 
 brated queen of that title. There was a row and shoot- 
 ing in the Sheba Hotel, whereupon it transpired that 
 the police gave the concern an ill reputation. 
 
 Six months or so before this row and scandal, J. Wes- 
 ley Tully acquired possession of the Daily Leader, at 
 the top of whose editorial page his name appeared in
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 3 
 
 thick black letters as editor and owner. He affected 
 a sensational style of journalism. One morning the 
 Leader appeared with a news article and an editorial 
 the burden of which was that the Sheba Hotel was a 
 disreputable resort and that the rich, respectable Dins- 
 more Company owned it. Mr. Tully wanted to know, 
 in large, double-leaded type, whether the Dinsmore 
 Company was going to stand forth in the eyes of the 
 community as owner of a disorderly house. 
 
 So far as the directors of the Dinsmore Company 
 were concerned, Mr. Tully achieved his intention to 
 produce a sensation. Probably the Sheba Hotel was 
 a disreputable establishment. The Dinsmore Com- 
 pany did own it. Five eminently respectable business 
 men heads of five eminently respectable families 
 had to look that disquieting fact in the face as they 
 sat around the directors' table. Four of them were 
 decidedly aghast with a feeling that they had mys- 
 teriously been caught in a dive, with white aprons on, 
 serving drinks. 
 
 Of course Tully's attack was really unfair. The di- 
 rectors were hardly aware that such an institution as 
 the Sheba Hotel existed. They were holding the prop- 
 erty in its present state only temporarily until the 
 old buildings should be torn down. The hotel had a 
 valid lease on the premises it occupied, with nearly a 
 year to run. They were not responsible for the lease, 
 which had been made long before their purchase. 
 Until the lease expired the hotel could not be dispos- 
 sessed except by payment of a heavy bonus or litigation.
 
 4 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Imputing moral responsibility to them was very unfair 
 
 a cheap trick of yellow journalism to make a sen- 
 sation and impugn some rich men. 
 
 The fifth member of the board was not aghast, but 
 exasperated. That member was Alfred Dinsmore. 
 He was then fifty two years old, with a strong com- 
 pact, square-shouldered figure. His thick, iron-grey 
 hair, although it was properly combed and parted, did 
 not lie smoothly down on his head but bristled up 
 wavily as though each hair were charged with an 
 energy that prevented a recumbent position. His 
 thick, short beard iron-grey also showed a ten- 
 dency, to curl. Women often remarked that he was a 
 handsome man. His manner was usually cool, poised, 
 decisive; his blue eyes had greyish, steely glints. The 
 impression he commonly gave was that of self-mastery 
 
 a man well in hand ; and this may have made his 
 face commonly rather immobile and mask-like, but very 
 often subdued humour was peeking out through the 
 composed air. 
 
 Years back before he settled in this more solid 
 and conservative mail order enterprise he had 
 figured conspicuously in speculation on the Board of 
 Trade ; and in reminiscences of that comparatively 
 youthful phase of his career, his nerve was spoken of 
 with admiration and respect. Men often remarked 
 that he had a high, hot temper. Perhaps a life-long 
 struggle with that had given him the composed, some- 
 what mask-like air. 
 
 Unfair as J. Wesley Tully's imputations were, the
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 5 
 
 Dinsmore Company was in a disagreeable situation. 
 As owner of the land it was receiving rent from this 
 smudgy Sheba Hotel. At almost any other time Al- 
 fred Dinsmore would probably have taken the con- 
 servative, business-like course and said, " Buy the fel- 
 low's lease at any reasonable figure, shut up his hotel 
 and get this mess off our hands." But he was deeply 
 disturbed just then; he had a quarrel with life on his 
 hands. His health was excellent. His wealth was 
 computed by informed gossip at twelve or fifteen 
 million dollars. His business was in the most flourish- 
 ing state. He was happy in the firm affection of a 
 charming wife. He had a son who was at least credit- 
 able and most likable. That son was as happily mar- 
 ried as his father could wish. Alfred Dinsmore seemed 
 a man on whom Fortune had showered all her favours. 
 
 But he had one other possession, the dearest of all, 
 bound round with every string of his heart a daugh- 
 ter. And he and his daughter were not good friends 
 any more. That made the whole draught bitter. 
 
 There was that deep disturbance in Alfred Dins- 
 more's mind. As a slight contributory cause, the 
 weather was rotten. This was December the week 
 before the holidays and so dark that in spite of the 
 broad windows in the directors' room electrics were 
 burning. Outside it looked like a kind of ghastly 
 night, and a drizzle of cold rain mixed with big-flaked 
 soggy snow was beating down the mean streets driven 
 by a wind off the churned lake. For three days now 
 unstable Chicago weather had been doing about that
 
 6 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 and just before Christmas which of itself was 
 enough to exasperate a sensitive man. 
 
 Dinsmore was hot at Tully's cheap, unfair trick. 
 He resented being bulldozed. He resented Tully's 
 triumphant chuckle at having forced the hand of the 
 Dinsmore Company. So he said, impatiently: 
 
 " Oh, let him go to the devil ! Meddlesome block- 
 head!" 
 
 When, at meetings of the directors of the Dinsmore 
 Company, the president spoke with that decisiveness, 
 the matter was settled. So this matter was then 
 settled and dropped. Only Tilford, the vice-president, 
 on his own cautious responsibility, notified the real 
 estate agent to tell the landlord of the Sheba Hotel 
 that if his establishment gave any further ground for 
 scandal the Dinsmore Company would take steps to 
 throw him out. 
 
 The landlord was duly impressed and did mend his 
 ways for the time being and so the whole affair seemed 
 over with. Yet unknown to any mortal a train had 
 been fired that was presently to produce a grand ex- 
 plosion. 
 
 J. Wesley Tully's editorial vanity was wounded by 
 Dinsmore's indifference to his attack, which implied 
 that the Leader's opinions and utterances were of no 
 consequence. His personal vanity had been deeply 
 wounded some six months before on the day when 
 his ownership of the Leader was announced to the
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 7 
 
 public. He often affected an extreme and conspicuous 
 style of dress. On that day he appeared at the Boule- 
 vard Club in a new suit of a peculiar light shade of 
 brown, with shoes, hat, shirt and flowing cravat of the 
 same colour. As newly announced owner and editor of 
 the Leader he was in a state of intensely gratified con- 
 sciousness of himself. He circulated about the club, 
 so that everybody could see him and congratulate 
 him. 
 
 Dinsmore, according to his custom, was lunching at 
 the club. Four other men of eminence in the city's 
 practical affairs sat at the same table with him. Cer- 
 tainly Tully would not overlook that important com- 
 pany. He sailed up to their table, showing his long 
 teeth in a self-conscious smile, ready to be duly con- 
 gratulated on the great news of the day his acqui- 
 sition of the Leader. Dinsmore had never cared much 
 for J. Wesley Tully with an able man's mild con- 
 tempt for a bungler and a solid man's instinctive aver- 
 sion for a frothy one. This open fluttering of self-satis- 
 faction mildly annoyed him ; and he was not very diplo- 
 matic. So as the new star of journalism came up to 
 the table, he forestalled his discreeter companions by 
 saying : 
 
 " Why, Tully, if you only had an undercrust and 
 were a little better baked what a lovely pumpkin pie 
 you'd make." 
 
 The clothes were of just that hue, and in the explo- 
 sion of laughter that followed whatever congratulatory
 
 8 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 intentions the other four might have formed naturally 
 evaporated. J. Wesley Tully joined in the laugh 
 but hated Alfred Dinsmore from that moment. 
 
 So after this incident of the Sheba Hotel Mr. Tully 
 bided his time, and kept watch. As editor of the 
 Leader he had considerable influence with the police 
 department, and under his secret prompting the police 
 kept watch also. The reformation of the Sheba Hotel 
 did not last long. It interfered too seriously with the 
 landlord's profits. One Saturday night in February 
 the police raided the Sheba Hotel as a disorderly 
 resort, arresting various inmates. The long fuse was 
 burning. 
 
 On the Monday afternoon following this raid, Jimmy 
 Lane, reporter on the Leader, slipped into the office of 
 Charles Purcell, managing editor, with his freckled 
 face expanded in a grin. 
 
 " You know the police pulled that Sheba Hotel on 
 the North Side Saturday night," he said. 
 
 The managing editor nodded. 
 
 Jimmy's grin broadened. " They found Tim Brom- 
 ley there. He said his name was George W. Simpson 
 and he lived in Peoria. Of course Cap. Hanford knew 
 him well enough, but he wanted to string him along, 
 so he asked him what his address in Peoria was. Tim 
 said it was thirteen Distillery Boulevard." Jimmy 
 ended with a cackle. 
 
 Purcell smiled also; but the smile fleeted and he 
 asked, "Hanford tell you that?"
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 9 
 
 Jimmy replied, " Yeh " ; and, having disburdened his 
 mind of the joke, proceeded to talk about the rumours 
 of a shake-up of the police department. 
 
 Purcell discussed that subject with him soberly for 
 a few minutes and gave him some instructions. But 
 the joke stuck in his mind like a burr. Tim Bromley 
 was a picturesque plunger on the Board of Trade, 
 considerably in the public eye ever since his spectacu- 
 lar operations in oats the fall before. 
 
 The joke persisted in Pur cell's thoughts. The fol- 
 lowing afternoon he went up to the Chicago Avenue 
 police station and called on his old friend Captain 
 Hanf ord who had been the friend of a dozen brief 
 generations of cub reporters. For ten minutes the 
 managing editor and the veteran policeman confiden- 
 tially discussed current rumours affecting the police 
 department. Then Purcell smiled and made an inci- 
 dental remark to-wit : " I hear you found Tim 
 Bromley in that Sheba Hotel Saturday night." 
 
 Captain Hanford laughed and repeated the details. 
 There was a little further incidental talk and Purcell 
 took his leave, the burr stinging and burning in his 
 mind. All the remainder of that day and until he 
 retired far past midnight his thoughts were running 
 upon it. At two o'clock the next afternoon he called 
 up Bromley's office. A feminine voice answered. 
 
 " This is Mr. Purcell, managing editor of the 
 Leader," said Purcell. " I want to speak to Mr. 
 Bromley." 
 
 A managing editor is a person of consequence and
 
 10 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 the young woman gave him the connection at once. 
 
 " Mr. Bromley ? " Purcell asked suavely. " This is 
 Mr. Purcell, managing editor of the Leader. I want 
 to send a man down there to get your views at length 
 on this proposed rule about puts and calls. Could you 
 see a man, any time this afternoon, if I sent one down? " 
 
 Purcell was aware that the directors of the Board of 
 Trade were talking about a new rule affecting the trade 
 in puts and calls ; that the proposed rule was very 
 obnoxious to Mr. Bromley and some other speculators 
 who, under his leadership, were trying to defeat it. 
 All that had been discussed in the newspapers for a 
 week, but in small type, over on those back pages to 
 which Board of Trade affairs were commonly relegated. 
 He judged that Mr. Bromley would be rather eager 
 to get his views on a front page. In fact, the specu- 
 lator answered promptly that he would see a man from 
 the Leader any time the next hour. 
 
 " I'll send him down at once," said Purcell. " He'll 
 be there in fifteen minutes." 
 
 Barely fifteen minutes later a young woman opened 
 the door of Mr. Bromley's private office and reported, 
 " Man here from the Leader to see you ;" and Mr. 
 Bromley nodded, signifying that the man might come 
 in. 
 
 The man who entered was an inch over six feet tall 
 and very bony. The colourless skin of his face seemed 
 drawn too tight over the osseous frame beneath. His 
 hands and feet looked large, even for his height; he
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 11 
 
 appeared to need another fifty pounds of flesh. In his 
 right hand he carried a heavy walking stick, with the 
 bark on it, and his hat. He looked older with his hat 
 off than with it on, for the front handbreadth of his 
 head was almost bald. When he had closed the door 
 behind him, his dark, cavernous eyes turned to the 
 stocky, coatless man at the desk, who by a nod invited 
 him to be seated. 
 
 From his vest pocket the caller took a crumpled 
 piece of paper which he straightened out and laid be- 
 fore Mr. Bromley, saying, " That's the only card I 
 have with me." 
 
 The bit of paper had been torn irregularly from the 
 upper left hand corner of the editorial page of the 
 Leader. It contained the usual legend regarding the 
 place of publication and the terms of subscription, and 
 this further information for the public : ** J. Wesley 
 Tully, owner and editor; Charles Purcell, managing 
 editor." When Bromley had glanced at it, the caller 
 added, " I am Mr. Purcell, the managing editor." 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Bromley got an unpleasant hunch. 
 It struck him that this didn't begin right for an inter- 
 view about puts and calls. He was used to hunches 
 and tumultuous vicissitudes and sudden crises; more 
 or less he lived on them. So his round face, barred 
 by a reddish moustache, expressed no surprise. His 
 eyes merely narrowed a little as he watched the visitor, 
 waiting for the next move. 
 
 Purcell resisted an impulse to swallow. His right
 
 12 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 hand closed convulsively on the heavy stick. By a great 
 effort he kept his voice steady and held his luminous 
 brown eyes to the face of the man at the desk. 
 
 " I have just been talking to my friend Captain 
 Hanford," he said. " George W. Simpson, of thirteen 
 Distillery Boulevard owes me a thousand dollars. I'd 
 like to collect it." 
 
 He fought an impulse to pass his fingers over his lips 
 and held himself quite steady, his eyes on the other 
 man's face. But in fact that required a tremendous ef- 
 fort, for inwardly he was all a-quake. He had deter- 
 mined to strike Bromley for five thousand dollars; but 
 when it came to uttering the words, something mys- 
 teriously gave way within him and " one thousand " 
 came out of itself. He had thought this enterprise 
 over and over, egged on by greed and paralysed for fear 
 very much as a man who shuddered at the sight of 
 snakes might determine that on a given day he would 
 walk up and take a snake in his hand. 
 
 Mr. Bromley's mind was used to working quickly. 
 Success in his line depended upon sizing up a situation, 
 taking a decision and acting upon it. He met this 
 situation in like manner. On the one hand there was 
 risk of much unpleasantness ; on the other hand 
 there was a thousand dollars. He cared less for the 
 thousand dollars than for the risk. He supposed Cap- 
 tain Hanford was implicated in the enterprise ; per- 
 haps even J. Wesley Tully. But that was rather im- 
 material. He opened a drawer in his desk, took out a 
 personal check book, rapidly filled up a blank and
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 13 
 
 signed it ; then spoke as follows, in a low voice rather 
 like a growl: 
 
 " There it is. Take it and get out." 
 
 Copying Mr. Bromley's method, Purcell took up the 
 check, glanced at it, thrust it in his pocket, arose and 
 walked out silently, clutching his stick. And he did 
 those things automatically, for his will was paralysed. 
 If the interview had lasted two minutes longer, if 
 Bromley had resisted, questioned him, defied him, his 
 voice would have begun to shake ; he would have had to 
 swallow; his inner tumult would have shown in his 
 actions. Outside the office door, he mechanically 
 wiped his brow, and mechanically got himself back to 
 the newspaper office, where he shut himself in his room, 
 took the check from his pocket and contemplated it. 
 
 He was thirty three years old and had never before 
 possessed as much as a thousand dollars. His salary 
 as managing editor of the Leader was a hundred and 
 fifty dollars a week; but he had enjoyed that salary 
 only four months since J. Wesley Tully elevated 
 him to the position. Before that seventy five dollars 
 a week was the most he had earned. He was unmar- 
 ried and in some respects a model young man rarely 
 taking a drink, never smoking, not addicted to cards, 
 nor extravagant in dress or living. Yet his money 
 was always slipping away, partly in little, unsuc- 
 cessful speculations in bucketshops ; and twenty dol- 
 lars here and fifty there on a sure tip on some sport- 
 ing event. The tailor he patronized was a notch be- 
 yond his means ; his lodging cost twenty five dollars a
 
 14 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 i 
 
 month too much. Because he practised no conspic- 
 uous dissipation or 'extravagance he had the reputa- 
 tion of being a prudent chap, presumably with a good 
 many thousands salted down. More prodigal ac- 
 quaintances chaffed him about it, and the baselessness 
 of their assumptions secretly galled him. He wasn't 
 really dissipated or really extravagant, yet as to cash 
 in hand it came to the same thing as their dissipation 
 and extravagance. And he was getting old thirty 
 three. Seedy old Ben Smith, assistant at the exchange 
 desk at twenty five dollars a week, was only sixty one; 
 yet long dead and buried so far as any hope of beating 
 the game went. Purcell didn't propose to come to that 
 if he could help it. He looked upon the managing 
 editorship as his great opportunity ; but that was pre- 
 carious enough. He hungered for money, yet was 
 really timid. There was a tiger in him, and a rabbit. 
 He had made up his mind to blackmail Bromley. 
 There wasn't much to be proud of in the way he had car- 
 ried it out; he had got only a thousand dollars. But 
 the tiger had tasted blood. He resolved that there 
 should be other opportunities. 
 
 Resolving, it seemed, wouldn't bring them. Three 
 months went by and all they yielded to Purcell, save 
 work and his one hundred and fifty dollars a week, was 
 the eating of his own heart. Then the trivial matter 
 of a village election and the folly of J. Wesley Tully 
 with his secret hatred of Alfred Dinsmore 
 brought a grand prize into view.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 15 
 
 At the death of Stanley, its founder, the Daily 
 Leader became involved in long, ruinous litigation 
 under which it steadily declined. It was J. Wesley 
 Tully then forty two years old who finally got 
 the fighting heirs and despairing creditors together 
 and secured possession of the journalistic derelict. 
 
 The new owner had no experience in journalism, but 
 an unbounded confidence in himself, which those best 
 acquainted with him shared to only a limited degree. 
 He had inherited a modest fortune and an honourable 
 name, and received a liberal education. Harvard Uni- 
 versity was one of the badges with which he decorated 
 himself. After a somewhat aimless period he had em- 
 barked in the real estate line and by audacity and luck 
 carried through a series of operations in down town 
 leasehold which were popularly supposed to have 
 netted him a million. As usual, the popular supposi- 
 tion industriously cultivated by J. Wesley himself 
 rested upon a more modest foundation of fact. 
 
 He looked taller than he was because of his unusual 
 slimness and he answered to Balzac's description of a 
 man of genius in that his face, with sloping brow, 
 long nose and short chin, suggested the face of a 
 horse. He wore his straw coloured hair longer and 
 more abundant than common among business men. 
 His pale blue eyes were near-sighted, requiring glasses 
 of high magnifying power, with thick lenses. One 
 day he might be seen walking hurriedly from the 
 Boulevard Club wearing patent leather shoes and spats, 
 a frock coat and a very shiny silk hat, carrying a
 
 16 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 gold-headed ebony cane. A figure so attired was 
 rarely seen on a Chicago business street, and natu- 
 rally attracted attention. As the editor, his head bent 
 somewhat forward and peering ahead through his 
 thick glasses, hastened by like a man on the most 
 urgent business, somebody was sure to ask who that 
 was or many somebodies and probably somebody 
 else would reply that it was J. Wesley Tully, editor of 
 the Leader. In fact, Mr. Tully's chief business at the 
 moment was simply to have that question asked and so 
 answered. After he had walked up Michigan Boulevard 
 he would probably go across town and walk down La 
 Salle Street, stopping in at a couple of banks. 
 
 Another day he would appear in a broad-brimmed 
 hat, a green suit, a red vest and a pink shirt. On 
 intervening days he dressed like a sensible man, for 
 he had a sort of genius at producing effects and knew 
 the value of contrast. At the theatre he invariably 
 occupied a lower box and had a boy from the office 
 fetch him a sheaf of proofs which he solemnly scanned 
 in the face of the audience; and he had a proper 
 dramatic sense for the moment when, by rising and 
 hurrying from the box, he could get the audience's 
 undivided attention. 
 
 In politics he was an ardent reformer and tremendous 
 democrat. What the reform happened to be about 
 was comparatively unimportant. If the Tribune or 
 Herald or News omitted notice of Mrs. Tully's tea 
 from its society column, the uncomprising democrat 
 would send over the next notice himself, with a
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 17 
 
 personal message to the editor asking that it be 
 printed. Ownership of a daily newspaper was precious 
 to him as water to the parched. 
 
 He lived at Elsmoor, on the North Shore, where he 
 had built himself a house as unusual as his purple 
 vests. Farther north was the suburban village of 
 Highlands which was several chops higher than 
 Elsmoor in the social scale. Theoretically any one who 
 lived in Highlands was socially distinguished. Yet 
 actually a good many people live in Highlands who 
 could not claim that advantage being grocers, 
 butchers, delivery men, servants and the like. 
 
 The Highlands village board comprised five per- 
 'sons and was said to be the most opulent municipal 
 government in America. Alfred Dinsmore was presi- 
 dent of it. But time came when the advancing waves of 
 democracy ran even as high as that. An opposition 
 ticket, consisting principally of truck-gardeners who 
 had settled within the western confines of the munici- 
 pality was put in the field. It offered J. Wesley Tully 
 an opportunity to be intensely democratic, to make a 
 sensation in which he would be the chief figure, and 
 to ease a secret sore at Dinsmore. So the Leader had 
 something to say for the plain, democratic truck-gar- 
 deners and against the plutocrats. 
 
 That was a mere journalistic aside. The great city 
 twenty miles farther south cared little more for the 
 politics of Highlands than for that of China. But the 
 leader of the Highlands opposition was an ardent soul 
 himself, imbued with the revolutionary and class-con-
 
 18 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 scions ideas of Socialism. He presently came to Mr. 
 Tully with some statements about the plutocratic 
 government of Highlands, its lavish expenditures for 
 fine automobile roads over in the eastern section and 
 its callous indifference to some poor roads over in the 
 western section and so on urging Mr. Tully to pub- 
 lish them in the Leader. 
 
 Tully was busy at the moment, and finally told the 
 man to write a letter to the editor of the Leader, set- 
 ting forth those plutocratic facts and signing it 
 " Democrat " or " Tax Payer " or in some such way. 
 That letter, he said, he would have published on the 
 editorial page. Unluckily the letter, comprising six 
 closely written sheets, was brought to him just as 
 he was about to leave the office for a banquet where 
 he was to sit at the speakers' table. He glanced over 
 it hurriedly, wrote " Must, J.W.T." at the top of the 
 first sheet, gave directions that it be printed on the 
 editorial page and departed for the banquet. 
 
 That was the last he thought about the letter until 
 he read it the next morning in the columns of the 
 Leader and by the time he finished reading it, his heart 
 had missed several beats. In fact, his hasty examina- 
 tion of the letter the evening before had stopped at 
 the bottom of the fourth sheet. That far it was a 
 political document aimed at the alleged shortcomings 
 of the plutocratic government of Highlands. But in 
 the fifth and sixth sheets of the letter, Mr. Tully's 
 zealous correspondent had turned his attention to Mr. 
 Dinsmore in a very personal and grossly libelous
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 19 
 
 manner. He said that Dinsmore's famous mail order 
 house poisoned people wholesale by selling them 
 decayed canned goods, systematically swindled them in 
 all other lines of merchandise and frequently just kept 
 their money, alleging that it had shipped them articles 
 they ordered when in fact it had done no such thing. 
 By the time the editor came to the signature "A 
 Plain Citizen " his pale eyes looked as startled as 
 though he had seen a ghost, there was a gone feeling 
 at the pit of his stomach and his leaden heart rested 
 against the soles of his shoes. 
 
 Not many hours afterwards he learned that Mr. 
 Dinsmore had instructed the eminent law firm of Mel- 
 ford, Farson & Winthrop to bring suit against the 
 Leader for libel, claiming damages in the sum of two 
 hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Next day the 
 suit was duly instituted. The editor consulted his own 
 lawyer who advised him to arrange a compromise with 
 Dinsmore if possible, because, legally speaking, he 
 hadn't a leg to stand on. 
 
 It was a calamitous situation for J. Wesley Tully. 
 He had acquired the Leader by the use of a limited 
 amount of cash and unlimited audacity. The paper 
 had been losing money ever since he bought it. His 
 financial affairs were in a very involved, precarious 
 condition. A judgment for two hundred and fifty 
 thousand dollars would floor him. Of course, that 
 judgment was a good way in the future, for trial of 
 the case could easily be postponed many months, but 
 the fact of the suit was a body blow to his credit
 
 20 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 when that credit was already in a groggy condition. 
 It looked like a smash-up unless, by profuse apologies, 
 private and public, and ample retraction, he could per- 
 suade Dinsmore to drop the suit. 
 
 J. Wesley Tully hated that like death. Naturally 
 his restless egotism rebelled at the abject role which 
 it implied especially before Alfred Dinsmore whom 
 he profoundly disliked. But in a matter of life or 
 death one must swallow one's pride. He returned to 
 the newspaper office, from his lawyer's, in a very 
 dejected state and with a bewildered feeling of having 
 been struck by lightning out of a clear sky. He wanted 
 to get Purcell's advice as to how Dinsmore could be 
 best approached with a plea for mercy. Largely be- 
 cause Purcell was adroit enough to flatter him accept- 
 ably, he had formed a towering opinion of the manag- 
 ing editor's ability. 
 
 Purcell had already lied to him about the fatal letter. 
 He had said that when he saw the owner's " Must " at 
 the top of the first sheet which, by newspaper 
 usage, was an imperative command that it be printed 
 he had paid no further attention to it. In fact, 
 however, he had read the letter in proof, recognized 
 its excessively dangerous character and considered 
 whether he should send a proof over to the banquet 
 with a note asking Tully to read it again. But for 
 reasons of his own, he held his hand. For reasons of 
 his own he advised the owner not to apologize. 
 
 "Why, if I were you, Mr. Tully, I wouldn't be in 
 any hurry about going to Dinsmore," he said in a
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 21 
 
 cheerful tone. " I have seen too many newspaper 
 libel suits to be much afraid of one. In the dozen 
 years that I've been in the newspaper business here 
 there have probably been fifty libel suits started. Not 
 one of them has ever come to anything, far's I know. 
 A man gets sore and starts a libel suit ; but give him a 
 few months to think it over in cold blood and he's not 
 so keen about it. He knows the newspaper will be 
 right there on the job long after the libel suit is over. 
 It may get plenty of chances to tie the score. They 
 all talk big about newspapers, but in their hearts 
 they're afraid of 'em. A man who owns the daily 
 Leader needn't be in a hurry to apologize to anybody. 
 If this suit should ever come to trial which I think 
 is mighty unlikely no ordinary jury is going to shed 
 any tears over the hurt feelings of a man worth 
 twelve or fifteen million dollars. You can bring in 
 that Highlands stuff handful of plutocrats running 
 the village to suit themselves and leaving the poor truck 
 farmers to wallow in the mud. Any ordinary jury will 
 eat that up. But the suit will never come to trial, 
 Mr. Tully. I don't know much about Dinsmore, ex- 
 cept that he's got a barrel of money; but most men 
 with barrels of money will bear watching. If I were 
 you I'd just let Dinsmore think it over a while and 
 meantime keep a little eye on him. Suppose we find 
 out something about this mail order business of his. 
 Like enough there's as much truth as poetry in that 
 letter. Any way, we can find out. And we can find 
 out something about Dinsmore personally. It won't
 
 22 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 do any harm to keep a little eye on him for a spell. 
 I'll take charge of it, if you like. Apologizing is poor 
 business for a newspaper, Mr. Tully sets a bad 
 precedent. Just as a newspaper man, I'd rather not 
 have Alfred Dinsmore going around his clubs and the 
 banks and so on, bragging that he made the Leader get 
 down on its knees to him. Probably that would get 
 other people to thinking of demanding apologies and 
 so on. I'd rather let it stand that the Leader can 
 say what it pleases about Alfred Dinsmore, even if 
 it's wrong that the only way to get a retraction 
 out of the Leader is to come around and ask for it 
 politely, like a gentleman, and not try to scare the 
 editor by bringing a libel suit. The suit won't come 
 to trial for a year anyway. If I were you, I'd just 
 let Dinsmore think it over a while and keep an eye 
 on him. He may be a mighty sight more anxious to 
 dismiss the suit than you are to have it dismissed 
 before the end of three months." 
 
 In that strain Purcell talked to his employer, who 
 responded like a rubber balloon when a boy blows in 
 it. There was a hint which secretly rather shocked 
 him the hint of setting spies on Dinsmore. But the 
 remainder of the advice was so palatable that he 
 chose to ignore that. 
 
 "Well, all right," he said finally, with a firm air; 
 " we'll just let him think it over a while." 
 
 Purcell, knowing his chief, had merely thrown out a 
 hint of espionage upon Dinsmore and had not expected 
 Tully to sanction it expressly. For J. Wesley Tully,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 23 
 
 while regarding himself as a tremendous democrat 
 with one side of his brain, also regarded himself as 
 a tremendous gentleman with the other side; and the 
 gentleman could not expressly condescend to this dirty 
 busines of setting spies on Alfred Dinsmore. 
 
 Purcell understood that; but knew well enough that 
 the vouchers for the spies' hire would be paid by the 
 Leader without question. For his own purposes, he 
 wanted Tully involved as deeply as possible; and the 
 idea of spying on Dinsmore was attractive to him. 
 It might turn up something that he could use person- 
 ally. He had an old friend Lawrence McMurtry 
 by name who was engaged in the practice of law. 
 There were many lawyers Melf ord, Farson & 
 Winthrop for example who winced and even swore 
 under their breath when McMurtry's activities were 
 referred to as practising law, for McMurtry's real 
 occupation consisted in fishing in muddy waters 
 and the waters were always muddier after he cast in 
 his line. His practice of law, as Purcell know, in- 
 volved a pretty constant employment of private detec- 
 tives. The Morden Detective Agency was a sort of 
 adjunct to his office. To McMurtry, therefore, Pur- 
 cell went. When the situation was laid before him the 
 lawyer promptly advised that some servant or 
 servants in Dinsmore's household be bribed. He 
 had found that expedient very useful in a number of 
 divorce cases, and he promised good-naturedly to 
 take the matter up for his valued young friend the 
 managing editor. And Purcell mentioned some gos-
 
 24 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 sip imparted to him by his society editor about 
 Dinsmore's daughter and Mr. Edward Proctor. The 
 lawyer thought it would be well to cast a line in that 
 direction, also. 
 
 So the powder train burned. Dinsmore's libel suit 
 against the Leader was filed early in May about 
 three weeks after the village election in Highlands. 
 McMurtry started his underground machinery in 
 operation directly afterwards. A servant was bribed 
 and an amateur spy was set on young Edward Proc- 
 tor. But a fortnight passed before anything momen- 
 tous happened. Then a most unexpected factor de- 
 veloped.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 "TVTEWSPAPERS made a courteous practice of ig- 
 j^i noring libel suits against any one of them. It was 
 held that to publish the fact of such a suit might give 
 other people the bad idea of suing for libel and that a 
 citizen so ill-advised as to resort to the courts 
 instead of relying upon the magnanimity and fairness 
 of the newspaper to make a suitable retraction if it 
 were in the wrong should get no encouragement by 
 having his action communicated to the public. 
 
 But a libel suit by a citizen of Alfred Dinsmore's 
 wealth and standing was far out of the ordinary ; and 
 J. Wesley Tully, wholly inexperienced in journalism, 
 had many times shown an annoying inclination to dis- 
 regard the little amenities and unwritten rules of the 
 craft. So every other newspaper in the city treated 
 Dinsmore's suit against the Leader as a matter of 
 rather important news and an evening journal to 
 whom Tully was especially obnoxious gave it a front 
 page spread with photographs and a cheerful prophecy 
 that it would be the means of driving a silly adven- 
 turer out of the journalistic field. Two weeks later 
 the same journal again referred conspicuously to the 
 libel suit. That was on a Wednesday afternoon. 
 
 The following day, about midnight, Purcell went 
 over to Vogel's restaurant, according to habit, for a 
 bite and a cup of coffee. Whatever failings he had, lack 
 of industry was not one of them, and usually he stayed 
 
 25
 
 26 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 at the office until two o'clock or so in the morning. 
 When he came out on the sidewalk he found that a 
 light rain was falling. The restaurant was a block 
 and a half away, but rather than return for an um- 
 brella he turned up his coat collar and ran for it. The 
 theatre crowds had gone home and the streets in that 
 locality were mostly empty. Half an hour later, re- 
 freshed by warm food and coffee, he ran back. 
 
 To reach his den it was necessary to cross the dingy, 
 belittered " local " room where the city editor and his 
 staff worked. Crossing this room he noticed an old 
 negro, rain-spattered hat on knee, sitting on a bench 
 against the wall beside the two messenger boys who 
 were on duty there and talking benevolently to the 
 youngsters. From his yellow sombrero hat and 
 general appeauance Purcell recognized him as a man 
 he had passed on the street when he ran to the res- 
 taurant. 
 
 The night city editor followed him into his room, 
 looking rather puzzled. 
 
 " An old coon out there wants to see the editor," 
 he said. " He won't talk to me says he's got to see 
 the editor himself. But he asked me if this wasn't the 
 paper that Alfred Dinsmore sued for libel. He says 
 he's got something to tell the editor about that. He 
 don't look drunk or crazy." 
 
 Newspaper offices are magnets for cranks, and 
 usually adopt effectual measure of self-protection. 
 But the night city editor was uncertain whether this 
 visitor belonged in the category of mere annoyances
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 27 
 
 or was worth listening to. His mention of Dinsmore's 
 libel suit raised a like doubt in Purcell's mind and he 
 promptly gave himself the benefit of it, saying, " Show 
 him in." 
 
 Under the strong light above the managing editor's 
 desk the caller appeared even older than the first 
 glance had suggested. He was evidently mulatto, or 
 quadroon ; not full-blooded black. His beardless face 
 was deeply lined and the kinkly hair at either side 
 of his head bald on top was snow white. He was 
 powerfully built, with broad shoulders and long limbs, 
 but spare now and the folds of flesh on his chops 
 showed that he had once been heavier. He came in 
 hat in hand, with a slight smile and a polite air, and 
 turned to shut the door behind him, saying, " Excuse 
 me." Seated at the end of the desk he studied Pur- 
 cell's face a moment, still with his slight smile and 
 polite air. He spoke in a drawl but with no trace of 
 negro, or southern, accent. 
 
 " You're the editor of the Leader? " he inquired. 
 
 " Yes," said Purcell. 
 
 " I saw in the Telegram that Alfred Dinsmore had 
 sued you for two hundred fifty thousand dollars. I 
 could tell you something that would shut his mouth." 
 
 "What is it?" Purcell asked brusquely. 
 
 The negro smiled at the young man's impetuosity 
 and continued in his slow, unemphasized way of speak- 
 ing : " I could prove it, too. You don't have to take 
 my word for it. You can look it all up yourself and 
 see it's so."
 
 28 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Purcell replied less curtly, even invitingly, " Well, 
 I'm ready to listen." He perceived that the caller 
 was by no means lacking in intelligence. 
 
 " I reckon," said the caller, with deliberation, 
 " Alfred Dinsmore'd give about all the money he's 
 got to keep anybody from knowing what I can tell 
 you. I reckon he'd think a million dollars dirt 
 cheap." 
 
 Purcell passed a crooked forefinger over his lips and 
 considered. They were alone. Anything that this 
 old negro might say afterwards could be easily and 
 plausibly denied. He noticed that the man was 
 decently dressed, but there was little likelihood of his 
 being a person whose unsupported statement would 
 carry much weight. 
 
 " You want something," he said, as though he con- 
 sidered that want quite natural. 
 
 The caller deliberated a moment, peering hard into 
 the managing editor's face, and replied, more slowly 
 than usual, " Yes, sir ... I want a hundred thousand 
 dollars and your oath that you won't ever tell anybody 
 that I told you." 
 
 Purcell smiled and replied, " That's quite a lot of 
 money." 
 
 " Not for Alfred Dinsmore," the caller shrewdly re- 
 torted. 
 
 " If it's worth a hundred thousand, I'll give you a 
 hundred thousand," Purcell offered. 
 
 " No, sir," the negro replied, with polite determina- 
 tion. " I got to have it down in black and white.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 29 
 
 You don't have to take my word for it. You can prove 
 it yourself." 
 
 " But even if I proved it, it might not be worth a hun- 
 dred thousand dollars," the managing editor suggested. 
 
 " It's worth a million," said the caller positively. 
 He deliberated a moment and added, in his slow, un- 
 emphasized speech, "Alfred Dinsmore's robbed and he's 
 killed." 
 
 Purcell stared at him. His conjecture had been 
 that this was some discharged house servant with 
 possibly an old domestic scandal to reveal. His 
 face went a bit whiter and there seemed to be a 
 wavering light deep in his luminous eyes. 
 
 They fenced for a few moments while Purcell's wits 
 worked. He could aver, if it became necessary, that 
 he had merely led the man along in order to hear what 
 he had to say, and thereby pose as an honourable citizen 
 whose only object was to unmask a rogue. He knew 
 well enough the frightful disadvantage before the law 
 of a man who has to confess that his purpose was a 
 criminal one. This caller's purpose was evidently 
 criminal. So, after they had fenced a few moments he 
 took a sheet of note paper, with the Leader's letter- 
 head on it, and wrote: 
 
 Sixty days after date I promise to pay William Pomeroy 
 one hundred thousand dollars, provided William Pomeroy 
 fulfils the promise he has just made me. And I solemnly 
 swear that I will not tell any one that William Pomeroy told 
 me anything about Alfred Dinsmore. 
 
 J. WESLEY TULLY.
 
 30 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 He handed that to the caller and waited to see 
 whether his intelligence and education were sufficient 
 to recognize its complete worthlessness as a legally 
 binding instrument. The negro, having carefully read 
 it and carefully folded it, put it in his vest pocket, 
 apparently quite satisfied; and Purcell innerly smiled, 
 feeling that he had the measure of the man with whom 
 he was dealing. The negro considered a moment and 
 began, with deliberation: 
 
 " WeU, sir, I'll go back to the start and tell it all 
 to you just like it happened. . . . There was a man 
 named John Colby. He worked the county fairs. 
 There was a wheel of fortune that he run himself. 
 Then he had a soap game and a phoney jewellery game. 
 And he had one of these here ring-throwing games. 
 There'd be a booth, you know, fixed up fancy inside 
 and out, and a great lot of knives and revolvers stuck 
 up in there. Then he had some hard rubber rings. 
 You'd pay a quarter for six rings and then you'd throw 
 the rings at the knives and revolvers and if you rung 
 one of 'em, it was yours. Of course he had the most 
 expensive ones fixed so's you couldn't hardly ring one 
 of 'em if you threw a hundred years, but there was 
 some cheaper knives down in front that somebody'd get 
 every now and then. . . . 
 
 " Old John, he owned the whole thing and hired the 
 other fellehs. He'd fix it up with the authorities so's 
 to get the concession for the wheel of fortune and so 
 on. He had to pay 'em a license for it. Sometimes 
 he had to slip the police or the deputy sheriff some-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 31 
 
 thing to keep 'em good-natured. When there wasn't 
 any fair, old John would strike a town where they was 
 holding court or something else to draw a crowd and 
 he'd set up his games around on the street corners. 
 This was thirty years ago and better, that I'm talking 
 about, you understand from Dakota down into 
 Texas. They didn't mind games of chance out there in 
 those days ; poker room in about every town and faro if 
 the town was big enough. There wasn't hardly ever 
 any trouble. 
 
 " I took care of the horses. We had a big wagon 
 and three good horses and drove all over that country, 
 never bothering the railroad. I took care of the 
 horses, and was kind of body-servant to old John. He 
 used to drink a good deal. He was a bad man when 
 he'd been drinking. Sometimes he got in trouble away 
 from the shows. He used to play poker or faro after 
 we was all done spieling for the day. Sometimes there'd 
 be a row. He always took me along." 
 
 The narrator smiled, disclosing a few discoloured 
 teeth. " I could twist a horse-shoe in two with my 
 hands in those days." Noting the breadth and square- 
 ness of the caller's fleshless shoulders, Purcell didn't 
 doubt it. 
 
 " Old John was some man, too," the negro drawled 
 on. " He was really about as old as me, but they 
 called him old John. He was shorter and fatter than 
 me and wore a red beard, trimmed kind of round." 
 The negro paused to chuckle gutturally. " He had a 
 voice like a mule. He'd keep yelling, ' Try your luck,
 
 32 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 gentlemen; try your luck,' and you could hear him 
 clear across the fairgrounds. He was sure quarrel- 
 some when he felt like it. There was Elt Grew. He 
 run the soap game and the phoney jewellery. I'll ex- 
 plain that to you. You see, there'd be a stand about 
 five feet high or maybe a little higher, with red, white 
 and blue cloth around it. The crowd would be in 
 front and Elt would stand up in a little pen behind the 
 stand. He'd be standing on a box a couple feet high 
 so he'd be taller than the crowd. 
 
 " He'd begin his spiel about the soap some stuff 
 he learned out of a little book old John had and get 
 a crowd in front of him. Then he'd open a suit case 
 and take out about a hundred and fifty little paste- 
 board boxes about two inches and a half long, covered 
 with blue paper with some little gilt stars on it. He'd 
 stack the boxes all up in a square pile, all the time 
 going on with his spiel about the soap. He'd get a 
 boy out of the crowd and make lather and give the boy 
 a shampoo. Soap would cure dandruff and keep your 
 hair from coming out, he'd say, and make hair grow on 
 a bald head. Then he'd put a bundle of five dollar 
 bills down on the stand and roll his sleeves up higher 
 and hold a box so the crowd could see and put a five 
 dollar bill in it and he'd go ahead that way until he'd 
 put about thirty five-dollar bills in boxes. Then he'd 
 shuffle the boxes all up on the stand, mix 'em all around, 
 and then he'd pick up a box and*say ' Who'll give me a 
 dollar for it ? ' Sometimes a man in the crowd would 
 give a dollar. But if nobody did, after a minute or
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 33 
 
 two, Elt'd make a sign with his hand and a stool pigeon 
 would come up and give a dollar. That first box 
 would have a five dollar bill in it. The next box 
 wouldn't have anything in it, and Elt would say * Try 
 it again for fifty cents,' and that time there'd be a five- 
 dollar bill in the box. 
 
 " Of course, he didn't do it just the same way every 
 time for after the first day there'd be somebody who'd 
 seen him spiel before, so he'd vary it. But pretty soon 
 he'd have the crowd coming, buying boxes right and 
 left. You see, the boxes all looked just alike to an 
 outsider, but every one that he'd put a five-dollar bill 
 in had a little star exactly on the corner. All the 
 while he was spieling he'd keep shuffling the boxes 
 round, kind of absent-minded and he'd be pushing those 
 with money in 'em off into the suitcase, so by the time 
 the crowd began buying lively there'd be only two, 
 three boxes left with any money in 'em. It was easy 
 enough. Anybody could learn to do it with a little 
 practice. 
 
 " The phoney jewellry was about the same. He'd 
 have sheets of brown paper that he'd roll up into a 
 cornucopia. He'd put a five dollar bill in a brass ring 
 that cost maybe five cents and he'd drop that into the 
 cornucopia so all the crowd could see it plain. Then 
 he'd put in a breast pin and a watch chain and some 
 other stuff like that and sell it for two dollars. When 
 he wanted to, he'd hold the cornucopia with the little 
 end open so the ring with the five-dollar bill in it would 
 fall through into his hand. That was harder than the
 
 34 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 soap game. Took a pretty good man to manage it 
 slick enough so the crowd wouldn't catch on. Elt Grew 
 could do it slick enough. 
 
 " That summer I'm talking now about the summer 
 of 1881 we had a felleh named Ben Lukens, sort of 
 a chuckle-head, that run the ring-throwing game. Any 
 child could do that. Old John would be running the 
 wheel of fortune and I'd kind of circulate around and 
 tell him how the other games was going. Sometimes 
 I'd run the wheel a little spell and he'd take a look 
 around himself. He was always figuring that the other 
 fellehs might be holding out something on him. 
 
 " Well, we was out in Kansas that summer and we 
 got kind of off our track out at Buffalo Centre 
 where we hadn't ever been before. Railroad had just 
 gone through there. I reckon they'd made the town 
 in a week or two ; shingles hadn't turned dark yet and 
 some of the houses wasn't painted. I don't suppose 
 it had more'n ten or twelve hundred inhabitants. It 
 was the county seat, and there was a county fair and 
 old John thought he'd try it. We wasn't doing much 
 business. There was a drygoods store on the corner 
 and a poker room over the drygoods store. Old John 
 found that out first thing. So we was up there first 
 evening after the fair shut up. There was six or seven 
 men playing, old John one of 'em, and maybe a dozen 
 or more looking on. I was setting on a box against the 
 wall. One of the players was winning quite a bit. He 
 was sort of a stout young felleh with his coat and vest 
 off and his shirt open at the neck and a plaid cap
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 35 
 
 pulled down over his forehead. He'd got a terrible 
 wallop on the chin some day ; looked like a mule had 
 kicked him ; must have broke his chin and it hadn't 
 been put together right didn't fit, you understand ; 
 and a big, kind of knotty white welt across where it 
 had been broke." The narrator drew a finger diago- 
 nally over his own chin to indicate the scar. 
 
 " This young felleh was winning quite a bit and not 
 saying anything to anybody just set hunched down 
 in his chair sawing wood. Pretty soon old John says 
 to him, ' You're the luckiest man in seven states,' and 
 scratched his head. His hair was always all mussed 
 up anyhow. That was a signal to me, you know. 
 Plenty tin-horn card sharps always drifting around 
 those poker rooms in those days and old John was 
 wise. So I just slid around the room where I could 
 watch the young felleh close. After a while I slid back 
 again and then I looks at my hands and says to a 
 felleh next me, ' My hands itch.' You see, I'd seen the 
 young felleh palming cards. 
 
 " Well, I expected old. John would start something. 
 He was sure a quarrelsome man when he felt like it ; but 
 he just kept on playing and didn't make me no more 
 sign only I noticed he laid off the young felleh with the 
 busted chin. Then by and by he drew out of the game 
 and another man took his place. Old John put on his 
 coat and hat like he was going to leave, but he lingered 
 a little while and sidled around the table. I thought 
 sure he was going to start something then. But he 
 just stood there a little while. Then he stepped up to
 
 36 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 the young felleh and laid a hand on his shoulder and 
 says, ' Taxes is due. The collector is waiting for you 
 below.' The young felleh twisted his head to look up at 
 old John and old John looked down at him. This sort 
 of surprised everybody, coming right in the middle of 
 a hand ; and old John says to the crowd, * I'm a sooth- 
 sayer from Sayers, Ohio,' and went out. He was al- 
 ways saying queer things like that; so probably the 
 crowd forgot it all in half a minute. 
 
 " He went down the back stairs, me following. There 
 was a wooden sidewalk run along the side of the building 
 and it was about two feet higher than the ground and 
 old John says to me, * We'll pitch our tents in Isreal 
 right here a spell,' and he set down on the sidewalk and 
 I set down beside him. Probably it was two, three 
 o'clock in the morning then ; a warm night and lots of 
 moonlight. We waited there maybe half an hour. 
 Then the young felleh with the busted chin come out 
 of the back door and saw old John and me setting there 
 and kind of hesitated. ' Come hither,' says old John 
 to him. The young felleh stepped across to us and 
 old John didn't get up or nothing. He just set there 
 on the sidewalk and says to the young felleh, ' I don't 
 care what you do to them lunks up stairs, but you 
 can't palm forty six dollars out of me. Produce.' 
 The young felleh looked mighty sullen, but I reckon 
 old John and me didn't look very good to him. Prob- 
 ably I was kind of grinning and John's hat was stuck 
 on the back of his head. He wasn't a man that any- 
 body would want to trifle with. So the young felleh
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 37 
 
 stuck his hand in his pants pocket and pulled out a 
 fist full of money and started to count out forty six 
 dollars and old John just grabbed the money out of his 
 hand and says, ' Never mind the change,' and sat there 
 looking up at him. The young felleh looked like fight 
 for a minute and squared his jaw. And I slipped my 
 hand in my coat pocket. I always carried a black jack 
 handy in those days. The young felleh just pulled his 
 cap down over his forehead again and walked off, look- 
 ing plumb discouraged and John and me walked back 
 to the fair ground and slept in the wagon. 
 
 " Next day this young felleh comes out to the fair 
 ground and sees old John at the wheel of fortune. He 
 stands around watching him a while, and old John kind 
 of watching out of the tail of his eye, wondering what 
 he'd got on his mind. Pretty soon everybody goes off 
 to watch the horse races. They didn't have any trot- 
 ting horses, but they had running races with bronchos. 
 Then the young felleh comes up to John and strikes 
 him for a job. They had a long spiel about it to- 
 gether and finally John offers him a job. 
 
 " You see, old John had been getting terrible sore on 
 Elt Grew because Elt had been boozing too much. The 
 rule was, ' No booze in working hours,' but Elt had 
 been getting himself pickled every afternoon and by 
 time his evening spiel come along he was too much 
 saturated. John had been cussing him out about it, 
 but he and Elt had been together a good while and it 
 wasn't so easy to get hold of a man who could do the 
 phoney jewellery game. John told the young felleh to
 
 38 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 stand around and watch Elt that evening and next 
 day and practise up on the part. And when we left 
 Buffalo Centre fair only lasted three days old 
 John fired Elt Grew and put this young felleh on in his 
 place. The young felleh said his name was Tom Wil- 
 son, and he's the man you call Alfred Dinsmore." 
 
 Purcell stared at that, and passed a bent forefinger 
 over his lips. 
 
 " Don't have to take my word for it ; you can prove 
 it all yourself," the negro drawled. " He was with us 
 a couple of months and old John took a shine to him. 
 By and by we went over the line into Nebraska to 
 Billingtown, where we'd been three, four times before. 
 Pretty good business there. This was a town of about 
 twenty five hundred pretty good country around. 
 The fair lasted all week. Tom Wilson was spieling in 
 Elt Grew's place. 
 
 " Well, nothing much happened till Tuesday. But 
 I saw old John wasn't feeling right. I reckon prob- 
 ably he'd got kind of low spirited on account of parting 
 with Elt Grew for they'd been together a long time. 
 They'd been at Billingtown together two, three times 
 which kind of brought it up fresh in his mind. You 
 see, except on Saturdays we usually didn't open up on 
 the fair grounds until afternoon, only Ben Lukens, who 
 was kind of a lunk-head anyway, would have his ring 
 game going. Tuesday John and I goes up town, for 
 he has some business. Comes half past ten, he goes into 
 a saloon and takes a drink. He was feeling sort of 
 lonesome, I reckon. I knew that was a bad sign
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 39 
 
 drinking in the morning. He takes a good many drinks 
 that forenoon and about one o'clock he goes over to 
 the bank. I don't know just what it was for, but he 
 was going to buy a draft to send East. The amount 
 was a hundred and sixteen dollars and thirty five cents. 
 He goes up to the counter, with a bundle of money in 
 his hand and asks the cashier for a draft on New York 
 for that much. 
 
 " This cashier's name was Latham. He was a big, 
 fine-loeking man with a brown moustache. Well, this 
 cashier writes out the draft and takes John's money 
 and counts it and hands back the change and says, very 
 quiet and polite, ' Thirty five cents exchange for the 
 draft.' Seems John had bought a draft like that some- 
 where a while before that and they'd only charged him 
 fifteen cents for it. Of course, it didn't really amount 
 to anything anyhow. But the booze has got its hooks 
 in old John by that time and he's spoiling for a row. 
 'So he begins to roar over the thirty five cents. The 
 cashier speaks very quiet and polite, but tells him 
 thirty five cents is the charge. I could see that cashier 
 was having a bad effect on old John anyway. 'He's a 
 handsome man, you know, and shaved smooth and the 
 ends of his moustache twisted neat. His collar is very 
 shiny and his clothes like he stepped out of a band 
 box, and he speaks in such a smooth, polite kind of 
 way. Knowing old John well as I did, I could see he 
 was kind of aching to muss that man up. 
 
 " He sure did act outrageous, calling that cashier the 
 worst kind of names and yelling, ' Robbers ! Hold up !
 
 40 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Police ! ' till you could have heard him in the next county 
 and keeping it right up, too. The front door was 
 open and people came running from all around. I 
 knew there was sure to be trouble and had my hand on 
 my black jack. I could see that cashier turning pale, 
 but he tried to keep cool and tell the people that run 
 in that it was just a drunken man. But old John kept 
 it right up, calling the worst kind of names. In a 
 couple of minutes a kind of slim, wiry man with a 
 bushy beard and a slouch hat come running in. The 
 cashier says to him, ' All right, Fred,' quiet like, and 
 walked around in front of the counter. I saw he had 
 his hand in his pocket. It looked pretty bad when the 
 cashier came walking toward us and I got ready. 
 
 " But it surely happened too quick for me. That 
 wiry man with the beard jumped just like a cat and 
 hit old John a terrible wallop over the head with the 
 butt of a gun and same time the cashier stuck a gun 
 against my stomach. You know how it is with a crowd. 
 They kind of stand around with their mouths open until 
 somebody shows 'em how. So in a second three or four 
 men grabbed me. This man with the beard was the 
 deputy sheriff. He and the cashier beat old John up 
 some; then the sheriff took him off to jail. Naturally 
 I didn't have much to say and they let me go. About 
 five o'clock that afternoon they took John out of jail, 
 before a justice, who fined him twenty five dollars and 
 costs for disorderly conduct. He had three lumps on 
 his head where he'd been hit. 
 
 " That was a lesson to old John; He'd been in
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 41 
 
 plenty rows before that, but he'd never really been 
 come-up with before. Where he made his mistake that 
 time was starting rough house in a bank. But I no- 
 ticed always after that he wasn't so ready to start a 
 row. It was certainly a lesson to him. But he took it 
 mighty hard old John did. Seemed to kind of grind 
 him through and through. He was terrible sullen and 
 bitter. Of course everybody knew about it. The 
 crowd around the wheel of fortune next day was bigger 
 than ever. Even the women and children was coming 
 up all the time. Of course, they didn't come up to play 
 the wheel but just to look at old John. There was a 
 cut and big bruise on his cheek. The men in the crowd 
 kept grinning when they looked at it. Old John glared 
 back at 'em, but he stuck right to the job, spieling for 
 his wheel of fortune. He was proud, you know. All 
 that staring and grinning at him ground him right 
 through and through. 
 
 " Still, there wouldn't anything have ever come of it 
 if it hadn't been for Pete Sykes. We knew Pete Sykes 
 from the first time we ever showed in Billingtown. Since 
 then he and John had got kind of confidential. Pete 
 Sykes called himself a plasterer and paper hanger, but 
 he didn't work at it very steady only when he was stony 
 broke. There was quite a smart little gambling house 
 in Billingtown, and Pete Sykes hung out there a good 
 deal lookout at the faro table and so on. But there 
 wasn't trade enough to keep the little gambling house 
 going all the time, so sometimes Pete had to work at his 
 trade. We'd always had him for a stool pigeon at the
 
 42 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 soap game. He was ready for any little job of that 
 kind that came along. 
 
 " I reckon Pete Sykes sympathized with John over 
 what had happened to him. Anyway, I know it was 
 Pete Sykes that told him about the bank. This bank,, 
 you know, was in a brick building mighty nifty, with 
 white stone trimming and tile floor and shiny counter 
 inside. Pete Sykes had done the plastering and he 
 knew the other men that worked on it bricklayers 
 and carpenters. This was the first brick building ever 
 put up in Billingtown. They had to ship in the brick 
 and the bricklayers, too. It made a big show, you see; 
 but it was kind of a phoney building. When you went 
 in, there was a great big vault door, with shiny bolts. 
 Looked like- you couldn't break it with dynamite. But 
 Pete Sykes knew the walls of the vault was just two 
 layers of common brick. A good man with a crowbar 
 could break in from the outside in twenty minutes easy 
 enough. 
 
 " Pete Sykes had kind of kept that in his mind, you 
 see. He was a nervy man. I reckon if he'd known any- 
 body to tie up with that he could trust, he'd have took 
 a crack at that bank before. He knew old John had 
 plenty nerve for anything, and John was sure mighty 
 sore at that cashier. There was a safe inside the 
 vault where the money was but old John knew 
 something about that, too. He'd knocked all around 
 the country and mixed up with all sorts of people, so 
 he knew just how they did it. They took some nitro- 
 glycerine stuff and mixed it up somehow ' soup,' they
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 43 
 
 called it and they put that around the door of a 
 safe and touched it off with a fuse and blew the door 
 off. Maybe old John hadn't ever done it himself, but 
 he'd talked with 'em, and knew just how they did it. 
 He was a man that was always picking up information. 
 
 " Well, old John and Pete Sykes talked it over. 
 They was ready enough. One trouble was, this cashier 
 lived up over the bank. It was a two-story building 
 and the cashier lived up stairs. But they reckoned that 
 when they blew the safe it wouldn't take 'em more'n a 
 couple of minutes to grab what money there was and 
 beat it. If anybody should show up they reckoned 
 they could stand him off for a minute or two. But 
 probably nobody would show up before they got away. 
 
 " They raised a good deal of wheat around there and 
 wheat was coming to market lively. The bank had to 
 keep money on hand to pay for the wheat. About 
 every day a big bundle of currency would come in by 
 express from Omaha. The train got in little after five 
 o'clock. Old John told me to hang around the rail- 
 road station one afternoon. Just after train time this 
 handsome cashier comes in with a little brown handbag. 
 He signs the book and the station agent gives him a 
 bundle, big as that, with sealing wax all over on it. The 
 cashier puts that in his bag and goes back to the bank 
 maybe twenty thousand dollars. 
 
 " Of course, old John was too foxy to start anything 
 right then, after him having that trouble with the 
 cashier. We just finished up that week at the fair and 
 then moved on to Bleeker where we showed next week.
 
 44 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 From there we're going to Standing Rock. That's a 
 fifty-mile drive. In Bleeker John goes around com- 
 plaining that two of his horses ain't well ; he's afraid 
 they've got distemper. He tells me to do the same. 
 We closed up in Bleeker Friday morning only leaving 
 Ben Lukens and the ring game, for he's a lunk head any- 
 way, and drove to a little place called Inland and 
 camped on the bank of a creek that hadn't hardly any 
 water in it a couple of miles out of town. John tells 
 me to take one of the horses and ride into town and get 
 some condition powders. All this stuff about the 
 horses being sick was to make an alibi, you see. This 
 town is twenty three miles from Billingtown. Half past 
 nine, old John and me and the felleh we call Tom Wilson 
 got on the horses and rode to Billingtown. By that 
 time old John has taken a shine to this felleh we called 
 Wilson. We don't urge the horses any saving 'em 
 up for the ride back, so it's pretty near one o'clock when 
 we get in. 
 
 " Just to the west edge of Billingtown there's what 
 they call a draw out in that country ravine, I reckon 
 you call it here long, deep gulley, you know. There 
 was some scrub trees growing in it. We tied our horses 
 to the trees and right there Pete Sykes bobbed up. 
 He'd been waiting for us. He lived in a little house 
 without any paint on it, not more'n ten rods the other 
 side of the draw. Old John is carrying a grip with his 
 stuff in it. Lord knows where he got the stuff tools 
 and the ' soup ' and so on. But he'd got it all right. 
 Pete Sykes pulls a crowbar and a cold chisel and a
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 45 
 
 wooden mallet out from among the trees. Then John 
 .lines me and Tom Wilson up and gives us our instruc- 
 tions over again. There's a two-story frame building 
 on one side of this bank, you see, and a one-story frame 
 building on the other side; then comes an alley. And 
 there's outside stairs on the back of the bank building 
 that go up to the second story where the cashier lives. 
 John has picked a night when there ain't any moon, 
 but it's some lighter than we'd like. Tom Wilson is to 
 stand out back of the bank, by the stairs that come 
 down, and keep watch, and I'm to stand by the corner 
 of this one-story frame building where I can keep watch 
 of the alley. We're to give a whistle if anybody comes. 
 " Well, we started over town about two o'clock, each 
 one going alone, and we met back of the bank. Tom 
 Wilson and I took our places and Pete Sykes and old 
 John went to work at the wall. Every now and then I 
 can hear 'em plain as day chink, chink against the 
 brick, like they'd wake up the whole town. Seemed 
 like it takes 'em all night, too a terrible long while ; 
 I'm looking for sun-up. Then Pete Sykes touched my 
 arm and whispered to me, * Ready now ! ' and I know 
 they're ready to touch it off. He'd been to Tom Wil- 
 son, too. I reckon Tom Wilson was all wound up just 
 like I was so tight I'm ready to bust. Then there's 
 the awf ullest noise you ever heard like a whole navy 
 blowing up, it seems to me only it's kind of dull and 
 muffled. Probably I ought to have stayed at the alley, 
 but I knew they're about ready for the get-away, so I 
 just naturally drifted toward the bank.
 
 46 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " Tom Wilson, by the foot of the stairs, must have 
 been excited like, too, and looking around toward the 
 bank. I seen a white figure come running down the 
 back stairs. It was this cashier in his night shirt. 
 Tom Wilson was sort of in the shadow of the stairs and 
 I guess the cashier didn't see him. Anyway, Tom Wil- 
 son sees this figure when it's almost right on him. That 
 was the account he give of it afterwards. He sees the 
 figure when it's almost right on him and he never says a 
 word just naturally blazes away. And the cashier 
 sort of toppled over and caught at the wooden railing 
 of the stairs and blazed at Tom and then fell down. 
 
 " Old John come crawling out of the hole in the wall 
 and run out, with a gun in his hand looking around. I 
 saw him quite plain hat on the back of his head and 
 looking mighty wild and bad. Pete Sykes was crawling 
 out of the hole, too. Then John yells a cuss at him 
 and runs back and drives him in and crawls in himself. 
 Lord knows how long they're gone, but when they come 
 out they'd got the money and we all beat it for the draw 
 without thinking to divide ourselves like we did when 
 we come ; but running in the dusty road where we don't 
 make any noise. 
 
 " When we're pretty near there Tom Wilson sort of 
 wobbled a minute and fell over. John come back and 
 looked at him and says, ' He's hit.' Then he and Pete 
 Sykes talk mighty fast. Pete says, * Take him to m^ 
 house ; I'll see to it.' They talk a second and Pete and 
 I picked Tom Wilson up, head and feet, and carried 
 him to the back door of Pete Sykes' shack. The door's,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 47 
 
 unlocked, and we carried him in and laid him on the 
 floor and Pete says to me, ' Beat it ! ' I certainly was 
 agreeable to that. Old John was some ahead of me. 
 When I got to the draw he had the horses untied, and 
 we lit out, me leading the horse Tom Wilson had rode. 
 We rode all the horses would go for half an hour, but 
 didn't make hardly any noise in the dusty road, and 
 then we took it easier; but kept pushing right along 
 and when we got back to camp we couldn't see that 
 anybody'd been around there. We rubbed the horses 
 down, and old John went off a ways and buried the 
 money for that night. Then we turned in. 
 
 " Nobody come near us all next forenoon. If any- 
 body did come around I was to say Tom Wilson and 
 old John had a row Friday afternoon and old John 
 fired him and he left us about three miles this side of a 
 place called Kedron that we'd drove through and that's 
 the last I saw of him. I had a regular story to tell 
 about it. Old John and me had went over it carefully. 
 But nobody come near. So about three o'clock that 
 afternoon we hitched up and drove on to Standing Rock 
 where we got in eight o'clock that night. We set 
 around the wagon that evening and nobody said a word 
 to us. Next morning we met up with Ben Lukens and 
 John told him about firing Tom Wilson and afterwards 
 I told it to him. And we went on with our business, 
 only we couldn't open up with the soap game and the 
 phoney jewellery for we didn't have anybody to spiel. 
 But somehow John got track of Elt Grew and tele- 
 graphed him, and Tuesday afternoon Elt showed up.
 
 48 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 John told him about firing Tom Wilson and they shook 
 hands and Elt went back to spieling, and so we was all 
 ship shape again. 
 
 " I don't know what old John was hearing from 
 Billingtown then or whether he was hearing anything, 
 but he kept warning me to be mighty careful what I said 
 because likely there'd be detectives nosing around try- 
 ing to get something on us. Of course, there was a lot 
 in the newspapers about the robbery of the bank at 
 Billingtown and killing the cashier. The cashier was 
 unconscious when they found him and never said a word 
 before he passed out. There was a good deal of ex- 
 citement about that. John says, ' You know what it 
 means for us,' and put his hands around his neck. You 
 can believe I was careful to say nothing to nobody, and 
 always watching out for anybody nosing around. 
 
 " It come along Thursday or Friday, I don't remem- 
 ber which. The crowd had gone over to the horse races 
 and old John and me was at the wheel of fortune booth 
 when up come a gentleman and lady. They looked like 
 folks that amounted to something. The man was sort 
 of stout and had a beard cut down to a point with 
 maybe three, four grey hairs in it good clothes and 
 carrying a cane. He looked like somebody. The lady 
 was a nice-looking lady, too, and walked with her hand 
 on his arm like she was nervous. They come right up 
 to the booth and the man talked right out to old John. 
 He said, ' You had a young man in your company at 
 Bleeker engaged in selling soap, I believe. We want 
 to find that young man. This lady is his mother.'
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 49 
 
 " Well, old John told 'em the story about firing Tom 
 Wilson and they listened and the lady hung pretty tight 
 to the gentleman's arm and her lips trembled so she put 
 her fingers up to 'em now and then. The man talked 
 right out like it was straight goods and asked John ques- 
 tions about Tom Wilson how long he'd known him 
 and where he met him and so on and John told him, 
 except he didn't say he met Tom Wilson in a poker 
 room palming cards. He just said Tom Wilson come 
 up to him and asked for a job. The man talked mighty 
 nice and like he was on the level. By and by he said 
 the young man they was talking about was a reckless 
 kind of young man and he'd disappeared from home and 
 his family was very anxious about him and so on. He 
 said a friend, who was acquainted with the young man, 
 had seen him on the fair ground at Bleeker and soon's 
 this friend got back to St. Joseph, Missouri, where the 
 young man's home was, he'd told this here gentleman 
 about it for the gentleman was his uncle. So he had 
 found out where old John had went to from Bleeker and 
 he and the young man's mother had come to find him. 
 He talked very nice about it and the lady was mighty 
 nervous. 
 
 " Old John said he might likely come across that 
 young man again and if he did he'd let him know. And 
 the uncle gave old John his card. His name was Elliot 
 and he was a lawyer in St. Joe, Missouri. The card 
 had his address on it. And old John said he'd sure 
 drop him a line if he ever come across that young man 
 again. Old John was foxy, you know. He saw these
 
 50 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 people amounted to something; probably they had 
 money and a big pull, so that might be a good thing in 
 case of trouble coming up over what had happened. 
 He talked fine and benevolent to 'em about the young 
 man and young men generally. He says, ' Colts will be 
 colts till they're broke.' And he calls the lady ' Mrs. 
 Elliot ' once or twice on purpose and she corrects him 
 and says, ' Mrs. Dinsmore ; Mr. Elliot is my brother.' 
 And old John gives the young man quite a fine charac- 
 ter, and when they're gone he writes down ' Dinsmore * 
 on the back of the lawyer's card so he won't forget it. 
 
 *' Him and me talks it over after they'd gone and he 
 ^wondered whether they was on the level, but I believed 
 they was from the way the gentleman talked and the 
 lady trembled and how her eyes looked. So that's how 
 we knew Tom Wilson's right name was Dinsmore. Still 
 nobody was troubling us about what had happened at 
 Billingtown ; and next week we went on to Blue Creek. 
 There wasn't any fair there, but it was court week and 
 we were going to stay two, three days. Second day, 
 up comes Pete Sykes and Tom Wilson with his arm in a 
 sling. They walked right up to the wheel of fortune, 
 like they was thinking of buying some paddles. You 
 paid a quarter, you know, for a wooden paddle with a 
 number on it and if the wheel stopped at that number 
 you won. 
 
 "Once in his life old John was sure jarred. He 
 pretty near stopped spieling and glared at 'em. This 
 Sykes was a reckless sort of man when he got started. 
 Seems, in that fast talking they did when they found
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 51 
 
 Tom Wilson was shot, old John had told Pete Sykes to 
 come to Blue Creek, but he didn't expect him to walk 
 right up to the booth in broad daylight with Tom 
 Wilson along, his arm in a sling. But Sykes argued 
 that was just as good a way to do it as any other. He 
 said everybody was all off the trail about the Billing- 
 town business anyway. 
 
 " Sykes told what had happened. Seems after we 
 got Tom Wilson into his house, he'd got him into a bed- 
 room, they having two bedrooms. His wife was living 
 with him in the house, but I reckon he wasn't a very 
 pleasant man to live with. From the way he talked 
 she'd never open her head about it because she didn't 
 dare. He'd looked Tom Wilson over himself and by 
 and by his fever had come up and Sykes had gone out 
 and got a doctor he knew. This doctor's name was 
 Dill. That came out because Sykes said he'd give the 
 doctor two thousand dollars to keep his mouth' shut 
 and that was all the money he'd got out of the bank 
 except about three hundred dollars. Old John had got 
 the rest of it. Old John said two thousand was too 
 much and he said Sykes mustn't try any holding out 
 games on him. And then Sykes gave the doctor's name. 
 It was Dill, but I don't remember the initials now. 
 Pete Sykes said old John could go and ask him if he 
 wanted to. 
 
 '' You see, old John was kind of sore and suspicious 
 and Pete Sykes didn't intend to be done, either, and 
 they had quite an argument about it; but sure they 
 couldn't afford to quarrel and both of them knew that.
 
 52 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 This Dr. Dill must have been a skate. He played poker 
 and drank and Pete Sykes knew him from the ground 
 up. Pete Sykes said he had something on him a 
 woman he'd operated on against the law and she'd died 
 so Dill was bound to keep his mouth shut. Well, 
 they'd kept Tom Wilson hid there and this Dr. Dill had 
 looked after him ; and so there they was in Blue Creek 
 waiting for the diwy. 
 
 " Old John pitched into Tom Wilson ; said he was an 
 idiot to shoot when he could have held up the cashier. 
 Tom Wilson was sullen and mighty nervous. He 
 wanted to get some money and light out. They got to 
 feeling sore at each other. Old John was riled anyway, 
 because he thought the shooting was all foolishness and 
 it put his neck in a noose, and because Tom Wilson had 
 come down there with his arm in a sling. 
 
 " Pete Sykes said he promised Dr. Dill two thousand 
 dollars more and old John says Dr. Dill can go to hell. 
 Old John's got twenty thousand dollars and some 
 change. He divides it in four pieces and Pete Sykes 
 says, ' You going to give the coon a full share? ' mean- 
 ing me. Old John says, ' Sure he gets a full share.' 
 So they divide up the money and Pete Sykes and Tom 
 Wilson go away and afterwards old John give me a 
 thousand dollars. That's thirty one years ago and 
 from that day to this nobody ain't ever said a word 
 about the Billingtown business to anybody that had a 
 hand in it." 
 
 The negro paused there for a moment while Purcell 
 shaved his lips with a bent forefinger.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 53 
 
 " I've never took it to myself," the caller added, with 
 an aged smile, " because if Tom Wilson hadn't got rat- 
 tled there wouldn't have been any shooting. That was 
 just an accident." 
 
 Purcell, however, was not much interested in that 
 delicate point in casuistry. " How do you know Tom 
 Wilson is Alfred Dinsmore? " he demanded. 
 
 " I'm coming to that," the negro replied, with the 
 implication of a polite rebuke. " You see, old John 
 was terrible sore about that shooting business. He 
 thought it was all foolishness on Tom Wilson's part, 
 and it put his neck in a halter. He thought it brought 
 him bad luck. He used to call Tom Wilson the worst 
 kind of names about it. Seemed like, just after that, 
 they begun shutting down on him. Seemed like people 
 begun to get down on gambling generally. He had all 
 kinds of trouble getting permission to spiel at the 
 county fairs and on the streets, where he ain't never had 
 any trouble at all before. They said the gambling 
 games and the soap and phoney jewellery wouldn't do 
 any more. The country was getting more settled up 
 all the time; more eastern people coming in. They 
 begun to get tony ideas. Gambling houses shut up all 
 over ; no more wheels of fortune. 
 
 " That made it pretty hard for old John. He'd been 
 working that country that way eight or ten years then, 
 and he'd got sort of settled in the habit. He tried giv- 
 ing prizes at the wheel of fortune instead of paying 
 money winner'd get a little alarm clock, or a gilt 
 vase. But that didn't catch on like the old game did;
 
 54 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 made it pretty hard for old John. He'd done right 
 well with his games generally speaking; but if he had 
 good business one week, probably he'd lose all the money 
 playing poker or faro middle of the next week. It was 
 always sort of hand to mouth, as the saying is. So 
 when they begun to shut down on him that way he was 
 up against it and mighty sore. 
 
 " We struggled along about five years, but they was 
 always sort of whittling us down finer. The big wagon 
 and one of the horses went and we drove around in a 
 two-seated buggy. By and by the last horse and the 
 buckboard goes. Old John and me is travelling on 
 trains. We felt humiliated. 
 
 " Well, sir, it's five years and we was cleaned out. 
 Old John had always kept that lawyer's card from St. 
 Joe and the way he's got it in his mind Tom Wilson is 
 responsible for all our troubles. Old John was worse 
 tempered'n a she-bear then, so we scraped the bottom 
 of the bin and went to St. Joe. Old John didn't tell me 
 a word about it them. He just told me to lay low and 
 keep my mouth shut and keep out of all trouble or he'd 
 cut my heart out. You see, old John was peculiar that 
 way. Lots of times he'd never say a word to me. 
 Then, by and by, when he'd had a few drinks and was 
 feeling good, he'd tell me all about it. 
 
 " Certainly I had my own idea what we was doing at 
 St. Joe, because I knew that was where Tom Wilson 
 lived and plenty times old John had let words slip when 
 he was cussing Tom Wilson out for the bad luck. I 
 had my own idea ; but I never said a word ; just lay low
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 55 
 
 like he told me. We was there six days and then old 
 John come in with a bank roll that would choke a horse 
 and we lit out for San Antonio. Afterwards he told 
 me about it, like he usually did. He'd went to spying 
 out the land and finding out about this Mrs. Dinsmore. 
 He found where she lived in a good house on a good 
 street. Then he hung out at a livery stable up that 
 way and got 'em to talking. Everybody knew about 
 the family Dinsmore and Elliot ; they were swells, 
 you know, so everybody knew about 'em. Her hus- 
 band was dead and had left her some money. He'd been 
 in the grain business. There was two boys, brothers ; 
 but both of 'em had gone away from home a good while 
 ago and one of 'em was dead. Other was up in Chicago. 
 That's all the folks old John talked with could tell 
 about the sons. 
 
 " Of course, that was sort of discouraging for old 
 John. He didn't know how to get the address of the 
 son in Chicago and he wasn't sure whether that was 
 Tom Wilson or Tom Wilson was the one that had died. 
 It would be just his luck to have Tom Wilson the dead 
 one. Looked like he was up against it. You see, that 
 made him sorer than ever. He was a terrible desperate 
 kind of man when he was sore. He hung around and 
 kept watch of the Dinsmore house. The way he 
 figured it, that house owed him a lot of money and was 
 trying to do him out of it. One day he's walking down 
 toward the house, up against a stone wall and terrible 
 sore, and he sees this Mrs. Dinsmore come out of the 
 yard and start up the street, and old John walks right
 
 56 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 on until he meets her, him standing in the middle of the 
 sidewalk, his hat on the back of his head. And he says, 
 * Excuse me, ma'm. Maybe you don't remember me, 
 but I'm the county fair man your son worked for in 
 Bleeker, Nebraska. I'd like to have a little conversa- 
 tion with you.' 
 
 " Guess there wasn't any danger of anybody ever 
 forgetting old John, with his round red beard and hat 
 on the back of his head. This Mrs. Dinsmore goes 
 white as a sheet and pretty near falls over and says, 
 ' Come into the house,' like a woman all up in the air. 
 So old John goes back to the house with her and she 
 takes him in a room and shuts the door. She's so scared 
 she can hardly stand up; pretty near faints away, old 
 John tells me; and she promised to come across with 
 ten thousand dollars almost before he could get around 
 to ask for it. She's scared stiff, you see. She tells 
 him to come back there at eight o'clock .that evening. 
 
 " Well, sir, she has come across so easy that old John 
 is sort of suspicious. He goes away and thinks it over 
 thinks maybe she's setting a trap for him. But you 
 couldn't bluff old John very easy especially not when 
 he's desperate like he was then, and the woman did surely 
 act like she was scared stiff. So eight o'clock, up he 
 marches to the front door and she lets him in, and sure 
 enough, she's got ten thousand dollars there. She 
 makes him swear on the Bible that if she gives him the 
 money he'll go straight away and never say a word to 
 anybody. Old John swears it with a face as straight
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 57 
 
 as a deacon's and puts the money in his pocket and goes 
 away. 
 
 " He can't figure it out exactly ; but one thing he's 
 dead sure of she knows her son shot that cashier at 
 Billingtown and the son's alive or else she'd never have 
 come across that way and been scared so stiff. How 
 she found it out, John don't know. Maybe he con- 
 fessed it. But John is dead sure she knows it, or she'd 
 never have come across that way. He remarks to me, 
 * So we've got a little anchor to the windward, William.' 
 It does seem like that changed our luck, too. We went 
 down to San Antonio and all around that Southwest 
 country. ..." 
 
 The negro broke off, deliberated a moment and ob- 
 served, gravely, " Probably, no need my telling you all 
 about that because it don't have any bearing on the 
 main story. Old John and me got along first rate for 
 five, six years. I forget exactly how long it was. Then 
 we got in bad again. There was right serious trouble 
 in a place down there and we beat it. We didn't have 
 much money left, either. So we goes back to St. Joe, 
 and the Dinsmore house has been sold and she's moved 
 up to Chicago where her son is. Naturally we moved 
 up to Chicago, too. We was better off that time in one 
 way. First time, we didn't have anything but the name 
 Dinsmore and the name of the lawyer, Elliot, that was 
 her brother. We had to trace her down from that. 
 But that first time, in St. Joe, old John got her full 
 name, so we had that to go on in Chicago even if we
 
 58 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 didn't have any address. We went to Chicago and old 
 John put up at a hotel he knew about. He looked in 
 the city directory and the telephone book; and found 
 * some Dinsmores, but not the right name. He asked the 
 hotel clerk how a man would go at it to find an address 
 that wasn't in the directory or the telephone book, and 
 when he told the clerk it was prominent people the clerk 
 showed him a blue book that had the names and ad- 
 dresses of the prominent people in it. That way old 
 John found the address. It was down on the South 
 Side which was the swell part of town then. Old John 
 spotted the house and hung around till he caught her 
 on the street again and she come across with another 
 ten thousand. 
 
 " He struck her for twenty-five and she was scared 
 stiff and swore she'd have to sell some jewellery to get 
 ten right away. Old John proposed to go right after 
 the son for the twenty-five; but she was scared stiff 
 and talked so wild about calling the police or a lawyer 
 that he thought she might get hysterical and start some- 
 thing, so he decided to take ten then and her promise 
 to give him ten more a month from then. They fixed 
 it up that he was to telephone her and she was to tell 
 him when to come to the house to get the money. 
 
 " Old John was kind of dissatisfied and thought she 
 was stringing him some and he ought to go after the 
 son himself. But he concluded ten wasn't so bad after 
 all. We took a trip to New York, which proved pretty 
 expensive, for John had poor luck. End of the month 
 we come back and got another ten and went to Montana
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 59 
 
 and that country. There was talk about Alaska then 
 and by and by we went up there. Long and short of it 
 is, it was near ten years before we got back to Chicago. 
 John got fifteen then, and about five years later we 
 come back. That was near four years ago. We been 
 on the payroll ever since. 
 
 '* You see, that last time near four years ago 
 John was going to make a hog-killing. The Dinsmores 
 had moved then. They was living in that big, swell 
 house up in Highlands and everybody said Alfred Dins- 
 more had barrels and barrels of money. That mail- 
 order business was bringing in it by the bale. Nat- 
 urally that made old John ambitious and he struck for 
 a hundred thousand dollars. That's one thing he ain't 
 never told me much about. I know he met the son that 
 time Alfred Dinsmore. I reckon they sort of went 
 to the mat. This son ain't the kind of man you can 
 bluff very much. I reckon him and old John went to the 
 mat. Old John come away sort of sore and grouchy 
 and dissatisfied and talked some about starting some- 
 thing ; but, of course, he wasn't really in very good shape 
 to start anything. 
 
 " Long and short of it is, the son agreed to pay him 
 six hundred every month. It's the fifteenth of every 
 month, unless that comes on Saturday or Sunday, then 
 it's on Friday. I go up there to the big house and get 
 it myself, eight o'clock every evening. I'm carrying 
 a little grip, you know, like I might be bringing some 
 papers or something. I go around the side door. The 
 butler always lets me in there and goes *to another room
 
 60 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 with me fine room with books all around the walls. 
 There's Alfred Dinsmore himself. I say, * Good even- 
 ing,' and he nods back and I open my grip. He puts 
 the money in it. I say * Thank you, sir,' and make a 
 little bow and he nods. The butler's there in the hall 
 and takes me back to the side door and lets me out. 
 You come up to the gate with me next fifteenth of the 
 month and I'll show you my empty grip when I go in 
 and the money in it when I come out. I recognized this 
 Alfred Dinsmore for Tom Wilson first time I set eyes on 
 him. Of course he wears a beard now to cover up his 
 busted chin with the scar on it, but anybody that had a 
 good look at him back there in Billingtown would rec- 
 ognize him now." 
 
 The negro seemed to have finished. 
 
 "And you take the money to old John?" Purcell 
 asked. 
 
 The negro did not answer for a moment ; but rubbed a 
 bony hand over the bald ridge of his head. Then he 
 said, very gravely: 
 
 " No, sir. Old John Colby passed out more'n a year 
 ago. Alfred Dinsmore killed him. I'm sure of it. Old 
 John wasn't never really satisfied with that arrange- 
 ment about six hundred dollars a month. He went to 
 see Dinsmore about it one evening. And that night he 
 died very sudden. I'm sure he was poisoned up 
 there. This here Alfred Dinsmore is a bad man to go 
 against. He's got the worst kind of knife you ever saw 
 buckhorn handle so long and when you touch a 
 spring in it, out pops a blade big enough to cut your
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 61 
 
 throat twice over. He showed it to me one evening 
 when I was up there. He's a bad man to go against. 
 I know he killed old John Colby." 
 
 The caller said it deliberately, in a subdued voice, 
 and Purcell thought there was fear in his eyes. 
 
 " That's why you're never to tell anybody I told you 
 this," he continued. " If Dinsmore knew I told you, 
 he'd cut my throat sure as sun up no matter what 
 happened to him for it. That's the kind of man he is. 
 I wouldn't ever face him down myself for I'd be dead 
 before morning if I did. But I'll tell you something. 
 There's a coloured man here used to live in Billingtown, 
 Nebraska. We got to talking one time, two, three years 
 ago, and he told me he used to live there and then I 
 said I worked in a barbershop there once for two weeks 
 and I got to asking him about some people I remem- 
 bered. He said Pete Sykes was living there yet and 
 Dr. Dill had went away from there only a few years 
 before and last he knew he was living in Bent Bow. You 
 could get hold of one or the other of them if they knew 
 there was money enough in it. They'd identify this 
 Alfred Dinsmore in a minute. You could show this 
 Alfred Dinsmore that you could hang it onto him if he 
 didn't come across and the man that identified him 
 could turn state's evidence and save his own neck." 
 
 The negro paused again and laid his hand on the 
 corner of Purcell's desk for emphasis. " But me, you 
 understand," he said earnestly, " I'd never face this 
 Alfred Dinsmore with it myself because he'd sure kill 
 me if I did. You got to leave me out of it. Maybe I
 
 62 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 wouldn't have come to you at all, only I'm afraid this 
 man is going to poison me or have my throat cut some 
 day so's to be rid of me. You're going stick to that 
 bargain, Mr. Editor? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! You may depend upon that," 
 Purcell answered readily. And after a long moment 
 he ejaculated, " Well! " for he was still in the grip of 
 a mighty astonishment. 
 
 " I guess you got it all down there," said the negro, 
 in his drawling speech ; " Pete Sykes in Billingtown 
 and Dr. Dill in Bent Bow last I knew about 'em. I 
 guess you got it all down." 
 
 He was referring to the pad of memorandum paper 
 on which, since the story got well under way, Purcell 
 had been scribbling the names and dates with the 
 methodical habit of a trained reporter. 
 
 " I think so," said Purcell, looking at his scribbled 
 notes. " But where can I reach you? " 
 
 " I've give you my name William Pomeroy," the 
 caller replied gravely, and added, with an aged grin, 
 " I ain't changed it since the old days except once for 
 a spell after that trouble down in Arizona. I'm living 
 at Elbridge's Hotel. That's on South State Street." 
 
 He passed his bony old hand over the shiny ridge of 
 his head and urged, with a note of anxiety, " You better 
 not be coming around there. I'm afraid of this Dins- 
 more. I want to lay low. You better not be coming 
 around there. I'll come here. If you want to see me, 
 you just telephone to Elbridge's Hotel and leave a 
 message say Mr. Johnson wants to see William
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 63 
 
 Pomeroy. I'll get it and understand. Just say Mr. 
 Johnson wants to see William Pomeroy." He nodded 
 toward the memorandum pad and seemed better satisfied 
 when Purcell wrote down : " Mr. Johnson Elbridge's 
 Hotel William Pomeroy." 
 
 " That's it," said the negro ; " telephone Elbridge's 
 Hotel that Mr. Johnson wants to see William Pomeroy." 
 His dark old eyes rested anxiously on the managing 
 editor's face for a moment. " You see, I'm taking a 
 big risk. My skin wouldn't be worth two cents if Al- 
 fred Dinsmore knew what I was doing. He's a bad man. 
 ... If he'd ever showed you that knife of his. . . . 
 But I ain't satisfied the way things is. I don't feel 
 safe. I want to get out of here. I want to go back 
 to San Antonio somewhere it's warm. I pretty near 
 passed out last winter. I ain't satisfied. I want to get 
 out. You'll make a million dollars out of it. You get 
 me a hundred thousand, and I'm satisfied." 
 
 Purcell saw that the caller's story was told, and 
 wanted, now, to get rid of him. " You'll hear from me 
 just as soon as I look this up a bit," he said, assuringly. 
 " I'll let you know how it's going. Of course, it will 
 take some time. ... If it comes through, you'll get 
 your money." 
 
 " Well that's what I want the money," said the 
 negro ; " and no telling anybody that I told you," he 
 added earnestly. 
 
 " Certainly not," said Purcell. " You'll hear from 
 me. I've got to look after the newspaper now." He 
 stood up feeling that the caller would linger in-
 
 64 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 definitely unless he received the strongest hint to go. 
 
 The negro took the hint, rising, hat in hand. " I'll 
 expect to hear from you," he said. 
 
 " You'll hear from me," Purcell assured him again. 
 " Good night." He opened the door. 
 
 With a return to his first civility the negro replied, 
 " Good night, sir," and went out and, hat in hand, 
 crossing the local room toward the hall and the elevator 
 
 his figure somewhat stooped with age and shrunk 
 from its former stalwart proportions. 
 
 Purcell then shut the door and returned to his desk 
 
 possessed by amazement. A moment after he had 
 seated himself there was a flash in which he felt like one 
 waking from a dream, and glanced incredulously at the 
 vacant chair as though doubting that it had really held 
 a dusky occupant two minutes before. Then, abruptly 
 the whole story seemed absurd the mere maundering 
 of a crack-brained old man, who very likely was a dis- 
 charged servant or yard man of Dinsmore's. 
 
 But his methodical habits helped him. Long ago he 
 had learned shorthand, as a help to the journalistic 
 career which he proposed for himself. He had never 
 been very expert at it and of late years had used it 
 only for making notes for his personal use. He took 
 some sheets of blank paper now and noted down a 
 summary of Pomeroy's recital, while it was fresh in his 
 mind copying names of towns and persons from the 
 pad. 
 
 As he did that the grip of the story came back. He 
 thought of Alfred Dinsmore many times a millionaire
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 65 
 
 the big house up at Highlands the family's social 
 position. . . . Presently, he touched a button on his 
 desk and when an office boy appeared at the door, said 
 " Bring me last Sunday's Tribune." 
 
 When the bulky edition was laid on his desk he 
 turned the pages rapidly until he found what he wanted, 
 and upon that his eyes rested a long moment. It was 
 a half-length portrait of a young woman that took up 
 two-thirds of the page. Only a notable young woman 
 could claim that much valuable Sunday-edition space. 
 From the printed page she looked up at him with serene, 
 composed assurance. The portrait might have been 
 labeled " Beauty and Pride." But in fact the legend 
 at the side said, " Miss Louise Dinsmore." 
 
 He recalled the gossip which his society editor had 
 imparted to him namely, that Miss Dinsmore was 
 said to be engaged to Lowell Winthrop and formal an- 
 nouncement of it might be expected soon ; also, that 
 some time before this she was supposed to have been 
 particularly interested in Mr. Edward Proctor. As 
 the society editor reckoned values, being engaged to 
 Lowell Winthrop was much the same as being engaged 
 to the crown prince, and as Purcell looked down at the 
 portrait, Dinsmore's position in the local world bulked 
 large in his mind. 
 
 What a mark to aim at !
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 WHATEVER faults Charles Purcell had, lack of 
 industry was not one of them. He diligently 
 discharged his duties as managing editor of the Leader, 
 never quitting the newspaper office before half past two 
 in the morning. 
 
 But this night he could not work. The tempest in 
 his brain forbade it. He turned the paper over to 
 the night editor and shut himself in his narrow office. 
 For one thing he resorted to the " graveyard " 
 possibly so called because it contains material from 
 which an obituary notice of any prominent citizen can 
 be quickly constructed. The office boy brought him a 
 large, strong manilla envelope at the top of which was 
 written in a bold hand, " Dinsmore, Alfred." It con- 
 tained such printed mention of Mr. Dinsmore as the 
 keeper of the graveyard had judged might be useful. 
 Purcell emptied the clippings on his desk and one among 
 them especially arrested his attention. 
 
 It comprised some three columns of newspaper print 
 and had a comparatively aged look the paper 
 slightly yellowed and the ink a bit faded. The date in 
 fact 1892 showed that it was twenty years old 
 and there was a rather dauby two-column cut of Dins- 
 more in it. Purcell at once noted, with satisfaction, 
 that Dinsmore had worn a beard even twenty years 
 before. The top headline said, " The New Corn 
 
 66
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 67 
 
 King " ; and the sub-head ran, " Alfred Dinsmore, the 
 nervy young trader from St. Joe, Missouri, whose 
 Napoleonic operations in corn ended with an Auster- 
 litz last week." 
 
 The text told of Dinsmore's speculations in corn the 
 past year in a style half humorous and half 
 melodramatic flamboyance. His " nerve " was what 
 the writer constantly admired and the " cool mil- 
 lion " which the operations were said to have produced. 
 Purcell knew well enough that gossip always magni- 
 fied the profits and the " cool million " might be dis- 
 counted fifty per cent. But what particularly in- 
 terested him was the biographical details. 
 
 First, Dinsmore came from St. Joseph, Missouri 
 had been born there. Second, he was thirty two years 
 old in 1892; so he would have been twenty one when 
 the cashier of the First National Bank of Billingtown, 
 Nebraska, was shot if Pomeroy's story was true as 
 to that. Third, his father had been engaged in the 
 grain trade at St. Joseph. Those points tallied with 
 Pomeroy's narrative. There was a sense in which 
 this reckless speculation in corn tallied, for Pomeroy 
 had said the young man was a gambler. 
 
 No other clipping was particularly helpful, although 
 several mentioned that Dinsmore came from St. Joseph, 
 Missouri from an " old and distinguished family " 
 there some of them said; but Purcell was aware that 
 most families are old and distinguished when a member 
 of them makes a great deal of money. The clippings 
 shed no light on Dinsmore's transition from nervy
 
 68 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 speculator in corn to chief owner of the Dinsmore Com- 
 pany, but that was immaterial. Later ones mentioned 
 his wife and daughter, his gift of two hundred thousand 
 to the maternity hospital, a hundred thousand to the 
 boys' outdoor school and like matters glimpses of 
 a rich, most respectable, liberal-minded, leading citizen 
 with a socially distinguished wife and daughter. 
 
 Millions ! There was no doubt about that. Millions ! 
 If Pomeroy's story was true, what a fish had been 
 hooked! That was what burned in the managing 
 editor's hungry mind, making routine work impos- 
 sible. 
 
 But the size of the fish daunted him. With all his 
 hunger for money, the idea of attacking Alfred Dins- 
 more single-handed appalled him. Besides, there was 
 the matter of verifying the story, which he could not 
 very well do alone. As the affair took shape in his 
 thoughts, he saw that he must have help. That was 
 the way it stood in his tumultuous mind as he finally 
 went home at four o'clock in the morning. Naturally 
 he slept ill, and at half past nine the next morning 
 telephoned his old friend Lawrence McMurtry, attorney 
 at law. 
 
 McMurtry's offices were on Washington Street 
 the usual quarters of a fairly busy and prosperous 
 practitioner and a little after ten Purcell was 
 seated at the table in the centre of the private office, 
 opposite the lawyer. 
 
 McMurtry was a stocky, deep-chested, square- 
 shouldered person. His chin and jaw were over-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 69 
 
 developed a size or so too large for the upper part 
 of his face, although that upper part was by no 
 means meagre, and they were dark blue from the 
 dense roots of a smoothly shaven beard. He wore his 
 thick, wavy hair in a way to remind one of hair-restorer 
 advertisements brushed up on both sides of his head 
 as though the object were to display as much hair as 
 possible. His clothes were well made and well-fitting 
 and that morning he was wearing a bright plaid four- 
 in-hand tie and turn down collar. His eyes were small, 
 shifty and twinkling and he seemed usually just at the 
 beginning of a smile in which there was little humour. 
 He looked a tight, sleek, prowling sort of animal that 
 had just visited a barber shop and a haberdashery. 
 His devious law practice, eagerly pursued, had 
 brought him much dispraise, but not much fortune. 
 Like an overzealous hunter he frightened off more game 
 than he bagged. 
 
 Eagerly, yet with care, referring to his shorthand 
 notes, Purcell retold the negro's story and all the 
 time his cavernous eyes, glowing out of a bony and 
 colourless face, were fixed upon the lawyer with a kind 
 of hungry questioning. Sometimes he wetted his lips 
 with his tongue, and sometimes shaved them with a 
 crooked forefinger. McMurtry listened intently, his 
 eyes twinkling, the beginning of a smile fixing itself on 
 his swarthy face. When Purcell finished, he gave his 
 professional judgment promptly: 
 
 " It sounds promising." Then, with a quick 
 challenge, "You haven't told Tully?"
 
 70 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " Not a word," Purcell replied. " Of course, if it's 
 true it's too good to tell him." 
 
 " Sure ! " McMurtry answered, with an approving 
 nod. " If there's anything in it it's worth a million." 
 His attitude was entirely unemotional strictly pro- 
 fessional. 
 
 " Of course," Purcell remarked, with a little failing 
 of the nerves, " the story may be all a pipe dream 
 or maybe it happened and he's mistaken in the man." 
 
 " Well, let's go over it now," McMurtry replied, 
 professionally. " Dinsmore did live in St. Joe and at 
 that time he'd have been about twenty-one. Plenty 
 of respectable citizens were sowing wild oats at twenty- 
 one and a lot later than that. He might have got 
 into trouble at home and wandered out there in Kansas 
 and been playing poker over a drygoods store. Noth- 
 ing improbable about that. Unless a man's a crook 
 he don't palm cards at twenty-one, but there are crooks 
 and crooks some of 'em bank directors and deacons 
 in the church. Nothing to balk at in that. Going in 
 for the bank robbery, too that might happen under 
 the circumstances. Then the shooting a young 
 chuckle-head, all keyed up and on edge ; he sees a figure 
 in white at his elbow and blazes away in a panic. That 
 might happen." 
 
 " The old coon's story certainly sounded straight," 
 said Purcell, gathering confidence from his friend's sum- 
 mary. 
 
 " As to whether a bank cashier was killed out there 
 in Nebraska under about those circumstances in
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 71 
 
 when was it 1881 ? I can find out in half an hour," 
 the lawyer continued. " I haven't any doubt that's so. 
 The negro would have been plumb nutty to tell you the 
 story if that part wasn't so. I'm banking on that's 
 being so. Easy enough to find out, too, whether any- 
 body's been convicted for it. If that part of it's so, 
 then we come down to one thing." 
 
 His face hardened and he looked intently at Purcell 
 as though they had come to a crucial point. 
 
 " If Dinsmore is regularly paying this man black- 
 mail, as the man says, then the man's got something on 
 him. If Dinsmore's paying him blackmail, two to one 
 the negro's story is true. Men don't pay blackmail 
 for fun." 
 
 " There's only one doubtful thing, as I see it," said 
 Purcell with like intentness, and shaving his lips with 
 a bent finger. " It might be that this coon is a dis- 
 charged servant who's got something else on Dinsmore 
 that Dinsmore's paying him blackmail for." 
 
 " Well, it might be," McMurtry admitted, after con- 
 sidering. "It might be ; but it don't look very reason- 
 able. If the story wasn't true, why would the man 
 have come to you? He'd know he couldn't get any- 
 thing out of it unless the story was true." He con- 
 sidered again and repeated, with a tight little nod, " It 
 looks sort of promising to me." 
 
 Purcell swallowed. 
 
 " It's true," the lawyer reflected aloud after a mo- 
 ment, " that Alfred Dinsmore is a big man a lot of 
 money, a lot of influence and all that. We've got to
 
 72 
 
 be sure of our ground and handle it carefully. But it 
 looks promising to me." And he added, with his un- 
 humourous beginning of a smile, " Good enough that 
 I'm willing to spend some time and money on it." 
 
 " There are those two witnesses out in Nebraska 
 Sykes and Dr. Dill," Purcell suggested. 
 
 " Of course," said McMurtry. " They've got to be 
 looked up. It's all got to be looked up. We must be 
 sure of our ground." He .considered further and a 
 slight frown formed on his swarthy face. He gave the 
 result of his consideration with some reluctance : 
 
 " We've got to take Jake Morden into it. We'll need 
 him. Of course," he added, " Jake's in it already in 
 a way. He's got a servant bribed up there, and some- 
 body or other watching young Proctor." 
 
 As Purcell knew, Jacob Morden, proprietor of Mor- 
 den's Detective Agency, had already been engaged in 
 that matter of setting spies on Alfred Dinsmore and 
 the Dinsmore household. By methods of his own 
 the details of which Purcell had not cared to inquire 
 into he had got one of the servants in his pay. And 
 he was having a watch kept on Mr. Edward Proctor, 
 with special reference to that young man's contacts 
 with Miss Louise Dinsmore who was said to be en- 
 gaged to Lowell Winthrop. It was as dirty a business 
 as business could well be particularly as regards 
 Miss Dinsmore and Mr. Edward Proctor. But since 
 the object had been to " get something " on Dinsmore 
 that would cause him to drop the libel suit, Lawyer
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 73 
 
 McMurtry and Detective Morden had gone about it 
 in a quite impersonal professional manner. 
 
 " Jake Morden owes a good deal to me," the lawyer 
 ruminated aloud. " I saved his bacon for him once." 
 
 Purcell supposed he referred to the episode," or string 
 of episodes, which had resulted in Jacob Morden's dis- 
 missal from the city police force, when there had been 
 talk of prosecuting him on several criminal charges. 
 The gossip in newspaper offices had been that his bacon 
 stood in great need of saving at that particular time. 
 
 " Jake's a good man, too," the lawyer ruminated on, 
 frowning ; " a first class detective. There are two 
 troubles with him. He's an awful hog. If he comes 
 into this he'll want a full share. And he's a reckless, 
 headstrong devil. You've got to hold him in all the 
 time. If he starts after a man, his idea is just to run 
 up and hit him on the head first thing. You've got 
 to hold him in. ... But we'll need him," he con- 
 cluded. Then he grinned broadly and uttered a 
 thought which had been comfortingly in the managing 
 editor's mind when he decided to go to his friend 
 McMurtry namely : " If this story's true, there'll 
 be plenty to divide. We needn't grudge Jake a share. 
 We'll just charge it up to Dinsmore." 
 
 Purcel had thought the same thing about McMurtry's 
 share. " There'll be plenty to divide," he repeated. 
 But his timorous phase asserted itself and he observed, 
 " Of course that happened a long time ago over 
 thirty years. An error of youth, you know, atoned 
 for by thirty years of honourable living and all that.
 
 74 
 
 The story might be true and yet Dinsmore might face 
 it out rather than come across." 
 
 But McMurtry shook his head decisively. " No, 
 sir ! Never ! There's no statute of limitations in a case 
 of murder. He might possibly get by if it was 
 nothing but robbing a bank, although robbing a bank 
 is raw enough. That alone would put a fearful dent 
 in Alfred Dinsmore, Esquire, even if it did happen 
 thirty years ago. It would put a fearful dent in the 
 Dinsmore family, too. It's a very vulgar crime. This 
 bank cashier, no doubt, was a good, respected citizen 
 probably married, with some young children. He was 
 murdered on his own premises, shot down like a dog. 
 No, sir ! Forty Alfred Dinsmores couldn't get by with 
 that. His millions and his swell house and all that 
 would make it all the worse. Here he is all these years 
 rolling in luxury with that crime on his hands. I'd 
 give a bond to get any average jury to send him up for 
 twenty years. They'd feel it was Providence overtak- 
 ing the guilty at last. And public opinion would send 
 him up for life. You can't scrub that sort of a blot 
 off the 'scutcheon. His family might as well emi- 
 grate." 
 
 Purcell recalled the portrait he had looked at the 
 night before. How she had held up her head! With 
 what calm assurance she had looked out of the news- 
 paper page at him! 
 
 " I told you about the rumour that his daughter's 
 engagement to Lowell Winthrop is going to be an- 
 nounced soon with a flourish of trumpets."
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 75 
 
 The lawyer recalled it with his twinkling little smile. 
 Winthrop was a mighty name among society editors. 
 " Nice wedding present for 'em," he observed, and 
 laughed. Immediately he became serious and added, 
 " If this story's true, Dinsmore will come across by 
 wholesale. He's got to." 
 
 They enjoyed in silence a moment of golden con- 
 templation. Then McMurtry spoke, good-naturedly: 
 
 " Well, it's a good thing we've already got a start. 
 The servant that Jake has attached to his pay 
 roll up there is reporting right along and he's got 
 somebody or other keeping tab on young Proctor." 
 He smiled, adding, " We might get something on the 
 young lady herself, you know. You can't ever have 
 too many strings to play on. It's a good thing we've 
 got a start." Then he frowned a bit, rubbed his over- 
 developed chin, and concluded, " I might as well get 
 Jake at work on this bigger end of it right away." 
 
 " When shall we have a talk with him ? " Purcell 
 asked, with an innocent air. But the question wasn't 
 as innocent as he looked. McMurtry had said, " / 
 might as well." And Purcell had said, " When shall 
 we" There was a great difference between the singular 
 and the plural pronoun. 
 
 There was one thing that Purcell, with his suspicious 
 disposition, feared almost as much as he feared Alfred 
 Dinsmore namely, that his masterful friend here 
 would take the affair into his own hands so that finally 
 the managing editor would have to rely wholly on his 
 good faith for a fair division of the spoils. In his
 
 76 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 heart Purcell had no great trust in his friend's good 
 faith. Next to being afraid that he would be caught, 
 he was afraid that he would be cheated out of his 
 share of the booty. He proposed to keep in the closest 
 possible touch with developments. 
 
 McMurtry instantly understood the significance of 
 the plural pronoun ; and he said good-naturedly, " We 
 may as well talk it over this evening. I'll telephone 
 Jake and then let you know." 
 
 There was then, on Harrison Street, an establishment 
 known as the Four Aces Cafe. The first story was 
 occupied by a long bar, at one side, and a grill with 
 many small tables on a floor sprinkled with sawdust. 
 The large electrical sign over the main entrance was 
 in the similitude of four aces of the different suits 
 held in a hand. And there was a side entrance which 
 gave to a flight of narrow stairs carpeted in violent 
 red. Up stairs there was a series of private dining 
 rooms. In one of those rooms Purcell, McMurtry and 
 Jacob Morden dined that evening. 
 
 The detective seemed to be made mostly out of hard- 
 wood knots. In contrast to carefully tailored, elabor- 
 ately barbered McMurtry, he dressed in slovenly 
 fashion, and his coarse, dark-reddish hair thrust out 
 unkemptly above his square forehead. He had a 
 nubbin nose, a wide 'mouth and a deep cleft in his chin, 
 which needed shaving. Habitually there was something 
 morose and truculent in his expression, like a savage 
 dog that is ready to bite on the least provocation. The 
 meal being ended, Purcell took the shorthand notes out
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 77 
 
 of his pocket and in low tones, with his wavering eyes 
 on the detective, repeated the story in every detail. 
 
 Morden listened to it with his habitual glower. He 
 asked some questions and there was some discussion 
 among the three. Then the detective's jaw squared 
 belligerently. 
 
 " All right," he said ; " I'll start for Nebraska my- 
 self day after tomorrow." He grinned with an omi- 
 nous satisfaction, lifted his cup and said, " Here's 
 luck!" 
 
 There was no liquor on the table. The toast was 
 drunk in coffee.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 DINSMORE'S big stone house stood near the steep 
 bank of the lake shore 'white and opulent, in- 
 viting sunshine. On the lake side there was a breadth 
 of velvet lawn and elaborate stone work with broad, 
 curving stairs leading down to the narrow beach. On 
 the other side there was a formal sunken garden with 
 a roadway between it and the house, then a carefully 
 cultivated wood, while a thicket of shrubbery screened 
 the premises from Sheridan Road. The grounds com- 
 prised a dozen acres, with the mark of lavish expendi- 
 ture everywhere. 
 
 A big touring car, shining in every detail, rolled 
 smoothly up to the main door. A blond and curly 
 chauffeur, shaven and trig as the machine itself, sprang 
 out, opened the tonneau door and gathered up a rich 
 fur robe which he folded on his arm and then stood 
 erect, like a soldier at attention, looking toward the 
 house with pleasurable expectancy. A man servant 
 within opened the door and held it so, his shaven face 
 also wearing a look of pleasant expectation. 
 
 A tall young woman, passing outward through the 
 door, smiled at him a smile somewhat vague, yet 
 apparently meeting his expectations for he looked 
 happy. The young woman was wearing a close-fitting 
 out-of-doors spring costume, greyish in tone, and a 
 
 small snug hat on which a bit of crimson relieved the 
 
 78
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 79 
 
 grey, jewel-like. Her attention was on the button of a 
 glove as she crossed the red tiles to the roadway, moving 
 lithely. The chauffeur's expectancy heightened as she 
 approached; he held his shoulders even more squarely 
 and began to smile. 
 
 The button being arranged, the young woman raised 
 her blue eyes. Immediately a little summer lightning 
 darted in them ; a small, vertical line furrowed her 
 smooth brow and the colour heightened a bit in her 
 cheeks. She addressed the chauffeur, her low voice 
 sharpened : 
 
 " But I said the small electric. " 
 
 So caught in anti-climax, the unfortunate chauffeur 
 stammered, " The maid said the car ... I thought 
 . . . She must have misunderstood. I'll get it in a 
 minute." 
 
 " Please," said Miss Dinsmore not with forgive- 
 ness, but with dignity. 
 
 The chauffeur tumbled the costly fur robe back into 
 the car, sprang in himself and, as though the shiny 
 machine were at fault, whisked it swiftly out of 
 majesty's offended sight. 
 
 The heightened colour remained in Miss Dinsmore's 
 cheeks and the little line in her forehead; she gently 
 bit a corner of her nether lip. Fairly within the 
 promised minute a small electric, also shiny at 
 every point, came swiftly along the road and stopped 
 before her. The guilty chauffeur sprang out of it 
 with an embroidered woolen robe upon his arm. Miss 
 Dinsmore climbed in and suffered him to arrange the
 
 80 
 
 robe around her. When he finished and drew back, 
 cap in hand, she murmured " Thank you," without 
 looking at him. Having a touring car brought up when 
 one wished an electric could not be forgiven in a 
 minute. 
 
 The chauffeur closed the door and Miss Dinsmore 
 drove away alone. 
 
 If she had looked back very attentively she might 
 have noticed that the filmy curtains at the fourth win- 
 dow from the south end of the house, in the second 
 story, were slightly apart. That was one of the win- 
 dows in her sitting room and her maid, on her knees 
 at the parted curtains, was watching her departure. 
 
 The maid, Jenny Dupee, was slight and dark, with 
 lustreless black hair. Her long thin face, with a reced- 
 ing chin, seemed someway to belong under a high 
 powdered coiffure or above a broad starched ruff. The 
 little veins at her temples suggested neuralgia. She 
 was thirty-five years old and except that careful art 
 concealed them, some grey threads would have appeared 
 in her dark hair. She was always watching anxiously 
 for the appearance of more grey threads. The crow's 
 feet at the corner of her almond-shaped eyes made her 
 heart sink and she always wore a high-necked bodice 
 to hide the scrawniness of her throat. No fading 
 beauty observed the encroaching signs of age with more 
 anxious jealousy. But Jenny was actuated by no 
 romantic motive. She knew well enough that em- 
 ployers preferred young, fresh-looking, vigorous maids ; 
 grey hair and crow's feet meant smaller wages, less
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 81 
 
 chance of getting a good job. Upon entering the Dins- 
 more household three years before, she had given her 
 age as twenty five. 
 
 A fortnight before this day the most startling ex- 
 perience of Jenny's life had happened. A little be- 
 fore that a strange woman had formed her acquaint- 
 ance a coarse, persuasive, masterful woman who 
 gave her name as Martha Woods. In Jenny's slim, 
 nervous hands this woman had placed seven ten-dollar 
 bills the first week's wage, honourably paid in ad- 
 vance. Thereafter seventy dollars was to be paid each 
 week by postal money order. And this seventy dollars 
 a week the coarse, masterful woman said was 
 merely earnest money. If the mysterious affair upon 
 which she was embarked turned out satisfactorily, 
 Jenny should receive much more a thousand dollars 
 at least. Meanwhile Jenny ran not the least risk. 
 
 Like the managing editor of the Leader, Jenny Dupee 
 mightily wanted the money an'd was afraid. Doubt- 
 less time had been when she looked to matrimony ; but 
 for the last two or three years life had become for her 
 mostly just a heart-breaking race between her tortoise- 
 footed savings bank account and the grey hairs and 
 wrinkles. The savings account grew with painful 
 slowness ; the grey hairs and wrinkles seemed winged 
 in comparison. With a great fluttering of the heart 
 and pulses, Jenny had accepted Martha Woods' seven 
 ten-dollar bills, and at the end of the week the postal 
 money order duly arrived. So the savings account had 
 taken on new life.
 
 82 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 It looked easy, and rather safe. All she had to do 
 was watch with all her might, write down what she 
 saw and heard, slip the writing into an envelope, ad- 
 dress that to Mrs. Martha Woods, Room 641, Rosser 
 Building, Adams Street, Chicago, and drop it into a 
 mail box. 
 
 On her knees at the window, Jenny watched the small 
 electric wind through the grounds and disappear behind 
 the screen of shrubbery along the Sheridan Road front. 
 A moment later she caught a glimpse of it going south. 
 She looked at the gilt clock on the mantel and made 
 a mental note for her report : " At half past twelve, 
 drove away alone in the small electric, going south in 
 .Sheridan Road." 
 
 She then crossed the room, glanced into the hall, and 
 carefully closed that door again. The morning mail 
 had brought her mistress half a dozen letters which now 
 lay open on the carved ebony writing table where a fair 
 and careless hand had dropped them. Jenny read them 
 standing so she could turn away quickly if a hand were 
 laid on the door knob. They gave her no particular 
 satisfaction beyond some intimate personal gossip 
 but she had derived that satisfaction from her mistress' 
 mail long before anybody paid her for it. 
 
 In fact, she was insatiably curious a spy by 
 nature. When she finished the letters it was almost 
 one o'clock and an experience which excited all her 
 curious instincts, as the smell of cheese excites a mouse, 
 lay before her. Going into the broad hall that divided 
 that second story lengthwise she moved down it with
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 83 
 
 nervous, noiseless steps until she came to a door on the 
 right hand side. A swift glance before and behind 
 showed that she had the hall to herself, so she applied 
 her ear to the crack in the door. No sound saluted it. 
 Her hand closed firmly on the knob; it turned with- 
 out noise, the door swung inward an inch and gave her 
 peering eye a view of half the room. 
 
 Like all the rooms in that house, it was spacious and 
 handsomely furnished. Two generous windows over- 
 looked the lake. A small table stood by one of them 
 and at the table sidewise to her view sat a fat old man 
 with a bright-coloured silk fez on his bald head. His 
 full beard was snow white and neatly trimmed. He 
 was wearing an embroidered and quilted dressing gown. 
 Some playing cards lay in neat rows on the table in 
 front of him. From the deck at the left he took a card 
 and, after scanning the rows, placed it. To any one 
 acquainted with games at cards it was obvious that he 
 was playing a well-known kind of solitaire that is often 
 used for gambling purposes. At the top of the desk 
 lay a little stack of five-dollar bills. A similar, but 
 thinner, -stack lay at the right hand end. 
 
 The fat old man took another card from the deck, 
 contemplated it, carefully scanned his rows, stroked 
 his white beard a moment with the free hand, and 
 placed the card. Then he counted the cards in the 
 top row, and transferred a number of bills from one 
 pile to the other and gave a little sigh. His round 
 face, overladen with flesh, wore -a rueful expression. 
 Evidently luck was going against him that day. As
 
 84 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 he gathered up the cards to shuffle them afresh, Jenny 
 silently pulled the dtoor shut, then knocked loudly upon 
 it and waited a minute. 
 
 " Come in," a throaty voice called, after a moment's 
 interval. When she stepped briskly in, the cards were 
 neatly stacked on a corner of the table, but the money 
 had disappeared and the old gentleman looked at her 
 somewhat like an urchin who has been at the forbidden 
 jam pot and is trying to look innocent while pain- 
 fully aware of the stained hands behind its back. 
 
 " Good morning, Cousin Elliot," said Jenny cheer- 
 fully ; " this is a pleasant day." 
 
 The man looked out of the window and replied, " Why, 
 yes: so it is," as though he had just noticed it. 
 
 " Nearly time for luncheon, you know," she reminded 
 him, smiling. 
 
 He gravely drew a fine watch from his vest pocket, 
 consulted it and replied, " You're right ; so it is," and 
 heaved himself up out of the cushioned chair. When he 
 stood up one saw that he enjoyed the services of an 
 excellent tailor. His paunch, that might have sagged 
 baglike, was expertly trussed up in rotund shapeliness. 
 But he was fat all over; his red chops overflowed his 
 collar; his white hands were puffy. When he took off 
 his embroidered dressing gown, his shirt sleeves ap- 
 peared of the finest linen and fresh from the laundry. 
 
 " Shall I get your coat for you? " Jenny asked 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " If you please," he replied gravely. 
 
 She went to a big closet, hung full of clothing, took
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 85 
 
 down the coat and vest matching his trousers and held 
 them for him. He put them on carefully, buttoned the 
 vest, settled the coat into shape and stepped in front of 
 a tall mirror wherein he critically surveyed his reflec- 
 tion, noting that the crease in his trousers fell just 
 right and no wrinkle appeared in the coat. While he 
 surveyed himself with satisfaction Jenny visited the 
 closet again and came back with a brown skull cap, that 
 being the colour of his clothes. He gravely took off the 
 bright-coloured fez, put the brown head piece in its 
 place and observed the effect in the mirror. Mean- 
 while Jenny was hanging up his dressing gown. With 
 a final look at himself in the mirror and a glance around 
 the room to see that all was in order, he walked soberly 
 to the door and went down stairs to join the family at 
 luncheon. When he had gone, Jenny slipped over to 
 the small table at which he had been sitting and gently 
 tried the upper right hand drawer. It was locked as 
 usual. She knew he kept his gambling money in that ; 
 and two big diamond rings which he sometimes put on 
 and admired when he was alone. 
 
 Not that she entertained predatory intentions toward 
 the money and the diamonds. She just wanted to look 
 at them again as ponderable items in the mystery. 
 
 When she entered the Dinsmore household three 
 years before, this fat, bald, snow-bearded old man was 
 a member of it and naturally as exciting to her 
 curious instincts as the smell of game to a hunting 
 puppy. The inquiries which she pursued with dis- 
 creet diligence among servants of longer tenure dis-
 
 86 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 closed that he had been there many years as far back 
 as the knowledge of any of those whom Jenny sounded 
 reached. The other servants had come to accept him 
 as one of the facts of the household, like the furniture. 
 
 " A relative of my grandmother's," her young mis- 
 tress had said once in reply to a rather pointed observa- 
 tion on Jenny's part. The young mistress said it with 
 indulgent indifference, as though she, too, simply ac- 
 cepted him as one of the facts of the household. He 
 was called " Cousin Elliot " by other members of the. 
 household, or " Mr. Elliot " by the servants. Jenny 
 had never heard any other names applied to him. 
 
 Of course, all the servants were aware that Cousin 
 Elliot was sadly afflicted in his mind. " A fine old nut," 
 was the cook's judgment on him for Cousin Elliot 
 was quite popular below stairs, giving no trouble and 
 often, furtively, slipping out pieces of silver and dol- 
 lar bills for any special service 
 
 Partly because of that amiable habit of his but 
 even more because of her insatiable curiosity Jenny 
 had adroitly insinuated herself upon Cousin Elliot. 
 Formerly a man servant had called him to luncheon; 
 but for a year now Jenny had quietly usurped that 
 duty, and attended to him in such other ways as she 
 could. Cousin Elliot plainly liked her, and about once 
 a fortnight slipped two dollar bills slyly into her thin 
 hand. The bills were convenient, but it was really for 
 the satisfaction of her restless imagination that Jenny 
 waited upon him. That waiting upon him became a 
 tacit sort of custom, no one objecting.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 87 
 
 Cousin Elliot's affliction was of the most harmless 
 kind. Habitually he sat all morning long playing 
 solitaire and betting with himself, as Jenny dis- 
 covered. Usually he submitted docilely to the restric- 
 tions which Mrs. Dinsmore senior put upon his diet and 
 dutifully took the prescribed exercise which consisted 
 of walking about the grounds for half an hour twice a 
 day. The automobile rides which were prescribed for 
 him he appeared to enjoy. 
 
 Aside from playing cards his chief interest lay in his 
 personal appearance. Spying Jenny had often seen 
 him sit many minutes at a time moving his fingers and 
 observing the sparkle of his fine rings. For many 
 minutes he would stand before the big mirror surveying 
 himself, touching up his tie, settling his coat. All this 
 he did with the grave, innocent satisfaction of a little 
 girl over a trinket or a new frock. His mind seemed 
 just to have gone back to the age of four but carry- 
 ing with it certain interests such as cards and dress 
 which he had acquired in maturity. And he never wore 
 his glittering rings down stairs his simple mind 
 evidently retaining the fact that they were not proper 
 form for a gentleman. He was indulged in every harm- 
 less way. His wardrobe was much more extensive than 
 that of the master of the house. His diamonds cost 
 some thousands of dollars. He was always supplied 
 with money. There was something odd about the 
 money, however. Before Jenny entered the room, he 
 always hid that which he used in his queer gambling, 
 like a boy hiding his contraband pipe. She surmised
 
 88 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 that gambling was nominally forbidden ; in his decrepit 
 mind the idea of an inhibition seemed to attach to it. 
 
 In such ways as that Cousin Elliot displayed con- 
 siderable mental competence. One might have talked 
 with him for several minutes on a simple topic and 
 not suspected that his mind was afflicted. He would 
 pass the time of day, make observations about the 
 weather, the shrubbery or the flowers with grave 
 coherence. His seemed not so much a disordered mind 
 as one undeveloped the mind of four years old. 
 There appeared to be no particular restraint upon his 
 movements. In fact he seemed to have no particular 
 inclination to move. He was made, or induced, to take 
 some needful mild exercise and from the servants who 
 were familiar with the dining room Jenny learned that 
 an inclination to overeat was mildly restrained. 
 
 It was Mrs. Dinsmore, senior, mother of the master 
 of the house who as presumably the nearest in blood 
 seemed to be his special guardian ; but Jenny per- 
 ceived that Cousin Elliot stood in considerable awe of 
 the master of the house. 
 
 She was continually wondering about him even 
 now, when she had the more absorbing wonder whether 
 she was going to get that thousand dollars, at least, 
 which Martha Woods had spoken of. But as to what 
 this spying on her mistress meant, she didn't wonder 
 much because she thought she knew. Her conviction 
 was that Mr. Lowell Winthrop inspired it mainly for 
 the purpose of finding out what was going on between 
 her mistress and Mr. Edward Proctor. Martha Woods
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 89 
 
 hadn't said so, but that was Jenny's conviction, for she 
 knew all the gossip that circulated below stairs. The 
 small electric had turned south in Sheridan Road. Els- 
 moor and Mr. Edward Proctor lay in that direction. 
 
 Leaving Jenny's field of vision, the small electric held 
 to that southward course. Its driver's forehead was 
 still slightly wrinkled and there was a play of summer 
 lightning in the depths of her blue eyes. She was, in 
 fact, agitated, uncertain, profoundly dissatisfied with 
 herself and her situation and all bursting with an aim- 
 less rebellion at everything in general. Otherwise she 
 wouldn't have been angry with the poor chauffeur for 
 bringing the wrong vehicle to the door. 
 
 Spring, usually late in that region, had come on fast 
 although there was still a keen edge to the air. Buds 
 and blooms, the blue above, the twinkling lake over to 
 the east and the air itself proclaimed that. But there 
 was none of spring's bland geniality in Louise Dins- 
 more's disturbed mind. 
 
 Driving south in Sheridan Road she passed through 
 two suburbs and presently crossed the boundary of 
 Elsmoor. The residences along the drive were not quite 
 so costly as one went south and less spaciously set. She 
 soon turned west toward the shops and offices where the 
 business of Elsmoor was conducted. They were mainly 
 on one smart street with fine asphalt pavement, neat 
 stone gutters and ornamental lamp posts. The 
 smartest building on the street of buff pressed brick 
 and green tile, two stories high and occupying a corner
 
 90 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 bore the sign " Bank of Elsmoor," on brass tablets 
 at either side of the front door. 
 
 Louise drove around to the side of this building and 
 wheeled up to the curb. The little clock on the dash 
 showed ten minutes to one. She was early and might 
 have waited outside there in her car. But she chose 
 not to scorning the idea of concealment which that 
 might have suggested. She alighted, therefore, and 
 entered the side door of the bank the line of per- 
 plexity smoothed out of her forehead and altogether, 
 once more, the young lady of the portrait, holding her 
 lithe body erect, her chin up, her blue eyes looking 
 serenely forth. 
 
 Into whatever commercial establishment she had 
 stepped thereabouts somebody would have been pretty 
 sure to recognize her and hasten to meet her wants 
 less from snobbishness than from the sound commercial 
 motive that the Dinsmores had a great many wants and 
 ready cash to satisfy them with. The stout and bald 
 cashier of the bank, engaged with a customer at his desk 
 behind the mahogany railing at the rear of the bank- 
 ing room, saw her as she stepped in and met her eye 
 as she calmly surveyed the establishment. Whereupon 
 he paused in his occupation with the customer and looked 
 at her inquiringly as though he would have come out 
 from behind the railing if she signified a wish to speak 
 with him. But her glance moved composedly beyond 
 him, and she seated herself on the mahogany bench near 
 the wall. 
 
 She was quite sure the cashier recognized her, and
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 91 
 
 was glad of it. She perversely hoped he would keep 
 watch of what she did. There was nothing clandestine 
 about it ; she was doing it openly, in the light of day 
 almost, figuratively speaking, with a brass band. 
 Others observed her sitting there with a little 
 emotional stir which was by way of tribute to her beauty 
 and style, or to her name, too, if they happened to 
 know who she was. And this observation pleased her 
 rebellious mood. 
 
 Being Saturday and a half holiday the smart little 
 suburban bank was busy at that hour. Several de- 
 positors stood in line at the wicket of the receiving 
 teller, and there was a longer queue at the paying teller's 
 wicket which was nearly opposite where she sat. Behind 
 that wicket a dark-haired athletic young man, in his 
 shirt sleeves, stood at bat, so to speak. A check was 
 slipped through the wicket. He glanced at it, glanced 
 up at the person who presented it, and swiftly counted 
 out the amount. He had been doing that since nine 
 o'clock. A procession of faces framed themselves, one 
 by one, in the brass-barred square in front of him 
 popping into focus there, tarrying a moment while he 
 counted out the money and disappearing to give place 
 to the next. For the last hour he'd had little time to 
 look beyond the wicket. But the hour of closing was at 
 hand ; the queue was shortening. He did glance beyond 
 the wicket and saw Louise sitting on the bench watching 
 him. A rather startled look appeared on his face and he 
 glanced quickly at the big clock on the wall over the 
 cashier's desk, as though with a panicky notion that he
 
 92 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 had been keeping her waiting. The clock showed only 
 three minutes of one, however, and he looked back at 
 her radiating a smile. She smiled also, and he went oh 
 with his work. 
 
 A little after one he hurried out from behind the 
 counter, with his coat on, hat in hand, radiant. She 
 arose and gave him her hand. They went out of the 
 side door and got into her car. 
 
 " Busy, today ? " she said, as she drove away. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; Saturday is always busy," he replied. 
 
 " And how are you really ? " 
 
 " Never better," he replied cheerfully. 
 
 " It doesn't confine you too much? You keep fit? " 
 She looked him over as she asked it. 
 
 " I walk back and forth a mile each way and 
 manage to get some tennis. I'm fit as a fiddle. Wait- 
 ing for the swimming now, you know." He affirmed it 
 cheerfully, smiling ; and his appearance bore it out. He 
 was barely two inches taller than herself, but stoutly 
 built and muscular. Long before this banking experi- 
 ence he had distinguished himself at football. 
 
 "And they're really nice people in the bank?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Salt of the earth," he replied promptly. 
 
 " I know old Mr. Gregory is," she said. 
 
 " He's a prince ! " the young man affirmed. 
 
 They talked on in this way, all on the surface, any- 
 thing to fill in the time making empty conversation. 
 The shiny electric, meanwhile, had returned to Sheridan 
 Road and was wheeling smoothly south. Almost im-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 93 
 
 mediately after it entered that thoroughfare, Louise ex- 
 perienced a moment of remorse and embarrassment, be- 
 cause they were rolling past a spacious, half-timbered, 
 English-looking house that stood empty and eyeless, 
 with boarded up windows on an unfinished, belittered 
 lawn which was further disfigured by a big sign that 
 read: 
 
 " This Fine Residence For Sale at a Bargain. In- 
 quire of Traders' Trust Company, Receiver." 
 
 Her impatience was with herself. Blockhead that 
 she was, she had meant to turn into the Road farther 
 south so as to avoid passing that eyeless mansion! 
 For Thomas Proctor, father of the young man at her 
 side, had built that residence and was just getting it 
 finished when stark ruin overtook him. She had meant 
 not to drive by it, and then forgotten blockhead that 
 she was ! She kept up the empty talk more industri- 
 ously than ever. 
 
 Somewhat farther south the houses became still 
 smaller and closer together, with a prudent saving of 
 valuable ground; and presently they crossed a modest 
 street. Three blocks up that street to the west and 
 so fairly outside the pale of the society editors stood 
 a story and a half frame cottage with a lawn just big 
 enough to support two stunted oaks. There Edwin 
 Proctor and his mother now lived on his wage as paying 
 teller in the Bank of Elsmoor. One could hardly map 
 out a very cheerful excursion for him in this region. 
 
 Still farther south she turned off the drive toward 
 the lake and drew up before a staid, battlemented
 
 94. THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 wooden house which some misguided citizen had built 
 for a residence long before. Now a post at the curb 
 carried a swinging wooden sign which announced in 
 the old English script which is usually affected for that 
 purpose that the premises were The Rosemary Tea 
 Room. The first time she had taken him away from 
 the bank, in this manner, they had gone to this tea room 
 for luncheon for no reason except that she happened 
 to remember the place at the moment. This was the 
 fourth time and they still went to the same tea room 
 which was as good as any other place. 
 
 Luncheon was served them by a young woman in 
 white cap and apron at a little table at the end of the 
 glass-enclosed and steam-heated veranda on the side 
 overlooking the lake. The usual tubbed! evergreens 
 half screened their table. It was snug there; and by 
 degrees the conversation subtly took on the warmth and 
 colour of their flesh and blood. Nothing was said that 
 would have meant much if coldly reproduced in print; 
 but presently they were really talking to each other and 
 not just making conversation. 
 
 Proctor lit a cigarette, leaned back, brushed a blunt, 
 strong hand over his thick hair, looked off at the 
 twinkling blue sea for it was spring outside then 
 looked over at her, smiled and said simply : 
 
 " Awfully good of you, Lou." By insensible degrees 
 they had got around to that intimate footing. 
 
 He had a short upper lip and when he smiled that way 
 looked quite boyish. 
 
 " It's been rough on you, Ned," she replied instantly ;
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 95 
 
 " and horribly unjust." She seemed to struggle with 
 that idea a moment, and flung out helplessly, " What 
 can any one do ? " 
 
 " Not a thing in the world," he answered at once 
 with perfect candour. " Not a thing in the world. 
 . . . It's done, you see. There's no undoing it." He 
 passed his hand over his hair again and looked away. 
 " It's been hard on mother. She feels it being 
 dropped and cut and all that. ... Of course some 
 pups went out of their way to do it. They wanted 
 credit for heaving the first stone. That makes me sore 
 still. . . . But well, I've simply got over being sore, 
 as a general thing. What's the use? It's done and 
 that's the end of it. If a fellow on the team breaks 
 his leg, why he's out of the game and that's all there is 
 to it. We broke our leg. . . ." 
 
 He made some slight, nervous stirrings in his chair, 
 passed his hand over his hair, compressed his lips, look- 
 ing off at the lake. After which he looked around at 
 her and simply opened his heart: 
 
 " I wasn't any good, Lou, except at things I could 
 do with my arms and legs. I was first rate at foot- 
 ball and tennis and swimming and making a row. 
 Otherwise, I was no good at all. I was a bitter pill for 
 my father. That's one thing I've got to think about 
 now. I know I disappointed him getting thrown out 
 of college and all the rest of it. ... As I look back at 
 it now, there wasn't anything so desperately wrong 
 just a fool colt kicking a hole in the fence because his 
 legs were full of kick and he didn't know any better.
 
 96 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 It wasn't that I ever did anything very wrong, but I 
 certainly didn't do anything very good. ... Of course, 
 my father was ambitious for me. The wrong was the 
 trouble I made him. I disappointed him." 
 
 The man who thus surveyed his youthful indiscre- 
 tions as though from a remote distance and with the 
 soberly judicial eye of age was, in fact, twenty-six. 
 
 " I wasn't any good, and I suppose it didn't look as 
 though I ever would be." 
 
 He had turned his eyes to the lake again, and com- 
 pressed his lips. " Then something happened to me. 
 I got ambitious myself. I proposed to settle down and 
 try to be grown-up. So I went into the bank." 
 
 His auditor's heart throbbed up in her throat. She 
 wondered if she knew what it was that happened to him 
 and made him ambitious ; and she rather thought she 
 did. 
 
 " I went into the bank," he repeated ; " and then fa- 
 ther's trouble came along. You see, because I hadn't 
 been any good because I'd been a bitter pill to him 
 that influenced the way I thought about it when the 
 trouble came along. ... It made me feel as though I 
 had a lot to make up to him that I never could make up 
 the way things stood." 
 
 She would have liked much to say something, but all 
 she could find was a murmured, foolish, " It's been 
 awfully rough " 
 
 He contemplated the half-smoked cigarette a mo- 
 ment, stirred again in his chair, and suppressed a sigh. 
 
 " He told me all about it, Lou finally from start
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 97 
 
 to finish. . . . You see, my grandfather started making 
 threshing machines out there at Turner Junction when 
 that was away outside of Chicago. He made quite a 
 business of it. ... Seems kind of strange that grand- 
 father died only fifteen years ago. I remember him as 
 well as I remember anybody ; yet he seems to belong to 
 another age. He lived to be eighty. 
 
 " Well, father took hold. Of course, conditions 
 were changing all the time. Pretty soon the little 
 threshing machine plant wasn't doing very well. There 
 was too much competition. Then probably you've 
 heard father combined those three concerns. Well, 
 that was a success ; it made a lot of money. Not a 
 lot of money the way they count it in Wall Street, but 
 a lot more than grandfather had ever thought of. But 
 conditions were changing all the time. The people 
 that had gone into the combination with father were 
 anxious to branch out and make more money. Of 
 course he was anxious enough, too. These tractor 
 patents came along. He thought there was a great 
 future for that. The model machines worked well. 
 He went into it on a big scale. Father was always a 
 very sanguine, pushing kind of man. But with tractors 
 he went into something, you see, that he didn't really 
 understand. He had to rely on other people for the 
 mechanics of the thing. It took a good deal more 
 money than he had counted on getting in the new 
 machinery, building the new plant, launching it all. 
 Then Tomlins died and that threw it practically all on 
 father's shoulders. They were turning out the tractors
 
 98 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 and selling them and getting pretty good reports from 
 them. Everybody was going in for making tractors 
 by that time two or three concerns, especially, that 
 were much bigger than father's, with much more capital 
 and so on. He believed his machine was the best and 
 he didn't want these other people to capture the market 
 ahead of him. So he doubled his manufacturing capac- 
 ity. The company already owed too much money, for 
 it had taken a lot more than he counted on to get the 
 tractors started. Doubling the plant, of course, gave 
 it that much bigger load to carry. Then there was a 
 lot of material to buy and so on. The company had 
 very good credit. Banks almost anywhere would buy 
 its paper. There came a time in that season's man- 
 ufacturing campaign when the credit wouldn't stretch 
 any further. Some big banks were beginning to kick 
 over the company's condition. You see, making and 
 selling a farm tractor is a long process. From the 
 time you begin laying in the raw steel until your trac- 
 tor is sold and paid for is at least a year, and longer if 
 they're sold on. time. If his credit cracked, he'd be 
 caught half way over with a lot of stuff in process of 
 manufacture that would be no good until it was finished 
 and marketed. He thought he must find some way of 
 carrying it through until the machines were finished and 
 sold. Then he'd be able to pay everything off. If 
 Tomlins had lived he would have had somebody to turn 
 to. But, as he looked at it, there was nobody. ... 
 
 " Of course he was too self-confident too sanguine 
 reckless, no doubt. Except for Tomlins he'd car-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 99 
 
 ried it alone. I guess father was inclined to carry it 
 alone. Probably he hadn't asked for advice or paid 
 much attention to advice when it was offered. A con- 
 fident, sanguine man is apt to be that way, especially 
 if he's already made a good success, and father had 
 been very successful up till then. Maybe his pride 
 wouldn't let him acknowledge what deep water he was 
 in. At any rate he began to put out company notes, 
 selling them to country banks through commercial 
 paper brokers, without letting the notes show on the 
 company's books. The balance sheet that the com- 
 pany showed to the banks wasn't true, you see. Fa- 
 ther looked at it as a stop-gap just something to) 
 get by to the end of the season with. . . . 
 
 " Well, they'd made a change in the machines. The 
 experts that he relied on advised it. The model worked 
 fine. But in fact it was a great mistake. When that 
 year's machines got out into the fields and at work 
 under actual farm conditions, they began to go wrong. 
 Complaints came from all over. Dealers were can- 
 celling orders sending machines back. Of course, 
 that was a frightful facer. It meant that those ma- 
 chines would have to be mostly made over. You see, 
 that put it all off another year. The company had to 
 be carried through that much longer, with a heavier 
 load, or fail. But father couldn't let it fail. His 
 balance sheet wasn't true. These notes that he had 
 concealed were outstanding. A failure would disclose 
 them. It meant disgrace for him, maybe prosecu- 
 tion.
 
 100 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " He'd had so little doubt about it that he had gone 
 ahead with the new house at Elsmoor. Of course, 
 mother was greatly pleased with the house. Father 
 didn't propose to hand a lemon to his family failure, 
 disgrace, maybe prosecution. I believed him when he 
 told me it was as much for his family as for himself 
 that he fought. I believe that now. He set his teeth 
 and proposed to carry the thing through another year. 
 Then if the machines were right he could swing clear. 
 Of course, it was a desperate chance; but he was a 
 desperate man. . . . 
 
 " I suppose, when a man is in that position, his judg- 
 ment isn't very good any more. He is in a fearful hole, 
 you see desperate just plunges ahead, grabbing at 
 everything that offers. The worse he got in, the more 
 desperate he was. He said to me that he'd been a great 
 criminal stuck at nothing. He also said he would 
 have swung it through if it hadn't been for that auto- 
 mobile accident. I don't know whether he's right about 
 that or not. Very likely he's wrong and it would have 
 gone to smash anyway. But he thinks he would have 
 swung it through if it hadn't been for the accident. . . . 
 
 " Probably you remember his car skidded and col- 
 lided with a street car as he was coming down town. I 
 heard of it at the bank and rushed up to the hospital. 
 He didn't realize then how badly he was hurt. He 
 thought he'd be down town next day, or even that after- 
 noon. Of course, I wasn't thinking of anything but 
 his injuries. He gave me a memorandum out of his 
 pocket something he had meant to attend to himself
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 101 
 
 as soon as he got down town. He told me to go back 
 to the bank and make out those three drafts and get 'em 
 in the mail as soon as I could. He'd had me made an 
 assistant cashier, you know, to jolly me along. Well, 
 I wasn't thinking of anything in the world but just 
 doing what he told me. That was what I was indicted 
 for, you know. Probably I could be sent up for it; 
 but under the same circumstances and not knowing any 
 more about it than I knew then, Fd do the same thing 
 over again a thousand times just do what he told 
 me. Of course, he didn't get out of the hospital that 
 day, or for two weeks, and by that time it had all gone 
 to smash. . . . 
 
 " I know my father went fearfully wrong, Lou. He 
 did rotten things especially the Industrial Bank. 
 That was his great regret. Grandfather was one of 
 the founders of it, you know. Father inherited an in- 
 terest in it. Being a sanguine, pushing kind of man 
 he'd come to be the chief factor in it. Old Tupham is 
 a nice old chap, but he didn't count for much. Father 
 outweighed the others. ... It was a fearful wrong 
 a great crime all those poor savings depositors los- 
 ing their money. I don't for a minute try to excuse it. 
 But as he told it all to me, I could understand it a 
 man cornered and desperate, you see grabbing at 
 anything to get out and all the time getting in deeper. 
 . . . It was a fearful wrong; but there's no helping it 
 just now. It's been done and can't be undone now. 
 All I can see just now is my father down there in 
 that stone hole.
 
 102 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 *' My father was awfully good to me. Certainly he 
 was awfully fond of me. And I'm awfully fond of him, 
 Lou. All I can think of just now is him, down there 
 in prison. All I want now is to get him out. . . . You 
 can understand it down under a ton of brick, you 
 know, that's crushing the life out of him. All you can 
 think of is how to get him out. I think if it was your 
 father, whatever he'd done, you'd feel the same way." 
 
 "Yes, Ned," she said, in a tone such as she had 
 never used to him before the tone a woman uses when 
 she stoops to caress. 
 
 He felt the tone, but kept his eyes doggedly to the 
 twinkling lake and went on : 
 
 " Of course, it's no use now. The public is too bitter 
 against him. But in a year or two after this feel- 
 ing has died down I hope to do something. That's 
 what I want most in the world, now, Lou I want to 
 get my father out. . . . And then I want to pay back 
 the last penny to those savings depositors. There are 
 debts I don't care two straws about to people who'll 
 never miss the money. But if I live I'm going to pay 
 those savings bank debts if it takes me a life time. . . . 
 They got something out of the sound assets of the bank. 
 There's just a little over seven hundred thousand dol- 
 lars owing to them. I'm going to pay it if I live. 
 
 " That's what I'm caring about now. The rest of it 
 disgrace, the newspaper abuse and being dropped 
 and cut and all that why, I've just got over thinking 
 about it. As to being dropped and cut, while I hate it 
 for mother's sake, it's all over and done with. We've
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 103 
 
 broken a leg and we're just out of the game and that's 
 all there is to it. We aren't eligible any more ; we'd 
 simply be an incumbrance. Of course, we haven't a 
 nickel, you know. The creditors took everything but 
 our clothes and welcome, so far's I'm concerned. I 
 haven't any time or money to play the club game, even 
 if I was eligible. . . . 
 
 " And then there have been those that have stuck, 
 Lou. I've got good friends yet. There's bully, lovely 
 old Gregory, for example. He's a regular man, Lou. 
 He was one of those that got me off, you know got 
 the State's Attorney not to prosecute me under that 
 indictment. I suppose they might have sent me over 
 the feeling against father being what it was. The 
 indictment is still standing over me, but I've no doubt 
 it will be quashed by and by for all I did was just 
 that day when father was hurt issuing the drafts as 
 he told me to. And, you know, it took some nerve 
 the feeling being what it was for Gregory to put me 
 into the bank up there at Elsmoor. A couple of the 
 newspapers made a nasty little fling about it. But old 
 George Smith Gregory, with his blessed old hook nose 
 and rust} 7 little bow tie, said he'd give me a fair show; 
 and he has. I've got some good friends, Lou, that stuck 
 like burrs." 
 
 He brought his eyes around to her face then and 
 smiled, " And you're one of them. You've been a brick, 
 old girl. It's mighty fine of you." 
 
 His face was not perfectly clear before her eyes ; the 
 image blurred a trifle; and she said in humble candour,
 
 104 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " No I haven't. I've been rotten to you. I've been 
 rotten to everybody." 
 
 He smiled at her, boy-like, and answered, " This isn't 
 rotten." 
 
 It was her turn to look off at the lake then ; and she 
 knew she was saying a reckless thing, but her mood 
 pushed her on to say it just the same not to him, but 
 to the landscape : 
 
 " I wonder if it's all worth while the place in the 
 front row that we chorus girls set so much store by, 
 and getting our pictures in the Sunday newspapers. 
 . . . It's true, ours is front row for life with the 
 whole show from manager down to scene-shifter, always 
 anxious to please. . . . It's a good deal, when it's for 
 life you always served first and the others squabbling 
 for what's left after you're through. . . . I'm proud 
 as a peacock, Ned, and selfish as a wolf." 
 
 He forced a smile and replied, " No ; it's yours by 
 divine right. You belong in the front row. I wouldn't 
 see you anywhere else." She thought there was some- 
 thing self-conscious in the way he deposited his cigarette 
 stub in the saucer, with his eyes carefully on the table. 
 So she said: 
 
 " Perhaps you've heard that I'm to marry Lowell 
 Winthrop." 
 
 He looked up at her squarely, openly, and replied 
 with perfect steadiness, " Yes : I'd heard it. He's a 
 fine, able man. I wish you all the happiness in the 
 world." 
 
 And that brought them to a stone wall.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 105 
 
 " Certainly, I'm hoping to be happy," she said, the 
 speech sounding silly to her ears. " I'm awfully glad 
 to see you getting on at the bank. You've been a per- 
 fect brick, Ned. I'm terribly proud of you." That 
 sounded even sillier. She picked up her gloves. 
 
 " A couple more weeks of this and swimming will be- 
 gin," he observed, looking at the lake, as he arose with 
 her and recovered his hat. " I'm born again when I 
 can get into the water." 
 
 And as they got into the car they fell back into their 
 made conversation. 
 
 " Shall I take you home? " she asked, as they neared 
 the modest street at the southern edge of Elsmoor. 
 
 " Just drop me here at our street," he replied. 
 " They're fixing the pavement up by the house. You 
 might not be able to get through." 
 
 She thought he was lying about the pavement. But 
 that was nothing to the lie she was acting for if she 
 drove up to his house, what about his mother? She 
 knew, as he had said, that his mother took her punish- 
 ment hard, and the Dinsmore family had been among 
 those for whom the Proctor family had ceased to exist 
 socially. If she drove Ned up to the house, she might 
 step out to say " How d' do " to his mother in her 
 cheerf ulest, most gracious manner which would be a 
 ghastly sort of performance. Or she could drop Ned 
 in front of the house and drive away without saying 
 " How d' do " to his mother, which would be awkward 
 too. She knew Ned had divined that dilemma and lied 
 about the pavement to get her out of it.
 
 106 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Not that there had ever been any intimacy, or more 
 than the most incidental sort of contact, between the 
 two families. The intimacy had all been between her- 
 self and Ned. She had known all along that her father 
 and mother did not approve the Proctors; and es- 
 pecially did not approve the son who had managed to 
 acquire the reputation of a scapegrace. They viewed 
 their daughter's friendship for him with a chilly, scarce- 
 concealed dissatisfaction. 
 
 Then came the ruin and exposure of Thomas Proctor 
 an astounding maze of deceits, juggled balance- 
 sheets and spurious paper as the receivers and the 
 press unravelled it. Above all, it involved the wreck of 
 the Industrial Bank with grievous loss to its savings 
 depositors. Press and public turned thumbs down to 
 Thomas Proctor; he was the arch swindler. The son 
 himself was indicted and was technically guilty, al- 
 though he had only obeyed his father under specially 
 exigent circumstances and without knowing his father's 
 situation. 
 
 That brought matters to a crisis. To nobody, prob- 
 ably, was the kind of crime that Thomas Proctor had 
 committed more detestable than to Alfred Dinsmore. 
 The lying balance sheets, bogus paper, wrecked bank, 
 connoted a kind of malefaction that he abhorred. He 
 had never liked Thomas Proctor anyway, sensing some- 
 thing unsound in him. The son's scapegrace reputa- 
 tion was no recommendation to the father of a marriage- 
 able daughter. The exposure brought affairs to a
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 107 
 
 climax. Alfred Dinsmore laid down the law that his 
 door was not open to Edward Proctor. 
 
 Father and daughter were too much alike high- 
 spirited, quick-tempered, proud. They had a bitter 
 quarrel. In their alikeness, both of them struck too 
 hard. Because they loved each other very much the 
 blows hurt all the worse. Dinsmore's law stood ; his door 
 was not open to young Proctor. But it spoiled his life ; 
 he and his daughter were not good friends any more. 
 
 Outwardly there was just that one quarrel and then 
 they went on as before, speaking pleasantly to one an- 
 other, resuming the superficial habits of amicable rela- 
 tions. But underneath the wounds stung and there was 
 the deep sense of alienation. They were not good 
 friends any more. 
 
 Six months passed and Louise accepted a proposal 
 of marriage from Lowell Winthrop deliberately, with 
 open eyes. With Lowell Winthrop there could be no 
 question about a reserved seat in the front row; it was 
 his by prescriptive right. He was honourable, capable, 
 personally agreeable. She said she was fond of Lowell. 
 And after all, she did very much want the front row. 
 She said her affairs were fully settled. Naturally her 
 father and mother were much gratified. As to her fa- 
 ther she silently took her little coals-of-fire vengeance 
 by accepting eligible Lowell Winthrop. But still, in 
 spite of the surface actions, the alienation persisted. 
 In a way he had taken a whip to her. It seemed she 
 could never make her heart forget that.
 
 108 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 So her affairs were fully settled except for a 
 perverse imp deep down in her mind, or heart. Her 
 way through life was irrevocably marked out ; if there 
 was another path that she had once inclined to it was 
 now forever closed. But there was poor old Ned moil- 
 ing away in that little bank dropped, out of his clubs, 
 out of everything, grieving for his father. She couldn't 
 help thinking of him. Good, foolish old Ned! 
 
 So one Saturday she had called him up and taken 
 him to lunch with her. This Saturday was the fourth 
 time that had happened and she could find no satis- 
 faction whatever in her engagement to Lowell Win- 
 throp. . . . 
 
 Driving northward this Saturday and only mechani- 
 cally aware of the road she saw herself in a situation 
 as absurd, intolerable and disgraceful as ever fell to the 
 lot of a respectable young woman; and all. absolutely 
 of her own making. She had deliberately engaged her- 
 self to an honourable man whom she meant to marry and 
 she was carrying on what might, with no great unchari- 
 tableness, be called a reckless flirtation with another man 
 whom she did not mean to marry and who, she rather 
 thought, was, or had been, more or less in love with her. 
 That was hardly decent to Lowell ; it was not decent to 
 Ned; there was no dignity or decency about it. But 
 it was all her own handiwork. One of the furnishings 
 of that small, luxurious electric consisted of a little 
 mirror. Her blank eyes chanced to catch the reflection 
 of part of her face in it half of a finely modelled chin,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 109 
 
 curved red lips, a bit of straight nose, one full deep 
 blue eye with a dark arched eyebrow, a forehead and a 
 wave of abundant hair under the brim of a smart hat. 
 Most observers would have admired it; but she viewed 
 it without favour and addressed it aloud : " You great 
 big fool ! " But calling herself names did not ease the 
 burning of her heart or the bitter commotion in her 
 brain. 
 
 Nearing the house, she turned off the Road and drove 
 on aimlessly, wishing to be alone. So it was five o'clock 
 when she got home, and she meant to go up stairs at 
 once. But as it happened, when she entered the house, 
 her mother was just going from the hall into the living- 
 room and turned to look. 
 
 Her mother was still a handsome woman, although 
 time had considerably amplified her graceful figure and 
 a critical observer might detect a good many white 
 threads in her yellow hair. She was always as im- 
 maculately groomed as a prize horse on parade and she 
 gave one the same pleasant impression of a specldess, 
 glossy, beautifully kept being in perfect condition. 
 For many years now easily since grammar-school 
 days at least Louise had been under no illusions 
 about the range and strength of her mother's intellect ; 
 but she knew another strength in her which lay in her 
 gracious heart and her sweet, warm affections. Only 
 the merest brute could ever, on any account, have 
 quarrelled with her mother, and the brute would have 
 had to do all the quarrelling. Louise knew that her
 
 110 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 mother had given her able father a happiness that he 
 might have missed with many a woman whose brains 
 more nearly matched his. 
 
 When Mrs. Dinsmore looked around at her tall, 
 darker daughter a certain fact was gently implicit in 
 the look. This fact was that when an unmarried daugh- 
 ter left the house at half past twelve, without an engage- 
 ment that her mother knew of, and returned at five, an 
 explanation might properly be given. Louise knew that 
 if she chose to ignore that, her mother would say noth- 
 ing. But she didn't choose to ignore it ; her aimless 
 rebellion and her perverse imp wouldn't let her. So, 
 drawing off her gloves, she remarked coolly : 
 
 " I've been having Ned Proctor to lunch with me." 
 
 Her mother looked pained and murmured simply, 
 " I'm sorry." 
 
 Louise knew it was mean and cowardly this hitting 
 her mother behind her father's back. All the same she 
 flung out hotly, " I think it's rotten the way we've 
 all turned our backs on them ! " 
 
 " I should say we were just where we were before, 
 but they have moved," her mother suggested beating 
 over the old ground. " You know how your father 
 feels." But they had been over all that before. She 
 spoke more gravely, even with some reproach. " Do 
 you think it's quite fair to Lowell or to yourself, 
 Lou? I don't know Ned Proctor very well; but if he 
 is worth going to lunch with, do you think it's quite 
 fair to him ? " 
 
 " Oh, I suppose not," said Louise desperately and
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 111 
 
 helplessly, and went stormily up stairs. " I'm wrong 
 with everybody," she thought with her mother in 
 mind too as she walked down the upper hall. 
 
 At twenty minutes past seven she came down stairs 
 dressed for dinner, which was to be at half past ; merely 
 & family dinner, and yet not merely, for Lowell Win- 
 throp was there, having walked down from the Win- 
 throp place a half mile up the Road. That was why 
 she had neither come down very much before dinner 
 time nor waited until the exact time. Ten minutes be- 
 fore the hour was what she had compromised on. Of 
 course he sat beside her at table. 
 
 He was then thirty-three nine years her senior. 
 Fortune had absolved him from the necessity of earning 
 a way through the world, but those who knew spoke of 
 his legal attainments with respect. In the big law 
 office of Melford, Farson & Winthrop few worked more 
 regularly or to better purpose. He was a man to 
 whom men of affairs looked for leadership conserva- 
 tive to a notable degree, yet capable. In his own right 
 he had fairly won recognition and position among men 
 of affairs, when he could just as well have ridden 
 through on the front seat with his legs crossed if he 
 had chosen. 
 
 He was nearly six feet tall, ruddy with health, carry- 
 ing considerable more flesh than his athletic director 
 of ten years ago would have approved, yet in excellent 
 condition. His short and sandy hair was neatly parted 
 and his close-cropped moustache showed his full red 
 lips. He spoke with sure-footed, compact deliberation,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 and with a pronunciation very reminiscent of Oxford 
 where, in fact, he had spent two years. Sitting beside 
 him Louise felt again that he was front row for life, 
 agreeably incarnated in a well-kept, well-clothed body 
 and with the best of manners. In whatever he did 
 there was somehow the calm assumption that front row 
 belonged to him by right. 
 
 His taste was exceedingly fastidious. It had kept 
 him a bachelor up to now in spite of numberless op- 
 portunities to change that state. Coolly smiling and 
 looking up at the young woman beside him, he was con- 
 tent. She shone like a jewel and he felt he had been 
 right in waiting until she came along. A man in his 
 position ought to marry ; but he had been in no hurry 
 to give up his comfortable bachelorhood. And as his 
 cool, honourably calculating eye surveyed the company 
 he was well content. It was an eligible family. True, 
 there was one defect which had caused him some little 
 deliberation. It Sat across the table from him between 
 Mrs. Dinsmore senior and the master of the house. 
 The only name he knew for it was Cousin Elliot. 
 
 Five minutes before dinner time, Cousin Elliot had 
 come down stairs in the wordless satisfaction of an in- 
 fant with a new toy over his fine dinner coat, figured 
 silk vest and expanse of snowy shirt bosom. His fat 
 pink head was uncovered. Not for anything would he 
 have worn a skull cap with evening dress, for his af- 
 flicted mind somehow retained those points as it re- 
 tained the points in a game of cards. His deportment 
 was as gravely correct as that of the butler himself and
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 113 
 
 he made several observations on the weather and the 
 forwardness of the foliage that any sane, vacuous per- 
 son might have made. Having made his few observa- 
 tions he lasped into silence, his mind occupied with his 
 deportment like that of a new ambassador at his first 
 court function. At table he sat beside Mrs. Dinsmore 
 senior and only those who were in the secret would have 
 known that he petitioned for a second portion of the 
 meat course and the dessert, which the old lady denied. 
 Lowell Winthrop had sat at table with Cousin Elliot 
 before. Nevertheless he watched furtively and with a 
 sort of nervousness to see whether the afflicted relative 
 would spill any food or drink on his snowy beard, or 
 his snowier shirt front, or the table cloth; and he was 
 very grateful that Cousin Elliot didn't, for if Cousin 
 Elliot had Lowell Winthrop would have winced. 
 
 Certainly Cousin Elliot was a defect something 
 that subtly grated on Lowell Winthrop's nerves, as a 
 smear on the wall paper would have done. Yet the 
 best of families might be afflicted with a feeble-minded 
 relative. He wasn't clear as to the nature of the in- 
 jury which had reduced Cousin Elliot to this state. It 
 had been merely hinted at to him, and he approved the 
 good taste which left it at a mere hint. He approved 
 also their honourable candour in not trying to conceal 
 the defect from him as, for example, in their having 
 Cousin Elliot down to dinner tonight just as they did 
 when they dined alone. Having taken him into the 
 family they simply put the skeleton where he could see 
 it for himself. His nice sense of what was fitting in
 
 114 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 such circumstances approved that. And after all, 
 Cousin Elliot belonged to the passing generation. 
 
 Another member of the family was absent tonight 
 Louise's brother, then abroad on a wedding tour. But 
 Lowell had no reservations about him. Nobody had. 
 Good old Alf bore his father's name but his mother's 
 disposition and character. 
 
 Mrs. Dinsmore, senior, mother of the master of the 
 house, was very acceptable also as a member of the 
 passing generation. She looked even older than her 
 _years so frail and white that she seemed hardly a 
 ponderable embodiment of the spirit which looked out 
 of her clear eyes. She walked with some difficulty, and 
 with the help of an ebony stick. It seemed amazing 
 that that feeble body had withstood seventy-four years 
 of living; yet there was vitality and will in the spirit 
 that looked out of her .eyes. Her scanty hair was per- 
 fectly white and the thin face beneath it contrasted with 
 it in colour only as ivory contrasts with marble. She 
 spoke with intelligence, using words like an educated 
 person of taste, although her voice was cracked. 
 
 And there was Dinsmore, his thick and slightly wavy 
 hair now streaked with grey lifting off his fore- 
 head with that sort of couchant air ; composed as usual 
 in a way that suggested conscious restraint but with 
 humour peeping out. His speech, like his motions, was 
 quick and precisely to the point, as though mind and 
 body were made of keen, easily acting springs, full of 
 compact energy. 
 
 Before the dinner was over, Tillson, the butler,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 115 
 
 stooped beside his master's chair and murmured. At 
 once, Dinsmore asked to be excused, arose and left the 
 room briskly. . . . 
 
 While this cosy family dinner was proceeding Jenny 
 Dupee had slipped warily down stairs to the lower hall. 
 A parlour lay at the right. Jenny opened the door 
 and found the room dark as she had expected. Closing 
 the door behind her, she sped across the dark room, 
 listened an instant at another door, then opened it, 
 found the electric switch on the wall and turned on the 
 lights. That room was the library. Book cases lined 
 the walls, with some busts and pictures above them. A 
 long, handsome table stood in the middle of the floor on 
 a costly rug. There were some big, easy chairs, up- 
 holstered in russet leather and over in the corner a 
 large lounge, also upholstered in leather and covered 
 with a spread of curiously woven, bright-hued cloth. 
 Jenny was perfectly familiar with the room and gave 
 only a swift glance about it, then ran over to the couch 
 where she crouched and, lifting the fringe of the cover, 
 looked underneath. 
 
 That morning Martha Woods had telephoned to her 
 and that afternoon she had gone over to the suburban 
 village street and met Martha Woods at the appointed 
 place. Martha Woods had told her that a man was 
 going to make a brief call on Mr. Dinsmore at half past 
 eight in the evening. Mr. Dinsmore would receive him 
 in the library. If Jenny could manage to see and hear 
 what took place between them she would receive two 
 thousand dollars at the end of the enterprise, instead of
 
 116 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 the one thousand theretofore mentioned. Martha 
 Woods had said that the end of the enterprise was near 
 at hand and the call would be brief only five minutes 
 or so. In the nature of things a thousand dollars for 
 five minutes wouldn't often come Jenny's way. 
 
 The undertaking presented no great difficulties. At 
 half past eight the family would still be at the dinner 
 table ; the servants would be at dinner or otherwise 
 engaged. Five minutes was not long. So Jenny had 
 turned it over in her mind, trembling, her nervous eyes 
 shining with hope and fear. And she was now to take 
 the plunge. Satisfied by a look that there was nobody 
 else under the couch, Jenny sped back and turned off the 
 lights ; then found her way to the couch in the dark, lay 
 down on the floor and rolled under her thin breast 
 labouring for breath and clenching her thin hands to 
 still the shivering of her body. . . . 
 
 Briskly leaving the dinner table, after Tillson mur- 
 mured to him, Dinsmore followed the butler to the li- 
 brary. When Tillson turned on the lights, Dinsmore 
 gave a mechanical glance about and nodded to the serv- 
 ant who withdrew. Then Jenny, breathlessly peering 
 through the fringe of the couch cover, saw Mr. Dins- 
 more walk up to the big, polished table in the centre of 
 the room and stand coolly beside it. 
 
 A moment later the butler opened the other door, in 
 the end of the room, and admitted an old negro who 
 carried his hat politely in one hand and in the other a 
 small brown bag that had seen much wear.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 117 
 
 " Good evening, William," said Dinsmore good-na- 
 turedly. 
 
 " Good evening, sir," the negro replied, smiling and 
 so disclosing a few discoloured teeth. 
 
 Even as he spoke, Dinsmore was opening a drawer in 
 the big table. Jenny saw that he took from it a bundle 
 of bank notes. The negro opened his bag and set it on 
 a corner of the table. Dinsmore dropped the bank 
 notes into it and snapped it shut. 
 
 " How is Collingwood these days ? " Dinsmore asked, 
 pleasantly enough, as he put the money in the bag. 
 
 " Same as usual, sir," the negro replied, smiling. He 
 gave a guttural chuckle and added, " Able to attend to 
 business every evening over at that Christopher Colum- 
 bus Social Club, I reckon." 
 
 Dinsmore smiled and the negro, hat in hand, went to 
 the door. Jenny saw, as he opened it, that Tillson 
 was waiting for him on the other side and at once 
 gravely took him in tow. The door was left open, and 
 after waiting only a moment plucking once at his 
 beard Dinsmore left the room. 
 
 When he returned briskly to the dinner table, his 
 mother had ceased eating and he saw that her frail 
 figure was trembling slightly. He smiled at her with 
 warm, reassuring affection ; took her fleshless hand 
 under the table and pressed it, still smiling reassurance. 
 
 That detail, of course, Jenny missed. All the rest 
 she reported in the usual manner to Martha Woods, 
 Room 641, Rosser Building, Adams Street, Chicago.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THERE were obvious faults in Jenny Dupee's re- 
 port. She described Mr. Dinsmore's caller as an 
 old " collared " man, spelled eight without an " h," 
 said she was " laying " under the couch. But it was 
 written with exemplary, painstaking care for every de- 
 tail on her mistress's fine note-paper. 
 
 To McMurtry and Purcell, as they eagerly bent over 
 the thin, pearl-grey sheets in the lawyer's office, the vir- 
 tues of the report in that matter of putting down 
 all the details infinitely outweighed its defects. 
 
 " That woman's a corker ! " said the lawyer, in hearty 
 encomium. 
 
 With a kind of subdued zest, like that of a well- 
 trained dog on a warm trail, he rubbed his over-de- 
 veloped chin, twinkling. " You see," he said, with glee, 
 " it tallies exactly ! " Then he asked a sharp question : 
 " You're sure there was nothing in the bag when he 
 went to the house? " 
 
 " Absolutely," said Purcell. " I went with him right 
 up to the entrance to Dinsmore's grounds. I know the 
 bag was empty when he went in, and when he came out 
 there was six hundred dollars in it. The time, too, 
 tallies exactly with what she says." He nodded toward 
 the pearl-grey sheets. 
 
 McMurtry rubbed his chin, and let a hot little note 
 of triumph out of him not explosively, but in a kind 
 of thrust, like a knife-blow ; " It's a cinch ! It's a 
 
 118
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 119 
 
 cinch, old man ! I said from the first that if Dinsmore 
 was paying this man blackmail the man's story was 
 true. And Dinsmore is paying him blackmail." He 
 was hot and avid about it, the smell of fat prey in his 
 nostrils yet all subdued, tightly in hand. 
 
 The gaunt, colourless managing editor, with too-big 
 hands and feet, smelled the prey also, yet was disturbed 
 and swallowed. 
 
 " She says they seemed friendly," he observed, sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 " It's got to be an old story with them by this time," 
 McMurtry observed. 
 
 Still Purcell's uneasiness nagged him. " If Dinsmore 
 murdered this other man John Colby and if the 
 coon is afraid of him as he says seems sort of odd 
 that he'd be going up there alone every month," he sug- 
 gested, half apologetically. 
 
 " Why, as to that murdering business, I don't pay 
 any attention to it," McMurtry explained, patiently. 
 " Probably the man died suddenly of peritonitis or 
 something else and Pomeroy just imagined Dinsmore 
 poisoned him. I wouldn't be surprised if the man died 
 by inches of tuberculosis or Bright's disease. A fellow 
 like Pomeroy, you know, is pretty sure to lie at some 
 point or other just for dramatic effect, or to save 
 his own face, or for no particular reason at all. I've 
 had plenty of experience with them, as witnesses and 
 so on. They're pretty apt to embroider more or less 
 as they go along. . . . 
 
 " As to that murdering, I don't pay any attention
 
 120 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 to it. It's got nothing in particular to do with our 
 case anyhow. Dinsmore is paying the man money. 
 It's a hundred to one, the money is blackmail, and if 
 it's blackmail it's a hundred to one the story is true. 
 We know the thing did happen out there in Nebraska 
 just as Pomeroy said." 
 
 He opened a drawer in his desk, took out a sheet of 
 yellow telegraph paper and contemplated it with affec- 
 tion, much as a collector of prints of books gloats over 
 a rare find. It was dated at Billingtown, Nebraska, 
 and read: 
 
 " Crops out here look fine. Never better. 
 
 P. J. TELLER." 
 
 It was, of course from Morden the first report 
 the lawyer had received from him. They had agreed 
 that if the detective's inquiries on the spot substantiated 
 the negro's account of the robbery and murder in every 
 respect, he should wire that crops were fine. He had 
 added, " Never better," which showed how well pleased 
 he was. 
 
 There was another wire, four days later, which ran : 
 " Don't believe I'll buy here now. Want to look fur- 
 ther." 
 
 It meant that Morden judged it best not to approach 
 Peter Sykes at that time, or until he had looked up Dr. 
 Dill. 
 
 " That was a point that stuck in my mind," Purcell 
 observed, apologetically, shaving his lips with bent fore- 
 finger. " Of course, if the coon thought Dinsmore was
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 likely to kill him, it seemed odd he'd be going up there. 
 . . . But, as you say, Colby may have died of peri- 
 tonitis." The managing editor, in fact was both fas- 
 cinated and frightened by the enterprise in which he 
 found himself engaged. McMurtry had brushed aside 
 one fear, but another bobbed helplessly into its place. 
 
 " Seems odd," said Purcell, between apprehension and 
 shame of it, " that Dinsmore would be having the coon 
 come up there to his houSe, instead of having him come 
 to the office or just mailing him a check." 
 
 " He wouldn't be mailing him any check," the lawyer 
 replied decisively and out of considerable personal 
 experience with such affairs. " Nine times out of ten 
 blackmail is paid in cash. Neither side wants a record 
 of it and a check leaves a record. Dinsmore wouldn't 
 want this old nigger cashing his check somewhere every 
 month. He wouldn't want him coming to the office, 
 either where a dozen people would see him to every 
 one that saw him at the house, and Dinsmore would be 
 surer of controlling the people at the house, too. Dins- 
 more has managed that well enough. Jenny Dupee had 
 been in the house three years, you know, and she had 
 never heard of the nigger until she got it from us. He's 
 managed it well* enough." And as that good manage- 
 ment simply confirmed his opinion, he repeated, " He's 
 paying blackmail." 
 
 " Yes ; it looks so," Purcell admitted and then 
 swallowed, his deep-set, luminous eyes flickering at the 
 lawyer's steady, grey eyes. " Of course," he suggested 
 in that hesitant manner which apologized for his ap-
 
 122 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 prehensions, " Alfred Dinsmore is a man that can put 
 up a big fight no end of money and pull and friends 
 and all that. He can put up a big fight. The point is 
 to be sure we've got him cinched. Probably we'll be 
 hearing something more from Morden in a day or two." 
 
 " Probably," McMurtry replied with a certain dry- 
 ness, his twinkling eyes studying his friend's cadaverous 
 face. In fact, for some time, a certain reaction had 
 been taking place in the lawyer's mind a reaction 
 against the managing editor's fears and doubts and sus- 
 picions. As their affair unfolded, he had discovered 
 with surprise that at bottom his friend's nerves were 
 exceedingly unstable. That was rather annoying, and 
 disgusting. And the reaction in the lawyer's mind was 
 tending in a highly practical direction. He was think- 
 ing that if a man is afflicted with weak nerves you 
 needn't give him much consideration; he's got to take 
 what you hand him. 
 
 " If he gets one of those men out there, and the man 
 can identify Dinsmore," the managing editor said 
 beating over the ground again to brace up his hope. 
 He did not finish the sentence, for the conclusion was 
 self-evident. 
 
 The plan was that Morden should go out to Nebraska 
 and, first, verify the negro's story of the bank robbery 
 and murder in the early autumn of 1881. That Mor- 
 den had already done, as his wire testified. By the 
 negro's account two witnesses were presumably still 
 alive Peter Sykes, a participant in the robbery and 
 eye-witness of the shooting, and Dr. Dill who had
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 123 
 
 treated the murderer for a gun-shot wound on the night 
 of the crime. 
 
 As an accomplice in the robbery Sykes was legally 
 answerable for the murder ; but he hadn't fired the shot, 
 or intended to spill blood. The crime happened thirty 
 one years ago. If Sykes should now come forward, 
 make a confession and turn state's evidence against the 
 shooter there was no doubt at all in McMurtry's 
 judgment that he would go scot free. 
 
 Of course, they didn't mean that Sykes should turn 
 state's evidence. They meant that, for a very hand- 
 some consideration, he should confront Alfred Dins- 
 more and affirm his willingness to turn state's evidence 
 and identify Dinsmore on the witness's stand. If Dins- 
 more then raised the point that thereby Sykes would 
 put his own neck in a noose, they could reply that Sykes 
 would have nothing to fear. 
 
 Dr. Dill was not a witness of the shooting, but if he 
 could identify Dinsmore as the young man he had 
 treated for a gun shot wound that night, it would be 
 almost equally convincing. With either of those wit- 
 nesses in hand, they were prepared to charge Dinsmore 
 with the crime. When Purcell said, " If he gets one of 
 those men out there and the man can identify Dinsmore," 
 there was no need to say more. 
 
 McMurtry, twinkling over it, rubbed his chin and 
 said with a slow, deep relish, " If he gets one of those 
 men out there and the man identifies Dinsmore Dins- 
 more will come across. . . . Not for a hundred thou- 
 sand, or half a million, or a million but for half he's
 
 124- THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 worth. . . . Half he's worth. . . . He's got to." And 
 the way he said it was somehow suggestive of a man 
 driving a knife in not hastily, but with sure, steady 
 pressure right up to the hilt. 
 
 Purcell's cavernous eyes glowed and he took a deep 
 breath as he repeated, " He's got to ! " 
 
 Two days later they received another telegram from 
 Morden. It said, " Have bought the farm ; start back 
 tonight." 
 
 It meant that he had made a satisfactory arrange- 
 ment with Dr. Dill. The affair seemed to be going 
 badly for Alfred Dinsmore. 
 
 In another vital respect affairs were going badly for 
 Alfred Dinsmore to-wit : 
 
 It was the first Sunday in June, with summer un- 
 folding opulently under a genial sky. All the leafage 
 still had its spring freshness and showed manifold del- 
 icate shades of green. The flowers were coming out 
 with virginal gorgeousness ; the lake shone blue and 
 murmured at the beach; a day to be glad that one is 
 alive. 
 
 Dinsmore, smoking his after-breakfast cigar a late 
 breakfast on Sundays and strolling in his grounds, 
 felt all that but couldn't respond to it. There was a 
 painful disturbance in his mind, and a sore pull at his 
 heart. His wife, the night before, had finally felt she 
 ought to tell him something. 
 
 He strolled along the crown of the bluff at the lake 
 shore, his feet pressing grass like velvet and at his back 
 a dwelling rich enough for a prince. It was his ; much
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 125 
 
 goodly gear was his; in some tendered possessions he 
 was fortunate. . . . Surely, the lake was lovely. He 
 looked out over it and his mind appreciated its loveli- 
 ness. But his heart ached, and he asked the bland 
 prospect, with bitterness and a smother of useless 
 anger: " Why does it have to be this way? " 
 
 Then his eye lighted upon another sight, as gracious 
 as the day and lovely as the lake his tall, handsome 
 daughter, bareheaded, slippered, in a morning gown, 
 strolling toward him from the house. One couldn't 
 reasonably ask a fairer object to look upon, but at sight 
 of her Dinsmore's heartache strengthened. She was 
 his whole trouble. 
 
 Strolling nearer, Louise smiled at her father. In 
 fact, there was something ulterior in her strolling. He 
 was on her mind as she was on his, and her heart ached, 
 too. She wanted very much that morning to be recon- 
 ciled to him, to draw close to him again for she 
 wanted his support and help in a big trouble. So she 
 smiled, as she came near, and spoke genially: 
 
 " Splendid, isn't it." 
 
 " Immense ! " he said. 
 
 She joined him and they strolled together. She men- 
 tioned the flowers and shrubs and various things that 
 were only at the farthest edge of her mind smiling, 
 or with a low ripple of laughter, being the sweetest 
 she knew; exerting herself, so to speak, to cuddle up 
 to him. 
 
 That teased his sore heart. He had to love her im- 
 mensely, which made his trouble the more intolerable.
 
 126 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 She was chattering brightly on, cuddling up. . . . But 
 since his wife had told him, he couldn't let it pass ; he 
 had to have it out with her. So, with a slight frown 
 and a tug at his beard, he blurted abruptly: 
 
 " You're still running around with young Proctor.'* 
 
 Immediately he knew he had said it wrong, and felt 
 a kind of despair. It had been more or less that way 
 from the time she -cooed in his arms, the distance from 
 her curly head to her pink toes hardly greater than 
 from one of his shoulders to the other, and wouldn't 
 stop pulling his beard. The defiant will in that ador- 
 able little length of flesh was trying to him in just the 
 measure of his adoration. More or less they had al- 
 ways been clashing. He seemed as helpless as she to 
 prevent it. But all their other clashes had been mere 
 distant shimmerings of heat lightning compared to the 
 storm over Ned Proctor. That had been the kind that 
 uproots and devastates. . . . The moment he spoke he 
 knew he had begun wrong. 
 
 Louise had come out to woo him and be reconciled, 
 yearning for his fatherly support in her tribulation. 
 At his assault a big wave of anger ran through her and 
 she thought, " So mother's been tattling ! " But she 
 fought at first with a woman's weapons. That is, she 
 looked down, the lids demurely veiling her eyes, and 
 said with a kind of docile protest : 
 
 " I should hardly call it running around, father. 
 I've seen Ned four or five times this spring. You know 
 how it is with him in that bank all day. He's out of 
 all his clubs and doesn't go anywhere. The only place
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 127 
 
 he has even to play tennis is on that vacant lot by the 
 blacksmith shop. I've taken him to lunch with me." 
 She spoke docilely, but knew well enough that in com- 
 miserating young Proctor she was throwing darts at her 
 father. 
 
 " Plenty of young men have no place at all to play 
 tennis," he retorted, in high impatience. 
 
 " They're not my friends, and Ned is," she replied. 
 " I suppose there is nothing scandalous in a young 
 woman lunching. in a tea room with a young man who's 
 an old friend. What's wrong with poor Ned now ? He 
 works like a dog and supports his mother. I think it's 
 detestable the way everybody has dropped him." 
 
 She wouldn't stop pulling his beard ; and his exasper- 
 ation egged him on. " You know that's nonsense, Lou. 
 As you said yourself, he simply can't afford clubs and 
 the way he used to live. Would you like him to come 
 in as a charity patient? Millions of young men make 
 their way in the world without as many advantages as 
 he has. If you're his friend why don't you let him 
 alone? You and he showed a preference for each other 
 enough that people noticed it. He was counted 
 out. You became engaged to another man a man 
 that wouldn't like your going around with Proctor. 
 You know that as well as I do. Then you pick Proctor 
 up again take him to lunch with you and so on. You 
 say there's nothing scandalous about it. I don't agree 
 with you. What good does it do Proctor? It puts 
 you in a position to be talked about disagreeably. A 
 woman has no business to put herself in that position.
 
 128 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 It doesn't make any difference how good her intentions 
 are. Putting herself in a position to be talked about 
 isn't holding herself high ; it's holding herself cheap and 
 bedraggled. I want you to shine clear not spat- 
 tered up with mud. You can be sure Lowell Winthrop 
 does too." 
 
 He wasn't saying what he really wanted to say, or 
 in the way he wanted to say it. He couldn't, because 
 his mind was hot and bubbling with that helpless ex- 
 asperation against her lovely rebelliousness. 
 
 " No ; I suppose you and Lowell don't want me spat- 
 tered up," she replied. " I suppose a man wants his 
 women folk like his automobiles so shiny he can see 
 his own satisfied face in them. Why shouldn't your 
 women want you shiny, too, father, and not talking like 
 a Turk over a little lunch with poor old Ned Proctor? " 
 
 Piqued by her thrusts he flung back, " Son of poor 
 old Thomas Proctor who was only a thief and a liar." 
 
 She had grown a bit pale in the encounter, her eyes 
 growing darker. Something flashed up in her rebel- 
 lious mind, and she asked, " Haven't plenty of other 
 families made mistakes? Black sheep happen every- 
 where." 
 
 She had no more expected to say that than to bite out 
 her tongue. It said itself like most else that was said 
 in this clash of two high-tempered, roiled persons. 
 What flashed up in her mind was this: More than a 
 year before, carelessly opening a drawer in the library 
 table, she had found a bundle of bank notes in it. That 
 evening an old negro had called at the house to see her
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 129 
 
 father. She had known about the negro's calls before, 
 and not been particularly curious ; it was some affair of 
 her father's. After she stumbled on the money she 
 Wasn't particularly curious and kept no particular 
 watch. The fact had laid in her mind no business 
 of hers in any event, but not forgotten. She didn't see 
 any particular connection, but the little speech just 
 made itself. 
 
 The little speech might have meant anything, or noth- 
 ing; but somehow it struck Dinsmore with a peculiar 
 and arresting implication. For an instant he looked 
 at her with a challenging question ; then raised his hand 
 to his beard ; said, " Well, you know how I feel about 
 Proctor," and turned away. 
 
 A miserable ending and a miserable situation. They 
 both felt that acutely ; both their hearts ached and life 
 tasted bitter in both their mouths. Dinsmore felt, 
 moreover, a great humiliation. He was a man of some 
 ability. Every other situation he could meet with skill 
 and address; but this situation, which meant more to 
 him than all the others, he just bungled and bungled. 
 He felt that, with deep humiliation. 
 
 However restrained their tones and looks had been, 
 their aspect was still the aspect of people in a quarrel. 
 They instinctively realized that and smoothed their 
 brows when, as Dinsmore turned away, they perceived 
 there was a witness. 
 
 True, this witness was only Cousin Elliot, dutifully 
 taking a morning constitutional by a stroll around the 
 lawn, which stroll had now brought him so near to them
 
 130 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 that he might have overheard the final words. He was 
 wearing a new, fawn-coloured summer suit and a new 
 straw hat his trousers the creasiest and his shoes 
 the shiniest. Yet he seemed not to be taking the usual 
 infantile satisfaction in a very smart, correct costume. 
 His broad, ruddy face, with overhanging pink chops, 
 wore a perplexed look and, what was most unusual, he 
 was plucking at his snowy beard with plump thumb and 
 finger. Apparently, he had something on his mind. 
 
 With the instinctive deceit which the most candid 
 persons resort to in such a situation, Louise and her 
 father smoothed out the signs of their quarrel, and 
 Louise spoke up cheerfully: 
 
 "Isn't this a lovely day, Cousin Elliot?" 
 
 Cousin Elliot looked abroad at it, as though he hadn't 
 noticed before, and replied judicially, " A fine day. I 
 noticed yesterday the jonquils are out. They're fine 
 this year." 
 
 " And the peonies, too," said Louise. 
 
 " Yes," Cousin Elliot replied, gravely. " You 
 haven't read the newspaper yet ? " he asked, looking at 
 her anxiously. 
 
 " Why, I glanced over the headlines at breakfast," 
 she answered, mildly surprised for she didn't remem- 
 ber that Cousin Elliot had ever before displayed inter- 
 est in the day's news. 
 
 " It's Sunday, you know," he observed with gravity. 
 " Jenny hasn't read the paper yet." 
 
 " Something you wanted to know about, Cousin El-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 131 
 
 liot? " she asked, with a bit of wonder and a kindly in- 
 tention. " I can get the paper for you." She recalled 
 that he could read, after a fashion and with much 
 labour, although she believed he almost never did. 
 
 " You looked at the headlines ? " he inquired hope- 
 fully. " You didn't notice that they'd hung any- 
 body?" 
 
 " Oh, no," she replied, a little shocked at the oddity 
 of the question. " I'm sure they haven't hung any- 
 body." 
 
 " They did, you know," he answered very gravely. 
 " It was in the newspaper. Jenny read it to me. They 
 hung a man down town. Someway, I was thinking of 
 that last night." 
 
 She remembered then that the newspaper of Saturday 
 morning had contained an account of an execution. 
 Evidently it had disturbed Cousin Elliot. She hastened 
 to reassure him: 
 
 " That was a legal execution, you'know. They hung 
 the man because he killed another man. It won't hap- 
 pen again." 
 
 Cousin Elliot pondered that statement a moment, re- 
 moving his straw hat. " It might, you know." he re- 
 plied cautiously. " They might do it again. You 
 can't tell." His usual placid brow wrinkled and he 
 looked anxiously at Dinsmore. " I wouldn't go down 
 town for a few days if I were in your place, Alf. You 
 can't tell. They might do*it again." 
 
 Louise had never heard Cousin Elliot call her father
 
 132 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " Alf " before. Her father replied cheerfully. " No 
 danger. See, there goes Slocum's new power boat. 
 See the spray it makes." 
 
 Cousin Elliot looked lakeward, where Dinsmore was 
 pointing; but for once his afflicted mind was not to be 
 diverted from its unusual perplexity. 
 
 " Hanging a man, now," he observed very gravely, 
 fingering his white beard. " I think we all better stay 
 right at home till this sort of blows over. I wouldn't 
 go down town if I were you not for a week or so. 
 Better all of us stay right here at home. It's taking a 
 risk " 
 
 But Dinsmore broke in with a laugh. " Don't 
 bother. No danger at all." By that time he had 
 slipped a hand under Cousin Elliot's arm. " Come on. 
 Let's you and I go in and have a game of cribbage. 
 We haven't had a game of cribbage in a coon's age." 
 
 Smiling, with a compulsive hand under Cousin 
 Elliot's arm, he led the afflicted man toward the house, 
 talking cheerfully to him on the way as Louise could 
 see. 
 
 She was astonished, for she would as soon have ex- 
 pected to see her father turn handsprings on the lawn 
 as play cribbage with Cousin Elliot.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 McMURTRY and Morden were standing near a 
 front window in the lawyer's . private office 
 the burly detective untidy as usual, wearing a much 
 rumpled coloured shirt, a turn down collar not perfectly 
 clean, rusty shoes. His hair thrust out above his 
 square brows, and there was the usual surly look 
 like a dog ready to bite on his wide-mouthed, nubbin- 
 nosed face. But the lawyer was glossily shaved and his 
 hair elaborately barbered. The detective, in fact, had 
 alighted from the train only half an hour before. 
 McMurtry was listening intently to his report. 
 
 " I looked Sykes over," Morden was saying ; " but I 
 didn't try to do any business with him. He didn't look 
 very good. Seems he scraped up a little money some- 
 how and went into a real estate scheme, dozen years ago 
 or more, and one of those booms came along. They say 
 he cleaned up twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars 
 finalty and put the money in a cheese factory and that's 
 doing first rate. Peter's something in the leading 
 citizens line now no booze, no cards and so on. I 
 rubbed up against him some. Naturally, he thinks he's 
 a hell of a fellow now; thinks as much of himself as A. 
 Dinsmore, Esquire. I reckoned he'd shy off at any 
 strong arm work. So I concluded to run the doctor 
 down. 
 
 " I found him over in Kansas at a place they call 
 Sunny Valley. Probably you can guess it from the 
 
 133
 
 134 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 name. There's a valley and there's a sun, but there 
 ain't much else. The old boy's plumb at the end of his 
 rope all around. He managed to make a kind of a living 
 at Billingtown, before they run him out, by giving his 
 fellow soaks prescriptions for whiskey and helping some 
 dope fiends get opium and cocaine. Couple of drug 
 stores that filled the prescriptions helped him along. 
 Finally they got after him strong and drove him out. 
 He's been on his uppers ever since one place and an- 
 other. When I found him at Sunny Valley he was 
 sleeping on what used to be a lounge in what used to be 
 an office. He was ready enough to come along. Prob- 
 ably he'd cut his grandmother's throat for ten dollars 
 and a week's supply of morphine. Tanner's got him in 
 tow now and will patch him up so he'll last the week out 
 anyhow." 
 
 " You haven't told him what he was wanted for ? " 
 McMnrtry asked, going back to a point they had dis- 
 cussed oefore Morden went to Nebraska. 
 
 " No," the detective grumbled. " It wouldn't make 
 any difference to him. For car fare and meals he'd 
 go anywhere. No trouble at all to handle him." 
 
 " But for our own satisfaction, Jake," the lawyer 
 replied persuasively. " Probably he'd cheerfully swear 
 that almost anybody was the man he attended the night 
 of the bank robbery at Billingtown. But we don't want 
 him to swear to anything. We want to know exactly 
 where we stand. Dinsmore's a big man." 
 
 " You been talking to Purcell," the detective 
 growled, contemptuously.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 135 
 
 But the lawyer only smiled. "'No, I haven't. Pur- 
 cell's got the willies. I only want to be sure." 
 
 " It's a cinch," Morden replied. " What else would 
 he be playing blackmail for ? " 
 
 " I think it's a cinch myself ; but I propose to know 
 it," said the lawyer. He was swarthily smiling; but 
 his overdeveloped jaw and chin looked determined. 
 " Here's what I propose : We'll take this doctor where 
 he can get a good, long look at Alfred Dinsmore and 
 we'll ask him if he ever saw that man before. Nobody 
 has mentioned that Billingtown business to him ; no rea- 
 son why he should be thinking of it. If he can identify 
 Dinsmore to us, we'll know exactly where we stand r- 
 no question about it." 
 
 The detective appreciated the point, but was loath to 
 acknowledge it. " Well, let's get it started," was all 
 he would say. 
 
 " Dinsmore usually walks to the Boulevard Club for 
 lunch," the lawyer went on ; " across the river and 
 down Michigan Boulevard. It's better than a mile 
 constitutional, I suppose. I'll get a closed car and 
 instruct the chauffeur. We'll wait for Dinsmore over 
 near his office and trail him. Our man can get a good 
 look at him. If we don't see him today we will to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " All right," said the detective ; " I'll fetch our doc- 
 tor in." He turned abruptly and left the room. 
 
 Leaving the train, with his witness, Morden had 
 driven to his own office where Mr. James Tanner 
 awaited him. Morden, Tanner and Dr. Dill had then
 
 136 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 driven to McMurtry's office where the latter two were 
 shown into a side room. In only a moment therefore 
 Morden returned to McMurtry's room accompanied by 
 a short, broad, pot-bellied man who was wearing an 
 aged, grease-stained Prince Albert coat, light-coloured 
 trousers and dilapidated shoes evidently a ceremonial 
 garb of other and better days. His standing collar 
 was not very clean and his plaid four-in-hand tie was 
 frayed. He had a fine brow, a bulbous nose and a little 
 round chin that seemed not to belong with the rest of 
 his face. The face was barred by a drooping grey 
 moustache and the misfit chin made it look as 
 though it had been cut up into a puzzle picture and 
 a child, in putting it together, had picked out 
 the wrong lower piece. He was sallow, much wrin- 
 kled and his watery eyes were permanently blood 
 shot. 
 
 "Dr. Dill, Mr. McMurtry," said the detective in 
 brusque introduction. 
 
 Dr. Dill extended a flabby hand which the lawyer 
 genially shook. The doctor's manner was nervous and 
 propitiating like that of a homeless dog more used to 
 kicks than bones. 
 
 " We want your services, doctor, and we're going to 
 pay you well for them," said the lawyer with expansive 
 encouragement. " There's a big law suit here, with a 
 great deal of money involved. If we can get the 
 evidence we want, we'll pay high for it. If we don't 
 get it, we'll pay you for your time and trouble any- 
 way. For the present don't ask any questions. Just
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 137 
 
 put yourself in our hands. You'll be well taken care 
 of." 
 
 The doctor smiled nervously, shifted his battered, 
 broad-brimmed hat to the other hand and said in a 
 voice habitually tremulous, " Well I hope I can help 
 you out." Then he looked up at the detective like a 
 trained dog awaiting another cue from his master. 
 
 " All right, doc," said Morden, in his hoarse, aggres- 
 sive voice, laying a powerful hand on the other's flabby 
 shoulder. " There won't be anything else until 
 about " 
 
 He looked at the lawyer. 
 
 " Half past twelve," said McMurtry, swarthily beam- 
 ing. 
 
 " Half past twelve," Morden repeated. " Jim Tan- 
 ner will take good care of you till then and bring you 
 back here on time. You can see the city a little." 
 Both of them treated the doctor in the manner of a 
 school teacher heartening a timorous new pupil. 
 
 Dr. Dill was then turned over to the trustworthy 
 hands of James Tanner who was an employe of the 
 Morden Detective Agency. When the lawyer and de- 
 tective were alone again McMurtry rubbed his chin 
 somewhat dubiously. " Pretty seedy now," he com- 
 mented ; " but with some new clothes, and Tanner 
 toning him up he won't make such a bad appearance. 
 We may have to stand him up in front of Dinsmore 
 and we may not." 
 
 " If he can spot the man, there's nothing to it," said 
 the detective, with decision.
 
 138 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " Well, if he spots him it's a cinch," the lawyer 
 assented, and for a moment they looked deeply at each 
 other for a great deal of money rose upon their inner 
 visions. 
 
 " Purcell been around ? " the detective asked, with an 
 incidental air. 
 
 " He comes around," the lawyer replied, twinkling 
 with a perfect comprehension of the other's drift. 
 
 "He's a crab. We'll give him what he's worth," the 
 detective growled, sententiously. 
 
 " There won't be any trouble in handling Purcell," 
 McMurtry replied, with a very good-natured expres- 
 sion, but decisively. 
 
 " Never much trouble handling a man that ain't got 
 any guts," Morden observed, out of a large experience. 
 He looked at his watch. " I'll be back before half past 
 twelve. You'll see to the car? " 
 
 McMurtry nodded and they parted for an hour and 
 a half. 
 
 The two great, uniform buildings of the Dinsmore 
 Company look like another city cleanly set down in the 
 mean and grimy clutter of the older city. From the 
 main entrance of the easterly building an entrance 
 which, although hundreds of people can pass quickly 
 through its four broad glass doors, seems inadequate 
 for such a pile Alfred Dinsmore stepped briskly at 
 a quarter to one o'clock. The cement walk in front of 
 the building was broad and clean, but on leaving it he 
 went down three steps to a dirty street, ill-paved with 
 worn granite blocks, and on crossing the street was im-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 139 
 
 mediately in an environment of small, shabby buildings, 
 devoted to shabby uses. He was hardly aware of them, 
 however, as he kept his habitual course up the street, 
 then presently across the river on a shabby old bridge. 
 When he got out on Michigan Boulevard, with a clear 
 view to the lake at the east, his mind consciously lifted 
 to the blue sky and genial air. 
 
 He walked rapidly, mechanically accommodating 
 himself to the traffic on the bridge and at the cross 
 streets which brought him to a halt now and then until 
 there was a clear way ahead. Nothing about the 
 vehicular traffic made any impression upon him, al- 
 though all the way along a green limousine kept as 
 close to the curb and to him as possible. 
 
 " There's the man now, coming toward us the 
 man in a grey suit and light brown hat the one with 
 a beard. I want you to watch that man just as close 
 as you can and see whether you've ever seen him before." 
 So McMurtry had spoken, with restrained eagerness, 
 like one setting a dog to a scent, when the car stood 
 at the curb and Dinsmore came out of the Dinsmore 
 Company's building. 
 
 Dr. Dill had been put next the right hand window, 
 to give him the best possible view. He stretched his 
 short neck and held his sallow and wrinkled face close 
 to the pane raising his short body now and then in 
 a half-squatting posture. He, too, was eager, for they 
 had said it meant a great deal of money. He wanted 
 some of that money terribly, and although the gentle- 
 men had talked handsomely about compensating him
 
 140 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 anyway he knew well enough the compensation would 
 depend on the value of his services to them. So he 
 peered with all his might, out of his watery eyes with 
 the tiny red threads in them. A temporary jam at the 
 bridge brought him so close to Dinsmore that by open- 
 ing the door he could almost have touched him and 
 when Dinsmore turned his head a little, the doctor got 
 three-quarters of his face. Then the foot passengers 
 went ahead, while the car was detained. Dr. Dill sank 
 back in the seat and turned to McMurtry who sat in 
 the middle. 
 
 " I've certainly seen that man somewhere before," 
 he said with much earnestness in his tremulous voice. 
 " I remember something about his face. It's familiar. 
 I'll place him yet." 
 
 In fact his labouring mind was quite blank ; but his 
 hopes were clinging to the money. 
 
 At the Public Library he got another good, prolonged 
 look. " Yes, yes ! " he quavered, in greater agitation. 
 " I've certainly seen that man before . . . There's 
 something familiar. I know I've seen him before." 
 
 Mostly Dinsmore walked at the farther side of the 
 flagging and a flow of people between him and the car 
 obscured the view; or there would be cars along the 
 curb so they had to swing out in the street. But the 
 doctor kept watching with all his might. Again for 
 a minute or more he had an almost clear view, and 
 when traffic once more shut it off the doctor clasped 
 his brow with a shaky hand, urging on the machinery
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 141 
 
 within. Abruptly he turned to McMurtry in high ex- 
 citement and demanded: 
 
 " What is that man's name ? " 
 
 " Alfred Dinsmore," the lawyer replied, considering 
 there could be no harm in that. 
 
 Dr. Dill clutched the lawyer's arm, wagging his head 
 with energy and exclaimed, " I know ! I know ! " The 
 puffy flesh puckered around his watery eyes as he peered 
 with a breathless questioning at McMurtry and then 
 at Morden. He seemed to have received a great shock 
 that left him fearful. His eyes looked furtive and 
 alarmed. In a lower tone, with an indrawing of breath, 
 he said, " It was thirty years ago ; but I know." 
 
 McMurtry's nerves leapt ; but he made no attempt to 
 press the doctor then. He only put a reassuring hand 
 on his knee, smiled and said heartily, " We'll get some 
 lunch and then we'll talk it over up in my office. 
 You can be sure we will take good care of you." 
 
 And at luncheon he merely talked cheerfully on sub- 
 jects remote from the one in their minds a cue which 
 the detective followed. When the three were snugly 
 seated in his private office McMurtry again put a reas- 
 suring hand on the doctor's knee, beaming, and brought 
 up the real subject: 
 
 " You needn't be afraid. We're going to take care 
 of you. You're safe as a bear in a hollow tree. You 
 treated that man professsionally at Billingtown, Ne- 
 braska, some thirty years ago." 
 
 Dr. Dill hesitated a moment, furtive and tremulous.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Still beaming and with a very significant little nod, 
 the lawyer remarked " That man is worth millions." 
 
 The remark seemed to be illuminating to the doctor. 
 " I treated that man for a gunshot wound in Peter 
 Sykes' house the night Latham was killed by bank rob- 
 bers," he replied. 
 
 McMurtry nodded and said, " Tell us about it. It 
 means a fortune for you." 
 
 The doctor's shaky voice took up the narrative: 
 " Sykes came for me about half past three in the morn- 
 ing. I had an office over a harness shop about a block 
 off Main Street and I slept in the room back of the 
 office. Sykes came for me. When I let him in he said, 
 * Hustle on your clothes, doc ; I've got a case for you ! ' 
 He was an aggressive kind of a man abrupt. I 
 started to dress and he said, ' A friend of mine's been 
 hurt.' He stood by pulling his long moustache while 
 I dressed. I was putting on my coat and he pulled a 
 big roll of money out of his pocket and showed it to me 
 and said ' Mum's the word,' so I knew it was something 
 contraband. I stepped into the office from the bed 
 room to get my medic/ine case and Sykes followed me and 
 said, ' The man's been shot in the shoulder. He's 
 feverish. Don't take that thing. We'll carry what 
 you need in our pockets.' So I took some things out 
 of the case and picked up what else I judged I'd need. 
 I put some in my pockets and Sykes put some in his. 
 We went down the back stairs and when we came out 
 on the street I saw there was something going on over 
 on Main Street. There were lanterns and I heard men
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 143 
 
 talking and a horse galloping quite a commotion for 
 that time of night. It must have been pretty near four 
 o'clock in the morning or a quarter of four for 
 when Sykes' rapping woke me up and I lit a lamp and 
 looked at the clock I saw it was half past three. I 
 wondered what it was, but I don't remember that I said 
 anything about it. But I remember Sykes saying, * I 
 hear the First National Bank was robbed tonight,' 
 and I felt sure that was why he had come for me. I 
 followed him when he went out in the road instead of 
 walking on the sidewalk where our footsteps might at- 
 tract attention. 
 
 " I went into Sykes' house with him. He took me 
 in the back door. It was just a cabin a shack, as 
 we call it. The house looked dark as a pocket to me, 
 but Sykes said, ' All quiet ? ' and his wife said, ' Yes.' 
 She was a very subdued woman. Sykes was a bad 
 egg then. Sykes went into a room and lit a lamp and 
 I followed him. It was a small bedroom. The man was 
 on the bed, feverish in a good deal of pain. He'd 
 been shot in the shoulder. Sykes had dosed the wound 
 with whiskey and bound it up. I gave him an opiate 
 and dressed the wound. It wasn't serious with 
 proper care." 
 
 " And you saw him after that ? " McMurtry asked. 
 
 " I saw him every day or every night fcv a week 
 or more," said the doctor. " Twice a day at first. I 
 spent a good deal of time with him." He lifted a fore- 
 finger. " His jaw had been broken. He never told 
 me how, although I asked once. I judged it had hap-
 
 144 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 pened at least a year before. There was a big welt and 
 scar clear across his chin." With a finger tip he out- 
 lined it on his own diminutive chin. " He'll carry that 
 to the day of his death." 
 
 " But you recognized him even with his chin covered," 
 said the lawyer. 
 
 Dr. Dill nodded with satisfaction. " I recognized 
 him his eyes and forehead and his nose. I'm cer- 
 tain it's the man." He hesitated a little, regarding 
 McMurtry furtively out of his watery eyes and felt 
 tremulously of his small chin. " I have a means of 
 identification." He opened his vest and from the 
 inner pocket drew a large leather wallet, shiny with 
 long use, the tough material worn through at the ends 
 where the flap folded over. Holding this aged wallet 
 in his hand, he explained : 
 
 " When I got to the house, Sykes had partly un- 
 dressed the man. He'd pulled off his coat and shirt 
 and undershirt. Of course Sykes wanted to take care 
 of the patient himself if he could without calling in 
 anybody. But with the pain and rising fever the man 
 had become slightly delirious. Sykes had got scared 
 and decided to call me. Sykes had partly undressed 
 him, as I said, and thrown the clothes over in a corner of 
 the room. But in taking off his shirt one of the cuff 
 buttons had fallen out and lay on the floor at the edge 
 of the bed. I noticed it when I pulled a chair up there." 
 
 Again the doctor hesitated a little. " It occurred to 
 me then that it might be valuable as a means of identi-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 145 
 
 fication, so when I got a chance I picked it up and put 
 it in my pocket." 
 
 He opened his wallet, which looked painfully flat, 
 undid a little strap that fastened one of its pockets and 
 from that pocket produced a silver link cuff-button 
 which he laid on the table, pointing to it significantly. 
 
 McMurtry picked it up. Immediately his swarthy 
 face lighted with a triumphant grin. He gave a 
 chuckle, handed the button over to Morden, and rubbed 
 his white hands together with warm satisfaction. Even 
 the morose detective grinned broadly as he looked at the 
 button. x On each of its two sides the initials " A. D. " 
 were engraved. 
 
 The lawyer's good nature was even augmented by a 
 notion that as Dr. Dill could hardly have seen the en- 
 graving while the button lay on the floor, his original 
 motive in picking it up was none other than simply to 
 possess himself of a bit of silver. With that notion 
 he reached over, in an unusually expansive mood, and 
 clapped the doctor on the shoulder. 
 
 " You're a corker, doctor ! " he declared. " And 
 you've kept it all these years ! " 
 
 With a mind divided between flattery at the compli- 
 ment and something else, the doctor replied, " I've kept 
 it all these years." 
 
 It was practically the only thing, external to his 
 own hide, that he had kept all those years. Being en- 
 graved with the owner's initials the button would be 
 worth merely its bullion value, which might be twenty-
 
 146 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 five cents. If it had been solid gold he would un- 
 doubtedly have parted with it long since. As it was, 
 he had been sorely tempted more than once. But the 
 button was a token of his greatest adventure. There 
 had always been in his mind a vague notion that some- 
 thing would finally come of it. So he had been able 
 to resist temptation to the extent of twenty-five cents.- 
 
 McMurtry examined the trinket again, with the 
 greatest satisfaction. " Dr. Dill, that cuff button 
 cinches your story," he said benevolently. " On the 
 strength of it I'm going to put five thousand dollars to 
 your credit on my books right now as a starter, you 
 understand. You just lie quiet and follow Mr. Mor- 
 den's advice here and do as you're told and there's going 
 to be a fortune in this for you. Of course, you must be 
 very very careful what you say and what you do 
 for the present. You just follow Morden's advice. 
 Any spending money you want for the present, you 
 can have. Be quiet and careful now." 
 
 So with a hearty handshake and the friendliest air, 
 Dr. Dill was again relegated to the care of James Tan- 
 ner. 
 
 When the door closed on him, Morden turned to the 
 lawyer with the positive statement, " It's a cinch ! " 
 
 McMurtry, looking affectionately down at the silver 
 trinket which lay in the palm of his left hand, rubbed 
 his chin with the right hand like a man engaged in 
 pleasant cogitation. For a long moment, twinkling, he 
 thought it over. Then he pronounced his judgment: 
 " It's a cinch ! "
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 147 
 
 " Let's go after him right away," said Morden 
 cheerfully, as though he meant to call a cab that minute. 
 
 The lawyer, however, went back to his broad arm 
 chair by the office table and gave himself up to reflec- 
 tion for a time that proved irritatingly long to the 
 detective. 
 
 " It's got to be handled right," he said, thoughtfully. 
 " I want to get the drop on him take him by sur- 
 prise. A man like Dinsmore, you know if he knew 
 what was coming he might put up a fight ... I want 
 to jump him when he isn't looking. And a man like 
 that, Jake why, you can't just open the door and 
 walk in. Go to his office and he'll send out his secre- 
 tary to ask what you want to see him about or to 
 say he's engagec Go to his house and the butler will 
 probably shut the door in your face unless you've got 
 an appointment. It's necessary to have an appoint- 
 ment or you simply can't get near him. And if you 
 ask for an appointment he'll naturally ask what you 
 want to see him about. It's got to be arranged. ..." 
 
 He fell to thinking again while the detective looked 
 morose. 
 
 " We'll get Purcell to fix it," the lawyer finally said. 
 " Of course, we've got to give him a report on develop- 
 ments anyway. J. Wesley Tully is scared stiff over 
 this libel suit of Dinsmore's. I'll get Purcell to per- 
 suade him that I can settle it for him. If Tully asks 
 Dinsmore to see me, as his lawyer in the libel suit, Dins- 
 more will do it. Of course, Dinsmore doesn't like suing 
 a newspaper any too well. No man does, for there's
 
 148 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 no telling what a newspaper may do to him. It's like 
 holding a bear by the tail at best. Tully has stand- 
 ing and so on. If he asks Dinsmore to give me an ap- 
 pointment, as his lawyer, Dinsmore will do it. I'll get 
 hold of Purcell." 
 
 Morden admitted the sagacity of that arrangement 
 and left it to the lawyer. 
 
 To Purcell therefore the lawyer that evening recited 
 the developments of the day, describing Dr. Dill's identi- 
 fication of Dinsmore and exhibiting the engraved cuff 
 button. 
 
 It all looked convincing. But the managing editor 
 was unfortunately so constituted that while he could 
 screw himself up to a bold action the screws were con- 
 stantly coming loose. Suspense was demoralizing to 
 him. This Dinsmore adventure was always on his 
 nerves, his uneasy mind conjured up doubts and fears. 
 So now he made McMurtry go over the identification in 
 detail. 
 
 " Do you suppose," he finally asked, " that he really 
 did remember Dinsmore's face? " 
 
 " Why, sure! What else? " the lawyer demanded. 
 
 The managing editor nervously shaved his lips with 
 a bent forefinger and put it judicially: " Well, look at 
 it scientifically. That bank robbery was the biggest 
 thing that had ever happened to him. He'd kept that 
 cuff button all this time, which shows how it stuck in 
 his mind. Then another big thing happens to him 
 more mysterious than the bank robbery. A stranger 
 looks him up, gives him money, brings him to Chicago,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 149 
 
 where he's told to look at a certain man and see if he 
 can remember him. It wouldn't take his wobbly mind 
 very long to make a connection between that and th? 
 old bank business. What else had ever happened in his 
 life that a mysterious stranger would be fetching him 
 to Chicago to identify a man for? Do you really think 
 he'd remember Dinsmore's face Dinsmore with a 
 beard after all that time ? His wobbly mind does 
 make the connection. He asked the man's name. His 
 initials are A. D. same as the cuff button. Then he 
 says he remembers him." 
 
 McMurtry smiled and shook his head. " If Dinsmore 
 handed you a million dollars in greenbacks the first 
 thing you'd say was ' This is probably counterfeit 
 money. I'd better throw it in the lake or I'll be 
 pinched.' ' He laughed indulgently, for he proposed 
 to keep on the best of terms with this doubting young 
 man for the present. " I've combed it all over and I 
 tell you it's a cinch. Besides, you know, I'm taking all 
 the risk. I'm not asking you to tackle Dinsmore." 
 
 Purcell had nothing to say to that. 
 
 " Here's what I want of you now," the masterful 
 lawyer went on ; and unfolded his idea that Purcell 
 should persuade Tully to engage McMurtry in the libel 
 matter and get Dinsmore to consent to talk with him. 
 They discussed that at length. Purcell should intimate 
 to Tully that McMurtry had some very special argu- 
 ment up his sleeve and could get Dinsmore to withdraw 
 the suit. Purcell would say that McMurtry was doing 
 this out of personal friendship for the managing editor.
 
 150 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 The first thing, after Mr. Tully had been put in a re- 
 ceptive frame of mind, would be a conference between 
 McMurtry and the editor of the Leader at which the 
 lawyer would arrange the method of broaching the 
 matter to Dinsmore. 
 
 It proved as easy as McMurtry had expected. The 
 editor of the Leader, profoundly disturbed at Dins- 
 more's libel suit, caught eagerly at this plausible sug- 
 gestion of a way to rid himself of it. At the conference 
 with McMurtry he readily swallowed the lawyer's hints 
 at some very special influence that could be brought to 
 bear. Anything that promised to free him of that 
 disastrous libel suit was food he hungered for. 
 
 " I don't believe Mr. Dinsmore knows just what I've 
 got in mind," said McMurtry, smiling at the editor and 
 with an air which implied that two shrewd, experienced 
 old hands like himself and Mr. Tully could understand 
 a great many things without having them printed in 
 big black headlines. " I want to take him off-guard, 
 you see, before he's had time to think it over much and 
 especially before he takes it up with his lawyers. Mel- 
 ford, Farson & Winthrop might put a flea in his ear. 
 My idea, Mr. Tully, would be that you try to find out 
 whether he's got an engagement this evening or to- 
 morrow evening. The Dinsmores' social engagements 
 are things that I suppose you can pretty easily find out 
 about. Get an evening when he seems to have no en- 
 gagement; then call him up about dinner time. Tell 
 him you regret that libel suit. Say if you and he had 
 had a little talk about it in the first place it could all
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 151 
 
 have been arranged and the suit avoided or something 
 like that ; but now that the suit's been brought, of 
 course, you've got to defend yourself. My idea would 
 be to taffy him up and be very friendly and all that 
 but just to let him understand, all the same, that if 
 there's got to be a fight it will be a disagreeable fight. 
 You could say you didn't want to go into a great row 
 and mess if you could avoid it ; you wanted very much 
 very much indeed to fix it up and settle it and get 
 it out of the way if you could. You could say you 
 had engaged Mr. McMurtry as counsel and he felt sure 
 the whole thing could be arranged satisfactorily to both 
 sides and without making a great muss of it if only it 
 was taken in time. And you could say you very 
 earnestly wanted him to let Mr. McMurtry have a talk 
 with him immediately that evening; Mr. McMurtry 
 would come right up to his house ; an hour's time would 
 be all he needed. That would be my idea of the way to 
 approach him, Mr. Tully, and if he will consent to see 
 me I am very confident I can settle the thing for you." 
 
 The eccentric editor was delighted with the prospect 
 and promised heartily to follow his volunteer counsel's 
 suggestions. As it happened Mr. Dinsmore did have an 
 engagement that evening ; but the following evening just 
 as he w 's about to sit down to the family dinner he was 
 notified vhat Mr. J. Wesley Tully was on the telephone 
 urgently requesting speech with him. 
 
 Over the wire the editor played the role for which 
 McMurtry had cast him. That libel suit was a dis- 
 agreeable thing to Dinsmore also. Of course, he had
 
 152 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 been angry when he read the libel because it was a 
 libel on his business. That business had often enough 
 been libelled by innuendo and indirection, for it was a 
 highly unpopular one among retail merchants with whom 
 it competed. Dinsmore always resented that, for the 
 honour of the business was a sort of narrower but more 
 intimate patriotism with him. The Leader's gross libel 
 therefore roused his fighting blood. At that, probably, 
 he wouldn't have sued except for Lowell Winthrop's 
 solid argument that he owed himself and society the 
 duty of bringing the outrageous newspaper to book. 
 He knew it threatened to ruin J. Wesley Tully, who 
 wasn't a bad sort at heart, but only a fool. He re- 
 gretted that. So, without the least hesitation, he con- 
 sented to see Mr. Tully's legal representative, heartily 
 hoping that a satisfactory way out of the mess would 
 be presented to him. 
 
 But as he ate dinner, his mind ran upon it, and mis- 
 givings arose. He had heard various stories about 
 Lawrence McMurtry, none of them likely to inspire con- 
 fidence in that gentleman. . . . Why should Tully have 
 engaged that dubious person? Why this sudden request 
 for a conference up here at his house? Lawrence 
 McMurtry was enough to put any prudent man on his 
 guard. And J. Wesley Tully was a weak brother, 
 which is sometimes worse than a deliberately wicked 
 brother. Dinsmore thought it over, with misgiv- 
 ings. . . . 
 
 McMurtry reached the house about a quarter of nine 
 and was at once shown into the library where Dinsmore
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 153 
 
 waited for him. He was standing over by the table 
 and McMurtry noted, with a touch of malice, that he 
 didn't offer to shake hands, but merely bowed across the 
 distance that separated them, indicated the chair at one 
 side of the table, then walked around and seated him- 
 self on the other side. 
 
 " Well, let the snob have it that way if he wants to 
 for the time being," McMurtry thought, as he advanced 
 to the proffered chair. His own manner was bland and 
 hearty. 
 
 " Of course, Mr. Tully has told you my business," 
 he began with cheerful briskness. " He regrets this 
 libel very much. It would never have got into the paper 
 if he had read that letter through. The fact is, he was 
 in a great hurry and merely glanced over the fore part 
 of it. He thought it was all about politics and gave 
 instructions to print it which he never would have 
 done if he had read it through. Certainly that's no 
 excuse in law, but it may be some excuse just between 
 men." 
 
 " If it had been only a personal libel I should have 
 ignored it," Dinsmore replied. " But it said my busi- 
 ness was nothing but a swindle. Naturally I think 
 rather well of my business and feel bound to protect it." 
 
 In this by play the lawyer was nerving himself. In 
 spite of himself, the big house, as a symbol of position 
 and power, made a certain impression upon him. Face 
 to face across the table, Dinsmore made a certain 
 impression the impression of a cool, able, formidably 
 armed person.
 
 154 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " Certainly ! " he assented blandly. " Any man 
 would. But an injury to a business can always be made 
 good. We all make our mistakes, you know. I've made 
 mine. Probably you've made yours." He was getting 
 himself in hand. 
 
 ** No doubt," Dinsmore replied drily ; " and had to 
 pay for them, too." 
 
 " Of course ! Exactly ! " said the lawyer, well pleased. 
 " We have to pay for them." 
 
 " Unfortunately, my business isn't welcome to a great 
 many people," Dinsmore remarked. " Retail merchants 
 generally don't like it. They're always throwing a 
 brick at it. This thing of Tully's brought all that out 
 in the open where I could hit it." 
 
 " People will talk about what they don't like," 
 said McMurtry. " About a man like you there'll al- 
 ways be stories in circulation." For the fraction of a 
 second he measured the man across the table and 
 struck. " Only the other day a man told me you mur- 
 dered a bank cashier named Latham in Billingtown, Ne- 
 braska, thirty-one years ago." He said it in an even 
 tone and watched the knife go home. 
 
 Dinsmore sat perfectly still. For a moment the 
 healthy but low-toned colour of his face did not change. 
 It was his eyes that showed the cut. They did not fal- 
 ter from McMurtry's face ; it didn't look like fear, but 
 rather like an animal, struck to the vitals, summoning 
 up its power to fight crouching to launch itself. 
 His hands remained motionless on the edge of the table. 
 
 " He told me," McMurtry went on steadily, " that
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 155 
 
 you'd left your home in St. Joe probably a youth- 
 ful indiscretion and associated yourself with one 
 John Colby, a county fair fakir. You ran the soap 
 game. Colby had trouble with the bank cashier at Bill- 
 ingtown. A resident of that town named Peter Sykes 
 proposed that they rob the bank. Colby and his out- 
 fit went up to Bleeker, Nebraska ; left there Friday and 
 camped Saturday night some twenty odd miles from 
 Billingtown. Colby and a negro named William 
 Pomeroy and yourself took the outfit's three horses and 
 rode to Billingtown that night. You hitched the horses 
 in a ravine where Peter Sykes met you. Then you went 
 to the bank. Pomeroy, the negro, kept guard at the 
 alley and you kept guard back of the bank while Colby 
 and Sykes dug through the vault wall and blew the safe. 
 The explosion woke the cashier. He ran down the back 
 stairs in his night shirt. Probably you were rather 
 panicky at the moment. You shot him at the foot of 
 the stairs. It was a fatal wound, but he shot you in the 
 shoulder before he died. Sykes took you into his house 
 and called a certain Dr. Dill who dressed your wound 
 and took care of you until you and Sykes went to Stand- 
 ing Rock to meet Colby. That is the story, Mr. Dins- 
 more." He spoke steadily, yet there was a kind of 
 hush in his utterance as from nerves tightly keyed up. 
 
 "Who told you that story? " Dinsmore asked, in a 
 voice as steady as the lawyer's. 
 
 " That is under the seal," McMurtry replied ; " a 
 confidence between lawyer and client. The important 
 point is whether the story is true."
 
 156 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " Of course, it isn't true," Dinsmore answered 
 promptly but almost casually, as though his mind 
 were engaged with something else. 
 
 " The man who shot the bank cashier Latham had a 
 broken chin a ragged scar across it," said McMurtry. 
 " How long have you worn a beard? " 
 
 Dinsmore ignored the question, his eyes on the lawyer. 
 " A story of that kind would need witnesses," he said. 
 McMurtry noted that his hands, resting on the edge 
 of the table, did not move in the least. 
 
 " Undoubtedly," McMurtry replied, readily. " I 
 have them. The Dr. Dill who attended you at Sykes' 
 house when you were wounded is here in Chicago. He 
 has seen you and positively identified you. He will 
 swear to it anywhere. When you were undressed that 
 night in Sykes' house a cuff button fell out of your 
 shirt a silver link cuff button with your initials en- 
 graved on it. Dr. Dill preserved it, it's in my posses- 
 sion now." 
 
 Dinsmore raised his hand to his beard and spoke 
 sarcastically. " And I suppose you're prepared to 
 produce John Colby, who would be the only competent 
 witness." 
 
 McMurtry smiled. " My information is that John 
 Colby departed this life very suddenly and mysteriously 
 a year or so ago after a visit to you. You might be 
 able to throw some light on that, but it's immaterial. 
 Dr. Dill is sufficient. He didn't know what he was 
 wanted for when he was brought here to Chicago. He 
 was placed where he could get a good look at you, with-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 157 
 
 out even knowing your name. Tom Wilson was the 
 name you used then. He looked you over and said, 
 * That's the man I treated for a gunshot wound the 
 night the bank was robbed at Billingtown and the 
 cashier killed. 5 He will repeat that statement any- 
 where. You've been paying blackmail for years. Why 
 not clean it up ? " 
 
 Dinsmore was very quiet, and all the time eyeing 
 his opponent a quietness that suggested a still, 
 crouching animal. " What method of cleaning up 
 blackmail would you propose to a client?" he asked 
 with a touch of sarcasm. 
 
 " Well, it's true," said McMurtry more composedly 
 than he had yet spoken, " that you can't make a bind- 
 ing contract in the nature of the case. A man's writ- 
 ten agreement not to divulge a murder, for instance 
 
 isn't enforcible at law. You've got to depend on 
 
 the word and the self-interest of the people who are in 
 a position to sell you their silence. The competent 
 witnesses in this affair are old men now. When they're 
 dead you'll be free." 
 
 " Unless I set up successors to them," Dinsmore re- 
 minded him. He thought it over further, his face com- 
 posed, and said coolly, " I'm very much inclined to tell 
 you to go to the devil." 
 
 " But it would be you who would go there," McMur- 
 try replied, unruffled. " Dr. Dill is sixty-five or so, I 
 judge, and not in good health. In fact, he's been a 
 sort of superior bum for a long time and is about all 
 in. Say his conscience troubles him. He goes back to
 
 158 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Billingtown properly attended and makes a con- 
 fession for the good of his soul, incidentally claiming 
 the protection of having turned state's evidence. Of 
 course, it's a story that every newspaper in the United 
 States would put on the front page Alfred Dinsmore, 
 the multi-millionaire, eminent in society and so forth. 
 Only once in a life time the newspapers get a story like 
 that. Certainly it would please all these retail mer- 
 chants who, you say, don't like your mail order busi- 
 ness. Personally I haven't a doubt in the world that 
 you'd be convicted on the evidence I have in my hand 
 right now. What else were you paying blackmail for 
 all this time? But even if you were finally acquitted 
 well, there wouldn't be much left, would there, of the 
 Alfred Dinsmore who's now sitting across the table 
 from me ; and of this ? " He glanced around the hand- 
 some room. " You know perfectly well you can't afford 
 it. Your family can't." 
 
 Dinsmore gnawed at his lip a moment and folded one 
 hand tightly into the other. " What do you want ? " 
 he demanded, like throwing it in the other's face. 
 
 McMurtry had considered and decided that point. 
 He answered promptly, " Two hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand dollars." 
 
 " You won't get it ! " Dinsmore replied instantly. 
 
 The peremptoriness of the refusal was a surprise to 
 McMurtry, and nettled him, for he thought he had the 
 fish securely hooked. " In that case, there's nothing 
 more to be said," he retorted, and made as though to 
 arise.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 159 
 
 " Very well ; good evening," said Dinsmore tersely, 
 without stirring. " I'll pay no two hundred and fifty 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 McMurtry stood up. " The story will be in the 
 newspapers tomorrow morning," he said, and turned 
 his back and walked toward the door. 
 
 " We'll fight it out," said Dinsmore from his seat at 
 the table. " I'll pay no two hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand." He gave a crooked little smile and added as a 
 sort of taunt, " You say I've been paying blackmail 
 for years. In that case I know how the game is 
 played. You don't want publication any more than I 
 do. That spills the beans for you. You'll get no two 
 hundred and fifty thousand." 
 
 That statement jarred McMurtry 's nerves. He had 
 been prepared to hear Dinsmore deny the story and 
 bluster and threaten ; but the present tactics he was 
 quite unprepared for. Dinsmore denied nothing; but 
 said in effect, " To publish the story is to end your hope 
 of extorting money from me and so to spoil your game." 
 Such tactics resolved the affair into a game of poker 
 bluff against bluff. 
 
 McMurtry realized that and walked on toward the 
 door, saying, " Good night, Mr. Dinsmore." 
 
 " Good night," Dinsmore replied coolly, without 
 moving. 
 
 McMurtry laid his hand on the door knob, then 
 turned his head and asked, j eeringly, " What's your 
 offer? " 
 
 Dinsmore had considered that and answered
 
 160 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 promptly, " I'll pay seventy-five thousand dollars." 
 
 The lawyer hesitated an instant, hand on door 
 knob. " I'll split the difference with you," he offered, 
 as though that were final. 
 
 " Seventy-five thousand ; not another dollar," Dins- 
 more repeated. 
 
 McMurtry jerked the door open and put a foot 
 across the threshold ; stood that way a moment ; then 
 came back into the room, shutting the door after him 
 and walked over to the table where he stood looking 
 down at the man opposite, who had not moved a 
 muscle except to speak. 
 
 " I forgot," said the lawyer, half angrily and half 
 jocularly, " that you used to play poker and run corn 
 deals." 
 
 " I haven't forgotten how," Dinsmore replied, his 
 face still a mask and his eyes steady as levelled pistol 
 barrels. 
 
 McMurtry laughed nervously, dropped into the 
 chair and said, " Make out the check." 
 
 In fact the nerves of both men were tensely wound 
 up as commonly happens at a crucial point of the 
 game to which McMurtry had referred, although the 
 players' faces may be perfectly composed and their 
 voices careless. 
 
 Dinsmore considered the matter of the check an 
 instant and replied, "I can't give you a personal check 
 for seventy-five thousand dollars. I haven't that much 
 to my personal credit. I'll send a check to your office 
 by messenger before ten o'clock tomorrow morning."
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 161 
 
 McMurtry appreciated the reasonableness of that 
 and didn't doubt the promise. He got up again, say- 
 ing, " Very well. I shall expect it before the clock 
 strikes ten." 
 
 " It will be there," said Dinsmore ; and without fur- 
 ther speech the lawyer left the room. He didn't go 
 exactly in triumph. He had collided with Dinsmore's 
 nerve and felt bruised. As he left the house, he was 
 thinking : 
 
 " I wonder if he was bluffing. . . . Would he have 
 let me go without raising his bid? Of course, he cal- 
 culated that I'd rather have seventy-five thousand than 
 spill the beans . . . Plenty of nerve has that same 
 Alfred Dinsmore . . . Cool as a cucumber ... A 
 tough customer to manage. I've got to be careful . . . 
 But I've got the come-alongs on him just the same." 
 
 In fact, his nerves were strained and his mind agitated 
 from the sharp contact. " I'd better have called his 
 bluff gone out and let him come to me," he thought. 
 He felt a surge of anger. " Rotten, self-satisfied 
 snob ! I'll charge it up to him." 
 
 By that time Dinsmore had risen and was pacing the 
 room with slow, mechanical steps, his mind tensely en- 
 gaged with what had passed. He went over it, judg- 
 ing, making his conclusions. A gulf had opened before 
 him and all his mental resources were in play con- 
 sidering what he should do. For a quarter of an hour 
 or so he paced the room, deeply absorbed with his prob- 
 lem. He was a man whose thinking ran swiftly to 
 decisions and actions. About a quarter of an hour
 
 162 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 after McMurtry departed he went quickly up stairs, 
 changed his clothes and left the house without speaking 
 to any one. It was then twenty minutes to ten. 
 
 He had been gone from the room two or three minutes 
 when Jenny Dupee cautiously stuck her head from 
 beneath the large couch in the corner and looked around 
 AS well as she could from that position. As the room 
 was perfectly still and apparently empty she rolled out, 
 stood up, gave a quick glance around and noiselessly 
 fled up stairs. 
 
 When Jenny was engaged by Martha Woods to spy 
 upon the Dinsmore household, the maid surmised that 
 her young mistress's relations with young Edward Proc- 
 tor were the objective point of the spying. Indeed, at 
 that time, when the motive was simply to " get some- 
 thing " on Dinsmore that would make him drop the libel 
 suit against the Leader, those relations had been one 
 of the objective points in Martha Woods's mind, or in 
 the mind of Jacob Morden and Lawrence McMurtry 
 who moved behind the scenes in the matter. Jenny was 
 not merely a spy for hire. Her heart, prompted by an 
 insatiable curiosity, was in the work. She had been 
 mightily afraid; but the further she got along in the 
 adventure the more secure it seemed; avarice and 
 curiosity steadily gaining on her timorous nerves, she 
 became bolder. 
 
 Then the adventure had taken a new and deeply 
 exciting bent. She had been informed that a mysterious 
 caller would wait upon Mr. Dinsmore and she was to 
 exert herself to find out what passed between them
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 163 
 
 with promise of large reward. She had exerted herself. 
 The mysterious caller was a negro. Mr. Dinsmore had 
 given him a bundle of money. And she had come out 
 of it scathless. 
 
 That negro caller didn't look at all like a love affair. 
 To Jenny's excited imagination the case took on 
 vaguely vast and dark proportions some deep mys- 
 tery in which, somehow or other, great sums of money 
 were involved. Jenny was profoundly stirred thereby. 
 Aside from the egging of her restless curiosity, she 
 shrewdly rea-soned that the more she knew of the mys- 
 tery the better show she would stand when it came to 
 a division of those great sums of money. 
 
 That had been her general state of mind at eight 
 o'clock, say, of this present evening. Then she had 
 seen and heard something that whetted her to a razor 
 edge as follows : 
 
 When Alfred Dinsmore finished dinner there were 
 some doubts and misgivings in his mind. J. Wesley 
 Tully had called him up, making an appointment for 
 Lawrence McMurtry to call that evening in the editor's 
 behalf. Dinsmore had readily assented . . . Yet it 
 was rather odd a sudden engagement of that sort 
 for half past eight or a quarter to nine in the evening. 
 " As soon as he can get out there," Tully had said. 
 McMurtry's reputation was not reassuring. There 
 were some doubts and misgivings in Dinsmore's mind. 
 
 He had scarcely finished dinner when Lowell Win- 
 throp strolled casually in. Winthrop was a neighbour, 
 a prospective son, and Dinsmore's lawyer junior
 
 164 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 member of the eminent firm that handled his legal affairs. 
 Most naturally, therefore, Dinsmore had mentioned that 
 McMurtrj was coming to the house, and the circum- 
 stances. Winthrop took it with decidedly greater 
 seriousness than Dinsmore had. 
 
 Perfectly groomed, in a well-fitting dinner coat, and 
 perfectly poised, he said at once : " The fellow's a 
 thorough blackleg. Whatever business he's in is dirty 
 business. Best not see him." 
 
 " But I've made the appointment," Dinsmore 
 objected. " I'm willing enough to clean up that libel 
 business. After all, there's nothing in it but annoyance. 
 No particular reason why I should be afraid of a black- 
 leg, either. . . . Only well, Tully's a conceited ass 
 with no balance or weight. He may have some fool 
 scheme in his head ... I don't quite like it, as a mat- 
 ter of fact." 
 
 " McMurtry is a thorough blackleg," Winthrop re- 
 peated. " If you're going to see him, I'll be present." 
 
 Dinsmore considered that an instant and replied, " I 
 hardly like that, either. The door is open to Tully, 
 you know, if he really wants to clean the business up. 
 Having you in the room might look as though it wasn't." 
 
 As Dinsmore spoke Winthrop had been thinking it 
 over, and something had occurred to him. " This chap 
 McMurtry, you know," he observed, thoughtfully; 
 " I've run across his underground trail more than once. 
 The trouble with some rapscallions is to get them out 
 in the open. He's cunning enough always under- 
 ground. And if he's up to any dirty business now, he
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 165 
 
 wouldn't open it up with me in the room. I'd give 
 something to catch him." 
 
 Not a great while before this he had been engaged in 
 a lawsuit in which a vital part of the evidence turned 
 upon a manipulation of the telephone. That was what 
 had occurred to him and what his mind was running 
 upon. Being of an alert, inquiring turn of mind and 
 knowing something about the mechanics of electrical 
 communication, he had informed himself exactly how 
 that manipulation of the telephone had been effected. 
 
 " Of course, this fellow McMurtry is entitled to no 
 consideration at all,", he remarked to Dinsmore. 
 " Anything is fair with him. If he's up to anything 
 dirty, I'd give something to catch him. Suppose we 
 set a trap for him? " 
 
 The two men therefore had gone into the library, 
 where Winthrop had busied himself with the telephone 
 for some minutes expertly explaining to Dinsmore 
 as he worked. They then went up stairs to the room 
 known as Dinsmore's den where there was some further 
 business with the telephone and incidental conversation. 
 But Dinsmore, in the security of his own house, hadn't 
 troubled to close the door to the den, and restless, peer- 
 ing Jenny Dupee had seen them in there gliding as 
 near to the door and tarrying as long, with straining 
 ears, as she dared. Then she had seen Mr. Dinsmore 
 go down stairs while Mr. Winthrop remained at the 
 desk in the den with the telephone to his ear, and she 
 had heard him say into the telephone : 
 
 " Yes, I hear perfectly. Are you sitting at the table
 
 166 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 now? . . . Walk away a little, facing the table, and 
 say something see if I can hear you that way. . . . 
 Yes, I hear you. That's fine. We'll catch him. Fix 
 the chair so he'll be sitting near the table, facing the 
 'phone. Never mind me now. Just wait for him. I'll 
 be listening." 
 
 From all of which Jenny correctly deduced that Mr. 
 Dinsmore was going to receive a caller in the library 
 and Mr. Winthrop, upstairs in the den, was to overhear 
 what was said. That was immensely exciting, calling 
 up visions of the mysterious negro, bundles of money 
 leading on into the great secret. 
 
 At any rate, she could try for a sight of this caller. 
 All palpitant and aquiver, she fled down stairs and 
 slipped into the parlour adjoining the library, where 
 her flitting presence, if detected, need arouse no sus- 
 picion. The parlour was lighted and empty. The 
 library door stood open also lighted and empty, as 
 a swift glance assured her. She glided back into the 
 hall. Mr. Dinsmore, his wife and daughter, were in 
 the living room. Nobody else was in sight. Tempta- 
 tion beckoned to her or, rather, picked her up bodily, 
 swept her back into the library, threw her on the floor 
 and rolled her under the couch, her heart in her throat, 
 her lips parted, the blood pounding in her ears. 
 
 That was how Jenny Dupee came to witness the meet- 
 ing between Mr. Dinsmore and Lawrence McMurtry. 
 
 McMurtry's real purpose had never in the remotest 
 way suggested itself to Dinsmore. His mind had been 
 running on J. Wesley Tully and the libel suit. The
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 167 
 
 monthly payment to the negro, Pomeroy, had long since 
 become a matter of routine, which hardly ever visited 
 his thoughts except when the pay day came around. 
 One may become habituated to almost anything and 
 accept it as a matter of course. He would as soon have 
 expected the man in the moon to step in with a recital 
 of that old affair as to hear it from Lawrence Mc- 
 Murtry. The shock drove all his preconceptions of 
 the meeting completely out of his head and Lowell 
 Winthrop with them. 
 
 When McMurtry left the house, Dinsmore was in- 
 tensely absorbed with an immediate and exigent prob- 
 lem. The existence of such a being as Lowell Winthrop 
 was as far from his thought as though he had never 
 heard the name. In his deep preoccupation the fact 
 that such a being was up stairs in his den sitting at the 
 other end of an open telephone circuit, never occurred 
 to him. 
 
 Sometime after the telephone had ceased to give any 
 sound some minutes, in fact, after Lowell Winthrop 
 had hung up the receiver and mechanically lighted a 
 cigarette he heard some one enter the adjoining room 
 and stir about there. As the adjoining room was Dins- 
 more's bedroom, he supposed the person was Dinsmore 
 and waited, his brows contracted. Then the slight 
 sounds in that room, as of some one stirring about, 
 quite ceased and for half an hour Winthrop heard noth- 
 ing at all. 
 
 He was in an excessively awkward position. At the 
 end of that half hour he con-eluded that no obligation
 
 168 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 required him to wait longer for Dinsmore, so he made 
 his own way out of the house and home his mind en- 
 gaged with highly disagreeable thoughts.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 PURCELL that evening noted that it was ten min- 
 utes to eleven when Morden telephoned him. He 
 left the newspaper office at once and walked down to 
 Quincy Street where he turned in beneath the red 
 electric sign of the Four Aces Cafe. He took the side 
 entrance, which gave -to narrow stairs, carpeted in 
 bright red, that led to a series of small private dining 
 rooms on the second floor. There was no watchman 
 at this side entrance ; the Four Aces suggested no such 
 restrictions upon its catholic hospitality. But at the 
 top of the stairs a young man in a dinner coat, with 
 the shoulders of a prize fighter and a combative jaw, 
 lounged at ease on a red settee. This young man's 
 standards of deportment could not be considered un- 
 reasonably strict; but it was well for patrons of the 
 Four Aces to conform to such standards as he set 
 as by refraining from breaking the furniture or making 
 an undue racket and most particularly by paying the 
 bill promptly. Otherwise they might suddenly find 
 themselves on their heads at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 As Purcell ascended the red stairs alone the young 
 man eyed him in an openly questioning manner and 
 arose negligently but quite ready for action. 
 
 " Mr. Morden? " Purcell asked of him. 
 
 " Number seven," said the young man and resumed 
 his lounging attitude on the settee. 
 
 The offices of the Morden Detective Agency were 
 
 169
 
 170 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 over on Adams Street, and conferences might be held 
 there ; but as the head of the agency followed the sound 
 policy of not letting his underlings know more than 
 was necessary of his affairs and of not unnecessarily 
 exciting their curiosity, he preferred to hold his most 
 significant conferences elsewhere, and he favoured the 
 Four Aces because he had a very special claim upon 
 the consideration of its proprietor. 
 
 Purcell tapped on the door of number seven. Mor- 
 den's voice answered from within. The managing editor 
 entered the small room, furnished with a dining table, 
 four chairs and a little sideboard, and was disagreeably 
 surprised at seeing not only the detective but Mc- 
 Murtry sitting at the table and smiling genially up at 
 him. 
 
 Purcell realized, unhappily, that he was at a dis- 
 advantage in this adventure. He was not as free to 
 command his movements as his two fellow-adventurers 
 were. Naturally they would be meeting and talking 
 over the joint business more or less in his absence. 
 And in the nature of the case the affair had passed a 
 good deal out of his hands into theirs. He was obliged 
 to trust them, and he didn't exactly. 
 
 He had been decidedly nervous and distrait that 
 evening. It was the evening of the great strike and 
 he had to stay in the newspaper office, going on with his 
 work, until he got word that McMurtry had returned 
 from Highlands and was ready to report. The word 
 came from Morden a simple invitation to meet the 
 detective at the Four Aces immediately. He supposed
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 171 
 
 that McMurtry had telephoned to Morden on the way 
 down from Highlands and would join them there. But 
 McMurtry was already there. He and Morden had no 
 doubt been talking for some little time which sus- 
 picious Purcell didn't like. 
 
 " Well, Charley, we've got him hooked," said the 
 lawyer, beaming, as soon as Purcell was seated. " I'm 
 sure of it. But he fights hard. He won't believe or 
 he pretends he won't believe that we've found Dr. 
 Dill and have him here. I had a long confab with him 
 half or three quarters of an hour. He knows in his 
 bones that we've got him hooked ; but he fights the gaff 
 like the devil. Of course, we've got to give him some 
 line. He can't get away. I told him to take a week 
 to think it over if he wanted to. I don't want him to 
 get the idea that there's the least doubt about it in my 
 mind. I'll give him a week. Then I'll lead him up to 
 Dr. Dill and we'll have a show down. It's sure. We've 
 got him hooked. He can't get away. That's the way 
 the thing stands." 
 
 McMurtry made the assurance blandly, as though 
 he were completely satisfied with the situation and every 
 other reasonable man must be. But Purcell swallowed 
 and the heaviness of disappointment pulled at his heart. 
 He'd thought they were going to divide up about a 
 quarter of a million dollars that evening. And he no- 
 ticed, with pain, that Morden, usually so truculent and 
 impatient of any delay, accepted this statement calmly, 
 his aggressive eyes boring at the managing editor's 
 face.
 
 172 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Maybe it occurred to Morden that Purcell noticed he 
 wasn't quite acting in character for the detective glow- 
 ered somewhat and growled: "I'd have jumped him 
 right then give him three minutes to come across or 
 go to hell. But we've got to trust it to Mac for 
 the present. The crab can't get away." 
 
 So the managing editor was obliged to leave it ; and 
 after a little further talk he returned to the newspaper 
 office, but with an uneasy mind. There the night's 
 work went on like any other night's work until he 
 took a lonely night trolley car to his hotel on the North 
 Side. Next morning he went down to work as usual. 
 
 Usually he got down to the Leader office about eleven 
 o'clock in the morning and the first thing he did was 
 to glance over the early editions of the evening papers 
 dated several hours ahead. These early editions 
 were starvling creatures, appearing in the barren in- 
 terval after the last editions of the morning 'papers had 
 cleaned up the night's news and before the day's news 
 had begun to develop much. A comparatively trivial 
 happening could get a big headline in them. 
 
 So when Purcell, picking up the first of those on his 
 desk, saw " Murder ! " in big black letters, he presumed 
 it referred to an event which would be dismissed with 
 a couple of stickfuls on an inside page in later editions. 
 From a professional point of view his surmise was cor- 
 rect enough; but there was a personal interest which 
 brought him up with a shock as though he had touched 
 a heavily charged live wire. 
 
 The dozen lines of triple-leaded text beneath the
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 173 
 
 headings said that an aged negro named William Pome- 
 roy had been murdered with a knife in the area behind 
 his lodging on South State Street some time in the 
 night. 
 
 The managing editor reached for the telephone and 
 got McMurtry's office. When the lawyer's voice an- 
 swered, he said, " Have you seen the news, Mac ? " 
 
 " What news ? " McMurtry replied. 
 
 " I'll read it to you," said Purcell and thereupon 
 read the dozen lines of text. " I think I best come 
 right over there," he added. But before leaving his 
 desk he unlocked a drawer and took out the folded 
 sheets of shorthand notes which he had made when 
 Pomeroy's story was fresh in his mind. 
 
 When he was shown into McMurtry's private office 
 the lawyer had already sent down to the lobby of the 
 building for editions of the evening papers. The ac- 
 count in each of them was substantially the same 
 evidently a manifolded police report. The lawyer was 
 in a disturbed state, as his contracted brows and per- 
 plexed manner showed. 
 
 " I telephoned Jake," he said at once. " He hadn't 
 heard of it. He's going around to the place and to 
 the police to pick up what he can on the fly. Then 
 he'll come over here and report." 
 
 " The police won't pay much attention to it unless 
 something else develops," Purcell commented. " Nor 
 the newspapers either." 
 
 The murder of an obscure old negro, in an obscure 
 lodging house or hotel patronized by single men of
 
 174 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 his race, in a locality of the extremest social obscurity, 
 would naturally make only the smallest of splashes in 
 the flow of the day's news from all quarters of the globe. 
 Newspaper treatment of such an incident is as sure an 
 index of population as the Federal Census. In a vil- 
 lage it would amount to a great sensation. In a metro- 
 polis it would pass almost unnoticed. 
 
 " I hope they won't," McMurtry replied, frowning. 
 " The less attention the police and the newspapers pay 
 to it, the better." 
 
 The two men were silent for a long moment, but their 
 thoughts were very busy. Then Purcell asked, " When 
 did you leave him? " There was no need of explaining 
 to whom the pronoun referred. 
 
 " I noticed the time when I got out of my car to go 
 to the house," McMurtry replied. " It wasn't quite a 
 quarter of nine. I didn't look when I left the house, 
 but I'm sure it was about half past nine. It's just 
 about an hour's run up there and I got down town here 
 about half past ten." 
 
 He was absorbed with the problem in hand, but 
 Purcell reflected that as Morden had telephoned him at 
 ten minutes of eleven they would have had ten or fifteen 
 minutes together before he joined them at the Four 
 Aces. 
 
 " About half past nine," the managing editor re- 
 peated. " There's no indication of time there " he 
 nodded toward the newspapers on the table " but ap- 
 parently it wasn't discovered until well into the morn- 
 ing."
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 175 
 
 " Plenty of time," McMurtry observed, with a grat- 
 ing laugh meaning, as Purcell understood, that from 
 half past nine to morning was plenty of time to commit 
 a simple murder. 
 
 " It was done with a knife," said Purcell. " Here's 
 what Pomeroy said about that. I brought it along. 
 I told you, you know, that I wrote it down." 
 
 As he spoke he took the sheets of notes from his pocket 
 and began leafing them over. The notes, in fact, were 
 made in a sort of degenerate shorthand that no one but 
 himself could understand. " Here it is," he said and 
 began translating the notes, " Dinsmore a bad man ; 
 Pomeroy afraid of him. Says he killed John Colby; 
 poisoned him; Colby died suddenly after visit to Dins- 
 more. Dinsmore carries a big knife four or five 
 inches touch a spring in the handle and the blade 
 flops out." He looked from the note book to Mc- 
 Murtry. " He held his hands four or five inches 
 apart to indicate how long the knife was. I remem- 
 ber seeing a knife like that the blade folded into 
 the handle, you know, so it can be carried in the 
 pocket. The blade comes open when you touch a 
 spring." 
 
 McMurtry mused over it. " Curious," he com- 
 mented absently. " I always thought that part of the 
 story about Dinsmore killing Colby and having a big 
 knife was all bunk. Curious ! " 
 
 " I should say so ! " Purcell exclaimed. " Great 
 Scot! . . . To say Alfred Dinsmore went down there 
 and killed that old coon with a spring knife sounds the
 
 176 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 craziest thing ever said. . . . But somebody killed 
 him." 
 
 " Somebody did," the lawyer repeated, musing. 
 
 So amazing was it, that a new idea occurred to 
 Purcell. " I believe I'll go over and have a look at 
 him to make sure it's the same man," he said. 
 
 " Well, that would be a good idea," McMurtry re- 
 plied, thoughtfully. " We can't be too sure of any- 
 thing in this queer case. It would be a good idea." 
 
 Aside from its being a good idea, he was very willing 
 to get rid of his friend and accomplice just then for 
 he was expecting Morden any minute. 
 
 The lawyer *was almost more deeply puzzled than 
 Purcell. But for one circumstance 'he would have im- 
 mediately adopted a theory that Dinsmore had killed 
 William Pomeroy adopted it provisionally, of course, 
 and depending on what evidence as to the killing might 
 turn up; yet his mind would have turned promptly in 
 that direction. The arresting circumstance was one 
 that he had no notion of imparting to Purcell namely, 
 at a quarter of ten that morning a messenger had 
 brought him a sealed envelope which contained the Dins- 
 more Company's check for seventy-five thousand dol- 
 lars, and the check was then in his inner coat pocket/ 
 Natuually he wouldn't tell Purcell that, having told 
 him the night before that Dinsmore was to pay nothing 
 then. That circumstance didn't really forbid the 
 theory to which he would have turned without it; but 
 the only motive in killing Pomeroy would have been to 
 remove a witness, and why should a man remove a wit-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 177 
 
 ness by such hazardous means and at the same time pay 
 seventy-five thousand dollars of good money for the 
 witness' silence? It was puzzling. 
 
 He had time to puzzle over it, for nearly an hour 
 elapsed before Morden appeared also puzzled. He 
 had been to the scene of the murder, and he had found 
 what the police knew about it. He had found also that 
 the police were not particularly exerting themselves to 
 learn more about it for it was a shabby, run-of-mill 
 back page affair anyhow. 
 
 Elbridge's Hotel on South State Street, he found, 
 occupied the three upper floors of a dingy old brick 
 building whose ground floor was occupied by a pawn 
 shop. The hotel sign over the stair door conveyed the 
 information that rooms were to be had for thirty-five 
 and fifty cents a day. The establishment just missed 
 being a lodging house for impecunious guests. There 
 was no elevator and except for a small hotel office and 
 forlorn little parlour on the second floor the premises 
 were devoted to sleeping rooms. William Pomeroy oc- 
 cupied one of the best rooms, at fifty cents a day, at 
 the front of the third story, and had occupied it for 
 two years or more. 
 
 The benevolent theory of the establishment was that 
 the guests knew enough to take care of themselves. 
 Beyond collecting the room rent, the management paid 
 precious little attention to them and they paid precious 
 little attention to one another. Mostly, in fact, they 
 were transients. So although Pomeroy had been a 
 guest of long standing, nobody about the place knew
 
 178 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 anything in particular of him or his habits and associa- 
 tions. Management's knowledge hardly went beyond 
 the bare facts that he was prompt pay, quiet and no 
 booze fighter. 
 
 Entering the stair door from South State Street one 
 finds himself in a dim hall, about seven feet wide, that 
 runs through to the rear door and from which the 
 stairs arise. The rear door opens to a back lot per- 
 haps twenty feet deep by thirty wide which is dismally 
 -littered with cinders, some broken boards, some rusty 
 "tin cans and other unsightly refuse. Beyond this dis- 
 mal back lot runs an alley. Only the feeblest illumina- 
 tion reaches this forlorn little back lot at night. Its 
 condition then is one of dimmest twilight, with heavy 
 shadows. 
 
 It was in this back lot that William Pomeroy's body 
 had been found. He had been stabbed in the neck 
 twice, the police surgeon thought with a big knife, 
 and must have died almost immediately. Beside the 
 body lay a cheap, worn suit case packed as though for 
 a journey. Evidently he had been up to his room, 
 packed his suit case, and left by the back door. A 
 coloured porter and man of all work around the hotel 
 told the police that he locked the back door at eleven 
 o'clock in conformity with an old rule of the manage- 
 ment. But the police doubted it. Their cursory in- 
 quiry led them to believe that, in fact, both back and 
 front doors commonly stood unlocked all night and the 
 porter said he locked it merely to save himself from
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 179 
 
 reproach. Indeed, it took him some time to find the 
 key. 
 
 So far as the police and Morden had been able 
 to learn, nobody had seen Pomeroy enter the hotel or 
 leave it, and of course no one had seen any other person 
 in his company. But a guest who occupied the room 
 adjoining Pomeroy 's gave testimony of importance. 
 He said that some time in the night he had been waked 
 up by the sound of voices in Pomeroy's room or, 
 rather, by a voice. He was very sure it was Pomeroy's 
 voice. He had passed the time of day with Pomeroy 
 
 engaged in incidental conversation with him on 
 several occasions, and so knew his voice. He didn't 
 speak with a negro accent, or a southern accent, but 
 with a kind of mellow drawl. The guest was very sure 
 it was Pomeroy's voice he had heard in the night 
 raised, speaking loudly. In fact, he woke up with the 
 idea that a quarrel was going forward in the next room 
 on account of the pitch of the voice. But as he lis- 
 tened, it seemed, rather, that Pomeroy was speaking 
 to a deaf man and raising his voice on that account 
 rather than in anger. 
 
 Either that idea had contented him, or the talking 
 had ceased the guest wasn't sure which. At any 
 rate he had fallen asleep again and heard nothing fur- 
 ther. And unfortunately he could recall nothing what- 
 ever of the talk he had overheard nor could he give any 
 idea of the time. This guest the police concluded 
 
 could not claim Pomeroy's merit of sobriety. They
 
 180 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 thought he had gone to sleep early in the evening the 
 worse for liquor and that his brain, while sufficiently 
 acute to note the loud voice in the next room, had been 
 still rather foggy. But if the conversation had been 
 of a menacing, or alarming kind, the foggy guest would 
 probably have remembered it. 
 
 Quite certainly somebody had gone up to Pomeroy's 
 room with him. Pomeroy had there packed his suit 
 case and left by the back door presumably accom- 
 panied by this somebody. At the back door, or not far 
 from it, he had been killed. 
 
 " That's all the police know," Morden concluded ; 
 " and probably all they will know. They're not excit- 
 ing themselves about it." 
 
 The lawyer mused over it and commented, " Of 
 course, Dinsmore's not deaf." 
 
 " No," the detective growled, " but that fellow was 
 stewed. You can't bank very much on his impres- 
 sions." He glowered over it a moment and observed, 
 " It's a queer case." Then he looked at his watch and 
 said, " It's noon now. Has he come across ? " 
 
 For in telling the detective that Dinsmore had prom- 
 ised to send a check that morning, McMurtry had fixed 
 the hour for its delivery at noon, instead of ten o'clock. 
 One motive for that falsehood had been that he pru- 
 dently preferred to keep the details to himself. Just 
 what form the check was in would be one of the minor 
 points of the game. McMurtry preferred that Morden 
 should not be present when the check was delivered 
 a prudent man, he meant to overlook none of the minor
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 181 
 
 points. And having lied to his friend from that motive 
 he might as well say that the check was to be for only 
 fifty thousand dollars instead of seventy-five which 
 he had done. 
 
 Now he answered his friend and partner smoothly, 
 " Not a peep yet. But he'll come across." 
 
 That was a minor point now, with this astonishing 
 new development of the murder on their hands. So 
 Morden merely glowered and said abruptly, " I'm going 
 back to my office. I want to look over Jenny Dupee's 
 reports. When Pomeroy went up to the house there 
 to get his money she said Dinsmore mentioned some other 
 man to him asked him how somebody was getting 
 along or something like that. My recollection is she 
 gave this other man's name. I want to look that up. 
 May be there's something in it for us." 
 
 He went back to his office therefore and was pres- 
 ently looking over the reports written by Jenny Dupee 
 on Miss Dinsmore's fine note paper, with eccentric 
 spelling. The collection had grown quite bulky by 
 that time, fairly filling the big brown envelope, for 
 Jenny worked at her job with exemplary diligence. 
 Nearly every day she had something or other to report. 
 Most of the sheets in fact contained matter amusingly 
 irrelevant, even to mentioning what the family had for 
 luncheon when there was nothing else to report. They 
 gave the impression of an employe anxious to prove 
 that she was earning her pay. 
 
 Running through them Morden came to the one which 
 described Pomeroy's visit to the house, as Jenny gath-
 
 182 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 ered the facts from her position under the lounge. The 
 detective read: 
 
 " Mr. D said how is Collins. The collared man said 
 he is fine, going every evening to the Cristofer Columbus 
 sochal club." 
 
 Morden read it with a dark grin of approval and 
 thought, appreciatively, " Great little sleuth is that 
 same Jenny Dupee." 
 
 He seemed vaguely to remember having heard of a 
 Christopher Columbus Social Club. The city contained 
 scores of modest little gatherings which found it ad- 
 visable to organize as clubs, or at least to call them- 
 selves clubs as that would be some defence if the 
 police should ever happen to call them gambling joints 
 or boozing joints. He set out therefore to get informa- 
 tion regarding this particular organization. Most 
 likely it would be down town, in the First Ward, so he 
 directed his inquiries to that field. 
 
 Sometimes he was at odds with the official police, yet 
 there was a sort of free-masonry and he had some good 
 old friends in the official organization. It was to the 
 police therefore that he went or, specifically to his 
 old friend Sergeant Laverty from whom he learned 
 that the Christopher Columbus Social Club occupied 
 three rooms in the rear over the Oasis Saloon on Har- 
 rison Street and one Conny Conley presided over it. 
 If it hadn't been a club, Conny Conley would have been 
 the keeper of a gambling house ; but the club was a quiet 
 sort of place that had never brought itself into dis-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 183 
 
 favour with the authorities. Every such place is of a 
 retiring disposition, however, cool and reticent to 
 strangers, so Morden invited his old friend Sergeant 
 Laverty to accompany him there and vouch for his 
 friendly intentions. The Sergeant good naturedly 
 complied. 
 
 It was about half past one when, having climbed the 
 stairs at the side of the Oasis Saloon, Sergeant Laverty 
 knocked at a plain, solid door in the dim second-story 
 hall. Soon the door opened about two inches the 
 length of a stout chain that fastened it on the inside, 
 and a shiny eye set in an almost coal black face peered 
 out. Seeing Officer Laverty the eye lighted in friendly 
 fashion and some white teeth disclosed themselves. The* 
 guardian promptly undid the chain and admitted them, 
 saying, in reply to the Sergeant's question: 
 " Yassir, Mr. Conley's here ; next room." 
 At that hour the clubrooms were quite deserted save 
 for the manager and the negro guardian. They showed 
 none of the luxury traditionally associated with city 
 gaming establishments, but were meagrely furnished, 
 with matting on the floor, plain wooden chairs that 
 showed much use, some tables covered with soiled green 
 baize and a battered side board. Mr. Conley also had 
 a soiled, better-days appearance being a fat and 
 flabby man well along in middle life with a grave air 
 and a droopy, sad-looking yellowish moustache. A 
 diamond pin glittered in his tie, but the tie itself had a. 
 second-hand look. He accepted Morden on Sergeant
 
 184 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Laverty's introduction and recommendation without the 
 least reserve, and answered his questions with the great- 
 est frankness. 
 
 There was no habitue of the establishment by the 
 name of Collins. He was positive about that. Nobody 
 of that name had ever been an habitue of the place. It 
 was true that some habitues of the place might be 
 known in some quarters by names different from those 
 by which they were known there; but Collins struck no 
 responsive echo in his memory. 
 
 " Any name anything like that? " Morden persisted. 
 
 Mr. Conley cast over the names in his memory, 
 thoughtfully poking a finger into his double chin. 
 
 " Collingwood," he suggested ; " old Jim Colling- 
 wood. That's the nearest I can come to it." 
 
 "Well, what about Collingwood?" Morden asked. 
 
 " He's an old scout that lives at Luke's Hotel 
 around the corner, you know. He comes here pretty 
 near every evening been coming three, four years. 
 But that's about all I know. They say he's well heeled 
 made it out west mining. He never said anything to 
 me about it. I never talked to him much. The old 
 man's deaf. You have to shout to him." 
 
 Whatever exultation Morden felt at that statement 
 was duly concealed. He merely said, " Plenty of 
 money, eh? " 
 
 " Seems to have," Conley replied. " He drops it 
 here all right no big wad, you know ; but he gen- 
 erally sloughs off some." 
 
 " Here last night ? " Morden asked.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 185 
 
 Sergeant Laverty put in, " We want to get this 
 straight, you know, Conny. There's nothing on you, 
 but Jake and I have got a hen on." 
 
 The policeman's interest in the affair was not alto- 
 gether altruistic. His old friend Morden had told him 
 that if the affair in hand came out satisfactorily he 
 should be suitably remembered in the distribution of 
 material rewards. So long as there was nothing on him 
 the affair was nothing at all to Mr. Conley. Long ex- 
 perience had hardened him to other people's complica- 
 tions with the police. As between Collingwood and the 
 police, for instance, he was finely neutral except as his 
 own self-interest strongly inclined him to oblige Ser- 
 geant Laverty. After an instant's search of his mem- 
 ory he replied: 
 
 " Yes, he was here last night. He went out." And, 
 lifting his voice a little, he called, " Rose ! " 
 
 The big and very black negro stepped in from the 
 next room, answering the call. 
 
 " Didn't somebody come here for Mr. Collingwood 
 last night? " Conley asked. 
 
 " Yassir," the guardian answered promptly. " Man 
 come up to the door and asked me was Mr. Collingwood 
 here and I said I dunno. He felt around in his pockets 
 and then he said, * I want to send him a note and I ain't 
 got nothing to write on. Get me pencil and piece of 
 paper.' ' The guardian might have added that a two 
 dollar bill accompanied the request, but he omitted that. 
 " I got him piece of paper and a pencil and he put the 
 paper up against the wall and wrote on it. Then he
 
 186 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 folded it over and give it to me and says, * Hand that 
 to Mr. Collingwood.' So I handed it to him. He was 
 playin' at that table right over there." He pointed to 
 it. " I noticed he seemed kind of uncertain, like he 
 hadn't made up his mind, when he read it. Then he 
 said, * Wait a minute, boys,' and laid down his cards 
 right in the middle of a hand. He went out in the hall 
 and him and the man walked down the hall and talked 
 a few minutes. I left the door open so he could come 
 back, you see, and I stood there waitin' for him. Him 
 and the man talked a spell. Then Mr. Collingwood 
 come back in, scowling like, and went back to the table 
 and they had kind of a little row about his quittin' the 
 game that way." 
 
 " I noticed that," Mr. Conley commented. 
 
 " Yassir ; they had kind of little row among them- 
 selves, but he said he'd gotta go and he got his coat 
 and vest off the hook there and went out. The man 
 was walkin' up and down in the hall waitin' for him and 
 they went off together." 
 
 " What time was that ? " Morden asked. 
 
 " I dunno purcisely," the guardian replied after re- 
 flecting. " I reckon must been 'long about eleven 
 o'clock pretty early in the evening for Mr. Colling- 
 wood to leave." 
 
 " This man that inquired for him what did he look 
 like? " Morden said. 
 
 " He ain't quite as tall as you ; good square shoulders 
 on him; probably fifty years old got some grey in 
 his beard."
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 187 
 
 " Was it a long beard? " 
 
 " No, sir; cut off pretty short all around; 'bout down 
 to there." He held his hand three inches below his 
 chin. " Got mighty sharp eyes look right at you." 
 
 " How was he dressed? " 
 
 " Only thing I noticed much was his hat," the guard- 
 ian replied. " That was sort of grey and white checked 
 hat, with sort of ribs down it brim curled up. He 
 had it pulled down pretty near to his eyebrows." 
 
 " Would you call him well-dressed ? " Morden per- 
 sisted. 
 
 The guardian puzzled over that a moment, trying to 
 remember, and answered, " No, sir kind of old clothes 
 the way I recollect it just kind of plain old clothes." 
 
 " What kind of a shirt did he have on? " 
 
 But the negro could not recall that. Evidently, ex- 
 cept the hat, the caller's dress had not impressed him 
 in any way, either for elegance or shabbiness. 
 
 " That was the last you saw of either of them last 
 night ? " Morden asked finally. 
 
 " Yassir, Mr. Collingwood didn't come back," said 
 the guardian. 
 
 Morden then left the Christopher Columbus Social 
 Club with a lively and pleasant commotion in his mind. 
 The name Collingwood was sufficiently like the name 
 Collins to found a hope upon. The build and beard of 
 the man who had called for Collingwood corresponded 
 with Dinsmore. Apparently the caller had been 
 roughly or indifferently dressed ; " kind of old clothes " 
 was the impression left on the guardian's mind. Alfred
 
 188 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Dinsmore dressed very well, in a strictly conservative 
 way. Probably his garb wouldn't have left that im- 
 pression on the guardian, unless he had changed his 
 clothes purposely. Morden thought that Alfred Dins- 
 more's customary clothes would probably contain a 
 lead pencil anrl some bit of paper say the back of an 
 envelope or a ^eaf from a memorandum book on which 
 a brief note could be written. Usually the clothes of a 
 business man did contain such articles. If Dinsmore 
 had changed his clothes for the purpose of this visit, 
 that might explain his having to borrow pencil and 
 paper. And the man Collingwood was deaf. The de- 
 tective seemed to feel tentatively the pull of a 
 great fish on his line. 
 
 On the stairs, leading down to the street, he trans- 
 ferred a twenty dollar bill from his vest pocket to the 
 well padded palm of his friend the detective sergeant, 
 remarking genially, " It goes in the expense account." 
 And he gossiped with his friend, on incidental topics, 
 as they walked up the street to the corner. 
 
 Luke's Hotel stood diagonally across from them 
 with a canopy of coloured glass supported by ponder- 
 ously ornamented cast iron pillars over its door. 
 Morden was aware of it. He thought Sergeant 
 Laverty was aware of it also, and quite willing to 
 pursue their joint inquiry further. But Morden was 
 not minded to let his friend any further into the affair 
 at that time. As though he'd never had a thought of 
 Luke's Hotel he kept on up the street gossiping of in- 
 cidental matters, and presently parted from his friend,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 189 
 
 with a cheerful adieu and a hand shake. He caught a 
 cab then and went back to his office. 
 
 Entering this office one saw a shabby room divided 
 in halves by a wooden railing with a gate in it. There 
 was a bench in front of the railing and two desks be- 
 hind it, at one of which sat a sharp-nosed young man 
 with hair that looked moth-eaten because of a thin 
 patch on one side. At the other side of the room a 
 door with a ground glass panel gave to a short and 
 narrow hall from which two small dens opened. Such 
 was the establishment whose furnishings all told might 
 possibly have brought a hundred dollars at auction. 
 Morden often remarked, with satisfaction, that his busi- 
 ness was conducted under his own hat. He said noth- 
 ing to the sharp-nosed young man at the desk and on 
 stepping through into the tiny hall he found that this 
 young man was the only occupant of the office, for 
 Tanner's little den on the right opposite to his den 
 on the left was empty. Three letters lay on his 
 own desk, but not the one he wanted. 
 
 Jenny Dupee's diligent reports were directed to 
 Martha Woods, Room 641, Rosser Building, Adams 
 Street which was the address of the detective agency 
 and were there laid on his desk. Jenny dropped 
 them into the village postoffice at Highlands, or into a 
 street letter box, as she found opportunity, so a good 
 many hours might elapse before the record of an event 
 which she judged worthy of reporting reached Morden's 
 desk. If she had noticed anything worth reporting the 
 night before, it might be next morning before the re-
 
 190 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 port came in. At any rate there was no report now, 
 and Morden was impatient. 
 
 Playing, as nearly as possible, a lone hand sometimes 
 involved inconveniences. This was one of the times. 
 There was a person named Martha Woods so named 
 by herself long after she had reached years of discre- 
 tion. It was she who had engaged Jenny Dupee and 
 given her the address to which reports were mailed. 
 And Jenny, in spite of her shortcomings, would have 
 been shocked if she had known that her reports, which 
 occasionally mentioned boudoir details of a feminine 
 nature, were really opened by a very coarse male per- 
 son. 
 
 Morden was impatient, and he decided to set in mo- 
 tion, through Martha Woods, the wires that would 
 bring him face to face with Jenny Dupee as promptly 
 as possible. It took time his getting in touch with 
 Martha Woods and her getting in touch with Jenny 
 via the telephone. So it was ten minutes past five that 
 afternoon when a stocky man, indifferently dressed and 
 wearing a slouch hat, who stood on the southwest corner 
 of Elm and Locust Streets in Highlands apparently 
 contemplating the architecture of the new stucco cot- 
 tage across the street, saw a slender woman in a dark 
 dress come rapidly from the direction of Sheridan Road. 
 The slender woman's heart beat fast. She didn't at 
 all like this business of meeting a strange man on a 
 street corner and making a verbal report to him. 
 
 A professional might have told her that verbal state- 
 ments are much safer than written ones, for if it comes
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 191 
 
 to a pinch one can deny what one has merely said, but 
 not what one has written in one's own hand. Yet that 
 matter of writing a report and slipping it into a mail 
 box had appeared to her quite snug and safe, whereas 
 this affair of meeting an unknown man and talking 
 secrets with him face to face seemed full of peril. Be- 
 sides, Jenny was by no means in the habit of meeting 
 strange men, on street corners or elsewhere. That was 
 disquieting to her sense of propriety. 
 
 Possibly even the extra compensation which Martha 
 Woods hinted at in the guarded talk over the telephone 
 would have failed to tempt her into it; but in the last 
 twenty-four hours the enterprise in which she was en- 
 gaged had assumed gigantic proportions. Lying un- 
 der the sofa in the library she had heard the gentleman 
 who called on Mr. Dinsmore talk to him of monstrous 
 things ; and finally of two hundred and fifty thousand 
 dollars ! All that Jenny had imagined before was petty 
 in comparison with the amazing prospects that now un- 
 folded. She was in the mood to make a bold play for 
 a great stake. So, her heart beating fast, she sped 
 to meet the stranger. It did not help the flutter of 
 her nerves as, on coming nearer, she noticed that he 
 looked a good deal like a very large, shaggy, fighting 
 dog. 
 
 The meeting was not without some slight interest of 
 a purely personal nature for Morden. Professionally 
 he approved of this unknown correspondent ; and he was 
 a bit disappointed to notice that she was thirty five at 
 least, of an angular type of slimness, sallow and with a
 
 192 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 long, thin nose. Romance was not entirely dead in 
 him. However, he smiled good-naturedly as she came 
 fluttering up, but without bothering to lift his hat, and 
 said: 
 
 " Just walk along beside me. We can talk as we move 
 along." At the same time he fell in beside her and 
 started at a leisurely gait up the street. 
 
 And his immediately taking the matter into his own 
 hands in this perfectly cool, assured way, composed 
 Jenny much more than as though he had been a pat- 
 tern of politeness. In his handling of it, the thing 
 seemed to become safe and even matter-of-course. 
 
 " Mr. Dinsmore left the house some time after half 
 past nine last evening and went down town," said Mor- 
 den as though he were repeating a circumstance well 
 known to both of them for he had judged that the 
 best method of attack. 
 
 That statement not only surprised Jenny but fur- 
 ther eased her mind. Evidently this remarkable man 
 knew so much that one needn't hesitate to tell him 
 more. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " He was gone all night. I 
 didn't know it till this forenoon. I heard it from the 
 servants. He was gone all night. This morning he 
 had things sent down to his office a suit of clothes 
 and shirt and collar. One of the men took them down. 
 I heard them talking about it this forenoon. Mr. Dins- 
 more telephoned about half past seven this morning 
 gave orders to have the things sent down to his of- 
 fice."
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 193 
 
 " Did he telephone last night to say he wasn't 
 coming home? " Morden asked. 
 
 " I don't know," she replied. " I didn't hear any- 
 thing said about it." 
 
 " Hear anything about when he left the house, or 
 what clothes he was wearing? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Jenny. She could have told him that 
 it was after half past nine, because she knew Mr. Dins- 
 more was in the library with a strange caller until 
 that hour; but she proposed to keep all that to her- 
 self. 
 
 " Could you find out what sort of hat he was wearing 
 when he went down town? " 
 
 " I don't think so," Jenny answered doubtfully. " I 
 might be able to. One of the men might know." 
 
 " Well, see if you can find out," Morden suggested. 
 " Did you ever see a cloth hat with black and grey 
 checks in it and sort of ribbed, with a brim that curls 
 up?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " He has a hat like that. I've 
 seen him wear it in the grounds when it was rainy. I 
 think it's a hat he's had to go fishing." 
 
 " Well, see if you can find out whether he wore it last 
 night," said Morden, speaking with unusual good na- 
 ture for the affair was developing exactly to his 
 taste. He turned his head, looking down into her face 
 with his aggressive eyes, and demanded : 
 
 " Anything in particular happen at the house last 
 night?" 
 
 Jenny's nerves gave a jump. She almost thought he
 
 194 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 was going to say, " You crawled under the lounge in the 
 library and listened." 
 
 But she answered, with rather panicky promptness, 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " He had a caller," Morden persisted for it was 
 just as well to impress Jenny with his omniscience ; " a 
 man came to see him about a quarter of nine." 
 
 With a gone feeling in her stomach, Jenny answered 
 uncertainly, " Perhaps. I didn't know it. I'm not 
 down stairs in the evening." 
 
 Morden didn't doubt that she was telling the truth, 
 and did not blame her for missing the caller; in a big 
 house, she couldn't sec everything. Besides she had 
 done very well exceedingly well. He had no fault 
 to find ; and with another good-natured smile he parted 
 from her. 
 
 Jenny sped homeward, immensely relieved that the 
 meeting was so quickly and safely over with. Morden 
 turned in the opposite direction toward the incon- 
 siderable business section of Highlands reflecting. 
 Dinsmore had gone down town and spent the night there. 
 He had worn clothes that he wanted to change before 
 business hours. He had a hat such as the guardian at 
 the Christopher Columbus Social Club described. All 
 that was bully! 
 
 Why had he spent the night down town? The busi- 
 ness he was engaged in must have kept him very late or 
 he would have come home and changed his clothes there. 
 If he had been driven down in an automobile, probably 
 the car would have waited. At any rate the servants
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 195 
 
 would very likely have known it and mentioned it in 
 their gossip to Jenny. It seemed more probable to 
 Morden that he had gone down on the train. 
 
 The detective himself had come up there by train, and 
 he walked back to the neat suburban railroad station 
 pondering. He believed a great deal in luck and 
 hunches, and when luck was coming his way he believed 
 in playing it strong. Decidedly luck was coming his 
 way that day. Entering the railroad station, he 
 studied the time table on the wall. After half past 
 eight o'clock, he found, trains to the city ran at in- 
 tervals of an hour. There was one at 9:18 and an- 
 other 10 : 18. McMurtry had left Dinsmore's house 
 about half past nine. Ten minutes brisk walking would 
 take one from the house to the station. A man in a 
 hurry could change his clothes in five minutes. Prob- 
 ably it would have been the 10 : 18 train. Probably 
 that train would have the same conductor tonight. 
 
 Morden decided to wait and see, and after strolling 
 about found a little restaurant where he got a light, 
 early dinner and afterwards strolled back to the sta- 
 tion. He had decided there was no use asking anybody 
 there, for the ticket agent and telegraph operator were 
 shut up in their office and could see little of the pas- 
 sengers. There was a baggage room in the south end 
 of the station and just by way of passing the time 
 Morden sauntered down there. The broad door was 
 open and a small grey man, in a baggy brown coat and 
 an official blue cap a couple of sizes too large for him, 
 sat on a trunk inside, contemplating the landscape.
 
 196 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 He looked like a friendly little man. Morden liked that 
 look and engaged him in conversation which presently 
 turned on his length of service and hours of duty. The 
 man said he had been there twenty years and was on 
 duty until the 10 : 18 train pulled out for the city. His 
 talk was as friendly as his appearance, so Morden took 
 a small chance. 
 
 That is, he displayed a police badge contraband, 
 yet eff ective oh occasion and said he was looking for 
 a man who, he thought, took the 10:18 train to the 
 city last night. Had the baggageman noticed a 
 stranger around the station at that time a middle- 
 aged man with a short brown beard, partly grey? 
 
 No, the baggageman hadn't. He recalled that half 
 a dozen passengers had taken the train, but the only 
 strangers were two ladies. The others, so far as he 
 could remember, were known to him as residents of the 
 village. There had been Mr. Gray, and Mr. Dins- 
 more had taken the train ; just caught it by the skin of 
 his teeth; had to run for it and the baggageman had 
 run along to give him a boost up on the car step. That 
 recollection amused the baggageman. 
 
 " You don't mean Alfred Dinsmore ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; Alfred Dinsmore. He's a middle aged 
 man with a brown beard, but I guess he'd hardly be the 
 man you're looking for." The baggageman's small 
 face puckered humorously at that suggestion. 
 
 " How did Alfred Dinsmore come to go by train ? I 
 supposed he'd be going in an automobile ? " 
 
 " Usually does nowadays," the baggageman said.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 197 
 
 " He used to take the train every morning. Sometimes 
 he uses the train now in winter when the weather's bad." 
 
 "A middle aged man with a brown beard, eh? 
 You're sure, now, it was Alfred Dinsmore? " 
 
 " Sure as shootin' ! " The aged and baggy baggage- 
 man visibly swelled a bit with importance. " I know 
 him well's I know my own mug seen him hundreds of 
 times. I saw him last night plain as I see you. He 
 come right around the corner of the station here. The 
 train was pulling out then and he started for it. I 
 called to him. I says, ' You'll have to run for it,' and 
 I run along with him to give him a boost up on the step. 
 No doubt about it." 
 
 " Was he carrying any baggage ? " the skeptical of- 
 ficer asked. 
 
 " No, sir. I noticed he was dressed kind of odd. I 
 thought he might be going hunting or fishing or some- 
 thing; had on kind of a fishing hat." 
 
 The baggageman described it black and grey check 
 with a curled up brim and ribbed. 
 
 " Didn't notice any stranger at all except the two 
 women? " Morden asked, amiably. , 
 
 " No, sir." The baggageman cast back in his mind. 
 " I was out on the station platform here when the train 
 pulled in and when it pulled out. I'm pretty sure there 
 wasn't any strange man." 
 
 " I see," said the detective. " Fine little station 
 you've got here. Pretty good place to work, eh? " 
 
 For a few moments more they conversed amiably on 
 incidental topics. Then Morden gave the friendly lit-
 
 198 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 tie baggageman a cigar and strolled away. He took 
 the 7 : 32 train to the city mightily pleased. Luck was 
 coming his way. 
 
 There was no doubt whatever that after McMurtry 
 left his house Alfred Dinsmore had gone down town, 
 more or less disguised, visited the Christopher Columbus 
 Social Club, had a conversation there with James Col- 
 lingwood and the two had gone away together about 
 eleven o'clock ; also, Dinsmore had spent the night down 
 town and sent to his house for a change of clothing in 
 the morning. 
 
 That was getting close. But who was James Colling- 
 wood, described as an old scout that lived at Luke's 
 Hotel and spent many of his evenings playing poker? 
 He was evidently somebody whom both Dinsmore and 
 William Pomeroy knew, for Jenny Dupee had heard 
 Dinsmore mention him to Pomeroy. Odd that Alfred 
 Dinsmore would be knowing a man of that sort. . . . 
 
 Morden's wits, sharpened by the smell of a warm 
 trail, worked at that problem as he rode down town. 
 It was his lucky day and he proposed to press the luck. 
 But it was only a quarter past eight when he got down 
 town, and he decided to wait until ten. Then he re- 
 turned to the Oasis Saloon and climbed the stairs to 
 the Christopher Columbus Social Club. 
 
 At his knock the door opened the length of its chain 
 and the guardian's shiny eye looked out with rec- 
 ognition, for the teeth also appeared as Morden said, 
 " I want to see Mr. Conley a minute." 
 
 The guardian readily admitted him. The club was
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 199 
 
 then in operation with a good representation of the 
 membership present. Three of the four round poker 
 tables were in use, several men sat at the rectangular 
 faro table and a number of others stood near watching 
 the play. The air was already somewhat hazy with 
 tobacco smoke, and the genial guardian was fairly busy. 
 In addition to attending the door he operated a little 
 dumb waiter that ran down to the back room of the 
 saloon below and up again with such refreshments as 
 the members ordered. 
 
 The three rooms in the suite originally designed 
 for lodgings, perhaps, or offices had been thrown 
 together by broad arches so by simply stepping out 
 into the first one Morden had a view of the whole scene. 
 Scenes of that general description were perfectly 
 familiar to him, but his first survey of this one brought 
 a decided disappointment. 
 
 The rectangular table, devoted to faro, was in the 
 further room and behind it sat flabby, tawny-mous- 
 tached Mr. Conley, dealing, which is an absorbing oc- 
 cupation. The dealer's eyes and mind must be directed 
 steadily to the paraphernalia in front of him and the 
 little box at his side from which he gravely slips one 
 card at a time. He has small time for conversation of 
 any sort; none at all for conversation not connected 
 with his occupation. By the canons of the persons in 
 the club-rooms interrupting the game by distracting the 
 dealer's attention was a good deal like stepping up to 
 the minister in the midst of a marriage ceremony and 
 requesting a few minutes' conversation. Only some er-
 
 200 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 rand of the gravest importance could justify it, and 
 Morden didn't wish to give the impression that he was 
 engaged on an errand of the gravest importance. As 
 long as the game went on and Mr. Conley dealt, getting 
 speech with him was going to be awkward and that, 
 presumably, would be for the next two hours. Disap- 
 pointed, the detective stood under the arch watching 
 the play. Once the flabby dealer looked up, saw him, 
 gave a slight nod and immediately resumed his absorb- 
 ing occupation. 
 
 Considering, Morden sauntered back to the first 
 room. With gamesters' indifference to anything ex- 
 cept their game, nobody paid attention to him. The 
 genial guardian, however, had attention to bestow upon 
 any one and every one. 
 
 " Mr. Conley usually deal faro ? " Morden inquired, 
 casually. 
 
 " No, sir," the guardian replied promptly. " Dealer 
 didn't show up tonight." He exhibited the white teeth. 
 " Stewed agin, I reckon." 
 
 Morden grinned appreciatively and the guardian 
 added good-naturedly, " Mr. Collingwood didn't show 
 up either." 
 
 " Didn't, oh? " Morden said, as though it had no 
 special interest for him. " What time does he usually 
 come? " 
 
 " Usually comes before this if he's coming at all," 
 the colored man replied. 
 
 " Well, I may drop in later," Morden observed in his 
 casual manner, " If I don't see Mr. Conley tonight I'll
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 201 
 
 catch him tomorrow or next day. It's no great mat- 
 ter." Although it was no great matter, he handed the 
 guardian two half dollars. 
 
 Leaving the social club the detective felt disap- 
 pointed. He had hoped for an opportunity to observe 
 Mr. Collingwood and even to form his acquaintance. 
 If Collingwood had been present and he could have got 
 a minute's private talk with wise Conny Conley that 
 would have been easily arranged. Morden felt that he 
 had lost a trick and his luck had temporarily failed 
 him. 
 
 He was irritated, also, by the guardian's prompt ref- 
 erence to Collingwood. It meant the big negro knew 
 that his visit that afternoon somehow concerned James 
 Collingwood knew it, of course, from the question 
 Conley had asked him. The negro also knew that his 
 companion that afternoon was Detective Sergeant 
 Laverty of the police department. Probably the negro 
 was loquacious. About the last thing Morden wanted 
 just then was an intimation to James Collingwood that 
 the police were interesting themselves in him. It showed 
 again what experience had often shown him before 
 that one can hardly stir a foot without leaving some 
 sort of trail. 
 
 All of which irritated him and made him more im- 
 patient than ever. One who leaves a trail ought to 
 travel fast, so he went directly to Luke's Hotel. 
 
 Entering beneath the canopy of coloured glass sup- 
 ported by ponderously ornamented iron pillars one finds 
 himself in a lobby, also with cast iron pillars, but
 
 202 
 
 painted a dull yellow. The black and white tile floor 
 is worn somewhat uneven in spots and here and there 
 a loose tile gives under one's foot. There are a couple 
 of lounges and a couple of dozen chairs, corpulently 
 stuffed and upholstered in red leather. In more toler- 
 ant days one could pass directly from the lobby into a 
 pool room at the left, where bets could be placed on 
 horse races and other sporting events with no more 
 trouble or concealment than in buying a loaf of bread. 
 Those days had passed, but the hotel clientele was 
 mostly flavoured with them. The bar, at the rear, was 
 almost as large as the lobby itself and much more pop- 
 ular. 
 
 Thither Morden went impatient, with a feeling 
 that he was leaving a trail anyway, and bound to press 
 his luck. Walking briskly down the long room with 
 yellow iron pillars and worn black and white tile like the 
 lobby he noticed that the bar, stretching the length 
 of the room at his right, was doing a flourishing business 
 that evening. A screen of stamped leather stood at 
 the further end of the bar. Morden stepped around it 
 and looked into the open door of a small, neat business 
 office and immediately felt better, for luck was with 
 him once more. 
 
 At the desk in this small office sat a plump elderly 
 gentleman who if he had taken off the big solitaire 
 diamond ring that glittered on his white left hand 
 might have been taken for a bank president or railroad 
 director, for he looked the very picture of dignified 
 prosperity. The close-cropped hair that covered his
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 203 
 
 head except for a bald strip on top was white and so 
 was his neatly trimmed moustache. His cheeks were 
 rosy, however, and the eyes that he lifted at Morden's 
 footfall on the threshold were bright. He was in his 
 shirt sleeves sleeves of the finest, whitest linen and 
 evidently engaged in business affairs, as the papers on 
 his desk showed. This was Mr. George Allison, once an 
 aspiring young bartender, but now proprietor of the 
 flourishing establishment through which the detective 
 had just walked and of various other comforting pos- 
 sessions. 
 
 " How are you, George? " said Morden, entering. 
 
 " Why, how are you, Jake ? " the proprietor returned, 
 genially, extending a plump white hand. " Sit down. 
 Been a coon's age since I saw you." 
 
 For a minute they visited amiably, and all the while 
 the bright brown eyes of the man at the desk rested on 
 his caller's face with a waiting and questioning in their 
 limpid depths. Of course, this visit meant something. 
 Mr. Allison was even wiser than Conny Conley. After 
 the little preliminaries, Morden brought forward his 
 business : 
 
 " George, there's an old guy named Collingwood stays 
 at the hotel. I want to frisk his room." 
 
 Mr. Allison seemed to find nothing shocking or even 
 surprising in that statement. Studying the other he 
 merely asked, soberly, " What is it, Jake ? " 
 
 " I just want to find out who he is and where he 
 comes from," Morden replied. " I won't start any- 
 thing here. There'll be no come back. I believe he
 
 204 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 can lay me next to a man I want if I'm in a position 
 to make him. See? Just a quiet little frisk." 
 
 Mr. Allison considered that, twisting his neatly 
 trimmed moustache between a neatly manicured thumb 
 and forefinger. " I know the old boy," he remarked, 
 incidentally ; " pretty good old tanker." 
 
 " There's a fat roll in this for me if I can get it 
 right, George," Morden urged. " There'll be no come 
 back here. I can promise you that." 
 
 It was, in a manner, a rather small favour that the 
 detective asked. Allison was willing to oblige on gen- 
 eral principles. Besides Jake Morden might be very 
 useful sometime; one could never tell. Still the pro- 
 prietor was conservative. 
 
 " Where is he tonight ? " he asked. 
 
 " Out playing poker," Morden replied promptly ; but 
 added, also conservatively, " unless he's come in the 
 last few minutes." 
 
 " I'll fix it for you," said Mr. Allison and pressed a 
 call button on his desk. After a moment the call was 
 answered by a young negro in a white apron who served 
 the tables in the barroom. 
 
 " See if Tony is in the lobby, or down stairs, and 
 tell him I want to see him," the proprietor directed ; and 
 after a longer wait a stocky and red-faced young man 
 in a blue flannel shirt appeared at the threshold. On 
 the back of his head he wore a stiff blue cap with a 
 silver badge in front on which was stamped, " Porter." 
 He looked like an impudent young man.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 205 
 
 " Anybody there ? " Mr. Allison asked, as the young 
 man stood on the threshold. 
 
 Tony glanced over his shoulder and replied, " Nope." 
 
 " This gentleman is a friend of mine and all right," 
 said Mr. Allison gravely. " He wants to frisk Colling^ 
 wood's room. It's all right. There'll be a ten-spot in 
 it for you." 
 
 Tony stood at attention, without the slightest mark 
 of surprise or disquietude; and Morden, rising, said, 
 " Much obliged, George ; see you again." 
 
 Out in the barroom, he instructed his new recruit; 
 " See if he's in his room first, and get your trunk 
 kys." 
 
 Tony answered with ready impudence, " I'll go knock 
 on his door. If he's in I'll ask him if he sent for a 
 porter." And that cool resourcefulness greatly com- 
 mended the new ally to Morden. " Wait here a min- 
 ute and I'll get the keys," the porter added. 
 
 Morden waited and very shortly Tony reappeared 
 with a cigar box under his arm. Then, cap on the back 
 of his head, he led the way to the elevator. They 
 alighted at the top floor and Morden followed the por- 
 ter down the hall, keeping a little distance behind him. 
 Glancing at the door numbers as he went along, the 
 porter halted, listened an instant and knocked. After 
 a moment he knocked again ; then took a passkey from 
 his pocket, opened the door and stepped in. When 
 Morden reached the door the porter had already turned 
 on the lights.
 
 206 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 The detective surveyed a very plainly furnished bed- 
 room, about eight feet by twelve. It contained a single 
 bed, a tall wardrobe, a bureau, two chairs. Against one 
 wall stood a cheap trunk. Tony was already on his 
 knees examining the lock of the trunk an ordinary 
 lock such as commonly goes on cheap trunks. The 
 cigar box stood on the floor beside him. When he 
 opened it Morden saw that it was two-thirds full of 
 trunk keys thriftily picked up, one at a time, and 
 treasured against the needs of guests who had lost their 
 keys. The fifth one that Tony tried opened the lock 
 and as soon as it was open the porter stood up, cal- 
 lously expectant, with his cigar box under his arm. 
 Morden gave a little laugh and handed him a ten-dollar 
 bill. With no more emotion than he had displayed be- 
 fore, Tony stuffed the bill in his pocket and went out 
 with nothing whatever on his conscience and enriched 
 by an easily acquired ten-dollar bill. 
 
 The door fastened with a spring lock, so if any one 
 opened it while Morden was inside there would be the 
 warning sound of the key in the lock. If any one 
 came he must trust to his wits and nerve. He threw up 
 the lid of the trunk. In the upper tray he found a 
 couple of soiled and frayed neckties, a laundered white 
 shirt undisturbed for so long that it had taken on a 
 slight yellowish tinge, a laundered standing collar in 
 the same state, half a dozen old racing forms and some 
 other like rubbish; but nothing whatever to his pur- 
 pose no letters or any other articles that would give 
 a clue to the owner's antecedents.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 207 
 
 He lifted that tray out. The one beneath it was 
 quite empty and he lifted that out. In the bottom of 
 the trunk lay a suit of well-worn clothes, not folded 
 but tossed carelessly in there, a gray sombrero hat, a 
 pair of low tan-colored shoes, also well worn and un- 
 polished, with the socks stuffed in them. Morden 
 swiftly examined the pockets of the clothes, but they 
 were empty. There was nothing else there. A mo- 
 ment's investigation showed there was no false bottom 
 or secret drawer in the trunk. 
 
 Morden stood up, much disappointed. Apparently 
 the trunk was used only as a sort of lumber room into 
 which a few discarded articles had been tossed. He 
 turned to the tall, narrow wardrobe, of stained pine. 
 A brown ulster, a lighter overcoat and a suit of heavy 
 clothes hung on its hooks. A fur cap lay on the shelf 
 at the top and on the bottom there was a pair of high 
 overshoes ; also a small, battered brown bag, unlocked 
 and empty. The pockets of the garments yielded noth- 
 ing. 
 
 He stepped to the bureau. It contained a meagre 
 stock of cheap shirts, underwear, socks, collars. From 
 them one might readily deduce that their owner was an 
 untidy man ; but nothing else. There was no scrap 
 that gave a clue to Collingwood's past or his present 
 for that matter. In all his experience the detective 
 had never seen a human habitation so completely barren 
 of clues. He glowered down at the trunk, then stooped 
 and picked up the rumpled coat again, feeling once 
 more through its pockets.
 
 208 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 In weight, the garment was suitable to that season. 
 Although it showed wear it was not really shabby 
 certainly not shabby enough to be objectionable to a 
 man whose ideas of dress corresponded to the garments 
 in that room. Why had Collingwood put it in the bot- 
 tom of his locked trunk instead of hanging it more 
 conveniently in the wardrobe? An odour came from it ; 
 the odour of gasoline. Morden looked more closely. 
 Several spots on the front and sleeve had been scrubbed 
 with a cleansing fluid not a great many hours before. 
 Morden's sense of disappointment gave place to ex- 
 pectancy, and he examined the clothes more closely so 
 as to be able to describe them. He picked up the hat, 
 examining that; then the shoes. Socks might count, 
 too. He pulled the sock out of the shoe in his hand 
 and at once saw something long and white beneath it. 
 As he took that object out of the shoe, his mind leapt 
 triumphantly. 
 
 It was a horn-handled knife about five inches long, 
 the blade folded down into the handle. When he 
 pressed the little nickel button at the end of the handle, 
 the bright, murderous blade sprang out. As Morden 
 looked it over the gleam in his eyes answered the gleam 
 of the blade. He pushed the blade back in place, con- 
 sidered an instant and put the contrivance in his coat 
 pocket ; then swiftly rearranged the trunk as he had 
 found it, looked around the room to see that he had left 
 no trace of his search, turned out the light and peered 
 into the hall. The hall was empty and he stepped out 
 the knife with which William Pomeroy had been
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 209 
 
 killed in his coat pocket and the key to Collingwood's 
 trunk in his vest pocket. And when he left Luke's 
 Hotel, his mind was crowing victoriously, 
 "What luck!"
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 NEVER in his life had Lowell Winthrop faced any- 
 thing so disagreeable as this; never had he 
 imagined that he should face anything so disagreeable. 
 For once in his life he had not slept well. His mother 
 noticed it as an experienced trainer notices that a 
 race horse has mysteriously gone off some points from 
 perfect form. He laughed pleasantly at her fond 
 solicitude and suggested that possibly he'd taken a 
 slight cold. 
 
 All day, at the office, he wasn't up to the mark 
 somewhat distrait, nervous ; even somewhat irritable, 
 his smooth brow wrinkling now and then in a frown of 
 disapproval. All the time he was waiting for a message 
 that did not come. At dinner he was still waiting for 
 the message and still it did not come. 
 
 Instinctively and consciously he was an artist in 
 living all should be bright, smooth, perfectly ordered. 
 And here was a great muddy, bloody splotch right 
 down in the middle of it! Naturally he felt a deep 
 exasperation. He was angry because the message did 
 not come and felt a contempt for Dinsmore for fail- 
 ing to send it. All the same, he had a duty to perform. 
 He hated it more than he had ever hated anything else 
 in his life ; but it was a duty a duty to himself. 
 After dinner therefore he went to the telephone and 
 called Dinsmore up. 
 
 " I should like a talk with you. I'll come down 
 210
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 211 
 
 now if you can see me," he said. His voice was cool 
 and even, a pleasant voice ; but there was a sort of fate- 
 fulness in it. There was to be no dodging him. 
 
 So that evening the two men met again in Dinsmore's 
 library Winthrop as before in a perfectly fitting 
 dinner coat, the colour of perfect health in his smooth 
 cheeks, but his grey eyes under heavy yellowish eye- 
 brows looked uneasy. Dinsmore, as often happened 
 when he dined at home, was wearing the sack coat and 
 coloured shirt of business hours. And Winthrop 
 noticed a I once that he didn't seem in his usual vigorous 
 health and spirits slightly paler and with circles 
 under his eyes. There was, too, subtly, a reserve in 
 his manner. 
 
 " You asked me here last night, you know," Win- 
 throp began, a bit nervously, when they were seated. 
 
 " Yes," Dinsmore replied. 
 
 " It was by your invitation that I overheard any- 
 thing," Winthrop went on. " I wish you to keep that 
 in mind." 
 
 " Of course, I owe you an apology," said Dinsmore. 
 " I shouldn't have left you that way. I clean forgot 
 it. It was only toward morning that I remembered 
 about your being here. I knew you would have gone 
 home then. Sorry." 
 
 " Oh, that's no matter," Winthrop assured him a 
 note of impatience in the polite tone. He touched his 
 short, neat blond moustache nervously with the tip of 
 a forefinger, hesitated a moment and said, " Of course 
 I expected to hear from you today."
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 That statement seemed mildly to surprise Dinsmore; 
 but he made no answer, simply waiting. 
 
 For once Lowell Winthrop was not in perfect form; 
 but very obviously nervous. He frowned and even 
 fidgeted a bit ; then fairly blurted in uncontainable im- 
 patience, " I heard you accused of murder." 
 
 That also seemed rather to surprise Dinsmore. He 
 knew the fact before, but seemed now to see it from a 
 new angle. He looked deeply perplexed and said, 
 " Yes," in a rather toneless voice ; then plucked his 
 beard and half stifled a sigh and muttered helplessly, 
 " God knows whether that's true." 
 
 " You mean you don't know? " Winthrop demanded, 
 incredulously. 
 
 Dinsmore rubbed his brows in perplexity, and replied 
 earnestly, " It's a long story, Lowell an old story. 
 I wish I could go over it all with you. But I can't. 
 I'm simply bound to keep my mouth shut." 
 
 Winthrop was frowning and seemed interested in the 
 state 'of his finger nails. After a moment he asked, 
 plumply : " Did you send McMurtry the seventy-five 
 thousand dollars you mentioned to him? " 
 
 " Yes," Dinsmore replied. 
 
 Again a pause, during which Winthrop stirred a bit 
 in his chair. " It's true, then, that you've been pay- 
 ing somebody money regularly for a good while? " 
 
 " Yes," said Dinsmore. 
 
 Winthrop folded his hands and contemplated them, 
 and presently looked over at Dinsmore. " If you're 
 in the hands of blackmailers, Dinsmore, I'll do all I
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 213 
 
 know to rid you of them. I'll make it my business." 
 
 It was an honourable offer, earnestly made and Dins- 
 more was aware that to a man in that situation Win- 
 throp's eminent law firm might be very helpful. " I 
 know you would, Lowell," he responded warmly. " It's 
 good of you to offer. But there's absolutely nothing 
 you could do." 
 
 " Paying blackmail, you know, is like a drink habit 
 or a drug habit," the lawyer urged. " The more you 
 do it, the harder it is to stop. The only way is to 
 make a stand and down it." 
 
 " I know that," Dinsmore replied. " But well, 
 I've nothing to stand on. I simply can't do it. I've 
 gone over it a thousand times. . . . I've just got to 
 hump my back and pay for the present." He 
 looked deeply disturbed, and added, " Some day, no 
 doubt, I can tell you all about it. But not now. My 
 mouth is shut." 
 
 The silence then was longer than any preceding one, 
 and Winthrop found it necessary to clear his throat 
 of a slight huskiness before speaking, but when he 
 spoke his voice was perfectly steady: 
 
 " Of course, it is tremendously important to me . . . 
 I suppose the dinner invitations were sent out yester- 
 day." 
 
 Dinsmore evidently didn't understand the relevance, 
 and looked a blank question. 
 
 " The engagement is to be formally announced then, 
 you know," Winthrop reminded him, looking at the 
 grate.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Slowly an astonishing idea dawned upon Dinsmore's 
 mind. The astonishment held him for some time as he 
 looked over at his perfectly groomed caller. Finally 
 he asked, in a slow and controlled voice : 
 
 " You mean that what you overheard last night 
 would make a difference about your engagement to 
 Louise? " 
 
 " Decidedly," Winthrop replied, and even looked 
 Dinsmore firmly in the face. Then his eyes fell and 
 he said, with some emotion, " I wish heartily this ha<jl 
 not come up until after the marriage. I would have 
 accepted it then, as a fact accomplished. But it has 
 come up. We've got to deal with it." 
 
 " I see. ... It has come up," Dinsmore muttered, 
 after a little while. 
 
 " It has come up," Winthrop repeated, firmly. He 
 lowered his voice further, looking Dinsmore in the face. 
 " You are accused of murder a very shocking mur- 
 der as it happens. You are paying blackmail to the 
 accusers. You say you must continue it you can't 
 make a stand against them. . . . Would you expect me 
 to overlook that ? " 
 
 Dinsmore moved in his chair and plucked at his 
 beard, his eyes avoiding the other man's. " I hadn't 
 thought of it in that way," he said. " That hadn't oc- 
 curred to me." He gave a flickering smile and added, 
 " No one has accused my daughter of murder." 
 
 That suggested the romantic idea of marriage, as 
 nothing but a love affair between a young man and a
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 215 
 
 young woman an idea for which Lowell Winthrop 
 had much contempt. 
 
 " Well, look at it," he suggested. " Things of that 
 sort have a way of coming to light. I gather that 
 you've been paying somebody to keep still for a good 
 while. Now somebody else has got wind of the affair. 
 Other people are on your back demanding hush money. 
 I told you McMurtry was a blackleg. He'll bleed you 
 white and then probably betray you, too. Lord help 
 anybody who must depend on him for each day's 
 security. Say we're married and this thing comes out. 
 You can see the mess. It isn't myself, Dinsmore 
 not myself alone. You're too sensible to think that. 
 I owe something to my family. My messes are their 
 messes. You know well enough what I would have let 
 them in for. I owe something to my children . . . 
 People in our position the grandfather is one of the 
 child's conditions. I wish heartily it hadn't come up 
 until after our marriage. But it has come up. I've 
 got to meet it." 
 
 Whenever he fixed his thought on Louise beautiful 
 Louise charming Louise he really did wish heartily 
 that it hadn't come up until after their marriage. But 
 he wasn't always thinking of Louise. Frequently he 
 was thinking of himself, and then his thought was, " In 
 any event, thank God, I got hold of this in time to 
 smoke it out before it was everlastingly too late ! " 
 
 Fastidious to extreme in all his tastes, any such mess 
 as this affair foreshadowed was simply intolerable to
 
 216 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 him. He hadn't remained a bachelor so long, in spite 
 of many temptations, in order to wed a ghastly mur- 
 der. That would harrow him up in the most unbear- 
 able fashion. A beautiful wife, and her father hung, 
 or as good as hung! The idea fairly sickened him. 
 And always there had been a sort of reluctance in his 
 mind ; giving up his comfortable bachelorhood was 
 quite a sacrifice. 
 
 " I hadn't thought of it in that way," Dinsmore re- 
 peated, mechanically. 
 
 He was looking at his caller with curiosity, as though 
 finding a new man in him. He knew all about Lowell 
 Winthrop's fastidiousness and formalness ; knew he had 
 a very high idea of family especially his own family. 
 Yet it had been his unformulated, taken-for-granted 
 notion that if a peril confronted his daughter the 
 peril, say, of disgrace to her father this young man 
 would be the first to leap to her side, ready to spend 
 his last breath defending her. But in this peril, it 
 seemed, the young man's idea was to scuttle out of 
 harm's way as quickly as possible. 
 
 Winthrop addressed him again, very earnestly: 
 " I'm ready to do all I know, Dinsmore, to help you out 
 of this. I believe that's the only way. Finally you've 
 got to fight it out with them. If you wish to do that 
 now, I'm at your disposal absolutely." 
 
 His new idea of this young man prompted Dinsmore 
 to suggest, "But if I did that most likely there'd 
 be a mess, as you term it a scandal. I might be 
 indicted a trial. All that would take time. . . .
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 217 
 
 What I'm thinking of, you see, is your affair with 
 Louise. Making a stand would take time. I believe 
 the invitations were sent out yesterday." 
 
 Winthrop paused for deliberation. It was a pain- 
 fully disagreeable point. Looking at the grate he 
 replied, under his breath, " All I can say is unless 
 you can give me a different idea of the situation from 
 what you have given me the invitations should be 
 recalled. What happened later on we could only 
 wait and see." 
 
 So it was as Dinsmore had suspected. The urgent 
 advice to resist the blackmailers was the advice, simply, 
 of the conscientious attorney who was warning his 
 client against an unprofitable course of conduct. As 
 to the intimate, personal relationship of prospective 
 son-in-law Mr. Lowell Winthrop proposed to keep his 
 skirts clear until he was assured that Dinsmore was 
 such a person as he could accept for grandfather to his 
 children. 
 
 A smile so faint that Winthrop missed it played be- 
 hind Dinsmore's beard. " As I get your point of 
 view, probably the only thing is to recall the invita- 
 tions," he said drily. 
 
 " I think so," Winthrop murmured with convic- 
 tion. It was a very painful thing to him. A mental 
 picture of Louise intrigued his heart at that moment. 
 " I think we should wait. In time it may be differ- 
 ent," he added, lamely. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Then Dinsmore said, 
 "You will tell Louise?"
 
 218 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " I think you should tell her," Winthrop replied. 
 " It would be difficult for me to tell her without telling 
 more than I have a right to." After a little pause he 
 added, " I must trust to you to make it fair to me." 
 
 And Dinsmore was faintly amused at this appeal to 
 the honour and chivalry of a murderer. A moment 
 later he perceived that Winthrop was, perhaps, not 
 entirely relying on those qualities in him, for the young 
 man observed, in what might have been a significant 
 way: 
 
 " Of course, I shall see her myself later," which was 
 another indication of how absolutely sure of himself 
 Winthrop felt. 
 
 " Well there seems to be nothing more at present," 
 said Dinsmore. 
 
 " No," Winthrop replied. 
 
 The two men stood up and there was a certain amaze- 
 ment in Dinsmore's mind as he looked at his caller. 
 The interview had occupied half an hour or so. They 
 had been sitting within ten feet of each other. Yet he 
 now saw Winthrop as though they had been separated 
 by many years and long distances fairly as though 
 he had just returned from a couple of decades in the 
 Orient. The man looked different. His yellowish eye- 
 brows were thicker, he was heavier, there were marks of 
 age upon him, hitherto unperceived. 
 
 In a lesser way Lowell Winthrop felt this wide 
 alienation. Practically breaking one's engagement to 
 a gentleman's daughter must involve considerable alien-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 219 
 
 ation. It had been intensely disagreeable. He hadn't 
 a doubt that he had acted correctly, yet it was all ex- 
 cessively unsatisfactory. 
 
 " I think you can appreciate my point of view," he 
 said as they stood his nicely modulated voice pitched 
 low and his eyes downcast. " Just put yourself in my 
 place." He looked up at Dinsmore. " You know 
 Louise and young Proctor were rather thick at one 
 time. You put a stop to it, she tells me. None of us 
 wants to be let in for a thing like that." 
 
 That shaft went home. Dinsmore's eyes showed it. 
 
 " Good night," said Winthrop with courtesy. 
 
 " Good night," Dinsmore replied mechanically, and 
 let the young man find his familiar way out. 
 
 That reference to Ned Proctor had fairly hit him 
 amidship. He certainly had put a stop to it when dis- 
 grace claimed Proctor's father a disgrace decidedly 
 less black than murder. He could defend himself on 
 the ground that Ned Proctor's career before that 
 hadn't been such as to recommend him; that, in fact, 
 Louise's thickness with him had been disagreeable all 
 along; that the disgrace had involved the young man 
 himself to the extent of getting him indicted; that the 
 senior Proctor's crimes were peculiarly detestable to 
 him an odious mess of lying and swindling that 
 finally ruined all those savings bank depositors; that 
 his solicitude for his daughter was rather different 
 from Lowell Winthrop's solicitude for himself; that 
 Louise and Ned Proctor were not engaged. He could
 
 220 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 defend himself; but after all the shaft went home. 
 The man who had just left the room could turn his 
 own action against him. 
 
 He sat down on the arm of the chair to think it over 
 a while, and when he went to join his wife it was in a 
 different mood from that in which he would have gone if 
 Winthrop had omitted the reference to Ned Proctor. 
 
 The first mood had been just the reaction of his pride. 
 He couldn't imagine himself negotiating with any man 
 on earth as to whether that man should marry his 
 daughter. There couldn't possibly be anything to ne- 
 gotiate about that. If Lowell Winthrop had been a 
 crown prince and intimated that, for any reason what- 
 ever, he wished his engagement with Miss Louise Dins- 
 more terminated, Dinsmore would at once figur- 
 atively have handed him his hat and indicated the 
 door by which he could depart. That was the reaction 
 of his pride. But the Proctor business coming up 
 well, he went in a humbler mood. 
 
 He found his wife in the living room and as it hap- 
 pened his daughter was with her. Mrs. Dinsmore was 
 very little given to literature. She looked over a daily 
 newspaper, if she happened to think of it ; sometimes 
 read a magazine story and once in a while a rather 
 epochal event a popular novel. But she got through 
 life very happily and competently with surprisingly 
 little reliance upon print. So now, on this quiet even- 
 ing at home, instead of a book or periodical, her pretty 
 hands held a little embroidery frame on which she was 
 skilfully working a pattern in coloured silk threads.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 221 
 
 They were very pretty hands like her whole graceful, 
 beautifully clean, wholesome, gracious self. Louise 
 sat on an ottoman at her mother's knees, like a full- 
 grown child taller than her mother in fact. Evi- 
 dently the two women had been talking intimately. 
 Dinsmore caught that impression as he approached 
 and they looked up at the intruding male. At sight 
 of them his errand became more difficult, even, than he 
 had imagined it especially at sight of Louise. 
 
 She was but three inches shorter than himself; full- 
 grown, mature woman. The flowing lines of her body 
 beneath a filmy gown, as she sat with her hands 
 clasped round a knee, proclaimed that. It came to 
 Dinsmore that in playing his role of benevolently in- 
 tervening Providence first as to Proctor, next as to 
 Lowell Winthrop he had probably made too little 
 account of the heart that beat under that filmy gown. 
 This lovely compound of graces and affections on the 
 ottoman might have been bruised by parental hustling 
 to this side and that in a way he hadn't properly al- 
 lowed for. He would have liked to begin by stooping 
 and kissing her ; but there was that miserable discord ; 
 they were off key. He sat down opposite them ; there" 
 fore, and gnawed a corner of his lip. Seldom was a 
 father in a more difficult situation. He had only his set 
 will to carry him through. 
 
 "Winthrop has just been to see me," he began. 
 " The invitations to that dinner must be recalled. He 
 wishes the engagement broken off or suspended at 
 any rate."
 
 222 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 At that amazing statement Mrs. Winthrop dropped 
 her embroidery frame; her lips parted, but no sound 
 came. She sat gorgonized, staring incredulously at 
 him. Louise also stared, and slowly paled. 
 
 " It's no fault of Louise's," Dinsmore proceeded 
 steadily. " He finds that Fm not eligible as a 
 father-in-law." He would have given very much to let 
 it go at that ; but he could not. " He finds me in a 
 disgraceful situation liable to be brought into public 
 disgrace." He forced his eyes to remain on Louise's 
 face and his lips to say, " You know how I felt about 
 young Proctor . . . Well, Winthrop finds me in a 
 worse situation than Proctor's father. He mentioned 
 that precedent to me. He doesn't wish to commit 
 himself, now, to marriage with the daughter of a man 
 in that position. He wants the engagement not an- 
 nounced formally at this time." 
 
 So he got it out and it seemed mostly all Greek to 
 the two wide-eyed women before him. 
 
 "Proctor?" Mrs. Dinsmore murmured. 
 
 " Yes the Proctor case, only worse as he sees 
 it," Dinsmore replied. 
 
 And after another incredulous moment, Mrs. Dins- 
 more said softly, like one playfully protesting at a 
 joke, " Oh, Alf ! I don't believe a word of it ! " 
 
 A sigh escaped him, and he said, " It's perfectly 
 true. He wishes the engagement suspended, or 
 broken off." 
 
 The sigh, which he would have suppressed if he had 
 had time, seemed to carry more conviction than his
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 words. Mrs. Dinsmore promptly laid down her em- 
 broidery frame, stepped over, seated herself on his knee 
 and put an arm around his neck. There was no 
 suspicion of tears in her eyes and except that she had 
 lost colour her face showed no great emotion. Her 
 male person had always been a difficult person in some 
 situations. This was one of them. 
 
 "What is it, Alf ? " she said. "What has hap- 
 pened? " 
 
 He put his hand on her waist and replied, " It's some- 
 thing I can't tell you now, dear." 
 
 " But we'll both have to know," she coaxed. " Has 
 the business gone wrong? " 
 
 " No, it's nothing whatever to do with the business 
 
 any business," he replied. 
 
 She pushed back his hair and kissed his forehead, her 
 arm tightening around his neck. He felt immensely 
 grateful to her and immensely proud of her. Her 
 superior friends often confessed to one another, indul- 
 gently, that she had no mind to speak of; but he knew 
 she would go through any ordeal, close to his side, with- 
 out a murmur. She was not good at intellectual 
 exercises, but she knew her man to a degree he hardly 
 realized divining the difficulties he had with his tem- 
 per. She knew he'd got himself locked up now in 
 obstinate pride. 
 
 "There are other people in it?" she guessed, as a 
 reason for his silence. 
 
 " Yes, some other people." He looked in her eyes 
 
 his fond, steadfast mate after all and hugged her
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 against him, saying, " Nell, it will all come out right in 
 the end for me. You don't need to doubt that." 
 
 " I don't doubt it, dear," she said and kissed his 
 forehead again. " Has the business gone wrong, 
 Alf ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," he replied, with a touch of impatience. 
 " The business was never better. It's nothing about 
 business or money ... I wish I could tell you, but I 
 can't now. It will come out right in the end. The 
 thing now is he breaks the engagement." 
 
 The girl on the ottoman had been left out of this 
 little scene between husband and wife a little scene 
 not exactly agreeable to her, as demonstrations of love 
 between father and mother are apt to be not quite 
 agreeable to grown children who instinctively regard 
 that as something for youth. But Dinsmore's last 
 words brought the girl into it again. Looking over at 
 her, Mrs. Dinsmore saw that she had lost colour and 
 her eyes were round with astonishment. 
 
 Certainly it was an affront an insult to the 
 young woman. Whatever the reasons for it might have 
 been, it put her in the humiliating position of one re- 
 jected. Inevitably, it would cause talk much dis- 
 paraging talk. That phase of it came to Mrs. Dins- 
 more. ' Sitting on her husband's knee, her lip trembled. 
 
 " He's a brute ! " she said and tears of sympathetic 
 pain came into her eyes. " I don't care what happened, 
 it's a, shame ! He's a cad to treat a girl so ! She's not 
 to blame! I hate him for it! I'll never speak to him 
 again in my life ! He's a brute to treat her so ! "
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 225 
 
 Never had they heard her speak of any one in that 
 way before. She got up from her husband's knee, re- 
 turning to her chair and put her hand on Louise's head, 
 her eyes dropping tears. 
 
 " Don't you mind, Louie ! You haven't done any- 
 thing wrong! He's a brute to treat you that way! 
 We're well rid of him ! I'll never speak to him again ! " 
 
 She had been the strongest partisan of Lowell Win- 
 throp, and Louise had thought the social distinction 
 which such a marriage involved was precious to her. 
 But at this injury to her daughter all that was wiped 
 out. " It's outrageous to treat you so, dear ! " she 
 stormed on, her heart wrung with sympathetic pain. 
 
 Her rain of tears and sweet, distressed voice af- 
 flicted Dinsmore's heart. It came to him bitterly that 
 as husband and father he had little enough to con- 
 gratulate himself on, seeing what he had brought to 
 his daughter and wife that night. He felt a great guilt 
 and contrition. 
 
 " I'm terribly sorry, Lou," he said humbly, his eyes 
 downcast. 
 
 " You musn't mind, father ; I don't," her low voice 
 came back, like the fond touch of a hand. 
 
 But he had no doubt she did mind very much as 
 who wouldn't. She was rejected, humiliated; and 
 finally it was his work. He felt very humble, and an 
 immense kind of disgust with himself. But there was 
 nothing to be done. The matter was settled. He got 
 up and walked from the room silently, leaving the 
 women to their grief of his making.
 
 226 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Louise saw him arise with a pang. If he had stayed 
 longer she might have spoken out. Her first impres- 
 sion, when he said Lowell Winthrop broke the engage- 
 ment, was like the cut of a whip. She was astonished, 
 and indignant at the affront to her proper self-respect. 
 But that impression was rather fleeting. A little later, 
 her heart bounded and she wanted very much to laugh 
 outright. . . . 
 
 " You musn't mind, dear ; it's no fault of yours," 
 her mother was saying, weeping, when they were alone. 
 
 Louise lifted a shining face to her and exclaimed, 
 " Mother, I don't care a rap ! Not a rap ! I'm glad ! 
 I don't want to marry him any more than he wants to 
 marry me nor a hundredth part as much ! I'm 
 glad ! " 
 
 She meant it, too ; the swirl of emotions in her 
 breast had come around to that. She had accepted 
 Lowell Winthrop deliberately, with her eyes open, but 
 without pretending to herself or him that it was an 
 over-mastering passion. He could give her what she 
 wanted in life; with him it would always be front seat 
 as a matter of prescriptive right. He was able and 
 agreeable, always doing the right thing in the right 
 way. She liked his looks that appearance of per- 
 fect bodily condition. There had been another motive 
 the sharp reaction from her quarrel with her father 
 over Ned Proctor a sort of heaping of coals of fire. 
 If her father wished to manage her affairs for her, let 
 him have exactly what he liked. She had said that she 
 was very fond of Lowell. Her disposition was warmer
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 227 
 
 and more impulsive than his. In those little matters 
 of a squeeze of the hand, a pressure of the arm, even a 
 kiss, it had rather been she who gave and he who re- 
 ceived than the other way around for she had ac- 
 cepted him without reservations, meaning to be per- 
 fectly sweet to him from the moment she said, " Yes.'* 
 
 Those little wooings on her part came into her mind 
 when she was up stairs in her own room, after having 
 parted from her astonished mother. There was a cer- 
 tain sting in them. Probably, she thought, he believed 
 she was tremendously in love with him and would 
 humbly sit on the door step waiting until he took her 
 back if he should finally deem himself justified in 
 taking her back. There was a sting to her pride in 
 that thought. But in spite of it she laughed, saying 
 to herself, " He was perfect a perfect tailor's 
 dummy," and so figuratively, threw him out of the win- 
 dow for good. . . . 
 
 She had said that she was only decently sorry for 
 poor old Ned ; that it was just decent and nothing more 
 to look him up a bit and give him a passing handshake. 
 She had kept on saying that to herself after she knew 
 it was a. lie. But of late she had found herself in a 
 monstrous position from which there seemed no escape. 
 How could she avoid marrying Lowell Winthrop when 
 she had deliberately plighted her troth? Well, Lowell 
 Winthrop himself had let her out of that impossible 
 position. 
 
 It all came around to that the one thing that 
 counted and her heart laughed. And then misgave
 
 228 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 somewhat, too, for a settlement with Lowell Winthrop 
 was vastly different from a settlement with the other 
 man. Yet a great and joyous sense of relief was her 
 chief emotion. Under the impulsion of it she went to 
 her writing desk to indict a little note a very in- 
 nocent little note, mentioning that she would be round 
 by the bank at five the next afternoon. But as she 
 approached the writing table something else came up 
 in her mind. 
 
 Before going down stairs that evening she had laid 
 three letters on the table two of them addressed to 
 herself, opened, read and replaced in their envelopes ; 
 the other written by herself and put into its envelope 
 but not sealed. The letters looked as though they had 
 been carelessly dropped where they lay, but in fact she 
 had so placed them that she could identify their posi- 
 tions by a hair's breadth. Into one of them she had 
 put a tiny bit of tissue paper; into another a speck 
 of face powder; into the third half an inch of white 
 silk thread. Her own wits had suggested those expedi- 
 ents to her. 
 
 Approaching the writing table, she remembered that, 
 and saw at a glance that all three letters had been 
 moved from the position in which she left them. As she 
 drew them from their envelopes she saw that the traps 
 had been sprung, for her tell-tales were missing. Be- 
 yond doubt somebody had read the letters since she 
 went down stairs. . . . 
 
 At their last meeting, as they were driving home 
 from the tea room, Ned Proctor had said to her : " I
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 229 
 
 supposed I was about as obscure and humble an in- 
 dividual as could be found nowadays. I thought they'd 
 simply wiped me off the slate and forgotten that I was 
 alive. But I must be of more account than I sup- 
 posed, for somebody is enough interested in me to keep 
 watch of me find out where I go and what I do. 
 Probably a sleuth's trailing along in the shrubbery 
 over there now. I'm sure they're welcome." 
 
 "Not really?" she had exclaimed, astonished and 
 indignant. 
 
 " Fact, Lou," he replied. " Somebody's hired to 
 keep tab on me all the while some of that old busi- 
 ness of father's, I suppose. But you mustn't ever 
 smoke a pipe or cuss a waiter when you're with me. 
 They'll get it down in the report if you do." 
 
 It had a light sound, yet there had been something 
 peculiar in his manner of saying this a kind of 
 nervous, self-conscious note. She noticed that he 
 avoided looking at her. 
 
 " The idea ! " she had exclaimed once more, but 
 fainter. In fact it had occurred to her that he meant 
 to convey a warning let her know by indirection that 
 a watch was kept on them. The hint had worked in 
 her mind until she decided to find out, by this little 
 trap of the letters, whether a watch was kept on her; 
 for she had noticed some things which, if she had been 
 inclined to suspicions, might well have raised a suspicion 
 that her maid, Jenny Dupee, was spying. . . 
 
 Well she was spied upon. No doubt of that now. 
 The test of the letters showed it. She might have im-
 
 230 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 puted it solely to Jenny's curiosity but for the hint 
 Ned Proctor had dropped. .* . . 
 
 The idea of a spy turned her rather sick naturally 
 a nauseating idea. For she could imagine no motive 
 for spying upon her except with regard to Ned Proc- 
 tor. And who could be setting a spy on them? Who 
 could have a motive for it? Could it be Lowell Win- 
 throp? . . . Could it be her father? That question 
 turned her rather sick. 
 
 The gilt clock on the mantel showed five minutes past 
 ten . . . Too late, she decided, loathly, to call Ned up 
 then. She would find out tomorrow ; but instead of 
 writing a note to make an appointment she would take 
 the surer means of telephoning.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 IT was an unhappy evening for Charles Purcell, 
 managing editor of the Leader. He had learned 
 of the murder of William Pomeroy about eleven o'clock 
 that morning and had promptly set the conspiratorial 
 forces in motion. He had viewed the body of the vic- 
 tim, immediately and positively identifying it; 
 Pomeroy was certainly dead. He had telephoned 
 McMurtry, saying, " It's the man ; no doubt about it." 
 
 And since then not the slightest sign or sound of the 
 conspiratorial operations had reached him. He had 
 telephoned McMurtry's office during the afternoon, but 
 the lawyer was out; and when he telephoned again at 
 half past five the answer was that Mr. McMurtry had 
 not returned and the office was closing for the day. 
 
 To be left in the dark that way was trying. He was 
 not free to dispose of his time as the lawyer and de- 
 tective were; duties at the newspaper office claimed 
 him. He accused his partners of, at least, slighting 
 him. Surely something was happening. The most 
 momentous things might be happening. Certainly 
 they could have sent him a little word. 
 
 Some time after Morden sat down to eat in the little 
 restaurant at Highlands no more thinking of Pur- 
 cell than of the man in the moon the managing editor 
 went out to dine, taking care to leave word where he was 
 going so that any one who called up the office would 
 know where to find him. But nobody did call up the 
 
 231
 
 232 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 office. It came nine o'clock, ten o'clock, eleven o'clock 
 and not a word. 
 
 The managing editor became increasingly nervous, 
 resentful and suspicious. He didn't like what had 
 happened the night before McMurtry and Morden 
 meeting before he got there and McMurtry reporting 
 he had got no money. An uneasy man naturally, 
 rather timorous, yet led on by a mighty hunger for 
 money, he was sure to be most unhappy in this situa- 
 tion. He realized that the affair had been taken out of 
 his hands more than ever since his find, Pomeroy, 
 was dead. McMurtry and Morden could double-cross 
 him if they wanted to an unpalatable thought to a 
 suspicious nature. But cowardice is sometimes more 
 dangerous than courage; a cornered rat is a bad op- 
 ponent. 
 
 At half past eleven he called up the Morden Detec- 
 tive Agency doubtful that anybody would be in at 
 that hour. Somebody was in, however. The sharp- 
 nosed young man answered. 
 
 " This is Mr. Purcell of the Leader. Mr. Morden 
 there?" said Purcell. 
 
 " No, Mr. Morden hasn't been in this evening," the 
 voice answered. 
 
 " Expecting him? " 
 
 " He didn't leave any word." 
 
 " Take a message for him. I have something of the 
 greatest importance that I want to speak to him about. 
 If he comes in, I want him to call me up right away. 
 . . . Right away. Get that?
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " Yes, sir ; all right, Mr. Purcell. I'll give him the 
 message if he come in." 
 
 " Right away ! This can't wait ! " Purcell repeated 
 and hung up the receiver in a fine glow of determina- 
 tion. Whereupon the sharp-nosed young man with the 
 moth-eaten hair stepped back into the tiny hall, and 
 turning to the open door of the small den on the left, 
 said: 
 
 " Purcell of the Leader has been asking for you. He 
 said it was important and he wanted you to call him up 
 right away, soon as you came in. He seemed kind of 
 huffy about it." 
 
 " Huffy, eh ? " Morden asked, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Sounded that way," said the young man. " He 
 said, ' Right away ! ' two or three times." 
 
 " I ain't in if anybody else calls," Morden observed, 
 repeating an instruction he had given when he entered 
 the office ten minutes before. 
 
 He had repaired to his office after searching James 
 Collingwood's room at Luke's Hotel partly because he 
 wanted to see if anything in particular had turned up 
 there and partly because he wanted to think. The 
 sharp-nosed young man having withdrawn, he gave 
 himself over to that occupation as he sat square- 
 shouldered, square-jawed and glowering at his desk. 
 
 He didn't like McMurtry's report of the night be- 
 fore that Dinsmore had agreed to pay only fifty thou- 
 sand dollars. Fifty thousand was nothing to Dins- 
 more. The man ought to have been brought across 
 much stronger than that. He didn't like the further
 
 234- THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 report that even the promised fifty thousand had not 
 been forthcoming. At best, McMurtry was too- 
 cautious ; not handling the thing right. Morden was 
 perfectly confident of his own ability to bring Dinsmore 
 to time far more satisfactorily. He'd have said half a. 
 million and got it. 
 
 He took the odd, murderous knife out of his pocket 
 and looked it over with affection. As the game stood, 
 it was even more in his hands than in McMurtry's 
 hands. That was what he wanted to think over. Mc- 
 Murtry was waiting up for him over at the Hotel 
 Cardinal or McMurtry was over there, whether 
 waiting up or not, for their last word had been that the 
 lawyer would stay down town that night and the de- 
 tective would report to him as soon as his night's work 
 was done, or by breakfast time in the morning in any 
 event. Morden was considering what he should report, 
 or whether he should report at all. Neither of them 
 had thought particularly about Purcell. 
 
 Purcell needed some handling, however; all around, 
 it needed handling, and McMurtry was the only man 
 to do it. Much as he would like to do it, Morden 
 couldn't push the affair through on his own hook. 
 With that conclusion to his cogitation the detective 
 went over to the Hotel Cardinal, ignoring the manag- 
 ing editor's message. The lawyer was waiting up for 
 him. In the hotel bedroom the two men sat down to- 
 gether and Morden faithfully repeated his discoveries, 
 down to the knife, which McMurtry examined with 
 lively interest.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 235 
 
 " Hell, we've got him ! " the detective growled. 
 " We've got him cinched seven ways from the ace. 
 We'll pull his leg for a million at ten o'clock tomor- 
 row morning." He glowered at his friend, with his air 
 of a savage dog about to bite, and added significantly, 
 " If you won't, I will. He's got to come across." 
 
 McMurtry realized that his intractable associate was 
 perfectly capable of doing just what he said; and as 
 he rubbed his smoothly shaven, over-developed jaw, 
 above which there was the hint of an ominous grin, his 
 grey eyes twinkled thoughtfully: 
 
 " It does look a cinch," he admitted, conservatively. 
 " I'll go at him in the morning." 
 
 Morden, with a steady glance and unmistakable sig- 
 nificance, replied, " I'll go along myself. He might just 
 as well know what he's up against. I'll go with you." 
 
 In the detective's looks, even more than in his words, 
 there was an ultimatum. One result of his cogitations 
 had been that there should be no more faltering about 
 the business and that he himself would be present when 
 the financial details were concluded. McMurtry under- 
 stood both motives perfectly; understood also the man 
 with whom he was dealing. So he said readily, " All 
 right, Jake ; I'm agreeable," concealing whatever 
 disappointment he felt. He considered a moment 
 further and added, " Meet me here at half past seven 
 in the morning. We may as well get him here as 
 anywhere. We'll catch him before he leaves his 
 house." 
 
 " Sure ! " said the detective ; and on that understand-
 
 236 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 ing they parted Morden not even remembering to 
 mention that Purcell had called him up. 
 
 But McMurtry remembered the other partner as he 
 was undressing, and called up the newspaper office. 
 
 " Our case is moving along," he said pleasantly over 
 the wire. " Our man will probably be working on it all 
 night. I'm going to turn in now but I expect to 
 hear from him by morning. I'll call you up by noon 
 anyway. It's moving along." 
 
 And with that small crumb the managing editor was 
 compelled to be content for the time being. So when 
 the conspirators retired that night each of them was 
 entertaining some strong mental reservations respect- 
 ing the others. 
 
 At half past seven next morning Morden tapped on 
 the door of McMurtry's room and they spent a little 
 time discussing at what hour Dinsmore would probably 
 come down stairs for breakfast. 
 
 " We might have found out from Jenny," McMurtry 
 observed, with a passing regret. 
 
 "What difference does it make? If he ain't up he 
 can get up. Call him anyhow," said aggressive Mor- 
 den. 
 
 " I'd rather catch him on the wing," the lawyer ob- 
 jected. " We'll wait till a quarter of eight." 
 
 At that hour he called Dinsmore's house, saying, 
 " Mr. McMurtry Mr. Lawrence McMurtry 
 wishes to speak to Mr. Dinsmore immediately on a 
 very urgent matter." 
 
 Some minutes passed and the servant's voice
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 237 
 
 answered, " Mr. Dinsmore is not dressed yet. He will 
 call you." And the speaker immediately rang off. 
 
 With a muttered curse at the stupidity of servants 
 in general, McMurtry got the connection again and 
 instructed, " Have Mr. Dinsmore call me at Room 812, 
 Hotel Cardinal." He repeated it to be sure it was 
 taken down properly, then they waited. At twenty 
 minutes past eight, he called again and repeated his 
 message : " Mr. Lawrence McMurtry wishes to speak 
 to Mr. Dinsmore at once on a very important matter." 
 
 There was a long delay, while McMurtry held the 
 wire ; then the answer came, " Mr. Dinsmore has gone 
 down town." 
 
 Repeating the message to the detective, McMurtry 
 observed ominously, " Looks as though the gentleman 
 was trying to dodge the gaff." 
 
 " Ought to have given him the gaff in the first place 
 hard enough so's he'd be acquainted with it," Morden 
 retorted blaming the lawyer's softness for this con- 
 temptuous treatment of them on the part of Dinsmore. 
 
 That retort nettled McMurtry, who replied, " He'll 
 get it this time. We'll wait a little and try him at his 
 office." 
 
 The waiting, with their nerves on edge, was dis- 
 agreeable, and this difficulty in reaching Dinsmore's ear 
 reminded them of how amply he was protected. 
 
 At a quarter past nine, McMurtry called up Dins- 
 more's office. The answer was that Mr. Dinsmore had 
 not arrived yet. The lawyer left no message for him ; 
 but called again at twenty minutes to ten. Then the
 
 238 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 answer was that Mr. Dinsmore was in a conference and 
 could not be disturbed. 
 
 So they had spent two hours merely in trying to get 
 word to Dinsmore, and all in vain. Morden's ill na- 
 ture had increased steadily, and McMurtry had been 
 reflecting knowing well enough that Morden blamed 
 him for their victim's disparaging attitude. 
 
 " We'll go over to my office," said the lawyer, as soon 
 as the last message came. " I can get a messenger 
 there that I can rely on." 
 
 They went over to the law office in almost complete 
 silence, Morden blaming his partner and the partner re- 
 senting it. In his office McMurtry took a sheet of 
 note paper with his letter-head on it and a plain 
 envelope. Looking at his watch, which showed five 
 minutes of ten, he wrote on the sheet: 
 
 I have reason to believe that James Collingwood may be 
 arrested on a charge of murder in half an hour. Kindly 
 call me up at my office before 10:30. 
 
 L. McM. 
 
 Showing that to the detective, he commented, " If 
 his private secretary wants to read that, let him." 
 
 He put the note in the plain envelope, addressed the 
 latter to Mr. Dinsmore, wrote " Personal and Im- 
 mediate " in the corner and underscored the words. 
 Then he called a young man from the outer room and 
 directed him to deliver the note at once at Dinsmore's 
 office. 
 
 Again they waited. All this delay, the difficulty in
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 239 
 
 merely getting word to Dinsmore and the contemptuous 
 attitude on his part which that implied, was trying to 
 their nerves and tempers. 
 
 " You've let him play horse with you," Morden re- 
 marked ungraciously. " You ought to have soaked 
 him right when you had him." 
 
 Naturally that was irritating to McMurtry, but he 
 was more diplomatic. " This Pomeroy business hadn't 
 happened then," he reminded his friend; but he added, 
 with heat, " If that note don't fetch him by half past 
 ten we'll have Collingwood pinched on some trumped 
 up charge and see if that jars him any." 
 
 " Sure! " said the detective, pleased and mollified by 
 that prospect of bold action. 
 
 But at twenty minutes. past ten the telephone rang, 
 and McMurtry, with tingling nerves, exulted to hear a 
 voice saying : " This is Mr. Dinsmore. What do you 
 want? " 
 
 " I want you to come down to my office," the lawyer 
 replied promptly. " I have something very important 
 to say to you." There was a little pause, and he 
 added, " A warrant may be issued at any moment." 
 
 Then the voice said, " Very well ; I'll come down 
 there. But one thing, McMurtry you mentioned a 
 Dr. Dill to me the other night. I want to see him and 
 hear what he has to say. I want to clean this up once 
 for all. There'll be no use in my coming down there 
 unless you have the doctor present. I mean to see him 
 and hear what he has to say myself." 
 
 " I'll have him here," said the lawyer promptly.
 
 240 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " Very well, I'll be there in fifteen minutes," said the 
 voice. 
 
 So the lawyer had gained his main point of getting 
 Dinsmore to the office; yet he turned away from the 
 telephone with a thoughtful, dubious expression, and 
 reported to Morden : 
 
 " He wants Dr. Dill here wants to see him and hear 
 what he has to say himself. Says he won't do any 
 business with us otherwise or it amounts to that." 
 
 " Won't, eh? " Morden growled. " We'll make him. 
 As to Dr. Dill, he can go to hell. We're to name the 
 conditions not him." 
 
 They both realized the vital importance of keeping 
 Dr. Dill securely in their own hands ; but after all the 
 great thing was to get the money in the easiest and 
 quickest way. 
 
 " The main thing now," said McMurtry, turning it 
 over in his mind, " is to get him down here. ... If he 
 doubts that we've got Dr. Dill, or that the doctor will 
 stick to the story. ..." He turned it over further 
 and suggested, " He can't start anything against Dr. 
 Dill without tipping off the whole story. I don't see 
 but we'd be safe enough here in my office. What 
 could Dinsmore do ? " 
 
 Morden didn't see that he could do anything in par- 
 ticular in the way of getting the doctor out of their 
 hands; but he naturally resisted any concessions to 
 Dinsmore, and repeated : " Let him go to hell. We'll 
 fix the conditions." 
 
 " But if he's holding off because he doubts that we've
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 241 
 
 got Dr. Dill or that the doctor will stick to the story, 
 we may as well satisfy him on both points," McMurtry 
 argued. " The great thing, Jake, is to shake him 
 down get the money out of him. If he'll shake easier 
 after he's seen Dr. Dill with his own eyes, don't you 
 see . . . What we want is the money. The quickest 
 way to get it is the best, so long as it's safe. He 
 couldn't start anything against Dr. Dill without giving 
 the whole story away which is the last thing in the 
 world he wants to do. I don't see but we'd be safe 
 enough." 
 
 They argued further, with the upshot that Morden 
 telephoned his office, so that Dr. Dill could be produced 
 in a few minutes if that seemed desirable. And when he 
 had finished a stenographer from the outer office tapped 
 on the door and said Mr. Dinsmore was there. 
 
 He came in with a composed air and a quick glance 
 that took in the scene a lawyer's private office, one 
 of a suite of rooms in a tall office building, and as like 
 a thousand other lawyers' private offices as two peas. 
 His glance also took in the burly, carelessly dressed 
 stranger in the room with an unspoken question. 
 Whereupon McMurtry spoke up, with the greatest af- 
 fability : 
 
 " This is Mr. Morden, Mr. Dinsmore Mr. Jacob 
 Morden of the Morden Detective Agency, who is as- 
 sociated with me in this matter." 
 
 It was in the form of an introduction, but the two 
 men merely looked at each other a truculent took 
 on Morden's part and a calm survey on Dinsmore's
 
 242 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 part. Quite in his character of affable host, McMur- 
 try motioned to a chair at the office table and said, 
 " Take a seat." 
 
 The indicated chair was on the nearer side of the 
 table. Dinsmore took it and the other two sat down 
 opposite him. The scene was thus set and it seemed 
 the lawyer's cue to speak : 
 
 " Soon after I left your house night before last, Mr. 
 Dinsmore," he began, in a subdued voice, but very dis- 
 tinctly, " you changed your clothes, put on a black and 
 grey checked hat and took the 10:18 train down town. 
 You went over to the Christopher Columbus Club, 
 called James Collingwood into the hall and after a little 
 talk went away with him. James Collingwood then 
 killed William Pomeroy. The knife with which Pome- 
 roy was killed was found in Collingwood's trunk last 
 night in his room at Luke's Hotel." He glanced at 
 Morden who took the knife from his pocket and laid it 
 on the table in front of him. 
 
 " I'm giving you only a sketch of the case," McMur- 
 try continued. " There's no need of going into finer 
 details now. We're ready to arrest Collingwood on 
 a charge of murder immediately and to prove the 
 charge. Of course we know what motive you had for 
 wishing Pomeroy out of the way." 
 
 Both men were watching Dinsmore carefully, and 
 both of them were sure that it shook Dinsmore's firm 
 nerves. He put a hand up to his beard, as though he 
 could not help it, and seemed unable to overcome the 
 fascination of the knife. After an instant he asked :
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 243 
 
 " Who else is associated with you, McMurtry? " 
 
 " Nobody," the lawyer replied promptly. 
 
 They thought Dinsmore's eyes quailed and his hands 
 moved a little restlessly ; but his voice was quite even 
 as he said, " I propose to clean this thing up, once for 
 all one way or the other. If anybody else is in this 
 affair with you, or knows what you're doing, I want to 
 know it now." He paused for an answer and again 
 McMurtry lied smoothly, saying: 
 
 " Mr. Morden and myself are the only people con- 
 cerned. There is nobody else in it." 
 
 And Morden put in aggressively, " We're the whole 
 works. You can do business with us right now. 
 Time is short." 
 
 Dinsmore put a hand up to his beard. They thought 
 he was getting himself more firmly in hand. " Why 
 short? " he asked in an almost casual tone. 
 
 " Because I've got a finger on Collingwood now," the 
 detective answered bluntly, " and unless I pinch him 
 there's a chance he'll get away. We've got to fish or 
 cut bait right now." 
 
 Dinsmore then studied the detective's face more 
 leisurely than before with an aggravating leisureli- 
 ness, in fact and repeated, " Well I propose to 
 clean it up once for all, one way or the other. I'm go- 
 ing to be done with it. If I'm to fight at all I may as 
 well fight now as later." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," McMurtry replied with a smile. 
 
 " I'm not in the worst position in the world for a 
 fight, you know," Dinsmore reminded him. " William
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Pomeroy is dead. That leaves you with nobody to 
 rely on but the doctor Dill." 
 
 " And Peter Sykes," said Morden. 
 
 Dinsmore paused a moment, contemplating the table 
 and confessed, " It's true I left out Sykes." 
 
 " Don't forget Peter," said the detective, with a jocu- 
 lar grin. 
 
 " Maybe you've left him out," said Dinsmore signifi- 
 cantly. " You don't know whether Peter Sykes would 
 identify me as the young man he saw thirty one years 
 ago. You don't know whether he would deny your 
 doctor's whole story. The whole story rests on the 
 doctor now. You can judge how well he would prob- 
 ably stand the battering he'd get if he charged me with 
 murder. Peter Sykes do you think he would be 
 anxious to say he was engaged in a bank robbery? Of 
 course, he'd be accessory to the murder. Men aren't 
 usually anxious to stick their- necks in halters." 
 
 " But it was only robbery so far as Sykes' intentions 
 were concerned," said the lawyer. " He didn't fire the 
 shot. Peter Sykes is a very respectable citizen now 
 as probably you know. There's no blood on his 
 hands except in a technical way. If he turned state's 
 evidence against the man that did the actual killing 
 I'd guarantee to get him off before my jury. Thirty 
 one years is a long time." 
 
 " A long time," Dinsmore repeated. " It counts as 
 much for me as for him. I'm a very respectable citizen, 
 too. You're sensible enough, McMurtry, to know that 
 if a man in my position fights well, there'll be a real
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 245 
 
 fight. You're not blackmailing a woman, you know, 
 who's simply terrified and helpless and will do whatever 
 you say. You must know that I'll take no punishment 
 lying down. Suppose you spring your story. Well, 
 there'll be a lot of money spent and a lot of hard knocks 
 exchanged before you've got me down even then." 
 
 McMurtry had had various experiences of this gen- 
 eral nature. He had seen people terrified and abject 
 and he had heard people rage, but he had never before 
 met with this cool calculation. It rather threw him off 
 his balance. Lips closed, he warily studied the man 
 opposite him. He wondered if Dinsmore might have 
 an understanding with Peter Sykes. For the conspira- 
 tors, Peter was a sort of exposed flank. 
 
 " You spring your story. To support it you've got 
 one Dr. Dill not the most formidable witness in the 
 world by a long shot. The man Colby, dead ; the man 
 Pomeroy, dead. You've got Dr. Dill." He then 
 looked McMurtry hard in the eye. " You haven't got 
 Peter Sykes not by a good deal you haven't." 
 
 It was a hard shot, for both McMurtry and Morden 
 were aware that Peter was an uncertain quantity to 
 them while Dinsmore might have reason to feel sure 
 of him. An instant passed before Morden said: 
 
 " We can get him if we need him you can bank on 
 that." 
 
 " But I don't bank on it," Dinsmore replied. 
 " You've got Dr. Dill, who'll probably swear, at first, 
 that he treated a young man for gunshot wound the 
 night of that affair in Billingtown, Nebraska. He'll
 
 246 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 describe the young man with a peculiar and strongly 
 marked scar on his chin. And he'll swear at first 
 that I'm the same man. Alfred Dinsmore, you know 
 a name that stands for something known here for 
 many years as such and a kind of man. What would a 
 jury say to that? " 
 
 Morden, who was not lacking in nerve, leaned for- 
 ward a little, looking Dinsmore in the eye and replied, 
 " Probably they'd ask Alfred Dinsmore to shave off his 
 beard." 
 
 Dinsmore put a hand up to the appendage mentioned 
 and said, " They might do that." 
 
 " They might," said the detective, with triumph. 
 
 " And Alfred Dinsmore," the bearer of that name 
 resumed, " might retort that a scar on his chin was 
 well known to many people at one time in his life 
 before he wore a beard. His lawyers might urge that 
 a gang of blackmailers had learned about that scar; 
 that they made up a plot to extort money from him and 
 hired this disreputable old doctor to perjure himself; 
 that they told the doctor about this scar on Dinsmore's 
 chin. And when Peter Sykes denied the whole story 
 well, it would be a great case you'd have, McMurtry." 
 
 The detective turned to his partner, saying omin- 
 ously, " We may as well have a show down. I'll go 
 pinch Collingwood right now." 
 
 " You see, there's another angle to the case, Dins- 
 more," McMurtry observed, with his bland manner. 
 " The first thing to come on the carpet is the murder
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 247 
 
 of William Pomeroy. That's no thirty-one-year-old 
 thing, you know. The blood is dripping still." 
 
 And he experienced a shock when Dinsmore replied 
 promptly, " True. Frankly, if it wasn't for that I'd 
 tell you to go to the devil, for I could knock the other 
 affair into a cocked hat with one hand, as I've just 
 shown you." It shocked McMurtry as an exhibition 
 of chilled-steel nerve. He thought, " Good Lord, this 
 fellow's an ogre ! " 
 
 " There is one more angle," Dinsmore went on. 
 "Blackmail is a crime that everybody hates juries 
 included. You're trying to blackmail me. When you 
 spring your story, as a matter of course, I spring mine. 
 I have both of you arrested for blackmail and I press 
 the case with all the money and influence I've got. It 
 would be odd if I didn't land you both. Admit that you 
 get me ; admit, too, that I'll get you. Your reputation 
 is bad, McMurtry. This man's is probably worse. I 
 seem to recall something about him; I don't remember 
 just what, but nothing that would do him any good be- 
 fore a jury. If I lose, you lose too. That's flat." 
 
 McMurtry managed to smile. " We stand to lose 
 ten ; you stand to lose a million. You say our reputa- 
 tions are bad. No great loss, then. But your reputa- 
 tion is good. Quite a loss to you. Probably your 
 family would rather you didn't lose it," he added, drily. 
 " And as to the blackmail of course, that's mere 
 bluff. There's nothing criminal in meeting you here, 
 in my office. We can tell as good a story as you can.'*
 
 248 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Dinsmore replied, coolly, " All the same the black- 
 mail charge will stick. I have the note you sent me at 
 my office a little while ago some circumstantial evi- 
 dence. Then you called at my house. I'd no idea what 
 you wanted to say to me. It's true if I had known I 
 should have acted differently. But I knew your bad 
 reputation and didn't trust you. Of course, you were 
 entitled to no consideration. It's a fact I had that 
 conversation overheard through the telephone by a 
 man I can trust absolutely. I give you my word I can 
 make the blackmail charge stick. He will testify if I 
 ask him to." 
 
 The statement carried conviction, and once more 
 both his hearers felt subtly baffled as well as irritated. 
 By all the rules this man ought to be abject and in a 
 profound agitation. He ought to be pale and stam- 
 mering and otherwise acting like a normal being whose 
 good name and family and fortune and liberty and very 
 neck were in imminent danger. On the contrary he 
 looked and acted exactly like a man playing a wary 
 game, or transacting a difficult piece of business, with 
 perfect self-command and the coolest assurance. It 
 rather daunted them, and irritated them, too. 
 
 McMurtry's tone showed it as he retorted, aggres- 
 sively, " And we can make the murder charge stick, too. 
 The killing of Pomeroy don't depend on Dr. Dill and 
 Peter Sykes. We can nab Collingwood in half an 
 hour." 
 
 " That's the ticket," said the detective, approvingly. 
 
 It seemed to impress Dinsmore, as much as anything
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 249 
 
 could, yet he merely pondered it, with no sign of agita- 
 tion ; and after a moment asked calmly, " What do you 
 want?" 
 
 " A million dollars," McMurtry replied instantly. 
 Morden seemed minded to move an amendment, but re- 
 strained himself; and for a tense moment both of them 
 held their breaths with their eyes intent on Dinsmore. 
 This was the cast of the die ; and they felt an exhilarat- 
 ing relief when Dinsmore merely observed: 
 
 " That's a good deal of money." 
 
 " Cheap at the price," McMurtry replied. 
 
 But if they felt that they had won the stake, Dins- 
 more rather dashed them again by saying : " As I told 
 you, I'm going to clean this up once for all and make 
 an end of it pay or fight and have done with it." 
 
 " Oh, come now, Dinsmore," McMurtry urged, with 
 a reasonable man's natural annoyance at the repetition 
 of an absurd statement. " You know that's all bunk 
 and you know we know it. We let you talk if you want 
 to; but when you talk of fighting it's just bunk. You 
 simply can't afford it Alfred Dinsmore with this 
 mess on his head ! Two murders and the blackmail 
 you've been paying for years ! Fighting is all rot. 
 You can't afford it at any price." 
 
 Dinsmore answered quietly, " You're wrong, Mc- 
 Murtry. I can afford it if I make up my mind to. 
 Some situations are so unbearable that a man can afford 
 anything to get out of them. There's one point that 
 maybe you haven't thought of. I can beat you to it. 
 I can dictate a confession as I leave this room give
 
 250 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 it to the press and wire it to the governor of Nebraska 
 and take the next train out there to stand trial. You 
 probably know how much that would count for, coming 
 from a man in my position. Thirty one years is a long 
 time. I don't believe I'd have much to fear from a 
 jury. There are situations in which a man can afford 
 anything. I tell you I'm going to clean this up once 
 for all and be done with it." 
 
 Once more they felt daunted ; the man's nerve seemed 
 equal to anything. 
 
 " A million dollars will clean it up in much pleasanter 
 fashion," McMurtry reminded him. " A million ain't 
 so much to you." 
 
 " A million is a good deal of money," Dinsmore re- 
 plied. " I propose to know exactly what I pay it for. 
 Your case hangs on this doctor. I want to know just 
 what he's prepared to say." 
 
 " I've told you," McMurtry said. " He's prepared 
 to swear you're the man he treated in Sykes' house that 
 night." 
 
 " I propose to know that," said Dinsmore. " I pro- 
 pose to know that you've got the doctor. You say so, 
 but your say-so is hardly good for a million dollars 
 cash. I told you over the 'phone that I wouldn't deal 
 with you unless I knew you had the doctor and what he 
 was prepared to swear to. I meant it. Fetch your 
 doctor here, where he can look at me and I can look 
 at him. Let me hear just what he's prepared to swear 
 to. Then we'll go ahead." He gave the lawyer a sar- 
 castic little smile and added drily, " It's your own of-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 251 
 
 fice. You're two to one or better. There's nothing 
 for you to be afraid of if you've really got the 
 man." 
 
 Morden rose to the taunt promptly, saying, " All 
 right ! We'll show him to you." 
 
 Dr. Dill, in fact, was then in the building under the 
 capable eye of Mr. Tanner, for after deliberating on 
 Dinsmore's message they had decided to have him at 
 hand. As he spoke, Morden arose and left the room. 
 
 McMurtry found it somewhat embarrassing to be 
 thus left alone with Dinsmore, with nothing to say, and 
 he furtively watched the enemy, while the enemy studied 
 the pattern of the wall paper. Almost preternaturally 
 composed, the enemy seemed; his eyes were not rest- 
 less ; his hands lay motionless on the edge of the table. 
 A recollection subtly afflicted the lawyer's nerves the 
 recollection of his encounter with Dinsmore, in the lat- 
 ter's library, night before last. As though in a poker 
 game, they had matched nerves, and McMurtry's were 
 still raw from the collision. Three or four long min- 
 utes of subtle disquietude on the lawyer's part 
 drew themselves out. Then Morden returned, accom- 
 panied by Dr. Dill. As the burly, belligerent detective 
 stepped in, McMurtry experienced a sense of relief. 
 
 They had not thought it worth while, as yet, to renew 
 the doctor's wardrobe very much. He was still wearing 
 the greasy and threadbare Prince Albert coat and still 
 presented the same general appearance of a human 
 derelict picked at random off a junk heap. His blood- 
 shot eyes were rather filmy and he confronted Dinsmore
 
 252 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 across the table with a fixed, vacuous smile. Dinsmore 
 surmised that he had been given a drug. 
 
 " Is that the man, Doctor ? " Morden asked, after 
 the two had confronted each other a moment. 
 
 Dr. Dill turned the dim eyes and slight, vacuous smile 
 to the questioner and replied, " Yes, sir ; that's the man. 
 No doubt about it." 
 
 Dinsmore thought, " He's got the lesson by heart ; 
 and said aloud, " You recognize me, do you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," the doctor replied promptly, with no 
 change in facial expression. " I treated you for a gun- 
 shot wound in Peter Sykes' house at Billingtown the 
 night the bank was robbed." 
 
 "You're prepared to swear to that?" Dinsmore 
 asked. 
 
 The doctor gave a palsied little nod and answered at 
 once, " Yes, sir ; prepared to swear to it anywhere. I 
 remember you well." 
 
 He kept his dim eyes on Dinsmore as he spoke, and 
 the latter realized that he would make a presentable 
 witness. " Very well," he said ; " swear to it now." 
 
 Not understanding what he meant, lawyer and detec- 
 tive looked at him questioningly ; and Dr. Dill as 
 though a line had been spoken that was not set down in 
 his part looked up at Morden, standing beside him, 
 for guidance. 
 
 " He says he'll swear to it, but I want to know 
 whether he really will raise his right hand and take an 
 oath," Dinsmore explained to McMurtry. " Let him 
 take an oath right now if he's really as ready as he
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 253 
 
 says. Take a sheet of paper there and draw up an 
 affidavit you'll know the proper form. 'I do 
 solemnly swear that at Billingtown, Nebraska, on the 
 night in September, 1881, when the First National Bank 
 was robbed and the cashier killed, I treated a young man 
 for gunshot wound at the house of Peter Sykes. This 
 man was about five feet, ten inches tall and weighed 
 about a hundred and sixty pounds. He had blue-grey 
 eyes and was smooth shaven. His chin had been broken 
 and there was a strongly-marked, irregular scar across 
 it. He was known as Tom Wilson. I attended him 
 several days and had a good opportunity to observe 
 him. He is the same man who is now known as Alfred 
 Dinsmore. I am positive of that, so help me God.' 
 You know the form. .Go ahead; write it out. I sup- 
 pose you've got a notary public in the office who can 
 take the oath. Let this man raise his right hand and 
 swear to that so help him God. I'll believe he's 
 really ready to swear to it when I see him do that 
 but not before." 
 
 That seemed somewhat childish both to the lawyer 
 and the detective, yet they knew there were simple- 
 minded folk to whom an oath that legal form of 
 raising the right hand and repeating " So help me 
 God " was still a fearsome thing. Perhaps Dins- 
 more entertained a superstition of that kind himself, or 
 perhaps he believed that Dr. Dill did. At any rate it 
 was easy enough to satisfy him. McMurtry, with his 
 twinkling smile, drew a sheet of paper toward him, took 
 up a pen and wrote rapidly for sixty seconds. Having
 
 254 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 glanced over what he had written, he handed it to the 
 doctor, saying, " Read that over, and sign it if it is 
 true." 
 
 Dinsmore rather doubted that the doctor read it, 
 but the doctor said, " Yes, sir ; it's true," and shakily 
 affixed his signature. Covering the body of the affi- 
 davit with a blank sheet, McMurtry then called in a 
 notary from the outer office in whose presence the doc- 
 tor duly raised his right hand and took the prescribed 
 oath. The notary, who was also McMurtry's law 
 clerk, affixed his seal and signature and withdrew. 
 
 " You have seen him swear to it," McMurtry ob- 
 served to Dinsmore, with satisfaction. 
 
 Dinsmore reached his hand for the paper. Mc- 
 Murtry passed it to him and Dinsmore read it over 
 carefully. 
 
 " That point is settled," he announced calmly. " I'm 
 satisfied as to Dr. Dill. We'll go ahead. I suppose 
 we needn't detain the doctor longer this morning." 
 
 " No," said McMurtry, and Morden led the doctor 
 out, returning him to his guardian. Dinsmore was 
 still holding the affidavit and contemplating it as the 
 detective left the room. When the door closed, he 
 folded it coolly and put it in his pocket. 
 
 That action struck the lawyer unpleasantly. It oc- 
 curred to him then that they would better have kept it 
 in their own hands; but after all there could probably 
 be no harm in Dinsmore's having it, and Dinsmore was 
 again composedly studying the pattern of the wall 
 paper.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 255 
 
 Morden returned and resumed his seat at the table, 
 expectantly ; but for a moment no one spoke and it was 
 the detective who broke the silence, impatiently: 
 " Well, it's your move." 
 
 Dinsmore turned gravely to the lawyer : " Mc- 
 Murtry, if I pay you a million dollars will that settle 
 it ? Will you let me absolutely alone afterwards ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the lawyer promptly, and Morden 
 chimed in cheerfully, " Sure ! That settles it forever." 
 
 " Of course," Dinsmore explained, " I can't raise a 
 million dollars cash in five minutes. It takes some 
 time." 
 
 " Give you till noon," said the detective promptly. 
 
 " It will have to be longer than that," Dinsmore re- 
 plied. He deliberated a moment and inquired of the 
 lawyer, " Probably certificates of deposit, issued by the 
 Consolidated Bank, would be acceptable." 
 
 " Certainly," said McMurtry. 
 
 Dinsmore considered again and said, " Meet me there 
 at three o'clock tomorrow." 
 
 " Won't do," Morden growled. " It's got to be to- 
 day." 
 
 " Why ? " Dinsmore asked. 
 
 Morden glowered at him and repeated, " Because I've 
 got my mitts on James Collingwood now and I don't 
 propose to let him get away." 
 
 " Of course, you can keep watch of him," Dinsmore 
 answered. " Men can't disappear in forty-eight hours. 
 Raising a million dollars takes some time. Three 
 o'clock tomorrow." He made that a sort of ultimatum.
 
 256 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " No, sir ! " the detective flung back. " It's got to 
 be today." 
 
 " That's out of the question," Dinsmore replied 
 calmly. " Three o'clock tomorrow is the earliest." 
 
 " Then I'll pinch James Collingwood in twenty min- 
 utes," Morden retorted, scowling. 
 
 But McMurtry felt uneasily that this was a matching 
 of nerves over again and put it, soothingly, " Two hun- 
 dred thousand down and the balance day after tomor- 
 row." 
 
 " You've had seventy-five thousand already," Dins- 
 more reminded him and caught a surprised and 
 ominous glance which Morden threw at his partner. 
 So he added, " Meet me at three o'clock tomorrow at 
 the Consolidated Bank. Come down stairs to the safe 
 deposit vaults. I'll have a private room there. Ask 
 the guard for me." 
 
 Morden was glowering, and exclaimed angrily, " It 
 won't do ! Money down today or I'll nab Collingwood." 
 
 Dinsmore stood up composedly and replied, " I've 
 said all I have to say. Three o'clock tomorrow after- 
 noon. If you insist on fighting, we'll just fight it out. 
 Of course I know you. You want money. Ruining me 
 and getting no money yourselves isn't your game. It's 
 the money you want. A million dollars will not come 
 your way every day. You'll not spill the story and 
 the money along with it. You're too sensible. Meet 
 me at the bank." 
 
 With that he put on his hat and walked out of the 
 room.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 257 
 
 Morden glared at his retreating back and when the 
 closed door hid it, turned to McMurtry and uttered a 
 good many words, scarcely one of which was printable. 
 
 McMurtry shook his head and remarked, " A hard 
 customer ! A tough nut to crack, sure's you're alive. 
 His nerve beats me." But he immediately turned to 
 the more cheering aspect of the matter and said con- 
 fidently, " Why, let him bluff a little, if he wants to ! 
 What does it amount to? We've got him cinched and 
 he knows it. He's got to come across. Let him play 
 with the line a little if he wants to. He can't get 
 away." 
 
 Morden also contemplated that more satisfactory as- 
 pect; but a recollection diverted his attention from it. 
 He glowered at the lawyer and said menacingly, " So 
 you're holding out seventy-five thousand on me, eh? " 
 
 McMurtry had hoped that would be forgotten. He 
 really felt embarrassed at being caught but tried 
 to hide it with a laugh. " Well, I'm entitled to a little 
 retainer fee, you know," he said. 
 
 " Retainer your grandmother," the detective replied 
 rudely. " That seventy-five comes out of your share. 
 And a damned good thing," he added, still more rudely, 
 " that I was here today or you'd double-crossed me 
 again." 
 
 " Why, no, I wouldn't, Jake," the lawyer replied, like 
 virtue maligned. " Pshaw ! What's seventy-five thou- 
 sand? If he comes across for one million, he'll come 
 across for another." 
 
 " You bet he will," the detective assented ominously.
 
 258 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Recalling Dinsmore's contemptuous treatment of them, 
 
 he added, " And he'll do it very soon, too, the " 
 
 There followed many more unprintable words. 
 
 That was the tack McMurtry wanted to keep on. 
 " Lord, man, it's a cinch ! " he exclaimed. " Millions ! 
 Think of it ! We've got a pipe line to the national 
 treasury. It's a bear-cat ! That's what it is a 
 bear-cat ! " 
 
 Morden, however, was not to be entirely diverted 
 from a less pleasant train of thought. " That's always 
 the trouble," he ruminated rather gloomily ; " some- 
 body's bound to double-cross. You get the best kind 
 of a scheme going and then somebody plays yellow dog 
 with it." 
 
 But insults, open or covert, could not provoke diplo- 
 matic McMurtry into a quarrel with his partner then. 
 He repeated, " It's a bear-cat ! We've got him cinched, 
 Jake ! A million tomorrow and more to follow ! 
 It's good enough for anybody ! " 
 
 The detective yielded so far as to say, " Well, it 
 looks pretty good to me. All the same, I'll keep a 
 finger on Collingwood until the money's paid down." 
 
 " A good idea," McMurtry conceded. " But be 
 careful, Jake. Don't start anything. We've got our 
 fingers on the money now. Don't spill it." 
 
 " Don't be scared of me or anybody else," Morden 
 replied; and with that not very complimentary sugges- 
 tion the partners separated.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 AT a quarter of five Louise's electric wheeled up 
 to the curb at the side door of the Bank of 
 Elsmoor. Ned Proctor had stepped out of the door a 
 minute before and was waiting for her obedient to 
 her telephone message. She opened the car door for 
 him and gave him a hand as he climbed in ; but it struck 
 him that she was uncommonly grave. 
 
 She directed the car mechanically back to Sheridan 
 Road and turned south, keeping near the curb and driv- 
 ing very slowly ; but even at that pace she had to keep 
 her eyes ahead, on the road, most of the time. When 
 they were finally set in their course she looked around 
 at him, very gravely indeed, and said: 
 
 " Ned, will you tell me the exact truth ? " 
 
 It was a plea and he answered promptly, " I surely 
 will, Lou." 
 
 " You said something to me a little while ago that 
 you were being watched. I thought afterwards you 
 meant you and I were being watched. I want you to 
 tell me exactly what you meant." 
 
 " Oh, I supposed somebody was keeping tab on me," 
 he replied at once ; " probably on account of that old 
 business of father's and so on. It might be the State's 
 Attorney's office, you know. My friends were trying 
 to get them to quash that indictment against me wipe 
 
 it off the slate for good. Maybe they were keeping 
 
 259
 
 260 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 tab on me to see whether they ought to do it or not. 
 Of course, if they were watching me and you were along 
 why, naturally, they'd be watching you, too. You 
 might figure in whatever reports they made, don't you 
 see. It's nothing to worry about, Lou." 
 
 He said it readily, looking down the road ; but some- 
 how it didn't ring true to her. It sounded like polite 
 subterfuge. So she replied with a more intimate, im- 
 pulsive plea: 
 
 " You mustn't try to fool me, Ned saving me, or 
 saving anybody else. I'm banking on you." There 
 was a little appealing cry in her voice as she said it. 
 " I'm in trouble. I don't know what to do. You're 
 not telling me all. I want you to tell me just what 
 made you say that just what you meant. You 
 must, Ned ! " She had fairly let the car stop then and 
 was looking into his face, appealing and troubled. 
 " Don't you go back on me." 
 
 It was, naturally, a very disturbing plea yet he tried 
 to ward it off: "Why it's really nothing, Lou. 
 . . . Just as I say, somebody's been watching me but 
 it's nothing to worry you." 
 
 " But I've got to know ! " she insisted. " I'm in 
 trouble. Won't you? We're old friends. . . . Ned, 
 please tell me the exact truth ! I must know ! " 
 
 It was hard to resist that. He looked into her 
 pleading face, his face perplexed, and said ineffectually, 
 " I'd do what I could for you, Lou. . . ." 
 
 " I know something happened something made you 
 say that to me," she urged. " You'd save somebody
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 261 
 
 else, but I want saving myself, Ned. . . . Won't you 
 for me please? " 
 
 It wasn't in him to resist longer. " Yes ; I'll tell you ; 
 you come first," he said. Then he looked down the 
 road a moment, passed his hand over his thick hair 
 and took another moment to arrange the facts in his 
 mind: 
 
 " There's a young fellow in the bank Fred Per- 
 kins is his name. He's a good youngster and he likes 
 me. . . . Maybe his conduct out of business hours isn't 
 just what a bank clerk's ought to be, you know. In 
 fact, he's quite a suburban sport. Nothing very 
 wrong about it, or about him, you understand. But 
 probably he knows more about the road houses and pool 
 rooms over at Leedsdale than a right young bank clerk 
 ought to know. It's about what I was doing at his 
 age, only he's in the fifty-cent row instead of up in 
 front. 
 
 " Well, Fred came to me one day, meaning to do me a 
 good favour. Seems there's a fellow around Elsmoor 
 named Hines. I never heard of him before. Fred says 
 he used to work in that billiard parlour back of Macy's. 
 He's older than Fred thirty or more and not much 
 account, I guess. Over at Leedsdale one night he got 
 to talking to Fred and another young chap. Fred says 
 he was comfortably soused at the time. He got to- 
 blowing, you know bragging. He told the boys he 
 was a detective now regular professional. That in- 
 terested them. You can imagine it was a more or less 
 beery conversation all around. Finally Hines told the
 
 262 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 boys he was shadowing me. . . . Yes, Lou you and 
 me. That's what he told them in alcoholic confi- 
 dence, he being all swelled up with the notion of his 
 importance and anxious to impress the youngsters. 
 ,. . . Regular detective, you see dime novel stuff. 
 That's what he told them. 
 
 " As I told you, Fred is fond of me. When he 
 thought it over afterwards, he got the idea that I ought 
 to know about it; a good, romantic kid, you under- 
 stand, who wanted to save his friend. So he did some 
 amateur detecting on his own account. He got hold 
 of Hines again when there was no beer in the conversa- 
 tion and pointed out that he was in a good position to 
 watch me, being with me in the bank all day. He sug- 
 gested that if there was any suitable reward in sight he 
 might enlist as Hines' assistant. Well, Hines agreed 
 to that and talked it all over with him in perfect 
 sobriety. He didn't say who was hiring him only 
 that it was a regular detective agency down town. The 
 upshot of it was that Fred felt perfectly sure the other 
 talk hadn't been just beery brag; but that Hines was 
 really employed by a detective agency to watch me 
 and you. So then Fred came to me to put me on 
 guard, you see. That's the exact truth, Lou." 
 
 She had turned a bit pale and was looking straight 
 ahead, driving very slowly. 
 
 " I wanted to know," she murmured. " I had to 
 know. It was fine of you to tell me." 
 
 " Naturally it was something I couldn't very well 
 more than barely hint at," he observed, also looking
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 263 
 
 straight ahead for the situation bristled with embar- 
 rassments. 
 
 " I suppose not," she said absently. 
 
 He gave a little sigh and continued, labouring with 
 embarrassment, " Naturally I couldn't. . . . Now that 
 it's come out you see how it is, Lou. I get you 
 into trouble. It isn't worth your while. It just moans 
 trouble for you. . . . It's been awfully fine of you 
 mighty fine of you coming around to see me and so 
 on. That's been fine. But you see how it is. I'd liked 
 to have told you before, but naturally I couldn't. It 
 just means trouble for you." 
 
 There was the question, Who had set a spy upon 
 them with the humiliation for her which that ques- 
 tion naturally implied. He was keeping as far away 
 from that as he could. There was a little silence, while 
 she drove mechanically, staring straight ahead. 
 
 " If I let you in for anything disagreeable I'd 
 want to go jump in the lake," he said. " What would 
 be the use? You've chosen the way you want to go. 
 It's all right for you to choose. I'm out of it. It isn't 
 worth your while to get yourself into a mess about me. 
 . . . It's a poor subject to talk about, Lou. I'd have 
 given a leg if this thing hadn't come up at all. But it 
 has come up, so we may as well look it in the face. It's 
 been mighty fine of you; but, you see, it isn't worth 
 your while. Just cut me out, Lou. Stick to the ticket 
 you've picked out." 
 
 Without answering that suggestion, she said ab- 
 ruptly, " My father must have done this."
 
 264 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 She obviously meant that her father must have hired 
 the spy. With astonishment, he considered it a moment 
 and then protested, " No ; you must be wrong. You 
 must be, Lou ! " He considered it again, and flung 
 away the imputation, decisively, " You're certainly 
 wrong. It could never have been your father. It's 
 rotten enough to think of anybody doing it. But 
 your father. . . . No, he never did it. It wouldn't be 
 like him." 
 
 " It was my father," she repeated. " It must have 
 been." 
 
 Incredulously, very much as though she had affirmed 
 that her father had given her a beating, he considered 
 her astonishing assertion ; but as her father came up in 
 his mind, he could not fit him into that role. 
 
 " You're wrong, Lou ; you must be," he declared. 
 " You're certainly wrong." 
 
 " Why do you say so? " she asked. 
 
 He answered plumply : " Whoever did that was a 
 sneak. Your father's no sneak." 
 
 She recalled, with a touch of bitterness, that her fa- 
 ther had not been so kind in his judgment of the young 
 man who was now defending him. 
 
 " See here, Lou," he urged, " we may be all wrong 
 about this. It's rotten enough to think it of any- 
 body." By anybody he meant, of course, Lowell Win- 
 throp. "It may have been just 'some sneaking busy- 
 body; maybe somebody with an interest in Winthrop, 
 you know, and wanting to break it off between you 
 and him. Anybody can go hire a detective; doesn't
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 265 
 
 cost a great deal, either. Probably it was just some 
 sneaking busybody." 
 
 That might have sounded more plausible, only she 
 knew that her own maid had been hired to spy, too, 
 which looked like a more elaborate system of espionage 
 than a mere busybody would have embarked on. 
 
 " Forget that notion about your father," he coun- 
 selled her. 
 
 " I don't know why you should be defending him," 
 she said. " He never took much pains to defend you." 
 
 That was a very intimate sort of thing to say. It 
 boldly put him closer to her than her own father, and 
 it made his heart beat. 
 
 " I'll tell you," he said, after a moment. *' I've had 
 a thundering good licking. Plenty of people will tell 
 you that a man no older than I am ought not to take a 
 licking. I thought so myself once. But if a five-ton 
 truck has run over you, what you think it ought to do 
 to you don't make much difference. You're smashed 
 up whether you ought to be or not. That day when 
 they took father down to Joliet well, probably you 
 can imagine it. I was pretty well smashed up. . . . 
 
 " And then, after that you see, I found out that 
 I was to be turned down I was out of it. ... Prob- 
 ably I resented that for a little while as much as any- 
 body would under the circumstances. But it kept run- 
 ning over me. There was my father in prison. I was 
 indicted myself a trial coming along when like enough 
 I'd join him. It kept running over me. . . . Finally, 
 I just took the licking; I threw up my hands. . . ."
 
 266 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 There was something in the electrified air between 
 them which said that he hadn't really told the story 
 yet; it was incomplete. He looked down at the crown 
 of the straw hat on his knees and compressed his lips. 
 
 " Probably you know I hoped to marry you. That 
 was what I couldn't give up. But it kept running over 
 me. What business had I to hope that? Your fa- 
 ther was right enough. I mean he had a right to take 
 that course. By all the rules I was out of the game. 
 Why not be a square sport square to you, even sup- 
 posing there'd ever been a time when I might have stood 
 a show ? You let me know I was out of the game. You 
 had a right to. Of course, if you'd cared I mean 
 cared really it would have been different. But you 
 didn't and what was the use of sticking around and 
 gumming things up. I took my licking. . . . 
 
 " It's true, I cared more for you than anything else. 
 I said I'd keep that, you see not gum anything up. 
 I'd be off on the back row of the bleachers cheering, 
 with nothing mean on my conscience. I took the lick- 
 ing. . . . That's about the way it stands, Lou," he 
 added as though he had made an admirably lucid, co- 
 herent statement. He looked around at her, continu- 
 ing, " So I'm saying to you now, don't think your fa- 
 ther put spies on you. That isn't true. Don't think 
 it. I don't want that in your mind." 
 
 Her heart was beating at the base of her throat. 
 Looking ahead she said, " I'm going to see you as often 
 as I like."
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 267 
 
 " You're terribly sweet, Lou," he said, helplessly, 
 from his end of the seat. 
 
 " I'm not engaged to Lowell Winthrop any more," 
 she said, her eyes ahead, although the car was barely 
 creeping and she was not much aware of the road any- 
 way. " The engagement is broken." 
 
 He stared at her and heard himself saying, " Would 
 there be any chance for me? " 
 
 Then she was saying, " I like you, Ned " ; and he no- 
 ticed how the half-opened rose bud on the lapel of her 
 jacket rose and fell with the labouring of her breast. 
 
 " You know how it is, Lou," he said, and choked a 
 bit over the name that time. " I've got no money. It's 
 twenty-five hundred a year there in the bank and my 
 mother to support. It would have to be a long time. 
 ... I didn't tell you; but the State's Attorney prom- 
 ised to quash that indictment wipe it off the slate. 
 . . . You know how I'm situated. ... I never loved 
 anybody but you." 
 
 She was looking stonily down the road. He looked 
 that way, too off into space, as though that typified 
 the void future and tried to get himself somewhat in 
 hand to present the case candidly: 
 
 " It wouldn't be fair, or decent. I'm mortgaged up 
 to my eyebrows my father's name and his debts to 
 the savings bank depositors over seven hundred thou- 
 sand. I'd said I might dig myself out of that at forty, 
 or forty-five or fifty. Then I'd just stand at taw, you 
 see. It wouldn't be decent to ask it of you. ... As I
 
 268 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 told you, I've had a thundering good licking, so I don't 
 want to hurt anybody else or get anybody else into that 
 hole you, of all the people in the world. I never 
 loved anybody but you. But it wouldn't be decent. 
 It would be like sticking you in jail for twenty years. 
 Your father don't like me." 
 
 He kept his voice steady and his eyes ahead, and had 
 an impression that he had presented it coherently. 
 
 " My father doesn't count," she retorted with a sud- 
 den passion. " He shouldn't have interfered. . . . 
 Spying on me is unbearable ! I'll not stand it." 
 
 That was easier to talk about than the other, and 
 he replied earnestly, " I'm sure you're wrong about 
 that, Lou. He wouldn't have done it. The engage- 
 ment's broken now ; it must have been Winthrop or 
 some of his family that wanted to break it up." 
 
 At that she looked around at him, her brows knitted, 
 saying, " It wasn't only this that you've told me about. 
 My own maid is spying on me in his house. I know 
 it." Also with an idea of being coherent she continued : 
 " That's why I had to know from you know what 
 made you say that to me. I made up my mind to know 
 the truth and have it out. I'll not stand being spied 
 on in my own house. Nobody can use me so. I wanted 
 you to tell me, so I could have it out. I'm going to 
 follow it through now. I know you haven't any money, 
 Ned. That doesn't matter." 
 
 More than her voice, which she strove to control, or 
 her face, the motions of the rosebud showed the storm. 
 And in whatever other respects her statement lacked
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 269 
 
 coherence, the words " That doesn't matter " were suf- 
 ficient; both of them understood what that meant. 
 
 " Let me talk to your father," he urged. 
 
 " No, Ned," she replied, with a decision as sweet as 
 though she had fallen into his arms, " I must do it my- 
 self." No great significance could be recovered from 
 those mere words, but they were speaking of a most in- 
 timate thing her relations with her father and her 
 way of speaking took him into the heart of it. Bride 
 speaks to bridegroom that way. It was as though she 
 had put herself into his arms, but he had not so much 
 as touched her hand. And for an excellent reason. 
 For some minutes, then, the car had been standing still 
 against the foliage at the curb. Other vehicles were 
 swiftly passing in either direction along the much-used 
 thoroughfare. The occupants of those other vehicles 
 naturally looked over curiously at a span electric car 
 standing at the curb through whose shiny glass win- 
 dows a young man and young woman were seen to be 
 conversing. Merely conversing, in that situation, at- 
 tracted sufficient attention; and Louise, half mechani- 
 cally, started the electric again. 
 
 In that pause of three or four minutes, under the 
 eyes of passers-by, a tremendous thing had happened, 
 and both their minds were under its spell. 
 
 " I'm not going to quarrel, Ned," she said after a 
 long moment. " I'm going to find out and have it 
 settled. You wait until you hear from me." 
 
 He had the advantage of her in that he could sit 
 back in a corner of the seat and look at her as she
 
 270 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 drove. " I'm mighty good at this kind of waiting, 
 Lou," he said, and laughed in fatuous exultation. But 
 his face darkened at once and he said with illogical but 
 poignant remorse, " All the same, it's damnably tough 
 luck for you just like sticking you in jail." He felt 
 that an heroic nature would never consent to her making 
 such a sacrifice as was involved in an engagement to 
 marry him. But he was looking at her all the time and 
 flesh and blood at any rate his flesh and blood 
 ruthlessly vetoed that heroism. Besides, there was no 
 engagement, really. 
 
 In that situation there could hardly be one, really; 
 and so there was really nothing else that could be said 
 just then. As bride and groom perhaps, provision- 
 ally they rolled on in a happy, troubled silence, and 
 in only two or three minutes more they came to the 
 intersection of that street up which stood the little 
 cottage in which he and his mother lived. That he 
 should alight there had somehow made itself understood 
 in both their minds and she drew up to the curb as 
 though they had verbally agreed upon it. 
 
 " Wait till you hear from me," she said again, look- 
 ing into his eyes and faintly smiling. 
 
 " I think you're wrong, Lou," he urged anxiously 
 meaning about her father and the spy, as she under- 
 stood, as he reached to open the car door. He smiled 
 at her and added, " I wouldn't have anybody unkind 
 to anybody today." 
 
 She stooped a little toward him, her eyes aflood with 
 soft light, and murmured, " I know ! "
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 271 
 
 For a short moment she sat in the car looking after 
 him as he walked vigorously up the street, a fullness in 
 her throat. Then she turned and drove north, the car 
 gaining speed under her hand as she addressed her mind 
 resolutely to the business ahead. She meant to know 
 
 and to have it out, once for all. 
 
 Entering the house, she looked about her and glanced 
 into the living-room with a purposeful eye, like a gen- 
 eral surveying the terrain on the eve of action. Going 
 upstairs and down the hall there, she also took note of 
 the aspect of the house. In her own sitting room she 
 immediately rang for her maid, and closed the door that 
 led into the bath and bedroom. 
 
 When Jenny Dupee stepped in, her mistress was sit- 
 ting over by a window with a beautifully polished, silver 
 bound wooden casket in her lap. 
 
 " Sit down here, Jenny ; I want to talk to you," the 
 mistress said. 
 
 The thin, dark maid crossed the room obediently and 
 seated herself, her hands in her lap, her nervous face 
 
 with little veins at the temples that somehow made 
 one think of neuralgia turned to her mistress, her 
 heart beating fast with vague apprehensions. 
 
 " How long have you been here? " Louise asked, with 
 neither friendliness nor hostility in her voice, but only 
 the level tone that expects obedience. 
 
 " Three years in February, ma'am," said Jenny 
 promptly, and felt relieved. It was the sort of 
 question that might precede a discussion of 
 wages.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " You know I will do as I say ; my word is good," 
 Louise continued in the same tone. 
 
 " Oh, surely, Miss Louise ! No one would doubt 
 that," Jenny replied, surprised. 
 
 " You are not rich? You would like some money? " 
 The questions seemed more like statements of open 
 facts. 
 
 " Surely I would like some money," Jenny replied, 
 puzzled by this odd approach to wages. And she ex- 
 plained, " I can save a little. It is not much, you know. 
 One gets older all the time. I have no one to depend on 
 but myself." 
 
 " I understand," said Louise. " I am going to give 
 you some money a good deal of money perhaps." 
 
 The little veins in the maid's sallow temples dis- 
 tended. Her eyes looked as nervous as a trapped ani- 
 mal's. This didn't sound like wages. 
 
 In her composed voice, looking the maid calmly in 
 the eye, Louise went on: 
 
 " Somebody has hired you to spy on me open my 
 mail and so forth. I have watched and I know it." 
 She made that statement with a quiet assurance that had 
 the effect of forestalling any protest. " I understand 
 it perfectly, Jenny. You are poor and have to work 
 for a living and are getting along in years. The sav- 
 ing is slow. Why should you care particularly about 
 me when you know I would discharge you tomorrow if 
 you didn't do your work satisfactorily? I understand 
 it. I'm not scolding, you see." 
 
 " I have saved only twenty-eight hundred dollars,"
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 273 
 
 said fluttered Jenny Dupee. " I didn't get as good 
 wages before I came here. I am thirty-five years old. 
 No one wants an old maid unless she has been long in 
 the family." Her startled eyes looked as though she 
 might fly away and she spoke with a kind of swift 
 breathlessness ; yet she seemed to be meeting her mis- 
 tress' frankness with equal frankness. 
 
 " Certainly ; I understand that," Louise replied. 
 " I'm not scolding, or threatening. But you wouldn't 
 have done that unless some one paid you for it. I 
 can pay you more than any one else will. You can 
 make more by working for me." 
 
 She opened the polished, silver bound casket, disclos- 
 ing a small top tray full of glittering things. 
 
 *' Probably you know what these things are worth 
 better than I do." Suggestively, she picked up a 
 jewelled brooch, then a diamond pin. " You know I 
 will do as I say. My word is good. Tell me who hired 
 you, what your instructions were and all about it. 
 Satisfy me that you are telling the truth and I will pay 
 you three times what you can make from the others. 
 But I must have the whole truth, Jenny. Tell me from 
 beginning to end and I will make it well worth your 
 while." 
 
 That put Jenny Dupee in a painful quandary. She 
 knew what she had been hired to find out those things 
 which her mysterious employer paid her seventy dollars 
 a week for reporting. But she also knew something of 
 far greater moment, that she had not been paid to find 
 out namely, what she had heard as she lay under the
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 lounge in the library when Mr. Dinsmore received his 
 unknown caller. That knowledge showed her that the 
 enterprise in which she was playing a humble role ran 
 into astonishing dimensions. The strange caller had 
 coolly mentioned two hundred and fifty thousand dol- 
 lars. Jenny's painful dilemma was as to how she could 
 profit by her unsuspected knowledge. The idea of de- 
 manding a fairer share of the spoils from the formid- 
 able man whom she had met on the street corner was 
 rather terrifying. The idea of attacking Alfred Dins- 
 more single-handed was more terrifying. How and 
 where was she to find a market for what she knew? 
 That was her dilemma. But her mistress's proposal 
 suggested a market. 
 
 With a little tremulous motion of her body, there- 
 fore, and bending forward slightly in her chair, she 
 said, " It is worth the pearls." 
 
 That suggestion struck Louise, not with indignation, 
 but with surprise. Her maid was as well acquainted 
 with the contents of this polished box as she herself was 
 or better. It held jewellery that she might wear at 
 almost any time. The costlier, more rarely used, orna- 
 ments were in a securer place than her dressing-table. 
 In this glittering top tray lay half a dozen rings, a 
 brooch, a flexible bracelet, earrings, slipper buckles all 
 set with precious stones. Between thumb and fore- 
 finger one might pick up a marketable value of five 
 thousand dollars, say. Louise had supposed a market- 
 able value of that extent would be sufficient. 
 
 " It is worth the pearls, Miss Louise," Jenny re-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 275 
 
 peated. " If I wished, I could sell it to some one else 
 for more than the pearls." 
 
 That was a quite astonishing statement to Louise, 
 and she looked it. 
 
 The maid was bending further forward, her thin body 
 a-tremble. "You said I was to tell you all just 
 what has happened and all about it. I am willing. I 
 will tell you and nobody else. It is worth a fortune to 
 me, Miss Louise. The others expect to make a fortune. 
 They said two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. As 
 I said, the saving is slow I am thirty-five. It is a 
 fortune in my hand. I could sell it to them. Give 
 me the pearls. I will tell it all to you every word. 
 Then I will go away and say nothing to anybody else, 
 ever." 
 
 All this was utterly different from anything Louise 
 had expected to hear and she could make nothing of it. 
 But as her blue eyes, round with astonishment, studied 
 the maid, she believed Jenny was telling the truth. 
 From the beginning she had managed the affair very 
 much as her father would have managed it with a 
 composed efficiency ; no outbursts or emotional displays 
 at all, but a cool thrust at the heart of her target. 
 Her father would have managed it very much the same 
 way. She liked to lay bets on horse-races and nothing 
 daunted her at bridge. In a way, Jenny was tempting 
 her now into a bigger play, for higher stakes, than she 
 had thought of in opening the conversation. Instead 
 of daunting her, it stirred the paternal blood in her 
 veins. So she lifted the tray out of the polished box.
 
 276 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Among other articles beneath lay a string of pearls 
 not a long string ; but of fine, perfectly matched stones. 
 She had worn it as a girl and had a liking for it. Its 
 commercial value might be twenty-five thousand dollars 
 or such a matter. 
 
 " You will say yourself that it is worth the pearls," 
 said Jenny, and wetted her lips with the tip of her 
 tongue. 
 
 " If it is worth the pearls, I will give them to you," 
 said Louise with the milky string in her hand. 
 
 " If you say it is not worth them, you can make me 
 give them back," said Jenny. 
 
 With a touch of disdain at whatever imputation upon 
 her sportsmanly honour that suggestion might imply, 
 Louise tossed the pearls into Jenny's lap and Jenny put 
 a long, slim hand upon them. She was trembling; but 
 she went straight at the business : 
 
 " It was about four weeks ago. A woman came here 
 to the house to the back door. She wanted to in- 
 sure our lives a very smart woman, interesting to 
 talk to. She came three times. She made us laugh. 
 Then she talked to me alone. She said she could get 
 me three times as much wages as I was getting here. 
 I met her over town and she talked to me a long time. 
 I talked to her, too about myself. Then she pro- 
 posed it. She gave me seventy dollars and said I would 
 get seventy dollars from her each week and a thousand 
 dollars more when it was finished. I was to watch 
 everything that went on in the house. I was to watch 
 you if there was any trouble between you and your
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 277 
 
 father and mother and when you went out and came in. 
 I was to look at your mail as much as I could and listen, 
 at the telephone. I was to find out if you were writing 
 to Mr. Proctor and he to you and if you made appoint- 
 ments with him. I was to write it down and mail it to 
 her every day that anything happened. Martha Woods 
 is her name. The address is Room 641, Rosser Build- 
 ing, Adams Street. That is how it began." 
 
 Jenny drew a tremulous breath and went on with her 
 recital : " Then Martha Woods telephoned to me. 
 She had arranged with me how she should do that, in 
 case anything turned up in such a way that the other 
 servants wouldn't suspect anything. She telephoned 
 me and I met her at the same place over town. She 
 said I was to keep watch of the library that evening for 
 a coloured man was to call on Mr. Dinsmore at half 
 past eight. They would be in the library. If I found 
 out what happened I would get fifty dollars extra." 
 
 Jenny's nervous eyes questioned her mistress a mo- 
 ment. " Perhaps you know about that coloured man 
 coming to the house. He comes every month and sees 
 Mr. Dinsmore in the library." 
 
 She paused a little, as though for an answer; and 
 Louise, remembering the coloured caller, said nothing. 
 
 " You know the big leather lounge in the library," 
 Jenny continued. " I hid under that. The coloured 
 man came in and Mr. Dinsmore gave him some money 
 out of a drawer in the library table. Mr. Dinsmore 
 said, * How is Collins ? ' and the coloured man said 
 something about his being at a club. That was all
 
 273 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 they said. Then the coloured man went out, with the 
 money in a brown leather bag. I wrote that to Martha 
 Woods. She paid the extra fifty dollars. She has al- 
 ways paid promptly. Then another man came to see 
 Mr. Dinsmore, a white man. . . . 
 
 " Mr. Winthrop came here that evening. He and 
 Mr. Dinsmore talked in the library. That was right 
 after dinner. They were doing something to the tele- 
 phone. Then they went up stairs and Mr. Winthrop 
 went in Mr. Dinsmore's den and Mr. Dinsmore went 
 down stairs. The door was open a little. I heard Mr. 
 Winthrop at the telephone up there. He said he could 
 hear very well. I thought they had fixed the telephone 
 so Mr. Winthrop could sit up stdirs and hear what was 
 said in the library. . . ." 
 
 This was the crucial point, and Jenny hesitated an 
 instant ; but went on, " I watched a chance and hid 
 under the lounge in the library again. Soon Mr. Dins- 
 more came back there and talked to the telephone again 
 and I was sure he was talking to Mr. Winthrop up 
 stairs. Then a strange man came in. I could see a 
 little now and then, you know, peeking under the lounge 
 cover. This man had his hair brushed up at the sides 
 like that dark young man in the barber shop right 
 across from the railroad station. He sat at one side 
 of the table and Mr. Dinsmore sat at the other. They 
 did not say * Good evening ' to each other." 
 
 Jenny's nervousness increased and she was obviously 
 tacking away from the main point, as though her 
 courage and breath failed her.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 279 
 
 " They talked some time not raising their 
 voices," she said and bit her lip to keep it from 
 twitching. 
 
 " What did they talk about? " Louise asked, by way 
 of bringing her to the point. " I want the exact truth, 
 remember." 
 
 Jenny took a shuddering breath and plunged at it: 
 " This strange man said Mr. Dinsmore had helped to 
 rob a bank thirty-one years ago at a place out in 
 Nebraska. . . . He said Mr. Dinsmore had shot the 
 cashier of the bank and killed him. He said Mr. Dins- 
 more had been paying this coloured man money all the 
 time because the coloured man knew about it." 
 
 Now that she had plunged, she rushed on with it 
 desperately : " He said the cashier had shot Mr. Dins- 
 more, too, and wounded him. He said a doctor out 
 there had attended Mr. Dinsmore. He said this man 
 who was shot the one the doctor attended gave 
 the name Tom Wilson and his chin had been broken, so 
 he had a big scar across it. He said they had found 
 the doctor and brought him here to Chicago and he had 
 looked at Mr. Dinsmore and would swear Mr. Dinsmore 
 was the same man. He said this man who had been shot 
 had lost his cuff button. The cuff button had fallen 
 out of his shirt and the doctor had picked it up at 
 the time when the doctor attended him and this cuff 
 button had the initials A. D. on it. He showed Mr. 
 Dinsmore the cuff button. He said he must have two 
 hundred and fifty thousand dollars and they talked a 
 while and Mr. Dinsmore said he would send him seventy-
 
 280 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 five thousand dollars in the morning and the man went 
 away." 
 
 Jenny's breath completely failed then and she sat 
 with her lips apart, her thin breast labouring. Louise's 
 eyes had grown even rounder and the colour had washed 
 out of her face. She confronted the maid, a marble 
 mask of astonishment. For a moment nothing more 
 was said; then Jenny plunged again: 
 
 " The next day Martha Woods telephoned me again. 
 Certainly I didn't wish her telephoning often or coming 
 to the house. She telephoned me saying to Tillson 
 as before it was my cousin who had come to town. So 
 I went to the telephone and it was Martha Woods. She 
 said that without fail I must go to the corner of Elm 
 and Locust Streets at a quarter to five and meet a man 
 who would be waiting for me there; that he was the 
 man who was paying me the money and he wanted to 
 ask me some questions and I must do it without fail and 
 I would get a hundred dollars. You see, she didn't say 
 it in just those words, for fear somebody might over- 
 hear; but I knew what she meant. I didn't like to do 
 that. It seemed dangerous ; but she said I must and 
 I knew then from what I had overheard the evening be- 
 fore that it was a big thing, with a great deal of money 
 in it. I met the man. He was waiting for me on the 
 corner. He was a savage-looking man and I said noth- 
 ing to him about what I had overheard. He asked me 
 whether Mr. Dinsmore had gone down town the night 
 before. I said he had. I had heard it from the serv- 
 ants. He had changed his clothes and gone down town
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 281 
 
 and stayed away all night and in the morning Benj amin 
 took some other clothes down to his office for him. 
 That was the day before yesterday. . . . That is all 
 true, Miss Louise just exactly as I have told you." 
 
 " And this man you met did he give a name ? Do 
 you know who it was that hired you? " Louise asked. 
 
 " No," Jenny replied. " The only name I know is 
 the woman's Martha Woods and the address 
 Room 641, Rosser Building, Adams Street." 
 
 A moment later, Louise asked, " Is that all every- 
 thing? " 
 
 " Yes," Jenny replied ; " only the strange white man 
 that came here said Mr. Dinsmore had run away from 
 home that time out in Nebraska. . . . He would be, 
 you see, a young man then twenty-one or so." She 
 hesitated an instant, tremulously regarding her mis- 
 tress, and suggested, " I think Mr. Winthrop must have 
 heard it what this strange white man said to Mr. 
 Dinsmore. He was up stairs in Mr. Dinsmore's den. 
 They had fixed the telephone. I think Mr. Winthrop 
 must have heard it. ... That is all." 
 
 There was another little silence and Louise said, 
 " Very well ; there's nothing further now." It was a 
 strange situation for mistress and maid and Louise's 
 eyes acknowledged it, but there was no other acknowl- 
 edgment. 
 
 " Thank you," Jenny murmured in the manner of a 
 well-trained servant, and arose and left the room with 
 the pearls tightly held in her thin hand. And, after 
 all, the pearls were the great fact. She believed their
 
 282 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 commercial value was thirty thousand dollars. Noth- 
 ing else mattered much, because, for her, life's grand 
 problem was solved. 
 
 Louise watched the familiar, thin, black-clad figure 
 leave the room with the odd sense of its being a quite 
 unknown person. . . . 
 
 Absurd, of course! That was her instinctive reac- 
 tion to it absurd and completely incredible. But she 
 knew her father did pay a coloured man money. . . . 
 Absurd! . . . Feeling that she shouldn't do it and was 
 acting in an unreasonable way, she got out a classified 
 telephone directory and ran her finger down the list of 
 detective agencies until she came to " Morden Detective 
 Agency, Rosser Building, Adams Street." So there 
 was a detective agency at the address Jenny had given. 
 Undoubtedly it had been real money that somebody was 
 paying to Jenny and to the man Ned Proctor had men- 
 tioned. . . . 
 
 Presently she slipped out into the hall and down it 
 to her father's den. The door was open. There was 
 the table, the chair the telephone, which she regarded 
 with fascinated eyes. The room turned a familiar face 
 to her and yet a face completely strange. There, by 
 Jenny's story, Lowell Winthrop had sat and overheard 
 what the strange man said to her father down in the 
 library. What her father had said to herself and her 
 mother the next evening insisted upon coming back into 
 her mind. He had said Lowell had found him in a 
 disgraceful situation and so broken the engage- 
 ment.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 283 
 
 Her mind was full of matter so strange and bewilder- 
 ing that it seemed fairly to belong to some other person, 
 and she had an oddly uprooted feeling as though her 
 life had been violently pulled up and cast into a new 
 place. Nothing fitted in the old way. . . . 
 
 She was back in her own room and noted that it was 
 only a quarter past six an hour and a quarter to 
 dinner time. Her father would be coming home about 
 now, and she remembered that she had resolved to have 
 it out with him at the first chance before dinner if 
 possible in case Jenny confirmed her suspicion. 
 That resolution had a strange look now, like everything 
 else. Jenny's narrative had changed everything. . . . 
 
 She walked aimlessly over to the window, her mind 
 without anchor or compass, going in its own way now. 
 It was saying to her that he was only twenty-one or so 
 at the time hardly more than a boy. Boys got into 
 scrapes queer accidents happened in this queerest 
 world. 
 
 His car rolled through the grounds and up to the 
 door. She saw him get out of it in his usual vigorous 
 way and enter the house; and she remembered that the 
 last two days he had looked worn and disturbed, as 
 though he were very tired, or ailing. Somehow, she 
 felt a deep hunger to see him closer. ... In spite of 
 his temper, her father was the handsomest man in the 
 world of his age with his air of cool, competent dar- 
 ing and the subdued humour peeping out from behind 
 it. So strong and able, he looked! . . . 
 
 Morden Detective Agency a great deal of money.
 
 284 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 She couldn't really understand it, but she felt the dogs 
 were biting at him now; also felt a deep hunger to see 
 him closer. 
 
 When she went down stairs at a quarter of seven she 
 was wondering how she would meet him, for the absurd 
 idea that he must know what Jenny had told her kept 
 presenting itself. She went into the living room and 
 saw him there alone, sitting in an easy chair, his eyes 
 on the rug. Again she thought he looked worn. Then 
 something else caught her eye and her heart as in a 
 trap his neatly trimmed, greying beard. By 
 Jenny's story that hid a fatal, lifelong scar. At that, 
 the whole import of Jenny's story flashed up, as though 
 it had been suddenly thrown on a screen theretofore 
 dim, or as though some one had shouted " Murder ! " 
 As though his beard became transparent she seemed to 
 see a frightful mark upon him. 
 
 She was near his chair then and he looked up, aware 
 of her, with a slight smile perhaps faintly wistful 
 saying as usual, " How are you, daughter? " 
 
 She slipped down to her knees, looking him in the face 
 beseechingly and said, " I love you with all my might, 
 daddy," and with a continuance of the same motion 
 folded her arms on his lap and laid her head upon them. 
 
 Dinsmore laid his hands on her glossy head and strug- 
 gled as though under a great blow, biting his lip. 
 " Dear little Louie," he said huskily. When she looked 
 up she saw with awe that tears were running down his 
 face. 
 
 She snuggled closer, and got an arm around him,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 285 
 
 resting her head on his breast, saying in a deep little 
 confidence between them " We shouldn't have quar- 
 relled, should we, daddy? " 
 
 " No, sweetheart," he replied. " It's been the bitter- 
 est thing that ever happened to me. It was my fault." 
 
 " No ; it was my fault," she said, hugging him and 
 weeping. " We'll never do it again." 
 
 That was the way she really had it out with him. 
 Yet at the dinner table amazement kept stealing over 
 her mind, for he laughed, his eyes shone, he joked. And 
 she couldn't help looking at his beard. Was Jenny's 
 story a dream, after all? 
 
 She had simply to give it up for the present. And 
 for the present Ned Proctor must wait. 
 
 When they were alone a minute just before bed time, 
 she whispered, " Are you in trouble, daddy? " 
 
 " No," he replied, and kissed her ; " You've ended the 
 trouble." Then he said, "Why do you ask?" 
 
 " I thought you looked troubled," she answered 
 giving it all up again.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 r I iHE twerty-eight hours that Dinsmore prescribed 
 JL until they should meet again at the Consolidated 
 Bank were anxious hours for McMurtry and Morden, 
 yet hopeful a brief time of trial with millions at the 
 end! 
 
 Their chief anxiety was with regard to James Col- 
 lingwood. Leaving the lawyer's office after the inter- 
 view with Dinsmore, Morden repaired to Luke's Hotel. 
 Such nosing about as he was able to do without exciting 
 too much curiosity left a doubt as to whether Colling- 
 wood had been in the hotel since the detective searched 
 his room the night before ; at least, Morden wasn't able 
 to satisfy himself that the man had been there. Never 
 very conservative in his methods he finally found his 
 ally, the porter, and had another look at the room. It 
 seemed exactly as when he had visited it before. At 
 any rate, the man's belongings were there, even to his 
 trunk and battered old travelling bag. Presumably he 
 would return. Morden then engaged a brother de- 
 tective to shadow the hotel for him and report as soon 
 as Collingwood did return. That was as far as he could 
 well go under the circumstances. 
 
 " He may have skipped," the detective observed 
 grumpily to McMurtry as they canvassed this situa- 
 tion late in the afternoon. 
 
 " Well, say he has," the lawyer replied confidently. 
 286
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 287 
 
 " A man can't skip very far in two days. We can get 
 him back if we need him." He twinkled over it a mo- 
 ment and continued, postively, " But we won't need 
 him. I've thought this case all over every inch of 
 it. We've got Dr. Dill's positive identification, and 
 we've got Dinsmore cinched absolutely ! He can't 
 get away from it and he knows it. Everything checks 
 up. I said in the beginning that if Dinsmore had been 
 paying blackmail all these years, the negro's story was 
 true. It is true. It all checks up. Dr. Dill confirms 
 it. Why, it's so plain that Dinsmore don't even enter 
 a denial. If there was the least chance in the world for 
 him to contradict it, do you think he'd have gone as 
 far with us as he has ? Not for a minute ! No chance 
 of it. He'd have told us to go to the devil. He's 
 already paid down seventy five thousand dollars in good 
 money." 
 
 " That you pocketed," Morden reminded him, ill- 
 naturedly. 
 
 " We'll square that, Jake," McMurtry put in hastily 
 regretting his friend's bad manners in rubbing it 
 in. 
 
 Having touched upon this subject of conspiratorial 
 honour, Morden was naturally reminded of the third 
 member, so he asked, "What about Purcell?" 
 
 " We'll give Charley a good show, of course," Mc- 
 Murtry replied, as though among friends there could 
 be no question of that. 
 
 "How much?" Morden asked, with brutal direct- 
 ness. He proposed, in fact, to be a party to the set-
 
 288 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 tlement with Purcell or, rather, he proposed that 
 McMurtry shouldn't hold out anything on him in that 
 connection. 
 
 The lawyer understood that and diplomatically swal- 
 lowed whatever reflection on his honesty it might imply. 
 Taking up a pencil he did a little sum in short division, 
 and remarked, " One third of half a million would be 
 a hundred and sixty thousand, six hundred and sixty- 
 six dollars." 
 
 " That's a great plenty for him," Morden growled. 
 " He's got no more sand than a spring chicken. Half 
 of that would do." 
 
 " Well, we want to keep Charley good natured," 
 McMurtry rejoined, good-naturedly himself. "You 
 see, he got Pomeroy's original story. That's some- 
 thing of a point, now that Pomeroy is dead and our 
 doctor may up and die on pur hands any hour. He 
 looks as though he was due at the hospital now. This 
 Dinsmore's a tough customer. We don't want to send 
 Charley Purcell trafficking with him behind our backs. 
 If Dinsmore once got hold of him he might cook up 
 something that would queer us for good. We can af- 
 ford to keep Charley good natured." 
 
 " Well I suppose so," the detective assented. 
 
 " Certainly ! " said McMurtry with conviction. 
 " You see, Dinsmore's paying the shot ; we're not. We 
 can afford to be pretty generous with his money." He 
 did a further little sum in arithmetic. " Giving 
 Charley a hundred and sixty-six thousand, six hundred 
 and sixty-six dollars will leave eight hundred and thirty-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 289 
 
 three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three for you 
 and me to divide." 
 
 " Seventy-five thousand out of yours," Morden re- 
 minded him ruthlessly. 
 
 Ignoring that exhibition of bad manners, McMurtry 
 continued, " Out of the first million. There'll be an- 
 other million pretty soon." 
 
 He contemplated the figures with a sort of fascina- 
 tion, an avid glow rising in his mind ; a grin overspread 
 his swarthy face and there was an uncanny glee in his 
 chuckle. 
 
 " Lord, man, there's a killing for you ! " he exulted. 
 " It's a bear-cat ! " 
 
 Morden realized all that as much as his friend did; 
 but in his mind there was a firm determination not to 
 be " done " at any point by this same friend. He pro- 
 posed to take a hand in all the settlements ; so, with no 
 outward response to his friend's exultant outburst, he 
 said, " We may as well get Purcell over here. He'll 
 want to know how it's going anyway." 
 
 Again McMurtry quite understood his motive; but 
 in fact he had been wanting to get rid of Morden in 
 order to have a talk with Purcell, for the managing- 
 editor had been kept in the dark, and put off with brief 
 cryptic telephone messages, as long as it was safe. 
 Charley must be kept good-natured. So to Morden's 
 suggestion he assented with a cheerful, " All right," 
 and reached for the telephone. 
 
 Before using the instrument, however, he reflected a 
 moment and asked, " What would we best tell him? "
 
 290 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " Tell him Dinsmore's coming through with half a 
 million day after tomorrow," the detective replied 
 promptly. 
 
 " I don't believe we best make it quite as positive as 
 that," said McMurtry thoughtfully, hand on telephone. 
 " We'll tell him about what has happened, and that 
 Dinsmore's hooked sure and we've struck for half 
 a million and he's asked till day after tomorrow to raise 
 the money." 
 
 " Well," Morden assented, in grumpy indifference to 
 the finer details. 
 
 So McMurtry telephoned and about fifteen minutes 
 later the gaunt managing editor entered the room 
 in a nervous state from many hours of suspense and 
 conflicting hopes, fears and suspicions. To him the 
 lawyer affably and cheeringly explained the situation 
 as he and Morden had agreed. Purcell listened, once 
 or twice wetting his dry lips with the tip of his tongue, 
 once shaving them with his bent forefinger, and all the 
 while with wavering lights playing in the depths of his 
 cavernous brown eyes. Of course, he had to accept 
 their statement, but there was a persistent, leaden mis- 
 giving in his heart. He knew he was pretty completely 
 in their hands and he didn't really trust them. 
 
 " It's a cinch, Charley a bear-cat ! " McMurtry 
 repeated, in pursuit of his duty of heartening his more 
 lumpy partners in crime. " At this time tomorrow 
 you'll be a rich man. Meanwhile, just sit tight." 
 
 There was obviously nothing else to do, and on the 
 
 } 7 back to the newspaper office Purcell heartened him-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 291 
 
 self. They couldn't double-cross him; he knew as 
 much of the affair as they did ; they'd got to give him 
 a share of the money. Holding to that assurance he 
 waited a long, nerve-racking time with nothing 
 whatever happening out of the usual mechanical 
 routine, and no sign anywhere that a great drama in 
 which he was cast for the role of a rich man was shaping 
 itself, until twenty-five minutes of three the next after- 
 noon. Then he received a startling telephone call. 
 
 McMurtry and Morden waited also, with nothing 
 happening especially, as Morden's shadow reported, 
 with no sign of James Collingwood at Luke's Hotel. 
 That was vexing, yet McMurtry insisted that they 
 didn't really need him, and if they should need him they 
 could find him. 
 
 Three o'clock was the hour. They both consulted 
 their watches twice or thrice as that hour drew near. 
 At five minutes of three they were walking down La 
 Salle Street, as innocent-looking to. the casual eye as 
 any other two passengers on that thronged, bustling 
 street. The big clock on the Board of Trade tower 
 showed two minutes of three when they reached the 
 beetling Consolidated Bank Building that loomed far 
 overhead. They paused a minute not to seem over- 
 anxious then passed through the battery of glass 
 doors into the marble lobby. Wide marble steps 
 straight ahead led up into the main banking room, but 
 Dinsmore had said they would meet in the safe deposit 
 vaults, so they took the narrower stairs which led 
 downward at the right.
 
 292 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Just beyond the foot of the stairs, mighty bars of 
 burnished steel, reaching from floor to ceiling and wall 
 to wall, confronted them. Beyond this formidable 
 barrier lay the safe deposit vault proper, with huge 
 steel doors and a glimpse of the seried rows of 
 lacquered boxes. A guard, in the grey uniform and 
 stiff cap of the bank's private constabulary force, 
 stood at the ponderous gate in the barrier. Another 
 guard, in like uniform, stood near, and approached 
 the visitors, with an inquiring look, when they halted. 
 
 " We're looking for Mr. Dinsmore," said the lawyer. 
 
 ** Yes, sir," said the guard and consulted a little 
 card in the palm of his hand. " Mr. McMurtry and 
 Mr. Morden ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the lawyer. 
 
 " This way, please ; Mr. Dinsmore is waiting for 
 you," said the guard in a way which subtly implied that 
 it was a great honour to be waited for by Mr. Dinsmore 
 and very kind of Mr. Dinsmore to be waiting. 
 
 He led them away from the steel barrier and through 
 an anteroom from which opened a number of parlours 
 suitable for snug business conferences parlours of 
 various sizes ; two or three in which half a dozen peo- 
 ple might gather, and two in which twenty or more 
 might be accommodated. To visitors in an uneasy 
 frame of mind it was not a very cheerful place. In 
 spite of sedately handsome furnishings it looked too 
 cold and tight and steely and closely guarded, vaguely 
 suggesting a place that might be easy to get into but 
 exceedingly difficult to get out of.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 293 
 
 The guard led them to the closed door of one of the 
 smaller parlours, opened it and stood aside for them to 
 enter with an official smile and slight nod. Stepping 
 in they saw a snug, square room with low ceiling, 
 grave and cold in tone, the walls painted a steely grey, 
 a grey rug on the cement floor, a severe but highly 
 polished oak table, several chairs. Their eyes took in 
 an impression of it and an impression that it was 
 empty. But at the next step they saw two men stand- 
 ing over at the right so that the opened door hid them 
 from any one on the threshold. Evidently the men 
 had been engaged in conversation and at the opening 
 of the door had paused, turning their faces that way. 
 
 McMurtry, who was ahead, saw them ; then Morden ; 
 and from that instant neither of them had eyes or wits 
 for anything else. 
 
 One of the men was the lean, big-handed, big-footed 
 managing editor of the Leader. The other man was 
 Alfred Dinsmore, clean-shaven, presenting a chin as 
 smooth and scarless as any in the room. It was Dins- 
 more who finally broke the thrilled silence : 
 
 " Of course, you lied to me about not having an asso- 
 ciate," he said coolly. " I knew that. You lied to this 
 man, too. You lied to each other. Three rogues that 
 can't stick together three days aren't very formidable. 
 I have Dr. Dill's affidavit about the scar on the man's 
 chin and so on. You can examine my chin with a 
 microscope if you like. I'll tell you, if you care to 
 know, I was never in Billingtown, Nebraska, in my life. 
 I pensioned William Pomeroy for my own reasons.
 
 294 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 You two can get out now. If you ever lift a finger 
 against me I'll smash you if it breaks me." 
 
 He spoke coolly, looking straight at them, and as 
 they still stood paralysed he added, after a brief mo- 
 ment, " That's all. Get out." He moved to the table 
 and pressed a call button on the corner of it. 
 
 Quite mechanically, Morden turned to the door. As 
 they stepped into the anteroom the guard came up, 
 answering Dinsmore's ring, and they heard Dinsmore 
 say to him, " Thank you ; it's no matter now." 
 
 They found themselves on the broad sidewalk. It 
 was the same thronged, busy street, the same towering 
 buildings, the same June sunshine up above ; nothing 
 had changed hardly even the Board of Trade clock 
 which showed only two minutes past three. But for 
 all that it was an utterly different world, in which the 
 two passengers couldn't find themselves. 
 
 " Purcell sold us out," Morden muttered ominously. 
 
 But the lawyer's mind was not so stunned as that. 
 He perceived that the crux of the matter lay in an 
 entirely different direction. " That damned smooth 
 chin," he said blankly. " He has got Dill's affidavit 
 about the scar and so on. . . . The scar's all 
 through it ... I don't make it out yet." 
 
 They moved automatically up the street, suddenly 
 shipwrecked and vaguely groping for a new bearing. 
 But they found none. " That damned smooth chin," 
 McMurtry muttered again as they entered his office 
 building. 
 
 Meanwhile Dinsmore had turned to Purcell saying,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 295 
 
 " Of course they would have swindled you. You're a 
 young man. You can do better than tie up with black- 
 legs. I'm willing to drop this where it stands. But 
 this thing started with you. I know that. Pomeroy 
 went to you with his story. I'm going to hold you 
 responsible. If the thing ends here, very well; I've 
 nothing more to say. But I meant exactly what I said 
 when I told them I'd stand no more nonsense about it. 
 I shall look to you. You're young; you must have 
 ability or you wouldn't have that position. Go straight 
 and you've nothing to be afraid of." 
 
 Half paralysed, Purcell, heart in boots, could only 
 stammer abjectly, " I shouldn't have got into it, Mr. 
 Dinsmore ... I was tempted. . . ." 
 
 " Of course," said Dinsmore, not unkindly. " Buck 
 up now ; go straight ; you've nothing to be afraid of if 
 you do. But you started this. I'm going to hold you 
 responsible for the other two. Keep your eye on 
 them." 
 
 " I will," said Purcell, shakily. 
 
 Dinsmore smiled and replied, " Good luck to you. 
 That's all." 
 
 So Purcell also found himself outside in a familiar yet - 
 quite strange, street ; but somehow unlike McMurtry 
 and Morden feeling tremendously grateful as though 
 he had barely escaped a dire peril. 
 
 As Purcell left, Dinsmore started to follow; but he 
 paused on his way to the door and put his hand up to 
 his face ; then smiled as he realized the beard was gone. 
 Taking up the telephone from the table he called his
 
 296 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 house. The butler answered and Dinsmore gave him 
 this message: 
 
 " Tell Mrs. Dinsmore and Louise that I'm coming 
 home at once and bringing them a surprise." 
 
 The two women were expecting him, therefore, when 
 he drove up to the house an hour later, and as he 
 stepped into the living room his wife uttered a pro- 
 longed note of amazement: 
 
 " Why, Al-f red Dins-more ! " She sprang up and 
 ran to him, laughing in a joyous excitement and ex- 
 claiming, "Why, Alf! When did you do it? Why 
 didn't you tell me you were going to? You know I 
 always wanted you to ! " And she fell upon him, shak- 
 ing him and hugging him, feeling his smooth cheek 
 with her hand, still bubbling happy laughter and ex- 
 clamations : " You might have told me ! Oh, I'm so glad 
 you've got that old beard off! I told you it would 
 make you younger and handsomer ! Doesn't he look 
 just a boy again, Lou? " She turned her shining face 
 to her daughter and at once gave a new note of sur- 
 prise, " Why, Louie ! Silly child, what are you cry- 
 ing for ? " 
 
 Mysteriously, the tall young woman seemed trans- 
 formed back into a small child as she stood looking at 
 her father, tears running down her face. 
 
 " I don't know," she murmured, and gave a helpless 
 little laugh through her tears ; " only I'm glad ! " 
 She silently put an arm around her father's neck and 
 laid a cheek against his. Then she rubbed her hand 
 over his chin and kissed it and murmured again,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 297 
 
 with a helpless little laugh through her tears, " I'm 
 glad ! " 
 
 " Foolish, Louie ! " said her mother, herself sym- 
 pathetically moved almost to tears by something mys- 
 teriously childlike in her daughter's emotion. She 
 turned to her husband, bubbling again, " I told you it 
 would make you years younger! Why didn't you tell 
 me?" 
 
 Smiling, Dinsmore explained that he'd been thinking 
 of shaving his beard for some time, but he hadn't told 
 her because he wished to surprise her ; and as husband 
 and wife talked a moment in that strain, Dinsmore was 
 furtively regarding his daughter. 
 
 " Come ! Let's show your mother and Cousin 
 Elliot, too ! " Mrs. Dinsmore cried, slipping a pretty 
 hand under her husband's arm. 
 
 From where they stood in the living room they could 
 see Mrs. Dinsmore senior and Cousin Elliot sitting out 
 on the lawn looking at the lake the aged woman so 
 blanched and frail she seemed a barely embodied spirit, 
 and Cousin Elliot gravely happy in a new brown linen 
 suit. 
 
 " No, wait a bit," Dinsmore replied. " I want her 
 to be prepared a little beforehand. Mother's too old 
 for any shocks. You find a way to do it, Nell." 
 
 So a little later Mrs. Dinsmore left them. Through 
 the east windows they saw her move across the lawn 
 toward the older pair a pleasing, gracious figure. 
 
 " So you approve it ? " Dinsmore said to his daugh- 
 ter, in a light tone, smiling a little.
 
 298 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 " Yes, daddy," she murmured and leaned against his 
 shoulder, her eyes downcast. 
 
 He considered a moment, recalling the evening be- 
 fore, dropped the light tone and asked soberly, " Per- 
 haps you've heard something, Louie something 
 about that beard." 
 
 " Yes," she answered. 
 
 He waited a moment again and said, " It occurred to 
 me last night although I couldn't imagine 
 how. . . ." 
 
 " I've been thinking of it all the time," she said, low, 
 with downcast eyes ..." Whether or not I ought to 
 tell you . . . Maybe you ought to know . . . My 
 maid, Jenny, left today." 
 
 He could make nothing coherent out of those dis- 
 jointed hints; but he could form a vague surmise. He 
 took her hand, kissed it, and tucked it under his arm, 
 saying, " Let's go up stairs." 
 
 Up in his den she preferred to sit at his feet, where, 
 looking stead.'ly out at the lake, she repeated Jenny 
 Dupee's story, concluding in the same hushed voice, 
 " I've been thinking of it ever since whether I ought 
 to tell you ... It seemed you ought to know." 
 
 He had listened to the recital without comment or 
 motion and was silent a moment after she finished, and 
 patted his knee with a light touch. 
 
 " I see," he said ..." Well, it was high time. I 
 should have cleaned this thing up long ago. I didn't 
 kill that man, Lou. I was never in Billingtown, Ne- 
 braska, where he was killed but maybe I wasn't very
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 299 
 
 far from it in one way. I wasn't very steady as a 
 youth. I played poker and did plenty of other fool 
 things. Suppose, now, I'd got into a great mess at 
 home and struck out at random, without any money to 
 speak of and so on. Suppose I had fallen in with a 
 certain gang of older men. . . . 
 
 " I've wondered a thousand times, if all the circum- 
 stances had been right, just how much I would have 
 balked at a proposition to rob a country bank all 
 easy and safe; a lark. I hope to God, I would have 
 balked. I think I would. Yet I've wondered a thou- 
 sand times if all the circumstances had been just 
 right and it had struck me like robbing an apple 
 orchard on a bigger scale. I've got a great fault, dear 
 girl; I'm not enough afraid . . . But I didn't. 
 
 " Four men robbed that bank. The leader was 
 named Colby a county fair fakir and great rascal. 
 There was a negro named William Pomeroy who was 
 a sort of man Friday and body-guard of his. And 
 there was a man that lived out there in Billingtown, 
 named Sykes. Then there was a young man whom they 
 called Tom Wilson. The cashier surprised them at it 
 came on them suddenly, it seems. Wilson fired 
 in sheer panic, no doubt and killed him. But the 
 cashier wounded Wilson and he was taken to Sykes' 
 house where a Dr. Dill attended him. . . . 
 
 " Years afterwards Colby and Pomeroy concluded 
 that I was Tom Wilson. I let them think so. I paid 
 them money. Pomeroy came here to the house every 
 month and got six hundred dollars. I don't know just
 
 300 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 why, but Pomeroy, the negro, got dissatisfied. He 
 was afraid of Colby, with very good reason. No doubt 
 Colby kept most of the blackmail money gave 
 Pomeroy what he judged the negro ought to have. 
 Pomeroy got dissatisfied ; he wanted to get hold of 
 some money for himself and get away. That must 
 have been running in his head a long time how he 
 could manage to do that without Colby finding it out 
 until he'd got the money and disappeared. 
 
 " It's hard to tell just what goes on in the mind of a 
 man like Pomeroy a good deal like trying -to dig back 
 into the mind of a monkey. He was childishly ignorant 
 in a good many ways, yet with a kind of simian shrewd- 
 ness, too. Well, he saw in the newspapers about my 
 libel suit against the Leader. He thought the Leader 
 would be anxious to get any kind of a hold over me. So 
 he actually went up to the Leader office and asked for 
 the editor and was shown in to a sort of amateur rogue 
 named Purcell, the managing editor. This fellow Pur- 
 cell got him to tell his story, but the negro demanded 
 some sort of bond first, so Purcell gauging his man 
 wrote out an absurd promise to pay him a hundred 
 thousand dollars in case he felt like it, for that's what 
 it amounted to, and signed J. Wesley Tully's name to 
 it. You see, it was two blockheads and amateur 
 rogues, but one with a better education than the other. 
 
 " So Purcell went with the story to a blackleg law- 
 yer named McMurtry who called in a blackleg detec- 
 tive named Morden and the two proposed to blackmail 
 me for a few millions. The detective went out to Ne-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 301 
 
 braska and found Dr. Dill a sad old bum, all shot 
 to pieces with drink and drugs and brought him 
 here. He cheerfully identified me as Tom Wilson. 
 Then McMurtry came up here and demanded a quarter 
 of a million dollars and I agreed to pay him seventy- 
 five thousand the following day, which I did. I had to 
 gain time to cast around and see how I could protect 
 myself. . . . 
 
 "You see, Pomeroy with that curious kind of 
 ignorant shrewdness of his had said that John Colby 
 was dead. I gathered from what McMurtry said he 
 even charged me with having killed him in some way or 
 other. Colby had an odd kind of knife and I guess the 
 negro told them I had such a knife. Pomeroy was 
 mortally afraid of Colby and was shrewd enough to 
 know that if these other fellows knew Colby was alive 
 they'd probably insist on bringing him into it. So he 
 told them Colby was dead. Of course, he wasn't at all. 
 He was living here at Luke's Hotel under the name of 
 James Collingwood. Probably he'd got into a very 
 bad scrape somewhere and thought it best to keep an 
 assumed name. I don't know anything about it, but 
 that's the reasonable presumption. When McMurtry 
 began talking to me, I saw he must have been talking 
 to Colby or Pomeroy. When he said Colby was dead 
 I concluded it must have been Pomeroy and that Pom- 
 eroy was keeping it dark from Colby. 
 
 " Well, I wanted to shut Pomeroy up and get him 
 out of the blackmailers' reach, and I was satisfied he 
 was acting behind Colby's back. So soon after
 
 302 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 McMurtry left the house as soon as I had studied it 
 over and come to that conclusion I went down town 
 and looked up Colby. I knew where he was apt to be 
 found a poker joint, in fact and I changed my 
 clothes for I didn't want to attract attention in that 
 neighbourhood. Well, I found Colby and told him what 
 had happened, and was more than ever satisfied that 
 Pomeroy was acting on his own hook. I said he must 
 find Pomeroy at once and get him out of town where 
 the blackmailers couldn't reach him and then we'd think 
 of a counter-stroke against them. He agreed to that. 
 
 " It would take some money, of course for they 
 would be cut off from the base of supplies for a 
 while. I said I would go over to a hotel and engage a 
 room and wait for him there, while he found Pomeroy 
 and got ready to leave town. This was half past ten 
 or eleven at night, you know not a very good time 
 to raise cash. I went over to the club and got what 
 little cash they had there and found a young chap who 
 knows the way about town at night. He went out 
 scouting for me. The upshot was I got twenty-three 
 thousand dollars. Then I went over to the hotel and 
 waited for Colby. It was some time between two and 
 three in the morning when he appeared. I noticed that 
 he had changed his clothes and seemed shaken and had 
 been drinking a good deal. . . . 
 
 " He said it had taken him a good while to find 
 Pomeroy and Pomeroy had been disposed to bluff him 
 off at first, but finally had confessed and agreed to 
 leave town. He'd told Colby about his deal with Pur-
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 303 
 
 cell and given him that strange document which pre- 
 tended to promise a hundred thousand dollars. Colby 
 showed it to me, and I kept it. That's how I knew 
 of PurcelPs part in it. 
 
 " That was Colby's story. He and Pomeroy were 
 all ready to leave town then. I gave him the money, and 
 he went out. The talk took some time, and I wanted 
 to think a while. When I looked at my watch it was 
 twenty minutes past three, and too late to go home, so 
 I slept at the hotel and had some different clothes sent 
 down to the office in the morning." 
 
 He laid his hand on his daughter's head and was 
 silent a long moment and cleared his throat. 
 
 " Louie, dear, Colby killed Pomeroy that night." 
 
 She gave a sharp little gasp, lifting her face on which 
 the shock was registered, and clutched his hand. 
 
 " He killed him," he repeated. " It must have been 
 Colby . . . From the circumstances, I'm satisfied he 
 found Pomeroy and talked to him just about as he told 
 me and made him agree to leave town. They must have 
 left Pomeroy's lodging house together, by the back 
 door Pomeroy's suit case packed ready to travel. 
 It seems there's a dark area back of the lodging house 
 next the alley where the elevated railroad runs. 
 Pomeroy must have tried to break away there. There 
 must have been a fight. I tell myself that Pomeroy 
 suddenly attacked Colby to throw him off and break 
 away. Colby struck him with a knife ... I must 
 have it that it happened in a sort of self-defence. 
 When it happened, I've no idea. Colby changed his
 
 304 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 clothes and came to me and got the money and 
 left. . . . 
 
 " The blackmailers traced that out and charged it 
 up to me. How much I'm chargeable with it, I'll know 
 Judgment Day; but I know I never thought of it be- 
 fore hand. 
 
 " Well, Pomeroy and Colby were gone. There re- 
 mained Dr. Dill. I contrived that he should make an 
 affidavit identifying me as Tom Wilson and describing 
 the scar on Wilson's chin. Then I shaved my beard 
 and showed them my chin. I calculate that check- 
 mates Dr. Dill . . . They're check-mated all around, 
 and know it. As I told them this afternoon, if they 
 ever wag a finger against me again I'll smash them. 
 I'm going to be done with it for good and all. I ought 
 to have been done with it long ago. ... If I had 
 cleaned it up long ago I wouldn't have this bad thought 
 of how much I'm to blame for the poor devil Pomeroy. 
 I ought to have done it long ago. . . . 
 
 " Of course, you're wondering why I didn't. You've 
 got to know it all now. You know I had an older 
 brother, Arthur." 
 
 The fact of her dead uncle had been in her mind as 
 far back as she could remember a fact to which only 
 the faintest, most vicarious sort of emotion attached as 
 she had never seen him. But with a sudden prickling 
 of the nerves now she breathed, " Yes." Her father 
 pondered a moment before resuming: 
 
 " Some day science will know what to do with beings 
 like him, but it doesn't now. He was two years older,
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 305 
 
 and as far back as I can remember I knew there was 
 something wrong about him. There was something 
 wrong in his brain a grounded circuit . . . Look- 
 ing back at it now, I'd hardly say he was vicious. It 
 was hardly that. There was a patch somewhere in his 
 brain that was hardly more than idiotic. A bad boy 
 was what they said about him then what they would 
 say about him now. Yet in many moods he could be 
 kind and fond kinder and fonder than most 
 boys. . . . 
 
 " Arthur struck out at random and fell in with Colby 
 and helped rob the bank and shot the cashier a child 
 or a moral idiot with a gun. And after a while 
 being terribly frightened, wanting comfort and protec- 
 tion, and with the same sort of mental incompetence 
 he confessed the whole thing to his mother. Only the 
 crooked brain that made him really as irresponsible as 
 a child could have made him do that. But he did 
 it. . . ." 
 
 In the silence a great sigh escaped him. 
 
 " You can imagine, partly, how it was with her. 
 When you have borne a child and cuddled it against 
 your breast you can imagine it all. He had been her 
 cross to which she clung. Always to her, you see, 
 he had been her crippled child her hurt babe with 
 that terrible wrong thing in his brain. My mother 
 has loved me, Louie, as normal mothers love their child- 
 ren but not with that poignancy of love which she felt 
 for him. When she found out what he had done she 
 could see only one thing her afflicted flesh and blood
 
 306 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 bound and led to a gallows, a rope tied around his 
 neck and the life choked out of him. It was a thought 
 she could not endure. There is a passion to shield 
 him which she has lived on for thirty years. . . . 
 
 " Colby was partly right, you see. The name was 
 Dinsmore. In time he found her and blackmailed her 
 an easy prey with her overwhelming terror. He 
 blackmailed her for years before I knew about it. 
 When I did know I would have defied him and fought it 
 out right there; but she simply could not bear that. 
 As we talked it over I insisting I saw that the idea 
 of fighting it out standing a trial if necessary 
 was just death to her. She simply could not endure 
 the risk. Although that shot had been fired many 
 years before, the thing hadn't at all died down in her 
 mind. Her conscience wouldn't let it. A murder had 
 been done. The hangman stood at her door day and 
 night. It was an overwhelming terror. Of course, I 
 had to 3 r ield and have paid blackmail ever since." 
 
 ft Even when he was so long dead?" she said, in 
 wonder. 
 
 " He was sent away to a sanatorium and we said he 
 was dead," her father replied ; " for that trouble in his 
 brain grew mercifully, no doubt until he became 
 altogether childish. Look." 
 
 He was pointing to the window. Looking down- 
 ward she saw her gracious mother, her white grand- 
 mother and Cousin Elliot, sedately happy in his new 
 linen suit. Her startled eyes came back to her 
 father's face.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 307 
 
 " Not," . . . she began incredulously, but could not 
 finish. 
 
 He nodded, saying, " If he shaved his beard you 
 would see the scar. As long as he lives she will have 
 the same terror and the same passion to shield him. 
 When I first heard of the blackmail I tried to show her 
 there could be no danger beyond a terribly unpleas- 
 ant newspaper sensation and so on for he was then 
 just as he is now. But she could not endure having it 
 brought up. You see, my brother really is dead, 
 Louie. Whatever there was of a responsible being at 
 the time the shot was fired died long ago. For many 
 years there has only been an overgrown infant with 
 once in a while a shadowy, sort of recollection. But 
 she couldn't endure having it brought up at all. And 
 as I looked at it there was, after all, only the disagree- 
 able little business of dealing with an old rascal of a 
 blackmailer. The money didn't matter at all. I said 
 Colby should have his dirty money and she should suf- 
 fer no more shocks. . . . 
 
 " You know, he is her flesh and blood. She takes the 
 sin to herself if it was a sin for a being with his 
 crooked brain. I think when she has shielded him here 
 she means to offer herself in expiation hereafter. I 
 think, too, Hereafter says she has already expiated 
 whatever sin there was. . . . 
 
 " I'm confident it's settled now, for good. All these 
 blacklegs wanted was money out of me. With me 
 showing a smooth chin they have no trail to follow, for 
 their whole story hung on a scarred chin. Of course,
 
 308 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 my wearing a beard just happened at first; then I 
 kept it because I was used to it. Maybe it pleased me 
 to wear a beard when most men went smooth-shaven. 
 But afterwards, when I heard about the blackmail, I 
 kept it purposely because it was a red herring across 
 the trail. As long as they were looking to me they 
 wouldn't be looking for another Dinsmore. In that 
 way it protected her. . . . 
 
 "They had me in a disagreeable place. I played a 
 game with them, and at what I thought the right mo- 
 ment shaved my beard for checkmate. I'm confident 
 they are too discouraged now to go further. They 
 might, possibly, try to find Colby ; but he has three 
 days' start and is an old hand at dodging. Of course, 
 they've no interest in finding him unless they can get 
 me, and their case against me has collapsed. I'm not 
 afraid of them. 
 
 " You see, when I learned about this blackmail I said 
 that after all, it was only a question of some little an- 
 noyance and paying some money that didn't matter to 
 me in the least. Seeing how my mother felt, I said I'd 
 just buy Colby off and done with it. But probably it's 
 only grocery bills that money will really settle. It 
 finally let me in for this bad Pomeroy affair. I'm 
 chargeable with something there. My hands aren't 
 really clean. You can't do dirty business and keep 
 clean." 
 
 She saw that he was moved, and said, " But you 
 never meant it, father." 
 
 " No, I never meant it ; but it happened all the same.
 
 THE SCARRED CHIN 309 
 
 I'm chargeable with something. There's a smudge on 
 my hands and a bad thing to think of. I haven't 
 been a good man, daughter. I've been too headstrong 
 and confident too reckless, I suppose. I came up 
 here to Chicago and went on the Board of Trade. Of 
 course, the grain business was what I knew about; it 
 was my father's business. I liked the excitement and 
 the risk. I liked to win. Your mother can tell you 
 that I got my name in the newspapers as a daring 
 operator and all that. It wasn't very good for 
 me. . . ." 
 
 She saw that he was moved, and he laid his hand on 
 her head. 
 
 " When you were a little girl, four years old, I gave 
 up all that. On your account, I didn't want it. I 
 said I'd get in something steadier . . . But finally I 
 had to quarrel with you over young Proctor, who's 
 probably a very good fellow, too. I might have done a 
 lot better than I have done, Louie." 
 
 " It was my fault that we quarrelled, daddy," she 
 murmured contritely, and kissed his hand. 
 
 A moment later, clasping his hand and looking 
 toward the window, she said, " I have a little story to 
 tell, too ... I love Ned." 
 
 Having told that much, she looked up at him and told 
 the rest her mistake about Lowell Winthrop ; how 
 fine and steadfast Edward Proctor had shown himself 
 in adversity; how with that miserable old misunder- 
 standing in her mind, she had suspected her father of 
 hiring a spy and Edward Proctor had defended him.
 
 310 THE SCARRED CHIN 
 
 Then they talked further of the most intimate subject 
 father and' daughter could talk about. Finally she 
 said - coaxing, half doubtful, but with a precious 
 hope : 
 
 " Do you think, father I might make him a beauti- 
 ful present might bring him a very beautiful mar- 
 riage gift? " 
 
 " And what would that be? " he asked. 
 
 " To pay off those savings bank depositors. It's 
 about seven hundred thousand dollars." 
 
 He smiled down at her upturned face and replied, 
 " We'll talk that over with him." 
 
 THE END.
 
 
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