1 
 
 SECTION 
 
SECTION 558 
 
 OR 
 
 THE FATAL LETTER 
 
 FROM THE DIARY OF 
 
 INSPECTOR BYRNES 
 
 BY 
 
 JULIAN HAWTHORNE 
 
 OF " A TRAGIC MYSTERY," " THE GRE^ 
 ROBBERY," "AN AMERICAN PENMAN," ETC. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "A TRAGIC MYSTERY," "THE GREAT BANK 
 
 CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, 
 104 &: 106 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 
COPYRIGHT, 
 
 1888, 
 By O. M. DUNHAM. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Pres W. L Mershon & Co., 
 Rahway, N. J. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 A WINTER FIRESIDE, - i 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 A MODERN FINANCIER, - - n 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A BUNDLE OF LETTERS, - 20 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 A CONSULTATION, - 31 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 AT THE CLUB, - 40 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 NEWS, - - 49 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 TALBOT AND HIS FRIENDS, - - 57 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 CUNLIFFE S TROUBLE, - - 69 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A CUP OF TEA, - - 78 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 A SLEIGH-RIDE, - - 87 
 
 548 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 GENERAL WEYMOUTH, - . - 97 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 A TALE OF THE CITY, . . 107 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 OUT OF JOINT, - . . I2 2 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 IN THE WOODS, . . 133 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 BOLTED, . . ^3 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 SUGGESTIONS, - - 157 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 ON THE ICE, - - 168 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 CUNLIFFE S BENEFACTOR, - - 177 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 IN DOUBT, - - 192 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 PANIC, - - 201 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 ARREST, - 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 DISTRICT E, - - 222 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 KITTY CLIVE, - -231 
 
SECTION ^58; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A WINTER FIRESIDE. 
 
 THERE had been a heavy fall of snow in New 
 York city. 
 
 Snow wraps the earth in a veil of chilly purity ; 
 a purity not of youth and life, but of coldness 
 and death. The heats of summer are for 
 gotten ; the royal hues of autumn have turned 
 brown and withered ; the tender verdure of spring 
 seems distant and problematical ; the blank wind 
 ing-sheet of frozen white prevails over all things. 
 We know that the ground underneath is hard, 
 impenetrable and barren. The icy air comes 
 keenly to the nostrils, and makes the flesh 
 shrink and shiver. We turn our thoughts in 
 ward, and cease to court nature. She has 
 left us, and we try to alleviate our loneliness by 
 
2 A WINTER FIRESIDE. 
 
 huddling together round Our fireside. Winter 
 is a selfish season, and it is well for our hearts 
 that Christmas comes in the midst of it, a 
 new life of the soul in the midst of a physical 
 death. It is easy to be generous when the sun is 
 warm ; but during these bleak and bitter months 
 the unregenerate mind instinctively thinks first of 
 itself, and abandons the hindmost to the devil. 
 
 In winter the city homes of our rich people are 
 luxurious and splendid with all that wealth can 
 bestow ; and life glows with a sort of fierceness, as 
 if in defiance of the relentless chill out of doors. 
 The people who are not rich feel the pinch of pov 
 erty more cruelly than ever, and hesitate whether 
 to expend their beggarly coppers in food or in 
 fuel. As for the third estate the criminals 
 their brains and fingers are stimulated to especial 
 activity. Winter is the best time for stealing ; 
 property is then heaped together in greater masses 
 than at other seasons, and its owners sleep more 
 soundly. Besides, a thief can manage to pull 
 through the summer somehow, but in winter he 
 must live in the city and to do that money is indis 
 pensable. 
 
 But the police are as active as the criminals, and 
 the battle between the two is fought uninterrupt 
 edly from November till March. The courts are 
 kept busy, and the gaols are well stocked ; crime is 
 scotched, but not killed. That old serpent dies 
 hard, and is always thrusting up its ugly head in a 
 new place. Will it ever be conquered, and its 
 
A WINTER FIRESIDE. 3 
 
 seed trodden out ? Civilization only polishes and 
 sharpens it. Religion seems to live side by side 
 with it without embarrassment on either part : 
 law inflicts penalties on it, but also defines its lim 
 itations so acutely that the criminal, now become 
 learned in the law, uses it as an effective weapon 
 for his own preservation. So the great tragi 
 comedy rolls along, and the planet, on its endless 
 journey through unknown space, carries with it 
 from year to year and from century to century an 
 almost unvarying proportion of good and evil. We 
 may lament that this evil is mixed with the good ; 
 but we must rejoice that there are always some 
 traces of good in the evil. 
 
 The snow, which lay white and smooth outside 
 the city, in the deserted fields and country roads, 
 was speedily befouled in the great metropolis, until 
 it wrought a filthiness even surpassing that of the 
 rainy seasons. From brown it deepened to black, 
 with something of the hideousness of a polluted 
 corpse. It muddied the feet of the pedestrians as 
 well as chilled them. In the lower part of the city, 
 where the traffic is thickest, the nastiness was with 
 out mitigation. On Fifth Avenue the condition 
 of things was not so bad. The sidewalks had 
 been cleaned and the snow piled up in the 
 roadway, affording fair sleighing for the grace 
 ful cutters that speeded up and down the 
 stately thoroughfare. The people on the sidewalks 
 were well and warmly clad, and altogether the 
 spectacle had a certain brightness and cheerful 
 
4 A WINTER FIRESIDE. 
 
 vivacity. As night came on and the street lamps 
 were lighted, the sleighs, with their jingling bells, 
 disappeared, and only a few belated citizens hur 
 ried along the pavements. 
 
 Our present business demands that we accom 
 pany one of the latter. 
 
 When we first see him, he has just passed the 
 Brunswick Hotel, and, keeping on the east side of 
 the avenue, is walking northwards. His gait is 
 swift and vigorous, betokening a powerful and 
 healthy physical organization, and a concentrated 
 and capable mind. He is evidently bound on some 
 affair of importance ; indeed, when we contem 
 plate the expression of his strong, ruddy, well- 
 molded face, we are inclined to hazard the opin 
 ion that only affairs of importance ever engage his 
 attention. He is a man whose life is full, earnest 
 and active. He has no time to throw away ; and 
 yet his time is so ordered that he is never unduly 
 hurried or perplexed. Every year he does a year s 
 work, and is fresh enough at the end of it to start 
 on a new twelvemonth with undiminished energy. 
 
 He leaves behind him as he goes the fragrance 
 of an excellent cigar. A thick overcoat is but 
 toned across his broad chest, a round-crowned hat 
 is on his head, and his hands are encased in warm 
 gloves. His eyes, without being restless, are at 
 once penetrating and comprehensive in their 
 glance, and take in quietly and easily every thing 
 that lies within their range. He is a man whose 
 wits are always with him. He has the air of good 
 
A WINTER FIRESIDE. 5 
 
 society, and yet there is something about him that 
 distinguishes him from the ordinary " society man." 
 We feel that he must have raised himself in some 
 way above the common level, that his name, if we 
 knew it, is one with which we should be familiar. 
 Who is he? 
 
 On a street corner a few blocks above the hotel 
 was standing a tall gentleman, somewhat past the 
 prime of life, but of upright and military bearing, 
 and wearing a long, sweeping mustache, slightly 
 tinged with gray. His dark eyes and aquiline nose 
 gave his countenance an aristocratic look. He 
 seemed to be exploring his pockets for something, 
 but, as the pedestrian approached, he stepped up 
 to him, and said courteously : 
 
 " May I trouble you, sir, for a light for my 
 cigar ? " 
 
 The other halted, took his cigar from his mouth, 
 and handed it to the speaker with a bow. When 
 the latter handed it back with a " Thank you ! " he 
 remarked, " It s a cold evening," and passed on. 
 Little did either imagine how soon and how 
 strangely fate was to bring them together again. 
 
 The image of the military-looking gentleman 
 passed into the other s memory, and remained 
 there, never, so far as he knew, to be recalled. 
 Continuing his brisk walk, he drew near one of the 
 large club houses that decorate the avenue, just as 
 a couple of men descended the steps arm-in-arm. 
 One of them a portly personage with a broad red 
 beard he recognized, and exchanged a silent 
 
6 A WINTER FIRESIDE. 
 
 salute with him ; the other, a younger and slenderly 
 built man, with small side-whiskers and a hand 
 somely-cut mouth, was a stranger to him. " That s 
 a clever fellow," he said to himself, as he strode 
 onward. " A little cleverer than a club-man needs 
 to be, I should imagine." 
 
 In a few minutes more, he turned down a side 
 street, ran up the steps of a handsome house a 
 short distance from the corner, and pulled the 
 bell. The door was opened ; he tossed away his 
 cigar, and entered. 
 
 " Mr. Owens is at home ? " 
 
 " He is, sir. Will you walk into the library ? " 
 
 The visitor followed the servant down the wide and 
 handsome hall, and passing through a door on the 
 left found himself in a large room, the walls of 
 which were lined with bookshelves to a height of 
 five feet from the floor. The shelves were made of 
 a light-colored wood, beautifully carved and pol 
 ished, and were filled with books of various sizes, 
 all in bindings that would have brought joy to the 
 heart of a connoisseur of that rare and exquisite art. 
 The walls above the bookcases were hung with 
 stamped leather, enriched with a delicate design in 
 gold, the tone of the whole being grateful to the 
 eye, but not too dark. Standing upon the book 
 cases, in an apparently careless way, were framed 
 engravings and etchings proofs before lettering 
 many of the latter signed with the names of the 
 artists, and having on their margins fanciful little 
 designs, dashed off in idle moments during the pro- 
 
A WINTER FIRESIDE. 7 
 
 gress of the main work. Dispersed around the room 
 on brackets, on tables, in corners was a unique 
 collection of bronzes, ancient and modern ; bronze 
 figures and groups, bronze vases, bronze lamps, 
 bronze caskets and ornaments every thing in 
 bronze that was beautiful or quaint in form, masterly 
 in workmanship, and not larger than befitted the 
 size of the room. The ample fire-place, broader 
 than it was high, had a superb bronze mantelpiece, 
 designed by a Japanese artist, the supports being 
 two grotesque but solemn figures, half man and 
 half monster, the secret of whose creation is known 
 to the Japanese alone. Upon the tiled hearth 
 burned two or three great logs of cedar, the fra 
 grance of whose burning pervaded the atmosphere. 
 The floor was made of polished oak, with rugs of 
 rich dull hues spread upon it here and there. The 
 room was lighted from a great globe of cream- 
 colored glass that descended from the ceiling like 
 some immense lustrous fruit hanging on a long 
 graceful stem. This light was very soft in quality, 
 yet was powerful enough to render the finest print 
 easily legible in the farthest corner of the 
 room. 
 
 But it would be impossible to paint an adequate 
 picture of this library, which is known to many 
 New Yorkers as beyond comparison the finest 
 owned by any private individual in the city. Both 
 the books and the bronzes were the rarest and most 
 finished specimens of their kind obtainable, and the 
 engravings and etchings were similarly unique. 
 
8 A WINTER FIRESIDE. 
 
 Nothing in the room could have been exactly 
 duplicated. It was the whim of the owner to 
 render his library and its contents incomparable, 
 and he had the means and resources to carry out 
 his whim. 
 
 When the visitor entered the room, it was empty. 
 The fire of cedar logs was blazing brightly on the 
 hearth, whose polished surface reflected its light ; 
 easy chairs and sofas extended to him a silent and 
 luxurious invitation ; the rich and subdued hues of 
 the books suggested solace to the mind ; the orna 
 ments and decorations charmed the eye ; every 
 thing combined to produce an impression of splen 
 dor softened into comfort. The room was no 
 museum to be marveled at, but a retreat to be 
 lived in the home and haunt of a man in whose 
 brain it had originated, and who knew how to use 
 and appreciate it. It was organic and vital, not 
 formal and lifeless. It gave evidence of the rich 
 and cultivated intellect of which it was the material 
 expression. 
 
 The visitor advanced to the fire-place, and stood 
 there, drawing off his gloves, and examining the 
 curious workmanship of a bronze clock that rested 
 on the mantelpiece, when the sound of a step on 
 the polished floor made him turn, and he saw the 
 master of the house advancing to meet him. 
 
 " Glad to see you, Inspector Byrnes." 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Owens ?" 
 
 Mr. Owens was evidently doing tolerably well. 
 He was at this period a man of about thirty-five 
 
A WINTER FIRESIDE. 9 
 
 years of age, with a handsome, intellectual counte 
 nance, clean-shaven mouth and chin, light brown 
 hair, thinning out on his high temples, and a fig 
 ure and bearing that indicated clean living and 
 high breeding. Courtland Owen was the descen 
 dant of several generations of American gentle 
 men ; he and his forefathers had been brought up 
 to wealth, and had taught themselves how to make a 
 graceful and fitting use of it. But, with the in 
 stinct of all genuine Americans, none of them had 
 been idle men. They had followed, some one av 
 ocation, some another ; they had been merchants, 
 statesmen, diplomatists, bankers, directors of 
 great industrial enterprises ; all the higher offices 
 of citizenship had been rilled by them with credit 
 and capacity. As for the present inheritor of the 
 name, he was first of all, by training and temper 
 ament, a student and a connoisseur : but he had 
 also entered into the active life of his day, and had 
 been for nearly ten years past the partner and per 
 sonal friend of one of the greatest financiers of 
 the epoch. Never were two men more unlike than 
 the two members of this famous firm in every ex 
 ternal appearance and characteristic ; and yet the 
 bond between them was much closer and more cor 
 dial than exists between many men far more at 
 one in general sympathies. They liked and re 
 spected each other as human beings, without ref 
 erence to any thing else. 
 
 " I have something I need your advice upon, In- 
 
10 A WINTER FIRESIDE. 
 
 spector," Mr. Owens remarked. "Take off your 
 overcoat and sit down. I shan t let you go in five 
 minutes, nor perhaps in half as many hours. So 
 you might as well make yourself at home." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A MODERN FINANCIER. 
 
 THE chief of the New York detectives, with the 
 cheerful composure that belonged to him, re 
 moved his thick top-coat and seated himself near 
 the hearth. Courtland Owens drew up a chair in 
 proximity to his, and also within reach of a small 
 inlaid table, containing a drawer fitted with a pol 
 ished brass lock. 
 
 "We are in trouble," began Mr. Owens; "at 
 least I am, on Golding s account." 
 
 " Golding your partner ! Why, what can be 
 the matter with him ?" The Inspector spoke with 
 a certain sense of amusement ; for Maxwell Gold- 
 ing, the man of mines, railroads, and telegraphs, 
 whose riches were incalculable and whose luck in 
 all enterprises was proverbial, seemed to the pop 
 ular apprehension inaccessible to troubles, save 
 such as might fall within the domain of the physi 
 cian or, perhaps, the clergyman. But, as the 
 Inspector glanced at his host s face, its serious ex 
 pression apprised him that the matter could not be 
 a light one ; and he settled himself to listen to its 
 unfolding with becoming gravity. 
 
12 A MODERN FINANCIER. 
 
 " I may as well tell you," the other went on, 
 " that I am acting with Golding s consent, though 
 I had some difficulty in obtaining it. You know 
 the kind of man Golding is ; he is afraid of noth 
 ing. In his conduct of life he has practically 
 eliminated the personal equation. He makes his 
 way through all obstacles, to his point. Money is 
 his instrument, but it is an instrument which no 
 one knows how to use so boldly and effectively as 
 himself. In fact, from his point of view money 
 does not appear as dollars and cents ; it is the 
 power to form combinations, to create values, to dis 
 solve opposition. It is Prospero s magic wand ; 
 only, instead of evoking illusions in a remote island, 
 it brings into existence substantial realities all over 
 a continent." 
 
 " But he has met with a check, has he ? " de 
 manded the inspector. 
 
 The other smiled. " I beg your pardon," said 
 he. " You did not come here to talk philosophy 
 and Shakespeare, and I had no business to digress 
 upon them. Yes, Golding has met with a check, 
 of a certain kind ; though he will not admit that 
 he considers it one. It is easy to understand that 
 a man like him would make enemies ; in fact, if he 
 were a great deal more personally and promiscu 
 ously conciliating than he is, his enemies would 
 still outnumber his friends as a hundred to one. 
 It is a wonder he contrives to make any friends 
 at all. To the vast number of his employes he is 
 a sort of abstraction, an embodiment of power 
 
A MODERN FINANCIER. 13 
 
 and purpose directed to ends in which they are 
 involved only incidentally, and from all concern 
 with which if they fail to do satisfactorily what is 
 required of them they are promptly dissociated. 
 The wages that he pays them do not make them 
 grateful ; for if they fulfill their duties, they regard 
 their wages as only their just due ; and if they 
 don t fulfill them, they are dismissed, and that s the 
 end of it. So he can not look for friends among 
 them. As for his rivals and competitors, so far as 
 he may be said to have any, they are his enemies 
 as a matter of course. He is more successful and 
 powerful than they, and his loss would be their 
 gain at least, they imagine it would. He has 
 ruined, or been the cause of the ruin, of many of 
 them ; whether purposely or not I don t say, nor 
 would it make any difference in the result. A man 
 in his position is driven by fate ; he must either go 
 forward or fall backward ; he can not remain at 
 rest. Well, then, there remains another class, the 
 people who are employed neither by him nor his 
 rivals. From them, if from any, his friends must 
 come. But what chance has he of making friends 
 among them ? It needs a bold man, and one ex 
 ceptionally indifferent to criticism, to pose as the 
 friend of a hundred-fold millionaire. His methods 
 are suspected by every one, and, if he be a self-re 
 specting man, he tells himself that the game is not 
 worth the candle. If there were no other obstacle, 
 however, there would still be the obstacle of Gold- 
 ing himself. A great capitalist is obliged to pro- 
 
14 A MODERN FINANCIER. 
 
 tect himself against idle intrusion, and he is easily 
 suspicious of the disinterestedness of those who do 
 approach him. In short, there is almost no oppor 
 tunity for him to form those ties that bind ordinary 
 men together in the bonds of friendly good-fellow 
 ship. For most practical intents and purposes he 
 is as Madame de Stael said Napoleon was not a 
 man, but a system. His relations with the world 
 are impersonal. With the fewest possible excep 
 tions, nobody knows him save by report, and no 
 body cares for him ! " 
 
 " He s married, isn t he ? " inquired the Inspec 
 tor. 
 
 " Fortunately, yes. He met his wife while he 
 was still a young man, and before there was any 
 prospect of his attaining his unexampled position. 
 He was assured of her affection before there was 
 any reason to doubt its singleness and sincerity ; 
 and his love for her and for their children is prob 
 ably as strong as any passion in his nature even 
 as strong as his ambition. Without the influence 
 which his family has exerted over him, he might be 
 as big a man as he is now, but he would have been 
 a great deal more dangerous ; he would have had 
 fewer scruples and less charity. Even as it is, he 
 is more cynical than a man ought to be, and his 
 principles don t always agree with mine." 
 
 " But you are a friend of his, nevertheless." 
 
 " I am ; and I honestly believe he has no other. 
 But my first acquaintance with him dates back to 
 about the time of his marriage. He had just sold 
 
./ MODERN FINANCIER. 15 
 
 that coal-mine that was located under his farm in 
 Maryland, and had come up to New York to look 
 about. Few people would have believed then that 
 he had in him the making of the man he has since 
 become, and yet he was just about the same look 
 ing sort of fellow that he is now, rather short, 
 rather broad, with black hair and a blue eye. It 
 was only the eye that told the secret ; I never saw 
 such an eye in a human head. Most of the time it 
 has a sleepy appearance, as if the man was only 
 half awake. But when any thing stirs him when 
 he is confronting an opposition or a peril that 
 would scare any body else then it gleams like fire ; 
 a cold gleam, but it pierces right through you. 
 There s something almost diabolical about it. He s 
 a strange fellow." 
 
 " Still, you like him ? " 
 
 " Well, he has done some hard things cruel 
 things, perhaps ; but he has never done any thing 
 that violates his own principles. He is a sort of 
 Ishmael, starting out with the theory that no one is 
 going to show him any mercy or consideration ; 
 and he doesn t pretend to show any on his side. 
 He meets cunning with cunning, and even duplic 
 ity with duplicity ; he is relentless so long as the 
 fight continues, and he hesitates at no means short 
 of crime to win it. But when the fight is over, he 
 bears no malice, and takes no revenge. He is 
 above feeling any personal enmity toward his rivals 
 in business. He will shoulder them aside or tear 
 them down, if they obstruct his designs ; but when 
 
16 A MODERN FINANCIER. 
 
 their obstruction ceases, he is ready to give them 
 the means to recover themselves. It sometimes 
 seems to me as if Golding actually loves a dan 
 gerous antagonist; he enjoys the conflict even 
 more than the victory ; and when he has beaten 
 his man in one battle, likes nothing better than to 
 help him arm himself for another. Oh, yes, I like 
 him ! " 
 
 " I m not surprised at such a man having ene 
 mies," observed the Inspector, after studying the 
 blazing logs for a few moments. " What does sur 
 prise me is, that any of them should have the nerve 
 to attack him. And yet, since you have called in 
 my assistance, I infer that such is the fact ? " 
 
 " And you are quite right. Yes, he would be a 
 bold man who would openly and unaided defy 
 Maxwell Golding. You know what money can 
 buy in this city of New York ; and Golding would 
 not scruple to purchase any thing, from a watch 
 dog to a legislature, that would serve his ends. 
 You know that as well as I do. But the peculiarity 
 about this enemy is that, so far, Golding has been 
 powerless to retaliate." 
 
 " How does that happen ? " 
 
 " It is very simple. We don t know who he 
 
 is. 
 
 " Anonymous, eh?" said the Inspector, sitting 
 up in his chair. " How does he operate? Has he 
 cnpital back of him? Do you feel him in the 
 market ? " 
 
 Xot at all. So far as it appears, it is quite the 
 
A MODERN FINANCIER. 17 
 
 other way. He is a man without any pecuniary 
 resources whatever." 
 
 " Then how does he continue to be offensive ? " 
 u There is always one way in which the weakest 
 man can make himself formidable to the strongest, 
 and that is by aiming at hjs life and that of those 
 who are dear to him. Walls of gold are no protec 
 tion against the knife or bullet of an assassin. I 
 doubt if any capitalist, or syndicate of capitalists, 
 in this country, could bring down Golding ; but 
 any obscure blackguard who is desperate or crazy 
 enough to accept the consequences, may wipe him 
 out of existence at any moment by simply pressing 
 his finger against a trigger." 
 
 " Such vagabonds are not common," the Inspec 
 tor remarked rather dryly. 
 
 " One would be enough," the other replied, " if 
 this should happen to be the one." 
 
 "Has Mr. Golding s life been attempted, then ? " 
 "It has been threatened, that is all." 
 " In that case," replied the Inspector, " I doubt 
 if there is any grave cause for anxiety. Threat 
 ened men live long. Of course, it is desirable to 
 put a stop to this thing, and I may be able to help 
 you do it ; but in case I succeed, Mr. Golding may 
 be under obligations to me for removing an annoy 
 ance, but hardly for saving his life. The thing 
 stands to reason. If anybody really intends to 
 kill Mr. Golding, the last thing he would think of 
 doing would be to give him warning of it. He 
 would watch his opportunity, and strike, and that 
 
1 8 A MODEKX FIXAXCIEK. 
 
 would be both the beginning and the end of it. 
 Barking dogs seldom bite." 
 
 " Very true, Inspector : but " 
 
 " But if (as I gather from what you have told 
 me) somebody is writing anonymous letters to 
 Mr. Golding, announcing an intention of killing 
 him, you may be pretty sure he will content him 
 self with spilling ink ; blood is a touch beyond 
 him." 
 
 " Granted, as a general rule," replied Mr. 
 Owens, taking a small key from his pocket, 
 and inserting it into the keyhole of the inlaid 
 table. " But there is a class of men, as you must 
 admit, whose actions do not square with ordinary 
 rules or proprieties. They are not inspired by 
 the motives that influence ordinary men." 
 
 " You mean " 
 
 " I mean the class known as religious cranks." 
 
 " Oh ! " ejaculated the Inspector, and paused. 
 " Well," he continued, presently. " A genuine re 
 ligious crank is a queer creature, and his proceed 
 ings are apt to be eccentric. But even he gener 
 ally finds other ways of gratifying his eccentricities 
 than by murder." 
 
 " Generally, perhaps. But you recollect what 
 happened last summer in Washington ? " 
 
 " The assassination of Garfield. True. But 
 Garfield was the President of the United States, 
 and we do not know what political notions may 
 have been behind that act." 
 
 " Politics makes fools of men, but religion 
 
A MODERN FINANCIER. 19 
 
 is more likely to drive them crazy," the other re 
 turned, " and then they become possessed with the 
 idea that it is their sacred mission to remove 
 some conspicuous figure, be he President of the 
 United States, or its leading capitalist. It would not 
 be difficult for an unbalanced mind to persuade 
 itself that there were all the reasons in the deca 
 logue for killing Golding that he was a traitor to 
 his country, the corrupter of public morality, the 
 oppressor of the fatherless and the widow, anti 
 christ, Lucifer, and all the rest of it. That is all 
 he needs for a motive. As to his giving his in 
 tended victim warning of what to expect, 
 that may be unwise ; but it doesn t seem to me, 
 under the circumstances, unnatural. He wishes to 
 define his position as a God-inspired avenger of 
 iniquity. He desires to kill the body but not the 
 soul ; he will give his victim opportunity to say 
 his prayers and make his will, or, on the other 
 hand, if he is animated by a personal hatred, and 
 is not satisfied to inflict the momentary agony of 
 the death-blow, what more effective torment can 
 he devise than that of suspense the Sword of 
 Damocles ! However, you shall judge for your 
 self." 
 
 With these words Mr. Owens turned the key in 
 the lock of the inlaid table, and opened the drawer. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 
 
 FROM the drawer Mr. Owens took a packet of 
 letters, inclosed in an elastic band, and handed 
 them to the Inspector. 
 
 " As you will see by the postmarks," he observed, 
 "they have been coming during the last three 
 weeks or thereabouts. For a time, Golding paid 
 no attention to them, beyond directing his secretary 
 to keep them. He has been threatened, anony 
 mously and otherwise, before ; and you are probably 
 aware that there has occasionally been a strong 
 popular feeling against him in the city. But 
 he is something of a fatalist, and takes every 
 thing very coolly, as I said. I suppose if a bomb 
 were to explode behind his chair, and blow a hole 
 through the floor of his office, he would hardly 
 trouble himself to turn round. It was only by 
 accident that he mentioned the affair to me at all. 
 I was asking after his wife s health she had been 
 a little indisposed and he said that her nerves had 
 been upset by the last letter she received. I asked 
 what he meant, and he finally showed me the col 
 lection." 
 
 "Has he, or any one, taken any measures to dis 
 cover the writer?" 
 
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 21 
 
 " None whatever. Golding thought he might 
 betray himself after a while, and did not consider 
 it worth the trouble of an investigation. If it had 
 not been for his wife, I fancy he would have re 
 fused to act entirely. But it began to have an 
 effect on her health, not so much because she her 
 self was threatened, as because she feared for him. 
 After seeing the letters, I advised him to have 
 something done at once. He laughed, and pooh- 
 poohed the suggestion ; but finally he yielded. 
 That was this morning ; and I sent down for you 
 immediately." 
 
 The Inspector removed the elastic band from the 
 letters, and glanced at the superscriptions. There 
 were : upwards of half-a-dozen envelopes, all 
 addressed to either Mr. or Mrs. Maxwell Golding. 
 The chirography was the same in all, a compact, 
 small, irregular hand, as if the writer had either 
 attempted to disguise his own style, or was an 
 awkward and unpracticed penman. Paper and 
 envelopes were of the same size and quality, cheap 
 and ordinary ; the postmark showed that they had 
 .all been posted in New York city. The letters 
 were without date or name. Any one of the 
 million inhabitants of the metropolis might have 
 written them, so far as their external appearance 
 was concerned. 
 
 " I ll begin at the beginning," said the Inspector : 
 rand he unfolded the first letter, which was as fol 
 lows : 
 
 " Maxwell Golding Sir : You must prepare to 
 
22 A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 
 
 leave this world, in which you have done so much 
 wickedness. Your hour is at hand. Your con 
 temptible race is run. You may think yourself great 
 and powerful, one of the mighty of the earth ; but 
 you are mortal and you are now to die. Make your 
 peace with God if you can, for He has commanded 
 me to kill you to shoot you down like a dog. I 
 am the chosen instrument of His Providence. The 
 Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. He gave 
 you your riches, but you have misused it, and now, 
 by my hand, He is going to take away your worth 
 less and wicked life. I must do His bidding, and 
 I shall smite and spare not ; but I am willing to 
 give you time to prepare your immortal soul for the 
 awful change. Probably your wife and children 
 will have to die also ; but I am not yet convinced 
 whether the Lord requires this or not. It is better 
 that you be cut off root and branch. I shall write 
 to you once more, and then you will not hear from 
 me again till you lie weltering in your blood at my 
 feet. I long to be at the Lord s work, but I will 
 spare you yet a few days. All men will applaud and 
 justify the deed. I shall be called a hero and a 
 liberator. But I desire no glory for myself only to 
 kill you, as the Lord commands. Blessed be the 
 name of the Lord. Say good-by to your wife and 
 children, and settle your affairs, for I swear before 
 God that you will be a corpse in a few days." 
 
 ** How does it strike you ? " asked Mr. Owens, as 
 the Inspector folded up the letter and replaced it 
 in its envelope. 
 
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 23 
 
 " Well, it isn t the sort of thing to give a man an 
 appetite for his breakfast," the other returned. 
 " But I don t think judging off-hand that it is a 
 genuine letter. It has a false ring to it. It reads 
 more as if the fellow were trying to imitate what 
 he supposed a religious crank would write than 
 like a real religious crank s writing. Of course I 
 may be mistaken." 
 
 " But what can be his object supposing him to 
 be an impostor ? " 
 
 " Oh, it would be object enough to scare Mr. 
 Golding. There is a great deal of merely idle mis- 
 chievousness in the world. But I take it he has an 
 object a real and practical one though it doesn t 
 appear in that letter." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "I mean that I think he wants to extort money." 
 
 " Why doesn t he say so then ? " 
 
 " Perhaps he will later on. He is proceeding 
 methodically. This letter tells Mr. Golding that 
 he will be a corpse in a few days ; and yet it was 
 written over three weeks ago, and Mr. Golding is 
 not a corpse yet. That is suspicious." 
 
 " Well, look at the other letters," said Mr. Owens. 
 
 The Inspector resumed his examination, and 
 during an interval of fifteen minutes there was no 
 sound in the library except the crackling of the logs 
 on the hearth, and the low ticking of the bronze 
 clock on the mantelpiece. The detective did not 
 simply read the letters ; he investigated them in 
 the minutest detail. He compared words as written 
 
24 A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 
 
 in one with the same word in the others. He noted 
 the kind of ink used, and the pattern of pen that 
 had probably been employed. He contrasted the 
 purport of one letter with that of the rest, weighing 
 the phrases and expressions, and striving to pene 
 trate beneath their literal form to the mind and 
 character of the writer. He considered the gram 
 mar and the style of composition, to determine 
 whether the author were an uneducated man trying 
 to appear educated, or an educated man trying to 
 appear ignorant. At length he replaced all the 
 letters in the elastic band, and put the packet on 
 the table. 
 
 " Have you modified your opinion ? " Mr. Owens 
 inquired. 
 
 " In some respects I have," replied the other, 
 slowly. " In the first place, I think those letters 
 were written by a man of culture by what would 
 be called a gentleman." 
 
 11 1 have come to the opposite conclusion. Leav 
 ing the handwriting aside, a gentleman, or one 
 holding that position, would not use language so 
 crude and awkward." 
 
 " Not if he were writing, so to say, in his own 
 person; but he is acting a part. He is a clever, 
 wide-awake man-of-the-world, studying to appear 
 like a half-crazed religious enthusiast. The assump 
 tion is very well done ; but there are lapses here 
 and there ; there are some sentences, and especially 
 some ideas, in the letters that the kind of man he is 
 aping would never use or think of. And apart 
 
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 25 
 
 from that, there is too much self-consciousness 
 throughout." 
 
 " You may be right ; but admitting that you are, 
 what difference would it make ? Golding might be 
 shot by an educated man just as well as by a day 
 laborer." 
 
 " Not if the educated man is disguising his true 
 character." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because there must be a reason for that dis 
 guise. If this fellow really meant to kill Golding, 
 he might conceal his name, but what object could 
 he have in trying to make it appear that he be 
 longed to another rank in life than his real one ? 
 That would not bring him any nearer to his end. 
 If Golding is to be murdered, it is all one to him 
 who fires the shot. I say, therefore, that the inten 
 tion is not murder, but something else." 
 
 " Money ? " 
 
 " Exactly. He means first to frighten his man, 
 and then to work upon his fears for pecuniary pur 
 poses. You observe how he postpones the day of 
 execution, on one point or another, again and again. 
 The pretexts are ingeniously devised, but not inge 
 niously enough to conceal the ingenuity. He is 
 holding something in reserve ; and before long, 
 unless I am much mistaken, he will spring it upon 
 him. He will demand money as the condition of 
 sparing Golding s life money, or the means of 
 getting it." 
 
26 A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 
 
 " That is to say, inside information about the 
 market." 
 
 " Precisely. Now, I observe another thing about 
 this fellow. In some way or another, he has very 
 accurate information as to Golcling s movements 
 and habits. One would say he must stand in tol 
 erably intimate relations with him. In fact, he says 
 as much in the letter that he is able, at any 
 moment in the day, to accomplish the assassina 
 tion." 
 
 " Yes ; I noticed that myself." 
 
 " Of course, it may be open to a slightly differ 
 ent interpretation. He may merely have acquired 
 certain information about Golding, in order, by 
 appearing to be in a position to gain immediate 
 access to him, to frighten him the more thoroughly. 
 It would certainly add to a threatened man s uneasi 
 ness to believe that his secret enemy was some inti 
 mate personal acquaintance perhaps his confiden 
 tial secretary, or some business colleague. He 
 would feel no security anywhere, even in the bosom 
 of his own family." 
 
 " Like the Czar of Russia, who finds messages 
 from the Nihilists in his napkin at the breakfast- 
 table, or under his pillow at night." 
 
 " But I am inclined to think, at present, that the 
 writer really does know Golding, and gets his 
 information about him at first hand. And I think 
 so the more, because it would be to the advantage 
 of the writer that I should th ; nk otherwise." 
 
 " I don t quite follow you." 
 
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 27 
 
 " What I mean is this. These letters were writ 
 ten for my benefit, as well as for Mr. Golding s. 
 The writer saw that they would sooner or later be 
 submitted to me, and he therefore attempts to mis 
 lead me as well as him. He argued that I would 
 infer, from certain indirect evidence in the letters, 
 that he was personally acquainted with Golding; 
 so, in order to head me off from that conclusion, 
 he declares in so many words that he is acquainted 
 with him." 
 
 " I understand ! He anticipates that you will 
 believe him a liar, and therefore he tells the exact 
 truth." 
 
 " In this instance yes. Well, you see the corol 
 lary ? If he stands so near Golding, it can not be 
 so difficult to pick him out. The field of selection 
 is immensely narrowed. From hundreds of thou 
 sands, say, we come down at one step to tens or 
 twenties." 
 
 Mr. Owens looked at the detective curiously. 
 4< You certainly deserve your reputation, Inspector," 
 he said thoughtfully. 
 
 The other smiled. " Wait till we are out of the 
 woods ! " he said. " And to that end, I may as 
 well ask you a question or two. Looking at the 
 matter in the light we now have upon it, is there 
 any one you would feel inclined to suspect ? " 
 
 Owens shook his head slowly. " I haven t 
 thought of any one." 
 
 " You know all the people who are likely to be 
 about Golding ? " 
 
28 A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose I do." 
 
 " Well, is there any one of those men whom 
 Golding has at any time injured, or quarreled 
 with, or by any means made his enemy ? " 
 
 Owens took his chin between his thumb and 
 fore-finger, and reflected. 
 
 " The men who work with Golding, or for him, 
 are apt to be wholly devoted to his interests," he 
 said after a while. " They may not like him, as 
 one man likes another, but they admire him, and 
 will do any thing for him. They are like soldiers 
 towards their general ; he may be a martinet or a 
 tyrant, but he inspires enthusiasm and commands 
 obedience, because they feel that he knows what he 
 is about, and the best way to go to work. Golding 
 might act very severely or harshly towards his sub 
 ordinates or associates, and yet they might never 
 think of turning against him. At all events, I 
 doubt if I could throw any light in that direction. 
 Any one of them will be just as likely or unlikely 
 to feel a grudge as any other." 
 
 " Is there no one who has formerly been on 
 friendly terms with him, but who, for any reason, 
 has since broken with him, either openly or 
 covertly ? " 
 
 Owens began to shake his head, but all at once 
 a thought seemed to strike him ; he bit his lips, 
 looked grave, and finally said with a smile : 
 
 " Well, it has just occurred to me that there is a 
 man who fits that description very well. But he is 
 not the man we are after." 
 
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 29 
 
 " How do you know he is not ? " 
 
 " Oh, it is impossible ! There isn t a more 
 honorable man in New York, or one with a higher 
 business reputation. He s really quite out of the 
 question." 
 
 The detective looked his interlocutor steadily in 
 the face. 
 
 " Mr. Owens," he said, " in an affair of this kind 
 there is no one who can be beyond suspicion. The 
 more extreme the improbability seems to be, 
 the more reason may exist for an investigation. 
 An anonymous letter may come from the person 
 whom you consider to be your dearest friend ; it 
 may come from the deacon of your church, or the 
 president of your bank. I tell you frankly, Mr. 
 Owens, that for all I know, you may have written 
 those letters yourself." 
 
 " Well, I didn t ! " said the other, laughing. 
 
 " I am quite in earnest in saying," continued the 
 detective, " that although it may be impossible to 
 find out who did write the letters, it is certainly 
 impossible to attest beforehand that any particular 
 person did not. I am here, at your request, to do 
 my utmost to discover the writer. If you wish me 
 to succeed, the least you can do is to give me 
 the names of all persons known to you who are 
 physically capable of having written them. For 
 you to do this does not imply that you believe in 
 the guilt of any of those persons. But if you wish 
 to clear them of suspicion, the only way is to let 
 me investigate them," 
 
30 A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 
 
 " Very well, Inspector," said Mr. Owens good 
 humoredly, rising from his chair and standing with 
 his back to the fire. " I ll tell you the name of the 
 man I am thinking of, and on your head be it ! 
 Did you ever hear of Gilbert Cowran ? " 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 4 CONSULTATION. 
 
 "GILBERT COWRAN?" repeated the detect- 
 
 \J ive, looking up. " Do you refer to the lawyer 
 of that name ? " 
 
 " That is the man I mean." 
 
 There was a short silence. Inspector Byrnes 
 leaned back in his chair and gazed thoughtfully at 
 the cornice. Owens turned round and gave one 
 of the logs a kick with his foot. Then he faced 
 about again. 
 
 " You see the absurdity of the thing now, I pre 
 sume," he said. 
 
 The detective made no direct answer to this 
 remark. 
 
 " I know Mr. Cowran by name and reputation," 
 he said, " and I have occasionally seen him in 
 court. But I know nothing about his relations 
 with Mr. Golding. They were friends, you say, 
 and afterwards quarreled ? " 
 
 " The story is no secret, and I have no objection 
 to telling it. Golding s connection with Cowran was 
 formed soon after Golding s arrival in New York. 
 Cowran, at that time, was little known ; he was a 
 
3 2 A CONSULTATION. 
 
 young fellow of ability and promise in his profes 
 sion, but his clients were not many and his means 
 were not great. Golding happened to run across 
 him at a time he was looking for some one to defend 
 a suit. He saw that Cowran was a fit man for the 
 business, and retained him. That affair led to 
 others. Golding got in the habit of consulting 
 Cowran on all legal matters. The two soon took 
 a fancy to each other. In a few years, Cowran was 
 Golding s confidential agent and adviser. His 
 connection with Golding had profited him profes 
 sionally. Besides the money he received for man 
 aging Golding s affairs, he acquired a large and 
 valuable general practice. His remarkable talents 
 were recognized, and he had a great future before 
 him. There was a time when he could have had 
 the District-Attorneyship if he had cared for it. I 
 think Golding wanted him to take it ; but Cow- 
 ran s ambition didn t lie in the direction of politics : 
 and besides, the regular practice of his profession 
 brought him in a larger income than the legitimate 
 proceeds of a municipal office. 
 
 " Things went on in that way until the period of 
 the great panic on Wall Street, a few years ago. 
 Cowran was at that time making a great deal of 
 money every year, though I don t suppose he had 
 laid up any large capital. He was always inclined 
 to be liberal and expensive in his habits. As for 
 Golding, he was already then, as he is now, the 
 heaviest and most formidable man on the street. 
 
 " Nobody but Golding and Cowran know the 
 
A CONSULTATION, 33 
 
 whole inside history of that affair. I never asked 
 Golding about it, or Cowran either, for I was a 
 friend of both parties. But what appeared to out 
 siders was something like this Golding was 
 interested in a certain stock, and had secretly 
 arranged to get control of it. He consulted with 
 Cowran as to the best means of doing this, Cowran 
 advising him, of course, from the legal point of 
 view ; for Cowran is not much of a financier. But, 
 naturally, he knew what Golding meant to do. 
 
 " I don t believe he had ever speculated, in the 
 full sense of the word, before. I don t know what 
 put it into his head to do so on the present occa 
 sion. Perhaps he had a special need for money, and 
 thought he had a sure thing. Whether or not he 
 told Golding what he was going to do, I can t say. 
 At all events, he went in very heavily, and kept on 
 increasing his investments, confidently expecting 
 the promised change in the market. Before long 
 he had put in about every thing he possessed. 
 
 " But meanwhile Golding, for some reason or 
 other, had altered his plans. He made up his mind 
 to drop the stock that he had intended to boom. 
 Of course he must have neglected to inform Cow- 
 ran of this change. That was the ground of the 
 quarrel between them, as I understood it. It is 
 quite possible, however, that Golding did not 
 know that Cowran had been speculating, or he may 
 have been unable, for business reasons, to fore 
 warn even him of the new deal. Those are ques 
 tions that may never be settled. I can only say that 
 
34 A CONSULTATION. 
 
 it is, on the face of it, unlikely that he devised 
 Cowran s ruin. There is nothing to show that he 
 could in any way have served his interests. On 
 the contrary, he might easily have injured them. 
 Be that as it may, when the crash came, Cowran 
 was landed high and dry. It was a very bad case. 
 When all his liabilities were paid, he had scarcely 
 a thousand dollars cash left. 
 
 " He and Golding had an interview ; no third 
 person was present, but I fancy it was pretty vio 
 lent. Cowran has a fierce temper, and Golding, 
 on such occasions, is cold and hard as steel. They 
 parted in anger, and have had no communication 
 with each other since. But though they are ene 
 mies, they are honorable in their enmity. Cow- 
 ran preserves, among his office papers, records of 
 transactions which, if he were to make them public, 
 would seriously affect some of Golding s interests. 
 But he has never made any use of them. Golding, 
 on the other hand, could have put insurmountable 
 obstacles in the way of Cowran s recovering from 
 his disaster, but I am inclined to think that he did 
 just the opposite. Very few people ever knew that 
 Cowran had lost money. He immediately sold his 
 house and hired rooms in a cheap flat. He kept 
 his office down town, and by great effort succeeded 
 in paying the rent of it. He set to work, with 
 the courage and determination that are character 
 istic of him, to build himself up again. But it 
 proved to be a longer and harder work than it had 
 been before. There was more competition, for 
 
A CONSULTATION. 35 
 
 one thing ; and the loss of Golding s business 
 meant many thousands a year. Nevertheless, he 
 has done well, and his reputation, personal and 
 professional, is as high as ever. I have always 
 looked forward to bringing the two men together 
 again and getting up a reconciliation between 
 them. I certainly don t anticipate that Cowran 
 can so far have changed his nature and character 
 as to put on the guise of a secret assassin, and I 
 expect that your investigations, if you make any, 
 will lead you to the same conclusion." 
 
 " So far as your story tells me any thing, I would 
 be disposed to share your expectation," Inspector 
 Byrnes replied. " But you say, yourself, that you 
 do not know the inside of the affair ; and something 
 may have occurred that would arouse a more deadly 
 animosity on Cowran s part than the mere loss of 
 his fortune would do. No man ever thoroughly 
 knows another ; one sometimes sees very strange 
 developments in human nature. By the way, there 
 is one very important request that I have to make 
 of you." 
 
 What is that ? " 
 
 " It is that you make no mention whatever to 
 Cowran of what has occurred between us. It 
 might destroy the whole case." 
 
 " I will agree to that," said the other ; " I prom 
 ise you that I won t open my mouth on the subject, 
 to him or any one else." 
 
 " Thank you. Secrecy, as you are aware, is an 
 essential condition of the success of all detective 
 
3 6 A CONSULTATION. 
 
 operations. It should not even be known that any 
 detective operations are contemplated. You had 
 better let no one suspect that you have so much as 
 received a call from me." 
 
 " I appreciate the precaution, and shall observe 
 it. But can I not afford you any more positive help 
 than simply to hold my tongue ? " 
 
 " No help is more useful, and there is none that 
 we get less of than silence," the detective re 
 plied : " If you give us that, you will have done 
 your fair share. But if there is any other person 
 that you can think of " 
 
 Mr. Owens shook his head. 
 
 " I don t admit that I suspect Cowran," he said. 
 " I can certainly name no other." 
 
 "Mr. Golding, I think you said, is happy in his 
 domestic relations ? " 
 
 " Entirely so." 
 
 " There is no chance of his having been led to 
 make any connection which " 
 
 " My dear Inspector, don t think of such a thing ! 
 I doubt if Golding has so much as spoken to a 
 dozen women in his life. His habits are as regular 
 as clock-work. He goes from his home to his of 
 fice, and from his office work to his home. He 
 neither drinks nor smokes. He is actually an 
 ascetic. I should as soon suspect Saint Simeon 
 Stylites of making an irregular connection as of his 
 doing so." 
 
 " You must remember," the Inspector remarked, 
 " that you are the only person to whom I can apply 
 
A CONSULTATION. 37 
 
 for information. All the other evidence that I ob 
 tain must be extracted without any knowledge, on 
 the part of those who give it, of the object of the 
 inquiries. If any thing were to leak out, there is no 
 telling who might give the alarm. I shall be as 
 sisted in this investigation by only one detective, 
 a young man in whose ability and discretion I place 
 much confidence. But as things stand now, I am 
 bound to tell you that the outlook is not very 
 promising." 
 
 " It certainly appears rather dark." 
 
 " In fact, if the writer of the letters be really a 
 religious crank, we may have to trust more to the 
 chapter of accidents than to any thing else, to dis 
 cover who he is. Such men do not answer decoy 
 advertisements, or fall into any of the traps that 
 catch ordinary rogues. But if personal enmity or 
 personal gain enters into the calculations of an un 
 known friend, the odds will be in our favor." 
 
 "I hope on all accounts that such will prove to 
 be the case." 
 
 " One of my first acts will be to attempt to de 
 termine that point. Meanwhile I shall depend on 
 you to keep me informed of any further develop 
 ments in the matter." 
 
 " All future letters that may be received will be 
 sent direct to me at my office. I will attend to 
 that personally." After a pause he added, " Of 
 course, if any thing should by any chance appear 
 against Cowran, I presume the matter could be 
 arranged without publicity. I have not Golding s 
 
3 A CONSULTATION. 
 
 authority to say so, of course, for the suggestion 
 will be as strange to him as it was to me, but I 
 think that will be his feeling." 
 
 " I am an officer," answered the Inspector. 
 " When I have identified the writer, my interest in 
 the affair will cease." 
 
 " You said you knew Cowran, didn t you ?" 
 " By sight slightly. He is a member of the 
 American League Club, isn t he ?" 
 
 " Yes. He is on the Council, I believe." 
 " I saw him coming out of the Club as I was on 
 my way here, a big sturdy fellow with a red 
 beard." 
 
 " His personal appearance is certainly not 
 against him." 
 
 " There was a young fellow with him, whom I 
 didn t recognize, short side-whiskers, good-look 
 ing, rather in the English style." 
 
 " Probably Frank Cunliffe. It sounds like him." 
 " Has he any particular relations with Cowran ?" 
 " Not that I know of. They are both members 
 of the Club, that s all." 
 
 " He doesn t know Mr. Golding, I suppose ? " 
 " Who, Cunliffe ? Not at all. He is just a 
 young fellow about town ; I know nothing of him, 
 good or bad. Certainly nothing bad." 
 
 " If I ever have a biographer, I hope it may be 
 such a man as you are," said the Inspector, taking 
 up his overcoat with a smile. " It isn t every body 
 that takes such a hopeful view of human nature 
 as you do." 
 
A CONSULTATION. 39 
 
 " I speak of it as I find it. Why not ? " 
 
 " Well, you would never be able to pass your 
 apprenticeship in my business. The Good Book 
 says that charity covereth a multitude of sins. My 
 business is to uncover sins ; so I am obliged to be 
 economical with my chanty." 
 
 "And yet," said the other, giving another kick 
 to the cedar log, which fell apart and sent a shower 
 of bright sparks careering up the chimney, " your 
 charity may be of a sounder quality than mine. 
 Mine is chiefly a matter of temperament ; I like to 
 have a good opinion of people, because it would be 
 unpleasant to think evil of them. You test every 
 thing, and when you find gold it is gold and no 
 mistake." 
 
 " Perhaps that is the reason I meet with so little 
 consideration at my banker s," the Inspector re 
 turned ; and with a laugh and a shake of the hand 
 the two men parted. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 AT THE CLUB. 
 
 THE next day an advertisement to the follow 
 ing effect appeared in the columns of one of 
 the New York journals : 
 
 " The instrument of Divine Vengeance. Can 
 M. G. communicate with you ? any method you 
 suggest will be strictly observed. Do not commit 
 an injustice. The Lord giveth and the Lord 
 taketh away. Answer by letter." 
 
 This advertisement was continued for a week. 
 
 The American League Club is one of the 
 largest, and at the same time is held to be one of 
 the most exclusive, in New York. It certainly 
 numbers among its members some of the wealthiest 
 and most respectable men in the city. It occupies 
 a stately and somewhat gloomy building on one of 
 the avenues : its habitues maintain an august 
 decorum, and never get into the newspapers unless 
 they want to. They do not appear to be especially 
 gregarious ; they roam about the great rooms by 
 ones and twos, seldom by threes, and four together 
 would be considered a crowd, and hardly good 
 form. Probably no man in the club would even 
 
AT THE CLUB. 41 
 
 pretend to know by sight so many as a tenth part 
 of those whose names appear upon the roll. At 
 certain fixed intervals during the year the club 
 holds receptions, which are largely attended, and 
 at seasons of political storms or emergency meet 
 ings are called and resolutions are passed, for the 
 club piques itself upon its weight in political affairs. 
 The club is also a patron of art, and there is an 
 annual exhibition of paintings by American artists 
 in its rooms. Upon the whole, it may be con 
 sidered a model club, and as such its members are 
 fond of showing it to their foreign guests, especially 
 to those from the mother country, and asking them 
 how it compares with the famous palaces on St. 
 James Street and Pall Mall. 
 
 Among the latest of the English guests intro 
 duced to the club, at the period of which we write, 
 was a gentleman known as Captain Raleigh Ham 
 ilton. He was understood to be a relative of the 
 renowned English explorer whose death or disap 
 pearance on the upper Nile was one of the sensa 
 tions .of Christendom. But aside from this distin 
 guished connection to which, by the way, the 
 Captain betrayed a modest indisposition to allude 
 he was voted to be a capital fellow. His manner 
 had a military punctiliousness and courtesy which 
 nevertheless did not disguise the genial and social 
 qualities beneath. He was polished, well-read and 
 well-informed ; he had been everywhere and seen 
 every thing : like his great cousin he had been 
 something of a free-lance, having improved his 
 
4 2 AT THE CLUB. 
 
 leisure by fighting under the banners of several 
 nations ; yet he was by no means given to rehears 
 ing the story of his campaigns, and was, indeed, 
 rather noted for his reticence under circumstances 
 when many men would have waxed loquacious 
 and boastful. Captain Hamilton played a fair 
 game of billiards, though the small American 
 tables, with their three balls and no pockets, per 
 plexed him a little at first, but at whist he was as 
 good as the best, and he exhibited symptoms of 
 an ability to become proficient, some day, at poker. 
 He was by no means a gambler, however, but uni 
 formly refused to play for high stakes, remarking, 
 with the frank simplicity that belonged to him, 
 that he couldn t afford it. Like all clubbable 
 Englishmen, he was fond of keeping behind the 
 club windows, and could very seldom be induced 
 to go out in society, alleging that women always 
 made him stupid. Like all Englishmen, also, he 
 was fond of horses, and confessed to a special inter 
 est in the American trotter. Perceiving this such of 
 his entertainers as owned trotters competed for the 
 pleasure of taking the Captain for a spin in the 
 park, and regaling him, not with the diversion alone, 
 but with startling statistics of what the kings and 
 queens of the American track had done or could do 
 when they were really put to it. 
 
 Among the first of the members of the club with 
 whom Captain Hamilton showed a disposition to 
 make more than a passing acquaintance, was Gil 
 bert Cowran. He remarked that Cowran looked 
 
AT THE CLUB. 43 
 
 like a Scot, and was delighted to learn that he had 
 Scotch blood in him. " We Hamiltons are Scotch, 
 you know," he observed. " I was pretty sure, from 
 the cut of your jib, that you or your people must 
 have come from north of the Tweed." 
 
 " My father was born in Edinbro," Cowran re 
 plied. " He emigrated in 1849, and settled in 
 New Jersey, where a good many of his country 
 men live." 
 
 " Were you educated in the old country ? " in 
 quired Hamilton. 
 
 " No, I have never been back. I was sent to 
 Columbia, and studied law there after taking my 
 degree. I have been here pretty much ever 
 since." 
 
 " Well, you lawyers are better off than we army 
 fellows. You always have something to do. Some 
 of the barristers and Q. C. s in London get awfully 
 rich. But I suppose you make more here than they 
 do there." 
 
 " I don t know about that. If I m a fair ex 
 ample, I should say no." 
 
 u I fancy a fellow spends more here than he does 
 in London." 
 
 " Possibly. At any rate, he loses more, I guess, 
 if he s fool enough to back the wrong side to win." 
 
 "You mean horses." 
 
 " No, I was thinking of Wall Street." 
 
 " Oh, I ve heard about that. I must get down 
 there some day and have a look at em. I wonder 
 if some fellow will give me a point !" 
 
44 AT THE CLUB. 
 
 11 Judging from my own experience, I should 
 say several persons would be very glad to do so," 
 Cowran replied, rather grimly. " What would be 
 the result to you is another question." 
 
 " Oh, I m not altogether an ass in money matters, 
 you know," said the Captain, pleasantly. " I can t 
 afford to throw money away, as I have said before ; 
 but I have a few thousands that I wouldn t mind 
 putting out to advantage, and from what I hear it 
 would be easy to double or treble it in a few weeks, 
 if a fellow got hold of the right stock." 
 
 " Well, you will do as you like, of course ; it s 
 none of my affair. Only, I should be sorry to have 
 you plucked while you are the guest of the club." 
 
 " Oh, come now ! It isn t as bad as that, surely? 
 Of course I suppose there are sharpers on the 
 street, as there are everywhere; but I m speaking 
 of the really solid fellows, who control every thing 
 persons like Golding and Vanderwick. I don t 
 fancy there d be any danger in following the advice 
 of Golding, now, for instance ?" 
 
 " Maxwell Golding is a clever man," returned 
 Cowran, putting an egg in his egg-cup and crack 
 ing the top of it with his spoon, the two were 
 breakfasting together. " He is a clever man ; I 
 might almost say a great man, if a man whose whole 
 soul is in finance can properly be called great. He 
 is a master of his art, and performs with a turn 
 of his finger marvels that would make Monte Cristo 
 look like a fool, and give Aladdin a headache." 
 Here he dropped a pinch of salt into his egg. " He 
 
AT THE CLUB. 45 
 
 is as powerful a man as there is in this country 
 to-day. Russia is a despotism, but she has only 
 one Czar, and he has the Nihilists against him ; 
 but," continued Cowran, his voice deepening, 
 "America is a republic, and has a thous 
 and despots, and Maxwell Golding is the chief 
 of them ! What is there he can not do or buy ? 
 His creed is that every man has his price ; or 
 if his price can t be found, he can be crushed. 
 Golding is above the law ; if the laws that exist 
 don t suit him, he breaks them : if it is too much 
 trouble to break them, he gets other laws passed 
 for his convenience. The legislators, the judges, 
 the lawyers/ and con, the juries, the newspapers, 
 all belong to him. The public is a helpless fool ; 
 he knows it, and wouldn t mind saying it. His 
 enemies he annihilates as a matter of course ; that s 
 only what might be expected ; but his friends suffer 
 even more. He leads them on until they feel 
 secure, and believe that he values their interests 
 equally with his own ; and then he cuts them down 
 and roots them up and sows the place in which 
 they flourished with salt. Talk about sharpers ! 
 Take your money all you have and have it paid 
 to you in gold coin by the bank. Carry it to the 
 worst slum in the city, and pile it up on the side 
 walk. Leave it there all day and all night, and go 
 back to look for it in the morning. Do you think 
 you would find it intact ? " 
 
 " Well, hardly ! " 
 
 " Then I tell you, and I know what I am talking 
 
4 6 AT THE CLUB. 
 
 about, that the chances would be ten times as great 
 in favor of finding every dollar where you left it, 
 as if you followed Golding s friendly advice as to 
 investing in his stocks. He wouldn t be satisfied 
 with taking all you had ; he would get a mortgage 
 on every thing you could ever hope to make here 
 after. And you would be powerless to retaliate. 
 All would have been done correctly, according to 
 the rules of the street ! I sometimes think that 
 perhaps a little Nihilism wouldn t be a bad thing 
 in New York. A bomb would do more to bring 
 such fellows to reason than all the law in the 
 country." 
 
 " Oh, I say, Cowran ! You re not in earnest, you 
 know. A fellow may hate a man without wanting 
 to blow him up, by Jove ! " 
 
 Cowran s eyes were sparkling, and his face was 
 flushed but !:? controlled himself by an effort. " I 
 am speaking in the abstract, of course," he said 
 presently. " But it is a truth which the history of all 
 oppression confirms, that, when legitimate means 
 fail to punish high-handed wrong, men will take 
 the law into their own handjj, and Golding is as 
 likely as any other to be forced to realize that truth 
 in his own case." 
 
 " Well, I d no notion it was a; bad as that over 
 here," the captain remarked cl eerfully. " One 
 always has the idea that every bod/ has a good time 
 in America, and makes lots of mon >y. As for this 
 man Golding you say you speak in the abstract 
 
AT THE CLUB. 47 
 
 you mean you don t know him personally, I sup 
 pose ?" 
 
 " I have had nothing to do with him for several 
 years ; I have nothing to say as to what relations 
 we may have had in the past. My story would be 
 only a little more ugly than that of a hundred 
 others. Pshaw ! it isn t worth while to let one s 
 breakfast get cold for such a matter. All I wanted 
 was to give you an idea of what you are to expect 
 down there among the bulls and bears." 
 
 " Well, I ve been in some pretty lively scrim 
 mages in my time," said the captain, toying with 
 his coffee-cup, " and I ve shot tigers in India, and 
 all that sort of thing ; but I fancy I wouldn t make 
 much of a show among your bulls and bears, after 
 all. And I m much obliged to you, my dear Cowran, 
 for putting me up to the game." 
 
 Cowran nodded, but made no reply ; and the 
 captain, turning his chair and crossing his legs, 
 took up a paper and began to glance idly up and 
 down its columns, refreshing himself meanwhile 
 with occasional swallows of coffee. 
 
 Presently he laid the paper on his knee, and 
 turned to his companion. 
 
 " I ve often thought," he said, " what a deuced 
 entertaining book it would make if some fellow was 
 to get a lot of the * personals in the newspapers, 
 and put em together connecting all those that 
 seemed to have been written by the same people, 
 you know. It might be possible, in that way, to 
 find out what they were writing about, Some of 
 
4 AT THE CLUB. 
 
 them read as if there might be some very odd 
 stories behind em. Do you ever look at em ? " 
 
 " Once in a while, I suppose. I never gave any 
 thought to the matter. Are there any interesting 
 ones this morning ?" 
 
 " I don t know ; nothing particular. This one 
 at the top of the column is as good as any. The 
 Instrument of Divine Vengeance, it begins. That s 
 some formula, probably, by which the person it s 
 addressed to is to recognize the writer. Can M. 
 G. communicate with you ? Any method you sug 
 gest will be strictly observed. Do not commit an 
 injustice. There s a suggestion to follow up, you 
 see ! The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh 
 away. This fellow seems to be a sort of religious 
 crank. Answer by letter. That s all there is of 
 it. Who s M. G. do you suppose ? " 
 
 " M. G. ? Humph ! That s curious ! Let me 
 look at it," said Cowran, taking the paper. He 
 read the paragraph, and fell into a brown study 
 over it, pulling his great red beard, and drawing 
 his brows together. At length he roused himself, 
 and handed the paper back. 
 
 " Well, do you make out who * M. G. is ? " de 
 manded the captain, with a smile. 
 
 " Who, I ? No, how should I ? Some woman, 
 very likely. It set me thinking about something, 
 that s all." 
 
 " Try one of these cigars," said the captain, 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 NEWS. 
 
 LATE on the afternoon of the next day, a hand 
 some sleigh found its way to Mulberry Street, 
 and drew up in front of a large building with a 
 white stone facing, over the doorway of which 
 was an inscription signifying that this was the 
 headquarters of the Metropolitan Police. A gen 
 tleman in a fur-lined overcoat alighted from the 
 sleigh and ran up the steps and asked the door 
 keeper the way to the Detective Bureau. 
 
 The doorkeeper indicated an entrance on the 
 left, and the visitor was conducted through a series 
 of rooms and corridors and wicker gates and be 
 hind wire screens, until he reached a small ante 
 room with a desk and chair in it ; here there was a 
 moment s pause, and then he was ushered into a 
 handsome sitting-room, and Inspector Byrnes ad 
 vanced to meet him with outstretched hand. 
 
 " Glad to see you so soon again, Mr. Owens," 
 he said. " But you re not come on business, are 
 you ? There can t have any thing new happened 
 yet? " 
 
 " I expect you know nearly as much about that 
 
5o NEWS. 
 
 as I do," the other replied, throwing open his over 
 coat and taking a chair. " Things certainly begin 
 to move in a remarkable manner as soon as you 
 take hold of them. That personal of yours was 
 very cleverly worded." 
 
 " You don t mean to say that any thing has come 
 of it ? " 
 
 " There has, though ! Our anonymous friend 
 seems to be a reader of that paper. I came right 
 here from my office, so as to lose no time." 
 
 " Have you learned any thing about him ? " 
 
 " Gold ing has received a letter from him, refer 
 ring to the * personal. " 
 
 " Well, that is something, after all. What does 
 he say ?" 
 
 " I have brought the letter with me. Here it is," 
 and he took an envelope from his pocket and 
 handed it to the Inspector. 
 
 The latter opened it and read the words that fol 
 low : 
 
 " M. Golding. Sir : I have seen in a paper, 
 accidentally, a paragraph which bears your initials, 
 and seems to have some reference to the mission 
 of destruction with which the Lord has charged me 
 towards you. If you expect, by any such devices, 
 to discover who I am, you are much mistaken. 
 Though you see me every day, and I know all your 
 movements, you will never recognize me as the 
 avenger of Providence until you feel the blow that 
 will send you from this world forever. If you think 
 that you can offer me any inducements to spare 
 
NE IV S. 5 J 
 
 you, you are equally wrong. I know you are 
 wealthy, and you may think that, because I am 
 poor, you can buy me off. But you need not flat 
 ter yourself. Your doom is written ; and even if 
 I, for any reason, did not execute it, the Lord would 
 raise up some other instrument of His purpose. If 
 I had wanted money, I should have spoken of it 
 before this. But I have told you the simple facts ; 
 I had no other meaning, and my wife and family 
 will gladly starve rather than that I should falter 
 in my sacred mission. Prepare your soul for 
 eternity, for the time is now ripe, and I am weary 
 of delay. If you have any last requests to make 
 you may put them in the same newspaper. I am 
 willing to grant you any favor that does not con 
 flict with my immovable purpose." 
 
 The Inspector folded up the letter and burst into 
 a saturnine laugh. 
 
 " Well, that is pretty plain talking, between busi 
 ness men, isn t it ? " he said. 
 
 " You think he will consent to a parley, then ? " 
 
 " Consent to a parley ! Why, you can hear the 
 jingle of coin in every word ! We said nothing in 
 our personal about money, that I know of. He 
 has put the words into our mouth. He is even 
 more avaricious than I gave him credit for. And 
 yet the letter is shrewd enough, too. He sticks 
 to his religious lingo, and talks about being weary 
 of delay. Yes, it isn t a bad piece of work." 
 
 " But you are convinced that money is what he 
 wants ? " 
 
5 2 NEWS. 
 
 " As much as I am convinced that a fish wants 
 water." 
 
 " And that his only object has been to frighten 
 Golding into treating with him ? " 
 
 " And he fancies that he has succeeded in doing 
 it. Meanwhile, you can assure Mr. Golding that 
 if his life depended on this man s actions he would 
 live to a hundred. Not only that, but if his life 
 were in any danger, this man would risk his own to 
 save him. He is not going either to kill the goose 
 that lays the golden eggs himself or allow any one 
 else to do it. He is a blackmailer, and that is all 
 there is about it." 
 
 " But blackmailers are never satisfied. If we 
 were to give him money, he would come back for 
 more, and so on indefinitely." 
 
 " There is no doubt about that. And yet the 
 only way to put an end to the nuisance will be to 
 give him money, or rather to let him make some, 
 and perhaps a good deal of it." 
 
 " But that will not put an end to the nuisance 
 permanently." 
 
 " It will, unless he is a cleverer rogue than the 
 majority of his kind." 
 
 " I don t catch your idea." 
 
 " Well, leaving details out for the present, this 
 is the idea in a nutshell : If you give him money, 
 and he receives it, you will have a clue to catch 
 him by. He must either go to get the money him 
 self, or send some one to get it for him ; and then 
 it will be my fault if he is not detected." 
 
NEWS. S3 
 
 " But if he is as clever as you say, he will see 
 that danger himself." 
 
 " A man s desires, if they are strong enough, al 
 ways obscure his judgment. He will suggest some 
 means of transacting the affair which he will con 
 sider safe. It may not occur to him that you have 
 put the matter in my hands ; at all events he 
 will have to risk something in order to gain his end. 
 Now that I know the sort of man I am dealing 
 with, the worst of the difficulty is over." 
 
 " How shall you answer this letter ? " 
 
 For answer, the Inspector took a sheet of paper 
 and a pen, and after meditating for a few mo 
 ments began to write. When the writing was fin 
 ished, he passed it over to his visitor. 
 
 Its purport was to this effect : " The instrument 
 of the Lord s vengeance. M. G. acknowledges 
 that a doom which is written can not be escaped. 
 You have produced a deep impression upon him. 
 He wishes, if possible, to make reparation for some 
 of the evil he may have done. Can nothing be ar 
 ranged for your wife and family ? Can you devise 
 a plan by which he can communicate with you 
 through this column ? You misinterpret the motive 
 of his former advertisement. Write freely, and 
 your wishes will be attended to. He only asks 
 that you reveal the secret to no one." 
 
 " I can suggest no improvement," said Mr. 
 Owens, after reading it. " That touch about the 
 wife and children is admirable." 
 
 " It is a mere formality. He can read between 
 
& NE WS. 
 
 my lines as easily as I can read between his ; but 
 it is just like many observances in social life ; every 
 body knows that they are humbug, but they are 
 observed just the same. We may venture on plainer 
 talk by and by. We will keep up the religious 
 pretense as long as he does; and I ll make bold 
 to prophesy that that won t be very long." 
 
 While this conversation was going on at the Cen 
 tral office, Gilbert Cowran was seated in his place 
 of business down town, writing letters. All the 
 clerks had gone home but one, for it was after 
 hours ; this one was in Cowran s confidence, and 
 had been in his employ for several years. He was 
 busy looking up some references for an argu 
 ment. 
 
 " Talbot," said Cowran, after sealing and ad 
 dressing his last letter. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Cowran," said Talbot, looking up. 
 
 " Do you recollect that last suit that we defended 
 for Golding ? It was soon after that big deal of 
 his, you know." 
 
 " I think I do, sir. He was sued for willful mis 
 representation, or something of that kind, the 
 plaintiff s object being to force him to reveal the 
 secret history of his operation in open court. He 
 communicated with you and sent his private papers 
 and memoranda relating to the operation in ques 
 tion to you, in order that you might be able to 
 judge of the best line of defense. You arranged 
 that " 
 
 "Yes, that s all right. What I wanted to ask you 
 
NEWS. 55 
 
 was, whether those papers and memoranda are still 
 in our possession ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Cowran, they are." 
 
 " Is Mr. Golding aware of that fact ? " 
 
 " As to that I can t say. He never has applied to 
 us for them. I should have thought he would have 
 done so, for they are the kind of things a man 
 wouldn t wish to have out of his reach." 
 
 " Because they would reveal the secret of his 
 business combinations eh ? " 
 
 " That s what I mean, Mr. Cowran." 
 
 " Do you know where they are ? " 
 
 " The papers ? Yes, sir. They are in the same 
 old deed box that was used before we ceased to act 
 for Mr. Golding. It s the last on the left, second 
 row from bottom." 
 
 " I want you to get them out to-morrow. I wish 
 to look them over." 
 
 " Do you wish to have them returned to Mr. 
 Golding, sir ? " 
 
 " Hum ! Well yes possibly. Meanwhile, I 
 wish copies to be made of them." 
 
 " Hand or type-writer ?" 
 
 " Type-writer will do. Let s see Miss Claver- 
 house, isn t it ?" 
 
 " Miss Claverhouse yes." 
 
 " She can be depended on, of course doesn t 
 gossip, and all that ? " 
 
 " I can guarantee her being perfectly discreet, 
 Mr. Cowran." 
 
 " And I daresay you could guarantee her pos- 
 
S 6 NEWS. 
 
 sessing all the other feminine virtues eh, Talbot ? 
 Well, that s all right. Let her copy them to-mor 
 row. She can finish them in one day, can t she ? " 
 "Easily, I should say, Mr. Cowran." 
 Here the dialogue ceased. The clerk returned 
 to his references, and Cowran put on his hat and 
 coat and left the office, with a thoughtful air and a 
 gathering frown upon his brow. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TALBOT AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 JOHN TALBOT, the clerk of Conran and Co., 
 lived in a little flat somewhere between Washing 
 ton Square and Sixth Avenue. It was on the fifth 
 floor, and there was nothing above it except some 
 chambers for servants, the roof, and the sky. There 
 was no elevator in the building, and the stairs by 
 which the several flats communicated with the out 
 side world were narrow and dark. But when you 
 had mounted to John Talbot s door, and, leaving 
 your hat and coat in the little dark hall, had entered 
 the sitting-room, you began to find it very pleasant. 
 Talbot lived with his old mother, whose idol he 
 was, and who cared for him with the same solici 
 tude and tenderness as when he was an infant in 
 her arms ; she seemed scarcely to understand that 
 he had grown to be a man, and was taking his own 
 part in the world. Her imagination, inspired by 
 her memory, still saw him attired in pinafore and 
 short skirts ; and when he took her on his knee to 
 caress and make much of her, it seemed to her, by 
 some magic maternal perversity, that it was she 
 who held him in her lap. She was a very religious 
 old lady, and every evening, before they went to 
 
5 TALBOT AND HIS FXIEXDS. 
 
 bed, she read a chapter from the Bible to her son, 
 as she had done thirty years before, and ever since. 
 She knew nothing of worldly wickedness, save in 
 the abstract theological sense ; and she could 
 hardly have been more shocked at a murder than 
 she was at a fib, or at the idea of drinking a glass 
 of toddy or smoking a cigar. Talbot was certainly 
 guilty, though in strict moderation, of both of the 
 latter crimes, and possibly they had led him into 
 the fibbing pitfall, when his mother brought up the 
 subject of those evil indulgences for discussion. But 
 if his garments ever smelt of tobacco, or his breath 
 of whisky, she did not know it ; not because she 
 could not smell, but because she did not know that 
 tobacco and whisky produced those aromas, but, 
 like the ancient Roman s wife, took it for granted 
 that all men smelt like that. 
 
 Talbot was a steady worker, and as regular as a 
 pendulum ; but he found time for other things be 
 sides looking up references and writing lawyers 
 letters. His taste wa"s for things in the way of art, 
 and he made it serviceable for the adornment of 
 his rooms. The walls were hung (by John s own 
 hand) with papers which were pleasing in hue and 
 design, and had the additional merit of not costing 
 much. He devoted a good deal of thought and in 
 genuity to the friezes and dados, and mitigated the 
 blankness of the ceilings by washes of a warm tone 
 that harmonized with the papers. From various 
 sources he had collected prints, etchings, and pho 
 tographs, which he framed and hung up ; and he 
 
T ALB OT AND HIS FRIENDS. 59 
 
 spent the leisure hours of several weeks in con 
 structing a set of bookshelves that filled the spaces 
 not occupied by the doors and windows in one of 
 the rooms. These shelves he then gradually stocked 
 with books, giving much pains and thought to their 
 selection, his aim being that they should be not 
 only of good literary repute, but readable into the 
 bargain. He got Milton, perhaps in deference to 
 his mother ; Shakespeare he got for himself ; he 
 owned a copy of "Tom Jones," but Johnson s 
 " Rasselas " was not among his possessions. He 
 bought a number of comfortable chairs, in which to 
 sit while reading his volumes, and a broad-seated 
 sofa for his mother to lie down upon when she felt 
 tired. They did not keep a servant of their own, 
 but the wife of the janitor, for a consideration, did 
 the rough part of the work, leaving old Mrs. Talbot 
 to cook her son s breakfast and dinner, and per 
 form such dusting and polishing and setting-in- 
 order as could be properly performed only by a 
 mother or a wife. With the latter commodity and 
 crown of domestic happiness, John Talbot, at 
 thirty years of age, was unprovided. Perhaps this 
 was the result of his own fastidiousness or lack of 
 social opportunities ; perhaps a lack of apprecia- 
 tiveness on the ladies part was to blame; or perhaps 
 John felt that his mother would be a critic much 
 less easily satisfied than himself. At all events, he 
 was still a bachelor, though signs were not wanting 
 that he had registered no vows of perpetual 
 celibacy. 
 
60 TALBOT AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 In fact and it was a fact which, as we have 
 seen, had not escaped the eye of Gilbert Cowran 
 Talbot was at this very time in the throes of an af 
 fair of the heart with no less a personage than Mr. 
 Cowran s type-writer, the young lady, that is to 
 say, not the instrument. She had been in the of 
 fice several months, and had acquitted herself ad 
 mirably ; she hardly made a mistake once a day, 
 and she was always ready and good-humored. She 
 had short hair the tendency of literary pursuits is 
 to lengthen the locks of the male practitioner, and 
 to curtail those of the female a turned-up nose, 
 and spectacles ; but you could not talk with her 
 ten minutes without liking her, and feeling con 
 vinced of her indestructible goodness. Though 
 she never allowed any thing to interfere with her 
 official duties, she was an extremely sociable little 
 body, and loved talking better than reading, or 
 than any thing else, except, perhaps, John Talbot 
 himself, whose long, lank, and melancholy-looking 
 figure had captivated her maiden fancy from an 
 early period of their acquaintance ; possibly it was 
 a reflection of her tender cordiality which first ap 
 prised John that his own affections were breaking 
 loose. Though John s visage was cast in a melan 
 choly mold, it was by no means the harbinger of 
 a morose disposition ; on the contrary, he was full 
 of a fine dry humor, which, like wine, he kept 
 for the use of his intimate friends. He looked like 
 -an ascetic monk of the order of Flagellants ; but if 
 monasteries produced such fruit as he it would be 
 
TALBOT AND HIS FRIENDS. 6 1 
 
 impossible to keep the gentler sex out of them. 
 His face was that of a suffering Jesuit, but his 
 heart was as warm and tender as a child s, and his 
 imagination teemed with quaint and funny conceits, 
 which never ran dry, and yet were never in excess 
 of the demand. You had to learn how to take 
 him (which you could do only if you yourself had 
 certain human and enlightened qualities) and 
 thereafter he was inexhaustibly good company. 
 The women who knew him thought of him as a 
 brother, and to children he appeared like a father. 
 But Miss Betty Claverhouse, the type-writer at 
 Cowran s, was simply in love with him ; and that, 
 of course, was different. 
 
 Talbot s friends were not numbered by hundreds, 
 nor even by scores, for he was not a club man, or 
 a frequenter of fashionable society ; but there were 
 one or two fellows whom he liked, and who liked 
 him, and one of these was a young gentleman by 
 the name of Cunliffe. The attentive reader has al 
 ready heard of Frank Cunliffe, but has not yet 
 been regularly introduced to him. Cunliffe and 
 Talbot were so different from each other, and lived 
 in such alien regions, that it is necessary to account 
 for their knowing each other. 
 
 Frank Cunliffe was the son of a rich man who 
 lost nearly all he had soon after Frank got through 
 college. This was awkward for the old gentle 
 man, of course, and he did not long survive it ; but 
 it was also awkward for the son, because he had 
 been brought up in luxury, and with no expecta- 
 
62 T ALB OT AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 tion of being obliged to work for a living. To make 
 matters worse, he was not absolutely obliged to 
 work for a living, though his acquaintances all said 
 that he ought to do so. His father s estate, when 
 settled, yielded an income which just enabled him 
 to pay his dues at his club and his annual bill at 
 his tailor s. 
 
 When the dictionary of misfortunes which are 
 considered rather lucky by the victims of them 
 comes to be written, this particular species of mis 
 fortune will occupy a prominent place in it. It en 
 ables a man to command some of the luxuries of 
 life, but few or none of its comforts. He feels the 
 ability to work, and recognizes, in the abstract, 
 that work would better his condition, but he is re 
 luctant to break with the traditions of gentility, 
 and to admit what he would call the tradesman s 
 spirit ; and besides, among the many things which 
 he knows he could do, it is difficult to decide which 
 would be best worth doing. Meanwhile there is the 
 club, and the social whirligig continually revolving, 
 and the human vis inertia emphasized, very likely, 
 by a temperamental disposition to indolence and 
 it is really no wonder that these poor fellows never 
 come to any thing. Nor is their fate always merely 
 relative ; occasionally their little income gets 
 raided, or they fall into some snare or other, and 
 then they are forlorn indeed. They hang on by 
 hook or by crook, as long as they can ; and at last 
 disappear, and no one asks after them, for fear 
 of hearing something unpleasant. 
 
TALBOT AND HIS FRIENDS. 63 
 
 Frank Cunliffe had not got beyond the negative 
 stage. Perhaps he was a trifle to windward even 
 of that. He had had a dramatic instinct in him 
 from a boy, and had several times seriously consid 
 ered the question of going on the stage. He was 
 sure that he would have made a great success of it; 
 and possibly he might have trained himself into a 
 tolerable actor. He had a good figure and pres 
 ence ; he was handsome enough, and his voice was 
 full and clear, and agreeably modulated for an 
 American. He knew a great many actors, and 
 several actresses, and was a regular first-nighter at 
 all the theaters ; but, somehow, he never entered 
 the profession, and he had the good sense not to 
 indulge in amateur theatricals. One thing he did 
 do. After some years, he wrote, more for a lark 
 than in earnest, a criticism of a play that had just 
 been produced, and sent it to a daily paper. The 
 regular dramatic critic of this paper happened on 
 that day to be suffering from an attack of spiritus 
 fnimenti and had not come to time with his copy ; 
 the editor printed Cunliffe s, had an interview with 
 him, and offered him a regular engagement. Cun 
 liffe hemmed and hah d, and finally accepted it 
 on condition that his secret should be kept. So he 
 wrote under an assumed name, and every body for 
 whose sake he had assumed it knew the secret im 
 mediately ; the public read the criticisms, which 
 were clever, and neither knew nor cared who " Faust, 
 Jr.," was. Cunliffe s salary enabled him to smoke 
 
64 T ALB Or AND HIS FXIENDS. 
 
 twenty-dollar cigars, instead of fifteen-dollar ones, 
 as heretofore. 
 
 However, he became something of a power in the 
 New York theatrical world, and at length an oppor 
 tunity occurred to put this power to some practical 
 use. Cunliffe had a young relative a second 
 cousin once removed, or something of that kind 
 who .possessed an unusually good contralto voice, 
 and had learned how to use it. Though winning 
 to the ear, this young lady was not correspondingly 
 attractive to the eye. She had light hair, a dull 
 complexion, gray eyes, and irregular features. 
 She was flat-chested and could not walk gracefully. 
 She was an orphan, poor, and ambitious. She 
 wrote a letter to Cunliffe, and asked him to help 
 her to get an engagement to sing in concert. 
 
 Cunliffe had never seen her. He called on her, 
 and at the first glimpse of her was completely dis 
 couraged. She chatted with him awhile, and he 
 discovered that she was entertaining and original, 
 She sat down at her piano and sang to him. and he 
 told her to put on her bonnet and come with him 
 to the impresario s. 
 
 The emotional gamut through which the imprer 
 sario passed was a repetition of Cunliffe s experi 
 ence. When the girl had sung to him, he engaged 
 her at a higher salary than she or her cousin had 
 anticipated : and then he set himself to solve the 
 problem of making her (for public purposes) better 
 looking. 
 
 Her head was square and rather too large, but it 
 
TALBOT AND HIS FRIENDS. 65 
 
 was full of solid sense, and instead of being 
 offended at the impresario s criticisms of her per 
 sonal appearance, she received them cordially and 
 archly, and entered into his suggestions and per 
 plexities with earnest and helpful sympathy. As 
 for her figure, that was an easy matter. Any thing 
 can be made of a figure, provided it is not too fat 
 to begin with as this young lady s was not. " We 
 will assume that you are provided with a perfect 
 figure," said the impresario, " but now for your 
 face ! " " Ah ! that will tax your magic," remarked 
 the lady, with kindly compassion : " but at any 
 rate I can have a wig." " The hair will not be 
 impossible," the impresario replied : " and when 
 you have your new complexion, I do not despair of 
 your eyes with eyebrows, of course. But your 
 nose and mouth they are really in fact they 
 are " The lady laughed, showing a row of ex 
 cellent teeth, and interrupted him : " They are 
 terrible, I know ; but hear me sing again ! " With 
 that she opened her irremediable mouth and sent 
 forth from it a flood of music so powerful, so cap 
 tivating, and withal so afire with passion .a passion 
 that she had not betrayed in her previous efforts 
 that both the impresario and Cunliffe were star^ 
 tied and delighted. It was only a bar or two, and 
 then she stopped. " Did you see my nose then ? " 
 " I forgot all about it." " Then perhaps the audi, 
 ence will too." And so it proved. Miss Kitty 
 Clive (such was the stage name which she chose to 
 assume, and under which she will figure in this his- 
 
66 TALBOT AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 tory) became very popular with the public, who 
 never suspected that she was physically a fright. 
 And truly she did not look so, behind the foot 
 lights, with the aids of art, music, and excitement. 
 She had a deep nature, too, and somehow that told. 
 Cunliffe was immensely proud of his protegee, as 
 he liked to call her. And she was grateful to 
 him, a rare thing in women, who are apt to hate 
 those from whom they have received practical 
 benefits. 
 
 Now when Miss Kitty Clive had sung for six 
 months under the impresario who first secured her 
 services, she received an offer from another man 
 ager, with a promise of double her then salary. She 
 accepted it, but was informed by her original pro 
 prietor that she was bound to him, and that he 
 would not let her go. She told him that she would 
 consent to remain with him if he would pay her the 
 sum that was tendered by his rival ; he refused ; 
 and on her attempting to carry out her purpose, he 
 applied for and obtained an injunction restraining 
 her from singing in any establishment but his 
 own. 
 
 In this dilemma, she turned for assistance to her 
 cousin Frank : and he, upon learning the state of 
 affairs, applied to the best lawyer he knew of to 
 plead her case. This lawyer happened to be Gil 
 bert Cowran, whom Cunliffe was already slightly 
 acquainted with from having met him at the club. 
 His visits to the office, during the progress of the 
 case (which was carried to a successful issue for 
 
TALBOT AND HIS FRIENDS. 67 
 
 Miss Kitty Clive), were the means of making known 
 to him Mr. John Talbot, and various circumstances 
 served to cement their friendship. Their mutual 
 desire to see more of each other led Talbot, after 
 some hesitation, to ask Cunliffe to spend an even 
 ing at his house. Cunliffe came, and afterward 
 came again, bringing Kitty Clive with him. Talbot, 
 on his side, invited Miss Betty Claverhouse ; old 
 Mrs. Talbot acted as duenna for the party ; Kitty 
 sang, Betty chatted, and they had a lovely evening. 
 This event occurred on a Sunday, that being the 
 only day of the week on which Kitty had her liberty. 
 A few Sundays later, the meeting was repeated, 
 with even more agreeable results, and by degrees 
 it became a custom with these good young people 
 to assemble at Talbot s rooms on the coming of 
 each Sabbath. On these occasions they were a 
 close corporation ; no outsiders were admitted. It 
 would have been even nicer, perhaps, if Kitty and 
 Frank had been lovers, as well as John and Betty. 
 But although Frank was very fond of his cousin, 
 and proud of her talents, he was not the sort of 
 man to feel a passion for her, being a great wor 
 shiper of physical beauty, for one thing, and 
 probably unable to appreciate at their true value 
 the really great qualities of soul that Kitty pos 
 sessed. Besides, he had made up his mind long 
 before that marriage was not one of the luxuries in 
 which he could afford to indulge : for he would not 
 marry a poor woman, and he was too poor to 
 marry a rich one. Meanwhile John and Betty did 
 
68 TALBOT AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 their best to be in love enough for all four, and 
 succeeded very fairly. 
 
 About a month before our story opens, however, 
 a serious catastrophe occurred to one of the num 
 ber of the quartette, which threw a gloom over 
 them all. Frank Cunliffe received a " pointer " 
 direct from headquarters ; it was the opportunity 
 of a lifetime ; an ample fortune was to be made for 
 an outlay of twenty thousand dollars. Frank re 
 sisted, called all his worldly wisdom and experi 
 ence to his aid, told himself that he was too old a 
 bird to be caught with that chaff, overcame the 
 temptation, went to bed, dreamed of a hundred 
 thousand dollars, went down to a broker s in the 
 morning, put up his margins, and in three days 
 thereafter was left with but five thousand dollars 
 in the world. That is the sort of man he was, and 
 the sort of luck he had. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CUNLIFF S TROUBLES. 
 
 THAT night Cunliffe did not feel in spirits for 
 the club, so he went to the theater and heard 
 Kitty sing. She was in good voice, and looked as 
 tonishingly well. She recognized Frank in the audi 
 ence, and sang to him. The music soothed and 
 consoled him for the time being. After the perfor 
 mance he went round to the stage door, and when 
 Kitty came out he offered her his arm, and they 
 walked through the snow together to her lodgings. 
 
 On the way he told her what had happened. 
 
 Kitty listened to him without making any com 
 ment, but with a manner, and a closeness of atten 
 tion which were in themselves better than most 
 kinds of expressed sympathy and consolation. 
 This was a way she had. After the story was 
 told, she asked him whether the person who gave 
 him the " pointer " had intended to deceive him. 
 
 " Not at all," was the reply. " He was all right. 
 He lost himself, but he could afford it. We were 
 both of us fooled, that s all." 
 
 " Who fooled you ?" 
 
 " Nobody can tell that. It was a deal ; some 
 
7 CUNLIFFE S TROUBLE. 
 
 one of the big men selling to and buying from him 
 self the old story in short. He may have had a 
 far-reaching purpose in doing it, or he may have 
 wanted to give the boys a whirl, as they call it. At 
 all events, he has whirled me out of the world I 
 have lived in, and into I don t know what the 
 income of five thousand dollars at six per cent. ! " 
 " Twenty thousand dollars, was it ? " 
 " Never mind ; the milk is spilt, and the fat is in 
 the fire ; but such things happen every day. It 
 serves me right, Kitty, for being a fool with my 
 eyes open. Let s talk of something else. You 
 were great this evening ! " 
 
 " I am making a great deal of money, Frank ; 
 and I owe it all to you." 
 
 " To me ! Did I sing for you ? You are a good 
 girl, and you will make your way. I only hope you 
 won t go and marry some idiot ! " 
 
 Kitty laughed. " Blessed be my ugliness. I 
 couldn t do it even if I wanted to." 
 
 " You re not ugly. I d rather have you as you 
 are than the handsomest girl in New York. Besides 
 you look a hundred per cent, better than you did 
 when you began. They talk against the stage ; but 
 I believe that it is the best thing a good woman 
 can get onto. She s independent, she s occupied, 
 and she s in the midst of life." 
 
 " Why don t you try it, Frank ? You would do 
 well and be happy." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, it s much too late to think of 
 that. If I had begun when I was fourteen, or even 
 
CUNLIFFE S TROUBLE. 7 1 
 
 twenty-one, I might have had a show ; but I m too 
 much set in my ways to be licked into shape now. 
 If I had a voice, like yon, it would be different ; 
 but to be an actor to identify myself with the 
 characters of imaginary people my joints have 
 grown too stiff ! Besides, I have some vanity left, 
 God knows why ; and I couldn t stand having the 
 fellows at the club come round to criticise my 
 debut. No, I can t get out of the hole by that 
 route." 
 
 A short silence followed this statement. 
 
 " It seems to me," said Kitty at last, " that the 
 men who do these things ought to be punished in 
 some way." 
 
 " What men do you mean, my dear ? " 
 
 " The men who get up these panics on the street, 
 and ruin people." 
 
 " Oh, if a fellow jumps into the lion s den, it s 
 his own fault if he gets scratched. He wasn t 
 obliged to go there. The very man who cleaned 
 me out has probably suffered himself in the same 
 way in the past, and now he is having his innings. 
 I suffer because I happen to be in the way. It s 
 give and take the way of the world ! " 
 
 " But why should you suffer ? You had not in 
 jured this man, and he has no right to harm inno 
 cent people because somebody who was not inno 
 cent harmed him." 
 
 "That s abstract morality, but it s not human 
 nature. The way of Wall Street is the same prin 
 ciple they go on in college. Every Sophomore 
 
7* CUNLIFFES TROUBLE. 
 
 class hazes the Freshmen. The Freshmen have 
 never done the Sophomores any harm ; but the 
 Sophomores, when they were Freshmen, were 
 hazed by the class that were Sophomores then ; and 
 they pay off their scores in that way." 
 
 " It is a senseless way ; there is no justice in it. 
 If a man has been unfairly dealt with, and knows 
 by experience what it is, there is all the more rea 
 son why he should not deal unfairly with others. 
 If a man strikes you, I can understand that you 
 should strike him back ; but I don t understand 
 why you should strike somebody else." 
 
 " I agree with your arguments," said Frank, 
 laughing, " and all I can say is that life is not 
 transacted in accordance with syllogisms. Mean 
 while, you needn t be at all uneasy about me, 
 Kitty. I have five thousand dollars, and that will 
 last me five years, with proper economy. No one 
 but you knows I ve been hit. In five years any 
 thing may happen an uncle in California for in 
 stance ! And now here we are at your house. I 
 wish it was Sunday ; we could go round to Tal- 
 bot s." 
 
 " I should like to do something," said Kitty, 
 giving him her hand. 
 
 " I want nothing better than to hear you sing 
 once in a while," he replied ; and with that they 
 parted. 
 
 The next few weeks were busy ones for Frank 
 Cunliffe, who was obliged to devise some plan of 
 carrying on life for the future. His five thousand 
 
CUNLIFFE S TROUBLE. 73 
 
 dollars were invested in mortgages on real estate and 
 brought ten per cent, interest ; but although many 
 gentlemen can subsist on five hundred per annum, 
 Cunliffe had never learned the art. His salary as 
 dramatic critic amounted to about three hundred 
 dollars. If he could, from any source, get an 
 annual stipend of eight hundred or a thousand 
 dollars more, he might scrape along. As to leav 
 ing New York, and burying himself in the country, 
 he did not contemplate it ; it would be burial indeed. 
 But, again, to live in New York meant to live 
 in and with the club ; and the dues of 
 that association would make a terrible hole 
 in his income. The divisor was too big for the 
 dividend. He turned the problem over and over 
 and over in his mind, though he knew before 
 hand that a solution was impossible. He began 
 to feel despondent, and the chance word that 
 Kitty let fall that the man who had done him 
 this injury ought to be punished recurred to his 
 memory. He knew, or thought he knew, who that 
 man was. But how could he be punished ? After 
 all, it would be just as well if he could be induced to 
 refund the twenty thousand dollars. Suppose Cun 
 liffe were to walk into the great financier s office, 
 state his case, and request him to write a check for 
 the amount ? Why not ? What was twenty 
 thousand dollars to a man like Golding ? Why 
 should he not hand over the check and dismiss the 
 applicant with his blessing, and an injunction to 
 let this be a warning to him never to meddle with 
 
74 CUNLIFFE S TROUBLE. 
 
 Wall Street again ? Cunliffe laughed aloud at the 
 grotesque flights of his own imagination. 
 
 Some time passed, therefore, before he again 
 felt in the mood to meet the little Sunday circle at 
 Talbot s. But at length he sent a note to Kitty, 
 to say that he would call for her that evening, and he 
 found her waiting for him when he arrived. They 
 had not met since their conversation about his 
 calamity. 
 
 " Sit down a moment while I put on my bonnet," 
 she said, throwing aside a copy of a newspaper 
 which she had been reading, and greeting him with 
 a warm clasp of the hand. u Let me look at you 
 are you sad or merry ? You are thinner and 
 paler ; you have been troubled. My poor boy ! " 
 
 " Oh, I haven t begun to starve yet," returned 
 Cunliffe, in the ironic tone that he had fallen into 
 the habit of using, when referring to himself. 
 " My friends continue to invite me to dinner, 
 because they don t know that I am four-fifths 
 poorer than I used to be." 
 
 " Are your club dues paid ? " 
 
 " They won t be called for until next January, 
 and then I can pretend forgetfulness for a month 
 or two. By that time I may get a chancetto rob or 
 murder some one and devote the proceeds to the 
 charitable purpose of paying them." 
 
 u Do you know, Frank," she said, looking 
 thoughtfully at him, " I have a presentiment that 
 there is going to be a change in your luck that 
 something will happen to put you back where you 
 
CUNLIFFE S TROUBLE. 75 
 
 were before ? You were joking about an uncle in 
 California the other day ; why might not something 
 of the sort come true ? You have done nothing to 
 deserve this trouble ? " 
 
 " If my uncle in California is going to leave me 
 a fortune before next quarter day, it is high time 
 that he was born ; I have yet to learn, at least, that 
 that auspicious event has occurred. Come, my 
 dear, don t let us talk nonsense. I have had pre 
 sentiments, too ; and perhaps I have been tempted 
 to turn them into realities. Time will show ; 
 meanwhile, go and put on your bonnet, like a good 
 girl. The Talbots will be expecting us. I wonder 
 what these good people would say if they knew they 
 were entertaining a pauper. Would they kick me 
 out? 
 
 Kitty sighed. "I don t blame you for being 
 cynical, Frank," she said ; " but you needn t mis 
 trust John Talbot. He is a good fellow. You 
 have friends, you know. You will always have 
 friends who would do any thing for you." 
 
 She disappeared into her dressing-room, and 
 Cunliffe took up the newspaper and ran his eye 
 over it till she returned, dressed for the street. By 
 that time he had regained his equanimity and good 
 humor. Being no longer thus preoccupied, he 
 fancied he perceived a subdued excitement in Kit 
 ty s manner that he had not had leisure to notice 
 before. Her gray eyes looked dark and bright. 
 
 " How well that bonnet becomes you, Kitty," he 
 said. " What a fine girl you are, anyhow ! I de- 
 
7 6 CUXLIFFES TROUBLE. 
 
 clare, I m proud to be on the street with you. Some 
 fellow will be coming in and stealing you away 
 from me before long ! " 
 
 " Is that prophecy accidental or premeditated ? " 
 she asked, with a peculiar smile. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Well, I was just going to tell you something, 
 and it came in so aptly. The fact is I really have 
 got an admirer at last ! " 
 
 " You speak as if you expected me to be sur 
 prised. Don t I tell you that I ve been expecting 
 it ever since you went on ? Who is he ? I want to 
 kill him ! " 
 
 " Kill him for thinking me nice ? That s severe 
 on him and me ! " 
 
 " You know what I mean. The impertinent 
 young whipper-snapper ! I hope you boxed his 
 ears, at least ! " 
 
 " He isn t the kind of man to be boxed on the 
 ear," she rejoined, laughing. " Nobody would ever 
 think of such a thing." 
 
 " Oh, he is fascinating, is he ? Worse and 
 worse ! " 
 
 u He is a very agreeable and intellectual gentle 
 man." 
 
 " The deuce ! Is he anyone I know ? " 
 
 " I think not. He has been an officer of the reg 
 ular army General Stuart Weymouth." 
 
 " A general in the regular army ! He can be no 
 chicken, then ! " 
 
CUNLIFFES TROUBLE. 77 
 
 " No, not exactly. He is about fifty-five, I sup 
 pose." 
 
 " Oh ! Is he wealthy ? " 
 
 " I haven t asked him ; but I imagine he is not. 
 He was wounded in the war, and is living on half- 
 pay, or a pension, or whatever it is they give them." 
 
 " A battle-scarred veteran, eh ? Is he fine-look 
 
 ing ? 
 
 " He is tall and soldierly-looking, with dark eyes 
 and a gray mustache. He is rather eccentric ; he 
 is entirely alone in the world, he says, and knows 
 very few people. He lives in a couple of rooms in 
 a lodging-house on Irving Place. But years ago 
 he used to be quite a prominent personage. He has 
 met all the distinguished people of the day. He 
 used to be acquainted with Mr. Golding, and Mr. 
 Golding offered him fifty thousand a year to let his 
 name be used as president of a company. But I 
 will tell you the rest some other time. Here we 
 are at the Talbots ! " 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 
 
 MISS BETTY CLAVERHOUSE had already 
 arrived, and was chatting in her customary 
 animated style with old Mrs. Talbot, while John sat 
 by giving the finishing touches to a carved wooden 
 bracket that he had been making. Mrs. Talbot was 
 not altogether convinced whether it was right for 
 John to do any thing of that kind on Sunday. But 
 John had explained to her that he was not paid for 
 doing it ; that, so far as it was ornamental, it was 
 of no use, and that therefore, though he worked 
 upon it, it was not working in the sense intended 
 by the Mosaic law. " It isn t I that am to blame, 
 mother," he added, " it s the dictionary, which 
 makes me say I am * working when in fact I am 
 only improving my mind and aesthetic taste. You 
 would not have me keep my hands idle, would you ? 
 You know what Dr. Watts says ! " 
 
 " I sometimes think you are not in earnest, 
 John," the old lady said, looking at him through 
 her spectacles with a fond but doubtful expression. 
 
 " Ask Betty ; she knows," he replied. " I told 
 her the other day that I thought she was a nice 
 
A CUP OF TEA. 79 
 
 girl, and she believed I was in earnest then and 
 there didn t you, Bet ? " 
 
 Bettie uplifted her nose and laughed. 
 
 " And yet that was on a Sunday ; and it was 
 much harder work than this," he rejoined, holding 
 the bracket up to the light and regarding it with 
 critical approval. " You would never believe, 
 mother, what hard work it is to make Betty believe 
 she is nice ! " 
 
 " I shall never be as nice as I ought to be since 
 you think I m nice," said Betty, finishing her laugh 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " There ! see what I told you ! Well, very likely 
 I am the victim of a delusion, and Bettie is a sel 
 fish, designing, ill-tempered hussy ! What does an 
 innocent boy like me know about women ? Betty, 
 did you finish that copying you had to do to-day ?" 
 
 " Yes, John, every word of it. What is Mr. Cow- 
 ran going to do with it ? " 
 
 " Keep it, I suppose, as a souvenir of you. By 
 the way, I have long felt uneasy about that man s 
 attitude toward you. I suspect him of being my 
 rival. But let him beware ! I am appalling when 
 my jealousy is aroused. If he ever ventures to 
 betray his passion in any other way than by raising 
 your salary, I shall give- him a month s warning." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say ! And where would your bread 
 and butter come from ? " 
 
 " Ha ! You have no conception, girl, of the 
 depth and subtlety of my schemes," said John, in 
 his deepest bass voice. u I should take that copy of 
 
8o A CUP OF TEA. 
 
 Mr. Gelding s private papers that you have just 
 finished making, put them in my pocket, and pay 
 Mr. Golding a call. I should tell him* that unless 
 he admitted me into full partnership with him on 
 the spot, those secret memoranda should be pub 
 lished in every newspaper in this continent. Poor 
 man ! Methinks I see him cower and accede ! " 
 
 At this juncture the door-bell rang ; and John, 
 putting down his bracket, and leaving the two 
 women to digest his pronunciamento as best they 
 might, stalked with his long legs into the hall, and 
 presently reappeared conducting Kitty Clive and 
 Frank Cunliffe, fresh from their walk. There were 
 cordial greetings all round, and then the little party 
 drew their chairs round the fire-place, and prepared 
 to enjoy themselves. 
 
 " What have you two been doing with yourselves 
 this month past ? " Talbot asked. " Not marrying 
 each other, I hope ! " 
 
 " And why not, pray ? " Cunliffe demanded. 
 
 " Well, for one thing, Betty and I want you and 
 Miss Clive to be our best man and bridesmaid, re 
 spectively, and your marriage would balk our de 
 sign. Besides, we shall wish to have some young 
 unmarried people about us, to learn from our ex- 
 ample how an ideal marriage should be carried 
 on." 
 
 "You have found your ideal, then?" said 
 Kitty. 
 
 " There is one wrinkle in the rose-leaf the fu 
 ture Mrs. Talbot s nose. I have a misgiving that 
 
A CUP OF TEA. 8 1 
 
 snub-noses are not ideal. But I have consulted 
 an eminent surgeon on the subject, and he informs 
 me that by making an incision down the lady s 
 nose, removing a part of the tissue, and inserting 
 a silver cartilage, it can be transformed into an Ara 
 bian aquiline. It is a great comfort to think of 
 it." 
 
 " Why, John, I am sure, when it came to the point, 
 you would not be so barbarous ! " remonstrated his 
 mother. "And I think people should be content 
 with the features the Lord gave them He 
 knows best." 
 
 " You forget, mother, that Betty s feature (to 
 call it that) was brought to its present altitude, not 
 by the Creator s fiat, but by holding it against the 
 grindstone. Her circumstances, heretofore, have 
 been arduous and lowly. But now that she is 
 about to be uplifted, as my wife, to aristocratic 
 regions, it is right and proper that her nose should 
 cease to be a reminder of her humbler state." 
 
 " Let my nose alone ! " exclaimed Betty indig 
 nantly. " I m sure it s a great deal more likely to 
 be held to the grindstone after our marriage than 
 before ! " 
 
 " Have I not told you that I am about to become 
 Mr. Golding s partner ! " returned John, with a 
 superb gesture. "Do you imagine that there are 
 any grindstones or snub noses about his prem 
 ises ? " 
 
 " Mr. Golding s partner ! What are you talking 
 about ? " cried Cunliffe. 
 
82 A CUP OF Tl.A. 
 
 " It s only some more of his nonsense," said 
 Betty. " I was given some of Mr. Golding s se 
 cret papers to copy at the office, and - 
 
 " Betty, before you monopolize all the conver 
 sation, let me remind you that the tea is still in the 
 caddy," Talbot interposed. " I like my wives to be 
 not only aquiline, but active in the performance 
 of domestic amenities. Run and see if the kettle 
 boils." 
 
 " I will help you, Betty," said Kitty Clive, ris 
 ing. " I know a new way of making tea a secret of 
 the mandarins and since you are to be married, 
 I ll teach it to you." So the two young women 
 went out together. 
 
 " I wasn t aware that Cowran did business for 
 Golding now," Cunliffe remarked. " Has that 
 quarrel of theirs been made up ? " 
 
 " No, and I guess it won t be," Talbot replied. 
 " This is an old affair dating back to before the 
 epoch of the quarrel, in fact." 
 
 " I see ! Golding had deposited some of his 
 private records with Cowran, and forgot all about 
 it. But will Cowran use them against him ? " 
 
 " I should rather suppose that he meant to re 
 turn them, and has had the copies made for his 
 own personal satisfaction or protection. It s not 
 my business to make any suppositions on the sub 
 ject, though. But I like the idea of Cowran s 
 sending them back. It s as much as to say, I 
 might get even with you if I chose, but I won t con 
 descend to it. " 
 
A CUP OF TEA. 83 
 
 " The papers are compromising, then ? " 
 
 " Not in a criminal sense, of course ; but Gold- 
 ing would wish to retain them for the same reason 
 that a general in a campaign wishes to keep his 
 strategic memoranda out of the enemy s hands. 
 They would give him away." 
 
 " What sort of a fellow do you take Golding to 
 be?" 
 
 " Oh, well, he s a sort of ogre ; but I admire him. 
 He is alive ; and he has communicated his life to 
 every dollar of his two hundred millions. There 
 is no rubbish in his workshop. He conducts his 
 operations very much as a mathematician performs 
 his calculations ; the experiment the abstraction 
 is all he cares for. He might starve a whole town 
 to death for the sake of carrying out a combina 
 tion, but in spite of that I believe that the broad 
 issue of his doings is beneficial to civilization. You 
 can t estimate him as you would other men ; he is a 
 genius ; he is like nature ; he has his destructive 
 winters, but by and by you find that they are fol 
 lowed by spring and summer and autumn. It is 
 impossible for a really great man not to do more 
 good than evil." 
 
 " He may be a genius ; but he is the evil genius 
 of a great many poor devils," observed Cunliffe. 
 " I must say, if I were Cowran I should feel dis 
 posed to condescend a little !" 
 
 " You are one of those fellows who are always 
 imagining that they would be worse than they are 
 if they were some other fellow," returned Talbot, 
 
84 A CUP OF TEA. 
 
 passing his hand down over his long pale face and 
 yawning audibly. "I shall be asleep if those 
 girls don t bring that mandarin tea pretty quick. 
 Hi ! Betty !" 
 
 " Here we come," replied Betty, entering with 
 the teapot and cups, and followed by Kitty with a 
 tray of toast and cake. " Oh, this tea is good ! I 
 believe Kitty to be a Chinese in disguise !" 
 
 " I have heard that there is a handsome mandarin 
 watching about the stage-door of the theater," said 
 Talbot. 
 
 " You have been misinformed," interposed Cun- 
 liffe ; " it is an American general, and his name is 
 Stuart Weymouth. He s a tall, fine-looking, 
 middle-aged gentleman, with a gray mustache and 
 dark eyes. He has been solitary and eccentric for 
 years, but Kitty s voice has lured him from retire 
 ment. He once refused an offer of fifty thousand 
 a year from Golding for the use of his name to 
 float a company. That s as far as I ve heard yet. 
 Kitty, tell us the rest ! How did he get introduced 
 to you ?" 
 
 " There was nothing particularly romantic 
 about that part of it," Kitty replied. " He made 
 himself known to the manager, and asked him to 
 present him. The manager asked my permission, 
 and I gave it. I received General Weymouth in 
 the green-room. He told me that he came to the 
 theater accidentally six weeks before. Music was 
 the only enjoyment he had left in the world, and he 
 was in the habit of attending the operas and con- 
 
A CUP OF TEA. 85 
 
 certs at at the Academy of Music and Metropoli 
 tan ; but it was unusual for him to go to any of the 
 minor places. However, he said that after hearing 
 me on that first occasion he had not missed a 
 single performance since. He said there was a 
 quality in my voice that attracted him more than 
 any other voice he had heard. At first he had no 
 intention of making my personal acquaintance ; 
 but he had finally come to the conclusion that there 
 must be something in me that corresponded to my 
 voice, and that if he neglected to get an introduction 
 to me he would regret it the rest of his life, and he 
 was kind enough to add that he was now assured 
 that his intuition had not misled him, and begged 
 I would regard him thenceforth as a sincere ad 
 mirer and faithful friend." 
 
 " Sir Charles Grandison !" said Talbot. 
 
 " But that isn t all," exclaimed Frank Cunliffe. 
 " He offered to make you Mrs. General Wey- 
 mouth, didn t he ? " 
 
 " If he did," replied Kitty, quietly, " I don t 
 see why I should speak about it. He is a gen 
 tleman, and I am not going to make game of 
 him." 
 
 " I remember him now," said Talbot. " I have 
 heard Golding speak of him. He had a good deal 
 of influence, social and political, at one time. But 
 something seemed to happen to him, and he dis 
 appeared. I guess he was generally believed to 
 be dead. I don t suppose his name would bring 
 fifty thousand a year now." 
 
86 A CUP OF TEA. 
 
 " Perhaps he had a pull on Golding," Cun- 
 liffe suggested. 
 
 " I don t know anything about that," said Talbot. 
 
 " If you mean that the fifty thousand dollars was 
 a bribe to him to keep quiet about something 
 injurious to Mr. Golding, his not accepting it 
 would mean that he did not intend to keep quiet. 
 But he has revealed nothing ; so it is unlikely that 
 he had any thing to reveal." This was from; Kitty. 
 
 " Did he talk much to you about Golding ? " 
 Cunliffe asked. 
 
 " Not very much. He spoke of him in a friendly 
 way. He said something about renewing their 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " There is a mystery about him ! " Cunliffe 
 declared. 
 
 " I don t like mysterious people, do you ? " said 
 Miss Betty Claverhouse. "I like people one 
 knows all about, like like John ! " 
 
 " Think you to fathom me, slight girl ? " retorted 
 her lover. " I am an abyss ! Hasten to fill me 
 with another stoup of tea ! " This restored the 
 easy tone of the conversation, but it thenceforth 
 contained nothing important to this history. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 A SLEIGH-RIDE. 
 
 ANOTHER fall of snow, coming at this time^ 
 made capital sleighing in Central Park, and 
 fashionable New York hastened to take advantage 
 of it. The air was cold, but there was no wind, 
 except such as was created by the swift movement 
 of the sleighs. The sun was out in a cloudless sky, 
 and there was sparkle and exhilaration every 
 where. The soft jingling of the bells, now iyar, now 
 far, but always audible, sounded a fitting accom 
 paniment to the dancing of the blood in youthful 
 veins. Those graceful cutters, that were gone 
 before you could utter your admiration, contained 
 many happy pairs of lovers, who, bundled up in 
 soft furs and buffalo robes, imagined that life 
 would glide along as smoothly as the sleigh at 
 least, as swiftly ! The horses seemed to enjoy the 
 fun as much as the lovers ; they laid back their 
 ears, and settled low down on their flying legs, and 
 the white track slipped away beneath them like the 
 surface of a cataract. It was glorious sport. On 
 the lake the snow had been swept away, and the 
 skaters were circling and wavering in inextricable 
 convolutions. The boughs of the trees, so long 
 bare of foliage, were now weighted with soft 
 
88 A SLEIGH-RIDE. 
 
 burdens of snow, which the still air had suffered to 
 remain as it had fallen. Kemeys s bronze panther, 
 crouching for her spring on the rock that overhangs 
 the drive, seemed to have just thrust her terrible 
 head out of the white blanket in which she had 
 been biding her time. Cleopatra s Needle stood 
 slim and erect on its bleak mound, like a soldier 
 frozen at his post in a strange land, after standing 
 guard for twenty centuries on the banks of the 
 mysterious river, beneath the scorching suns of 
 Egypt. 
 
 One of the speediest of the cutters was occupied 
 by two gentlemen, who were so muffled up in fur 
 caps and collars that it was impossible to distin 
 guish their features ; and they, on their side, made 
 no attempt to recognize any among the flying 
 crowd of sleighers. The larger man of the two held 
 the reins, and kept his eyes on his horse s ears ; 
 but this occupation did not prevent him from 
 listening to what the other was saying, and occa 
 sionally interposing some remark or question of his 
 own. No more secure place for a private and con 
 fidential dialogue could have been found than the 
 one they had chosen ; with all fashionable New 
 York around them, they were as unknown and as 
 unheard as if they had been on the lonely summit 
 of Mount Shasta or in the midst of the barren 
 deserts of Arizona. 
 
 " Your report of his conversation," said the 
 holder of the reins, " though it certainly doesn t 
 conflict with the theory of his guilt, does very little 
 
A SLEIGH-RIDE. 89 
 
 towards clinching the proof of it. Golding has 
 injured him, and he hates Golding for it. We 
 knew as much before ; and there are probably a 
 hundred men in New York to-day of whom the 
 same is true. It is more to the purpose that some 
 of his expressions indicated a willingness to con 
 template -violent measures. As for his conduct 
 when you confronted him with the personal in 
 the paper, it is worth taking into consideration, 
 and that is as much as can be said of it. It was a 
 good point, and I am sorry it didn t effect a more 
 definite result, one way or the other." 
 
 " It is also to be considered that no other man 
 has appeared whom there is nearly as much reason 
 to suspect as Cowran," remarked the other occu 
 pant of the sleigh. " Nothing in his record or 
 situation is inconsistent with the theory. Ought 
 not these facts to carry some weight? " 
 
 " They are merely negative. On the other hand, 
 we have Cowran s character and temper. He has 
 the name of being a bold man, one who fulfills his 
 engagements, and has never been known to do any 
 underhand work. His temper is warm, and when 
 provoked he is inclined to violence. All that 
 doesn t describe the sort of fellow who would write 
 a series of anonymous letters." 
 
 " But the letters are violent enough, surely ! " 
 
 " In their expressions, but not in what we believe 
 to be their intention which is an important dif 
 ference. They threaten Golding with death, but 
 they do so only with the design of extorting money. 
 
90 A SLF.IGII-RIDE. 
 
 The letter which was received in answer to the 
 second * personal removes all doubt on that 
 point. Have you seen it ? " 
 
 "No ; I have only heard of it." 
 
 " It took up our suggestion as to a provision for 
 his wife and family ; and after a lot of palaver, 
 and saying that he had no personal hostility against 
 Golding, and would be willing to spare him if the 
 Lord permitted, and so forth, the writer admitted 
 that, although nothing would induce him to accept 
 money for himself, still he might be induced to 
 permit Mr. Golding to do something for those 
 dependent upon him." 
 
 "And did he suggest any method of doing it ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and quite an ingenious one for a religious 
 maniac. Mr. Golding is to give him advance infor 
 mation of the rise or fall of his stocks. This is to be 
 done by advertisements in the " personal " column 
 of one of the morning papers, the information being 
 given in cipher." 
 
 " Is the cipher given too ? " 
 
 " It is, and it is just the thing for the purpose : 
 easily understood if you have the key, and not so 
 peculiar as to excite curiosity in those not con 
 cerned. The whole thing was evidently planned 
 out from the beginning. Finally he says that in 
 case Golding gives any information which is not 
 correct he may expect very short shrift ; and he 
 is left to infer that so long as the information brings 
 money the Lord s vengeance will be delayed. 
 The fellow is a contemptible hound, and that is 
 
A SLEIGH-RIDE. 9 1 
 
 why I find it difficult to reconcile him with what 
 we know of Cowran. I could understand his killing 
 a man in a fit of passion ; but this is a horse of 
 quite another color." 
 
 "Will Mr. Golding give the information?" in 
 quired the other, after a pause. 
 
 " To be sure he will, and the fellow will make 
 money on it. That seems to be about our only 
 chance of identifying him." 
 
 " You mean that we can trace him by means of 
 the brokers through whom he acts ?" 
 
 " But if he is as shrewd as he has proved himself 
 to be thus far, he can elude us there without much 
 difficulty. I was in hopes that he would have 
 asked for a certain fixed sum of money ; I would 
 have been sure of him then ! " 
 
 " But he won t be satisfied with one haul, do you 
 think ? He ll be coming again and again, and 
 sooner or later we must catch him napping." 
 
 " That s all very well ; but it would be more sat 
 isfactory to get at him more directly. You have 
 visited Cowran s office, of course ? " 
 
 " I dropped in yesterday, on the pretext of get 
 ting him to lunch with me. There was nobody 
 worth looking after there. A head-clerk named 
 Talbot, a young woman to do the type-writing, and 
 a couple of younger men. My impression was 
 very strong that they are none of them in it. 
 Cunliffe tells me that he has known Talbot for 
 several years, and that he is as guileless as a 
 baby." 
 
92 A SL1UC1I-RIDE. 
 
 " Is that Frank Cunliffe a member of the League 
 Club ? " 
 
 "That is the fellow." 
 
 " I had a glimpse of him the other evening. 
 What do you know about him ? " 
 
 " He lives on his income, and ekes it out by 
 doing dramatic criticism. He s a well-educated 
 man, in the fashion, knows every body. Got 
 acquainted with Cowran through some legal affair. 
 But I haven t followed him up much." 
 
 " In an affair of this kind, when we are all in the 
 dark, you should follow up every body. There s no 
 telling where a clew might come in. Does this 
 Cunliffe know Golding ? " 
 
 " I never heard him mention him." 
 " Find that out at once. How long has Talbot 
 been in Cowran s office ? " 
 " Ten years at least." 
 
 " Then Talbot must know Golding, and all 
 about his quarrel with Cowran ; and since Cunliffe 
 knows Talbot, he is likely to at least have some 
 useful knowledge about Golding. Why, there may 
 be something in this ! The more I think about this 
 business, the more inclined I am to believe that the 
 man we want has no personal quarrel with Gold 
 ing, but is simply a rascally speculator. If Cunliffe 
 writes for the papers, his income can t be sufficient 
 for him. The glimpse I had of his face didn t im 
 press me favorably. Fellows like him, keeping up 
 appearances in good society, are sometimes the 
 most worthless kind of rogues. I would sooner 
 
A SLEIGH-RIDE. 93 
 
 act upon slight evidence against a man like Cun- 
 liffe than upon strong evidence against a man like 
 Cowran." 
 
 " I will take him up immediately. Shall I keep 
 an eye on Talbot also?" 
 
 " Not for the present. We shall probably not 
 want him unless the scent after Cowran gets hotter 
 than it is ; and meanwhile you can keep track of him 
 sufficiently through Cunliffe. As you are practically 
 alone in the investigation of this affair and, by 
 the way, what you have done has been well done, 
 all things considered you had better not try to be 
 in too many places at once. Luckily, Cunliffe and 
 Cowran are both members of the same club, and 
 - Hullo ! " 
 
 As he uttered the exclamation, he pulled in his 
 horse, and brought the sleigh to a standstill at the 
 side of the road. At the same time he pushed back 
 his fur cap from his forehead, and opened his fur 
 collar, revealing the well-known features of Inspec 
 tor Byrnes. Another sleigh, advancing in the oppo 
 site direction, drew up abreast of him. It was 
 driven by a Cossack coachman, and contained Mr. 
 Owens. 
 
 " Excuse me for stopping you, Owens," said the 
 Inspector. " This is Mr. Hamilton, a friend of 
 mine, and on the case. I didn t wish to lose the 
 opportunity of asking you whether there was any 
 thing new." 
 
 " I m glad we met," Owens replied, " There is 
 
94 A SLEIGH-RIDE. 
 
 something new, and I confess it puzzles me. Two 
 things, in fact." 
 
 " When can I see you ? " 
 
 " The best plan will be for us both to drive to 
 my house. Mr. Hamilton will come too, of course. 
 Will that suit you ? " 
 
 " Perfectly ! " 
 
 Mr. Owens spoke to his coachman, who turned 
 the sleigh and set out homeward, followed by the 
 Inspector and Hamilton. In a short time the three 
 men were seated at the table in Mr. Owens s 
 library. 
 
 " You said there were two new things, I think," 
 said the Inspector. 
 
 " I did, and I will give them to you in the order 
 of their appearing. The first is this letter from the 
 unknown letter-writer. Read it, and see what you 
 think of it." 
 
 The Inspector took the letter, and perused it 
 twice carefully. 
 
 " He replies to the advertisement," he then said, 
 looking up, " and announces that he will follow 
 Mr. Golding s advice on Wednesday as to buying 
 stock." 
 
 Yes ; and there is something else." 
 
 " So I see ; but I don t understand it. It seems 
 to refer to some previous business of Mr. Golding s 
 of which I know nothing." 
 
 " I ll explain it to you. At the time Golding 
 quarreled with Cowran, Cowran had some papers 
 of Golding s in his possession, to be used in con- 
 
95 
 
 ducting a certain law-suit. These papers were of 
 a very private nature ; they contained the key to 
 some of Golding s secret methods of conducting 
 operations." 
 
 " I follow you. Go on." 
 
 " The contents of these papers were known to 
 no one except Golding, Cowran, and myself. By 
 some oversight, they have remained in Cowran s 
 hands ever since. Golding thought they had been 
 returned to him, but they had not." 
 
 " I understand ! And the expressions in this 
 letter " 
 
 " The expressions in that letter could have been 
 used only by a man who was familiar with the con 
 tents of those papers." 
 
 " Humph ! " ejaculated Hamilton, glancing at 
 his superior. " That seems to come pretty straight, 
 doesn t it ?" 
 
 The Inspector stroked his chin and was silent for 
 a few moments. 
 
 " Could Cowran have communicated the contents 
 of the papers to any third party, during the inter 
 val between the quarrel and now ?" he demanded 
 at length. 
 
 " It is physically possible, no doubt, but ex 
 tremely improbable. He could have done so only 
 with the intention of injuring Golding ; and the 
 injury would have been infinitely more effective if, 
 instead of telling the secret to one man, he had put 
 it in the papers and published it to all the world." 
 
96 A SLEIGH-RIDE. 
 
 " True. Then you infer that Cowran wrote the 
 letters ? " 
 
 " That would be the logical deduction ; never 
 theless, I must confess that I still believe Cowran 
 to be innocent. Though he would not be likely to 
 voluntarily betray the secret to any one, accident 
 might have somehow revealed it without his con 
 nivance or knowledge. But that is not all." 
 
 " Ah, to be sure ! You spoke of something else. 
 What is it ? " 
 
 " Mr. Golding this morning received by a spe 
 cial messenger from Cowran s office,a sealed packet; 
 he opened it and found what do you suppose ? " 
 
 " The private papers ?" 
 
 " The private papers, complete and intact ! Now, 
 Inspector, what is your interpretation of that ? " 
 
 " Were they accompanied by any letter or mem 
 orandum from Cowran ? " 
 
 " The messenger presented a receipt for Gold- 
 ing to sign. That was all" 
 
 " Well," said the Inspector, after a pause, " that 
 will bear thinking over ! It doesn t seem to hang 
 together, and yet it s difficult to separate it. What 
 do you make out of it, Hamilton ? " 
 
 " It might be just a blind," Hamilton said. 
 
 " So it may," returned the Inspector, "and, on 
 the other hand, I d hardly venture to call it a coin 
 cidence. Give me two days, Owens," he added, 
 turning to that gentleman, " and I will at least tell 
 you whether it s Cowran or not. Meanwhile 
 good-by ! " 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 GENERAL WEYjVIOUTH. 
 
 GENERAL WEYMOUTH S lodgings in Irving 
 Place were neither spacious nor luxurious ; 
 but they were characterized by soldierly neatness 
 and order. There were two rooms, one facing on 
 the street, and the other, communicating with it by 
 a small bath-room, on the yard at the back of the 
 house. The walls of the former room were deco 
 rated by a steel-engraved portrait of General Grant 
 and another of Abraham Lincoln. There was a 
 plain mahogany bookstand in one corner, containing 
 almost nothing but poetry aud theology, these 
 being, apparently, the only kinds of literature that 
 the general cared for. In another corner was a 
 violoncello a fine instrument, though the general 
 had insured the silent or open hostility of every 
 one of his fellow-lodgers by his affection for and 
 practice with it ; he was an early riser, and before 
 breakfast was his chosen season for extracting what 
 he was pleased to consider harmony from the 
 strings of his overgrown fiddle. The general s 
 habits were regular. For an hour after breakfast 
 he reacj theology ; then he walked out, rain or 
 
9 8 GENERA L I VE YMO U Til. 
 
 shine, for an hour or two more. Toilet operations 
 occupied him an hour more, and then he went 
 down to the midday meal. In the afternoon he 
 wrote letters, if he had any to write, or read 
 poetry ; half an hour before dinner he took 
 another short stroll. After dinner he went to the 
 concert or the opera ; and before he went to bed, 
 he took another dose of theology. He slept 
 soundly in a narrow military cot, such as is used 
 in camps ; he snored faithfully all night long ; and 
 when he awoke in the morning the first object his 
 eyes rested upon was a lithograph of Beethoven, 
 which hung over the foot of the bed. 
 
 This was the daily routine of a man who had 
 fought with honor and distinction in the civil war, 
 and had for some years afterward occupied a promi 
 nent position in social and political life. His re 
 tirement from the world, whether voluntary or not, 
 was at all events endured with dignity, and even 
 with a kind of grave cheerfulness ; he made no 
 complaints, nor was he addicted to buttonholing 
 people with tales of his former importance and 
 present unappreciated deserts. He simply held 
 his tongue, was courteous and considerate (except 
 in the matter of the violoncello), and minded no 
 body s business but his own. 
 
 Of late, however, those who were familiar \\ith 
 his ways had remarked a change in him. He 
 frequently omitted his morning walk ; nor was his 
 early matutinal practice with the cello as systematic 
 and relentless as of yore. His step would be heard 
 
GENERAL WE YMO UT11. 
 
 99 
 
 pacing backwards and forwards in his room for 
 hours at a time ; and at table he was silent and 
 preoccupied beyond his wont. His landlady became 
 anxious, and ventured to ask him whether anything 
 was the matter, to which he replied that he was in 
 perfect health. As he paid his rent in full on the 
 ensuing quarter-day, she came to the conclusion 
 that his troubles, if he had any, were no affair of 
 hers, and forbore to question him further. He still 
 went out every evening, but it was noticed that he 
 came home rather later than usual. 
 
 One forenoon he informed her that he should 
 not be home to lunch, as he had business down 
 town. He was absent accordingly, but returned 
 late in the afternoon with a very gloomy brow, and 
 he did not emerge again that day. The day fol 
 lowing he appeared attired in his best clothes, and 
 walked up the street with a measured and resolute 
 step. Half an hour later he was admitted to the 
 reception-room of the popular singer, Miss Kitty 
 Clive. 
 
 Miss Clive soon came in, looking wholesome and 
 cordial. Her professional career had certainly 
 improved her appearance. She carried herself 
 better ; her figure was fuller ; the imperfections of 
 her complexion had disappeared. Then her expres 
 sion was intelligent and sympathetic, and you felt 
 there were reserves behind that could be made 
 available upon occasion ; her smile was kind and her 
 laugh merry. As for her voice, it was a revelation 
 not only of melody, but of a deep and rich nature. 
 
ioo GENERAL WE Y MOUTH. 
 
 " It was good of you to come to me to-day, 
 General Weymouth," she said, after the first greet 
 ings. "I have been feeling out of sorts all the 
 morning. You always make me feel better con 
 tented with myself and things in general." 
 
 " I can understand," the general replied, " that 
 the pleasure you give me must be something of a 
 pleasure to yourself. That belongs to a generous 
 and humane character like yours. But I design to 
 try your good nature further than usual to-day. I 
 wish to tell you something about myself." 
 
 " Then what you say can not fail to be interesting. 
 But let me tell you first that I require no personal 
 explanation at your hands. I value your friend 
 ship, and I respect you without need of any further 
 warrant for it than is given by what I see and know 
 of you. A woman depends more on her intuitions 
 than on any formal recommendations, and my 
 intuitions tell me that you are to be trusted." 
 
 " I thank you, my child, with all my heart," said 
 the general. "Well, your trust is so far justified 
 that I can say that my past life has been free from 
 dishonorable reproach ; I have behaved as a soldier 
 and a gentleman is bound to behave. But it was 
 not a vindication that I was about to attempt. 
 What I wish to say is prompted by the fact that it 
 has a bearing upon my our mutual attitude. It 
 is necessary that you should know it in order to be 
 able to judge intelligently of a matter which I 
 intend afterwards to submit to you/ 
 
GENERAL WEYMOUTH. 101 
 
 " You make me curious in spite of myself. Do 
 let me hear ! " 
 
 " I have already spoken to you about my former 
 relations with the great financier, Maxwell Golding," 
 the general began. " I mentioned that there had 
 been a suggestion that I should be connected, on 
 terms very favorable to myself, with the manage 
 ment of a large enterprise. I told you that I had 
 declined the position. But I did not tell you why 
 I had done so, nor why, after that event, my way 
 of life became so different from what it had been 
 before." 
 
 He paused, and bent his eyes upon the fire, pull 
 ing somewhat nervously at his gray mustache. Kitty 
 regarded him thoughtfully, and sighed. He had 
 been a handsome and gallant youth thirty years 
 ago ; but time and trouble had had their inevitable 
 effect upon him, as upon all men and women. Yet 
 he had always remained a gentleman and a soldier. 
 Must honor and sincerity forever be the passports 
 to unhappiness ? and if so, might there not be some 
 justification for defying these traditions, and doing, 
 upon occasion, what seems right in one s own 
 eyes ? If evil did not bear the stigma, would it be 
 evil still ? 
 
 " When I came out of the war," said the gen 
 eral, " I was thirty years old, and I had a consider 
 able fortune. I had received a bullet through the 
 upper part of the body, but the wound had healed, 
 and I felt as if I had the better part of my life still 
 before me. My family is of good origin and re- 
 
T02 GENERAL ]VEY MOUTH. 
 
 pute, and all doors were open to me. There 
 seemed to be a likelihood of permanent peace ; I 
 saw that my professional rank would be a sine 
 cure, or at least an idle routine; I did not wish to 
 burden the government with my salary ; and so I 
 resigned my commission. I was interested in the 
 reconstruction problem, and thus I came to take 
 an active part in politics ; and the ambition grew 
 upon me to introduce a better class of citizens to 
 the control of affairs than had hitherto taken part 
 in them, to make our politics worthy of our na 
 tional name and destiny. It was a great scheme, 
 and it had already suggested itself to many good 
 men, as it will doubtless continue to do hereafter. 
 Whether any practical good results will ever come 
 from it, I will not pretend to say. I can not con 
 gratulate myself upon my own success in the enter 
 prise. 
 
 " This activity of mine continued for several 
 years. I did not aim at holding offices myself ; 
 my energies were directed to bringing honest and 
 efficient men before the voters, and to making the 
 voters realize the necessity of electing honest and 
 efficient men. Our national vice is an easy-going, 
 cynical indifference ; we put up with abuses until 
 they became despotisms ; and though we are apt 
 to throw off the despotisms when they become too 
 open and outrageous, yet the day may come when 
 we shall encounter some despot who will not be de 
 posed. It was not long before I came to the con 
 viction that the most dangerous despotism we 
 
GK\ 7 ERAL WEYMOUTH. 103 
 
 would have to deal with would be that of wealth. 
 Our country offers facilities for the amassing of 
 enormous fortunes in a comparatively short time ; 
 and there is no guarding against the contingency 
 of this wealth falling into ignorant or unprincipled 
 hands. Every body is in pursuit of money ; and 
 the man who gets the most will generally be con 
 sidered the ablest man. 
 
 " I was approaching forty years of age when I 
 met the woman who afterwards became my wife. 
 Yes, Miss Clive, I have been married, though very 
 few people are aware of it. She was a beautiful 
 girl then strikingly so ; and she was accom 
 plished ; I took it for granted that she was every 
 thing else that was lovely in womanhood. As to 
 her origin, I did not inquire closely into it ; it is 
 not the custom in this country to worship ances 
 tors. I was satisfied in believing that she loved 
 me and that she was lovable. We were engaged ; 
 and after a few months a clergyman pronounced 
 the marriage service over us. 
 
 " Our honeymoon lasted four weeks. The day af 
 ter we returned, as I was sitting in my office down 
 town, a card was brought in to me, and I was told 
 that the person whose name it bore was desirous of 
 seeing me. I gave orders that he be admitted. He 
 came in a man of eight and twenty, handsome, 
 but with an air about him that I did not like a 
 rascally air. His manner was polished, however; 
 he was well-dressed, and seemed to be well-edu 
 cated. I asked him what he wanted. 
 
104 GENERAL U EY MOUTH. 
 
 " He said, I must begin by telling you that the 
 name on that card is not my real name. It is one 
 I have assumed, for good and sufficient reasons, 
 But I do not wish to approach you under false 
 colors. 
 
 " I answered that I did not perceive how that 
 concerned me. 
 
 "He said, It does concern you, though, more 
 than any one else. I shall tell you my real name ; 
 but it will depend upon you whether any one else 
 ever hears it. 
 
 " How does it concern me ? I asked. I never 
 saw you before. 
 
 " Well, he said. You know a man does not 
 change his name for nothing. He has some rea 
 son for it. Either the name is an ugly or common 
 one, and does not please his ear ; or else he has 
 done something to bring it into bad odor, and 
 changes it to escape the consequences. The latter 
 is my case ! 
 
 " 1 ask you again, I said, how does that con 
 cern me ? If you are a rascal, as your words seem 
 to imply, it is my concern to see that you leave 
 this office, and don t return to it ; but I have noth 
 ing further to do with you. 
 
 " Yes, you have, he said. And you will not 
 turn me out of this office. 
 
 " I began to think the man was crazy, or that he 
 had mistaken me for somebody else. If I had been 
 guilty of any rascality i n the past, I should have 
 supposed that he had become aware of it, and meant 
 
GENERA L WE YMO UTH. 105 
 
 to make me pay for his knowledge. But my con 
 science was clear, and I had no fear of him or of 
 any man. I decided to let him speak. Say what 
 you have to say, I told him, and then go. 
 
 " Are we where no one can hear us ? he asked. 
 I make the inquiry in your interest quite as much 
 as in mine. 
 
 " I told him that he need be under no apprehen 
 sion of eavesdroppers. 
 
 " * Then here it is, said he. * I was arrested 
 three years ago for a certain crime. I needn t tell 
 you what the crime was, for my real name will 
 probably be sufficient to recall the crime to your 
 memory. Here he told me his real name ; and J 
 did recognize it as that of the perpetrator of a 
 dastardly roguery that had created a sensation at 
 the time. * I was tried and convicted, he went on; 
 * and I may tell you in confidence that the jury 
 were quite right; I was guilty. The judge very 
 properly sentenced me to fifteen years imprison 
 ment with hard labor. It was not too severe a 
 sentence. 
 
 " * And this was only three years ago ? I said. 
 
 " Only three years ago, he answered ; and here 
 I am again, as right as a trivet ! 
 
 " Have you broken jail ? 
 
 " No ; and I haven t been pardoned out, either. 
 I am out on better grounds than either of those. 
 My lawyers discovered a flaw in the trial, and got 
 me out on the technicality. I am just as free and 
 as safe as if I had lived virtuous all my days. 
 
io6 GENERAL WEYMOUTH. 
 
 " < For the last time, I said, what do you want ? 
 
 "< Well, he said, ten thousand ^dollars will be 
 enough for to-day ; but I warn you that I shall 
 need some more at the end of the month. 
 
 " * You are welcome to ten thousand dollars, I 
 said, if you can get it. But meanwhile, get out 
 of this room. 
 
 " If I leave this room, he said, it will be to 
 call on the lady who calls herself Mrs. Weymouth. 
 I am confident that she will refuse me nothing. 
 
 " Beware how you speak the name of my wife 
 again ! I said, or I will throw you through that 
 window. 
 
 " Your wife ? said he. Nonsense, my good 
 fellow ! I married the woman myself five years 
 ago ; we have never been divorced ; and her little 
 escapade with you does not alter her legal relation 
 to me. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A TALE OF THE CITY. 
 
 AT this point in his story, General Weymouth 
 paused and turned his gaze from the fire to Kitty 
 Clive s face. He saw tears in her eyes ; and as he 
 looked they ran down her cheeks. She did not 
 seem to be aware of them. There was profound 
 sympathy and compassion in her regard ; and he 
 was the more sensible thereof because she made no 
 attempt to put her feeling into words. 
 
 " I have sometimes asked myself," the general 
 presently continued, " and I have never found an 
 entirely satisfactory answer to the question, 
 whether it would not have been a wise and meri 
 torious act on my part to have killed that man then 
 and there. I came within a hair s-breadth of doing 
 it ; and I can not say that I have been glad that I 
 refrained. But almost immediately the thought 
 came, What he says is false, and I determined to 
 prove it. All I said to him was, * I will accompany 
 you to my home, and you can then repeat what you 
 have just told me. I advise you to say nothing 
 more to me in the meanwhile. 
 
 " He shrugged his shoulders. We went out to 
 gether and got into a horse- car to go up town. Be- 
 
To8 A TALK OF THE CITY. 
 
 fore we started, I took a revolver out of my drawer 
 and put it in the pocket of my overcoat. I kept 
 my hand upon it during the journey, intending to 
 shoot him if he made any attempt to escape. But 
 he did not attempt it. At last we reached my 
 home. I opened the door with a latch-key, and we 
 entered the hall. The drawing-room was on the 
 left. I heard my wife at the piano. I motioned 
 the fellow to stay in the hall, while I went in. My 
 wife looked round, and ran from the piano with an 
 exclamation of surprise and pleasure. She had not 
 expected me back for several hours. She came 
 forward with her arms outstretched, to kiss me. 
 As I looked at her, I felt certain that the story was 
 a lie. I took her in my arms and kissed her. It 
 was the last kiss I ever gave her. 
 
 " She asked me what brought me back so soon 
 I told her that a man had been at my office who 
 asserted that he had been acquainted with her, 
 that I believed him to be a swindler, and that, in 
 order to settle the matter, I had told him I would 
 ask her. 
 
 " I was holding her affectionately by the arms. I 
 felt her arms grow rigid in my hands. She turned 
 her face away for a moment ; then she looked 
 straight at me, smiling, and said, What is his 
 name ? 
 
 " He has two, I answered ; and I told her what 
 they were. 
 
 " She turned pale, and moistened her lips. She 
 stepped back, removing herself from my embrace, 
 
A TALE OF THE CITY. 109 
 
 and chafing the back of one hand with the palm of 
 the other. She said in a dry voice, Oh, he is an 
 impostor. It s impossible. I never heard of him. 
 
 " I turned to the door and called out, Come in 
 here ! 
 
 " He came in. When she saw him, her face 
 changed till it looked like death ; then her eyes all 
 at once shone like fire, and she leaped towards him 
 as if she meant to kill him. But she did not reach 
 him ; she stopped, shaking all over, and gave a wild 
 scream, half laughing, and with some words in it 
 that I could not distinguish, and staggered and 
 dropped on the floor. I have seen men who were 
 killed in battle die just like that. 
 
 " You see I told you the truth, said the fellow. 
 
 " Yes, I said. Tell me the rest. 
 
 " He told me the story. He had met the girl ; 
 her father was a disreputable man, and he was using 
 her as a bait to catch a rich husband. This fellow 
 ruined the girl ; but her father induced him to 
 marry her, and employ her as a sort of stool-pigeon 
 in various kinds of infamous transactions. At last 
 the crime was planned and carried out which re 
 sulted in the arrest and conviction of the husband. 
 The woman went back to her father. They agreed 
 that since the husband was dead to all practical in 
 tents and purposes put out of the way for fifteen 
 years she should resume her maiden name and 
 try to get another husband. The scheme was put 
 in operation, and after three years they succeeded 
 in entrapping me. * Now, said the fellow in con- 
 
110 A .TALE OF THE CITY. 
 
 elusion, you may keep her if you want her ; I 
 have no use for her. But you are a highly respected 
 gentleman, with the best possible social connections. 
 You want to keep this affair quiet ; you don t want 
 to be mixed up in any bigamy proceedings. Busi 
 ness is business. I have my living to make. If I 
 am to hold my tongue, I shall look to you for 
 funds. So long as they are forthcoming, that 
 woman may call herself Mrs. Weymouth to her 
 heart s content. But as soon as you repudiate my 
 drafts, or expose me in any way, or oppose me in 
 any plans I attempt to carry out, I shall claim my 
 wife through the courts, and the whole yarn will 
 appear in the papers. What are you going to do ?" 
 
 " I said, I shall protect this lady, who has been 
 known by my name, and who probably married me 
 in the belief that you were dead. I will pay you a 
 reasonable yearly sum to keep out of our way. 
 You will do wisely not to try me too far. That s all 
 I have to tell you. 
 
 " He said, * You will find my address on the card 
 I gave you. I shall expect a check for ten thou 
 sand dollars to reach me there by noon to-morrow. 
 Otherwise, I shall begin proceedings the next 
 morning. 
 
 " He went out, and I was left alone with her. I 
 lifted her from the floor and carried her to the 
 sofa. She recovered consciousness in a few minutes. 
 I sat beside her, as she lay there, and we had a 
 talk, in which arrangements were made for the 
 future. We were gradually to cease to visit or re- 
 
A TALE OF THE CITY. n 
 
 ceive friends. We were to occupy the same house 
 while in town ; but she was to go to some country 
 place during the summer, while I would remain in 
 New York on plea of business. Little by little we 
 would separate more and more. I requested her 
 to refrain from any thing likely openly to dishonor 
 my name ; and I on my side would do all I could 
 to protect her from suspicion or insult. If she had 
 loved me," said the General, after a pause, " I 
 would have acted in another manner. I would have 
 defied her husband, and, as we could not legally 
 be man and wife, I would have taken her to 
 another country and lived with her there, a husband 
 to her before God if not by the law of man. But 
 she did not Jove me ; she could not even pretend 
 that she did ; and therefore she could not have 
 been content under any such arrangement. As for 
 me, I had loved her with all my heart at first ; 
 and if I did not love her after that discovery it 
 was because my heart was dead. But I could not 
 abandon her ; I could not but do my utmost to pro 
 tect her against herself. God knows, that although 
 I let it be understood that my course was prompted 
 by a desire to shield my family name and my 
 honor, my real motive was only to be kind to her. 
 Ah, poor girl poor girl ! " 
 
 His eyes were again bent upon the fire, as if he 
 saw there the glowing youthful beauty of the woman 
 through whom his life had been wrecked. By and 
 by he roused himself and continued. 
 
 " I had no intention of speaking to you so fully 
 
H2 A TALE OF THE CITY. 
 
 of these things," he said ; " but I have allowed my 
 self to run on, and, in excuse, I may -say that you 
 are the. first human being, my dear Miss Clive, to 
 whom I have ever spoken of this episode of my 
 life. I have told it to you because I felt impelled 
 to do so ; I knew that you would respect my confi 
 dence and understand my feeling. And I also had 
 another object, which I will now explain. 
 
 11 After the first shock was over, I made up my 
 mind not to let my calamity crush me. As there 
 was no place for me at home, I set myself to mak 
 ing a home in the midst of affairs ; and my origi 
 nal crusade upon corruption and incompetence in 
 politics was taken up with all the added energy 
 that comes from a desire to escape from one s self. 
 But I met with an opposition upon which I had 
 not counted. 
 
 " The fellow who had come across my path I 
 will call him Fowler had received large sums of 
 money from me, and had entered into what are 
 called politics. He was shrewd and supple, and 
 utterly unprincipled. He used his ill-gotten money 
 with good effect, and advanced himself with wonder 
 ful rapidity. Such men can make themselves very 
 useful to bigger men, who do not care to inquire 
 into the character of their henchmen, if they can 
 attain their ends through them. Fowler realized) 
 as I had done, the almost unlimited power of the 
 great financiers ; but he plotted to get that power 
 on his own side; and in supporting it, to aggrandize 
 
A TALE OF THE CITY. 113 
 
 himself. He began to be recognized as a powerful 
 and able fellow. 
 
 " A short time before this, I had become ac 
 quainted with Maxwell Golding. He is a man 
 who has made his own way and possesses remark 
 able traits of character. I did not like the system 
 he represented, or the methods he adopted ; but I 
 liked him. He was in earnest, he was patient, he 
 had far-reaching views, he could plan vast enter 
 prises, and, if any unexpected conditions arose, he 
 could alter his plans so as to meet the new situa 
 tion. He has the mind of a great commander and 
 statesman, but he cares little for name and fame ; 
 he regards the reality of power more than to see 
 his power recognized ; and he is convinced that 
 the most real power in modern civilization is money. 
 He professes small belief in human virtue and 
 honor ; but his own private life is blameless, and 
 he never departs from his own code of business 
 morality. From one point of view he is a merci 
 less brigand ; from another, he is a man who sim 
 ply takes things and men as he finds them and 
 makes them the instruments of his designs. But 
 after all is said, there is a personal fascination 
 about the man, which I have felt, and which I 
 believe to be at the bottom of some of his most 
 remarkable successes. It is a cold sort of fascina 
 tion, and he does not seem to exercise it con 
 sciously ; but it binds men to him, and makes 
 them anxious to serve him, they know not why. 
 "I was frank in stating my aims to Golding 
 
114 A TALE OF THE CITY. 
 
 that I wished to do away with the class to which 
 he belonged as a political and economic factor in 
 the country. He listened to my arguments, and 
 assented to many of them ; but the only argument 
 he used was, You can t stop it. It is natural, 
 here and now, that money should be a power. I 
 have money and I mean to use it. The morality 
 of his use of capital, or its ultimate effects upon 
 the welfare of the nation, he would not discuss. 
 I m not a sentimentalist, he said. Nations are 
 not made of paper constitutions and declarations, 
 but of men and women. We may pretend to be or 
 to profess any thing ; but we are nothing but so 
 many men and women, when all s done ; and we 
 propose each to do the best he can for himself. 
 . At the same time he had no objection to my op 
 posing him and what he represented to the utmost 
 of my ability. * You are right enough in the ab 
 stract, he said ; and if you think you can realize 
 your theories, go ahead ! 
 
 " Well, my dear young lady, I went ahead with 
 all the strength I had. The money which Fowler 
 took from me hampered me somewhat, and I had 
 settled a hundred thousand dollars on my wife (as 
 I must call her) in such a manner that she could 
 touch only the interest of it. I bought a news 
 paper and used it to inculcate my views. I made 
 every effort to push the paper ; and for a time it 
 was favorably received by the public. But by and 
 by I became convinced that an enemy was 
 working against me. 1 could not see him, I 
 
A TALE OF THE CITY. 115 
 
 could not touch him, but I was aware of him 
 at every point. His attacks were subtle 
 and made from twenty different directions, but 
 they were all of the same character. They aimed 
 at vital points to discredit me socially, politically, 
 personally. I found that people whom I had al 
 ways regarded as staunch friends were inoculated 
 with the poison. I tried to trace down the slanders 
 and insinuations to their source, but in vain. I was 
 like a man blindfold, striking at invisible assassins. 
 At length one of the most powerful papers, com 
 manding an immense circulation, began publishing 
 a series of articles on the same subjects which I 
 was treating in my paper. They purported to take 
 the same ground that I did, but with differences, 
 slight in appearance but vital in quality, that led to 
 very alien conclusions. At the same time, there 
 were transparently veiled allusions to my paper 
 and myself, insinuating doubts as to the integrity 
 and disinterestedness of my aims. The effect of all 
 this was first to forestall and pervert my argu 
 ments, and then to discredit me as a journalist and 
 a man ; yet all was done with such cunning and 
 seeming candor, as to sound like impersonal zeal 
 for the public welfare. I did what I could, and 
 spent what I had, but in spite of all, the circulation 
 of my paper decreased every day, and advertisers 
 fell off. I was obstinate, for I believed I was in 
 the right, and that right would prevail ; I executed 
 a mortgage on the paper, and laid out most of the 
 money in renewed efforts to extend its circulation ; 
 
n6 A TALE OF THE CITY. 
 
 but the tide continued to set steadily Against me. 
 When the mortgage fell due I tried to get it re 
 newed. But I discovered that it had been bought 
 up by some other person ; this person foreclosed, 
 and I was bankrupt. On that day I received a 
 letter from Fowler, avowing that it was he who had 
 been secretly acting against me all along, and who 
 had now for the second time accomplished my 
 ruin. This letter enlightened me as to various 
 obscure points in the past. I went to seeGolding. 
 
 " He received me alone in his private office. I 
 began to tell him that I had fought to the end, and 
 had been defeated, but he interrupted me. I 
 know all about it, he said. I told you, if you 
 thought you could succeed, to go ahead ; but you 
 have had a practical lesson that money can do 
 more than abstract morality. It was I who fought 
 you and beat you. I used the methods that are 
 customary in such cases, and they were effectual, 
 as they always are. Neither you nor any man can 
 make way against them. 
 
 " And you have employed this fellow Fowler 
 my personal enemy, a wretch 
 
 " I know nothing about Fowler s relations with 
 you, he interrupted me, and I have made no in 
 quiries as to his private character. He was the 
 sort of person I needed for the job, and I employed 
 him. He did his work well, and has been well 
 paid for it. If you want to put a bullet through 
 him, or prosecute him for libel, you are welcome to 
 do it. I have no further concern about him. But 
 
A TALE OF THE CITY. 1 17 
 
 I have something else to suggest, which I think 
 will suit you better. 
 
 " What is it? I asked. 
 
 " Then he unfolded to me his scheme of a great 
 industrial enterprise, to be controlled secretly by 
 himself, but ostensibly by a board of managers ; 
 and of this board he offered me the presidency. 
 I make you the offer, he said, partly to show 
 you that I have no personal feeling against you, 
 and that I wish you well, and that in this fight I 
 have attacked what you stand for, and not you ; 
 and if you got hurt, it was because you stood up 
 too obstinately. But the chief reason for my offer 
 is that you are the man most suitable for the posi 
 tion. Your name, in spite of the innuendos that 
 have been thrown upon it, is still of great influence, 
 and will gain the confidence of the kind of people 
 we wish to get hold of. I have calculated that 
 your help will be worth fifty thousand a year tome, 
 and that will be the amount of your salary. The 
 main lines of the policy to be pursued will be laid 
 down by me ; but you will have full liberty as re 
 gards details. You can do a great deal of good in 
 your own way more than you will ever be able to 
 do otherwise. Do you accept ? 
 
 " No, I said, * I can not accept it. 
 
 " * Remember, he said, * that I am not inviting 
 you out of friendship. I don t consider that I owe 
 you any reparation or apology for having defeated 
 and ruined you. We are both soldiers, in our dif 
 ferent ways, and all is fair in war. I invite you 
 
"8 A TALE OF THE CITY. 
 
 for practical business reasons. Your name and 
 reputation will be useful to me. If it were not so 
 if you were unknown or forgotten I would not 
 offer you so much as a clerkship at twenty dollars 
 a month not if you were the Angel Gabriel, and 
 had saved my life. There is the offer, to take or 
 leave. You will never get such a chance again. 
 Think of all it implies. Come, General, oblige 
 me ! take it ! 
 
 " I felt at that moment how strong and almost irre 
 sistible he was. He was offering to pay me for the 
 honest reputation which I should betray by taking 
 his money, and yet, instead of being angry, it was 
 all I could do to refrain from yielding -to him. 
 But I did refrain ; and when he saw that I was 
 firm, he smiled, and ceased to urge me. I m 
 sorry, he said, but you will gain nothing by your 
 refusal, except poverty and your own self-satisfac 
 tion. I shall get another man, as like you as pos 
 sible, to fill the place you might have had. That s 
 all. I m busy. Good-by, Weymouth." 
 
 " Good -by, I said, and I walked out ; and I 
 have not seen Golding since then, until to-day. 
 And so, at last, Miss Clive, in a very roundabout 
 way, I come to the point of my story. 
 
 " I went to him this morning. He recognized 
 me at once, and greeted me as if we had parted 
 but a day before. I told him that I had been liv 
 ing during the past years in retirement and on 
 very limited means ; but that latterly circumstances 
 had arisen which made me desire to secure a larger 
 
A TALE OF THE CITY. 119 
 
 income. I told him that I had become deeply and 
 tenderly interested in a young lady " here the 
 General s voice grew deeper and gentler " and 
 that although I was no longer young, but an old and 
 broken man, I should make bold to ask her to be 
 my wife. I said that I came to him as to the larg 
 est employer of labor in America, and therefore 
 the man most likely to have positions at his dis 
 posal. Would he give me something to do? 
 
 " He said : < The last time I saw you I offered 
 you a place worth fifty thousand a year. 
 
 " * You did, I answered : but you asked too 
 much in return for the money. 
 
 " That may be true, he said. I always try to 
 get the best of a bargain. Well, you refused it, 
 and that is the end of it, isn t it ? 
 
 " I had no thought of any position of that kind; 
 my requirements will be very small, I told him. 
 
 " He looked at me for a few moments, and then 
 said, " I can do nothing for you, Weymouth. You 
 come to me on a matter of business, and I answer 
 you as a business man. You have been living in 
 retirement for ten years or more. You have be 
 come entirely forgotten. Except for your honor 
 able reputation for integrity and high principle, 
 you never were worth any thing in practical affairs. 
 As I told you long ago, it was for your reputation 
 for integrity and high principle that I was willing 
 to pay. But now that you and your reputation - 
 have lapsed into oblivion, you are worth nothing at 
 all to me. I don t say it harshly, or with any feel- 
 
120 A TALE OF THR CITY. 
 
 ing one way or the other ; I only tell you a fact 
 And if I wanted to advise you I should say, Don t 
 get married, and don t try, at your age, to begin 
 any new employment. 
 
 " I said nothing, but got up to go. * Wait a 
 moment, he said. Now that the business part of 
 our interview is over, I am free to talk to you as 
 between man and man. I always liked you, Wey- 
 mouth, and I believe you are a good fellow, though 
 your theories and schemes for improving the con 
 dition of things are all wrong and foolish. If you 
 will accept a hundred thousand dollars from me 
 as a free gift, you are welcome to have it. He 
 opened a check-book and added, Say the word, 
 and here it is ! 
 
 " I can t put myself under an obligation to you," 
 I told him. 
 
 " Well, then, he said, I ll make out the check 
 to the lady you want to marry. What is her 
 name? 
 
 " Not that, either, I answered, I do not know 
 whether she would have me for her husband ; and 
 if she did I could not ask her to accept money in 
 that way. 
 
 " Very well, he said, < that s all I can do, and 
 so, Miss Clive," added the General, " I left him, 
 and here I am. I see, now, that I have acted fool 
 ishly throughout. But I loved you, and I wished 
 to add something to your life ; and I thought that 
 if I could make an income sufficient to support 
 you in comfort you would perhaps consent to let 
 
A TALE OP THE CITY. 121 
 
 the close of my life be brightened and sweetened 
 by your companionship. It would have been hap 
 piness to me to work for you, or to do anything for 
 you. But love made a fool of me ; and I should be 
 glad rather than sorry that my mission to Golding 
 was a failure. It saves you the pain of saying that 
 you can not care for me. You must forgive me for 
 having indulged myself in the luxury of telling you, 
 in words as well as by behavior and implication, 
 that I love you and shall always love you. That 
 other love was not like this ; it was of the eye, not 
 of the mind and soul." He paused a moment, and 
 then said, " She died a year ago." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 OUT OF JOINT. 
 
 | NEVER expected to hear such words from 
 1 any man as you have spoken to me, Gen 
 eral Weymouth," said Kitty. " I am not a girl that 
 men fall in love with. I am liked, not loved. You 
 are the only man that has ever loved me, and I am 
 proud to know that a man like you can give me his 
 love. It makes me feel that I am not apart from 
 other women, as I fancied myself to be before. 
 But I can not marry you, dear General Weymouth ; 
 I shall never marry any one." 
 
 " You are too young to say never, " returned 
 the General, with a sad smile. 
 
 " Not young in the sense you mean," she said. 
 " I have not had the usual life of a young woman 
 of my station. I have not always met with kind 
 ness or with justice. My mother died early, and 
 my father s second wife was my enemy. I never 
 told him of her conduct to me, because he thought 
 her perfection, and I would not undeceive him ; 
 but, if I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself, 
 I thought and felt them all the more deeply ; and 
 they were not all of the kind that are supposed to 
 
OUT OF JOINT, 123 
 
 belong to Christian children. I am not a Christian, 
 General Weymouth." 
 
 " The creed is not every thing," he replied. " You 
 are good, and generous, and high-minded." 
 
 " I am good and generous to those who are so to 
 me ; but I do not forgive those who do me evil. 
 And that is not all ; for, since you have given me 
 your confidence, you have a right to mine. I be 
 lieve in retaliation and in maintaining your rights 
 by violence, if fair means will not do. If I had 
 been in your place, I would not have acted as you 
 did." 
 
 " If there was any magnanimity in my acts, they 
 were what yours would have been." 
 
 "No!" she said, with an emphasis that her 
 interlocutor was hardly prepared for. " No ; I am 
 not magnanimous ! Let those who are secure and 
 prosperous be so ! I would have defied that man 
 and challenged him to do his worst. But I would 
 have made myself more terrible to him than he was 
 to me. I would have hunted him through the 
 world, and made his life worse than death to him. 
 I would have found out what he the most cared for 
 every human being cares for something and I 
 would have struck him through that, as he struck 
 at you. I would never have relented or spared 
 him one suffering that I could inflict. What is your 
 name, your social standing, any thing, compared 
 with the pleasure of making those who have 
 wronged you curse the day when they first crossed 
 your path ? And as for that woman who deceived 
 
124 OUT OF JOINT. 
 
 you, she was more unpardonable than he ! Only a 
 woman ean realize the wickedness that that woman 
 perpetrated. You should have cast her off pub- 
 licly and unconditionally. You should have driven 
 her out of society and out of the world ! Why, see 
 what results your weakness caused your merci 
 fulness and magnanimity, if such it be ! The man, 
 your enemy, with the money he had extorted from 
 you, hounded you out of your public career, and 
 prevented all the good that your principles, put in 
 practice, would have accomplished. Was that 
 worth while, for the sake of sparing a worthless 
 creature who never had a thought or an emotion 
 that was not base and selfish ? And this man 
 Golding, whom you find so nearly irresistible I 
 would be no friend of him either. He is strong, 
 but depend upon it there are weak points in his 
 armor too ! You should have fought him to 
 death, with every weapon that ingenuity or desper 
 ation could devise. There should be no half 
 measures in this life ; its rewards, such as they are, 
 belong only to those who realize that it is all a 
 battle, and who throw themselves into it body, 
 heart, and soul. These gentle, forgiving ways are 
 good to write of in books, but they never bring 
 about any thing that is real and can last. Who is 
 Mr. Golding that you should submit to be defeated 
 by him ? How should he dare to treat a man like 
 you with good-natured contempt, as he did this 
 morning? You allow him to do it ; and you are 
 to blame ! " 
 
OUT OF JOINT. 125 
 
 The general was silenced and amazed by this pas 
 sionate and destructive criticism. He had been 
 aware that Kitty Clive had pregnant depths in her 
 character, but he little imagined what strange 
 things were to be found beneath the surface. He 
 felt the force and poignancy of many of her decla 
 rations, but he also felt that they were the outcome 
 of quite another mind and temperament than his, 
 and that he could never hope to adopt them him 
 self. Be that as it might, he was conscious that 
 the mental stature of the woman had immensely 
 expanded to his apprehension within the last few 
 minutes ; and his love for her underwent a corres 
 ponding development. He had heretofore re 
 garded her as a girl possessed of a nature rich in 
 quality and of great possibilities ; now he saw her 
 a woman of original thought and experience, who 
 had worked out her own convictions of what life 
 meant and needed, and had the courage and ability 
 to act up to them. To stand in the most intimate 
 relation to such a being as this would be some 
 thing more than mere happiness ; it would be 
 exhilaration and elevation. He looked at her 
 with kindling eyes. 
 
 " Why do you say that you will never marry ? " 
 he demanded. 
 
 "I will tell you," she answered ; " but I tell it to 
 you alone, and it must never be told again. I will 
 marry no one, because I can not marry the man I 
 Jove." 
 
 "You love some one, then?" the General bent 
 
126 OUT OF JOINT. 
 
 his head to hide the twinge of the heart that was 
 made visible in his face. Presently he looked up 
 and added, " Why can t you marry him ? " 
 
 " Because he doesn t know that I love him ; and, 
 even if he did, he would never love me." 
 
 " Can it be possible ! " returned the General. 
 " You love him and he doesn t love you ! Can it 
 be possible ! " 
 
 " And so you have your revenge," she added with 
 a quaint smile. 
 
 " My dear Miss Clive, my happiness does not lie in 
 revenges. If I could bring about your marriage 
 with this gentleman he must be worthy since you 
 care for him I am sure I would do it. There 
 can not be any thing more than some accidental 
 blindness some pre-occupation that the least 
 hint would remove that delays him from falling 
 at your feet." 
 
 " If his blindness were only physical and per 
 manent," returned Kitty, with a laugh, " I should 
 have better hopes. But it is not every man, 
 General Weymouth, who can forget the outside in 
 looking at what is within. Besides, this gentleman 
 is a distant cousin of mine, and the familiarities of 
 cousinship well, it is like a child eating too much 
 bread before dinner ; he becomes indifferent. But, 
 after all, it doesn t matter ; it is better as it is. I 
 would rather imagine what marriage might be than 
 risk proving what it is. If he were to love and marry 
 me, and then become tired of me ah ! then ! " 
 
 The last words were spoken below her breath, 
 
OUT OF JOINT. 127 
 
 but with an emphasis that left nothing unex 
 pressed. 
 
 " That could never be. He might never awaken 
 to what you are ; but, having done so, he could never 
 fall back again," said the General, with conviction. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; you don t realize how ugly I am ; and 
 you don t know how jealous and despotic I should 
 be as a wife. It is better as it is ; I have no 
 rights, and can therefore claim none. My love can 
 be wholly unselfish. It is sweet to know that it 
 will always be a secret from him. He will feel the 
 effects, and yet never know whence they come. In 
 many ways I can give him happiness ; and to see 
 him happy will be better than any gratitude he 
 could render to me. I am content with my state. 
 Beautiful women have their power, their triumph, 
 but it is a shallow one. It is a house built upon 
 sand. The winds and waters of time and chance 
 will destroy it. There can be no such calamity in 
 store for me. What there is of me is founded upon a 
 rock, and can never be overthrown." 
 
 " I can do nothing, then," said the General, 
 sadly. 
 
 " You have done a great deal. If a woman s 
 heart were in her brain and some women s are 
 life would be much more comfortable. I can rec 
 ognize, with my brain, that you are more worthy 
 of love than this man who does not love me. He 
 might speak with more passion than you ; but he 
 could not express such depth and nobility of affec 
 tion he could not feel it ! Yes, I can see that he 
 
128 OUT OF JOINT. 
 
 is not worthy of such love as I give hinj ; but who is 
 worthy of love ? It is something divine and in 
 finite, coming through us mortal and finite 
 creatures, but not of us. I am no more worthy of 
 your love than he of mine ; but it glorifies me to 
 know that I have it, and gives me more strength to 
 forgive me to love him ! " 
 
 " That feels cruel," said the General, drawing his 
 breath between his teeth with a little gasp, " but I 
 know that it is true and kind." He rose to his 
 feet, and glanced here and there about the room. 
 " As to those radical opinions of yours, my dear 
 child," he added, in a more composed tone, " they 
 are not vital nor lasting. The strands of your 
 nature have been twisted awry, and the harmony is 
 broken for a time. But the truth and goodness in 
 you are stronger than any evil influence and will 
 finally prevail You can not make your own rights 
 and wrongs the criterion of the justice of God s 
 universe. All tragedies are partial and frag 
 mentary. The longer the arc of experience, the 
 more does sunshine prevail in it." 
 
 " Shall you stop coming to see me because of 
 this ?" Kitty asked. 
 
 " Not unless you wish it," he replied. " I can not 
 be cured by absence, and I can promise you that 
 you shall not be harassed by regrets and entreaties. 
 I feel that your attitude towards me is final." 
 
 " Then come often," she said, giving him her 
 hand. " Perhaps I shall be worthier of your friend 
 ship if I know that I possess it," 
 
OUT OF JOINT. 129 
 
 When the General had gone Kitty sat down at 
 her piano and touched the chords and sang. She 
 sang without words, as the wind sings in the ^Eolian 
 harp ; but the rise and fall and changes of her 
 voice expressed her mood to herself as only music 
 can express it. And perhaps a great composer, 
 listening to her, might have divined more of the 
 secrets of her heart and. soul than any human 
 speech, even her own, could have told him. 
 
 In the course of an hour, Frank Cunliffe came 
 in. She did not leave the piano, but turned her 
 head and smiled a greeting to him over her 
 shoulder, while her fingers still wandered over the 
 keys. 
 
 "You always seem to be enjoying yourself." 
 Frank remarked, as he threw himself down in a 
 chair near her. " Nothing ever troubles you or 
 depresses you. I believe a little misery would do 
 you good." 
 
 " No misery amounts to any thing, if your diges 
 tion is right and your circulation in good order," 
 she answered. " Eating, sleeping, and exercise 
 make happiness." 
 
 " Ah ! that s all you know. I wish you could 
 have some desperate love-affair, or lose your voice, 
 or something." 
 
 " Why, what now, cousin ? " she said, still play 
 ing with the keys. " Is it you who are in love at 
 last ? or is it still your lost income that you are 
 lamenting ? " 
 
 " I wish you d let that piano alone and be sensi- 
 
*3 OUT O 
 
 ble," he exclaimed, with an aggrieved* air. " You 
 are becoming quite frivolous ! " 
 
 " Would you have me shiver at the Equator, or 
 perspire at the Pole? I am in Rome, and I am as 
 the Romans are." 
 
 " If I am as the Romans, it must be at the period 
 of the Decline and Fall," said Frank. " My posi 
 tion in the world has never been one of such bril 
 liance that Fate need have grown envious of me ; 
 but it seems as if I had taken a turn and was to 
 go downward from now on. It is not my digestion 
 that disorders my affairs ; it is my affairs that 
 disorder my digestion." 
 
 " Has any thing new happened ? " she asked, 
 leaving the piano and going over to the fire-place, 
 where she leaned with one arm on the mantel 
 piece. 
 
 " I don t know," he said. " I m half inclined to 
 think that something or other is going on, having 
 me for its object ; but I can t find out what it is, 
 and perhaps it is only my morbid and bilious con 
 dition that puts it into my head. It s a nuisance, 
 all the same." 
 
 " Something going on ? What sort of a some 
 thing?" 
 
 " Well, I have a notion that I am being followed 
 or watched. I have heard that that is the way a 
 man feels when he is going insane. It s the first 
 symptom of melancholia. Have I committed some 
 crime, without being aware of it ? or am I watched 
 to see whether I intend to commit one ? or am I 
 
OUT OF JOINT. 131 
 
 the victim of a new form of delirium tremens, 
 
 derived from drinking the cup of mortification to the 
 
 dregs ? I can t understand it." 
 
 " Nonsense, Frank ! Take a run round the block, 
 
 and clear the cob webs out of your brain ! who would 
 
 want to follow you, or watch you either ? I never 
 
 heard such a conceited idea ! " 
 
 " Oh, detectives don t follow one because he is 
 
 beautiful or lovely." 
 
 " Detectives ! what next ? " 
 " Look out of the window." 
 kitty laughed, walked across the room, and 
 standing within the shadow of the curtain glanced 
 up and down the street. A thaw had set in, the 
 sidewalks were wet and sloppy, and the roadway a 
 slough of dirty snow. A man, with his coat-collar 
 turned up to his ears, and his hands thrust in his 
 side-pockets, was plodding up the street. He was 
 smoking a short pipe, and looked like a specimen 
 of the American working-man out of a job. At the 
 corner of the adjoining avenue there was a tobacco 
 shop, the show-window of which was rendered 
 gorgeous by the colored pictures of young women 
 in airy costumes celebrating the virtues of nicotine. 
 The man stopped in front of this window, and stood 
 for a while in apparent admiration of its scenic dis 
 play ; then, instead of passing onwards, he turned 
 round and started back down the street. After 
 having passed some distance beyond Kitty s 
 window, he paused again, knocked the ashes out of 
 his pipe against a lamp-post, and began hunting in 
 
I3 2 OUT OF JOIA 7\ 
 
 his pockets as if for tobacco. None being forth 
 coming, he slowly retraced his steps to the tobac 
 conist s, and this time entered the shop. Kitty 
 returned to the fire-place. 
 
 "Well, did you see any thing?" Frank inquired, 
 looking up from a brown study. 
 
 " What I always see when I look out of window 
 the street, and people in it." 
 
 " One of those people is after me. I don t know 
 which one it is, and I don t think it s always the 
 same one ; but every once in a while I turn round, 
 and meet the eyes of some one looking at me. He 
 looks away immediately, and passes along, and 
 that s the end of it ; but by and by, again, there is 
 a pair of eyes looking at me. Yes, you may say 
 it s imagination ; so I told myself at first ; but why 
 was I never afflicted with this particular vagary of 
 imagination before ? I repeat, it s a nuisance." 
 
 " Have you committed any crime ? " asked 
 Kitty, looking him in the face. 
 
 " No ; nothing worse than usual. But I shall, 
 before long, if for no other reason, just to bring 
 this mystery to a head, and find out what is at the 
 bottom of it." 
 
 " Don t be uneasy, my dear boy," said Kitty, 
 bending over him and laying her hand for a mo 
 ment on his shoulder. " I have a presentiment 
 that all will be well with you before long." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN THE WOODS. 
 
 (( T FANCY you were right, Inspector," said Cap- 
 1 tain Hamilton, as the two sat in a retired res 
 taurant down-town, partaking of a temperate lunch 
 eon. " There is nothing against Cowran, except 
 his old quarrel with Golding, and that matter of the 
 secret papers ; but neither of these is inconsistent 
 with his entire innocence. On the contrary, if he 
 had wanted to injure Golding he would unques 
 tionably have published those papers ; and if he had 
 wished to blackmail him he would have extorted 
 money by the threat of publishing them." 
 
 " What reason for returning the papers does he 
 put forward ? " the Inspector asked. 
 
 " A reason so commonplace that it seems unlikely 
 so clever a man would have invented it. I mean 
 that it s too commonplace not to be true." 
 
 " How did you induce him to give it ? " 
 
 " By taking up the thread of a former conversa 
 tion I had with him about Golding. You recollect 
 my telling you in what bitter and violent terms he 
 had spoken of him ? Well, I found a pretext for 
 introducing his name again, and remarked that I 
 
*34 IN THE WOODS. 
 
 thought he (Cowran) did him less than justice. 
 After a little talk, he said " 
 
 " Give the conversation exactly as it occurred," 
 interrupted Inspector Byrnes. 
 
 " Very well, sir. Cowran replied to my remark 
 that of course I was at liberty to form my own 
 opinion ; and wanted to know who had been set 
 ting me right in the matter. 
 
 " I told him that my impression was at first hand. 
 I had been casually introduced to Golding by 
 a partner or business associate of his, Mr. 
 Courtlandt Owens, and had had a long chat with 
 him. 
 
 " I don t say he can t make himself agreeable, 
 Cowran said. He would be a much less danger 
 ous man if he could not. 
 
 " I said, So far as I was concerned, he was 
 simply polite, and nothing more. I was thinking of 
 what he said of you. " 
 
 " Cowran looked surprised and said, What did he 
 say of me ? 
 
 " Your name was mentioned by Owens I 
 think said I, and Golding observed that he had 
 once known you well, and that you were a man of 
 great ability that there was no better lawyer in 
 New York. But he said there had been a mis 
 understanding on your part about some action of 
 his on the street, and that you had quarreled with 
 him. It was when they had been bulling the price 
 of gold, and the government had suddenly bought 
 largely, and the price fell like a man out of a 
 
IN THE WOODS. 135 
 
 balloon. Golding had to unload, and there was no 
 time to go round and warn friends. He has 
 never forgiven you, said Owens. I am not sure 
 about that, either, said Golding, and I ll tell you 
 why. At the time Cowran, as my confidential 
 lawyer, had in his possession some documents 
 belonging to me of a somewhat delicate character; 
 I had forgotten that he had them, and nothing 
 more was heard of them until a few days ago. 
 Then I received them from him in a packet, by a 
 special messenger. It was a courteous and con 
 siderate act. 
 
 " That certainly doesn t look like bearing 
 malice, 1 Owens said ; and then Golding went on 
 and said a number of complimentary things about 
 you. I had half a mind, just for fun, to tell him 
 some of the remarks you had made about him a 
 few days before ; but I didn t ! 
 
 " Cowran listened to all that coolly, and gave a 
 grunt, but said nothing ; so I added, I suppose 
 you were putting up a joke on me, and didn t mean 
 what you said. It isn t likely you d do a man such 
 a favor as that if you really thought ill of him. 
 
 " I don t see any particular favor about it, 
 Cowran answered. It was just common honesty, 
 neither more nor less. I happened to be thinking 
 about that old lawsuit one day, and remembered the 
 papers. I asked my clerk about them, and he said 
 they were in the deed-box. I got them out, had 
 copies made of them, and sent the originals to him. 
 They belonged to him, and I had no use for them. 
 
13 6 IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Then what did you want of a copy, of them? I 
 asked. * As a matter of record and protection, of 
 course, he said. Golding might say that they 
 had come into my possession unlawfully ; but the 
 copy proves that I received them at a time 
 and in circumstances which preclude any such pos 
 sibility. That was his story," added Captain 
 Hamilton: "and for my part I don t see any more 
 natural way of explaining it." 
 
 " Was his manner as natural as his explana 
 tion ? " demanded the Inspector. 
 
 " Every bit ; that was the most convincing part 
 of it." 
 
 " What have you done about Cunliffe ? " 
 
 " I have made out a very strong presumption 
 against him ; not enough to convict, by any means, 
 but enough to work on for a conviction. It seems 
 he lost a lot of money a month or more ago, specu 
 lating in Golding stocks." 
 
 " You are certain of that ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have it from his brokers. It was about 
 twenty thousand. It must have been pretty nearly 
 all he had," 
 
 " Does he consider Golding responsible for it ? " 
 
 " I fancy he thinks Golding could make it good 
 without inconvenience," was the reply. 
 
 " Is that all ? " 
 
 " No ; that is only a plausible motive. It is 
 strengthened by the fact that he is on terms of close 
 friendship with a girl an opera singer or some 
 thing of that kind whom he brought out and 
 
IN THE WOODS. 137 
 
 started on her career. So far as can be learned, 
 there is nothing against her private character ; so 
 that, supposing him to contemplate marriage, he 
 would have double need of money : at least 
 double ! " added the captain, with an arch smile. 
 
 " The fact that he speculated also works that 
 way," commented the Inspector. If he is not in the 
 habit of it, he Js likely to have had some special 
 reason ; and the prospect of getting married would 
 be urgent enough." 
 
 " Well, then," continued the captain, here is the 
 other fact. On the day before that letter was writ 
 ten referring to the secret papers, Cunliffe spent 
 the evening at John Talbot s house ; and Miss 
 Claverhouse, the type-writer at Cowran s, was 
 there too. She had made the copy of the papers 
 that very day ; and it is at least possible that she 
 being a rather talkative young person, may have 
 t fall enough to give Cunliffe the hint that the 
 letter contained. That comes in rather neatlv I 
 think ! " 
 
 " It is well pieced together," said the Inspector 
 musingly; -and yet, somehow, it doesn t give me 
 the feeling I sometimes have of being certainly on 
 the right track. The tone and style of these letters 
 are difficult to reconcile with either Cowran or Cun 
 liffe. They would have disguised themselves of 
 course ; but they would have done it, to my way of 
 hmkmg, in some other way. Does Cunliffe still 
 seem to be in a depressed state financially ? " 
 
 4 As to his financial state, I can only speak of 
 
ij8 IN THE WOODS, 
 
 his transactions with his brokers. But he certainly 
 appears very low-spirited." 
 
 "We know, however, that the author of the let 
 ters has twice speculated successfully on Golding s 
 recommendation," the Inspector said. " The infor 
 mation was given to him through the press in the 
 terms of the cipher he selected, and he has written 
 expressing his acknowledgments. If Cunliffe is 
 the man, he ought to have cheered up a little." 
 
 " He has been shadowed constantly," Hamilton 
 went on, " but has not been seen either to post any 
 letters or to go near Wall Street." 
 
 " Mind you don t overdo the shadowing business," 
 the Inspector said. " Unless I am mistaken in him, 
 he is very observant and sensitive, and if he were 
 to suspect that he was being followed all would go 
 for nothing. Besides, if he did post a letter, it 
 would prove nothing, unless we know whom it was 
 addressed to. As for his not visiting Wall Street, 
 or any broker s office in town, for that matter, I 
 know it already ; my arrangements were such that 
 if the speculations in Golding s stocks had been 
 executed in this city, I should have been informed 
 of it, and would have had the means of tracing the 
 operator." 
 
 " He knew enough to do his work out of town, 
 then?" 
 
 " Evidently." 
 
 " Well, he s a clever fellow. But wouldn t it be 
 possible to get sight of the addresses on the letters 
 
IN THE WOODS. 139 
 
 (assuming that Cunliffe is the man we want) before 
 he posted them ? " 
 
 " Possible no doubt," said the Inspector, shrug- 
 ing his shoulders. 
 
 " He must write them either at the club or in 
 his own rooms," resumed the other ; "and in either 
 case he probably dries the writing with blotting- 
 paper. Now, the address on the envelope is gen 
 erally the last thing written, and a man blots it im 
 mediately, before putting on the stamp. I have the 
 run of the club, and though I have never been up 
 to Cunliffe s rooms, I could get there without much 
 trouble. If I could find a single piece of blotting- 
 paper with Golding s name on it, the thing would 
 be as good as settled." 
 
 " There is something in that notion," the Inspec 
 tor said, " and it has sometimes been tried success 
 fully especially in novels. But Mr. Cunliffe prob 
 ably reads novels, and may burn his blotting- 
 paper as soon as he has used it, or he may write the 
 letters at a hotel, or at the office of an acquaintance 
 perhaps of a man who has some relations with 
 Golding himself, or it may happen that Cunliffe is 
 one of those men who guard against all remote and 
 unlikely contingencies, and don t allow for the obvi 
 ous ones under their noses ; and in that case your 
 plan might catch him. We have tried a good many 
 ways now, and nothing has succeeded. Unless we 
 mean to give up and admit ourselves beaten, we 
 must hit upon something before long. Before 
 many days it will be too late." 
 
14 IN THE WOODS. 
 
 " How so, Inspector? " 
 
 " The fellow will have got all he can venture to 
 take, and have cleared out. He has probably set 
 out to net a certain sum, and when he has obtained 
 it he will quit. He knows the danger he is run 
 ning, since he threw off the mask and appeared in 
 his true colors as a blackmailer. We may find out 
 at any moment, by any accident, through whom he 
 does his business, and then he is lost. He will 
 quit, the letters will stop, and we shall never know 
 who he is. That will never do ! " 
 
 " How would it do to invite him off on a trip some 
 where to the Hot Sulphur Springs, say and 
 keep him under my eye all the time. It could be 
 arranged so that we would occupy the same room 
 and be constantly together. During that time " 
 
 " During that time," the Inspector interposed, 
 " aud supposing Cunliffe to be the man, Mr. Gold- 
 ing would probably not receive any of the letters." 
 
 The Captain handled his whiskers. " At all 
 events," he said at length, " it might prove a nega 
 tive. If Mr. Golding did receive a letter during 
 that time, we should know that Cunliffe didn t 
 write it." 
 
 " It might be tried with this addition," the In 
 spector remarked, after a moment s thought. " Dur 
 ing your trip with him, we might insert in the paper 
 an advertisement so worded as to demand an im 
 mediate answer. He would be obliged either to 
 answer it or to miss an important opportunity. 
 The few hours during which his answer must be 
 
IN THE ll OODS. 141 
 
 written would be the limit of the time you would 
 have to watch him. And it would be enough if you 
 even saw him post a letter, without knowing any 
 thing about the address of it ; for if Golding re 
 ceived a letter next day bearing the post-mark of 
 the town you were staying in it would be an awk 
 ward coincidence for Mr. Cunliffe ! " 
 
 " I believe you have hit it at last, Inspector ! " ex 
 claimed Captain Hamilton, his eyes sparkling. 
 " That must fetch him there s no way out of 
 it ! " 
 
 " There are two ways out of it," returned the In 
 spector, impassibly. 
 
 "What are they?" 
 
 " The first is that if Cunliife is not the man the 
 plan will come to nothing. The second is that if 
 he is the man " 
 
 " Well, what then ? " 
 
 " Then he will refuse to leave New York in your 
 company, or in fact to leave it at all." 
 
 Hamilton s face fell. The objection was well 
 taken, and there seemed to be no escape from it. 
 
 Never mind," said the Inspector, kindly, 
 "though we haven t yet hit upon an infallible 
 method, I think we have got upon the right track. 
 The solution must be somewhere in this direction, 
 if it s anywhere. Follow up that line, and by and 
 by you will get there. And when you do, depend 
 upon it it will be so simple you will wonder you 
 never thought of it before," 
 
I4 2 IN THE WOODS. 
 
 " What shall I be doing in the meanwhile ? " 
 Hamilton inquired. 
 
 " I would go and hear that young lady sing, if I 
 were you," replied the Inspector, arising from the 
 table and putting on his hat. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BOLTED. 
 
 IT was Cunliffe s habit to appear at the club about 
 ten o clock every morning, having taken his 
 breakfast of coffee and eggs in his rooms. Like a 
 confirmed club man, his movements gradually 
 became so adjusted to one another that any one 
 familiar with him could have predicted where he 
 could be found morning, noon, and night. Men 
 of idle lives, who live in one place, are more apt to 
 be regular in this way then men of affairs, though 
 the springs that control them are so different. 
 
 Captain Hamilton, therefore, when he sauntered 
 into the smoking-room at half. past ten, and, having 
 summoned the waiter by a touch upon the electric 
 bell-knob, had ordered a cigar and a cherry-soda 
 the Captain, I say, was so assured that Cunliffe 
 was sitting in the second window from the door, 
 reading the papers, that it was several moments 
 before he turned in that direction to exchange a 
 passing salute with him. When he did so, he saw 
 only a vacant chair. Cunliffe had not yet arrived. 
 
 The Captain, after casting an exploring glance 
 round the room, to discover whether his young 
 
J44 BOLTED. 
 
 friend had perchance emigrated to. some other 
 quarter, seated himself in the vacant chair as 
 locum tenens ; and when the waiter came with the 
 soda and cigars he asked him, as he struck a match, 
 whether Mr. Cunliffe were not late that morn 
 ing. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the man ; " it s an unusual 
 thing for Mr. Cunliffe, too. He d ought to have 
 been here half an hour ago." 
 
 The Captain made up his mind that he had over 
 slept himself, as even the idlest of young men 
 about town sometimes will, and resigned himself 
 to wait for him. He had been turning over in his 
 mind the consultation with the Inspector of the 
 day previous, and had come to the conclusion that 
 it could do no harm to at least propose a little trip 
 to Cunliffe, and see how he received the proposition. 
 If he rejected it, without giving any satisfactory 
 reasons, it would be a point against him, though 
 not, of course, a conclusive one. If he accepted it 
 readily and without embarrassment, the Captain 
 could use his own judgment as to going or raising 
 some obstacle at the last moment. 
 
 The smoking-room was far from being a dis 
 agreeable place to spend a vacant hour in. The 
 morning sunshine fell slantwise through its windows, 
 and the white illumination from the snow-covered 
 avenue was reflected into the apartment. At each 
 end of the room a genial fire was glowing and 
 blazing in an ample fireplace ; and at the various 
 littic round tables well-dressed men were sitting in 
 
BOLTED. 145 
 
 easy chairs, chatting with one another in that 
 subdued tone which distinguishes the morning club 
 man from the same personage after dinner. All 
 was warm, sumptuous, and serene ; and the 
 sense of comfort was enhanced by the spectacle of 
 the bright frosty weather out-doors, where the 
 pedestrians walked with quickened steps along the 
 ringing sidewalks, and held their hands over their 
 ears, while their breath blew from their mouths 
 like puffs of thin white smoke. 
 
 The Captain sipped his "soda and smoked his 
 cigar, and gave perfunctory attention to the news 
 paper that lay across his knee. Whenever any new 
 comer entered the rooms, he looked up to see if it 
 were Cunliffe. His chair was so placed in the 
 window that he also commanded an outlook down 
 the avenue, and he kept an eye open for the 
 approach of his friend in that direction. But 
 eleven o clock came and went, and still no Cunliffe. 
 The Captain finished his cigar, and debated whether 
 to light another. He decided the question in the 
 negative ; he was not an excessive smoker, and 
 cigars were only a part of his professional 
 equipment. At half-past eleven he rose from his 
 chair, shook out first one leg and then the other, 
 stretched his arms, yawned, and walked over to the 
 fireplace. 
 
 Hullo, Hamilton," said some one, from the 
 depths of an easy chair near by, " is that you ? I 
 took it for granted you must be Cunliffe, sitting in 
 that window." 
 
J 46 BOLTED. 
 
 "By the by, where is Cunliffe ? " the Captain 
 asked. 
 
 " No idea: ought to be around here somewhere." 
 
 "Cunliffe?" came from another easy chair 
 on the other side of the fireplace. " He won t be 
 here to-day, I guess. Met him on the way up here. 
 Said he was going out of town, I think. Had a 
 valise." 
 
 " Confound the fellow !" ejaculated the Captain, 
 rubbing his whiskers, " he had an appointment with 
 me this morning. Did he say where he was going ?" 
 
 " I don t know. I think not. I didn t ask him. 
 He seemed rather in a hurry. Jumped aboard a 
 horse-car." 
 
 " Humph ! He s a nice chap, to leave me in the 
 lurch this way !" the Captain growled. " Well, I 
 can t wait any longer. If he should happen to 
 come in, and any of you fellows see him, just tell 
 him I waited an hour, will you ? " And with the 
 air of one who has been rudely entreated, the Cap 
 tain strode out. 
 
 Inwardly, however, his emotions were much more 
 active and acute than appeared in outward manifes 
 tation. The state of his mind, indeed, could be 
 best described as one of consternation. If Cunliffe 
 had bolted, there must have been some pressing 
 reason for his doing so. Club men do not take 
 trips out of New York in the dead of winter and 
 the height of the season without grave cause. 
 And the departure was as sudden as it was unusual. 
 Hamilton had seen him the evening before, and 
 
BOLTED. 147 
 
 nothing in his manner or his words had indicated 
 that he had any such design in view. 
 
 Of course, his flight was the strongest possible 
 indication of his guilt. There were two ways of 
 regarding the event. Either he had got all the 
 money he wanted, and had made his preparations 
 deliberately ; or else he had been alarmed, and had 
 bolted at short warning to escape arrest. In either 
 case, the question was, where had he gone ? He 
 had at least two hours start. It was to be feared 
 that the pursuit would be too late, even if it could 
 be begun immediately. 
 
 But it was first necessary to make inquiries. 
 Upon leaving the club, Hamiliton betook himself 
 southward and westward to Cunliffe s lodgings. 
 Upon entering the street, he saw a man lingering 
 along the sidewalk, with his hands thrust up the 
 sleeves of his coat, and his head low down in his 
 collar. The man approached him, touching his hat, 
 and otherwise conducting himself after the manner 
 of the street-beggars who make club men their 
 prey. Hamilton walked along with an aspect of 
 studied unconsciousness ; meanwhile this conver 
 sation occurred : 
 
 Hamilton. What are you here for ? 
 
 Beggar. Watchin out for that feller, sir. 
 
 Hamilton. Don t you know he s skipped ? 
 When did you come here ? 
 
 Beggar. Seven o clock, sir. He ain t been out 
 since I been here. 
 
 Hamilton. According to my information, he s 
 
148 BOLTED. 
 
 gone. I will inquire at the house. If he s not in, 
 11 take out my handkerchief, and do"you go down 
 and report at the office. If he is, stay here. 
 Beggar. All right, sir. 
 
 Then Hamilton, with the air of one who submits 
 to extortion for the sake of peace and quiet handed 
 the beggar a coin ; thereupon the latter touched 
 his hat again, turned on his heel, and walked off. 
 
 Hamilton ran up the steps of Cunliffe s lodgings 
 
 and rang the bell. After a long delay, and just as 
 
 e was on the point of ringing again, the door was 
 
 opened by a female, who presented a countenaceof 
 
 preternatural stupidity. 
 
 " Mr. Cunliffe in?" demanded Hamilton, briskly. 
 The woman gazed at him with lack-luster eyes 
 for several moments, and then said, " Mr. What?" 
 " Cunliffe Mr. Frank Cunliffe is he in ? " 
 " Mr. Cunliffe," repeated the girl, and stopped 
 to consider. No," she said at length, staring at 
 the Captain s necktie as if under the impression 
 that she had seen it somewhere before. " No, he 
 ain t in Mr. Cunliffe." 
 
 " Not in ? That s odd ! Did he leave any word 
 for Captain Hamilton ?" 
 
 " Captain Hamilton ? Who s he ? " 
 " I am Captain Hamilton. Did he leave any 
 message or note for me ? " 
 
 No ; he didn t leave nothing for nobody." 
 " What time did he go away ? " 
 ^ The girl shook her head slowly. " I don know. 
 This mornin , I guess. I didn t see him." 
 
BOLTED. 149 
 
 " Well, see here ; can I step up to his room for a 
 moment ? I m a friend of his, you know, and ex 
 pected to find him here important business and 
 just write a note for him. Just let me up to his 
 room, will you ?" 
 
 " Can t do it," said the girl, still shaking her 
 head. " He s locked the door, and took the key oft" 
 with him." 
 
 " Oh, the deuce he has ! Where s the mistress 
 of the house ! " 
 
 " She s gone marketin ." 
 
 By this time the door was nearly closed ; and 
 with the final words it was clapped together with a 
 bang, and the Captain was left out in the cold. 
 
 He muttered an anathema, faced about, and 
 descended the steps. The beggar was still loung 
 ing at the corner of the street. Hamilton took out 
 his handkerchief and blew his nose ; and the beg 
 gar disappeared round the corner and was seen 
 no more. 
 
 Hamilton walked on to Sixth Avenue, and stood 
 there taking counsel with himself. As the result 
 of his deliberations, he took a car down to Four 
 teenth Street, then across to Lexington Avenue, 
 and so to a small house where he again rang at 
 the door. 
 
 An elderly lady in a black dress and white cap 
 and apron answered the ring. 
 
 " Is Miss Kitty Clive in ? " 
 
 " I will see, sir. What name ? " 
 
 "Captain Hamilton. I am a friend of Mr. Frank 
 
J 5o BOLTED. 
 
 Cunliffe, aad would like to speak to her a moment 
 on business connected with him." 
 
 He handed out his card as he spoke, which had 
 engraved upon it his name and the branch of Her 
 Majesty s army to which he belonged. The lady 
 in black retired with it, leaving the visitor in the 
 hall. A due interval passed, and then Captain 
 Hamilton was told that he might step upstairs. 
 
 He found himself in a pleasant room, remark 
 ably well ventilated, and containing, besides the 
 piano, a comfortable sofa that made one drowsy 
 to look at it, and chairs to match. He had hardly 
 had time to notice these things, when Miss Kitty 
 Clive entered. 
 
 As soon as Hamilton looked at her, he under 
 stood that he had to deal with a woman who was 
 without vanity, who was refined, who knew some 
 thing of the world, and who possessed excellent 
 brains. She was not at all the ideal type of 
 opera singer. He was somewhat annoyed by this 
 discovery, for he had prepared himself for a much 
 more easily managed kind of person. She greeted 
 him with entire ease ; but there was a reserve in 
 her eyes to which her self-possessed manner only 
 lent emphasis. Hamilton, adopting his line on the 
 spur of the moment, decided to be simple and 
 straightforward. 
 
 "You are a relative of Mr. Cunliffe s, aren t 
 you ? " he said. 
 
 " Rather remote, Captain Hamilton ; remote 
 enough for friendship ! " 
 
BOLTED. 151 
 
 " I don t know if he ever spoke to you of me ? " 
 She moved her head in negation. " We got 
 acquainted at the club, you know, and have seen a 
 good deal of each other. What I wanted to say 
 was this : A common friend of ours, with whom I 
 dined last night, deputed me to invite Cunliffe to 
 join a sleighing party this morning to drive to his 
 home up at New Rochelle and take dinner. I 
 saw Cunliffe at the club later on, and gave him the 
 invitation, and he said he d go. We were to meet 
 at the club this morning at ten o clock. I was 
 there, but he didn t come. After a while one of the 
 fellows said he d met him in the street, and that he 
 had told him he was going out of town." 
 
 At this point the Captain paused for breath, and 
 to think of what he should say next. Miss Clive 
 looked politely interested and said : 
 
 " What did you do ? " 
 
 "Well, I came here," the Captain replied, feeling 
 a trifle awkward. " I thought you might give me 
 an idea where he had gone." 
 
 " I m afraid I can t," she returned, smiling. 
 " But I ll tell you where you might perhaps find 
 out." 
 
 " I shall be much obliged." 
 
 " You might ask at his lodgings." 
 
 " Ah yes well, the fact is, I went there first, 
 and they could tell me nothing. Then I recollected 
 his having spoken of you as his cousin, or some 
 thing of that kind, and as I didn t know where else 
 to go" 
 
J 5 2 BOLTED. 
 
 " I understand. I m sorry I can t help you. It 
 occurs to me, though" She paused, and looked 
 at the Captain with a very bright glance. 
 
 "Yes?" he said. 
 
 " I was thinking that perhaps he had mistaken 
 about the sleigh-ride and was going to take the 
 train up to New Rochelle." 
 
 u Oh, it couldn t be that, you know," said the 
 Captain hastily. 
 
 " It was only an idea that struck me. You said 
 you didn t know where he was going, except that 
 he was going out of town ; and that seemed to me 
 the most natural place, under the circumstances, 
 for him to go." 
 
 " This woman is cleverer than she ought to be," 
 said the Captain to himself. " I shouldn t wonder 
 if she did know something about it after all." 
 Aloud he said, "I m afraid I ve troubled you to no 
 purpose." 
 
 " You have not troubled me at all. It is too bad 
 of my cousin to have kept you waiting. Has the 
 rest of the party started ? " 
 
 " Well that is, yes they must have started some 
 time ago. Ten o clock, you know." 
 
 " Oh ! then how will you get there ? Will you 
 go by train ? " 
 
 " No ; it was the sleigh-ride we were going for," 
 returned the Captain, beginning to wish that he had 
 invented some more manageable story for the occa 
 sion. " The dinner without the sleigh-ride wouldn t 
 be worth the trouble. I ll stay at home." 
 
BOLTED. 153 
 
 "You are English, are you not?" inquired 
 Kitty. 
 
 " Yes, I m a North-countryman. Why do you 
 ask ? " 
 
 " I have always wanted to go to England, and I 
 like to see any one who comes from there. I hope 
 to go some time." 
 
 " I hope you will. It s a nice place. You ll go 
 to sing, I suppose ? " 
 
 " That is my only chance. But there are so 
 many better singers than I ; I suppose I ought 
 not to try it." 
 
 " I have heard your singing very well spoken 
 of," said the Captain gallantly. 
 
 " But you have never heard the singing ? " she 
 said, laughing. 
 
 " Well, I m only passing through here, you 
 know, and a fellow doesn t get much time to him 
 self" 
 
 " Do you care for singing ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do ! I used to be able to hum a few 
 bars myself." 
 
 " Would you like to hear me sing ? " 
 
 " If you d be good enough, there s nothing I d 
 like better." 
 
 " If you like it, you know, you can speak of it to 
 your friends when you go back." She took her 
 place at the piano, played meditatively for a few 
 minutes, and then sang an English ballad. It car 
 ried the Captain back to a time now far in the dis 
 tance, when he had heard that ballad sung in his 
 
154 BOLTED. 
 
 own country a time when he had his place in 
 English society, and had looked forward to noth 
 ing less than to taking up with his present calling. 
 He lost himself in these memories, and when the 
 song ceased, he came to himself with a start, and 
 with something like a sigh. 
 
 " But you are from the North," she said, before 
 he could speak. " Then I suppose you know this :" 
 and she began to sing " Caller Herrin ." 
 
 When rendered by a fine contralto voice, such 
 as Kitty undeniably possessed, this is one of the 
 most wildly beautiful and rudely melodious songs 
 in the language ; you seem to see the fair-haired, 
 blue-eyed, stately girl, the long gleaming sands 
 and cold gray sea, and the shining fish borne aloft 
 in the rustic wicker basket. The Captain listened 
 in breathless delight. He could have listened for 
 ever. "Who ll buy my caller herrin ?" The 
 rich voice rose and soared, and sank again. The 
 Englishman s heart, surprised to find itself still in 
 existence, after so many tough vicissitudes, acted 
 in an irregular and turbulent manner. Where was 
 he ? on the coast of the North Sea ? No, in New 
 York, in a lodging house on Lexington Avenue, 
 listening to an American girl sing. But he made 
 this discovery only after she had stopped and, 
 turning on her piano-stool, confronted him with her 
 contagious smile. 
 
 " That s almost as good as going home again, 
 Miss Clive," he said, after clearing his throat once 
 
BOLTED. 155 
 
 or twice. " By Jove, though, it s worth coming to 
 America to hear you sing it ! " 
 
 " Then you ll speak well of me to the people 
 over there ? " 
 
 Oh ! " said the Englishman ; and stopped. 
 His cheeks and forehead reddened, and he bent 
 his eyes on the floor. Had he actually been on 
 the point of explaining to her why his recommen 
 dation would not have much weight just now in 
 influential English circles ? Was he about to reveal 
 to her the history of his career, which was at least 
 as checkered as that apocryphal one which passed 
 current in the club, though not, perhaps, in all 
 respects so reputable ? And all for a song ! no, no ! 
 
 The Captain rose and walked over to the win 
 dow.. There was a writing-table there, and upon 
 it an open portfolio, with a blotting pad on one 
 side. His glance fell upon it, and rested there 
 unconsciously for a few moments. His thoughts 
 were far away. 
 
 " I m afraid I have been detaining you," said 
 Kitty Clive. 
 
 " I don t know when to expect so much pleasure 
 again," returned the Englishman, turning and 
 extending his hand. " But I had no business to 
 stay so long ; I ll say good-by now." He shook 
 hands with her, and went out. 
 
 He reached the street, and, still preoccupied, 
 had got nearly to the corner, when all at once he 
 stopped as abruptly as if a chasm had opened 
 before him in the pavement. Something hitherto 
 
156 BOLTED. 
 
 latent in his mind had come to the sui /ace with a 
 shock that temporarily deprived him of the power of 
 motion. So we see a face in the crowd, and do not 
 know that we have seen it, until, an hour later per 
 haps, we realize it with a start, and all it implies. 
 
 It was a full minute before Captain Hamilton 
 recollected himself sufficiently to notice that he 
 was standing in a pool of half-frozen snow. He 
 pulled himself together, and hurried on. If he 
 had met Cunliffe at that moment, it is probable 
 that he would have arrested him then and there, 
 and taken him to the Central Office. But at all 
 events he had completed the chain of evidence 
 against him to his own satisfaction ; and though 
 Cunliffe might keep out of sight for a time he would 
 be discovered sooner or later, and then 
 
 " I hope that girl isn t in love with the fellow ! " 
 said the Captain to himself, "and yet she must be ! 
 She has been throwing me off the scent, and keep 
 ing me occupied, to give him time to get away ! 
 That s it, though I was too much off guard to see 
 through it at the time. How she can sing ! Well, 
 I d lay odds she doesn t suspect what he s up to, 
 though he s been at it under her very nose ! He s 
 sharp enough to know that if he let her know his 
 game she d drop him like a shot ! Well, just 
 wait till I get hold of him, that s all ! It s a shame 
 that such a girl as she is should be wasting herself 
 on such a blackguard ! " 
 
 So thinking, the Captain took the Bowery cars in 
 the direction of Bleecker Street. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 CAPTAIN HAMILTON, for reasons satisfac 
 tory to those concerned, very seldom made 
 his appearance at police headquarters ; and when 
 he did so it was not in the character of an attache 
 of that institution, but as a gentleman at large, in 
 quest of advice or assistance. His true standing 
 was known to no one except Inspector Byrnes. 
 
 When he arrived there, accordingly, about one 
 o clock in the afternoon, he manifested a becoming 
 unfamiliarity with the geography of the building, 
 and required much guidance to find his way to the 
 detective s sanctum. Once there, however, and 
 the door closed upon him and his chief, this 
 strangeness vanished like a cloud of steam in dry 
 weather. 
 
 " Cunliffe has got off," were his first words. 
 " Went this morning." 
 
 " Have you made all inquiries ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but he had two hours start." He went 
 on to give a brief recapitulation of the events of 
 the morning ; it was particularly brief as regarded 
 his interview with Kitty Clive, for there were one 
 or two reasons why the Captain felt indisposed to 
 
1 5 8 5 UGGES TIONS. 
 
 dilate upon all that he had seen or experienced at 
 the abode of that young lady. 
 
 " There is no proof that he is out of the city," 
 was the Inspector s comment. 
 
 " It is as good as proved that he is the man, 
 though," rejoined the other ; " and it looks as if he 
 had made his pile and left." 
 
 " We can settle that, at any rate. Publish an ad 
 vertisement that will call for an immediate answer. 
 If it is answered promptly, we shall know that he 
 is in the city and has not given up his business. 
 If he doesn t answer it, we may conclude that he is 
 either gone out of town because he is suspicious ; 
 or, if he is still here, does not intend to prose 
 cute his scheme any further." 
 
 " He wrote the letters I m convinced of that," 
 said Hamilton. 
 
 " Meanwhile," continued the Inspector, "we can 
 make the usual investigation at the various points 
 of departure as to whether a person answering his 
 description has been seen. For my part, this move 
 of his seems to me to tell rather in his favor. If he 
 thought he was suspected, he must have perceived 
 that running away would confirm the suspicion, 
 and if he was -guilty, but did not know he was sus 
 pected, there would be nothing to induce him to 
 leave " 
 
 " A scared man does not always stop to reason," 
 Hamilton said ; " and if he does get away to 
 Canada or to Europe, we couldn t get him back." 
 
 gcouts were sent to the various railway stations 
 
SUGGESTIONS. 159 
 
 and steamboat wharves, with the result that a man 
 resembling Cunliffe was reported to have taken a 
 ticket to Boston via the Shore Line Railway that 
 morning. The description of the traveler was 
 neither complete nor satisfactory ; but, assuming 
 the identification to be correct, it indicated that he 
 had probably gone to Canada. Meanwhile, an ad 
 vertisement was put into the paper, and appeared 
 the next morning. 
 
 That evening a telegram was received from Mr. 
 Owens, announcing news. The Inspector and 
 Hamilton, on arriving at his house, were shown a 
 letter from the mysterious blackmailer that had 
 just been received. It was an answer to the adver 
 tisement, and proved conclusively that if Cunliffe 
 were the writer he must still be in New York. 
 
 After replying to the points presented in the 
 advertisement, the letter had these words : 
 
 " It will be useless for you to attempt to discov 
 er who I am. My secret never can be revealed 
 except by myself. I have means of knowing all 
 that is being done to penetrate my concealment, 
 and I adapt my measures accordingly. But unless 
 you cease your efforts, I shall consider it an indi 
 cation that the Lord has resolved to delay your 
 punishment no longer. Be warned, and forbear !" 
 
 When Hamilton was first confronted by this re 
 versal of his confident predictions, he was much 
 crestfallen. But presently his demeanor changed, 
 and he became very preoccupied and silent. He 
 took no part in the discussion that ensued between 
 
1 6 o S UGGE S TIONS. 
 
 Mr. Owens and Inspector Byrnes, and when re 
 ferred to for his opinion contented- himself with 
 acceding to the suggestions which they had made. 
 These suggestions did not embody any thing essen 
 tially novel in the mode of conducting the cam 
 paign, and there was a tacit feeling that the advan 
 tage so far remained with the unknown. But 
 before the three separated Mr. Owens gave utter 
 ance to an idea that had not hitherto been 
 broached. 
 
 " I am beginning to think," he said, " that this 
 affair is not the work of a single man, but is a con 
 spiracy concocted by a syndicate of men whose 
 object is nothing less than Golding s ruin. Some 
 of these men probably hold influential positions in 
 the city, and, between them, are able to obtain 
 information, more or less direct, of our every move 
 ment. If I am. right, we have probably seen only 
 the beginning of the difficulty. They are feeling 
 their way ; but when they have become more famil 
 iar with the ground we may expect some gigantic 
 operation, which will result in widespread ruin and 
 panic. Golding is a powerful man, and in his 
 downfall, if he fell, would be involved incalculable 
 loss to public and private interests ; but a secret 
 combination, defiant of moral principle, and willing 
 to shrink at nothing, possesses boundless capacities 
 for evil, and is much better able than any single 
 rogue would be to defend itself against attack." 
 
 " I don t believe such a conspiracy could exist," 
 returned the Inspector, promptly. "An associV 
 
SUGGESTIONS. 161 
 
 tion of men absolutely devoid of principle, and 
 acting in direct defiance of the laws of the State, 
 could not hold itself together. There could be no 
 effective security against one or the other of them 
 betraying the rest. The risks would be too great 
 and the penalties would be too severe." 
 
 Owens shook his head doubtfully. " The temp- 
 tations are also very strong," he observed. " As 
 for the association together of unprincipled men, 
 that has occurred before, and will again, and the 
 secret has been kept, too long enough, at least, 
 to allow of a great deal of mischief being done. It 
 is when the conspirators begin to quarrel over the 
 plunder that the risk of detection becomes immi 
 nent ; but by that time the harm would be done, 
 so far as we are concerned. Then you must con 
 sider how large the plunder in this case might be. 
 Golding s actual property, vast as it is, is as noth 
 ing compared with the great interests and indus 
 tries which he controls or manages. A band of 
 able and well-informed men, knowing the ropes and 
 having an inside track in affairs, could so manipu 
 late things as to cause the profits of these indus 
 tries to fall into their hands, and yet render it prac 
 tically impossible to convict them of fraud. Besides, 
 there undoubtedly exists a wide-spread business 
 jealousy of Golding and animosity against him, 
 and thousands of persons who had no knowledge 
 of or part in the conspiracy would not be sorry to 
 behold his downfall. Yes, Inspector, such a thing 
 is possible ; and, assuming it to be a fact, we neetl 
 
162 SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 not wonder that our efforts to identify the secre 
 tary of the association have been unsuccess 
 ful." 
 
 " How much has been netted so far by this black 
 mailer or syndicate of blackmailers ? " inquired 
 Captain Hamilton. 
 
 " It is impossible to say at present. The sum may 
 have been large or small, but more likely the latter 
 than the former. As I said, they would only feel 
 their way at first. Meanwhile, they could not dis 
 guise their true purposes better than by this pre 
 tense of ordinary blackmail." 
 
 "Mr. Owens," said the Inspector, after a pause, 
 " you accused me the other day of being cynical. 
 Perhaps I am ; but I don t think I was ever cyni 
 cal on so large a scale as this. And yet you don t 
 like to think ill of any one ! " 
 
 " Not of any one I know personally," replied 
 Owens with a smile. " What I have just suggested 
 is the result of my abstract meditations. I can 
 cipher on a problem without reference to my 
 private benevolence of character." 
 
 " It is a suggestion, sure enough," the Inspector 
 returned, stroking his chin ; " but I must say you 
 haven t convinced me. I still believe that if we 
 can get our hands on the man who wrote those 
 letters the whole business will come to a stop. 
 And, even if you are right, that would still be the 
 first step towards capturing the gang. If one of 
 them is caught tripping, it will be my fault if we 
 don t soon learn who the others are," 
 
SUGGES TIONS. 1 6 3 
 
 " How does my suggestion strike you, Mr. 
 Hamilton ? " Owens asked. 
 
 " I wouldn t like to form a conclusion upon it at 
 once," that gentleman replied, "but, speaking off 
 hand, it doesn t seem to me improbable. A couple 
 of brokers, two or three capitalists, and an out 
 sider or two, might make a very formidable com 
 bination, and a very difficult one to tackle. They 
 could throw out many false scents, and complicate 
 the matter in such a way as to bewilder any body. 
 They might even get the actual criminal work done 
 the letters written by some one who was igno 
 rant of their identity, and comprehended little or 
 nothing of their designs. Thus, if that person 
 were arrested, they would still be comparatively 
 safe, and at all events would have time to take 
 further measures to protect themselves." 
 
 " Whatever our opinions may be, they can be 
 neither more nor less than guessing," the Inspector 
 said, " and I don t see that they would practically 
 help us much. If half the capitalists and brokers 
 in Wall Street were in this supposed conspiracy 
 against Mr. Golding, the fact would involve no 
 essential change in our plan of operations. We 
 shall gain nothing by allowing our attention to be 
 distracted from the writer of the letters ; until we 
 have him, we can do nothing else. It makes no 
 difference whether he is alone, or is acting for a syn 
 dicate, or is aware or not of the full bearing of his 
 act ; let us hunt him down to begin with, and then 
 
1 64 SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 we shall be in a much better position to handle the 
 rest of them if any there are." 
 
 " Well, I agree with you there, Inspector," Owens 
 replied. " But we have already tried about every 
 device that can be thought of, and nothing has come 
 of it." 
 
 " We have inserted advertisements, and given 
 points, with a view to catching him in some of his 
 operations ; but the variations in the stocks have 
 not been large, and, as you say, his gains have 
 probably been small ; and there were so many 
 brokers on each side of the market that it has been 
 impossible to say which one of them all was acting 
 for our man. Suppose, now, that we go into the 
 thing on a bigger scale ? " 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " Something like this. Have you a copy of the 
 cipher key ? " 
 
 " Here it is," said Owens ; and he took from his 
 pocket-book a slip of paper on \\hich was written 
 the following : 
 
 " Bull, Up-town." 
 
 " Bear, Down-town." 
 
 "Western Union, .... Windsor." 
 
 " Erie, Spoon." 
 
 " Manhattan, Salvation." 
 
 " Pacific Mail, Concord." 
 
 " New York Central, . . . Berlin." 
 
 "Lake Shore, Exchange." 
 
 And so on with a number of other stocks, the 
 proper designation of the stock being in each case 
 
SUGGESTIONS. 165 
 
 translated by some arbitrary word to be used as its 
 representative. 
 
 " Now, what I propose is this," the Inspector 
 continued, after glancing over the key. " Select 
 some one of these stocks which is either well above 
 par or well below it, and which there is every 
 probability will remain where it is. If it is a low 
 stock, advertise to the fellow to buy for all he is 
 worth ; and if it is high, tell him to sell, and that 
 you will bull or bear it, as the case may be, enough 
 to make his fortune once for all." 
 
 " But that is the same principle we have been 
 acting on already." 
 
 " The principle is the same, but the scale on 
 which it is applied makes it different in effect. Sup 
 pose you take a stock at 50 one which nobody 
 ever expects to go any higher. Forewarn your 
 man that you are going to bull it. He will imme 
 diately order his brokers to buy all they can lay 
 their hands on. Put a trained man on the floor to 
 watch the bidding. It is ten to one that not more 
 than two firms will be buying at that time ; and of 
 those two the one who is taking in most, and doing 
 it the most quietly, is the firm that our man is deal 
 ing with. When he has got as much as he can hold, 
 jump in and send the thing ahead with all the 
 means at your command, and high enough to make 
 a sensation. Meanwhile, advertise him to sell out 
 when it reaches a certain figure, as you will not be 
 able to push it beyond that. Have your expert on 
 hand when that figure is gained ; and the broker 
 
166 SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 who sells largely then will, I venture to predict, be 
 the same broker you spotted before ; but at any 
 rate it is dollars to cents that he will be our man s 
 broker. The transaction must be so managed that 
 this sale will take place at a juncture when no one 
 else will think of selling, but everybody will be ex 
 pecting the stock to go higher yet ; so that, no 
 matter who may follow his example in unloading, 
 he will be certain to lead the way." 
 
 " That certainly seems to be an improvement on 
 any thing we have tried heretofore," Mr. Owens 
 assented ; " but the stock market is such an un 
 certain thing, and anything extraordinary is so apt 
 to produce a panic, that the result may not be so 
 clearly defined as would seem likely beforehand. 
 It is worth considering, too, that, in case my hy 
 pothesis as to a conspiracy turns out to have some 
 foundation, we should have half-a-dozen or more 
 brokers following our tip instead of only one. 
 However, I think I know of a stock that will 
 answer the purpose very well just at this time, and 
 I will speak to Golding about it and get his 
 opinion." 
 
 This ended the interview ; but after the In 
 spector and Hamilton had taken their departure 
 the latter inquired whether, pending the considera 
 tion of the new scheme, he might be allowed to 
 make another effort to pick up some information 
 about Cunliffe. 
 
 " How now ? Have you got a new clew ? " 
 smiled the Inspector. 
 
SUGGESTIONS. 167 
 
 " An expedient has occurred to me tnat I have 
 not yet tried ; and as I let the man slip through 
 my fingers I don t want to leave any stone un 
 turned to come up with him again." 
 
 " Do as you like," was the rejoinder ; " only keep 
 me informed of your whereabouts, in case of any 
 sudden need." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ON THE ICE. 
 
 JOHN TALBOT, either because of his long legs, 
 or in spite of them, was an excellent skater ; 
 and at the mature age of thirty or more he still 
 retained a great deal of his early liking for the 
 pastime. As a boy he had had enviable oppor 
 tunities, living as he then did at the head of a long 
 and broad valley, watered by a river with scarcely 
 any current. In winter this river was in the habit 
 of overflowing its banks (being assisted therein 
 where necessary by dams judiciously applied) ; and 
 when zero came hurrying down the valley on the 
 wings of the north wind, and worked its will upon 
 the sluggish stream for a night and a day, the 
 fortunate youth of the neighborhood found them 
 selves possessed in fee-simple of a domain of black 
 ice, thirty miles in length by a mile in average 
 breadth. Skates had no chance to get rusty in 
 those days ; and of all who used them John Talbot 
 could go the fastest and cut the most surprising 
 and sweeping circumbendibuses. 
 
 In comparison with so grand an arena, the 
 narrow boundaries of the pond in Central Park 
 
ON THE ICE. 169 
 
 were nothing less than comic ; but one gets ac 
 customed to any thing, even to living for twenty 
 years in a six by four stone dungeon, beneath low- 
 water mark. Accordingly John had for several 
 years past been in the custom of coming to the 
 pond, once in a while, on winter evenings after 
 business hours, and there, shod with gleaming steel, 
 giving the city bumpkins an idea of how they cut 
 up didos down east. 
 
 But during the winter of our story, his engage 
 ment to Miss Betty Claverhouse occurred, and gave 
 him something even better than skating to think 
 about. But the soul of man is an abyss which can 
 never be filled ; and John Talbot, having made sure 
 of Miss Betty Claverhouse, presently bethought 
 himself whether he might not take in the Central 
 Park pond likewise. Upon opening the subject 
 to Betty, it appeared that skating was not 
 among that admirable girl s accomplishments. 
 But among her many virtues was a willingness to 
 follow John s advice and adopt his suggestions in 
 all things ; and when he represented to her the joys 
 of the frosty science, and pictured the attractive 
 appearance of the young ladies who practiced it, 
 and furthermore dwelt upon the ridiculous ease 
 and rapidity wherewith proficiency in it might be 
 acquired" Why," quoth John, in comparison 
 with type-writing, for instance, it is easier than fall 
 ing off a hickory log ! "when, I say, he had dis 
 coursed to her in this vein for a half hour or so, Betty 
 was not only anxious to make her debut upon the 
 
17 ON THE ICE. 
 
 pond forthwith, but was well-nigh persuaded that 
 she would be able to do the outward roll back 
 wards, and to cut her initials, at the first attempt. 
 
 Thereupon, "not to let the iron grow cool, John 
 took the measure of her foot ; and on his way 
 home the next afternoon he bought her as good a 
 pair of skates as were to be had in New York City. 
 Then, having eaten a hearty dinner together, and 
 Betty having been fortified against the cold with 
 plentiful wrappings, breast-plates, greaves, and 
 gauntlets, the two young people embarked on a 
 horse-car, and traveled up-town on their way to 
 Central Park. 
 
 " Skating," said John, as they left the car at 
 Fifty-ninth Street and proceeded on their way 
 afoot, " is like falling in love. You are surprised, 
 when you try it, to find how easy and agreeable it 
 is." 
 
 " Falling in skating may be as easy," Betty 
 replied (for she now began to feel vague apprehen 
 sions stiring within her feminine mind), " but 
 I m sure it can t be as agreeable. Dear me ! look 
 there ! That poor girl was only just standing still, 
 and all of a sudden she fell over backwards with an 
 awful bump ! " 
 
 " She should not have stood still," said John 
 calmly. " That is one of the most difficult feats to 
 accomplish on the ice, and only the most skillful 
 professors should venture to attempt it. That girl 
 will know better another time. Thanks to her 
 example, Betty, you know better already." 
 
ON THE ICE. 171 
 
 Partly reassured, Betty seated herself on a bench 
 and allowed her betrothed to fasten on her skates. 
 Then, sitting down beside her, he put on his own, 
 " Now catch hold of my arm and stand up," said he. 
 
 " Goodness ! how tall they make one," murmured 
 Betty, as she arose. " But what makes my ankles 
 feel so loose ? Oh, John, I m sure something s 
 wrong !" 
 
 " You ll catch the idea directly." John replied. 
 " Here we go ! " And putting his arm under her 
 shoulders, he went forward a few paces, carrying 
 rather than leading her with him. This brought 
 them to the ice, and Talbot, giving a slight push 
 with one foot, glided out upon the surface, Betty 
 perforce accompanying. 
 
 So far all was well enough; but as Talbot swung 
 round at the end of his slide, his companion, who was 
 unprepared for such a maneuver, went all to pieces. 
 The foot furthest from him followed his course ; 
 the other foot continued on its direct course ; 
 the consequence was that they crossed, tripping each 
 other up, and somehow shooting upwards, Betty 
 clutched her lover with a despairing grasp, one hand 
 fastening upon his sleeve, the other upon the scarf 
 which encircled his neck, causing the knot to tighten 
 with such a jerk that John s eyes almost started 
 out of his head. Involuntarily, and without a due 
 regard to ultimate consequences, he strove to avert 
 strangulation with his free hand. But fate, in the 
 guise of Betty, was not to be denied. She achieved 
 a wild evolution, in which all the members of her 
 
I? 2 OA r THE ICE. 
 
 frame took part, though in disjointed and incon 
 gruous ways. This evolution was ^performed in a 
 moment of time, and the most unimpassioned spec 
 tator would have found it impossible to analyze its 
 component parts and place them in their due 
 chronological order. As for John, who could 
 scarcely be regarded as a spectator, and who, at 
 that particular juncture, was certainly not unim 
 passioned, he was only conscious of an earthquake, 
 accompanied by a cyclone, in the midst of which 
 the whole surface of the frozen pond suddenly 
 seemed to stand upright, dart behind him, and hit 
 him a tremendous blow on the back of the head, 
 while Betty rose in the air and, coming heavily in 
 contact with him, knocked all the breath out of his 
 body. That was the way it appeared to him ; but 
 he was unquestionably the victim of a misappre 
 hension. The simple explanation of the phenom 
 ena was that Betty had tripped him up and fallen 
 on him. So far as his physical sensations were 
 concerned, however, it might have happened either 
 way indifferently. The reality was just as painful 
 as the miracle would have been. 
 
 " Considering how short a time we have prac 
 ticed together, Betty, we did that very well," fal 
 tered John, as he began to realize that the after- 
 part of his skull had not expanded to the dimen 
 sions of the prize pumpkin with which his father 
 had taken the medal at the cattle-show eighteen 
 years previous. " Are you hurt ? " 
 
 " No John I think not," she gasped in reply. 
 
(iV 7 HE ICE. 173 
 
 " But oh ! this is dreadful ! Something seemed to 
 catch my heels and pull them up into the air. I m 
 sure you are mistaken in thinking me a good 
 skater." 
 
 " No," returned John, still faintly, as he ex 
 tracted Miss Claverhouse from amongst his ribs 
 and assumed a sitting posture ; "no, Betty, I am 
 never mistaken. The trouble was that I got in 
 your way. You would have done it much better 
 alone." 
 
 "Oh, I don t want to do it all ! " the lady ex 
 claimed, in a tone that carried assurance of her 
 sincerity. " Besides, I heard something crack 
 as we went down, and I m sure we shall tumble 
 in." 
 
 " Don t be alarmed, Betty ; it was only my head 
 that cracked, not the ice ; and my head is too full 
 of brains to admit of your getting into it. It is my 
 heart that is your home, you know. But really, 
 now, don t you want to take just one more turn ? 
 See how pleased the people are with us already ! " 
 
 " Truly, John, I would much rather not. But if 
 you want to I ll sit down and wait till you have 
 finished." 
 
 "Well, no; I don t believe I care so much 
 about skating as I thought I did," replied John, 
 with the air of a cloyed voluptuary. " I don t re 
 member remarking it before, but it is a great draw 
 back having the ice hard, instead of soft, like a 
 feather mattress. Let s see ; do you think you 
 could skate to the bank ? " 
 
174 ON THE ICE. 
 
 11 If you pulled me I think I could get there 
 sitting." 
 
 " Perhaps that would be best. It is a new figure 
 in skating, though not so exciting as our first one. 
 Here goes, then ; but try to look as if you were 
 accustomed to it." 
 
 With this admonition John climbed wearily to 
 his feet, and laying hold of Betty by the tail of her 
 jacket, he drew her gently to the shore. No cas 
 ualty attended this performance ; and Betty 
 schooled her features into an expression of strained 
 placidity which added greatly to the picturesque 
 effect. 
 
 The skates were removed. John gave Betty his 
 arm, and they started homewards. " After all," he 
 said, " perhaps you had better not give up type 
 writing for the career of a professional skater. The 
 competition is almost as great ; and, taking one 
 thing with another, I m not sure that you don t ap 
 pear to as good advantage at the type-writer as on 
 the ice." 
 
 " I shouldn t mind about that, John, dear, if you 
 were pleased with me ; but I agree with you that 
 type-writing suits me best. Besides, I can do that 
 without your help. By the way, what made you 
 send that man to me ? " 
 
 " Send you a man, Miss Claverhouse ! What 
 man ? " 
 
 " Mr. Hamill, you know. I couldn t do it at 
 home, because I have no machine there ; and I m 
 kept busy all the time at the office." 
 
ON THE ICE. 175 
 
 \p> 
 " Pray, my dear, what doesjMr. Hamill want you 
 
 to do for him ? And in the firpt place, who the devil 
 is Mr. Hamill ? " 
 
 " Oh, John ! why, I only know him from you. 
 If you didn t want me to know him, why did you 
 send him to me ? " 
 
 John was silent a moment, and then asked, 
 u What sort of a looking man was Mr. Hamill ? " 
 
 " Oh, I think he looks nice enough, don t you ? 
 He talks like an Englishman, and has side whiskers 
 too. But of course there are plenty of people who 
 can do his copying easier than I could." 
 
 " He wanted some copying done, did he ? " 
 
 " Why, John, how funny you are ! He said you 
 told him I could. You must have been thinking of 
 something else when you were talking to him." 
 
 " I guess I must have been. Did he ask you 
 any thing about me ? or about Mr. Cowran ? or about 
 yourself ? " 
 
 " No : I think Mr. Cunliffe was the only one he 
 spoke of." 
 
 " Yes ; and what did he say about Cunliffe ? " 
 
 " Let me see ! He asked whether you had 
 heard from him since he went away." 
 
 " What did you tell him ? " 
 
 " I said that I only knew of one letter, written 
 when he got to Boston and had just seen that 
 man. You know." 
 
 " I know. Well ? " 
 
 " Well, we talked about that a few minutes ; and 
 then he asked whether he was going to stay in Bos- 
 
1/6 OA T THE ICE. 
 
 ton, and oh, I don t know ! There was nothing 
 of any consequence. But what matfe you think I 
 could do any work for him ? " 
 
 " It is a peculiarity of mine that I sometimes say 
 one thing when I think I am saying just the oppo 
 site. It is called heterophemy, and is characteristic 
 of many great men. Is Mr. Hamill going to call 
 again ? " 
 
 " No, I suppose not. He said he was sorry that 
 he couldn t engage me ; and by the way, I forgot ? " 
 
 " What did you forget ? " 
 
 " Why, he asked me not to say any thing to you 
 about it, because it might hurt your feelings. But 
 I didn t see why it should hurt your feelings, so I 
 didn t remember not to." 
 
 " I ll forgive you ! " said John. But he was very 
 taciturn the rest of the way home. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CUNLIFFE S BENEFACTOR. 
 
 INASMUCH as Miss Claverhouse has spoken of 
 a letter written by Frank Cunliffe to his friend 
 John Talbot, it would seem scarcely courteous to 
 withhold the letter from the reader, especially as it 
 may serve to enlighten a situation which has 
 already become somewhat obscure. 
 
 The letter was a long one, and was dated at 
 Boston, a couple of days after Cunliffe s mysterious 
 disappearance. After touching upon a few unim 
 portant matters, it continued as follows : 
 
 " But I have not yet told you the occasion of my 
 abrupt departure. Three nights ago, when I got 
 home rather late from the club, I found a letter on 
 my table with the Boston post-mark. The hand 
 writing was unfamiliar to me ; and I should have 
 suspected it of being a dunning application, only 
 that, so far as I could remember, I had never 
 bought anything in Boston that I had not paid for, 
 if, indeed, I ever bought any thing there besides a 
 cigar, a pair of gloves, or a ticket to the theater. 
 I was tired, however, and thought I wouldn t open 
 the letter until the next morning. But when I got 
 undressed, and was sitting before the fire in my 
 
J 7 CUNLIFFE S BENEFACTOR. 
 
 dressing gown, I lighted a cigarette, and then I 
 thought I might as well have a look at that letter. 
 So I opened it ; and looked first at the signature. 
 
 " Did I ever happen to speak to you of Fowler 
 Morgan ? probably not, for I had almost forgotten 
 him myself. I knew him when I was in college, 
 which is now a good many years since. He was 
 considerably older than I, and was in the law- 
 school when I entered the Freshman class. He 
 took a fancy to me for some reason I forget what 
 and we were a great deal together. I both liked 
 him and disliked him. I knew him to be an un 
 principled man ; but there was a fascination about 
 him : there was something undeveloped in me that 
 sympathized with something developed in him. 
 He would come into my room and talk to me by 
 the hour, telling me all sorts of things about him 
 self and his experiences, and what he meant to do 
 in the world : I listened to it all, though there was 
 a great deal that I had better not have listened to. 
 I felt that he was inoculating me with low views of 
 life views which I disapproved of ; and yet I 
 liked him to come, and preferred his company to 
 any one else s. 
 
 " His mother had saved up money enough to 
 send him to the law-school ; but he admitted to 
 me that he was studying the law only in order to 
 be able with more safety to evade or defy it. He 
 used to say that society was a humbug, and that 
 every body would be a thief if he knew how to be 
 without getting punished. I m just like all the 
 
CUNLIFFES BENEFACTOR. 179 
 
 rest of them, he said, except that I m not afraid. 
 I don t want any sentiment or religion or nice 
 sense of honor in mine. I m going to get money 
 and have a good time ; and I m not going to starve 
 myself to death either ! 
 
 " * You re a nice boy, he often used to say to 
 me, but you haven t got the stuff in you : you re 
 handicapped with ail that nonsense about respect 
 ability and honesty and so on. You ll never make 
 a living for yourself ; if somebody doesn t give you 
 money you ll never have any. They say God helps 
 those who help themselves. I say, the devil helps 
 those who won t help themselves. I ll tell you 
 what I ll do with you, Frank. When I die and 
 I don t expect to live to a hundred I ll leave you 
 my money. I will as sure as I m sitting here. 
 You ll have forgotten all about it by that time ; but 
 it may come in handy just the same. 
 
 " Of course, I thought nothing of that, and for 
 got about it, as he had said I would, very soon after 
 he left the college. I have never known, from 
 that day to this, what he did with himself. 
 At intervals rather long ones I used to run 
 across him ; he always greeted me on the same foot 
 ing as of old ; but his proceedings were evidently 
 not of the kind that seek the light, and he has 
 occasioimlly warned me not to call him by his real 
 name. I fancy he was in jail at one time, though 
 I don t know what for. As you may imagine, I was 
 not exactly proud of my acquaintance with him, 
 though still I always felt that old unregenerate lik- 
 
I So CUNLIFFES BEXEFACTO1\ 
 
 ing for him. Later, I believe he got into poli 
 tics, under some other name ; and I* presume that 
 is where he made his money. 
 
 " I also have reason to think that he was married 
 atone time, but he never spoke to me of having a 
 wife, and probably they did not live together. After 
 wards he drifted out of my field of vision alto 
 gether, and I have not seen him for a number of 
 years I don t know exactly how many. I have 
 always suspected him of being a thorough-paced 
 rogue ; but I have always been careful not to seek 
 confirmation of this suspicion ; and several times, 
 when he has seemed to be on the point of telling 
 me some episode of his career, I have stopped him, 
 and said that I preferred to know nothing about it. 
 
 " Well, that was the state of affairs as between 
 him and me when I opened the letter the other 
 night. The name signed at the end of it was 
 Fowler Morgan. 
 
 " I read the letter with a good deal of interest ; 
 and my interest increased as I went on. It was 
 a queer document, rambling and rather inco 
 herent at first, but presently I gathered that the 
 man was ill and expected to die. This statement 
 was accompanied with a good deal of sacrilegious 
 allusion, characteristic of him, but unusually revolt 
 ing in such a connection. He went on to say that 
 he was alone in the world, and had no one but his 
 lawyer and doctor to look after him. I want to 
 see you, Frank, before I peg out, the letter contin 
 ued, and I don t want you to lose a minute in com- 
 
CUNUFFVS BENEFACTOR. 181 
 
 ing here, either. We were always pals, in a sort of 
 way, and 1 could have made a man of you, if you 
 had had more sense ; but, any way, you were about 
 the only man I took a real shine to ; and I ll 
 prove it, too, before I m done with you. But you 
 needn t think I m such a fool as to suppose that you 
 would travel two hundred miles at this time of the 
 year to see a pal who is dying and has no one to 
 say a good word to him. Oh, no, I know a trick 
 worth two of that ! You come here, Frank, and 
 you ll find it the most paying investment you ever 
 made. It s a straight tip I m giving you, my boy. 
 Do you remember a promise I made to you when 
 we were in the college together ? I do if you don t : 
 and I can keep a promise, when I want to, as well 
 as another man. Come down here by the next 
 train, my boy, and give me a chance to show 
 that I m a man of my word ! 
 
 " I read the letter over, and smoked another 
 cigarette ; and by the time I had finished that I had 
 made up my mind to go to Boston the next day. I 
 had more than one reason for being willing to go. 
 Things have occurred lately that have made me un 
 easy and nervous, and a change of scene would be a 
 relief. Whether it was a fancy of mine or not, I have 
 had an impression of late that I was being dogged 
 by detectives ; and this seemed a good opportu 
 nity to give them the slip. Then there was the wish 
 (stronger than you might suppose, or than I myself 
 should have considered likely beforehand) to stand 
 by Morgan in his last hours ; and finally, I am free 
 
T 82 CUNLIFFE S BENEFACTOR. 
 
 to confess that his hint as to a legacy had no small 
 influence with me. 1 have been hard^up lately, and 
 at my wits end to know what to do. This seemed 
 a solution ; at all events I went ; and in order not to 
 be annoyed by my detectives (real or imaginary) I 
 was at the pains to get up at half-past five the next 
 morning and leave the house an hour later, 
 after having given the housemaid five dollars to ad 
 mit no inquisitive persons to my rooms, should any 
 call, and to answer no questions should any be asked. 
 
 " I got my breakfast at a restaurant on Sixth 
 Avenue (feeling a good deal like a defaulting bank 
 cashier on his way to Canada, except that I had no 
 stolen funds in my possession), read the papers, 
 smoked a cigar, and then set out for the railway 
 station ; and, as luck would have it, 1 met a fellow 
 I knew on the corner of Forty-second Street. 
 However, I got off all safe, and arrived here in due 
 course. After getting a room at the hotel, I had 
 some dinner, and then went to the address given in 
 Morgan s letter. 
 
 " It was a commonplace, respectable-looking 
 house near the outer confines of Tremont Street. 
 I was admitted at once on giving my name, and 
 found the interior as featureless and barren as the 
 outside. Every thing was orderly "and conven 
 tional, but entirely without character or individu 
 ality ; no doubt an upholsterer had been given a 
 certain sum of money and ordered to * furnish up 
 to it according to his own taste. This interior 
 gave me a new impression of the essential empti- 
 
CUtfLIFFE S BENEFACTOR. 183 
 
 ness and barrenness of Morgan s mind. His brain 
 was always busy plotting and contriving, but he 
 had no resources, no character, no moral or intel 
 lectual substance out of which to make any thing. 
 He might be the occasion of a lot of mischief, but 
 he was nothing but a sort of phantom, after all. 
 
 " I was taken up to his bed-room, and there he 
 was lying in the bed, with his night-dress on, and a 
 servant, or hired nurse, to attend to him and give 
 him his medicine. He was as pale as a corpse 
 already, and as thin as a mummy ; but his face was 
 newly shaven, his hair oiled and brushed, and his 
 mustache waxed. He used to be a handsome fel 
 low, and was always a dandy in his personal appear 
 ance. He kept that instinct up still. 
 
 " He gave me a lean, cold hand, and grinned, 
 showing his white teeth, and wrinkling the skin 
 about his mouth and eyes. His voice was very low, 
 but it had the same jaunty tone as ever, and his 
 conversation was as plentifully sprinkled with pro 
 fanity. If he had ever committed wickedness in his 
 life (as there can be no doubt he had), it was evi 
 dent that he felt not the slightest remorse, and only 
 so much comprehension of what remorse meant as 
 to be anxious to show none. Did you ever see a 
 death-bed repentance ? They may be edifying ; 
 but this spectacle made me realize as vividly as any 
 thing what an ugly and horrible thing it must be to 
 live and die without ever having cared to do or to 
 be any thing good or useful. 
 
 " * I know what you came for, Frank, he said at 
 
184 CUNT.TFFFS BENEFACTOR. 
 
 last. You came for money, d you! don t 
 
 deny it. Well, I m going to hell, and have no more 
 use for mine, so you can have it. Much good may 
 it do you, my boy ! May you keep drunk for 
 twelve months and commit all the crimes in the 
 calendar ! But you ll never have as good a time as 
 I ve had ! I ve beaten every thing and every body 
 that I ve had any thing to do with. Oh, I ve been 
 a devil : nobody ever touched me that didn t regret 
 it ! It s just as I told you when we started out 
 society is a set of frauds and cowards, and the only 
 men who get any solid satisfaction out of lite are 
 the men of my sort ! Look at me now ! 
 
 " I did look at him ; and he must have seen 
 something in my face that told him what I was 
 thinking of. It seemed to put him out a little ; the 
 swagger that he immediately assumed had some 
 thing appealing and pathetic in it. 
 
 " * I m all right ! he said. What if I am rot 
 ting in my coffin by this time to-morrow ? I ve 
 had my fling, haven t I ? No one has got ahead of 
 me, has there ? Is there any man or woman, living 
 or dead, can say that they ever found a soft place 
 in Fowler Morgan? Do you suppose that doesn t 
 make me feel good ? You don t know me ! They 
 can come and spit at me when I m dead, G d 
 
 d n em ! but that isn t now. The only thing 
 
 I m sorry for is that my dying won t 
 
 " However, I don t know why I should repeat 
 all the ravings this poor devil indulged in ; it was 
 bad enough to hear them once for all. Meanwhile 
 
CUNLIFFES BENEFACTOR. 185 
 
 he was dying fast, and he knew it ; and v.hat was 
 more, he was really in ghastly terror of the end, 
 and was talking to try and keep up his courage. 
 His voice grew so low that I could scarcely hear it. 
 At ten o clock that evening the doctor came in a 
 fine, ruddy, powerful-looking fellow and examined 
 him. The disease was some affection of the vis 
 cera, and was now in its last stages. Morgan kept 
 his eyes on the doctor with an odd expression, as. 
 if he would have liked to drink his blood and so 
 get the health and strength that were so conspic 
 uous in him ; and though he seemed to hate him 
 for being so well and hearty, yet he found a sort of 
 comfort in having him near ; and at last he said, 
 Say, doc, what will you take to stay here until 
 to-morrow? The doctor said he couldn t do it. 
 Come, now, said Morgan, take a thousand dol 
 lars and stay ! I ll give you cash. The doctor 
 shook his head. Morgan went on raising his bid 
 until he had offered him ten thousand dollars to 
 spend the night in that room. Then the doctor 
 looked him in the face and said, I d stay for noth 
 ing if it would do you any good. But it would 
 not, and I have other patients to look after ; I want 
 my regular fee, and no more. Morgan said, If 
 
 you don t stay, G d d n your soul, you shall 
 
 have nothing ! Now, then ! Ten thousand dollars 
 or nothing ! And with that he dragged out a wallet 
 from under the pillow, and actually took out of it 
 ten one thousand dollar bills, and shook them at 
 the doctor, and whispered he could not speak 
 
1 86 CUNLIFFE S BENEFACTOR. 
 
 aloud There you are ! Ten thousand or noth 
 ing ! The doctor just turned td the nurse and 
 gave some directions about the medicine, and then 
 moved towards the door. I expected to^see Mor 
 gan fly into a fury of rage ; but instead of that he 
 quieted right down and said : Say* doc, how am I 
 getting on ? how long do you give me ? The doc 
 tor faced about on him and said : Do you want to 
 know the truth? Yes, if you know how to tell 
 it. The doctor waited a moment or two, as if 
 doubting whether to take him at his word or not ; 
 at last he replied, You can t live longer than till 
 noon to-morrow. Then he went out. 
 
 " Morgan glanced at me with a terrible expres 
 sion ; but the next instant he forced one of his 
 grins and said : " There goes a liar and a fool. 
 He thought he d scare me, but I m more of a man 
 than he is, now ! As for the money, it ll go into 
 your pocket instead of his, that s all. He stuffed 
 the bills back in his wallet, and then lay for a 
 long time an hour at least without uttering a 
 word. I can only imagine what his thoughts were 
 during that time. I would not have liked 
 to have had them. Finally he roused himself and 
 stared round the room, ending at last on me. He 
 had changed ; his nerve was leaving him ; every 
 little while he gave a shiver, and glanced about 
 as if something frightened him. That s right, 
 Frank, he said to me ; you won t go back on me, 
 will you? I ll make it right with you, never fear ! 
 This is my bad time ; I ll be all right again in 
 
CUNLIFFES BENEFACTOR. 187 
 
 the morning. He kept shivering more and more, 
 and his face grew even more haggard. It was 
 hideous to see those carefully waxed mustaches on 
 such a face. By and by he got hold of his wallet 
 again, and took a key out of it, and told me to un 
 lock a desk near the bed, and bring him what I 
 found in it. There were two wills, dated the same 
 day, and, as I saw when he opened them, signed 
 and attested. He put his hand on one of them and 
 whispered, * This gives it to you. If you hadn t 
 come, I d have burned it and kept the other. He 
 lay there holding one of the wills in one hand and 
 the other in the other ; and so he lay, shivering 
 and glaring, and now and then making odd little 
 noises in his throat thin, falsetto sounds until 
 nearly four in the morning. 
 
 " I was not in the least sleepy, but I have never 
 passed such disagreeable hours as those were. I 
 wanted to go away I d have given all the little I m 
 worth to have done it but I couldn t. I felt that 
 so long as he was human I must stay with him. 
 At four o clock he sat up in bed, and I thought 
 something ugly was going to happen. But he said 
 he wanted to be moved over to the fire. 
 
 " There was a big open grate, with a heaped 
 up, glowing coal. fire in it. At one side of it was 
 a sofa for the nurse to sleep on. It was his idea to 
 be lifted on to that. We took him up and laid him 
 there, and pulled round the sofa so that it stood 
 in front of the fire, for he seemed unable to get 
 warm enough. There he lay, with a will in either 
 
1 83 ?Utff.tFPE*S BENEFACTOR. 
 
 hand ; and when he found himself settled to hi^ 
 satisfaction he turned to me with a cunning leer 
 and said, * Now I ve got you. If you stir out of 
 this room, I ll put your will on the fire. If you 
 stay till the doctor comes in the morning, I ll buril 
 the other. I said nothing ; the whole situation 
 made me feel sick. Do you know who the other 
 is in favor of ? he asked. It s in favor of the 
 man I hate most in the world ! he said. 
 
 " So there I sat and waited for what, was more 
 than I could tell. It seemed like a sort of race 
 between death, Morgan, and myself. Death was 
 sure to catch him before long ; but Morgan lay 
 ready to do the most harm he could to the only 
 man in the world who could be called his friend, 
 if that man should turn aside before the race was 
 over. As for me, as I sat there I conceived such 
 a loathing of this money of Morgan s, and of the 
 idea that I was going to inherit it, and such a dis 
 gust at this sordid suspense, that more than once 
 I was on the point of jumping up and throwing 
 the wretched will into the fire myself, or leaving 
 the room in order that he might do so. But I 
 abstained, not, as I honestly think, from any base 
 motive, but because after all the man was dying, 
 and he wished me to be there. He was treating 
 me as if I were the lowest kind of sneak and black 
 guard ; and yet he considered me, I suppose, as 
 good a man as had ever lived in the world, and 
 cared for me as much as such a man as he was 
 capable of caring for any body. It was a strange 
 
CUNLIFFE S BENEFACTOR. 
 
 he 
 
 and revolting position ; and I shall never - ec j 
 get it. 
 
 u During the last hours of darkness not a syllable 
 was uttered by anybody ; I sat most of the time 
 looking at the fire ; but I was conscious of Mor 
 gan s eye fixed upon me, watching me as a cat 
 watches a mouse, or rather as one man watches 
 another whom he suspects of an intention to mur 
 der him. I felt, and perhaps he did, that the 
 strain was wearing on him, and would probably 
 shorten the few hours he had to live ; indeed, he 
 weakened and sank visibly ; but he held on with a 
 forlorn, ghastly pertinacity ; there was nothing else 
 for him in the world. 
 
 " At last the light of dawn shone through the 
 crevices of the blinds into the gas-lit room ; and I 
 could hear the wind rising and sweeping down the 
 street, pure and freezing, making me loathe still 
 more the hot, close air of the bedchamber. Sounds 
 began to be audible from without : people hurrying 
 along, and a horse-car jingling by. Another change 
 came over Morgan, and it came suddenly ; he 
 seemed to sink all at once into a heap ; his head 
 fell forward on his breast, and he breathed short 
 and sharply, trying to moisten his lips with his 
 tongue ; his eyes rolled this way and that in a kind 
 of speechless terror and despair. I held a glass of 
 water to his mouth, and he tried to drink some, 
 but could not. 
 
 " The door-bell rang downstairs. The sound 
 went through Morgan s body tike, a galvanic shock. 
 
1 8$ 
 
 CUNLIFFE S BliNEFA CTOR. 
 hand : 
 
 satirised up, gasping for breath, anc] .stretching 
 
 arneck towards the door. Steps were coming up- 
 
 otairs ; the door opened, and there was the doctor. 
 
 " Morgan gave a cry ; whether it signified triumph, 
 or rage, or whether it was an involuntary shriek of 
 exhausted strength, I don t know. He twisted 
 himself round toward the fire, and swayed over, 
 with the will in his hand, as if to put it on the coals. 
 I sprang to save him, but I was not in time. He 
 fell over into the grate, with his face against the 
 red-hot coals, and had lain so for a second or more 
 before the doctor and I could pull him off. We 
 laid him on his back on the sofa. His face was 
 already unrecognizable hideously disfigured. I 
 think that he lived for a few minutes after, but I am 
 not sure ; it may have been simply an involuntary 
 quivering of the nerves. 
 
 " Meanwhile, the will that he had put on the 
 fire had burned up, without either of us attending 
 to it. But when Morgan was quite dead, the doc 
 tor picked up the other will, which lay on the floor 
 beside the fender, and, after glancing at it, said 
 rather drily, I may congratulate you, General 
 Weymouth. That is your name, I suppose ? 
 
 " I didn t understand him. * My name is Cun- 
 liffe, I said. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ! This will devises the 
 property to General Weymouth, and I presumed, as 
 he burned the other, that you must be the heir. I 
 know the burned will was in favor of a Mr. Cun- 
 liffe, for I witnessed the signature. I hope the 
 
CUNLIFFE S BENEFACTOR. *9 l 
 
 poor creature made no mistake at the last," he 
 added, giving me a sudden glance, and destroyed 
 the one he meant to save. 
 
 " It was a moment before I comprehended what 
 had happened ; but when I did, a load went off my 
 soul and left me feeling all over new ; such a 
 burst of joy I never experienced ; and I knew what 
 it meant to thank God. As soon as I could speak, 
 I said, There was no mistake, doctor. Mr. Mor 
 gan did just as I wished him to do. 
 
 " < Ah ! he said, with another keen look. * Well ; 
 if you are content, no one else has a right to com 
 plain. But all this is rather irregular. We must get 
 a lawyer or somebody to take the proper measures 
 here. If you consent, I will send one of the ser 
 vants ; he rang the bell, and the servant was de 
 spatched on his errand. The doctor and the nurse 
 busied themselves with the body, and I opened 
 the window blinds and stood looking out. 
 
 " Thank God it fell out as it did. But it is an 
 interesting speculation whether Morgan burned the 
 will he meant to ; and, if not, whether he realized 
 before he died that he had enriched the man he 
 called his worst enemy ! " 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 IN DOUBT. 
 
 S~" UCH was the substance of the letter written by 
 Cunliffe to John Talbot, who communicated 
 something of its general purport to the mistress of 
 his heart, Miss Betty Claverhouse. Betty, in turn 
 had given certain echoes of it to that interesting 
 stranger, Mr, Hamill, and Mr. Hamill, acting upon 
 the hints thus obtained, started for Boston, and 
 arrived there an hour after Cunliffe, having at- 
 iended Morgans funeral, had left Boston on his 
 way back to New York. The events of his sojourn 
 there had made a profound impression on him. 
 
 His first act upon reaching the city was to call 
 on Kitty Clive. He told her the story of his ex 
 perience, and she had no difficulty in recognizing 
 in Fowler Morgan the Fowler whom General Wey- 
 mouth had mentioned to her in the narrative of 
 his own life. It was apparent, therefore, that Mor 
 gan had at least contemplated an act of restitu 
 tion ; and either accident, or possibly some incal 
 culable caprice of the mind at the very moment of 
 dissolution, had carried the remote contingency 
 into actual effect. General Weymouth would be 
 a couple of hundred thousand dollars the richer; 
 
IN- DOUBT. 193 
 
 "but," said Cunliffe, turning a grave look upon 
 Kitty, after she had enlightened him as to the 
 general s relations with Morgan, " I have had a 
 lesson which is worth a great deal more than that 
 to me." 
 
 " I am glad of that," she replied ; " and I am 
 glad that the general is to get restitution at last ; 
 but for all that I wish you could have had at least 
 half of the money." 
 
 " Such money could have brought me no good," 
 he replied. " The only money worth having is 
 what a man honestly earns or, at the least, 
 honestly inherits for himself. If I had taken 
 Morgan s money, I should have made myself a 
 party to his rascality. If the temptation had been 
 offered me, I hope I should have been man enough 
 to resist it ; but I am glad I was not given the 
 opportunity." 
 
 " But if you had not known that the money was 
 fraudulently come by and it is only the accident 
 of my acquaintance with the general that gave you 
 the knowledge then, surely, there would have 
 been no reason to refuse." 
 
 " It may sound Quixotic in me if I say that I 
 would refuse," answered Cunliffe, " and I am not 
 speaking of the abstract rights of the question, but 
 only as it affects myself. If you had seen what I 
 have seen during these last few days you would 
 think as I do. I have always felt that there was a 
 great deal in me that was like Morgan, and that, if 
 our circumstances had been reversed, I might have 
 
194 IN DOUBT. 
 
 become very much as he was. But even as it is, if 
 1 have done no active and malicious mischief, I 
 have done no good. I have had no aim but to be 
 as idle and comfortable as I could. 1 have spent 
 all my income on myself, and when I lost it, 
 instead of setting to work to get some honest em 
 ployment, I only sat down and wished that some 
 thing would turn up to relieve me. Now that I 
 look back upon it I can see that I was not very far 
 from becoming a criminal then, and if Morgan had 
 come to me at that time, and proposed some shady 
 transaction or other, that was not too openly and 
 brazenly flagitious, I believe I should have been in 
 great danger of striking hands with him. And if I 
 had once begun, I know enough of myself to know 
 that I would not have stopped this side of State 
 prison." 
 
 " You know yourself very little to think such a 
 thing," returned Kitty, the color coming slowly 
 into her face. 
 
 " You have never felt criminal impulses, and you 
 can not judge of them. I have felt, for some weeks 
 past, a sensation as if, somehow, crime were not 
 far off from me, and that notion about which I 
 spoke to you, that I was being dogged by detec 
 tives, was probably connected with it." 
 
 Kitty moved her head as if about to speak, but 
 on second thought seemed to alter her purpose. 
 She kept regarding Cunliffe with a troubled look. 
 
 " Such a man as I am can not afford to run any 
 risks with his moral character," he went on, " and 
 
IN DOUBT. *95 
 
 I have made up my mind to strike out a new path 
 while the influence of this experience is still fresh 
 upon me. I have sent in my resignation to the 
 club, and to-morrow I am going to look for some 
 thing to do. And I will find something, too, if it s 
 only to be janitor to an apartment-house." 
 
 " I do not say you ought to do nothing," Kitty 
 observed in an abstracted tone. " I dare say that 
 some business that is suited to you would make 
 you happy, no matter whether you actually needed 
 the money it brought you or not. But that is no 
 reason why you should refuse money that you had 
 not earned if it came to you. Suppose, for instance, 
 that Maxwell Golding could be compelled to restore 
 you the money you lost in his stocks wouldn t 
 you feel that you had a right to that ? " 
 
 " I don t want any thing from Maxwell Golding 
 or any body else," returned Cunliffe with a smile. 
 " I lost my money gambling, and Golding, even if 
 he had known that my money was among his win 
 nings, had a perfect right to keep it. Besides, 
 Kitty, it isn t money that I most care for though 
 I shouldn t blame you for thinking otherwise. In 
 fact, it is a good while since I began to care most 
 for something else ; and yet, if this affair had not 
 occurred, I doubt if I should have had the courage 
 and self-respect to acknowledge it to myself or to 
 speak of it to you." 
 
 Something in the tone of his voice seemed to 
 startle Kitty, and an expression of mingled in 
 credulity and fear came into her face. As his eyes 
 
I9 6 IN DOUBT. 
 
 met hers she put out one hand as if to ward off a 
 blow. 
 
 "You must hear it, Kitty," he said, "for this is 
 the time to tell you. I love you." He stood up 
 before her and said again, " I love you, Kitty I 
 am all yours, heart and soul. Don t say you can t 
 you have not tried do try to love me ! to have 
 you my wife ! Kitty, if there is any thing a man 
 may do to win you let me know it ! I can not 
 hear you say no ! I love you you are heaven and 
 earth to me you are the only want and passion of 
 my heart ! Say that I spoke too soon, or that you 
 haven t thought of it that you must have time,, 
 but don t tell me that you can never love me ! " 
 
 She leaned back in her chair and pressed her 
 hands over her eyes. " Oh, Frank, Frank ! " she 
 said. 
 
 " It need not be now ; only let it be to come," he 
 went on. "I told you now because this is the 
 beginning of a new life. I am going to begin to 
 be a man ; I only want you to let me feel that, if I 
 succeed, I may hope to have you ; whatever I 
 became would be worthless without you. Just the 
 hope is all I ask. Can it not be ? It must be ! " 
 
 "I am afraid! I am afraid!" she murmured, 
 still covering her face. " I can t I can never tell 
 you ! " 
 
 " What can you not tell me ? " he said, kneeling 
 on one knee beside her, and trying to draw away 
 her hands. "You need not say you needn t 
 decide this moment whether you care for me, I 
 
IN DOUBT. 197 
 
 didn t expect it, love ; how could I ? Only say you 
 may say you will try ! I will not ask you to be 
 my wife until I can support you, Kitty, and that 
 may be a long while yet." 
 
 " Don t touch me ! " said she in a low but 
 vehement tone. " Let me alone let me think ! 
 I don t know what to do." 
 
 Cunliffe rose and drew back a step, trying to 
 fathom what might be passing in the girl s mind. 
 He was himself in somewhat of a tremor from the 
 strength of the emotion which he had expressed, 
 and which, in its overmastering sway, was a reve 
 lation even to him. We do not know our souls 
 until we strip off the fetters of habit and lethargy 
 that bind them. Cunliffe could see that Kitty was 
 under the influence of some passionate feeling, but 
 of what nature it was beyond him to determine. 
 That he had awakened it seemed evident ; but 
 whether or not he was the subject of it was another 
 question. 
 
 After a minute or two Kitty got up from her 
 chair and paced twice or thrice up and down the 
 room. At length she came up to Cunliffe and took 
 both his hands in hers. 
 
 " Frank, we must both wait before committing 
 ourselves," said she. " I expected nothing so little 
 as this ; I have never imagined you would look on 
 me as any thing but a friend a friend and cousin. 
 As long as I was only that, it did not make much 
 difference what else I was, or what I did. But to 
 be the only woman in the world to you that would 
 
] 9 IN DOUBT. 
 
 change every thing ; it would involve your know 
 ing things that I never meant or wanted you to 
 know. I can only now say that if I had fore 
 seen what was to come I should have acted 
 differently in several ways. I must take 
 counsel with myself, and decide whether 
 this is possible. I want you to be happy, 
 Frank," she added, with a faltering of the 
 voice, " but I don t want you or either of us to 
 make a mistake that could never be rectified. 
 Let every thing be as if you had never spoken, for 
 a few days ; then come again, if you still think it 
 best, and I will talk openly with you. I can say 
 nothing more now, or I would say too much." 
 
 " I have perfect trust in you, Kitty," said Cun- 
 liffe, trying to kiss her hands, which she would not 
 allow. " Nothing can alter the love I feel for you, 
 except to increase it. If you have been drawn into 
 any other engagement " She shook her head 
 " well, then, there can be nothing else to separate 
 us ; I mean, if you can love me." 
 
 She made no reply, but drew her hands from his, 
 and turned her face away from him. He went to 
 the door. 
 
 " I shan t stay away long," said he ; " my thoughts 
 will never be away from you at all. I care for 
 nothing but to be with you always." 
 
 " It shall not be long," she answered, without 
 looking at him ; " but, until then, good-by ! " 
 
 After leaving her, Cunliffe walked along the 
 streets in a state of preoccupation so profound that 
 
7A T DOUBT. 1 99 
 
 he did not know where he was going. At last he 
 came to himself ; and finding, by consulting his 
 watch, that it was late enough for Talbot to have 
 returned home from his office, and his wanderings 
 having brought him into the neighborhood of the 
 house, he repaired thither and found his friend 
 
 in. 
 
 Hullo, Cunliffe, I m glad you came out alive, 
 was the latter s greeting. " You look like your 
 letter, and I couldn t say any worse of you." 
 
 I feel as if I had been away about twenty 
 years," said the other. " Has New York changed 
 much since I was here ? " 
 
 " It is no better. By the way, did you happen to 
 run across any of your New York acquaintances 
 while you were there ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "You know a man named Hamilton, don t 
 
 you ? " 
 
 " Captain Hamilton an Englishmanvisiting at 
 
 the club. Yes." 
 
 " Well, I have reason to think that he is not all 
 that he appears to be ; and when you next meet 
 him I wouldn t confide to him your bosom secrets, 
 if I were you. He might give you away." 
 " What gives you that idea ? " 
 " Oh, a little bird told me. He was looking after 
 you the other day, and when he learned (by an 
 inadvertence of my own, for which I have been 
 kicking myself ever since) that you were gone to 
 Boston he left for that town in such a hurry that 
 
JA r DOUBT. 
 
 he forgot to take the last syllable of his name with 
 him." 
 
 " Are you in earnest ? What is the meaning o f 
 it ?" 
 
 " I am in earnest ; but you ought to know better 
 than I what your sins have been. Don t confess 
 them to me, though ; for in case I am called as a 
 witness I want to be able to say I don t know/ 
 with a clear conscience." 
 
 " Hamilton, of all men ? " muttered Cunliffe, in 
 deep perplexity. " I knew something was going on 
 behind the scenes ; but how comes Hamilton to be 
 mixed up in it ? And what can it be, anyway ? " 
 
 Meanwhile the following telegrams had passed 
 between Boston and the Detective Bureau in New 
 York. The first was from Boston : 
 
 "C. has left here. He attended funeral of No. 
 2007. Suspicious circumstances. Wire instruc 
 tions." To this came the answer : 
 
 " C. certainly not our man. Letter answering 
 personal posted, and received here during his 
 absence. Return at once." 
 
 And Captain Hamilton took the next train to 
 New York. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PANIC. 
 
 CAPTAIN HAMILTON had a quality which, as 
 O much perhaps as any other, has been con 
 ducive to human knowledge and the progress of 
 enlightenment the quality of curiosity. He liked 
 to inform himself as to what other people were 
 doing, and whenever possible to see with his own 
 eyes what was going on. A city like New York 
 affords an almost inexhaustible field of observation 
 to the intelligent foreigner ; and among the many 
 spectacles worth looking at, perhaps none yields 
 in interest to that of Wall Street when speculation 
 is sharp, and quotations are running up and down 
 like the waves of a stormy sea. 
 
 One morning, shortly after the events above nar 
 rated, the Captain found himself on the lower part 
 of Broadway ; and, as luck would have it, he 
 suddenly saw the broad back of Gilbert Cowran a 
 few paces in front of him on the sidewalk. He 
 quickened his steps and overtook him. 
 
 " Oh, Hamilton," said the lawyer, " you are just 
 in time to see some fun. Have you half an hour at 
 liberty ? " 
 
2O2 
 
 PANIC, 
 
 " Always at your service for at least so long," 
 the other replied cheerfully. " What is going on 
 to-day ? " 
 
 " They say that some of the big fellows are out 
 on a foraging expedition. Come along and we ll 
 have a look at them ! " 
 
 "I should like it of all things," said the captain. 
 " I ve been on the Bourse two or three times, and 
 once I saw a young fellow walk quietly out and 
 stand at the top of the steps, and take a revolver 
 out of his pocket and blow the top of his head off. 
 But I understand that it is much more exciting 
 here." 
 
 " We don t blow the tops of our heads off, as a 
 rule," Cowran answered, " but we have plenty of 
 calisthenics, and we exercise our lungs. Americans 
 are not tragic, as a nation not even dramatic ; 
 they believe that a man isn t necessarily beaten 
 because he s knocked down once or twice ; they 
 are always ready to try again, and to help others to 
 do so. But they have tremendous larks, all the 
 same, and sometimes, to tell the truth, the fun 
 gets pretty serious. I know that of my own 
 knowledge." 
 
 " I recollect," said the Captain, smiling. " That 
 time you and Golding had a little bout." 
 
 " As to that matter," remarked Cowran, after a 
 moment s hesitation, " I feel bound to modify some 
 of the language that I used in your hearing the 
 other day. I was very bitter against Golding at 
 the time I was cleaned out, because I believed that 
 
PANIC. 203 
 
 he had done it of malice aforethought, to get me 
 out of the way ; and I have borne a grudge against 
 him for it ever since, and haven t spared to give my 
 opinion of him in season and out. But I am con 
 vinced, now, that I did him injustice. He did not 
 know that I was in the market at the time, and he 
 had not foreseen the contingency that obliged him 
 to reverse all his plans at a moment s notice. What 
 he had said to me previously had been said in good 
 faith. When the affair was over, and I was beg 
 gared, I went to him and spoke my mind without 
 hunting for polite phrases ; and he made no reply 
 whatever ; but when I had finished, he turned in 
 his chair and went on writing. That put me in a 
 greater rage than ever ; but I can understand now 
 that I interpreted his silence the wrong way. He 
 ^had a pride of his own, and when I attacked him 
 without waiting to ask him how it happened he was 
 not going to trouble himself to make any explana 
 tions. I took it for granted that he did all he could 
 to keep me down afterwards ; but he is a bigger 
 man than I gave him credit for being, and really 
 seems to be above personal animosities. I have 
 lately discovered that, so far from trying to keep 
 me down, he was the means of putting within my 
 reach the means of getting up again. He did it, 
 and he took pains not to let me know that he was 
 doing it for fear, I suppose, that I would fling 
 his favors back in his face. But I was in the wrong ; 
 and now, that I am sure of it, I m going to take the 
 first opportunity I can find to tell him so." 
 
PANIC. 
 
 "And a capital thing, too ! " exclaimed the Cap 
 tain cordially. " I m delighted to .hear it ! " 
 
 By this time they had reached the head of Wall 
 Street, where it debouches on Broadway ; and this 
 spot, which is always full of movement, was to-day 
 much more crowded than usual ; the bulk of the 
 current setting down the narrow street, though 
 there were eddies, momentarily stationary, here 
 and there, and also an occasional opposition cur 
 rent, where persons with hurried steps and urgent 
 faces forced their way through the crowd, or glided 
 in and out with cunning evasions, like the argu 
 ments of some super-subtle attorneys. 
 
 As Cowran and his companion worked their way 
 down the street, the press became momentarily 
 greater and the noise of voices more noticeable, 
 while ever and anon louder exclamations or calls 
 rose above the general level of clamor. At the point 
 where Wall Street joins Broad Street, a scene opened 
 out which no one could contemplate without par 
 taking in a greater or less degree of the prevailing 
 excitement. The last-named thoroughfare deserves 
 its name, being more like a long square than a 
 street ; and it was filled to the brim with a crowd 
 of men who were rushing in all directions at once, 
 aimlessly to all appearance, but in reality upon 
 most genuine and definite business. Here the roar 
 that had been loud in Wall Street took on a broader 
 and fuller volume of sound, that filled the ear 
 and made the brain vibrate. The throng was most 
 dense and at the same time most active in front 
 
PANIC. 205 
 
 of the portico of a building with a white mar 
 ble faade, that stood on the west side of the 
 street near the Wall Street corner. A short flight 
 of steps led up to this door, and upon, and down, 
 and across, and round those steps, and in and out 
 of the door, a human surf beat and rolled and 
 spouted forth, and hurtled in, as if the greatest 
 treasure and the greatest honor in the world were 
 both hidden behind the portals. Men fought 
 with obstinate determination to get in, and others 
 leaped forth with white faces, and in frantic haste, 
 as though Satan himself were at their heels. It 
 was strange, in the midst of this bewildering tur 
 moil, to look at the marble front of the building, 
 with a blank, impassive countenance, lifting itself 
 above the din and struggle with the quiet indiffer 
 ence of the dead. 
 
 " We can t get in that way," shouted Cowran 
 in his companion s ear. " We must try the side 
 door." 
 
 They turned, and struggled up the street again, 
 and after a quarter of an hour s brisk conflict, 
 they forced their way into the Exchange by a com 
 paratively unfrequented route, in the passage of 
 which, however, Cowran had his silk hat crushed 
 as flat as a soup-plate, and one of the Captain s 
 coat-tails was nearly severed from the garment to 
 which it appertained. Both of the men were quite 
 out of breath, and, though the temperature was 
 considerably below the freezing-point, they were 
 in a profuse perspiration. 
 
206 PANIC. 
 
 " We got through that well !" gasped Cowran, 
 endeavoring to straighten out his head-gear. 
 " Now, then, up we go ; and when we get into the 
 gallery don t be afraid to use your elbows !" 
 
 So saying, he led the way up to the staircase, 
 passed a door, and, closely followed by the 
 Captain, emerged into a balcony or gallery that 
 partly surrounded a spacious and lofty hall. The 
 gallery was filled with spectators ; but Cowran 
 shouldered them aside with scant ceremony, and at 
 last succeeded in wedging himself and Hamilton 
 into a position immediately in contact with the 
 railing. From there they looked down upon the 
 arena beneath. 
 
 Every thing that they had seen outside dwindled 
 into insignificance in comparison with the spectacle 
 that was here displayed. Every part of the great 
 hall was dense with human bodies packed like 
 nine-pins in a box, but each and all wriggling, 
 twisting, fighting, raging, flinging their arms above 
 their heads, diving, plunging, wrestling ; the air 
 was tortured with yells, screams, shrieks, howls as 
 of mortal agony, desperate cries, and appeals as of 
 souls in torment screeching for their lives. The 
 crowd was like one vast animal, struggling and 
 crushing itself in myriad-fold fury, and quickening 
 into a keener agony of life with each convulsion. 
 At certain points in the hall this seeming blind and 
 maddened frenzy was even denser and wilder than 
 elsewhere, though that would appear impossible ; 
 and in the very midst and red-hot center of the 
 
PANIC. 207 
 
 demoniac ring a miracle of calm in the acme of 
 tempest would stand a single individual, quiet, 
 composed, languid, with a tablet and a pencil, jot 
 ting down a figure or a word with lazy indifference, 
 or glancing out upon the serried ring of frantic 
 madmen with meditative eyes, as if recalling some 
 half-forgotten verse of poetry, or seeking for a syl 
 lable to polish off a rhyme of his own. These phil 
 osophers apeared as remote from all participation 
 in the deafening dance of insanity that swept 
 around them as if they were denizens of the 
 planet Neptune, or, like the enchanters of old, had 
 drawn around them the magic circle, across which 
 the mob of hell could not pass, and, standing within 
 which, all their striving and uproar were invisible 
 and inaudible. 
 
 There were several of these whirlpools on the 
 floor of the great hall ; but gradually one of them 
 seemed to swallow up and absorb the rest ; and 
 upon this chief center all the rage and passion of 
 all the former centers were concentrated and heaped 
 up and welded together, until it seemed as if 
 human nature and strength could endure no more. 
 If the universe had been shattered to fragments, 
 and the inhabitants of this and of all other planets 
 had been emptied pell-mell into a pit, and told that 
 they were doomed to eternal torture unless they 
 obtained something unobtainable within the next 
 thirty seconds, they would have conducted them 
 selves with more order and decorum. The whole 
 essence of chaos and anarchy seemed to pos^ 
 
208 PANIC. 
 
 sess each individual ; and yet, wonderful to relate, 
 each individual had a very clear idea of what he 
 was doing, and of what he had done and was likely 
 to do ; he knew just what was going on, what it all 
 meant, at what point it might be expected to 
 change ; he was ready, between the throbs of the 
 delirium, to turn aside and exchange a jest and a 
 smile with an acquaintance, or to retire to a corner 
 and have a little quiet conversation with a business 
 associate, and perhaps give or receive an invitation 
 to discuss a bird and a bottle after the Exchange 
 closed. Then, of a sudden, he would leap back 
 into the ring, and be instantly transformed into a 
 ferocious and chaotic maniac. 
 
 " What the deuce are they doing ? " shrieked the 
 Captain into Cowran s tympanum. 
 
 " Oh, nothing," the other replied. " Some 
 body is running up Pacific Mail, and it has risen 
 nearly thirty points in two hours. It ll turn before 
 long. It isn t serious. They re just having a little 
 fun. You should see em when they re in earnest." 
 
 " You re not concerned in it, I fancy ? " said the 
 Captain. 
 
 " Me ? Not much ! It s a long time since I ve 
 meddled with any thing of that kind. Now-a-days, 
 when I want to throw away money, I take a Jersey 
 City ferry-boat and drop it into the middle of 
 North River. It s less trouble." 
 
 There was now a comparative lull for a few 
 moments, during which the whirlpools broke up, 
 and there was an extraordinary running to and fro 
 
PANIC. 2 09 
 
 and erratic confusion, as if the moorings of all na 
 ture had broken loose and each fragment was hur 
 rying to escape. Presently, with a roar that outdid 
 all previous efforts, the vortices began to form 
 again, and the bears began to tear down what the 
 bulls had just been hoisting up. 
 
 "Come," said Cowran, after a while, "we have 
 seen about all there is to be seen here to-day. They 
 will keep this up for another hour or two, and then 
 the whole thing will end exactly where it began. A 
 few of them will have won, and the rest will have 
 lost ; and next week there will be another scrim 
 mage of the same kind. Have you had enough ? 
 Then come along." 
 
 They made their way out to the street, and 
 thence to Broadway, where they parted, Cowran 
 going to his office, and the Captain proceeding up 
 town. He stopped at the Astor House, however, 
 and there, in the course of an hour or so, he was 
 joined by a slender young man with sharp features, 
 who nodded to him and then went to the water- 
 cooler and swallowed a couple of glasses of water. 
 
 " Hot work ! " he muttered, as he dropped into a 
 chair beside the Captain. " I d rather pitch a dozen 
 championship games of an afternoon, or spend the 
 day in a foot-ball scrimmage ! " 
 
 " Well, how did it work ? Have you caught 
 him ? " 
 
 " Caught him ? No ! He couldn t have been in 
 the thing at all. I can t understand it. Either 
 something has happened to him, or he got wind of 
 
210 PANIC. 
 
 the game, and made up his mind to stay out 
 
 of it." 
 
 " Then we re just as wise as we were before ? " 
 " Say a bit wiser ; for we know now that we know 
 
 nothing ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ARREST. 
 
 THE stock operation above alluded to took place 
 on a Friday. On the following Sunday, Gen 
 eral Weymouth, who had been unusually busy dur 
 ing the previous week, and had not once had an 
 opportunity of indulging himself with his violon 
 cello, dressed himself with especial care, put a bun 
 dle of documents in his pocket, and walked down 
 Lexington Avenue to Kitty Clive s. 
 
 Kitty was in, and was writing a letter. She 
 slipped it into an envelope as he entered. 
 
 " Whenever you come I feel that I have been 
 wanting to see you," she said, coming forward and 
 giving him her hand. 
 
 " Then I must not come too often," was his 
 reply. 
 
 She laughed. " Oh, yes, come oftener. For it 
 is when I have been trying to be good that I most 
 enjoy having you here ; and so, the more you are 
 here, the better I shall be ! " 
 
 " That is rather shaky logic, I m afraid, my dear 
 young lady ; and yet, any logic must be good that 
 affords me a pretext for seeing you. But, I should 
 
212 ARREST. 
 
 not have ventured to disturb you this morning, had 
 I not depended upon my errand fer my apology. 
 I want to give myself that is, you a little 
 pleasure." 
 
 " If my pleasure is yours, General, I wish I were 
 the happiest woman alive ! " 
 
 " There is no reason that I know of why you 
 should not be. There is nothing in your own 
 nature to make you otherwise ; and though the 
 world your personal world may not in all 
 respects have been what it should have been to you 
 hitherto, yet I am persuaded that this defect will 
 sooner or later be amended. Perhaps quite soon," 
 
 he added ; " perhaps " he looked at her closely, 
 
 and interpreted some sign that she could not 
 wholly disguise in her face " perhaps the best 
 that we hoped for is in sight already ! " 
 
 She met his eyes a moment, was about to speak, 
 checked herself with a sigh, and looked down. 
 
 " Do not think I want to pry into your secrets," 
 he said quietly; "but I need not tell you how 
 happy I should be to see you have what you wish- 
 as I am sure you must and will have it before 
 long." 
 
 " I feel that you are the truest of friends," she 
 returned. "But at present I can only say this 
 that the means of the happiness you refer to have 
 been put within my reach. And yet there are cir 
 cumstances that prevent my accepting it ; perhaps 
 I may always be prevented." 
 
 An expression of contentment lighted up the 
 
ARREST. 213 
 
 general s face, which, as Kitty now noticed, was 
 thinner and paler than usual. 
 
 " Possibly," he said, " my errand this morning may 
 have the effect of removing some of the obstacles 
 that lie in your way. It was with that expectation 
 that I came here. But first I must tell you about 
 something, quite unlocked for, that has lately 
 occurred to me. You perhaps recollect my speak 
 ing to you the other day of a man whom I called 
 Fowler ? " 
 
 Kitty moved her head in assent. She could fore 
 see, of course, the gist of what the General was 
 about to tell her ; but the ambiguous circumstances 
 which had attended the last act of Fowler Morgan s 
 life made her unwilling to let him suspect that she 
 knew any thing about the matter. 
 
 " I had heard nothing about him for several 
 years," the General went on ; " and so far as I 
 thought of him at all, which was very little, I 
 presumed that he was either dead, or had been 
 overtaken in some manner by the just reward of 
 his iniquity. It is only within the last few days 
 that I learned any thing of his subsequent history 
 and the only part of that which concerns my present 
 purpose in coming here, is that he has just died, 
 leaving behind him a considerable fortune. 
 
 " If I had been asked," the General continued, 
 after a pause, " what was the thing, possible to be 
 done, which that man would be least likely to do, 
 I should have said that it was to make reparation 
 in any respect for the injury that he had done me. 
 
214 ARREST. 
 
 I need not tell you that the worst injury the only 
 injury that touched a vital part could never be 
 repaired or compensated ; he could never give me 
 back the faith and peace of my early marriage. 
 Nor could he give me back my ruined career, and 
 all those schemes for doing good in the world for 
 which I had hoped so much and striven so hard. 
 The most that he could do was to return me the 
 money which he had extorted from me. That 
 money, were it ten times as much as it is, could 
 have little value for me personally now ; I could 
 not spend it on myself, and I am too old, and too 
 long accustomed to solitude and inaction, to think 
 of attempting any public activity again. But, on 
 the other hand, he no doubt imagined that the loss 
 of the money was what I chiefly cared for, and 
 that in giving it back he acquitted himself of all 
 his obligations. That he should wait to make the 
 restitution until death had placed him where money 
 has no existence, was a matter of course. It is 
 surprising enough, as I said, that he should have 
 made it even then. 
 
 " Nevertheless, that is what has happened. I 
 received last week a letter from a firm of lawyers 
 in Boston, informing me of the death of Fowler 
 Morgan such was the man s real name and that 
 his will bequeathed to me his entire property, with 
 some trifling exceptions. The amount is large 
 vastly larger than I could ever use, or would wish 
 to be burdened with. But for a single consideration, 
 
ARREST. 215 
 
 therefore, I should regret that Fowler Morgan s 
 will was drawn in my favor." 
 
 He paused, and turned his face upon Kitty 
 with a sort of deprecating expression, as if ap 
 pealing to her in advance not to reject the proposi 
 tion he was about to offer. It was not difficult 
 for her to surmise what that proposition was 
 to be, and she had no very clear idea how to 
 meet it. 
 
 "I have here," said the General, feeling in his 
 pocket, and bringing out some papers, which he 
 laid across his knee while putting on his eye 
 glasses, " one or two documents which only require 
 your approval and signature to become valid. As 
 you see, a hundred and fifty thousand dollars have 
 been deposited in the America Bank, subject to 
 your order. This is the receipt ; and if, at any 
 time you feel inclined, you will write your name 
 on that paper, and send it to the bank, you will 
 afterwards be able to draw upon the sum as suits 
 your convenience. You see, my dear Kitty, 
 I feel a fatherly interest in you being without 
 daughters or relatives of my own and as Christ 
 mas is not far off I want to take advantage of the 
 season. I want you to feel that by indulging me 
 in this little matter, which I have much at heart, 
 you will be relieving me of a disagreeable responsi 
 bility a regular white elephant which, but for 
 you, would rob me of my peace and comfort for 
 the rest of my days. If I were as young and 
 vigorous as you, I should think twice, I dare say, 
 
2i6 ARREST. 
 
 before doing so wise, and, after all,sc selfish a thing 
 as I am doing now." 
 
 " You give me all this money, General Wey- 
 mouth ! " exclaimed Kitty, whose anticipations 
 had been limited to less than a tithe of this sum, 
 and whose perplexity at the actual denouement was 
 proportionately increased. " I can not take it. I 
 have no need of such a gift ; and if I had, my need 
 could not be relieved in such a way." 
 
 The General s hands dropped lifelessly on his 
 knees, and a look of heavy and bitter disappoint 
 ment shadowed his face. "Don t say that!" he 
 murmured in a husky tone. " Don t say you won t 
 take any thing from me ! I have had so many dis 
 appointments, my dear ; and I am an old man, 
 now more than old enough to be your father. 
 I don t see how I could bear to be disappointed in 
 this. Be a good, kind little daughter, now, and do 
 me this one favor ! Surely you can not imagine 
 that I would ever take any advantage that it 
 would be putting you under obligations 
 
 " No, no, nothing of that sort is in my mind," 
 interrupted she passionately. She was deeply 
 moved, and did not seem to know how to express 
 herself. " I know what you are there could be 
 no man more unselfish and single-hearted. But it 
 is because I do know it that I can tell you, with 
 out your misunderstanding me, that I can not take 
 your money. If if I. could have married you, 
 General Weymouth that is the only thing that 
 would justify me in my own eyes in accepting it. 
 
ARREST. 217 
 
 And since, if I ever do marry, it will be some one 
 else how could I go to him with the feeling that 
 what I brought him was due to the love which 
 another man had done me the honor to bear me ? 
 And you have misunderstood what I hinted of the 
 obstacles that lay between him and me. It is not 
 that there would not be money enough. I make 
 money enough for both of us, if that were all ; but 
 he too is going to work ; and even if there were no 
 hope of either of us ever becoming comfortable in that 
 way, -I would not hesitate it would be a delight to 
 live poor with him, and be a mere household drudge, 
 if he were the master of the house ! But we have 
 already all that we need, and we shall have more ; 
 and it is not that that made me silent when he 
 asked me for my love the other day. Oh, not 
 that ! " 
 
 " I can not understand, then," said the General, 
 with a slight gesture of the hand. 
 
 " I can not tell you," she rejoined, " for I have 
 not yet told him ; only I will say this, that the 
 reason is a personal one it relates to me, to what 
 I am, to my life and character. I know," she con 
 tinued, seeing an expression of indignant incre 
 dulity appear in the General s face. " I know that 
 such words are capable of the worst interpretation. 
 I do not deny or affirm any thing about that you 
 must judge by what you know of me and that is 
 very little ! For, even if the good you think you 
 see in me were all there, there would still be things 
 that you have never seen because you bring only 
 
2i ARREST. 
 
 what is best in me to the surface. If you were an 
 enemy if you had wronged me,* or injured any 
 one I loved then you might see what would make 
 you shrink and stand aloof ! Do you think I would 
 shrink from any crime if the man I loved any one 
 that was dear to me had been unjustly treated ? 
 Why, General Weymouth, in such a cause I would 
 do murder ! " 
 
 The old man sat quiet and motionless while she 
 spoke thus ; and after she had ended there was a 
 silence, disturbed only by her labored breath, as 
 she tried to choke back the passion and the 
 tears that were rising within her. But at 
 last he said, in a voice that was all gen 
 tleness and sympathy : " My child, I under 
 stand you better now, and I thank you for the 
 new depth to which you have admitted me. 
 I will take it that you have committed some sin for 
 the sake of the man you love, and that you now 
 fear that the consequences of it may separate you. 
 What the sin may be, I have no conception, nor is 
 it needful that I should. I will only say that, if I 
 may speak so far of a man I have never seen, I do 
 not think that he will love you the less for what 
 you have done. But whether or not, I counsel you 
 most earnestly to tell him all, and at once ; and 
 then, so far as may be possible, undo the evil you 
 have committed. Few women have ever lived, 
 Miss Kitty, who had such a heart as yours ; let an 
 old fellow entreat you to subdue its fiercer part ; 
 it can only sap the life of the diviner side. Do 
 
ARREST. 2I 9 
 
 not worry yourself by assuming to administer God s 
 justice. The best result that can ever come from 
 doing so is to accept the warning it will bring you, 
 never to assume that awful function again ! " 
 
 He spoke with a solemnity and earnestness such 
 as she had never heard from him before ; and the 
 profound and unselfish affection that enriched 
 every word touched and softened her, so that she 
 began to weep, not violently but quietly, leaning 
 her head against the cushion of the sofa. A crisis 
 seemed to have passed ; and the old general was 
 the good angel who had helped her safely through 
 it. 
 
 He remained meditatively in his chair for a 
 while, as if reviewing all that had passed, and ask 
 ing himself whether there were any thing more to 
 do. At length he rose, replaced the papers in his 
 pocket, and took up his hat and gloves. 
 
 "As regards that other affair, my dear," he said, 
 " I will not urge it upon you at present. You are 
 the best judge of what is easy and graceful for 
 you, and I certainly can claim no right to force 
 upon you any special kind or condition of comfort, 
 that I may fancy would be agreeable to me in your 
 place. But after your marriage I shall, I hope, see 
 you and your husband occasionally ; and perhaps, 
 between the three of us, we may contrive some 
 expedient by which all three can be satisfied. With 
 such a good and sensible fellow as I am sure he is 
 that can not be impossible or even difficult. 
 Meanwhile I will take myself off, wishing you all 
 
220 ARRZST. 
 
 the happiness in the world, provided it be of the 
 sort that you happen to approve of L " 
 
 She answered the smile with Which he said this, 
 and gave him her hand ; but then said, " If you 
 will wait for me a moment, I will not say good-by 
 to you here. I have promised to sing in the 
 church at the corner to-day, and it is time I was 
 there. I will not keep you long." 
 
 She was as good as her word, and came out of 
 her room dressed for the street in a very short 
 time. Before they went out, she cast a glance 
 round the sitting-room, and seeing the letter she 
 had been writing lying on the desk, she took 
 it up and put it in her muff. They went down 
 stairs together and turned up the street, not 
 noticing Captain Hamilton, who was approaching 
 from the opposite direction. He followed along 
 about fifty yards behind them. They stopped at 
 the door of the church, to say good-by ; and Kitty, 
 i i taking her hand from her muff, was reminded 
 of her letter. 
 
 " Let me post it for you," said the General. "I 
 shall be sure to pass a letter-box in a few minutes." 
 She handed him the letter, which he put in the side- 
 pocket of his overcoat, and they parted. She 
 entered the church ; the General turned towards 
 Fifth Avenue. 
 
 The noiseless footsteps of fate came close be 
 hind him. At the junction of Twenty-second Street 
 with Fifth Avenue was a letter-box attached to a 
 lamp-post : and into this box the General dropped 
 
ARREST. 221 
 
 the letter. He then turned up the Avenue, and 
 proceeded northward. Before he had gone a dozen 
 yards two men overtook him, one of whom placed 
 a hand on his shoulder, and, as the General looked 
 round in surprise, said, " I have to inform you, sir, 
 that you are in custody. You must go with us to 
 Inspector Byrnes office." 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 DISTRICT E. 
 
 IN order to an understanding of this event, we 
 must turn backwards a day or two, and find out 
 what Inspector Byrnes had been doing. 
 
 The chief of the detectives had been not a little 
 piqued by the failure of himself and his subordinates 
 to solve the mystery of the blackmailing letter- 
 writer ; and he determined to make a final effort to 
 get at the heart of the problem. All the ordinary 
 methods in vogue in such cases, and several that 
 were not ordinary, had been tried without effect ; 
 and the artificial panic on the Exchange, out of 
 which so much had been hoped, had given not the 
 slightest clew to the offender ; who had, apparently, 
 for what reason it was impossible to conjecture 
 not operated on that occasion at all, although, had 
 he done so, he might have made a very large sum 
 of money. As it was, several outsiders had been 
 enriched, many innocent people had suffered loss, 
 and nothing whatever had come of it. 
 
 " This will never do ! " said the Inspector to 
 himself, as he paced up and down his room, at an 
 hour when most of the inhabitants of the city had 
 
DISTRICT E. 223 
 
 closed up their business for the day and gone home 
 to dinner and relaxation. " This will never do ! " 
 he repeated. " There must be some way of getting 
 hold of that fellow, and I must find out what it is. 
 Come ! common sense can find its way through any 
 thing ! Where is the weak spot in that fellow s 
 armor ? He has written over twenty letters ; isn t 
 there, a single clew in any one of them ? or in all of 
 them put together ?" 
 
 He took half a dozen more turns up and down, 
 thinking intently. The room was perfectly quiet, 
 and the Inspector s footfall on the soft carpet gave 
 out no sound. The curtains were drawn ; the 
 lights burned brightly ; the glazed cases on the walls, 
 full of the relics of former crimes, reflected in dis 
 torted fragments the movements of the detective 
 as he paced to and fro five paces this way, a turn, 
 and five paces back again. At length he stopped, 
 went behind the table, and sat down in his chair. 
 
 " Let us see ! " he muttered. " We know it is not 
 Cowran ; we know it is not Cunliffe ; and no one 
 else has been suggested. We have tried decoy 
 advertisements, and they have only served to induce 
 the fellow to continue his letters ; we have tried 
 manipulating the stocks in which he was interested ; 
 and if he has profited by the information given him, 
 he has left no trace by which we could follow 
 him. We have offered to give him checks or money, 
 and he has refused the offer. We have attempted 
 to lure him into communicating with us in some 
 other way than by advertisements, and he has 
 
22 4 DISTRICT E. 
 
 declined the proposition. What else is there to be 
 done? One might, by accident, happen to see him 
 in the act of posting one of his letters ; only, one 
 would have to have a quick eye to read the address 
 while the letter was being popped into the box : 
 and if one were near enough to do it, the fellow 
 would probably either not post it at all, or else do 
 it in such a way that the address would be invisible. 
 Besides, there are two or three thousand letter-boxes 
 in the city, no, that is impracticable. And, even 
 if a man were seen to post a letter addressed to 
 Maxwell Golding, that would not justify his arrest. 
 Mr. Golding has more correspondents than one, or 
 than one hundred. To be sure, if the address were 
 in the handwriting of the blackmail letters, that 
 would be another matter ! And if ah ! if ! " 
 
 He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and 
 closed his eyes. A person entering the room might 
 have imagined the Inspector to be asleep. But he 
 was very far from that. 
 
 His thoughts ran as follows : " If the fellow is, 
 as he appears to be, a resident of the city, and ac 
 customed to observe a certain routine in his life, 
 then it is probable that he would not go out of a cer 
 tain definite region ; say, a region bounded by 
 Sixth Avenue on the west, Third Avenue on the 
 east, north by Forty-second Street, and south by 
 Wall Street. That is giving him a large range ; 
 there are thousands of business and club men who 
 are hardly ever met with off Fifth Avenue or Broad 
 way. Thus, all the space between, say, Fourteenth 
 
DISTRICT E 225 
 
 Street and City Hall may be stricken out, for he 
 will pass over that in the cars. During business 
 hours he would be below City Hall, and at other 
 times above Fourteenth Street. But he would not 
 be likely to write his blackmailing letters at his 
 club, or at his place of business. No ; he would 
 do that at home. Well, his house may be any 
 where. But I take it that he is an unmarried man, 
 and therefore would live in lodgings or in a board 
 ing house in a good quarter of the town ; some 
 where above Thirtieth and below Forty-second ; 
 not further west than Sixth or Seventh avenue, and 
 well probably not east at all. Somewhere in 
 that region the letters are written and somewhere 
 in that region they are posted, for he would not 
 carry them about with him any longer than was 
 necessary. In fact, it is quite likely that he may 
 have posted every one of the letters in the same 
 box ! But the stamp shows only the district, not 
 the box. Still, it would be something to know 
 that they were all posted in the same district ; and 
 that I can find out right here ! Why didn t I 
 think of it before ? " 
 
 At this point the Inspector opened his eyes, 
 which had a new sparkle of expectancy in them, and 
 pulled out a small private drawer in the recesses 
 of the desk, which contained a score or more of 
 letters in their envelopes. They were the 
 entire correspondence of the anonymous black 
 mailer, up to date. They were all ad 
 dressed to Maxwell Golding, in a scrawling, irreg- 
 
226 DISTRICT . 
 
 ular hand, evidently disguised, but as evidently by 
 the same writer in every case. Each envelope 
 bore the stamp of the district office at which it was 
 received. The Inspector examined these stamps 
 one after another. The first was " E," so was the 
 second. So likewise was the third. The fourth 
 was " E " again, and the fifth and the sixth. 
 " Why, upon my word," explained the Inspector, 
 after a moment, " they are nearly all E ! " So 
 far, at any rate, I don t seem to be much astray. 
 Now let us see whereabouts E is ! " 
 
 From another drawer in the table he got out a 
 large map of New York city, with the districts 
 marked upon it. A brief inspection revealed the 
 fact that district < E comprises that portion of the 
 city s area which is bounded on the north by 
 Forty-third Street, on the south by Twenty-first 
 street, east by Fifth Avenue, and west by the North 
 River. 
 
 " That is a tolerably large territory," said the In 
 spector to himself, " but at any rate it comprises the 
 place where I supposed my man to be living. Now, 
 how am I to find out which particular letter-box 
 he uses ? It can not be done. However, he evi 
 dently uses some one of the boxes in that district. 
 How many are there ? " 
 
 A postal directory was lying on the table : and 
 a consultation of it showed that district E con 
 tained just 118 letter boxes. 
 
 " One hundred and eighteen is a good many," 
 the Inspector mused, "but it is much more easily 
 
DISTRICT E. 227 
 
 managed than two or three thousand. If I could 
 set a watch on every one of those boxes, something 
 might come of it. But there are not so many de 
 tectives in the office. No ; but perhaps the post- 
 office authorities could be induced to send me fifty 
 or sixty men to help me out. Well, but they could 
 be spared for only one day at most ; and how do I 
 know that the blackmailer would post a letter on that 
 day ? Pshaw ! that is easy enough ! Insert an 
 urgent personal in the paper that would require 
 an immediate reply from him ; set the watch on 
 that day, and catch him ! Yes ; but suppose I 
 have a man at every box, near enough to see the 
 address of the letter as it goes in, is it not as good 
 as certain that the fellow will notice it and take the 
 alarm ? On the other hand, if they are stationed 
 at a distance, how are they to know what the ad 
 dress is ? That is an obstacle ! Let us see if 
 there is no way around it." 
 
 He leaned his head on his hand and pondered 
 earnestly for over a minute. 
 
 "I have it!" he suddenly exclaimed; "the 
 thing is as simple as possible ! let each of the men 
 have a key, and take up his position half-a-dozen 
 yards away from the box to which he is assigned. 
 As soon as any one posts a letter, and starts to go 
 away, the watcher comes forward and opens the 
 box. If the letter just dropped in is to Golding, 
 arrest the man ! Is there any thing wrong with 
 that ? " 
 
 Again he meditated intently : and an expression of 
 
228 DISTRICT E. 
 
 chagrin overspread his features. " There is a diffi 
 culty," he muttered, " and though itseems a trifling 
 one, it is enough to upset the whole scheme. If 
 the first, or second, or third letter posted in the 
 box should be to Golding, it would be all right. 
 But it is more likely to be the fiftieth or sixtieth. 
 In that case, when the box is opened, the watcher 
 will have to look through the whole pile of letters to 
 discover whether the one he wants is among them : 
 and by the time he has done that, the blackmailer 
 will be half-a-dozen blocks away. That must be 
 remedied but how ? If only the letters already 
 posted could in some way be separated from the 
 one posted last. To be sure, each letter might be 
 taken out as it was posted, and kept out. But that 
 would hardly do ; it would involve letting all the 
 carriers into the scheme. No we must think of 
 something else. How to distinguish at a glance 
 the last letter posted from the others ? There must 
 be a method, if I could but hit upon it. The other 
 letters must be in a heap by themselves, and the last 
 one Ah! I see it now! and that concludes the whole 
 matter. Here is the solution," and the Inspector 
 took up an ordinary india-rubber band, such as 
 everyone uses in making up packets of papers. " Let 
 one of them be slipped round the letters as fast as 
 they are examined. Thus, every time the box is 
 opened, there will always be a bundle of letters and a 
 loose letter. The loose letter will be the one last put 
 in, and the watchers can see at a glance whether it is 
 addressed to Maxwell Golding. Yes, that settles 
 
DISTRICT E 229 
 
 it. The thing can be done, and it shall be done 
 without the loss of a day. I will make my applica 
 tion to the post-office at once, and on Sunday, 
 which is somewhat of an off-day for the men, we 
 will put the scheme to the test. So now to work ! " 
 
 Summoning an assistant, Inspector Byrnes s 
 first act was to cause a diagram or map of District 
 E to be prepared, with every letter-box marked in 
 red on its proper site. It then appeared that 
 several of the boxes were so situated that one 
 watcher could attend to two of them, and thus less 
 than a hundred men in all would be required. 
 
 A "personal" was then despatched to the paper, 
 upbraiding the blackmailer with having given 
 away to others the secret information regarding 
 the variations in stocks which had been in 
 tended for him alone. As a matter of fact, there 
 was no reason to suppose that he had done any 
 thing of the kind ; but, whether he had or not, he 
 would be certain to lose no time in repudiating 
 the charge, and thus the success of the scheme on 
 the particular day selected would be ensured. 
 
 The next morning application was made to the 
 post-office authorities for permission to employ in 
 the work as many of their men as could be spared, 
 the Detective Bureau paying all expenses. With 
 some difficulty, this permission was obtained for a 
 detail of fifty men. As many more of the detective 
 staff were selected ; and at six o clock on the Sunday 
 morning the whole squad of one hundred were ad 
 mitted to the Inspector s room He addressed them, 
 
2 3 DISTRICT E. 
 
 carefully explaining to them every circumstance 
 of the plan, and assigning to each the letter-box 
 which he was to watch. It was arranged that when 
 the fatal letter was posted, the man who discovered 
 should make a signal by raising his hat, upon 
 which the detective in attendance should proceed 
 to arrest the person who had posted it. 
 
 Everything having now been prepared, so far as 
 human ingenuity could prepare it, the men were 
 despatched to their posts, and the watch began. 
 
 The Inspector sat in his office and waited. Out 
 wardly, he appeared in his calmest and sunniest 
 humor; but we may be permitted to surmise that, 
 had his mind been visible through his face, a cer 
 tain amount of suspense and anxiety would have 
 been observable. In truth, there was a great deal 
 at stake, not least among which was the Inspector s 
 confidence in his own abilities. If he were to fail 
 now, he must acknowledge himself beaten ; and to 
 be beaten was something to which the Inspector had 
 never had an opportunity to become accustomed. 
 Was his Waterloo to come to-day ? lie lit a cigar 
 and breathed a modest hope that, if it turned out a 
 Waterloo indeed, he would be found to have acted 
 the part of a Wellington rather than of a Napoleon. 
 
 The Inspector smoked several cigars. 
 
 As he was in the act of lighting a fresh one, there 
 was a loud knock at the door, and two officers 
 entered, leading between them an elderly, dignified 
 man, with dark eyes and an iron-gray mustache. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 KITTY CLIVE. 
 
 THE Inspector took his cigar from his mouth, 
 straightened himself in his chair, and bent a 
 quiet and impassive look upon his visitor. There 
 was no sign of triumph in his gaze, not even any 
 betrayal of unusual interest. And yet here was 
 the man whom he had been pursuing with all the 
 means and intelligence at his command for weeks, 
 and whom he had captured just at the moment 
 when pursuit seemed hopeless. And so this noble- 
 appearing gentleman was the author of those out 
 rageous letters, a blackmailer, an anonymous 
 threatener. Never did appearances so belie char 
 acter. 
 
 There was something familiar in the prisoner s 
 appearance, which puzzled the Inspector for a 
 moment, and sent him hunting among the archives 
 of his memory. Where had he seen the man before ? 
 Ah ! he remembered now. It was this man who 
 had stopped him on Fifth Avenue and asked him 
 for a light for his cigar, on the evening when the 
 Inspector was on his way to hear from Mr. Owens 
 the first news of the crime. 
 
 After putting a few routine questions to the 
 
23 2 KITTY CL1VE. 
 
 detectives, who testified that they had arrested the 
 prisoner in the act of posting a letter to Mr. Gold- 
 ing, which letter they produced, the Inspector 
 made them a sign to retire; and, having dispatched 
 a messenger to request the attendance of Mr. Gold- 
 ing and Mr. Owens, he turned to his prisoner, and 
 asked him his name. 
 
 " My name is Weymouth," he replied. " I am a 
 retired army officer. I do not yet know why I have 
 been brought here." 
 
 " There is no need of my beating about the bush 
 with you, General Weymouth," replied the Inspec 
 tor, gravely. " If the evidence against you were not 
 complete, it might be necessary to induce you to 
 commit yourself. You posted this letter to Mr. 
 Golding this morning ? " 
 
 " I did ; but I was not aware that it was ad 
 dressed to " he got thus far and then stopped. 
 
 " I am not aware that it is illegal to write to Mr. 
 Golding," he said after a moment ; "nor do you 
 know the contents of that envelope." 
 
 * The contents of this particular envelope are 
 immaterial. But that letter is the last of a series 
 which you have addressed to Mr. Golding during 
 the past four or five weeks." As he spoke he took 
 the letters in question from a drawer and spread 
 them on the table. The prisoner glanced at them 
 and then at the Inspector. He seemed slightly per 
 plexed, but betrayed no sign of guilty consterna 
 tion. 
 
 "As you see," continued the detective, "this 
 
KITTY CLIVE. 233 
 
 letter, which you admit having posted, is in the 
 same handwriting as the others." 
 
 " So it appears," returned the other, composedly. 
 " So far as I am concerned, however, I never until 
 this moment saw or knew any thing about any of 
 those letters except the last." 
 
 " You did not write them yourself ? " 
 " I did not ; nor do I know a word that is in any 
 of them." 
 
 " Not even in the last ? " 
 " Not even in that." 
 
 " As regards the last, we shall learn its contents 
 when Mr. Golding arrives here and opens it. The 
 others, as you know, General Weymouth, are a se 
 ries of blackmailing communications of the worst 
 character, demanding money from Mr. Golding 
 under threats of murder. It is not in my power, 
 nor is it my purpose, to save you from any part of 
 the penalty appointed for the crime which you have 
 committed. But I need not say that I have no per 
 sonal animosity in this case ; and I see that you 
 are a gentleman by position and education, what 
 ever you may be otherwise. And I will tell you 
 that if you make a clean breast of the affair you 
 will spare yourself some unpleasant formalities. If 
 you refuse (as of course you have a perfect right to 
 do), you must be searched and in all respects 
 treated as an ordinary malefactor." 
 
 To the latter part of this speech the prisoner did 
 not seem to have paid any attention. At the word 
 " blackmailing " he had given a start, and a great 
 
234 KITTY CLIVE. 
 
 and painful change had come over his countenance, 
 as if he had heard of the death or destruction of all 
 that was dearest to him. From that moment he 
 remained staring at the letters on the table with a 
 sort of bewildered consternation. After the In 
 spector ceased speaking there was a silence. 
 
 " What is your decision ? " the latter inquired at 
 length. 
 
 The other drew a long breath, and steadied him 
 self by a manifest effort. He raised his head and 
 looked the detective in the face. He opened his 
 lips to speak, but it was only after several attempts 
 that his voice became audible. 
 
 " I submit to the logic of circumstances," 
 he said, with a labored utterance. " I have no 
 defense to make." He swayed on his feet as he 
 spoke, and grasped at a chair to sustain himself. 
 
 " Sit down," the Inspector said. * You have 
 decided wisely, and you will at least lose nothing 
 by it. I will write out the memoranda." 
 
 The General sank into a chair, breathing pain 
 fully, and the Inspector took pen and paper and 
 began to write. While he was in the midst of this 
 employment there was a knock at the door and 
 Mr. Golding was admitted, followed by Courtlandt 
 Owens. 
 
 The great financier of his time was at this period 
 but little past the prime of life, and seemed 
 likely to more than outlast the allotted span of 
 human existence. His face was colorless, but the 
 flesh was firm and healthy ; there were no gray 
 
KITTY CLIVE. 235 
 
 threads in his thick black hair ; and his blue eyes, 
 deep-set, were as bright and clear as the eyes of 
 youth. His figure, rather under the middle 
 height, but noticeably broad in the shoulders, was 
 compact and upright ; his hands, with their long, 
 square-topped fingers, were characteristic of the 
 strength of his nature, his patience, his pertinacity, 
 and his wonderful organizing power. He was 
 simply dressed in a gray frock coat, buttoned across 
 his chest, and a dark overcoat ; and the hat which 
 he removed on entering was a little the worse for 
 wear. 
 
 He bowed to the Inspector, and then nodded 
 familiarly to General Weymouth. " I have come," 
 he said, in a deep, low voice, " in answer to your 
 message stating that this blackmailer had been ar 
 rested. Is he in the building ?" 
 
 " He is here, Mr. Golding," replied the detec 
 tive, with a movement of the head towards the 
 silent figure in the chair. 
 
 " I see no one," said Golding, with a glance 
 around the room, except my friend General 
 Weymouth," he added, with a smile. 
 
 The Inspector was silent. After a moment, 
 Gelding s expression changed. His face became 
 as hard and inscrutable as a mask of stone. 
 
 "Do I understand that General Weymouth is the 
 author of those letters ? " he demanded sharply. 
 
 " He was arrested in the act of mailing the last 
 one, and he does not deny his guilt," was the 
 answer. 
 
236 KITTY CLIVE, 
 
 Golding turned to the General. " How is this, 
 Weymouth ? " he said. 
 
 The old man fixed his dark eyes upon the finan 
 cier. " I have nothing to say," he remarked, after 
 a short pause. " The Inspector has spoken for 
 me." 
 
 Golding pressed his lips together, and a gloomy 
 expression darkened over his features. " I was not 
 expecting this," he said at length. " General Wey 
 mouth called on me a month or two ago I knew 
 him well formerly and asked me to find him some 
 salaried position. I told him I could not do it ; 
 but I offered him a considerable sum of money 
 from my private purse to serve as his support. Is 
 that not so, Weymouth ? " 
 
 " You offered me a hundred thousand dollars," 
 the latter replied, " and I refused it." 
 
 " That being the case," Golding continued, " I 
 don t understand why you should afterwards try to 
 extort money from me by illegal means. Why 
 was it ?" 
 
 " I have nothing to say," repeated the other. 
 
 Here Owens approached the Inspector and 
 asked in a low voice, " Has any incriminating 
 evidence been found upon him ? " 
 
 " The examination has not yet been made ; I 
 wished Mr. Golding to see him first." He turned 
 to the General and said, " You are required by law 
 to show any papers or other articles in your pos 
 session." 
 
 This announcement evidently disconcerted the 
 
KITTY CLIVE. 237 
 
 prisoner. " There is nothing in my possession," he 
 said, in an agitated tone, "that has any bearing on 
 this case. I do not deny that I have committed 
 the crime charged. I entreat that my papers that 
 I be not subjected to an examination. Golding, 
 I beg you will not ask it. " Does not my admission 
 satisfy you ? " 
 
 " I can not interfere with the course of the law," 
 Golding replied coldly. "If your papers are not 
 incriminating, you can have no reason for not 
 showing them." 
 
 " I entreat you not to ask it," the old man re 
 peated. 
 
 " Mr. Golding has no voice in the matter," the 
 Inspector interposed. " I request you to show me 
 your papers. Do not force me to demand them." 
 The General put his hand in the inside pocket of 
 his coat and brought out some documents, which 
 he laid on the table. " Take them, if it is your 
 duty," he said. " I have done what I could." He 
 then folded his arms, bent his head upon his 
 breast, and seemed to sink into a state of semi- 
 lethargy. 
 
 The Inspector opened the documents and ex- 
 amined them. Presently he looked up and signed 
 to Golding and Owens to approach. 
 
 :< These appear to be vouchers and receipts for 
 the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, 
 held on deposit in The America Bank, subject to 
 the order of one Kitty Clive," he said. " The de 
 posit was made yesterday, by General Weymouth, 
 
*3 KITTY CLIVE. 
 
 and the signature of Kitty dive is all that is 
 needed to complete the transaction.* Is the person 
 of that name known to either of you ? " 
 
 Golding shook his head. But Owens said, " I 
 think there is a singer of that name ; I am under 
 the impression that I have heard her in concert." 
 
 " The most obvious interpretation of the matter 
 is," observed the detective, " that she is well known 
 to General Weymouth, and that he has deeded 
 this money to her, either as a bjnd fide gift or as a 
 measure of security for himself. We do not know 
 where the money came from ; but it is at least pos 
 sible that it is the outcome of the stock operations 
 which you have enabled the writer of those letters 
 to make." 
 
 " I hardly think they can have been so exten 
 sive," Golding said. 
 
 " What we must do," continued the other, " is 
 to find this Kitty Clive at once and question her. 
 She may be able to throw an important light on 
 the matter. For I must confess," he added in a 
 lower tone, " that in spite of appearances, I think 
 there is a good deal behind this affair. The pris 
 oner s behavior and circumstances are hardly con 
 sistent with the facts as indicated by the evidence. 
 I will send for this woman immediately." 
 
 He touched a bell ; but at the same moment the 
 door opened, and Captain Hamilton entered, ac 
 companied by a lady with a veil over her face. Of 
 her own accord she removed this veil, revealing a 
 plain but striking countenance, with gray eyes full 
 
KITTY CLIVE. 239 
 
 of passion and resolution. As for the Captain, he 
 wore a curiously dejected look, as of a man who 
 has sacrificed something dear to him on the altar 
 of abstract duty. 
 
 " Inspector," he said at once, before anyone else 
 could speak. " I have important evidence to give 
 in the matter which is now before you. Upwards 
 of a week ago, I was in the house occupied by this 
 lady, Miss Kitty Clive, on Lexington Avenue, 
 where I saw on a blotting-pad on the table the 
 name of Maxwell Goiding reversed, as if printed 
 off from the wet writing ; and as near as I could 
 judge, it was in the handwriting used in the black 
 mailing letters. I knew that Miss Clive was on 
 terms of friendship with Frank Cunliffe, who was 
 at that time suspected of being the author of the let 
 ters; I conjectured that he had written one of those 
 letters in Miss Clive s house as I presumed, with 
 out her knowledge or connivance. Subsequently 
 it appeared that Mr. Cunliffe was probably not the 
 author of the letters ; but the testimony of the blot 
 ting book remained and gave me much trouble : 
 for I could not think that Miss Clive was the 
 guilty person. But I resolved to settle my doubts 
 as to that, and with that view I went to Miss Clive s 
 house this morning. As I approached it, she came 
 out of the door, accompanied by the prisoner, 
 General Weymouth. They did not see me, but 
 walked on to the church at the corner. Miss Clive 
 went into the church, but first she took out of her 
 muff a sealed letter, which she gave to the General, 
 
240 KITTY CLIVR. 
 
 apparently requesting him to post it for her. He took 
 the letter and walked across town to, Fifth Avenue, 
 then up to the corner of Twenty-second Street, 
 where he seemed to recollect the letter, took it 
 from his pocket, and slipped it into the letter-box 
 on the lamp-post there. I had him in view all this 
 time, and did not see him once look at the address 
 on the letter. Immediately after he had posted it the 
 box was opened by the person appointed for that 
 duty, who took out the letter, and after reading the 
 address, raised his hat, upon which two detectives 
 arrested the prisoner. But in consequence of what 
 I had seen, I returned to the church on Lexington 
 Avenue, where Miss Clive was singing in the choir, 
 obtained an interview with her, and informed her 
 that she was under arrest. When learning the 
 facts that I have stated, she at once agreed to 
 accompany me here. I now have the honor to 
 hand her over to you as my prisoner, on the charge 
 of writing the blackmailing letters which Mr. Gold- 
 ing has received." 
 
 This statement, which was made in a rapid and 
 mechanical tone, but with perfect distinctness, pro 
 duced a sensation. The new prisoner alone ap 
 peared unmoved. She had stood looking alter 
 nately at the Inspector and at Mr. Golding, but 
 had avoided turning her eyes upon the General. 
 
 " Do you admit the truth of Mr. Hamilton s state 
 ment ?" asked the Inspector. 
 
 " I do," she replied. 
 
 " Do you claim the authorship of the letters ? 
 
KITTY CLIVE. 241 
 
 " I wrote them all," was her answer. " You will 
 find evidence enough of it in my house ; mean 
 while, here is the key of the cipher which was used 
 in the correspondence." She took a slip of paper 
 from her pocket-book, which she handed to the In 
 spector, who looked at it, and passed it to Mr. 
 Golding. 
 
 " What induced you to write the letters ?" the de 
 tective demanded. 
 
 " My reasons are given in the letter posted this 
 morning," was the reply. 
 
 " By the way, Mr. Golding," said the Inspector, 
 " that letter has not been opened yet. Will you 
 look at it?" and he handed it to him. 
 
 Golding tore open the envelope, and read as 
 follows : 
 
 " Sir This is the last letter you will receive 
 from me. The money which I have obtained through 
 your means was intended, not for myself, but for a 
 dear friend of mine, whom you have ruined. I 
 thought you ought to be punished and to make 
 restitution ; if you had refused me information, I 
 would have shot you. When I had collected the 
 twenty thousand dollars which my friend lost, I 
 meant to give them- to him as the proceeds of my 
 legitimate speculation, never letting him know the 
 truth. But circumstances have convinced me that 
 he would not wish to accept a gift of 
 money from anyone, not even from me ; 
 and I have also been made to feel that 
 I was not justified in doing as I have done. 
 
24 2 KITTY CLIVE. 
 
 I believe that you were less culpable than I sup 
 posed, and that you do what is right -according to 
 the code by which you live. Therefore I have put 
 the money made through your information in a 
 bank, in your name, as you will see by the inclosed 
 certificate. You will make what use of it you 
 please ; I hope it may at least add to the unhappi- 
 ness of no one." This was all, except a certificate 
 showing a balance to Mr. Golding s credit of 
 twenty one thousand five hundred dollars. 
 
 " What induced you to change your mind and 
 return this money ? " demanded Golding, abruptly, 
 facing round upon Kitty. 
 
 " It was chiefly the influence of that gentleman, 
 Mr. Golding," she answered, indicating the General, 
 who was leaning back in his chair, with a strange 
 look in his face. " He is one of the best men that 
 ever lived ; and it was the knowledge of his good 
 ness that made me see my action toward you in a 
 different light. He would have made me the heir 
 ess of the fortune that he himself received unex 
 pectedly but a short time since ; and when I could 
 not take it, and he saw that I was troubled because 
 of something I had done, he gave me the counsel 
 that determined me to give up my purpose. And 
 I wish him to know that though, as fate would 
 have it, I am a detected and disgraced criminal, 
 and though he himself, perhaps, would shrink 
 from me now yet I feel that I owe whatever is 
 worth living for in my life to him ; and I would 
 willingly undergo all the infamy and suffering that 
 
KITTY CLIVE, 243 
 
 may be in store for me for the sake of knowing 
 that he believes there is some good in me, and is 
 my friend." 
 
 The General had listened to these words with an 
 air of strained attention that was painful to see ; 
 and when, at the last sentence, she turned and 
 rested her eyes on him for the first time since her 
 entrance, he suddenly rose to his feet and held out 
 his arms, and a cry broke from him, inarticulate, 
 but so searching, tender, and compassionate that it 
 caused the tears to spring to the eyes of more than 
 one who heard it. The cry stopped abruptly, and 
 the General fell back into his chair, as if smitten 
 with death. Inspector Byrnes was beside him in 
 an instant, but not before Kitty Clive had 
 reached him. Her arm was round him, and his 
 head rested on her shoulder. " My friend my 
 friend ! " she murmured ; " I have brought this 
 upon you ! " 
 
 The Inspector felt his pulse and looked in his 
 face. " It is paralysis," he said at last, " not death. 
 He will be better presently ; Hamilton, go call the 
 surgeon ; allow me, Miss Clive." He lifted the 
 stricken man in his strong arms, and laid him 
 gently on the sofa at the other side of the room. 
 
 Kitty watched him with yearning eyes ; then she 
 clasped her hands over her face and broke into 
 sobs. " Oh, I cannot nurse him I shall not see 
 him again ! " she cried, in a wild tone ; " I brought 
 it on him my friend my friend ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Golding and Owens had been 
 
244 KITTY CLIVE, 
 
 conversing apart, and the former now came for 
 ward. 
 
 " I have a word to say to you, Miss Clive," he 
 began, going up to her and putting his hand on 
 her shoulder ; she uncovered her face as she felt 
 his strong eyes resting upon her. "You have 
 been a naughty girl," he went on, " and I don t 
 mind saying that you have caused me some 
 uneasiness. But I don t believe you are a 
 hardened offender ; and as no one outside of this 
 room knows of your escapade I don t see that 
 any thing would be gained by sending you to prison. 
 The evidence is rather confusing, but as near as I 
 can make it out some young fellow in whom you 
 feel an interest has been dabbling in stocks, and 
 lost his money ; you undertook to set him right 
 and punish me at the same time ; and now you 
 are afraid you can t marry him, becapse you have 
 been caught writing me wicked letters. Is that 
 about right ? well, I haven t the pleasure of this 
 young gentleman s acquaintance ; but all I have 
 to say is, if he doesn t want you, you may take it 
 that you are well rid of him ! a man who doesn t 
 know a woman when he sees one is a fool. But 
 if, on the contrary, he is not a fool, and does 
 want you, send him to me, and I will find something 
 better for him to do for a living than being 
 sheared on Change. As for this twenty thousand 
 dollars, it certainly doesn t belong to me ; and 
 since you have brought it into existence, I don t 
 see but you must be responsible for it. I hope 
 
KITTY CLIVE. 245 
 
 you will for once prove it an exception to the prov 
 erb that ill-gotten gains bring ill results. Well, 
 that s all for the present ; only, with the permis 
 sion of Inspector Byrnes here, I think you had 
 better attend General Weymouth to his home, and 
 see that he is well taken care for there. He is a 
 good man, as you say ; and I hope that for his 
 sake you will not believe all the evil of your fellow- 
 creatures that you may read in the newspapers or 
 hear from idle gossips. Even a financier may not 
 be in all respects a heartless scoundrel." 
 
 Half an hour later, the Inspector, Golding and 
 Owens were alone together in the office. 
 
 " This has been a very difficult and intricate 
 business, Inspector," Mr. Golding was saying, " and 
 I am much indebted to you for the masterly man 
 ner in which you have got to the bottom of it. It 
 only remains to ask you the amount of the ex 
 penses that you have incurred." 
 
 "The expenses amount to nothing." 
 
 " Nothing ? no, no," returned Golding. " That s 
 no way to do business, and you ll never be" a rich 
 man if you adopt it." 
 
 Inspector Byrnes smiled, and shook his head. 
 " I am just as much obliged to you, " he said. " I 
 have simply done my duty as an officer, and the suc 
 cess of my stratagems is my reward." 
 
 " Well, there seems to be a difference between 
 Mulberry Street and Wall Street," remarked the 
 other, with a short laugh. " Money isn t quite so 
 
246 KITTY CfJVE. 
 
 much of a drug in the market there as here. Allow 
 me to shake hands with you at any rajie." 
 
 The two men grasped hands cordially, and 
 Golding said, looking the detective straight in the 
 face, " Inspector, if I ever can be of service to you, 
 command me ! " Owens also bade him a hearty fare 
 well, and the chief detective was left alone to med 
 itate over all that had happened. 
 
 ******* 
 
 So the Gordian knots of life untwist themselves, 
 or are cut asunder by the sword of fate. 
 
 General Weymouth died six months after the last 
 described events, tended constantly by a woman 
 who had learned the meaning of gratitude, 
 humility, and charity. What became of his fortune 
 I have never been told, but I can conjecture. 
 
 John Talbot married Miss Betty Clave rhduse 
 the following autumn ; they received, as a marriage 
 gift from a friend of theirs, twenty-one thousand 
 five hundred dollars. Betty is somewhat more 
 careful of her tongue than she used to be, but has 
 not yet learned how to skate. 
 
 Captain Hamilton has left New York, and is 
 believed to be in Africa. He can never hear the song 
 of " Caller Herrin " without inexplicable emotion. 
 
 Cunliffe has a good position on a railway. He 
 is still unmarried. But he has never cared for but 
 one woman, and never will. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 47 Undine and the Two Captains. 
 48 Confessions of an Inquiring Spirit, etc 
 49 As You Like It. 
 5O Western Islands. 
 51 Carol and Chimes. 
 52-The Christian Year. 
 53 Wanderings in South America. 
 54 Life of Lord Herbert of Cherbury. 
 65-Tlae Hunchback. The Love Chase. 
 56 Crotchet Castle. 
 67 Lives of Demosthenes, Cicero, Etc. 
 68 Lays of Ancient Rome. 
 69-Sermons on Evil Speaking, 
 
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60-Diary of Samuel Pepys, 10Q3-XOG4. 
 
 61-The Tempest. WM. SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 62 ^.Rosalind. THOMAS LODGE. 
 
 63-Isaac Bickerscaflf. STEELE S " TATLER." 
 
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 6a-The Earl of Chatham. LORD MACAULAY 
 
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 a~ N tU I al Hi ? t0 ? y f Selborne. Vol. I. REV. G. WHITE, A.M. 
 
 J-The Angel in the House. COVENTRY PATMORE. 
 69-Murder as a Fine Art. -The English 
 
 Mail-Coach. THOMAS DE QUINCEY 
 
 ??-?r1p U s^fh i r^on fSelb0rne - VOLI1 - S IA G N WHITE A - M - 
 
 72 Lives of Cato the Younger, Agris, Cieo- 
 
 menes, and The Gracchi. PIUHRCH 
 
 73 Julius Caesar. WM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 74 Diary of Samuel Pepys. 1664-1665. 
 
 7 ," EB 2 ay on 3s ? an - ALEXANDER POPE. 
 
 8-A Tour in Ireland. ARTHUR YOTJNG. 
 
 77- History of New York. Vol. I. WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 TS-History of New York. Vol. II. WASHINGTON IRVINO; 
 
 79-A Midsummer-Night s Dream. SHAKESPEARE. 
 
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 i7- Kin Henry VIII. WM SHAKFSPFAT?W 
 
 - 
 
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 HERBERT 
 
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 8 -An Essav on the Sublime and Beautiful. EDriuxD 
 89-Lives of Timoleon, Paulus ^Emelius 
 
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 |?rS?S3 ?^g?ier Poems. 58B & 
 
 : =| SSS A^ffgblk. sermon, KSfSS 
 94 Sintram and His Companions. Asla-iga s 
 
 OS-Difry ^Samuel Pepys.-l 666-1 667 ^ ^^ F UQUB - 
 8-Life and Death of lne John. WM. 
 
 f2 3 ~V iai 7 of Samuel Pepys, 1667. 
 
 1O4 An .Jssay Jpon Projects. DAI 
 
 lO5-Cricket on the Hearth with Selections 
 
 106-Anecdotes of the Late Samuel John- "" 
 
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 107-Solon, Publicola, Philopcemen, Titus 
 
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 108-Prometheus Unbound, with Adonais, 
 
 The Cloud, Hymn to Intellectual 
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 110-King Lear. WM- SHAKESPEARE. " 
 
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