LIBRARY
-,ity o< California^
IRVINE
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
i\
THE
MAN IN
LOWER TEN
By
MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
AUTHOR OF
THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS Br
HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY
New York
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Publishers
COPTRIOHT 1909
Tint BOBBS-MEB&ILI. COMPAJTT
ps
3S1S
173
M 3
CONTENTS
I I Go TO PrrrsBumo .....* 1
II A TORN TELEGRAM 17
III ACROSS THE AISLE ...... 39
IV NUMBERS SETEN AMD NINE .... 41
V THE WOMAN nr THE NEXT CAR . . . 59
VI THE Gnu. IK BLUE 69
VII A FINE GOID CHAIN ..... 70
VIII THE SECOND SECTION 76
IX THE HALCYON BREAKFAST .... 83
X Miss WEST'S REQUEST 94
XI THE NAME WAS ScLLiTAir . . . .103
XII THEGOLD'BAO 114
XIII FADED ROSES . . . . . . .131
XIV THE TRAP-DOOR . . . . . .141
XV THE CINEMATOGRAPH 153
XVI THE SHADOW OF A GIRL 170
j
XVII AT THE FARM-HOUSE AGAIN .... 180
XVIII A NEW WORLD 1M
XIX AT THE TABLE NEXT 199
XX THE NOTES AND A BAROAIN .... 308
XXI MCKNIGHT'S THSORT , 1*
CONTENTS Continued
CHAPTER FAGB
XXII AT THE BOAKDING-HOUSH .... 223
XXIII A NIGHT AT THE LAURELS .... 233
XXIV His WIFE'S FATHER 254
XXV AT THE STATIOH 269
XXVI ON TO RICHMOND 279
XXVII THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STABS . . . 296
XXVIII ALISON'S STORY . . . . . .313
XXIX IN THE DININQ-ROOM 325
XXX FINER DETAILS 341
XXXI AND ONLY ONE ARM ..... 367
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
CHAPTER I
I GO TO PITTSBURG
MCKNIGHT is gradually taking over the
criminal end of the business. I never
liked it, and since the strange case of the man in
lower ten, I have been a bit squeamish. Given a
case like that, where you can build up a network
of clues that absolutely incriminate three en
tirely different people, only one of whom can be
guilty, and your faith in circumstantial evidence
dies of overcrowding. I never see a shivering,
white-faced wretch in the prisoners' dock that I
do not hark back with shuddering horror to the
strange events on the Pullman car Ontario, be
tween Washington and Pittsburg, on the night
of September ninth, last.
McKnight could tell the story a great deal
better than I, although he can not spell three
1
2 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
consecutive words correctly. But, while h has
imagination and humor, he is lazj.
"It didn't happen to me, anyhow," he pro
tested, when I put it up to him. "And nobodj
cares for second-hand thrills. Besides, you want
the unvarnished and ungarnished truth, and I'm
no hand for that. I'm a lawyer."
So am I, although there have been times when
my assumption in that particular has been dis
puted. I am unmarried, and just old enough to
dance with the grown-up little sisters of th*
girls I used to know. I am fond of outdoors,
prefer horses to the aforesaid grown-up little
sisters, am without sentiment (am crossed out
and was substituted. Ed.) and completely
ruled and frequently routed by my housekeeper,
an elderly widow.
In fact, of all the men of my acquaintance, 1
was probably the most prosaic, the least adven
turous, the one man in a hundred who would
be likely to go without a deviation from the nor
mal through the orderly procession of the sea
sons, summer suits to winter flannels, golf to
bridge.
1 GO TO PITTSBURG 3
So it was a queer freak of the demons of
chance to perch on my unsusceptible thirty-year-
old chest, tie me up with a crime, ticket me
] with a love affair, and start me on that sensa
tional and not always respectable journey that
ended so surprisingly less than three weeks later
in the firm's private office. It had been the most
remarkable period of my life. I would neither
give it up nor live it again under any inducement,
and yet all that I lost was some twenty yards
off my drive !
It was really McKnight's turn to make the
next journey. I had a tournament at Chevy
Chase for Saturday, and a short yacht cruise
planned for Sunday, and when a man has been
grinding at statute law for a week, he needs re
laxation. But McKnight begged off. It was
not the first time he had shirked that summer in
^ order to run down to Richmond, and I was surly
about it. But this time he had a new excuse.
"I wouldn't be able to look after the business
if I did go," he said. He has a sort of wide-
eyed frankness that makes one ashamed to doubt
him. "I'm always car sick crossing the moun-
4 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
tains. It's a fact, Lollie. See-sawing over the
peaks does it. Why, crossing the Alleghany
Mountains has the Gulf Stream to Bermuda
beaten to a frazzle."
So I gave him up finally and went home to
pack. He came later in the evening with his
machine, the Cannonball, to take me to the sta
tion, and he brought the forged notes in the
Bronson case.
"Guard them with your life," he warned me.
"They are more precious than honor. Sew them
m your chest protector, or wherever people keep
Valuables. I never keep any. I'll not be happy
until I see Gentleman Andy doing the lockstep."
He sat down on my clean collars, found my
cigarettes and struck a match on the mahogany
bed post with one movement.
"Where's the Pirate?" he demanded. The
Pirate is my housekeeper, Mrs. Klopton, a very
worthy woman, so labeled and libeled because
of a ferocious pair of eyes and what McKnight
called a bucaneering nose. I quietly closed the
door into the hall.
"Keep your voice down, Richey," I said. "She
I GO TO PITTSBURG 8
is looking for the evening paper to see if it is
going to rain. She has my raincoat and an um
brella waiting in the hall."
The collars being damaged beyond repair, he
left them and went to the window. He stood
there for some time, staring at the blackness
that represented the wall of the house next door.
"It's raining now," he said over his shoulder,
and closed the window and the shutters. Some
thing in his voice made me glance up, but he
was watching me, his hands idly in his pockets.
"Who lives next door?" he inquired in a per
functory tone, after a pause. I was packing my
razor.
"House is empty," I returned absently. "If
the landlord would put it in some sort of
shape "
"Did you put those notes in your pocket?"
he broke in.
"Yes." I was impatient. "Along with my
certificates of registration, baptism and vaccina
tion. Whoever wants them will have to steal my
coat to get them."
"Well, I would move them, if I were you.
6 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN!
Somebody in the next house was confoundedly
anxious to see where you put them. Somebodj
right at that window opposite.'*
I scoffed at the idea, but nevertheless I moved/
the papers, putting them in my traveling-bag,
well down at the bottom. McKnight watched me
uneasily.
"I have a hunch that you are going to have
trouble," he said, as I locked the alligator bag.
"Darned if I like starting anything important
on Friday."
"You hare a congenital dislike to start any
thing on any old day," I retorted, still sore
from my lost Saturday. "And if you knew the
owner of that house as I do you would know that
if there was any one at that window he is paj-
ing rent for the privilege."
Mrs. Klopton rapped at the door and spok
discreetly from the hall.
"Did Mr. McKnight bring the evening par
per?" she inquired.
"Sorry, but I didn't, Mrs. Klopton," Mc
Knight called. "The Cubs won, three to noth
ing." He listened, grinning, as she moved awaj
with little irritated rustles of her black silk
gown.
I finished my packing, changed my collar and
was ready to go. Then very cautiously we put
out the light and opened the shutters. The
window across was merely a deeper black in the
darkness. It was closed and dirty. And yet,
probably owing to Richey's suggestion, I had
an uneasy sensation of eyes staring across at
me. The next moment we were at the door,
poised for flight.
"We'll have to run for it," I said in a whisper.
"She's down there with a package of some sort,
sandwiches probably. And she's threatened me
with overshoes for a month. Ready now !"
I had a kaleidoscopic view of Mrs. Klopton
in the lower hall, holding out an armful of sucb
traveling impedimenta as she deemed essential,
Awhile beside her, Euphemia, the colored house
maid, grinned over a white-wrapped box.
"Awfully sorry no time back Sunday," I
panted over my shoulder. Then the doov closed
and the car was moving away.
McKnight b*t forward and stared at the
8 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
of the empty house next door as we
passed. It was black, staring, mysterious, as
empty buildings are apt to be.
"I'd like to hold a post-mortem on that corpse
of a house," he said thoughtfully. "By George,
I've a notion to get out and take a look."
"Somebody after the brass pipes," I scoffed.
"House has been empty for a year."
With one hand on the steering wheel Mc-
Knight held out the other for my cigarette case.
"Perhaps," he said; "but I don't see what she
would want with brass pipe."
"A woman!" I laughed outright. "You
have been looking too hard at the picture in the
back of your watch, that's all. There's an ex
periment like that : if you stare long enough "
But McKnight was growing sulky: he sat
looking rigidly ahead, and he did not speak
again until he brought the Cannonball to a stop
at the station. Even then it was only a perfunc
tory remark. He went through the gate with
me, and with five minutes to spare, we lounged
and smoked in the train shed. My mind had
slid away from my surroundings and had wan-
I GO TO PITTSBURG 9
dered to a polo pony that I couldn't afford and
intended to buy anyhow. Then McKnight shook
off his taciturnity.
"For Heaven's sake, don't look so martyred,"(
he burst out ; "I know you've done all the travel
ing this summer. I know you're missing a game
to-morrow. But don't be a, patient mother ; con
found it, I have to go to Richmond on Sunday.
I I want to see a girl."
"Oh, don't mind me," I observed politely.
"Personally, I wouldn't change places with you.
What's her name North ? South ?"
"West," he snapped. "Don't try to be funny.
And all I have to say, Blakeley, is that if you
ever fall in love I hope you make an egregious
ass of yourself."
In view of what followed, this came rather
close to prophecy.
The trip west was without incident. I played
bridge with a furniture dealer from Grand Rap
ids, a sales agent for a Pittsburg iron firm and
a young professor from an eastern college. I
won three rubbers out of four, finished what
cigarettes McKnight had left me, and went to
10 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
bed about one o'clock. It was growing cooler,
and the rain had ceased. Once, toward morning,
I wakened with a start, for no apparent reason,
and sat bolt upright. I had an uneasy feeling
that some one had been looking at me, the same
sensation I had experienced earlier in the even
ing at the window. But I could feel the bag
with the notes, between me and the window, and
with my arm thrown over it for security, I
lapsed again into slumber. Later, when I tried
to piece together the fragments of that journey,
I remembered that my coat, which had been fold
ed and placed beyond my restless tossing, had
been rescued in the morning from a heterogene
ous jumble of blankets, evening papers and
cravat, had been shaken out with profanity and
donned with wrath. At the time, nothing oc
curred to me but the necessity of writing to the
Pullman Company and asking them if they ever
traveled in their own cars. I even formulated
some of the letter.
"If they are built to scale, why not take a
man of ordinary stature as your unit?" I wrote
mentally. "I can not fold together like the
I GO TO PITTSBURG 11
traveling cup with which I drink your abomina
ble water."
I was more cheerful after I had had a cup of
coffee in the Union Station. It was too early to^
attend to business, and I lounged in the restau
rant and hid behind the morning papers. As
I had expected, they had got hold of my visit
and its object. On the first page was a staring
announcement that the forged papers in the
Bronson case had been brought to Pittsburg.
Underneath, a telegram from Washington
stated that Lawrence Blakeley, of Blakeley and
McKnight, had left for Pittsburg the night
before, and that, owing to the approaching trial
of the Bronson case and the illness of John
Gilmore, the Pittsburg millionaire, who was the
chief witness for the prosecution, it was sup
posed that the visit was intimately concerned
with the trial.
I looked around apprehensively. There were
no reporters yet in sight, and thankful to have
escaped notice I paid for my breakfast and left.
'At the cab-stand I chose the least dilapidated
hansom I could find, and giving the driver th
12 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
address of the Gilmore residence, in the East
end, I got in.
I was just in time. As the cab turned and
rolled off, a slim young man in a straw hat sepa
rated himself from a little group of men and
hurried toward us.
"Hey! Wait a minute there!" he called,
breaking into a trot.
But the cabby did not hear, or perhaps did
not care to. We jogged comfortably along, to
my relief, leaving the young man far behind.
I avoid reporters on principle, having learned
long ago that I am an easy mark for a clever in
terviewer.
It was perhaps nine o'clock when I left the
station. Our way was along the boulevard which
hugged the side of one of the city's great hills.
Far below, to the left, lay the railroad tracks
and the seventy times seven looming stacks of
the mills. The white mist of the river, the grays
and blacks of the smoke blended into a half-
revealing haze, dotted here and there with fire.
It was unlovely, tremendous. Whistler might
have painted it with its pathos, its majesty, but
I GO TO PITTSBURG 19
he would have missed what made it infinitely
suggestive the rattle and roar of iron on iron,
the rumble of wheels, the throbbing beat, against
the ears, of fire and heat and brawn welding
prosperity.
Something of this I voiced to the grim old mil
lionaire who was responsible for at least part of
it. He was propped up in bed in his East end
home, listening to the market reports read by a
nurse, and he smiled a little at my enthusiasm.
"I can't see much beauty in it myself," he
said. "But it's our badge of prosperity. The
full dinner pail here means a nose that looks
like a flue. Pittsburg without smoke wouldn't
be Pittsburg, any more than New York prohibi
tion would be New York. Sit down for a few
minutes, Mr. Blakeley. Now, Miss Gardner,
Westinghouse Electric."
The nurse resumed her reading in a monoto
nous voice. She read literally and without un- .
derstanding, using initials and abbreviations as
they came. But the shrewd old man followed
her easily. Once, however, he stopped her.
"D-o is ditto," he said gently, "not do."
A* the nurse droned along, I found myself
looking curiously at a photograph in a silver
frame on the bedside table. It was the picture
of a girl in white, with her hands clasped loosely
before her. Against the dark background her
figure stood out slim and young. Perhaps it
was the rather grim environment, possibly it was
my mood, but although as a general thing
photographs of young girls make no appeal to
me, this one did. I found my eyes straying back
to it. By a little finesse I even made out the
name written across the corner, "Alison."
Mr. Gilmore lay back among his pillows and
listened to the nurse's listless voice. But he
was watching me from under his heavy eye
brows, for when the reading was over, and we
were alone, he indicated the picture with a ges
ture.
"I keep it there to remind myself that I am.
ran old man," he said. "That is my grand
daughter, Alison West."
I expressed the customary polite surprise, a?
which, finding me responsive, he told me his age
with a chuckle of pride. More surprise, this
1 GO TO PITTSBURG 10
time genuine. From that we went to what he
ate for breakfast and did not eat for luncheon,
and then to his reserve power, which at sixty-
five becomes a matter for thought. And so, hr
a wide circle, back to where we started, the pic
ture.
"Father was a rascal," John Gilmore said,
picking up the frame. "The happiest day of
my life was when I knew he was safely dead in
bed and not hanged. If the child had looked
like him, I well, she doesn't. She's a Gilmore,
every inch. Supposed to look like me."
"Very noticeably," I agreed soberly.
I had produced the notes by that time, and
replacing the picture Mr. Gilmore gathered his
spectacles from beside it. He wenb over the
four notes methodically, examining each care
fully and putting it down before he picked up
the next. Then he leaned back and took off his
glasses.
"They're not so bad," he said thoughtfully.
"Not so bad. But I never saw them before.
That's my unofficial signature. I am inclined
to think" he was speaking partly to himself
16 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"to think that he has got hold of a letter of
mine, probably to Alison. Bronson was a friend
of her rapscallion of a father."
I took Mr. Gilmore's deposition and put it into
my traveling-bag with the forged notes. When I
saw them again, almost three weeks later, they
were unrecognizable, a mass of charred paper
on a copper ash-tray. In the interval other and
bigger things had happened : the Bronson forg
ery case had shrunk beside the greater and more
imminent mystery of the man in lower ten. And
Alison West had come into the story and into
my life.
CHAPTER II
A TORN TELEGRAM
I LUNCHED alone at the Gilmore house,
and went back to the city at once. The
sun had lifted the mists, and a fresh summer
wind had cleared away the smoke pall. The
boulevard was full of cars flying countryward
for the Saturday half-holiday, toward golf and
tennis, green fields and babbling girls. I gritted
my teeth and thought of McKnight at Rich
mond, visiting the lady with the geographical
name. And then, for the first time, I associated
iJohn Gilmore's granddaughter with the "West**
that McKnight had irritably flung at me.
I still carried my traveling-bag, for Mc-
1 Knight's vision at the window of the empty
house had not been without effect. I did not
transfer the notes to my pocket, and, if I had, it
would not have altered the situation later. Only
17
18 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
the other day McKnight put this very thing wp
to me.
"I warned you," he reminded me. '"I told you
there were queer things coming, and to be on ^
your guard. You ought to have taken your re
volver."
"It would have been of exactly as much use as
a bucket of snow in Africa," I retorted. "If
I had never closed my eyes, or if I had kept my
finger on the trigger of a six-shooter (which i
novelesque for revolver), the result would haye
been the same. And the next time you want a
little excitement with every variety of thrill
thrown in, I can put you by way of it. You be
gin by getting the wrong berth in a Pullman
car, and end "
"Oh, I know how it ends," he finished shortly.
*'Don't you suppose the whole thing's written
on my spinal marrow ?"
But I am wandering again. That is the dif-,
ficulty with the unprofessional story-teller: he
yaws back and forth and can't keep in the wind ;
he drops his characters overboard when he hasn't
any further use for them and drowns them; ha
forgets the coffee-pot and the frying-pan and
11 the other small essentials, and, if he carries a
love affair, he mutters a fervent "Allah be
praised" when he lands them, drenched with ad
ventures, at the matrimonial dock at the end of
the final chapter.
I put in a thoroughly unsatisfactory after-
moon. Time dragged eternally. I dropped in
at a summer vaudeville, and bought some ties at
a haberdasher's. I was bored but unexpectant;
I had no premonition of what was to come.
Nothing unusual had ever happened to me;
friends of mine had sometimes sailed the high
seas of adventure or skirted the coasts of chance,
but all of the shipwrecks had occurred after a
woman passenger had been taken on. "Ergo,"
I had always said "no women !" I repeated it to
myself that evening almost savagely, when I
found my thoughts straying back to the picture
of John Gilmore's granddaughter. I even ar
gued as I ate my solitary dinner at a down-town
restaurant.
"Haven't you troubles enough," I reflected,
^without looking for more? Hasn't Bad News
20 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
gone lame, with a matinee race booked for next
week? Otherwise aren't you comfortable? Isn't
your house in order? Do you want to sell a pony
in order to have the library done over in mission
or the drawing-room in gold? Do you want
somebody to count the empty cigarette boxes
lying around every morning?"
Lay it to the long idle afternoon, to the new
environment, to anything you like, but I began
to think that perhaps I did. I was confoundedly
lonely. For the first time in my life its even
course began to waver: the needle registered
warning marks on the matrimonial seismograph,
lines vague enough, but lines.
My alligator bag lay at my feet, still locked.
While I waited for my coffee I leaned back and
surveyed the people incuriously. There were
the usual couples intent on each other: my new
state of mind made me regard them with toler
ance. But at the next table, where a man and
woman dined together, a different atmosphere
prevailed. My attention was first caught by
the woman's face. She had been speaking ear
nestly across the table, her profile turned to me.
A TORN TELEGRAM 21
I had noticed casually her earnest manner, her
somber clothes, and the great mass of odd,
bronze-colored hair on her neck. But suddenly
she glanced toward me and the utter hopeless
ness^ almost tragedy of her expression struck
me with a shock. She half closed her eyes and
drew a long breath, then she turned again to the
man across the table.
Neither one was eating. He sat low in his
chair, his chin on his chest, ugly folds of thick
flesh protruding over his collar. He was prob
ably fifty, bald, grotesque, sullen, and yet not
without a suggestion of power. But he had
been drinking; as I looked, he raised an un
steady hand and summoned a waiter with a wine
list.
The young woman bent across the table and
spoke again quickly. She had unconsciously
raised her voice. Not beautiful, in her earnest-
1 ness and stress she rather interested me. I had
an idle inclination to advise the waiter to re
move the bottled temptation from the table. I
wonder what would have happened if I had?
Suppose Harrington had not been intoxicated
29 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
when he entered the Pullman car Ontario thai
night !
For they were about to make a journey, I
gathered, and the young woman wished to go
alone. I drank three cups of coffee, which ac
counted for my wakefulness later, and shame
lessly watched the tableau before me. The
woman's protest evidently went for nothing:
across the table the man grunted monosyllabic
replies and grew more and more lowering and
sullen. Once, during a brief unexpected pian~
issimo in the music, her voice came to me
sharply :
"If I could only see him in time!" she was
saying. "Oh, it's terrible !"
In spite of my interest I would have for*
gotten the whole incident at once, erased it from
my mind as one does the inessentials and clut-
terings of memory, had I not met them again,
later that evening, in the Pennsylvania station.
The situation between them had not visibly al
tered: the same dogged determination showed in
the man's face, but the young woman daugh
ter or wife? I wondered had drawn down hei
Tell and I could only suspect what white misery
lay beneath.
I bought my berth after waiting in a line of
some eight or ten people. When, step by step,
I had almost reached the window, a tall woman
whom I had not noticed before spoke to me from
my elbow. She had a ticket and money in her
hand.
"Will you try to get me a lower when you
buy yours?" she asked. "I have traveled for
three nights in uppers."
I consented, of course; beyond that I hardly
moticed the woman. I had a vague impression
of height and a certain amount of stateliness,
but the crowd was pushing behind me, and some
one was standing on my foot. I got two lowers
easily, and, turning with the change and berths,
held out the tickets.
"Which will you have?" I asked. "Lower
eleven or lower ten?"
"It makes no difference," she said "Thank
you very much indeed."
At random I gave her lower eleven, and called
s. porter to help her with her luggage. I fol-
24. THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
lowed them leisurely to the train shed, and ten
minutes more saw us under way.
I looked into my car, but it presented the
peculiarly unattractive appearance common to
sleepers. The berths were made up ; the center
aisle was a path between walls of dingy, breeze-
repelling curtains, while the two seats at each
end of the car were piled high with suit-cases
and umbrellas. The perspiring porter was try
ing to be six places at once : somebody has said
that Pullman porters are black so they won't
show the dirt, but they certainly show the heat.
Nine-fifteen was an outrageous hour to go to
bed, especially since I sleep little or not at all
on the train, so I made my way to the smoker
and passed the time until nearly eleven with
cigarettes and a magazine.
The car was very close. It was a warm night,
and before turning in I stood a short time in
the vestibule. The train had been stopping at
frequent intervals, and, finding the brakeman
there, I asked the trouble.
It seemed that there was a hot-box on the
next car, and that not only were we late, but we
A TORN TELEGRAM 23
were delaying the second section, just behind. I
was beginning to feel pleasantly drowsy, and
the air was growing cooler as we got into the
mountains. I said good night to the brakeman
and went back to my berth. To my surprise,
lower ten was already occupied a suit-case pro
jected from beneath, a pair of shoes stood on
the floor, and from behind the curtains came the
heavy, unmistakable breathing of deep sleep. I
hunted out the porter and together we investi
gated.
"Are you asleep, sir?" asked the porter, lean
ing over deferentially. No answer forthcom
ing, he opened the curtains and looked in. Yes,
the intruder was asleep very much asleep
and an overwhelming odor of whisky proclaimed
that he would probably remain asleep until
morning. I was irritated. The car was full,
and I was not disposed to take an upper in order
to allow this drunken interloper to sleep com-?
fortably in my berth.
"You'll have to get out of this," I said, shak
ing him angrily. But he merely grunted and
turned over. As he did so, I saw his features
26 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
for the first time. It was the quarrelsome maa
of the restaurant.
I was less disposed than ever to relinquish my
claim, but the porter, after a little quiet investi
gation, offered a solution of the difficulty.
"There's no one in lower nine," he suggested,
pulling open the curtains just across. "It's
likely nine's his berth, and he's made a mistake,
owing to his condition. You'd better take nine,
sir."
I did, with a firm resolution that if nine's
rightful owner turned up later I should be just
as unwakable as the man opposite. I undressed
leisurely, making sure of the safety of the
forged notes, and placing my grip as before be
tween myself and the window.
Being a man of systematic habits, I arranged
my clothes carefully, putting my shoes out for
the porter to polish, and stowing my collar and
scarf in the little hammock swung for the pur
pose.
At last, with my pillows so arranged that I
could see out comfortably, and with the un
hygienic-looking blanket turned back I have el-
A TORN TELEGRAM 87
ways a distrust of those much-used affairs I
prepared to wait gradually for sleep.
But sleep did not visit me. The train came
to frequent, grating stops, and I surmised the
hot box again. I am not a nervous man, but
there was something chilling in the thought of
the second section pounding along behind us.
Once, as I was dozing, our locomotive whistled a
shrill warning "You keep back where you be
long," it screamed to my drowsy ears, and from
somewhere behind came a chastened "AU-right-
I-will."
I grew more and more wide-awake. At Cres-
son I got up on my elbow and blinked out at the
station lights. Some passengers boarded the
train there and I heard a woman's low tones, a
southern voice, rich and full. Then quiet again.
Every nerve was tense : time passed, perhaps ten
minutes, possibly half an hour. Then, without
the slightest warning, as the train rounded a
curve, a heavy body was thrown into my berth.
The incident, trivial as it seemed, was startling
in its suddenness, for although my ears were
painfully strained and awake, I had heard no
88 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
step outside. The next instant the curtain hung
limp again; still without a sound, my disturber
had slipped away into the gloom and darkness.
In a frenzy of walcefulness, I sat up, drew on a
pair of slippers and fumbled for my bath-robe.
From a berth across, probably lower ten, came
that particularly aggravating snore which be
gins lightly, delicately, faintly soprano, goes
down the scale a note with every breath, and,
after keeping the listener tense with expecta
tion, ends with an explosion that tears the very
air. I was more and more irritable : I sat on the
edge of the berth and hoped the snorer would
choke to death.
He had considerable vitality, however; he
withstood one shock after another and survived
to start again with new vigor. In desperation
I found some cigarettes and one match, piled
my blankets over my grip, and drawing the cur
tains together as though the berth were still oc
cupied, I made my way to the vestibule of the
car.
I was not clad for dress parade. Is it because
the male is so restricted to gloom in his every-
day attire that he blossoms into gaudy colors in
his pajamas and dressing-gowns? It would take
a Turk to feel at home before an audience in my
red and yellow bath-robe, a Christmas remem- -
brance from Mrs. Klopton, with slippers to
match .
So, naturally, when I saw a feminine figure
on the platform, my first instinct was to dodge.
The woman, however, was quicker than I; she
gave me a startled glance, wheeled and disap
peared, with a flash of two bronze-colored braids,
into the next car.
Cigarette box in one hand, match in the other,
I leaned against the uncertain frame of the door
and gazed after her vanished figure. The moun
tain air flapped my bath-robe around my bare
ankles, my one match burned to the end and went
out, and still I stared. For I had seen on her
expressive face a haunting look that was horror,
nothing less. Heaven knows, I am not psycho
logical. Emotions have to be written large be
fore I can read them. But a woman in trouble
always appeals to me, and this woman was more
than that. She was in deadly fear.
SO THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
If I had not been afraid of being ridiculous,
I would have followed her. But I fancied that
the apparition of a man in a red and yellow
bath-robe, with an unkempt thatch of hair, walk
ing up to her and assuring her that he would
protect her would probably put her into hys
terics. I had done that once before, when bur
glars had tried to break into the house, and had
startled the parlor maid into bed for a week.
So I tried to assure myself that I had imagined
the lady's distress or caused it, perhaps and
to dismiss her from my mind. Perhaps she was
merely anxious about the unpleasant gentleman
of the restaurant. I thought smugly that I
could have told her all about him: that he was
sleeping the sleep of the just and the intoxicated
in a berth that ought, by all that was fair and
right, to have been mine, and that if I were tied
.to a man who snored like that I should have him
, anaesthetized and his soft palate put where it
would never again flap like a loose sail in tha
wind.
We passed Harrisburg as I stood there. It
was starlight, and the great crests of the Alle-
A TORN TELEGRAM 31
ghanies had given way to low hills. At intervals
we passed smudges of gray white, no doubt in
daytime comfortable farms, which McKnight
says is a good way of putting it, the farms be- 1
ing a lot more comfortable than the people on
them.
I was growing drowsy: the woman with the
bronze hair and the horrified face was fading in
retrospect. It was colder, too, and I turned
with a shiver to go in.
As I did so, a bit of paper fluttered into the
air and settled on my sleeve, like a butterfly on
a gorgeous red and yellow blossom. I picked it
up curiously and glanced at it. It was part of
a telegram that had been torn into bits.
There were only parts of four words on the
scrap, but it left me puzzled and thoughtful.
It read, " ower ten, car seve ." "Lower ten,
car seven," was my berth the one I had bought
and found preempted.
CHAPTER
ACROSS THE AISLE
NO solution offering itself, I went back to
my berth. The snorer across had ap
parently strangled, or turned over, and so after
a time I dropped asleep, to be awakened by the
morning sunlight across my face.
I felt for my watch, yawning prodigiously.
I reached under the pillow and failed to find it,
but something scratched the back of my hand.
I sat up irritably and nursed the wound, which
was bleeding a little. Still drowsy, I felt more
cautiously for what I supposed had been my
scarf pin, but there was nothing there. Wide
awake now, I reached for my traveling-bag, on
the chance that I had put my watch in there.
I had drawn the satchel to me and had my hand
on the lock before I realized that it was not my
own!
32
ACROSS THE AISLE S3
Mine was of alligator hide. I had killed the
beast in Florida, after the expenditure of enough
money to have bought a house and enough en
ergy to have built one. The bag I held in my
hand was a black one, sealskin, I think. The
staggering thought of what the loss of my bag
meant to me put my finger on the bell and kept
\
it there until the porter came.
"Did .you ring, sir?" he asked, poking his
head through the curtains obsequiously. Mc-
Knight objects that nobody can poke his head
through a curtain and be obsequious. But Pull
man porters can and do.
"No," I snapped. "It rang itself. What in
thunder do you mean by exchanging my valise
for this one ? You'll have to find it if you waken
the entire car to do it. There are important
papers in that grip."
"Porter," called a feminine voice from an up-
/ per berth near-by. "Porter, am I to dangle here
'all day?"
"Let her dangle," I said savagely. "You find
that bag of mine."
The porter frowned. Then he looked at me
34. THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
with injured dignity. "I brought in your orel*
coat, sir. You carried your own valise."
The fellow was right! In an excess of cau
tion I had refused to relinquish my alligator
bag, and had turned over my other traps to the
porter. It was clear enough then. I was simply
a victim of the usual sleeping-car robbery. I
was in a lather of perspiration by that time : the
lady down the car was still dangling and talk
ing about it: still nearer a feminine voice was
giving quick orders in French, presumably to a
maid. The porter was on his knees, looking un
der the berth.
"Not there, sir," he said, dusting his knees.
He was visibly more cheerful, having been ab
solved of responsibility. "Reckon it was taken
while you was wanderin* around the car last
night."
"I'll give you fifty dollars if you find it," 1^
said. "A hundred. Reach up my shoes and-
I'll "
I stopped abruptly. My eyes were fixed in
stupefied amazement on a coat that hung from
a hook at the foot of my berth. From the coat
ACROSS THE AISLE 35
they traveled, dazed, to the soft-bosomed shirt
beside it, and from there to the collar and cravat
in the net hammock across the windows.
"A hundred!" the porter repeated, showing
his teeth. But I caught him bj the arm and
pointed to the foot of the berth.
"What what color's that coat ?" I asked un
steadily.
"Gray, sir." His tone was one of gentle re
proof.
"And the trousers?"
He reached over and held up one creased leg.
"Gray, too," he grinned.
"Gray !" I could not believe even his corrobo-
ration of my own eyes. "But my clothes were
blue!" The porter was amused: he dived under
the curtains and brought up a pair of shoes.
"Your shoes, sir," he said with a flourish.
"Reckon you've been dreaming, sir."
Now, there are two things I always avoid in
my dress possibly an idiosyncracy of my bach
elor existence. These tabooed articles are red
neckties and tan shoes. And not only were th
hoeg the porter lifted from the floor of a gor-
36 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
geous shade of yellow, but the scarf which was
run through the turned over collar was a gaudj
red. It took a full minute for the real import of
things to penetrate my dazed intelligence. Then
I gave a vindictive kick at the offending en
semble.
"They're not mine, any of them," I snarled.
"They are some other fellow's. I'll sit here until
I take root before I put them on."
"They're nice lookin' clothes," the porter put
in, eying the red tie with appreciation. "Ain't
everybody would have left you anything."
"Call the conductor," I said shortly. Then
a possible explanation occurred to me. "Oh,
porter what's the number of this berth?"
"Seven, sir. If you cain't wear those shoes "
"Seven!" In my relief I almost shouted it.
"Why, then, it's simple enough. I'm in the
wrong berth, that's all. My berth is nine. Only
where the deuce is the man who belongs here?"
"Likely in nine, sir." The darky was enjoy
ing himself. "You and the other gentleman
just got mixed in the night. That's all, sir."
It was clear that he thought I had been drinking.
ACROSS THE AISLE S7
I drew a long breath. Of course, that was the
explanation. This was number seven's berth,
that was his soft hat, this his umbrella, his coat,
his bag. My rage turned to irritation at my
self.
The porter went to the next berth and I could
hear his softly insinuating voice. "Time to get
up, sir. Are you awake ? Time to get up."
There was no response from number nine. I
guessed that he had opened the curtains and was
looking in. Then he came back.
"Number nine's empty," he said.
"Empty! Do you mean my clothes aren't
there?" I demanded. "My valise? Why don't
you answer me?"
"You doan' give me time," he retorted.
"There ain't nothin' there. But it's been slept
in."
The disappointment was the greater for my
few moments of hope. T sat up in a white fury
and put on the clothes that had been left me.
Then, still raging, I sat on the edge of the
berth and put on the obnoxious tan shoes. The
porter, called to his duties, made little excursions
88 THE MAN. IK LOWER. TEN
back to me, to offer assistance and to chuckle &t
my discomfiture.* JKe stood by, outwardly de
corous, but with little irritating grins of amuse-
iment around his mouth, when. I finally emerged
with the red tie in my hand..
l "Bet the owner o'f those clothes didn't become"
<them any more than you do," he ^ said,. as he;
jplied the ubiquitous whisk broom..
>"When I get the owner of these clothes,"'!
retorted grimly, "he.will need a shroud*. Where's!
vthe conductor?"
The conductor 'was coming,' he assured me;
also that there was no bag answering the de^
scription of mine on the car. I slammed my'
t way to the dressing-room, washed, choked my
fifteen and a half neck into a fifteen collar, and
'was back again in less than five minutes. The;
.car, as well as its occupants, was gradually tak^ !
ing on a daylight appearance. I hobbled in,
for, one of the shoes was abominably tight, and
.found myself facing a young woman in blue:
.with an unforgetable face. ("Three
ready." McKnight says: "That's going
, J jou . don't count the Gilmore nurse."
She stood, half -turned toward me, one hand idly
(drooping, the other steadying her as she gazed
out at the flying landscape. I had an instant
impression that I had met her somewhere, under
different circumstances, more cheerful ones, I
thought, for the girl's dejection now was evi
dent. Beside her, sitting down, a small dark
woman, considerably older, was talking in a
rapid undertone. The girl nodded indifferently
now and then. I fancied, although I was not
sure, that my appearance brought a startled
look into the young woman's face. I sat down
and, hands thrust deep into the other man's
pockets, stared ruefully at the other man's
shoes.
The stage was set. In a moment the curtain
was going up on the first act of the play. And
for a while we would all say our little speeches
and sing our little songs, and I, the villain,
would hold center stage while the gallery hissed.
The porter was standing beside lower ten.
He had reached in and was knocking valiantly.
But his efforts met with no response. He winked
at me over his shoulder ; then he unfastened the
40 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
curtains and bent forward. Behind him, I saw
him stiffen, heard his muttered exclamation, sa\f
the bluish pallor that spread over his face and
neck. As he retreated a step the interior of
lower ten lay open to the day.
The man in it was on his back, the early morn
ing sun striking full on his upturned face. But
the light did not disturb him. A small stain of
red dyed the front of his night clothes and
trailed across the sheet: his half-open eyes were
fixed, without seeing, on the shining wood above.
I grasped the porter's shaking shoulders and
stared down to where the train imparted to the
body a grisly suggestion of motion. "Good
Lord," I gasped. "The man's been murdered!"
NUMBERS SEVEN AND NINE
AFTERWARDS, when I tried to recall our
discovery of the body in lower ten, I found
that my most vivid impression was not that
made by the revelation of the opened curtain.
I had an instantaneous picture of a slender blue-
gowned girl who seemed to sense my words
rather than hear them, of two small hands that
clutched desperately at the seat beside them.
The girl in the aisle stood, bent toward us, per
plexity and alarm fighting in her face.
With twitching hands the porter attempted
to draw the curtains together. Then in a pa
ralysis of shock, he collapsed on the edge of my
berth and sat there swaying. In my excitement
I shook him.
"For Heaven's sake, keep your nerve, man,"
I said bruskly. "You'll have every woman in
the car in hysterics. And if you do, you'll wish
41
4 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
you could change places with the man in there."
He rolled his eyes.
A man near, who had been reading last
'night's paper, dropped it quickly and tiptoed
toward us. He peered between the partly open
curtains, closed them quietly and went back,
ostentatiously solemn, to his seat. The very
crackle with which he opened his paper added to
the bursting curiosity of the car. For the pas
sengers knew that something was amiss: I was
conscious of a sudden tension.
With the curtains closed the porter was more
himself; he wiped his lips with a handkerchief
and stood erect.
"It's my last trip in this car," he remarked
heavily. "There's something wrong with that
berth. Last trip the woman in it took an over
dose of some sleeping stuff, and we found her,
jes' like that, dead! And it ain't more'n three
months now since there was twins born in that
very spot. No, sir, it ain't natural."
At that moment a thin man with prominent
eyes and a spare grayish goatee creaked up the
aisle and paused beside me.
NUMBERS SEVEN AND NINE 4S
"Porter sick?" he inquired, taking in with a
professional eye the porter's horror-struck face,
my own excitement and the slightly gaping cur- ,.
tains of lower ten. He reached for the darky's
pulse and pulled out an old-fashioned gold
watch.
"Hm! Only fifty! What's the matter? Had
a shock?" he asked shrewdly.
"Yes," I answered for the porter. "We've
both had one. If you are a doctor, I wish you
would look at the man in the berth across, lower
ten. I'm afraid it's too late, but I'm not ex
perienced in such matters."
Together we opened the curtains, and the doc
tor, bending down, gave a comprehensive glance
that took in the rolling head, the relaxed jaw,
the ugly stain on the sheet. The examination
needed only a moment. Death was written in
the clear white of the nostrils, the colorless lips,
the smoothing away of the sinister lines of the
night before. With its new dignity the face
was not unhandsome : the gray hair was still
plentiful, the features strong and well cut.
The doctor straightened himself and turne3
44 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
to me. "Dead for some time," he said, running
a professional finger over the stains. "These
are dry and darkened, you see, and rigor mortis
is well established. A friend of yours?"
"I don't know him at all," I replied. "Never
saw him but once before."
"Then you don't know if he is traveling
alone?"
"No, he was not that is, I don't know any
thing about him," I corrected myself. It was
my first blunder: the doctor glanced up at me
quickly and then turned his attention again to
the body. Like a flash there had come to me
the vision of the woman with the bronze hair
and the tragic face, whom I had surprised in
the vestibule between the cars, somewhere in the
small hours of the morning. I had acted on my
first impulse the masculine one of shielding a
woman.
i
The doctor had unfastened the coat of the
'striped pajamas and exposed the dead man's
chest. On the left side was a small punctured
wound of insignificant size.
"Very neatly done," the doctor said with ap-
preciation. "Couldn't have done it better my
self. Right through the intercostal space: no
time even to grunt."
"Isn't the heart around there somewhere?" I
asked. The medical man turned toward me and
smiled austerely.
"That's where it belongs, just under that
puncture, when it isn't gadding around in a
man's throat or his boots."
I had a new respect for the doctor, for any
one indeed who could crack even a feeble joke
under such circumstances, or who could run an
impersonal finger over that wound and those
stains. Odd how a healthy, normal man holds
the medical profession in half contemptuous re
gard until he gets sick, or an emergency like this
arises, and then turns meekly to the man who
knows the ins and outs of his mortal tenement,
takes his pills or his patronage, ties to him like a
rudderless ship in a gale.
"Suicide, is it, doctor?" I asked.
He stood erect, after drawing the bed-cloth
ing 1 over the face, and, taking off his glasses,
he wiped them slowly.
46 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"No, it is not suicide," he announced deci
sively. "It is murder."
Of course, I had expected that, but the word
' itself brought a shiver. I was just a bit dizzy.
Curious faces through the car were turned to
ward us, and I could hear the porter behind me
breathing audibly. A stout woman in negligee
came down the aisle and querulously confronted
the porter. She wore a pink dressing- jacket and
carried portions of her clothing.
"Porter," she began, in the voice of the lady
who had "dangled," "is there a rule of this
company that will allow a woman to occupy the
dressing-room for one hour and curl her hair
with an alcohol lamp while respectable people
haven't a place where they can hook their "
She stopped suddenly and stared into lower
ten. Her shining pink cheeks grew pasty, her
jaw fell. I remember trying to think of some
thing to say, and of saying nothing at alL
Then she had buried her eyeg in the nonde
script garments that hung from her arm and
tottered back the way she had come. Slowly a
little knot of men gathered around us, silent for
the most part. The doctor was making a search
of the berth when the conductor elbowed his way
through, followed by the inquisitive man, who
had evidently summoned him. I had lost sight,
for a time, of the girl in blue.
"Do it himself?" the conductor queried, after
a business-like glance at the body.
"No, he didn't," the doctor asserted. "There's
no weapon here, and the window is closed. He
couldn't have thrown it out, and he didn't swal
low it. What on earth are you looking for s
man?"
Some one was on the floor at our feet, face
down, head peering under the berth. Now he
got up without apology, revealing the man who
had summoned the conductor. He was dusty,
alert, cheerful, and he dragged up with him the
dead man's suit-case. The sight of it brought
back to me at once my own predicament.
"I don't know whether there's any connection
or not, conductor," I said, "but I am a victim,
too, in less degree; I've been robbed of every
thing I possess, except a red and yellow bath-
roba. I happened to be wearing the bath-robe.
48 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
which was probably the reason the thief over
looked it."
There was a fresh murmur in the crowd.
Somebody laughed nervously. The conductor
was irritated.
"I can't bother with that now," he snarled.
"The railroad company is responsible for trans
portation, not for clothes, jewelry and morals.
If people want to be stabbed and robbed in the
company's cars, it's their affair. Why didn't
you sleep in your clothes ? I do."
I took an angry step forward. Then some
body touched my arm, and I unclenched my fist.
I could understand the conductor's position, and
beside, in the law, I had been guilty myself of
contributory negligence.
"I'm not trying to make you responsible," I
protested, as amiably as I could, "and I believe
the clothes the thief left are as good as my own.
They are certainly newer. But my valise con
tained valuable papers, and it is to your interest
as well as mine to find the man who stole it."
"Why, of course," the doctor said shrewdly.
"Find the man who skipped out with this gen-
NUMBERS SEVEN AND NINE 49
tleman's clothes, and you've probably got the
murderer."
"I went to bed in lower nine," I said, my
mind full again of my lost papers, "and I wak
ened in number seven. I was up in the night
prowling around, as I was unable to sleep, and
I must have gone back to the wrong berth.
Anyhow, until the porter wakened me this morn
ing I knew nothing of my mistake. In the in
terval the thief murderer, too, perhaps must
have come back, discovered my error, and taken
advantage of it to further his escape."
The inquisitive man looked at me from be
tween narrowed eyelids, ferret-like.
"Did any one on the train suspect you of
having valuable papers?" he inquired. The
crowd was listening intently.
"No one," I answered promptly and posi
tively.
The doctor was investigating the murdered
man's effects. The pockets of his trousers con
tained the usual miscellany of keys and small
change, while in his hip pocket was found a
small pearl-handled revolver of the type womea
usually keep around. A gold watch with a
Masonic charm had slid down between the mat
tress and the window, while a showy diamond
stud was still fastened in the bosom of his shirt. ,
\
Taken as a whole, the personal belongings were
those of a man of some means, but without any
particular degree of breeding. The doctor
heaped them together.
"Either robbery was not the motive," he re
flected, "or the thief overlooked these things in
his hurry."
The latter hypothesis seemed the more tenable,
when, after a thorough search, we found no
pocket-book and less than a dollar in small
change.
The suit-case gave no clue. It contained one
empty leather-covered flask and a pint bottle,
Jso empty, a change of linen and some collar!
with the laundry mark, S. H. In the leather
tag on the handle was a card with the name
Simon Harrington, Pittsburg.
The conductor sat down on my unmade berth,
across, and made an entry of the name and ad
dress. Then, on an old envelope, he wrote a few
NUMBERS SEVEN AND NINE 51
words and gave it to the porter, who disap
peared.
"I guess that's all I can do," he said. "I've
had enough trouble this trip to last for a year.
They don't need a conductor on these trains any
more; what they ought to have is a sheriff and
a posse."
The porter from the next car came in and
whispered to him. The conductor rose unhap~
"Next car's caught the disease," he grumbled.
"Doctor, a woman back there has got mumps
or bubonic plague, or something. Will you
come back?"
The strange porter stood aside.
"Lady about the middle of the car," he said,
"in black, sir, with queer-looking hair sort of
opper color, I think, sir."
CHAPTER V
THE WOMAN IN THE NEXT CAB
WITH the departure of the conductor and
the doctor, the group around lower ten
broke up, to re-form in smaller knots through the
car. The porter remained on guard. With
something of relief I sank into a seat. I wanted
to think, to try to remember the details of the
previous night. But my inquisitive acquaint
ance had other intentions. He came up and sat
down beside me. Like the conductor, he had
taken notes of the dead man's belongings, his
name, address, clothing and the general circum
stances of the crime. Now with his little note
book open before him, he prepared to enjoy the
minor sensation of the robbery.
"And now for the second victim," he began
cheerfully. "What is your name and address,
please?"
52
THE WOMAN IN THE NEXT CAR 53
I eyed him with suspicion.
"I have lost everything but my name and ad
dress," I parried. "What do you want them
for ? Publication ? "
"Oh, no; dear, no!" he said, shocked at my
misapprehension. "Merely for my own enlight
enment. I like to gather data of this kind and
draw my own conclusions. Most interesting and
engrossing. Once or twice I have forestalled the
results of police investigation but entirely for
my own amusement."
I nodded tolerantly. Most of us have hob
bies ; I knew a man once who carried his hand
kerchief up his sleeve and had a mania for old
colored prints cut out of Godey's Lady's Boole.
"I use that inductive method originated by
Foe and followed since with such success by
Conan Doyle. Have you ever read Gaboriau?
Ah, you have missed a treat, indeed. And now,
to get down to business, what is the name of our
escaped thief and probable murderer?"
"How on earth do I know?" I demanded im
patiently. "He didn't write it in blood any
where, did he?"
54 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
The little man looked hurt and disappointed
"Do you mean to say," he asked, "that th
pockets of those clothes are entirely empty?"
The pockets! In the excitement I had for
gotten entirely the sealskin grip which the por
ter now sat at my feet, and I had not investi
gated the pockets at all. With the inquisitive
man's pencil taking note of everything that I
found, I emptied them on the opposite seat.
Upper left-hand waist-coat, two lead pencils
and a fountain pen; lower right waist-coat,
match-box and a small stamp book; right-hand
pocket coat, pair of gray suede gloves, new,
tiize seven and a half; left-hand pocket, gun-
metal cigarette case studded with pearls, half-
full of Egyptian cigarettes. The trousers
pockets contained a gold penknife, a small
amount of money in bills and change, and a
handkerchief with the initial "S" on it.
Further search through the coat discovered a
card-case with cards bearing the name Henrj
Pinckney Sullivan, and a leather flask with gold
mountings, filled with what seemed to be very
fair whisky, and monogrammed H. P. S.
THE WOMAN IN THE NEXT CAR 55
"His name evidently is Henry Pinckney Sul a
livan," said the cheerful follower of Poe, as he
wrote it down. "Address as yet unknown*
Blond, probably. Have you noticed that it ii
almost always the blond men who affect a very
light gray, with a touch of red in the scarf?
Fact, I assure you. I kept a record once of the
summer attire of men, and ninety per cent, fol
lowed my rule. Dark men like you affect navy
blue, or brown."
In spite of myself I was amused at the man's
shrewdness.
"Yes; the suit he took was dark a blue," I
said.
He rubbed his hands and smiled at me delight-
edly.
"Then you wore black shoes, not tan," he
said, with a glance at the aggressive yellow ones
I wore.
"Right again," I acknowledged. "Black low
shoes and black embroidered hose. If you keep
on you'll have a motive for the crime, and the
murderer's present place of hiding. And if you
eome back to the smoker with me, I'll give you
56 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
an opportunity to judge if he knew good whisky
from bad."
I put the articles from the pockets back again
and got up. "I wonder if there is a diner on ?"
I said. "I need something sustaining after all
this."
I was conscious then of some one at my elbow.
I turned to see the young woman whose face was
so vaguely familiar. In the very act of speaking
she drew back suddenly and colored.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," she said hurried
ly, "I thought you were some one else." She
was looking in a puzzled fashion at my coat. I
felt all the cringing guilt of a man who has ac
cidentally picked up the wrong umbrella: my
borrowed collar sat tight on my neck.
"I'm. sorry," I said idiotically. "I'm sorry,
but I'm not." I have learned since that she
has bright brown hair, with a loose wave in it
that drops over her ears, and dark blue eyes with
black lashes and but what does it matter? One
enjoys a picture as a whole : not as the sum of its
parts.
She saw the flask then, and her errand came
THE WOMAN IN THE NEXT CAB 57
back to her. "One of the ladies at the end of
ear has fainted," she explained. "I thought
perhaps a stimulant "
I picked up the flask at once and followed my
guide down the aisle. Two or three women were
working over the woman who had fainted. They
had opened her collar and taken out her hair
pins, whatever good that might do. The stout
woman was vigorously rubbing her wrists, with
the idea, no doubt, of working up her pulse i
The unconscious woman was the one for whom
I had secured lower eleven at the station.
I poured a little liquor in a bungling maseu-
line fashion between her lips as she leaned back,
with closed eyes. She choked, coughed, and ral
lied somewhat.
"Poor thing," said the stout lady. "As she
lies back that way I could almost think it was my
mother ; she used to faint so much."
"It would make anybody faint," chimed In an
other. "Murder and robbery in one night and
on one car. I'm thankful I always wear my
rings in a bag around my neck even if they do
get under me and keep me awake."
38 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
The girl in blue was looking at us with wide,
startled eyes. I saw her pale a little, saw the
quick, apprehensive glance which she threw at
her traveling companion, the small woman I had
noticed before. There was an exchange al
most a clash of glances. The small woman
frowned. That was all. I turned my attention
again to my patient.
She had revived somewhat, and now she asked
to have the window opened. The train had
stopped again and the car was oppressively hot.
People around were looking at their watches and
grumbling over the delay. The doctor bustled
in with a remark about its being his busy day.
The amateur detective and the porter together
mounted guard over lower ten. Outside the heat
rose in shimmering waves from the tracks: the
very wood of the car was hot to touch. A Cam-
berwell Beauty darted through the open door
and made its way, in erratic plunges, great
wings waving, down the sunny aisle. All around
lay the peace of harvested fields, the quiet of the
country*
CHAPTER VI
THE GIRL IN BLUM
1WAS growing more and more irritable*
The thought of what the loss of the note*
meant was fast crowding the murder to the back
of my mind. The forced inaction was intol
erable.
The porter had reported no bag answering
the description of mine on the train, but I
was disposed to make my own investigation.
I made a tour of the cars, scrutinizing every
variety of hand luggage, ranging from, lux
urious English bags with gold mountings to the
wicker nondescripts of the day coach at the
rear. I was not alone in my quest, for the girl
in blue was just ahead of me. Car by car she
preceded me through the train, unconscious that
I was behind her, looking at each passenger
as c-he passed. I fancied the proceeding was
59
60 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
distasteful, but that she had determined on a
course and was carrying it through. We
reached the end of the train almost together
empty-handed, both of us.
The girl went out to the platform. When
she saw me she moved aside, and I stepped out
beside her. Behind us the track curved sharply ;
the early sunshine threw the train, in long black
shadow, orer the hot earth. Forward some
where they were hammering. The girl said
nothing, but her profile was strained and anx
ious.
**I if you have lost anything," I began, "I
wish you would let me try to help. Not that
my own success is anything to boast of."
She hardly glanced at me. It was not flat
tering.
"I have not been robbed, if that is what you
mean," she replied quietly. "I am perplexed.
That is all."
There was nothing to say to that. I lifted
m/ hat the other fellow's hat and turned t
go back to my car. Two or three members of
tk train crew, including the conductor, were
THE GIRL IN BLUE 61
standing in the shadow talking. And at that
moment, from a farm-house near came the swift
clang of the breakfast bell, calling in the hands
from barn and pasture. I turned back to the
girl.
"We may be here for an hour," I said, "and
there is no buffet car on. If I remember my
youth, that bell means ham and eggs and country
butter and coif ee. If you care to run the risk "
"I am not hungry," she said, "but perhaps
a, cup of coffee dear me, I believe I am hun
gry," she finished. "Only " She glanced back
ef her.
"I can bring your companion," I suggested,
without enthusiasm. But the young woman
shook her head.
"She is not hungry," she objected, "and she
is very well, I know she wouldn't come. Do
you suppose we could make it if we run?"
"I haven't any idea," I said cheerfully. "Any
eld train would be better than thia one, if it
does leave us behind."
"Yes. Any train would be better than tnls
one," she repeated gravely. I found myseU
d2 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
watching her changing expression. I had
spoken two dozen words to her and already I
felt that I knew the lights and shades in her
voice, I, who had always known how a woman
rode to hounds, and who never could have told
the color of her hair.
I stepped down on the ties and turned to as
sist her, and together we walked back to where
the conductor and the porter from our car were
in close conversation. Instinctively my hand
went to my cigarette pocket and came out
empty. She saw the gesture.
"If you want to smoke, you may," she said.
"I have a big cousin who smokes all the time.
He says I am 'kippered.' *
I drew out the gun-metal cigarette case and
opened it. But this most commonplace action
had an extraordinary result: the girl beside me
stopped dead still and stood staring at it with
fascinated eyes.
"Is where did you get that?" she demand
ed, with a catch in her voice ; her gaze still fixed
on the cigarette case.
"Then you haven't heard the rest of the trag~
THE GIRL IN BLUB 6
edy?" I asked, holding out the case. "It's
frightfully bad luck for me, but it makes a
good story. You see "
At that moment the conductor and porteri
ceased their colloquy. The conductor came di
rectly toward me, tugging as he came at hi*
bristling gray mustache.
"I would like to talk to you in the car," he
said to me, with a curious glance at the young
lady.
"Can't it wait?" I objected. "We are on our
way to a cup of coffee and a slice of bacon. Be
merciful, as you are powerful."
"Fm afraid the breakfast will have to wait,"
he replied. "I won't keep you long." There
was a note of authority in his voice which I re
sented; but, after all, the circumstances were
unusual.
"We'll have to defer that cup of coffee for a
while," I said to the girl; "but don't despair;
there's breakfast somewhere."
As we entered the car, she stood aside, but I
felt rather than saw that she followed us. I
was surprised to see a half dozen men gathered
0* THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
around the berth in which I had wakened, num
ber seven. It had not yet been made up.
As we passed along the aisle, I was conscious
of a new expression on the faces of the pas
sengers. The tall woman who had fainted was
rjearching my face with narrowed eyes, while the
stout woman of the kindly heart avoided my
gaze, and pretended to look out the window.
As we pushed our way through the group,
I fancied that it closed around me ominously.
The conductor said nothing, but led the way
without ceremony to the side of the berth.
'*What's the matter?" I inquired. I was pu-
zled, but not apprehensive. "Have you some of
my things ? I'd be thankful even for my shoe* ;
these are confoundedly tight."
Nobody spoke, and I fell silent, too. For one
of the pillows had been turned over, and the
under side of the white case was streaked with
{brownish stains. I think it was a perceptible
time before I realized that the stains were blood,
and that the faces around were filled with sus
picion and distrust.
"Why, it that looks like blood," I said vacu-
THE GIRL IN BLUE 65
ously. There was an incessant pounding in my
ears, and the conductor's voice came from far
off.
"It is blood," he asserted grimly.
I looked around with a dizzy attempt at non
chalance. "Even if it is," I remonstrated,
"surely you don't suppose for a moment that I
know anything about it!"
The amateur detective elbowed his way in.
He had a scrap of transparent paper in his
hand, and a pencil.
"I would like permission to trace the stains,"
he began eagerly. "Also" to me "if you
will kindly jab your finger with a pin needle
anything "
"If you don't keep out of this," the conduc
tor said savagely, "I will do some jabbing my
self. As for you, sir " he turned to me. I
was absolutely innocent, but I knew that I pre
sented a typical picture of guilt; I was covered
with cold sweat, and the pounding in my ears
kept up dizzily. "As for you, sir "
The irrepressible amateur detective made a
quick pounce at the pillow and pushed back the
66 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
over. Before our incredulous eyes he drew out
* narrow steel dirk which had been buried to
the small cross that served as a head.
There was a chorus of voices around, a quick
surging forward of the crowd. So that was
what had scratched my hand! I buried the
wound in my coat pocket.
"Well," I said, trying to speak naturally,
"doesn/'t that prove what I have been telling you ?
The man who committed the murder belonged
to this berth, and made an exchange in some
way after the crime. How do you know he didn't
change the tags so I would come back to this
berth ?" This was an inspiration ; I was pleased
with it. "That's what he did, he changed the
tags," I reiterated.
There was a murmur of assent around. The
doctor, who was standing beside me, put his hand
on my arm. "If this gentleman committed this
crime, and I for one feel sure he did not, then)
who is the fellow who got away? And why did
he go?"
"We have only one man's word for that," the
conductor snarled. *Fve traveled some in these
THE GIRL IN BLUE 6T
ears myself, and no one ever changed berths
with me."
Somebody on the edge of the group asserted
that hereafter he would travel by daylight. I
glanced up and caught the eye of the girl in
blue.
"They are all mad," she said. Her tone was
low, but I heard her distinctly. "Don't take
them seriously enough to defend yourself."
"I am glad you think I didn't do it," I ob
served meekly, over the crowd. "Nothing else
is of any importance."
The conductor had pulled out his note-book
again. "Your name, please," he said gruffly.
"Lawrence Blakeley, Washington."
"Your occupation?"
"Attorney. A member of the firm of Blake-
ley and McKnight."
"Mr. Blakeley, you say you have occupied
the wrong berth and have been robbed. Do you
know anything of the man who did it?"
"Only from what he left behind," I answered.
"These clothes "
"They fit you," he said with quick suspicion.
"Isn't that rather a coincidence? You are a
large man."
"Good Heavens," I retorted, stung into fury,
"do I look like a man who would wear this kind
of a necktie? Do you suppose I carry purple
and green barred silk handkerchiefs? Would
any man in his senses wear a pair of shoes a full
size too small?"
The conductor was inclined to hedge. "You
will have to grant that I am in a peculiar posi
tion," he said. "I have only your word as to
the exchange of berths, and you understand I
am merely doing my duty. Are there any clue*
in the pockets?"
For the second time I emptied them of their
contents, which he noted. "Is that all?" he fiiy-
ished. "There was nothing else?"
"Nothing."
"That's not all, sir," broke in the porter,
stepping forward. "There was a small black
satchel."
"That's so," I exclaimed. "I forgot the bag.
I don't even know where it is."
The easily swayed crowd looked suspicious
THE GIRL IN BLUE 69
again. I've grown so accustomed to reading
the faces of a jury, seeing them swing from
doubt to belief, and back again to doubt, that
l t instinctively watch expressions. I saw that my
forgetfulness had done me harm that suspicion
was roused again.
The bag was found a couple of seats away,
under somebody's raincoat another dubious cir
cumstance. Was I hiding it? It was brought
to the berth and placed beside the conductor,
who opened it at once.
It contained the usual traveling impedimenta
change of linen, collars, handkerchiefs, a
bronze-green scarf, and a safety razor. But the
attention of the crowd riveted itself on a flat,
Russia leather wallet, around which a heavy gum
band was wrapped, and which bore in gilt letters
the name "Simon Harrington."
CHAPTER VH
A FINE GOLD CHAIN
fT! HE conductor held it out to me, his face
JL sternly accusing.
"Is this another coincidence?" he asked. "Did
the man who left you his clothes and the barred
silk handkerchief and the tight shoes leave you
the spoil of the murder?"
The men standing around had drawn off a
little, and I saw the absolute futility of any re
monstrance. Have you ever seen a fly, who, in
these hygienic days, finding no cobwebs to en
tangle him, is caught in a sheet of fly paper,
finds himself more and more mired, and is finally
quiet with the sticky stillness of despair?
Well, I was the fly. I had seen too much of
circumstantial evidence to have any belief that
the establishing of my identity would weighi
much against the other incriminating details. It
70
A FINE GOLD CHAIN *1
meant imprisonment and trial, probably, with
all the notoriety and loss of practice they would
entail. A man thinks quickly at a time like
that. All the probable consequences of the find
ing of that pocket-book flashed through my
mind as I extended my hand to take it. Then
I drew my arm back.
"I don't want it," I said. "Look inside.
Maybe the other man took the money and left the
wallet."
The conductor opened it, and again there was
a curious surging forward of the crowd. To my
intense disappointment the money was still there.
I stood blankly miserable while it was counted
out five one-hundred-dollar bills, six twenties,
and some fives and ones that brought the total to
six hundred and fifty dollars.
The little man with the note-book insisted on
taking the numbers of the notes, to the conduct
or's annoyance. It was immaterial to me: small
things had lost their power to irritate. I was
seeing myself in the prisoner's box, going
through all the nerve-racking routine of a trial
for murder the challenging of the jury, the
72 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
endless cross-examinations, the alternate hope
and fear. I believe I said before that I had no
nerves, but for a few minutes that morning I
was as near as a man ever comes to hysteria.
I folded my arms and gave myself a mental
shake. I seemed to be the center of a hundred
eyes, expressing every shade of doubt and dis
trust, but I tried not to flinch. Then some one
created a diversion.
The amateur detective was busy again with
the sealskin bag, investigating the make of the
safety razor and the manufacturer's name on
the bronze-green tie. Now, however, he paused
and frowned, as though some pet theory had
been upset.
Then from a corner of the bag he drew out
and held up for our inspection some three inches
of fine gold chain, one end of which was black
ened and stained with blood !
The conductor held out his hand for it, but
the little man was not ready to give it up. He
turned to me.
"You say no watch was left you? Was thert
a piece of chain like that?"
A FINE GOLD CHAIN 73
"No chain at all," I said sulkily. "No jew
elry of any kind, except plain gold buttons in
the shirt I am wearing."
"Where are your glasses?" he threw at me
suddenly: instinctively my hand went to my
eyes. My glasses had been gone all morning,
and I had not even noticed their absence. The
little man smiled cynically and held out the
chain.
"I must ask you to examine this," he insisted.
"Isn't it a part of the fine gold chain you wear
over your ear?"
I didn't want to touch the thing : the stain at
the end made me shudder. But with a baker's
dozen of suspicious eyes well, we'll say four
teen: there were no one-eyed men I took the
fragment in the tips of my fingers and looked aw
it helplessly.
"Very fine chains are much alike," I managed
to say. "For all I know, this may be mine, but
I don't know how it got into that sealskin bag. I
never saw the bag until this morning after day-
light."
"He admits that he had the bag," somebody
T4 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
said behind me. "How did you guess that he
wore glasses, anyhow?" to the amateur sleuth.
That gentleman cleared his throat. "There
were two reasons," he said, "for suspecting it.
When you see a man with the lines of his face
drooping, a healthy individual with a pensive
eye, suspect astigmatism. Besides, this gentle
man has a pronounced line across the bridge of
his nose and a mark on his ear from the chain."
After this remarkable exhibition of the theo
retical as combined with the practical, he sank
into a seat near-by, and still holding the chain,
sat with closed eyes and pursed lips. It was evi
dent to all the car that the solution of the mys
tery was a question of moments. Once he bent
forward eagerly and putting the chain on the
window-sill, proceeded to go over it with a pocket
magnifying glass, only to shake his head in dis
appointment. All the people around shook their
heads too, although they had not the slightest
idea what it was about.
The pounding in my ears began again. The
group around me seemed to be suddenly motion
less in the very act of moving, as if a hypnotist
A FINE GOLD CHAIN 7S
had called "Rigid !" The girl in blue was look
ing at me, and above the din I thought she said
she must speak to me something vital. The
pounding grew louder and merged into a scream.
With a grinding and splintering the car rose
under my feet. Then it fell away into darknew.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SECOND SECTION
HAVE you ever been picked up out of your
three-meals-a-day life, whirled around in
a tornado of events, and landed in a situation so
grotesque and yet so horrible that you laugh
even while you are groaning, and straining at its
hopelessness? McKnight says that is hysteria,
and that no man worthy of the name ever admits
to it.
Also, as McKnight says, it sounds like a tank
drama. Just as the revolving saw is about to
cut the hero into stove lengths, the second villain
blows up the sawmill. The hero goes up through
the roof and alights on the bank of a stream at
the feet of his lady love, who is making daisy
chains.
Nevertheless, when I was safely home again,
with Mrs. Klopton brewing strange drinks that
76
THE SECOND SECTION 77
came in paper packets from the pharmacy, and
that smelled to heaven, I remember staggering
to the door and closing it, and then going back
to bed and howling out the absurdity and the
madness of the whole thing. And while I laughed
my very soul was sick, for the girl was gone by
that time, and I knew by all the loyalty that an
swers between men for honor that I would have
to put her out of my mind.
And yet, all the night that followed, filled as
it was with the shrieking demons of pain, I saw
her as I had seen her last, in the queer hat with
green ribbons. I told the doctor this, guard
edly, the next morning, and he said it was the
morphia, ana that I was lucky not to have seen
a row of devils with green tails.
I don't know anything about the wreck of
September ninth last. You who swallowed the
details with your coffee and digested the horrors
with your chop, probably know a great deal
more than I do. I remember very distinctly that
the jumping and throbbing in my arm brought
me back to a world that at first was nothing but
eky, a heap of clouds that I thought hazily
*8 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
were the meringue on a blue charlotte russe. As
the sense of hearing was slowly added to vision,
.1 heard a woman near me sobbing that she had
lost her hat pin, and she couldn't keep her
hat on.
I think I dropped back into unconsciousness
again, for the next thing I remember was of my
blue patch of sky clouded with smoke, of a
strange roaring and crackling, of a rain of fiery
sparks on my face and of somebody beating at
me with feeble hands. I opened my eyes and
closed them again : the girl in blue was bending
over me. With that imperviousness to big things
and keenness to small that is the first effect of
shock, I tried to be facetious, when a spark
stung my cheek.
"You will have to rouse yourself!" the girl
was repeating desperately. "You've been on
fire twice already." A piece of striped ticking
floated slowly over my head. As the wind caught
it its charring edges leaped into flame.
"Looks like a kite, doesn't it?" I remarked
cheerfully. And then, as my arm gave an excru
ciating throb "Jove, how my arm hurts !"
70
The girl bent over and spoke slowly, distinct
ly, as one might speak to a deaf person or a
child.
"Listen, Mr. Blakeley," she said earnestly, ''
"You must rouse yourself. There has been a
terrible accident. The second section ran into
us. The wreck is burning now, and if we don't
move, we will catch fire. Do you hear?"
Her voice and my arm were bringing me to
my senses. "I hear," I said. "I I'll sit up ID
a second. Are you hurt?"
"No, only bruised. Do you think you cam
walk?"
I drew up one foot after another, gingerly.
"They seem to move all right," I remarked
dubiously. "Would you mind telling me where
the back of my head has gone? I can't help
thinking it isn't there."
She made a quick examination. "It's pretty
badly bumped," she said. "You must have
fallen on it."
I had got up on my uninjured elbow by that
time, but the pain threw me back. "Don't look
at the wreck," I entreated her. "It's no fight
80 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
for a woman. If if there is any way to tie up
this arm, I might be able to do something.
There may be people under those cars !"
"Then it is too late to help," she replied sol
emnly. A little shower of feathers, each carry
ing its fiery lamp, blew over us from some burn
ing pillow. A part of the wreck collapsed with
a crash. In a resolute endeavor to play a man's
part in the tragedy going on all around, I got
to my knees. Then I realized what I had not
noticed before : the hand and wrist of the broken
left arm were jammed through the handle of the
sealskin grip. I gasped and sat down suddenly.
"You must not do that," the girl insisted. I
noticed now that she kept her back to the wreck,
her eyes averted. "The weight of the traveling-
bag must be agony. Let me support the valise
until we get back a few yards. Then you must
lie down until we can get it cut off."
"Will it have to be cut off?" I asked as calmly
as possible. There were red-hot stabs of agony
clear to my neck, but we were moving slowly away
from the track.
"Yes," she replied, with dumfounding cool-
THE SECOND SECTION 81
ness. "If I had a knife I could do it myself.
You might sit here and lean against this fence."
By that time my returning faculties had real
ized that she was going to cut off the satchel,
not the arm. The dizziness was leaving and I
was gradually becoming myself.
"If you pull, it might come," I suggested*
"And with that weight gone, I think I will cease
to be five feet eleven inches of baby."
She tried gently to loosen the handle, but it
would not move, and at last, with great drops of
cold perspiration over me, I had to give up.
"I'm afraid I can't stand it," I said. "But
there's a knife somewhere around these clothes,
and if I can find it, perhaps you can cut the
leather."
As I gave her the knife she turned it over, ex
amining it with a peculiar expression, bewilder
ment rather than surprise. But she said nothing.
She set to work deftly, and in a few minutes the
bag dropped free.
"That's better," I declared, sitting up. "Now,
if you can pin my sleeve to my coat, it will sup
port the arm so we can get away from here."
82 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"The pin might give," she objected, "and the
jerk would be terrible." She looked around,
puzzled ; then she got up, coming back in a min
ute with a draggled, partly scorched sheet. This
she tore into a large square, and after she had
folded it, she slipped it under the broken arm
and tied it securely at the back of my neck.
The relief was immediate, and, picking up the
sealskin bag, I walked slowly beside her, away
from the track.
The first act was over: the curtain fallen.
The scene was "struck."
CHAPTER IX
THE HALCYOH BREAKFAST
WE were still dazed, I think, for we wan
dered like two troubled children, our
one idea at first to get as far away as we could
from the horror behind us. We were both bare
headed, grimy, pallid through the grit. Now
and then we met little groups of country folk
hurrying to the track: they stared at us curi
ously, and some wished to question us. But we
hurried past them ; we had put the wreck behind
us. That way lay madness.
Only once the girl turned and looked behind
her. The wreck was hidden, but the smoke cloud
hung heavy and dense. For the first time I re
membered that my companion had not been alone
on the train.
"It is quiet here," I suggested. "If you will
sit down on the bank I will go back and make
83
84 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
some inquiries. I've been criminally thoughtless.
Your traveling companion "
She interrupted me, and something of her
splendid poise was gone. "Please don't go
back," she said. "I am afraid it would be of
no use. And I don't want to be left alone."
Heaven knows I did not want her to be alone.
I was more than content to walk along beside
her aimlessly, for any length of time. Gradu
ally, as she lost the exaltation of the moment, I
was gaining my normal condition of mind. I
was beginning to realize that I had lacked the
morning grace of a shave, that I looked like
some lost hope of yesterday, and that my left
shoe pinched outrageously. A man does not rise
triumphant above such handicaps. The girl, for
all her disordered hair and the crumpled linen
of her waist, in spite of her missing hat and the
small gold bag that hung forlornly from, a
broken chain, looked exceedingly lovely.
"Then I won't leave you alone," I said man
fully, and we stumbled on together. Thus far
we had seen nobody from the wreck, but well up
the lane we came across the tall dark woman who
THE HALCYON BREAKFAST 85
had occupied lower eleven. She was half crouch
ing beside the road, her black hair about her
shoulders, and an ugly bruise over her eye. She
did not seem to know us, and refused to accom
pany us. We left her there at last, babbling
incoherently and rolling in her hands a dozen
pebbles she had gathered in the road.
The girl shuddered as we went on. Once she
turned and glanced at my bandage. "Does it
hurt very much?" she asked.
"It's growing rather numb. But it might be
worse,'* I answered mendaciously. If anything
in this world could be worse, I had never experi
enced it.
And so we trudged on bareheaded under the
ummer sun, growing parched and dusty and
ireary, doggedly leaving behind us the pillar of
smoke. I thought I knew of a trolley line some
where in the direction we were going, or perhaps
we could find a horse and trap to take us into
Baltimore. The girl smiled when I suggest
ed it.
"We will create a sensation, won't we?" she
asked. "Isn't it queer or perhaps it's my state
86 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
of mind but I keep wishing for a pair of
gloves, when I haven't even a hat !"
When we reached the main road we sat down
for a moment, and her hair, which had been com
ing loose for some time, fell over her shoulders
in little waves that were most alluring. It
seemed a pity to twist it up again, but when I
suggested this, cautiously, she said it was trou
blesome and got in her eyes when it was loose.
So she gathered it up, while I held a row of lit
tle shell combs and pins, and when it was done
it was vastly becoming, too. Funny about hair :
a man never knows he has it until he begins to
lose it, but it's different with a girl. Something
of the unconventional situation began to dawn
on her as she put in the last hair-pin and patted
some stray locks to place.
"I have not told you my name," she said ab
ruptly. "I forgot that because I know who you
are, you know nothing about me. I am Alison
West, and my home is in Richmond."
So that was it ! This was the girl of the pho
tograph on John Gilmore's bedside table. The
girl McKnight expected to ice in Richmond the
THE HALCYON BREAKFAST 87
next day, Sunday ! She was on her way back to
meet him! Well, what difference did it make,
anyhow? We had been thrown together by the
'merest chance. In an hour or two at the most
we would be back in civilization and she would
recall me, if she remembered me at all, as an un
shaven creature in a red cravat and tan shoes,
with a soiled Pullman sheet tied around my neck.
I drew a deep breath.
"Just a twinge," I said, when she glanced up
quickly. "It's very good of you to let me know,
Miss West. I have been hearing delightful
things about you for three months."
"From Richey McKnight?" She was frankly
curious.
"Yes. From Richey McKnight," I assented.
Was it any wonder McKnight was crazy about
her? I dug my heels into the dust.
"I have been visiting near Cresson, in the
(mountains," Miss West was saying. "The per
son you mentioned, Mrs. Curtis, was my hostess.
We we were on our way to Washington to
gether." She spoke slowly, as if she wished to
give the minimum of explanation. Across her
88 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
face had come again the baffling expression ol
perplexity and trouble I had seen before.
"You were on your way home, I suppose?
Richey spoke about seeing you," I floundered,
finding it necessary to say something. She
looked at me with level, direct eyes.
"No," she returned quietly. "I did not in
tend to go home. I well, it doesn't matter; I
am going home now."
A woman in a calico dress, with two children,
each an exact duplicate of the other, had come
quickly down the road. She took in the situa
tion at a glance, and was explosively hospitable.
"You poor things," she said. "If you'll take
the first road to the left over there, and turn in
at the second pigsty, you will find breakfast on
the table and a coffee-pot on the stove. And
there's plenty of soap and water, too. Don't say
one word. There isn't a soul there to see you."
We accepted the invitation and she hurried
on toward the excitement and the railroad. I
got up carefully and helped Miss West to her
feet.
"At the second pigsty to the left," I repeat-
THE HALCYON BREAKFAST 89
ed, "we will find the breakfast I promised you
seven eternities ago. Forward to the pigsty!"
We said very little for the remainder of that
walk. I had almost reached the limit of endur
ance: with every step the broken ends of the
bone grated together. We found the farm-house
without difficulty, and I remember wondering if
I could hold out to the end of the old stone walk
that led between hedges to the door.
"Allah be praised," I said with all the voice
I could muster. "Behold the coffee-pot !" And
then I put down the grip and folded up like a
j ack-knif e on the porch floor.
When I came around something hot was trick
ling down my neck, and a despairing voice was
saying, "Oh, I don't seem to be able to pour it
into your mouth. Please open your eyes."
"But I don't want it in my eyes," I replied
dreamily. "I haven't any idea what came over
me. It was the shoes, I think: the left one is aj
red-hot torture." I was sitting by that time
and looking across into her face.
Never before or since have I fainted, but I
would do it joyfully, a dozen times a day, if I
i
00 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
could waken again to the blissful touch of soft
fingers on my face, the hot ecstasy of coffee
spilled by those fingers down my neck. There
was a thrill in every tone of her voice that morn
ing. Before long my loyalty to McKnight
would step between me and the girl he loved : life
would develop new complexities. In those early
hours after the wreck, full of pain as they were,
there was nothing of the suspicion and distrust
that came later. Shorn of our gauds and bau
bles, we were primitive man and woman, to
gether: our world for the hour was the deserted
farm-house, the slope of wheat-field that led to
the road, the woodland lot, the pasture.
We breakfasted together across the homely
table. Our cheerfulness, at first sheer reaction,
became less forced as we ate great slices of
bread from the granny oven back of the house,
and drank hot fluid that smelled like coffee and
tasted like nothing that I have ever swallowed.
We found cream in stone jars, sunk deep in the
chill water of the spring house. And there were
eggs, great yellow-brown ones, a basket of
them.
THE HALCYON BREAKFAST 91
So, like two children awakened from a night
mare, we chattered over our food: we hunted
mutual friends, we laughed together at my fee
ble witticisms, but we put the horror behind us
resolutely. After all, it was the hat with the
green ribbons that brought back the strange
ness of the situation.
All along I had had the impression that Ali-
aon West was deliberately putting out of her
mind something that obtruded now and then.
It brought with it a return of the puzzled ex
pression that I had surprised early in the day,
before the wreck. I caught it once, when, break
fast over, she was tightening the sling that held
the broken arm. I had prolonged the morning
meal as much as I could, but when the wooden
clock with the pink roses on the dial pointed to
half after ten, and the mother with the duplicate
youngsters had not come back, Miss West made
the move I had dreaded.
"If we are to get into Baltimore at all we
must start," she said, rising. "You ought to
see a doctor as soon as possible."
"Hush," I said warningly. "Don't mentioa
92 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
the arm, please ; it is asleep now. You may rouse
it."
"If I only had a hat," she reflected. "It
wouldn't need to be much of one, but " She
gave a little cry and darted to the corner.
"Look," she said triumphantly, "the very thing.
With the green streamers tied up in a bow, like
this do you suppose the child would mind?
I can put five dollars or so here that would buy
a dozen of them."
It was a queer affair of straw, that hat, with
a round crown and a rim that flopped dismally.
With a single movement she had turned it up at
one side and fitted it to her head. Grotesque by
itself, when she wore it it was a thing of joy.
Evidently the lack of head covering had trou
bled her, for she was elated at her find. She left
me, scrawling a note of thanks and pinning it
with a bill to the table-cloth, and ran up-stairs
to the mirror and the promised soap and water.
I did not see her when she came down. I had
discovered a bench with a tin basin outside the
kitchen door, and was washing, in a helpless, one
sided way. I felt rather than saw that she waa
*
THE HALCYON BREAKFAST 93
standing In the door-way, and I made a final
plunge into the basin.
"How is it possible for a man with only a
right hand to wash his left ear?" I asked from
the roller towel. I was distinctly uncomfortable :
men are more rigidly creatures of convention
than women, whether they admit it or not.
"There is so much soap on me still that if I
laugh I will blow bubbles. Washing with rain
water and home-made soap is like motoring on
a slippery road. I only struck the high places."
Then, having achieved a brilliant polish with
the towel, I looked at the girl.
She was leaning against the frame of the
door, her face perfectly colorless, her breath
coming in slow, difficult respirations. The er
ratic hat was pinned to place, but it had slid
rakishly to one side. When I realized that she
was staring, not at me, but past me to the road
along which we had come, I turned and followed
her gaze. There was no one in sight: the lane
stretched dust white in the sun, no moving fig
ure on it, no sign of life.
lass WEST'S BEQUEST
7TPIHE surprising- change in her held me
JL speechless. All the animation of the
breakfast table was gone: there was no hint of
the response with which, before, she had met my
nonsensical sallies. She stood there, white-
lipped, unsmiling, staring down the dusty road.
One hand was clenched tight over some small ob
ject. Her eyes dropped to it from the distant
road, and then closed, with a quick, indrawm
breath.
Her color came back slowly. Whatever had
caused the change, she said nothing. She was
anxious to leave at once, almost impatient over
my deliberate masculine way of getting my
things together. Afterward I recalled that I
had wanted to explore the barn for a horse and
some sort of a vehicle to take us to the trolley,
94, i
MISS WEST'S REQUEST 90
and that she had refused to allow me to look. 1
remembered many things later that might have
helped me, and did not. At the time, I was only
completely bewildered. Save the wreck, the re
sponsibility for which lay between Providence
and the engineer of the second section, all the
events of that strange morning were logically
connected; they came from one cause, and tended
unerringly to one end. But the cause was bur
ied, the end not yet in view.
Not until we had left the house well behind
did the girl's face relax its tense lines. I was
watching her more closely than I had realized,
for when we had gone a little way along the
road she turned to me almost petulantly.
"Please don't stare so at me," she said, to my
sudden confusion. "I know the hat is dreadful.
Green always makes me look ghastly."
"Perhaps it was the green." I was unaccount
ably relieved. "Do you know, a few minutes
ago, you looked almost pallid to me !"
She glanced at me quickly, but I was gazing
ahead. We were out of sight of the house, now,
and with every step away from it the girl was
96 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
obviously relieved. Whatever she held in her
hand, she never glanced at it. But she was con
scious of it every second. She seemed to come
to a decision about it while we were still in sight
of the gate, for she murmured something and
turned back alone, going swiftly, her feet stir
ring up small puffs of dust at every step. She
fastened something to the gate-post, I could
see the nervous haste with which she worked.
When she joined me again it was without ex
planation. But the clenched fingers were free
now, and while she looked tired and worn, the
strain had visibly relaxed.
We walked along slowly in the general direc
tion of the suburban trolley line. Once a man
with an empty wagon offered us a lift, but after
a glance at the springless vehicle I declined.
"The ends of the bone think they are casta
nets as it is," I explained. "But the lady "
The young lady, however, declined and we
went on together. Once, when the trolley line
was in sight, she got a pebble in her low shoe,
and we sat down under a tree until she found the
cause of the trouble.
MISS WEST'S REQUEST 97
"I I don't know what I should have done
without you," I blundered. "Moral support and
and all that. Do you know, my first conscious
thought after the wreck was of relief that you
had not been hurt ?"
She was sitting beside me, where a big chest
nut tree shaded the road, and I surprised a look
of misery on her face that certainly my words
had not been meant to produce.
"And my first thought," she said slowly, "was
regret that I that I hadn't been obliterated,
blown out like a candle. Please don't look like
that ! I am only talking."
But her lips were trembling, and because the
little shams of society are forgotten at times
like this, I leaned over and patted her hand
lightly, where it rested on the grass beside me.
"You must not say those things," I expostu
lated. "Perhaps, after all, your friends "
"I had no friends on the train." Her voice
was hard again, her tone final. She drew her
hand from under mine, not quickly, but deci
sively. A car was in sight, coming toward us.
The steel finger of civilization, of propriety, of
98 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
visiting cards and formal introductions was
beckoning us in. Miss West put on her shoe.
We said little on the car. The few passen
gers stared at us frankly, and discussed th*
wreck, emphasizing its horrors. The girl did
not seem to hear. Once she turned to me with
the quick, unexpected movement that was one of
her charms.
"I do not wish my mother to know I was in
the accident," she said. "Will you please not
tell Richey about having met me ?"
I gave my promise, of course. Again, when
we were almost into Baltimore, she asked to ex
amine the gun-metal cigarette "case, and sat
silent with it in her hands, while I told of the
early morning's events on the Ontario.
"So you see," I finished, "this grip, every
thing I have on, belongs to a fellow named Sul
livan. He probably left the train before the
wreck, perhaps just after the murder."
"And so you think he committed the th
crime?" Her eyes were on the cigarette case.
"Naturally," I said. "A man doesn't jump
off a, Pullman car in the middle of the night in
MISS WEST'S REQUEST e9
another man's clothes, unless he is trying to get
away from something. Besides the dirk, there
were the stains that you saw. Why, I have the
murdered man's pocket-book in this valise at my
feet. What does that look like?"
I colored when I saw the ghost of a smile
hovering around the corners of her mouth. "That
is," I finished, "if you care to believe that I am
innocent."
The sustaining chain of her small gold bag
gave way just then. She did not notice it.
I picked it up and slid the trinket into my pocket
for safekeeping, where I promptly forgot it.
'Afterwards I wished I had let it lie unnoticed on
the floor of that dirty little suburban car, and
even now, when I see a woman carelessly dan
gling a similar feminine trinket, I shudder invol
untarily : there comes back to me the memory of
a girl's puzzled eyes under the brim of a flop
ping hat, the haunting suspicion of the sleepless
nights that followed.
Just then I was determined that my compan
ion should not stray back to the wreck, and to
that end I was determinedly facetious.
100 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Do you know that it is Sunday?" she asked
suddenly, "and that we are actually ragged?"
"Never mind that," I retorted. "All Balti
more is divided on Sunday into three parts, those
who rise up and go to church, those who rise up
and read the newspapers, and those who don't
rise up. The first are somewhere between the
creed and the sermon, and we need not worry
about the others."
"You treat me like a child," she said almost
pettishly. "Don't try so hard to be cheerful. It
it is almost ghastly."
After that I subsided like a pricked balloon,
and the remainder of the ride was made in
silence. The information that she would go to
friends in the city was a shock : it meant an ear
lier separation than I had planned for. But my
arm was beginning again. In putting her into
a cab I struck it and gritted my teeth with the
pain. It was probably for that reason that I
forgot the gold bag.
She leaned forward and held out her hand. "I
may not have another chance to thank you," shtr
said, "and I think I would better not try, any-
MISS WEST'S REQUEST 101
how. I can not tell you how grateful I am." I
muttered something about the gratitude being
mine : owing to the knock I was seeing two cabs,
and two girls were holding out two hands.
"Remember," they were both saying, "you
have never met me, Mr. Blakeley. And if you
ever hear anything about me that is not
pleasant, I want you to think the best you can
of me. Will you?"
The two girls were one now, with little flashes
of white light playing all around. "I I'm
afraid that I shall think too well for my own
good," I said unsteadily. And the cab drove on.
CHAPTER XI
THE NAME WAS SOLUYAU
I HAD my arm done up temporarily in Bal
timore and took the next train home. I was
pretty far gone when I stumbled out of a cab al
most into the scandalized arms of Mrs. Klopton.
In fifteen minutes I was in bed, with that good
woman piling on blankets and blistering me in
unprotected places with hot-water bottles. And
in an hour I had had a whiff of chloroform and
Doctor Williams had set the broken bone.
I dropped asleep then, waking in the late twi
light to a realization that I was at home again,
without the papers that meant conviction for
Andy Bronson, with a charge of murder hang-
ing over my head, and with something more than
an impression of the girl my best friend was in
love with, a girl moreover who was almost as
great an enigma as the crime itself.
103
THE NAME WAS SULLIVAN 103
"And I'm no hand at guessing riddles," I
groaned half aloud. Mrs. Klopton came over
promptly and put a cold cloth on my forehead.
"Euphemia," she said to some one outside the
door, "telephone the doctor that he is still ram
bling, but that he has switched from green rib
bons to riddles."
"There's nothing the matter with me, Mrs.
Klopton," I rebelled. "I was only thinking out
loud. Confound that cloth: it's trickling all
over me !" I gave it a fling, and heard it land
with a soggy thud on the floor.
"Thinking out loud is delirium," Mrs. Klop
ton said imperturbably. "A fresh cloth, Eu-
phemia."
This time she held it on with a firm pressure
that I was too weak to resist. I expostulated
feebly that I was drowning, which she also laid
to my mental exaltation, and then I finally
dropped into a damp sleep. It was probably
midnight when I roused again. I had been
dreaming of the wreck, and it was inexpressibly
comforting to feel the stability of my bed, and
to realize the equal stability of Mrs. Klopton,
who sat, fully attired, by the night light, read
ing Science and Health.
"Does that book say anything about opening
ihe windows on a hot night?" I suggested, when'
i had got my bearings.
She put it down immediately and came over
oo me. If there is one time when Mrs. Klopton
Is chastened and it is the only time it is when
r,he reads Science and Health. "I don't like to
open the shutters, Mr. Lawrence," she explained.
u Not since the night you went away."
But, pressed further, she refused to explain.
"The doctor said you were not to be excited,"
slie persisted. "Here's your beef tea."
"Not a drop until you tell me," I said firmly.
"Besides, you know very well there's nothing the
matter with me. This arm of mine is only a
/alse belief." I sat up gingerly. "Now why
don't you open that window?"
Mrs. Klopton succumbed. "Because there are
}ueer goings-on in that house next door," she
said. "If you will take the beef tea, Mr. Law
rence, I will tell you."
The queer goings-on, however, proved to be
THE NAME WAS SULLIVAN 105
slightly disappointing. It seemed that after I
left on Friday night, a light was seen flitting
fitfully through the empty house next door. Eu-
phemia had seen it first and called Mrs. Klop-
ton. Together they had watched it breathlessly
until it disappeared on the lower floor.
"You should have been a writer of ghost sto
ries," I said, giving my pillows a thump. "And
so it was fitting flitf ully !"
"That's what it was doing," she reiterated.
"Fitting flitfully I mean flitting fitfully how
you do throw one out, Mr. Lawrence! And
what's more, it came again !"
"Oh, come now, Mrs. Klopton," I objected,
"ghosts are like lightning; they never strike
twice in the same night. That is only worth
half a cup of beef tea.'*
"You may ask Euphemia," she retorted with
dignity. "Not more than an hour after, there
was a light there again. We saw it through the
chinks of the shutters. Only this time it be
gan at the lower floor and climbed!"
"You oughtn't to tell ghost stories at night,"
came McKnight's voice from the doorway.
106 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Really, Mrs. Klopton, I'm amazed at you. You
old duffer ! I've got you to thank for the worst
,day of my life."
Mrs. Klopton gulped. Then realizing that
the "old duffer" was meant for me, she took her
empty cup and went out muttering.
"The Pirate's crazy about me, isn't she?" Mc-
Knight said to the closing door. Then he
swung around and held out his hand.
"By Jove," he said, "I've been laying you
out all day, lilies on the door-bell, black gloves,
everything. If you had had the sense of a mos
quito in a snow-storm, you would have tele
phoned me."
"I never even thought of it." I was filled
with remorse. "Upon my word, Rich, I hadn't
an idea beyond getting away from that place.
If you had seen what I saw "
McKnight stopped me. "Seen it ! Why, you
lunatic, I've been digging for you all day in the
ruins ! I've lunched ahd dined on horrors. Give
me something to rinse them down, Lollie."
He had fished the key of the cellarette from
its hiding-place in my shoe bag and was mixing
himself what he called a Bernard Shaw a
foundation of brandy and soda, with a little of
everything else in sight to give it snap. Now
that I saw him clearly, he looked weary andj
grimy. I hated to tell him what I knew he was
waiting to hear, but there was no use wading
in by inches. I ducked and got it over.
"The notes are gone, Rich," I said, as quietly
as I could. In spite of himself his face fell.
"I of course I expected it," he said. "But
Mrs. Klopton said over the telephone that
you had brought home a grip and I hoped
well, Lord knows we ought not to complain.
You're here, damaged, but here." He lifted his
glass. "Happy days, old man 1"
"If you will give me that black bottle and a
teaspoon, I'll drink that in arnica, or whatever
the stuff is; Rich, the notes were gone before
the wreck !"
He wheeled and stared at me, the bottle in his I
hand. "Lost, strayed or stolen?" he queried
with forced lightness.
"Stolen, although I believe the theft was in
cidental to something else."
108 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
Mrs. Klopton came in at that moment, with
an egg-nog in ner hand. She glanced at the
clock, and, without addressing any one in par
ticular, she intimated that it was time for self-
respecting folks to be at home in bed. Mc-
Knight, who could never resist a fling at her
back, spoke to me in a stage whisper.
"Is she talking still? or again?" he asked,
just before the door closed. There was a sec
ond's indecision with the knob, then, judging
discretion the better part, Mrs. Klopton went
away.
"Now, then," McKnight said, settling himself
in a chair beside the bed, "spit it out. Not the
wreck I know all I want about that. But the
theft. I can tell you beforehand that it was a
woman."
I had crawled painfully out of bed, and was
in the act of pouring the egg-nog down the
ipipe of the washstand. I paused, with the glass
in the air.
"A woman!" I repeated, startled. "What
makes you think that?"
"You don't know the first principles of a
THE NAME WAS SULLIVAN 109
good detective yarn," he said scornfully. "Of
course, it was the woman in the empty house
next door. You said it was brass pipes, you
will remember. Well on with the dance: let
joy be unconfined."
So I told the story ; I had told it so many
times that day that I did it automatically. And
I told about the girl with the bronze hair, and
my suspicions. But I did not mention Alison
West. McKnight listened to the end without
interruption. When I had finished he drew a
long breath.
"Well!" he said. "That's something of a
mess, isn't it? If you can only prove your mild
and childlike disposition, they couldn't hold you
for the murder which is a regular ten-twent-
thirt crime, anyhow. But the notes that's dif
ferent. They are not burned, anyhow. Your
man wasn't on the train therefore, he wasn't
in the wreck. If he didn't know what he was
taking, as you seem to think, he probably reads
the papers, and unless he is a fathead, he's
awake by this time to what he's got. He'll try
to sell them to Bronson, probably."
110 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Or to us," I put in.
We said nothing for a few minutes. Me-
Knight smoked a cigarette and stared at a
'photograph of Candida over the mantel. Can
dida is the best pony for a heavy mount in seven
states.
"I didn't go to Richmond," he observed
finally. The remark followed my own thoughts
so closely that I started. "Miss West is not
home yet from Seal Harbor."
Receiving no response, he lapsed again into
thoughtful silence. Mrs. Klopton came in just
as the clock struck one, and made preparation
for the night by putting a large gaudy com
fortable into an arm-chair in the dressing-room,
with a smaller, stiff -backed chair for her feet.
She was wonderfully attired in a dressing-gown
that was reminiscent, in parts, of all the ones
she had given me for a half dozen Christmases,
< and she had a purple veil wrapped around her
head, to hide Heaven knows what deficiency.
She examined the empty egg-nog glass, in
quired what the evening paper had said about
the weather, and then stalked into the dressing-
THE NAME WAS SULLIVAN 111
room, and prepared, with much ostentatious
creaking, to sit up all night.
We fell silent again, while McKnight traced
a rough outline of the berths on the white table-
cover, and puzzled it out slowly. It was some
thing like this :
10*
8
AISLE.
"You think he changed the tags on seven and
nine, so that when you went back to bed you
thought you were crawling into nine, when it
was really seven, eh?"
"Probably yes."
"Then toward morning, when everybody was
asleep, your theory is that he changed the num
bers again and left the train."
"I can't think of anything else," I replied
wearily.
"Jove, what a game of bridge that fellow
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
would play ! It was like finessing an eight-spot
and winning out. They would scarcely have
doubted your story had the tags been reversed
in the morning. He certainly left you in a bad
way. Not a jury in the country would stand
out against the stains, the stiletto, and the mur
dered man's pocket-book in your possession."
"Then you think Sullivan did it?" I asked.
"Of course," said McKnight confidently.
"Unless you did it in your sleep. Look at the
stains on his pillow, and the dirk stuck into it.
And didn't he have the man Harrington's
pocket-book ?"
"But why did he go off without the money?"
I persisted. "And where does the bronze-haired
girl come in?"
"Search me," McKnight retorted flippantly.
"Inflammation of the imagination on your
part."
"Then there is the piece of telegram. It said
lower ten, car seven. It's extremely likely that
she had it. That telegram was about me,
Richey."
"I'm getting a headache," he said, putting
THE NAME WAS SULLIVAN 113
out his cigarette against the sole of his shoe.
"All I'm certain of just now is that if there
hadn't been a wreck, by this time you'd be sit
ting in an eight by ten cell, and feeling like the
rhyme for it."
"But listen to this," I contended, as he picked
up his hat, "this fellow Sullivan is a fugitive,
and he's a lot more likely to make advances to
Bronson than to us. We could have the case
continued, release Bronson on bail and set a
watch on him."
"Not my watch," McKnight protested. "It's
a family heirloom."
"You'd better go home," I said firmly. "Go
home and go to bed. You're sleepy. You can
have Sullivan's red necktie to dream over if you
think it will help any."
Mrs. Klopton's voice came drowsily from the
next room, punctuated by a yawn. "Oh, I for
got to tell you," she called, with the suspicious
lisp which characterizes her at night, "somebody
called up about noon, Mr. Lawrence. It was
long distance, and he said he would call again.
The name was" she yawned "Sullivan."
CHAPTER XII
THE GOLD BAG
I HAVE always smiled at those cases of
spontaneous combustion which, like fus
ing the component parts of a seidlitz powder,
unite two people in a bubbling and ephemeral
ecstasy. But surely there is possible, with but
a single meeting, an attraction so great, a com
munity of mind and interest so strong, that be
tween that first meeting and the next the bond
may grow into something stronger. This is
especially true, I fancy, of people with tempera
ment, the modern substitute for imagination. It
is a nice question whether lovers begin to love
when they are together, or when they are apart.
Not that I followed any such line of reasoning ,
at the time. I would not even admit my folly to
myself. But during the restless hours of that
first night after the accident, when my back
114
THE GOLD BAG 11*
ached with lying on it, and any other position
was torture, I found my thoughts constantly
going back to Alison West. I dropped into a
doze, to dream of touching her fingers again to
comfort her, and awoke to find I had patted a
teaspoonful of medicine out of Mrs. Klopton's
indignant hand. What was it McKnight had
said about making an egregious ass of myself?
And that brought me back to Richey, and I
fancy I groaned. There is no use expatiating
on the friendship between two men who have
gone together through college, have quarreled
and made it up, fussed together over politics and
debated creeds for years : men don't need to be
told, and women can not understand. Never
theless, I groaned. If it had been any one but
Rich!
Some things were mine, however, and I would
hold them : the halcyon breakfast, the queer hat,
j the pebble in her small shoe, the gold bag with
the broken chain the bag ! Why, it was in my
pocket at that moment.
I got up painfully and found my coat. Yes,
fhere was the purse, bulging with an opulent
116 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
suggestion of wealth inside. I went back to bed
again, somewhat dizzy, between effort and the
touch of the trinket, so lately hers. I held it
up by its broken chain and gloated over it. By
careful attention to orders, I ought to be out in
a day or so. Then I could return it to her. I
really ought to do that: it was valuable, and I
wouldn't care to trust it to the mail. I could
run down to Richmond, and see her once there
was no disloyalty to Rich in that.
I had no intention of opening the little bag.
I put it under my pillow which was my reason
for refusing to have the linen slips changed, to
Mrs. Klopton's dismay. And sometimes during
the morning, while I lay under a virgin field of
white, ornamented with strange flowers, my cig
arettes hidden beyond discovery, and Science
and Health on a table by my elbow, as if by the
merest accident, I slid my hand under my pillow
and touched it reverently.
McKnight came in about eleven. I heard his
car at the curb, followed almost immediately by
his slam at the front door, and his usual clamor
on the stairs. He had a bottle under his arm,
THE GOLD BAG 117
rightly surmising that I had been forbidden
stimulant, and a large box of cigarettes in his
pocket, suspecting my deprivation.
"Well," he said cheerfully. "How did you
sleep after keeping me up half the night?"
I slid my hand around: the purse was well
covered.
"Have it now, or wait till I get the cork out?"
he rattled on.
"I don't want anything," I protested. "I
wish you wouldn't be so darned cheerful,
Richey." He stopped whistling to stare at me.
" *I am saddest when I sing !' " he quoted unc
tuously. "It's pure reaction, Lollie. Yesterday
the sky was low: I was digging for my best
friend. To-day he lies before me, his peevish
self. Yesterday I thought the notes were
burned : to-day I look forward to a good cross
country chase, and with luck we will draw.' 1
His voice changed suddenly. "Yesterday shft
was in Seal Harbor. To-day she is here."
"Here in Washington?" I asked, as naturally
as I could.
"Yes. Going to stay a week or two/'
118 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Oh, I had a little hen and she had a wooden leg
And nearly every morning she used to lay am
egg"
\
"Will you stop that racket, Rich! It's the
real thing this time, I suppose?"
"She's the best little chicken that we have on the
farm
And another little drink won't do u anj
harm"
he finished, twisting out the corkscrew. Thea
he came over and sat down on the bed.
"Well," he said judicially, "since you drag it
from me, I think perhaps it is. You you're
such a confirmed woman-hater that I hardly
knew how you would take it."
"Nothing of the sort," I denied testily. "Be
cause a man reaches the age of thirty without
making maudlin love to every "
"I've taken to long country rides," he went
on reflectively, without listening to me, "and
yesterday I ran over a sheep ; nearly went into
the ditch. But there's a Providence that watches
THE GOLD BAG 119
over fools and lovers, and just now I know
darned well that I'm one, and I have a sneaking
idea I'm both."
"You are both," I said with disgust. "If you
can be rational for one moment, I wish you
would tell me why that man Sullivan called me
over the telephone yesterday morning."
"Probably hadn't yet discovered the Bron-
son notes providing you hold to your theory
that the theft was incidental to the murder.
May have wanted his own clothes again, or to
thank you for yours. Search me: I can't think
of anything else." The doctor came in just
then.
As I said before, I think a lot of my doctor
when I am ill. He is a young man, with an
air of breezy self-confidence and good humor.
He looked directly past the bottle, which is a
very valuable accomplishment, and shook hands
. with McKnight until I could put the cigarettes
under the bedclothes. He had interdicted to
bacco. Then he sat down beside the bed and felt
around the bandages with hands as gentle as a
baby's.
120 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Pretty good shape," he said. "How did you
sleep ?"
"Oh, occasionally," I replied. "I would like
to sit up, doctor."
"Nonsense. Take a rest while you have an
excuse for it. I wish to thunder I could stay
in bed for a day or so. I was up all night."
"Have a drink," McKnight said, pushing
over the bottle.
"Twins !" The doctor grinned.
"Have two drinks."
But the medical man refused.
"I wouldn't even wear a champagne-colored
necktie during business hours," he explained.
n 'By the way, I had another case from your ac
cident, Mr. Blakeley, late yesterday afternoon.
Under the tongue, please." He stuck a ther
mometer in my mouth.
I had a sudden terrible vision of the amateur
detective coming to light, note-book, cheerful
impertinence and incriminating data. "A small
man ?" I demanded, "gray hair "
"Keep your mouth closed," the doctor said
peremptorily. "No. A woman, with a frac-
THE GOLD BAG
tured skull. Beautiful case. Van Kirk was up
to his eyes and sent for me. Hemorrhage, right-
sided paralysis, irregular pupils all the trim
mings. Worked for two hours."
"Did she recover?" McKnight put in. He
was examining the doctor with a new awe.
"She lifted her right arm before I left," the
doctor finished cheerily, "so the operation was a
success, even if she should die."
"Good Heavens," McKnight broke in, "and I
thought you were just an ordinary mortal, like
the rest of us ! Let me touch you for luck. Was
she pretty?"
"Yes, and young. Had a wealth of bronze-
colored hair. Upon my soul, I hated to cut it."
McKnight and I exchanged glances.
"Do you know her name, doctor?" I asked.
"No. The nurses said her clothes cam* from
a Pittsburg tailor."
"She is not conscious, I suppose?"
"No ; she may be, to-morrow or in a week."
He looked at the thermometer, murmured
something about liquid diet, avoiding my eye
Mrs. Klopton was broiling a chop at the time
123 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
and took his departure, humming cheerfully as
he went down-stairs. McKnight looked after
him wistfully.
"Jove, I wish I had his constitution," he ex
claimed. "Neither nerves nor heart! What a
chauffeur he would make !"
But I was serious.
"I have an idea," I said grimly, "that this
small matter of the murder is going to come up
again, and that your uncle will be in the deuce
of a fix if it does. If that woman is going to
die, somebody ought to be around to take her
deposition. She knows a lot, if she didn't do
it herself. I wish you would go down to the
telephone and get the hospital. Find out her
name, and if she is conscious."
McKnight went under protest. "I haven't
much time," he said, looking at his watch. "I'm
to meet Mrs. West and Alison at one. I want
you to know them, Lollie. You would like the
mother."
"Why not the daughter?" I inquired. I
touched the little gold bag under the pillow.
"Well," he said judicially, "you've always dfc-
THE GOLD BAG
lared against the immaturity and romantic non
sense of very young women "
"I never said anything of the sort," I retorted
furiously.
" 'There is more satisfaction to be had out of
a good saddle horse !' " he quoted me. " 'Mora
excitement out of a polo pony, and as for the
eternal matrimonial chase, give me instead a
good stubble, a fox, some decent hounds and a
hunter, and I'll show you the real joys of the
chase!'"
"For Heaven's sake, go down to the telephone,
you make my head ache," I said savagely.
I hardly know what prompted me to take out
the gold purse and look at it. It was an iin-
becile thing to do call it impulse, sentimen
tality, what you wish. I brought it out, one
eye on the door, for Mrs. Klopton has a ready
eye and a noiseless shoe. But the house was
quiet. Down-stairs McKnight was flirting with
the telephone central and there was an odor of
boneset tea in the air. I think Mrs. Kloptou
was fascinated out of her theories by the "bone-
Bet" in connection with the fractured arm.
124 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
Anyhow, I held up the bag and looked at it.
It must have been unfastened, for the next in
stant there was an avalanche on the snowfield of
the counterpane some money, a wisp of a hand
kerchief, a tiny booklet with thin leaves, covered
with a powdery substance and a necklace. I
drew myself up slowly and stared at the neck
lace.
It was one of the semi-barbaric affairs that
women are wearing now, a heavy pendant o
gold chains and carved cameos, swung from a
thin neck chain of the same metal. The neck
lace was broken: in three places the links were
pulled apart and the cameos swung loose and
partly detached. But it was the supporting
chain that held my eye and fascinated with its
sinister suggestion. Three inches of it had been
snapped off, and as well as I knew anything on
earth, I knew that the bit of chain that the ama
teur detective had found, blood-stain and all,
belonged just there.
And there was no one I could talk to about it,
no one to tell me how hideously absurd it was,
no one to give me a slap and tell me there are
THE GOLD BAG 185
tons of fine gold chains made every year, or to
point out the long arm of coincidence!
With my one useful hand I fumbled the
things back into the bag and thrust it deep out
of sight among the pillows. Then I lay back
in a cold perspiration. What connection had
Alison West with this crime? Why had she
stared so at the gun-metal cigarette case that
morning on the train? What had alarmed her
so at the farm-house? What had she taken back
to the gate? Why did she wish she had not
escaped from the wreck? And last, in Heaven's
name, how did a part of her necklace become
torn off and covered with blood?
Down-stairs McKnight was still at the tele
phone, and amusing himself with Mrs. Klopton
in the interval of waiting.
"Why did he come home in a gray suit, when
he went away in a blue?" he repeated. "Well,
wrecks are queer things, Mrs. Klopton. The
suit may have turned gray with fright. Or per
haps wrecks do as queer stunts as lightning.
Friend of mine once was struck by lightning;
he and the caddy had taken refuge under a tree.
126 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
After the flash, when they recovered conscious
ness, there was my friend in the caddy's clothes,
and the caddy In his. And as my friend was a
large man and the caddy a very small boy "
McKnight's story was interrupted by the in
dignant slam of the dining-room door. He was
obliged to wait some time, and even his eternal
cheerfulness was ebbing when he finally got the
hospital.
"Is Doctor Van Kirk there?" he asked. "Not
there? Well, can you tell me how the patient
is whom Doctor Williams, from Washington,
operated on last night? Well, I'm glad of that.
Is she conscious? Do you happen to know her
name? Yes, I'll hold the line."
There was a long pause, then McKnight'a
voice :
"Hello yes. Thank you very much. Good-
by."
He came up-stairs, two steps at a time.
"Look here," he said, bursting into the room,
"there may be something in your theory, after
all. The woman's name it may be a coinci
dence, but it's curious her name is Sullivan."
THE GOLD BAG 17
**What did I tell you ?" I said, sitting up sud
denly in bed. "She's probably a sister of that
scoundrel in lower seven, and she was afraid of
what he might do."
"Well, I'll go there some day soon. She's not
conscious yet. In the meantime, the only thing
I can do is to keep an eye, through a detective^
on the people who try to approach Bronson,
We'll have the case continued, anyhow, in the
hope that the stolen notes will sooner or later turn
up."
"Confound this arm," I said, paying for mj
energy with some excruciating throbs. "There's
so much to be looked after, and here I am, ban
daged, splinted, and generally useless. It'i a
beastly shame."
"Don't forget that I am here," said Ma-
Knight pompously. "And another thing, when
you feel this way just remember there are twp
less desirable places where you might be. One>
is jail, and the other is " He strummed on an
imaginary harp, with devotional eyes.
But McKnight's light-heartedness jarred OB
me that morning. I lay and frowned under my
128 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
helplessness. When by chance I touched the
little gold bag, it seemed to scorch my fingers.
Richey, finding me unresponsive, left to keep his
luncheon engagement with Alison West. As he
clattered down the stairs, I turned my back to
the morning sunshine and abandoned myself to
misery. By what strain on her frayed nerves
was Alison West keeping up, I wondered? Un
der the circumstances, would I dare to return the
bag? Knowing that I had it, would she hate
me for my knowledge? Or had I exaggerated
the importance of the necklace, and in that case
had she forgotten me already?
But McKnight had not gone, after all. I
heard him coming back, his voice preceding him,
and I groaned with irritation.
"Wake up !" he called. "Somebody's sent you
a lot of flowers. Please hold the box, Mrs. Klop-
ton ; I'm going out to be run down by an auto
mobile."
I roused to feeble interest. My brother's wife
is punctilious about such things; all the new
babies in the family have silver rattles, and all
the sick people flowers.
THE GOLD BAG 129
McKnight pulled up an armful of roses, and
held them out to me.
"Wonder who they're from?" he said, fum-
jbling in the box for a card. "There's, no name
yes, here's one."
He held it up and read it with exasperating
slowness.
" 'Best wishes for an early recovery.
A COMPANION IN MISFORTUNE.'
"Well, what do you know about that !" he ex
claimed. "That's something you didn't tell me,
Lollie."
"It was hardly worth mentioning," I said
mendaciously, with my heart beating until I
could hear it. She had not forgotten, after all.
McKnight took a bud and fastened it in his
buttonhole. I'm afraid I was not especially
pleasant about it. They were her roses, and
anyhow, they were meant for me. Richey left
very soon, with an irritating final grin at the
box.
"Good-by, sir woman-hater," he jeered at me
from the door.
130 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
So he wore one of the roses she had sent me,
to luncheon with her, and I lay back among my
pillows and tried to remember that it was his
game, anyhow, and that I wasn't even drawing
cards. To remember that, and to forget the
broken necklace under my head!
CHAPTER
FADED KOSES
I WAS in the house for a week. Much of
that time I spent in composing and de
stroying letters of thanks to Miss West, and
in growling at the doctor. McKnight dropped
in daily, but he was less cheerful than usual.
Now and then I caught him eying me as if he
had something to say, but whatever it was he
kept it to himself. Once during the week he
went to Baltimore and saw the woman in the
hospital there. From the description I had little
difficulty in recognizing the young woman who
had been with the murdered man in Pittsburg.
But she was still unconscious. An elderly aunt
had appeared, a gaunt person in black, who sat
around like a buzzard on a fence, according to
McKnight, and wept, in a mixed figure, into a
damp handkerchief.
131
132 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
On the last day of my imprisonment he
stopped in to thrash out a case that was com
ing up in court the next day, and to play a
game of double solitaire with me.
"Who won the ball game ?" I asked.
"We were licked. Ask me something pleas
ant. Oh, by the way, Bronson's out to-day."
"I'm glad I'm not on his bond," I said pes
simistically. "He'll clear out."
"Not he." McKnight pounced on my ace.
"He's no fool. Don't you suppose he knows
you took those notes to Pittsburg? The papers
were full of it. And he knows you escaped with
your life and a broken arm from the wreck.
What do we do next? The Commonwealth con
tinues the case. A deaf man on a dark night
would know those notes are missing."
"Don't play so fast," I remonstrated. "I
have only one arm to your two. Who is trailing
Bronson? Did you try to get Johnson?"
"I asked for him, but he had some work on
hand."
"The murder's evidently a dead io&tie," I
reflected. "No, I'm not joking. The wreck
FADED ROSES 133
destroyed all the evidence. But I'm firmly con
vinced those notes will be offered, either to us
or to Bronson very soon. Johnson's a black-
|
guard, but he's a good detective. He could
make his fortune as a game dog. What's he
doing?"
McKnight put down his cards, and rising,
went to the window. !A.s he held the curtain back
his customary grin looked a little forced.
"To tell you the truth, Lollie," he said, "for
the last two days he has been watching a well-
known Washington attorney named Lawrence
Blakeley. He's across the street now."
It took a moment for me to grasp what he
meant.
"Why, it's ridiculous," I asserted. "What
would they trail me for ? Go over and tell John
son to get out of there, or I'll pot at him with
my revolver."
\
"You can tell him that yourself." McKnight
paused and bent forward. "Hello, here's a vis
itor ; little man with string halt."
"I won't see him," I said firmly. "I've been
bothered enough with reporters."
134 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
We listened together to Mrs. Klopton's ex
postulating tones in the lower hall and the creak
of the boards as she came heavily up the stairs.
She had a piece of paper in her hand torn from i
a pocket account-book, and on it was the name,
"Mr. Wilson Budd Hotchkiss. Important busi
ness."
"Oh, well, show him up," I said resignedly.
"You'd better put those cards away, Richey. I
fancy it's the rector of the church around the
corner."
But when the door opened to admit a curi
ously alert little man, adjusting his glasses with
nervous fingers, my face must have shown my
dismay.
It was the amateur detective of the Ontario!
I shook hands without enthusiasm. Here was
the one survivor of the wrecked car who could
do me any amount of harm. There was no hope
that he had forgotten any of the incriminating
details. In fact, he held in his hand the very
note-book which contained them.
His manner was restrained, but it was evident
he was highly excited. I introduced him to Mo-
FADED ROSES 135
Knight, who has the imagination I lack, and who
placed him at once, mentally.
"I only learned yesterday that you had been
' er saved," he said rapidly. "Terrible acci
dent unspeakable. Dream about it all night
and think about it all day. Broken arm?"
"No. He just wears the splint to be different
from other people," McKnight drawled lazily.
I glared at him : there was nothing to be gained
by antagonizing the little man.
"Yes, a fractured humerus, which isn't as
funny as it sounds."
"Humerus humorous! Pretty good," he
cackled. "I must say you keep up your spirits
pretty well, considering everything."
"You seem to have escaped injury," I parried.
He was fumbling for something in his pockets.
"Yes, I escaped," he replied abstractedly.
"Remarkable thing, too. I haven't a doubt I
would have broken my neck, but I landed on
you'll never guess what! I landed head first on
the very pillow which was under inspection at
the time of the wreck. You remember, don't
you? Where did I put that package?"
136 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
He found it finally and opened it on a table,
displaying 1 with some theatricalism a rectangular
piece of muslin and a similar patch of striped
ticking.
"You recognize it?" he said. "The stains,
you see, and the hole made by the dirk. I tried
to bring away the entire pillow, but they
thought I was stealing it, and made me give it
up."
Richey touched the pieces gingerly. "By
George," he said, "and you carry that around
in your pocket! What if you should mistake
it for your handkerchief?"
But Mr. Hotchkiss was not listening. He
stood bent somewhat forward, leaning over the
table, and fixed me with his ferret-like eyes.
"Have you seen the evening papers, Mr.
Blakeley?" he inquired.
I glanced to where they lay unopened, and
shook my head.
"Then I have a disagreeable task," he said
with evident relish. "Of course, you had con
sidered the matter of the man Harrington's
death closed, after the wreck. I did myself.
FADED ROSES 137
As far as I was concerned, I meant to
let it remain so. There were no other survivors,
at least none that I knew of, and in spite of cir
cumstances, there were a number of points in
your favor."
"Thank you," I put in with a sarcasm that
was lost on him.
"I verified your identity, for instance, as soon
as I recovered from the shock. Also I found
on inquiring of your tailor that you invariably
wore dark clothing."
McKnight came forward threateningly. "Who
are you, anyhow?" he demanded. "And how is
this any business of yours?" Mr. Hotchkiss
was entirely unruffled.
"I have a minor position here," he said, reach
ing for a visiting card. "I am a very small
patch on the seat of government, sir."
McKnight muttered something about certain
offensive designs against the said patch and re
tired grumbling to the window. Our visitor was
opening the paper with a tremendous expendi
ture of energy.
"Here it is. Listen." He read rapidly aloud :
"The Pittsburg police have sent to Baltimore
two detectives who are looking up the survivors
of the ill-fated Washington Flier. It has
transpired that Simon Harrington, the Wood
Street merchant of that city, was not killed in
the wreck, but was murdered in his berth the
night preceding the accident. Shortly before
the collision, John Flanders, the conductor of
the Flier, sent this telegram to the chief of po
lice:
" 'Body of Simon Harrington found stabbed
in his berth, lower ten, Ontario, at six-thirty
this morning. JOHN FLANDERS, Conductor.'
"It is hoped that the survivors of the wrecked
car Ontario will be found, to tell what they know
of the discovery of the crime.
"Mr. John Gilmore, head of the steel company
for which Mr. Harrington was purchasing
agent, has signified his intention of sifting the
matter to the bottom."
"So you see,** Hotchkiss concluded, "there's
trouble brewing. You and I are the only sur
vivors of that unfortunate car."
FADED ROSES 13f
I did not contradict him, but I knew of two
others, at least: Alison West, and the woman
we had left beside the road that morning, bab
bling incoherently, her black hair tumbling overf
her white face.
"Unless we can find the man who occupied
lower seven," I suggested.
"I have already tried and failed. To find
him would not clear you, of course, unless we
could establish some connection between him and
the murdered man. It is the only thing I see,
however. I have learned this much," Hotchkiss
concluded: "Lower seven was reserved from
Cresson."
Cresson ! Where Alison West and Mrs. Cur
tis had taken the train !
McKnight came forward and suddenly held
out his hand. "Mr. Hotchkiss," he said, "I
I'm sorry if I have been offensive. I thought
when you came in, that, like the Irishman and (
the government, you were 'forninst' us. If you
will put those cheerful relics out of sight some
where, I should be glad to have you dine with
me at the Incubator." (His name for his backe-
140 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
lor apartment.) "Compared with Johnson, you
are the great original protoplasm."
The strength of this was lost on Hotchkiss,
| but the invitation was clear. They went out to
gether, and from my window I watched them get
into McKnight's car. It was raining, and at
the corner the Cannonball skidded. Across the
street my detective, Johnson, looked after them
with his crooked smile. As he turned up his
collar he saw me, and lifted his hat.
I left the window and sat down in the growing
dusk. So the occupant of lower seven had got
on the car at Cresson, probably with Alison
West and her companion. There was some one
she cared about enough to shield. I went ir
ritably to the door and summoned Mrs. Klopton.
"You may throw out those roses," I said,
without looking at her. "They are quite dead."
"They have been quite dead for three days,"
she retorted spitefully. "Euphemia said you
threatened to dismiss her if she touched thenx"
CHAPTER XIV
THE TKAP-DOOR
BY Sunday evening, a week after the wreck,
ray forced inaction had goaded me to fren
zy. The very sight of Johnson across the street
or lurking, always within sight of the house,
kept me constantly exasperated. It was on that
iday that things began to come to a focus, a
burning-glass of events that seemed to center on
me.
I dined alone that evening in no cheerful
frame of mind. There had been a polo game the
iday before and I had lent a pony, which is al
ways a bad thing to do. And she had wrenched
her shoulder, besides helping to lose the game..
There was no one in town : the temperature was
ninety and climbing, and my left hand per
sistently cramped under its bandage.
149 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
Mrs. Klopton herself saw me served, my bread
buttered and cut in tidbits, my meat ready for
my fork. She hovered around me maternally,
obviously trying to cheer me.
"The paper says still warmer," she ventured.
A The thermometer is ninety-two now."
"And this coffee is two hundred and fifty," I
aid, putting down my cup. "Where is Eu-
phemia? I haven't seen her around, or heard
a dish smash all day."
"Euphemia is in bed," Mrs. Klopton said
gravely. "Is your meat cut small enough, Mr.
Lawrence?" Mrs. Klopton can throw more mys
tery into an ordinary sentence than any one I
know. She can say, "Are your sheets damp,
sir?" And I can tell from her tone that the
house across the street has been robbed, or that
my left hand neighbor has appendicitis. So now
I looked up and asked the question she was wait
ing for.
"What's the matter with Euphemia?" I in
quired idly.
"Frightened into her bed," Mrs. Klopton said
in a stage whisper. "She's had three hot water
THE TRAP-BOOK 14*
fcottles and she hasn't done a thing all day but
moan."
"She oughtn't to take hot water bottles," I
said in my severest tone. "One would make me
moan. You need not wait, I'll ring if I need
anything."
Mrs. Klopton sailed to the door, where she
stopped and wheeled indignantly. "I only hope
you won't laugh on the wrong side of your face
some morning, Mr. Lawrence," she declared,
with Christian fortitude. "But I warn you, I
am going to have the police watch that house
next door."
I was half inclined to tell her that both it and
we were under police surveillance at that mo
ment. But I like Mrs. Klopton, in spite of the
fact that I make her life a torment for her, so
I refrained.
"Last night, when the paper said it was go-,
ing to storm, I sent Euphemia to the roof to
bring the rugs in. Eliza had slipped out, al
though it was her evening in. Euphemia went
up to the roof it was eleven o'clock and soon
I heard her running down-stairs crying. When
144. THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
she got to my room she just folded up on the
floor. She said there was a black figure sitting
on the parapet of the house next door the
empty house and that when she appeared it
rose and waved long black arms at her and spit
like a cat."
I had finished my dinner and was lighting a
cigarette. "If there was any one up there,
which I doubt, they probably sneezed," I sug
gested. "But if you feel uneasy, I'll take a look
around the roof to-night before I turn in. As
far as Euphemia goes, I wouldn't be uneasy
about her doesn't she always have an attack
of some sort when Eliza rings in an extra even
ing on her?"
So I made a superficial examination of the
window locks that night, visiting parts of the
house that I had not seen since I bought it.
Then I went to the roof. Evidently it had not
been intended for any purpose save to cover the
house, for unlike the houses around, there was
no staircase. A ladder and a trap-door led to
it, and it required some nice balancing on my
part to get up with my useless arm. I made it,
THE TRAP-DOOR 145
however, and found this unexplored part of my
domain rather attractive. It was cooler than
down-stairs, and I sat on the brick parapet and
[smoked my final cigarette. The roof of the
empty house adjoined mine along the back wing,
but investigation showed that the trap-door
across the low dividing wall was bolted under
neath.
There was nothing out of the ordinary any
where, and so I assured Mrs. Klopton. Need
less to say, I did not tell her that I had left the
trap-door open, to see if it would improve the
temperature of the house. I went to bed at
midnight, merely because there was nothing else
to do. I turned on the night lamp at the head
of my bed, and picked up a volume of Shaw at
random (it was Arms and the Man, and I re
member thinking grimly that I was a good bit
of a chocolate cream soldier myself), and pre-
' pared to go to sleep. Shaw always puts me to
sleep. I have no apologies to make for what
occurred that night, and not even an explana
tion that I am sure of. I did a foolish thing
under impulse, and I have not been sorry.
146 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
It was something after two when the door
bell rang. It rang quickly, twice. I got up
drowsily, for the maids and Mrs. Klopton al
ways lock themselves beyond reach of the belli
at night, and put on a dressing-gown. The
bell rang again on my way down-stairs. I lit
the hall light and opened the door. I was wide
awake now, and I saw that it was Johnson. His
bald head shone in the light his crooked mouth
was twisted in a smile.
"Good Heavens, man," I said irritably.
"Don't you ever go home and go to bed?"
He closed the vestibule door behind him and
cavalierly turned out the light. Our dialogue
was sharp, staccato.
"Have you a key to the empty house next
door?" he demanded. "Somebody's in there,
and the latch is caught."
"The houses are alike. The key to this door
may fit. Did you see them go in ?"
"No. There's a light moving up from room
to room. I saw something like it last night, and
I have been watching. The patrolman reported
queer doings there a week or so ago."
THE TRAP-DOOR 147
*A light P* I exclaimed. "Do you mean that
you "
"Very likely," he said grimly. "Have you a
revolver ?"
"All kinds in the gun rack," I replied, and
going into the den, I came back with a Smith
and Wesson. "I'm not much use," I explained,
"with this arm, but I'll do what I can. There
maj' be somebody there. The servants here have
been uneasy."
Johnson planned the campaign. He sug
gested on account of my familiarity with the
roof, that I go there and cut off escape in that
direction. "I have Robison out there now the
patrolman on the beat," he said. "He'll watch
below and you above, while I search the house.
Be as quiet as possible."
I was rather amused. I put on some clothes
and felt my way carefully up the stairs, the
revolver swinging free in my pocket, my hand
on the rail. At the foot of the ladder I stopped
and looked up. Above me there was a gray
rectangle of sky dotted with stars. It oc
curred to me that with my one serviceable hand
148 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
holding the ladder, I was hardly in a position
to defend myself, that I was about to hoist a
body that I am rather careful of into a danger
I couldn't see and wasn't particularly keen about
anyhow. I don't mind saying that the seconds
it took me to scramble up the ladder were among
the most unpleasant that I recall.
I got to the top, however, without incident.
I could see fairly well after the darkness of the
house beneath, but there was nothing suspicious
in sight. The roofs, separated by two feet
of brick wall, stretched around me, unbroken
save by an occasional chimney. I went very
softly over to the other trap, the one belonging
to the suspected house. It was closed, but I
imagined I could hear Johnson's footsteps
ascending heavily. Then even that was gone.
A near-by clock struck three as I stood waiting.
I examined my revolver then, for the first time,
and found it was empty !
I had been rather skeptical until now. I had
had the usual tolerant attitude of the man who is
summoned from his bed to search for burglars,
combined with the artificial courage of firearms.
THE TRAP-DOOR 149
With the discovery of my empty gun, I felt
like a man on the top of a volcano in lively erup
tion. Suddenly I found myself staring incredu
lously at the trap-door at my feet. I had
examined it early in the evening and found it
bolted. Did I imagine it, or had it raised about
an inch? Wasn't it moving slowly as I looked?
No, I am not a hero: I was startled almost into
a panic. I had one arm, and whoever was rais
ing that trap-door had two. My knees had a
queer inclination to bend the wrong way.
Johnson's footsteps were distinct enough, but
he was evidently far below. The trap, raised
perhaps two inches now, remained stationary.
There was no sound from beneath it: once I
thought I heard two or three gasping respira
tions: I am not sure they were not my own. I
wanted desperately to stand on one leg at a time
and hold the other up out of focus of a possible
' revolver.
I did not see the hand appear. There was
nothing there, and then it was there, clutching
the frame of the trap. I did the only thing I
could think of ; I put my foot on it !
150 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
There was not a sound from beneath. The
next moment I was kneeling and had clutched
the wrist just above the hand. After a second's
struggle, the arm was still. With something,
real to face, I was myself again.
"Don't move, or I'll stand on the trap and
break your arm," I panted. What else could I
threaten? I couldn't shoot, I couldn't even
ght. "Johnson!" I called.
And then I realized the thing that stayed with
me for a month, the thing I can not think of
even now without a shudder. The hand lay ice
cold, strangely quiescent. Under my fingers,
an artery was beating feebly. The wrist was as
slender as 1 held the hand to the light. Then
I let it drop.
"Good Lord," I muttered, and remained on
my knees, staring at the spot where the hand
had been. It was gone now: there was a faint,j
rustle in the darkness below, and then silence.
I held up my own hand in the starlight and
stared at a long scratch in the palm. *'A
woman!" I said to myself stupidly. "By aH
that's ridiculous, a woman !"
THE TRAP-DOOR
Johnson was striking matches below and
swearing softly to himself. "How the devil do
you get to the roof?" he called. "I think I've
broken my nose!"
He found the ladder after a short search and
stood at the bottom, looking up at me. "Well,
I suppose you haven't seen him?" he inquired.
"There rre enough darned cubbyholes in thia
house to hide a patrol wagon load of thieves."
He lighted a fresh match. "Hello, here's an
other door !"
By the sound of his diminishing footsteps I
supposed it was a rear staircase. He came up
again in ten minutes or so, this time with the
policeman.
"He's gone, all right," he said ruefully. "If
you'd been attending to your business, Robison,
you'd have watched the back door."
"I'm not twins." Robison was surly.
"Well," I broke in, as cheerfully as I could,
"if you are through with this jolly little affair,
and can get down my ladder without having my
housekeeper ring the burglar alarm, I have some
good Monongahela whisky eh ?"
152 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
They came without a second invitation across
the roof, and with them safely away from the
house I breathed more freely. Down in the den
I fulfilled my promise, which Johnson drank to
*
the toast, "Coming through the rye." He ex
amined my gun rack with the eye of a connois
seur, and even when he was about to go he cast
a loving eye back at the weapons.
"Ever been in the army ?" he inquired.
"No," I said with a bitterness that he noticed
but failed to comprehend. "I'm a chocolate
cream soldier you don't read Shaw, I suppose.
Johnson ?"
"Never heard of him," the detective said in
differently. "Well, good night, Mr. Blakeley.
Much obliged." At the door he hesitated and
coughed.
"I suppose you understand, Mr. Blakeley,"
he said awkwardly, "that this er surveillance
is all in the day's work. I don't like it, but it's
duty. Every man to his duty, sir."
"Sometime when you are in an open mood?
Johnson," I returned, "you can explain why I
am being watched at all."
CHAPTER XV
THE CINEMATOGRAPH.
ON Monday I went out for the first time. I
did not go to the office. I wanted to walk.
I thought fresh air and exercise would drive
away the blue devils that had me by the throat.
McKnight insisted on a long day in his car, but
I refused.
"I don't know why not," he said sulkily. <C I
can't walk. I haven't walked two consecutive
blocks in three years. Automobiles have made
legs mere ornaments and some not even that.
We could have Johnson out there chasing us
over the country at five dollars an hour !"
"He can chase us just as well at five miles an
hour," I said. "But what gets me, McKnight,
is why I am under surveillance at all. How do
the police know / was accused of that thing?"
153
154 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"The young lady who sent the flowers she
isn't likely to talk, is she ?"
"No. That is, I didn't say it was a lady." I
groaned as I tried to get my splinted arm into a
coat. "Anyhow, she didn't tell," I finished with
conviction, and McKnight laughed.
It had rained in the early morning, and Mrs.
Klopton predicted more showers. In fact, so firm
was her belief and so determined her eye that I
took the umbrella she proffered me.
"Never mind," I said. "We can leave it next
door ; I have a story to tell you, Richey, and it
requires proper setting."
McKnight was puzzled, but he followed nre
obediently around to the kitchen entrance of the
empty house. It was unlocked, as I had ex
pected. While we climbed to the upper floor I
retailed the events of the previous night.
"It's the finest thing I ever heard of," Mc
Knight said, staring up at the ladder and the
trap. "What a vaudeville skit it would make!
Only you ought not to have put your foot on her
hand. They don't do it in the best circles.**
THE CINEMATOGRAPH 15i
I wheeled on him impatiently.
"You don't understand the situation at all,
Richey !" I exclaimed. "What would you say if
I tell you it was the hand of a lady? It was
covered with rings."
"A lady !" he repeated. "Why, I'd say it was
a darned compromising situation, and that the
less you say of it the better. Look here, Law
rence, I think you dreamed it. You've been in
the house too much. I take it all back: you do
need exercise."
"She escaped through this door, I suppose,"
I said as patiently as I could. "Evidently down
the back staircase. We might as well go down
that way."
"According to the best precedents in these
affairs, we should find a glove about here," he
said as we started down. But he was more im
pressed than he cared to own. He examined the
dusty steps carefully, and once, when a bit of,
loose plaster fell just behind him, he started like
a nervous woman.
"What I don't understand is why you let her
go," he said, stopping once, puzzled. "You're
not usually quixotic."
"When we get out into the country, Richey,"
I replied gravely, "I am going to tell you an
other story, and if you don't tell me I'm a fool
and a craven, on the strength of it, you are no
friend of mine."
We stumbled through the twilight of the stair
case into the blackness of the shuttered kitchen.
The house had the moldy smell of closed build
ings: even on that warm September morning it
was damp and chilly. As we stepped into the
sunshine McKnight gave a shiver.
"Now that we are out," he said, "I don't mind
telling you that I have been there before. Do
you remember the night you left, and the face at
the window ?"
"When you speak of it yes."
"Well, I was curious about that thing," he
went on, as we started up the street, "and I went
back. The street door was unlocked, and I ex
amined every room. I was Mrs. Klopton's ghost
that carried a light, and clumb."
"Did you find anything?"
THE CINEMATOGRAPH 157
"Only a clean place rubbed on the window
opposite your dressing-room. Splendid view of
an untidy interior. If that house is ever occu
pied, you'd better put stained glass in that
window of yours."
As we turned the corner I glanced back. Half
a block behind us Johnson was moving our way
slowly. When he saw me he stopped and pro
ceeded with great deliberation to light a cigar.
By hurrying, however, he caught the car that
we took, and stood unobtrusively on the rear
platform. He looked fagged, and absent-
mindedly paid our fares, to McKnight's de-
light.
"We will give him a run for his moneys" he
declared, as the car moved countryward. "Con
ductor, let us off at the muddiest lane you can
find."
At one o'clock, after a six-mile ramble, we
entered a small country hotel. We had seen
nothing of Johnson for a half hour. At that
time he was a quarter of a mile behind us, and
losing rapidly. Before we had finished our
luncheon he staggered into the inn. One of his
158 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
boots was under his arm, and his whole appear
ance was deplorable. He was coated with mud,
streaked with perspiration, and he limped as he
walked. He chose a table not far from us and
ordered Scotch. Beyond touching his hat he
paid no attention to us.
"I'm just getting my second wind," McKnight
declared. "How do you feel, Mr. Johnson ? Six
or eight miles more and we'll all enjoy our din
ners." Johnson put down the glass he had raised
to his lips without replying.
The fact was, however, that I was like John
son. I was soft from my week's inaction, and I
was pretty well done up. McKnight, who was
a well spring of vitality and high spirits, ordered
a strange concoction, made of nearly everything
in the ba r , and sent it over to the detective, bui
JohnsoR refused it.
"I hate that kind of person," McKnight
said pettishly. "Kind of a fellow that thinks
you're going to poison his dog if you offer him
a bone."
When we got back to the car line, with John
son a draggled and drooping tail to the kite, I
THE CINEMATOGRAPH 159
was in better spirits. I had told McKnight the
story of the three hours just after the wreck; I
had not named the girl, of course; she had my
promise of secrecy. But I told him everything
else. It was a relief to have a fresh mind on it : I
had puzzled so much over the incident at the
farm-house, and the necklace in the gold bag,
that I had lost perspective.
He had been interested, but inclined to be
amused, until I came to the broken chain. Then
he had whistled softly.
"But there are tons of fine gold chains made
every year," he said. "Why in the world do you
think that the er smeary piece came from
that necklace ?"
I had looked around. Johnson was far be
hind, scraping the mud off his feet with a piece
of stick.
"I have the short end of the chain in the seal
skin bag," I reminded him. "When I couldn't |
sleep this morning I thought I would settle it,
one way or the other. It was hell to go along
the way I had been doing. And there's no
idoubt about it, Rich. It's the same chain."
160 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
We walked along in silence until we caught
the car back to town.
"Well," he said finally, "you know the girl,
of course, and I don't. But if you like her and
I think myself you're rather hard hit, old man
I wouldn't give a whoop about the chain in the
gold purse. It's just one of the little coinci
dences that hang people now and then. And as
for last night if she's the kind of a girl you
say she is, and you think she had anything to do
with that, you you're addled, that's all. You
can depend on it, the lady of the empty house
last week is the lady of last night. And yet your
train acquaintance was in Altoona at that time."
Just before we got off the car, I reverted to
the subject again. It was never far back in my
mind.
"About the young lady of the train, Rich,"
I said, with what I suppose was elaborate care
lessness, "I don't want you to get a wrong im
pression. I am rather unlikely to see her again,
but even if I do, I I believe she is already 'be
spoke,' or next thing to it."
He made no reply, but as I opened the door
THE CINEMATOGRAPH 161
with my latch-key he stood looking up at me
from the pavement with his quizzical smile.
"Love is like the measles," he orated. "The
1 older you get it, the worse the attack."
Johnson did not appear again that day. A
small man in a raincoat took his place. The next
morning I made my initial trip to the office, the
raincoat still on hand. I had a short conference
with Miller, the district attorney, at eleven.
Bronson was under surveillance, he said, and any
attempt to sell the notes to him would probably
result in their recovery. In the meantime, as I
knew, the Commonwealth had continued the case,
in hope of such contingency.
At noon I left the office and took a veterinarian
to see Candida, the injured pony. By one o'clock
my first day's duties were performed, and a long
Sahara of hot afternoon stretched ahead. Mc-
Knight, always glad to escape from the grind,
^suggested a vaudeville, and in sheer ennui I con
sented. I could neither ride, drive nor golf, and
my own company bored me to distraction.
"Coolest place in town these days," he de
clared. "Electric fans, breezy songs, airy cos-
168 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
tumes. And there's Johnson just behind the
coldest proposition in Washington."
He gravely bought three tickets and presented
the detective with one. Then we went in. Hav-if
ing lived a normal, busy life, the theater in the
afternoon is to me about on a par with ice-cream
for breakfast. Up on the stage a very stout
woman in short pink skirts, with a smile that
McKnight declared looked like a slash in a roll
of butter, was singing nasally, with a laborious
kick at the end of each verse. Johnson, two
rows ahead, went to sleep. McKnight prodded
me with his elbow.
"Look at the first box to the right," he said, in
a stage whisper. "I want you to come over at the
end of this act."
It was the first time I had seen her since I put
her in the cab at Baltimore. Outwardly I pre
sume I was calm, for no one turned to stare at
me, but every atom of me cried out at the sight
of her. She was leaning, bent forward, lips
slightly parted, gazing raptly at the Japanese
conjurer who had replaced what McKnight dis
respectfully called the Columns of Hercule*.
THE CINEMATOGRAPH 163
Compared with the draggled lady of the farmr
fcouse, she was radiant.
For that first moment there was nothing but
joy at the sight of her. McKnight's touch oa
my arm brought me back to reality.
"Come over and meet them," he said. "That's
the cousin Miss West is visiting, Mrs. Dallas."
But I would not go. After he went I sat there
alone, painfully conscious that I was being
pointed out and stared at from the box. The
abominable Japanese gave way to yet more atro
cious performing dogs.
"How many offers of marriage will the young
lady in the box have ?" The dog stopped sagely
at 'none', and then pulled out a card that said
eight. Wild shouts of glee by the audience.
"The fools," I muttered.
After a little I glanced over. Mrs. Dallas was
talking to McKnight, but She was looking
straight at me. She was flushed, but more calm
than I, and she did not bow. I fumbled for my
hat, but the next moment I saw that they were
going, and I sat still. When McKnight came
Wck he was triumphant.
164 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"I've made an engagement for you," he said.
''Mrs. Dallas asked me to bring you to dinner
to-night, and I said I knew you would fall all
over yourself to go. You are requested to bring
along the broken arm, and any other souvenirs
of the wreck that you may possess."
"I'll do nothing of the sort," I declared, strug
gling against my inclination. "I can't even tie
my necktie, and I have to have my food cut for
me."
"Oh, that's all right," he said easily. "I'll
send Stogie over to fix you up, and Mrs. Dal
knows all about the arm. I told her."
(Stogie is his Japanese factotum, so called
because he is lean, a yellowish brown in color,
and because he claims to have been shipped into
this country in a box. )
The Cinematograph was finishing the pro
gram. The house was dark and the music had
stopped, as it does in the circus just before some
body risks his neck at so much a neck in the Dip
of Death, or the hundred-foot dive. Then, witH
a sort of shock, I saw on the white curtain the
announcement :
THE CINEMATOGRAPH 165
THE NEXT PICTURE
IS THE DOOMED WASHINGTON FLIER, TAKEN
A SHORT DISTANCE FROM THE SCENE OF THE
WRECK ON THE FATAL MORNING OF SEP
TEMBER TENTH. TWO MILES FARTHER ON
IT MET WITH ALMOST COMPLETE ANNIHI
LATION.
I confess to a return of some of the sickening
sensations of the wreck ; people around me were
leaning forward with tense faces. Then the
letters were gone, and I saw a long level stretch
of track, even the broken stone between the ties
standing out distinctly. Far off under a cloud
of smoke a small object was rushing toward us
and growing larger as it came.
Now it was on us, a mammoth in size, with
huge drivers and a colossal tender. The engine
leaped aside, as if just in time to save us from
destruction, with a glimpse of a stooping fireman
and a grimy engineer. The long train of sleep
ers followed. From a forward vestibule a porter
in a white coat waved his hand. The rest of the
cars seemed still wrapped in slumber. Withi
166 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
mixed sensations I saw my own car, Ontario, fly
past, and then I rose to my feet and gripped
McKnight's shoulder.
On the lowest step of the last car, one foot
hanging free, was a man. His black derby hat
was pulled well down to keep it from blowing
away, and his coat was flying open in the wind.
He was swung well out from the car, his free
hand gripping a small valise, every muscle tense
for a jump.
"Good God, that's my man !" I said hoarsely,
as the audience broke into applause. McKnight
half rose: in his seat ahead Johnson stifled a
yawn and turned to eye me.
I dropped into my chair limply, and tried to
control my excitement. "The man on the last
platform of the train," I said. "He was just
about to leap ; I'll swear that was my bag."
"Could you see his face?" McKnight asked in
an undertone. "Would you know him again ?"
"No. His hat was pulled down and his head
was bent. I'm going back to find out where that
picture was taken. They say two miles, but if?
may have been forty."
THE CINEMATOGRAPH 16T
The audience, busy with its wraps, had not
noticed. Mrs. Dallas and Alison West had gone.
In front of us Johnson had dropped his hat and
was stooping for it.
"This way," I motioned to McKnight, and we
wheeled into the narrow passage beside us, back
of the boxes. At the end there was a door lead
ing into the wings, and as we went boldly
through I turned the key.
The final set was being struck, and no one
paid any attention to us. Luckily they were
similarly indifferent to a banging at the door I
had locked, a banging which, I judged, signified
Johnson.
"I guess we've broken up his interference,"
McKnight chuckled.
Stage hands were hurrying in every direction;
pieces of the side wall of the last drawing-room
menaced us ; a switchboard behind us was singing
like a tea-kettle. Everywhere we stepped we
were in somebody's way. At last we were across,
confronting a man in his shirt sleeves, who by
dots and dashes of profanity seemed to be direct
ing the chaos.
168 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Well ?" he said, wheeling on us. ''What can
I do for you?"
"I would like to ask," I replied, "if you have
any idea just where the last cinematograph pic-|
ture was taken."
"Broken board picnickers lake ?"
"No. The Washington Flier."
He glanced at my bandaged arm.
"The announcement says two miles," Mc-
Knight put in, "but we should like to know
whether it is railroad miles, automobile miles, or
policeman miles."
"I am sorry I can't tell you," he replied, more
civilly. "We get those pictures by contract.
We don't take them ourselves."
"Where are the company's offices ?"
"New York." He stepped forward and
grasped a super by the shoulder. "What in
blazes are you doing with that gold chair in a
kitchen set? Take that piece of pink plush there
and throw it over a soap box, if you haven't got
a kitchen chair."
I had not realized the extent of the shock, but
now I dropped into a chair and wiped my fore-
THE CINEMATOGRAPH 169
head. The unexpected glimpse of Alison West,
followed almost immediately by the revelation of
the picture, had left me limp and unnerved. Mc-
Knight was looking at his watch.
"He says the moving picture people have an
office down-town. We can make it if we go now."
So he called a cab, and we started at a gallop.
There was no sign of the detective. "Upon my
word," Richey said, "I feel lonely without him."
The people at the down-town office of the cine
matograph company were very obliging. The
picture had been taken, they said, at M ,
just two miles beyond the scene of the wreck. It
was not much, but it was something to work on.
I decided not to go home, but to send McKnight's
Jap for my clothes, and to dress at the Incu
bator. I was determined, if possible, to make
my next day's investigations without Johnson.
In the meantime, even if it was for the last time,
I would see Her that night. I gave Stogie a
note for Mrs. Klopton, and with my dinner
clothes there came back the gold bag, wrapped
in tissue paper.
CHAPTER XVI
THE SHADOW OF A GIUI.
CERTAIN things about the dinner at the
Dallas house will always be obscure to me.
Dallas was something in the Fish Commission,
and I remember his reeling off fish eggs in bil
lions while we ate our caviar. He had some
particular stunt he had been urging the govern
ment to for years something about forbidding
the establishment of mills and factories on river-
banks it seems they kill the fish, either the
smoke, or the noise, or something they pour into
the water.
Mrs. Dallas was there, I think. Of course, I
suppose she must have been; and there was a
.woman in yellow: I took her in to dinner, and I
remember she loosened my clams for me so I
could get them. But the only real person at the
table was a girl across in white, a sublimated
young woman who was as brilliant as I was
170
THB SHADOW OP A GIRL 17J
stupid, who never by any chance looked directly
at me, and who appeared and disappeared across
the candles and orchids in a sort of halo of
radiance.
When the dinner had progressed from salmon
to roast, and the conversation had done the same
thing from fish to scandal the yellow gown
turned to me.
"We have been awfully good, haven't we, Mr.
Blakeley ?" she asked. "Although I am crazy to
hear, I have not said 'wreck' once. I'm sure you
must feel like the survivor of Waterloo, or some
thing of the sort."
"If you want me to tell you about the wreck,"
I said, glancing across the table, "I'm sorry to
be disappointing, but I don't remember any
thing."
"You are fortunate to be able to forget it.*'
It was the first word Miss West had spoken di
rectly to me, and it went to my head.
"There are some things I have not forgotten,"
I said, over the candles. "I recall coming to
myself some time after, and that a girl, a beau
tiful girl"
178 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Ah !" said the lady in yellow, leaning forward
breathlessly. Miss West was staring at me
coldly, but, once started, I had to stumble on.
"That a girl was trying to rouse me, and that
she told me I had been on fire twice already." A
shudder went around the table.
"But surely that isn't the end of the story,'*
Mrs. Dallas put in aggrievedly. "Why, that's
the most tantalizing thing I ever heard."
"I'm afraid that's all," I said. "She went her
way and I went mine. If she recalls me at all,
she probably thinks of me as a weak-kneed indi
vidual who faints like a woman when everything
is over."
"What did I tell you?" Mrs. Dallas asserted
triumphantly. "He fainted, did you hear?
when everything was over ! He hasn't begun to
tell it."
I would have given a lot by that time if I had
.not mentioned the girl. But McKnight took it
up there and carried it on.
"Blakeley is a regular geyser," he said. "He
never spouts until he reaches the boiling point.
!A.nd by that same token, although he hasn't said
THE SHADOW OF A GIRL 173
much about the Lady of the Wreck, I think he is
ciazy about her. In fact, I am sure of it. He
thinks he has locked his secret in the caves of his
soul, but I call you to witness that he has it
nailed to his face. Look at him !"
I squirmed miserably and tried to avoid the
startled eyes of the girl across the table. I
wanted to choke McKnight and murder the rest
of the party.
"It isn't fair," I said as coolly as I could. "I
have my fingers crossed; you are five against
one."
"And to think that there was a murder on that
very train," broke in the lady in yellow. "It
was a perfect crescendo of horrors, wasn't it?
And what became of the murdered man, Mr.
Blakeley?"
McKnight had the sense to jump into the con
versation and save my reply.
"They say good Pittsburgers go to Atlantic'
City when they die," he said. "So we are rea
sonably certain the gentleman did not go to the
seashore."
The meal was over at last, and once in the
drawing-room it was clear we hung heavy on the
hostess' hands. "It is so hard to get people for
bridge in September," she wailed. "There is
ubsolutely nobody in town. Six is a dreadful
number."
"It's a good poker number," her husband sug
gested.
The matter settled itself, however. I was hope
less, save as a dummy ; Miss West said it was too
hot for cards, and went out on a balcony that
overlooked the Mall. With obvious relief Mrs.
Dallas had the card-table brought, and I was
face to face with the minute I had dreaded and
hoped for for a week.
Now it had come, it was more difficult than I
had anticipated. I do not know if there was a
moon, but there was the urban substitute for it
the arc light. It threw the shadow of the bal
cony railing in long black bars against her white
gown, and as it swung sometimes her face was in
the light. I drew a chair close so that I could
watch her.
"Do you know," I said, when she made no
ffort at speech, "that you are a much more
THE SHADOW OF A GIRL ITS
formidable person to-night, in that gown, than
you were the last time I saw you?"
The light swung on her face ; she was smiling
faintly.
"The hat with the green ribbons!" she said.
*1 must take it back ; I had almost forgotten."
"I have not forgotten anything." I pulled
myself up short. This was hardly loyalty to
Richey. His voice came through the window-
just then, and perhaps I was wrong, but I
thought she raised her head to listen.
"Look at this hand," he was saying. "Regu
lar pianola : you could play it with your feet."
"He's a dear, isn't he?" Alison said unex
pectedly. "No matter how depressed and down
hearted I am, I always cheer up when I see
Richey."
"He's more than that," I returned warmly.
R He is the most honorable fellow I know. If he
wasn't so much that way, he would have a career
before him. He wanted to put on the doors of
our offices, Blakeley and McKnight, P. B. H.,
which is Poor But Honest."
From my comparative poverty to the wealtK
176 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
of the girl beside me was a single mental leap.
From that wealth to the grandfather who was
.responsible for it was another.
"I wonder if you know that I had been to
Pittsburg to see your grandfather when I met
you ?" I said.
"You !" She was surprised.
"Yes. And you remember the alligator bag
that I told you was exchanged for the one you
cut off my arm?" She nodded expectantly.
"Well, in that valise were the forged Andy Bron-
son notes, and Mr. Gilmore's deposition that
they were forged."
She was on her feet in an instant. "In that
bag!" she cried. "Oh, why didn't you tell me
that before? Oh, it's so ridiculous, so so hope
less. Why, I could "
She stopped suddenly and sat down again. "I
do not know that I am sorry, after all," she said
after a pause. "Mr. Bronson was a friend of
my father's. I I suppose it was a bad thing
for you, losing the papers ?"
"Well, it was not a good thing," I conceded.
''While we are on the subject of losing tilings, do
THE SHADOW OF A GIRL 177
you remember do you know that I still have
your gold purse?"
She did not reply at once. The shadow of a
column was over her face, but I guessed that she
was staring at me.
"You have it !" She almost whispered.
"I picked it up in the street car," I said, with
a cheerfulness I did not feel. "It looks like a
very opulent little purse."
Why didn't she speak about the necklace?
For just a careless word to make me sane again!
"You!" she repeated, horror-stricken. And
then I produced the purse and held it out on my
palm.
"I should have sent it to you before, I sup
pose, but, as you know, I have been laid up since
the wreck."
We both saw McKnight at the same moment.
He had pulled the curtains aside and was stand
ing looking out at us. The tableau of give and
take was unmistakable; the gold purse, her
outstretched hand, my own attitude. It was over
in a second ; then he came out and lounged on the
balcony railing.
178 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"They're mad at me in there," he said airily,
"so I came out. I suppose the reason they call
it bridge is because so many people get cross
over it."
The heat broke up the card group soon after,
and they all came out for the night breeze. I
had no more words alone with Alison.
I went back to the Incubator for the night.
We said almost nothing on the way home ; there
was a constraint between us for the first time
that I could remember. It was too early for bed,
and so we smoked in the living-room and tried
to talk of trivial things. After a time even those
failed, and we sat silent. It was McKnight who
finally broached the subject.
"And so she wasn't at Seal Harbor at all."
"No."
"Do you know where she was, Lollie?"
"Somewhere near Cresson."
"And that was the purse her purse witli
the broken necklace in it ?"
"Yes, it was. You understand, don't you,
Rich, that, having given her my word, I couldn't
tell you?"
THE SHADOW OF A GIRL 1Y9
"I understand a lot of things," he said, with
out bitterness.
We sat for some time and smoked. Then
Richey got up and stretched himself. "I'm off
to bed, old man," he said. "Need any help with
that game arm of yours ?"
"No, thanks," I returned.
I heard him go into his room and lock the
door. It was a bad hour for me. The first
hadow between us, and the shadow of a girl S
flu*
CHAPTER XVH
AT THE FARM-HOUSE AGAIN
MC KNIGHT is always a sympathizer with
the early worm. It was late when he ap
peared. Perhaps, like myself, he had not slept
well. But he was apparently cheerful enough,
and he made a better breakfast than I did. It
was one o'clock before we got to Baltimore.
After a half hour's wait we took a local for
M , the station near which the cinemato
graph picture had been taken.
We passed the scene of the wreck, McKnight
with curiosity, I with a sickening sense of horror.
Back in the fields was the little farm-house where
Alison West and I had intended getting coffee,
and winding away from the track, maple trees
shading it on each side, was the lane where we
had stopped to rest, and where I had it seemed
presumption beyond belief now where I had
tried to comfort her by patting her hand.
180
AT THE FARM-HOUSE AGAIN 181
We got out at M , a small place with two
or i-hree houses and a general store. The station
was a one-roomed affair, with a railed-off place
at the end, where a scale, a telegraph instrument
and a chair constituted the entire furnishing.
The station agent was a young man with a
shrewd face. He stopped hammering a piece of
wood over a hole in the floor to ask where we
wanted to go.
"We're not going," said McKnight, "we're
coming. Have a cigar ?"
The agent took it with an inquiring glance,
first at it and then at us.
"We want to ask you a few questions," began
McKnight, perching himself on the railing and
kicking the chair forward for me. "Or, rather,
this gentleman does."
"Wait a minute," said the agent, glancing
through the window. "There's a hen in that
crate choking herself to death."
He was back in a minute, and took up his po
sition near a sawdust-filled box that did duty as
a cuspidor.
"Now fire away," he said.
182 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"In the first place," I began, "do you remem
ber the day the Washington Flier was wrecked
below here ?"
"Do I!" he said. "Did Jonah remember the
whale?"
"Were you on the platform here when the first
section passed?"
"I was."
"Do you recall seeing a man hanging to the
platform of the last car?"
"There was no one hanging there when she
passed here," he said with conviction. "I
watched her out of sight."
"Did you see anything that morning of a man
about my size, carrying a small grip, and wear
ing dark clothes and a derby hat?" I asked
eagerly.
McKnight was trying to look unconcerned,
but I was frankly anxious. It was clear that the
man had jumped somewhere in the mile of track
just beyond.
"Well, yes, I did." The agent cleared hii
throat. "When the smash came the operator at
MX sent word along the wire, both ways. I got
AT THE FARM-HOUSE AGAIN 188
it here, and I was pretty near crazy, though I
knew it wasn't any fault of mine.
"I was standing on the track looking down,
for I couldn't leave the office, when a young fel
low with light hair limped up to me and asked ma
what that smoke was over there.
"'That's what's left of the WashingtoH
Flier,' I said, 'and I guess there's souls going up
in tliat smoke.'
" 'Do you mean the first section?' he said, getr
ting kind of greenish-yellow.
" 'That's what I mean,' I said ; 'split to kin
dling wood because Rafferty, on the second sec*
tion, didn't want to be late.'
"He put his hand out in front of him, and the
satchel fell with a bang.
" 'My God !' he said, and dropped right on the
track in a heap.
"I got him into the station and he came
around, but he kept on groaning something
awful. He'd sprained his ankle, and when he got
a little better I drove him over in Carter's milk
wagon to the Carter place, and I reckon be
stayed there a spell."
"That's all, is it?" I asked.
"That's all or, no, there's something else.
About noon that day one of the Carter twins
came down with a note from him asking me to
send a long-distance message to some one in
Washington."
"To whom?" I asked eagerly.
"I reckon I've forgot the name, but the mes
sage was that this fellow Sullivan was his
name was at M , and if the man had es
caped from the wreck would he come to see him."
"He wouldn't have sent that message to me,"
I said to McKnight, rather crestfallen. "He'd
have every object in keeping out of my way."
"There might be reasons," McKnight ob
served judicially. "He might not have found
the papers then."
"Was the name Blakeley ?" I asked.
"It might have been I can't say. But the
man wasn't there, and there was a lot of noise.
I couldn't hear well. Then in half an hour down
came the other twin to say the gentleman was
taking on awful and didn't want the message
sent."
AT THE FARM-HOUSE AGAIN 185
"He's gone, of course?"
"Yes. Limped down here in about three days
and took the noon train for the city."
It seemed a certainty now that our man, hav
ing hurt himself somewhat in his jump, had
stayed quietly in the farm-house until he was
able to travel. But, to be positive, we decided to
visit the Carter place.
I gave the station agent a five-dollar bill,
which he rolled up with a couple of others and
stuck in his pocket. I turned as we got to a
bend in the road, and he was looking curiously
after us.
It was not until we had climbed the hill and
turned onto the road to the Carter place that I
realized where we were going. Although we ap
proached it from another direction, I knew the
farm-house at once. It was the one where Alison
West and I had breakfasted nine days before.
With the new restraint between us, I did not tell
McKnight. I wondered afterward if he had
suspected it. I saw him looking hard at the
gate-post which had figured in one of our mys
teries, but he asked no questions. Afterward
186 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
he grew almost taciturn, for him, and let me do
most of the talking.
We opened the front gate of the Carter place
and went slowly up the walk. Two ragged
youngsters, alike even to freckles and squints,
were playing in the yard.
"Is your mother around?" I asked.
"In the front room. Walk in," they answered
in identical tones.
As we got to the porch we heard voices, and
stopped. I knocked, but the people within, en
gaged in animated, rather one-sided conversa
tion, did not answer.
" 'In the front room. Walk in,' " quoted Mc-
Knight, and did so.
In the stuffy farm parlor two people were
sitting. One, a pleasant-faced woman with a
checked apron, rose, somewhat embarrassed, to
meet us. She did not know me, and I was thank
ful. But our attention was riveted on a little
man who was sitting before a table, writing
busily. It was Hotchkiss :
He got up when he saw us, and had the grace
to look uncomfortable.
AT THE FARM-HOUSE AGAIN 187
"Such an interesting case," he said nervously,
"I took the liberty"
"Look here," said McKnight suddenly, "did
you make any inquiries at the station?"
"A few," he confessed. " I went to the the
ater last night I felt the need of a little relaxa
tion and the sight of a picture there, a cine
matograph affair, started a new line of thought.
Probably the same clue brought you gentlemen.
I learned a good bit from the station agent."
"The son-of-a-gun," said McKnight. "And
you paid him, I suppose?"
"I gave him five dollars," was the apologeti*
answer.
Mrs. Carter, hearing sounds of strife in the
yard, went out, and Hotchkiss folded up his
papers.
"I think the identity of the man is estab
lished," he said. "What number of hat do you
wear, Mr. Blakeley?"
"Seven and a quarter," I replied.
"Well, it's only piling up evidence," he said
cheerfully. "On the night of the murder you
wore light gray silk underclothing, with the
188 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
second button of the shirt missing. Your hat
had *L. B.' in gilt letters inside, and there was
a very minute hole in the toe of one black sock."
"Hush," McKnight protested. "If word gets
to Mrs. Klopton that Mr. Blakeley was wrecked,
or robbed, or whatever it was, with a button
missing and a hole in one sock, she'll retire to
the Old Ladies' Home. I've heard her threaten
it."
Mr. Hotchkiss was without a sense of humor.
He regarded McKnight gravely and went on :
"I've been up in the room where the man laj
while he was unable to get away, and there is
nothing there. But I found what may be a pos
sible clue in the dust heap.
"Mrs. Carter tells me that in unpacking his
grip the other day she shook out of the coat of
the pajamas some pieces of a telegram. As I
figure it, the pajamas were his own. He prob
ably had them on when he effected the ex
change."
I nodded assent. All I had retained of my
own clothing was the suit of pajamas I was
wearing and my bath-robe.
AT THE FARM-HOUSE AGAIN 189
"Therefore the telegram was his, not yours.
I have pieces here, but some are missing. I am
not discouraged, however."
He spread out some bits of yellow paper, and
we bent over them, curiously. It was something
like this :
Man with p Get
Br
We spelled it out slowly.
"Now," Hotchkiss announced, "I make it
something like this : The 'p ' is one of two
things, pistol you remember the little pearl-
handled affair belonging to the murdered man
or it is pocket-book. I am inclined to the latter
view, as the pocket-book had been disturbed and
the pistol had not."
I took the piece of paper from the table and
scrawled four words on it.
"Now," I said, rearranging them, "it hap-,
pens, Mr. Hotchkiss, that I found one of these
pieces of the telegram on the train. I thought
it had been dropped by some one else, you see,
but that's immaterial. Arranged this way it
T90 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
almost makes sense. Fill out that *p ' with
the rest of the word, as I imagine it, and it
makes 'papers,' and add this scrap and you
have:
" 'Man with papers (in) lower ten, car seven.
Get (them).'"
McKnight slapped Hotchkiss on the back.
"You're a trump," he said. "Br is Bron-
son, of course. It's almost too easy. You see,
Mr. Blakeley here engaged lower ten, but found
it occupied by the man who was later murdered
there. The man who did the thing was a friend
of Bronson's, evidently, and in trying to get the
papers we have the motive for the crime."
"There are still some things to be explained."
Mr. Hotchkiss wiped his glasses and put them
on. "For one thing, Mr. Blakeley, I am puz
zled by that bit of chain."
I did not glance at McKnight. I felt that the
hands with which I was gathering up the bits of
torn paper were shaking. It seemed to me that
this astute little man was going to drag in the
girl in spite of me.
CHAPTER XVIII
A NEW WORLD
Y T OTCHKISS jotted down the bits of tele-
JL A gram and rose.
"Well," he said, "we've done something.
We've found where the murderer left the train,
we know what day he went to Baltimore, and,
most important of all, we have a motive for the
crime."
"It seems the irony of fate," said McKnight,
getting up, "that a man should kill another
man for certain papers he is supposed to be car
rying, find he hasn't got them after all, decide
to throw suspicion on another man by changing
berths and getting out, bag and baggage, and
then, by the merest fluke of chance, take with
him, in the valise he changed for his own, the
very notes he was after. It was a bit of luck
for him."
"Then why," put in Hotchkiss doubtfully,
191
192 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"why did he collapse when he heard of the
wreck? And what about the telephone message
the station agent sent? You remember thej
Hried to countermand it, and with some excite
ment."
"We will ask him those questions when we get
him," McKnight said. We were on the unrailed
front porch by that time, and Hotchkiss had put
away his note-book. The mother of the twint
followed us to the steps.
"Dear me," she exlaimed volubly, "and to
think I was forgetting to tell you! I put the
young man to bed with a spice poultice on his
ankle: my mother always was a firm believer in
spice poultices. It's wonderful what they will do
in croup ! And then I took the children and went
down to see the wreck. It was Sunday, and the
mister had gone to church ; hasn't missed a day
since he took the pledge nine years ago. And
, on the way I met two people, a man and a
woman. They looked half dead, so I sent them
right here for breakfast and some soap and wa
ter. I always say soap is better than liquor
after a shock."
A NEW WORLD 193
Hotchkiss was listening absently: McKnight
iras whistling under his breath, staring down
across the field to where a break in the woods
showed a half dozen telegraph poles, the line of
the railroad.
"It must have been twelve o'clock when we
got back; I wanted the children to see every
thing, because it isn't likely they'll ever see an
other wreck like that. Rows of "
"About twelve o'clock," I broke in, "and what
then?"
"The young man up-stairs was awake," she
went on, "and hammering at his door like all
possessed. And it was locked on the outside!"
She paused to enjoy her sensation.
"I would like to see that lock," Hotchkiss
said promptly, but for some reason the woman
demurred. "I will bring the key down," she
said and disappeared. When she returned she
held out an ordinary door key of the cheapest
variety.
"We had to break the lock," she volunteered,
"and the key didn't turn up for two days. Then
one of the twins found the turkey gobbler try-
194 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
ing to swallow it. It has been washed since,'*
she hastened to assure Hotchkiss, who showed
an inclination to drop it.
"You don't think he locked the door himself
and threw the key out of the window?" the little
man asked.
"The windows are covered with mosquito net
ting, nailed on. The mister blamed it on the
children, and it might have been Obadiah. He's
the quiet kind, and you never know what he's
about."
"He's about to strangle, isn't he," McKnight
remarked lazily, "or is that Obadiah?"
Mrs. Carter picked the boy up and inverted
him, talking amiably all the time. "He's always
doing it," she said, giving him a shake. "When
ever we miss anything we look to see if Oba-
diah's black in the face." She gave another
shake, and the quarter I had given him shot out
as if blown from a gun. Then we prepared to
go back to the station.
From where I stood I could look into the
cheery farm kitchen, where Alison West and I
had eaten our al fresco breakfast. I looked at
A NEW WORLD 195
the table with mixed emotions, and then, gradu
ally, the meaning of something on it penetrated
my mind. Still in its papers, evidently just
opened, was a hat box, and protruding over the
edge of the box was a streamer of vivid green
ribbon.
On the plea that I wished to ask Mrs. Carter
a few more questions. I let the others go on. I
watched them down the flagstone walk ; saw Mc-
Knight stop and examine the gate-posts and
saw, too, the quick glance he threw back at the
house. Then I turned to Mrs. Carter.
"I would like to speak to the young lady up
stairs," I said.
She threw up her hands with a quick gesture
of surrender. "I've done all I could," she ex
claimed. "She won't like it very well, but she's
in the room over the parlor."
I went eagerly up the ladder-like stairs, to
ithe rag-carpeted hall. Two doors were open,
showing interiors of four poster beds and high
bureaus. The door of the room over the parlor
was almost closed. I hesitated in the hallway:
after all, what right had I to intrude on her?
196 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
But she settled my difficulty by throwing open
the door and facing me.
"I I beg your pardon, Miss West," I stam
mered. "It has just occurred to me that I am
unpardonably rude. I saw the hat down-stairs
and I I guessed "
"The hat !" she said. "I might have known.
Does Richey know I am here?"
"I don't think so." I turned to go down the
stairs again. Then I halted. "The fact is," I
said, in an attempt at justification, "I'm in
rather a mess these days, and I'm apt to do irre
sponsible things. It is not impossible that I shall
be arrested, in a day or so, for the murder of
Simon Harrington."
She drew her breath in sharply. "Murder!"
she echoed. "Then they have found you aftei
all!"
"I don't regard it as anything more than
er inconvenient," I lied. "They can't convict
me, you know. Almost all the witnesses are
dead."
She was not deceived for a moment. She came
over to me and stood, both hands on the rail of
A NEW WORLD 197
the stair. "I know just how grave it is," she
said quietly. My grandfather will not leave one
stone unturned, and he can be terrible terrible.
But" she looked directly into my eyes as I
stood below her on the stairs "the time may
come soon when I can help you. I'm afraid
I shall not want to ; I'm a dreadful coward, Mr.
Blakeley. But I will." She tried to smile.
"I wish you would let me help you" I said
unsteadily. "Let us make it a bargain: each
help the other!"
The girl shook her head with a sad little smile.
"I am only as unhappy as I deserve to be," she
said. And when I protested and took a step to
ward her she retreated, with her hands out be
fore her.
"Why don't you ask me all the questions you
are thinking ?" she demanded, with a catch in her
voice. "Oh, I know them. Or are you afraid
to ask?"
I looked at her, at the lines around her eyes,
t the drawn look about her mouth. Then I held
out my hand. "Afraid !" I said, as she gave me
hers. "There is nothing in God's green earth
198 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
I am afraid of, save of trouble for you. To ask
questions would be to imply a lack of faith. I
ask you nothing. Some day, perhaps, you will
come to me yourself and let me help you."
The next moment I was out in the golden sun
shine: the birds were singing carols of joy: I
walked dizzily through rainbow-colored clouds,
past the twins, cherubs now, swinging on the
gate. It was a new world into which I stepped
from the Carter farm-house that morning, for
I had kissed her !
AT THE TABLE NEXT
MC KNIGHT and Hotchkiss were saunter
ing slowly down the road as I caught up
with them. As usual, the little man was busy
with some abstruse mental problem.
"The idea is this," he was saying, his brows
knitted in thought, "if a left-handed man, stand
ing in the position of the man in the picture,
should jump from a car, would he be likely to
sprain his right ankle? When a right-handed
man prepares for a leap of that kind, my theory
is that he would hold on with his right hand, and
alight at the proper time, on his right foot. Of
course "
"I imagine, although I don't know," inter
rupted McKnight, "that a man either ambidex
trous or one-armed, jumping from the Washing
ton Flier, would be more likely to land on his
head."
199
200 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Anyhow," I interposed, "what difference
3oes it make whether Sullivan used one hand or
the other? One pair of handcuffs will put both
hands out of commission."
As usual when one of his pet theories was at
tacked, Hotchkiss looked aggrieved.
"My dear sir," he expostulated, "don't you
understand what bearing this has on the case?
How was the murdered man lying when he was
found?"
"On his back," I said promptly, "head toward
the engine."
"Very well," he retorted, "and what then?
Your heart lies under your fifth intercostal
space, and to reach it a right-handed blow would
have struck either down or directly in.
"But, gentlemen, the point of entrance for
the stiletto was below the heart, striking up!
As Harrington lay with his head toward the en
gine, a person in the aisle must have used the t
left hand."
McKnight's eyes sought mine and he winked
at me solemnly as I unostentatiously transferred
the hat I was carrying to my right hand. Long
AT THE TABLE NEXT 201
training has largely counterbalanced heredity in
my case, but I still pitch ball, play tennis and
carve with my left hand. But Hotchkiss was too
busy with his theories to notice me.
We were only just in time for our train back
to Baltimore, but McKnight took advantage of
a second's delay to shake the station agent
warmly by the hand.
"I want to express my admiration for you,"
he said beamingly. "Ability of your order is
thrown away here. You should have been a city
policeman, my friend."
The agent looked a trifle uncertain.
"The young lady was the one who told me to
keep still," he said.
McKnight glanced at me, gave the agent's
hand a final shake, and climbed on board. But
I knew perfectly that he had guessed the reason
for my delay.
He was very silent on the way home. Hotch
kiss, too, had little to say. He was reading over
his notes intently, stopping now and then to
make a penciled addition. Just before we left
the train Richey turned to me. "I suppose it
302 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
was the key to the door that she tied to thft
gate?"
"Probably. I did not ask her."
"Curious, her locking that fellow in," he re
flected.
"You may depend on it, there was a good rea
son for it all. And I wish you wouldn't be so
suspicious of motives, Rich," I said warmly.
"Only yesterday you were the suspicious one,"
he retorted, and we lapsed into strained silence.
It was late when we got to Washington.
One of Mrs. Klopton's small tyrannies was ex
acting punctuality at meals, and, like several
other things, I respected it. There are always
Some concessions that should be made in return
for faithful service.
So, as my dinner hour of seven was long past,
McKnight and I went to a little restaurant down
town where they have a very decent way of fix
ing chicken a la King. Hotchkiss had departed,
economically bent, for a small hotel where he
lived on the American plan.
"I want to think some things over," he said
in response to my invitation to dinner, "and, any-
AT THE TABLE NEX'E 203
how, there's no use dining out when I pay the
same, dinner or no dinner, where I am stopping."
The day had been hot, and the first floor din
ing-room was sultry in spite of the palms and
fans which attempted to simulate the verdure
and breezes of the country.
It was crowded, too, with a typical summer
night crowd, and, after sitting for a few min
utes in a sweltering corner, we got up and went
to the smaller dining-room up-stairs. Here it
was not so warm, and we settled ourselves comr
fortably by a window.
Over in a corner half a dozen boys on their
way back to school were ragging a perspiring
waiter, a proceeding so exactly to McKnight's
taste that he insisted on going over to join
them. But their table was full, and somehow
that kind of fun had lost its point for me.
Not far from us a very stout, middle-aged
man, apoplectic with the heat, was elephantinely
jolly for the benefit of a bored-looking girl
across the table from him, and at the next table
a newspaper woman ate alone, the last edition
propped against the water-bottle before her, her
804 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
hat, for coolness, on the corner of the table. It
was a motley Bohemian crowd.
I looked over the room casually, while Mc-
Knight ordered the meal. Then my attention
was attracted to the table next to ours. Two
people were sitting there, so deep in conversation
that they did not notice us. The woman's face
was hidden under her hat, as she traced the pat
tern of the cloth mechanically with her fork.
But the man's features stood out clear in the
light of the candles on the table. It was Bron-
son!
"He shows the strain, doesn't he?" McKnight
said, holding up the wine list as if he read from
it. "Who's the woman?"
"Search me," I replied, in the same way.
When the chicken came, I still found myself
gazing now and then at the abstracted couple
near me. Evidently the subject of conversation
j was unpleasant. Bronson was eating little, the
woman not at all. Finally he got up, pushed
his chair back noisily, thrust a bill at the waiter
and stalked out.
The woman sat still for a moment ; then, witt
AT THE TABLE NEXT2
an apparent resolution to make the best of it,
she began slowly to eat the meal before her.
But the quarrel had taken away her appetite,
for the mixture in our chafing-dish was hardly i
ready to serve before she pushed her chair back
a little and looked around the room.
I caught my first glimpse of her face then,
and I confess it startled me. It was the tall,
stately woman of the Ontario, the woman I had
last seen cowering beside the road, rolling peb
bles in her hand, blood streaming from a cut
over her eye. I could see the scar now, a little
affair, about an inch long, gleaming red through
its layers of powder.
And then, quite unexpectedly, she turned and
looked directly at me. After a minute's uncer
tainty, she bowed, letting her eyes rest on mine
with a calmly insolent stare. She glanced at
McKnight for a moment, then back to me.
When she looked away again I breathed easier.
"Who is it?" asked McKnight under his
breath.
"Ontario." I formed it with my lips rather
titan said it. McKnight's eyebrows went up and
806 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
he looked with increased interest at the biacS>
gowned figure.
I ate little after that. The situation vrai
rather bad for me, I began to see. Here was a
woman who could, if she wished, and had anj
motive for so doing, put me in jail under a
capital charge. A word from her to the police,
and polite surveillance would become active in
terference.
Then, too, she could say that she had seen me,
just after the wreck, with a young woman from
the murdered man's car, and thus probablj
bring Alison West into the case.
It is not surprising, then, that I ate little.
The woman across seemed in no hurry to go.
She loitered over a demi-tasse, and that finished,
sat with her elbow on the table, her chin in her
hand, looking darkly at the changing groups in
the room.
The fun at the table where the college boys
sat began to grow a little noisy; the fat man,
now a purplish shade, ambled away behind his
lim companion; the newspaper woman pinned
20T?
on her business-like hat and stalked out* Still
the woman at the next table waited.
It was a relief when the meal was over. We
got our hats and were about to leave the room,*
when a waiter touched me on the arm.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but the
lady at the table near the window, the lady In
black, sir, would like to speak to you."
I looked down between the rows of tables to
where the woman sat alone, her chin still resting
on her hand, her black eyes still insolently star
ing, this time at me.
"I'll have to go," I said to McKnight hur
riedly. "She knows all about that affair and
she'd be a bad enemy."
"I don't like her lamps," McKnight observed,
after a glance at her. "Better jolly her a little.
Good-by."
THE NOTES AND A BABGAIN
I WENT back slowly to where the woman sat
alone. She smiled rather oddly as I drew
near, and pointed to the chair Bronson had va
cated.
"Sit down, Mr. Blakeley," she said, "I am go
ing to take a few minutes of your valuable time."
"Certainly." I sat down opposite her and
glanced at a cuckoo clock on the wall. "I am
sorry, but I have only a few minutes. If you "
She laughed a little, not very pleasantly, and
opening a small black fan covered with span
gles, waved it slowly.
"The fact is," she said, "I think we are about
lo make a bargain."
"'A bargain?" I asked incredulously. "You
have a second advantage of me. You know my
name" I paused suggestively and she took the
cue.
208
THE NOTES AND A BARGAIN 209
"I am Mrs. Conway," she said, and flicked a
crumb off the table with an over-manicured fin
ger.
The name was scarcely a surprise. I had al
ready surmised that this might be the woman
whom rumor credited as being Bronson's com
mon-law wife. Rumor, I remembered, had said
other things even less pleasant, things which
had been brought out at Bronson's arrest for
forgery.
"We met last under less fortunate circum
stances," she was saying. "I have been fit for
nothing since that terrible day. And you you
had a broken arm, I think."
"I still have it," I said, with a lame attempt
at jocularity; "but to have escaped at all was a
miracle. We have much, indeed, to be thankful
for."
"I suppose we have," she said carelessly, "al
though sometimes I doubt it." She was looking
somberly toward the door through which her late
companion had made his exit.
"You sent for me " I said.
"Yes, I sent for you." She roused herself
210 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
and sat erect. "Now, Mr. Blakelej, have you
found those papers ?"
"The papers? What papers?" I parried. 1
needed time to think.
"Mr. Blakeley," she said quietly, " I think
we can lay aside all subterfuge. In the first
place let me refresh your mind about a few
things. The Pittsburg police are looking for
the survivors of the car Ontario ; there are three
that I know of yourself, the young woman
with whom you left the scene of the wreck, and
myself. The wreck, you will admit, was a for
tunate one for you."
I nodded without speaking.
"At the time of the collision you were in
rather a hole," she went on, looking at me with
a disagreeable smile. "You were, if I remember,
accused of a rather atrocious crime. There was
a lot of corroborative evidence, was there not? I
seem to remember a dirk and the murdered man's
pocket-book in your possession, and a few other
things that were well, rather unpleasant."
I was thrown a bit off my guard.
"You remember also," I said quickly, "that a
THE NOTES AND A BARGAIN 211
man disappeared from the car, taking my
clothes, papers and everything."
"I remember that you said so." Her tone waa
quietly insulting, and I bit my lip at having
been caught. It was no time to make a defense.
"You have missed one calculation," I said
coldly, "and that is, the discovery of the maB
who left the train."
"You have found him?" She bent forward,
and again I regretted my hasty speech. "I knew
it ; I said so."
"We are going to find him," I asserted, with'
a confidence I did not feel. "We can produce
at any time proof that a man left the Flier a
few miles beyond the wreck. And we can find
him, I am positive."
"But you have not found him yet?" She was
clearly disappointed. "Well, so be it. Now for
our bargain. You will admit that I am no fool."
I made no such admission, and she smiled
mockingly.
"How flattering you are!" she said. "Very
well. Now for the premises. You take to Pitts-
burg four notes held by the Mechanics' National
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
Bank, to have Mr. Gilmore, who is ill, declare hi*
indorsement of them forged.
"On the journey back to Pittsburg two things
happen to you : you lose your clothing, your va
lise and your papers, including the notes, and
you are accused of murder. In fact, Mr. Blake-
ley, the circumstances were most singular, and
the evidence well, almost conclusive."
I was completely at her mercy, but I gnawed
my lip with irritation.
"Now for the bargain." She leaned over and
lowered her voice. "A fair exchange, you know.
The minute you put those four notes in my hand
that minute the blow to my head has caused
complete forgetfulness as to the events of that
awful morning. I am the only witness, and I will
be silent. Do you understand? They will call off
their dogs."
My head was buzzing with the strangeness of
the idea.
"But," I said, striving to gain time, "I
haven't the notes. I can't give you what I
haven't got."
"You have had the case continued," she said
THE NOTES AND 'A BARGAIN
sharply. "You expect to find them. Another
thing," she added slowly, watching my face, "if
you don't get them soon, Bronson will have them.
They have been offered to him already, but at a
prohibitive price."
"But," I said, bewildered, "what is your ob
ject in coming to me? If Bronson will get them
anyhow "
She shut her fan with a click and her face
was not particularly pleasant to look at.
"You are dense," she said insolently. "I want
those papers for myself, not for Andy Bron
son."
"Then the idea is," I said, ignoring her tone,
"that you think you have me in a hole, and that
if I find those papers and give them to you you
will let me out. As I understand it, our friend
Bronson, under those circumstances, will also be
in a hole."
She nodded.
"The notes would be of no use to you for a
limited length of time," I went on, watching her
narrowly. "If they are not turned over to the
state's attorney within a reasonable time there
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
will have to be a nolle pros that is, the case wiH
imply be dropped for lack of evidence."
"A week would answer, I think," she said,
slowly. "You will do it, then ?"
I laughed, although I was not especiallj
cheerful.
"No, I'll not do it. I expect to come across
the notes any time now, and I expect just aa
certainly to turn them over to the state's attor
ney when I get them."
She got up suddenly, pushing her chair back
with a noisy grating sound that turned manj
eyes toward us.
"You're more of a fool than I thought you,"
she sneered, and left me at the table.
CHAPTER XXI
MC KNIGHT'S THEORY
I CONFESS I was staggered. The peopk *t
the surrounding tables, after glancing curi
ously in my direction, looked away again.
I got my hat and went out in a very uncom
fortable frame of mind. That she would inform
the police at once of what she knew I never
doubted, unless possibly she would give a day or
two's grace in the hope that I would change my
mind.
I reviewed the situation as I waited for a car.
Two passed me going in the opposite direction,
and on the first one I saw Bronson, his hat over
! his eyes, his arms folded, looking moodily ahead.
Was it imagination ? or was the small man hud
dled in the corner of the rear seat Hotchkiss ?
As the car rolled on I found myself smiling.
215
216 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
The alert little man was for all the world like a
terrier, ever on the scent, and scouring about in
every direction.
I found McKnight at the Incubator, with his
coat off, working with enthusiasm and a mani
cure file over the horn of his auto.
"It's the worst horn I ever ran across," he
groaned, without looking up, as I came in. "The
blankety-blank thing won't blow."
He punched it savagely, finally eliciting a
faint throaty croak.
"Sounds like croup," I suggested. "My sis
ter-in-law uses camphor and goose greese for it ;
or how about a spice poultice?"
But McKnight never sees any jokes but his
own. He flung the horn clattering into a corner,
and collapsed sulkily into a chair.
"Now," I said, "if you're through manicuring
that horn, I'll tell you about my talk with the
lady in black."
"What's wrong?" asked McKnight languidly.
"Police watching her, too ?"
"Not exactly. The fact is. Rich, there's the
mischief to pay."
MCKNIGHT'S THEORY 31T
Stogie came In, bringing a few* additions to
our comfort. When he went out I told my story.
"You must remember," I said, "that I had
seen this woman before the morning of the wreck.
She was buying her Pullman ticket when I did.
Then the next morning, when the murder was
discovered, she grew hysterical, and I gave her
some whisky. The third and last time I saw her,
until to-night, was when she crouched beside the
road, after the wreck."
McKnight slid down in his chair until his
weight rested on the small of his back, and put
his feet on the big reading table.
"It is rather a facer," he said. "It's really
too good a situation for a commonplace lawyer.
It ought to be dramatized. You can't agree, of
course; and by refusing you run the chance of
jail, at least, and of having Alison brought into
publicity, which is out of the question. You
say she was at the Pullman window when you
were?"
"Yes ; I bought her ticket for her. Gave her
lower eleven."
"And you took ten?"
218 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Lower ten."
McKnight straightened up and looked at me.
"Then she thought you were in lower ten."
"I suppose she did, if she thought at all."
"But listen, man." McKnight was growing 1
excited. "What do you figure out of this ? The
Conway woman knows you have taken the notes
to Pittsburg. The probabilities are that she fol
lows you there, on the chance of an opportunity
to get them, either for Bronson or herself.
"Nothing doing during the trip over or dur
ing the day in Pittsburg ; but she learns the num
ber of your berth as you buy it at the Pullman
ticket office in Pittsburg, and she thinks she sees
her chance. No one could have foreseen that
that drunken fellow would have crawled into
your berth.
"Now, I figure it out this way: She wanted
N those notes desperately does still not for
Bronson, but to hold over his head for some pur
pose. In the night, when everything is quiet, she
slips behind the curtains of lower ten, where the
man's breathing shows he is asleep. Didn't you
say he snored?"
McKNIGHT'S THEORY 819
"He did," I affirmed. "But I tell you "
""Now keep still and listen. She gropes cau
tiously around in the darkness, finally discover
ing the wallet under the pillow. Can't you see it
yourself?"
He was leaning forward, excitedly, and I could
almost see the gruesome tragedy he was depict
ing.
"She draws out the wallet. Then, perhaps she
remembers the alligator bag, and on the possi
bility that the notes are there, instead of in the
pocket-book, she gropes around for it. Sud
denly, the man awakes and clutches at the near
est object, perhaps her neck chain, which breaks.
She drops the pocket-book and tries to escape,
but he has caught her right hand.
"It is all in silence ; the man is still stupidly
drunk. But he holds her in a tight grip. Then
the tragedy. She must get away; in a minute,
the car will be aroused. Such a woman, on suchj
an errand, does not go without some sort of a
weapon, in this case a dagger, which, unlike a
revolver, is noiseless.
"With a quick thrust she's a big woman and
220 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
a bold one she strikes. Possibly Hotchkiss is
right about the left-hand blow. Harrington may
have held her right hand, or perhaps she held
the dirk in her left hand as she groped with her
right. Then, as the man falls back, and his grasp
relaxes, she straightens and attempts to get
away. The swaying of the car throws her al
most into your berth, and, trembling with ter~
ror, she crouches behind the curtains of lower ten
until everything is still. Then she goes noise
lessly back to her berth."
I nodded.
"It seems to fit partly, at least," I said. "In
the morning when she found that the crime had
been not only fruitless, but that she had searched
the wrong berth and killed the wrong man ; when
she saw me emerge, unhurt, just as she was
bracing herself for the discovery of my dead
body, then she went into hysterics. You remem
ber, I gave her some whisky.
"It really seems a tenable theory. But, like the
Sullivan theory, there are one or two things that
don't agree with the rest. For one thing, how did
MCKNIGHT'S THEORY 221
the remainder of that chain get into Alison
West's possession?"
"She may have picked it up on the floor."
"We'll admit that," I said; "and I'm sure I
hope so. Then how did the murdered man's pock
et-book get into the sealskin bag? And the dirk,
how account for that, and the blood-stains?"
"Now what's the use," asked McKnight ag-
grievedlj, "of my building up beautiful theories
for you to pull down ? We'll take it to Hotchkiss.
Maybe he can tell from the blood-stains if the
murderer's finger nails were square or pointed."
"Hotchkiss is no fool," I said warmly. "Un
der all his theories there's a good hard layer of
common sense. And we must remember, Rich,
that neither of our theories includes the woman
at Doctor Van Kirk's hospital, that the charming
picture you have just drawn does not account for
Alison West's connection with the case, or for
the bits of telegram in the Sullivan fellow's
pajamas pocket. You are like the man who put
the clock together ; you've got half of the works
left over."
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Oh, go home," said McKnight disgustedly.
"I'm no Edgar Allan Poe. What's the use of
coming here and asking me things if you're so
particular?"
With one of his quick changes of mood, he
picked up his guitar.
"Listen to this," he said. "It is a Hawaiian
song about a fat lady, oh, ignorant one ! and how
she fell off her mule."
But for all the lightness of the words, the
voice that followed me down the stairs was any
thing but cheery.
"There was a Kanaka in Balu did dwell,
Who had for his daughter a monstrous fat
girl"
he sang in his clear tenor. I paused on the lower
floor and listened. He had stopped singing as
. abruptly as he had begun.
CHAPTER XXH
\
AT THE BOAEDING-HOUSE
I HAD not been home for thirty-six hours,
since the morning of the preceding day.
Johnson was not in sight, and I let myself in
quietly with my latch-key. It was almost mid
night, and I had hardly settled myself in the li
brary when the bell rang and I was surprised to
find Hotchkiss, much out of breath, in the vesti
bule.
"Why, come in, Mr. Hotchkiss," I said. "I
thought you were going home to go to bed."
"So I was, so I was." He dropped into a chair
beside my reading lamp and mopped his face.
"And here it is almost midnight, and I'm wider
awake than ever. I've seen Sullivan, Mr. Blake- ;
ley."
"You have!"
**I have," he said impressively.
223
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"You were following Bronson at eight o'clock.
Was that when it happened?"
"Something of the sort. When I left you at
the door of the restaurant, I turned and almost
ran into a plain clothes man f rone the central of
fice. I know him pretty well; once or twice he
has taken me with him on interesting bits of
work. He knows my hobby.
"You know him, too, probably. It was the
man Arnold, the detective whom the state's at
torney has had watching Bronson."
Johnson being otherwise occupied, I had asked
for Arnold myself.
I nodded.
"Well, he stopped me at once ; said he'd been
on the fellow's tracks since early morning and
had had no time for luncheon. Bronson, it seems,
isn't eating much these days. I at once jotted
down the fact, because it argued that he was be-
f ing bothered by the man with the notes."
"It might point to other tilings," I suggested.
("Indigestion, you know."
Hotchkiss ignored me. "Well, Arnold had
some reason for thinking that Bronson would
try to give him the slip that night, so he asked
me to stay around the private entrance there
while he ran across the street and got something
to eat. It seemed a fair presumption that, as he
had gone there with a lady, they would dine lei
surely, and Arnold would have plenty of time to
get back."
"What about your own dinner?" I asked curi
ously.
"Sir," he said pompously, "I have given you
a wrong estimate of Wilson Budd Hotchkiss
if you think that a question of dinner would even
obtrude itself on his mind at such a time as this."
He was a frail little man, and to-night he
looked pale with heat and over-exertion.
"Did you have any luncheon?" I asked.
He was somewhat embarrassed at that.
"I really, Mr. Blakeley, the events of the
day were so engrossing "
"Well," I said, "I'm not going to see you
drop on the floor from exhaustion. Just wait a
minute."
I went back to the pantry, only to be con
fronted with rows of locked doors and emptj
226 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
dishes. Down-stairs, in the basement kitchen,
however, I found two unattractive looking cold
chops, some dry bread and a piece of cake,
wrapped in a napkin, and from its surreptitious I
and generally hang-dog appearance, destined
for the coachman in the stable at the rear. Trays
there were none everything but the chairs and
tables seemed under lock and key, and there was
neither napkin, knife nor fork to be found.
The luncheon was not attractive in appear
ance, but Hotchkiss ate his cold chops and
gnawed at his crusts as though he had been fam
ished, while he told his story.
"I had been there only a few minutes," he
said, with a chop in one hand and the cake in the
other, "when Bronson rushed out and cut across
the street. He's a tall man, Mr. Blakeley, and I
had hard work keeping close. It was a relief
when he jumped on a passing car, although be
ing well behind, it was a hard run for me to
catch him. He had left the lady.
"Once on the car, we simply rode from one
end of the line to the other and back again. I
suppose he was passing the time, for he looked
AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE 227
at his watch now and then, and when I did once
get a look at his face it made me er uncom
fortable. He could have crushed me like a fly,
sir."
I had brought Mr. Hotchkiss a glass of wine,
and he was looking better. He stopped to finish
it, declining with a wave of his hand to have it
refilled, and continued:
"About nine o'clock or a little later he got off
somewhere near Washington Circle. He went
along one of the residence streets there, turned to
his left a square or two, and rang a bell. He
had been admitted when I got there, but I
guessed from the appearance of the place that it
was a boarding-house.
"I waited a few minutes and rang the bell.
When a maid answered it, I asked for Mr. Sul
livan. Of course there was no Mr. Sullivan
there.
"I said I was sorry ; that the man I was look
ing for was a new boarder. She was sure there
was no such boarder in the house ; the only new
arrival was a man on the third floor- she
thought his name was Stuart.
228 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
" 'My friend has a cousin by that name,' I
said. 'I'll just go up and see.'
"She wanted to show me up, but I said it was
unnecessary. So after telling me it was the bed
room and sitting-room on the third floor front, I
went up.
"I met a couple of men on the stairs, but nei
ther of them paid any attention to me. A board
ing-house is the easiest place in the world to
enter."
"They're not always so easy to leave," I put
in, to his evident irritation.
"When I got to the third story, I took out a
bunch of keys and posted myself by a door near
the ones the girl had indicated. I could hear
voices in one of the front rooms, but could not
understand what they said.
"There was no violent dispute, but a steady
hum. Then Bronson jerked the door open. If he
had stepped into the hall he would have seen me
fitting a key into the door before me. But he
spoke before he came out.
" 'You're acting like a maniac,' h f aid. 'You
fonow I can get those things gome way ; I'm not
AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE
going to threaten you. It isn't necessary. You
know me.'
" 'It would be no use,' the other man said. 1
tell you, I haven't seen the notes for ten days.'
" 'But you will,' Bronson said savagely.
Tou're standing in your own way, that's all. If
you're holding out expecting me to raise my fig
ure, you're making a mistake. It's my last
offer.'
" 'I couldn't take it if it was for a million,'
said the man inside the room. 'I'd do it, I ex
pect, if I could. The best of us have our price.'
"Bronson slammed the door then, and flung
past me down the hall.
"After a couple of minutes I knocked at the
door, and a tall man about your size, Mr. Blake-
ley, opened it. He was very blond, with a
smooth face and blue eyes what I think you
would call a handsome man.
" 'I beg your pardon for disturbing you,' I
said. 'Can you tell me which is Mr. Johnson's
room? Mr. Francis Johnson?'
" 'I can not say,' he replied civilly. I've only
been here a few days.'
830 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"I thanked him and left, but I had had a good
look at him, and I think I'd know him readily
any place."
I sat for a few minutes thinking it over. "But
what did he mean by saying he hadn't seen the
notes for ten days ? And why is Bronson making
the overtures?"
"I think he was lying," Hotchkiss reflected.
c *Bronson hasn't reached his figure."
"It's a big advance, Mr. Hotchkiss, and I ap
preciate what you have done more than I can tell
you," I said. "And now, if you can locate any
of my property in this fellow's room, we'll send
him up for larceny, and at least have him where
we can get at him, I'm going to Cresson to
morrow, to try to trace him a little from there.
But I'll be back in a couple of days, and we'll
begin to gather in these scattered threads."
Hotchkiss rubbed his hands together delight
edly.
"That's it," he said. "That's what we want
to do, Mr. Blakeley. We'll gather up the threads
ourselves ; if we let the police in too soon, they'll
tangle it up again. I'm not vindictive by na-
AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE
ture; but when a fellow like Sullivan not only
commits a murder, but goes to all sorts of trou
ble to put the burden of guilt on an innocent
man I say hunt him down, sir !"
"You are convinced, of course, that Sullivan
did it?"
"Who else?" He looked over his glasses at me
with the air of a man whose mental attitude ia
unassailable.
"Well, listen to this," I said.
Then I told him at length of my encounter
with Bronson in the restaurant, of the bargain
proposed by Mrs. Conway, and finally of Mc-
Knight's new theory. But, although he was im
pressed, he was far from convinced.
"It's a very vivid piece of imagination," he
said drily ; "but while it fits the evidence as far
as it goes, it doesn't go far enough. How about
the stains in lower seven, the dirk, and the wal
let? Haven't we even got motive in that tele
gram from Bronson?"
"Yes," I admitted, "but that bit of chain"
"Pooh," he said shortly. "Perhaps, like your
self, Sullivan wore glasses with a chain. Our
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
not finding them does not prove they did not
exist."
And there I made an error; half confidences
are always mistakes. I could not tell of the'
broken chain in Alison West's gold purse.
It was one o'clock when Hotchkiss finally left.
We had by that time arranged a definite course
of action Hotchkiss to search Sullivan's rooms
and if possible find evidence to have him held
for larceny, while I went to Cresson.
Strangely enough, however, when I entered
the train the following morning, Hotchkiss was
already there. He had bought a new note-book,
and was sharpening a fresh pencil.
"I changed my plans, you see," he said, bus
tling his newspaper aside for me. "It is no dis
credit to your intelligence, Mr. Blakeley, but
you lack the professional eye, the analytical
mind. You legal gentlemen call a spade a spade,
although it may be a shovel."
" *A primrose by the river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And nothing more !' '
I quoted as the train pulled out.
CHAPTER
A NIGHT AT THE LAURELS
I SLEPT most of the way to Cresson, to the
disgust of the little detective. Finally he
struck up an acquaintance with a kindly-faced
old priest on his way home to his convent school,
armed with a roll of dance music and surrepti
tious bundles that looked like boxes of candy.
From scraps of conversation I gleaned that
there had been mysterious occurrences at the
convent, ending in the theft of what the rev
erend father called vaguely, "a quantity of un-
dermuslins." I dropped asleep at that point,
and when I roused a few moments later, the con
versation had progressed. Hotchkiss had a dia
gram on an envelope.
"With this window bolted, and that one inac
cessible, and if, as you say, the er garments
were in a tub here at X, then, as you hold the
233
234 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
key to the other door, I think you said the
convent dog did not raise any disturbance?
Pardon a personal question, but do you ever
walk in your sleep ?"
The priest looked bewildered.
"I'll tell you what to do," Hotchkiss said
cheerfully, leaning forward, "look around a lit
tle yourself before you call in the police. Som
nambulism is a queer thing. It's a question
whether we are most ourselves sleeping or wak
ing. Ever think of that? Live a saintly life
all day, prayers and matins and all that, and the
subconscious mind hikes you out of bed at night
to steal undermuslins ! Subliminal theft, so to
speak. Better examine the roof."
I dozed again. When I wakened Hotchkiss
sat alone, and the priest, from a corner, was
staring at him dazedly, over his breviary.
It was raining when we reached Cresson, a
' wind-driven rain that had forced the agent at
the news-stand to close himself in, and that beat
back from the rails in parallel lines of white
spray. As he went up the main street, Hotch-,
kiss was cheerfully oblivious of the weather, of
A NIGHT AT THE LAURELS 235
the threatening dusk, of our generally draggled
condition. My draggled condition, I should
say, for he improved every moment, his eyes
brighter, his ruddy face ruddier, his collar i
newer and glossier. Sometime, when it does not
encircle the little man's neck, I shall test that
collar with a match.
I was growing steadily more depressed: I
loathed my errand and its necessity. I had al
ways held that a man who played the spy on a
woman was beneath contempt. Then. I admit I
was afraid of what I might learn. For a time,
however, this promised to be a negligible quan
tity. The streets of the straggling little moun
tain town had been clean-washed of humanity by
the downpour. Windows and doors were inhos
pitably shut, and from around an occasional
drawn shade came narrow strips of light that
merely emphasized our gloom. When Hotch-
kiss' umbrella turned inside out, I stopped.
"I don't know where you are going," I
snarled, "and I don't care. But I'm going to
get under cover inside of ten seconds. I'm not
amphibious."
286 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
I ducked into the next shelter, which happened
to be the yawning entrance to a livery stable,
and shook myself, dog fashion. Hotchkiss
wiped his collar with his handkerchief. It
emerged gleaming and unwilted.
"This will do as well as any place," he said,
raising his voice above the rattle of the rain.
"Got to make a beginning."
I sat down on the usual chair without a back,
just inside the door, and stared out at the dark
ening street. The whole affair had an air of un
reality. Now that I was there, I doubled the
necessity, or the value, of the journey. I was
wet and uncomfortable. Around me, with Cres-
son as a center, stretched an irregular ci.cum-
ference of mountain, with possibly a ten -mile
radius, and in it I was to find the resident of
a woman whose first name I did not know, and a
man who, so far, had been a purely chimerical
<
person.
Hotchkiss had penetrated the steaming in
terior of the care, and now his voice, punctu
ated by the occasional thud of horses' hoofs,
came to me.
"Something light will do," he was saying.
**A runabout, perhaps." He came forward rub
bing his hands, followed by a thin man in over
alls. "Mr. Peck says," he began, "this is Mr.(
Peck of Peck and Peck, says that the place we
are looking for is about seven miles from the
town. It's clearing, isn't it ?"
"It is not," I returned savagely. ""And we
don't want a runabout, Mr. Peck. What we re
quire is an hermetically sealed diving suit. I
suppose there isn't a machine to be had?" Mr.
Peck gazed at me in silence: machine to him
meant other things than motors. "Automobile,"
I supplemented. His face cleared.
"None but private affairs. I can give you a
good buggy with a rubber apron. Mike, is the
doctor's horse in?"
I am still uncertain as to whether the raw-
boned roan we took out that night over the
mountains was the doctor's horse or not. If it
was, the doctor may be a good doctor, but he
doesn't know anything about a horse. And fur
thermore, I hope he didn't need the beast that
miserablf; evening.
238 THE MAN IN LOWEQ TEN
While they harnessed the horse, Hotchkisa
told me what he had learned.
"Six Curtises in the town and vicinity," he
[said. "Sort of family name around here. One
of them is telegraph operator at the station.
Person we are looking for is was a wealthy
widow with a brother named Sullivan! Both
supposed to have been killed on the Flier."
"Her brother," I repeated stupidly.
"You see," Hotchkiss went on, "three people,
in one party, took the train here that night,
Miss West, Mrs. Curtis and Sullivan. The two
women had the drawing-room, Sullivan had
lower seven. What we want to find out is just
who these people were, where they came from,
if Bronson knew them, and how Miss West be
came entangled with them. She may have mar
ried Sullivan, for one thing."
I fell into gloom after that. The roan was
led unwillingly into the weather, Hotchkiss and
I in eclipse behind the blanket. The liveryman
stood in the doorway and called directions to us.
"You can't miss it," he finished. "Got the name
over the gate anyhow, 'The Laurels.' The
A NIGHT AT THE LAURELS 239
servants are still there: leastways, we didn't
bring them down." He even took a step into the
rain as Hotchkiss picked up the lines. "If
you're going to settle the estate," he bawled,
"don't forget us, Peck and Peck. A half -bushel
of name and a bushel of service."
Hotchkiss could not drive. Born a clerk, he
guided the roan much as he would drive a bad
pen. And the roan spattered through puddles
and splashed ink mud, that is until I was in
a frenzy of irritation.
"What are we going to say when we get
there?" I asked after I had finally taken the
reins in my one useful hand. "Get out there at
midnight and tell the servants we have come to
ask a few questions about the family? It's an
idiotic trip anyhow; I wish I had stayed at
home."
The roan fell just then, and we had to crawl
out and help him up. By the time we had
partly unharnessed him our matches were gone,
and the small bicycle lamp on the buggy was
wavering only too certainly. We were cov
ered with mud, panting with exertion, and even
240 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
Hotchkiss showed a disposition to be surly. 17tfl
rain, which had lessened for a time, came QJJ
again, the lightning flashes doing more than
anything else to reveal our isolated position.
Another mile saw us, if possible, mare de
spondent. The water in our clothes had had
time to penetrate: the roan had sprained his
shoulder, and drew us along in a series of con
vulsive jerks. And then through the rain-spat
tered window of the blanket, I saw p. light. It
was a small light, rather yellow, and it lasted
perhaps thirty seconds. Hotchkiss missed it,
and was inclined to doubt me. But in a couple
of minutes the roan hobbled to the side of the
road and stopped, and I made out a break in the
pines and an arched gate.
It was a small gate, too narrow for the buggy.
I pulled the horse into as much shelter as possi
ble under the trees, and we got out. Hotchkiss
tied the beast and we left him there, head down
against the driving rain, drooping and d&-
jected. Then we went toward the house.
It was a long walk. The path bent an3
twisted, amd now and then we lost it. We were
A NIGHTJ AT THE LAURELS
climbing as we went. Oddly there were no lighti
ahead, although it was only ten o'clock, not
later. Hotchkiss kept a little ahead of me,
knocking into trees now and then, but finding
the path in half the time I should have taken.
Once, as I felt my way around a tree in the
blackness, I put my hand unexpectedly on his
shoulder, and felt a shudder go down my back.
"What do you expect me to do ?" he protested,
when I remonstrated. "Hang out a red lan
tern? What was that? Listen."
We both stood peering into the gloom. The
sharp patter of the rain on leaves had ceased,
and from just ahead there came back to us the
stealthy padding of feet in wet soil. My hand
closed on Hotchkiss' shoulder, and we listened
together, warily. The steps were close by, un
mistakable. The next flash of lightning showed
nothing moving : the house was in full view now,
dark and uninviting, looming huge above a ter
race, with an Italian garden at the side. Then
the blackness again. Somebody's teeth were
chattering : I accused Hotchkiss but he denied ife.
"Although I'm not very comfortable, I'll ad-
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
mit," he confessed; "there was something
breathing right at my elbow here a moment
ago."
"Nonsense !" I took his elbow and steered
him in what I made out to be the direction of the
steps of the Italian garden. "I saw a deer just
ahead by the last flash ; that's what you heard.
By Jove, I hear wheels."
We paused to listen and Hotchkiss put his
hand on something close to us. "Here's your
deer," he said. "Bronze."
As we neared the house the sense of surveil
lance we had had in the park gradually left us.
Stumbling over flower beds, running afoul of a
sun-dial, groping our way savagely along
hedges and thorny banks, we reached the steps
finally and climbed the terrace.
It was then that Hotchkiss fell over one of
the two stone urns which, with tall boxwood trees
in them, mounted guard at each side of the door.
He didn't make any attempt to get up. He sat
in a puddle on the brick floor of the terrace and
clutched his leg and swore softly in Government
English.
A NIGHT AT THE LAURELS
The occasional relief of the lightning was
gone. I could not see an outline of the house be
fore me. We had no matches, and an instant's
investigation showed that the windows were
boarded and the house closed. Hotchkiss, still
recumbent, was ascertaining the damage, ten
derly peeling down his stocking.
"Upon my soul," he said finally, "I don't
know whether this moisture is blood or rain. I
think I've broken a bone."
"Blood is thicker than water," I suggested.
"Is it sticky? See if you can move your toes."
There was a pause: Hotchkiss moved his
toes. By that time I had found a knocker and
was making the night hideous. But there was
no response save the wind that blew sodden
leaves derisively in our faces. Once Hotchkiss
declared he heard a window-sash lifted, but re
newed violence with the knocker produced no
effect.
"There's only one thing to do," I said finally.
"I'll go back and try to bring the buggy up for
you. You can't walk, can you?"
Hotchkiss sat back in his puddle and said he
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
didn't think he could stir, but for me to go back
to town and leave him, that he didn't have any
family dependent on him, and that If he was
going to have pneumonia he had probably got it
already. I left him there, and started back to
get the horse.
If possible, it was worse than before. There
was no lightning, and only by a miracle did I
find the little gate again. I drew a long breath
of relief, followed by another, equally long, of
dismay. For I had found the hitching strap and
there was nothing at the end of it ! In a lull of
the wind I seemed to hear, far off, the eager thud
of stable-bound feet. So for the second time I
climbed the slope to the Laurels, and on the way
I thought of many things to say.
I struck the house at a new angle, for I foun3
a veranda, destitute of chairs and furnishings,
but dry and evidently roofed. It was better
than the terrace, and so, by groping along the
wall, I tried to make my way to Hotchkiss. That
was how I found the open window. I had passed
perhaps six, all closed, and to have my hand
grope for the next one, and to find instead the
A NIGHT AT THE LAURELS 245
soft drapery of an inner curtain, was startling,
to say the least.
I found Hotchldss at last around an angle of
the stone wall, and told him that the horse was
gone. He was disconcerted, but not abased;
maintaining that it was a new kind* of knot that
couldn't slip and that the horse must have
chewed the halter through! He was less en
thusiastic than I had expected about the window.
*'It looks uncommonly like a trap," he said.
"I tell you there was some one in the park be
low when we were coming up. Man has a sixth
sense that scientists ignore a sense of the near
ness of things. And all the time you have been
gone, some one has been watching me."
"Couldn't see you," I maintained; "I can't
see you now. And your sense of contiguitj
didn't tell you about that flower crock."
In the end, of course, he consented to go with
I me. He was very lame, and I helped him around
to the open window. He was full of moral
courage, the little man : it was only the physical
in him that quailed. And as we groped along,
he insisted o* going through the window first.
1*46 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"If it is a trap," he whispered, "I have two
arms to your one, and, besides, as I said before,
life holds much for you. As for me, the govern
ment would merely lose an indifferent employee." I
When he found I was going first he was
rather hurt, but I did not wait for his protests.
I swung my feet over the sill and dropped. I
made a clutch at the window-frame with my
good hand when I found no floor under my feet,
but I was too late. I dropped probably ten feet
and landed with a crash that seemed to split my
ear-drums. I was thoroughly shaken, but in
some miraculous way the bandaged arm had es
caped injury.
"For Heaven's sake," Hotchkiss was calling
from above, "have you broken your back?"
"No," I returned, as steadily as I could,
*'merely driven it up through my skull. This
is a staircase. I'm coming up to open another
window."
It was eerie work, but I accomplished it final
ly, discovering, not without mishap, a room
filled with more tables than I had ever dreamed
of, tables that seemed to waylay and strike al
A NIGHT AT THE LAURELS 247
me. When I had got a window open, Hotchkiss
crawled through, and we were at last under
shelter.
Our first thought was for a light. The same
laborious investigation that had landed us where
we were, revealed that the house was lighted by
electricity, and that the plant was not in opera
tion. By accident I stumbled across a tabouret
with smoking materials, and found a half dozen
matches. The first one showed us the magnitude
of the room we stood in, and revealed also a brass
candle-stick by the open fireplace, a candle-stick
almost four feet high, supporting a candle of
similar colossal proportions. It was Hotchkiss
who discovered that it had been recently lighted.
He held the match to it and peered at it over his
glasses.
"Within ten minutes," he announced impres
sively, "this candle has been burning. Look at
' the wax ! And the wick ! Both soft."
"Perhaps it's the damp weather," I ventured,
moving a little nearer to the circle of light. A
gust of wind came in just then, and the flame
turned over on its side and threatened demise.
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
The*t* was something almost ridiculous in the
haste with which we put down the window and
nursed the flicker to life.
The peculiarly ghost-like appearance of the
room added to the uncanniness of the situation.
The furniture was swathed in white covers for
the winter ; even the pictures wore shrouds. And
in a niche between two windows a bust on a ped
estal, {similarly wrapped, one arm extended under
Us winding sheet, made a most life-like ghost, if
any g-liost can be life-like.
In i'lie light of the candle we surveyed each
other, wnd we were objects for mirth. Hotchkiss
was taldng off his sodden shoes and preparing
to make himself comfortable, while I hung mj
muddy raincoat over the ghost in the corner.
Thus h/ibited, he presented a rakish but dis
tinctly more comfortable appearance.
"When these people built," Hotchkiss said,
surveying the huge dimensions of the room,
"they must have bought a mountain and built all
over it. What a room !"
It seemed to be a living-room, although
Hbtchkiss remarked that it was much more like
A NIGHT AT THE LAURELS 249
a dead one. It was probably fifty feet long and
twenty-five feet wide. It was very high, too,
with a domed ceiling, and a gallery ran around
the entire room, about fifteen feet above the
floor. The candle light did not penetrate be
yond the dim outlines of the gallery rail, but
I fancied the wall there hung with smaller pic
tures.
Hotchkiss had discovered a fire laid in the
enormous fireplace, and in a few minutes we were
steaming before a cheerful blaze. Within the
radius of its light and heat, we were comfortable
again. But the brightness merely emphasized
the gloom of the ghostly corners. We talked
in subdued tones, and I smoked a box of Russian
cigarettes which I found in a table drawer. We
had decided to stay all night, there being noth
ing else to do. I suggested a game of double-
dummy bridge, but did not urge it when my
companion asked me if it resembled euchre.
Gradually, as the ecclesiastical candle paled in
the firelight, we grew drowsy. I drew a divan
into the cheerful area, and stretched myself out
for sleep. Hotchkiss, who said the pain in his
S50 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
leg made him wakeful, sat wide-eyed by the fire,
smoking a pipe.
I have no idea how much time had passed
when something threw itself violently on mj
chest. I roused with a start and leaped to my
feet, and a large Angora cat fell with a thump
to the floor. The fire was still bright, and
there was an odor of scorched leather through
the room, from Hotchkiss' shoes. The little de
tective was sound asleep, his dead pipe in his
fingers. The cat sat back on its haunches and
wailed.
The curtain at the door into the hallway bel
lied slowly out into th. room and fell again. The
cat looked toward it and opened its mouth for
another howl. I thrust at it with my foot, but
it refused to move. Hotchkiss stirred uneasily,
and his pipe clattered to the floor.
The cat was standing at my feet, staring be
hind me. Apparently it was following with it
eyes, an object unseen to me, that moved behind
me. The tip of its tail waved threateningly,
but when I wheeled I saw nothing.
I took the candle and made a circuit of the
room. Behind the curtain that had moved the
door was securely closed. The windows were
shut and locked, and everywhere the silence was
absolute. The cat followed me majestically. 1
stooped and stroked its head, but it persisted in
its uncanny watching of the corners of the
room.
When I went back to my divan, after putting
a fresh log on the fire, I was reassured. I took
the precaution, and smiled at myself for doing
it, to put the fire tongs within reach of my
hand. But the cat would not let me sleep. After
a time I decided that it wanted water, and I
started out in search of some, carrying the can
dle without the stand. I wandered through sev
eral rooms, all closed and dismantled, before I
found a small lavatory opening off a billiard
room. The cat lapped steadily, and I filled a
glass to take back with me. The candle flick
ered in a sickly fashion that threatened to leave
me there lost in the wanderings of the many hall
ways, and from somewhere there came an occa
sional violent puff of wind. The cat stuck by
my feet, with the hair on its back raised mena-
252 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
cingly. I don't like cats; there is something
psychic about them.
Hotchkiss was still asleep when I got back to
the big room. I moved his boots back from the
fire, and trimmed the candle. Then, with sleep
gone from me, I lay back on my divan and re
flected on many things : on my idiocy in coming ;
on Alison West, and the fact that only a week
before she had been a guest in this very house ;
on Richey and the constraint that had come be
tween us. From that I drifted back to Alison,
and to the barrier my comparative poverty
would be.
The emptiness, the stillness were oppressive.
Once I heard footsteps coming, rhythmical steps
that neither hurried nor dragged, and seemed to
mount endless staircases without coming any
closer. I realized finally that I had not quite
turned off the tap, and that the lavatory, which
I had circled to reach, must be quite close.
The cat lay by the fire, its nose on its folded
paws, content in the warmth and companion
ship. I watched it idly. Now and then the
green wood hissed in the fire, but the cat never
batted an eye. Through an unshuttered window
the lightning flashed. Suddenly the cat looked
up. It lifted its head and stared directly at the,
gallery above. Then it blinked, and stared
again. I was amused. Not until it had got
up on its feet, eyes still riveted on the balcony,
tail waving at the tip, the hair on its back a
bristling brush, did I glance casually over my
head.
From among the shadows a face gazed down
at me, a face that seemed a fitting tenant of the
ghostly room below. I saw it as plainly as I
might see my own face in a mirror. While I
stared at it with horrified eyes, the apparition
faded. The rail was there, the Bokhara rug
still swung from it, but the gallery was empty.
The cat threw back its head and wailed.
CHAPTER XXIV
HIS WIFE'S FATHER
1 JUMPED up and seized the fire tongs. The
cat's wail had roused Hotchkiss, who was
wide-awake at once. He took in my offensive
attitude, the tongs, the direction of my gaze, and
needed nothing more. As he picked up the can
dle and darted out into the hall, I followed him.
He made directly for the staircase, and part
way up he turned off to the right through a
small door. We were on the gallery itself; be-
iow us the fire gleamed cheerfully, the cat was
not in sight. There was no sign of my ghostly
visitant, but as we stood there the Bokhara rug,
without warning, slid over the railing and fell
to the floor below.
"Man or woman?" Hotchkiss inquired in his
most professional tone.
"Neither that is, I don't know. I didn't no-
254
HIS WIFE'S FATHER 256
tice anything but the eyes," I muttered. "They
were looking a hole in me. If you'd seen that cat
you would realize my state of mind. That was a
traditional graveyard yowl."
"I don't think you saw anything at all," he
lied cheerfully. "You dozed off, and the rest is
the natural result of a meal on a buffet car."
Nevertheless, he examined the Bokhara care
fully when we went down, and when I finally went
to sleep he was reading the only book in sight
Elw/ell on Bridge. The first rays of daylight
were coming mistily into the room when he
roused me. He had his finger on his lips, and he
whispered sibilantly while I tried to draw on my
distorted boots.
"I think we have him," he said triumphantly.
"I've been looking around some, and I can tell
you this much. Just before we came in through
the window last night, another man came. Only
he did not drop, as you did. He swung over
to the stair railing, and then down. The rail is
scratched. He was long enough ahead of us to
go into the dining-room and get a decanter out
of the sideboard. He poured out the liquor into
256 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
a glass, left the decanter there, and took the
whisky into the library across the hall. Then
he broke into a desk, using a paper knife for a
jimmy."
"Good Lord, Hotchkiss," I exclaimed; "why,
it may have been Sullivan himself! Confound
your theories he's getting farther away every
minute."
"It was Sullivan," Hotchkiss returned imper-
turbably. "And he has not gone. His boots are
by the library fire."
"He probably had a dozen pairs where he
could get them," I scoffed. "And while you and
I sat and slept, the very man we want to get our
hands on leered at us over that railing."
"Softly, softly, my friend," Hotchkiss said,
as I stamped into my other shoe. "I did not say
he was gone. Don't jump at conclusions. It is
fatal to reasoning. As a matter of fact, he didn't
relish a night on the mountains any more than
we did. After he had unintentionally frightened
you almost into paralysis, what would my gen
tleman naturally do? Go out in the storm again?
Not if I know the Alice-sit-by-the-fire type. He
HIS WIFE'S FATHER 257
went up-stairs, well up near the roof, locked him
self in and went to bed."
"And he is there now?"
"He is there now."
We had no weapons. I am aware that the tra
ditional hero is always armed, and that Hotch-
kiss as the low comedian should have had a
revolver that missed fire. As a fact, we had
nothing of the sort. Hotchldss carried the fire
tongs, but my sense of humor was too strong
for me ; I declined the poker.
1 ~^~-
we want is a little peaceable conversation
him," I demurred. "We can't brain him
irst and converse with him afterward. And any
how, while I can't put my finger on the place, I
think your theory is weak. If he wouldn't run
a hundred miles through fire and water to get
away from us, then he is not the man we want."
Hotchkiss, however, was certain. He had
found the room and listened outside the door to
the sleeper's heavy breathing, and so we climbed
past luxurious suites, revealed in the deepening
daylight, past long vistas of hall and boudoir.
And we were both badly winded when we got
258 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
there. It was a tower room, reached by narrow
stairs, and well above the roof level. Hotchkiss
was glowing.
"It is partly good luck, but not all," he pant-^
ed in a whisper. "If we had persisted in the
search last night, he would have taken alarm and
fled. Now we have him. Are you ready?"
He gave a mighty rap at the door with the fire
tongs, and stood expectant. Certainly he was
right ; some one moved within.
"Hello! Hello there!" Hotchkiss bawled.
"You might as well come out. We won't hurt
you, if you'll come peaceably."
"Tell him we represent the law," I prompted.
"That's the customary thing, you know."
But at that moment a bullet came squarely
through the door and flattened itself with a
sharp pst against the wall of the tower staircase.
We ducked unanimously, dropped back out of
range, and Hotchkiss retaliated with a spirited
bang at the door with the tongs. This brought
another bullet. It was a ridiculous situation.
Under the circumstances, no doubt, we should
have retired, at least until we had armed our-
HIS WIFE'S FATHER 259
selves, but Hotchkiss had no end of fighting
spirit, and as for me, my blood was up.
"Break the lock," I suggested, and Hotchkiss,
standing at the side, out of range, retaliated for
every bullet by a smashing blow with the tongs.
The shots ceased after a half dozen, and the
door was giving, slowly. One of us on each side
of the door, we were ready for almost any kind
of desperate resistance. As it swung open Hotch
kiss poised the tongs ; I stood, bent forward, my
arnydfawiTBack for a blow. *
/Nothing happened.
There was not a sound. Finally, at the rislc
of losing an eye which I justly value, I peered
around and into the room. There was no desper
ado there: only a fresh-faced, trembling-lipped
servant, sitting on the edge of her bed, with a
quilt around her shoulders and the empty re
volver at her feet.
We were victorious, but no conquered army
ever beat such a retreat as ours down the tower
stairs and into the refuge of the living-room.
There, with the door closed, sprawled on the
divan, I went from one spasm of mirth into an-
260 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
other, becoming sane at intervals, and suffering
relapse again every time I saw Hotchkiss' dis
gruntled countenance. He was pacing the room,
the tongs still in his hand, his mouth pursed
with irritation. Finally he stopped in front of
me and compelled my attention.
"When you have finished cackling," he said
with dignity, "I wish to justify my position. Do
you think the er young woman up-stairs put
a pair of number eight boots to dry in the li
brary last night? Do you think she poured the
whisky out of that decanter ?"
"They have been known to do it," I put in,
but his eye silenced me.
"Moreover, if she had been the person who
peered at you over the gallery railing last night,
don't you suppose, with her er belligerent
disposition, she could have filled you as full of
lead as a window weight ?"
"I do," I assented. "It wasn't Alice-sit-by-
the-fire. I grant you that. Then who was it?"
Hotchkiss felt certain that it had been Sul
livan, but I was not so sure. Why would he have
crawled like a thief into his own house? If he
HIS WIFE'S FATHER
had crossed the park, as seemed probable, when
we did, he had not made any attempt to use the
knocker. I gave it up finally, and made an ef
fort to conciliate the young woman in the tower.
We had heard no sound since our spectacular
entrance into her room. I was distinctly uncom
fortable as, alone this time, I climbed to the
tower staircase. Reasoning from before, she
would probably throw a chair at me. I stopped
at the fooi_othe staircase and called.
'^Hello up there," I said, in as debonnair a
manner as I could summon. "Good morning.
Wle geJit es bei ihnen?"
No reply.
"Bon jour, mademoiselle," I tried again. This
time there was a movement of some sort from
above, but nothing fell on me.
"I we want to apologize for rousing you so
er unexpectedly this morning," I went on.
"The fact is, we wanted to talk to you, and you
you were hard to waken. We are travelers,
lost in your mountains, and we crave a breakfast
and an audience."
She came to the door then. I could feel that
262 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
she was investigating the top of my head from
above. "Is Mr. Sullivan with you?" she asked.
It was the first word from her, and she was not
sure of her voice.
"No. We are alone. If you will come down
and look at us you will find us two perfectly
harmless people, whose horse curses on him
departed without leave last night and left us at
your gate."
She relaxed somewhat then and came down a
step or two. "I was afraid I had killed some
body," she said. "The housekeeper left yester
day, and the other maids went with her."
When she saw that I was comparatively
young and lacked the earmarks of the highway
man, she was greatly relieved. She was inclined
to fight shy of Hotchkiss, however, for some
reason. She gave us a breakfast of a sort, for
there was little in the house, and afterward we
telephoned to the town for a vehicle. Whilel
Hotchkiss examined scratches and replaced the
Bokhara rug, I engaged Jennie in conversation.
"Can you tell me," I asked, "who is managing
the estate since Mrs. Curtis was killed?"
HIS WIFE'S FATHER 263
"No one," she returned shortly.
"Has any member of the family been here
since the accident ?"
"No, sir. There was only the ty7C s and some
think Mr. Sullivan was killed as well as his sis
ter."
"You don't?"
"No," with conviction.
"Why?"
She wheeled on me with quick suspicion.
ar detective ?" she demanded.
You told him to say you represented the
law."
"I am a lawyer. Some of them misrepresent
the law, but I"
She broke in impatiently.
"A sheriff's officer?"
"No. Look here, Jennie; I am all that I
should be. You'll have to believe that. And
I'm in a bad position through no fault of my
own. I want you to answer some questions. If
you will help me, I will do what I can for you.
Do you live near here?"
Her chin quivered. It was the first sign of
weakness she had shown.
"My home is in Pittsburg," she said, "and I
haven't enough money to get there. They hadn't
paid any wages for two months. They didn't
pay anybody."
"Very well," I returned. "I'll send you back
to Pittsburg, Pullman included, if you will tell
me some things I want to know."
She agreed eagerly. Outside the window
Hotchkiss was bending over, examining foot
prints in the drive.
"Now.," I began, "there has been a Miss West
staying here?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Sullivan was attentive to her?"
"Yes. She was the granddaughter of a
wealthy man in Pittsburg. My aunt has been
in his family for twenty years. Mrs. Curtis
wanted her brother to marry Miss West."
"Do you think he did marry her?" I could
not keep the excitement out of my voice.
"No. There were reasons" she stopped ab
ruptly.
HIS WIFE'S FATHER 863
"Do you know anything of the family? Are
they were they New Yorkers ?"
"They came from somewhere In the south. I
have heard Mrs. Curtis say her mother was a
Cuban. I don't know much about them, but Mr.
Sullivan had a wicked temper, though he didn't
look it. Folks say big, light-haired people are
easy going, but I don't believe It, sir."
"How long, was Miss West here ?"
"Tvpoweeks."
I hesitated about further questioning. Criti
cal as my position was, I could not pry deeper
into lAlison West's affairs. If she had got into
the hands of adventurers, as Sullivan and his
sister appeared to have been, she was safely
away from them again. But something of the
situation in the car Ontario was forming itself
in my mind: the incident at the farm-house
lacked only motive to be complete. Was Sulli
van, after all, a rascal or a criminal? Was the
murderer Sullivan or Mrs. Conway? The lady
or the tiger again.
Jennie was speaking.
"I hope Miss West was not hurtP' she asked.
266 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"We liked her, all of us. She was not like Mm
Curtis."
I wanted to say that she was not like anybody
in the world. Instead "She escaped with some
bruises," I said.
She glanced at my arm. "You were on the
train?"
"Yes."
She waited for more questions, but none com'
ing, she went to the door. Then she closed it
softly and came back.
"Mrs. Curtis is dead? You are sure of it?"
she asked.
"She was killed instantly, I believe. The body
was not recovered. But I have reasons for be
lieving that Mr. Sullivan is living."
"I knew it," she said. "I I think he was
here the night before last. That is why I went
to the tower room. I believe he would kill me if
he could." As nearly as her round and comely
face could express it, Jennie's expression was
tragic at that moment. I made a quick resolu
tion, and acted on it at once.
"You are not entirely frank with me, Jennie,"
HIS WIFE'S FATHER 267
I protested. "And I am going to tell you more
than I have. We are talking at cross purposes.
"I was on the wrecked train, in the same car
with Mrs. Curtis, Miss West and Mr. Sullivan.
During the night there was a crime committed
In that car and Mr. Sullivan disappeared. But
he left behind him a chain of circumstantial evi
dence t}iat involved me completely, so that I
may/ at any time, be arrested."
Lpparently she did not comprehend for a mo-
mejit. Then, as if the meaning of my words
had just dawned on her, she looked up and
gasped :
"You mean Mr. Sullivan committed the
crime himself?"
"I think he did."
"What was it?"
"It was murder," I said deliberately.
Her hands clenched involuntarily, and she
shrank back. "A woman?" She could scarcely
form her words.
"No, a man; a Mr. Simon Harrington, of
Pittsburgh
Her effort to retain her self-control was piti-
868 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
ful. Then she broke down and cried, her head
on the back of a tall chair.
"It was my fault," she said wretchedly, "my
fault. I should not have sent them the word."
After a few minutes she grew quiet. She
seemed to hesitate over something, and finally
determined to say it.
"You will understand better, sir, when I say
that I was raised in the Harrington family.
Mr. Harrington was Mr. Sullivan's wife's
father!"
CHAPTER XXV
AT THE STATION
SO it hadjbeen the tiger, not the lady ! Well,
I/liad held to that theory all through. Jen
nie suddenly became a valuable person ; if neces
sary \she could prove the connection between Sul
livan \and the murdered man, and show a motive
for the crime. I was triumphant when Hotch-
kiss came in. When the girl had produced a
photograph of Mrs. Sullivan, and I had recog
nized the bronze-haired girl of the train, we were
both well satisfied which goes to prove the
ephemeral nature of most human contentments.
Jennie either had nothing more to say, or
feared she had said too much. She was evi
dently uneasy before Hotchkiss. I told her that .
Mrs. Sullivan was recovering in a Baltimore hos
pital, but she already knew it, from some source,
and merely nodded. She made a few prepara-
269
270 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
tions for leaving, while Hotchkiss and I com
pared notes, and then, with the cat in her arms,
she climbed into the trap from the town. I sat
with her, and on the way down she told me a
little, not much.
"If you see Mrs. Sullivan," she advised, "and
she 'is conscious, she probably thinks that both
her husband and her father were killed in the
wreck. She will be in a bad way, sir."
"You mean that she still cares about Her
husband?"
The cat crawled over on to my knee, and
rubbed its head against my hand invitingly.
Jennie stared at the undulating line of the
mountain crests, a colossal surf against a blue
ocean of sky. "Yes, she cares," she said softly.
"Women are made like that. They say they are
cats, but Peter there in your lap wouldn't come
,back and lick your hand if you kicked him. If
if you have to tell her the truth, be as gentle
as you can, sir. She has been good to me
that's why I have played the spy here all sum
mer. It's a thankless thing, spying on people."
"It is that," I agreed soberly.
AT THE STATION 271
Hotchkiss and I arrived in Washington late
that evening, and, rather than arouse the house
hold, I went to the club. I was at the office
early the next morning and admitted myself
McKnight rarely appeared before half after ten,
and our modest office force some time after nine.
I looked over my previous day's mail and waited,
with such patience as I possessed, for Mc
Knight. In the interval I called up Mrs. Klop-
tonxand announced that I would dine at home
that \mght. What my household subsists on
during my numerous absences I have never dis
covered. Tea, probably, and crackers. Dili
gent search when I have made a midnight ar
rival, never reveals anything more substantial.
Possibly I imagine it, but the announcement that
I am about to make a journey always seems to
create a general atmosphere of depression
throughout the house, as though Euphemia and
Eliza, and Thomas, the stableman, were already :
subsisting, in imagination, on Mrs. Klopton's
meager fare.
So I called her up and announced my arrival.
There was something unusual in her tone, as
S73 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
though her throat was tense with indignation.
Always shrill, her elderly voice rasped my ear
painfully through the receiver.
"I have changed the butcher, Mr. Lawrence,"
she announced portentously. "The last roast
was a pound short, and his mutton-chops any
self-respecting sheep would refuse to acknow
ledge them."
As I said before, I can always tell from the
voice in which Mrs. Klopton conveys the most
indifferent matters, if something of real sig
nificance has occurred. Also, through long habit,
I have learned how quickest to bring her to the
point.
"You are pessimistic this morning," I re
turned. "What's the matter, Mrs. Klopton?
You haven't used that tone since Euphemia
baked a pie for the iceman. What is it now?
Somebody poison the dog?"
She cleared her throat.
"The house has been broken into, Mr. Law
rence," she said. "I have lived in the best fami
lies, and never have I stood by and seen what I
saw yesterday every bureau drawer opened,
AT THE STATION 273
and my my most sacred belongings " she
choked.
"Did you notify the police?" I asked sharply.
"Police !" she sniffed. "Police ! It was the
,^
police that did it two detectives with a search
warrant. I I wouldn't dare tell you over the
telephone what one of them said when he found
th/ whisky and rock candy for my cough."
vDid they take anything?" I demanded, every
nerve^ on edge.
"They took the cough medicine," she returned
indignantly, "and they said "
"Confound the cough medicine !" I was fran-
**c. "Did they take anything else? Were they
in my dressing-room?"
"Yes. I threatened to sue them, and I told
them what you would do when you came back.
But they wouldn't listen. They took away that
black sealskin bag you brought home from Pitts-
burg with you !"
I knew then that my hours of freedom were
numbered. To have found Sullivan and then, in
support of my case against him, to have pro
duced the bag, minus the bit of chain, had been
274 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
my intention. But the police had the bag, and,
beyond knowing something of Sullivan's his
tory, I was practically no nearer his discovery
than before. Hotchkiss hoped he had his manf
in the house off Washington Circle, but on the
very night he had seen him Jennie claimed that
Sullivan had tried to enter the Laurels. Then
suppose we found Sullivan and proved the
satchel and its contents his? Since the police
had the bit of chain it might mean involving
Alison in the story. I sat down and buried my
face in my hands. There was no escape. I
figured it out despondingly.
Against me was the evidence of the survivors
of the Ontario that I had been accused of the
murder at the time. There had been blood-stains
on my pillow and a hidden dagger. Into the
bargain, in my possession had been found a
traveling-bag containing the dead man's pocket-
book.
In my favor was McKnight's theory against
Mrs. Conway. She had a motive for wishing to
secure the notes, she believed I was in lower ten,
AT THE STATION 275
and she had collapsed at the discovery of the
crime in the morning.
Against both of these theories, I accuse a
,';
f purely chimerical person named Sullivan, who
was not seen by any of the survivors save one,
Alison, whom I could not bring into the case. I
could/find a motive for his murdering his father-
in-Tiaw, whom he hated, but again I would have
tovdrag in the girl.
And not one of the theories explained the
telegram and the broken necklace.
Outside the office force was arriving. They
were comfortably ignorant of my presence, and
over the transom floated scraps of dialogue and
the stenographer's gurgling laugh. McKnight
had a relative, who was reading law with him,
in the intervals between calling up the young
women of his acquaintance. He came in sing
ing, and the office boy joined in with the uncer
tainty of voice of fifteen. I smiled grimly. I
was too busy with my own troubles to find any
joy in opening the door and startling them into
silence. I even heard, without resentment, Blobs
276 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
of the uncertain voice inquire when "Blake"
would be back.
I hoped McKnight would arrive before the
arrest occurred. There were many things to
arrange. But when at last, impatient of his de
lay, I telephoned, I found he had been gone for
more than an hour. Clearly he was not coming
directly to the office, and with such resignation
as I could muster I paced the floor and waited.
I felt more alone than I have ever felt in my
life. "Born an orphan," as Richey said, I had
made my own way, carved out myself such suc
cess as had been mine. I had built up my house
of life on the props of law and order, and now
some unknown hand had withdrawn the sup
ports, and I stood among ruins.
I suppose it is the maternal in a woman that
makes a man turn to her when everything else
fails. The eternal boy in him goes to have his
wounded pride bandaged, his tattered self-
respect repaired. If he loves the woman, he
wants her to kiss the hurt.
The longing to see Alison, always with me,
was stronger than I was that morning. It might
AT THE STATION 277
be that I would not see her again. I had noth
ing to say to her save one thing, and that, under
the cloud that hung over me, I did not dare to
say. But I wanted to see her, to touch her hand
as only a lonely man can crave it, I wanted
the comfert of her, the peace that lay in her
presence. And so, with every step outside the
door a threat, I telephoned to her.
She was gone! The disappointment was
greav for my need was great. In a fury of
revolt against the scheme of things, I heard that
she had started home to Richmond but that
she might still be caught at the station.
To see her had by that time become an obses
sion. I picked up my hat, threw open the door,
and, oblivious of the shock to the office force of
my presence, followed so immediately by my
exit, I dashed out to the elevator. As I went
down in one cage I caught a glimpse of John
son and tWo other men going up in the next. I
hardly gave them a thought. There was no
hansom in sight, and I jumped on a passing car.
Let come what might, arrest, prison, disgrace,
I was going to see Alison.
278 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
I saw her. I flung into the station, saw that
it was empty empty, for she was not there.
Then I hurried back to the gates. She was
there, a familiar figure in blue, the very gown
in which I always thought of her, the one she
had worn when, Heaven help me I had kissed
her, at the Carter farm. And she was not alone.
Bending over her, talking earnestly, with all his
boyish heart in his face, was Richey.
They did not see me, and I was glad of it.
After all, it had been McKnight's game first.
I turned on my heel and made my way blindly
out of the station. Before I lost them I turned
once and looked toward them, standing apart
from the crowd, absorbed in each other. They
were the only two people on earth that I cared
about, and I left them there together. Then I
went back miserably to the office and awaited
arrest.
CHAPTER XXVI
ON TO RICHMOND
TJJANGELY enough, I was not disturbed
that day. McKnight did not appear at all.
at my desk and transacted routine business
all Afternoon, working with feverish energy.
Like a man on the verge of a critical illness or
a hazardous journey, I cleared up my corre
spondence, paid bills until I had writer's cramp
from signing checks, read over my will, and
paid up my life insurance, made to the benefit of
an elderly sister of my mother's.
I no longer dreaded arrest. After that morn
ing in the station, I felt that anything would be
a relief from the tension. I went home with per
fect openness, courting the warrant that I knew
was waiting, but I was not molested. The delay
puzzled me. The early part of the evening was
uneventful. I read until late, with occasional
279
280 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
lapses, when my book lay at my elbow, and I
smoked and thought. Mrs. Klopton closed the
house with ostentatious caution, about eleven,
and hung around waiting to enlarge on the out-
rageousness of the police search. I did not en
courage her.
"One would think," she concluded pompously,
one foot in the hall, "that you were something
you oughtn't to be, Mr. Lawrence. They acted
as though you had committed a crime."
"I'm not sure that I didn't, Mrs. Klopton ; "
I said wearily. "Somebody did, and the general
verdict seems to point my way."
She stared at me in speechless indignation.
Then she flounced out. She came back once to
say that the paper predicted cooler weather, and
that she had put a blanket on my bed, but, to
her disappointment, I refused to reopen the sub
ject.
At half past eleven McKnight and Hotchkiss
came in. Richey has a habit of stopping his
car in front of the house and honking until some
one comes out. He has a code of signals with
the horn, which I never remember. Two long
ON TO RICHMOND 281
and a short blast mean, I believe, "Send out a
box of cigarettes," and six short blasts, which
sound like a police call, mean "Can you lend me
some money?" To-night I knew something was'
up, for he got out and rang the door-bell like a
Christian.
They/-cS.me into the library, and Hotchkiss
wiped his collar until it gleamed. McKnight
was I aggressively cheerful.
)t pinched yet !" he exclaimed. "What do
you think of that for luck ! You always were a
fortunate devil, Lawrence."
"Yes," I assented, with some bitterness, "I
hardly know how to contain myself for joy
sometimes. I suppose you know" to Hotch
kiss "that the police were here while we were
at Cresson, and that they found the bag that I
brought from the wreck?"
"Things are coming to a head," he said
thoughtfully, "unless a little plan that I have in
mind " he hesitated.
"I hope so; I am pretty nearly desperate," I
said doggedly. "I've got a mental toothache,
and the sooner it's pulled the better."
282 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Tut, tut," said McKnight, "think of the
disgrace to the firm if its senior member goes
up for life, or " he twisted his handkerchief
into a noose, and went through an elaborate pan
tomime.
"Although jail isn't so bad, anyhow," he fin
ished, "there are fellows that get the habit and
keep going back and going back." He looked
at his watch, and I fancied his cheerfulness was
strained. Hotchkiss was nervously fumbling my
book.
"Did you ever read The Purloined Letter,
Mr. Blakeley? 5 ' he inquired.
"Probably, years ago," I said. "Poe, isn't
it?"
He was choked at my indifference. "It is a
masterpiece," he said, with enthusiasm. "I re
read it to-day."
"And what happened?"
"Then I inspected the rooms in the house off
Washington Circle. I I made some discoveries,
Mr. Blakeley. For one thing, our man there is
left-handed." He looked around for our ap
proval. "There was a small cushion on the
ON TO RICHMOND 283
dresser, and the scarf pins in it had been stuck
in with the left hand."
"Somebody may have twisted the cushion," I
objected, but he looked hurt, and I desisted.
"There is only one discrepancy," he admitted,
"but it troubles me. According to Mrs. Carter,
at the/farm-house, our man wore gaudy pa
jamas, while I found here only the most severely
plain night-shirts."
"Any buttons off?" McKnight inquired, look
ing again at his watch.
"The buttons were there," the amateur de
tective answered gravely, "but the buttonhole
next the top one was torn through."
McKnight winked at me furtively.
"I am convinced of one thing," Hotchkiss
went on, clearing his throat, "the papers are not
in that room. Either he carries them with him,
or he has sold them."
A sound on the street made both my visitors
listen sharply. Whatever it was it passed on,
however. I was growing curious and the re
straint was telling on McKnight. He has no
talent for secrecy. In the interval we discussed
284 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
the strange occurrence at Cresson, which lost
nothing by Hotchkiss' dry narration.
"And so," he concluded, "the woman in the
Baltimore hospital is the wife of Henry Sulli
van and the daughter of the man he murdered.
No wonder he collapsed when he heard of the
wreck."
"Joy, probably," McKnight put in. "Is that
clock right, Lawrence? Never mind, it doesn't
matter. By the way, Mrs. Conway dropped in
the office yesterday, while you were away."
"What !" I sprang from my chair.
"Sure thing. Said she had heard great things
of us, and wanted us to handle her case against
the railroad."
"I would like to know what she is driving at,"
I reflected. "Is she trying to reach me through
you?"
Richey's flippancy is often a cloak for deeper
feeling. He dropped it now. "Yes," he said,
"she's after the notes, of course. And I'll tell
you I felt like a poltroon whatever that may
be when I turned her down. She stood by the
door with her face white, and told me contemptu-
ON TO RICHMOND 285
ously that I could save you from a murder
charge and wouldn't do it. She made me feel
like a cur. I was just as guilty as if I could
have obliged her. She hinted that there were
reasons and she laid my attitude to beastly mo
tives."
"Nofisense," I said, as easily as I could.
Hotehkiss had gone to the window. "She was
excitfed. There are no 'reasons,' whatever she
means.'
Richey put his hand on my shoulder. "We've
been together too long to let any 'reasons' or
*unreasons' come between us, old man," he said,
not very steadily.
Hotchkis??, who had been silent, here came for
ward in his most impressive manner. He put
his hands under his coat-tails and coughed.
"Mr. Blakeley," he began, "by Mr. Mc-
Knight's advice we have arranged a little inter
view here to-night. If all has gone as I planned, (
Mr. Henry Pinckney Sullivan is by this time
under arrest. Within a very few minutes he
will be here."
"I wanted to talk to him before he was locked
286 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
up," Richey explained. "He's clever enough to
be worth knowing, and, besides, I'm not so cock
sure of his guilt as our friend the Patch on the
Seat of Government. No murderer worthy of
the name needs six different motives for the same
crime, beginning with robbery, and ending with
an unpleasant father-in-law."
We were all silent for a while. McKnight
stationed himself at a window, and Hotchkiss
paced the floor expectantly. "It's a great day
for modern detective methods," he chirruped.
"While the police have been guarding houses
and standing with their mouths open waiting
for clues to fall in and choke them, we have
pieced together, bit by bit, a fabric "
The door-bell rang, followed immediately by
sounds of footsteps in the hall. McKnight
threw the door open, and Hotchkiss, raised on
his toes, flung out his arm in a gesture of su
perb eloquence.
"Behold your man!" he declaimed.
Through the open doorway came a tall, blond
fellow, clad in light gray, wearing tan shoes,
and followed closely by an officer.
ON TO RICHMOND 287
"I brought him here as you suggested, Mr.
McKnight," said the constable.
But McKnight was doubled over the library
table in silent convulsions of mirth, and I was*
almost as bad. Little Hotchkiss stood up, his
important attitude finally changing to one of
chagrin, while the blond man ceased to look
angjry, and became sheepish.
ItN^as Stuart, our confidential clerk for the
last half-dozen years !
McKnight sat up and wiped his eyes.
"Stuart," he said sternly, "there are two very
serious things we have learned about you. First,
you jab your scarf pins into your cushion with
your left hand, which is most reprehensible;
second, you wear er night-shirts, instead of
pajamas. Worse than that, perhaps, we find
that one of them has a buttonhole torn out at the
neck."
Stuart was bewildered. He looked from Mc
Knight to me, and then at the crestfallen Hotch
kiss.
"I haven't any idea what it's all about," he
said. "I was arrested as I reached my boarding-
288 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
house to-night, after the theater, and brought
directly here. I told the officer it was a rais-
,take."
Poor Hotchkiss tried bravely to justify the
fiasco.
"You can not deny," he contended, "that Mr.
Andrew Bronson followed you to your rooms
last Monday evening."
Stuart looked at us and flushed.
"No, I don't deny it," he said, "but there was
nothing criminal about it, on my part, at least.
Mr. Bronson has been trying to induce me to
secure the forged notes for him. But I did not
even know where they were."
"And you were not on the wrecked Washing
ton Flier?" persisted Hotchkiss. But Mc-
Knight interfered.
"There is no use trying to put the other man's
identity on Stuart, Mr. Hotchkiss," he protest
ed. "He has been our confidential clerk for six
years, and has not been away from the office a
day for a year. I am afraid that the beautiful
fabric we have pieced out of all these scraps is
going to be a crazy quilt." His tone was face-
ON TO RICHMOND S89
tious, but I could detect the undercurrent of
real disappointment.
I paid the constable for his trouble, and he
departed. Stuart, still indignant, left to go
back to Washington Circle. He shook hands
with Mcknight and myself magnanimously, but
he Kurled a look of utter hatred at Hotchkiss,
sunlt crestfallen in his chair.
as I can see," said McKnight dryly,
we're exactly as far along as we were the day
we met at the Carter place. We're not a step
nearer to finding our man/'
"We have one thing that may be of value," I
suggested. "He is the husband of a bronze-
haired woman at Van Kirk's hospital, and it is
just possible we may trace him through her. I
hope we are not going to lose your valuable co
operation, Mr. Hotchkiss ?" I asked.
He roused at that to feeble interest. "I oh,
of course not, if you still care to have me, I I
was wondering about the man who just went
out, Stuart, you say? I told his landlady to
night that he wouldn't need the room again. I
hope she hasn't rented it to somebody else."
290 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
We cheered him as best we could, and I sug
gested that we go to Baltimore the next day and
try to find the real Sullivan through his wife.
He left sometime after midnight, and Riche}'
and I were alone.
He drew a chair near the lamp and lighted a
cigarette, and for a time we were silent. I was
in the shadow, and I sat back and watched him.
It was not surprising, I thought, that she cared
for him : women had always loved him, perhaps
because he always loved them. There was no
disloyalty in the thought: it was the lad's na
ture to give and crave affection. Only I was
different. I had never really cared about a girl
before, and my life had been singularly love
less. I had fought a lonely battle always. Once
before, in college, we had both laid ourselves and
our callow devotions at the feet of the same girl.
Her name was Dorothy I had forgotten the
rest but I remembered the sequel. In a spirit
of quixotic youth I had relinquished my claim
in favor of Richey and had gone cheerfully on
my way, elevated by my heroic sacrifice to a
somber, white-hot martyrdom. As is often the
ON TO RICHMOND 291
nse, McKnight's first words showed our paral
lel lines of thought.
"I say, Lollie," he asked, "do you remember
'Dorothy Browne?" Browne, that was it!
"Dorothy Browne?" I repeated. "Oh why
yes, I .recall her now. Why ?"
"Nothing," he said. "I was thinking about
her.l That's all. You remember you were crazy
about 4ier, and dropped back because she pre
ferred me?"
"I got out," I said with dignity, "because
you declared you would shoot yourself if she
didn't go with you to something or other!"
"Oh, why yes, I recall now!" he mimicked.
He tossed his cigarette in the general direction
of the hearth and got up. We were both a little
conscious, and he stood with his back to me,
fingering a Japanese vase on the mantel.
"I was thinking," he began, turning the vase
around, "that, if you feel pretty well again, and
and ready to take hold, that I should like to
go away for a week or so. Things are fairly
well cleaned up at the office."
"Do you mean you are going to RicK-
292 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
mond?" I asked, after a scarcely perceptible
pause. He turned and faced me, with his hands
thrust in his pockets.
"No. That's off, Lollie. The Seiberts are
going for a week's cruise along the coast. I
the hot weather has played hob with me and the
cruise means seven days' breeze and bridge."
I lighted a cigarette and offered him the box,
but he refused. He was looking haggard and
suddenly tired. I could not think of anything
to say, and neither could he, evidently. The mat
ter between us lay too deep for speech.
"How's Candida?" he asked.
'"Martin says a month, and she will be all
right," I returned, in the same tone. He picked
up his hat, but he had something more to say.
He blurted it out, finally, half way to the door.
"The Seiberts are not going for a couple of
<3ays," he said, "and if you want a day or so
off to go down to Richmond yourself "
"Perhaps I shall," I returned, as indifferently
as I could. "Not going yet, are you ?"
"Yes. It is late." He drew in his breath as
if he had something more to say, but the im-
ON TO RICHMOND 293
pulse passed. "Well, good night," he said from
the doorway.
"Good night, old man."
The next moment the outer door slammed and
I heard the engine of the Cannonball throbbing
in the street. Then the quiet settled down
around me again, and there in the lamplight I
dreaWd dreams. I was going to see her.
Suddenly- the idea of being shut away, even
temporarily, from so great and wonderful a
worlrl became intolerable. The possibility of ar
rest before I could get to Richmond was hideous,
the night without end.
I made my escape the next, morning through
the stable back of the house, and then, by de
vious dark and winding ways, to the office.
There, after a conference with Blobs, whose
features fairly jerked with excitement, I double-
locked the door of my private office and finished
off some imperative work. By ten o'clock I
was free, and for the twentieth time I consulted
my train schedule. At five minutes after ten,
with McKnight not yet in sight, Blobs knocked
at the door, the double rap we had agreed upon,
294 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
and on being admitted slipped in and quietly
closed the door behind him. His eyes were
glistening with excitement, and a purple dab of
typewriter ink gave him a peculiarly villainous
and stealthy expression.
"They're here," he said, "two of 'em, and that
crazy Stuart wasn't on, and said you were some
where in the building."
A door slammed outside, followed by steps on
the uncarpeted outer office.
"This way," said Blobs, in a husky undertone,
and, darting into a lavatory, threw open a door
that I had always supposed locked. Thence
into a back hall piled high with boxes and past
the presses of a bookbindery to the freight ele
vator.
Greatly to Blobs' disappointment, there was
no pursuit. I was exhilarated but out of breatK
when we emerged into an alleyway, and the sharp
daylight shone on Blobs' excited face.
"Great sport, isn't it?" I panted, dropping a
(dollar into his palm, inked to correspond with
his face. "Regular walk-away 5n the hundred-
yard dash."
ON TO RICHMOND 29*
"Gimme two dollars more and I'll drop 'em
down the elevator shaft," he suggested fero
ciously. I left him there with his blood-thirsty
schemes, and started for the station. I had a
tendency to look behind me now and then, but
I readied the station unnoticed. The afternoon
was hot, the train rolled slowly along, stopping
to pant at sweltering stations, from whose roofs
the healKTose in waves. But I noticed these
things objectively, not subjectively, for at the
end of the j ourney was a girl with blue eyes and
dark brown hair, hair that could had I not seen
it? hang loose in bewitching tangles or be
twisted into little coils of delight.
CHAPTER XXVH
THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STABS
I TELEPHONED as soon as I reached my
hotel, and I had not known how much I had
hoped from seeing her until I learned that she
was out of town. I hung up the receiver, al
most dizzy with disappointment, and it was
fully five minutes before I thought of calling up
again and asking if she was within telephone
reach. It seemed she was down on the bay stay
ing with the Samuel Forbeses.
Sammy Forbes! It was a name to conjure
with just then. In the old days at college I had
rather flouted him, but now I was ready to take
him to my heart. I remembered that he had al
ways meant well, anyhow, and that he was ex
plosively generous. I called him up.
"By the fumes of gasoline!" he said, when I
told him who I was. "Blakeley, the Fount of
296
THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STARS 297
Wisdom against Woman! Blakeley, the Great
Unkissed ! Welcome to our city !"
Whereupon he proceeded to urge me to come
down to the Shack, and to say that I was an
agreeable surprise, because four times in two
hou^s youths had called up to ask if Alison
Westvwas stopping with him, and to suggest
that they-Jmd a vacant day or two.
"Oh Miss West !" I shouted politely, there
was a buzzing on the line. "Is she there?"
Sam had no suspicions. Was not I in his
mind always the Great Unkissed? which sounds
like the Great Unwashed and is even more of a
reproach. He asked me down promptly, as I
had hoped, and thrust aside my objections.
"Nonsense," he said. "Bring yourself. The
lady that keeps my boarding-house is calling to
me to insist. You remember Dorothy, don't
you, Dorothy Browne? She says unless you
have lost your figure you can wear my clothes \
all right. All you need here is a bathing suit
for daytime and a dinner coat for evening."
"It sounds cool," I temporized. "If you are
sure I won't put you out very well, Sam, since
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
you and your wife are good enough. I have a
couple of days free. Give my love to Dorothy
jmtil I can do it myself."
Sam met me himself and drove me out to the
Shack, which proved to be a substantial house
overlooking the water. On the way he con
fided to me that lots of married men thought
they were contented when they were merely re
signed, but that it was the only life, and that
Sam, Junior, could swim like a duck. Inci
dentally, he said that Alison was his wife's
cousin, their respective grandmothers having, at
proper intervals, married the same man, and that
Alison would lose her good looks if she was not
careful.
"I say she's worried, and I stick to it," he
said, as he threw the lines to a groom and pre
pared to get out. "You know her, and she's
the kind of girl you think you can read like a
^book. But you can't ; don't tool yourself. Take
a good look at her at dinner, Blake; you won't
lose your head like the other fellows and then
tell me what's wrong with her. We're mighty
fond of Allie."
THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STARS 299
He went ponderously up the steps, for Sam
had put on weight since I knew him. At the
door he turned around. "Do you happen to
know the MacLure's at Seal Harbor?" he asked
irrelevantly, but Mrs. Sam came into the hall
just then, both hands out to greet me, and,
whatevexForbes had meant to say, he did not
pick up the subject again.
"We are having tea in here," Dorothy said
gaily, indicating the door behind her. "Tea by
courtesy, because I think tea is the only bever
age that isn't represented. And then we must
dress, for this is hop night at the club."
"Which is as great a misnomer as the tea,"
Sam put in, ponderously struggling out of his
linen driving coat. "It's bridge night, and the
only hops are in the beer."
He was still gurgling over this as he took me
up-stairs. He showed me my room himself, and
then began the fruitless search for evening rai
ment that kept me home that night from the
club. For I couldn't wear Sam's clothes. That
was clear, after a perspiring seance of a half
hour.
300 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"I won't do it, Sam," I said, when I had
draped his dress-coat on me toga fashion.
"Who am I to have clothing to spare, like this,
when many a poor chap hasn't even a cellar door
to cover him. I won't do it ; I'm selfish, but not
that selfish."
"Lord," he said, wiping his face, "how you've
kept your figure ! I can't wear a belt any more ;
got to have suspenders."
He reflected over his grievance for some time,
sitting on the side of the bed. "You could go
as you are," he said finally. "We do it all the
time, only to-night happens to be the annual
something or other, and " he trailed off into
silence, trying to buckle my belt around him.
"A good six inches," he sighed. "I never get
into a hansom cab any more that I don't expect
to see the horse fly up in the air. Well, Allie
, isn't going either. She turned down Granger
this afternoon, the Annapolis fellow you met on
the stairs, pigeon-breasted chap and she al
ways gets a headache on those occasions."
He got up heavily and went to the door.
"Granger is leaving," he said, "I may be able to
THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STARS 301
get his dinner coat for you. How well do you
know her?" he asked, with his hand on the knob.
"If you mean Dolly ?"
"Alison."
"Fairly well," I said cautiously. "Not as
well as\T would like to. I dined with her last
week in Washington. And I knew her before
that."
Forbes touched a bell instead of going out,
and told the servant who answered to see if Mr.
Granger's suit-case had gone. If not, to bring
it across the hall. Then he came back to his
former position on the bed.
"You see, we feel responsible for Allie near
relation and all that," he began pompously.
"And we can't talk to the people here at the
house all the men are in love with her, and all
the women are jealous. Then there's a lot of
money, too, or will be."
"Confound the money!" I muttered. "That
is nothing. Razor slipped."
"I can tell you," he went on, "because you
don't lose your head over every pretty face
although Allie is more than that, of course. But
S02 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
about a month ago she went away to Seal Hai?"
bor, to visit Janet MacLure. Know her?"
"No."
"She came home to Richmond yesterday, and
then came down here Allie, I mean. And yes
terday afternoon Dolly had a letter from Janet
something about a second man and saying
she was disappointed not to have had Alison
there, that she had promised them a two weeks'
visit! What do you make of th\t? And that
isn't the worst. Allie herself wasn't in the room,
but there were eight other women, and because
Dolly had put belladonna in her eyes the night
before to see how she would look, and as a result
couldn't see anything nearer than across the
room, some one read the letter aloud to her, and
the whole story is out. One of the cats told
Granger and the boy proposed to Allie to-day,
to show her he didn't care a tinker's dam where
she had been."
"Good boy !" I said, with enthusiasm. I liked
the Granger fellow since he was out of the
running. But Sam was looking at me with sus
picion*
THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STARS 303
"Blake," he said, if I didn't know you for
what you are, I'd say you were interested there
yourself."
I
Being so near her, under the same roof, with
i
even the tie of a dubious secret between us, was
making Vejieady. I pushed Forbes toward the
doer.
"I interested !" I retorted, holding him by the
shoulders. "There isn't a word in your vocabu
lary to fit my condition. I am an island in a
sunlit sea of emotion, Sam, a an empty place
surrounded by longing a "
"An empty place surrounded by longing!"
he retorted. "You want your dinner, that's
what's the matter with you "
I shut the door on him then. He seemed sud
denly sordid. Dinner, I thought! Although, as
a matter of fact, I made a very fair meal when,
Granger's suit-case not having gone, in his coat
and some other man's trousers, I was finally fit
for the amenities. Alison did not come down to
dinner, so it was clear she would not go over to
the club-house dance. I pled my injured arm,
and a fictitious, vaguely located sprain from tho
304 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
wreck, as an excuse for remaining at home.
Sam regaled the table with accounts of my dis
trust of women, my one love affair with Doro
thy ; to which I responded, as was expected, that
only my failure there had kept me single all
these years, and that if Sam should be mys
teriously missing during the bathing hour to
morrow, and so on.
And when the endless meal was over, and
yards of white veils had been tied over pounds
of hair or is it, too, bought by the yard?
and some eight ensembles with their abject com
plements had been packed into three automo
biles and a trap, I drew a long breath and faced
about. I had just then only one object in life
to find Alison, to assure her of my absolute
faith and confidence in her, and to offer my help
and my poor self, if she would let me, in her
service.
She was not easy to find. I searched the lower
floor, the verandas and the grounds, circum
spectly. Then I ran into a little English girl
who turned out to be her maid, and who also
was searching. She was concerned because her
THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STARS SOS
mistress had had no dinner, and because the
tray of food she carried would soon be cold. I
took th</ tray from her, on the glimpse of some
thing white on the shore, and that was how I
met the Girl again.
She was sitting" on an over-turned boat, her
chin in her hands, staring out to sea. The soft
tide of the bay lapped almost at her feet, and
the draperies of her white gown melted hazily
into the sands. She looked like a wraith, a de
spondent phantom of the sea, although the ad
jective is redundant. Nobody ever thinks of a
cheerful phantom. Strangely enough, consider
ing her evident sadness, she was whistling softly
to herself, over and over, some dreary little
minor air that sounded like a Bohemian dirge.
She glanced up quickly when I made a misstep
and my dishes jingled. All considered, the tray
was out of the picture: the sea, the misty star
light, the girl, with her beauty even the sad
little whistle that stopped now and then to go
bravely on again, as though it fought against
the odds of a trembling lip. And then I came,
accompanied by a tray of little silver dishes that
306 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
jingled and an unmistakable odor of broiled
chicken !
"Oh!" she said quickly; and then, "Oh! I
thought you were Jenkins."
"Timeo Danaos what's the rest of it?" I
asked, tendering my offering. "You didn't
have any dinner, you know." I sat down beside
her. "See, I'll be the table. What was the old
fairy tale? 'Little goat bleat: little table ap
pear!' I'm perfectly willing to be the goat,
too."
She was laughing rather tremulously.
"We never do meet like other people, do we?"
she asked. "We really ought to shake hands
and say how are you."
"I don't want to meet you like other people,
and I suppose you always think of me as wear
ing the other fellow's clothes," I returned
meekly. "I'm doing it again : I don't seem to be
able to help it. These are Granger's that I have
on now."
She threw back her head and laughed again,
joyously, this time.
"Oh, it's so ridiculous," she said, "and you
THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STARS
have never seen me when I was not eatipg ! Jt'i
too prosaic !"
"Which reminds me that the chicleen is get-
tin^cold, ahd the ice warm," I sugg^ted. "At
the time, I thought there could be no place bet
ter than the farm-house kitchen b;j,t this is. I
ordered all this for something I want to say to
jou the sea, the sand, the stars."
"How alliterative you are!" she aaid, trying
to be flippant. "You are not to sty -anything
until I have had my supper. Look how the
things are spilled around!"
But she ate nothing, after all, and pretty
soon I put the tray down in the sand. I said
little; there was no hurry. We were together,
and time meant nothing against that age-long
wash of the sea. The air blew her hair in small
damp curls against her face, and little by little
the tide retreated, leaving our boat an oasis in
a waste of gray sand.
"If seven maids with seven mops swept it foi
half a year
Do you suppose, the walrus said, that they ^
get it clear?"
308 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
she threw at me once when she must have known
I was going to speak. I held her hand, and as
long as I merely held it she let it lie warm in
mine. But when I raised it to my lips, and
kissed the soft, open palm, she drew it away
without displeasure.
"Not that, please," she protested, and fell to
whistling softly again, her chin in her hanis.
"I can't sing," she said, to break an awkward
pause, "and so, when I'm fidgety, or have some
thing on my mind, I whistle. I hope you don't
dislike it?"
"I love it," I asserted warmly. I did; when
she pursed her lips like that I was mad to kiss
them.
"I saw you at the station," she said sud
denly. "You you were in a hurry to go." I
did not say anything, and alter a pause she
drew a long breath. "Men are queer, aren't
they ?" she said, and fell to whistling again.
After a while she sat up as if she had made a
resolution. "I am going to confess something,"
she announced suddenly. "You said, you know,
that you had ordered all this for something you
THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STARS 309
you wantectto say to me. But the fact is, I
fixed it/all came here, I mean, because I knew
ould come, and I had something to tell
you. It was such a miserable thing I needed
the accessories to help me out."
"I don't want to hear anything that dis
tresses you to tell," I assured her. "I didn't
come here to force your confidence, Alison. I
came because I couldn't help it." She did not
object to my use of her name.
"Have you found the your papers?" she
asked, looking directly at me for almost the first
time.
"Not yet. We hope to."
"The police have not interfered with you?"
"They haven't had any opportunity," I
equivocated. "You needn't distress yourself
about that, anyhow."
"But I do. I wonder why you still believe in
me? Nobody else does."
"I wonder," I repeated, "why I do !"
"If you produce Harry Sullivan," she was
saying, partly to herself, "and if you could
connect him with Mr. Bronson, and get a full
310 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
account of *,rhy he was on the train, and all that,
it it would help, wouldn't it?"
I acknowledged that it would. Now that the
whole truth was almost in my possession, I was
stricken with the old cowardice. I did not want
to know what she might tell me. The yellow
line on the horizon, where the moon was coming
up, was a broken bit of golden chain: my heel
in the sand was again pressed on a woman's
yielding fingers: I pulled myself together with
a jerk.
"In order that what you tell me may help me,
if it will," I said constrainedly, "it would be
necessary, perhaps, that you tell it to the police.
Since they have found the end of the neck
lace"
"The end of the necklace!" she repeated
slowly. "What about the end of the necklace ?"
I stared at her. "Don't you remember" I
leaned forward "the end of the cameo neck
lace, the part that was broken off, and was found
in the black sealskin bag, stained with with
blood?"
"Blood," she said dully. "You mean that
you found the broken end? And then you had
my old pocket-book, and you saw the necklace
in it, aii(3 you must have thought "
"I didn't think anything," I hastened to as
sure her. "I tell you, Alison, I never thought
of anything but that you were unhappy, and
that I had no right to help you. God knows, I
thought you didn't want me to help you."
She held out her hand to me and I took it be
tween both of mine. No word of love had passed
between us, but I felt that she knew and under
stood. It was one of the moments that come
seldom in a lifetime, and then only in great
crises, a moment of perfect understanding and
trust.
Then she drew her hand away and sat, erect
and determined, her fingers laced in her lap. As
she talked the moon came up slowly and threw
its bright pathway across the water. Back of
us, in the trees beyond the sea wall, a sleepy bird
chirruped drowsily, and a wave, larger and
bolder than its brothers, sped up the sand,
bringing the moon's silver to our \ery feet. I
bent toward the girl.
812 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"I am going to ask just one question."
"Anything you like." Her voice was almost
dreary.
"Was it because of anything you are going
to tell me that you refused Richey?"
She drew her breath in sharply.
"No," she said, without looking at me. "No.
That was not the reason."
SHE told her story evenly, with her eyes on
the water, only now and then, when I, too,
sat looking seaward, I thought she glanced at
me furtively. And once, in the middle of it, sha
etopped altogether.
"You don't realize it, probably," she pro
tested, "but you look like a a war god. Your
face is horrible.'*
"I will turn my back, if it will help any," I
said stormily, "but if you expect me to look
anything but murderous, why, you don't know
what I am going through with. That's all."
The story of her meeting with the Curtis
woman was brief enough. They had met ir>
Rome first, where Alison and her mother had
taken a villa for a year. Mrs. Curtis had hov
ered on the ragged edges of society there,
313
814 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
pleading the poverty of the south since the war
as a reason for not going out more. There was
talk of a brother, but Alison had not seen him,
and after a scandal which implicated Mrs. Cur
tis and a young attache of the Austrian em
bassy, Alison had been forbidden to see the
woman.
"The women had never liked her, anyhow,"
she said. "She did unconventional things, and
they are very conventional there. And they said
she did not always pay her her gambling debts.
I didn't like them. I thought they didn't like her
because she was poor and popular. Then we
came home, and I almost forgot her, but last
spring, when mother was not well she had taken
grandfather to the Riviera, and it always uses
her up we went to Virginia Hot Springs, and
we met them there, the brother, too, this time. His
name was Sullivan, Harry Pinckney Sullivan."
"I know. Go on."
"Mother had a nurse, and I was alone a great
deal, and they were very kind to me. I I saw
a lot of them. The brother rather attracted
me, partly partly because he did not make love
.v
ALISON'S STOR
to me. He even seemed to avoid me, and I was
piqued. I had been spoiled, I suppose. Most
of the other men I knew had had "
"I know that, too," I said bitterly, and moved
away from her a trifle. I was brutal, but the
whole story was a long torture. I think she
knew what I was suffering, for she showed no re
sentment.
"It was early and there were few people
around none that I cared about. And mother
and the nurse played cribbage eternally, until
I felt as though the little pegs were driven
into my brain. And when Mrs. Curtis arranged
drives and picnics, I I slipped away and went.
I suppose you won't believe me, but I had never
done that kind of thing before, and I well, I
have paid up, I think."
"What sort of looking chap was Sullivan?"
I demanded. I had got up and was pacing back
and forward on the sand. I remember kicking
savagely at a bit of water-soaked board that lay
in my way.
"Very handsome as large as you are, but
fair, and even more erect."
816 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
I drevr my shoulders up sharply. I am
straight enough, but I was fairly sagging with
jealous rage.
"When mother began to get around, some
body told her that I had been going about with
Mrs. Curtis and her brother, and we had a dread
ful time. I was dragged home like a bad child.
Did anybody ever do that to you ?"
"Nobody ever cared. I was born an orphan,"
I said, with a cheerless attempt at levity. "Go
on."
"If Mrs. Curtis knew, she never said any
thing. She wrote me charming letters, and in
the summer, when they went to Cresson, she
asked me to visit her there. I was too proud to
let her know that I could not go where I wished,
and so I sent Polly, my maid, to her aunt's
in the country, pretended to go to Seal Harbor,
and really went to Cresson. You see I warned
you it would be an unpleasant story."
I went over and stood in front of her. All the
accumulated jealousy of the last few weeks had
been fired by what she told me. If Sullivan
had come across the sands just then, I think I
ALISON'S STORY 817
would have strangled him with my hands, out of
pure hate.
"Did you marry him?" I demanded. My voice
sounded hoarse and strange in my ears. "That's
all I want to know. Did you marry him?"
"No."
I drew a long breath,
"You cared about him?"
She hesitated.
"No," she said finally. "I did not care about
him."
I sat down on the edge of the boat and
mopped my hot face. I was heartily ashamed
of myself, and mingled with my abasement was
a gre+ relief. If she had not married him, and
had not cared for him, nothing else was of any
importance.
"I was sorry, of course, the moment the train
had started, but I had wired I was coming, and
I could not go back, and then when I got there,
the place was charming. There were no neigh
bors, but we fished and rode and motored, and
it was moonlight, like this."
I put my hand over both of hers, clasped in
her lap. "I know," I acknowledged repent
antly, "and people do queer things when it is
moonlight. The moon has got me to-night,
Alison. If I am a boor, remember that, won't
you?"
Her fingers lay quiet under mine. "And so,"
she went on with a little sigh, "I began to
think perhaps I cared. But all the time I felt
that there was something not quite right. Now
and then Mrs. Curtis would say or do something
that gave me a queer start, as if she had
dropped a mask for a moment. And there was
trouble with the servants; they were almost in
solent. I couldn't understand. I don't know
when it dawned on me that the old Baron Caval-
canti had been right when he said they were not
my kind of people. But I wanted to get away,
wanted it desperately."
"Of course, they were not your kind," I cried.
"The man was married! The girl Jennie, a
housemaid, was a spy in Mrs. Sullivan's em
ploy. If he had pretended to marry you I would
have killed him! Not only that, but the man
he murdered, Harrington, was his wife's father.
ALISON'S STORY 319
And I'll see him hang by the neck yet if it takes
every energy and every penny I possess."
I could have told her so much more gently,
have broken the shock for her; I have never^
been proud of that evening on the sand. I was
alternately a boor and a ruffian like a hurt
youngster who passes the blow that has hurt
him on to his playmate, that both may bawl to
gether. And now Alison sat, white and cold,
without speech.
"Married!" she said finally, in a small voice.
"Why, I don't think it is possible, is it? I I
was on my way to Baltimore to marry him my
self, when the wreck came."
"But you said you didn't care for him!" I
protested, my heavy masculine mind unable to
jump the gaps in her story. And then, without
the slightest warning, I realized that she was
crying. She shook off my hand and fumbled
for her handkerchief, and failing to find it, she
accepted the one I thrust into her wet fingers.
Then, little by little, she told me from the
handkerchief, a sordid story of a motor trip in
the mountains without Mrs. Curtis, of a lost
320 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
road and a broken car, and a rainy night when
they she and Sullivan, tramped eternally and
did not get home. And of Mrs. Curtis, when
they got home at dawn, suddenly grown con
ventional and deeply shocked. Of her own
proud, half-disdainful consent to make possible
the hackneyed compromising situation by marry
ing the rascal, and then of his disappearance
from the train. It was so terrible to her, such
a Heaven-sent relief to me, in spite of my rage
against Sullivan, that I laughed aloud. A%
which she looked at me over the handkerchief.
"I know it's funny," she said, with a catch in
her breath. "When I think that I nearly mar
ried a murderer and didn't I cry for sheer
joy." Then she buried her face and cried again.
"Please don't," I protested unsteadily. "I
won't be responsible if you keep on crying like
that. I may forget that I have a capital
charge hanging over my head, and that I may
be arrested at any moment."
That brought her out of the handkerchief at
once. "I meant to be so helpful," she said, "and
I've thought of nothing but myself 1 There
ALISON'S STORY
were some things I meant to tell you. If Jennie
was what you say, then I understand why she
^came to me just before I left. She had been
[packing my things and she must have seen what
condition I was in, for she came over to me when
I was getting my wraps on, to leave, and said,
'Don't do it, Miss West, I beg you won't do it ;
you'll be sorry ever after.' And just then Mrs.
Curtis came in and Jennie slipped out."
"That was all?"
"No. As we went through the station the
telegraph operator gave Har Mr. Sullivan a
message. He read it on the platform, and it
excited him terribly. He took his sister aside
and they talked together. He was white with
either fear or anger I don't know which.
Then, when we boarded the train, a woman in
black, with beautiful hair, who was standing
on the car platform, touched him on the arm and
then drew back. He looked at her and glanced
away again, but she reeled as if he had struck
her."
"Then what?" The situation was growing
clearer.
822 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Mrs. Curtis and I had the drawing-room,
I had a dreadful night, just sleeping a little no^i
and then. I dreaded to see dawn come. It was
to be my wedding-day. When we found Harry
had disappeared in the night, Mrs. Curtis was
in a frenzy. Then I saw his cigarette case in
your hand. I had given it to him. You wore
his clothes. The murder was discovered and
you were accused of it ! What could I do ? And
then, afterward, when I saw him asleep at the
farm-house, I I was panic-stricken. I locked
him in and ran. I didn't know why he did it,
but he had killed a man."
Some one was calling Alison through a mega
phone, from the veranda. It sounded like Sam.
"All-ee," he called. "All-eel I'm going to have
some anchovies on toast ! All-eel" Neither of us
heard.
"I wonder," I reflected, "if you would bo
willing to repeat a part of that story justj
from the telegram on to a couple of detectives,
ay on Monday. If you would tell that, and
how the end of your necklace got into the seal-
akin bag "
ALISON'S STORY 323
"My necklace!" she repeated. "But it isn't
mine. I picked it up in the car."
"All-ee!" Sam again. "I see you down there.
.I'm making a julep!"
Alison turned and called through her hands. ,
"Coming in a moment, Sam," she said, and rose.
"It must be very late: Sam is home. We would
better go back to the house."
"Don't," I begged her. "Anchovies and ju
leps and Sam will go on for ever, and I have you
such a little time. I suppose I am only one of
a dozen or so, but you are the only girl in the
world. You know I love you, don't you, dear?"
Sam was whistling, an irritating bird call,
over and over. She pursed her red lips and an
swered him in kind. It was more than I could
endure.
"Sam or no Sam," I said firmly, "I am going
to kiss you !"
But Sam's voice came strident through the
megaphone, "Be good, you two," he bellowed,
"I've got the binoculars!" And so, under fire,
we walked sedately back to the house. My pulses
were throbbing the little swish of her dress be-
824. THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
side me on the grass was pain and ecstasy. 1
had but to put out my hand to touch her, and
I dared not.
Sam, armed with a megaphone and field
glasses, bent over the rail and watched us with
gleeful malignity.
"Home early, aren't you?" Alison called, when
we reached the steps.
"Led a club when my partner had doubled no-
trumps, and she fainted. Damn the heart con
vention!" he said cheerfully. "The others are
not here yet."
Three hours later I went up to bed. I had
not seen Alison alone again. The noise was at
its height below, and I glanced down into the
garden, still bright in the moonlight. Leaning
against a tree, and staring interestedly into the
billiard room, was Johnson.
CHAPTER XXIX
IN THE DINING-ROOM
THAT was Saturday night, two weeks after
the wreck. The previous five days had
been full of swift-following events the woman
in the house next door, the picture in the theater
of a man about to leap from, the doomed train,
the dinner at the Dallases, and Richey's discov
ery that Alison was the girl in the case. In
quick succession had come our visit to the Carter
place, the finding of the rest of the telegram, my
seeing Alison there, and the strange interview
with Mrs. Conway. The Cresson trip stood out
in my memory for its serio-comic horrors and its
one real thrill. Then the discovery by the
police of the sealskin bag and the bit of chain;
Hotchkiss producing triumphantly Stuart for
Sullivan and his subsequent discomfiture; Mc-
Knight at the station with Alison, and later
the confession that he was out of the running.
325
'826 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
And yet, when I thought it all over, the entire
week and its events were two sides of a triangle
that was narrowing rapidly to an apex, a point.
And the said apex was at that moment in the
drive below my window, resting his long legs by
sitting on a carriage block, and smoking a pipe
that made the night hideous. The sense of the
ridiculous is very close to the sense of tragedy.
I opened my screen and whistled, and Johnson
looked up and grinned. We said nothing. I held
up a handful of cigars, he extended his hat, and
when I finally went to sleep, it was to a soothing
breeze that wafted in salt air and a faint aroma
of good tobacco. I was thoroughly tired, but I
slept restlessly, dreaming of two detectives with
Pittsburg warrants being held up by Hotchkiss
at the point of a splint, while Alison fastened
their hands with a chain that was broken and
much too short. I was roused about dawn by a
light rap at the door, and, opening it, I found j
Forbes, in a pair of trousers and a pa jama coat.
He was as pleasant as most fleshy people are
when they have to get up at night, and he said
the telephone had been ringing for an hour, and
IN THE DINING-ROOM 827
he didn't know why somebody else in the blank-
ety-blank Louse couldn't have heard it. He
wouldn't get to sleep until noon.
As he was palpably asleep on his feet, I left
him grumbling and went to the telephone. It
proved to be Richey, who had found me by the
simple expedient of tracing Alison, and he was
jubilant.
"You'll have to come back," he said. "Got a
railroad schedule there ?"
"I don't sleep with one in my pocket," I re
torted, "but if you'll hold the line I'll call out the
window to Johnson. He's probably got one."
"Johnson !" I could hear the laugh with
which McKnight comprehended the situation.
He was still chuckling when I came back.
"Train to Richmond at six-thirty A. M.," I
said. "What time is it now ?"
"Four. Listen, Lollie. We've got him. Do
you hear? Through the woman at Baltimore.
Then the other woman, the lady of the restau
rant" he was obviously avoiding names "she
is playing our cards for us. No I don't know
why, and I don't care. But you be at the Incu-
328 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
bator to-night at eight o'clock. If you can't
shake Johnson, bring him, bless him."
To this day I believe the Sam Forbeses have
not recovered from the surprise of my unexpect- ,
ed arrival, nry one appearance at dinner in Gran
ger's clothes, and the note on my dresser which
informed them the next morning that I had
folded my tents like the Arabs and silently stolen
away. For at half after five Johnson and I, the
former as uninquisitive as ever, were on our way
through the dust to the station, three miles away,
and by four that afternoon we were in Washing
ton. The journey had been uneventful. John
son relaxed under the influence of my tobacco,
and spoke at some length on the latest improve
ments in gallows, dilating on the absurdity of
cutting out the former free passes to see the
affair in operation. I remember, too, that he
mentioned the curious anomaly that permits a
man about to be hanged to eat a hearty meal. I
did not enjoy my dinner that night.
Before we got into Washington I had made
an arrangement with Johnson to surrender my
self at two the following afternoon. Also, I
IN THE DINING-ROOM 329
had wired to Alison, asking her if she would
carry out the contract she had made. The de
tective saw me home, and left me there.
Mrs. Klopton received me with dignified re-j
serve. The very tone in which she asked me
when I would dine told me that something was
wrong.
"Now what is it, Mrs. Klopton?" I demand
ed finally, when she had informed me, in a patient
and long-suffering tone, that she felt worn out
and thought she needed a rest.
"When I lived with Mr. Justice Springer," she
began acidly, her mending-basket in her hands,
"it was an orderly, well-conducted household.
You can ask any of the neighbors. Meals were
cooked and, what's more, they were eaten; there
was none of this 'here one day and gone the next*
business."
"Nonsense," I observed. "You're tired, that's
all, Mrs. Klopton. And I wish you would go
out ; I want to bathe."
"That's not all," she said with dignity, 'from
the doorway. "Women coming and going here,
women whose shoes I am not fit I mean, women
who are not fit to touch my shoes coming here
as insolent as you please, and asking for you."
"Good heavens !" I exclaimed. "What did you
tell them her, whichever it was ?"
"Told her you were sick in a hospital and
wouldn't be out for a year !" she said triumph
antly. "And when she said she thought she'd
come in and wait for you, I slammed the door on
her."
"What time was she here ?"
"Late last night. And she had a light-haired
man across the street. If she thought I didn't
see him, she don't know me." Then she closed
the door and left me to my bath and my reflec
tions.
At five minutes before eight I was at the Incu
bator, where I found Hotchkiss and McKnighL
They were bending over a table, on which lay
McKnight's total armament a pair of pistols,
,an elephant gun and an old cavalry saber.
"Draw up a chair and help yourself to pie,"
he said, pointing to the arsenal. "This is for the
benefit of our friend Hotchkiss here, who says he
ie a small man and fond of life."
IN THE DINING-ROOM 881
Hotchkiss, who had been trying to get; the
end of a cartridge into the barrel of one
of the revolvers, straightened himself and
mopped his face.
"We have desperate people to handle," he said
pompously, "and we may need desperate means."
"Hotchkiss is like the small boy whose one am
bition was to have people grow ashen and tremble
at the mention of his name," McKnight jibed.
But they were serious enough, both of them,
under it all, and when they had told me what
they planned, I was serious, too.
"You're compounding a felony," I remon
strated, when they had explained. "I'm not
eager to be locked away, but, by Jove, to offer
her the stolen notes in exchange for Sullivan !"
"We haven't got either of them, you know,"
McKnight remonstrated, "and we won't have, if
we don't start. Come along, Fido," to Hotch
kiss.
The plan was simplicity itself. 'According to
Hotchkiss, Sullivan was to meet Bronson at Mrs.
Conway's apartment, at eight-thirty that night,
with the notes. He was to be paid there and the
papers destroyed. "But just before that inter
esting finale," McKnight ended, "we will walk in,
take the notes, grab Sullivan, and give the police*
a jolt that will put them out of the count."
I suppose not one of us, slewing around cor
ners in the machine that night, had the faintest
doubt that we were on the right track, or that
Fate, scurvy enough before, was playing into
our hands at last. Little Hotchkiss was in a
state of fever; he alternately twitched and ex
amined the revolver, and a fear that the two
movements might be synchronous kept me un
easy. He produced and dilated on the scrap of
pillow slip from the wreck, and showed me the
stiletto, with its point in cotton batting for
safekeeping. And in the intervals he implored
Richey not to make such fine calculations at the
corners.
We were all grave enough and very quiet,
jhowever, when we reached the large building
where Mrs. Conway had her apartment. Mc
Knight left the power on, in case we might want
to make a quick get-away, and Hotchkiss gave
a final look at the revolver. I had no weapon.
IN THE DINING-ROOM 3,33
Somehow it all seemed melodramatic to the verge
of farce. In the doorway Hotchkiss was a half
dozen feet ahead; Richey fell back beside me.
He dropped his affectation of gayety, and I
thought he looked tired. "Same old Sam, I sup
pose ?" he asked.
"Same, only more of him."
"I suppose Alison was there? How is she?"
he inquired irrelevantly.
"Very well. I did not see her this morning."
Hotchkiss was waiting near the elevator. Mc-
Knight put his hand on my arm. "Now, look
here, old man," he said, "I've got two arms and a
revolver, and you've got one arm and a splint.
If Hotchkiss is right, and there is a row, you
crawl under a table."
"The deuce I will !" I declared scornfully.
We crowded out of the elevator at the fourth
floor, and found ourselves in a rather theatrical
hallway of draperies and armor. It was very^
quiet; we stood uncertainly after the car had
gone, and looked at the two or three doors in
sight. They were heavy, covered with metal, and
sound proof. From somewhere above came the
834 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
metallic accuracy of a player-piano, and
through the open window we could hear or feel
the throb of the Cannonball's engine.
"Well, Sherlock," McKnight said, "what's the
next move in the game? Is it our jump, or
theirs ? You brought us here."
None of us knew just what to do next. No
sound of conversation penetrated the heavy
doors. We waited uneasily for some minutes,
and Hotchkiss looked at his watch. Then he put
it to his ear.
"Good gracious!" he exclaimed, his head
cocked on one side, "I believe it has stopped. I'm
afraid we are late."
We were late. My watch and Hotchkiss'
agreed at nine o'clock, and, with the discovery
that our man might have come and gone, our
zest in the adventure began to flag. McKnight
motioned us away from the door and rang the
bell. There was no response, no sound within.
He rang it twice, the last time long and vigor
ously, without result. Then he turned and looked
at us.
"I don't half like this," he said. "That
IN THE DINING-ROOM 333
woman is in ; you heard me ask the elevator boj.
For two cents I'd "
I had seen it when he did. The door was ajar
about an inch, and a narrow wedge of rose-;
colored light showed beyond. I pushed the door
a little and listened. Then, with both men at
my heels, I stepped into the private corridor of
the apartment and looked around. It was a
square reception hall, with rugs on the floor, a
tall mahogany rack for hats, and a couple of
chairs. A lantern of rose-colored glass and a
desk light over a writing-table across made the
room bright and cheerful. It was empty.
None of us was comfortable. The place was
full of feminine trifles that made us feel the
weakness of our position. Some such instinct
made McKnight suggest division.
"We look like an invading army," he said.
"If she's here alone, we will startle her into a
spasm. One of us could take a look aroundj
and"
"What was that? Didn't you hear some
thing?"
The sound, whatever it had been, wa not re-
336 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
peated. We went awkwardly out into the hall,
very uncomfortable, all of us, and flipped a
coin. The choice fell to me, which was right
Jenough, for the affair was mine, primarily.
"Wait just inside the door," I directed, "and
if Sullivan comes, or anybody that answers his
description, grab him without ceremony and ask
him questions afterwards."
The apartment, save in the hallway, was un-
lighted. By one of those freaks of arrangement
possible only in the modern flat, I found the
kitchen first, and was struck a smart and unex
pected blow by a swinging door. I carried a
handful of matches, and by the time I had passed
through a butler's pantry and a refrigerator
room I was completely lost in the darkness.
Until then the situation had been merely uncom
fortable ; suddenly it became grisly. From some
where near came a long-sustained groan, fol
lowed almost instantly by the crash of some
thing glass or china on the floor.
I struck a fresh match, and fo'_;id myself in
a narrow rear hallway. Behind me was the door
by which I must have come; with a keen desire
IN THE DINING-ROOM 337
to get back to the place I had started from, I
opened the door and attempted to cross the room.
I thought I had kept my sense of direction, but
I crashed without warning into what, from the
resulting jangle, was the dining-table, probably
laid for dinner. I cursed my stupidity in get
ting into such a situation, and I cursed my
nerves for making my hand shake when I tried
to strike a match. The groan had not been
repeated.
I braced myself against the table and struck
the match sharply against the sole of my shoe.
It flickered faintly and went out. And then,
without the slightest warning, another dish went
off the table. It fell with a thousand splinter-
ings; the very air seemed broken into crashing
waves of sound. I stood still, braced against the
table, holding the red end of the dying match,
and listened. I had not long to wait ; the groan
came again, and I recognized it, the cry of a dog
in straits. I breathed again.
"Come, old fellow," I said. "Come on, old
man. Let's have a look at you."
I could hear the thud of his tail on the floor,
338 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
but he did not move. He only whimpered
There is something companionable in the pres
ence of a dog, and I fancied this dog in trouble.
Slowly I began to work my way around the table
toward him.
"Good boy," I said, as he whimpered. "We'll
find the light, which ought to be somewhere o
other around here, and then
I stumbled over something, and I drew back
my foot almost instantly. "Did I step on you,
old man?" I exclaimed, and bent to pat him. I
remember straightening suddenly and hearing
the dog pad softly toward me around the table.
I recall even that I had put the matches down and
could not find them. Then, with a bursting
horror of the room and its contents, of the gib
bering dark around me, I turned and made foa
the door by which I had entered.
I could not find it. I felt along the endless
wainscoting, past miles of wall. The dog was
beside me, I think, but he was part and parcel
now, to my excited mind, with the Thing under
the table. And when, after aeons of search, 1
found a knob and stumbled into the reception
IN THE DINING-ROOM 339
hall, I was as nearly in a panic as any man
could be.
I was myself again in a second, and by the
flight from the hall I led the way back to the
tragedy I had stumbled on. Bronson still sat
at the table, his elbows propped on it, his cigar
ette still lighted, burning a hole in the cloth.
Partly under the table lay Mrs. Conway, face
down. The dog stood over her and wagged his
tail.
McKnight pointed silently to a large copper
ash-tray, filled with ashes and charred bits of
paper.
"The notes, probably," he said ruefully. "He
got them after all, and burned them before her.
It was more than she could stand. Stabbed him
first and then herself."
Hotchkiss got up and took off his hat. "They
are dead," he announced solemnly, and took his
note-book out of his hatband.
McKnight and I did the only thing we could
think of drove Hotchkiss and the dog out of
the room, and closed and locked the door. "It's
a matter for the police," McKnight asserted
340 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"I suppose you've got an officer tied to you soipe-
where, Lawrence ? You usually have."
We left Hotchldss in charge and went down
stairs. It was McKnight who first saw Johnson,
leaning against a park railing across the street,
and called him over. We told him in a few words
what we had found, and he grinned at me cheer-
fully.
"After while, in a few weeks or months, Mr.
Blakeley," he said, "when you get tired of
monkeying around with the blood-stain and fin
ger-print specialist up-stairs, you come to me.
I've had that fellow you want under surveillance
for ten days !"
CHAPTER XXX
FINER DETAILS
AT ten minutes before two the following day,
Monday, I arrived at my office. I had
spent the morning putting my affairs in shape,
and in a trip to the stable. The afternoon would
see me either a free man or a prisoner for an in
definite length of time, and, in spite of John
son's promise to produce Sullivan, I was more
prepared for the latter than the former.
Blobs was watching for me outside the door,
and it was clear that he was in a state of excite
ment bordering on delirium. He did nothing,
however, save to tip me a wink that meant "As
man to man, I'm for you." I was too much en
grossed either to reprove him or return the
courtesy, but I heard him follow me down the
hall to the small room where we keep outgrown
law books, typewriter supplies and, incidentally,
341
THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
our wraps. I was wondering vaguely if I would
ever hang my hat on its nail again, when the
door closed behind me. It shut firmly, without
any particular amount of sound, and I was leffe
in the dark. I groped my way to it, irritably,
to find it locked on the outside. I shook it fran
tically, and was rewarded by a sibilant whisper
through the keyhole.
"Keep quiet," Blobs was saying huskily.
"You're in deadly peril. The police are waiting
in your office, three of 'em. I'm goin* to lock the
whole bunch in and throw the key out of the
window."
"Come back here, you imp of Satan !" I called
furiously, but I could hear him speeding down
the corridor, and the slam of the outer office door
by which he always announced his presence.
And so I stood there in that ridiculous cupboard,
hot with the heat of a steaming September day,
musty with the smell of old leather bindings,
littered with broken overshoes and handleless
umbrellas. I was apoplectic with rage one min
ute, and choked with laughter the next. It
seemed an hour before Blobs came back.
FINER DETAILS 343
He came without haste, strutting with new
dignity, and paused outside my prbon door.
"Well, I guess that will hold \ hem for a while,"
he remarked comfortably, and proceeded to turn
the key. "I've got 'em fastened up lit',- sardines
in a can !" he explained, working TV;C)I the lock.
"Gee whiz ! you'd ought to hear 'en { i" When he
got his breath after the shaking I gave him, he
began to splutter. "How'd I know?" he de
manded sulkily. "You nearly broke your neck
gettin' away the other time. And I haven't got
the old key. It's lost."
"Where's it lost?" I demanded, with another
gesture toward his coat collar.
"Down the elevator shaft." There was a
gleam of indignant satisfaction through his tears
of rage and humiliation.
And so, while he hunted the key in the debris
at the bottom of the shaft, I quieted his prisoners
with the assurance that the lock had slipped, and
that they would be free as lords as soon as we
could find the janitor with a pass-key. Stuart
went down finally and discovered Blobs, with the
key in his pocket, telling the engineer how he
344 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
had tried to save me from arrest and failed.
When Stuart came up he was almost cheerful,
but Blobs did not appear again that day.
Simultaneous with the finding of the key came
Hotchkiss, and we went in together. I shook
hands with two men who, with Hotchkiss, made
a not very animated group. The taller one, an
oldish man, lean and hard, announced his errand
at once.
"A Pittsburg warrant?" I inquired, unlock
ing my cigar drawer.
"Yes. Allegheny County has assumed juris
diction, the exact locality where the crime was
committed being in doubt." He seemed to be
the spokesman. The other, shorter and rotund,
kept an amiable silence. "We hope you will see
the wisdom of waiving extradition," he went on.
"It will save time."
"I'll come, of course," I agreed. "The sooner
the better. But I want you to give me an hour
here, gentlemen. I think we can interest you.
Have a cigar?"
The lean man took a cigar; the rotund man
took three, putting two in his pocket.
FINER DETAILS
"How about the catch of that door?" he in
quired jovially. "Any danger of it going off
again?" Really, considering the circumstances,
they were remarkably cheerful. Hotchkiss, how
ever, was not. He paced the floor uneasily, his
hands under his coat-tails. The arrival of Mc-
Knight created a diversion; he carried a long
package and a corkscrew, and shook hands with
the police and opened the bottle with a single
gesture.
"I always want something to cheer on these
occasions," he said. "Where's the water, Blake-
ley? Everybody ready?" Then in French he
toasted the two detectives.
"To your eternal discomfiture," he said, bow
ing ceremoniously. "May you go home and
never come back ! If you take Monsieur Blake-
ley with you, I hope you choke."
The lean man nodded gravely. "Prosit," he
said. But the fat one leaned back and laughed]
consumedly.
Hotchkiss finished a mental synopsis of his
position, and put down his glass. "Gentlemen,"
he said pompously, "within five minutes the man
846 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
you want will be here, a murderer caught in a
net of evidence so fine that a mosquito could not
, -jet through."
The detectives glanced at each other solemnly.
Had they not in their possession a sealskin bag
containing a wallet and a bit of gold chain,
which, by putting the crime on me, would leave
a gap big enough for Sullivan himself to crawl
through ?
"Why don't you say your little speech before
Johnson brings the other man, Lawrence?" Mc-
Knight inquired. "They won't believe you, but
it will help them to understand what is coming."
"You understand, of course," the lean man put
in gravely, "that what you say may be used
against you."
"I'll take the risk," I answered impatiently.
It took some time to tell the story of my worse
than useless trip to Pittsburg, and its sequel.
, They listened gravely, without interruption.
"Mr. Hotchkiss here," I finished, "believes
that the man Sullivan, whom we are momentarily
expecting, committed the crime. Mr. McKnight
is inclined to implicate Mrs. Conway, who
FINER DETAILS 347
stabbed Bronson and then herself last night. As
for myself, I am open to conviction."
"I hope not," said the stout detective quiz
zically. And then Alison was announced. My
impulse to go out and meet her was forestalled
by the detectives, who rose when I did. Mc-
Knight, therefore, brought her in, and I met her
at the door.
"I have put you to a great deal of trouble," I
said contritely, when I saw her glance around
the room. "I wish I had not "
"It is only right that I should come," she re
plied, looking up at me. "I am the unconscious
cause of most of it, I am afraid. Mrs. Dallas is
going to wait in the outer office."
I presented Hotchkiss and the two detectives,
who eyed her with interest. In her poise, her
beauty, even in her gown, I fancy she represent
ed a new type to them. They remained standing
until she sat down.
"I have brought the necklace," she began,
holding out a white-wrapped box, "as you asked
me to."
I passed it, unopened, to the detectives. "The
848 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN!
necklace from which was broken the fragment
you found in the sealskin bag," I explained
"Miss West found it on the floor of the car, near
i
lower ten."
"When did you find it?" asked the lean de
tective, bending forward.
"In the morning, not long before the wreck."
"Did you ever see it before ?"
"I am not certain," she replied. "I have seen
one very much like it." Her tone was troubled.
She glanced at me as if for help, but I was pow
erless.
"Where?" The detective was watching her
closely.
At that moment there came an interruption.
The door opened without ceremony, and Johnson
ushered in a tall, blond man, a stranger to all of
us. I glanced at Alison ; she was pale, but com
posed and scornful. She met the new-comer's
eyes full, and, caught unawares, he took a hasty;
backward step.
"Sit down, Mr. Sullivan," McKnight beamed
cordially. "Have a cigar? I beg your pardon,
[Alison, do you mind this smoke?"
'FINER DETAILS 849
''Not at all," she said composedly. Sullivan
had had a second to sound his bearings.
"No no, thanks," he mumbled. "If you will
be good enough to explain "
"But that's what you're to do," McKnight
said cheerfully, pulling up a chair. "You've got
the most attentive audience you could ask. These
two gentlemen are detectives from Pittsburg,
and we are all curious to know the finer details
of what happened on the car Ontario two weeks
ago, the night your father-in-law was mur
dered." Sullivan gripped the arms of his chair.
"We are not prejudiced, either. The gentlemen
from Pittsburg are betting on Mr. Blakeley,
over there. Mr. Hotchkiss, the gentleman by
the radiator, is ready to place ten to one odds on
you. And some of us have still other theories."
"Gentlemen," Sullivan said slowly, "I give you
my word of honor that I did not kill Simon Har
rington, and that I do not know who did."
"Fiddlededee !" cried Hotchkiss, bustling for
ward. "Why, I can tell you " But McKnight
pushed him firmly into a chair and held him
there.
850 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"I am ready to plead guilty to the larceny,"
Sullivan went on. "I took Mr. Blakeley's
clothes, I admit. If I can reimburse him in any
way for the inconvenience "
The stout detective was listening with his
mouth open. "Do you mean to say," he de
manded, "that you got into Mr. Blakeley's berth,
as he contends, took his clothes and forged notes,
and left the train before the wreck ?"
"Yes."
"The notes, then?"
"I gave them to Bronson yesterday. Much
good they did him !" bitterly. We were all silent
for a moment. The two detectives were adjust
ing themselves with difficulty to a new point of
view; Sullivan was looking dejectedly at the
floor, his hands hanging loose between his knees.
I was watching Alison ; from where I stood, be
hind her, I could almost touch the soft hair
I behind her ear.
"I have no intention of pressing any charge
against you," I said with forced civility, for my
hands were itching to get at him, "if you will
FINER DETAILS 351
give us a clear account of what happened on the
Ontario that night."
Sullivan raised his handsome, haggard head
and looked around at me. "I've seen you before,
haven't I?" he asked. "Weren't you an unin
vited guest at the Laurels a few days or nights
ago? The cat, you remember, and the rug
that slipped?"
"I remember," I said shortly. He glanced
from me to Alison and quickly away.
"The truth can't hurt me," he said, "but it's
devilish unpleasant. Alison, you know all this.
You would better go out."
His use of her name crazed me. I stepped in
front of her and stood over him. "You will not
bring Miss West into the conversation," I
threatened, "and she will stay if she wishes."
"Oh, very well," he said with assumed indif
ference.
Hotchkiss just then escaped from Richey'fc,
grasp and crossed the room.
"Did you ever wear glasses?" he asked
eagerly.
352 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Never." Sullivan glanced with some con
tempt at mine.
"I'd better begin by going back a little," he
j went on sullenly. "I suppose you know I was
married to Ida Harrington about five years ago.
She was a good girl, and I thought a lot of her.
But her father opposed the marriage he'd
never liked me, and he refused to make any sort
of settlement.
"I had thought, of course, that there would
be money, and it was a bad day when I found out
I'd made a mistake. My sister was wild with
disappointment. We were pretty hard up, my
sister and I."
I was watching Alison. Her hands were
tightly clasped in her lap, and she was staring
out of the window at the cheerless roof below.
She had set her lips a little, but that was all.
"You understand, of course, that I'm not de-
(f ending myself," went on the sullen voice. "The
day came when old Harrington put us both out
of the house at the point of a revolver, and I
threatened I suppose you know that, too I
threatened to kill him.
FINER DETAILS 853
"My sister and I had hard times after that.
We lived on the continent for a while. I was at
Monte Carlo and she was in Italy. She met a
young lady there, the granddaughter of a steel
manufacturer and an heiress, and she sent for
me. When I got to Rome the girl was gone.
Last winter I was all in social secretary to an
Englishman, a wholesale grocer with a new title,
but we had a row, and I came home. I went out
to the Heaton boys' ranch in Wyoming, and met
Bronson there. He lent me money, and I've been
doing his dirty work ever since."
Sullivan got up then and walked slowly for
ward and back as he talked, his eyes on the faded
pattern of the office rug.
"If you want to live in hell," he said savagely,
"put yourself in another man's power. Bronson
got into trouble, forging John Gilmore's name
to those notes, and in some way he learned that
a man was bringing the papers back to Wash
ington on the Flier. He even learned the num
ber of his berth, and the night before the wreck,
just as I was boarding the train, I got a tele
gram,"
354 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
Hotchkiss stepped forward once more im
portantly.
"Which read, I think: 'Man with papers in
lower ten, car seven. Get them.' '
Sullivan looked at the little man with sulky
blue eyes.
"It was something like that, anyhow. But it
was a nasty business, and it made matters worse
that he didn't care that a telegram which must
pass through a half dozen hands was more or
less incriminating to me.
"Then, to add to the unpleasantness of my
position, just after we boarded the train I was
accompanying my sister and this young lady,
Miss West a woman touched me on the sleeve,
and I turned to face my wife !
"That took away my last bit of nerve. I told
my sister, and you can understand she was in a
bad way, too. We knew what it meant. Ida had
heard that I was going "
He stopped and glanced uneasily at Alison.
"Go on," she said coldly. "It is too late to
me. The time to have done that was when
M_S your guest."
FINER DETAILS 855
<c Well," he went on, his eyes turned carefully
away from my face, which must have presented
certainly anything but a pleasant sight. "Miss
West was going to do me the honor to marry me,
and"
"You scoundrel!" I burst forth, thrusting
past Alison West's chair. "You you infernal
cur!"
One of the detectives got up and stood be
tween us.
"You must remember, Mr. Blakeley, that you
are forcing this story from this man. These
details are unpleasant, but important. You were
going to marry this young lady," he said, turn
ing to Sullivan, "although you already had a
wife living?"
"It was my sister's plan, and I was in a bad
way for money. If I could marry, secretly, a
wealthy girl and go to Europe, it was unlikely
.that Ida^-that is, Mrs. Sullivan would hear
of it.
"So it was more than a shock to see my wife
on the train, and to realize from her face that
she knew what was going on. I don't know yet,
356 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
unless some of the servants well, never mind
that.
"It meant that the whole thing had gone up.
Old Harrington had carried a gun for me for
years, and the same train wouldn't hold both of
us. Of course, I thought that he was in the
coach just behind ours."
Hotchkiss was leaning forward now, his eyes
narrowed, his thin lips drawn to a line.
"Are you left-handed, Mr. Sullivan?" he
asked.
Sullivan stopped in surprise.
"No," he said gruffly. "Can't do anything
with my left hand." Hotchkiss subsided, crest
fallen but alert. "I tore up that cursed tele
gram, but I was afraid to throw the scraps away.
Then I looked around for lower ten. It was
almost exactly across my berth was lower
seven, and it was, of course, a bit of exceptional
luck for me that the car was number seven."
"Did you tell your sister of the telegram from
Bronson?" I, asked.
"No. It would do no good, and she was in ft
bad way without that to make her worse."
FINER DETAILS 35T
"Your sister was killed, I think." The shorter
detective took a small package from his pocket
and held it in his hand, snapping the rubber
band which held it.
"Yes, she was killed," Sullivan said soberly.
"What I say now can do her no harm."
He stopped to push back the heavy hair which!
dropped over his forehead, and went on more
connectedly.
"It was late, after midnight, and we went at
once to our berths. I undressed, and then I lay
there for an hour, wondering how I was going
to get the notes. Some one in lower nine was
restless and wide awake, but finally became quiet. v
"The man in ten was sleeping heavily. I
could hear his breathing, and it seemed to be
only a question of getting across and behind the
curtains of his berth without being seen. After
that, it was a mere matter of quiet searching.
"The car became very still. I was about to try
for the other berth, when some one brushed softlj
past, and I lay back again.
"Finally, however, when things had been quiet
for a time, I got up, and after looking along the
358 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
aisle, I slipped behind the curtains of lower ten.
You understand, Mr. Blakeley, that I thought
you were in lower ten, with the notes."
I nodded curtly.
"I'm not trying to defend myself," he went
on. "I was ready to steal the notes I had to.
But murder !"
He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
"Well, I slipped across and behind the cur
tains. It was very still. The man in ten didn't
move, although my heart was thumping until I
thought he would hear it.
"I felt around cautiously. It was perfectly
dark, and I came across a bit of chain, about as
long as my finger. It seemed a queer thing to
find there, and it was sticky, too."
He shuddered, and I could see Alison's hands
clenching and unclenching with the strain.
"All at once it struck me that the man was
strangely silent, and I think I lost my nerve.
Anyhow, I drew the curtains open a little, and
let the light fall on my hands. They were red,
blood-red."
He leaned one hand on the back of the chair,
FINER DETAILS 359
and was silent for a moment, as though he lived
over again the awful events of that more than
lawful night.
The stout detective had let his cigar go out;
he was still drawing at it nervously. Richey had
picked up a paper-weight and was tossing it
from hand to hand; when it slipped and fell to
the floor, a startled shudder passed through the
room.
"There was something glittering in there,"
Sullivan resumed, "and on impulse I picked it
up. Then I dropped the curtains and stumbled
back to my own berth."
"Where you wiped your hands on the bed-
clothing and stuck the dirk into the pillow."
Hotchkiss was seeing his carefully built struc
ture crumbling to pieces, and he looked cha
grined.
"I suppose I did I'm not very clear about
what happened then. But when I rallied a little
I saw a Russia leather wallet lying in the aisle
almost at my feet, and, like a fool, I stuck it,
with the bit of chain, into my bag.
"I sat there, shivering, for what seemed
360 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
hours. It was still perfectly quiet, except for
some one snoring. I thought that would drive
me crazy.
"The more I thought of it the worse things I
looked. The telegram was the first thing against
me it would put the police on my track at once,
when it was discovered that the man in lower ten
had been killed.
"Then I remembered the notes, and I took out
the wallet and opened it."
He stopped for a minute, as if the recalling of
the next occurrence was almost beyond him.
"I took out the wallet," he said simply, "and,
opening it, held it to the light. In gilt letters
was the name, Simon Harrington."
The detectives were leaning forward now, their
eyes on his face.
"Things seemed to whirl around for a while.
I sat there almost paralyzed, wondering what
this new development meant for me.
"My wife, I knew, would swear I had killed
her father ; nobody would be likely to believe the
truth.
"Do you believe me now?" He looked around
FINER DETAILS 361
at us defiantly. "I am telling the absolute truth,
and not one of you believes me !
"After a bit the man in lower nine got up and
walked along the aisle toward the smoking com- j
partment. I heard him go, and, leaning from
my berth, watched him out of sight.
"It was then I got the idea of changing berths
with him, getting into his clothes, and leaving
the train. I give you my word I had no idea of
throwing suspicion on him."
Alison looked scornfully incredulous, but I
felt that the man was telling the truth.
"I changed the numbers of the berths, and it
worked well. I got into the other man's berth^
and he came back to mine. The rest was easy.
I dressed in his clothes luckily, they fitted
and jumped the train not far from Baltimore,
just before the wreck."
"There is something else you must clear up,"
I said. "Why did you try to telephone me from
M , and why did you change your mind
about the message?"
He looked astounded.
"You knew I was at M ?" he stammered.
362 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"Yes, we traced you. What about the mes
sage?"
"Well, it was this way: of course, I did not
know your name, Mr. Blakcley. The telegram
said, 'Man with papers in lower ten, car seven,'
and after I had made what I considered my es
cape, I began to think I had left the man in my
berth in a bad way.
"He would probably be accused of the crime.
So, although when the wreck occurred I sup
posed every one connected with the affair had
been killed, there was a chance that you had
survived. I've not been of much account, but I
didn't want a man to swing because I'd left him
in my place. Besides, I began to have a theory
of my own.
"As we entered the car a tall, dark woman
passed us, with a glass of water in her hand, and
I vaguely remembered her. She was amazingly
like Blanche Conway.
"If she, too, thought the man with the notes
was in lower ten, it explained a lot, including
that piece of a woman's necklace. She was a
jfury, Blanche Conway, capable of anything/'
FINER DETAILS 868
z< Then why did you countermand that mes
sage ?" I asked curiously.
"When I got to the Carter house, and got to
bed I had sprained my ankle in the jump I
went through the alligator bag I had taken from
lower nine. When I found your name, I sent the
first message. Then, soon after, I came across
the notes. It seemed too good to be true, and I
was crazy for fear the message had gone.
"At first I was going to send them to Bron-
eon ; then I began to see what the possession of
the notes meant to me. It meant power over
Bronson, money, influence, everything. He was
a devil, that man."
"Well, he's at home now," said McKnight, and
we were glad to laugh and relieve the tension.
Alison put her hand over her eyes, as if to
shut out the sight of the man she had so nearly
married, and I furtively touched one of the soft,
little curls that nestled at the back of her neck.
"When I was able to walk," went on the sullen
voice, "I came at once to Washington. I tried
to sell the notes to Bronson, but he was almost
at the end of his rope. Not even my threat to
364 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
send them back to you, Mr. Blakeley, could make
him meet my figure. He didn't have the money."
McKnight was triumphant.
"I think you gentlemen will see reason in my
theory now," he said. "Mrs. Conway wanted the
notes to force a legal marriage, I suppose ?"
"Yes."
The detective with the small package carefully
rolled off the rubber band, and unwrapped it. I
held my breath as he took out, first, the Russia
leather wallet.
"These things, Mr. Blakeley, we found in the
sealskin bag Mr. Sullivan says he left you.
This wallet, Mr. Sullivan is this the one you
found on the floor of the car ?"
Sullivan opened it, and, glancing at the name
inside, "Simon Harrington," nodded affirma
tively.
"And this," went on the detective "this is a
1 piece of gold chain ?"
"It seems to be," said Sullivan, recoiling at the
blood-stained end.
"This, I believe, is the dagger." He held it
up, and Alison gave a faint cry of astonishment
FINER DETAILS 365
and dismay. Sullivan's face grew ghastly, and
he sat down weakly on the nearest chair.
The detective looked at him shrewdly, then at
Alison's agitated face.
"Where have you seen this dagger before,
young lady ?" he asked, kindly enough.
"Oh, don't ask me!" she gasped breathlessly,
her eyes turned on Sullivan. "It's it's too terri
ble!"
"Tell him," I advised, leaning over to her. "It
will be found out later, anyhow."
"Ask him," she said, nodding toward Sullivan.
The detective unwrapped the small box Alison
had brought, disclosing the trampled necklace
and broken chain. With clumsy fingers he
spread it on the table and fitted into place the
.bit of chain. There could be no doubt that it
belonged there.
"Where did you find that chain?" Sullivan
asked hoarsely, looking for the first time at
Alison.
"On the floor, near the murdered man's berth."
"Now, Mr. Sullivan," said the detective civilly,
"I believe you can tell us, in the light of these
two exhibits, who really did murder Simon Har
rington."
Sullivan looked again at the dagger, a sharp
' little bit of steel with a Florentine handle. Then
he picked up the locket and pressed a hidden
spring under one of the cameos. Inside, very
neatly engraved, was the name and a date.
"Gentlemen," he said, his face ghastly, "it is
of no use for me to attempt a denial. The dag
ger and necklace belonged to my sister, Alice
Curtis!"
CHAPTER XXXI
AND ONLY ONE AEM
HOTCHKISS was the first to break the
tension.
"Mr. Sullivan," he asked suddenly, "was your
sister left-handed?"
"Yes."
Hotchkiss put away his note-book and looked
around with an air of triumphant vindication.
It gave us a chance to smile and look relieved.
After all, Mrs. Curtis was dead. It was the
happiest solution of the unhappy affair. Mc-
Knight brought Sullivan some whisky, and he
braced up a little.
"I learned through the papers that my wife
was in a Baltimore hospital, and yesterday I
ventured there to see her. I felt if she would ,
help me to keep straight, that now, with her
father and my sister both dead, we might be
happy together.
367
5568 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
"I understand now what puzzled me then. It
seemed that my sister went into the next car and
tried to make my wife promise not to interfere.
But Ida Mrs. Sullivan was firm, of course.
She said her father had papers, certificates and
so on, that would stop the marriage at once.
"She said, also, that her father was in our car,
and that there would be the mischief to pay in
the morning. It was probably when my sister
tried to get the papers that he awakened, and
she had to do what she did."
It was over. Save for a technicality or two,
I was a free man. Alison rose quietly and pre
pared to go ; the men stood to let her pass, save
Sullivan who sat crouched in his chair, his face
buried in his hands. Hotchkiss, who had been
tapping the desk with his pencil, looked up
abruptly and pointed the pencil at me.
" If all this is true, and I believe it is, then
who was in the house next door, Blakeley, the
night you and Mr. Johnson searched? You re
member, you said it was a woman's hand at the
trap door."
I glanced hastily at Johnson, whose face wa
AND ONLY ONE ARM 369
impassive. He had his hand on the knob of thn
door and he opened it before he spoke.
'* There were a number of scratches on Mrs.
Con way's right hand," he observed to the room
in general. "Her wrist was bandaged and
badly bruised.'*
He went out then, but he turned as he closed
the door and threw at me a glance of half-
amused, half-contemptuous tolerance.
McKnight saw Alison, with Mrs. Dallas, to
their carriage, and came back again. The gath
ering in the office was breaking up. Sullivan,
looking worn and old, was standing by the
window, staring at the broken necklace in his
hand. When he saw me watching him, he put
it on the desk and picked up his hat.
"If I can not do anything more " he hesi
tated.
"I think you have done about enough," I re
plied grimly, and he went out.
I believe that Richey and Hotchkiss led me
somewhere to dinner, and that, for fear I would
be lonely without him, they sent for Johnson.
And I recall a spirited discussion in which
370 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
Hotchkiss told the detective that he could man
age certain cases, but that he lacked induction.
Richey and I were mainly silent. My thoughts
would slip ahead to that hour, later in the even
ing, when I should see Alison again.
I dressed in savage haste finally, and was so
particular about my tie that Mrs. Klopton gave
up in despair.
"I wish, until your arm is better, that you
would buy the kind that hooks on," she protested,
almost tearfully. "I'm sure they look very nice,
Mr. Lawrence. My late husband always "
"That's a lover's knot you've tied this time,"
I snarled, and, jerking open the bow knot she
had so painfully executed, looked out the window
for Johnson until I recalled that he no longer
belonged in my perspective. I ended by driv
ing frantically to the club and getting George
to do it.
I was late, of course. The drawing-room and-
library at the Dallas home were empty. I could
hear billiard balls rolling somewhere, and I
turned the other way. I found Alison at last on
the balcony, sitting much as she had that night
AND ONLY ONE ARM 371
on the beach, her chin in her hands, her eyei
fixed unseeingly on the trees and lights of the
square across. She was even whistling a little,
i softly. But this time the plaintiveness was gone.
It was a tender little tune. She did not move, as
I stood beside her, looking down. And now, when
the moment had come, all the thousand and one
things I had been waiting to say forsook me,
precipitately beat a retreat, and left me unsup
ported. The arc-moon sent little fugitive lights
over her hair, her eyes, her gown.
"Don't do that," I said unsteadily. "You
you know what I want to do when you whis
tle!"
She glanced up at me, and she did not stop.
She did not stop! She went on whistling softly,
a bit tremulously. And straightway I forgot
the street, the chance of passers-by, the voices
in the house behind us. "The world doesn't hold
any one but you," I said reverently. "It is our
world, sweetheart. I love you."
And I kissed her.
A boy was whistling on the pavement below.
372 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN
I let her go reluctantly and sat back where I
could see her.
"I haven't done this the way I intended to at
all," I confessed. "In books they get things all
settled, and then kiss the lady."
"Settled?" she inquired.
"Oh, about getting married and that sort of
thing," I explained with elaborate carelessness.
"We we could go down to Bermuda or or
Jamaica, say in December."
She drew her hand away and faced me
squarely.
"I believe you are afraid!" she declared. "I
refuse to marry you unless you propose prop
erly. Everybody does it. And it is a woman's
privilege: she wants to have that to look back
to."
"Very well," I consented with an exaggerated
sigh. "If you will promise not to think I look
like an idiot, I shall do it, knee and all."
I had to pass her to close the door behind us,
but when I kissed her again she protested that we
were not really engaged.
I turned to look down at her. "It is a terrible
AND ONLY ONE ARM
thing," I said exultantly, "to love a girl the way
I love you, and to have only one arm !" Then I
closed the door.
From across the street there came a sharp
crescendo whistle, and a vaguely familiar figure
separated itself from the park railing.
"Say," he called, in a hoarse whisper, "shall I
throw the key down the elevator shaft?"
THE END
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THE SIEGE OF THE SEVEN SUITORS. By Meredith Nich
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Seven suitors vie with each other for the love of a beautiful
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THE MAGNET. By Henry C. Rowland. Illustrated by Clarence
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The story of a remarkable courtship involving three pretty
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THE TURN OF THE ROAD. By Eugenia Brooks Frothingham.
A beautiful young opera singer chooses professional success
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SCOTTIE AND HIS LADY. By Margaret Morse. Illustrated
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A y jung girl whose affections have been blighted is presented
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SHEILA VEDDER. By Amelia E. Barr. Frontispiece by Hani.
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A very beautiful romance of the Shetland Islands, with a
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JOHN WARD. PREACHER. By Margaret Deland.
The first Uig success of this much loved American novelist.
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THE TRAIL OF NINETY-EIGHT. By Robert W. Service.
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One of the best stories of "Vas:abondia ' ever written, and
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