HAZELTINE
 
 
 I"-
 
 (53} 
 
 133
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA
 
 -2 
 
 .1 
 1 
 
 E
 
 THE 
 
 SABLE LORCHA 
 
 BY 
 
 HORACE HAZELTINE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE CITY OF ENCOUNTEHS" 
 
 WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 J. J. GOULD 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 CHICAGO 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 
 1912
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 1912 
 
 Published February, 1912 
 Second Edition, March 2, 1912 
 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England 
 
 PRESS OF THE VAIL COMPANY 
 COSHOCTON, U. S. A.
 
 TO 
 HERMANN J. BOLDT, M.D. 
 
 IN PROFOUND APPRECIATION OF HIS SURGICAL SKILL, WHICH 
 MADE THE SEASON OF THIS STORY'S COMPLETION ONE 
 OF JOYOUS THANKSGIVING, IT IS AFFECTION- 
 ATELY AND GRATEFULLY DEDICATED BY 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
 2136125 '
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I THE VANISHING PORTRAIT . 
 
 II RIFLE SHOTS ECHO IN THE WOODS . 
 
 III THE TARGET 
 
 IV THE CHINESE SERVANT 
 
 V FOUND DEAD 
 
 VI NELL GWYNNE'S MIRROR . 
 
 VII "FROM SIGHT OF MEN INTO TORMENT" 
 
 VIII SOMEWHERE EAST OF NANTUCKET . 
 
 IX A CRAFT WITHOUT LIGHTS . 
 
 X A WOMAN OF INTUITION . 
 
 XI THE CHINESE MERCHANT . 
 
 XII "WE WERE IN PEKING TOGETHER" . 
 
 XIII WHEN DAMON DOUBTED PYTHIAS 
 
 XIV THE DARK OF DOYERS STREET . 
 
 XV AMYL PEARLS 
 
 XVI A SLUMP IN CRYSTAL CONSOLIDATED 
 
 XVII OPPOSITE THE CATHEDRAL . 
 
 XVIII THREE PROMISES 
 
 XIX THE PANG OF DISILLUSION . 
 
 XX AN ENIGMA AND ITS SOLUTION . 
 
 XXI WHEN THE DOORS PARTED . 
 
 XXII THE SCUTTLED SHIP . 
 
 XXIII A TATTOO MARK 
 
 XXIV ANOTHER PROBLEM CROPS UP . . 
 
 XXV ENEMIES FACE TO FACE . 
 
 XXVI His SISTER CONFESSOR .... 
 
 XXVII THE TORTOISE AND THE HARE . 
 
 XXVIII A FINAL PROBLEM . 
 
 9 
 
 30 
 43 
 52 
 63 
 76 
 89 
 106 
 
 135 
 150 
 165 
 176 
 184 
 197 
 211 
 224 
 235 
 250 
 259 
 272 
 280 
 294 
 308 
 322 
 
 359 
 375
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "The police, I should say, know the class you 
 
 seek better than I" Frontispiece 
 
 "It is something that grips you when you read, like an 
 
 icy hand" 22 
 
 "But it is n't curiosity," she corrected. "It 's interest." 92 
 
 For a full minute she said nothing 138 
 
 At the head of the steps he paused uncertainly . . . 192 
 At the foot of the staircase Evelyn joined me ... 804 
 For just a moment I was on the point of yielding . . 324 
 Casting himself forward into my arms, buried his face in 
 the angle of my neck and shoulder 372
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 TfVELYN GRAYSON, meeting me on the old 
 Boston Post Road, between Greenwich and 
 Stamford, gave me a message from her uncle. That 
 is the logical beginning of this story; though to make 
 everything quite clear from the start it may be better 
 to hark back a few months, to the day on which Evelyn 
 Grayson and I first met. 
 
 Then, as now, we were each driving our own car: 
 she, a great sixty horse-power machine, all glisten- 
 ing pale yellow, and I, a compact six-cylinder racer, 
 of dull dusty gray. But we were not on any such 
 broad, roomy thoroughfare as the Boston Post Road. 
 On the contrary we were short-cutting through a nar- 
 row, rough lane, beset by stone walls and interrupted 
 at intervals by a series of sharp and treacherous 
 angles. 
 
 [9]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 I know I shall never forget the momentary impres- 
 sion I received. Out of the golden sunlight, it seemed 
 to me, there had emerged suddenly a tableau of Queen 
 Titania on a topaz throne the fairest Queen Ti- 
 tania imagination ever conjured and I, in my mad, 
 panting speed was about to crash into the gauzy fabric 
 of that dream creation and rend it with brutal, tortur- 
 ing onrush of relentless, hard-driven nickel steel. I 
 take no credit to myself for what I did. Volition was 
 absent. My hands acted on an impulse above and 
 beyond all tardy mental guidance. For just a flash- 
 ing instant the gray nose of my car rose before me, as 
 in strenuous assault it mounted half way to the coping 
 of the roadside wall. I felt my seat dart away from 
 beneath me, was conscious of my body in swift, un- 
 supported aerial flight, and then but it is idle 
 to attempt to set down the conglomerate sensations 
 of that small fraction of a second. When I regained 
 consciousness, Queen Titania was kneeling in the dust 
 of the lane beside me a very distressed and anxious 
 Queen Titania, with wide, startled eyes, and quiver- 
 ingly sympathetic lips and about us were a half 
 dozen or more of the vicinal country folk. 
 
 Between that meeting in mid-May and this meeting 
 on the old Boston Post Road in mid- September, there 
 had been others, of course; for Queen Titania, whose 
 
 [10]
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 every-day name, as I have said, was Evelyn Grayson, 
 was the niece and ward of my nearest neighbor, Mr. 
 Robert Cameron, a gentleman recently come to reside 
 on what for a century and more had been known as 
 the old Townsbury Estate, extending for quite a mile 
 along the Connecticut shore of Long Island Sound in 
 the neighborhood of Greenwich. 
 
 The intervening four months had witnessed the 
 gradual growth of as near an approach to intimacy 
 between Cameron and myself as was possible con- 
 sidering the manner of man that Cameron was. By 
 which statement I mean to imply naught to my neigh- 
 bor's discredit. He was in all respects admirable 
 a gentleman of education and culture, widely trav- 
 elled, of exalted ideals and noble principles to which 
 he gave rigid adherence. But I was about to 
 qualify this by describing him as reserved and taci- 
 turn. I fear, though, to give a wrong impression. 
 He was scarcely that. There were moments, how- 
 ever, when he was unresponsive, and he was never 
 demonstrative. He had more poise than any man I 
 know. He allowed you to see just so much of him, 
 and no more. At times he was almost stubbornly 
 reticent. And yet, in spite of these qualities, which 
 appeared to be cultivated rather than inherent, he gave 
 repeated evidence of a nature at once so simple and 
 
 [11]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 kindly and sympathetic as to command both confidence 
 and affection. 
 
 To the progress of my intimacy with Evelyn there 
 had been no such temperamental impediment. She 
 was fearlessly outspoken, with the frankness born of 
 unspoiled innocence; barely six weeks having elapsed 
 between her graduation from the tiny French con- 
 vent of Sainte Barbe near Paris and our perilous 
 encounter in that contracted, treacherous, yet blessed 
 little Connecticut lane. And she possessed, more- 
 over, a multiplicity of additional charms, both of per- 
 son and disposition charms too numerous indeed to 
 enumerate, and far too sacred to discuss. From 
 which it may rightly be inferred that we understood 
 each other, Evelyn and I, and that we were already 
 considerably beyond the state or condition of mere 
 formal acquaintanceship. 
 
 It was no Queen Titania who now came gliding to a 
 stand beside me on the broad, level, well-oiled high- 
 way, under a double row of arching elms. It was no 
 gossamer fairy, but Hebe, the Goddess of Youth, 
 with creamy skin and red lips and a lilting melody 
 of voice : 
 
 "What ho, Sir Philip! We are well met!" 
 
 And then she told me that her Uncle Robert had 
 
 [12]
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 telephoned for me, leaving a message with my man, 
 bidding me come to him at my earliest leisure. 
 
 "Why not come for dinner?" she added; and her 
 eyes gave accent to her words. 
 
 "But you?" I queried; for her car was headed in the 
 opposite direction. 
 
 "I am going only to Noroton. I have a hamper 
 in the tonneau for that poor O'Malley family. I 
 shall be back in time. We dine at half -past seven, 
 you know. You '11 come?" 
 
 "Of course I '11 come," I answered her. I think 
 she must have heard more in my voice than the simple 
 words, for her lids drooped, for just a breath, and the 
 color flamed sudden below her lowered lashes. 
 
 But, after all, I saw very little of her that evening. 
 It is true that she sat on my right at table, piquantly, 
 youthfully beautiful in the softly tinted light which 
 filtered through the pink and silver filigree candle- 
 shades, but the atmosphere of the dinner was tinged 
 by a vague, unreasoning constraint as from some 
 ominously brooding yet undefinable influence which 
 overhung the three of us. And when the coffee and 
 liqueurs were served, employing some slender pretext 
 for her going, she bade us good-night, and left us, not 
 to return. 
 
 [18]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 In justice to Cameron, I must add that he appeared 
 least affected by and certainly in no wise respon- 
 sible for the pervading inf estivity. He had been, 
 indeed, rather less demure than was often his wont, 
 chatting with almost gayety concerning Evelyn's new 
 role of Lady Bountiful and of her Noroton bene- 
 ficiaries. As for the subject upon which he desired to 
 consult me, it had not been so much as mentioned; 
 so in looking back, it seems impossible that matters 
 of which neither Evelyn nor I was at the time in- 
 formed could have exerted an effect, save through 
 Cameron's undetected, subconscious inducement. 
 
 Even after his niece had withdrawn, Cameron con- 
 tinued for a time to discuss with me topics of general 
 and public, rather than personal, import. He spoke. 
 I remember, of a series of articles on "The Commer- 
 cial Resources of the United States," the publication 
 of which had just begun in The Week, of which I am 
 owner and editor; and though I fancied at first that 
 it might be in this connection he wished to consult 
 me, I very soon discerned that he was merely using a 
 statement contained therein as a text for certain views 
 of his own on the conservation and development of 
 the country's timber supply. 
 
 I go thus into what may seem uninteresting detail, 
 partly that I may give a hint as to the character of
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 Cameron's mind, but more especially to indicate how 
 lightly he would have had me think he regarded that 
 for which he sought me. 
 
 Meanwhile my curiosity grew keener. It was 
 natural, I suppose, that I should fancy Evelyn in- 
 volved in some way. In fact I then attributed the 
 depression during dinner to her knowledge of what 
 her uncle and guardian purposed to say to me. 
 Likewise I found in this conception the reason for 
 her sudden and unusual desertion. Hitherto when I 
 had dined here Evelyn had remained with us while 
 we smoked our cigarettes, leading us at length to the 
 music room, where for a glad half -hour the rich mel- 
 ody of her youthfully sweet contralto voice mingled 
 in pleasing harmony with her own piano accompani- 
 ment. 
 
 And while I vainly made effort to imagine wherein 
 I might have laid myself open to the disapproval of 
 this most punctilious of guardians for I expected 
 nothing less than a studiously polite reference to some 
 shortcoming of which I had been unwittingly guilty 
 I momentarily lost track of my host's discourse. 
 Emerging from my abstraction it was with a measure 
 of relief that I heard him saying : 
 
 "I think you told me once, Clyde, that you rather 
 prided yourself on your ability to get a line on one's 
 
 [15]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 character from his handwriting. That 's why I tele- 
 phoned for you this afternoon. I have received an 
 anonymous letter." 
 
 There was an all too apparent assumption of non- 
 chalance in his manner of expression to deceive even 
 the least observant, of which I am not one. The ef- 
 fect was to augment the seriousness of the revelation. 
 I saw at once that he was more disquieted than he 
 would have me know. 
 
 He was leaning forward, a little constrainedly, his 
 left hand gripping the arm of his chair, the fingers of 
 his right hand toying with the stem of his gold- 
 rimmed Bohemian liqueur glass. 
 
 "An anonymous letter!" I repeated, with a depre- 
 catory smile. "Anonymous letters should be burned 
 and forgotten. Surely you 're not bothering about 
 the writer?" 
 
 I wish I could put before you an exact reproduction 
 of Cameron's face as I then saw it ; those rugged out- 
 lines, the heritage of Scottish ancestry, softened and 
 refined by a brilliant intellectuality; the sturdy chin 
 and square jaw; the heavy underlip meeting the upper 
 in scarcely perceptible curve ; the broad, homely nose ; 
 the small, but alert, gray eyes, shining through the 
 round lenses of his spectacles; the high, broad, slop- 
 ing, white brow and the receding border of dark 
 
 [16]
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 brown, slightly grizzled hair. That, superficially, 
 was the face. But I saw more than that. In the 
 visage of one naturally brave I saw a battle waged 
 behind a mask a battle between courage and fear; 
 and I saw fear win. 
 
 Then the mask became opaque once more, and 
 Cameron, giving me smile for smile, was replying. 
 
 "There are anonymous letters and anonymous 
 letters. Ordinarily your method is the one I should 
 pursue. Indeed I may say that when, about a 
 month or so ago, I received a communication of that 
 character, I did almost precisely what you now ad- 
 vise. Certainly I followed one-half of your pre- 
 scription I forgot the letter ; though, for lack of 
 fire in the dog days, I did not burn it, but thrust it 
 into a drawer with an accumulation of advertising 
 circulars." 
 
 My apprehension lest Evelyn and I were person- 
 ally affected had been by now quite dissipated. It 
 was perfectly apparent to me that Cameron alone 
 was involved ; yet my anxiety was none the less eager. 
 Already my sympathy and cooperation were enlisted. 
 I could only hope that he had mentally exaggerated 
 the gravity of the situation, yet my judgment of him 
 was that his inclination would be to err in the opposite 
 direction. 
 
 2 [17]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "And now something has happened to recall it to 
 your memory?" 
 
 "Something happened very shortly after its re- 
 ceipt," he replied. "Something very puzzling. But 
 in spite of that, I was inclined to treat the matter as 
 a bit of clever chicanery, devised for the purpose, 
 probably, of extortion. As such, I again put it from 
 my thoughts; but to-day I received a second letter, 
 and I admit I am interested. The affair has features 
 which make it, indeed, uncommonly perplexing." 
 
 I fear my imagination was sluggish. Although, 
 in spite of his dissemblance, I saw that he was 
 strangely moved by these happenings, I could fancy 
 no very terrifying concomitants of the rather com- 
 monplace facts he had narrated. For anonymous 
 letters I had ever held scant respect. An ambushed 
 enemy, I argued, is admittedly a coward. And so I 
 was in danger of growing impatient. 
 
 "When the second letter came," he continued, 
 bringing his left hand forward to join his right on 
 the dazzling white ground of the table's damask, "I 
 searched among the circulars for the first, and found 
 it. I want you to see them both. The writing is 
 very curious I have never seen anything just like 
 it and the signature, if I may call it that, is still 
 
 [18]
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 more singular. On the first letter, I took it for a 
 blot. But on the second letter occurs the same black 
 blur or smudge of identical outline." 
 
 Of course I thought of the Black Hand. It was 
 the natural corollary, seeing that the newspapers had 
 been giving us a surfeit of Black Hand threats and 
 Black Hand outrages. But, somehow, I did not dare 
 to voice it. To have suggested anything so ordinary 
 to Cameron in his present mood would have been to 
 offer him offence. 
 
 And when, at the next moment, he drew from an 
 inner pocket of his evening coat two thin, wax-like 
 sheets of paper and passed them to me, I was glad 
 that I had kept silence. For the letters were no 
 rough, rude scrawls of an illiterate Mafia or Camorra. 
 In phraseology as well as in penmanship they were 
 impressively unique. 
 
 "If you don't mind," Cameron was saying, "you 
 might read them aloud." 
 
 He rose and switched on a group of electric wall 
 lights at my back, and I marked for the hundredth 
 time his superb physique his towering height, his 
 powerful shoulders, his leanness of hip and sturdy 
 straightness of limb. He did not look the forty years 
 to which he confessed. 
 
 [19]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 One of the long French windows which gave upon 
 the terrace stood ajar, and before resuming his seat 
 Cameron paused to close it, dropping over it the 
 looped curtains of silver gray velvet that matched the 
 walls. 
 
 In the succeeding moment the room was ghostly 
 silent; and then, breaking against the stillness, was 
 the sound of my own voice, reading : 
 
 "That which you have wrought shall in turn 
 be wrought upon you. Take warning therefore 
 of what shall happen on the seventh day hence. 
 As sun follows sun, so follows all that is decreed. 
 The ways of our God are many. On the right- 
 eous He showers blessings; on the evil He pours 
 misery." 
 
 That was the first letter. The second began with 
 the same sentence : 
 
 "That which you have wrought shall in turn 
 be wrought upon you." 
 
 But there, though the similarity of tenor continued, 
 the verbal identity ceased. It went on : 
 
 "Once more, as earnest of what is decreed, 
 there will be shown unto you a symbol of our 
 power. Precaution cannot avail. Fine words 
 and a smiling countenance make not virtue" 
 
 [20]
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 And beneath each letter was the strange silhouette 
 which Cameron had mentioned. 
 
 It is difficult for me to convey the most meagre 
 idea of the emotional influence which these two 
 brief communications exerted. They seemed to 
 breathe a grim spirit of implacable Nemesis far in 
 excess of anything to be found in the euphemism of 
 the written words. 
 
 When I had finished the reading of them aloud, 
 Cameron, leaning far back in his chair, sat silently 
 thoughtful, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, but 
 fixed apparently upon the lights behind me. And so, 
 reluctant to interrupt his reverie, I started to read 
 them through again slowly, this time to myself, fixing 
 each sentence indelibly in mind as I proceeded. But 
 before I had quite come to the end, my companion 
 was speaking. 
 
 "Well?" he said. And the light cheeriness of his 
 tone was not only in marked contrast with his grave 
 absorption of a moment before, but in jarring discord 
 with my own present mood. "Well? What do you 
 make of them?" 
 
 My annoyance found voice in my response. 
 
 "Cameron," I begged, "for God's sake be serious. 
 This does n't seem to me exactly a matter to be merry 
 over. I don't want to alarm you, but somehow I feel 
 
 [21]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 that these " and I shook the crackling, wax-like 
 sheets, "that these cannot be utterly ignored." 
 
 "But they are anonymous," he retorted, not un- 
 justly. "Anonymous letters should be burned and 
 forgotten." 
 
 "There are anonymous letters and anonymous let- 
 ters," I gave him back, in turn. "These are of an 
 unusually convincing character. Besides, they " 
 And then I paused. I wished to tell him of that 
 elusive encompassment of sinister portent which had 
 so impressed me; of that malign foreboding beyond 
 anything warranted by the words; but I stumbled in 
 the effort at expression. "Besides," I started again, 
 and ended lamely, "I don't like the look and the feel 
 of them." 
 
 And now he was as serious as I could wish. 
 
 "Ah!" he cried, leaning forward again and reach- 
 ing for the letters. "You have experienced it, too! 
 And you can't explain it, any more than I? It is 
 something that grips you when you read, like an icy 
 hand, hard as steel, in a glove of velvet. It 's always 
 between the lines, reaching out, and nothing you can 
 do will stay it. I thought at first I imagined it, but 
 the oftener I have read, the more I have felt its clutch. 
 The letters of themselves are nothing. What do you 
 suppose I care for veiled threats of that sort? I 'm 
 
 [22]
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 OS 
 
 5 
 
 be
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 big enough to take care of myself, Clyde. I Ve met 
 peril in about every possible guise, in every part of 
 the world, and I Ve never really known fear. But 
 this this is different. And the worst of it is, I 
 don't know why. I can't for the life of me make out 
 what it is I 'm afraid of." 
 
 He had gone very pale, and his strong, capable 
 hands, which toyed with the two letters, quivered and 
 twitched in excess of nervous tension. 
 
 Then, with a finger pointing to the ink-stain at the 
 bottom of one of the sheets, he asked : 
 
 "What does that look like to you?" 
 
 I took the letter from him, and scrutinizing the rude 
 figure with concentrated attention for a moment, ven- 
 tured the suggestion that it somewhat resembled a 
 boat. 
 
 "A one-masted vessel, square-rigged," he added, in 
 elucidation. 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Now turn it upside down." 
 
 I did so. 
 
 "Now what do you see?" 
 
 "The head of a man wearing a helmet." The re- 
 semblance was very marked. 
 
 "A straw helmet, apparently," he amplified, "such 
 as is worn in the Orient. And yet the profile is not 
 
 [28]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 that of an Oriental. Now, look at your vessel again.*' 
 And once more I reversed the sheet of paper. 
 
 "Can it be a Chinese junk?" I asked. 
 
 "It might be a sailing proa or banco," he returned, 
 "such as they use in the South Pacific. But what- 
 ever it is, I can't understand what it has to do with 
 me or I with it." 
 
 I was still studying the black daub, when he said: 
 
 "But you have n't told me about the handwriting. 
 What can you read of the character of the writer?" 
 
 "Nothing," I answered, promptly. "It is curious 
 penmanship, as you say heavy and regular and up- 
 right, with some strangely formed letters: especially 
 the /'s and the p's', but it tells me nothing." 
 
 "But I thought" he began. 
 
 "That I boasted? So I did. When one writes as 
 one habitually writes it is very easy. These letters, 
 however, are not in the writer's ordinary hand. The 
 writing is as artificial as though you, for example, 
 had printed a note in Roman characters. Were they 
 addressed in the same hand?" 
 
 "Precisely." 
 
 "What was the post-mark?" 
 
 "They bore no post-mark. That is another strange 
 circumstance. Yet they were with my mail. How 
 they came there I have been unable to ascertain. The 
 
 [24]
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 people at the post office naturally deny that they 
 delivered anything unstamped, as these were; and 
 Barrie, the lad who fetches the letters, has no recol- 
 lection of these. Nor has Checkabeedy, who sorts the 
 mail here at the house. But each of them lay beside 
 my plate at breakfast the first on the fourteenth of 
 August; the second, this morning, the fourteenth of 
 September." 
 
 "And they were not delivered by messenger?" 
 
 "So far as I can learn, no." 
 
 "It is very odd," I commented, with feeble banality. 
 
 I took the letters from his hands once more, and 
 held them in turn between my vision and the candle- 
 light, hoping, perchance, to discover a water-mark in 
 the paper. But I was not rewarded. 
 
 "You examined the envelopes carefully, I pre- 
 sume?" was my query as I returned the sheets to the 
 table. 
 
 "More than carefully," he answered. "But you 
 shall see them, if you like. I found no trace of any 
 identifying mark." 
 
 Thus far he had made no further mention of the 
 "puzzling happening" which followed the receipt of 
 the first letter, and in the interest provoked by the 
 letters themselves I had foreborne to question him; 
 but now as the words "seventh day hence" fell again 
 
 [25]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 under my eye, standing out, as it were, from the rest 
 of the script which lay upturned on the table before 
 me, I was conscious of a stimulated concern, and so 
 made inquiry. 
 
 "I wish you would tell me, first, whether anything 
 really did occur on the seventh day." 
 
 "I was coming to that," he replied; but it seemed 
 to me that prompt though his response was, there was 
 a shade of reluctance in his manner; for he relapsed 
 into silence for what must have been the better part 
 of a minute, and with eyes lowered sat seemingly 
 lost in thought. 
 
 Then he rose, abruptly, and saying, "Suppose we go 
 into my study, Clyde," led the way from the dining 
 room, across the great, imposing, groined and fretted 
 hall to that comparatively small mahogany and green 
 symphony wherein he was wont to spend most of his 
 indoor hours. It was always a rather gloomy room 
 at night, with its high dark ceiling, its heavy and 
 voluminous olive tapestry hangings, wholly out of 
 keeping, it seemed to me, with the season, and its 
 shaded lights confined to the vicinity of the massive, 
 polished, and gilt-ornamented writing table of the 
 period of the First Empire. And it impressed me 
 now, in conjunction with Cameron's promised revela- 
 tion, as more than ever grim and awesome. 
 
 [26]
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 I remember helping myself to a cigar from the 
 humidor which stood on the antique cabinet in the 
 corner near the door. I was in the act of lighting it 
 when Cameron spoke. 
 
 "I want you to sit in this chair," he said, indicating 
 one of sumptuous leather upholstery which stood be- 
 side the writing table, facing the low, long book- 
 cases lining the opposite wall. 
 
 I did as he bade me, while he remained standing. 
 
 "Do you, by any chance," he asked, "remember a 
 portrait which hung above the book-shelves ?" 
 
 I remembered it very well. It was a painting of 
 himself, done some years back. But now my gaze 
 sought it in vain. 
 
 "Certainly," I answered. "It hung there," point- 
 ing. 
 
 "Quite right. Now I want you to observe the 
 shelf -top. You see how crowded it is." 
 
 It was indeed crowded. Bronze busts and statu- 
 ettes; yachting and golf trophies in silver; framed 
 photographs; a score of odds and ends, souvenirs 
 gathered the world over. There was scarcely an inch 
 of space unoccupied. I had frequently observed this 
 plethora of ornament and resented it. It gave to 
 that part of the room the semblance of a curiosity 
 shop. When I had nodded my assent, he went on : 
 
 [27]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "On the afternoon of Friday, August twenty-first, 
 seven days after the receipt of that first letter, I was 
 sitting where you are sitting now. I was reading, 
 and deeply interested. I had put the letter, as I told 
 you, entirely out of my mind. I had forgotten it, ab- 
 solutely. That seventh-day business I had regarded 
 if I regarded it at all as idle vaporing. That 
 this was the afternoon of the seventh day did not occur 
 to me until afterwards. I recall that I paused in 
 reading to ponder a paragraph that was not quite 
 clear to me, and that while in contemplation I fixed 
 my eyes upon that portrait. I remember that, be- 
 cause it struck me, then, that the flesh tints of the 
 face had grown muddy and that the thing would be 
 better for a cleaning. I recall, too, that at that mo- 
 ment, the little clock, yonder, struck three. I re- 
 sumed my reading; but presently, another statement 
 demanding cogitation, I lowered my book, and once 
 more my eyes rested on the portrait. But not on the 
 muddy flesh tints, because " he paused and leaned 
 forward, towards me, speaking with impressive em- 
 phasis. "Because," he repeated, "there were no flesh 
 tints there. Because there was no head nor face 
 there!" 
 
 I sat up suddenly, open-mouthed, speechless. 
 Only my wide eyes made question. 
 
 [28]
 
 THE VANISHING PORTRAIT 
 
 "Cut from the canvas," he went on, in lowered 
 voice, "clean and sharp from crown to collar. And 
 the hands of the clock pointed to twelve minutes past 
 three." 
 
 O 
 
 hsd 
 .is ii 
 
 \BOQ 
 
 [29]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 RIFLE SHOTS ECHO IN THE WOODS 
 
 /^\F conveying even a tithe of the horror I experi- 
 enced at Cameron's disclosure I am nigh hope- 
 less. The more we discussed the occurrence the less 
 susceptible it seemed of explanation. And what is 
 so terrifying as the inexplicable, or so dreadful as 
 the intangible? Here, apparently, was an enemy of 
 calm and cunning malignity, who chose to manifest 
 his power in a manner almost ludicrously puerile 
 save as it pointed with significant finger to some dire 
 and inevitable sequel yet with such crafty secrecy 
 as completely to mystify and dismay. 
 
 Cameron showed me the mutilated portrait. He 
 had taken it down almost immediately, and had hidden 
 it away in a closet of the hall behind an array of rain- 
 coats. The cutting had been done, evidently, with an 
 exceedingly keen blade, and very dexterously done. 
 But that it should have been accomplished in twelve 
 minutes, while Cameron sat in the room, not fifteen 
 feet distant, was beyond our comprehension. Ab- 
 sorption in his book was the nearest we came to a 
 
 [so]
 
 RIFLE SHOTS IN THE WOODS 
 
 solution, and that was scarcely tenable. For there was 
 the crowded top of the book-shelves. To cut the 
 canvas, the vandal must either have stood upon that 
 or have reared a ladder. There was not room for the 
 foot of a child on the shelf -top; and as for the ladder, 
 it was unthinkable. How could a ladder have been 
 carried in and out without Cameron being conscious 
 of it? From every possible angle we viewed the in- 
 cident, making every conceivable concession, and no 
 half-way plausible answer to the riddle presented it- 
 self. And though our common-sense told us that the 
 time of miracles was long past, that no Gyges's ring 
 nor Alberich's cloak survived to this day to make 
 invisible their wearers, there persisted, nevertheless, a 
 chill, uncanny sense of the supernatural, quite evident 
 to me in Cameron's hushed voice and furtive manner, 
 and in my own unwonted nervous disquietude. 
 
 We sat very late. I wished, if possible, to learn if 
 at any time in my friend's life he had done aught to 
 engender an enmity to which these strange develop- 
 ments could be traced whether, for instance, in the 
 hot blood of his youth in some far land he had pro- 
 voked the vengeance of one whose humor it is never 
 to forget. As we talked I came to know Cameron 
 better than I had ever known him before. He bared 
 to me much of his early career; he gave me a clearer 
 
 [31]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 view of his temperamental qualities ; and yet I could 
 not but feel that he had left the vital point untouched, 
 that beneath his seeming frankness there lay hidden, 
 shielded, some one episode, perhaps, which might let 
 the light in upon our darkness. For my question was 
 evaded rather than answered. 
 
 Presently, we went back to the letters and dissected 
 them, coldly and critically, sentence by sentence, and 
 while the weird influence which they had exerted upon 
 me at the first reading increased, stimulated possibly 
 by the incident of the portrait, still we reached a cer- 
 tain practical, common-sense view as to their origin; 
 for we came to see in them what we believed to be 
 the hand of a religious fanatic. Certain expressions, 
 we concluded, were quotations. If they were not 
 Biblical, they were certainly of sacred genesis. And 
 the discovery was not reassuring. It lent, indeed, an 
 added prick to the perturbation we already experi- 
 enced. 
 
 Nor did the absence of a specified date for the 
 second promised demonstration of power tend to re- 
 lieve our uneasiness. In this silence we found the 
 acme of cunning cruelty. Any day, at any hour, 
 some other mystifying, soul-torturing incident was 
 liable to occur. 
 
 I tried to argue that the seventh day was implied, 
 
 [32]
 
 RIFLE SHOTS IN THE WOODS 
 
 inasmuch as the second note was received on the same 
 day of the month as the first, and was a mere con- 
 tinuation of the original threat. But my contention 
 lacked the intrinsic strength which carries conviction, 
 and, as Cameron put it, we could only "watch and 
 wait" ; for the communications offered no alternative. 
 They made no demand which being complied with 
 would avert penalty. Only implacable and inevitable 
 retribution, calm, patient, and determined, effused 
 from every line. 
 
 But, in spite of Cameron's evident anxiety and 
 in using that term I am very mildly stating his ob- 
 vious condition of mind he sternly refused to con- 
 sult either the police or the private detectives. 
 
 "You may not know," he explained, "that I am 
 largely interested in a certain line of industrial enter- 
 prises, the shares of which are listed on the New York 
 Stock Exchange. Should the public become aware 
 that my life is threatened, very serious consequences 
 might ensue in the market. No, Clyde, whatever is 
 done, must be done by ourselves, and by friends whom 
 we can trust absolutely. I can take no risk of this 
 horrid thing getting into the newspapers. Besides," 
 he added, with a kindly, considerative smile, "Evelyn 
 must be kept in ignorance. Not for worlds would I 
 have her troubled by our perplexing enigma." 
 
 3 [S3]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 My suggestion that he should go abroad for a time, 
 or at least spend a few weeks at Newport, was met 
 with similar obstinate refusal. 
 
 "I admit that I have been somewhat upset by this 
 extraordinary combination," was the way he expressed 
 it, "but I am not a coward. I am not going to run. 
 Even if I were inclined to do so, what should I gain ? 
 If a man be not safe in his own house, where in 
 Heaven's name is he likely to find safety?" 
 
 Quite naturally I was led by this expression to in- 
 quire whether, perchance, he mistrusted any of the 
 many persons who were employed in the house and 
 about the estate. But, somewhat to my surprise, he 
 was almost gravely offended by the mere suggestion. 
 Nevertheless there were several features of the affair, 
 chief of them the manner in which the letters were 
 received, which caused me to dwell with some mental 
 persistence on this as the most profitable ground for 
 speculation. And when at length, in the morning's 
 small hours, I returned to my home and to my bed, 
 I carried the thought with me. 
 
 The sowing of this seed in the subconscious garden 
 of my mind brought forth fruit after its kind. I 
 awoke with a perfectly clear understanding of how 
 that which, the night before, had seemed so impossible 
 
 [34]
 
 RIFLE SHOTS IN THE WOODS 
 
 of accomplishment was, perhaps, after all, merely a 
 harlequin trick, quite simple when explained. 
 
 With the new day, too, and the sunlight, and the 
 cheery brightness of my own rooms, there came a lift- 
 ing of that oppressive atmosphere of the esoteric 
 which at Cameron's had set my nerves out of plumb 
 and my reason on the bias. Indeed I was fully con- 
 vinced that we had been foolishly constructing an 
 Alpine chain out of a miserable little row of mole 
 hills, and I determined to lose no time in bringing 
 Cameron, whom I now regarded as most needlessly 
 alarmed, to my own wholesome way of thinking. 
 
 Directly after breakfast, therefore, I set forth on 
 foot for my neighbor's, choosing the shore road as the 
 more direct of the two routes. 
 
 Personally, my taste in landscape is for distant 
 view in preference to near-at-hand f oliage. My own 
 house, which is fashioned in semblance of a Pompeiian 
 villa, its cream-white walls punctuated with shutters 
 of a somewhat vivid pea-green and crowned by gently 
 sloping roofs of the same bright color, gazes out 
 across Stamford Harbor and the blue waters of the 
 Sound, to where on clear days the pencilled outline 
 of Eaton's Neck shows purple in the distance. There 
 are no towering, umbrageous trees to interrupt the 
 
 [35]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 outlook; only low, carefully-trimmed shrubs, adorning 
 a series of marble sculpture-dotted terraces, well be- 
 low the line of vision. But the Cameron place, re- 
 flecting the Townsbury penchant for arboriculture, is 
 quite the reverse. The prospect from the windows 
 and verandahs of the fine old mansion is all green 
 vistas and leafy perspectives, with only a glint of 
 sun-sparkled waves, chance-caught between gray 
 boles or when the wind spreads a momentary opening 
 in the foliage. 
 
 My way to Cameron's led through a veritable 
 forest of such luxuriant leafage that the path more 
 than half the time was in twilight, while to right and 
 left the shadows deepened into dark in the cloistral re- 
 cesses of the woodland heart. The silence was pro- 
 found. No voice of bird nor scurrying foot of 
 squirrel invaded the morning hush of those ramous 
 depths. My own footsteps on the soft turf returned 
 no sound. 
 
 A half-mile or more I had walked in this mute 
 greenwood peace, when sharp and clear there echoed 
 through the verdurous aisles the crack of a rifle, and 
 I came to a sudden, involuntary halt. 
 
 Then it occurred to me that it was the third day 
 of the open season for rail birds, and that it was the 
 report of a shot-gun I had heard, fired by some sports- 
 
 [36]
 
 RIFLE SHOTS IN THE WOODS 
 
 man, off on the shore, there, to my right. And so 
 I resumed my tramp, with ears keen for a repetition. 
 Almost immediately I was rewarded, and then I knew 
 that it was no rail bird gunner, for the shot was un- 
 mistakably a rifle shot, and it was fired in the depth 
 of the wood, to the left of me. 
 
 Three times more I heard it, in fairly rapid suc- 
 cession, and sounding always from about the same 
 direction. I cannot say that it gave me any uneasi- 
 ness, but it perplexed me in a mild way, arousing a 
 passing curiosity as to its object. And then, I came 
 out upon the well-kept, gravelled drive which circles 
 the close-cropped, velvety Cameron lawn, and catch- 
 ing sight of Cameron himself, in riding breeches and 
 puttees, romping with one of his picturesquely grace- 
 ful Russian wolf-hounds, promptly forgot all about it. 
 
 He came across the sward to meet me, the great, 
 gaunt white hound pressing close to his side, and I 
 thought I saw that he, too, had experienced the in- 
 spiriting influence of the morning. 
 
 "I have found an answer," I cried, while he was 
 still fifty yards away, "possibly the answer." 
 
 He raised his brows in question, and the hound, 
 with open jaws, fondled his wrist. 
 
 "I had a horseback ride before breakfast," he told 
 me, as he shook my hand. "Then I spent an hour at 
 
 [37]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 the kennels. We Ve a fine new brood of collie pup- 
 pies. You must see them." 
 
 "I want to," I returned. 
 
 "What do you say to tennis?" he suggested, irrel- 
 evantly. "Just a set. It 's a fine morning for ten- 
 nis." 
 
 "If you can lend me a pair of shoes," I consented, 
 glaring down at my boots. 
 
 "A dozen pairs," he smiled. "Come up to my 
 dressing room. Louis will fit you out." 
 
 I was scarcely prepared for this change in my 
 friend's mood, and far from happy over it. He was 
 evidently determined to ignore the subject that had 
 so engrossed us the night before, hoping to find sur- 
 cease of harassing thought in a restless round of 
 activities. The condition was a morbid one which I 
 believed should be discouraged; the more so as I pos- 
 sessed what I fancied was a perfectly practical solu- 
 tion of that which hitherto had seemed to us an 
 inexplicable phenomenon. And I was a little an- 
 noyed, too, that my good tidings should be thus dis- 
 regarded. 
 
 When, therefore, we had entered the hall and 
 Cameron was leading towards the broad, ascending 
 staircase, I paused. 
 
 "Do you mind giving me just a minute?" 
 
 [38]
 
 RIFLE SHOTS IN THE WOODS 
 
 He stopped, turned, and stood in questioning 
 silence. 
 
 "A minute in my study," I added, in explana- 
 tion. 
 
 Reluctantly, it seemed to me, he crossed to the 
 study door, and throwing it open, stood aside that I 
 might precede him. 
 
 The room appeared far less grim and gloomy than 
 when I had last entered it. Its windows faced the 
 south; and between the olive-green tapestry curtains 
 the sun poured in a flood, lighting up the far corners, 
 glinting on the gilt ornaments of the writing table, 
 and bathing in dazzling splendor the burnished 
 bronzes on the crowded top of the book-shelves. 
 
 "I see you are not disposed to resume our discussion 
 of last night," I began, when Cameron, having closed 
 the door behind him, halted just inside, and with 
 hands in pockets, awaited my opening. "But I want 
 to show you that we have been in very much the same 
 position as the wondering children who watch the 
 prestidigitateur. We have imagined something 
 amazingly like a miracle, which, in point of fact, is 
 capable of a very simple, commonplace explanation." 
 
 "You mean the cutting out of the head of the por- 
 trait?" he asked, with kindling interest. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 [89]
 
 "You have discovered how it was done, before my 
 eyes, so to speak, and yet? " 
 
 "I have discovered how it may have been done," I 
 interrupted. 
 
 He moved his head just perceptibly from side to 
 side in skeptical gesture. 
 
 "The door of this room is seldom locked?" I 
 queried, ignoring the indicated skepticism. 
 
 "Never locked," he answered. 
 
 "It would be quite possible for any one, knowing 
 that you were absent, to spend an hour or so here, 
 uninterrupted ?" 
 
 "Any one?" he questioned. 
 
 "Any one who had gained entrance to the house," 
 I amplified. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I presume so." 
 
 "They would have ample time to clear a space on 
 the book-shelves, climb up, and carefully cut out the 
 head, or any part, or the whole of a portrait, if they 
 were so inclined?" 
 
 I paused for his answer, but he only smiled with 
 a sort of incredulous tolerance. 
 
 "Would they not?" I insisted. But Cameron was 
 most perverse this morning. 
 
 "My dear Clyde," he scoffed, "of what use is all 
 this? The portrait was cut, not while I was absent, 
 
 [40]
 
 RIFLE SHOTS IN THE WOODS 
 
 but while I was present. I saw it complete at three 
 o'clock; at twelve minutes past three, it was muti- 
 lated." 
 
 "My contention is," I explained, quite patiently, 
 "that while you saw it complete at three o'clock, the 
 cut had already been made, but the cut portion had 
 not been removed. In other words, the cutting hav- 
 ing been deftly done with a thin, sharp knife, it was 
 perfectly feasible to leave the portrait apparently 
 intact, though with the slightest effort the incised 
 portion could subsequently be released with, say, a 
 piece of cord, glued to the back for that especial pur- 
 pose." 
 
 Now that I had made myself clear, Cameron was 
 quick to acknowledge the possibility of such a method. 
 
 "And the cord, you mean, led down behind the 
 book-shelves, and perhaps through a window?" he 
 suggested. 
 
 "Precisely. And was pulled by some one on the 
 outside." 
 
 "Yes," he said, thoughtfully. "Such an explana- 
 tion is not unreasonable. The thing, really, must 
 have been done in some such way." 
 
 "And don't you see," I hurried on with my advan- 
 tage, "how utterly cheap this makes the whole affair? 
 There 's nothing at all impressive in that performance 
 
 [41]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 when you find out how it was done. If the next 
 demonstration is no better than such claptrap, you 
 may rest assured you have a very picayunish sort of 
 mountebank villain to deal with. So, cheer up, my 
 dear man, and I '11 show you a few tricks at tennis 
 that may be equally eye-opening." 
 
 Unquestionably my friend appeared relieved. But 
 I came to fancy later that the appearance was feigned 
 for my benefit. Certainly he was not convinced, and 
 in that he proved himself possessed of an intuition, a 
 world more accurate than my own.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE TARGET 
 
 set at tennis having finished with victory 
 perching on my banners, I made excuse to put 
 off the inspection of the collie puppies until another 
 time, resumed my walking boots and, with a parting 
 if futile admonition to Cameron to "think no more 
 about it," started on my homeward way. 
 
 My route lay again through the miniature forest, 
 for the day had waxed uncomfortably warm with the 
 approach of noon, and there was scant shade on the 
 high-road between our two houses. In the wood, 
 however, the air was gratefully cool, and I strode on 
 at a good pace, breathing deeply and with enjoyment 
 the bosky odors which greeted me afresh at every step. 
 
 The dead silence which I had remarked earlier was 
 broken now by the hoarse tooting of a steamboat 
 whistle, somewhere off shore, and by the shrill voices 
 of birds, apparently in resentful protest at this raucous 
 invasion of their sylvan quiet. 
 
 I had succeeded in putting aside, for the moment 
 at least, all thought of Cameron, his anonymous letters, 
 
 [48]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 and his mutilated portrait, and was dwelling on my 
 disappointment at not having caught even so much 
 as a glimpse of Evelyn Grayson during my morning 
 visit to Cragholt. It is true that I had gone there 
 with a single purpose in mind to convey to Cam- 
 eron what I believed to be an important theory but 
 underlying this, I realized now, was more than a hope, 
 a confidence even, that I should see Evelyn. I was 
 tempted, indeed, to a regret that I had not waited, 
 visited the kennels, and accepted Cameron's invita- 
 tion for luncheon, which would doubtless have in- 
 sured me a few words at least with my Goddess of 
 Youth. 
 
 While on the verge of this self-reproach my spirits 
 suddenly lifted, for the steam whistle having died 
 away in the distance and the feathered choristers hav- 
 ing relapsed into a pleased chirp that merely accented 
 the stillness, there broke all at once on the mute calm 
 of the woodland the silver sweetness of a girl's sing- 
 ing. Clear and resonant it rang through the forest 
 aisles; a voice I knew beyond mistaking. Evelyn 
 Grayson was coming towards me over the scented 
 turf. Still hidden by a bend in the path, the melody 
 alone measured for me her approach. It was a 
 French chanson she was lilting, a lyric of Baudelaire's, 
 of which we were both fond. 
 
 [44]
 
 THE TARGET 
 
 Sweet music sweeps me like the sea 
 
 Toward my pale star, 
 Whether the clouds be there or all the air be free, 
 
 I sail afar. 
 
 And then she came around the turn. At first she 
 did not see me, for her eyes were lifted with her 
 voice, and I had time to mark the fascinating grace 
 of her long, free stride, before she became conscious 
 of my presence and checked and shortened it. She 
 wore a frock of white serge, the skirt's edge at her 
 ankles, revealing dainty, snowy buckskin ties and just 
 a peep of white silk hose. And her flower-like face 
 looked out through a frame of Leghorn straw and 
 pink roses, tied snugly beneath her softly rounded 
 chin with the filmiest of long, floating white veils. 
 You can imagine the picture she made, there in this 
 green glade, with her big blue eyes alight with glad 
 surprise, and the warm blood suddenly risen in her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "You truant!" I cried, in jocular reprimand. 
 "Are you always going to run away when I visit 
 Cragholt?" 
 
 She pouted prettily. I detest a woman who pouts, 
 ordinarily. There is usually such palpable affecta- 
 tion about it. But Evelyn's pouting was winsome as 
 an infant's. Besides it was only momentary. Then 
 
 [45]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 her eyes flashed and her foot was planted very hard, 
 for such a tiny thing, on the green grass blades. 
 
 "I 'm not a truant," she declared, with feigned in- 
 dignation, "and I never thought of running away. 
 That 's just your conceited manly imagination. You 
 fancy that everything I do can have but one cause, 
 and that is yourself. How, pray, was I to know you 
 intended paying us a morning call?" 
 
 "Tut, tut," I caught her up. "What a little spit- 
 fire we have here! If you hadn't deserted me so 
 shamefully last evening, I shouldn't have minded 
 this morning, so much. As it is, it seems aeons since 
 I saw you." 
 
 Now she smiled until her dimples nestled. "That 
 is much better," she returned, gayly, "and deserves a 
 reply, just as my action of last evening deserves praise 
 and not rebuke. I sacrificed myself and my pleasure 
 for one I love." 
 
 "Not for me, surely!" 
 
 "Did I use the word conceit, a moment ago? Are 
 you the only man I love?" 
 
 "I hope so," I answered, impudently. 
 
 "There is another," she confessed, in mock tragedy. 
 "Behold his face!" 
 
 I had not noticed that she held a little roll in her 
 hand, for my eyes had been ever on hers; so, when, 
 
 [46]
 
 THE TARGET 
 
 abruptly, she spread out and held before me the miss- 
 ing head from Cameron's portrait, I was doubly 
 unprepared. I know I was startled. She said after- 
 wards that I went very white. I suppose I did; for 
 with the rush of realization came such a chain of sup- 
 position as to drive me momentarily dizzy. For a 
 second or more I stood dumb, while my hand went 
 out in eager reach for the scrap of canvas, which, I 
 had observed, instantaneously, bore four perforations, 
 all of a size the size of a rifle bullet. With that 
 discovery had recurred the shots I had heard; and 
 following this, came a maze of conjecture, going back 
 to that first letter, then to the painting's mutilation, 
 and on through devious ways to the morning's target 
 practice; and always with one or another of Cam- 
 eron's trusted servants as the chief actor. 
 
 When I recovered my composure I found Evelyn 
 backing wilfully away from my covetous hand. 
 
 "It is the picture of the man I love," she was say- 
 ing, teasingly. "A very, very good man." 
 
 "But where did you get it?" I asked, seriously. 
 "Do you know where it came from?" 
 
 Suddenly she was as grave as I could wish. 
 
 "I found it nailed to a tree," she answered. 
 "Was n't it odd? How do you suppose it came there? 
 It looks like the portrait that hung in Uncle Robert's 
 
 [47]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 study. Do you suppose he grew to dislike it, and 
 cut it up and threw it away?" 
 
 Now I found myself in some little embarrassment. 
 If I was to obey Cameron's injunction I could not 
 tell Evelyn the truth. Yet I was in no position to 
 make light of her find. On the other hand I must 
 learn from her just where she had come upon it, and 
 so trace, if possible, the person who had fired the shots 
 which riddled it. 
 
 "My dear girl," I said, adopting a tone of cajolery, 
 "we have here, I think, a matter in which we both 
 can be of service, very valuable service, indeed, to 
 that beloved uncle and guardian of yours. But, you 
 must trust me, absolutely, and, for the present at 
 least, you must give to him no hint of what we have 
 in hand. Do you understand?" 
 
 She laughed in that merry rippling fashion which 
 I had found not the least of her charms. 
 
 "Do I understand?" she repeated, laying a hand 
 on my arm in emphasis of her amused tolerance. 
 "Do I understand? Of course I don't, and I shan't, 
 until you have answered at least a half-dozen whys 
 and whats." 
 
 "But you must trust me," I insisted, "and as pri- 
 mary evidence of that trust you will proceed at once 
 to hand over to me, for examination, that somewhat 
 
 [48]
 
 THE TARGET 
 
 damaged piece of portraiture which you are holding 
 behind you." 
 
 Very wide her eyes opened in an innocent, almost 
 infantile stare, as she asked : 
 
 "Do you really mean it, Philip?" 
 
 "Really," I answered, gravely. "I 'd like to tell 
 you all about it, right here and now, but that might 
 spoil everything, so you must show what a strong 
 womanly woman you are, by keeping silence and 
 waiting." 
 
 In token of compliance she gave me the oval piece 
 of canvas. 
 
 "I wonder who punched the holes in it!" she re- 
 marked, ruefully. "Whoever it was, they were 
 shockingly disrespectful." 
 
 I tried to fancy what she would have said had she 
 known they were bullet holes. Evidently that possi- 
 bility had not occurred to her and I was glad that it 
 had not. 
 
 "There are two ways of looking at it," I replied, 
 my eyes fixed on the canvas and its perforations. 
 "At first glance it does seem spiteful; but then there 
 is a chance that it is not iconoclasm, after all. It may 
 be, you know, just the reverse. I have not infre- 
 quently seen portraits that were so unjust to the 
 originals that they fairly cried out for destruction." 
 4 [49]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "But this is not one like that," she retorted. "This 
 seems to me a very good portrait. I am sure Uncle 
 Robert must have looked exactly like it, ten years 
 ago." 
 
 "Alas, we do not all see with the same eyes," I 
 assured her smiling. "The destroyer may have looked 
 on it as a caricature, not having your cultured taste 
 in art." I held it off at arm's length, and after re- 
 garding it critically for a moment between half-closed 
 lids, I continued, "Do you think you could point out 
 the identical tree to which it was nailed?" 
 
 "I could try," was her answer. 
 
 "Is it far?" 
 
 "Not very. A mile, from here, possibly. Over the 
 ridge." 
 
 "Near anything in particular?" 
 
 "Near the trail which leads up from the trout 
 stream to the entrance drive not far from the Lodge." 
 
 "When will you take me there?" I asked. 
 
 For just an instant she hesitated. 
 
 "We might go now," she replied, "if it weren't 
 that I am expecting Celia Ainslee for luncheon. 
 Suppose we say five o'clock. You can meet me at 
 the Lodge. It 's a short walk from there." 
 
 "Fine!" I approved, thrusting the portrait head 
 beneath my arm and taking possession of both her 
 
 [50]
 
 THE TARGET 
 
 white-gloved hands. Slender and shapely hands, yet 
 wonderfully capable. 
 
 "Good-bye!" she cried, laughing. "Take care of 
 my uncle 1" with a glance towards her punctured find. 
 
 "Good-bye!" I returned, releasing her. "Your 
 uncle shall have my most faithful concern." 
 
 The real significance of the words she, of course, 
 did not comprehend. But as I stood watching her 
 until a turn in the path enfolded her from my sight, 
 their echo, ringing in my ears, impressed me with their 
 pregnancy. Her uncle was evidently the focal point 
 of a crafty and vengeful conspiracy, the seriousness 
 of which I had been foolishly endeavoring to mini- 
 mize; and as such he was in need, not only of my 
 concern, but of all the loyal, energetic, and efficient 
 aid of which I was capable. 
 
 [51]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE CHINESE SERVANT 
 
 T^OUR o'clock found me rapping at the door of 
 Cragholt Lodge. Considering that it was built 
 thirty-five years ago by one of the Townsbury family 
 who probably read English novels but had never been 
 nearer to England than Coney Island, it possessed a 
 surprising picturesqueness ; due in large part to its 
 covering of dark English ivy. 
 
 I had anticipated my appointment with Evelyn by 
 a full hour ; for I wished to question old Romney, the 
 lodge keeper; and the questions were not for milady's 
 ear. 
 
 He opened to me promptly, in person, this odd, 
 rugged old man, with his seamed brow and great 
 shock of iron-gray hair and beard. He was in his 
 shirt sleeves, but on seeing me he reached for his coat, 
 which hung on a peg beside the door. 
 
 "Never mind the coat, Romney," I said, "don't 
 make yourself uncomfortable on my account. It 's 
 a warm afternoon." 
 
 "It is warmish, sir," he assented; but despite my 
 
 [52]
 
 THE CHINESE SERVANT 
 
 protest he was thrusting his arms into the coat sleeves. 
 "It 's been an uncommon hot September. Won't you 
 step inside, sir?" 
 
 He knew his place too well to indicate any surprise 
 at my visit ; yet I felt he must be curious over an event 
 so unusual. 
 
 "I have an inquiry or two to make, Romney," I 
 told him, as, accepting his suggestion, I stepped into 
 his cosy, old-fashioned sitting room. "I heard some 
 shooting over this way this morning, and I 've been 
 wondering whether the game laws were n't being 
 broken." 
 
 He placed a cushioned rocking-chair for me, and I 
 sat down. 
 
 "Now did you hear that, too, Mr. Clyde?" he asked, 
 brightening, as he leaned against the low sill of one 
 of the daintily curtained windows. " 'Twas about 
 ten o'clock, sir; a little after, maybe. I was doin' a 
 bit of trimmin' on the hedge outside, sir, when them 
 same shots set me a-thinkin' that very thing. An' 
 right away, sir, I says to myself, says I, 'It 's that 
 Chink what just went up to the house to borrow a 
 rifle.' " 
 
 "That Chink?" I repeated, puzzled. 
 
 "Yes, sir. Yellow Chinee boy, sir. He works for 
 Mr. Murphy, the artist, what has the bungalow, down 
 
 [53]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 on the shore near Cos Cob. About half an hour be- 
 fore that he comes by here on his way up to the house. 
 'What's wantin'?' I asks. 'Mistle Mulfy,' he says, 
 'wantee hollow lifle, shootee weasel, stealee chickee.' 
 'All right,' I tells him, and away he goes. So, you 
 see, sir, when I hears the shots I thinks right away 
 that Mr. Murphy's Chink is tryin' his 'hollowed lifle' 
 on some of Mr. Cameron's pheasants, maybe. But 
 fifteen minutes later, along comes John again, with 
 an innocent grin on his face, the rifle over his shoulder, 
 and his hands empty as air. Well, to be sure, I stops 
 him, sir. 'You been shootin' in the woods?' I asks. 
 'No shootee,' he grins back. 'Me no shootee.' Then, 
 sir, I swears at him, good and hearty, and calls him 
 what he is. But all he can say is, 'No lie; me no 
 shootee/ Then I asks him if he did n't hear a gun 
 go off. 'Gun?' he says, as if he didn't know what 
 gun meant. 'Lifle,' I explains. 'Yes, yes,' says he, 
 'me hear lifle shootee. Not my lifle.' 'Whose lifle?' 
 I asks him. 'Man with lifle, up load,' he says, point- 
 ing back. An' that was all I could get out of him, 
 sir." 
 
 I should have been amused, I suppose, by old Rom- 
 ney's recital. It was certainly very graphic, and his 
 imitation of the Chinaman was histrionically artistic 
 I fear the stage missed a comedian of merit when 
 
 [54]
 
 THE CHINESE SERVANT 
 
 Romney took to lodge-keeping, but at the first 
 mention of the Oriental, I had pricked my ears, and 
 throughout the narration my mind was busy with 
 those strangely worded letters of Cameron's and those 
 still stranger blots which looked one way like a Chi- 
 nese junk and the other way like a coolie in a straw 
 helmet. The possibility of a connection, especially in 
 view of the rifle and the perforated painting, seemed 
 to me the reverse of remote. And yet I could hardly 
 reconcile the notion of this apparently ignorant Mon- 
 golian being in any wise interested in bringing dis- 
 aster upon a person so far removed from him in every 
 way as was Cameron ; much less in evolving or taking 
 part in such a crafty plot as everything we had thus 
 far learned of it indicated this to be. 
 
 My questioning of Romney shed very little new 
 light on the subject. He had seen the Chinaman 
 pass the Lodge on several occasions; he had rarely 
 entered the grounds, however. I tried to ascertain 
 what his "rarely" meant, and finally got him to say 
 that in the past six months, "John," as he called him, 
 had visited Cragholt, on one pretext or another, pos- 
 sibly three or four times. But Romney's memory for 
 dates was exceedingly feeble. He could not recollect 
 whether one of those times was on or about the 
 twenty-first of August. He was equally at a loss 
 
 [55]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 concerning the fourteenth of August and the four- 
 teenth of September. 
 
 "What do you know of this artist, Murphy, who 
 employs John?" I asked. 
 
 "Not much, sir," was his answer. "They do say as 
 he is rather eccentric, sir. He and the Chink lives 
 alone there in the bungalow, summer and winter. 
 He 's a big red-headed and bearded fellow, sir. I 
 did hear a story as to him gettin' into a fight up at 
 Garrison's Hotel in Greenwich village, and nearly 
 killin' three young watermen near as big as himself." 
 
 "Has he lived here long?" 
 
 "Goin' on two years, now, sir." 
 
 "He paints and sells pictures, I suppose?" 
 
 "Maybe, sir. I never sees any, though. But they 
 calls him an artist, sir." 
 
 I determined to visit Murphy on the pretext of 
 purchasing some of his work, and in this manner 
 learn, if possible, something more of his Celestial 
 servitor. 
 
 "Of course you did n't see any one else with a rifle, 
 to-day?" I asked, in conclusion. "The 'man with 
 lifle up load' didn't materialize?" 
 
 "No, sir. Not another soul, sir. I asked some of 
 the boys them as has charge of the deer in the pre- 
 serve, over the way the shootin' sounded. But they 
 
 [56]
 
 THE CHINESE SERVANT 
 
 had n't seen no one, either, sir. Though they did hear 
 the shots." 
 
 I thanked Romney for his interest he knew I 
 was one of the State game wardens and admon- 
 ished him to keep his own counsel as to my visit, leav- 
 ing the impression with him that I wished to round 
 up the culprit, and feared if my activity in the matter 
 were scented my prey would be put on his guard and 
 thus escape me. 
 
 It still lacked twenty minutes of the hour of my 
 appointment with Evelyn when I issued from the 
 Lodge, and to occupy the time I entered the wide 
 gateway between the great stone pillars with their 
 heraldic shields, and sauntered leisurely along the 
 smooth macadam drive, bordered by sentinel elms. 
 
 My thoughts were busy with the new line of con- 
 jecture which Romney had unconsciously opened up 
 for me. I wondered whether by any possibility this 
 eccentric painter, Murphy, could be personally in- 
 volved. Was Cameron acquainted with him? Had 
 they ever quarrelled? From what Romney had told 
 me of the affair at Garrison's, the artist was evidently 
 of a bellicose disposition. He had come here two 
 years ago. Cameron had owned Cragholt less than a 
 year. Perhaps at the time he was preparing the man- 
 sion for occupancy he had offended the too sensitive 
 
 [57]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 Murphy, who I was letting my imagination run 
 free may have wished to take a hand at the new 
 decoration. It would probably be well for me to see 
 Cameron before seeing the artist. The involutions 
 of my hypothetical train led me, I fear, into many 
 monstrously preposterous conceits ; yet, as subsequent 
 events proved, the cogitation in which I indulged on 
 that afternoon walk was not wholly idle. Although 
 the working out was along lines which I was then far 
 from foreseeing, it was curious, in looking back, to 
 observe how very closely, collaterally, even at that 
 stage, I came to the truth. 
 
 In the midst of my revery, the rhythm of horse's 
 hoofs on the drive awoke me to time and place. And 
 as I raised my eyes, I saw, still some distance away, 
 but bearing down upon me at a swift single-foot, the 
 sum girlish figure of Evelyn Grayson, in white waist 
 and gray habit, mounted on Prince Charley, a buck- 
 skin cayuse, which for saddle purposes she preferred 
 to all the thoroughbreds in the Cameron stables. 
 
 "Am I late?" she cried, reining the wiry little an- 
 imal to a stand beside me. "Celia Ainslee just left. 
 She was expecting the Lentilhons to stop for her in 
 their motor boat, but they broke down and were de- 
 layed, and instead of coming at three o'clock, it was 
 half-past four before they landed." 
 
 [58]
 
 THE CHINESE SERVANT 
 
 "I fancy you are just on the minute," was my re- 
 sponse, as I consulted my timepiece. 
 
 "But I 'm still a mile from the Lodge," she argued. 
 
 "And all the nearer to the trail," I condoned. "It 
 must be somewhere about here, is n't it?" 
 
 "You Ve passed it. It 's just beyond that next 
 bend." And she pointed over my shoulder. 
 
 ' Why did n't you bring a groom with you to hold 
 your steed?" I asked, smiling. "You don't expect to 
 ride Prince Charley into the forest fastnesses, do 
 you?" 
 
 "I could," she answered, promptly. "I will, if you 
 dare me. He can pick his way like a cat. But it 
 is n't necessary. He '11 stand forever, the dear thing, 
 if I drop the bridle rein over his head." 
 
 My preference was to have her on foot at my side, 
 and so I did not dare her. And thus it chanced that 
 we left the homely little animal standing with droop- 
 ing head and dangling rein on the shadowed side of 
 the driveway, and went off together down the narrow, 
 slow-descending trail, the girl in the lead. 
 
 The slanting sunlight, shooting its golden arrows 
 in intermittent volleys through the tree tops, made 
 target of her hair, as we passed, scoring brilliant 
 flashes of burnished bronze. Her hat, a broad- 
 brimmed sailor of coarse black straw, was but a poor 
 
 [59]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 shield for that shimmering, tawny coil which lay low 
 on her neck, and the darting rays had their will with 
 it. I have never before or since seen hair just like 
 Evelyn Grayson's. There was such a wealth of it, 
 and its color was so elusive. Under dim lights it 
 seemed a prosaic brown, but with small encourage- 
 ment it changed to a light fawn, streaked with lus- 
 trous topaz strands ; which in the sun's blaze became a 
 dazzling bronze glory. 
 
 "I 'm pretty sure I can find the tree," she asserted, 
 as she swung along with that free, lissome stride 
 which I loved. "It is an old, dead chestnut, a great 
 giant of the woods, imposing even in death; and it 
 stands only a half-dozen yards off the trail. I was 
 looking for ferns, or I never in the world should have 
 come upon it. How do you imagine that thing ever 
 got away off here? And who could have stuck it up 
 on that dead tree trunk?" 
 
 "That is precisely what I should like to find out," 
 was my reply. "It seems very mysterious to me. 
 About what time was it, when you discovered it?" 
 
 "Just before I met you." 
 
 "Had you heard any shooting in the woods, before 
 that?" 
 
 "Shooting?" she queried, apparently surprised. 
 "No. Was some one shooting?" 
 
 [60]
 
 THE CHINESE SERVANT 
 
 "I understood so. Poaching, I imagine. After 
 some of Cameron's fat pheasants." 
 
 "But it 's out of season," she declared, promptly. 
 
 "That makes small difference with a poacher." 
 
 Her belief in her ability to lead me to the tree of 
 which we were in quest was not unfounded. Twice 
 she paused and peered in between the gray trunks 
 which grew close to our path; once she took a step off 
 the trail, bending in keen-eyed search of certain fa- 
 miliar landmarks. These were the only interrup- 
 tions to what was otherwise a straight march to the 
 goal. 
 
 When, at length, we reached it, she identified it be- 
 yond question, and I had little difficulty in finding the 
 nail from which the piece of canvas had been sus- 
 pended. It was one of thin wire, with very small 
 head, driven into the tree at a distance of about four 
 and a half feet from the ground. Just beneath it I 
 found four scattering bullet holes, with the bullets 
 too deeply embedded to be extracted with so poor a 
 tool as a pocket knife. 
 
 From this it was evident that the shots had been 
 fired at comparatively short range, as indeed they 
 must have been, seeing that the trees here grew so 
 thickly as to make impossible any very extended line 
 of sight upon the target. 
 
 [61]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 Somewhat to Evelyn's perplexity I began making 
 a careful inspection of the ground, not only about the 
 tree, but as far away from it as the range of vision 
 extended. 
 
 "What are you looking for?" she demanded, with 
 a show of concern, and, I thought, a little peevishly. 
 
 "Footprints," I answered, laughing. "Behold the 
 American Sherlock!" 
 
 "Have you found any?" 
 
 "Only Cinderella's," and that put her in good 
 humor. 
 
 But I found something of much more importance 
 than the indentations of shoe soles. I found it very 
 near the foot of the tree, just below where the paint- 
 ing had hung. It was half hidden by underbrush, 
 and at first I mistook it for a stone. Unobserved by 
 Evelyn, I slipped it into my pocket. 
 
 "After all," I said to her, "there 's not very much to 
 be learned here, is there?" 
 
 [62]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 FOUND DEAD 
 
 V/TY motor boat, which had been running swiftly 
 and smoothly, with the least possible clamor 
 from the exhaust, suddenly missed a stroke and then, 
 after a succession of choking sobs, ceased all effort, 
 and gradually losing headway, drifted idly with the 
 tide. 
 
 "Well done, Jerry," I whispered from my seat in 
 the stern to the capable young Irishman who was 
 bending over the motor whispered, because, as all 
 the world knows, the water is a sounding board, and 
 I had no intention of permitting any one on shore to 
 hear my words of approval. 
 
 To all appearances the motor had broken down, 
 and we were voyagers in distress. 
 
 "The tide 's settin' in," murmured Jerry. "Unless 
 I miss me guess, it '11 land us on his beach inside o* 
 five minutes, sir." 
 
 The slender scallop of a new moon had set an hour 
 before, but the night was luminously clear, and the 
 stars blazed with an almost Southern effulgence. 
 
 [63]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 There was very little breeze and the waters of the 
 Mianus were scarcely rippled. The air was chill, 
 however, though now and then there came to us a 
 warm breath from the fields which all day long had 
 lain baking in the fervent sunshine. Along the shore 
 to our left we caught the glint of lights from the sum- 
 mer cottages. 
 
 To Jerry Rooney every inch of the little bay and 
 river was familiar. Each light was for him a land- 
 mark; and so, as much by intuition as careful calcu- 
 lation, he had clogged the engine at a point whence, 
 taking tide and current into consideration, we might 
 count upon drifting to the water end of Artist Mur- 
 phy's lawn. 
 
 As we drew nearer and he stealthily pointed out to 
 me the location, I was able to descry a little grove of 
 trees, black in the starlight, making a horizontal bar- 
 rier across the limited enclosure, and hiding, like a 
 rope portiere, the bungalow from the river. Through 
 this no lights penetrated, and I began to doubt that, 
 after all my pains, I should find at home the object 
 of their taking. 
 
 A catboat, with sail wrinkling in the uncertain 
 breeze, glided by us, almost too near for comfort, and 
 we caught a sentence, two sentences, in fact, from the 
 conversation of the occupants : 
 
 [64]
 
 FOUND DEAD 
 
 "Nobody knows him," in clear, ringing masculine 
 tones ; and, "He 's handsome, if he is surly," in a wom- 
 an's voice. 
 
 I wondered if they were speaking of Murphy. My 
 telephone inquiry of Cameron and subsequent ques- 
 tioning of the men about my place had proved to me 
 that both observations would apply. No one seemed 
 to know very much of this brawny, sandy giant, in 
 spite of his two years' residence in the neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
 Now the shore's shadow was engulfing us, and the 
 next moment, with a gentle swish of waters, we felt 
 the boat's bottom grate on the pebbly beach. There 
 was a landing a short distance further up, a spin- 
 dling wooden pier, and to this Jerry, knee deep in 
 the black water, turned the boat and made it fast. 
 
 The prospect which confronted us as we walked 
 shoreward over the creaking planks was about as hos- 
 pitable as the grim walls of a prison. The tree bar- 
 rier rose stark and forbidding a dozen yards away. 
 Between it and the river was a combination of peb- 
 bles, sand, high grass, and ragged overgrown lawn, 
 faintly visible in the starlight. On nearer approach, 
 however, we found an opening in the curtain of trees, 
 a veritable valley of shadow, through which we passed 
 to a strip of neglected sward and a squat, unpainted 
 5 [65]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 weather-beaten cottage of a single story, with vine- 
 screened verandah. 
 
 And in what seemed to us the very centre of the 
 
 w 
 
 house front, there shone a tiny glowing point of red 
 fire. We had not come altogether in vain. By all 
 the odds of chance, it was a safe conclusion that Mur- 
 phy, in propria persona, was behind that lighted end 
 of a cigar. Then we saw the point move, describing 
 a half circle, and simultaneously a voice rang out, 
 a deep, sonorous voice, but of churlish intonation: 
 
 "What do you want here?" 
 
 I suppose he expected me to come to a sudden halt, 
 but I was then only a few steps distant from the ve- 
 randah, and as I answered him, I covered that dis- 
 tance. 
 
 "My motor boat ran out of gasolene," I said, "and 
 drifted to your beach. I was in hopes we might bor- 
 row enough to get us home." 
 
 I saw him now, dimly, in the shadowed recess. He 
 was seated facing me, a creature of great bulk, with 
 huge head and ponderous shoulders. 
 
 "I don't keep gasolene," was his gruff response. 
 
 "I thought " I began, but his next utterance 
 drowned my words. 
 
 "I say I don't keep it," he reiterated, in louder 
 tones. "Is n't that plain?" 
 
 [66]
 
 FOUND DEAD 
 
 "Oh, quite. You have neither gasolene nor good 
 manners." 
 
 I saw him rise, a massive tower, dwarfing his sur- 
 roundings, and take a step forward to the edge of 
 his porch. 
 
 "This is my house and my castle," he flung at me, 
 savagely, "and I won't stand for trespassers. If you 
 two don't want to be flung off my property, it would 
 be advisable for you to make haste in going." 
 
 My laugh was not calculated to salve his ill humor, 
 yet I think he must have gathered from it that I was 
 not to be terrorized by either his size or his threats. 
 
 "Your name's Murphy, I think," I ventured, 
 calmly, not moving an inch. But he made no re- 
 sponse. 
 
 "Mine is Clyde," I went on; "I am one of the State 
 game wardens." 
 
 "I 'm not interested in who you are," he growled. 
 
 "But I 'm interested in learning what your China- 
 man was shooting this morning, over on the Cameron 
 place," 
 
 "Then find out," was his courteous retort. "I 'm 
 sure I shan't tell you." 
 
 "Maybe the Chinaman will be more obliging," I 
 suggested, and turning to Jerry, who had stood in 
 silence, all the while, a few steps behind me, I said: 
 
 [67]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "Look around at the back, my lad, and if you can find 
 Mr. Murphy's man fetch him here." 
 
 But before I had quite finished, the big man in the 
 shadow of the verandah was storming : 
 
 "He '11 stop just where he is. If he dares to come 
 another step nearer this house, I '11 throw the pair of 
 you over the hedge, neck and crop. Do you hear 
 me?" 
 
 "And if you dare to interfere with an officer or his 
 deputy in the discharge of his duty, the authorities 
 will settle with you," was my calm rejoinder. "Trot 
 ahead, Jerry! His bark 's worse than his bite." 
 
 Jerry, quick to obey, disappeared on the instant 
 around the corner of the bungalow, and Murphy, 
 after a pretended dash forward, halted on the lower 
 porch step. 
 
 "See here!" he demanded, cumbrously. "What's 
 all this, anyhow? You come here after gasolene, os- 
 tensibly, and then declare you 're game wardens after 
 a law-defying, Chinese poacher." 
 
 At last I saw him half-way amenable to reason. 
 Now that he was out of the shadow, I saw too, more 
 clearly, what manner of man he was. His head, as I 
 had already discerned it through the gloom, was ab- 
 normally large, yet not out of proportion with his 
 herculean torso. His red hair, frowsy, unkempt, was 
 
 [68]
 
 FOUND DEAD 
 
 of such abundance that, in the dark, its outline had 
 given me a grotesquely magnified impression. His 
 red beard, too, was thick, long, and untrimmed. 
 What little of his face showed, was sunburned to what, 
 in the dim light, seemed the color of ripe russet ap- 
 ples. His eyes were nearly indiscernible, deep set, 
 under bushy red brows. 
 
 "If you had shown the least bit of humanity to 
 brother men in distress," I responded, in a half jocular 
 vein, "I 'd probably never thought of this being your 
 place, and you being you; and the incident of the 
 morning might have been forgotten." 
 
 I thought I heard his teeth grit together in his ef- 
 fort to suppress a rising rage. I certainly saw his 
 hands clench; and then, with an assumption of indif- 
 ference, he took a final puff at his cigar and tossed it, 
 sparkling, among the weeds of his lawn. 
 
 It was evident to me, now, that in spite of the non- 
 chalance he affected, my reference to the Chinaman's 
 poaching, and his presence at Cragholt, had aroused 
 his interest, and so hoping to draw him out, I con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "Your man told the lodge-keeper that you sent him 
 over to borrow a rifle." 
 
 "You don't mean to tell me you 'd believe a China- 
 man, do you?" he returned. 
 
 [69]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "It wasn't for me to believe or disbelieve. The 
 lodge-keeper believed him." 
 
 "And so he borrowed a rifle, and then with one of 
 Cameron's own instruments of destruction proceeded 
 to destroy Cameron's game? Is that it? What did 
 he shoot? A deer or one of those starved-looking 
 white dogs that Cameron has following him about?" 
 
 Apparently Murphy knew much more of my 
 friend than my friend knew of Murphy. 
 
 "Neither, I fancy. In fact, I 'm not sure just 
 what he did shoot in the way of game. But he seems 
 to have indulged in a bit of target practice. He 
 found a piece of an old portrait, tacked it to a tree, 
 and shot holes in it. Rather silly, eh? Foolish for 
 him to chance getting into trouble for child's play of 
 that sort." 
 
 "How do you know that?" he growled, with an in- 
 advertent dropping of his mask. There was no mis- 
 taking, now, that I had made captive his attention. 
 
 "I saw the target," I answered, simply. 
 
 "That 's like saying, 'I caught a twelve-pound bass. 
 Here 's the hook and line to prove it.' ' 
 
 "I have a scale of the bass." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "Something your Chinaman dropped beside the 
 tree." 
 
 [70]
 
 FOUND DEAD 
 
 Phlegmatic though he was, something very like a 
 start followed upon my words. Then, as if to cover 
 the movement, he shrugged his shoulders, and chuck- 
 led ponderously. 
 
 "His visiting card, I suppose." 
 
 "Nearly as good," I supplied. "The bowl of his 
 opium pipe." 
 
 At that moment Jerry came around the corner of 
 the house and stopped abruptly, stupefied by surprise ; 
 for from the open mouth of the giant there issued a 
 roar of bass laughter, that reverberated in weird dis- 
 cordance through the night silences. 
 
 "You bally idiot!" he cried, his guffaw ended. "I 
 suppose no persons except Chinamen smoke opium, 
 eh ! And that being so, no Chinaman but my China- 
 man could have made a target of a piece of an old 
 portrait and dropped his pipe bowl at the foot of a 
 tree! Go on with you, you make me sick!" And 
 then, seeing Jerry, who had quickly joined me: 
 "Didn't find him, eh? Well, that's not strange. 
 Having lost the bowl of his pipe, he 's probably gone 
 to borrow another from a laundryman friend in Cos 
 Cob; and that, by the way, is about the nearest place 
 for you to buy gasolene." 
 
 The next day I spent at my office, in New York, 
 busy with the hundred details that go to the making 
 
 [71]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 of a periodical which aims to focus popular sentiment 
 to a righteous viewpoint concerning matters of na- 
 tional and social import. For the time being my con- 
 sideration of Cameron and his strange problem was 
 suspended. Now and then the subject recurred to 
 me, dragged into the mental light on the train of Ev- 
 elyn Grayson; but almost immediately it was buried 
 beneath a question of editorial policy or a debate re- 
 garding a contract for white paper at an extortionate 
 increase in price. 
 
 When, however, my business day was ended, and I 
 had boarded the train for Greenwich, the whole 
 involved enigma spread itself again before me, de- 
 manding attention. And in the midst of it, dominat- 
 ing it, stretching his great shadow over it to the 
 farthest limit, appeared that frowsy red giant, 
 Murphy, a mystery within a mystery; for, though 
 he seemed to pervade it, there was no point at which 
 I could discover him quite touching it. 
 
 In vain I tried to detect a real connection. I 
 started with the letters. They bore no single char- 
 acteristic mark of this uncouth creature. As an 
 artist he might have devised the curious silhouette 
 signature, but there was something about that some 
 cunning, inventive subtlety which I could not rec- 
 
 [72]
 
 FOUND DEAD 
 
 oncile with the ogre I had played upon, stung to anger 
 and aroused to curiosity. 
 
 That he could either have conceived or executed the 
 ruin of the portrait I did not believe possible. The 
 conception, like the letters and the signature, bore 
 evidence of a craftiness too fine for such as he ; and 
 to fancy him, mammoth that he was, stealing unob- 
 served into Cameron's study, was to fancy the in- 
 incredible. 
 
 And so, though the impression of intimate relation- 
 ship persisted, I could find no point of contact, closer 
 or more definite than through his servant's rifle prac- 
 tice, which after all might have been quite without 
 motive. 
 
 There was little, therefore, in the line of reason, to 
 convict Murphy of any knowledge of the matters 
 which had so disturbed us. And yet, as I have said, 
 I felt intuitively that he possessed an intimate ac- 
 quaintance with the whole affair. 
 
 At the Greenwich station, I found my touring car 
 waiting; my mother in the tonneau. My chauffeur 
 touched his cap as I approached. 
 
 "You may drive, Francois," I said, and I took the 
 place at my mother's side. 
 
 "You look tired, Philip," she announced when I 
 
 [73]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 had kissed her. "Was it very warm in the city?" 
 Her eyes were ever quick to note infinitesimal changes 
 in my appearance of well-being. 
 
 "Not uncomfortable," I answered, indulgently. "I 
 had a very busy day, though. But I 'm not the less 
 fit because of it." 
 
 "We have had some little excitement here," she has- 
 tened, eager to give me the news. "Old Romney 
 called you up on the telephone about noon. I hap- 
 pened to answer it, myself, and when I told him you 
 were in New York, and would not be back until six, 
 it just seemed he could n't wait to unburden himself. 
 'Won't you please tell him, Mrs. Clyde,' he said, 'that 
 Mr. Murphy's Chinaman was found at daybreak this 
 morning, lying dead just outside Murphy's back 
 door?' " 
 
 "Found dead!" I cried, in amazement. 
 
 "That is what he said. Then he added that the 
 poor fellow's head had been crushed with some heavy 
 instrument, and that Mr. Murphy had been arrested 
 on suspicion and was in the Cos Cob lockup." 
 
 For a full minute, I think, I sat in silent amaze. 
 Then theories and conjectures in infinite variety gave 
 chase, one after the other, through my excited brain. 
 But it was more than ever difficult, I found, to reach 
 anything like a satisfactory conclusion concerning the 
 
 [74]
 
 FOUND DEAD 
 
 position the now lifeless Celestial and his accused mas- 
 ter held in the chain of mysteries I wished so much 
 to solve. That they were both of them more or less 
 important links, however, I had small doubt. 
 
 "Did you know Mr. Murphy?" my mother asked. 
 And all at once I realized that her question was a 
 repetition. In my absorption I had not heeded the 
 original inquiry. 
 
 "Nobody knows him," I answered, unconsciously 
 echoing the words voiced by the man in the catboat 
 on the previous night. "Nobody knows him. But 
 I've met him in a rather casual way." 
 
 [73]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 NELL GWYNNE'S MIRROR 
 
 \\ 7ITH the approach of the twenty-first of the 
 month, which is to say the seventh day follow- 
 ing Cameron's receipt of the second letter, I observed 
 in him a growing nervous restlessness, which with 
 praiseworthy effort he was evidently striving to over- 
 come. Of my visit to the red giant and the tragedy 
 which followed it, he was, of course, informed; as he 
 had been of the incident in the wood, including the 
 finding of the bullet-pierced piece of canvas. Every- 
 thing, save only that Evelyn was the discoverer of 
 the portrait remnant which I thought best under 
 the circumstances to keep secret was told to him in 
 detail, and with all the circumstantiality necessary to 
 an intelligent discussion of even the minutest point. 
 My description of Murphy elicited from him a 
 recollection. He remembered having seen the man 
 once. It was on the Fourth of July. Evelyn and 
 Mrs. Lancaster, Cameron's housekeeper, had accom- 
 panied Cameron to what is called "The Port of Miss- 
 ing Men," a resort for motorists, on the summit of 
 
 [76]
 
 NELL GWYNNE'S MIRROR 
 
 Titicus Mountain. They had lunched there and 
 were returning by a route which took them over a 
 succession of execrable roads, but through some of 
 the most glorious scenery in the whole State of Con- 
 necticut. For a while they had been following a 
 stream, willow-girt, that went babbling down over 
 a rocky bed which at intervals broke the waters into 
 a series of falls and cascades. At the foot of one of 
 these they had stopped the car and alighted for a 
 better view, and so had come upon the unexpected. 
 
 Seated upon a great bowlder, his feet in the water, 
 and his easel planted between the stones of the 
 stream's shallows, was a red-headed, red-bearded 
 Colossus, in a soiled suit of khaki and a monstrous 
 straw hat such as is worn by harvesting farmers. 
 Cameron told me that all three of them made bold 
 to peep over the painter's shoulder at his work, and 
 then, though it was of the most mediocre quality, to 
 shower him with laudatory and congratulatory 
 phrases. 
 
 "I can fancy how he thanked you," I broke in, 
 smiling. "I suppose he said something very rude." 
 
 "He said nothing at all. He simply stopped paint- 
 ing, and turning, fixed his eyes upon me. It was as 
 if he saw no other one of us. He seemed to be mak- 
 ing a careful appraisement of my every feature. 
 
 [77]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 After a moment it grew embarrassing, and though I 
 did not resent it feeling rather that we, ourselves, 
 had been in the wrong I very speedily withdrew. 
 To my surprise he rose from his stone seat; and, 
 palette and brush in hand, followed us up the little 
 acclivity to the road, watching in silence, until we got 
 back into our car, and wheeled away." 
 
 "Did you gather from his inspection that he recog- 
 nized you, or thought he recognized you?" I asked. 
 
 "I gathered only that he meant to be insufferably 
 rude," was Cameron's answer. 
 
 "And you have never seen him since?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "He has evidently seen you. He spoke of the Rus- 
 sian wolf-hounds that go about with you." 
 
 Cameron made no response. 
 
 "Well," I added, in a tone meant to be reassuring, 
 "I think we need have little fear of a continuance of 
 this singular method of annoyance. Though we 
 can't trace it directly to Murphy and his unfortunate 
 Mongolian, I thoroughly believe that one or the other 
 was responsible. With the Chinaman dead and 
 Murphy in jail, the persecution will cease. The 
 threat contained in the second letter will never be ex- 
 ecuted. See if I'm not right!" 
 
 My hope of putting Cameron at ease, however, 
 
 [78]
 
 NELL GWYNNE'S MIRROR 
 
 was not rewarded. He continued to exhibit signs of 
 an almost constant apprehension. There was, indeed, 
 a sympathy-stirring pathos about the nervous dis- 
 quiet of this man, usually so impenetrably self-con- 
 tained. And at moments, in spite of me, a suspicion 
 gripped and held that he had not been entirely frank; 
 that somewhere in his past there was something 
 unrevealed which might serve as a clue, if not an ex- 
 planation, to the present. But these doubts of him 
 were always transitory. 
 
 The twenty-first of September fell that year on 
 Monday. My office demanded my presence, but I 
 arranged affairs as well as possible by telephone and 
 devoted the entire day to Cameron. When I told 
 him I meant to do this he protested, pretending that 
 he was quite without foreboding ; while the unconscious 
 tapping of his foot on the rug, even as he spoke, be- 
 lied his words. 
 
 We spent the better part of the day golfing over 
 the Apawamis links at Rye, lunching at the Club 
 house between rounds, for as a specific for nerves I 
 have ever found that game of rare benefit. In the 
 present instance it more than fulfilled my expecta- 
 tions. Cameron, apparently at least, forgot every- 
 thing save his desire to out-drive, out-approach, and 
 out-put me. And when it was over, and with sharp- 
 
 [79]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 ened appetites we drove back to Cragholt for dinner, 
 he appeared stimulated by a new-found courage. 
 
 The day had passed without untoward event, and 
 I felt sure that my friend was gradually coming 
 around to my way of thinking. Neither of us men- 
 tioned the subject, but it must have recurred to him, 
 at intervals, as it did to me. And as the hours went 
 by without a sign, the conviction grew that Murphy, 
 with hands tied, was fretting over the coup he was 
 deterred from compassing. 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster, whom I have mentioned merely as 
 Cameron's housekeeper, but who was, in addition, a 
 distant kinswoman and acted as a sort of duenna to 
 Evelyn, dined with us that evening, and our little 
 partie came seemed to me more than usually merry, 
 owing doubtless to the relaxation of the strain which 
 both Cameron and I had been under for the past week. 
 
 It gratified me to see my host so unf eignedly cheer- 
 ful. I remember how he laughed over Mrs. Lan- 
 caster's recital of an incident of the morning. 
 
 "I had no idea," she said, "that Andrew," refer- 
 ring to the kennel master, "was married. He aston- 
 ished me when he told me he had a wife and three 
 children. And when I told him he did not look like 
 a married man he seemed rather pleased than other- 
 wise." 
 
 [80]
 
 NELL GWYNNE'S MIRROR 
 
 "It is odd," Cameron returned, "but it seems always 
 to flatter a husband to tell him he doesn't look it." 
 And then he laughed as though he had no care 
 on earth. 
 
 After dinner we had the usual music, and Evelyn 
 sang again that lyric of Baudelaire's, this time in the 
 original French. But the melody brought back to 
 me in vivid vision our chance meeting in the woods and 
 all its train of circumstances. 
 
 When I had finished applauding, Cameron turned 
 to me. 
 
 "Do you like Baudelaire?" 
 
 "I like his art," I answered, "and his frank artifici- 
 ality." 
 
 "He appeals to me," Cameron confessed, "decadent 
 though he is. I have read everything he ever wrote, 
 I think, prose and verse. Did you ever see my copy 
 of his 'Fleurs du Mai'? The casket is worthy of its 
 contents. It is the most exquisitely bound little vol- 
 ume I ever saw. Come, I '11 show it you." 
 
 I excused myself to Mrs. Lancaster, and with pre- 
 tended formality bent over Evelyn's hand, brushing 
 it with my lips. 
 
 "Won't you be back?" she whispered. 
 
 "I hope so," was my answer. "But I can't 
 promise." 
 
 6 [81]
 
 "Oh, what a trial it is to have a selfish uncle!" she 
 murmured as I went. 
 
 Cameron led me through the library, across the hall, 
 and thence into his study, where he dove into a mini- 
 ature book rack reserved for his favorites. After 
 a moment of fruitless search he said : 
 
 "It is n't here. How stupid! I took it up-stairs a 
 week ago, I remember. It is in my dressing room. 
 Do you mind coming up?" 
 
 Did I mind coming up? How glad I was to see 
 him interested! He was more like the old Cameron 
 than he had been at any time in the past seven days. 
 My golf prescription had proved even more effica- 
 cious than I had dared hope. 
 
 At the risk of being tedious I must describe Cam- 
 eron's dressing room. It was not large probably 
 twenty feet square with three doors; one on each 
 of three sides. That which admitted from the pas- 
 sageway faced that which opened into the bath room. 
 On the left, the third door connected with Cameron's 
 bedchamber. On the right were two windows, giving 
 upon an outside balcony. Between them was a fire- 
 place. 
 
 To the left of the bath room door was the entrance 
 to a huge closet, guarded by a heavy curtain of old 
 rose velvet. To the right, was a stationary wash-
 
 NELL GWYNNE'S MIRROR 
 
 stand, and above it a rectangular mirror, probably ten 
 inches wide and a foot long, and very curiously 
 framed. Across from this, against the wall which 
 divided the room from the passage, was an enormous 
 chiffonier, or chest of drawers. In the room's centre 
 was a round table, on which rested a reading lamp. 
 Between the table and the fireplace was a reclining 
 chair. Other chairs, three or four, were variously 
 placed. 
 
 I have given these facts because they are necessary 
 to an intelligent understanding of what I am about to 
 relate. That in furnishing and adornment the room 
 was plainly utilitarian is not so material. But there 
 is one exception to this general declaration which 
 demands to be specified. The mirror above the wash- 
 stand possessed a distinction quite aside from its prac- 
 tical utility. This was by no means the first time I 
 had seen it. Cameron had showed it to me, with a 
 degree of pride, early in our acquaintance, explaining 
 that it was at once a relic and an heirloom. Orig- 
 inally the property of Nell Gwynne, it had descended 
 to him through three or four generations of maternal 
 ancestors. 
 
 The glass was framed in colored beadwork, to which 
 were attached wax figures in high relief: at the top, 
 a miniature portrait of Charles II in his State robes ; 
 
 [83]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 at the bottom, one of Nell herself, in court dress. 
 The King appeared also on the right, in hunting cos- 
 tume, and on the left was another figure of his favo- 
 rite in less ornamental garb. According to the 
 legend which accompanied this interesting antique, it 
 was Nell Gwynne's own handiwork. Cameron told 
 me he had used it as a shaving mirror as long as he 
 could remember. 
 
 It possessed for me a certain fascination due more 
 to its history than its beauty, for it was not the most 
 artistic of creations, and as Cameron poked about for 
 his Baudelaire, I stood gazing at the glass and think- 
 ing of all I had ever read of the illiterate, but saucy, 
 sprightly actress whose sole claim to fame hung on 
 her winning the favor of that easy-going, royal hypo- 
 crite, Charles II. 
 
 "Here 's the binding!" I heard Cameron say, and 
 turned from the mirror to the table, where he had 
 found his sought-for treasure beneath a pile of 
 heavier, grosser works. 
 
 "You know something of book-binding," he went 
 on, with enthusiasm. "Now examine that carefully, 
 and tell me if you ever saw anything more exquisite. 
 I had it done in London, last year. It 's a copy of 
 one of Le Gascon's." 
 
 At first sight it seemed all glittering gold, but on 
 
 [84]
 
 NELL GWYNNE'S MIRROR 
 
 closer inspection I found that the groundwork was 
 bright red morocco, inlaid with buff, olive, and marble 
 leather, the spaces closely filled with very delicate and 
 beautiful pointille traceries. It was a veritable gem 
 in its way, and I could not blame Cameron for his 
 raptures. 
 
 When I had applauded and bepraised to his con- 
 tent, he took the little volume from my hand and 
 opening it, with a sort of slow reverence, observed 
 with something like patronism: 
 
 "I 'm afraid you don't quite understand Baude- 
 laire." 
 
 "Does anybody?" I flung back. 
 
 "He is not so obscure as his critics would have us 
 believe," Cameron asserted. "Sit down in that loung- 
 ing chair a moment, and I '11 read you something." 
 And as I obeyed, he drew up a chair for himself, 
 speaking all the while in denunciation of Tolstoi and 
 the injustice of his criticism. 
 
 One poem after another he read, while I lay back 
 listening. To his credit he read them well, though 
 he paused often in mid-verse to explain what he 
 thought I might regard as an affectation or, as Tolstoi 
 has put it, "an intentional obscurity." 
 
 There was one verse which impressed me particu- 
 larly as he read it, and remained with me for a long 
 
 [85]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 while afterward, for, in view of everything, it seemed 
 to have a special appositiveness. The lines to which 
 I refer have been translated in this way : 
 
 From Heaven's high balconies 
 
 See! in their threadbare robes the dead years cast their eyes, 
 And from the depths below regret's wan smile appears. 
 
 Cameron sat with his back to the door leading to 
 the passageway, and facing, diagonally, across the 
 table, the Nell Gwynne mirror. My own back was 
 towards the washstand, and my gaze was on him as 
 he read. 
 
 As he finished the verse, a portion of which I have 
 quoted, he lifted his eyes, I thought to meet mine, but 
 his look rose over my head, and clung, while his 'ids 
 widened, and into every line of his face there came a 
 rigid, startled expression, half amazement, half hor- 
 ror. And in that instant of tense silence the "Fleurs 
 du Mai" slipped from his nerveless fingers, struck the 
 table edge, and dropped with unseemly echo to the 
 floor. 
 
 In a breath I was on my feet and staring where his 
 vision had focussed. I hardly know what I expected 
 to see. I am sure nothing would have surprised me. 
 And yet I was scarcely prepared for the inexplicable 
 
 [86]
 
 NELL GWYNNE'S MIRROR 
 
 ruin which my sight encountered. The glass of the 
 Nell Gwynne mirror was in atoms. 
 
 Cameron rose, a little unsteadily I thought, and 
 coming around the table, joined me in closer inspec- 
 tion of his wrecked hereditament. I can find no word 
 adequate to the description of what we experienced. 
 Amazement and all its synonyms are far too feeble 
 for the task. We were certainly more than appalled. 
 What we saw suggested to me spontaneous disinte- 
 gration. If such a thing were possible, which I be- 
 lieve it is not, it might have explained the condition 
 of the mirror. No other ascription seemed admissi- 
 ble; for, though the glass remained in its frame, not 
 so much as a splinter having been dropped, it was 
 fractured into a thousand tiny pieces, resembling a 
 crystal mosaic, incapable of any but the most minute 
 reflections. And the change to this condition from a 
 fair, unmarred panel had been wrought without sound 
 and seemingly without human agency. 
 
 For just a moment Cameron stared in dumb awe. 
 When he turned to me he appeared suddenly to have 
 aged. His eyes were lustreless, and his cheeks wore a 
 gray pallor. 
 
 "My God!" he murmured in a kind of breathless 
 whisper. 
 
 [87]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 I would have given a great deal to have been able 
 to allay that terror of the impalpable which was 
 gripping him. But I was helpless. Shocked and 
 astounded, myself, solace was not at my command. 
 More to escape the piteous appeal of his silent gaze 
 than in hope of making discovery, I turned in haste 
 to one of the long windows which opened on the outer 
 balcony. Drawing back the sashes and flinging them 
 wide, I stepped outside and leaned, listening, over the 
 railing. 
 
 But the night was strangely still. There was no 
 sound, even, of stirring leaves. A brooding hush 
 seemed spread over all the outdoor world that omi- 
 nous silence which often precedes the breaking of a 
 storm. I looked up to find the heavens wrapped in a 
 pall of inky cloud. And then, with a feeling of hav- 
 ing fled from a lesser to a greater evil, I returned to 
 the lighted room, and closed the window to shut out 
 the horror of the night. 
 
 Cameron was standing where I had left him. He 
 looked wofully tired and haggard. 
 
 "Explain it !" he cried, hoarsely. "My God, Clyde, 
 explain it!" 
 
 "I would to Heaven I could," was my forlorn reply. 
 
 [88]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 "FROM SIGHT OF MEN INTO TORMENT" 
 
 OELDOM have I passed a more miserable hour 
 than that which followed upon the seeming phe- 
 nomenon I have described. Cameron was nervously 
 in tatters and my own poise was something more than 
 threatened. The sight of a usually brave, strong, 
 self-contained person of stolidly phlegmatic tempera- 
 ment transformed into a relaxed, nerveless, apprehen- 
 sive creature is enough of itself to try one's fortitude, 
 even with the most favorable collateral conditions. 
 And the collateral conditions here were quite the re- 
 verse. That which had affected Cameron had ex- 
 erted an influence upon me as well, knowing, as I did, 
 all the circumstances and being interested, as I was, 
 in my friend's problem. And so while his plight tore 
 at my heartstrings, my own inability to grapple with 
 the mystery contributed an added mental distress. 
 
 To my dismay I found Cameron quite incapable of 
 anything approaching a calm, common-sense discus- 
 sion of the matter, and realized to the full the mischief 
 
 [89]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 which this last performance, coming as a climax upon 
 a week of more or less disquietude, had effected. 
 
 He sat most of the time with head bent forward 
 and knees doubled, his toes touching the floor but his 
 heels raised and in constant vibrating movement, as 
 though stricken with palsy. The fingers of one hand 
 toyed incessantly, too, with the fingers of the other, 
 in a variety of twisting, snakelike involutions. In 
 vain I endeavored to arouse him ; to stir in him a spirit 
 of retaliation. Some one was playing tricks upon him, 
 and that some one must be discovered and brought 
 to justice. Common sense told us that, however mys- 
 terious these happenings appeared, they could not 
 have occurred without human agency. It was our 
 task to discover the agent and punish him. This was 
 my line of argument ; but through it all, Cameron sat 
 unmoved and unresponsive. 
 
 And then there came to me again, that unwelcome 
 suspicion that all along he had been hiding something 
 from me ; that he divined the cause and the source of 
 the persecution, but for some reason of his own would 
 not divulge them. 
 
 I rang for one of the footmen and had some brandy 
 brought, and forced Cameron to swallow a stiff drink 
 of it, in which I joined him. But even this stimulant 
 
 [90]
 
 "FROM SIGHT OF MEN' 
 
 had small effect upon him. And when, finally, I re- 
 luctantly bade him good-night, I was overwhelmed by 
 the pathos of his condition. So wrought and tor- 
 tured, indeed, was I, by the sad picture of dethroned 
 courage which followed me home, that sleep fled me 
 and left me wide-eyed until the dawn. 
 
 The tidings which came to me with my coffee that 
 morning were more than half expected. Cameron 
 was ill, and his physician had been summoned from 
 New York. 
 
 When I reached Cragholt the doctor had come 
 and gone, and a trained nurse was in attendance. 
 Evelyn, meeting me in the hall, conveyed this intelli- 
 gence in a breath, and then, laying hold upon me, a 
 slender hand upon each coat sleeve, her big eyes 
 pleading and anxious, she ran on: 
 
 "It is shock, Dr. Massey says. Deferred shock, 
 he called it. He says Uncle Robert has suffered 
 from some sudden grief, fright, or other dreadful 
 mental impression. His temperature is way below 
 normal and his pulse is a sort of rapid feeble flutter. 
 Oh, do tell me what you know about it. What shock 
 has he had? You were with him last evening. He 
 was gay enough when you and he went from the music 
 room. What happened afterward?" 
 
 [91]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 Caressingly I rested my palms upon her shoulders. 
 
 "My dear little girl," I said, soothingly. "I am 
 sorry I can't satisfy your very natural curiosity." 
 
 "But it isn't curiosity," she corrected, promptly. 
 "It 's interest." 
 
 "Well, interest then. I 'm sorry, I say. Some- 
 thing did happen; but to tell you just what it was, 
 and why it was a shock to him, I am not able. Not 
 now, at least. Maybe, some day, you '11 know all 
 about it." 
 
 There never was a more reasonable young person 
 than Evelyn Grayson. Most girls, I fancy, would 
 have teased and grown peevish at being denied. But 
 she seemed to understand. 
 
 "Do you want to see uncle?" she asked me. 
 
 "I don't believe it would be wise," I answered. 
 "Probably I, being a reminder, might do him harm. 
 Tell me how he seems? He is n't unconscious?" 
 
 "No. He answers questions. But he never says 
 anything for himself. And, Philip, he looks so 
 pinched and old and pale! And his hands are so 
 cold. The nurse has taken away his pillows and raised 
 his feet, and it 's grewsome, that 's the only word 
 that describes it." 
 
 "But he '11 soon be better? The doctor said that, 
 did n't he?" 
 
 [92]
 
 " But it isn't curiosity," she corrected. " It's interest."
 
 "FROM SIGHT OF MEN' 
 
 "Yes. He said that." 
 
 But the reaction which usually follows shock was 
 only partial in Cameron's case, and for days his life 
 was in danger. Then followed a period of slow, gen- 
 eral recovery. 
 
 As the month of October progressed I feared the 
 liability to relapse. I knew, instinctively, with what 
 dread sensations he must be awaiting the fourteenth 
 of the month. He had been forbidden, of course, to 
 receive any mail, just as he had been denied visitors; 
 but I felt that in this matter he should not be allowed 
 to dwell in an uncertainty that must of necessity prove 
 injurious. And so I took Dr. Massey, in a measure, 
 into my confidence, and gained from him permission 
 to see Cameron for a brief moment. 
 
 "He has been asking for you," the physician in- 
 formed me, "but I fancied it better to make no excep- 
 tions. Now, however, I see that you may be a help 
 instead of a hindrance." 
 
 Despite the more or less circumstantial reports as 
 to his condition and appearance which had filtered to 
 me from the sick room, through the medium of Eve- 
 lyn, Miss Collins, the nurse, and Dr. Massey and 
 his assistant, Dr. Thorne, I was not altogether pre- 
 pared for the marked change which less than three 
 weeks had wrought in my friend. He was peaked 
 
 [93]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 and bloodless and tired and old. And his voice was 
 little more than a whisper. 
 
 He made a brave effort to smile, as I came in, but 
 it resulted in a sad grimacing failure. I lifted one 
 of his thin, clammy hands which lay inert on the cover- 
 lid, but it gave me only the feeblest answering 
 pressure. 
 
 "I 'm so glad you 're better," I told him, cheerily. 
 "Fancy the doctor allowing me to see you! That 
 shows what he thinks." 
 
 "Yes," he whispered, "I 'm coming round, slowly. 
 And I wanted to see you, Clyde. What day of the 
 month is this?" 
 
 "The twelfth." 
 
 "Day after to-morrow, it will come," he said. 
 
 "Don't be too sure," I replied. "I think they 've 
 done about enough to satisfy any ordinary villains." 
 
 He was silent for a moment. Then, with just the 
 faintest turn of his head from side to side, he said: 
 
 "But they are not ordinary villains." 
 
 "Well," I said, "if it does come, I shall find out 
 how it got here ; and that will be a step towards bring- 
 ing them to justice." 
 
 "You '11 find out?" he queried, incredulously. 
 
 "Yes. I '11 get your mail that day, myself. I '11 
 tell that monument of pomposity, your butler, Mr. 
 
 [94]
 
 "FROM SIGHT OF MEN' 
 
 Checkabeedy, that I am to see every letter that comes 
 to the house and know how and by whom it is deliv- 
 ered. Letters can't get here without hands, you 
 know." 
 
 "Other things seem to be done without hands," was 
 his conclusive comment; and I had no reply for him. 
 
 Concerning Murphy and the murdered Chinaman, 
 Cameron did not ask, and I was glad he did not. For 
 Murphy had been discharged from custody, for lack 
 of evidence; and though there were some desultory 
 efforts making to place the blame for the Celestial's 
 violent taking-off, I doubted that they would have 
 practicable result. 
 
 The precautions against surprise on the fourteenth, 
 which I had outlined so briefly to Cameron, I carried 
 out with added detail. For instance, I instructed 
 Romney to report to me every person who passed in 
 or out of the gates guarded by his Lodge. I had 
 Kilgour, the superintendent of the Cameron acres, 
 issue similar orders to his men concerning any stran- 
 gers seen on the estate that day. And, finally, when 
 not fetching the mail from the post office, myself 
 and four times I made the trip I sat on guard in 
 Cameron's study, waiting and expectant. 
 
 But the day passed, it seemed, without the looked- 
 for incident. Every letter, by post or by hand, which 
 
 [95]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 came that day, inside the Cragholt limits was by me 
 personally inspected, and amongst them all there 
 was no one which bore the faintest resemblance to 
 those two baleful missives of the two preceding 
 fourteenths. 
 
 When I had made my last trip to the post office, 
 finished my final inspection, and was almost jubilant 
 over the significant cessation of the threats which, in 
 their ultimate fulfilment at least, had brought my 
 friend so close to dissolution, I made haste to carry 
 to Cameron the glad news. 
 
 Oddly enough, his condition in the past forty-eight 
 hours had materially improved, and as Dr. Massey 
 attributed this, in part at least, to the influence exerted 
 by my brief visit, I was now permitted to repeat the 
 treatment at pleasure. 
 
 It wanted but a few minutes of eight o'clock, and 
 Checkabeedy seized the occasion to inform me, as I 
 passed through the hall, that dinner had been waiting 
 for nearly a half -hour; a fact which I knew quite as 
 well as he, but which I had chosen to disregard in 
 favor of more pressing and important employment. 
 Nevertheless I had dressed before going for the last 
 mail, and as a moment would suffice to assure Cam- 
 eron that all was well, I relieved the mind of the dis- 
 tressed butler, by assuring him that dinner should not 
 
 [96]
 
 "FROM SIGHT OF MEN' 
 
 wait over five minutes longer, so far as I was con- 
 cerned. 
 
 A very light tap on the chamber door was answered 
 by Miss Collins, who came out into the passage and 
 closed the door behind her. 
 
 "I fear it is not advisable for you to see him, now, 
 Mr. Clyde," she said. "He has suddenly had a return 
 of some of his worst symptoms, and I am sure Dr. 
 Massey would object to his being at all excited." 
 
 "But I shan't excite him," I explained. "I have 
 the very best of news for him. It is his anxiety over 
 a certain matter, no doubt, which has brought about 
 the symptoms you speak of. I know I can relieve 
 his mind, which I have reason to believe has been all 
 day under an unusual strain." 
 
 But still this efficient-looking, white-clad woman 
 was not wholly convinced. 
 
 "It must be only for a minute then," she finally 
 allowed. "You can go in alone. But at the end of 
 sixty seconds," she added, as she glanced at the little 
 gold watch she wore pinned to her spotless waist, "I 
 shall interrupt you ; and then you must leave." 
 
 Yielding, perforce, to her condition, I entered. 
 And as I did so, Cameron half rose on his elbow, 
 regarding me with what I thought was anxiety for 
 my report. 
 
 7 [97]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "It 's aU right," I said, quietly. "All right. Not 
 so much as a line from the enemy. They have with- 
 drawn, just as I " 
 
 But he interrupted me. 
 
 "Here, quick!" he was saying. "Take this!" And 
 I saw then that one hand was drawing something 
 from beneath his pillow. The next moment he had 
 given me a long envelope of that thin, waxy texture 
 I had learned to loathe. 
 
 For a heartbeat I stood appalled, transfixed. 
 
 "Quick!" he insisted, excitedly. "Open it! Read 
 it! She'll not leave us long and I must know its 
 contents." 
 
 "But how " I began, as I tore the end of the 
 envelope. 
 
 "God knows," he answered, before I had put my 
 question into words. "I had been dozing; about an 
 hour ago. I stretched out my hand, unconsciously, 
 and that lay beneath it, on the counterpane. It 
 crackled as I touched it ; and I knew then, even before 
 I recognized the feel of it." 
 
 Sixty seconds! Was there ever such an intermi- 
 nable period? Sixty long seconds before that door 
 would open with the interruption that would spare 
 me. I fumbled with the devilish paper; let it slip 
 through my fingers; tore a bit here and a bit there; 
 
 [98]
 
 "FROM SIGHT OF MEN' 
 
 finished the tearing; and then, dissembling, began 
 tearing the other end. And still the seconds lagged; 
 still the door remained stationary. 
 
 "My God, Clyde!" Cameron cried, in a frenzy of 
 impatience. "What 's the matter with you to-night? 
 Are you never going to get that thing open?" 
 
 And then I, desperate, too, with eyes fixed implor- 
 ingly on the door, was about to answer him with the 
 truth that I did not want to open it ; that I would 
 not, could not read him the contents; that he must 
 wait and trust me, absolutely when, quite without 
 design on my part, the envelope fell to the rug at my 
 feet. And as I stooped to recover it, I heard the 
 door-knob turn. 
 
 When I regained the upright, Miss Collins was 
 entering, and the letter was in the pocket of my din- 
 ner jacket. 
 
 "And so you see, Cameron," I said, speaking dis- 
 tinctly and with double purpose, the nurse being in 
 ear-shot, "everything is quite right. The matter you 
 spoke of shall be attended to, at once, and I '11 report 
 to you, to-night before ten o'clock, surely." 
 
 The reproach in his eyes stung me, and the pain 
 of it followed me from the room and stabbed me at 
 intervals during dinner. And yet it was not the part 
 of sanity to have acted otherwise than I did. The 
 
 [99]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 temptation had occurred to me to invent phrases and 
 sentences expressive of satisfaction over the effect of 
 the previous communications. But I doubted that, in 
 my agitation, I should be successful in the deception. 
 And so, my only course had been delay stupid, 
 bungling, palpable delay it was, I suppose, but after 
 all it had served ; and, though it left Cameron in doubt, 
 it gave me time and opportunity to arrange some plan 
 for extracting the fangs of this epistolary adder be- 
 fore it could strike its prey. 
 
 Purposely I delayed reading the letter, myself, 
 until after I had dined. I chose uncertainty as to its 
 contents as less likely noticeably to affect my de- 
 meanor than an exact knowledge of the minatory mes- 
 sage which I felt sure it carried. 
 
 I think I fancied I should be able to conceal my 
 real state of mind. Certainly I willed to do so. But 
 I was very soon conscious that Evelyn had divined my 
 dissimulation. Her eyes became suddenly grave and 
 questioning, her laughter quieted, and her conversa- 
 tion, which had been glad and gay, relapsed abruptly 
 into the serious. When the coffee and liqueurs had 
 been brought on, Mrs. Lancaster asked to be excused, 
 and left us alone together. 
 
 There followed then a moment of silence between 
 us, while I selected a cigarette and lighted it. She 
 
 [100]
 
 "FROM SIGHT OF MEN' 
 
 had edged her chair a little closer to me she was 
 sitting on my right, as usual and leaned forward, 
 her slender but divinely rounded forearms extended 
 across the shining damask of the tablecloth. 
 
 As I dropped my match upon the tiny silver tray 
 which the inimitable Checkabeedy had placed con- 
 veniently at my elbow I turned to her and saw her 
 question in her imploring gaze and attitude even be- 
 fore she voiced it. 
 
 "Tell me!" was what she said. And although I 
 knew that she would demand it I was unprepared. 
 To gain time rather than information I bade her be 
 more explicit. 
 
 "Everything," she pursued, inclusively, with a per- 
 emptory emphasis which indicated her determination 
 not to be denied. 
 
 My hesitation resulted in some amplification on 
 her part. She was impatient as well as resolved, and 
 resented what she interpreted as my reluctance to 
 gratify her. 
 
 "Everything," she repeated. "Everything that 
 you have been hiding from me from the first. I am 
 entitled to know. What about the head that was cut 
 from the portrait? What was it that caused the 
 shock which brought on Uncle Robert's illness? 
 Why did you go for the mail four times to-day, and 
 
 [101]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 sit all the rest of the time in Uncle Robert's study? 
 What has happened to make him worse this after- 
 noon? What is troubling you, now? I 'm not a 
 child, I 'm a woman, and I refuse to be kept in igno- 
 rance any longer." 
 
 She was glorious as she thus formulated her de- 
 mands, her cheeks blazing, her eyes brilliant, her voice 
 a crescendo. She must have seen my admiration. 
 Certainly I made no attempt to hide it; and before 
 she had quite finished I had possessed myself of her 
 clasped hands, and was bestowing upon them an ap- 
 plauding pressure. 
 
 And her argument prevailed. She knew too much 
 not to know more. Cameron's wishes in the matter 
 could no longer be regarded. Just how tactfully I 
 managed the disclosure it is not for me to judge. 
 Perhaps I told more than I should. Possibly I re- 
 vealed too little. I was guided solely by the wish not 
 to alarm her, unduly. And yet, as nearly every fea- 
 ture of the affair was of necessity alarming, it became 
 a vexing problem as to what to include and what to 
 omit. 
 
 Eventually she heard the whole story, every phase 
 of it. And so it is not altogether clear in my memory 
 how much I conveyed that night and how much was 
 left for me to add ten days later. 
 
 [102]
 
 "FROM SIGHT OF MEN' 
 
 There is no question, however, regarding that third 
 letter which had been so mysteriously received that 
 day. I drew it from the envelope, there, at the table, 
 and we read it together, by the light of the pink- 
 shaded candles ; our chairs touching and her cool little 
 left hand clasped hard in my sinewy right. 
 
 As I spread the sheet that sinister appearing black 
 daub at the bottom smote me with a sense of ill as 
 acutely poignant as a rapier thrust, and the heavy, 
 regular, upright chirography, with its odd fs and p's, 
 so awesomely familiar, was scarcely less disturbing. 
 
 Silently the girl and I ran through the dozen lines. 
 
 Like its two predecessors the letter began with the 
 sentence : 
 
 "That which you have wrought shall in turn be 
 wrought upon you! 3 
 
 No longer could this be regarded as idle boasting. 
 It had become an edict of grave significance. And 
 what followed only emphasized the proven force be- 
 hind this series of singular communications. 
 
 "All having been performed as foretold, our 
 power is demonstrated/' 
 
 Then, simply, almost crudely, but of horrid 
 poignancy, ran the words: 
 
 [103]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "Know then, that before the morning of the 
 Eighth Day hence, as passed the face from the 
 portrait, as passed the reflection from the mir- 
 ror, so you, physically, will pass from sight of 
 men into torment." 
 
 As I read my breath caught in my throat and my 
 pulses paused. Evelyn pressed closer to my side, and 
 I felt her shiver as with cold. The final words, sol- 
 emn, admonitory, priestlike, were these: 
 
 "Say not Heaven is high above! Heaven as- 
 scends and descends about our deeds, daily in- 
 specting us, whersoever we are." 
 
 Instantly she turned to me, and I saw there were 
 tears on her cheeks, and that her long dark lashes 
 were wet. 
 
 "You cannot tell him this, Philip," she said, her 
 voice low but unfaltering. 
 
 "No," I replied, "I cannot tell him. In his pres- 
 ent condition, it might be fatal." 
 
 "And now he must get well," she declared, with 
 decision. "He must be well enough in a few days to 
 be moved. He shall not stop in this house any longer. 
 He shall go where he can be protected, and these 
 fiends, whoever they are, cannot, or will not dare to 
 follow." 
 
 As she spoke an inspiration came to me. 
 
 [104]
 
 "FROM SIGHT OF MEN' 
 
 "The yacht," I said. 
 
 Impulsively she laid hold upon my arm, in a way 
 she had. 
 
 "The Sibylla" she agreed, delightedly. "Of 
 course. It will do everything for him." 
 
 "But what am I to tell him about this?" I asked, in 
 perplexity. 
 
 For a second she was thoughtful. 
 
 "We couldn't imitate the writing, could we?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes," I answered. "We could. I think I 'd 
 even guarantee to reproduce that hideous black thing, 
 but" 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "We can't imitate the paper. The paper is as 
 characteristic as any of the other features, if not in- 
 deed more so. And he knows that paper." 
 
 "Then you must just lie to him," she decided. 
 "You must tell him the envelope was empty; and you 
 must make him believe it." 
 
 [105]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 SOMEWHERE EAST OF NANTUCKET 
 
 ^PHE Sibylla under stress of her powerful turbines 
 was racing easily, reeling off her thirty knots 
 with no seeming effort and scarcely a perceptible vi- 
 bration. There had been a stiff breeze during the 
 night, but it had died down at sunrise, and now, at 
 noon, the sea was calm as the bosom of a nun. The 
 sun blazed warm through a faint golden haze, glint- 
 ing on the yacht's polished brasses, intensifying the 
 snowy whiteness of her glossy paint, and turning to 
 jewelled showers the spray which fell away from her 
 sharp prow and caressed her long, sleek sides. It 
 was wonderful weather for late October. On the 
 nineteenth the temperature had risen to ninety in New 
 York, breaking all records for that date; and now, 
 two days later, here at the meeting of Sound and 
 Ocean, with Point Judith just coming into view over 
 our port bow, and Block Island a blur abaft our star- 
 board beam, we sat, Cameron and I, shaded by spread 
 awnings, on the after-deck, as though it were mid- 
 summer. For he had been convinced by my righteous 
 
 [106]
 
 EAST OF NANTUCKET 
 
 untruth, after repeated and emphatic dinning, and 
 had daily grown stronger; readily agreeing at length 
 to a cruise along the coast, with Bar Harbor as ob- 
 jective. 
 
 "That is precisely what I had the Sibylla built for," 
 he told me, when my suggestion found acceptance. 
 "Did you ever notice the inscription on the brass tab- 
 let over the fireplace in the saloon? No? Well, it 's 
 this: 
 
 'SIBYLLA, WHEN THOU SEEST ME FAYNTE, 
 
 ADDEESS THYSELFE THE GYDE OF MY COMPLAYNTE.' 
 
 I found it in an old book, published in 1563, a poetic 
 induction to 'The Mirror of Magistrates,' written by 
 Thomas Sackville. You can fancy how my applica- 
 tion distorts the original intention ; but Sackville is n't 
 likely to trouble me over it." 
 
 I repeat this explanation now mainly to indicate 
 the improved temper of the speaker. His mind was 
 placid once again, and with this recovered placidity 
 had come a return of his quiet humor. For my own 
 part I was not altogether happy. My delight over 
 my friend's recovery, and Evelyn's pleasure thereat, 
 was curdled by self-reproach regarding the instru- 
 ment I had employed to bring it about. A lie is to 
 me a most contemptible agent, and to make use of 
 
 [107]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 one has been always abhorrent. In this instance I 
 had salved my conscience in a measure with the old 
 excuse that the end justified the means, but it was only 
 in a measure, and I was far from being as happy as 
 I pretended. 
 
 Moreover, I could not rid myself of an uneasiness 
 a misery, indeed, in which I was now without com- 
 pany concerning the day and its menace. I say 
 "without company," for Cameron, of course, had 
 quite dismissed the subject, and Evelyn, who previ- 
 ously was greatly perturbed, had seemed to put away 
 all apprehension directly she saw us safe aboard the 
 yacht. There had been some talk of her accompany- 
 ing us, but without signifying my real reason, I had 
 managed to dissuade her. 
 
 For my disquietude there was certainly no logical 
 ground. I had taken the precaution of having the 
 Sibylla searched from masthead to keelson before sail- 
 ing. The coal was examined as carefully as that of 
 a battleship in time of war ; every locker and cupboard 
 was inspected; even the ventilators were metaphori- 
 cally turned inside out and the record of every man 
 of the crew was looked into with vigorous scrutiny. 
 So I could see no loophole unguarded. But the past 
 was an argument which set logic at naught. If such 
 things could be as that which had happened a month 
 
 [108]
 
 EAST OF NANTUCKET 
 
 ago in Cameron's dressing room, how much further 
 might the inexplicable carry? Of what use were pre- 
 cautions against an enemy who with apparent ease 
 calmly defied all natural laws? 
 
 All the morning my thoughts had been running 
 in this line. Foolish thoughts they must seem to one 
 who reads of them ; worthy only to be classed with the 
 idle superstitious fears of young girls and old women, 
 and impossible to a well-balanced, clear-headed man 
 of twenty-nine. It may be that I was not well- 
 balanced and clear-headed. And yet the sequel would 
 tend rather to a contrary conclusion. 
 
 Cameron was still reading the Herald, and I sat 
 with a pair of binoculars at my eyes sweeping the 
 waters for the trailing smoke of a liner or some object 
 of lesser interest. 
 
 Presently the silence was broken by my companion. 
 
 "I see," he began, dropping the paper to his knees, 
 "that China is really in earnest in her anti-opium 
 campaign. Two Peking officials have died from the 
 effects of a too-hasty breaking of the habit. Men do 
 not die in the attempt to obey mere paper reforms. 
 The Chinese are a wonderful old people, Clyde." 
 
 I lowered my glasses, all at once interested. 
 
 "You Ve been in China, of course?" I asked. 
 
 "No, I have n't," was his answer. "I Ve always 
 
 [109]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 meant to go; but when I was nearest, ill news drew 
 me home; and so I never got closer than Yokohama 
 on one side, and Srinagar, in Kashmir, on the other." 
 
 "You Ve seen something of them in this country, I 
 suppose?" 
 
 "No, very little. I attended a dinner once at which 
 Li Hung Chang was the guest of honor ; and I Ve 
 eaten chop suey in one of those Chinese eating palaces 
 they have in Chicago. That 's about the extent of my 
 personal Chinese experience. But I have always 
 been interested in the country and its people. I have 
 read about everything that has been published on the 
 subject. By the way, did they ever find out who 
 killed that boy of Murphy's?" 
 
 "Not yet," I answered. "They Ve had some of his 
 own kind under surveillance, but no more arrests have 
 been made." 
 
 "Murphy was released?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He took up his paper again and once more I ap- 
 plied myself to sea-gazing. 
 
 Far away to the northeast I made out what ap- 
 peared to me to be a sea-going tug or pilot boat, 
 steaming, I thought, with rather unusual speed for 
 a vessel of her class. It was not much of a discovery, 
 but the waters had been very barren that morning, 
 
 [no]
 
 EAST OF NANTUCKET 
 
 especially for the last two hours, and insignificant as 
 this object was I felt in a manner rewarded for my 
 vigil. 
 
 Half an hour later she had dipped out of sight and 
 I was busy in an effort to pick her up again, when a 
 cry from the look-out forward directed my attention 
 to a floating speck possibly two miles or more ahead, 
 and not more than a point off our course. 
 
 "Come," I said to Cameron, "let 's go up on the 
 bridge and have a look!" 
 
 "And have our trouble for our pains?" he returned, 
 incredulously. "It 's probably some bit of wreckage, 
 a box or a cask." 
 
 "Very well," I agreed, starting off alone. "Even 
 a box or a cask is worth while as a variation." 
 
 When on nearer approach the drifting object 
 proved to be a fisherman's dory, with a man, either 
 dead or unconscious, plainly discernible in the bottom, 
 I should hardly have been human had I not experi- 
 enced a degree of satisfaction over Cameron's failure 
 as a prophet. That, however, was the least abiding 
 of my sensations. In an instant it had given way to 
 anxiety concerning the boat's occupant and interest 
 in the business-like manner in which MacLeod, the 
 stocky young executive officer of the Sibylla, was pre- 
 paring to pick up our find. 
 
 [in]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 The engine room had been signalled half-speed 
 ahead, and already a sailor with a coil of rope in hand 
 was stationed at the forward lee gangway. I have 
 frequently seen river pilots make landings that were 
 marvels of clever calculation, but I never saw any 
 steering more accurately gauged than that by which 
 MacLeod, here in the open sea, with the precarious 
 swell and surge of ocean to combat, brought the yacht 
 gliding within a bare three inches of the rolling dory's 
 bow. 
 
 I was leaning over the rail as we came thus upon 
 the castaway, and saw clearly enough for just a mo- 
 ment the huddled creature in oilskins, silent and 
 motionless in the stern, with closed eyes and wet dark 
 hair matted upon his forehead. Then a sailor, drop- 
 ping lightly into the boat, shut off my view for a 
 little. There was a whir of flung line; an exchange 
 of quick-spoken, and to me unintelligible words, be- 
 tween the sailor in the dory and a sailor standing 
 beside me on the yacht's deck; and then, the line 
 was taut and straining, and the dory, which had 
 sheered off astern, was being brought up slowly 
 alongside. 
 
 Now, I realized for the first time that our engines 
 had stopped and that, save for the roll, we were 
 almost stationary. 
 
 [112]
 
 EAST OF NAN TUCKET 
 
 They were lifting the fisherman aboard when Cam- 
 eron, at length aroused by the unusual, strolled for- 
 ward and joined me. 
 
 "There 's your bit of wreckage," I observed, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 "Poor devil !" he exclaimed, sympathetically. "He 
 seems more dead than alive." 
 
 "He 's breathing, sir," announced Brandon, the 
 first officer, "and not much more. We '11 take him 
 below, and see what can be done for him, sir." 
 
 He appeared to be about forty years of age, a 
 somewhat shrunken, weather-beaten creature, with 
 face deeply lined and half hidden behind possibly a 
 week's growth of dark beard. It is not easy to read 
 a man with his eyes closed, but I was far from pre- 
 possessed by what of this fellow's features was on 
 view. Ordinarily I should have given him scant heed, 
 but to-day was no ordinary day, and my suspicions 
 were superactive. Even the most trivial occurrences 
 took on significance. And this was not a trivial oc- 
 currence. Certainly it was not usual. Fishermen 
 blown to sea in storms and overcome by exposure, 
 hunger, and thirst were common enough, perhaps, but 
 within the past week there had been no storm; the 
 weather had been as mild as that of June, with an 
 August day or two thrown in. How was it possible, 
 
 8 [113]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 then, for this bit of flotsam to have come where it was 
 and in the condition it was? 
 
 To Cameron I gave no hint of my reasoning, but 
 to Captain MacLeod I put the question without hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 "It does seem a bit odd, Mr. Clyde," he returned, 
 judicially, "but you see his mast and sail had gone by 
 the board and his oars, too. It looks to me, sir, as if 
 he 'd been run down, maybe, and nigh swamped. Of 
 course we can't tell till he gets his senses and lets us 
 know." 
 
 Though this put the matter in a new light, it did 
 not by any means relieve my anxiety; and I asked 
 MacLeod to have a sharp watch kept on the fellow, 
 adding that I would come to him later for anything 
 he might learn. I took care, too, to caution him to 
 make no mention of the affair in the presence of 
 Cameron. 
 
 It was not until after dinner that evening that I 
 found opportunity again to question the captain. I 
 came upon him in his stateroom, a comfortably com- 
 modious cabin, far forward on the upper deck. On 
 his table was spread a chart, over which he was bend- 
 ing when I entered. A briarwood was gripped firmly 
 between his teeth and the grateful odor of clean pipe 
 smoke greeted me as I entered. 
 
 [114]
 
 EAST OF NANTUCKET 
 
 "He 's come around, Mr. Clyde," he informed me, 
 turning about in his swivel chair, "and I 'm just try- 
 ing to check up some of his statements by means of 
 this chart here, and our weather record." 
 
 "And how do they check so far?" I asked, a little 
 dubiously. 
 
 "Quite to a dot, sir," was his answer. "There's 
 no breakdown anywhere, so far. According to his 
 story, he sailed out of Gloucester Harbor on Mon- 
 day morning. His name 's Peter Johnson, and he 
 lives in East Gloucester. He says the wind was 
 strong from the westward, and he made the banks 
 all right without mishap. But about noon, the wind 
 died, and a thick fog came in from the northeast, chill 
 and sopping, sir. He kept moving about, and finally 
 in the thick of it lost his bearings. It had clouded 
 over and after a little it began to rain. He made a 
 try for Gloucester Harbor, but must have sailed south- 
 east instead of northwest. Then the night came 
 down, and the fog was like a dozen blankets, he says. 
 His food was gone and most of his water, but he said 
 he 'd seen worse than that many a time, and just 
 prayed for the fog to lift and give him a sight of the 
 stars. And the next thing that happened was what 
 I suspected, sir. He heard a steamer's whistle. He 
 had his sheet out and was running before the wind, 
 
 [115]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 and that steamer coming upon him out of the fog, 
 caught his boom, ripped out his mast and nearly cap- 
 sized his dory. When she righted, the steamer's 
 lights were fading into the fog again, his boat was 
 half full of water and his oars were washed away. 
 Well, sir, to make a long story short, he must have 
 caught a current that carried him well out beyond 
 Cape Cod, and then slewed him around the souther'- 
 most end of Nantucket Island. I questioned him 
 about lights and fog signals, and making due allow- 
 ance for his condition, his yarn works out pretty 
 straight. He 'd been drifting about for three days 
 when we picked him up and was half dead of thirst 
 and hunger. But he 's come around better than 
 might be expected, and " 
 
 And then I interrupted him. 
 
 "Three days without water?" I questioned. 
 
 "And without food. Yes, sir." 
 
 "When did he tell you this story?" 
 
 "About six o'clock, sir." 
 
 "Could a starving man recover that quickly?" 
 
 "He might, sir," MacLeod answered. "The aver- 
 age healthy man can go ten days without food or 
 drink." 
 
 "What have you done with him?" 
 
 "He 's in the seaman's quarters, for'ard, sir." 
 
 [116]
 
 EAST OF NANTUCKET 
 
 "See that he 's kept there, Mr. MacLeod," I told 
 him. "I 'd feel better if you put a watch on him to- 
 night. To-morrow we '11 run in to Gloucester and 
 look up his people and friends." 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 I thought of having a look at Peter Johnson, my- 
 self, for I was somewhat curious to study that face 
 again when it was sentient, and had its eyes open, 
 but on second thought I decided to wait until morn- 
 ing. It seemed silly to suspect this seemingly honest 
 but unfortunate fisherman. 
 
 We had not been speeding so well during the after- 
 noon; there was some trouble reported from the en- 
 gine room, and it was a question whether we had made 
 over fifteen knots an hour since two o'clock. I know 
 that at ten o'clock that night, when the moon went 
 down, we were somewhere east of Nantucket, and 
 directly in the path of the transatlantic liners. 
 
 The night was balmy as a night in Springtime, 
 and Cameron and I in light overcoats sat on the after- 
 deck, watching the moon slide slowly below the dark 
 horizon line. Our chairs were close together, facing 
 the lee rail; his the farther astern. We talked of 
 many things, I remember. He was always interested 
 in my work, and especially in my ambitions to make 
 
 [H7]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 The Week a power for national good ; and, I remem- 
 ber that we discussed several projects I then had in 
 mind for bringing about reform in high places. But 
 the subject which then interested me most, and re- 
 garding which I still experienced a vague, unreason- 
 ing uneasiness, he had avoided throughout the day 
 and evening, with what seemed to me studied intent. 
 
 The sudden cessation of hostilities on the part of 
 those whom he had been given every reason to look 
 upon as his implacable enemies, was certainly strange 
 enough to have invited endless debate ; and I marvelled 
 that, after having accepted my falsehood as truth, 
 he had not chosen to go over with me the whole 
 marvellously perplexing business. 
 
 His mind, I knew, was relieved by what I had made 
 him believe, or he would not now be the man he was ; 
 but despite that, it appeared to me, it would be most 
 natural for him, on this day of all days the twenty- 
 first of the month to question, at least, my pre- 
 viously emphatically stated conclusions. 
 
 There had been a moment of silence between us, 
 and these reflections were dominant with me, as six 
 bells, ringing out musically, announced that midnight 
 was but an hour distant. At that instant, while in 
 time to the bell's strokes, there echoed in my brain 
 the words: "Know then, that before the morning 
 
 [us]
 
 EAST OF NANTUCKET 
 
 of the eighth day hence, " Cameron, lowering his 
 cigar, turned to me with : 
 
 "Clyde, I wonder if you have forgotten what day 
 this is!" 
 
 I don't know why, coming at just that particular 
 juncture, the question should be more upsetting than 
 if it had come at some other time of day, but I know 
 it seemed so to me. 
 
 For a little space my tongue refused its office. 
 There was a lump in my throat which demanded to 
 be swallowed, and I made a pretence of coughing to 
 hide my plight. At length I answered, a bit lamely : 
 
 "No, I have n't forgotten. It 's Wednesday, the 
 twenty-first of October." 
 
 He returned his cigar to his lips and smoked in 
 silence for a full minute. Then, he said, quietly: 
 
 "It 's seven days since that empty envelope came." 
 
 "Yes," I returned. 
 
 There was another slight pause and he went on: 
 
 "I have been thinking that possibly you were 
 wrong about the significance of that empty envelope. 
 Possibly those enigmatical persons intended that 
 absence of a definite threat to imply the inconceivably 
 terrible." 
 
 Now that he had started to talk about it, I 
 wished that he had continued his silence. I could not 
 
 [119]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 understand how I had convinced him before, knowing 
 all the while that I was without truth to support me. 
 Certainly, now, pervaded as I was with that grim 
 disquietude, it would be even more difficult to carry 
 conviction with my words. 
 
 "Whatever they intended," I ventured, yielding 
 a fraction of a point, "it seems to me that they '11 have 
 some difficulty in carrying it out. There are no por- 
 traits here to mutilate and no mirrors to smash. For 
 the previous performances there must be some more 
 or less simple explanation. Neither you nor I be- 
 lieve in the supernatural; therefore the things that 
 happened at Cragholt were brought about by natural 
 means, seemingly inexplicable as they were. Now 
 no natural means can be brought to bear to perform 
 any such legerdemain on this yacht. You know that. 
 There 's not a man here, except that poor old fisher- 
 man, that we don't know all and everything about. 
 So, I say, no matter what they planned ; this time they 
 are outwitted." And even as I said it, I saw clearly 
 before my vision those words: "Say not Heaven is 
 high above! Heaven ascends and descends about our 
 deeds, daily inspecting us wheresoever we are" 
 
 "Then you agree with me? You think something 
 may have been planned?" 
 
 "I would n't pretend to interpret their symbolism," 
 
 [120]
 
 I answered, evasively. "The empty envelope im- 
 pressed me as synonymous with saying, 'Nothing 
 more at present !' Even now I think that if they had 
 meant to continue they would have said so. I 'm al- 
 most sure they would." 
 
 I was quite sure, of course, but I dared not say 
 so. 
 
 Cameron smoked on quietly for a while in a rumina- 
 tive mood. Eventually he threw the end of his cigar 
 over the rail, and leaned forward. 
 
 "I don't know," he said, perplexedly. "I don't 
 know." 
 
 This I hoped was to be the end of the matter, for 
 to-night at least; but presently he began to talk of 
 those first two letters, to conjecture, to wonder, to 
 dissect phrases, to dig out subtleties of meaning from 
 euphemistic expressions. And then I knew that he 
 had every word memorized, just as I had. 
 
 Seven bells had struck and we were still talking. 
 But now and then there were pauses in our converse 
 intervals of silence of varying length during 
 which I sat with my gaze stretching out over the black 
 waters and my hearing strained for any unusual 
 sound. More than once during the evening I thought 
 I had detected far off the pounding note of a motor 
 boat's exhaust, but had put the notion aside as too 
 
 [121]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 improbable for entertainment. Now, faintly, I 
 seemed to hear it again ; not so distant, but muffled. 
 
 I got up and stood close to the rail, and listened 
 with ear bent. Then I determined to go to my cabin 
 for a night glass which I had included among my 
 traps. But at that moment the sound, which I had 
 made sure of, ceased, and I stood a second or two 
 longer, expecting it to resume. 
 
 Altogether it was not over a minute or two that 
 I stood there. It seemed much less than that. Then 
 I turned with a question for Cameron. I wondered 
 whether he had heard the sound too. 
 
 "I say, Cam " I began, and stopped, startled, 
 with his name half uttered. 
 
 His chair was empty. He was not on the deck. 
 I ran to the saloon. He was not there. I flung open 
 the door of his stateroom. He was not there, either. 
 I had the yacht searched for him. He was not on the 
 yacht. 
 
 [122]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A CRAFT WITHOUT LIGHTS 
 
 /COMPOSURE is second nature with me. I claim 
 no credit for it; it is a matter of temperament 
 rather than cultivation. But now my temperament 
 was all awry, and my composure fled me. I was ex- 
 cited. More than that, I was frantic, distracted, 
 rattled. I wanted to do a dozen things at once; to 
 get answers to a score of questions in a single moment. 
 And the consequence may be imagined. For five 
 ten minutes, nothing was done whatever. Then 
 the search-light was got into play, sweeping the 
 waters on all sides, far and near; but with paltry re- 
 sult. Five or six miles astern we made out a power 
 boat, similar to that which I had seen through the 
 glass earlier in the day. To the eastward a steamer 
 with two funnels was just coming into range. The 
 white sails of a coasting schooner showed to west- 
 ward. Trailing in our wake was our squalid salvage, 
 the dory of the fisherman. 
 
 MacLeod, trained to coolness, retained his wits. 
 Systematically he set to work. Likely and unlikely 
 
 [123]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 places aboard the yacht were looked into. Before 
 I knew what he was about, we were going back over 
 the way we had come with the search-light swinging 
 in a circle and a half-dozen sharp-eyed seamen scan- 
 ning every square foot of rolling wave. 
 
 "I can't understand it," I kept repeating aloud, 
 with senseless iteration. "I can't understand it." 
 
 I was standing alone, well forward, leaning over 
 the rail. Presently MacLeod laid a hand on my 
 shoulder. 
 
 "We can't do anything more than we are doing, 
 Mr. Clyde," he said in his matter-of-fact way. "For 
 my part, I can't understand it, either; but since Mr. 
 Cameron 's no f aboard, there 's only one conclusion, 
 and that is that he 's overboard. And since there was 
 no one interested in throwing him there, then it seems 
 very clear that he must have jumped." 
 
 "Jumped!" I cried, in irritation. "My God, man! 
 Don't I tell you that I was not three feet away from 
 him, and only for a minute or two? How could he 
 have jumped without my hearing him? How could 
 he even have got out of his chair, without my hearing 
 him?" 
 
 The captain shrugged his broad shoulders. 
 
 "There 's no other explanation," he decided, con- 
 clusively. 
 
 [124]
 
 A CRAFT WITHOUT LIGHTS 
 
 "You mean he committed suicide?" 
 
 "Call it what you like, sir." 
 
 "But there was no reason for him to do such a 
 thing," I objected. 
 
 "I understand he 's been pretty ill, sir." 
 
 "He was ill, yes. But he was on the road to re- 
 covery." And then, with the realization that I was 
 speaking of Cameron in the past tense, as though it 
 were already settled that I should never see him alive 
 again, a shiver of horror swept over me. I know 
 MacLeod observed it, for he said: 
 
 "There 's been a drop in the temperature, in the 
 last half-hour. It '11 be more comfortable in my 
 cabin, sir, if you don't mind coming in, and talking 
 the thing over a bit." 
 
 "Good Heavens, MacLeod," I exclaimed, turning 
 on him with nervous savagery, "do you expect me to 
 sit down and talk calmly at such a moment ? I can't. 
 It 's all I can do to stand still here, for a minute at 
 a time. I feel I must do something. It 's torture 
 to have one's hands tied this way." 
 
 "I think I know how you feel, sir. But walking 
 the deck will do no good, and if you could calm your- 
 self enough to talk it over quietly, we might get down 
 to something that would guide us, so to speak." 
 
 "Guide us?" I repeated. 
 
 [125]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "Yes, sir. It 's not impossible, you know, sir, that 
 when he went overboard he was picked up." 
 
 The light from his cabin porthole illuminated us 
 both, and now as he looked at me he must have seen 
 my perplexity. 
 
 "You said yourself, sir," he explained, "that you 
 thought you heard the exhaust of some sort o' craft 
 not far away." 
 
 It was this reminder, I think, which brought back 
 my wool-gathering wits and steadied me to a percep- 
 tion of the real importance of the captain's plea. Of 
 one thing, at least, I was assured : Cameron was not a 
 suicide. How he could have gone over the taffrail 
 without my seeing or hearing him, I should never be 
 able to understand. But gone he was, and it lay upon 
 me to discover by whose assistance this marvellous 
 disappearance was accomplished. And so it came 
 about that, controlling my futile unrest, I was pres- 
 ently seated in MacLeod's swivel chair, while he, from 
 a place on the side of his berth, fired pointed questions 
 at me, which I either answered as best I could or re- 
 turned in kind. 
 
 "Now maybe it 's none of my business, Mr. Clyde, 
 but in view of to-night's occurrence I think it 's per- 
 tinent to know why there was such a thorough inspec- 
 tion of the Sibylla before we sailed, and such a lot 
 
 [126]
 
 A CRAFT WITHOUT LIGHTS 
 
 of caution regarding the crew." That was the first 
 of his volley, and for a moment it staggered me. I 
 recognized, however, that this was not a time for 
 quibbling, and as MacLeod had been for years a 
 staunch soldier in Cameron's army of employees, I saw 
 no harm in letting him know the truth. 
 
 "I '11 tell you," I returned, frankly, "but it 's not 
 to go any further. In the past nine weeks Mr. 
 Cameron has been receiving a series of threatening 
 anonymous letters. The last one came a week ago 
 to-day; and in it this was named as the date for the 
 climax." 
 
 "Climax?" he repeated, questioningly. 
 
 "Yes. To-day, the letter stated, Mr. Cameron 
 would disappear." 
 
 The calm, phlegmatic young captain did not start. 
 He simply narrowed his eyes in thought. 
 
 "That 's odd," he said, gravely, "damned odd." 
 And then, after a second's consideration, he asked: 
 "Was that but of course it was why he took his 
 cruise?" 
 
 "No," I told him. "That was not his reason; 
 though it was mine." 
 
 I did not mean to be enigmatic, but I suppose I 
 was, for MacLeod showed plainly enough that he 
 failed to understand. 
 
 [127]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "You see," I went on, in elucidation, "Mr. Cameron 
 did not know about this last threat. He was ill when 
 the letter came, and we kept it from him." 
 
 It was evident to me that the captain disapproved, 
 but he held his peace. 
 
 "What were the previous threats?" he asked, pres- 
 ently. 
 
 "Nothing definite," I answered. "Simply that on 
 certain fixed days the writers would demonstrate their 
 power." 
 
 "And did they?" 
 
 "Most marvellously." 
 
 Again MacLeod was silent for a space. 
 
 "Under the circumstances, Mr. Clyde, don't you 
 think it would have been better if you 'd told me about 
 this?" 
 
 "Mr. Cameron was very anxious that no one should 
 know." 
 
 The captain compassed his right knee with his 
 locked hands. 
 
 "All the same," he said, "he 'd never have been 
 spirited off this yacht if I 'd a' known what was in 
 the wind." 
 
 This statement annoyed me, and I resented it. 
 
 "What could you have done?" I asked. "I was 
 with him almost continuously." 
 
 [128]
 
 A CRAFT WITHOUT LIGHTS 
 
 There came a strange, half-meditative, half -bold 
 look in the man's eyes, and I was wondering what it 
 portended, when, quite ignoring my question, he be- 
 gan speaking: 
 
 "You see there ought n't to be any misunderstand- 
 ing between you and me, sir. This is too serious a 
 business to be bungled because I am only captain of 
 this yacht and you are the owner's friend. So, if I 
 speak plainly, sir, you '11 understand why, and not 
 think me disrespectful." 
 
 I smiled to reassure him, still puzzled, and added: 
 
 "Go straight ahead, Captain. You are perfectly 
 right." 
 
 "Well," he began, "I'll tell you, Mr. Clyde. 
 Your story, as you told it to me, has some weak points 
 in it. You say, for instance, that you were with Mr. 
 Cameron almost continuously. Now I 'm not men- 
 tioning the little while you were in here, early in the 
 evening, but during the last quarter of an hour be- 
 fore you gave the alarm, you weren't with him, 
 either." 
 
 I stared at the speaker for an instant in absolute 
 dumb amaze. 
 
 "I don't know why you say that," I said, at length, 
 more hurt than angered. "I told you that from the 
 moment I last spoke to him, seated beside him there 
 [129]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 on the after-deck, until I turned from the rail and 
 found him gone, not more than two minutes elapsed. 
 And that was God's truth." 
 
 "You said you were listening for what you thought 
 sounded like a motor boat, did n't you?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "And you were leaning over the taffrail, looking 
 for it, were n't you?" 
 
 "I was." 
 
 "But you did n't see it?" 
 
 "No, I did n't see it ; and I could n't hear it after 
 the first few seconds." 
 
 The captain had fixed a gaze on me that seemed 
 aimed to penetrate to my soul's fibre. After my an- 
 swer he was silent a moment. Then he said: 
 
 "Where were you, Mr. Clyde, when that boat, 
 motor, tug, or whatever she was crossed within ten 
 feet of the dory we are towing?" 
 
 Had he struck me in the face I could not have been 
 more dumfounded. 
 
 "What do you mean?" were the only words that 
 came to me. 
 
 "I mean that the craft you have been talking about 
 came up and went astern of us, ten or twelve minutes 
 before you gave the alarm that Mr. Cameron had 
 vanished under your eyes. I was on the bridge and 
 
 [130]
 
 A CRAFT WITHOUT LIGHTS 
 
 saw it myself just a black shape, without lights, 
 and her exhaust muffled, just as you say. You tell 
 me that you and Mr. Cameron had been sitting there 
 for three hours, at least; that you heard seven bells 
 strike; that it was not more than fifteen or twenty 
 minutes after this that you got up and went to the 
 rail, and that you only stood there two minutes." 
 
 "I told you all of that, and every word is the truth," 
 I insisted, vehemently. 
 
 "And yet," he retorted accusingly, "and yet eight 
 bells had struck before you gave the alarm." 
 
 I had not thought of the time. In my panic it had 
 not occurred to me of course to ascertain the hour 
 and minute. But Captain MacLeod knew. At sea 
 they work by the clock. At eight bells the watch had 
 changed. 
 
 "My dear fellow," I exclaimed rising, "you cer- 
 tainly cannot for a moment suspect me of complicity." 
 
 He stood up, too; stolid, imperturbable. 
 
 "I just want those things explained, that 's all," 
 was his reply. 
 
 "And I can't explain them," I told him, candidly. 
 "You say you saw the boat. I did n't. You say it 
 was after midnight when I came to you. It may 
 have been. I don't know. It may have been nearer 
 twelve, when I went to the rail. My impression is 
 
 [131]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 that it was not. I '11 admit it is mysterious. The 
 whole awful thing is mysterious." 
 
 My candor seemed to relieve him. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Clyde," he said, with equal sincerity, 
 "maybe I was too outspoken, but I wanted to know 
 what you 'd say to the points that were puzzling me." 
 
 "You did perfectly right," I told him. "As you 
 have said, there must be no secrets between us." And 
 then, as I resumed my seat, I asked: "What about 
 the fisherman? He has n't evaded his guard, has he?" 
 
 MacLeod sat down again too. 
 
 "He 's in where I put him, now," he answered, with 
 a shade of reluctance, "but I 'm not sure; it 's al- 
 most as mysterious as the other but I could have 
 sworn I saw him come up that for'ard hatchway and 
 go sneaking aft while I was on the bridge." 
 
 "When was that?" I pressed, eagerly. 
 
 "About a quarter of twelve." 
 
 "What did you do?" 
 
 "Nothing, just then. I waited. And while I was 
 waiting I saw that black, spooky craft come out of 
 the dark, and go skimming astern of us. A little 
 after eight bells I came down from the bridge, I 
 stopped there for just a minute to have a word with 
 Brandon when he came up, and then I went myself 
 to look after Johnson and the man I 'd set to watch 
 
 [132]
 
 A CRAFT WITHOUT LIGHTS 
 
 him. The fisherman was in a bunk, sound asleep, 
 and the man swore he had been lying there snoring, 
 for the past two hours. 'Who was it came up the 
 ladder twenty minutes ago?' I asked. He looked at 
 me as if he thought I was gone suddenly loony. 'Be- 
 fore the watch changed?' he asked. I nodded. 'Not 
 a soul came or went,' he said, 'since I been here.' ' 
 
 "And the boat without lights?" I questioned. "Did 
 you inquire about her? Who else saw her?" 
 
 "I asked the lookouts; but well, no, sir, and 
 that 's very strange to me, neither of them saw her. 
 I gave them both a rating. If they were n't asleep 
 I don't see how they could have missed her." 
 
 The thing was growing more and more baffling. 
 MacLeod was the last man to be accused of imagina- 
 tive fancies. He was thoroughly in earnest in what 
 he had told me ; and yet for neither of his statements 
 had he the smallest corroboration. For my own part 
 I was sure that, at the time he mentioned, no vessel 
 of any description had passed anywhere near us. 
 
 "What did you make the craft out to be?" 
 
 "Well, sir, I couldn't say exactly. She was in 
 sight only a minute, coming in range of our own 
 lights. She looked more like a tug than anything 
 else ; but she had more speed than any tug I ever saw. 
 She had n't the lines of a yacht." 
 
 [133]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "She wasn't a pilot boat?" 
 
 "Oh, no, sir. New York pilots don't cruise this far 
 east, and the Boston pilots would n't be so far away 
 from home either." 
 
 I offered the captain a cigar, which he declined, 
 filling his pipe in preference. When I had lighted a 
 cigar myself, I asked: 
 
 "I suppose you have some theory, MacLeod. You 
 don't seriously think it was suicide?" 
 
 As usual he was slow to answer. After a thought- 
 ful second, he said: 
 
 "I 'd be sorry to think that, Mr. Clyde. Taking 
 into consideration what you told me about the threat, 
 and connecting that boat with it, it looks " and then 
 he paused, thoughtful again. "It 's not in possi- 
 bility," he went on, after a second, "that they could 
 have plucked him off with a line. But if that fellow 
 I saw going aft Oh, Lord, no, sir ! It 's past me 
 to see a way out. All the same, we are keeping that 
 craft in sight, and if we can only get thirty knots out 
 of the Sibylla again, we '11 find out what she is and 
 what her business is, before morning." 
 
 [184]
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A WOMAN OF INTUITION 
 
 TLL tidings, always a heavy burden, never weighed 
 more heavily on any one than on me that dismal, 
 rainy Sunday morning, on which I stepped from the 
 Sibyllas launch to the stone water steps of Cragholt. 
 For two days we had searched the bays and inlets 
 from Provincetown to Plymouth and from Siasconset 
 to Providence; questioning at every pier and landing 
 stage ; making inquiry in every town and hamlet ; but 
 without a thimbleful of profit for our pains. As 
 that black craft, with dimmed lights and muffled en- 
 gines, had eluded our pursuit on the night of Cam- 
 eron's disappearance, so for the forty-eight hours suc- 
 ceeding she had baffled our quest. No one knew her ; 
 no one had seen her. 
 
 As for that shaken, frayed, pallid fisherman, Peter 
 Johnson, he appeared below, rather than above, sus- 
 picion. If my knowledge of men went for anything 
 he was too inferior both mentally and physically to 
 be a participant in any such plot as was here involved. 
 He seemed to me wofully weak and wasted, and with 
 
 [135]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 as little brains as sinew. So, with enough money for 
 a new mast and sail, we had put him and his dory 
 ashore at our first landing, and had forthwith forgot- 
 ten him. 
 
 MacLeod had been inclined to continue the search, 
 but I argued that any further efforts in that direc- 
 tion would be only a waste of time. The craft we 
 were looking for might have come from any one of 
 a thousand places and returned to any one of a thou- 
 sand more. Some more effective, general, and far- 
 reaching steps must be taken, I held, and taken 
 quickly. Indeed I felt now that to keep secret longer 
 the conspiracy, as indicated in those mystic letters, 
 would be little short of criminal. The aid of the 
 police and the press must be invoked at once, and noth- 
 ing left undone to trace the crime to its source. 
 
 But my first and most onerous task was to acquaint 
 Evelyn Grayson with the facts as I knew them. 
 How I shrank from that duty is beyond anything I 
 can put into words. I know it would have been far 
 easier for me to have carried her definite news of her 
 uncle's death. What I had to tell was horrible in its 
 stark obscurity. And yet, if I could have foreseen 
 just what was to follow, I might have spared myself 
 a goodly share of distress. 
 
 I imagined I knew Evelyn Grayson, before this. 
 
 [136]
 
 A WOMAN OF INTUITION 
 
 I thought I had sounded the profundities of her for- 
 titude and courage on the night that I spread before 
 her and read with her that third and last letter. But 
 my fancy did her an injustice. She was even more 
 of a woman than I dreamed. 
 
 Recently I chanced upon these lines by Thomas 
 Dunn English which must have been inspired by such 
 a one as she : 
 
 So much is clear, 
 
 Though little dangers they may fear, 
 When greater perils men environ. 
 Then women show a front of iron; 
 And, gentle in their manner, they 
 Do bold things in a quiet way. 
 
 Evelyn Grayson did a bold thing in a quiet way 
 that morning. I have not yet forgotten how marble 
 white she was, and yet how bravely she came, with 
 springing step and lifted chin and fearless eyes. I had 
 waited her coming in the music room, with its score of 
 reminders of happy evenings in which he had partici- 
 pated. The chair he usually chose, in the corner, near 
 the great bow window against which the east wind was 
 now driving the rain in gusty splashes, took on a 
 pathos which moved me to weakness. The Baudelaire 
 lyric, spread open-paged upon the music rack of the 
 piano, stirred memories scarcely less harrowing. A 
 
 [137]
 
 photograph, an ash tray, a paper knife, all common- 
 place objects of themselves, but so linked to him by 
 association, became, suddenly, instruments of emo- 
 tional torture. 
 
 In this environment, under these influences, I rose 
 to meet her, wordless. Yet my expression and atti- 
 tude must have spoken loudly enough to confirm the 
 dread that was in her heart, for even before she spoke 
 I was sure that she knew. And then she had taken 
 my two outstretched hands in hers and raised her 
 brave eyes to mine, and low-voiced, but sure and 
 tremorless, was saying: 
 
 "I feared it, Philip. From the very first, I 
 feared it." 
 
 And when I had told her all, to the smallest de- 
 tail, it was as though she were the man and I the 
 woman; for the recital had been for me a very pain- 
 ful confession of my own incompetence, and its con- 
 clusion left me more nervously unstrung than at any 
 time since the night of the strange catastrophe. 
 With what heroic fortitude she heard the narrative 
 may best be indicated by the statement that through- 
 out it all she sat calmly attentive, but unquestioning, 
 and with no sign of emotion beyond her continued 
 pallor and a recurrent tensing of her small white 
 hands. At the end I leaned forward and with left 
 
 [138]
 
 \ 
 
 For u full niimiti- she said nothing.
 
 A WOMAN OF INTUITION 
 
 elbow on knee rested my forehead in my palm. She 
 sat beside me on the same settee; and now she drew 
 closer, and laying her cool right hand over my own 
 disengaged one, began stroking my hair with her 
 left. For a full minute she said nothing. Then, in 
 soothing accents: 
 
 "I am glad you did n't find the boat. That means 
 he is on it. If you had found it, it would have been 
 some ordinary thing having no connection with this 
 affair, whatever." 
 
 It was odd reasoning, but very feminine, and in 
 an esoteric way, forceful. 
 
 "But you made one mistake, Philip," she went on. 
 "You should not have let that fisherman, Peter John- 
 son, go." 
 
 At this I raised my head and regarded her with 
 something like astonishment. 
 
 "He was one of them," she explained in a tone of 
 conviction. 
 
 "How can you say that?" I asked, a little nettled. 
 It annoyed me that she should be so positive, know- 
 ing no more of the man than that which I had told 
 her. 
 
 "I feel it," she answered. And that was all the 
 reason she could give. 
 
 I had not expected to find such development of 
 
 [139]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 intuition regarding worldly matters in one so young, 
 and so fresh from conventual seclusion. And then 
 her judgment seemed to keep pace with her auguries; 
 for when I spoke of inviting the aid of detectives and 
 the newspapers, she begged me to reconsider. 
 
 "I am afraid for him," she pursued gravely. 
 "Publicity might mean his death. If they discover 
 they are being sought, they may murder him. Some- 
 how, I feel he is still alive; and so we must do noth- 
 ing that will incite them to further violence." 
 
 "But," I returned, conscious of the force of her 
 argument, yet failing to see how this caution could 
 very well be exercised, "we can't find him without 
 seeking." 
 
 "No, but we can seek him in secret. The news- 
 papers must not tell the world." 
 
 "The police would of course tell the newspapers," 
 I added. 
 
 "We can do some things, without the police," was 
 her next assertion. "There are some things that I 
 can do; and there are more that you can do." She 
 was thoughtful for a moment, and then: "I am so 
 sorry about Peter Johnson! You should never have 
 lost sight of him." 
 
 "We gave him money and God speed," I reminded 
 her. 
 
 [140]
 
 A WOMAN OF INTUITION 
 
 "Captain MacLeod must go back there, where you 
 left him. Where was it? Siasconset? He must 
 trace him. His trail won't lead to Gloucester, I 'm 
 sure of that." 
 
 My self-esteem was not being vigorously stimulated 
 by the young lady at this juncture. Indeed, I was 
 being made to feel more and more my strategical in- 
 feriority. 
 
 "And I," she continued, with the methodical ex- 
 pediency of a commander-in-chief, so curiously in- 
 apposite in one so young and inexperienced as she; 
 "and I shall find out about those letters." 
 
 "Find out what?" I asked in astonishment. 
 
 "Find out what manner of man wrote them," she 
 amplified. 
 
 "But how can you?" I inquired. "That seems a 
 pretty big undertaking of itself, for one so small." 
 
 "I have thought of a way," she declared, non- 
 committally. 
 
 "And what am I to do?" was my next question, 
 feeling miserably small beside this efficient child. 
 
 "You must give me the letter you have, and help 
 me look for the others." 
 
 The first part of the command was easy enough of 
 obedience; for the letter was in my pocket at the mo- 
 ment. But my assistance in searching for the first
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 two communications was more energetic than success- 
 ful. Together we ransacked desks, bureaus, tables, 
 closets, trunks, clothes. Indeed, every possible hid- 
 ing place both at Cragholt and on the Sibylla was 
 carefully and systematically delved into and exhausted 
 without reward. Either Cameron had destroyed the 
 letters, or he had them on his person when he vanished 
 from the yacht. 
 
 At Evelyn's request, however, I wrote copies of 
 those two strangely-couched, malevolent epistles, as 
 nearly as I could remember them; and save, perhaps, 
 for possibly two or three verbal errors they were, I 
 think, quite accurate. 
 
 "And now," I asked again, "what am I to do?" 
 
 It was nearly midnight, and I was leaving her, my 
 car waiting in the sopping driveway to carry me home. 
 
 "You are not to worry any more than you possibly 
 can help," she told me, with a brave little smile, "for 
 we are going to succeed. And to-morrow you must 
 go to your office, and keep very, very silent about 
 what has happened. And then you are to come to 
 me again in the evening, and I will tell you all I have 
 learned." 
 
 With which she gave me her hand to kiss, in the 
 odd little French way she had, a way that could 
 scarcely have been a part of her convent teaching. 
 
 [142]
 
 A WOMAN OF INTUITION 
 
 As I come to review these matters now, it seems 
 singular that I should have so readily consented to 
 be guided by this girl's will in a case of such grave 
 importance; yet I cannot but believe there was some- 
 thing providential both in her assumption of leader- 
 ship and in my own unquestioning acquiescence. For 
 the day of office work and silence, which she enjoined, 
 was exactly what I needed to restore my nerves to 
 their normal tension. It was, in fact, a sort of 
 counter-irritant, which brought me up standing, with 
 a revived self-confidence and recuperated energy. 
 
 So when, a little before five o'clock that afternoon, 
 just as I was making ready to run for my train, I 
 heard Evelyn's voice over the telephone, I was fairly 
 tingling with ardor for the game; and her request 
 to call on Professor Griffin, the expert in Oriental 
 literature, who occupied a chair in Columbia College, 
 and lived a mile or more back from the Greenwich 
 station, was a welcome call to action. 
 
 Very briefly she explained that she had seen the 
 professor that morning, and had laid before him the 
 original letter and my copies of the others, and that 
 he had kindly promised to make a careful study of 
 them and acquaint her with the result later in the day. 
 She thought it better, however, that I should call upon 
 him for his conclusions, she said, as they would prob- 
 
 [143]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 ably be verbal, and she doubted her own ability to 
 convey them to me with entire accuracy. Of course 
 she had told him nothing as to the circumstances sur- 
 rounding the letters. As they bore no dates, and 
 were unaddressed, she had led him to infer that they 
 were autographic curiosities belonging to her uncle, 
 in which we were all three interested. 
 
 I had met Professor Griffin on several occasions. 
 Once or twice he had contributed articles to The Week, 
 and while we were scarcely intimate, we were on terms 
 of friendly acquaintanceship. He was an oldish, 
 white-haired gentleman, of rather the ascetic type, 
 with long, somewhat peaked face, and light, watery 
 blue eyes, which seemed to bulge behind the strong 
 lenses of his gold-bowed spectacles. 
 
 He received me in his study, a spacious, book-lined 
 room on the second floor of his old Colonial stone 
 house. 
 
 "I have been deeply interested, Mr. Clyde," he be- 
 gan, "in the autographs and copies which Miss Gray- 
 son brought to me. They are unique specimens of 
 English composition, in that the Oriental influence is 
 so clearly demonstrated throughout. Do you, by any 
 chance, know where Mr. Cameron obtained them?" 
 
 I was hardly prepared for this question, but I an- 
 swered as promptly as possible that they had recently 
 
 [144]
 
 A WOMAN OF INTUITION 
 
 come into my friend's possession, I believed, but from 
 just what source I had not learned. 
 
 The three sheets lay before him on the writing- 
 shelf of his old-fashioned mahogany secretary; and 
 now he took up one of the copies, holding it at some 
 distance from his eyes, as though his glasses, thick as 
 they were, were not as powerful as his sight required. 
 
 "The three writings," he went on, in the tone of a 
 class-room lecturer, "evidently form a series, of which, 
 I take it, this is the first." 
 
 "The one which says, 'Take warning of what shall 
 happen on the seventh day'?" I queried. 
 
 "Yes. That is the first. The other of the copies, 
 in which occurs the phrase 'once more' is, of course, 
 the second. And the original autograph is the last." 
 
 "Exactly," I agreed. It seemed to me that all this 
 was very obvious, but in courtesy I could not say so. 
 
 "All three," he continued, sagely, "begin, as you 
 must have observed, with the same sentence, 'That 
 which you have wrought shall in turn be wrought 
 upon you.' That is a quotation." 
 
 "A quotation!" I exclaimed, in surprise. 
 
 "A quotation from Mencius, the great expositor of 
 Confucius, who lived B. c. 372 to 289. In the orig- 
 inal, a word meaning 'Beware' precedes the warning, 
 and a more literal translation of the passage would 
 10 [145]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 be: 'Beware! What proceeds from you will return 
 to you again.' ' 
 
 It seemed to me that this was taking a great deal 
 for granted. I feared that the professor, like many 
 savants who specialize, was straining the fact to fit 
 his theory, but he very promptly disabused me. 
 
 "The supposition that the words are a paraphrase 
 of Mencius," he explained, "would not be tenable, per- 
 haps, the idea is not anomalous, were it not that 
 we find running through the series, other quotations 
 that are unquestionably of Chinese origin. The first 
 letter, for example, concludes with: 'The ways of 
 our God are many. On the righteous He showers 
 blessings; on the evil He pours forth misery.' This 
 is from the Book of History, or f Shu King' in which 
 are the documents edited by Confucius himself. It 
 usually has been rendered in this way : 'The ways of 
 God are not invariable. On the good doer He sends 
 down all blessings, and on the evil doer He sends down 
 all miseries.' That is the more exact rendering. And 
 again, in the second letter we find " He paused a 
 moment, taking up the second sheet, and focussing his 
 dim eyes upon the lines. "We find," he went on, 
 " 'Fine words and a smiling countenance make not 
 virtue,' which is from the Lunhii, or 'Analects' of 
 Confucius, in which the views and maxims of the Sage 
 
 [146]
 
 A WOMAN OF INTUITION 
 
 are retailed by his disciples. 'Smiling countenance* 
 is hardly the best translation. 'Insinuating appear- 
 ance' is more nearly the English equivalent, and I 
 should prefer 'are rarely connected, or associated, with 
 virtue' to 'make not virtue/ ' 
 
 "Those, of course, are unmistakably translations," 
 I agreed. 
 
 "And so are the concluding sentences of the third, 
 the autograph, letter," he assured me. ' 'Say not 
 Heaven is high above ! Heaven ascends and descends 
 about our deeds, daily inspecting us, wheresoever we 
 are.' I find it in one of the sacrificial odes of Kau, 
 and it is the best rendered of all the excerpts." 
 
 "So your conclusion as to the authorship is ?" I 
 queried. 
 
 "Chinese, undoubtedly," he answered. "These 
 were written, I should say, by a Chinaman, educated, 
 probably, in this country. His English is the Eng- 
 lish of an educated Oriental, but the quotations from 
 Confucius and his commentators are characteristic. 
 With the average Chinaman, to know Confucius is to 
 know all; what he said is all-sufficient; what he did 
 not say is not worth saying. Another identifying 
 feature is the effort to make afraid. Their religion 
 is fear." 
 
 Having concluded his exposition Professor Griffin 
 
 [147]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 was disposed to enter upon a more or less lengthy 
 discourse on Chinese character and literature in gen- 
 eral. However illuminative this might have been un- 
 der ordinary conditions, I was assuredly in no mood 
 to listen to it at this time. The information he had 
 given me, while it merely verified suspicions which I 
 had held from the first, set me to speculating on the 
 individual source of the letters ; and with so modern an 
 instance at hand I was naturally disinclined to con- 
 sider the authorship of writings dating back often a 
 thousand years and more beyond the Christian era. 
 
 With what grace I could, therefore, I discouraged 
 a continuance of the theme, and having thanked him 
 most heartily, pocketed the notes with which he was 
 good enough to furnish me, and prepared to depart. 
 But as I stood at his study door, his lean, scholarly 
 hand resting in mine, he detained me for a final word. 
 
 "The symbol!" he exclaimed, his pale eyes lighting 
 at the recollection. "We forgot the symbol!" 
 
 "Oh, yes," I returned, my interest revived, "that 
 silhouette at the bottom." 
 
 "It is unmistakably Chinese," he said. "I am not 
 very familiar with the symbolism of the East, not 
 as familiar as I should be, possibly ; but Chinese writ- 
 ing, you know, in its origin, is picture writing with 
 the addition of a limited number of symbolical and con- 
 
 [148]
 
 A WOMAN OF INTUITION 
 
 ventional signs. This figure, I should say, repre- 
 sents a lorcha, or small Chinese coasting junk, and 
 you can rest assured that the threats contained in 
 the letters were with a view to reparation for some 
 crime or injury connected in some way with such a 
 vessel. That is as near as I can interpret it. But, 
 if you would like to know more if you would like 
 to get something more nearly definite I can refer 
 you to one who can, I think, give you the informa- 
 tion." 
 
 "By all means," I implored, "I shall appreciate 
 it greatly." 
 
 "An authority on this subject is living not very 
 far from here. He spent many years in China, is 
 something of an artist himself, and made, I under- 
 stand, a study of Oriental symbolism. He lives at 
 Cos Cob, and his name is " 
 
 "Murphy!" I interrupted, as a flood of illumina- 
 tion swept over me. 
 
 "Philetus Murphy. Yes. Do you know him?" 
 
 "I have met him," I returned shortly. 
 
 And thanking the professor once more I hurried 
 away, with a course of action already shaping in my 
 mind.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE CHINESE MERCHANT 
 
 T T was while Professor Griffin was talking of 
 Chinese characteristics that the thought of little 
 Mow Chee first occurred to me. The professor said 
 something about the average Chinaman's disinclina- 
 tion to speak of death, directly, and how he invariably 
 employed some euphemism. The phrase "pass from 
 sight of men into torment" the professor pointed out 
 as an illustration. And then I remembered little Mow 
 Chee, who was in my class at Yale, and how, once, in 
 speaking of the demise of a fellow classman, he had 
 used the odd expression, "he has saluted the age," 
 which I afterwards learned was quite a common form 
 in China. 
 
 It was now a year or more since I had seen Mow 
 Chee, but I recalled that at our last meeting I had 
 made a note of his address ; and so on reaching my desk 
 the next morning I looked it up. Curiously enough 
 a private detective agency which I had arranged to 
 consult chanced to have its office in the same building 
 
 [150]
 
 THE CHINESE MERCHANT 
 
 on lower Broadway as the Pacific Transport Com- 
 pany, by which Mow Chee was employed; and thus 
 the plan which had been shaping mentally the previous 
 afternoon, as I hurried away from Professor Griffin's, 
 was very readily set in motion before noon of the day 
 following. 
 
 In the evening I had discussed it with Evelyn; 
 and though the detective feature did not at first meet 
 with her approval, she eventually conceded that it was 
 a necessary part of the project. It was agreed, how- 
 ever, that the real purpose for which that aid was in- 
 voked should not be divulged. Philetus Murphy was 
 to be shadowed and daily reports were to be made to 
 me. That he had been under suspicion of brutally 
 murdering his Chinese servant was sufficient reason 
 for the proceeding, and to the detective agency I gave 
 no hint of any further consideration. 
 
 As for my Celestial classmate, I was not by any 
 means sure that I should find him at the Pacific Trans- 
 port offices. I knew that for some time China had 
 been calling upon her sons of Western education to 
 return to their mother country for service, and I feared 
 that little Mow Chee might already be Customs 
 Taokai of Shantung, or some other imperial province. 
 But my misgivings were very promptly allayed; for 
 no sooner had I stepped within the outer office than 
 
 [151]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 he saw me, and came hastily forward, with a smile 
 of greeting on his square, flattened, yellow face. 
 
 His desk was just back of the long counter which 
 ran the length of the room, and a glance at its piled 
 contents showed me that he was very busy. More- 
 over, there was no opportunity here for the privacy 
 which I desired; so after an exchange of greet- 
 ings, and a few conventional inquiries, I invited Mow 
 to lunch with me at the Savarin, at whatever hour 
 would best suit his convenience. 
 
 Somewhat to my dismay, he fixed upon one o'clock. 
 As it still wanted ten minutes of noon I now had over 
 an hour of leisure, which, as may be imagined, prom- 
 ised to hang rather heavy; the more so, as I was im- 
 patient to make some real progress in my quest. 
 
 Wall Street being at hand, I concluded to call on 
 a friend there who usually handles my investments, 
 and make a convenience of his office. On the way, I 
 bought an afternoon paper, and as my broker hap- 
 pened to be at the Stock Exchange, I had ample 
 opportunity to read it from first column to last. It 
 proved about as thrillingly interesting as the early 
 afternoon reprints of what one has already read at 
 breakfast usually are, and I was about to drop it to 
 the floor, when my eye caught a group of headlines 
 on the last page, which, up to that moment, had es- 
 
 [152]
 
 THE CHINESE MERCHANT 
 
 caped me, but which now suddenly riveted my atten- 
 tion: 
 
 CELESTIAL CLAIMS 
 MYSTERIOUS BOX ON 
 FALL RIVER PIER ^ 
 
 Anything concerning Celestials, I suppose, would 
 have attracted me, just then, but the burden of this 
 was so peculiarly pertinent, that it seemed as if it 
 must have intimate connection with the tangle I had 
 undertaken to unravel. 
 
 With the paper gripped tightly in both hands, and 
 my head bent intently forward, I raced through the 
 frivolously-written article which followed; and from 
 a superabundance of cheap wit and East side slang 
 managed to extract the somewhat meagre facts. A 
 truck, driven by a Chinaman, it seemed, had that 
 morning taken from the pier of the Fall River Line a 
 square box, measuring about five feet each way, and 
 perforated with a number of augur holes. The bril- 
 liant space-writer had given his imagination free rein 
 as to the contents, speculating as to the possibilities, 
 from edible Chinese dogs to smuggled opium, but he 
 had omitted to furnish the name and address of either 
 the consignor or consignee. "The truck, drawn by 
 
 [158]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 the slant-eyed white horse, and driven by the phleg- 
 matic Chink, clattered away in the direction of Mott 
 Street," the account concluded. 
 
 After all, it was a very commonplace, everyday 
 occurrence. Probably the augur holes were only knot 
 holes, transformed by the reporter's imagination. 
 Nevertheless, I thrust the paper into my pocket. 
 Mow Chee might throw some light on the matter. 
 He would know, in all likelihood, what sort of goods 
 were shipped by way of the Fall River Line to his 
 countrymen in New York. 
 
 We secured a corner table in the inner room at the 
 Savarin. It was not so crowded there and it was less 
 bustling and noisy. My companion attracted some 
 little attention, of course, but not sufficient to prove 
 annoying. New York, as a rule, pays small heed 
 simply to the unusual, and Chinamen are common 
 enough not to be absolute curiosities even in the big 
 down-town restaurants. 
 
 A very dapper little fellow was Mr. Mow; neatly 
 and inconspicuously clad, and well brushed and 
 combed. He was for recalling old college days, when 
 he was coxswain of the class crew and I pulled the 
 stroke oar, but my time was too precious for such 
 reminiscence, and as speedily as possible I broached 
 the subject I had at heart. 
 
 [154]
 
 THE CHINESE MERCHANT 
 
 "Now," I began, perhaps less delicately than I 
 should, "there 's a saying, you know, that the only good 
 Indian is a dead Indian. That would n't apply to 
 the Chinese, would it ? And yet, while there are some 
 very excellent Chinamen, there are some pretty bad 
 ones, aren't there?" 
 
 He grinned, exposing his fine teeth. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he answered, "there are good and 
 bad, but the percentage of bad is less in my country 
 than in some others." I caught the significance 
 of his remark, and realized that I deserved the 
 rebuke. 
 
 "And amongst the educated Chinese, here in New 
 York?" I went on, without stopping for comment. 
 "There are a few bad?" 
 
 He was still smiling. 
 
 "Bad?" he queried. "What do you mean by bad? 
 There are some who have vices, yes. Some gamble, 
 some smoke opium; some get the best of a bargain." 
 
 "Are there some who would kill?" I asked, bluntly. 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" he protested, without raising his 
 voice. "I certainly should hope there are none such 
 among the educated." 
 
 And then I told him about the three letters, and 
 what had happened, omitting only Cameron's name 
 and place of residence. Imperturbable little chap 
 
 [155]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 that he was, he listened without emotion. When I 
 concluded he said: 
 
 "You are sure they were Chinamen who did this?" 
 
 "Would men of any other nationality quote Con- 
 fucius and Mencius?" I asked. 
 
 "No, I think not," was his reply, "and yet it might 
 be done by crafty persons to mislead." 
 
 But I could not agree with him. 
 
 "We are not revengeful as a nation," he said, "we 
 are rather long-suffering. If Chinamen did what 
 you tell me, it was in return for some very great 
 injury; some crime, I should say, against their parents 
 or near kinsmen." 
 
 "But my friend was never in China," I declared. 
 "And he was the last man in the world to harm any 
 one." 
 
 For a little while Mow Chee ate in thoughtful 
 silence. Presently he looked up. 
 
 "Clyde, my friend, I know so little of my own 
 people here in New York. But one man I know, 
 a merchant, who is very prominent and very upright. 
 He is a big man in the Six Companies. I will give 
 you a card to him; you can speak to him in con- 
 fidence, and if he can help you, he will, not only be- 
 cause I sent you, but because he stands for all that is 
 best, and desires that my countrymen in the United 
 
 [156]
 
 THE CHINESE MERCHANT 
 
 States shall have the respect they deserve from your 
 citizens. I would send you to the Chinese Consul, 
 but my friend, Mr. Yup Sing, is better." 
 
 My hand was on the newspaper in my pocket, but 
 I did not show it to Mow Chee. I would reserve it 
 for the encyclopaedic Yup Sing, whose address, as 
 written on the card which my classmate furnished me, 
 was on Mott Street, a few doors from Pell. 
 
 New York's Chinatown is a much more familiar 
 locality to the transient visitor than to the average 
 citizen. In all the years of my residence in the me- 
 tropolis, of which I am a native, I had never before 
 had either the occasion or the desire to dip into this 
 most foreign of all the city's foreign sections. To 
 me, Chinatown was as a far country. Vaguely I had 
 an idea of its location. It lay, I knew, east of Broad- 
 way and west of the Bowery ; but its latitude was not 
 clearly defined. 
 
 My impulse was to hail a cab, give the driver the 
 number of the Mott Street establishment, and so, 
 without further individual effort, be whirled away to 
 my destination. But there are no cab stands on lower 
 Broadway; and to walk to Broad Street, where the 
 cabman lies all day in wait for the prosperous stock 
 broker and his affluent customer, required more time 
 than in my impatience I was willing to grant. There- 
 
 [157]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 fore I boarded a Broadway car and was drawn halt- 
 ingly northward, until, on reaching Canal Street, I 
 alighted in sheer desperation and turned eastward. 
 
 Here a letter carrier, of whom I inquired, sped me 
 straight to my goal a couple of blocks as I was 
 going, a turn to the right, a few blocks more, and the 
 bulk windows of the Yup Sing Company would come 
 into view. 
 
 I found the establishment easily enough. But had 
 it not been for the name printed in big Roman let- 
 tering, I should never have imagined it a Chinese busi- 
 ness house. There was no display of goods in the big 
 windows, which were screened half way up by light 
 blue shades, giving the front an appearance similar to 
 that of the average American wholesale house. 
 
 Having passed inside, however, there was no such 
 illusion. All about me were the characteristic 
 products of the Orient, from brilliant silken em- 
 broideries, and exquisite gold and silver and bronze 
 work, to cheap cotton and linen fabrics, lacquer fur- 
 niture, and straw slippers. And the atmosphere was 
 further enhanced by the half-dozen or more Chinamen 
 who were lounging in the middle and far distance, 
 each with shaven crown and coiled queue and each in 
 the more or less brilliantly colored native dress. 
 
 One of these, a comparatively darkly-attired young 
 
 [158]
 
 THE CHINESE MERCHANT 
 
 man with full, round visage, came forward as I en- 
 tered. 
 
 "Is Mr. Yup in?" I asked. 
 
 He was inclined, I saw, to hesitation and so I pro- 
 duced Mow's card. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he said, after studying it for a moment. 
 "Oh, yes. Mista' Yup! He in." With which he 
 left me, and taking the card with him disappeared 
 behind some draperies at the back of the big crowded 
 store. 
 
 Between the others, who regarded me for a moment 
 only with idle interest, there was, while I stood there, 
 a rapid exchange of observations in their native 
 tongue, mingled with a sort of high-pitched cackling 
 which I assumed to be laughter. 
 
 I had turned my back towards them, but presently 
 a shuffling of feet along the floor informed me of the 
 approach of what I imagined was my returning emis- 
 sary. On whirling about, however, it was to face an 
 elderly man in purple silk garments and a black skull 
 cap a man of thin, almost cadaverous yellow visage, 
 whose upper lip and chin were adorned with a sparse 
 growth of silky blue-black hair, and upon the bridge 
 of whose nose rested a pair of gold-rimmed spec- 
 tacles. 
 
 "You would see me, sir?" he asked, and I noted 
 
 [159]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 that there was scarcely the slightest indication of the 
 foreigner in either pronunciation or accent. 
 
 "If you are Mr. Yup," I smiled, "you can, I fancy, 
 from what Mr. Mow tells me, give me the information 
 I am in search of." 
 
 He did not smile in return, but his thin face as- 
 sumed an expression of benignity that was as much 
 of an invitation to lay my problem before him as 
 were his words. 
 
 "Anyway I can serve a friend of Mr. Mow," he 
 said, "will be a pleasure." 
 
 But, as he spoke, the benign expression passed. 
 Once again that thin saff ron-hued face, with its hol- 
 low cheeks, and small deep-set eyes, had become un- 
 fathomable. 
 
 At least two of his partners or salesmen were within 
 ear-shot, and I turned a significant glance towards 
 them, as I said: 
 
 "The subject is a confidential one, Mr. Yup. If 
 I could speak to you " 
 
 "In private?" he finished. "Certainly, sir. Will 
 you kindly step this way?" 
 
 He led me to the rear of his store, holding aside a 
 curtain of heavy embroidery, through which I passed 
 into a smaller room, furnished in carved teak wood 
 and ornamented with magnificent specimens of Chinese 
 
 [160]
 
 THE CHINESE MERCHANT 
 
 porcelain and pottery. A little Chinese girl, not over 
 eight years old, and wearing a blouse and wide breeches 
 of a pale cerulean silk, stood beside a table. Before 
 her were several small sheets of rice paper on which she 
 was making designs in water colors. 
 
 Ignoring the child, he indicated a chair near the 
 only window, screened, like the windows in front, with 
 a blue shade. And when I had sat down, he drew up 
 a chair for himself opposite me. 
 
 His manner, in spite of the benignity of a moment 
 before, was not encouraging, and for a little I was 
 embarrassed as to just where to begin. At length, 
 however, I said: 
 
 "I fear, Mr. Yup, that some of your countrymen 
 have recently made a terrible mistake." 
 
 "A mistake?" he echoed, gravely. 
 
 "A mistake that I trust it is not too late to repair. 
 Briefly, they have kidnapped a gentleman of fortune 
 and influence, one of my dearest friends, in a manner 
 most mysterious, after first subjecting him to the an- 
 noyance of a series of anonymous letters and a suc- 
 cession of singular, nerve-torturing acts of trespass." 
 
 Mr. Yup glanced at Mow Chee's card, which he 
 still held. 
 
 "Mr. Clyde," he said, with no more emotion than 
 he might have exhibited had I told him I wished him 
 " [161]
 
 to sell for me a Chinese bronze on commission, "Mr. 
 Clyde, I do not see, exactly, why you come to me." 
 
 "I came at Mr. Mow's suggestion," I explained. 
 "He tells me you know the Chinese of New York as 
 no one else does." 
 
 "The police, I should say," he returned, "know the 
 class you seek better than I. Why not go to the 
 police?" 
 
 It was not easy to explain to him why I had not 
 gone to the police, for I did not care to reveal all that 
 we feared, and how we dreaded that which police pur- 
 suit might precipitate. 
 
 "Because," I began, after a moment's hesitation, 
 "I believe the whole thing is a mistake. I believe 
 that those involved in the plot must sooner or later 
 find out it is a mistake. If the aid of the police is 
 enlisted, the fact that a mistake has been made will 
 not be any extenuation. My object is to find the 
 plotters, prove to them that they are in error, promise 
 them immunity, and recover my friend." 
 
 "What you have told me," said Yup Sing, speak- 
 ing slowly, "is not enough. If you will tell me every- 
 thing, I will let you know what I think. You must 
 give the names and the places and the dates." 
 
 I did give him the names and the places and the 
 dates. Mow Chee had told me I could rely upon 
 
 [162]
 
 THE CHINESE MERCHANT 
 
 him, implicitly, and I told him all, without reserva- 
 tion. I gave him even the letter, the only one of the 
 three that remained to us the last letter in which 
 the final threat was made. 
 
 As I look back on it, now, I cannot understand 
 why I did this. It was the only piece of proof, the 
 only clue left. And yet, when he asked to keep it 
 for a little, I consented without so much as a demur. 
 I argued, I suppose, that he was a reputable mer- 
 chant, with an established business, and that, there- 
 fore, treachery on his part was not to be considered. 
 
 "And your friend," he said, as he folded the paper, 
 "was never in China?" 
 
 "Never," I affirmed. 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "He has told me so." 
 
 It was neither a smile nor a sneer which floated for 
 just a moment across those sphinx-like features. It 
 was a look of pitying tolerance, a patronizing gleam, 
 merely, from the small, deep-set, almond eyes. One 
 of England's greatest actresses, in speaking of the 
 Chinese, has said: "They look as if they are always 
 thinking, 'I have lived before you; I shall live after 
 you.' ' That was how Yup Sing looked then. But 
 he merely said: 
 
 "Very well. I will learn what I can." 
 
 [163]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "Soon?" I begged. "Very soon?" 
 
 He stood up, an imposing figure in his purple silk. 
 
 "Come to me to-morrow evening. Not here, but 
 at the Chinese restaurant on Doyers Street. Come 
 at nine o'clock." 
 
 From my pocket I drew out the copy of the after- 
 noon paper, and pointed to the article about the 
 Celestial and the mysterious box. 
 
 "Do you suppose that could have any bearing on 
 the matter?" I asked. 
 
 He adjusted his spectacles and read the half- 
 column, slowly, from first to last. Then he smiled. 
 
 "I have that box in my cellar," he said. "It con- 
 tains woolen underwear shipped to me from Lowell, 
 Massachusetts." 
 
 But I scarcely heard him, for my attention was on 
 the swiftly moving brush of the little Chinese maid, 
 as, deftly handled, it now blocked out with bold black 
 strokes a silhouette upon the piece of rice paper be- 
 fore her a familiar silhouette of a short, clumsy 
 curved boat with broad lug-sail. 
 
 [164]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 "WE WERE IN PEKING TOGETHER" 
 
 A T my evening conference with Evelyn Grayson, 
 reviewing the day's events, I dwelt with some in- 
 sistence upon the singularity of that episode at Yup 
 Sing's. 
 
 "It was impressively significant," I maintained, 
 "even if it was only a coincidence. Incidentally it 
 convinced me that nothing escaped Mr. Yup's obser- 
 vation. I had no intention of referring to my dis- 
 covery. I chose rather to have him think I had not 
 noticed the figure the child was painting. But my 
 choice was not to be gratified. He knew that I had 
 seen and noticed it; and so, to relieve the situation, 
 he frankly directed my attention to the symbol, ex- 
 plaining that what I had regarded as mysterious was 
 most commonplace. 'It is one of the first things that 
 Chinese babies learn to draw,' he went on, 'it is like 
 the pothook and hanger of the American primary 
 schools. First they draw houses, then ships, then men ; 
 and the houses, the ships and the men are all alike, 
 just as are your A's, your B's, and your C's.' 'And 
 
 [165]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 when signed to a letter,' I queried, 'what does your 
 ship stand for?' He shrugged his lean shoulders in 
 a manner almost Gallic. 'Who shall say?' he re- 
 turned." 
 
 "And do you believe the pothook and hanger ex- 
 planation?" Evelyn asked, pointedly. It was her 
 way to probe at once to the heart of a matter. 
 
 "I can't say that I am altogether convinced," I 
 answered, non-committally. "In spite of Mow's en- 
 thusiastic encomium, I was not very favorably im- 
 pressed by Yup Sing. His wall of reserve is too 
 high and too thick. It is neither scalable nor pen- 
 etrable. And yet he stands well, I believe, in the 
 community." 
 
 We sat in the music room, where a fire of drift 
 wood wove a woof of green and violet strands through 
 the red warp of the blaze, for the weather had turned 
 chill. Evelyn wore a clinging gown of black panne 
 velvet, with purple orchids at her waist. It had a 
 wonderfully mature effect for one so young as she, 
 but it was not unbecoming. Indeed it effectively ac- 
 centuated the deep raw gold tints of her hair and 
 added to the transparency of her unwonted pallor. 
 I was marvelling once again over her outwardly brave 
 up-bearing in spite of the constant anxiety of which 
 pallid cheeks were the only visible sign, when she said: 
 
 [166]
 
 "WE WERE IN PEKING" 
 
 "I was sure we should hear from Captain MacLeod 
 to-day." 
 
 "He has probably met with rough weather," I con- 
 soled. "It is n't child's play rounding Point Judith 
 at this season, you know." 
 
 "Rough weather or not," she insisted, "he must 
 have reached Gloucester by now. And if he found 
 Peter Johnson, or if he did n't, he was to telephone, 
 you remember." 
 
 "Gloucester is something of a place," I explained, 
 adopting the vernacular. "It includes no less than 
 eight villages and five thousand men are engaged 
 there in the fishing industry. MacLeod can't be ex- 
 pected to learn in five minutes whether a man named 
 Peter Johnson is one of the five thousand." 
 
 "But the whole community would know if one of 
 their number had such an experience as he just passed 
 through." And for this argument I had no answer 
 ready. 
 
 Fortunately, however, none was required of me, 
 for at that moment steps were audible crossing the 
 hall, and when our eyes turned downward they 
 encountered the dapper figure of Louis, Cam- 
 eron's French valet, halting respectfully on the 
 threshold. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he said, bowing, "mais void des 
 
 [167]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 lettres qui jai trouve." And we saw, then, that he 
 carried a tin despatch box. 
 
 Evelyn directed him to place it upon the table by 
 which she sat. It seemed that she had not given over 
 the idea that the letters for which we had searched so 
 diligently on Sunday were somewhere in the house, 
 and had directed Louis to bring to her anything in 
 the way of writing that he could lay his hands upon. 
 
 He had found the despatch box, he told us, hidden 
 away behind some seldom employed volumes in the 
 library, and thinking it might contain that of which 
 Miss Grayson was in quest, had forced the lock, to 
 discover several carefully-tied packets of letters. 
 
 I wish I could give even a half adequate idea of 
 the way she thanked Louis. It would add so much 
 to a realizing sense of her sweetness without detract- 
 ing at all from the envisagement of her dignity. No 
 one could have heard her "bon garpon" and not have 
 felt impelled to consecrate his endeavors henceforth 
 and forevermore to her service. As for Louis his 
 respectful homage and fidelity were almost pagan. 
 I verily believe he would willingly have suffered 
 martyrdom to serve her. 
 
 As he withdrew we fell avidly upon the contents 
 of the box, yet with small hope of finding what we 
 sought; for the letters it contained were all, appar- 
 
 [168]
 
 "WE WERE IN PEKING" 
 
 ently, of distant date; letters, for the most part, of 
 a private, personal nature, carefully assorted, and ar- 
 ranged in red-taped or elastic-banded bundles. 
 
 It was no mere idle curiosity which impelled us 
 to read many of them. We were in a position which 
 may best be described as anomalous. Though Cam- 
 eron was my dearest friend I knew little of his life 
 prior to our meeting, and Evelyn, his niece and ward, 
 was scarcely less uninformed than myself. In the 
 letters just brought to light there might, we decided, 
 be found some clue of incalculable service in the task 
 now before us. And so we untied the tapes and 
 stripped off the bands and set ourselves to careful, 
 painstaking examination. 
 
 Seldom have I engaged in a labor so deadly unin- 
 teresting at one moment and so keenly engrossing at 
 the next. There was correspondence here which 
 meant nothing to us whatever, and there was corre- 
 spondence which threw a search-light upon portions of 
 Cameron's career, baring good deeds and follies alike, 
 without discrimination. 
 
 It was only natural, I suppose, that we should dig 
 up a romance a gem of lustre shining amidst dun, 
 sordid surroundings. Evelyn and I came upon two 
 of its facets, simultaneously, and paused in our work 
 to question its disposal. It seemed to us a holy thing, 
 
 [169]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 too sacred for a stranger touch, and, even at the risk 
 of passing over what might prove our one agent of 
 revelation, we folded it away again with a sense of 
 guilt at having dared to lift even the corner of the 
 veil. 
 
 For a full hour I had scanned one letter after an- 
 other in absorbed intentness, but with small profit. 
 Evelyn, across the table, had been quite as busy. 
 Rarely had we interrupted our employment with ex- 
 change of words. But now the writing which I held 
 provoked exclamation. 
 
 "Addison!" I cried, so sharply cutting the silence 
 that the girl started. "Addison! Did you ever hear 
 of him?" 
 
 She gestured a negative. "Not that I remember," 
 she qualified. "Why?" 
 
 "Because we must find him," I declared, a little 
 excitedly, I imagine; for the letter seemed wonder- 
 fully important. 
 
 Instantly she was all alert. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, springing up and coming 
 to my side. "What have you found?" 
 
 "Look!" I commanded, the sheet of paper in one 
 upraised hand, a finger of my other hand pointing to 
 a passage. "Look! In 1903, your uncle Robert 
 
 [170]
 
 "WE WERE IN PEKING" 
 
 was in Peking; and yet he gave me his word that he 
 had never visited China." 
 
 Resting an arm on my shoulder and bending for- 
 ward she read for herself : "Just to think ! We were 
 in Peking together and neither of us was aware of 
 it until too late! What a foregathering we missed! 
 Even five minutes' chat would have been something; 
 but I no sooner saw you, than the crowd on Legation 
 Street swallowed you up." 
 
 "Have you read it all?" 
 
 "Not to the end," I told her, "just the beginning 
 and the signature. Come," I added, "we '11 read it 
 from first to last, together." And I turned back the 
 page. 
 
 It was written from Cairo, and bore date of De- 
 cember 7, 1903. 
 
 "My dear Cameron," it began, "I am wondering 
 whether you are back in New York again. However, 
 you will probably be there for Christmas and there- 
 fore this letter will not long await you. We have been 
 making a rather leisurely tour of the East. Arrived 
 here two days ago and shall remain until some time in 
 January." 
 
 The writer then gave a general outline of his 
 travels. "You will probably be surprised to learn 
 
 [171]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 that once you and I passed each other as ships in the 
 night, save only that we did not even speak each other 
 in passing," he went on. "It was my last day, in- 
 deed my last hour, in Northern China. Otherwise 
 I should have made search for you. Just to think! 
 We were in Peking together, and neither of us was 
 aware of it until too late. What a foregathering we 
 missed! Even five minutes' chat would have been 
 something; but I no sooner saw you, than the crowd 
 on Legation Street swallowed you up. Half an hour 
 later I was on the train for Tien-tsin." 
 
 The rest of the letter was rather confusingly per- 
 sonal in its references to mutual friends and interests. 
 It was signed: "Always with warm regard, Addi- 
 son." 
 
 "Do you suppose that is his first name or his last?" 
 Evelyn asked me as we came to it. 
 
 "I refuse to suppose," I returned, smiling. "It 's 
 an even chance. What is more to the point is, how 
 long has Louis been your uncle's valet?" 
 
 "Several years." 
 
 "Several is indefinite. Too indefinite. Suppose 
 we have him in here and find out exactly. Possibly 
 he knows Mr. Addison." 
 
 When Louis came, however, he knew nothing. He 
 had never heard of a Mr. Addison or of a Mr. 
 
 [172]
 
 "WE WERE IN PEKING" 
 
 Addison Something, in all the three years and eight 
 months of his service with Mr. Cameron. So Evelyn 
 thanked him once more in her own gracious way and 
 we continued our work, directing our efforts espe- 
 cially now to unearthing further Addison-signed let- 
 ters which might prove enlightening. 
 
 "Why should Uncle Robert tell you he had never 
 been in China?" Evelyn asked me, looking up sud- 
 denly and dropping to her lap the letter she was at 
 that moment examining. "I can't understand that." 
 
 "Nor I," I admitted. "If I had asked him out of 
 idle curiosity he would have been justified perhaps in 
 misleading me; but he must have known that it was 
 in his interest I made the inquiry." 
 
 For just a moment she sat in silence, her narrowed 
 gaze on the glowing embers in the fireplace. Then 
 she turned to me again. 
 
 "Do you think, Philip, it was because he had some- 
 thing to hide?" she asked, seriously. "Something he 
 was ashamed of and feared might become known?" 
 
 Instantly I sprang to my friend's defence. 
 
 "No," I assured her, with emphasis. "No, Evelyn. 
 Whatever his motive was, I am satisfied it had no dis- 
 honorable basis. If he told me a deliberate falsehood 
 it was not to spare himself. Possibly yes, prob- 
 ably, it was to shield others." 
 
 [173]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 I was perfectly sincere in this, but even had I be- 
 lieved otherwise I should have been tempted to pre- 
 varication could I have foreseen my reward. Before 
 I quite realized her purpose Evelyn was out of her 
 chair, had slipped over behind me, and encircling my 
 neck with her arms, had pressed her lips softly to 
 my cheek. 
 
 "Oh, how glad I am to hear you say that ! You be- 
 lieve in his bigness in his nobility, just as I do, 
 don't you, Philip, dear?" 
 
 "I 'm sure he could never have been guilty of any- 
 thing dishonorable," I declared again, imprisoning 
 her hands. But the next moment, hearing steps 
 again crossing the hall, I reluctantly released them. 
 
 For a third time Louis stood in the doorway. Now 
 he upheld a small red-bound book, and his face was 
 beaming. 
 
 "Voila, mademoiselle!" he exclaimed, delightedly. 
 "Je viens de trouvant ce Uvre." 
 
 It was a book of addresses, and the valet, nervously 
 turning the pages, put his finger upon the name of 
 Horatio Addison, M.D., with the air of one who had 
 discovered buried treasure. I am inclined to think 
 that we were ourselves almost as demonstratively 
 elated as he, for though we could not be sure that this 
 was Cameron's correspondent, the odds certainly 
 
 [174]
 
 "WE WERE IN PEKING" 
 
 favored that conclusion ; and unless the physician had 
 died or moved away since the entry was made, we 
 were now in possession of his address, which chanced 
 to be an apartment house on Madison Avenue, that I 
 knew to be given over entirely to doctors' offices. 
 
 This time Evelyn assured Louis that he was not 
 merely a "good boy" but an incomparable assistant, 
 and the richness of the reward came nigh to totally 
 wrecking his composure, for, as he started to back 
 from the room, I detected unmistakable tears glisten- 
 ing on his lashes. 
 
 "Louis," I checked him, with sudden inspiration, 
 " apportez-nous le directoire telephonic, s'il vous 
 plait" 
 
 And when the book was brought the fact that Dr. 
 Addison's address had not been changed was promptly 
 established. I was for calling him up, then and there, 
 but Evelyn pointed to the clock and advised patience. 
 It was already after midnight. 
 
 "To-morrow," she said, in her wise fashion, "you 
 shall call on him, and learn, if possible, how Uncle 
 Robert replied to that letter. There is a difference, 
 you know, Philip, between being in a place and having 
 some one see you there. No one's eyes are infallible." 
 
 [175]
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WHEN DAMON DOUBTED PYTHIAS 
 
 "VTOT until I had been passed into an elevator by 
 a dainty young woman in the white habit of a 
 trained nurse, shot up four floors into the hands of 
 another who might have been the first's twin sister, 
 and ushered by her, in turn, into a severely profes- 
 sional-appearing waiting room, did it occur to me that 
 I was upon an errand involving the employment of 
 an extraordinary degree of tact. So imbued had I 
 been with the importance of learning whether Cam- 
 eron had or had not been in Peking in 1903, that up 
 to this moment I had quite lost sight of my own posi- 
 tion. Now I asked myself, on what ground was I 
 to make my plea for information? To tell this Dr. 
 Addison the whole story would certainly be inexpedi- 
 ent. To hint even at alarm concerning Cameron 
 might involve the precipitation of that financial dis- 
 aster he had feared and regarding which he had 
 warned me. Indeed, would not any effort to obtain 
 the facts I desired be likely to arouse suspicion, no 
 matter how delicately made? 
 
 The more I pondered the situation, sitting there 
 
 [176]
 
 DAMON DOUBTED PYTHIAS 
 
 thoughtfully while one after another the patients 
 who had preceded me passed into the physician's con- 
 sultation room, the more beggarly, it seemed to me, 
 became my chances of success. And when, at length, 
 my turn came to enter the presence of my friend's 
 friend, I was about persuaded that I should very 
 soon be making an ignominious exit, branded as an 
 impertinently meddling busybody. 
 
 I have always contended that it was Dr. Addison's 
 severely professional air which was responsible for 
 my inspiration, for no thought of such a course oc- 
 curred to me, until standing dumbly hesitant before 
 him, I became conscious that he was making mental 
 inventory of me with a view to a diagnosis. 
 
 The penetration of his gaze impressed me at once. 
 His steel gray eyes were like a pair of converging 
 probes; and they were his dominant feature. Aside 
 from them his face was commonplace. 
 
 "Doctor," I said, and the sound of my voice was 
 a relief to the strained tension of the moment, "I 
 learned of you through Mr. Cameron Mr. Robert 
 Cameron, a mutual friend." 
 
 I hoped to see his expression brighten at the name, 
 but it did not. If there was any change whatever 
 it was in the reverse direction. After a second's de- 
 liberation he asked : 
 
 12 [ 177 ]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "You wish to consult me regarding yourself?" 
 
 On a sudden impulse I answered, "Yes," though 
 I had neither ache nor pain, and, so far as I could 
 judge, was perfectly normal. 
 
 "I see," he replied. "Am I right in assuming that 
 your trouble is of a nervous character?" 
 
 Heaven knows that in spite of my fancied normal- 
 ity there had heen sufficient reason in the past few 
 weeks for my nerves to go awry. I confessed that I 
 had been under considerable mental strain. 
 
 Thereupon, having bade me be seated, he began to 
 ply me with questions with a view to symptomatic rev- 
 elation. I fear, however, that I gave him meagre 
 material upon which to base a conclusion. I slept 
 well; my appetite was excellent. I had observed 
 neither a numbness nor a supersensitiveness in my 
 finger tips, nor a sensation of fulness at the base of 
 the brain. I could not recall any twitching of my 
 muscles, nor any diminution of muscular power. At 
 length, after a brief pause, he inquired : 
 
 "Will you be good enough to tell me, Mr. 
 Clyde, why you think you require professional 
 attention?" 
 
 And my inability to answer him, off-hand, para- 
 doxical as it may seem, eventually supplied me with 
 an answer at once truthful and convincing. 
 
 [178]
 
 DAMON DOUBTED PYTHIAS 
 
 "Because," I explained, gravely, "I find that of 
 late I am losing my power of mental coordination." 
 
 The ardor with which he seized upon this index 
 of my supposed malady was amusing. Instantly he 
 grew obviously and deeply interested. I have since 
 learned that what is known as confusional insanity, a 
 rare condition, usually has its inception in this wise, 
 "without essential emotional disturbance," if I may 
 quote an authority. At the time, I believed he was 
 suspicious of a developing paresis. What he thought, 
 however, or what he did not, is aside from the story. 
 I know only that his manner changed abruptly, his 
 object evidently being to gain my full confidence. 
 Whereupon, the bars of reserve lowered between 
 us, I ventured to revert to our so-called "mutual 
 friend." 
 
 "This isn't anything like beri-beri, is it, Doctor?" 
 I began. My ideas of the disease I mentioned were 
 of the haziest character. I knew, however, that it 
 was common in the Orient, and thither I would lead 
 him. 
 
 "Oh, no, Mr. Clyde," he answered, suavely enough, 
 now. "Beri-beri is merely the Eastern name for 
 multiple neuritis. You have n't a neuritis or you 
 would know it. I saw a great deal of beri-beri in 
 China and on the Malay peninsula." 
 
 [179]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "Do I remember to have heard Cameron say he 
 contracted it in the East?" I asked, plunging for a 
 connection. 
 
 "I don't recall that Cameron ever had it," was his 
 response. And then his brow grew thoughtful. 
 "Are you sure that he told you that he had ; and that 
 he was attacked whilst in in Asia?" I noted his 
 hesitation over fixing the place, and wondered. At 
 all events I had arrested his interest. Purposely I 
 adopted a tone of uncertainty. 
 
 "N-n-no. I can't say definitely. But I had an 
 impression that " And there I paused. When I 
 continued it was with the direct question: "Do you 
 happen to know, Doctor, whether Cameron was ever 
 in Peking ? It seems to me it was " 
 
 "I do know that he was in Peking," he interrupted, 
 almost savagely. "He was in Peking, in September, 
 1903. To be exact, he was there on the fourteenth 
 day of that month. I have reason to know it, a 
 particular reason to know it." 
 
 After all, how easily the information I craved had 
 come to me ! And yet I would have been glad to hear 
 the contrary; for Cameron had assured me, in all 
 solemnity, that he had never been in China, and it 
 jarred upon my conception of the man's character to 
 discover that he had tried to deceive me. I could only 
 
 [180]
 
 DAMON DOUBTED PYTHIAS 
 
 conclude that his purpose was praiseworthy. But 
 Dr. Addison had not finished. 
 
 "Tell me!" he was demanding, eagerly. "Tell me! 
 I have excuse for asking. Has he ever admitted to 
 you that he was there?" 
 
 "Now I come to think of it," I returned, "he has n't. 
 But I had the information from some one, I am 
 pretty sure." 
 
 With an effort the physician commanded himself. 
 When he spoke again he was comparatively composed. 
 
 "Mr. Clyde," he said apologetically, "I am not 
 given to discussing personal matters with my patients 
 but the fact that you and Cameron are friends, and 
 the fact that this subject has come up, make it almost 
 imperative, I suppose, that I should explain briefly, 
 the feeling I have just exhibited. Five years ago 
 Rob Cameron and I were about as near counterparts 
 of Damon and Pythias as ever existed. While Cam- 
 eron was in Europe, I had an opportunity to go 
 around the world with a patient. We dawdled a 
 good deal, and, you understand how uncertain corre- 
 spondence is under those circumstances, I never 
 knew just where I should be at any given time. Con- 
 sequently, a number of letters were missed by both 
 of us. I was still thinking of Cameron as in Eng- 
 land or on the European continent, when lo and be- 
 
 [181]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 hold, I saw him one morning, hurrying along the 
 principal street of the inner city of Peking. I don't 
 know whether you have ever been there or not, but 
 if you have, you know what that thoroughfare is. 
 It was all bustle and activity that day, and about as 
 crowded as lower Broadway at the noon hour, but 
 with much more picturesque and contrasting currents 
 of individuals and vehicles. I was in a carriage, my- 
 self, and Cameron was afoot, walking in the opposite 
 direction. As we passed each other, he did not seem 
 to see me, though I called to him loudly. This, how- 
 ever, did not surprise me, for there was an ungodly 
 racket in progress. Instantly, I had the carriage 
 turned about, but before I could overtake him, he was 
 lost in the crowd. I was leaving Peking that after- 
 noon, and so had no chance to look him up. I wrote 
 him afterwards and told him of the incident, and how 
 I regretted having to go away without exchanging 
 at least a word with him. To my amazement he not 
 only denied having been in Peking, but in the Chinese 
 Empire at all. When we met in London, the follow- 
 ing Spring, and I recalled the matter, asking why he 
 had refused to admit what I knew to be the truth, he 
 became icily indignant; and that was the beginning 
 of the end. If I had conceded the possibility of mis- 
 take on my part, all might have been well, I suppose ; 
 
 [182]
 
 DAMON DOUBTED PYTHIAS 
 
 but there was no such possibility. I had known Cam- 
 eron for twenty-odd years, and I could not have made 
 an error. I had seen him distinctly, clearly, at mid- 
 day in the open. It was he beyond all peradventure, 
 and from that time to this I have been unable to con- 
 ceive why he lied to me, and why he chose to end our 
 friendship rather than admit what was indubitable 
 fact." 
 
 His explanation finished, he reached for a pen, and, 
 as he dipped it in the ink, he added : 
 
 "I trust you will pardon me, Mr. Clyde. I have 
 detained you." 
 
 "You have interested me," I assured him. "And 
 that more than I can tell you." Which was quite 
 true; yet I was even more perplexed than interested. 
 To the maze of circumstances there was now added 
 another baffling feature. 
 
 Dr. Addison handed me the prescription he had 
 written. 
 
 "After meals, and at bedtime," he directed, with 
 a return to his professional manner. "If you do not 
 find yourself much better at the end of a week, come 
 in again." 
 
 On the sidewalk I tore the little square of paper 
 into bits which the wind carried in a tiny flurry across 
 Madison Avenue. 
 
 [183]
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE DARK OF DOYERS STREET 
 
 AT one o'clock that day, Evelyn Gray son joined 
 me at luncheon at Sherry's. She had been in no 
 mood to wait any longer than was absolutely neces- 
 sary for tidings of my visit to Dr. Addison; and, 
 moreover, she had news of her own which she was 
 anxious to convey to me. 
 
 I have often wondered why it is that the I-told- 
 you-so passion is inherent in all women. There are 
 those who manage to control it with admirable suc- 
 cess under average circumstances, but sooner or later, 
 even the most courageous battlers against this ma- 
 ternal heritage succumb, and indulge in a sort of dis- 
 guised orgy of reproach. 
 
 Evelyn might have told me, for instance, that Cap- 
 tain MacLeod, after careful investigation, had been 
 unable to discover either hair or hide of Peter John- 
 son in Gloucester or elsewhere, and stopped there. 
 That is what a man would have done. But, alto- 
 gether admirable though she was, the eternal f eminine
 
 DOYERS STREET 
 
 was strong within her. Therefore it was incumbent 
 upon her to add : 
 
 "It does n't surprise me, Philip. When you told 
 me how you picked that man up, I was confident that 
 he was floating out there in your path just for that 
 very purpose." 
 
 I had no inclination to dispute the point with her. 
 That was the most painful part of it. I knew that 
 she was right that in putting Peter Johnson ashore, 
 instead of in irons, I had committed an error that 
 might prove irremediable. But why could n't she see 
 that I realized it, and was smarting under my own 
 condemnation, and so have spared me this added tor- 
 ture of hers? Why? Because she was her mother's 
 daughter. That is the only answer. 
 
 As for my interview with "Pythias" Addison, we 
 discussed it in all its phases, without reaching any- 
 thing like a definite conclusion. Taking everything 
 into consideration the evidence certainly seemed con- 
 vincing that Cameron, in spite of his denials, had been 
 in China in 1903. And yet we could not reconcile 
 this with that almost fanatical love of truth which we 
 knew to be his. 
 
 "Couldn't Dr. Addison have been mistaken?" Ev- 
 elyn asked. 
 
 "It is possible, of course," I answered. "Yet 
 
 [185]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 Cameron's face and figure are not of a common type. 
 Besides, I don't believe in doubles. I have heard of 
 so-called wonderful likenesses, but I have never seen 
 any that would deceive a friend of twenty years' 
 standing." 
 
 A little later she inquired whether the detective 
 engaged to shadow Philetus Murphy had furnished 
 a report. 
 
 "Yes," I told her, "it came in my morning's mail. 
 Murphy is still at Cos Cob. He did n't leave his 
 bungalow all day yesterday, and he had no callers." 
 
 "I 'm crazy to know what you learn to-night from 
 Yup Sing," she went on, eagerly. "Oh, how I do 
 hope it will give us some hint! It seems terrible to 
 think of Uncle Robert in the hands of those uncon- 
 scionable Chinamen. And, Philip, don't you think 
 you had better take some one with you? I suppose 
 Mr. Yup is to be trusted, but at the same time, you 
 must remember you are going into the enemy's camp, 
 and you should be careful." 
 
 But I laughed at the notion of taking a body-guard. 
 
 "I 'm to meet him at nine o'clock," I told her, "in 
 a public restaurant. Besides, there '11 be a crowd of 
 those 'Seeing New York' people down there about 
 that time, and Chinatown will be on its best behavior. 
 So never fear, little girl. Do you want me to tele- 
 
 [186]
 
 DOYERS STREET 
 
 phone you when I get uptown? You know I 'm go- 
 ing to stop to-night at my rooms in the Loyalton." 
 
 "Of course I want you to telephone me," she re- 
 turned, emphatically. "It should n't take you very 
 long to hear what Mr. Yup has to tell, should it? I 
 shall be expecting you to call me up between ten and 
 half-past, or by eleven at the latest; so don't dare to 
 go for supper first." 
 
 "As if I could think of supper," I said, looking at 
 her in a way I had, "when I might be hearing your 
 voice !" 
 
 Could I have foreseen what the night was to bring 
 forth I certainly should have discouraged her wait- 
 ing for my message. But the power of prevision is 
 given to few of us, and of those few I am not one. 
 
 Assuredly I had no misgivings as, after dining at 
 the University Club that evening, I stepped into an 
 electric hansom and gave the driver the address of 
 the Doyers Street restaurant. Whatever it may have 
 been in the past, I believed the Chinatown of the 
 present to be, outwardly at least, a reasonably law- 
 abiding section of the Borough of Manhattan. And 
 was not I that night the guest of one of its most 
 honored citizens? 'What, therefore, had I to fear? 
 
 On the contrary, as we turned from the Bowery 
 into that little semicircular thoroughfare which is 
 
 [187]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 perhaps the most characteristic of Chinatown's three 
 principal streets, I was pleasantly interested. This 
 was quite a different place from that which I had 
 visited the afternoon before. Then, a sort of brood- 
 ing quiet reigned over what was so ordinary as to 
 be scarcely distinctive; for that part of Mott Street 
 on which the Yup Sing establishment is located, I 
 have since learned, is merely one of the gates of the 
 real Chinatown, of which Doyers Street is the heart 
 and centre, and which awakens only after night- 
 fall. 
 
 Now the place was alive and alight. Narrow road- 
 way and still narrower sidewalks were thronged with 
 a combination of denizens and sightseers. Shop 
 fronts and upper windows glowed with varying de- 
 grees of brightness. From the Chinese theatre on 
 the left came a bedlam of inharmonious sounds: the 
 brazen crash of cymbals, the squeaking of raucous 
 stringed instruments, the resounding clangor of a 
 gong. Voices high-pitched and voices guttural, 
 mingled with hoarse and strident laughter, echoed 
 from wall to wall of the street's encroaching squalid 
 buildings. 
 
 Before the least unpretentious of all these struc- 
 tures, my hansom stopped, and as I stepped to the 
 curb I got a glimpse of its banner-and-lantern-strung 
 
 [188]
 
 DOYERS STREET 
 
 balcony, giving to the street a touch of color that 
 helped to lift it into an atmosphere which, if not 
 Oriental, was at least vividly un-American. 
 
 Finding now that I had anticipated my appoint- 
 ment by something like ten minutes I chose to watch 
 further the kaleidoscopic scene without, rather than 
 pass the time waiting- at a table within; and to this 
 end took up a position of vantage on the restaurant's 
 low step. 
 
 Whether I am more or less keenly observant than 
 the average man I do not know. Probably any one 
 as fascinated by the general scene as was I, would 
 have noted as closely its individual elements. I am 
 not sure. But the truth is that in a very few mo- 
 ments I had acquired a mental photograph of the 
 opposite side of the street, in so far as it came within 
 my direct vision. In other words every detail of the 
 background of the moving picture before me was 
 indelibly printed upon my mind's retina. There was 
 the playhouse, with its plain, rectangular doorway, 
 unadorned, save by a quartette of rude signs; two 
 above, slanting outward, and one on either side, all 
 announcing "Chinese Theatre," and one giving the 
 current attraction in Chinese characters, with the 
 added notice, "Seats reserved for Americans." To 
 the left of this was a quick-lunch restaurant, with 
 
 [189]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 white painted bulk window, beneath which a pair of 
 cellar doors spread invitingly, one of them resting 
 against a conventional American milk can. On the 
 theatre's right was a laundry, dim and evil looking, 
 two pipe-smoking Celestials decorating its low step. 
 And beyond this was the wide opening to a basement, 
 above which, in white Roman lettering on a black 
 ground, I read the legend: "Hip Sing Tong." 
 
 Again and again my gaze persisted in returning to 
 this sign and the dimly lighted cavern beneath it. 
 The place held for me the inexpressible, unfathom- 
 able charm of the mysterious, beside which the 
 heathenish racket of the theatre across the way, the 
 sinister aspect of the dismal laundry and its pair of 
 pipe-smoking guardians, even the constantly chang- 
 ing procession of varied types in roadway and on 
 sidewalks, exerted but meagre allure. 
 
 From time to time dark, silent figures glided 
 vaguely into view only to disappear within this maw 
 of mystery. Once, while I watched, I had seen a 
 figure issue forth to be lost again instantly in the 
 distant gloom of the curving street. Now, reverting 
 once more to this magnet, after a moment's truancy, 
 my eyes were rewarded by sight of another slowly 
 emerging form, silhouetted nebulously against the 
 dusk. 
 
 [190]
 
 DOYERS STREET 
 
 At the head of the steps it paused, uncertainly, 
 and then, instead of gliding swiftly away in the 
 direction of Pell Street as did the other, it turned 
 in my direction, passing almost at once into the 
 comparatively glowing radius of the street lamp 
 opposite. 
 
 I saw then that it was a man, thin to emaciation, 
 round-shouldered, and crooked limbed. Whether 
 some one jostled him, or a voice from the roadway 
 startled him, I don't know. But for some reason he 
 turned his head suddenly, and the light from the lamp 
 fell full upon a face, stubble-bearded, deep-lined, and 
 repellent, the face not of a Chinaman but of a white 
 man; a face into which I had looked but twice, and 
 then but for a brief moment; yet a face as indelibly 
 fixed in my memory as were the grim fronts of the 
 buildings now behind it the face of Peter John- 
 son, the pretended castaway. 
 
 I think I must have had it in mind to pick him up 
 bodily and carry him away with me that I might by 
 inquisitorial torture wring from him a confession. 
 Otherwise I should have adopted a less eager and 
 more subtle method of bringing the miscreant to book 
 than that which I rashly attempted. Before I con- 
 sidered the situation I was across the street and at 
 his heels. My finger tips, indeed, were at his shoul- 
 
 [191]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 der. In the fraction of a second I should have had 
 him gripped and have been hustling him through 
 the crowd as my prisoner. But at the instant of 
 seeming success, he eluded me. In some strange way 
 he caught alarm, and, shrinking beneath my hand, 
 darted sinuously off, between this pedestrian and that, 
 with the flashing speed of a lizard. 
 
 But, though he escaped my clutch, my eyes were 
 more nimble. With them I followed him until I saw 
 him drop between the cellar doors which gaped be- 
 neath the white bulk window of the quick-lunch room. 
 And where my eyes went, I went after. Another 
 brief moment and, without thought or heed, I was 
 plunging in pursuit down that short, steep flight of 
 steps plunging from a lighted, peopled, noisy pub- 
 lic street into the collied gloom and grim silence of a 
 low underground basement. 
 
 And, as misfortune would have it, I must needs 
 catch my heel on the edge of one of the treads, and 
 go sprawling on my hands and knees ; while a poignant 
 pain shooting cruelly through my ankle told me that 
 a sprain was added to my mishap. 
 
 For a minute I lay as I had fallen, prone and mo- 
 tionless ; and in that space I realized the f oolhardiness 
 of my whole course of action. My very intrepidity 
 had contributed to disaster. Instead of accomplish- 
 
 [192]
 
 At the head of the steps he paused uncertainly.
 
 DOYERS STREET 
 
 ing a capture I had cast myself, disabled, into the 
 mesh of the enemy. 
 
 The inky darkness and profound silence of the 
 place augmented, of course, my apprehension. In 
 vain I strained my eyes to distinguish an object, my 
 ears to detect a sound, yet I knew that the uncanny 
 creature I had followed must be close to me ; lurking, 
 possibly, with raised or pointed weapon to mete out 
 my fate once he made sure of my position. 
 
 The minute it could hardly have been more, 
 though, as I think of it, it seemed infinitely prolonged 
 ended in a sound above and behind me. Very 
 softly, carefully, some one was closing the cellar 
 doors. Stealthily muffled though it was, the faint 
 creaking of the hinges shattered the spell which held 
 me, and in spite of my tortured ankle, I managed to 
 gain my feet. But by now, the silence reigned once 
 again, and in the engulfing blackness I lost all sense 
 of direction. 
 
 The suspense of the moment was unendurable. To 
 stand there waiting, not knowing when or from what 
 quarter I should be set upon, was nervous torment so 
 hideous that in sheer desperation I plucked my match 
 box from my pocket, drew forth a match, and struck 
 it to a blaze. As it flared forth, routing the shadows 
 in disorderly, if but temporary, retreat, I made quick 
 13 [193]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 searching survey of my dungeon. To my amaze- 
 ment I was apparently quite alone. 
 
 Relieved, in a measure at least, I employed another 
 match and still another, hobbling painfully about the 
 grimy, low-ceiled basement, in diligent inspection. 
 My first thought was that Johnson was in hiding, and 
 having located me by my own lighted matches, waited 
 now only an opportunity to throw himself upon me 
 from behind. But I very soon discovered that he had 
 fled. Evidently he had retraced his steps up the rude 
 ladder to the street, closing the doors after him to 
 check my further pursuit. 
 
 The place into which I had followed him was evi- 
 dently a Chinese candy manufactory and cake bakery. 
 To the right of the entrance were rows of shelves con- 
 taining jars of what I recognized as sweetmeats pe- 
 culiar to the Celestial. In a large bowl on a rough 
 table or counter was the granulated flour with which 
 these confections are invariably powdered; and here, 
 too, were boxes of round, jumble-like cakes. I saw 
 now that the space upon which I had fallen was so 
 restricted that I wondered how it was possible for my 
 quarry to have reached the steps and reascended with- 
 out touching me or at least acquainting me with his 
 movement. And I marvelled, too, that twisting my 
 ankle as I did, I had not plunged at a slant and struck 
 
 [194]
 
 DOYERS STREET 
 
 my head upon one or another of the crowding tables 
 and boxes with which the cramped basement was fur- 
 nished. 
 
 My third match disclosed a narrow door in the 
 broad partition at the rear, and fancying that perhaps 
 the elusive Peter Johnson had escaped by that means 
 while I was getting to my feet, I lost no time in seek- 
 ing to investigate what was beyond. I was somewhat 
 surprised to find the door unfastened. Once open, 
 it revealed a smaller and more crowded room, warm 
 and fetid, into which were packed no less than half a 
 dozen barrels of raw and cooked peanuts, arranged 
 about a low stove on which a peanut-filled cauldron 
 was slowly steaming. 
 
 Curiously interesting as all this would have been 
 under ordinary circumstances, I experienced only a 
 surprised relief, for with my injured ankle I was in 
 no fettle to cope with even the weakest adversary. 
 Indeed, now that this easement was afforded me, my 
 sprain suddenly asserted itself with renewed exacer- 
 bation, sharp twinges of pain shooting to my knee 
 and demanding instant relief. 
 
 In front of the low stove I had noticed a stool, and 
 for this I groped with the eagerness of the drowning 
 man after a straw. To my joy I laid hands upon it, 
 and drawing it nearer sank down with a sigh of grati- 
 
 [195]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 fication comparable only to that with which a Mara- 
 thon victor drops to earth after a hotly-contested race. 
 
 Gradually, now that my weight was removed, the 
 pain lessened, and a sense of comfort ensued. Con- 
 tentment enfolded me, which, if I thought of it at all, 
 I attributed, I suppose, to the reaction from the 
 agony which I had just been suffering. I remember 
 thinking that I would rest a few minutes and then 
 take my departure as I had entered, for I realized 
 that cellar doors are fastened only from within, and 
 that there could, therefore, be no impediment to my 
 going when I chose. 
 
 I distinctly recall that I was conscious of a certain 
 strange incongruity of situation, but could hardly 
 comprehend in just what the incongruity consisted. 
 I knew only that I felt pleasantly warm and drowsy; 
 and my sprained ankle had ceased altogether to pain 
 or annoy. 
 
 And then, I was sailing in an open boat in mid- 
 ocean, and Peter Johnson, in oilskins, sat at the helm, 
 with a saturnine leer on his face, and tugged at brief 
 intervals, always longer and stronger, upon what 
 seemed to be the sheet, which had become wrapped 
 around my throat and chest and which, by degrees, 
 was crushing my windpipe and lungs, so that my 
 breath came only in sharp, shuddering, aching gasps. 
 
 [196]
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 AMYL PEARLS 
 
 will deny that a sturdy physique is a valu- 
 able asset? Had it not been for a deep chest, 
 a powerful pair of lungs, a heart without flaw, and an 
 underlying vitality such as is possessed by but a small 
 minority in these degenerate times, I must certainly 
 have succumbed. For, as I learned later, I had in- 
 haled enough carbon monoxide gas to have killed the 
 average man of my age, twice over. The stove on 
 which the cauldron of peanuts steamed was a charcoal 
 furnace, and the tiny space within that back room 
 was impregnated with the heavy poisoned fumes to 
 a distance of four feet and more above the floor. 
 
 Sitting on a low stool, bent forward over my 
 sprained ankle, which for relief I had raised and 
 rested across my other knee, I had come in contact 
 with the deadly gas, breathing it without suspicion, 
 until drowsiness intervened and stupor, insensibility, 
 and eventually coma followed. 
 
 It is customary, I understand, to employ rigorous 
 
 [197]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 treatment in such cases to effect resuscitation. If I 
 am to believe what I have been told of my condition 
 when discovered, I was very far on the way to disso- 
 lution. I was, in fact, moribund, and in the eyes of 
 those who carried me from the cellar to an upper 
 room I was already dead. It is perhaps needless to 
 add that no steps were taken to revive me. Even had 
 I been regarded as still living I doubt that I should 
 have received any other treatment. 
 
 Providence, however, favored me. I was thrown 
 into a bunk under one of the few open windows of 
 Chinatown, and a door left ajar, by accident, prob- 
 ably, drew across me a current of comparatively pure 
 oxygen. Thus invited, Nature reasserted itself, and 
 respiration, which had been temporarily suspended, 
 gradually resumed its office. 
 
 With dawning consciousness came acute discom- 
 fort. My head and back ached nigh unbearably, and 
 my ankle, swollen to twice its normal size, shot pains 
 to my thigh. My tongue seemed too large for my 
 mouth and my throat was raw. Later, memory 
 started a train of questions and surmises. A half 
 light admitted through the open window gave un- 
 satisfactory answer as to time and place. It might 
 be dawn, midday, or evening. I might still be in the 
 same building into the basement of which I had 
 
 [198]
 
 AMYL PEARLS 
 
 plunged after the so-called Peter Johnson, or I might 
 be miles away. Yet of one fact I was assured. It 
 was no longer night. Day had come again and eight 
 hours at least must have passed since I stood killing 
 time on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant in 
 which I was to have met Yup Sing. 
 
 And, as my mind cleared, there rushed in upon me 
 a recollection of Evelyn's apprehension and of my 
 promise to reassure her not later than eleven o'clock. 
 Suffering as I was, physically, I know my mental 
 distress at thought of how she must have waited with 
 growing solicitude hour after hour for that expected 
 ringing of the telephone bell; how, indeed, she must, 
 even now, be distraught, not by uncertainty, but by 
 the conviction that some ill, some serious ill, had 
 befallen me, was more poignant. 
 
 In my eagerness to relieve at once this unrest which 
 I knew to be hers I would have risen, but my strength 
 was not equal to the test. My muscles refused to 
 obey my will and I lay supine, inert, powerless. I 
 would have learned the time, but to seek my watch, 
 which I fondly fancied was still in my pocket, seemed 
 such an enormous exertion that I reluctantly gave 
 over the idea. To breathe, to draw air into my lungs 
 and expel it, was prodigious labor, wearying me, it 
 appeared, to exhaustion; though with every inhala- 
 
 [199]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 tion lucidity of thought and, I suppose, physical force 
 as well, were being imperceptibly augmented. 
 
 After a time I found myself listening intently for 
 sounds that might prove informatory, while with head 
 slightly turned I made scrupulous inventory of the 
 room in which I was cribbed. It was a cramped, 
 confined place, unplastered, and furnished with four 
 rough board bunks, one of which I occupied. The 
 other three were empty ; but in the scant passageway 
 between my resting place and that opposite was a 
 stool, and upon the stool the pipe and other parapher- 
 nalia peculiar to opium smoking. 
 
 Then, very slowly, there came to me a realization 
 of the vulpine cunning of these Orientals into whose 
 hands I had fallen. I was to be found here, dead, 
 not from inhalation of foul air in an ill-ventilated 
 cellar, which might excite suspicion and provoke 
 inquiry, but from over-indulgence in opium, to which 
 I had probably been addicted for years, unknown even 
 to my closest friends. For the "hop fiend" there 
 is small sympathy, no matter what his position, and 
 my family would hesitate, therefore, to prosecute, 
 preferring to avoid unpleasant publicity. 
 
 Yes; it was very clear they had thought me dead, 
 and so had left me here unwatched and unattended 
 with the evidence of my mode of passing theatrically 
 
 [200]
 
 AMYL PEARLS 
 
 displayed beside me. It only remained now for some 
 employee or visitor to discover me and give the alarm. 
 
 I had about reached this conclusion, after a long 
 and desperately trying effort at logical reasoning, 
 when my straining ears detected the sound of foot- 
 steps in the passage. The door of the den was 
 slightly ajar and I lay well in sight of any passer-by 
 who should glance through the narrow opening. 
 
 Whether to feign death, or boldly make known 
 my recovered consciousness, was for just a moment a 
 question. But before my sluggish brain could de- 
 cide, choice was snatched from me. The footsteps 
 paused, and simultaneously, it seemed, the door swung 
 farther inward, disclosing, not the pig-tailed, greasy- 
 bloused Mongolian I had expected, but a white 
 woman, tall and shapely, with hair of iron gray and 
 the very kindliest eyes that ever I looked into. 
 
 I made as if to speak, but my swollen tongue re- 
 fused to perform its office, and something that may 
 best be described as a gurgle was the result. With 
 that she came to my side, and for a little regarded 
 me silently. I felt that seeing the pipe and the little 
 peanut-oil lamp, she must draw the natural inference, 
 and, though there was no reproach in her look, I 
 wished, if possible, to correct that false impression. 
 I therefore made effort to gesture denial, employing 
 
 [201]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 a glance to indicate the objects and a very feeble side 
 movement of the head to express repudiation. 
 
 It is possible that she understood, but I question 
 that she believed. I have no recollection that she 
 spoke a single word to me, and yet, when she was 
 gone, I felt that she would surely return to my rescue. 
 And I was not misled. I suppose this partial re- 
 lief to my anxiety resulted in a slackening of mental 
 effort on my part, for I must confess that what fol- 
 lowed is very vague in my memory. I know only 
 that she was accompanied by two men, one white and 
 one yellow, who carried me down a narrow flight of 
 stairs, out onto the street and into a waiting cab. I 
 cannot recall that I spoke, but I learned afterward 
 that I had mumbled the word, "Loyalton," and 
 thither she accompanied me. 
 
 There a physician came, one whom I had never seen 
 before; and I was dosed with aromatic spirits of 
 ammonia and made to breathe oxygen through a 
 funnel, by a white-clad nurse, who also, at intervals, 
 painted my ankle with iodine, and, whenever I at- 
 tempted to speak, domineered me in a gentle and per- 
 fectly ladylike manner to silence. 
 
 With regard to sending word to Evelyn Grayson, 
 however, I was insistent; and though she had refused 
 absolutely to gratify my curiosity in other respects, 
 
 [202]
 
 AMYL PEARLS 
 
 she set my mind at rest on this point by informing 
 me that Miss Grayson had called up the Loyalton 
 by telephone several times and had been informed 
 of my condition five minutes after my arrival at my 
 chambers. 
 
 There were times during the week which followed 
 when I was nigh unto death; and when, finally, after 
 ten days I was pronounced convalescent, it was with 
 the added well-worn phrase, that my recovery was 
 "nothing short of a miracle." 
 
 It was on the eleventh day that I was first per- 
 mitted to see and talk with Evelyn. My mother had 
 called daily, sitting in silence beside my bed, but no 
 other visitor in all that, to me, seemingly endless 
 period, had been admitted to my room. 
 
 My curiosity was by now very keen to learn what 
 had developed in the interval regarding the Cameron 
 mystery. Had he, by any chance, been heard from? 
 What had the Detective Agency reported concern- 
 ing Philetus Murphy? And what, I wished to know 
 most of all, had Yup Sing discovered? 
 
 I was in a dressing gown, pillowed and f ootstooled 
 in a great leather chair awaiting my visitors for 
 Mrs. Lancaster came with Evelyn when their 
 names were announced. I suppose I looked ill 
 though, save for a grievous weakness, I was feeling 
 
 [203]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 fit enough, for Evelyn's smile as she entered merged 
 instantly into an expression of mingled anxiety and 
 sympathy. I know that with her coming I awoke 
 to the truth that my desire for information was a 
 far less moving factor than my craving for sight of 
 her and for the music of her voice, and my only re- 
 gret was that the understanding between us had not 
 reached the stage of acknowledged betrothal; which, 
 I make haste to add, was certainly no fault of mine. 
 Weak as I was my arms ached to fold her in a re- 
 assuring embrace; yet must I content myself with a 
 mere fervent hand-clasp and an oral declaration that 
 I was by no means so feeble as I appeared. 
 
 Nevertheless I was delighted to see that she gave 
 small evidence of the strain she had been under. Save 
 for a slight additional pallor she was still the same 
 wholesome-looking, thoroughly-poised girl of a fort- 
 night ago. And my admiration for her took on an 
 added measure because of this renewed evidence of 
 her sterling courage. 
 
 "And you promised me to be discreet!" she re- 
 proached, her smile returning, her hand still in mine. 
 
 "I did not foresee such provocation to indiscre- 
 tion," I pleaded, with an attempted gayety of tone 
 that must have seemed incongruous. "To have been 
 discreet under the circumstances would have involved 
 
 [204J
 
 AMYL PEARLS 
 
 a repetition of the one mistake for which you blamed 
 me. You don't know, of course, why I jumped 
 down a ladder into a pitch-black cellar, do you?" 
 
 "I know you were in pursuit of some one a pick- 
 pocket, they say, who had taken your watch." 
 
 "Do they say that?" I asked, interested. 
 
 "That is what Miss Clement learned." 
 
 "Miss Clement?" I queried. "Who is Miss 
 Clement?" 
 
 "Oh, I forgot that you don't know. Miss Clement 
 is the missionary who found you in the is it 'hop 
 joint' they call it?" 
 
 "The lady with the kind eyes?" 
 
 At my designation her face brightened respon- 
 sively. 
 
 "You remember her, then!" she cried, delightedly. 
 "Has n't she kind eyes ? And she does n't belie them, 
 either. She 's just the dearest, most self-sacrificing 
 creature I ever knew." 
 
 For the moment we had both forgotten Mrs. Lan- 
 caster, and when I would have apologized I found 
 that my nurse had carried her off into the next room 
 and was interestedly showing her some framed photo- 
 graphs of the Siena Cathedral. 
 
 "And Miss Clement learned that I pursued a pick- 
 pocket?" I went on, when Evelyn had drawn a chair 
 
 [205]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 near me and sat down. "A very clever explanation 
 to account for the disappearance of my watch, but 
 not the true one. As a matter of fact, the person I 
 followed was a miscreant of a deeper dye. When I 
 last saw him, previous to this encounter, he was known 
 as Peter Johnson." 
 
 Wide-eyed, the girl stared at me for an instant. 
 
 "Peter Johnson!" she repeated, slowly. "So, I 
 was right. He was in the plot. He had something 
 to do with Uncle Robert's disappearance. He was 
 the one who broke the amyl pearls on board the yacht." 
 
 It was my turn now to stare. Of what was this 
 young woman talking? "Amyl pearls!" Was I 
 mad, or was she? 
 
 She saw my perplexity, and hastened to enlighten 
 me. 
 
 "Oh, dear, Philip !" she exclaimed. "I forgot again. 
 There is so much to tell you. Really, I hardly know 
 where to begin. Miss Clement has been of such aid 
 to us! She is what they call an 'independent mis- 
 sionary/ That is, she has no affiliation with any of 
 the church societies or reform associations. For 
 fifteen years she has been working in Chinatown 
 amongst the white women, and she knows the place 
 and the people as if she were indeed one of them. I 
 had her out at Cragholt for a day and I Ve seen her 
 
 [206]
 
 AMYL PEARLS 
 
 four or five times here in town, and I have told her 
 everything, and she has explained, or at least given 
 quite reasonable surmises, concerning many of the 
 incidents that seemed to us inexplicable. Did you 
 ever hear of amyl pearls?" 
 
 Of course I had heard something of amyl pearls, 
 and I said so. 
 
 "They are glass capsules," I added, "and contain 
 a liquid which smells like bananas. They use them, 
 I believe, in heart attacks, by crushing them in a hand- 
 kerchief and inhaling the drug." 
 
 But it was not the same drug, Evelyn explained. 
 Miss Clement had told her all about it. She doubted 
 that it was an amyl, at all, though it was put up in 
 the same fashion, and released in the same way, and 
 it was like an amyl, in that it was extremely volatile. 
 
 "Miss Clement has never seen one of them," Evelyn 
 continued, "but some of the Chinese have told her of 
 them, and of the wonders that they perform. She 
 says the chemical, whatever it is, is very expensive, 
 and so they are seldom used, but that in China, es- 
 pecially in secret government enterprises, they are 
 employed on occasion. The effect is seemingly to 
 make invisible the person who uses them. Really, 
 they don't do anything of the sort; for they are 
 nothing more nor less than capsules, filled with a 
 
 [207]
 
 peculiarly-acting anaesthetic an anaesthetic so quick 
 and powerful in its action that the victim falls into 
 insensibility without warning, and emerges, after an 
 interval of ten or twelve minutes, without knowing 
 that he lost consciousness or that more than a single 
 second has elapsed." 
 
 "The idea seems ingenious," I returned. I was 
 interested, surely, but very far from convinced. 
 "But," I objected, "how is it that the ansesthetizer 
 is not anaesthetized himself?" 
 
 "Oh, he doesn't break the pearls under his own 
 nose," Evelyn explained. "He casts them. The 
 slightest concussion fractures the shell, and every one 
 within a certain radius drops instantly into a tem- 
 porary trance." 
 
 "And the swine before whom the pearls are cast, 
 do they drop to the ground to rise again when the ten 
 or twelve minutes are concluded?" I ridiculed. 
 
 "Oh, not at all. Your muscles are not relaxed. 
 You stand or sit as if turned suddenly to stone. If 
 your arm is extended, for instance, it remains in that 
 position until the effect ceases." She was very much 
 in earnest, and tried to persuade me that, aided by 
 these pearls, it would be a very easy matter to commit 
 all three of the depredatory acts which had so amazed 
 and shocked us. 
 
 [208]
 
 AMYL PEARLS 
 
 I am the last man to regard anything as impossible 
 in this day of wonders, yet I was by no means 
 willing to accept such a solution merely on the 
 hearsay evidence of a woman who had spent a 
 decade and a half amongst the Chinese of New York 
 City. 
 
 *'Yes, Evelyn," I said, tolerantly, "it is worth con- 
 sidering, and at the first opportunity I shall look into 
 it. But just now there must be more important 
 matters for you and me to discuss. Did Miss 
 Clement, by any chance, see Yup Sing?" 
 
 At the question the girl's pale cheeks flushed to 
 her temples and her violet eyes blazed. 
 
 "I asked her to see him, and she did," was her an- 
 swer. "I thought she might learn from him when 
 and where you parted, and what led up to the plight 
 in which you were found. But he told her that you 
 had failed to keep an engagement with him. He in- 
 sinuated that you had come to Chinatown intent upon 
 making trouble, and ended by declaring that he had 
 no time to devote to answering the conundrums of 
 such a harebrained American as you had proved your- 
 self. Did you ever hear of such impertinence? I 
 wanted Miss Clement to take me to him that I might 
 tell him what I thought of his outrageous conduct, 
 but she refused. She says he stands very high 
 14 [209]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 amongst his people, and that it is not well to antag- 
 onize him." 
 
 I smiled at her indignation. "After all," I said, 
 "he is n't so much to blame. I must have cut a rather 
 undignified figure chasing Mr. Johnson through 
 Doyers Street, and then falling down cellar stairs. 
 When I am able to get out again, I shall go to Mr. 
 Yup and apologize." 
 
 But before I was able to get out again, I changed 
 my mind. To be quite definite I changed it that 
 same evening, when, in reading the reports of O'Hara, 
 the detective who for nearly two weeks had been shad- 
 owing the red giant, Philetus Murphy, I came upon 
 this entry: 
 
 ". . . At 5 :27, he entered the Mott Street store of 
 the Yup Sing Company, remaining until 6:42, when he 
 came out with a tall, thin, well-dressed Chinaman, said to 
 be Yup Sing, himself. Together they went to Ching 
 Wung's restaurant on Doyers Street. From there a 
 Chinaman known as Muk Chuen returned with Murphy 
 to Cos Cob." 
 
 And the date of this occurrence was the day fol- 
 lowing my Chinatown misadventure. 
 
 [210]
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A SLUMP IN CRYSTAL CONSOLIDATED 
 
 week of my convalescence was not eventful. 
 Evelyn and Mrs. Lancaster called daily, and the 
 reports from O'Hara came each morning with un- 
 varying regularity and equally unvarying lack of 
 import. The artist, after his visit to Yup Sing, had 
 returned to his Cos Cob hermitage, accompanied by a 
 successor to his former unfortunate Chinese servant, 
 and now rarely left his own grounds. Gravid with 
 suggestion as his appearance in Chinatown had 
 seemed at first, I soon came to realize that it might 
 possibly bear no more vital significance than that 
 altogether commonplace proceeding, the quest of a 
 cook. And in the absence of any confirmatory 
 evidence to the contrary, and with the knowledge 
 gleaned from Miss Clement that Yup Sing, on 
 occasions, added to his regular business of merchan- 
 dizing that of an employment agent, I saw no 
 reason to attach an undue importance to the incident. 
 Nevertheless I relinquished none of my suspicions 
 regarding Murphy, but continued the detective's 
 
 [211]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 surveillance with a fresh injunction to vigilance. 
 And I did not apologize to Yup Sing. 
 
 Miss Clement, to whom I believe I owe my life, 
 visited me at my request. How I whelmed her with 
 my gratitude is no more material than how she en- 
 deavored to make light of her service to me, declar- 
 ing that such offices were a part of her day's work 
 in her chosen field, and that her day's work was her 
 passion. And yet it was this part of our interview 
 which gave me my strongest insight into her excep- 
 tionally worthy character. Absolutely unselfish, she 
 joyed in a life that even a religious fanatic might 
 well have quailed before; finding flowers in muck 
 heaps and jewels amid tinsel. 
 
 In five minutes, too, I glimpsed her abounding 
 magnetism, the moving agent in that rare efficiency 
 which was part and parcel of her. Later, I learned 
 of the weight of her influence among the dwellers in 
 the Chinese colony; not from any direct narrative of 
 what she had accomplished, for she was chary of 
 speaking of herself, but by deduction, purely. 
 Moreover, my watch, a few trinkets and a little 
 money, taken from me that night in Doyers Street, 
 had all been returned through Miss Clement's good 
 offices; and if, thus far, she had afforded us no real 
 clew in our absorbing exigency, I felt that ultimately 
 
 [12]
 
 CRYSTAL CONSOLIDATED 
 
 her knowledge, coupled with her resourcefulness, 
 would prove to us of unbounded value. And, as 
 events shaped themselves, I was not wrong. 
 
 It was now nearly four weeks since Cameron's 
 disappearance, and a fear that he had met death in 
 some fiendish form at the hands of his abductors had 
 come to be with me very nearly an obsession. The 
 care I exercised in hiding my real state of mind from 
 Evelyn could not well be exaggerated. When I ap- 
 peared to her most hopeful I was actually most de- 
 spairing. With Miss Clement, however, I had no 
 reason to dissemble. With all frankness I told her 
 of my despair; and when, instead of trying to com- 
 fort me with empty words of encouragement she 
 agreed with me that the chances of our ever seeing 
 Cameron again were at a minimum, I liked her the 
 better for being straightforward. 
 
 "I sometimes feel," I said to her, making full con- 
 fession, "that we made a terrible mistake in not at 
 once notifying the authorities. Even now I am in- 
 clined to lay the matter before them. Anything 
 would be better than uncertainty. A few arrests and 
 the third degree might work wonders." 
 
 "Where would you start?" she asked in a blunt, 
 logical way that reminded me of Evelyn's faculty of 
 going to the root of things. "You see, you know so 
 
 [213]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 little. The story about the portrait and the mirror, 
 the police would regard as more amusing than con- 
 vincing. And besides, you have n't any proof. Yup 
 Sing, you tell me, has the only original letter, and 
 by this time he may have lost it or have forgotten 
 that he ever had it. If you had seen as much of the 
 Chinese as I have, you would appreciate how wily 
 they are. My belief is that the police would conclude 
 that Mr. Cameron fell overboard from his yacht and 
 was drowned. Indeed it would be fortunate if they 
 did not take the view that he jumped overboard and 
 committed suicide. Or, worse still, it would not be 
 beyond them, Mr. Clyde, to charge that you pushed 
 him over. The yellow papers would almost certainly 
 intimate such a possibility." Had some one else 
 voiced this suggestion I should probably have resented 
 it, but I understood Miss Clement. She was as kind 
 as her eyes indicated; and that is speaking very 
 strongly. 
 
 "Nevertheless," I said, with growing determina- 
 tion, "I shall make the case public. It is my duty, 
 and I am willing to run all the risks you point out. 
 I shall start by making a complaint against Peter 
 Johnson. We '11 have him arrested, get his record, 
 and follow along that trail until we turn up the other 
 conspirators. If poor Cameron's shares fall in the 
 
 [214]
 
 CRYSTAL CONSOLIDATED 
 
 market, they '11 have to fall. If the notoriety pre- 
 cipitates a delayed fatality of which Cameron is the 
 victim, it cannot be helped. I simply will not longer 
 shoulder the responsibility of silence." 
 
 The way she had of silent deliberation was almost 
 masculine. I can see her, even now, as she sat there 
 that afternoon, her hair the same shade of gray as 
 her cloth gown, her fresh, clear complexion lined in 
 thought, her kindly eyes half closed. For the better 
 part of a minute, she pondered. Then, suddenly, 
 her face awoke, and she asked me: 
 
 "Will you wait three days longer? That is all. 
 I have channels of information that are closed to the 
 police, even. There are men in Chinatown, and 
 women too, who would lay down their lives for me. 
 I think some of them would even betray their friends, 
 which is a still greater sacrifice. Wait three days, 
 Mr. Clyde, and if at the end of that time I have not 
 learned for you what you want to know, go on with 
 your publicity idea." 
 
 It was now my turn to be thoughtful. Evelyn 
 believed in the woman's ability to aid. She had said 
 as much to me. And I myself possessed a certain 
 degree of faith in feminine intuition. Aside from 
 that, though, Miss Clement had demonstrated that 
 she wielded a certain power in her bailiwick was 
 
 [215]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 not my watch, at that moment, in my pocket? and 
 her whole personality proclaimed inherent capacity 
 for accomplishment. 
 
 "Very well, Miss Clement," I agreed. "I will 
 wait the three days. It is now Saturday, November 
 14. If by this time Tuesday afternoon we are not, 
 at least, on the track of something tangible, I shall 
 be on my way to Mulberry Street." 
 
 Sunday was with me a day of impatience. I 
 fretted now at confinement, for my ankle was quite 
 strong again, and I was perfectly well in other re- 
 spects, too. But my physician had set Monday for 
 my first day out, and he refused to concede even a 
 twenty-four-hour change of plan. But I chafed 
 more even at the inactivity to which I had agreed 
 concerning Cameron than at the confinement. All at 
 once, I had become imbued with a necessity for 
 prompt and strenuous measures. Some awful thing, 
 I knew not what, seemed ominously imminent, and 
 remorse tore at me tormentingly. 
 
 Early Monday, I telephoned Miss Clement for 
 tidings of her progress, but she could only implore 
 me to wait. She had nothing to report, but she was 
 encouraged. With my hands thus tied diversion was 
 my only refuge, and an accumulation of office work 
 
 [216]
 
 CRYSTAL CONSOLIDATED 
 
 into which I plunged served, in part at least, this 
 purpose. 
 
 Evelyn and Mrs. Lancaster had come in from 
 Greenwich and opened the Cameron town house, a 
 great white granite Renaissance affair, on upper 
 Fifth Avenue, facing the Park; and because the girl 
 had made me promise, I lunched there; but I went 
 with less grace than ever before, uncertain as I was 
 of my self-control. Evelyn's faith in Miss Clement, 
 however, was contagious. She spoke of little else, 
 and when I came away it was with strengthened hope 
 of speedy results. 
 
 It is my habit to glance over the earlier editions 
 of all the evening papers before leaving my office, 
 and later, either on the train to Greenwich or, when 
 in town, at my club, to read more carefully the later 
 issues of the News and Star. On this particular day, 
 however, a succession of matters of more importance 
 prevented my looking at so much as a headline, until, 
 seated at dinner, in the club restaurant, I saw on a 
 window ledge beside me one of the more sensational 
 of the afternoon dailies, and appropriated it in lieu 
 of better companionship. 
 
 It was one of those journals which, in catering 
 to the tastes of the proletariat, conceive it wise to 
 
 [217]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 minimize their references to Wall Street, save only 
 when a marked slump or a panic points the moral of 
 the unscrupulous capitalist and his heinous crimes. 
 When, therefore, long bold-face type attracted my 
 eye with the announcement, "Fall in Crystal Con- 
 solidated," I started to read the subjoined article, con- 
 fident enough that some director or directors had 
 been spitted for barbecue. And before I had read 
 five lines I came upon the name of Robert Cameron. 
 
 If I was to believe this introductory paragraph 
 my friend was to Crystal Consolidated what John D. 
 Rockefeller was to Standard Oil, yet in the months 
 of our intimacy he had made no reference to this con- 
 nection; and, though I was thoroughly familiar with 
 the "great glass trust," as it was called, and with the 
 name of its multi-millionaire master, strangely 
 enough I had never connected the Cameron I knew 
 with this Cameron, the Captain of Industry. 
 
 "I am," he had said, in all modesty, "largely in- 
 terested in a certain line of industrial enterprises." 
 That was all. I suppose I should have known; and 
 yet, "no prophet is without honor, save in his own 
 country." 
 
 The newspaper article I now read, however, left 
 no room for doubt on the subject; and, incidentally 
 in a single sentence, revealed the secret of how Cam- 
 
 [218]
 
 CRYSTAL CONSOLIDATED 
 
 eron had succeeded in escaping that general recog- 
 nition which is usually the penalty of greatness. "He 
 has never sat for a photograph." 
 
 But, while this part of the article interested, that 
 which followed startled and perplexed me: 
 
 "Crystal Consolidated fell to 103, to-day," it went 
 on, "because of a persistent rumor that Robert Cam- 
 eron is seriously ill, in a New England Sanitarium. 
 The greatest secrecy has been maintained as to his 
 malady and his whereabouts by those who are in a 
 position to know. It has been ascertained, however, 
 that after spending a quiet summer at his country 
 place, Cragholt, on Long Island Sound, near Green- 
 wich, he started on October 21, on his? fast steam 
 yacht 'Sibylla' for a cruise along the New England 
 coast. Ten days later the 'Sibylla' returned, but Mr. 
 Cameron was not on board. 
 
 "It is known that he has been in ill health for 
 months, and there are those who now declare that he 
 has sought the seclusion of an institution for the treat- 
 ment of nervous diseases, near Boston, his condition 
 being critical. 
 
 "Inquiry, to-day, at his Fifth Avenue home in this 
 city, and at his Connecticut country seat, was fruit- 
 less. Mr. Cameron was at neither place, and the 
 servants expressed ignorance concerning his present 
 address. 
 
 "At the offices of the Crystal Consolidated Man- 
 ufacturing Company and at those of the missing 
 
 [219]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 financier's brokers, Hatch & Hastings, evasion was 
 the keynote of the answers to all questions. 
 
 "Whether Mr. Cameron is as ill as is reported, or 
 whether he is quite robust, the effect of the gossip on 
 Crystal Consolidated was disastrous. A slump of 
 fifteen points in two hours, this afternoon, wiped out 
 many weakly margined accounts, and spread ruin 
 among a number of speculators who fondly imagined 
 this law-defying trust, of which Cameron is the sup- 
 porting Atlas, as firmly entrenched as is the govern- 
 ment itself. 
 
 "Unless something definite is forthcoming regard- 
 ing Mr. Cameron's condition before the market opens 
 to-morrow, a panic in Crystal Consolidated is pre- 
 dicted. It closed to-day at 102% bid, 103 asked; 
 the lowest figures recorded this year." 
 
 It startled me, because it showed that at least a 
 part of the secret we were guarding was a secret no 
 longer ; and it perplexed me because I could not fancy 
 through what channel these somewhat distorted facts 
 had filtered into publicity. I had no doubt that the 
 ball, having been set rolling in this fashion, would 
 gain both in volume and momentum unless some ener- 
 getic measures were promptly taken to check it. 
 And yet, what, under the circumstances, could we 
 do? Subterfuge, I knew, would be useless, and the 
 truth must prove an accelerant. 
 
 [220]
 
 CRYSTAL CONSOLIDATED 
 
 In haste and with diminished appetite I rushed 
 through my dinner, and a moment later was speeding 
 up the avenue as fast as a taxicab could carry me, 
 with the Cameron mansion my destination and a con- 
 sultation with Evelyn Grayson my object. 
 
 It must not be imagined that in this matter I ex- 
 pected any weighty assistance from a young woman 
 of such limited experience; but she was practically 
 alone in the great house and I could well imagine how 
 already reporters must be vying one with another to 
 wring from her admissions concerning her uncle. 
 
 To my infinite relief I found that she had returned 
 the word, "Not at home," to all such callers. In- 
 quiries from other sources had been met in similar 
 fashion. Officers of the company had called in per- 
 son or had telephoned, and Hatch & Hastings had 
 been almost aggravatingly insistent. 
 
 "But, Evelyn," I said, "this is all such a surprise 
 to me! I had no notion your uncle was at all active 
 in any corporation. I fancied him a director, prob- 
 ably, in a score or more of companies, but that he was 
 the so-called 'Glass King,' I never for a moment sus- 
 pected. Under the circumstances, he must have a 
 private secretary somewhere, who might have been 
 of inestimable aid to us." 
 
 [221]
 
 *He has a private secretary, it seems,'* she replied, 
 "though even I never knew it until I read it in the 
 News, this evening. I am sure he never came to 
 Cragholt. His name is Simms, Howard Simms, 
 and he was interviewed at the Company's office. 
 Didn't you see it?" 
 
 I confessed that I had missed every evening paper 
 but one. 
 
 "It was he, I think," she went on, "who, becoming 
 alarmed at Uncle Robert's long silence, mentioned it 
 to some one, who in turn spread the damaging re- 
 ports." 
 
 "Then he is a very incompetent private secretary," 
 I commented, "if not, indeed, a dangerous one. I 
 shall make a point of seeing Mr. Simms as early as 
 possible to-morrow. To-night I am going to call on 
 Tony Hatch I have a nodding acquaintance with 
 him and assure him that when I last saw Robert 
 Cameron less than a month ago he was in perfect 
 health, and that I am satisfied he is not in any san- 
 itarium or suffering from any mental or physical 
 disorder. If he approves of the idea I shall give out 
 a statement to the newspapers, implying that your 
 uncle has gone on a little journey of which his family 
 are entirely cognizant, and that his return may be 
 expected almost any day. I think that ought to turn 
 
 [222]
 
 CRYSTAL CONSOLIDATED 
 
 the tide in Wall Street to-morrow. Meanwhile, my 
 dear Evelyn, continue to be 'not at home.' ' 
 
 But neither at his home nor at any of his clubs 
 could I find Mr. Hatch, though I searched for him 
 diligently until long after midnight. Evidently he 
 was intent on evading the sleuth hounds of the press, 
 and had successfully taken to cover. 
 
 And then, on my way back down the avenue, to 
 the Loyalton, that happened which made all subter- 
 fuge, all tact, all dissembling, unnecessary. For on 
 the sidewalk, opposite the Cathedral, I found the best 
 of answers to all the questions raised by the rumor 
 mongers, the animate refutation of every disturb- 
 ing waif word. 
 
 [228]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 OPPOSITE THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 t^IFTH AVENUE at two o'clock in the morning 
 is fast asleep. There are localities in New York 
 which are more widely awake at that hour than at 
 any other time of day, but the highway of fashion 
 is not one of them ; and in the neighborhood of Fiftieth 
 Street, its repose is as profound as at any point of 
 its long, undeviatingly straight course. 
 
 For over an hour I had waited within that sumptu- 
 ous white marble club edifice of the plutocrats which 
 ostentatiously punctuates the avenue at Sixtieth 
 Street, and, tired of sitting, nervous and disappointed, 
 I had chosen to walk down to my rooms, believing that 
 the exercise in the clear, frosty air would serve to 
 counteract, in a measure at least, all three of these 
 vexations. 
 
 To the limit of sight there stretched away a double, 
 converging chain of twin lights marking the curb 
 line for endless blocks, and illuminating the nearer 
 sidewalk and roadway, if not to effulgence, certainly 
 with a clearly defining radiance. Now and then I 
 
 [224]
 
 OPPOSITE THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 met a quick-stepping pedestrain, usually in evening 
 dress with cigar alight; and at more or less brief in- 
 tervals limousined motors, and taxicabs, with gleam- 
 ing lamps, sped by me at top speed. Once a hansom 
 passed, the hoof -beats of the hard-driven horse re- 
 sounding jarringly against the night silence. 
 
 At Fifty-fourth Street I cut diagonally across the 
 avenue to the west side, and, continuing my way 
 southward, absorbed in the problems confronting me, 
 had been for a little quite lost to encompassing ob- 
 jects. Then, suddenly, fearing lest in my abstrac- 
 tion I should pass the street on which my rooms were 
 located, I aroused myself to get an idea of my 
 location. 
 
 Across the way the grim facade of the Cathedral 
 rising dark and sullen as a fortress made all clear. 
 But, on my own side of the avenue there had been no 
 such distinguishing mark. The brown stone dwell- 
 ings, monotonously ugly, with their high stoops and 
 balustraded areas, were no more enlightening than 
 the stone flagging of the sidewalk or the asphalt of the 
 roadway. Scores of blocks presented practically the 
 same aspect as this. But as with critical gaze I 
 measured one after another of these combinations 
 I was all at once arrested by sight of a tall, bent 
 figure clutching the high iron railings which guarded 
 
 15 [225]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 the avenue frontage of the house on the corner 
 the only really individual house in the row. 
 
 My first rough concept was that I had come 
 upon incapability resulting from intemperance. At 
 closer view, however, I tempered my judgment. 
 The possibility of illness or injury intervened, and I 
 paused Samaritan-like to offer succor. The way- 
 farer was evidently a man of middle age, if I might 
 judge from the contour of his back, which was to- 
 wards me, and I saw at once that he was struggling to 
 keep upon his feet by sheer muscular hand-hold of 
 the railing's iron uprights, for his knees were bent 
 threateningly and his arms were extended and tense. 
 
 Until I was close beside him he gave no sign of 
 realizing my presence. Indeed I think it was not 
 until I spoke that he half turned his head towards 
 me, and, for the first time, I got sight of his features. 
 
 Whether or not I uttered a word, or made a sound, 
 or stood for a long moment silent, I cannot say. I 
 know only that I doubted my eyes and questioned 
 my reason; for, if these were not playing me false, 
 the profile thus revealed to me was the profile of 
 Robert Cameron. 
 
 To try to set down in detail just what followed 
 must be an idle effort, with fancy providing the bulk 
 of the ingredients. Surprised, amazed, astounded 
 
 [226]
 
 OPPOSITE THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 even, are all too feeble terms to apply to my emotional 
 condition. Dazedly, I was floundering in what 
 seemed a veritable sea of unreality. When the com- 
 monplaces began to readjust themselves, I was stand- 
 ing at the curb, my arm wound supportingly about 
 Cameron's waist and his arm pressing heavy on my 
 shoulder. Drawing in to us was an empty hansom 
 cab, provided by Providence, and hailed, I suppose, 
 by me, though I swear I have no recollection of it. 
 
 The cabman helped me to lift him in, and at this 
 the pity of his plight smote me, tempering the joy 
 of having found him, and quickening within me a 
 spirit of angry retaliation against his enemies. For 
 the man now at my side was far different from that 
 man who had sat with me on the after deck of the 
 Sibylla, only four weeks ago. He was, indeed, it 
 seemed to me little more than the husk of the Cameron 
 I had known. In facial conformation the change 
 was not so marked, though his expression was pathet- 
 ically at variance with anything I had ever before 
 seen him wear. The lines of his face were drawn, 
 as with pain, and his eyes were dull to vacancy. He 
 lolled, sleazily, in a crumpled heap in his corner, like a 
 spineless manikin; and though I plied him eagerly 
 with a flood of questions, he might have been a deaf 
 mute for all the answers he accorded me. Once I 
 
 [227]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 thought he shook his head in negation, but I was later 
 forced to conclude that this was involuntary, being 
 caused by the roll of the cab as one of its wheels en- 
 countered a depression in the roadway. 
 
 Yet in spite of his sorriness of presence and de- 
 meanor in spite too of the tormenting mystery of 
 his return, which was scarcely less baffling than the 
 mystery of his departure it was at least a relief to 
 know that he was alive and out of the power of those 
 that were bent upon his harm. Good nursing, 
 coupled with skilful medical attention, had just 
 worked wonders for me, and I was confident that it 
 would do the same for him ; and then we should have 
 facts and not theories to aid us in our quest for the 
 culprits, and, eventually, in the administration of 
 justice to the guilty. 
 
 I had given the cabman the number of the Cameron 
 house and admonished him to make all possible speed ; 
 so, with the long lash of the whip snapping sharply 
 at brief intervals and the jaded horse, thus urged, 
 bounding at a clumsy, lumbering gallop, we rolled 
 noisily northward. Having given over the effort to 
 obtain from my fellow passenger even a gestured an- 
 swer to my most pertinent inquiries, I turned my 
 mind to what lay before us. The Cameron estab- 
 lishment would doubtless be fast locked in slumber as 
 
 [228]
 
 OPPOSITE THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 well as otherwise, but I made small question of my 
 ability to rouse some of the servants. My hope, how- 
 ever, was not to awaken Evelyn. It could mean only 
 a night's rest lost for her, for she could gain nothing 
 by seeing her uncle at this hour, considering his con- 
 dition. 
 
 I was still busy planning when a mighty hand on 
 the lines brought our horse to his haunches, and our- 
 selves nearly out through the suddenly parted apron ; 
 and the Cameron residence loomed massive and dark 
 on our right. 
 
 As I stepped to the sidewalk the driver descended, 
 too, but I motioned him back. 
 
 "Never mind, thank you," I said. "I '11 get some 
 one from inside to help carry him." And in a mo- 
 ment my thumb was on the push-button and faintly 
 there came back to me through heavy double doors the 
 far-off echo of the bell, jarring against the silence 
 of the great house. 
 
 The promptness with which chains fell and bolts 
 were drawn surprised me. And yet, I suppose, it was 
 merely an evidence of the perfect management of an 
 establishment wherein every contingency is provided 
 against. A footman, as irreproachably liveried and 
 groomed as though the time were midday instead 
 of after two o'clock in the morning, greeted me 
 
 [229]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 with becoming imperturbability. I recognized him 
 as one of the men from Cragholt, and called him by 
 name. 
 
 "Stephen," I said, with an effort to disguise the 
 excitement with which my every pulse was throbbing, 
 "your master is outside in a cab. He is very weak 
 and will need assistance. Get another man to aid 
 me, and then awaken Mr. Checkabeedy and Louis. 
 And make haste. No, I can't come in ; I '11 wait out- 
 side." He turned away in obedience to my directions, 
 but I checked him. "And, Stephen," I charged, "no 
 word to any one else, as you value your position; es- 
 pecially no word to Miss Grayson." 
 
 I marvelled at the man's preserved unemotion. 
 His "Very good, sir," was uttered with all the stolidity 
 which marks a response to the commonplace; and yet 
 I knew that he was fully conscious of the eventful- 
 ness of this late and unlooked-for home-coming. And 
 the footman who joined me a few minutes later was 
 not less well-trained. 
 
 Together, he and I lifted Cameron from the han- 
 som and carried him up the broad flight of granite 
 steps, between the massive guarding lions, and placed 
 him in a great chair in the hall, before the wide, sculp- 
 tured fireplace. And though this would probably 
 prove the most exciting topic of the servants' hall for 
 
 [230]
 
 OPPOSITE THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 weeks to come, he gave not the smallest sign that he 
 was taking part in other than the usual. 
 
 Checkabeedy, the butler, however, though no less 
 perfect a servitor, was more privileged; and Louis, 
 volatile as the most characteristic of his countrymen, 
 collapsed utterly, without effort, apparently, at any 
 restraint whatever. The former's interest was evi- 
 denced in a commiseratingly lugubrious visage and a 
 few blunt questions, but the Frenchman wept and 
 sobbed in wordless sympathy. And I had it not in 
 my heart to blame either, for a more pitiful picture 
 than the one presented by the restored Cameron as he 
 sat there in his own spacious hall, gazing with lack- 
 lustre eyes at the dead and dying embers on the hearth 
 before him, I hope never to see. 
 
 The butler, ruddy and rotund, and looking for all 
 the world like a well-fed monk, for he wore a bathrobe 
 of sombre hue and his crown was barer than any 
 shaven tonsure, stared for a moment in sad silence. 
 Then, turning to me, he asked: 
 
 "But what has happened to Mr. Cameron, sir?" 
 
 "I wish I could tell you, Checkabeedy," was my 
 unguarded reply. "I wish he could tell us himself." 
 
 "But he is so wasted, sir! And his clothes. I 
 never saw Mr. Cameron in such clothes." 
 
 It was quite true. They were of what is called, I 
 
 [281]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 believe, a pepper-and-salt mixture, coarse of texture 
 and ill-cut, yet not much worn. The knees of the 
 trousers, however, were soiled with the grime of the 
 streets. It was obvious that he had fallen. 
 
 "He does not recognize us," Checkabeedy went on, 
 "and still he is conscious. May I ask you, sir, where 
 you brought him from?" 
 
 I chose to ignore the question, in sudden realization 
 of the necessity of caution. 
 
 "And he has been missing a month, they say, sir. 
 Is that true, Mr. Clyde?" 
 
 "Missing!" I repeated. "Who says he has been 
 missing?" 
 
 "The servants all say so, sir." 
 
 "Then the servants must get rid of the idea, at 
 once," I said, sharply. "Mr. Cameron has merely 
 been out of town for a while. He went away for his 
 health, and now he has returned, benefited. Do you 
 understand, Checkabeedy? He has returned, bene- 
 fited. And now, you and Louis will get him to his 
 room, while I telephone for Dr. Massey." 
 
 Checkabeedy bowed, assenting, and Louis, still 
 whimpering, wiped his eyes. 
 
 It was nearly four o'clock when the physician left 
 his patient and joined me in the library downstairs. 
 His face was very grave. 
 
 [232]
 
 "I have examined Mr. Cameron thoroughly," he 
 said, "and I can assure you that he is not seriously 
 injured." 
 
 The phrase opened up a new line of thought to me. 
 
 "Seriously injured!" I repeated. "I don't under- 
 stand, Doctor. Do you mean that 
 
 "I mean," he interrupted, "that the blow on the 
 back of his head caused no fracture." 
 
 "Then he was struck?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly. Probably with a sandbag. Hence 
 his present dazed condition. Had the blow been de- 
 livered with more force, it might have resulted in 
 complete loss of memory. You have heard, of course, 
 of instances where men have forgotten even their own 
 names?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "Mr. Cameron will regain his memory. It *s 
 merely a temporary matter. I have telephoned for a 
 man nurse for him one who understands such cases. 
 He will be here in twenty minutes. At present Mr. 
 Cameron is sleeping. I am in hopes that when he 
 awakens his mind will be comparatively clear." 
 
 He was about to bid me good-night when I checked 
 him. 
 
 "Doctor," I said, "I am glad to find you so opti- 
 mistic. Before you go I want you to write me a 
 
 [23S]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 bulletin of Mr. Cameron's condition and sign it. I 
 want no mention in it of the injury, since it is not 
 serious. If possible, I would suggest that you use 
 the word 'indisposition' and be sure to employ the 
 'temporary' you called into play a moment ago." 
 
 Dr. Massey gladly acceded. Seated at Cameron's 
 writing table he scribbled a bulletin of even more en- 
 couraging and confident tenor than I had indicated. 
 And I used it to turn the tide of speculation in Crystal 
 Consolidated. 
 
 But neither the spoken nor the written words of 
 the physician held for me any considerable measure 
 of solace. My friend's condition was desperate. I 
 knew it and my heart ached for him ; but it ached more 
 for Evelyn, his ward, who loved him, and who must 
 be given the gladness of good news only to be crucified 
 the next moment on the cross of anxiety. 
 
 [234]
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THREE PROMISES 
 
 VJEED I say that I did not sleep that night? It 
 was five o'clock when I left Cameron's, after a 
 talk with the nurse, and I promised to return in an 
 hour. The interval was devoted to a cold bath, a 
 shave, and a change of clothing at my rooms; and at 
 six I was back again, talking once more with Checka- 
 beedy who was personally serving me with coffee in 
 the breakfast room. 
 
 "Between you and me," I had begun, "there is small 
 need of concealment in this matter of Mr. Cameron's 
 disappearance and return, his coming as remarkable 
 and mysterious as his going. I think I am experi- 
 enced enough to understand that such an affair as this 
 cannot be kept entirely secret especially not from 
 Mr. Cameron's servants and it is better, Checka- 
 beedy, that you should understand it thoroughly. I 
 can fancy the distorted story that has been circulated 
 below stairs. That more rumors, wide of the truth, 
 have not leaked out and gained press publicity, speaks 
 very well for you and your staff, and I congratulate 
 
 [235]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 you on your loyalty and good judgment. All I ask 
 now is that you will continue to be guarded in what 
 you say. A single unadvised word might interfere 
 very materially with our efforts to trace the guilty 
 ones and bring them to punishment." 
 
 And then I told him as much as I deemed wise of 
 the facts of the abduction, of my chance finding of 
 his master the previous night, and of my anxiety con- 
 cerning his present condition. 
 
 "And above all things, Checkabeedy," I added in 
 conclusion, "don't look solemn and distressed when 
 Miss Evelyn is present. Before her, no matter how 
 we really feel, we must appear confident." 
 
 A little later the morning papers were brought in, 
 and I scanned one after another in search of some 
 new twist or turn of the story of the previous after- 
 noon. The more conservative journals were inclined 
 to make light of the scare. "Mr. Cameron," said one, 
 "ceased to be active in the affairs of Crystal Consoli- 
 dated over two years ago. If he be ill, which is by 
 no means certain, the fact can have but little real 
 significance so far as the company of which he is the 
 largest shareholder is concerned. It may be stated 
 on the best authority that Mr. Cameron's shares have 
 never been used speculatively, and that even in the 
 event of his death they could not by any possibility 
 
 [236]
 
 THREE PROMISES 
 
 come on the market, for the reason that he has pro- 
 vided a trust fund, by will, for the benefit of his niece, 
 and that they are a part of that fund." 
 
 The sensational press, of course, still insisted that 
 the Glass King was in a New England sanitarium, 
 though they had failed to locate the institution. De- 
 spite my alarm I smiled at the thought of how their 
 afternoon editions would have to eat the leak, as the 
 Welsh say. 
 
 The papers finished, I grew restless. I desired 
 constant news from the sick room, and lacking it, I 
 roamed about the house, in nervous unease, my brain 
 busy with conjecture, forming one theory after an- 
 other, and dismissing each as readily. The situation 
 was a tantalism. The answer to all the questions 
 which had absorbed me for weeks lay dormant in the 
 brain of the man sleeping beyond that closed door. 
 Theories, therefore, were now more futile than ever. 
 The one accomplishment to be asked was the arousing 
 of an intellect, the stirring of a memory. Dr. Mas- 
 sey had promised that when Cameron awakened men- 
 tal clarity would be restored, that he would be able 
 to answer questions with intelligence. 
 
 It is hard to explain why I doubted this. I think 
 it must have been something I saw in those dull, vacu- 
 ous eyes, when I first looked into them under the pale 
 
 [237]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 light of the white-globed electric street lamps. If I 
 had been forced to identify Cameron by those eyes 
 alone, I should have said that this man was not he. 
 They were so different, lacking all the expression of 
 the Cameron eyes I knew. And yet I made no ques- 
 tion as to his identity. I knew him, despite this; 
 knew that strong chin and jaw, which spelled deter- 
 mination in two syllables; knew his broad, generous 
 nose, and his high intellectual forehead. These 
 points of recognition were so convincing, that I could 
 afford to ignore the eyes I had never seen before and 
 the wasted frame and the shrunken, unsteady legs. 
 
 At brief intervals I consulted the clocks. It was 
 marvellous how the time dragged. And that nurse! 
 Would he never have an errand outside the suite? I 
 had told him I should spend the morning in the house, 
 and that I wished to be informed of the slightest 
 change in his patient. I must conclude, therefore, 
 that Cameron was still sleeping, that Bryan was still 
 watching. 
 
 From the fact that Evelyn had not yet appeared 
 I drew a measure of consolation. If I could have 
 tidings of even the slightest improvement in Cameron 
 before meeting her, it would aid me in the assumption 
 of confidence upon which I had determined. 
 
 At ten minutes past eight I was searching the 
 
 [238]
 
 THREE PROMISES 
 
 encyclopaedias in the library for information on the 
 subject of brain concussion. Already I had followed 
 the trail through three volumes from "Brain" to 
 "Nervous System" and from "Nervous System" 
 to "Concussion," when an opening door caused me to 
 turn eagerly. Mr. Bryan, the nurse, in a white uni- 
 form such as hospital doctors wear, stood on the 
 threshold. The next moment I had risen from my 
 crouching position before the bookcase and had met 
 him midway across the room with anxious inquiry. 
 
 "Mr. Cameron awoke a quarter of an hour ago," 
 he told me. "His power of speech has returned. He 
 asked me where he was and what had happened. I 
 told him he was in his own house, and that he had met 
 with an accident." 
 
 "Yes, yes," I hurried him. "And what then? Did 
 he inquire for any one?" 
 
 "No. For all of a minute he lay looking about the 
 room without another word. Then, in a puzzled way, 
 he repeated: 'My own house!' and asked, 'Where 
 is this house ?' And I told him. He did not seem to 
 recognize the room at all." 
 
 "Is he still awake?" 
 
 "Oh, no. Dr. Massey left directions that he was 
 to be given some nourishment a raw egg and milk 
 and then another powder to make him sleep. He 
 
 [239]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 turned on his side after that, and in less than three 
 minutes was in a deep slumber once more." 
 
 I was annoyed that I had not been called. I let 
 myself hope that sight of me might possibly have 
 stirred his memory even though the familiar objects 
 of his bedchamber failed. I said as much to the short, 
 broad-shouldered nurse, whose twinkling eyes were in 
 violent contrast with his thin-lipped, grave, deter- 
 mined mouth. 
 
 "Dr. Massey's orders were that for twelve hours 
 no one should be admitted to the room," was his un- 
 answerable rejoinder. 
 
 "Which means not until after five o'clock, this 
 evening?" 
 
 "Exactly, sir. But I shall report to you every- 
 thing he says, as nearly as possible in his own 
 words." 
 
 "Very well," I said. "I shall spend the day here." 
 My tone conveyed dismissal and I fear it still 
 smacked of annoyance. Mr. Bryan, however, gave 
 no sign of resentment. His eyes were still kindly 
 merry, his mouth still inspired reliance. He turned 
 towards the door, saying, 
 
 "He '11 probably sleep four hours at least, Mr. 
 Clyde. If you wish to go out, there 's no reason why 
 you should n't." 
 
 [240]
 
 THREE PROMISES 
 
 I meant to reply. My lips were already framing 
 a sentence, when a tableau checked me. 
 
 Evelyn Grayson was standing in the doorway. 
 She wore a clinging house gown of pale blue, cut low 
 at the throat, and bordered with a deep collar of Irish 
 lace. The rose flush of youth and health tinted the 
 cream of her complexion and a shaft of sunlight from 
 a near window made a glittering golden nimbus of her 
 hair. With wide, startled eyes she was gazing at 
 Bryan, or, to be more exact, at the snowy linen duck 
 in which he was clad, and which must have held for 
 her a perplexing significance. 
 
 The nurse had halted, deferentially standing aside 
 at sight of the girl whose young beauty seemed to 
 dazzle him. 
 
 For a moment the stillness and silence were abso- 
 lute. Then Evelyn turning her gaze upon me ad- 
 vanced quickly, with a little questioning cry, 
 
 "Philip!" 
 
 "You 're surprised to find me here," I interpreted, 
 with hands outstretched. 
 
 "And to " she began, laying her fingers against 
 my palms. 
 
 "To find a nurse here, as well," I finished for her. 
 "Let me introduce Mr. Bry " But when I would 
 have presented him he had already gone. 
 
 18 [241]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "But who is ill?" she questioned in nervous haste. 
 "What " 
 
 It were well, I thought, to have the revelation over 
 and done with as speedily as possible. 
 
 "Your uncle. I brought him home at two o'clock 
 this morning." 
 
 I do not know what I expected, but I am sure I 
 was not prepared for what ensued. Her fingers, sud- 
 denly releasing themselves from my fond but feeble 
 hold, clutched wildly at the lapels of my coat for 
 support, as she burst into a passion of sobs. In vain 
 I made efforts to comfort and quiet her. She became 
 hysterical. She laughed and cried by turns, while 
 I, making bold to regard her as a sorrowing child 
 rather than the woman she was, held her close and 
 murmured all the soothing, encouraging words and 
 phrases I could conjure. 
 
 "I I am so glad," she whispered at last, her 
 big liquid blue eyes swimming, her fair face wet with 
 the torrent of her emotion. "I I am so happy." 
 
 Presently I placed her in a great, cavernous 
 leathern chair, and lent her my handkerchief, as- 
 sisted her, indeed to remove the evidences of her 
 tumultuous joy. After which I sat down opposite 
 her and answered a hundred questions, still marvel- 
 ling at the contrariety of the feminine temperament 
 
 [242]
 
 THREE PROMISES 
 
 which defies disaster dry-eyed and over good tidings 
 is like Niobe all tears. 
 
 Evelyn's emotions alone considered, it was, there- 
 fore, just as well that Cameron had not returned 
 robust and of sane mind. Her rejoicing undiluted 
 might have resulted in nervous breakdown. As it 
 was, the mere fact that he was weak and a trifle dis- 
 traught which was the mildly equivocal way in 
 which I softened the truth for her had for her 
 fortitude the revivifying potency of a tonic. It so 
 balanced her joy with anxiety that she grew strong in 
 surprisingly short space. 
 
 "I do not see why a nurse is at all necessary," she 
 objected, at once. "I shall nurse him, myself. Louis 
 and I can do everything that is required." 
 
 "But Dr. Massey " I began. Whereupon she 
 interrupted me: 
 
 "Dr. Massey probably thinks I am a foolish, frivo- 
 lous child. I shall nurse Uncle Robert even if I have 
 to dismiss Dr. Massey and get another physician." 
 
 There was nothing to be gained by opposing her 
 at this time, so I held my non-committal peace, doubt- 
 ing, nevertheless, the practicability of her proposition. 
 But to her next proposal I must needs interpose the 
 obstructive truth. 
 
 "Come," she commanded, brushing back from her 
 
 [243]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 temples with both hands the encroaching golden halo, 
 with the gesture of one who prepares for conquest, 
 wiping away, as it were, the last clinging vestiges of 
 her emotional weakness. "Come, let us go to him, 
 together." 
 
 She was on her feet before I could restrain her. 
 
 "Not now, Evelyn," I said, quietly, and, at the 
 risk of seeming rudeness, sat still. 
 
 "But, why?" And there was a hint of suspicion 
 in the look she gave me. 
 
 "He is asleep," I told her. And when she had re- 
 laxed into the great chair again, I added, temporizing, 
 "Mr. Bryan will let us know when he wakens." 
 
 Her disappointment was undisguised, and in secret 
 I sympathized with her. She was experiencing some- 
 thing of that which had come to me when Bryan 
 had refused me converse with his patient. But it 
 were better to divert than to commiserate, and so I 
 said, 
 
 "This is the day I am to hear from Miss Clement." 
 
 "Is it?" she asked, indifferently, the disappointment 
 still rankling. "I did n't know." 
 
 "She has promised me important information be- 
 fore three o'clock. If she keeps her word, this whole 
 perplexing mystery may very shortly be cleared up." 
 
 "Is n't that what you would call supererogatory?" 
 
 [44]
 
 THREE PROMISES 
 
 she asked, smiling. "I should think Uncle Robert 
 could tell all that is needed, now, himself." 
 
 I was at a loss for a moment how to answer her; 
 and in that moment the telephone broke in, and did 
 away with the necessity of response. 
 
 The instrument was on the writing table at my 
 elbow, and with a "Shall I?" to Evelyn, I took the 
 receiver from the hook and bent to the transmitter. 
 
 "Yes," I said, "Miss Grayson is here. Who is it, 
 please?" I thought I recognized Miss Clement's 
 voice, and I was not wrong. But, after all, it was I 
 she wanted. She had called up my rooms and my 
 office, and, unable to get me at either place, had taken 
 the chance that Evelyn might aid her to my discovery. 
 
 "You have learned something?" I asked, disguis- 
 ing as well as I could my burning interest. If possi- 
 ble, I would keep from Evelyn the least suggestion 
 of how vitally important I regarded the news I 
 hoped for. 
 
 "I hardly know how to explain it to you," came 
 Miss Clement's reply. "I was on the verge of what 
 I am sure was a most pregnant revelation. I was to 
 be given names and dates and circumstances. I had 
 been promised these by one in whom I put the great- 
 est reliance. And now I am asked to wait another 
 twenty-four hours. Something has happened, my 
 
 [245]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 confidant tells me; something puzzling and utterly 
 unexpected, and those who know most of the matter 
 are now most at sea." 
 
 Evelyn must have seen me smile. It was quite 
 evident to me that Miss Clement was in touch with 
 some' one well informed, but it was not that which 
 provoked the smile. I smiled because I felt that 
 Cameron in some way had outwitted his captors and 
 gained his freedom. This was the unexpected hap- 
 pening which had thrown the villainous slant-eyed 
 camp into confusion, and I rejoiced at my friend's 
 intrepidity. 
 
 "And so," I said to Miss Clement, "you wish me 
 to wait another day?" 
 
 "I think it would be worth while," she answered. 
 
 "And I do, too," I told her. "I don't suppose 
 you've seen an afternoon paper, have you?" I went 
 on. "Well, they contain some news of interest. 
 They say that Mr. Cameron came home last night, 
 and for once, at least, they tell what is very nearly 
 the truth." 
 
 If sincerity ever carried over a wire it carried then 
 in Miss Clement's congratulations, and there was 
 something almost divine in her forbearance to ask for 
 particulars. She congratulated Evelyn, too, and 
 promised to come to see her, soon ; and then once more 
 
 [246]
 
 THREE PROMISES 
 
 she assured me that she would yet learn everything 
 we could possibly care to know. 
 
 "The Chinese," she added, "are a deliberate race, 
 Mr. Clyde. They refuse to be hurried. But eventu- 
 ally we shall have our answers." 
 
 With Evelyn beside me the hours no longer 
 dragged. We talked unceasingly; reviewing every- 
 thing from the receipt of the first letter; conjecturing 
 on each of the score of little problems making up the 
 one great mystery, but arriving at nothing definite; 
 adding, if changing conditions at all, to our own con- 
 fusion. 
 
 And if, in passing, at intervals, where opportunity 
 offered, I spoke tender words and pleaded for a defi- 
 nite, or at least a closer, more intimate understanding 
 between us, who shall say that I was to blame? She 
 was never more lovely, never more appealing than 
 she was that morning ; and I begged for an admission 
 of a sentiment above and beyond the mere sisterly 
 regard to which hitherto she had persisted in limiting 
 her expressed affection for me. 
 
 More than once I had read in her eyes without 
 unseemly conceit, I trust I may be permitted this as- 
 sertion what I now asked in lip avowal. But there 
 seemed to be with her a notion that the occasion was 
 ill-suited to my plea. 
 
 [47]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "Philip," she said, "dear Philip, I care for you very 
 much; almost as much as I care for Uncle Robert. 
 You have been very good to me, and very good to 
 him, and if I could tell you that I love you in the way 
 you ask, I " And there she hesitated a shade of a 
 second. "Even if I could tell you," she corrected, 
 "I wouldn't tell you now. It is not stubbornness, 
 Philip. It is just a woman's way. Ask me again, 
 when Uncle Robert is well, and all this horrible night- 
 mare has passed. Promise me that you will ask me 
 again!" 
 
 "Never fear," I returned, "I '11 ask you." 
 
 "And promise me, too," she added, "that until all 
 the skies are clear once more, you will not mention the 
 subject." 
 
 I was on the verge of promising; not because it 
 would be an easy promise to keep, for I knew it would 
 be very difficult ; but because I could deny her nothing. 
 I was on the verge, I say, when the library door 
 opened, and Louis, pale and excited, and so in haste 
 that he had not paused to knock, was exclaiming, 
 
 "Monsieur Cameron! Pardon! Mais, enfin, etes- 
 vous prete?" 
 
 A score of fears springing instantly to birth within 
 us, Evelyn and I were on our feet before the speech, 
 rapidly delivered as it was, was finished. Were we 
 
 [248]
 
 THREE PROMISES 
 
 ready! We evidenced our readiness in no such voice- 
 less things as words. 
 
 Louis stood aside for us to pass, and as I went by 
 him, I asked, under my breath: 
 
 "What is it, Louis?" 
 
 "Ah !" he whispered. "Monsieur Cameron is talking 
 in the strange tongue which neither Monsieur Bryan 
 nor I myself can understand." 
 
 [249]
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE PANG OF DISILLUSION 
 
 sick room was dark. So dark that for a lit- 
 tle, until our eyes accustomed themselves to it, 
 we could barely distinguish objects. But our ears 
 required no attuning. Even in the passageway, sepa- 
 rated by a heavy mahogany door, we had hint of what 
 was going on within; and as we entered, a hoarse 
 tirade smote us in the gloom, like an assault from 
 ambush. 
 
 To us both the tone and words were alike unfa- 
 miliar. In inflection and modulation the voice was 
 strange. And the uttered sounds were a coarse, hor- 
 rid jargon. Once I thought I detected an English 
 oath, but I was not sure. 
 
 Evelyn clutched my hand and I could feel against 
 me the tremble of her slim young body. Gladly I 
 would have spared her this ordeal, but I had been no 
 less unprepared than she. And now, as gradually 
 shapes defined themselves less dimly in the gloom, the 
 horror grew ; and, held by it, speechless, inert, I stood 
 
 [250]
 
 THE PANG OF DISILLUSION 
 
 where I had paused, the quivering girl very close 
 beside me, staring, listening, wondering. 
 
 It was a large room, lofty of ceiling, with high 
 windows, across which heavy curtains were drawn; 
 and the only light was that which stole between these 
 hangings or filtered through three dark, richly- 
 colored, glass medallions set in a side wall. 
 
 Cameron's bed, a massive, ornately carved four- 
 poster, was hung with fringed and embroidered vel- 
 vet, and in the dusk of the chamber it took on the 
 sombre likeness of a catafalque, adding to the eerie 
 seeming a touch of the funereal. Incongruously 
 from the shadowy midst of it came that ranted rigma- 
 role of strange words, now high pitched, now bass, 
 now guttural. 
 
 What had at first seemed a moving gray patch had 
 developed by degrees into the white, night-robed, sit- 
 ting figure of the invalid, swaying excitedly, with 
 arms extended in ceaseless gestures. For a long mo- 
 ment this uncanny object had held my gaze, but pres- 
 ently near the bed's foot, I descried Bryan's white 
 uniform and the sight brought a measure of relief. 
 In response to a beckoning head-tilt, the nurse joined 
 us. 
 
 "I thought you had better come," he whispered, 
 
 [251]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 quite calmly. "I thought possibly you might under- 
 stand what he is saying." 
 
 "But I don't," I whispered back. "If it 's a real 
 language I never heard it. What do you imagine it 
 is?" 
 
 "I have an idea it 's Chinese," he answered. "It 
 sounds like the stuff you hear at a Chinese theatre, 
 and I caught two or three words of pidgin-English, 
 just before you " He broke off suddenly, and 
 plucked at my sleeve. "There!" he murmured. 
 "Did you hear that? Maskee. That was plain 
 enough. It means 'never mind.* A little while ago 
 he was evidently trying to hurry some one. It was 
 chop-chop about every other sentence." 
 
 Evelyn's eyes shone luminous in the gloom. 
 
 "Can't you give him something to quiet him?" she 
 begged. "It 's awful to let him go on like this. It 's 
 cruel. He seems to be in such distress." 
 
 "I can, of course," Bryan returned. "But I 
 thought Mr. Clyde was anxious to have everything he 
 said reported, and " 
 
 "Oh, do give him something," she insisted. 
 
 Bryan left us to obey. I saw him stop at a table 
 near the bed, and in the half light I caught the glint 
 of a hypodermic syringe. But, as if scenting his 
 purpose, Cameron's voice lulled abruptly. For a 
 
 [252]
 
 THE PANG OF DISILLUSION 
 
 second or two he was quiet, and then, before any one 
 of us, I think, suspected his purpose, he turned, sud- 
 denly, swiftly, and slipped from beneath the bed 
 clothes to the floor where he stood erect, with arms 
 upraised and tensed, shouting in shrill, strident key 
 what seemed to be orders, directed not at one but at 
 a horde. 
 
 The great bed separated him from both Bryan and 
 myself, but we skirted it in haste, and came upon him 
 before he had taken more than a single step. As we 
 confronted him, his arms lowered and his clenched 
 fists shot forward threateningly. But a far more 
 startling happening at this juncture was his abandon- 
 ment of his jargon, and his adoption of intelligible 
 English. 
 
 "Below!" he yelled, fiercely. "Below, you yellow 
 dogs! Below, I say! Every cur's son of you! Be- 
 low!" 
 
 Despite his truculence he was not difficult to mas- 
 ter. Together Bryan and I grappled him; in 
 another moment we had him flat on his bed once more, 
 and the nurse was pressing home the piston of that 
 little shining instrument of glass and silver which I 
 had so recently seen him take up from the medicine 
 table. 
 
 For a few minutes the patient rolled about, rest- 
 
 [253]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 lessly, muttering strange oaths, mingled with suppli- 
 ant murmurs. And to me this was the most sadly 
 trying part of the incident. I would gladly have re- 
 treated, but Evelyn begged me to wait. 
 
 "Just until he is quiet," she pleaded; "just until he 
 falls asleep." 
 
 At length he lay quite still and we thought from 
 his regular breathing he had succumbed to the 
 narcotic, and so were about to go, when he started 
 up with a little feeble cry, low-voiced, but clearly 
 distinct. 
 
 "No, no, for God's sake, not that! I didn't kill 
 them. I swear I did n't kill them. It was an acci- 
 dent. She stove on a rock. I I did n't, I say ! 
 I didn't I" 
 
 His voice trailed into silence. He dropped back, 
 heavily, upon the pillows. He slept. 
 
 It is one thing to have your faith in a friend shaken. 
 That is serious enough in all conscience. But your 
 faith may tremble, and sway and rock, and still there 
 is always the possibility of its being resteadied and 
 made firm again by explanation by extenuation 
 even. It is quite another thing to have your faith 
 toppled headlong, by the snatching away of the last 
 vestige of support, the last sliver of underpinning. 
 
 [254]
 
 THE PANG OF DISILLUSION 
 
 That is more than serious. It is calamitous ; it is 
 catastrophic; it is tragic. 
 
 Back in the library again, I set to pacing the floor. 
 I think Evelyn resumed her seat in the big leathern 
 chair. I am not sure. For a time I was not 
 
 . 
 
 conscious that she was in the room. That it was 
 inconsiderate of me, I admit. It was, perhaps, un- 
 pardonable. And yet it was not wilful. Frankly, 
 I had forgotten her, absolutely, in the stress of the 
 emotional tempest raised by that revelation in the 
 darkened bedchamber. 
 
 Back and forth, I strode from bookcase to book- 
 case, over the soft, neutral-tinted Persian rugs; and 
 all the while there echoed those repeated denials of 
 Cameron's that he had ever been in China. "Never 
 nearer than Yokohoma," he had said. "Once I ate 
 chop suey in a Chicago Chinese restaurant." "I have 
 always been interested in China and the Chinese, but 
 I know only what I have read." And the words of 
 his quondam friend came back to me now, too, with 
 redoubled emphasis: "He refused to admit what I 
 knew to be the truth." 
 
 Nevertheless I had chosen to believe that Cameron, 
 should he ever return to us, would be able to clarify 
 this turbid stream of circumstance, and prove the 
 fallibility of appearances. 
 
 [255]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 The illusion to which I had clung, however, was 
 now in shreds. Cameron, returning, with body en- 
 feebled and brain confused, had spoken in his un- 
 guarded delirium. The mask was dropped, the screen 
 thrown down, and barefaced and stark he stood 
 revealed, a woful figure in the impartial glare of 
 truth. 
 
 At the moment I could see no extenuation. He 
 was a liar and he was a coward ; and all the sympathy, 
 all the friendship I ever felt for him died utterly, as 
 I thought how, probably, every untoward incident of 
 the past month, with its chain of vexatious conse- 
 quences, might have been avoided had he been brave 
 to the point of confession. 
 
 It was now plain enough for the least astute to 
 see that at some time he had committed an act which 
 had aroused certain of the Chinese to retaliation. It 
 was this which I had feared from the first. It was 
 this which he had chosen to hide. 
 
 As I paced to and fro, his craven words rang once 
 more in my ears: "No, no, for God's sake, not that! 
 I did n't kill them! I swear I did n't kill them! It 
 was an accident. She stove on a rock. I did n't ! I 
 say, I did n't !" And I knew that he was lying. The 
 very tone of his disclaimer convinced me of his guilt. 
 He had killed, and he cowered before the avengers. 
 
 [256]
 
 THE PANG OF DISILLUSION 
 
 Disgust, abhorrence, anger, all were mine in turn. 
 
 At length I paused before a window, and remained 
 there, with my back to the room, looking down on the 
 withered garden behind the house, yet seeing nothing 
 but the red of my own passion. 
 
 A touch upon my shoulder aroused me to a realiza- 
 tion of my surroundings, and informed me that I was 
 not alone. Startled as one awakened abruptly from 
 a dream, I turned, and turning, there came a revul- 
 sion. Every surcharging emotion that had held and 
 bound me gave way instantly to a violent self- 
 reproach, excited by the pathos of Evelyn's sad, 
 questioning eyes and sadder, quivering mouth. 
 
 My impulse was to take her in my arms, and, paci- 
 fying, to plead pardon for what must have seemed to 
 her an inexcusable churlishness. But the conditions 
 which so recently she had set upon me forbidding the 
 coveted embrace, I compromised on a hand-clasp. 
 
 "My dear child," I began, earnestly, "I 'm sorry. 
 But then you must know how what we just saw and 
 heard distressed me. I think I have been mad since 
 we left that room. I hardly know what I have been 
 doing. To see him so unstrung, demented, raving. 
 To hear him" 
 
 But she would not allow me to finish. 
 
 "Philip 1" she cried, passionately. "Oh, Philip! 
 " [257]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 Can't you see? Don't you understand? It is a mis- 
 take, an awful nightmare of a mistake. That crea- 
 ture over there is not my uncle. I am convinced that 
 he is not my Uncle Robert." 
 
 [258]
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 AN ENIGMA AND ITS SOLUTION 
 
 my amazement I found that Evelyn meant 
 more than I fancied. My interpretation of her 
 words was that Cameron was not in his right mind 
 that he was not her Uncle Robert, as she had known 
 him. But in a very brief moment she disabused me. 
 
 "It is not he, at all," she declared, with emphasis. 
 "There is a resemblance, yes. But the man you found 
 in the street is not Robert Cameron; I am sure of 
 that." 
 
 The idea that I had brought there, not my friend, 
 but my friend's double, seemed to me too prepos- 
 terous for a moment's entertainment. I fear I sus- 
 pected, just then, that Evelyn's reason had been 
 warped a trifle by the racking scene of which we had 
 been witnesses. 
 
 "I would to God, my dear child," I said, sympa- 
 thetically, "that you were right. But there can be no 
 question as to the identity of the sick man. Every 
 one who has seen him recognized him at once 
 Checkabeedy, Louis, Stephen, Dr. Massey. No, no, 
 
 [259]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 Evelyn, you must not be misled by his ravings." 
 And at this point there occurred to me a tentative 
 explanation one in which I did not in the least 
 believe, but which, at all events, was worth trying; 
 one which, indeed, I prayed would serve. 
 
 "Cameron, you must remember, has been with his 
 Chinese captors for four weeks. In that time he 
 must have picked up something of their language. 
 It is only natural that he should. So, you see, to 
 hear him use a few words of pidgin-English in his 
 insane gibberish is not so remarkable, after all. And 
 as for that spirited denial just before he dropped off 
 to sleep, it is very evident that they accused him of 
 something with which he had no connection, though 
 quite cognizant of the facts." 
 
 But the girl would have none of it. Tolerantly 
 she listened, and tolerantly she smiled when I had 
 finished. 
 
 "No, no, Philip," she insisted, "I see it all quite 
 clearly. Whatever crime was committed, the crea- 
 ture lying there committed it. But he is not my 
 uncle. Others mistook the resemblance for identity, 
 just as you did, only the situation was reversed. 
 Those who abducted Uncle Robert thought they were 
 abducting that villain we are now housing." 
 
 It was an ingenious notion, but of course it was 
 
 [260]
 
 AN ENIGMA 
 
 not possible. However, I saw that it would be idle 
 to continue to dispute with her. 
 
 "What would you suggest, then? Shall we send 
 our invalid to a hospital?" I asked, in pretended 
 seriousness. 
 
 But very sagely she shook her head. 
 
 "Oh, no," she returned. "We must keep him. He 
 is very valuable to us. Perhaps we can do as con- 
 tending armies do arrange an exchange of prison- 
 ers." 
 
 In spite of my wretchedness, I suppressed a smile. 
 It was all very amusing; and yet the fear that she 
 was suffering from aberration due to hysteria, tem- 
 pered pitifully the humor of it. 
 
 When, later in the afternoon, Dr. Massey called, I 
 told him everything, including this hallucination of 
 Evelyn's. 
 
 "You did perfectly right," he said, in tone of cor- 
 dial approval. "The malady with which Cameron is 
 afflicted has a tendency to distort certain lineaments. 
 Especially at times of excitement his face changes, so 
 that Miss Grayson is justified in fancying that this 
 is not the Robert Cameron she knew. I have noticed 
 the dissimilarity myself, but it is due, of course, en- 
 tirely to distorted expression. In a couple of days, 
 at most, he will be fully restored, and then he him- 
 
 [261]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 self will be the best one to rectify her error. Mean- 
 while, if I were you, I would not dispute her. She 
 has gone through a great deal, and gone through it 
 bravely; indeed with a courage that is quite phenom- 
 enal, and she is entitled to any little consolatory beliefs 
 that she chooses to entertain." And then, as if such 
 advice were not wholly superfluous, he added, "Be 
 kind to her, Clyde ; be good to her. She is a wonder- 
 ful young woman." 
 
 Whereat I grasped his hand, and promised him, 
 lifting him a notch in my estimation because of his 
 perspicacity. And all the while a lump kept rising 
 in my throat and threatening my tear ducts. 
 
 On the following day I heard nothing from Miss 
 Clement, which somewhat surprised me, though she 
 had told me that her prospective informants were 
 likely to take their own time. Early, on the second 
 morning, however, I had a note from her, the enig- 
 matic character of which impelled me to speculation. 
 
 "Dear Mr. Clyde," she wrote, "I hope you can 
 make it convenient to visit me this evening, at the 
 Mission. I want you to talk with Ling Fo, an ex- 
 ceptionally well-educated young Chinaman, who tells 
 me that his people are much mystified over a recent 
 event ; and, if what he says be true and I never 
 knew him to lie a new complexion is placed upon 
 
 [262]
 
 AN ENIGMA 
 
 this whole matter. Come about nine-thirty, after our 
 service is over." 
 
 As Dr. Massey's orders forbidding any one save 
 Mr. Bryan to enter Cameron's room, issued immedi- 
 ately after our hideous experience, had not yet been 
 rescinded, our knowledge of his condition was, per- 
 force, gleaned entirely through physician and nurse. 
 Both now assured me that he was progressing satis- 
 factorily, and that there had been no return of the 
 dementia. 
 
 Evelyn still persisted in her notion that the patient 
 was not her uncle, but his double, and following the 
 doctor's directions I refrained from trying to con- 
 vince her of the truth ; even going so far as to pretend 
 that I believed as she did, and planning to begin 
 negotiations through Miss Clement and her Chinese 
 confidants for an exchange of captives as soon as our 
 hostage was able to be moved. 
 
 "I am to see Miss Clement, to-night," I told her, 
 late that afternoon, "also an Oriental acquaintance 
 of hers, who appears to be informed on the subject 
 which interests us. It is possible that he will prove 
 the very person who can arrange it all." 
 
 "Let me go with you," she urged, laying a beseech- 
 ing hand on my arm. "Do let me go with you, 
 Philip. I am so anxious. It will seem years if I 
 
 [263]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 have to wait here for you to bring me the news; and 
 there are sure to be some things you will forget to 
 ask about, if I 'm not there to prompt you." 
 
 In spite of the unflattery of her speech I smiled, 
 indulgent. Her great blue eyes, pathetically plead- 
 ing as her words, were able advocates. It was hard 
 to deny her under any circumstances, and now, as I 
 thought it over, I saw no reason why in this instance 
 she should not have her desire. 
 
 "Yes," I agreed, "y u shall go. But remember, 
 you must be very careful, for the present at least, 
 not to let slip the slightest inkling that we suspect 
 our Cameron is not the real Cameron. We are seek- 
 ing information, you know, Evelyn, not squandering 
 it." 
 
 Pell Street wore its night gaudery when the Cam- 
 eron electric brougham with Evelyn and myself as 
 occupants glided to a halt before the door of the 
 Mission over which Miss Clement ably and success- 
 fully presided. The pale, vari-tinted light of lanterns 
 from the balcony of a restaurant across the way, 
 mingling with the flickering yellow beams of the city's 
 gas lamps, threw into sharp relief the curious pendent 
 black signs with their red cloth borders and gilded 
 Chinese lettering, hanging before shop doors. It re- 
 vealed, too, the oddly contrasting figures of loungers 
 
 [264]
 
 AN ENIGMA 
 
 and pedestrians, residents and visitors. And it bared, 
 back of all that was bizarre, the commonplace brick 
 fronts of the typically American buildings, with their 
 marring gridironing of fire-escapes. To Evelyn, 
 rarely observant, the combination was interesting, but 
 disappointing. 
 
 "It does not look at all as I expected it would," she 
 said to me. "It hasn't the air. It is neither one 
 thing nor the other. It is like a stage scene, carelessly 
 mounted." 
 
 As we alighted at the Mission door, the last notes 
 of a familiar hymn, mangled in words and melody 
 almost beyond recognition, flowed out to join the 
 babel of street sounds; and before we could mount 
 the high steps there had begun to pour forth a motley, 
 malodorous freshet of felt-shod soles, that gave us 
 pause; blocking, for a few minutes, not merely the 
 ascent but the sidewalk as well. 
 
 When, at length, the way was clear, and by direc- 
 tion of a youth at the entrance, we had passed through 
 the close, ill-smelling hall, where the lights had al- 
 ready been lowered, we came upon Miss Clement, 
 alone in a little well-ventilated and brightly-lighted 
 office or parlor, jutting off at the rear. 
 
 If she was surprised at seeing Evelyn, she gave no 
 sign. She welcomed us both with the smiling cor- 
 
 [265]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 diality of a life-long friend. But abruptly her smile 
 died. 
 
 "I tried to get you on the telephone an hour ago," 
 she explained, "but there was some trouble with the 
 wire. I hoped to save you this journey for nothing." 
 
 "Your protege could n't come?" I queried. 
 
 "Unfortunately, no," she returned, with a little 
 quaver in her voice. "My protege will never come 
 again. He was shot to death. Poor, poor Ling Fo !" 
 
 "Shot to death!" I cried, while Evelyn, with cheeks 
 suddenly pale and eyes wide, held her underlip fast 
 between her teeth, and gripped hard on the arms of 
 the rocking chair in which Miss Clement had placed 
 her. 
 
 "Yes." And this strong, sweet-faced, gray-haired 
 woman in gray, her momentarily-lost composure quite 
 recovered, laid a quieting hand softly over Evelyn's 
 tensed clutch. "Yes. That sort of thing is not un- 
 usual down here, you know. There is always more 
 or less bad blood between the tongs. But it was most 
 unfortunate, just at this time, because I feel sure he 
 could have told you something worth learning. I 'm 
 glad he was a good boy. He was one of the few con- 
 verts that are really sincere." 
 
 "Perhaps he knew too much," I suggested. 
 
 But Miss Clement made no comment. I fancy it 
 
 [266]
 
 AN ENIGMA 
 
 was out of consideration for Evelyn that she refrained 
 from endorsing my conclusion; while I reproached 
 myself for being less thoughtful, I was all the more 
 convinced that I had voiced the motive for the shoot- 
 ing. 
 
 As Evelyn did not ask for particulars, I profited 
 by the lesson thus taught and curbed my curiosity. 
 But I was in no mood to drop the subject. From 
 Miss Clement's note it was clear that Ling Fo had 
 already communicated to her some of the more im- 
 portant facts in this connection, and of these I hoped 
 to possess myself. 
 
 "And so, Miss Clement," I ventured, sharpening 
 my wedge, "Chinatown is mystified, I understand." 
 
 She was seated, now, by her little desk, and for a 
 moment had been turning up, searchingly, one paper 
 after another, from an open drawer. At my observa- 
 tion, she paused and raised her glance, a folded sheet 
 of note size, in her hand; for a heart-beat her eyes 
 held mine. 
 
 "Yes," she said, at length. "Chinatown is all at 
 sea, so to speak." 
 
 "Over what ?" I pressed. 
 
 Slowly she unfolded the scrap of writing she held, 
 and before replying she read it through, slowly and 
 deliberately. 
 
 [267]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "If you don't mind," she proposed, "I would pre- 
 fer not to talk about it. I am in a peculiar posi- 
 tion here, Mr. Clyde, as you can well understand, and 
 I can't afford to play false to those who trust me. 
 At the same time I do not always know whom among 
 these people to trust. Some one who knew them very 
 well wrote, once upon a time, something like this: 
 
 "You can take a Chink away from his fan, 
 Away from his lotteries, fiddles and joss, 
 You can give his queue to the barber, boss ; 
 But you can't get down to the roots that start 
 From the yellow base of his yellow heart." 
 
 And it 's very true. There are those here who 
 pretend to adore me, who would think nothing of 
 treating me as they treated poor Ling Fo, if 
 they suspected I knew anything and gave infor- 
 mation." 
 
 "I don't want you to think I 'm a coward, Miss 
 Grayson," she went on, turning to Evelyn. "I think 
 I Ve proved to you that I want to help you and mean 
 to, but I 'm rather upset to-night, and so I 'm afraid 
 we shall have to let matters rest a little longer. There 
 is one thing, though, that you can do for me, if you 
 will." 
 
 The last sentence was addressed to me, and I made 
 haste to assure her that she had only to command me. 
 
 [268]
 
 AN ENIGMA 
 
 As she had spoken she had been folding and re- 
 folding the paper in her hand, until it was now a 
 tiny, one-inch square. 
 
 "Take this," she said, handing it to me, her voice 
 a low murmur, "and after you have read it, destroy 
 it. I should n't want it found in my possession." 
 
 "I understand, Miss Clement," I returned and the 
 folded square went into my waistcoat pocket. 
 
 "It may mean more to you," she added, in a whis- 
 per, "than anything I could say." 
 
 When once more in the brougham, speeding north- 
 ward, Evelyn, who had been unusually taciturn 
 throughout the interview, asked me a question. 
 
 "Did you mean what you said, Philip?" 
 
 "What did I say?" I queried. 
 
 "That you understood." 
 
 "I understood that it might not be well for her 
 to have this letter of Ling Fo's about." 
 
 "But the rest? Her refusal to talk? Her uneas- 
 iness? Her fear of possible traitors?" she persisted. 
 
 Once more she had gone straight to the heart of 
 the situation. I had been as puzzled as she by the 
 missionary's attitude of constraint, which I could not 
 attribute wholly to the tragedy she had told us of; 
 and I admitted as much to Evelyn. 
 
 "If she suspected eavesdroppers," the girl argued, 
 
 [269]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "she said too much. If she did n't fear being over- 
 heard, why could n't she tell us all she knew?" 
 
 For want of a better answer I said, 
 
 "Perhaps the letter will solve the enigma," and 
 plucking it from my pocket with thumb and fore- 
 finger I began carefully to unfold it. 
 
 The interior of the vehicle was brilliantly alight, 
 and though we were already far beyond the China- 
 town zone and the chance observation of any lurking 
 spies, I nevertheless chose discreetly to draw the 
 shades prior to outspreading the written page. 
 
 Before the sheet with its network of creases was 
 quite flattened, Evelyn, who was bending attentively 
 near, exclaimed in surprise, "It is her own handwrit- 
 ing! See, it is written by Miss Clement herself!" 
 
 Already absorbed, I made no response. Avidly 
 my eyes were racing over the lines ; greedily, my brain 
 was digesting them. 
 
 "Tidings of the cruel murder of Ling Fo have 
 just reached me. When you come, as I know you 
 will, I shall not dare to speak what I have here written, 
 and which is all that the poor boy ever told me. Al- 
 ready there are spies about me, and your visit is a 
 risk to us both. I would have prevented it, if I 
 could. 
 
 "Three weeks ago, according to Ling Fo, a white 
 
 [270]
 
 AN ENIGMA 
 
 man was abducted by order of the Six Companies, 
 and shipped to China for punishment, aboard a tramp 
 steamer. Ling Fo would not give me the white man's 
 name or any of the particulars, save that sixteen 
 years ago he had committed a crime, known to every 
 Chinaman in America as 'The Crime of the Sable 
 Lorcha,' or 'black funeral ship,' by which nearly one 
 hundred Chinese coolies lost their lives. 
 
 "It seems now that this man, who they thought 
 was on the ocean, suddenly reappeared in New York, 
 a few nights ago. He was recognized and set upon 
 by two Chinamen, but he escaped, and the Six Com- 
 panies and all the tongs are in a ferment over the 
 mystery." 
 
 Evelyn's hand was on my arm as I read, her face 
 close to mine, reading with me. Having finished, I 
 held the sheet for a moment, waiting for her to signify 
 that she, too, had reached the end. And in that mo- 
 ment the brougham came to a sudden halt. 
 
 Before either of us could voice a word the door 
 on my side was wrenched violently open, and the blue 
 steel muzzle of a revolver covered me. 
 
 [271]
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 WHEN THE DOORS PARTED 
 
 immediately followed must have occupied 
 a second or two at most. Yet it seemed to me 
 that for many minutes I sat mute and motionless, 
 staring at that levelled weapon and at the rude black 
 mask behind it; for my brain was superactive and 
 my thoughts were racing. 
 
 Instantly I comprehended all that had happened, 
 and the situation, climaxing in our peril, was as clear 
 to me as though I had witnessed the whole chain of 
 events from inception to final execution. The assas- 
 sination of Ling Fo was to be succeeded by the ab- 
 duction, perhaps the murder, of Evelyn and myself. 
 Already while we were conversing with Miss Clement 
 our driver had been spirited from the box and one 
 of the enemy mounted in his place. In the rush of 
 my review I recalled that in hurrying Evelyn into 
 the brougham, anxious to be started and away, I had 
 not cast even so much as a glance towards the man in 
 front. At first, in our absorption, and later behind 
 lowered silken shades, we had made no effort to trace 
 
 [272]
 
 WHEN THE DOORS PARTED 
 
 our course. Hence our present location was madden- 
 ingly unguessable. We might be far on the east 
 side or far on the west, or we might merely have 
 circled back to within a block or less of the Mission 
 from which we started. 
 
 All this, I say, flashed through my brain with in- 
 conceivable swiftness as I sat rigid, with eyes on the 
 revolver barrel and the masked face of the shadowy, 
 sinister creature that held it. All this, and more. 
 For in that brief space I considered one possible 
 course of action after another, groping desperately 
 for a plan of rescue and escape. 
 
 In that passing second or two there had been no 
 sound no word from him at the door; no whisper 
 even from her at my side, who, like myself, sat dumb 
 and inert, stricken to stone by the suddenness of the 
 attack. But for a second or two only this silence and 
 inertia lasted. 
 
 That which ensued was coincident. As though the 
 step had been prearranged, the three actors moved 
 in concert. The hand which held the weapon ad- 
 vanced a dozen inches or more. Synchronously my 
 foot, lifted with all the accuracy and power of my 
 undergraduate football days, met the intruding re- 
 volver and sent it spinning against the vehicle's up- 
 holstered top. Simultaneously, Evelyn screamed. 
 
 18 [273]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 And even as her voice rang out, high and shrill ; even 
 as that lethal object of chill-hardened steel spun up- 
 ward, the light was switched suddenly off and we 
 were in grumous darkness. 
 
 It was she who, pressing the button at her side, 
 had dropped over us this mantle of invisibility no less 
 obscuring than the fabled Hel Keplein; and it was 
 she, too, who now opened the other door of the 
 brougham, and with a murmured: "Come! Hurry!" 
 drew me after her into the dread uncertainty of an 
 environment of which we knew nothing. 
 
 The gloom without was scarcely less thick than 
 that within. Of my five senses therefore, all keenly 
 alert, that of sight told me nothing; but my ears and 
 nostrils, aided and abetted by my perception of sodden 
 planking beneath my feet, informed me that we had 
 alighted in a stable. The sound of pounding hoofs 
 echoed from near-by stalls and unmistakable equine 
 odors were strongly pervasive. 
 
 Upon my hearing there fell, too, as we fled, the 
 high-pitched nasal cackle of excited and perplexed 
 celestials, whose eyes, dazzled by the brougham's 
 lamps, failed to follow us into that obscurity which 
 lay in the wake of the conveyance, and through 
 which, hand in hand, Evelyn and I crept crouchingly 
 toward the street, our hearts hammering but our 
 
 [274]
 
 WHEN THE DOORS PARTED 
 
 breathing smothered lest it betray our whereabouts 
 and precipitate pursuit. 
 
 If in our fond fancy we expected an unimpeded 
 way, however, our expectations were not realized. 
 Where the darkness was densest there rose an obstruc- 
 tion. From out of the black a pair of arms encircled 
 me a pair of arms, long and sinewy and muscular, 
 which tightened about me with a sudden vise-like 
 pressure, holding me powerless. My hold of 
 Evelyn's hand was thus abruptly sundered, and 
 though she could not see, she sensed the encounter. 
 Once more she screamed. High and shrill her 
 young voice rose above the noise of the stamping 
 horses and the quaintly strident chatter of the con- 
 fused Mongolians. It was not so much a mere cry 
 of affright as it was an appeal for help. And it met 
 with surprisingly prompt response. 
 
 Before its echo had died, the double sliding doors 
 which separated our stable dungeon from the side- 
 walk were swept swiftly apart, admitting the reveal- 
 ing gleam from a street lamp across the way, and 
 admitting, too, the husky, commanding figure of a 
 man with raised revolver, followed by a mob of neigh- 
 borhood denizens attracted by the unusual, and ex- 
 cited by the gij] penetrating vociferation. 
 
 Quickly as I had been seized, even more quickly was 
 
 [275]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 I released. The encircling arms fell away instantly, 
 and the giant who had held me turned with an oath of 
 defiance and confronted the invaders. In both oath 
 and attitude there was a reminder of something heard 
 and seen before; and treading upon the heels of re- 
 minder came recognition. It was Philetus Murphy, 
 red and burly, who now towered menacingly above 
 our armed saviour. It was Philetus Murphy who, 
 swinging viciously for his adversary's jaw, staggered 
 back the same instant, his arm dropping and a bullet 
 in his shoulder. 
 
 For a moment following the shot, there was dead 
 silence. Then came pandemonium. The mob, al- 
 ready augmented from a score to a hundred, surged 
 into the stable as a spring flood surges over broken 
 dams. With Evelyn in a corner behind me I fought 
 off the crowding, bellowing throng, while Murphy lay 
 groaning at our feet, and his assailant, who, when 
 once his face met the light, I discovered was O'Hara, 
 my own detective, smashed heads right and left with 
 the butt of his revolver, and hoarsely commanded room 
 for his fallen enemy. 
 
 What might have happened, what fatalities might 
 have ensued, had it not been for the fortuitous arrival 
 of three uniformed members of the metropolitan 
 police force I shall not attempt to conjecture. Their 
 
 [276]
 
 WHEN THE DOORS PARTED 
 
 clubs, I know, did good service ; and a shot or two fired 
 over the heads of the rioting crowd had a wonderfully 
 pacifying effect. 
 
 Poor Evelyn, in spite of an heroically stubborn 
 insistence to be courageous, was as thoroughly fright- 
 ened as I have ever seen her. When, at length, the 
 stable was cleared, and lamps were lighted, she was 
 still pallid as marble, and her lip quivered with an 
 obstinacy that no restraining teeth nor hiding hand 
 could quite disguise. 
 
 "Oh! Was n't it exciting!" she exclaimed, with an 
 effort at nonchalance that was almost pathetic. "I 
 would n't have missed this experience for anything in 
 the world." And then, discovering a little trickle of 
 blood on my cheek, which a diligently-plied handker- 
 chief had not fully succeeded in keeping out of sight, 
 she was at once all solicitude. "Oh, Philip!" she cried, 
 with wide eyes, swimming. "You're hurt! It was 
 awful! It was heathenish! I wish we had never 
 dared who did it? Do you know? Was it a knife 
 cut? Was it " And so she rattled on, her own 
 ills swallowed up at length in her anxiety over my 
 insignificant injury. 
 
 Murphy, meanwhile, had sunk into insensibility 
 through loss of blood, and lay now, breathing stertor- 
 ously. One of the officers had already telephoned for 
 
 [277]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 an ambulance and the other two were making a dili- 
 gent search for the proprietor of the stable. As for 
 the Chinamen, they had fled at the first alarm, and it 
 looked very much as if every one in any way connected 
 with the outrage, save only Murphy, had gone with 
 them. 
 
 O'Hara, who had been put, nominally, under ar- 
 rest, and who was now awaiting the pleasure of his 
 captors, availed himself of the first moment of 
 Evelyn's silence to address me. 
 
 "It 's been a long chase, Mr. Clyde," he said and 
 there was something of pride in his tone, "but you 
 see I got him dead to rights at last. He 's mixed up 
 with about the most lawless gang of highbinders New 
 York has known for years. I have n't got down to 
 all his history yet, but I Ve been handed a good stack 
 of it, and it won't be hard to put the screws on him 
 now for killing that Chink that used to work for him 
 up to Cos Cob. I did n't know it was you he was after 
 to-night, but I do know that he had a hand in the plot 
 that fixed another Chink this very evening a young 
 fellow named Ling Fo, who was pumped full of lead 
 just as he was turning from the Bowery into Pell 
 Street." 
 
 It was from O'Hara that I learned our present 
 whereabouts. The stable was not more than a half 
 
 [278]
 
 WHEN THE DOORS PARTED 
 
 dozen blocks from the intersection of the two streets 
 he had just named. 
 
 The fate of our driver we could only conjecture. 
 Before the policemen I laid the facts and they prom- 
 ised me that he should be found. And then, after 
 half an hour's waiting, a substitute driver was se- 
 cured from a neighboring garage, and Evelyn and I 
 were permitted to continue our interrupted journey 
 homeward. 
 
 At the Cameron house, as though our cup of excite- 
 ment were not already filled to brimming, a fresh 
 experience awaited us an experience of such vital 
 significance as to overturn entertained conclusions 
 and shed a wholly new light upon our darkest per- 
 plexities. 
 
 [279]
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 
 
 THE SCUTTLED SHIP 
 
 /^HECKABEEDY met us in the hall an un- 
 usually agitated Checkabeedy, with his full- 
 jowled, rubicund face ruddy beyond the common, and 
 his tiny gray eyes twinkling like twin star sapphires. 
 
 Our adventure, thrilling as it had been, was sub- 
 jugated, if not indeed for the moment forgotten, in 
 the presence of this unwonted suscitation. For the 
 butler's aplomb was a sort of family fixture which 
 nothing short of the most extraordinary happening 
 could either unsettle or upheave. To find him in such 
 case, therefore, argued either cognizance of excep- 
 tional developments or possession of monstrously im- 
 portant tidings; and at sight of him we both paused 
 in mute expectancy. 
 
 "There is a person, sir," he began, making vain 
 effort to control his voice to dispassion, "a foreign 
 person what is called a Chinee, I think, sir, in the 
 reception room. If I understand him, sir, he is a 
 consul or something like that. And he has brought 
 with him a tall, thin, elderly man, as yellow as him- 
 
 [280]
 
 THE SCUTTLED SHIP 
 
 self, sir. I was in doubt about allowing them to wait, 
 but they told me they must see you, sir, to-night with- 
 out fail; that it was a matter to your interest, sir. 
 They have been here over an hour, now, and I have 
 never taken my eye off the reception-room door. 
 Seeing as how those mysterious things happened at 
 Cragholt, sir, I was fearful lest something more of 
 the same sort might be contemplated. And poor Mr. 
 Cameron lying up there with that nurse Bryan, who, 
 between you and me, sir, I don't trust, nohow." 
 
 Evelyn was scarcely to be blamed for a trepida- 
 tion equalling, if not surpassing, Checkabeedy's. 
 
 "Don't see them, Philip," she urged with nervous 
 vehemence. "Please don't see them ! It is some trick. 
 I feel it is. Checkabeedy will get them out of the 
 house at once. Won't you, Checkabeedy?" 
 
 But I was in far different mood. Of late matters 
 had been shaping themselves, apparently, towards a 
 climax. In a quiet way, avoiding the spectacularly 
 aggressive, and aided not a little by chance, we had 
 drawn nearer and nearer to the veil which hid the truth. 
 If there had come to me now the opportunity for 
 another step, it must not be disregarded. My whole 
 inclination was to welcome it. Therefore I smiled, re- 
 assuringly, at Evelyn, as I said, 
 
 "Really, my dear girl, you are unnecessarily 
 
 [281]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 alarmed. There is not cannot be, in fact, the 
 slightest possibility of danger. On the contrary their 
 visit, whoever they may be, is in all likelihood pacific. 
 But if it would make you any less uneasy, Mr. 
 Checkabeedy shall wait near the open door, and you 
 yourself shall stop here in the hall, where you can 
 practically see and hear all that goes on." 
 
 That she yielded promptly to my argument, pre- 
 tended, at least, to put aside her fears, and returning 
 me smile for smile, confessed to a consuming curiosity 
 which she had merely endeavored to disguise, was an 
 episode as characteristic of her as any that I can re- 
 member. 
 
 On entering the reception-room a somewhat 
 formally furnished, square room, which jutted from 
 the hall, on the left I was mildly surprised to dis- 
 cover that one of my visitors was none other than the 
 Chinese merchant, Yup Sing. At sight of me he rose 
 and came a step forward, the same tall, spare, dignified 
 Asiatic I had met in the Mott Street warehouse, save 
 that he no longer wore the dress of his country, but 
 a dark, well-cut suit of American clothes. 
 
 "Permit me, Mr. Clyde," he said, in that chill 
 leisurely tone I so well remembered, "to present to 
 you the vice consul of China at New York, Mr. Chen 
 Mok." And then I saw that his companion, a much 
 
 [282]
 
 THE SCUTTLED SHIP 
 
 shorter man than he and younger, had risen too, and 
 was holding out a hand in tentative greeting. 
 
 My first impulse was to ignore the proffer, for of 
 late I had come to abhor the race he represented, but 
 on second thought I acceded to the most formal of 
 hand-clasps. 
 
 "We are here," Yup Sing continued, "because we 
 believe we have secured for you, Mr. Clyde, the ex- 
 planation which you recently did me the honor to re- 
 quest of me. And because we are in hope that, 
 through you, some agreement may be reached which 
 will put an end to the present deplorable outbreak 
 amongst certain of our people in this city." 
 
 Vice Consul Chen bowed gravely, and I, in my 
 turn, gestured my visitors to resume their seats. So 
 far I had not spoken, but mentally I had been busy. 
 Frankly, I distrusted Yup Sing, and I questioned 
 how much of his explanation, whatever it might be, 
 I could afford to accept. Fortunately, however, I 
 now had some basis for judgment. I felt that, so far 
 as it went, the letter from Miss Clement could be re- 
 lied upon absolutely. If the merchant's story 
 coincided, then it would perhaps be safe to assume the 
 correctness of added details. If it did not coincide, 
 I was in possession of valuable material for cross- 
 examination. 
 
 [83l
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "I am an advocate of the policy of reciprocity, Mr. 
 Yup," I said at length. "If, in return for your serv- 
 ice, I can render a service to you, you have only to 
 command me." 
 
 I chose a chair between them and the door, and 
 sitting down assumed an attitude of attention. 
 
 "What I tell you," began the merchant, his body 
 erect, his shoulders squared, his chin lifted, "Mr. Chen 
 will verify." And once more Mr. Chen endorsed his 
 friend's assertion by a grave forward sweep of his 
 head. 
 
 "When you came to me, Mr. Clyde, with the story 
 of your friend Mr. Cameron's annoyance and sub- 
 sequent abduction, I was inclined to the view that you 
 were, yourself, in some way deceived. What I have 
 learned since, corroborates that impression. As you 
 say here in America, your friend, Mr. Cameron, did 
 not play fair with you." 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances I might possibly 
 have permitted this assertion to go unchallenged. I 
 am not as a rule truculent; more often than not 
 I find it advisable to ignore preliminary inaccuracies 
 of narration, the quicker to reach the vitals of the 
 narrative. But on this night I was contrarily dis- 
 posed. The inscrutable countenance and the superior, 
 almost patronizing manner of the speaker chafed and 
 
 [284]
 
 THE SCUTTLED SHIP 
 
 irritated me to the verge of endurance ; and so, without 
 hesitation, I interrupted him with a contradiction. 
 
 "If all that you have learned is no more reliable 
 than this corroboration," I declared, warmly, "we 
 might as well end the interview here and now. Of 
 Mr. Cameron's fairness at all times and under all cir- 
 cumstances there can be no question. He is my 
 friend, tried and trusted, and incapable of deceit. On 
 that I would stake everything I hold most dear; and 
 we may as well have it clearly understood at the out- 
 set." 
 
 A white man would either have insisted or apolo- 
 gized. But the yellow man has a way of his own. 
 Yup Sing remained silent until I had finished. But 
 whether or not he heard me was manifested neither 
 by word nor sign. Without change of facial ex- 
 pression or alteration of tone, he placidly proceeded, 
 choosing his phrases with infinite care and rounding 
 his periods with a facility that for an Asiatic was little 
 short of marvellous. Had he been any one else in the 
 world I should have admired him. As it was, his 
 cleverness only added to my aversion. 
 
 "There is a story," he went on, "a true story famil- 
 iar to all Chinamen; to some Chinamen especially 
 it is a very bitter, a very pathetic story, because it 
 has to do with the passing of their kinsmen, their 
 
 [285]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 fathers, their brothers, and their sons. Death some- 
 times is glorious, as we all know. To die for one's 
 country, or for one's honor, is to be privileged. To 
 die of pestilence or famine is deplorable. But to die 
 by treachery is to leave a poor legacy to those who fol- 
 low a legacy of unrest until vengeance has been 
 wrought." 
 
 He paused for just a moment and I moved impa- 
 tiently. But if I thought to disconcert him by my 
 action I was not rewarded. 
 
 "It is possible, Mr. Clyde," he continued, "that 
 you are familiar with the history of the trade in 
 coolies between your country and mine?" 
 
 I nodded. "Yes," I answered, "passably familiar. 
 I know that at one time it was black with outrages. 
 I know that in 1882 a Chinese exclusion act was 
 passed, and that in 1892 the Geary law followed." 
 
 "But you did not know, perhaps, that in spite of 
 your laws, the smuggling of Chinamen of Chinese 
 laborers into this country, has been almost con- 
 tinuously practised?" 
 
 "It is quite possible, I dare say. I do not know the 
 facts, however." 
 
 "The facts in a general way are not material," Yup 
 Sing assured me. "But I shall inform you of a 
 single specific case. Sixteen years ago there appeared 
 
 [286]
 
 THE SCUTTLED SHIP 
 
 in Canton a white man, supposedly a Scotchman, 
 calling himself Donald McNish, and representing, 
 according to his own statement, certain large Amer- 
 ican interests. Through a native agent it became 
 known that McNish was in search of coolies. Very 
 soon, circulars appeared throughout the district, 
 worded somewhat after this fashion. 'To the country- 
 men of Ah Shoo. Laborers are wanted in the land 
 of California. Great works to be done there, good 
 houses, plenty food. You will get $20 a month and 
 good treatment. Passage money required, $45. I 
 will lend the money on good security, but I cannot 
 take your wife and child in pay. Come to Canton, 
 and I will care for you until the ship sails. The ship 
 is good.' The circular was signed by Ah Shoo, the 
 agent. In response to it, exactly ninety-seven of my 
 countrymen, having left good security for the re- 
 quired passage money, were led stealthily aboard a 
 small coasting vessel one night, and the vessel slipped 
 quietly down the Chu-Kiang to the open sea, with Mc- 
 Nish himself at the helm, and a Eurasian named 
 John Woo, in the galley." 
 
 The Vice Consul was now consulting a slip of 
 paper bearing, as I could see, certain Chinese char- 
 acters. 
 
 "If I am in error," said Yup Sing, addressing his 
 
 [287]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 companion, "I pray you to correct me." Whereat 
 Mr. Chen Mok smiled reassuringly. 
 
 "You are in all particulars accurate," he announced; 
 and the Mott Street merchant, thus encouraged, pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 "The vessel, you understand, Mr. Clyde, was what 
 is known in those waters as a lorcha. It was not so 
 large as a junk and it differed in other respects as 
 well. It" 
 
 "I think I have seen a rude, but more or less effect- 
 ive representation of it," I interrupted. 
 
 "I know to what you refer," was the speaker's re- 
 joinder. "But that was more or less conventional. 
 As I told you, every child draws boats like that. 
 However, the lorcha was to be used merely to convey 
 the passengers to McNish's steamship, which had al- 
 ready cleared from Hong Kong, and which waited off 
 the coast well out of sight of prying cruisers. Such, 
 at least, was the explanation. Whether McNish ever 
 had a steamship is a matter for conjecture. Whether 
 a United States cruiser of the Pacific Squadron, hav- 
 ing received a hint as to his purpose, bore down upon 
 him, as has been said, is likewise open to question. But 
 of the truth of the incidents which followed there can 
 be no dispute." 
 
 He hesitated long enough for the Vice Consul to 
 
 [288]
 
 THE SCUTTLED SHIP 
 
 echo, "No dispute, whatever, Mr. Clyde," and con- 
 tinued. 
 
 "On the second morning after leaving Canton, an 
 hour after dawn, when he at least pretended to see 
 the cruiser in full chase, he ordered his passengers be- 
 low, declaring that their safety depended upon their 
 keeping out of sight. No sooner, however, were they 
 below decks than he battered down the hatches, and 
 imprisoned the cook in his galley. A white fog pre- 
 vailed and the sea was very calm, both of which 
 were conditions favorable to McNish's purpose. 
 Lowering the lorchas two boats he cut one adrift, and 
 entering the other, which he had previously stocked 
 with stores, he made his way in it along the lorcha's 
 side to her prow." 
 
 At this juncture, Yup Sing slowly rose to his feet. 
 
 "And now," he said, "I want you to picture what 
 followed. Standing up, axe in hand, Donald McNish 
 began his diabolic work. With strong arm he swung, 
 and close to the water line the blade bit deep into the 
 timbers of the lorchas bow. He swung again; and 
 again the blade bit deep. Once more, and still once 
 more the axe rose and fell. Frantically, with fiendish 
 purpose he plied his weapon, until there opened a gap- 
 ing hole through which, upon those ninety-seven 
 trapped souls, rushed the bitter waters of death." 
 19 [289]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 It was a very dramatic recital. Unaccompanied 
 though it was by a single gesture, the speaker's voice 
 lent itself most effectively to the tragedy. And 
 though I disliked and distrusted him, I was certainly 
 more or less impressed by the scene he painted. 
 
 "McNish escaped, I presume?" I asked the ques- 
 tion more to relieve the tensity of the silence which 
 ensued, than because of any doubt on this point. 
 
 "McNish escaped," he echoed. 
 
 "And no one else?" 
 
 "The Eurasian cook escaped, too. He broke out 
 of his galley. Hastily he patched together a raft and 
 reached land a week later, more dead than alive." 
 
 "And all the rest those ninety-seven deluded, 
 tricked countrymen of yours, perished?" 
 
 "To a man." 
 
 "Then the graphic description you have just given 
 me, came how? From whom? Certainly not 
 from the cook, who was locked in the galley?" 
 
 "Partly from the cook, yes," he answered, unmoved. 
 "And partly from one to whom McNish, himself, de- 
 scribed his own crime." 
 
 The Vice Consul here added a word. 
 
 "Moreover," he said, and his accent was in marked 
 contrast with the merchant's perfect English, "we 
 have corroborative evidence. It happened that the 
 
 [290]
 
 THE SCUTTLED SHIP 
 
 lorcha sank in what you call shoal water. Six months 
 later, she was declared a menace to shipping. Under 
 ordinary conditions she would have been dynamited 
 where she was. But because of the tragedy, she was 
 raised, and examined ; and the hole in her bow proved 
 the truth of what we had heard." 
 
 In spite of the seriously impressive manner of my 
 informants I was far from credulous. Such a crime 
 might have been perpetrated, but I questioned that 
 the perpetrator, for his skin's sake, if for no other 
 reason, would ever have admitted the deed, much 
 less have truthfully detailed the manner of its com- 
 mission. 
 
 But, even admitting that there was neither inven- 
 tion nor misrepresentation in the narrative, I was now 
 more than ever convinced that Robert Cameron had no 
 part in it, and that in placing even the slightest blame 
 upon him an egregious error had been committed. 
 
 "What you tell me," I said, at length, "is very in- 
 teresting, but I do not see just how it applies to my 
 tortured and now missing friend." 
 
 The Vice Consul in an unguarded moment forgot 
 himself. 
 
 "You no can see?" he queried, lapsing for the nonce 
 into the vernacular. 
 
 "I certainly can not." 
 
 [291]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 Mr. Yup Sing indulged in the shadow of an icy 
 smile. 
 
 "Your friend, Mr. Clyde," he said, with a brief 
 impressive pause between each word, "and Donald 
 McNish are one and the same man." 
 
 Up to this point I had maintained my poise. I 
 had listened with feigned respect and denied myself 
 the satisfaction of interruptions. But at this prepos- 
 terous claim, I could contain myself no longer. Be- 
 fore the slowly spoken sentence was complete I had 
 sprung up, restless with impatient indignation, my 
 blood throbbing in my temples, my hands itching to 
 throttle an honest man's traducers. 
 
 "That," I cried, hoarse with exasperation, "is a 
 damnable lie 1" 
 
 If I expected retaliation I was disappointed. Yup 
 Sing's seamed yellow face continued an immobile 
 mask for whatever emotion he may have felt, and 
 Chen Mok placidly consulted his memoranda. 
 
 "Robert Cameron," I went on, my passion whetted 
 by their indifference, "has been a gentleman of leisure 
 and fortune always. Of all men in the world he is 
 the last to be accused of such a crime as this. A sea- 
 faring man! A smuggler of coolies! It is too pre- 
 posterous even for discussion. And I want to tell 
 you now, Mr. Yup, and you, too, Mr. Chen, that I 
 
 [292]
 
 THE SCUTTLED SHIP 
 
 shall leave no stone unturned to bring to justice those 
 who are guilty of having made this unthinkable mis- 
 take. Hitherto I have been unable to get a clew. 
 But what you have said to-night does away with that 
 difficulty. Both of you shall answer, now, to the au- 
 thorities." 
 
 As I spoke I edged toward an electric push-button, 
 at the side of the chimney-piece, and at the last word, 
 I pressed it. 
 
 That Checkabeedy, following my instructions, had 
 remained within close call was demonstrated by his 
 prompt appearance. 
 
 "Telephone the police station," I commanded, "to 
 send two officers here at once." 
 
 [293]
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A TATTOO MARK 
 
 I spoke in my ordinary tone, the visit- 
 ing Celestials gave no sign that they heard me. 
 I had expected protestation. I should not have been 
 surprised had I been forced to restrain them, to make 
 them my prisoners, in fact, until the arrival of the 
 police. But neither of them either moved or spoke, 
 until the silence, in my nervously excited condition, 
 becoming unbearable to me, I demanded, 
 
 "By what right, Mr. Yup, do you make the asser- 
 tion that my friend and your enemy are one?" 
 
 With a supercilious arrogance of manner that mad- 
 dened me to the limit of self-control, he made reply. 
 
 "I was coming to that, Mr. Clyde, when you so 
 unfortunately lost your temper. In stating the pur- 
 pose of our visit I think I informed you that it was 
 two-fold. In the first place, we came to give what 
 you had asked for information. In the second 
 place, we came to request something from you 
 assistance. The motive of the threatening letters 
 which Mr. Cameron received, I think I have made 
 
 [294]
 
 A TATTOO MARK 
 
 clear. For sixteen years my people, the kinsfolk of the 
 victims of the Sable Lorcha, have searched the world 
 for the fiend who brought upon them a sorrow beyond 
 any that you of the Occident can understand. To us 
 of the Celestial Empire the tombs of our fathers are 
 very dear. McNish robbed these men not only of 
 life but of decent burial." 
 
 "That is all very well," I exclaimed, impatiently, 
 "but can't you see that a terrible mistake has been 
 made? Why under heaven you should fancy that in 
 Mr. Cameron, a gentleman to his finger-tips, you have 
 found this outlaw McNish is incomprehensible." 
 
 Once more Yup Sing smiled his icy smile and the 
 Vice Consul made as if to speak, but thinking bet- 
 ter of it, apparently, maintained his stolid silence. 
 
 "You were coming to that," I urged. 
 
 "The man to whom McNish boasted of his deed 
 was the man who identified him. They had been 
 partners in the Far East in the trade of smuggling 
 coolies. The one, I have no doubt, was no better than 
 the other; yet we believe that our informant was nei- 
 ther directly nor indirectly concerned in the particular 
 piece of brutality of which I have told you. Event- 
 ually, he and McNish quarrelled and parted. For 
 some years he lost all trace of him; and then by acci- 
 dent, one day he came upon him, here in America, 
 
 [295]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 living in a palace on Long Island Sound and mas- 
 querading under a new name." 
 
 "A resemblance!" I cried, in a passion of indigna- 
 tion. "A mere resemblance! And on that you and 
 your people conspire to torment and abduct a purely 
 innocent man. Was ever such an outrage heard of! 
 Every one of you shall pay dear for this error." 
 
 I might have been the fire wood sputtering on the 
 hearth for all the effect my vehemence had upon that 
 precious pair of Mongolians. 
 
 "We understand," the spokesman resumed, "that 
 your friend managed in some way to escape from his 
 captors, and is now in this house." 
 
 "Yes," I returned, hotly. "He 's here, more dead 
 than alive unfortunately; but he is coming around 
 slowly and will be quite able to testify when the time 
 
 comes." 
 
 "Mr. Chen Mok," he proceeded, calmly, "has com- 
 municated with the State Department at Washing- 
 ton, and the United States authorities are now only 
 waiting our word to put your good, gentlemanly 
 friend under arrest, Mr. Clyde, for the crime he com- 
 mitted on the high seas, sixteen years ago." 
 
 For a moment I stared at them in silent amazement. 
 
 "You 're both mad," I exploded at length, "both 
 crazy. Do you think for one moment I believe such 
 
 [296]
 
 A TATTOO MARK 
 
 rot as that? Even if what you say were possible, 
 and it is n't you would have to identify the accused 
 by something better than the mere word of a man who 
 had n't seen him for years. Of what use would such 
 an identification be against the testimony of Mr. 
 Cameron's life-long friends?" 
 
 "Since you doubt our ability to identify," was Mr. 
 Yup's prompt rejoinder, "I may add that there are 
 two marks of identification, which must, I think, con- 
 vince even yourself." 
 
 I laughed grimly. So that was their game! For 
 nearly a month Cameron had been their prisoner. In 
 that time they had examined, inspected, inventoried 
 him. His scars, moles, birthmarks had been listed, 
 and were now to be used to identify him with a rene- 
 gade murderer of Chinese coolies. 
 
 I told my slant-eyed visitors that their trick was 
 transparent. But they only looked at me with an 
 expression which seemed half pity and half contempt. 
 
 "Did you ever observe a tattoo mark on your 
 friend's left forearm?" asked Mr. Chen Mok. 
 
 "Never," I answered. 
 
 "He has one there." 
 
 "I am willing to wager something valuable he has n't 
 a tattoo mark anywhere on his person," I retorted, 
 "and I '11 prove it in five minutes." 
 
 [297]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "We shall be glad to have the proof," said Yup 
 Sing. 
 
 Once more I pressed the button at the side of the 
 chimney-piece, and once again Checkabedy appeared 
 in the doorway. 
 
 "You telephoned?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Very good. Now send Mr. Bryan to me here, at 
 once." Then turning to Cameron's accusers, I ex- 
 plained: "Mr. Bryan, for whom I have just sent, is 
 nursing my friend. He would naturally know if 
 what you say is true." 
 
 To my surprise they made no demur. Yup Sing, 
 however, asked that he might be permitted to put to 
 the nurse the necessary questions, and as I was per- 
 fectly confident that no incriminating answers could 
 be given, no matter what the form of catechism, I will- 
 ingly acceded. 
 
 Had I not played tennis and golf with Cameron 
 scores of times on hot summer days when, with 
 shirt sleeves rolled above his elbows, his forearms 
 were bared to view? Could there by any possibility 
 have been a tattoo mark there, and I not have 
 seen it? 
 
 Mr. Bryan came quickly, a little puzzled, seem- 
 ingly, at being called to such an audience. Purposely 
 
 [298]
 
 A TATTOO MARK 
 
 I kept silence, merely waving an introductory hand 
 toward the two Chinamen. 
 
 Yup Sing tactfully explained the situation. 
 
 "A question has arisen, Mr. Bryan," he said, with 
 more of suavity in his tone than I had hitherto ob- 
 served, "whether by any chance your patient has a 
 mark of any character whatever tattooed upon his left 
 forearm. If you have observed such, we shall be glad 
 if you will kindly describe it." 
 
 The nurse flung a questioning glance at me, and 
 I nodded reassuringly. I did not wonder that he was 
 surprised at the question. 
 
 "Is there, or is there not, such a mark?" the Ori- 
 ental urged. 
 
 "There is; yes, sir." 
 
 I think, involuntarily, I started forward. I know 
 that for just a breath I thought my ears had played 
 me a trick. Then, suddenly, there swept back across 
 my memory that expression of Checkabeedy's, 
 "Who between you and me, sir, I don't trust, nohow." 
 Could it be possible that Bryan was in the conspiracy? 
 But only for the briefest moment did this doubt sway 
 amid the welter of my thoughts. Into its place rolled 
 an amazement that shocked and stunned ; that checked 
 me all standing, as it were ; for Bryan was amplifying, 
 was telling about the mark, which he had first noticed, 
 
 [299]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 he said, on the night of his arrival, and which he had 
 examined more closely on several occasions since. 
 
 "It 's evidently a representation of some sort of 
 sailing vessel," he explained, "with a curved hull and 
 a single broad sail. And below it are three letters: 
 D. M. N." 
 
 Blindly I clutched the back of a chair with both 
 hands, for a sense of unreality oppressed me, and the 
 room itself became waveringly unsubstantial. 
 
 It was not true, of course, this that Bryan was 
 saying. Nothing was true. Nothing was real. It 
 was all a nightmare; and the two gloating yellow 
 masks were horrible dream faces. 
 
 "And you have probably noticed a scar a long 
 livid scar?" 
 
 It was Yup Sing's voice I heard. He was still 
 questioning the nurse. And now Bryan would make 
 another preposterous answer, just as persons always 
 do in dreams. I knew he would. So when he said, 
 "Yes, sir, just between the left shoulder blade and the 
 spinal column. It looks as though it were the mark 
 of a deep and vicious knife slash," I was not in the 
 least surprised. 
 
 Checkabeedy brought me back to a realization of 
 time and place. He spoke my name in a half- 
 whisper and I awoke again to realities with a start. 
 
 [300]
 
 A TATTOO MARK 
 
 "The officers are here, sir," he informed me, matter- 
 of-factly. 
 
 "The officers?" I repeated, and then, memory re- 
 asserting itself, I added, "Oh, yes, of course. Ask 
 them to wait just a moment, Checkabeedy." 
 
 Into the mental marshalling of facts which ensued 
 there came a vivid memory of that weird scene in the 
 sick-chamber when Cameron had raved hi a strange 
 tongue, mingled with words of pidgin-English and a 
 few phrases, incriminating phrases, in the light of 
 to-night's revelation of vigorous vernacular. If 
 what Bryan had said was true and for him to lie 
 about a matter as readily demonstrable was hardly 
 to be considered I must conclude myself beaten at 
 all points. From first to last, then, I had been defend- 
 ing a creature unworthy of defence. 
 
 It was difficult to accept this conclusion. Mind 
 and heart alike were arrayed against it. Yet, think- 
 ing clearly now, I recognized fully the position in 
 which I had placed myself. I had been willing to 
 swear, to wager, there was no tattoo mark, and the 
 best evidence my own witness had proved me 
 wrong. Certainly I could expect no mild judgment 
 from these Asiatics. Honest as I had been, they 
 must believe that I had known, and had meant to de- 
 ceive them. They probably thought that I had 
 
 [301]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 signalled to Bryan to endorse me in my lies, and that 
 the nurse had either misunderstood or openly rebelled. 
 
 Before Checkabeedy had reached the door, I re- 
 called him. 
 
 "On second thought," I said, "the officers need not 
 wait. Tell them that it was a mistake. I shall not 
 require them." 
 
 Turning to Yup Sing and his companion, I added, 
 
 "What Mr. Bryan has told you is the greatest sur- 
 prise to me. Even yet I can scarcely believe it, unless 
 the mark and the scar were obtained while my friend 
 was a prisoner in the hands of your countrymen." 
 
 "Tattoo marks and scars show age no less than 
 faces," the merchant replied. "Both of these are years 
 old. Any capable judge of such things will tell you 
 that. Possibly Mr. Bryan can tell." 
 
 "The scar is not a fresh scar," said the nurse. "As 
 to tattoo marks, I am not experienced ; but I should n't 
 think the mark on Mr. Cameron's arm was put there 
 recently." 
 
 "Gentlemen," I said, making a final stand, "while 
 I do not question Mr. Bryan's entire honesty in this 
 matter, nevertheless I prefer to see these marks of 
 identification, myself. If you will excuse us for five 
 minutes, I shall not be longer." 
 
 [302]
 
 A TATTOO MARK 
 
 At the foot of the grand staircase, Evelyn joined 
 me. Bryan, at my suggestion, went on to the elevator 
 and ascended that way, while she and I slowly climbed 
 the broad, velvet-carpeted marble steps to the floor 
 above. 
 
 "I thought you were never coming out of that 
 room," she declared, nervously. "Once, I was on the 
 verge of going after you. The first time you rang 
 for Checkabeedy, I mean. . . . What did you 
 have him telephone for? He absolutely refused 
 to tell me. . . . Was it the two policemen? 
 . . . What did you want them for? . . . Why 
 did you let them go away again? . . . Are n't 
 those Chinamen ever going? . . . What on earth 
 did you want with Mr. Bryan? . . . What are 
 you going upstairs for, now?" 
 
 How tactfully I answered these questions and 
 others I shall not attempt to decide. I know only that 
 I set my teeth to guard the one problem which ab- 
 sorbed me, and which for worlds I would not have her 
 know. 
 
 "It is all right, Evelyn," I assured her, over 
 and over again. "There is not the smallest danger. 
 . . . They came to give me information. . . . 
 You must be very tired, little girl. . . . Go to 
 
 [303]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 bed, now, and forget it all until morning. . . . 
 Yes, I '11 tell you everything, then." 
 
 I wonder how many women there are who, burning 
 with curiosity as she was, would have obliged me as 
 she did! Is it pardonable, then, if again I say that 
 throughout all this trying experience she proved her- 
 self a girl of a thousand? 
 
 Bryan was waiting for me in the passage outside 
 Cameron's door. 
 
 "I left him sleeping," he explained, "and, if pos- 
 sible, I don't wish to disturb him ; so we '11 go in quietly 
 together." 
 
 Slowly and with infinite care lest he make the 
 least noise he turned the knob. Quite as cautiously 
 he opened the door, and tiptoeing softly, we 
 entered. 
 
 It was the first time I had been in the room since 
 the day of that terrible outburst, and it still held for 
 me an atmosphere as grewsomely forbidding as that 
 of a tomb. 
 
 Only one lowered light burned, over a tall, antique 
 bureau between the darkly curtained windows; the 
 chamber was in semi-gloom. But scarcely had I 
 passed Bryan, who stopped to close the door with the 
 same adroit silence with which he had accomplished 
 its opening, than a stealthily moving white figure 
 
 [304]
 
 At the foot of the staircase Evelyn joined me.
 
 A TATTOO MARK 
 
 defined itself, issuing, apparently from a massive 
 carved wardrobe, which stood against the wall oppo- 
 site the huge, testered bed. 
 
 The spectacle was at least arresting. I know I 
 halted abruptly as if stricken all at once with total 
 paralysis. For a heart-beat or two I think I stopped 
 breathing. But my eyes meanwhile were strained 
 fixedly upon the apparition, and seeing it pass with 
 almost incredible swiftness beneath the one dim light 
 above the bureau, I recognized Cameron. 
 
 At the same moment the room was flooded with a 
 sudden glare. Bryan too, had seen, and had switched 
 on the electrics. Simultaneously he flashed past me 
 and was at his patient's side. 
 
 "What does this mean?" I heard him say. "What 
 did you want? Can't I trust you alone for ten min- 
 utes? I told you, Mr. Cameron, that you must not 
 leave your bed unless I am with you." 
 
 I saw Cameron cower under the upbraiding. In 
 his eyes I read terror, and all my sympathy was 
 aroused on the instant. Bryan might be carrying out 
 Dr. Massey's orders, but he appeared to me unneces- 
 sarily harsh. 
 
 "What were you doing?" he insisted; and then I 
 saw him roughly grasp his patient's arm and hold it 
 up, revealing a tightly clenched hand. 
 20 [305]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "Mr. Bryan!" I cried in remonstrance. "Gently, 
 gently. Remember " 
 
 But the nurse paid small heed to me. He was 
 busy opening the doubled fist. 
 
 I stood now where I could look Cameron squarely 
 in the face, but my gaze was elsewhere. It was his 
 left hand over which Bryan was engaged, and from 
 his wrist to his elbow the sleeve of his white night robe 
 had been pushed back, exposing a sinewy forearm, 
 marked precisely as Bryan had described it. 
 
 Scrutinizingly I bent forward. The tattooing was 
 indisputable, and, as the nurse had said, it bore no 
 evidence of being recent work. 
 
 Up to that moment I had hoped against hope that 
 in some way or other a misconception had occurred. I 
 had hoped, I suppose, for the performance of some 
 miracle which would exonerate this man. And now 
 that hope was obliterated by those blue-pricked letters 
 D. M. N. beneath an almost exact facsimile of the 
 black smudge which had taken the place of signature 
 on each of the three threatening letters the black 
 smudge, of which Cameron, wearing it then indelibly 
 upon his cuticle, had dared to feign utter ignorance. 
 
 And yet, I asked myself once more, how was it 
 that I had never noticed it before? Again and again 
 I had seen that forearm bared. Surely I would have 
 
 [306]
 
 A TATTOO MARK 
 
 observed so odd a mark ; certainly I would have been 
 perplexed by those three unfitting initials. 
 
 "There, now!" Bryan was saying. "Back to bed 
 with you, Mr. Cameron. What did you want this 
 letter for, anyway? If it was necessary for you to 
 have it, couldn't I have got it for you?" 
 
 "Give it back to me!" Cameron was pleading, pite- 
 ously. "Give it back to me ! It is a private matter. 
 Give it back to me, or destroy it before my eyes. 
 Burn it, here, before me." 
 
 "Let me have it, Mr. Bryan," I asked, and turn- 
 ing to the unhappy gentleman I said, "You '11 trust 
 me, won't you, Cameron? I '11 destroy it, unread, if 
 you wish it." 
 
 "No, no no," he objected, earnestly. "Give it 
 back to me." 
 
 But even as he demanded it, Bryan put it in my 
 hands; and spreading it out, for it had been 
 crumpled to a pellet in the invalid's clutch, I was 
 about to humor him, when the superscription caught 
 my eye and held it. 
 
 The envelope bore the name and address : er Donald 
 McNish, Taylor's Hotel, New York City, U. S. A" 
 
 [S07]
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 ANOTHER PROBLEM CROPS UP 
 
 HPHERE are, I dare say, those who will not hesi- 
 tate to charge me with an unpardonable lack of 
 perception. "Even from your own telling," they will 
 probably declare, "we realized from the first that the 
 creature you discovered at two in the morning, sup- 
 porting himself by means of a Fifth Avenue area 
 railing, was not Robert Cameron, but his physical 
 counterpart, and a not very deceptive counterpart at 
 that." 
 
 I shall not dispute the justice of the criticism. As 
 I look back at it all now, I sometimes wonder, my- 
 self, how I could have been so blind, so credulous. 
 And yet there is something to be said on the other side, 
 too. An able advocate, I believe, might make out a 
 fairly strong case for me if I were disposed to defend 
 myself; which, as it happens, I am not, since the ver- 
 dict can make no possible difference either to you or 
 to me, and would only delay the culmination of our 
 narrative. 
 
 Nevertheless I must tell that for some minutes after 
 
 [808]
 
 ANOTHER PROBLEM 
 
 reading the letter which had so opportunely fallen 
 into my hands I stood at the foot of the bed, and in the 
 glare of the blazing electrics, studied with keenest 
 scrutiny the face which had so deceived me. 
 
 In general contour and individual feature the like- 
 ness to Cameron. was monstrous in its fidelity. The 
 same rugged power, inherited from Scottish forbears, 
 was traceable in every lineament. But there the simi- 
 larity ended. The face I gazed upon lacked illumina- 
 tion. Character, so strongly indicated in the other, 
 was from this totally absent. In its place was an ad- 
 mixture of craft and brutality, so palpable, now 
 so clearly, unmistakably evident that I marvelled 
 at my former delusion. k 
 
 It was the newspaper puzzle picture over again. 
 Having at length discovered the hidden rabbit I could 
 see nothing else whatever. It dominated the drawing. 
 It fairly sprang at me from out the printed page. 
 
 There was still another feature of the revelation, 
 however, which held a contrasting pathos. The letter 
 which carried conviction beyond all possible dispute 
 was from Donald McNish's aged mother. And while 
 it tempered in a measure the harshness of my judg- 
 ment against the son, it was of tragic import, in that 
 it was the one potent piece of evidence in his undoing, 
 severing the last link in the chain which connected his 
 
 [309]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 identity with that of the shamefully maligned 
 Cameron. 
 
 Evelyn wept over this letter, and I am not sure 
 but that my own sight grew hazy, too, as I read the 
 fond, quaintly couched phrases of endearment, penned 
 half a year back in Dundee, by this God-fearing old 
 Scotchwoman, to that infamous, blood-stained re- 
 probate, who, to her, was still her "ain bonnie bairn." 
 
 It all came out, eventually, that McNish had trav- 
 elled the world over in the sixteen years intervening 
 since the coolie massacre, employing a score or more 
 of aliases and so studiously avoiding the name by which 
 he had then been known, as to have almost forgotten 
 it, probably, himself, until, yielding to the call of 
 home, he had at some early period of the last twelve- 
 month returned for a brief visit to his native town and 
 his septuagenarian mother. 
 
 It was then, most likely, that he gave to her the 
 address of the New York hotel. Fate influenced the 
 mother to write, and Fate sent the son there six months 
 later to get the letter, and so carry upon his person the 
 confirmatory evidence of his identity, just at the time 
 when it would prove fatal. 
 
 "How did it happen," I have been asked, "that 
 you did n't examine immediately the clothes that the 
 supposed Cameron wore, when you found him?"
 
 ANOTHER PROBLEM 
 
 In view of subsequent events it is very easy to see 
 what an important bearing such an examination would 
 have had. But at the time, there was no one who 
 thought of it. Our chief purpose then was to get the 
 injured man to bed, and to secure a physician and 
 nurse to minister to his recovery. If he had been 
 found dead, then, of course, we should have gleaned 
 what information we could from his pockets. But 
 we daily expected him to be able to tell his own story, 
 and in the anxiety and confusion of the moment the 
 possible pregnancy of the disclosures that lurked in 
 his apparel was entirely lost sight of. 
 
 When we did make the examination, on the morn- 
 ing following the episode of the letter, it was to dis- 
 cover that the suit and overcoat worn by McNish were 
 of Scotch manufacture, having been made in Dundee, 
 according to sewn-in labels, early in the current year. 
 
 The contents of the pockets were not significant. 
 The letter he had been so anxious to secure and de- 
 stroy was the only letter, apparently, he had carried. 
 There was a cheque-book on a Chicago bank, and there 
 was a wallet containing a small sum of money in bills, 
 and a few business cards of importing houses, which 
 we took to indicate that the possessor was still des- 
 ultorily engaged in trade, or some species of smug- 
 gling, with the Malay states and the Straits settle- 
 Can]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 ments as his field, since most of the cards made ref- 
 erence to goods of such origin. 
 
 That morning, which succeeded the night of ex- 
 citing events already detailed, was crowded with 
 another succession of happenings scarcely less sen- 
 sational. 
 
 At seven o'clock, O'Hara, in obedience to my in- 
 structions came to my rooms in the Loyalton, rousing 
 me out of a heavy sleep; for I had not got to bed 
 until four, and then had lain awake with teeming brain 
 until after five. I received him in bath robe and 
 moles, sitting on the bedside, and sipping coffee, while 
 he, perched on a low, brass-bound clothes chest, 
 poured forth his story. 
 
 "Sleep!" he echoed, when I had made my apologies. 
 "I have n't had a wink, myself. I Ve been with the 
 boys all night doing as pretty a round-up as you ever 
 see. We Ve got the bunch right this time, Mr. Clyde, 
 and there '11 be a clearin' out down there in China- 
 town such as has n't been known since the Chinks dis- 
 covered Doyers Street." 
 
 "Yes," I said, encouragingly. 
 
 "It 's another war of the tongs," he went on. 
 "They have 'em, periodically, you know, and there 's 
 always a few of the moon-faced boys snuffed out, 
 which ain't much loss nohow. But this time they 
 
 [812]
 
 ANOTHER PROBLEM 
 
 interfered, you see, with you and Miss Grayson, and 
 they beat up that driver of your buzz-carriage some- 
 thing fierce ; and the Commissioner 's issued orders 
 to put the whole yellow population on the pan if neces- 
 sary to get the ones what is responsible." 
 
 "Were any arrests made?" I inquired. 
 
 O'Hara smiled. "Were any arrests made?" he re- 
 peated in a tone that indicated supreme pity for my 
 ignorance. "Why, we took 'em in by the wholesale. 
 We lowered the net and dragged it and you ought 
 to see what come up. There was one fellow, a 
 skinny old geezer half-breed, neither Chink nor white 
 man, but a slimy mixture of all that 's bad in the two. 
 We Ve had him on the griddle all night. Talk about 
 the third degree ! He got it good, and he 's made 
 enough admissions already to send him straight to the 
 chair." 
 
 "And Murphy?" I suggested. 
 
 "He's a tough one, that lad! When they'd 
 brought him to, they figured they 'd get him to con- 
 vict himself in the same old way. But there was 
 nothin' doing. He just shut his trap, and not a word 
 would he answer one way or the other. But his turn '11 
 come, all right. I Ve got it on him, Mr. Clyde. 
 While I Ve been shadowin' him for the past month 
 I Ve picked up a bunch of stuff that '11 come in good. 
 
 [sis]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 To begin with, his name ain't Murphy. It 's Pat 
 Moran, and his mug 's at headquarters." 
 
 "His mug?" 
 
 "Sure ! In the Rogue's Gallery. And his record 's 
 there, too. He 's done time, already." 
 
 'Tor what?" 
 
 "For stabbin' a man in the back." 
 
 It requires no great mathematical ability to put two 
 and two together. The result is always either four 
 or twenty-two. So, in logic, the answer is invariably 
 either right or wrong. Murphy had stabbed a man in 
 the back; McNish carried the scar of a knife wound 
 under his shoulder blade. There were the two and 
 two. 
 
 "What were the facts?" I asked, with kindled in- 
 terest. "Whom did he stab? When? Where?" 
 
 "The bloke's name," O'Hara answered, after a mo- 
 ment's thumbing of his note book, "was MacNichol 
 Douglass MacNichol. It was in Buffalo, in 1900." 
 
 My putting together promised a satisfactory an- 
 swer. The similarity of names could hardly be a coin- 
 cidence. 
 
 "Pat Moran served five years in Auburn," the de- 
 tective added. 
 
 "You don't know what became of McNish I 
 mean MacNichol?" 
 
 [814]
 
 ANOTHER PROBLEM 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Nor any facts about the cause of the stabbing?" 
 
 "That 's easy got," O'Hara informed me. "But it 
 ain't in the record at headquarters. What is there, 
 though, is that Moran had lived in Chinatown in 
 Frisco, and was arrested there and tried for smuggling 
 opium, but was acquitted for lack of evidence." 
 
 For a moment I sipped my coffee in thoughtful 
 silence. 
 
 "The skeleton guy knows Moran, all right," 
 O'Hara broke in. 
 
 "You mean the half-breed ?" 
 
 "Yes. He give that away." 
 
 "What does he call himself?" 
 
 "He 's known in Chinatown as John Soy. He says 
 he 's a cook." 
 
 Once again I was busy with two and two. Unless 
 all signs failed this John Soy and Peter Johnson and 
 the Eurasian cook of the Sable Lorcha were a single 
 entity. 
 
 "O'Hara," I said, finishing my coffee, and putting 
 down the cup and saucer, "I have the key witness in 
 this case. You and I together are going to take him 
 with us and have him confront both Murphy and John 
 Soy. I promise you the result will be interesting." 
 
 The detective looked his perplexity. 
 
 [315]
 
 "Some one who knows them?" he asked. 
 
 "Unless I am very much mistaken," I answered, 
 "it is some one who knows them both better than any 
 other person in New York. Unless Heaven is just 
 now engaged in constructing enigmas simply for the 
 bewilderment of us mortals, the witness I have is the 
 man whom Murphy stabbed in the back, in Buffalo, 
 eight years ago." 
 
 But before I could carry out my plan there were 
 several minor matters which claimed my attention. 
 Ever since reading the note which Miss Clement 
 placed in my hands I had been uneasy concerning her 
 safety. To judge from O'Hara's report Chinatown 
 had been in a ferment most of the night, and I feared 
 lest the blame for the disturbance be visited upon the 
 brave woman missionary and some measures of ven- 
 geance meted out to her. 
 
 For half an hour I tried unsuccessfully to reach her 
 by telephone. The Mission did not answer. With 
 my anxiety intensified by this repeated failure, I 
 ordered my motor car around at once, and taking 
 O'Hara with me, made the trip to Pell Street in 
 record time, despite obstructive trucks and other ve- 
 hicles which were encountered, the hour being still 
 early, in maddening frequency. 
 
 Eager inquiry of none-too-loquacious neighbors 
 
 [316]
 
 ANOTHER PROBLEM 
 
 eventually elicited the information that Miss Clement, 
 alive and uninjured, had started at daybreak, if not 
 indeed before, to hunt up a brother of the murdered 
 Ling Fo, in Long Island City. 
 
 Half an hour later, having stopped at Bellevue 
 Hospital on the way up town to inquire as to the con- 
 dition of Eloi Lacoste, the injured chauffeur, and 
 leave instructions that everything possible should be 
 done for his comfort, I alighted from the car at the 
 door of Dr. Massey's office on West Fifty-sixth 
 Street. 
 
 I trust I am not that type of man which, when 
 guilty of error, delights to shift the responsibility to 
 other shoulders. I had small excuse to make for my- 
 self in confounding McNish with Cameron, yet I 
 confess I had much less for the family physician, who 
 had been so easily deceived. 
 
 Dr. Massey greeted me almost jovially, but checked 
 himself as he observed the seriousness, the coolness 
 even, of my manner. 
 
 "Our our patient is not worse?" he questioned, 
 taken aback. 
 
 "No, Doctor," I answered, tempted to a grim 
 humor, "that would be impossible, I fancy." 
 
 For a second he regarded me with frowning incom- 
 prehension. 
 
 [817]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "Our patient," I repeated with a sarcastic emphasis 
 that could not be misunderstood, "long ago, I fancy, 
 reached the limit of blackguardism." 
 
 The doctor's eyes widened, his lips parted and he 
 stood aghast. 
 
 "But, but I don't quite see," he stammered. 
 "You have quarrelled with Mr. Cameron? You 
 have" 
 
 "No, no," I returned, interrupting him. "Would 
 to God I had him here to quarrel with. Miss Gray- 
 son was right. The man you have been using your 
 skill upon is no more Robert Cameron than I am." 
 
 I hardly knew whether to be irritated or amused by 
 that which followed. Dr. Massey threw back his head 
 and roared with boisterous laughter. 
 
 "Ha! Ha! Ha! That 's the richest kind of a 
 joke, my dear fellow!" he exclaimed, as his mirth sub- 
 sided. "Not Robert Cameron? Why, do you know, 
 Mr. Clyde, how many years I have been his physician ? 
 No. Of course you don't. Ten years and over, and 
 I know Cameron as I know myself." 
 
 "Then tell me," I said, irritation having its way, 
 "why on earth he ever had the initials D. M. N. tat- 
 tooed on his left arm?" 
 
 The doctor's quick changes of expression were be- 
 coming an interesting study. The smile which had 
 
 [318]
 
 ANOTHER PROBLEM 
 
 lingered after the laughter, now gave way to a low- 
 ered brow and pursed lips. 
 
 "A tattoo mark on his left arm?" he repeated, 
 slowly. "There 's no such thing there." 
 
 "But there is," I insisted; "there is, at least, on the 
 left arm of the man you 've been treating." 
 
 Dr. Massey was still thoughtful. 
 
 "There is some mistake," he decided. 
 
 "No, there is no mistake," I assured him. "Miss 
 Grayson's eyes were better than either yours or mine. 
 She saw at once that this outlaw was not her uncle, 
 and you and I fancied we knew better. If you are 
 still unconvinced, Doctor, I '11 run you up in my car, 
 which is at the door, and you shall satisfy yourself. 
 Meanwhile I '11 give you some of the confirmatory 
 evidence." 
 
 He went with me; and to him and O'Hara, at the 
 same time, I related the dumf ounding occurrences of 
 the previous night. 
 
 "And what did this McNish say?" the doctor in- 
 quired, when I had finished. "Did he admit the 
 masquerade?" 
 
 "He became delirious. There was no getting a 
 sensible word from him. My own idea is that the 
 delirium was feigned." 
 
 "Possibly." 
 
 [319]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "Is n't it equally possible, Doctor," I asked, "that 
 he has been feigning since the first?" 
 
 "No," was his answer. "I don't think so. He may 
 have exaggerated his symptoms, when conscious, to 
 gain time ; but if he had been able to think clearly he 
 would have secured that letter before last night. 
 You may rest assured that that was the first oppor- 
 tunity he had, after regaining the power of thought 
 continuity. And still," he continued, "I am not en- 
 tirely convinced that he is not Robert Cameron. If 
 it is merely a resemblance, as you claim, then it is the 
 most remarkable case of likeness that I have ever en- 
 countered. Moreover, there is one thing we must not 
 lose sight of. His abductors, as has been demon- 
 strated by everything they have done, are an unusu- 
 ally clever and cunning lot of men. To counterfeit 
 age, so far as the tattoo mark is concerned, is not so 
 difficult as you might imagine; and I should have to 
 see the scar before admitting that it is not of recent 
 origin. The letter might have been a forgery, or a 
 real letter, secured and placed in Cameron's pocket 
 for this very purpose. And hypnotic suggestion 
 would easily explain his desire to secure and destroy it. 
 The use of a foreign tongue in his dementia even, 
 could be accounted for in the same way." 
 
 It was natural that Dr. Massey should exert his 
 
 [320]
 
 ANOTHER PROBLEM 
 
 ingenuity to reconcile these divergent points. To him 
 it seemed, as it had to me, that a mistake as to the 
 identity of his patient was incredible. But now I 
 simply shook my head in negation. 
 
 "Wait until you see him again, Doctor," I re- 
 quested. "Wait until you read his face, not for what 
 is on the surface but for what is behind it." 
 
 The motor, drawing a swift diagonal to the curb, 
 came creepingly to a halt before the Cameron house. 
 As I was about to alight, Dr. Massey laid a detain- 
 ing hand on my arm. 
 
 "If your conclusion is correct, Clyde," he said, 
 gravely, "what course do you propose to take? Do 
 you realize what is involved? Don't you see that your 
 conviction and mine is one thing, but that to con- 
 vince the public is an entirely different matter? Can 
 we afford to give this man up for his crimes until we 
 have Cameron actually here to prove that it is not he 
 who was thus involved sixteen years ago?" 
 
 In the recent result of developments I had not 
 thought of that. But I saw now that it presented a 
 problem no less perplexing than some of those which 
 had just been solved. 
 
 21 [321]
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ENEMIES FACE TO FACE 
 
 A S events shaped themselves the problem presented 
 by Dr. Massey found a speedy solution. Had 
 I been compelled to grapple with it unaided I am not 
 yet sure what course I should have pursued. Of my 
 own volition I must have hesitated to take a step 
 which could not fail to throw suspicion, at least 
 among the only partially informed upon my absent 
 and defenceless friend. But all choice in the matter 
 was denied me. 
 
 I arranged with Dr. Massey that he should go un- 
 accompanied to his patient's room, and, without so 
 much as a hint that he was cognizant of what had 
 transpired on the previous night, make whatever ex- 
 amination he deemed necessary to a definite conclusion. 
 
 In the meantime, having learned from Checkabeedy 
 that Evelyn was in the breakfast room, I joined her 
 there. Her curiosity had ripened by a night's sup- 
 pression; and having dismissed the footman who was 
 serving her, she at once demanded the fulfilment of 
 my promise to tell her everything. 
 
 [322]
 
 ENEMIES FACE TO FACE 
 
 "It 's another case where > ou have the right to say, 
 'I told you so!'" I began, as I took a chair next 
 to her. 
 
 In her wide blue eyes I read that she divined my 
 meaning. 
 
 "Yes," I went on, "the man upstairs is not your 
 uncle. We have been nursing a viper, it seems, who 
 promises to give us a deal of trouble before we are 
 through with him." 
 
 There was no need for her to question me. Rap- 
 idly, succinctly, I told her the story I had learned 
 from Yup Sing ; told her, too, of the scene in the bed- 
 chamber, after I had left her on the previous night; 
 and showed her the letter from McNish's poor old 
 Scotch mother. 
 
 "There, there," I soothed, as in silence but with 
 quivering lips and eyes overflowing, she started to 
 read the tremblingly penned sentences a second time. 
 "I 'm sorry for the dear old creature, too, but " 
 
 "Philip," she interrupted me, her face and voice 
 alike pleading. "Let us send him back to her'" 
 
 "Send him back!" I repeated in amazement. 
 
 "Yes. We can, can't we? We don't have to give 
 him up to those horrid Chinamen, do we ? He 's well 
 enough to go, is n't he ? Why can't we call a cab, 
 give him enough money for his passage and send him, 
 
 [323]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 at once? There's a steamer sailing this morning, 
 is n't there?" 
 
 For just a moment I was on the point of yielding. 
 Seldom has a villain had a more puissant advocate 
 than had McNish in this enthusiastic, resolute girl, 
 spurred to his salvation by the pathetic appeal of that 
 maternal yearning which breathed from every line of 
 the letter before her. The unselfish purity of her 
 cause illumined and transfigured her. Her beauty 
 was radiant. 
 
 "Answer me!" she insisted, impatient at my silence. 
 "Is n't it possible? Is n't it really the very best way 
 out of a difficulty? It will never do to admit that we 
 have had that man here in mistake for Uncle Robert, 
 you know." 
 
 "But there is something you have forgotten, my 
 dear child," I objected, with all the mildness I could 
 bestow upon the words. "In your wish to give joy 
 to this poor old mother and in that I am with you 
 heart and soul you have quite overlooked the fact 
 that we are still with scarcely a scintilla of informa- 
 tion concerning the present whereabouts of your 
 uncle." 
 
 "Oh, no, I haven't," was her prompt rejoinder, 
 "but I don't see what that has to do with it, except 
 that it makes it all the more necessary to pretend that 
 
 [324]
 
 be 
 
 2 
 
 MM 
 
 c 
 - 
 
 I
 
 ENEMIES FACE TO FACE 
 
 we still believe this McNish is he. How will sending 
 McNish abroad hinder " And then she broke off, 
 suddenly, as I had rather expected she would, know- 
 ing what a keen brain she had and how once she got 
 a clear perspective on the situation, she must see again 
 the very point she had suggested once herself, and 
 which I had still in mind. 
 
 "You mean," she began again, speaking very slowly 
 now, as she mentally focussed the conditions, "that we 
 must hold McNish as a hostage, and only give him up 
 when they return Uncle Robert to us?" 
 
 "Exactly," I agreed. "Just as two armies do that 
 are at war exchange prisoners." 
 
 "Isn't there any other way?" she asked, frowning. 
 "Oh, there must be. I don't care a straw, you 
 know, for that wicked man; but, Philip, think of his 
 poor old mother!" 
 
 "I do think," I told her. "I Ve been thinking, 
 ever since I read her letter, and if it were possible, 
 Evelyn, I 'd give the reprobate his chance for her 
 sake, little as he deserves it. But I Ve been thinking 
 of Cameron, too. He may be somewhere on the high 
 seas, as Miss Clement's note implied, or he may be a 
 prisoner in some underground dungeon of Chinatown. 
 Wherever he is, we are safe in concluding he is neither 
 comfortable nor happy. Why, then, should we 
 
 [325]
 
 consider, to come right down to practicalities, this old 
 Scotch mother of an infamous son, when the safety 
 the life even of one we both love so dearly may 
 at this moment be at stake?" 
 
 I flattered myself there was no getting away from 
 this argument. It seemed to me conclusive, but the 
 letter had stirred the sentimental depths of the girl's 
 nature, and she refused to yield without one last effort. 
 
 "I know, Philip. I appreciate every word of what 
 you have said ; but could n't we find out what we want 
 to know, through Miss Clement? She must have a 
 lot more information than she put in that little hur- 
 riedly written note. Or, could n't O'Hara find out 
 for us?" 
 
 Before I could answer her, Checkabeedy stood in 
 the doorway. 
 
 "Dr. Massey has just come down, Mr. Clyde," he 
 said, "and would you spare him a moment in the recep- 
 tion room?" 
 
 I turned to Evelyn. 
 
 "Shall we have him in here?" I asked. And at her 
 consent, Checkabeedy, a moment later, led the doctor 
 to us a very changed doctor, a very decidedly 
 less cocksure doctor than I had encountered earlier 
 that morning in his Fifty-sixth Street office. 
 
 [826]
 
 ENEMIES FACE TO FACE 
 
 Even in his bow to Evelyn I detected evidence of 
 the shamefaced humiliation he was suffering. 
 
 "We take off our hats to your perspicacity, Miss 
 Gray son," he said, confirming my reading. "I had 
 never thought such a modern real-life instance of 
 Lesurques and Dubosc possible." 
 
 "Then you admit?" I asked, smiling. 
 
 "Candidly. There is no question. Yet I could 
 have sworn yesterday that I was attending Mr. Cam- 
 eron. It is the most remarkable resemblance I have 
 ever seen." 
 
 Evelyn asked him to be seated and I drew out a 
 chair for him. 
 
 "And how do you find the patient?" I inquired, 
 when he had sat down. 
 
 "Quite normal in every respect save one. He is 
 in a highly nervous state. He is endeavoring to 
 maintain the fiction that he is the gentleman we sup- 
 posed he was. He evidently learned his lesson from 
 Mr. Bryan, before we suspected anything. It is 
 really wonderful how well he does it, considering 
 that he never saw the man he is trying to imper- 
 sonate." 
 
 "But he must know that he has been discovered. 
 He certainly knows I have this letter." 
 
 [327]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "A desperate man will battle against the most over- 
 whelming odds," Dr. Massey observed, "and he is a 
 desperate man." 
 
 "You gave no sign that you knew?" Evelyn asked. 
 
 "Not the slightest. I pretended that I believed 
 him Mr. Cameron." 
 
 "But Mr. Bryan must have " I began. 
 
 "On the contrary," said the doctor, "Mr. Bryan 
 knows him only as the Mr. Cameron he has nursed 
 from the first. He would be the last man to indicate 
 to his patient a knowledge of anything untoward." 
 
 "Miss Grayson and I were just discussing a course 
 of action when you arrived, Doctor," I explained, 
 "but had reached no conclusion. Last night I ar- 
 ranged with Yup Sing, who is probably the most 
 prominent and best educated Chinaman in New York, 
 and his friend the Chinese Vice Consul to meet me 
 here to-day at noon. The chances are they will bring 
 a United States Deputy Marshal with them, with a 
 warrant for McNish's arrest. Now if we give him 
 up, what will be the result? He will still maintain 
 that he is Cameron in spite of our knowledge to the 
 contrary. Yup Sing and his clan will insist that he 
 is right and that we are wrong, and our chances of 
 finding Cameron will dwindle. It is n't reasonable to 
 expect that those engaged in the abduction plot will 
 
 [328]
 
 ENEMIES FACE TO FACE 
 
 confess to their error and inform us as to Cameron's 
 place of detention, is it?" 
 
 Dr. Massey knitted his brow behind the bow of his 
 glasses and pursed his thin lips. 
 
 "We are certainly confronted by a very trying com- 
 plication," he admitted, with characteristic gravity. 
 
 "Miss Gray son has suggested that we send McNish 
 abroad at once, on a steamer sailing this morning." 
 
 "Mr. Bryan could go with him," Evelyn volun- 
 teered. 
 
 "If the United States authorities have a warrant 
 for him," the physician argued, "that would only de- 
 lay matters. They would arrest him on landing." 
 
 There was no question as to the accuracy of this 
 deduction. 
 
 "And the newspapers," I added, "would be sure to 
 publish columns of speculation. . . . If we could 
 only wring an admission from McNish it would sim- 
 plify matters." 
 
 "Isn't there some one you could confront him 
 with?" Dr. Massey asked, and hope rose within me 
 at the suggestion. 
 
 "As far as I can make out, from what O'Hara 
 tells me," was my rejoinder, "the police have in custody 
 now the Eurasian cook who, I believe, has been Mc- 
 Nish's Nemesis these sixteen years. If we could 
 
 [329]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 bring those two miscreants face to face, McNish would 
 be sure to betray himself." 
 
 "Then arrange it by all means," urged the doctor. 
 "Have McNish taken there, you mean?" 
 "Or have the Eurasian brought here." 
 And so, ultimately, through the offices of O'Hara, 
 who all this time had been awaiting me in the tonneau 
 of my car which still stood at the door, John Soy, 
 accompanied by two plain clothes men from the De- 
 tective Bureau, was brought from the Tombs to that 
 sumptuous home on upper Fifth Avenue. 
 
 I say "ultimately" because his coming was delayed 
 beyond all patience. Hour after hour passed. The 
 morning dragged by with periodic telephone excuses 
 from O'Hara. The hearing was in progress before 
 the Police Magistrate. . . . Soy had been held 
 for the Grand Jury. . . . The Magistrate would 
 have to sign a permit and he could not be approached 
 until he came off the bench. . . . Soy had gone 
 to the Tombs. . . . The warden was at luncheon 
 and could not be seen for half an hour. 
 
 Meanwhile Dr. Massey, impelled by the necessities 
 of his practice, had departed, and Yup Sing and the 
 Vice Consul, Chen Mok, had arrived and been rele- 
 gated to the reception room. To my relief, Checka- 
 beedy reported that they were unaccompanied. 
 
 [330]
 
 ENEMIES FACE TO FACE 
 
 Meanwhile, too, Evelyn had received a call from Miss 
 Clement and had learned with some dismay that the 
 missionary's ill-fated informant had left with her no 
 more definite information regarding Cameron's trans- 
 portation than that which she had already conveyed 
 to us. 
 
 "We 're just starting in a taxicab," came at length 
 from O'Hara over the wire. "We '11 be there in less 
 than half an hour." 
 
 And in less than half an hour they came, an ig- 
 noble, vulgar quartette against a stately, pompous 
 background. 
 
 I met them in the great hall, standing before the 
 broad, sculptured chimney-piece. Back of me a coal 
 fire glowed in a wide grate on massive brazen and- 
 irons, imparting a warmth almost genial to an at- 
 mosphere spaciously chill and coldly colorless with its 
 preponderant white marble. 
 
 By some chance Checkabeedy was not present, and 
 the task of admitting visitors fell to a liveried foot- 
 man, whose blue and orange regalia added a final 
 sharpening touch to the grotesque contrast of the little 
 group with their surroundings. 
 
 The three detectives were more or less of a piece 
 gross, coarse, red-faced men whose hands and feet 
 seemed out of all proportion to their size, bulky as it 
 
 [331]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 was. Of the three O'Hara, possibly because of fa- 
 miliarity, struck me as the least offensive. But after 
 all it was not the detectives who claimed and held my 
 chief interest, but the shrunken, shadow-like creature 
 they had in charge, whom I recognized instantly as 
 the supposed castaway the Sibylla had picked up that 
 warm October day somewhere east of Nantucket 
 the slinking figure I had followed through the press 
 of Doyers Street almost to my death. 
 
 My conjecture was thus in part verified; John Soy 
 and Peter Johnson were the same, and it only re- 
 mained now to prove that the rest of my guess was as 
 well founded. 
 
 Stepping to the door of the reception-room, I made 
 brief apology for my detention and bade my two 
 Cathay an visitors join the others. 
 
 "I think, Mr. Yup," I observed, "that we have here 
 the Eurasian cook of the Sable Lorcha about whom 
 you told me." 
 
 I suppose I was foolish enough to fancy that the 
 merchant would at once make the identification I de- 
 sired. I should have known better. In subtlety 
 we are no match for the ancient race to which Yup 
 Sing belonged, as was evidenced by the absolute im- 
 penetration of his manner, as, after gazing sharply at 
 John Soy, he turned to me with a visage as blank 
 
 [332]
 
 ENEMIES FACE TO FACE 
 
 as the marble wall, and, in a voice without a shade 
 of inflection, said : 
 
 "I do not know him. I have never seen him until 
 now." 
 
 Had a white man dared to make such denial, I 
 should have laughed in his face. But the dignity of 
 the Oriental, the perfect aplomb of his manner, in- 
 cluding an utter absence of all that could be construed 
 as feigning, forbade such rejoinder; yet I knew that 
 he had lied. 
 
 "Come, gentlemen," I said, denying myself even 
 the satisfaction of a shoulder shrug, "and we shall 
 decide whether the man upstairs is the villain you 
 claim he is, or " but I was in no mood to finish the 
 sentence. 
 
 The seven of us, crowding into the elevator, were 
 lifted to the floor above, where I preceded the others 
 to the door of what we were wont to call Cameron's 
 bedchamber. There I paused. 
 
 "Pardon me just a moment," I begged, with my 
 hand on the knob, "until I see whether everything is 
 ready." 
 
 I had instructed Mr. Bryan to have McNish up and 
 dressed, and I wished to make sure that these prepara- 
 tions were completed. But I was hardly prepared 
 for the scene which greeted my entrance. 
 
 [333]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 McNish, clothed in the suit he had worn when I 
 found him, was in the act of closing a drawer of an 
 old-fashioned rosewood secretary which occupied a 
 place against the right wall, beneath one of the me- 
 dallioned windows. And the nurse was nowhere in 
 sight. 
 
 Startled by the sound of the opening door, the 
 trespasser half turned, his hands still on the brass 
 drawer-handles; then, at sight of me, he wheeled 
 completely and stood defiant with his back to the 
 antique desk. 
 
 "What are you doing there?" I cried, indignantly. 
 "What were you looking for?" 
 
 Even before he spoke I saw the look of cunning 
 come into his small, furtive eyes. 
 
 "I was looking for some papers of mine, Clyde," 
 he answered, boldly, and his voice was so like Cam- 
 eron's that, for just a moment, a shuddering uncer- 
 tainty assailed me. Only the crafty leer weighed for 
 the truth. 
 
 "Papers of yours?" I snarled, ignoring his familiar 
 use of my name. "I have the only paper you brought 
 into this house, Donald McNish, and that 's evidence 
 enough to put you where you belong. Where 's Mr. 
 Bryan?" 
 
 But at that moment the nurse, appearing from the 
 
 [334]
 
 adjoining room, answered for himself, and McNish, 
 with a capitally assumed nonchalance, said, smilingly, 
 
 "I didn't think you could be so easily imposed 
 upon, Clyde. The letter to Donald McNish was 
 given to me by McNish himself. He wanted me to 
 answer it. It was his last request. He " 
 
 "Silence!" I cried; and then, "Mr. Bryan, get 
 him into that chair before the bureau, facing the door. 
 These people outside must not be kept waiting any 
 longer." With which I turned, and with hand on 
 knob once more, paused until the nurse had rather 
 roughly, but in all haste, dragged his charge across 
 the floor and fairly flung him into the indicated seat. 
 
 It was not until after the immediately succeeding 
 occurrences that I learned from O'Hara what had 
 been told to John Soy on his way up town in the taxi- 
 cab. As I understand it, the other detectives had 
 informed him that he was being taken to this house 
 so that his chief accuser, who was nigh unto death, 
 could make an ante-mortem identification. As a 
 matter of fact, of course, the situation was practi- 
 cally the reverse: We desired Soy to identify Mc- 
 Nish, and McNish, under stress of the encounter, to 
 admit his own identity. The Eurasian, however, 
 having been thus misinformed, was at a distinct dis- 
 advantage. So, when I drew back the door, and he 
 
 [335]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 was pushed forward into the room, instead of seeking, 
 he imagined himself sought, and with bowed head and 
 eyes on the floor, stood shrinkingly ill at ease. 
 
 To this misunderstanding is probably attributable 
 all that followed. Had Soy known that McNish was 
 regarded, equally with himself, as an aggressor, he 
 might have controlled his outbreak and permitted the 
 law to wreak its tardy justice. But Soy did not 
 know, and the tide of events met sudden change. 
 
 It is, indeed, scarcely conceivable, how rapidly it 
 was all enacted. For just a moment the weazened 
 figure stood still, while behind him crowded the rest 
 of us the three detectives, the two Chinamen and 
 myself. 
 
 I saw McNish struggle for an instant to maintain 
 his pose of indifference, and then I saw his cheeks 
 blanch, and his little eyes widen in craven terror as 
 he recognized the shabby, silent thing before him. 
 His lips parted, his bared teeth clicked together, and 
 his hands, like talons, clutched tensely his chair arms. 
 
 In that strained moment the room was strangely 
 hushed. I know I scarcely breathed, as nervously 
 intent I watched those two miserable creatures; the 
 one keenly conscious, the other blind to everything 
 save the rug pattern at his feet. 
 
 Then, like a flash, Soy stole a glance at his supposed 
 
 [336]
 
 ENEMIES FACE TO FACE 
 
 accuser, and I saw him quiver into steel. It was as 
 though an electric bolt had shot through his shrink- 
 ing frame and limp limbs. He seemed to grow out 
 of himself, to rise inches taller, towering with stiff- 
 ened neck and lifted head. 
 
 To describe with any degree of accuracy what en- 
 sued, I cannot. I know only that McNish rose cum- 
 brously to his feet, only to fall back again beneath the 
 pouncing spring of the Eurasian. Then followed a 
 pistol shot, muffled, yet sounding lethally loud against 
 the grim silence of the chamber; and, as with one 
 accord we leaped forward, I saw Soy roll over in a 
 spasm of contortions, and McNish, thus freed from 
 his gripping hold, raise an arm and fire again, with 
 the pistol pressed to his own temple, just as Bryan, 
 who had been nearest to them, bravely made a grab 
 for the weapon. 
 
 22 
 
 [887]
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 HIS SISTER CONFESSOR 
 
 death of McNish was instantaneous. Soy, 
 with a bullet in his abdomen, lingered for three 
 days. During that time Miss Clement became his 
 sister confessor, and so there drifted into our posses- 
 sion a host of facts which otherwise we might never 
 have learned. Strange, uncanny creature that he was, 
 he seemed to repose the utmost confidence in the gray, 
 sweet-faced missionary, and fairly unburdened his 
 sin-charged soul to her. Those of his fellow con- 
 spirators that she promised to protect, she protected. 
 Those that he believed to have played him false, she 
 protected likewise. Her religion was one in which 
 personal justice has no dwelling. "Vengeance is 
 mine, I will repay," her Lord had admonished, and 
 to Him she was content to resign the problem of 
 retribution. 
 
 Had I been more familiar with the Cameron town 
 house and the town habits of its master, Justice prob- 
 ably would not have been tricked out of having her 
 way with two as lawless wretches as ever infested a 
 
 [338]
 
 HIS SISTER CONFESSOR 
 
 community. I should have known then that one of 
 the drawers of that quaint old rosewood secretary was 
 the hiding place of a 38-calibre Colt, and in all likeli- 
 hood have had it removed before McNish was capable 
 of searching for it. As it was, Mr. Bryan took no 
 little blame upon himself for not having been the 
 first to discover it, though to my mind he could hardly 
 be regarded as recreant in failing to investigate a 
 piece of furniture of so intimate a character. 
 
 The notoriety consequent upon the murder and 
 suicide was hideously inordinate. Inspired and stimu- 
 lated by the sensational press, which did not hesitate 
 to imply what it dared not state openly, the currency 
 of falsehood and misconception at one period came 
 close to being disastrous. As I had foreseen, the re- 
 semblance of McNish to Cameron, coupled with the 
 seemingly convincing fact that the tragedy had oc- 
 curred in the Cameron town house, where the million- 
 aire was supposed to be convalescent, gave excuse for 
 persistent iteration of a rumor that, in order to pre- 
 serve the fame of a man regarded always as above 
 reproach and at the same time to protect the line of 
 securities in which he had been interested, the story of 
 a confusing likeness had been invented. 
 
 No paper in the land would have had the temerity 
 to print this as a fact, but again and again silly 
 
 [S39]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 and impossible as it must have appeared to all think- 
 ing persons it was promulgated by innuendo and 
 embodied in more or less weakly- worded denials. 
 
 As a result Crystal Consolidated suffered. Bonds 
 and stocks alike sloughed fraction after fraction and 
 point after point. And our mouths were necessarily 
 closed upon the truth, since that, if possible, would 
 have been even more damaging; for while we still 
 hoped, we could give no positive assurance that Cam- 
 eron was yet alive. 
 
 Strangely enough, though the whole wretched com- 
 plication had been raked reportorially with a fine- 
 tooth comb, the kidnapping from the yacht had not 
 yet been so much as hinted at, but I lived, daily, in 
 mortal dread that it would be brought to light at the 
 next journalistic hand-sweep. Accurate information 
 as to Cameron's present whereabouts was the news 
 now most eagerly sought not alone by the press but 
 by Wall Street as well; our failure to supply it, 
 though excused by us on the ground that in his 
 present nervous condition, it was imperatively neces- 
 sary to keep him sequestered from interviewers 
 was not unnaturally arousing a suspicion that we did 
 not possess it to supply. 
 
 If, under the strain of the tragedy and the brutal 
 publicity which followed upon it, Evelyn Grayson 
 
 [840]
 
 HIS SISTER CONFESSOR 
 
 had not eventually succumbed she must have been 
 more than human. Bravely she had borne up against 
 a whelming succession of nerve-wrenching experi- 
 ences, refusing to entertain fear and fighting val- 
 iantly against discouragement, but heart and nerves 
 have their limit of endurance; and when, on the third 
 day, John Soy was gathered to his yellow and white 
 fathers, and a more yellow than white evening journal 
 ventured, more boldly than had been dared hitherto, 
 to make the implication to which I have referred, 
 Evelyn collapsed utterly. 
 
 As chance would have it, I myself came upon her, 
 lying white, limp, and unconscious on the library floor, 
 with the paper still loosely held in her right hand. 
 The sound of her fall had carried to me faintly as I 
 neared the closed door, and a misgiving born of intui- 
 tion rather than of any more definite cause had has- 
 tened my steps. 
 
 Having lifted her to a couch and rung for her maid 
 I at once set about doing what I could to restore her 
 to consciousness. But her plight was no ordinary 
 momentary faintness. Stubbornly she refused to re- 
 spond to my efforts, and those of the maid when, 
 after hours it seemed, she came, were equally un- 
 availing. 
 
 Alarmed, I called up Dr. Massey, only to learn 
 
 [341]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 that he had gone to Boston for a consultation, and 
 that Dr. Thorne, his assistant, was operating at 
 Roosevelt Hospital. For a moment, distressed and 
 anxious, the names of other physicians eluded me. 
 In despair, I opened the Telephone Directory, in hope 
 of a suggestion, and the name of Addison leaped at 
 me from the page. To my infinite relief he was in 
 his office ; his electric was at the door, and he would 
 be over at once. 
 
 And it was not until ten minutes later, when he 
 came hurriedly into the room, that I remembered. 
 The name, when I saw it, had at once struck me as 
 familiar. I seemed to know, even, that it belonged 
 to a physician of reputed high standing, yet it was 
 only at the instant of his entrance, when his pene- 
 trating steel-gray eyes drilled into mine, that I asso- 
 ciated it with the man to whom I had gone, not for 
 any ailment, but to learn whether my friend, in spite 
 of his denials, had ever been in China. 
 
 If the recognition was mutual, Dr. Addison gave 
 no sign of it. His patient demanded and received his 
 immediate attention. Hastily he administered a stim- 
 ulating hypodermic, and then, himself assisted in 
 carrying her to her room. 
 
 When he rejoined me in the library, half an hour 
 later, it was with the glad news that she had responded 
 
 [342]
 
 HIS SISTER CONFESSOR 
 
 gratifyingly to treatment, and was sleeping calmly. 
 After thanking him for his promptness and efficiency, 
 I said, 
 
 "You do not remember me?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do," he returned, almost brusquely, fix- 
 ing me with his gaze. "You are Mr. Clyde. Did 
 you get any relief from the prescription I gave 
 you?" 
 
 I had not expected the question and was unpre- 
 pared for it. In venturing an evasive reply I stam- 
 mered. 
 
 "I don't suppose you even had it filled," he declared, 
 with a grim smile that was at least partially reassur- 
 ing. And I admitted that his surmise was accurate. 
 Moreover I begged him to sit down. 
 
 "I have a confession to make, Doctor," I said, a 
 little shamefacedly. 
 
 "It is unnecessary, Mr. Clyde," was his half-polite 
 rejoinder, as he sank into a chair before the fireplace. 
 "I read the newspapers, and I have come to under- 
 stand many things in the past few days." 
 
 As I took a seat opposite to him, I said, 
 
 "The newspapers have been misleading, I fear, Dr. 
 Addison." 
 
 "No," he contradicted, his tone softened. "On the 
 contrary they have opened my eyes to a truth that 
 
 [343]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 was long hidden; they have made a very contrite 
 and, I must confess, a very unhappy man of me." 
 
 "Unhappy?" 
 
 "More unhappy than you can conceive, Mr. Clyde. 
 For years I have misjudged one of the best friends 
 Heaven ever privileged a man to have." 
 
 "But, my dear Doctor," I began, "you were not at 
 fault, altogether ; you " 
 
 He raised a deprecatory hand. "No, please don't," 
 he pleaded. "You cannot temper it. I should have 
 taken his word, without question. I knew his love of 
 truth I probably more than any one else. What 
 right had I to conclude then, because of certain ap- 
 parently irreconcilable happenings, that his word was 
 false?" 
 
 "We are aU fallible," I said. 
 
 "All but he," was his prompt reply. And then, 
 leaning forward, with a strained, eager look in those 
 piercing eyes, his voice vibrant, he asked, 
 
 "Is it true that he is very ill? That he cannot be 
 seen?" 
 
 For a scruple I hesitated. 
 
 "The newspapers have been misleading, I fear," I 
 said again, and I judge my expression of countenance 
 was as cryptic as my words, for my visitor's look 
 changed instantly to one of dire perplexity. 
 
 [S44]
 
 "He is not ill?" he questioned. "You mean " 
 
 "Confidentially, Doctor," I admitted, "we have n't 
 the faintest notion just how he is. He may be in 
 excellent health or he may have ceased to exist." 
 
 "Good God!" he exclaimed, and his face was as 
 white as his linen. 
 
 "Our best information is that he is on a steamer 
 a tramp bound for China, but we have no particu- 
 lars, and worse still, no verification." 
 
 It was neither fair nor consistent to conceal longer 
 from one so justly interested the whole truth, and 
 so, without reservation, I told Dr. Addison the 
 story. 
 
 Before I had quite concluded, Miss Clement was 
 announced, and when she was shown into the library, 
 instead of permitting the physician to leave, as he 
 made offer of doing, I presented him and insisted 
 upon his remaining. 
 
 "I want you to tell Miss Clement about your pa- 
 tient, Doctor," I said. "Miss Clement is a very good 
 friend of Miss Grayson's." 
 
 Graciously he complied, making it quite clear that 
 sedatives and sleep would undoubtedly effect a prompt 
 recovery. 
 
 "And now Miss Clement will tell us something," 
 I added. "She has had a patient, too, who died this 
 
 [S45]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 morning, as you may have seen by the afternoon 
 papers the Eurasian who was shot by McNish." 
 
 Up to that moment I knew but little of what Soy 
 had divulged, for the missionary, in her two or three 
 brief telephonic talks, had given us scarcely more than 
 promises of important revelations when opportunity 
 could be made for a meeting ; and I was impatient for 
 the fulfilment. 
 
 She had chosen a seat at some little distance from 
 us, but now, at my solicitation, she accepted a more 
 comfortable chair, which I placed in confidential jux- 
 taposition with our own. Thus seated, the fire glow 
 on her face, the half-light of a late Autumn after- 
 noon at her back, her benignity of countenance merged 
 into a hitherto unsuspected beauty, and in the keen, 
 appraising eyes of the doctor, I detected a sudden 
 warmth of admiration. 
 
 "It 's rather a long story," she began, in her sweetly 
 quiet voice. "And as it came to me piecemeal, I 'm 
 afraid it will be rather disconnected. You see this 
 poor fellow suffered horribly at times and when he 
 was not suffering he was under the influence of opi- 
 ates, so ordinarily I doubt that it would be safe to 
 accept as fact a good deal said under such circum- 
 stances. It appears to me, however, that in his case, 
 these very conditions only strengthen the probabili- 
 
 [346]
 
 HIS SISTER CONFESSOR 
 
 ties ; for his mind seemed to hold only the one theme, 
 and his statements could hardly have been either spon- 
 taneous or studied inventions. On the other hand, 
 they were rather a sort of involuntary recital of the 
 particulars of a subject which had engrossed him for 
 years to the exclusion of almost everything else." 
 
 Dr. Addison nodded his head, encouragingly. "I 
 quite understand, Miss Clement," he said. And I, too, 
 assured her that her reasoning appeared to me logical. 
 
 "It was significant," she continued, "that so far 
 as I could fix dates, he made no references at all to 
 any happening prior to sixteen years ago. The trag- 
 edy of that time was the beginning of what I think I 
 may call his mania. Everything he told me had to do 
 with it. It came at the beginning, at the apex, and at 
 the end of every revelation." 
 
 "The tragedy of sixteen years ago?" inquired the 
 physician. 
 
 "The tragedy of what has been called The Sable 
 Lorcha,' " I reminded him. 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course." 
 
 "You know of that, then?" asked Miss Clement. 
 And briefly I ran over what Yup Sing had told me. 
 
 "John Soy, I understand, was the cook whom Mc- 
 Nish imprisoned in the galley," I added. 
 
 "It seems he broke his way out just as the lorcha 
 
 [347]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 was sinking. McNish had waited until he had gone 
 to his bunk for his usual hop, and had chosen the hour 
 he was sleeping to get away and scuttle the vessel. 
 For five days Soy floated about on a bit of wreckage 
 without food or drink, and was finally picked up by 
 a proa and taken back to Macao at the mouth of the 
 Canton River, where, after weeks of delirium, he told 
 his story of the lorchas fate. From that day the 
 search for McNish began. It seems that he had a 
 partner, an Irishman, named Moran, who for a time 
 was suspected of having been in the conspiracy; for, 
 you must remember, it was thought then that the 
 sinking of the lorcha had been planned from the first, 
 the idea being that it was simply a scheme to get the 
 passage money from the poor coolies, and then drown 
 them." 
 
 "Horrible!" ejaculated the physician. 
 
 "But the Chinese are just," the missionary con- 
 tinued. "They discovered that a certain United 
 States cruiser that had been warned of the attempted 
 smuggling, did, on that particular day, give chase to 
 a lorcha, which eventually disappeared in the fog. 
 So the enmity against Moran subsided, and, ulti- 
 mately, this same Moran became the most openly 
 bitter of all the avenging horde that for over a decade 
 and a half scoured the four corners of the globe; for 
 
 [348]
 
 HIS SISTER CONFESSOR 
 
 it seems that McNish had not only made off with his 
 share of the receipts of their joint enterprise, but had 
 left him with a ruining lot of debts to settle as well. 
 There was something, too, I believe, about a Chinese 
 woman whose loyalty to Moran, McNish undermined, 
 but I confess that part of the story was not very clear 
 to me. At all events Soy, the half-breed, and Moran, 
 the Irishman, who appears to have been a roving 
 blade, a sort of soldier of fortune with some talent 
 for painting, became the prime movers in this relent- 
 less quest, in which they were backed by what is known 
 as the Six Companies. All the tongs, no matter how 
 much at variance on other points, were a unit in this 
 instance, and unlimited money was always available 
 to prosecute the search." 
 
 A footman, appearing at this juncture with the 
 inevitable tea paraphernalia, interrupted temporarily 
 the current of Miss Clement's narrative. But our 
 interest was such that we limited the cessation to the 
 briefest possible period. Dr. Addison, whose profes- 
 sional engagements were being toppled over one after 
 another, politely urged her to continue, directly her 
 cup was in her hand. 
 
 "Think, Miss Clement," he said, with an ingrati- 
 ating smile, "of the rapt audience you have! I trust 
 it is at once an inspiration and a compensation." 
 
 [349]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "It surely is," was the good lady's prompt acknowl- 
 edgment. "And, by the way, I must not forget to 
 tell you how this man, McNish, actually had the 
 temerity to return to China a few years ago. He 
 appeared to think either that his crime had been for- 
 gotten or that knowledge of it was limited to the 
 Southern provinces, for in the early fall of 1903, 
 under one of his many aliases, he arrived at Peking, 
 by way of the Trans-Siberian Railway." 
 
 The doctor and I exchanged glances. It was 
 odd how confirmation of the error he had already 
 avowed should thus come about from the lips of one 
 who knew nothing of his story of a shattered friend- 
 ship. 
 
 "Oddly enough, Moran happened to be in the city at 
 the time and every arrangement was made to capture 
 the long-sought prey and convey him to Canton for 
 some exquisite torture devised especially to fit his 
 crime. In some way, however, the intended victim 
 got wind of what was proposed, and came within an 
 ace of escaping unscathed from under their very 
 fingers. Indeed, he did escape in the end, but not 
 before Moran had very nearly put a finish to him by a 
 knife thrust in his back." 
 
 Once more I exchanged glances with the physician, 
 for scarcely half an hour before, I had told him of 
 
 [350]
 
 HIS SISTER CONFESSOR 
 
 the scar under McNish's left shoulder blade, received 
 as I had been told, in Buffalo. 
 
 "Moran fled from Peking after this encounter, not 
 knowing whether his enemy were dead or alive, and 
 for awhile, I believe, laid very low,' as they say. In 
 spite of all the efforts of the combined Chinese organi- 
 zations, McNish, warned now of his constant danger, 
 eluded their search, but at length Soy himself suc- 
 ceeded in tracing him to Canada and thence to Buffalo. 
 There Moran came, post-haste, and once more there 
 was a street encounter. Moran was arrested, and 
 McNish charged him with assault with intent to kill. 
 The result was that Moran was convicted and sent 
 to prison for a term of years ; and once again the earth 
 seemed to close over McNish." 
 
 The discrepancies between Miss Clement's narra- 
 tive and that of Yup Sing I did not regard as suffi- 
 ciently vital to raise a question over, yet I must admit 
 that I could hardly foresee a conclusion without a 
 much graver antagonism of facts as I knew them. 
 
 The missionary having paused to sip her tea, Dr. 
 Addison asked permission to smoke a cigarette, which 
 she readily granted. 
 
 "It assists concentration," was his excuse, "and I 
 am so deeply interested, that I wish to coordinate per- 
 fectly the facts you give us." 
 
 [351]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 I think I smiled at this reminder of my visit to 
 the doctor's office. An invented inability to coordi- 
 nate, I remembered, had been my entering wedge to 
 his serious attention. 
 
 "On Moran's release from prison," Miss Clement 
 continued, fortified by the fragrant Oolong, "he ap- 
 pears for the first time to have considered the ad- 
 visability of adopting some sort of an incognito. 
 Prior to this time he had, Soy told me, been carefully 
 clean shaven and close-cropped. Now he grew a 
 beard and wore his hair long, and, in addition, he 
 doctored it with henna until it became a fiery red. 
 He also changed his name from Moran to Murphy, 
 and instead of frequenting the busy marts of men, 
 he retired to an isolated country place on the Cos Cob 
 River and posed as an artist. He employed always 
 a Chinese servant, and at least once a week, without 
 fail he visited Chinatown, keeping always in touch 
 with the powers there, which were still unrelenting in 
 their efforts to trace McNish." 
 
 She came now to Murphy's so-called chance meet- 
 ing with Cameron on the Fourth of July, of which 
 Cameron himself had already told me. I would 
 have saved her this recital, but it was new to Dr. Ad- 
 dison and so I allowed her to proceed. 
 
 "It was plainly evident to Moran," she pursued, 
 
 [352]
 
 HIS SISTER CONFESSOR 
 
 "that McNish or at least the gentleman he sup- 
 posed was McNish did not recognize him, and his 
 delight at this discovery was unbounded; for it gave 
 him opportunity, quite unsuspected, to arrange all his 
 plans for a most ingenious campaign of torture. 
 What that campaign consisted of, of course, you al- 
 ready know, Mr. Clyde, and I presume Dr. Addison 
 does, too." 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "I have told the doctor." 
 
 "What you don't know, though," she added, "is how 
 it was managed." 
 
 "We have been told something about amyl pearls," 
 I suggested. 
 
 "Amyl pearls?" queried Dr. Addison, curiously. 
 
 With as much clearness as possible I explained to 
 him what I meant by using this admittedly inaccurate 
 term. 
 
 "Incredible!" he exclaimed. "Can it be possible 
 that there is such an anaesthetic as this, and we have 
 never even heard of it before?" 
 
 "There can be no doubt about its existence," I an- 
 swered. "I myself have experienced its effects, 
 though I have never actually seen it put in operation." 
 
 But it was Miss Clement who was most convincing. 
 
 "I have never ceen either it or its effects, Doc- 
 tor," she said, "but I am willing to believe even more 
 
 23 [853]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 marvellous things than that where the Chinese are con- 
 cerned. You must remember that as a race they are 
 most jealous of their knowledge as well as their pos- 
 sessions. Just now, after all their many centuries of 
 a civilization greater in some respects than our own, 
 we are beginning to learn something of them and their 
 ways, and I should not be at all surprised to discover 
 that in chemistry, in medicine even, they have for- 
 gotten more than we know. Soy assured me that not 
 only for days, but for weeks, he himself came and 
 went about Mr. Cameron's or, as he called it, Mc- 
 Nish's country place without being either seen or 
 heard, simply by using this ether of invisibility. It 
 was he who delivered the three letters. It was he who 
 cut the head from the portrait, and it was he who 
 broke the mirror; and yet no one saw him on the 
 grounds or in the house, and indeed there were very 
 few who saw him in the vicinity. Again and again, 
 he assured me, he could have taken his victim's life 
 but that he was intent on inflicting a punishment more 
 protractedly horrible than mere sudden death." 
 
 "Who wrote the letters?" I asked. 
 
 "Moran." 
 
 "I thought so. And Moran killed the Chinaman 
 who worked for him." 
 
 "No; there you are wrong, Mr. Clyde." 
 
 [354]
 
 HIS SISTER CONFESSOR 
 
 "Then who did?" 
 
 "Soy himself. He learned of how that boy, un- 
 able to control his hatred of the man who had slain 
 some one or more of his kinspeople, carried back the 
 head that had been cut from the portrait, borrowed 
 a rifle from Mr. Cameron's own gamekeeper, and shot 
 the canvas full of holes. It seemed to Soy, then, that 
 in spite of all his and Moran's careful preparation this 
 would surely involve trouble, and that once more their 
 quarry would slip through their fingers. And to pre- 
 vent the possibility of any more unrestrained fervor 
 on the boy's part, Soy beat him to death." 
 
 "I know Soy, or Peter Johnson as he called him- 
 self, managed the kidnapping from the yacht," I said, 
 "but I shall never understand how it was done. Did 
 he speak of that?" 
 
 "Over and over again. It was he who learned of 
 the intention to take the cruise. At first they thought 
 they would have to change their plans and carry their 
 enemy off before he had a chance to take to his yacht. 
 But Soy maintained that that would be too crude a 
 method; whereas to let him think that he had es- 
 caped and was safe away, and then, at the very mo- 
 ment of his triumph, to snatch him from seeming 
 security, would be the very refinement of cruelty the 
 avenger so much desired. And so the properties were 
 
 [355]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 secured at some fabulous figure I forget just what 
 they paid for that fast power boat the scene was 
 set, and the great act of the drama, with Soy still the 
 star, was carried to a successful climax." 
 
 "But," I made question, "I don't see how Soy could 
 take such a risk. If it had been McNish instead of 
 Cameron, he certainly would have recognized him, 
 when he was brought aboard from the disabled dory." 
 
 "He thought of that, but you must remember that 
 in all those sixteen years McNish had never once seen 
 Soy. He thought he had perished with the rest when 
 the Sable Lorcha went down. And so Soy decided 
 that in oilskins, apparently unconscious, in an open 
 boat off the New England coast, there was not one 
 chance in ten thousand that McNish would connect him 
 with the cook he had left for dead in the South China 
 Sea." 
 
 "But McNish did recognize him as soon as he laid 
 eyes on him in this house. I saw that myself, you 
 know, Miss Clement. He recognized him and was 
 terror stricken." 
 
 Miss Clement smiled tolerantly. She was armed at 
 all points. 
 
 "You did not know, I suppose, Mr. Clyde, that that 
 was not their first meeting," she explained. "Soy met 
 McNish on the night you found him. It was he who 
 
 [356]
 
 HIS SISTER CONFESSOR 
 
 assaulted him, somewhere about Seventh Avenue and 
 Fiftieth Street, and would have killed him then, 
 had not the police arrived at the moment. The 
 officers probably thought McNish was intoxicated 
 and let him go, seeing that he could stand, and so 
 he staggered on to Fifth Avenue; and there you dis- 
 covered him." 
 
 "No, I did not know that," I admitted, a little crest- 
 fallen. "What followed?" 
 
 "You remember I told you that Chinatown was in 
 a state of frenzy, the next day? You can understand 
 now, why. Soy, of course, reported that McNish had 
 escaped from the steamer " 
 
 I have always believed that I was much ruder at 
 this juncture than either Miss Clement or Dr. Addi- 
 son would afterwards admit. I know I sprang 
 abruptly to my feet; I know I shouted, and I fear 
 my gestures were scarcely as restrained as the tenets 
 of good breeding demanded. 
 
 "What steamer?" I cried, suddenly realizing that 
 the one really vital piece of information we should 
 have obtained, had all this while been delayed. 
 "What steamer? Did he give you the name of it?" 
 
 But Miss Clement, quite unaffected by the con- 
 tagion of my unwonted excitement, remained placid 
 and self-contained as ever. 
 
 [357]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "In just a moment, Mr. Clyde," she said, with a 
 smile that I confess exasperated me. 
 
 "Pardon me," I returned, insistently, "but you do 
 not realize, I fear, what minutes even may mean in 
 this matter." 
 
 "No," still very calmly, "I really don't. The 
 steamer has been at sea now twenty-five days. It is 
 bound for Hong Kong. If there was a chance of 
 overtaking it, I " 
 
 "There 's every chance of overtaking it," I inter- 
 rupted once again. "To-morrow, or next day, or even 
 to-day, it may put into Rio. We must telegraph the 
 United States Consulate at every possible port." 
 
 And then, for the first time, apparently, Miss Cle- 
 ment seemed to appreciate there was a real urgency. 
 
 "The steamer is the Glamorganshire" she said, 
 quickly: "A freighter; a tramp, I suppose; bound 
 for Hong Kong. She sailed on Wednesday, the 
 twenty-eighth of last month, and Mr. Cameron was 
 put aboard, half -drugged, as one of the crew." 
 
 [358]
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE TORTOISE AND THE HARE 
 
 A LTHOUGH Miss Clement's interesting chapter 
 of disclosures was by no means ended with the 
 name of the steamer and its date of sailing, it there 
 came, so far as I was concerned, at least, to an abrupt 
 intermission. For, as though the delay and inaction 
 of the past month but served to swell the flood of my 
 eager energy, the tide, so long checked but now set 
 free, careering like an unleashed spring freshet, over- 
 rode all barriers. With scant apology, I sprang to 
 the telephone, and if Miss Clement continued her con- 
 versation with Dr. Addison, I was deaf to what she 
 said. 
 
 What I sought, first of all, was corroboration. Did 
 a steamship, named the Glamorganshire, sail for 
 Hong Kong on October 28th? In less than five min- 
 utes, the facts were mine. Such a steamer had sailed 
 for the east on that date. Her agents were Bartlett 
 Brothers. Their offices were in the Produce Ex- 
 change Building. 
 
 Another minute, and Bartlett Brothers were on the 
 
 [359]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 wire. No, the Glamorganshire did not take the 
 South American route. Her course was through the 
 Mediterranean and the Suez Canal. She carried no 
 passengers. She was British. She was very slow. 
 She had called at the Azores and then at Gibraltar, 
 where she had been delayed in coaling. Yes, she 
 would make several Mediterranean ports. If all 
 went well, she would reach Port Said about Decem- 
 ber 6th. Certainly not before that. Probably a day 
 or so later. 
 
 I dare say it was exceptional that I secured all this 
 information with so little trouble, and without giving 
 any hint as to why I desired it, but merely on the 
 statement that I was Mr. Clyde, of The Week. 
 
 So far as I could judge, the Glamorganshire would 
 call at Algiers in a few days; and for a while I con- 
 sidered the advisability of communicating with the 
 United States Consul at that port, through the State 
 Department at Washington. But a knowledge of 
 the tortuous involutions of official red tape deterred 
 me. After all, I believed that if Cameron was to 
 be rescued from the gruelling slavery of servitude on 
 this British freighter, the work must not be intrusted 
 to the personally disinterested. 
 
 Thereupon I consulted calendars, steamer sched- 
 ules, and Continental time-tables. By the fast trans- 
 
 [860]
 
 TORTOISE AND HARE 
 
 atlantic liner sailing on the morrow, I could make 
 Paris in six days. Forty-eight hours later I could be 
 in Brindisi. If good fortune followed, less than four 
 days more would land me at Port Said. It was now 
 Monday, November 23. Twelve days hence would 
 be December 5th, and the Glamorganshire, her agents 
 had told me, could not possibly reach there before De- 
 cember 6th. The margin was not wide, but it seemed 
 to me sufficient, and the thought of further inaction, 
 now that the trail lay bare, was nothing less than un- 
 endurable torment. 
 
 Wisdom, I suppose, would have dictated the ad- 
 visability of securing some badge of authority from 
 my own government before setting forth on a mis- 
 sion involving so delicate a point of international mari- 
 time law as that which vras here embraced; but the 
 saving of time was with me, just then, the paramount 
 consideration. The loss of a day meant the possible 
 missing not only of connections, but of the main ob- 
 ject of my journey; and so, armed with nothing more 
 potent than good health, strong determination, and a 
 well-filled purse I boarded the Kronprinz Wilhelm 
 and started on my diagonal race to head off a quarry 
 which already had twenty-five days' start of me. 
 
 Speed being all-important, my wish was to travel 
 alone and unencumbered, but at the last moment I 
 
 [361]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 was persuaded to consent to the company of both 
 Evelyn Grayson and Dr. Addison. Realizing the 
 brave, unfaltering assistance which the young woman 
 had afforded me from the first, I could hardly refuse 
 to gratify her wish to be present at what we both hoped 
 would be the victorious end. Moreover, the thought 
 of absence from her for a month at least, and prob- 
 ably much longer, was far from the most pleasant con- 
 templation; my yielding, therefore, was not altogether 
 unselfish. 
 
 Dr. Addison's case was different. At the last mo- 
 ment he decided to go abroad by the same ship ; and, 
 on the way over, touched by his contrition and his al- 
 most pathetic desire to make amends to his quondam 
 friend at the earliest possible minute, I myself in- 
 vited him to go with us the rest of the way. 
 
 Evelyn had proposed that Mrs. Lancaster should 
 also be included in the party, but this I would not 
 hear to. If, for propriety's sake, another presence 
 was necessary, her maid, and, ultimately, Dr. Addi- 
 son, afforded all the security the conventions could de- 
 mand. 
 
 The fever of haste was upon all of us from the 
 start. The time on shipboard, in spite of our common 
 subject of converse, dragged eternally. Restlessly 
 we paced the decks for hours at a stretch. The post- 
 
 [362]
 
 TORTOISE AND HARE 
 
 ing of the ship's run became the one important event 
 of the day, more interesting to us than to the most 
 indefatigable buyer in the auction pools. The news 
 by wireless failed utterly to divert us. Thanksgiving 
 Day came and went while we were at sea, without 
 affording us more than the briefest distraction. 
 
 Should we reach Cherbourg in time to connect with 
 the P. & O. Express at Paris? That was the one con- 
 stantly recurring question, to be speculated upon with 
 varying degrees of hope and despair. 
 
 As good fortune would have it, we made the train 
 with fifteen minutes to spare, and the run to Brindisi 
 was accomplished without accident or unseemly de- 
 lay. 
 
 Here, however, we were compelled to wait six hours. 
 The steamer was late, owing to some seismic disturb- 
 ance off the coast of Malta, and fear of encountering 
 new and necessarily uncharted volcanic islands, which 
 had demanded slow and cautious sailing. 
 
 However sinister had been the game Fate played 
 with us in the earlier stages of our quest, the favor of 
 its present mood could not be gainsaid. That we were 
 now reasonably sure of reaching Port Said in advance 
 of the Glamorganshire was in itself a welcome relief 
 from trying anxiety; but that was only a small part 
 of the banquet of good things provided for us. 
 
 [363]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 I was still exercised in a measure over the steps 
 which must be taken to secure Cameron's release. 
 Without proper introduction to the authorities, it was 
 becoming more and more a question in my mind 
 whether, after all, I should be able to accomplish my 
 end in the brief time to which I was restricted. 
 
 With this fell possibility of failure dinging in my 
 reflections, I was striding the white deck of the P. and 
 O. steamer, in the early morning following the night 
 of our departure from Brindisi, when a hand, dropped 
 heavily on my shoulder, spun me round to face a 
 laughing, sun-browned, young Englishman in white 
 flannels. 
 
 For just a moment I was literally, as well as 
 figuratively, taken aback, for the tone of the ringing 
 voice which greeted me carried me five years at least 
 into the past, when Lionel Hartley and I had ridden 
 to hounds together at Melton Mowbray, while fellow 
 guests at a house-party in the neighborhood. 
 
 "You bally Yankee!" he was shouting. "Fancy 
 running into you in this fashion! I 'm jolly glad to 
 see you, old chap!" 
 
 Though my delight at seeing him was at that mo- 
 ment tempered by absorbing interest in my mission, 
 it rose a few minutes later to unadulterated ecstasy, 
 when I discovered that he was stationed at Port Said, 
 
 [364]
 
 TORTOISE AND HARE 
 
 and occupied what seemed to me just then one of the 
 most important posts in the British Foreign Service, 
 secretary to the Governor General for the Suez 
 Canal. 
 
 "You 're going to Cairo, I suppose?" he hazarded. 
 
 "No," I replied. "I 'm going with you, and I shall 
 not let you out of my sight, my friend, until you have 
 proved you 're something more than a figurehead 
 stuck up in the Egyptian sands." 
 
 "If there 's any little thing I can do, " he began ; 
 but I interrupted him. 
 
 "There 's a very big thing you can do," I corrected. 
 And then I told him. 
 
 "What a lark!" he cried, refusing to recognize the 
 serious side of it. "Fancy one of your American 
 multi-millionaires passing coal on a British freighter." 
 
 "Passing coal!" I exclaimed. "What rot! Surely 
 they would n't " 
 
 "Oh, would n't they?" he broke in. "That 's just 
 what they would do. He isn't an able-bodied sea- 
 man, is he? You can safely wager he 's an experi- 
 enced stoker, or at least a trimmer by this time." 
 
 "Don't, Hartley, don't," I protested. "It's too 
 cruel to think of." 
 
 "Never mind, old chap," was his rejoinder. 
 "There 's a good time coming. We '11 have him out 
 
 [365]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 and washed and dressed and sitting at table with us 
 an hour after the old tub lets her anchor drop. And 
 I '11 wager you a tenner that there won't be a miss 
 in any part of the programme." 
 
 When, at breakfast, I told Evelyn the good news, 
 omitting, of course, all reference to the coal-hand- 
 ling suggestion she demanded that I hunt up 
 Hartley, at once, and present him. Discretion, how- 
 ever, seemed to me in this instance, the better part of 
 obedience. I did hunt Hartley up and I did present 
 him, but not until I had allowed time for the first 
 flush of Evelyn's fervor to cool. 
 
 He was a very good-looking young chap; Evelyn 
 was both grateful and impulsive, and I was in love. 
 
 Our landing at Port Said was made on the morn- 
 ing of Saturday, the fifth of December, and all that 
 day and the next, we waited in more or less constant 
 expectancy and a boiling temperature for tidings of 
 the tardy Glamorganshire. 
 
 Hartley, meanwhile, was a model of hospitality, 
 but Port Said is primarily a coaling station on the 
 sea-edge of the desert, and aside from the concrete 
 docks, the ships, the light house, and the nearly naked 
 Nubians that swarmed everywhere, it proved utterly 
 lacking in objects of interest. 
 
 Sunday night brought some small relief from the 
 
 [366]
 
 TORTOISE AND HARE 
 
 intolerable heat, and grateful for the respite, all four 
 of our little party were early to bed. Gradually we 
 had come to believe that our waiting was likely to be 
 prolonged. The earthquake at Malta having delayed 
 one vessel would in all probability delay others as well, 
 including that which we had come so far to intercept. 
 So, utterly worn out by nervous tension and the 
 fatigue of the tropical climate, we found rest grateful, 
 and slept soundly. Just how soundly was demon- 
 strated when, at an hour after midnight, three re- 
 sounding knocks on my hotel chamber door only 
 roused me, dully, and left Evelyn and her maid and 
 Dr. Addison, who occupied adjacent rooms, in deep 
 slumber, totally undisturbed. 
 
 With what seemed almost superhuman effort, I 
 spurred myself to consciousness and struggled up on 
 elbow. 
 
 "Who's there?" I caUed. 
 
 "Hartley," came the answer. "Open the door. I 
 thought you 'd died of Port Said ennui/ 1 And when 
 I had sleepily risen and admitted him, he went on 
 hurriedly. "Make haste, now, old chap! The bally 
 freighter has just come in, and I don't propose to 
 lose that tenner through dilatory methods on your 
 part." 
 
 But I needed no urging. Wide awake at his first 
 
 [367]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 sentence, I was already flinging on my clothes. He 
 still chattered on in his chaffing way, but I scarcely 
 heard him. Conscious only of the murmur of his 
 pleasant, cheery English voice, my thoughts were out 
 in the night, across the waters of the harbor, down in 
 the inferno of a rusty ocean tramp, where a sweating 
 stoker was giving battle to despair a sweating 
 stoker who, in far-away America, owned a pleasure 
 craft almost as big as the ship whose fires he had been 
 feeding for forty days across two seas. 
 
 "How about the doctor?" Hartley asked, as I 
 slipped my arms into my coat sleeves and snatched a 
 cap from a closet peg. 
 
 "It 's too late now," was my answer. "You 
 should have reminded me. I forgot all about him." 
 And it was true. I had forgotten everything, ex- 
 cept the imminence of the rescue and the urgency of 
 haste. To one in Cameron's plight every fretting 
 minute must count a drop of torture. 
 
 The heavens were splendid with tropic stars, and 
 a faint breeze from the sea gently ruffled the spangled 
 black harbor waters, as Hartley's launch, guided by 
 a pilot of experience, headed for the twinkling lights 
 of the recently anchored freighter. 
 
 Silently I sat, with gaze straining, watching the 
 indicated sparks grow larger and brighter, moment 
 
 [368]
 
 TORTOISE AND HARE 
 
 by moment, until at length their gleams reflected in 
 the waves, and their background emerged in a great 
 dark shadow, which silhouetted itself against the less 
 opaque sky. 
 
 "There she is !" Hartley cried in enthusiasm, as her 
 funnel and masts sombrely defined themselves above 
 the black of her hull. "We '11 be able to hail her in 
 another minute." 
 
 And still she grew, rising at length a great frown- 
 ing fortress-like wall above us, with here and there 
 a gleaming port-hole, but silent, save for the lap of 
 waters against her side. 
 
 Then I heard the voice of our helmsman ring out, 
 and presently there was an answering shout from 
 above, and an exchange of greetings, succeeded by 
 directions; and the next moment, I was following 
 Hartley up a swaying rope-ladder to where an outheld 
 lantern glowed overhead. 
 
 "Yes, Secretary to the Governor General," I heard 
 my friend saying, as I put foot on the iron deck. 
 "You 're Captain Murchison, I suppose." 
 
 The captain's affirmative was more than deferential ; 
 it was obsequious. He was not a tall man, but broad, 
 rugged and bearded, with long, powerful, gorilla-like 
 arms out of all proportion to his stature. I could 
 readily fancy him an ugly antagonist. Unaided by 
 
 24 [369]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 Hartley, I concluded, I should have had small chance 
 indeed of success. But the low-born Briton's respect 
 for official authority was evidently strong in him, and 
 I felt that if Cameron was aboard we should be able 
 to effect his rescue with a minimum of effort. 
 
 "I should like to see you in your cabin, Captain," 
 Hartley proposed, and when we were closeted there, 
 he continued, "There is a report that you have 
 among your crew a United States subject who was 
 brought aboard, drugged, and forced to remain 
 aboard against his will. His government has in- 
 terested itself in his behalf, and unless he is restored 
 at once to his friends serious complications will un- 
 doubtedly ensue." 
 
 The captain, despite his respect for authority, 
 frowned. 
 
 "There 's nothing to that report, sir," he said, 
 boldly. "I 'm not shanghaiing men in these days, 
 sir. Every mother's son I 've got on this boat 
 shipped for Hong Kong, sir, of his own free will 
 and accord." 
 
 "I dare say you fully believe that, Captain 
 Murchison," was Hartley's diplomatic rejoinder, 
 "but this time you happen to be mistaken. I don't 
 suppose you have any objection to our inspecting your 
 crew, have you? Suppose you have both the watches 
 
 [870]
 
 TORTOISE AND HARE 
 
 piped forward, and we '11 settle this little business for 
 ourselves. Mr. Clyde, here, knows the man." 
 
 Captain Murchison's glance at me was undis- 
 guisedly venomous. Reluctantly he rang for his 
 steward. 
 
 "Send the bo'sun here," he directed, doggedly. 
 
 "We'll begin at the bottom, Captain," Hartley sug- 
 gested, when the boatswain, cap in hand, stood in the 
 doorway. "First, I want to see every man Jack you 
 have working in the stoke hold." 
 
 Although the master gave the necessary directions 
 I mistrusted him. Between the boatswain and him- 
 self I felt that there was an understanding which re- 
 quired neither voicing nor signal. And as, a little 
 later, we stood on the forward deck, under the bridge, 
 and by the light of a lantern viewed one after another 
 of those swarthy, grimy laborers who had crowded 
 up from below, I was convinced of the correctness of 
 my intuition. For Cameron was not among them. 
 
 And then a chill fear gripped me. Could a man 
 of his habits and training, suddenly called upon to 
 assume such labor, survive its rigors? He was nat- 
 urally robust, but he had been weakened by an ill- 
 ness. Might he not therefore have succumbed to the 
 strain, died, and been buried at sea? 
 
 But one consideration sustained me. In their cun- 
 
 [371]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 ning cruelty, the Chinese who had arranged for his 
 transportation must have stipulated that he be de- 
 livered in China alive. Otherwise their vengeance 
 would not be complete. It was not likely that any- 
 thing had been left to mere chance. The probabilities 
 were that Murchison knew definitely what was re- 
 quired of him and was to be well paid for his services. 
 
 Upon his seamed face, now, there was something 
 of a sneer as, our examination concluded, he said, 
 
 "What next, Mr. Hartley?" 
 
 But for a moment Hartley, who was standing 
 thoughtfully with brow contracted, his lower lip 
 gripped between finger and thumb, made no response. 
 Before he spoke his attitude changed. Quickly he 
 had assumed a pose of listening intentness. Behind 
 us, somewhere, a clamor had arisen. Voices, excited, 
 hoarse, fremescent, yet muffled by distance, echoed 
 dully. 
 
 "That man, next, Captain," he said, coolly. "The 
 man they 're trying to keep below." 
 
 It may have been that his hearing was more acute 
 than mine, or it may only have been a guess. I don't 
 know. But, whichever it was, it hit the mark. It 
 scored a bull's eye at long range. 
 
 Captain Murchison's indifference gave way in- 
 stantly to palpable uneasiness. His hands, which had 
 
 [372]
 
 Casting himself forward into my arms, buried his face in the 
 angle of my neck and shoulder.
 
 TORTOISE AND HARE 
 
 been deep in his coat pockets, came out as though 
 jerked by springs. One of them canted his cap from 
 his brow to his crown and the other clutched agitatedly 
 at his beard. And in that moment the riot advanced, 
 the voices waxed louder and more distinct ; scurrying 
 feet resounded on the metal deck. 
 
 I saw the captain start hurriedly toward the star- 
 board rail, intent evidently on meeting the rabble 
 which was approaching on that side, and I saw 
 Hartley boldly block his way. And then, almost at 
 the same instant, I saw a tall figure with naked torso 
 as black and shining as polished ebony black with 
 grime and shining with sweat come running back- 
 ward around the corner of the deck house. Saw it 
 with an iron bar held menacingly aloft against its 
 pressing pursuers; and even in the uncertain light of 
 the deck lanterns, recognized it at once, by its outline 
 and the characteristic set of its head upon its shoul- 
 ders, nude to the waist and collied as it was, as the 
 figure of the man I sought. 
 
 "Cameron!" I cried, chokingly, my fast-beating 
 heart crowding my utterance. And all unmindful 
 of the dirt which covered him I flung my arms about 
 Lis waist from behind. "Cameron! Cameron! 
 Thank God! Thank God!" 
 
 I heard the iron bar drop resoundingly to the deck ; 
 
 [373]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 I heard Hartley's voice raised in anger, strident, 
 staccato; and I heard the receding shuffle of feet as 
 those who had pursued now backed away. There fol- 
 lowed then a moment of silence, while the body I had 
 held twisted out of my arms, and having released it- 
 self, turned and faced me a moment of silence, 
 only, for against the sudden stillness there now rang 
 out a weird, palpitant cry, born of surcharged emotion, 
 as Cameron, casting himself forward into my arms, 
 buried his face in the angle of my neck and shoulder.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A FINAL PROBLEM 
 
 TT is doubtful whether in all Egypt there was ever 
 such another period of joyous thanksgiving as 
 that which followed the bringing of Cameron to the 
 little hotel in Port Said. I am inclined to question, 
 too, whether in the space of a single waking day four 
 persons ever talked more, or with more mutual inter- 
 est, than did the four of us there gathered. The heat, 
 the flies, the poor food, and the miserable accommoda- 
 tions, generally, were not merely gladly tolerated, but 
 absolutely disregarded. In the exuberance of our 
 rejoicing, annoyances which had loomed large on the 
 preceding day dwindled to the imperceivable ; and 
 from early morning until late night experiences were 
 exchanged, adventures told and speculations indulged 
 in, to an accompaniment of glad laughter and happy 
 tears. 
 
 Washed, scrubbed, shaved, shorn, and clad in rai- 
 ment put at his disposal by the indefatigable Hartley, 
 Cameron appeared wonderfully well-looking. In- 
 deed I was amazed by his appearance and by his 
 
 [375]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 condition. I had feared to find him a mental and 
 physical ruin. I had feared even for his life. And 
 he had come to us, if we might judge by outward 
 seeming, stronger, more robust, less nervously relaxed 
 than when he disappeared. 
 
 "At first," he told us, as we sat at breakfast in a 
 little upper room of the hotel, Evelyn close on his 
 right, Dr. Addison at his left, and I opposite him, 
 "I suppose I did suffer, whenever I was conscious, 
 which, fortunately, I think, was comparatively sel- 
 dom. They dosed me almost continuously with what 
 I believe to have been some attribute of opium, so 
 that even in my waking moments I was not wholly 
 normal. In this way, of course, I lost all count of 
 time. And so, too, I am unable to give events in 
 sequence. My first conscious moment after being on 
 the deck of the Sibylla found me strapped in a 
 narrow berth on a rapid, but rather rough-riding craft 
 of apparently much smaller dimension than the yacht, 
 and with a Chinese boy sitting beside me. You can 
 fancy my startled amazement at the sudden transi- 
 tion. In vain I asked questions. In vain I struggled 
 to rise. Then I shouted, and the Chinese boy lighted 
 what appeared to be an ordinary joss-stick on a stand 
 at the head of my berth, and withdrew from the tiny 
 cabin. Insensibility followed quickly. After that I 
 
 [S76]
 
 A FINAL PROBLEM 
 
 have a vague, dreamy recollection of eating something 
 with a strange, spicy flavor, which seemed only to 
 add to my stupor. Once I dreamed at least I 
 think it must have been a dream, that I was in a 
 dark box, so cramped that my bones ached, and that 
 far away above me were little holes through which 
 the light came in luminous fan-like rays that glowed 
 against the black." 
 
 "I 'm inclined to think it was no dream," I put in, 
 recalling the newspaper story I had read in my brok- 
 er's office, in Wall Street. "The probabilities are 
 that you were shipped in that box from Fall River 
 to New York, and a certain influential Chinaman, 
 called Yup Sing, knew all about it." 
 
 "It 's quite possible," Cameron went on. "I know 
 that it was very difficult to distinguish, in those days, 
 between dreams and realities. Eventually, however, 
 I awoke to find myself on the Glamorganshire, 
 quartered with the men in the forecastle, a beard 
 well grown and my clothes the coarsest sort of mar- 
 iner's outfit. For a while I was far too ill for labor. 
 The reaction from the drugs which had been adminis- 
 tered caused me the keenest suffering. But, gradu- 
 ally, I came about, and was set to work with paint 
 pot and brush. The humanity shown me at this time 
 was surprising. I couldn't comprehend it. But I 
 
 [877]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 realized eventually that my strength was being fos- 
 tered for future torment." 
 
 "Why didn't you explain, dear, to the captain?" 
 Evelyn asked, with one of those bursts of naivete that 
 contrasted so charmingly with her usually abounding 
 good judgment. 
 
 Cameron smiled. "I couldn't get near the cap- 
 tain, my child," he returned, indulgently. "It was n't 
 because I did n't try. The officers ridiculed my as- 
 sertions as pipe dreams, and when, at each port, I 
 pleaded to be allowed to communicate with our con- 
 sul, I was only kept under stricter guard." 
 
 And so his story continued, interrupted at intervals 
 by questions from one or another of us, until we had 
 the whole wretched tale of cruelty, including the final 
 chapter which preceded the rescue. 
 
 When he learned that every stoker and trimmer, 
 save himself, had been ordered on deck, still hoping 
 against hope that the outside world had at length been 
 moved to intercession in his behalf, he demanded to 
 be allowed to go with the rest. And when his demand 
 was refused he rebelled, fighting his way to liberty 
 with an iron bar from a cinder-tub, which he had pur- 
 posely concealed for such emergency. 
 
 I have no inclination to test patience by detailing 
 all the events and recording all the dialogue of that 
 
 [378]
 
 A FINAL PROBLEM 
 
 happy day. Much that happened and much that was 
 said I must leave to the imagination of those that read. 
 But I cannot refrain from the statement that Cam- 
 eron's meeting and reconciliation with his old friend 
 Dr. Addison was one of the brightest spots in a de- 
 lectable constellation. The meeting between Evelyn 
 and her uncle was an episode, too, to touch the sensi- 
 bility of the most apathetic. And if there had lin- 
 gered a single doubt as to the wisdom or expediency 
 of accepting their companionship on my expedition of 
 rescue, it must have been dispelled by the emotional 
 thrill which these scenes provoked. 
 
 Our homeward voyage, which all of us were anx- 
 ious should not be delayed, was by way of Naples. 
 Hartley, who appeared to be able to go and come as 
 he pleased, accompanied us that far, and our farewells 
 to him, on the deck of the Koenig Albert, were com- 
 bined with a fervor of gratitude that exhausted our 
 powers of expression. 
 
 Evelyn begged me to be permitted to kiss him 
 good-bye, but there I was forced to draw the line. 
 Her caresses in my own direction had not, up to that 
 moment, been so lavish that I felt I could spare any of 
 them, even for this young Englishman, notwithstand- 
 ing my abundant appreciation of the inestimable serv- 
 ice he had rendered. And that was precisely what I 
 
 [379]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 told her, when on the first evening out, she had de- 
 manded to know my reasons for refusal. 
 
 "You 're a very selfish man," she retorted, with a 
 pout. "And I 'm not at all sure, now, that I shall 
 ever kiss you again. Besides " And there she 
 stopped. 
 
 We had reached the after end of the deck in our 
 post-dinner promenade, and had paused there, lean- 
 ing on the rail, to watch the phosphorescent gleam 
 and glitter among the turbulent white wake-waters. 
 Cameron and Dr. Addison were talking over their 
 cigars in steamer chairs amidships, and the girl and I 
 were alone together for the first time since her 
 uncle's restoration. 
 
 "Besides?" I repeated, questioningly. 
 
 The big blue eyes she turned to me were never more 
 roguish. 
 
 "Besides," she said, low-voiced and with a just per- 
 ceptible quiver, "until you keep your promise, I 
 don't see that you have any right to dictate to me." 
 
 I knew very well what she meant. Ever since 
 Cameron had come running backward around that 
 deck-house corner I think even at the minute I 
 recognized his naked, smut-covered shoulders I had 
 had that promise in mind, and had longed for the 
 moment of its fulfilment. But till now not even the 
 
 [380]
 
 A FINAL PROBLEM 
 
 briefest opportunity had offered. Nevertheless, her 
 present mood was too entirely winsomely lovable to 
 be neglected, and the impulse to prolong it by teasing 
 too strong for resistance. 
 
 "Keep my promise?" I queried, mingling with 
 assumed perplexity a certain suggestion of injury. 
 "Have I ever failed you in anything?" 
 
 She turned away now, silently, and the eclipse of 
 the eyes I loved left me suddenly repentant; still I 
 persisted. 
 
 "Have I ever failed you?" I asked again. 
 
 Quickly her gaze came back, and her eyes had taken 
 something of the cold, snapping fire of the phos- 
 phorus. 
 
 "Since you don't remember," she said, "it 's of no 
 consequence. Only you were so sure that you 
 could n't forget." 
 
 "Give me a hint," I begged, still cruel. "When 
 did I promise?" 
 
 "I could n't be so unmaidenly," was her retort, look- 
 ing away again. 
 
 "Was it before we came over here, or since?" 
 
 "Before," after a pause. 
 
 "Long before?" 
 
 "Not very." 
 
 "Where? At your house?" 
 
 [381]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "In the library?" I asked, with a glance behind for 
 possible intruders. 
 
 She turned quickly and found me laughing. 
 
 "Oh, you dear, silly, lovable, delightful child!" I 
 cried, and the echo of my words was carried far 
 astern, as my arms went about her and held her close, 
 and my kisses fell thick and fast on her ripe, tender 
 little mouth. 
 
 "What need had I to keep such a promise?" I asked, 
 when in mercy I paused that she might get her breath. 
 "Why should I ask you to tell me that you loved me, 
 when I could read it in letters as long as your glances 
 and as bright as your smile?" 
 
 And if we left Cameron and Dr. Addison much 
 alone together during our homeward voyage, who that 
 still remembers their own happy days of young love 
 dreaming can blame us? 
 
 For a long while there remained in my mind as 
 legacy from the strange case of Cameron and the 
 Sable Lorcha conspiracy a seemingly insoluble prob- 
 lem. On our return to America, my friend, in spite 
 of all my urging, refused, with stubborn persistency, 
 it seemed to me, to aid in the prosecution of those who, 
 we knew positively, were implicated in the affair. 
 
 [382]
 
 A FINAL PROBLEM 
 
 Concerning Murphy, Yup Sing and a score or more 
 of their satellites we could have produced evidence of 
 the most damaging character. But Cameron was 
 not so minded. He even went so far as to discourage 
 my appearance against the former for complicity in 
 the plot to take captive Evelyn and myself on the 
 night of our Pell Street visit. Indeed I have always 
 believed that through O'Hara he was instrumental in 
 securing Murphy's release. And I know for a fact 
 that he provided so generously for the young French 
 driver of the electric brougham, who was so badly in- 
 jured in that Pell Street adventure, that the fellow 
 returned to France a month before the trial of his 
 assailant. 
 
 All these things, I say, continued to puzzle and 
 disquiet me, long after the sharp edges of rancorous 
 remembrance had been worn away. And invariably 
 at such times there would recur recollections of those 
 early days of the threatening letters and of that elu- 
 sive something in Cameron's manner which I was 
 never quite able to comprehend or explain. 
 
 The true interpretation was reserved for the night 
 preceding my marriage with Evelyn, which, by the 
 way, had, at her guardian's wish, been delayed for 
 nearly a year because of what he chose to regard as 
 her unseemly youth. The celebration was to take 
 
 [38S]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 place at Cragholt and the house was already filled with 
 kinsfolk and intimate friends, including most of the 
 wedding party. 
 
 It was after midnight, and Cameron and I were 
 alone together in his mahogany and green study ; he at 
 his writing table and I in the same adjacent leather 
 chair in which I had sat a twelvemonth ago while 
 listening to the story of the incised portrait. 
 
 As was not unusual we had reverted to that time 
 and to certain of the incidents therewith connected; 
 and I had been trying to make clear to Cameron, as 
 I had already frequently tried to do, the peculiar dif- 
 ference between McXish's expression and his. 
 
 "In individual feature," I said, warming to my 
 subject, "there never was in all the world before, I 
 believe, such similarity. And in repose, the ensemble, 
 I should say, was equally identical. But when it came 
 to" 
 
 And there Cameron checked me. 
 
 "Clyde," and his tone was strangely grave, it 
 seemed to me, "you '11 pardon my interrupting you, 
 I know. I understand what you would say, probably 
 better than I could from your putting it into words. 
 And I want to tell you why I understand. Indeed 
 I Ve wanted to tell you for a long while, but whenever 
 I Ve got to the verge of it, I have balked." 
 
 [384]
 
 A FINAL PROBLEM 
 
 He paused here to shake the ash from his cigar, 
 reaching across his desk for a receptacle, and somehow 
 the gesture reminded me of that of McNish as he 
 had thrown out his arm which held the letter, and so 
 exposed the telltale tattooing. 
 
 "I have never told you, Clyde," he resumed, his 
 eyes turned on the glowing tobacco ember which he 
 had just bared, "anything about my birth or my 
 family. But now that you are to become one of us, 
 in a way, it 's only fair that you should know ; for 
 though Evelyn's mother was but my half-sister, 
 still the girl gets the same blood through her 
 grandsire." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "I know that. Evelyn told me that 
 much. I know, too, that you were born in Scotland; 
 and the very name of Cameron is a pretty good 
 guarantee of family worth." 
 
 "My father belonged to a rather poor branch," he 
 confessed, "and like many poor men he had a large 
 number of children. There were ten, all told, and 
 when my poor mother died, it became a serious prob- 
 lem how to take care of us little ones. I was among 
 the youngest, not over seven, and I had a twin 
 brother." 
 
 As he said this Cameron, who had been desultorily 
 drawing figures on his writing pad with the end of a 
 
 25 [385]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 pen-holder, abruptly shot his gaze to mine and caught 
 the quick question of my eyes. 
 
 "Yes," he said, without change of tone, "yes, you 
 see, now, don't you?" 
 
 "McNish!" I murmured. 
 
 "McNish," he echoed. "Donald McNish." 
 
 "But," I began, "I don't quite " and I thought 
 of the letter from McNish's mother. 
 
 "Oh, it is clear enough," he went on. "Some of the 
 children were put out to live amongst neighbors, and 
 eventually, my father and the rest of us came to this 
 country. The others he left behind, promising to 
 send each month the money for their keep. Donald 
 he left with a couple named McNish, who had no 
 bairns of their own, and when the boy grew to be a 
 big lad, and my father, who in the meantime had been 
 successful here and married again, sent for him to 
 come to America, word came back that he had been 
 dead a twelvemonth." 
 
 "And your father believed it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, for they returned the back pay he had 
 forwarded, and sent a lock of my brother's hair, I 
 think, and a trinket or two that had been his as a 
 kiddie." 
 
 "Afterwards, though, you learned that he was still 
 alive?" 
 
 [386]
 
 A FINAL PROBLEM 
 
 "No," was Cameron's answer. "We never heard. 
 Had it not been for that marked resemblance gather- 
 ing me into the net spread for him, I should probably 
 never have known. And, Clyde," he added, "ever 
 since I learned of his having been there, in town, I 
 have been wondering. Do you think it possible that 
 he ever realized that he was in his brother's house?" 
 
 "Hardly," I said. "It does n't seem likely, 
 though ; unless the name and the He must Oh, 
 certainly," I stumbled, "he must have realized that 
 we mistook him for yes, for some one named Cam- 
 eron. He answered to it readily enough ; he even in- 
 sisted that he was Cameron. And if his mind was 
 clear enough to put two and two together, why, know- 
 ing that he had a twin brother in America, it would 
 seem " And there I stopped my floundering, for 
 Cameron had risen to his feet, and smiling, tolerantly, 
 was waving a hushing hand at me. 
 
 "Yes, yes," he said, "I Ve argued it all out in just 
 the same way, dear friend. And yet we never can be 
 certain, can we? Only I have thought, if he might 
 have realized it, and have beenable to have played the 
 part, and stayed, and taken up my life and lived it 
 for the rest of his, I might have gone on and taken 
 his punishment to some purpose. For I have had 
 more than my share of the good things, Clyde, and 
 
 [387]
 
 THE SABLE LORCHA 
 
 maybe if poor little Donnie had had even half my 
 chances, it would all have been so very, very dif- 
 erent." 
 
 He still thought of him as the child brother he had 
 parted from long years ago in Scotland, and as such 
 he would ever remember him. I was glad then that 
 he had stopped me when I had tried to draw for him 
 the difference in their faces. For it was such a dif- 
 ference! Looking at Cameron now with the lamp 
 of true greatness alight behind those plain features, 
 I marvelled that I could even have seen a vestage of 
 likeness in the brutal, soulless face of his twin 
 brother. 
 
 And then, for the first time, too, I really under- 
 stood. 
 
 THE END
 
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