rrv J.
 
 The introduction took place after the other guesLs had 
 left the room. Immediately the embarrassed master of cere- 
 monies took to his heels. Betty and Gathewe stood alone"
 
 THE MAN WITH 
 THREE NAMES 
 
 BY 
 HAROLD MAC GRATH 
 
 Author of 
 
 "The Man on the Box" 
 
 "The Private Wire to Washington" 
 
 "The Yellow Typhoon," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY RALPH FALLEN COLEMAN 
 
 GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 1920
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1920 BY 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF 
 
 TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, 
 
 INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY THE BED BOOK CORPORATION
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "The introduction took place after the other 
 guests had left the room . . . Betty 
 and Cathewe stood alone" . . Frontispiece 
 
 (See page 228) 
 
 PAGE 
 
 * 'Oh, Nancy ... if I could only 
 stamp out the thought of him' ' ... 58 
 
 "Cathewe saw Betty frequently . . . she 
 persisted in entering every dream he had" 122 
 
 "She crept back into his arms, all her mis- 
 chief gone . . . *Love me always like 
 that'" . 282 
 
 2228430
 
 THE MAN WITH THREE NAMES
 
 The Man With Three Names 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THEY say the old wives that the soul of 
 Galahad will never take wing because, on 
 the day of his physical death, the white 
 soul of him broke into infinitesimal pieces. This 
 will no doubt greatly astonish the benevolent 
 shades of Walter Map and Sir Thomas Mallory. 
 But trust old wives to know what they are talking 
 about. And they proceed to add another amazing 
 fact: that these floating particles find lodgment in 
 the hearts of young men, die there, or grow ripely 
 according to the quality of the soil. For me, this 
 remarkable information clears up a lot of fog. I 
 understand now why Youth steps forward so 
 bravely and confidently to admonish a naughty 
 world. 'Tis the leaven of Sir Galahad. 
 
 Once upon a time, far away in the Golden Age 
 as far away as the summer of nineteen hundred 
 and twelve when Mars, grim and bloody, was 
 only grumbling in his sleep, there sailed from 
 
 3
 
 4 The Man With Three Names 
 
 Liverpool a great and seemly ship. That her 
 maritime bones are disintegrating on the bottom 
 of the sea at this moment has no exact bearing upon 
 this tale. For it is not a war story; it is not even 
 predicated upon war; but without that lurid sky 
 in the East, a certain good fairy might have passed 
 to and fro without being recognized. 
 
 Naturally, before a ship may put to sea, pas- 
 sengers have to come aboard. And there is always 
 some confusion when visitors are ordered ashore. 
 The line of passengers surging up the first-class 
 gangplank paused. Doubtless somebody forward 
 had dropped a parcel. 
 
 A young man, sartorially correct from his tan 
 shoes to the mellow panama on his beautifully 
 modelled head, craned his straight columnar neck 
 impatiently. But of course he could not see any- 
 thing. Suddenly he became conscious of the odour 
 of violets: ' It came from behind; so he turned his 
 head. 
 
 Supposing your consciousness had been filled for 
 hours with the beauty of a woman's face. Say 
 that you had seen it but once for the duration of a 
 dinner hour, at a table half way across the huge 
 dining room of the Savoy, and you knew that you 
 would never forget it. Supposing you had built 
 an airy romance during that hour: an adventure 
 wherein you rescued her from an unknown danger,
 
 The Man With Three Names 5 
 
 fell in love with her and married her. Supposing 
 you had been all alone in mighty London that 
 night, with no place to go, with a heart which was 
 heavy with bitterness because fate had dealt you 
 marked cards in the game of life and cheated you 
 abominably; and on top of all this, a super- 
 imagination which is given only to genius. And 
 then, by a mere twist of the head, to see that face 
 again but three spans away from yours ! 
 
 Some men are fortunate; they know exactly 
 what they want the moment they see it. In- 
 stantly this young man knew that one of life's 
 great problems was solved. This was the girl. 
 Somewhere, somehow, he was going to meet her. 
 The mere beauty of her face would not have 
 trapped his fancy and held it. He had a peculiar 
 gift, this odd young man, of plunging his glance 
 through human masks and getting glimpses of 
 souls. And he had seen at once that this young 
 woman had a soul quite as beautiful as her face. 
 This faculty was occult; he had always possessed 
 it, and he had long since given up trying to analyze 
 the gift. 
 
 She was lovely. That was the word. He knew 
 that lovely was a universe all by itself; for it em- 
 bodied beauty and intellect, valour and tender- 
 ness, youth and purity. Being a poet among other 
 things, he knew that the word was the despair of
 
 6 The Man With Three Names 
 
 poetical inkpots; it was rhymeless. A happy 
 word; it possessed the tender aloofness of the 
 evening star and defied rhetorical abuse. 
 
 The westering sun was in her eyes; thus, she was 
 unconscious of the amazed scrutiny of the young 
 man in front. She saw only a nebulous shadow. 
 Immediately he called her the girl with the golden 
 eyes. This, however, was only a flight of poetical 
 fancy. As a matter of fact, her eyes were intensely 
 blue; but shooting out from the pupil to the rim of 
 the iris were fine little threads of gold such as one 
 sees in lapis lazuli. 
 
 The line began to move again. The young man 
 had no plan regarding his future procedure; he 
 would need an hour or two of solitude for the 
 formation of this. He was going to marry her in 
 the end; that much was definitely settled. That 
 she might have her own views on the subject was 
 of no vital importance. 
 
 He hurried off to his first-class cabin, stowed his 
 luggage, changed; then, with a straw suitcase un- 
 der his arm, took up his quarters in the steerage. 
 For he had work to do, serious work. He could 
 have lived like the other first-class passengers, in 
 idleness and luxury; but he was always in earnest, 
 whether he played or worked, as will be seen. For 
 six days he was determined to live among the 
 steerage passengers. To acquire the material he
 
 The Man With Three Names 7 
 
 needed necessitated contact, not casual observa- 
 tion. 
 
 That night, as he leaned against the rail a 
 thousand ineffectual plans having been scrutinized 
 and rejected he permitted a whimsical idea to 
 enter his head. He raised his face toward the sum- 
 mer moon and laughed. Why not? To approach 
 the affair from a novel and unexpected angle: no 
 winding in and out, no foreground to traverse with 
 hesitant step. To take the plunge without both- 
 ering to feel the water with his fingers. The idea 
 appealed to all that was romantic in him. Indeed, 
 the affair would serve as a vent for that bother- 
 some strain of romanticism that was always under- 
 mining his serious work. What a queer, contra- 
 dictory codger he was ! Wanting to dig down into 
 the roots of things, to know all phases of life, and 
 yet to feel the eternal tug of wings! 
 
 Another thought lifted its head, ugly and sin- 
 ister; but he crushed it down, smothered it. He 
 had a right to happiness. Muck and star-dust; 
 but the muck was not of his making, and the star- 
 dust was all his own. 
 
 The eyes of her! The beautiful curve of her 
 chin! Like a bolt of lightning, when woman had 
 not been in his thoughts at all. 
 
 After all, he mused, the only real fun in life was 
 to catch at some whimsical idea, imprison it in the
 
 8 The Man With Three Names 
 
 heart, and then follow through. Wasn't that the 
 golden text of all true adventurers? Blindman's 
 Buff, with sharp edges of circumstances barking 
 your shins and Irony laughing behind your back! 
 And the charm of it lay in the fact that you never 
 could tell when or how it would end. 
 
 Her name was Elizabeth Mansfield, and they 
 probably called her Betty. She was also the 
 daughter of Dunleigh Mansfield. That put a 
 double wall around her, millions and social pres- 
 tige: tremendous obstacles which should have 
 frightened him and chilled his ardour, whereas 
 they but filled him with elation. 
 
 Crusaders and explorers and reformers are 
 unique in that they attack an ordinary goal in an 
 extraordinary manner, so differently from the or- 
 dinary man's way that they become the object of 
 the ordinary man's derision. 
 
 Now then, this young man was a crusader, with 
 an ideal quite as lofty as that of Peter the Hermit 
 and Walter the Penniless. He did not sally forth 
 joyously with chanting and banners; he would 
 not have gone forth at all but for the white honesty 
 of his soul. He had inherited this obligation; it 
 had been thrust upon him without asking his leave. 
 But as yet he wandered in a maze: doors that he 
 could not open, walls that he could not scale, 
 knowing that over there and beyond was the goal.
 
 The Man With Three Names 9 
 
 His sword had no handle, his shiefd no grip. The 
 way out, the way out; and he could not find it. He 
 was a crusader by force of circumstance. 
 
 And here a little eddy of sentiment had turned 
 him temporarily from the search. Love! Why 
 not? He accepted it with the spirit of incon- 
 sequent recklessness. Having no Cumsean sibyl 
 at his elbow, he could not foresee that this little 
 eddy was to wear a breach in the wall for him to 
 slip through. 
 
 As he climbed into his smelly bunk, there was 
 but one idea in his head to carry the outpost, her 
 father, by storm. Two things were possible. 
 Either Mansfield would listen or he would call for a 
 deck-steward. Anyhow, to put it to the touch ! 
 
 Dunleigh Mansfield was not the accepted type of 
 the steel magnate. He had not come out of no- 
 where, from nothing. His father had been some- 
 body, his grandfather, his great-grandfather; a 
 race of gentlemen born. He had inherited his 
 steel mills, his mines; and he had multiplied their 
 value beyond ordinary computation. He might 
 have passed for an elderly beau in a Pinero drama : 
 a fine, courtly figure of a man, with a cold hawky 
 countenance, quite handsome, with scarcely a gray 
 hair in his head though he was fifty. 
 
 He was standing alone, that sunny morning, in 
 the corner where the crossrail joins the port. He
 
 10 The Man With Three Names 
 
 was, fortunately for the welfare of this story, in an 
 amiable frame of mind. The cigar he was smoking 
 possessed an extremely agreeable flavour. 
 
 "Mr. Mansfield?" 
 
 The ironmonger turned. He saw a hatless 
 young man in a white cotton shirt, open at the 
 throat, shiny blue serge trousers that bagged at 
 the knees, and a pair of soiled tennis shoes. 
 
 "lam Mr. Mansfield" coldly. 
 
 "I wish the honour of paying court to your 
 daughter." 
 
 Mansfield was not quite sure he had heard 
 aright. "I beg pardon?" 
 
 The young man repeated his astounding request. 
 
 Stormy words burned the tip of Mansfield's 
 tongue, but he pressed them back because the face 
 he looked into was quite as handsome and hawky 
 as his own. He saw besides a mouth as tender as a 
 young mother's and a pair of gray eyes that at 
 present were kindly and engaging. Human faces 
 were Dunleigh Mansfield's books. He recognized 
 this type : the brow and eye of a dreamer, the nose 
 and jaw of a fighting man. Here was a young 
 man who would do unexpected things thrust 
 Sisyphus aside and try to roll the stone uphill him- 
 self. But Betty? he asked the honour to pay 
 court to Betty? The infernal impudence! A 
 fellow from the steerage, for all his good looks.
 
 The Man With Three Names 11 
 
 Being a gentleman born, Mansfield's face did not 
 indicate his anger and indignation. The thing was 
 to get rid of the bounder without creating a scene. 
 "You don't look insane, young man. Are you 
 offering me a pleasantry? " 
 
 " No, Mr. Mansfield. I was never more serious." 
 "You have perhaps met me somewhere, and I 
 have forgotten? " 
 
 "I have never met you before." 
 "You have met my daughter, then? " 
 "I have only seen her once as we came up the 
 gangplank." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mansfield, as if this information 
 cleared the air considerably. A doubt began to 
 edge into his mind. This was some kind of a joke, 
 possibly a fool wager. All sorts and conditions 
 of men were likely to pester him from now on, 
 Betty being doubly attractive. But this was out 
 of the ordinary. Why not temporize, dig in, and 
 find out what lay behind this weird encounter? 
 "You might tell me something about yourself be- 
 fore we proceed," he suggested. 
 
 The young man was not so guileless as he seemed; 
 he was, at present, merely the possessor of a 
 whimsical idea. He sensed the irony, the mockery. 
 Two little points of fire appeared in his eyes. 
 Ordinarily Mansfield would have taken warning 
 from the young man's ease and lack of diffidence;
 
 12 The Man With Three Names 
 
 but his perceptions were dulled by his suppressed 
 wrath and astonishment. 
 
 "I am called Brandon Cathewe. By pro- 
 fession I am a writer." He hesitated for a mo- 
 ment. " I have a little money." 
 
 "A writer with a little money. I should say 
 that that was quite fortunate." 
 
 The young man who called himself Brandon 
 Cathewe laughed. "I readily understand. The 
 oddity of my attack amuses you." 
 
 "Frankly it does. I am going to ask you a 
 point-blank question. Is this a wager? " 
 
 "It is not," was the smileless answer. 
 
 "Unknown, then, either to myself or to my 
 daughter, you approach me with the request to 
 pay her court!" Wrath began to bubble again. 
 "I should say, from the cut of your clothes, that 
 you came from the steerage and are trespassing this 
 deck. You are perfectly serious?" with a vague 
 hope that this appeal would lift a corner of the veil. 
 
 "Perfectly and honourably serious." 
 
 Suddenly there leaped into Mansfield's cold 
 brain an idea, savage and ironic. Later he and 
 Betty would have a hearty laugh over this idea. 
 The impudent bounder ! 
 
 "Brandon Cathewe," he mused. "That has an 
 Irish lilt. So you wish to pay court to my daugh- 
 ter; object, matrimony."
 
 The Man With Three Names 13 
 
 "With your permission." 
 
 Hours after it occurred to the irate millionaire 
 that while the young scoundrel had been respect- 
 ful, he had never employed the word "sir." 
 
 "Supposing you give me a moment or two for 
 breath?" 
 
 "I am an American, and I could find many 
 ways honourable of approaching your daughter. 
 I merely took that course which is customary." 
 
 "Customary?" repeated the ironmonger, be- 
 coming bewildered. In France it was customary; 
 but this fellow was from the States, where such a 
 procedure was anything but customary. Mans- 
 field puffed rapidly; his perfecto was on the point 
 of going out. When the wrapper began to curl 
 again, his cold eye once more scrutinized this 
 amazing young man. Hang it, the scoundrel's as- 
 surance was baffling. It was, in fact, the calm 
 assurance of an equal. "It is needless to ask if 
 you are in love with my daughter." 
 
 "Quite needless. I am." 
 
 "The result of one meeting; coming up the 
 gangplank?" 
 
 "I have a happy faculty of knowing what I 
 want." 
 
 "And of getting it?" mockingly. 
 
 "Not always, to be sure, but generally. No. 
 doubt it sounds ridiculous to you; but the two times
 
 14 The Man With Three Names 
 
 I have seen your daughter convince me that she 
 is the one woman. Her beauty is the least of her." 
 
 An odd statement, thought Mansfield. "You 
 have heard of the city of Bannister? " 
 
 "Very few people in America have not." 
 
 "Very good. I grant you permission to pay 
 court to my daughter, conditionally. I'll waive 
 my right to inquire about your family and your 
 bank accounts. My terms are, go to Bannister 
 and make good; then come to me. I will introduce 
 you personally to my daughter, provided she is not 
 already married by that time." 
 
 " On the word of a gentleman? " 
 
 "On the word of a gentleman." Mansfield 
 smiled. As if it mattered! "Until you make 
 good, you are not to seek in any manner to meet 
 her. She is not to know that such a person as 
 er Brandon Cathewe exists. On your honour as 
 a gentleman." 
 
 "My word is given." 
 
 "Understand me. I don't mean just making 
 some money. By making good I mean that you 
 must become a force in Bannister. On the other 
 hand, I am not going to keep my daughter locked up 
 until you arrive. Those are the conditions," con- 
 cluded Mansfield, very well pleased with himself. 
 
 "And I accept." 
 
 "You what?"
 
 The Man With Three Names 15 
 
 "Accept. But on your part you must agree to 
 give me fair play." 
 
 "Fair play?" Why, the bounder did not see 
 the joke! "What do you mean by fair play?" 
 
 "You will say nothing to your daughter of this 
 interview. I have come to you frankly and hon- 
 ourably, and I ask you measure for measure. If 
 my conduct my approach seems outlandish, 
 bizarre, it is because I am not afraid to ask for 
 something I desire. I love your daughter, crazy 
 as the statement may seem. I'm no fool. Your 
 first impulse was to throw me over the rail. Being 
 a gentleman, you reconsidered. You would punish 
 my impertinence by placing insurmountable ob- 
 stacles in front of me. I have accepted these con- 
 ditions. If I fail, you will never hear of me. Good 
 morning!" 
 
 The young man seized the companion-ladder 
 rails and swung himself to the main deck without 
 touching the steps. Immediately he disappeared. 
 
 For a long tune Mansfield stared at the space 
 between the^canvased railings of the companion- 
 ladder, his forehead corrugated and his eyebrows 
 askew. He was held by a species of hypnosis. 
 Accepted the conditions, knowing why they had 
 been offered ! Unabashed, the fellow had accepted 
 conditions which on the face of them were insur- 
 mountable! Mansfield shrugged away the spefl
 
 16 The Man With Three Names 
 
 and mentally stepped back to see if he could not 
 get another angle to this remarkable encounter. 
 A blind alley. That calm assurance. Mansfield 
 knew the brand. It wasn't the cocksure conceit 
 of youth; lit was the assurance of a man who 
 knew, first off, what he wanted. It was incredible. 
 
 He flung his cigar overboard impatiently. He 
 became aware of another fact, not without its 
 measure of chagrin. He would not be able to 
 laugh with Betty. He would not dare tell her. The 
 story, literally told, might seriously intrigue her, 
 for she had not been brought up like the average 
 American girl of wealth. Sophistication had not 
 set a curb on her impulses. She was worldly, but 
 she was real. Besides, she was romantic; and it 
 would never do to let her interest become attracted 
 by the beggar, who was handsome enough. A 
 colossal joke like this, and he must remain silent! 
 Setting a trap, he now found himself in one. But, 
 pshaw! Why worry? She would never see or 
 hear of this impertinent young jackanapes. The 
 incident was closed. For no man succeeded in 
 Bannister except by the express permission of the 
 man who ruled it Dunleigh Mansfield. 
 
 He strode away, rarely angry with himself for 
 not having summoned a deck-steward at the 
 start to send the fellow back where he belonged 
 the steerage. But did he belong in the steerage?
 
 The Man With Three Names 17 
 
 Mansfield decided to consult the passenger list; 
 and when he saw the fellow's name in that select 
 directory, the fog became opaque. But all at 
 once the riddle resolved itself into translatable 
 terms. A socialist! A writer with a little money ! 
 A Knight of flapdoodle, an innocuous anarchist; 
 the evanishment was complete. 
 
 That night at dinner he was astonished to find 
 that Betty afforded him a new interest in life. She 
 was desirable of men. One of them had boldly 
 stated he wanted her that handsome scallawag 
 in the steerage. Until this hour the child had 
 been his daughter, nothing more. Now she was 
 something somebody wanted. She had a value of 
 her own. Somebody wanted her; and her father 
 had never really wanted her. True, she had had 
 for him the quality of an exquisite toy; but nothing 
 beyond that. Was he now going to want her be- 
 cause somebody else did? 
 
 At the death of her mother fourteen years be- 
 fore Mansfield had sent Betty to France. She 
 had been entrusted to the care of an aristocratic 
 but impoverished French family (liberally sup- 
 plied with funds from the Mansfield strong-box) 
 because he had not known exactly what to do with 
 a child. If he kept her in America he would be 
 compelled to neglect her. His vast business in- 
 terests and his wide political affiliations required
 
 18 The Man With Three Names 
 
 all his time. He was like the eagle: he preferred 
 to fly alone, unhampered. This decision was due 
 less to callousness than to a lack of paternal in- 
 stinct. It was, however, wholly selfish as an in- 
 spiration. Betty would be in most excellent hands 
 and he would be free. 
 
 The affair had turned out very well in some 
 ways. The French family had educated her as 
 one of their own. Thus she had escaped contact 
 with that European froth known as Society. 
 Mansfield had instinctively laid down one law: 
 she was never to be permitted to forget that she 
 was an American, that her native tongue was 
 English; and this law was religiously observed. So, 
 at this day, Betty was an American girl whose 
 speech was full of quaint and charming twists and 
 accents. Her education had been finished in 
 Milan; and she sang exquisitely. 
 
 Every other summer Mansfield had gone abroad 
 and given her grudgingly two weeks of his precious 
 time. It had been rather a bore. Once he had 
 brought her home for the summer. She was now 
 making her second trip. In a year or so she 
 would be returning for good; but she would be 
 old enough then to take care of herself; rule 
 over his three houses and grace his table. She 
 would be only a bit of backwater at the side of the 
 stream.
 
 The Man With Three Names 19 
 
 Ad BOW, somebody wanted her. What was 
 it that young crack-brain had said? "Her beauty 
 is the least of her." He stared at his daughter's 
 profile to see if he, too, could discover what there 
 was to her beyond her undeniable beauty. He 
 became unaccountably thrilled by the vanity of 
 possession. The greatest pleasure in life for 
 him was to possess something somebody else 
 wanted. 
 
 While he invariably dressed with the taste and 
 the exactitude of a dandy, he cared little for society. 
 He became interested in a woman only when he 
 found she was useful. Society was too tame an 
 affair. All his dreams and efforts had been di- 
 rected toward one end power. He had never 
 really loved anything. His wife had been merely 
 an ornament. A hard man, with the brilliancy of 
 a diamond, not particularly scrupulous when there 
 was an objective in view. 
 
 The more he stared at his daughter, the more 
 convinced he was that she was quite the most 
 beautiful young woman he had ever seen, sur- 
 passing even her mother. She was unspoiled, too. 
 Her charm emanated from within; it was innate, 
 not the result of education and association. He 
 had recognized this fact subconsciously some days 
 before; now it was clear. And she had a new 
 value: somebody wanted her.
 
 20 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "Daddy, if you scowl at me like that. . . ." 
 
 "Was I scowling? I was thinking. Betty, 
 you are very beautiful," he added. 
 
 "Just discover it?" a little wistfully. 
 
 "No. I believe it has been sinking in for some 
 time. Betty, on the day of your marriage I'm 
 going to tell you a wonderful joke." 
 
 " Why can't you tell me now? " 
 
 "On the day you are married." 
 
 " You are laughing at me ! " 
 
 "No. I don't believe any one will ever laugh at 
 you, Betty, not even your father." 
 
 "You embarrass me, Daddy," she said, gravely, 
 " when you look at me like that." 
 
 "Haven't I just discovered you?" lightly. 
 
 She thrilled. This handsome father of hers had 
 always been to her a kind of wonderful god, to be 
 admired and worshipped from afar, not to be 
 touched. Now he was often taking her by the 
 shoulders and staring into her face. A wild, 
 fierce exultation filled her whenever he acted thus. 
 Was he beginning to care a little? She recalled the 
 formal meetings in the salon of the old chateau, 
 the cold kiss on her forehead, the perfunctory 
 questions about her studies. "Mademoiselle's 
 father is waiting in the salon." How her heart 
 had pounded and thundered whenever the maid 
 announced this fact!
 
 The Man With Three Names 21 
 
 "I am piqued," she said. "Is the joke so 
 funny?" 
 
 "On your wedding day." 
 
 " But will it keep that long? " 
 
 "On that day it will be perfectly ripe. Betty, 
 have you ever been in love? " 
 
 "Oh, yes! "brightly. 
 
 "What?" Mansfield barked. 
 
 "With you!" shyly. 
 
 Every morning from ten until twelve and every 
 afternoon from two until five Cathewe stretched 
 himself out on the sunny hatch and wrote. No 
 one bothered him, though he was generally sur- 
 rounded. There were frequent gaps in the con- 
 tinuity of his narrative. During these gaps he 
 would stare at the rocking horizon without seeing 
 it. 
 
 On the last day out of port he could not work at 
 all, that is, with results. Bannister. He would 
 have to throw up his lucrative editorial work in 
 New York and seek out that inland town. There 
 wasn't a soul there he knew. And what manner 
 of job would there be in Bannister for him? 
 what stepping-stone to power? Tom Fool! For 
 he was going to see this affair through. He smiled 
 ruefully. Always the same; there did not seem to 
 be the least hope. Nothing would ever cure him
 
 22 The Man With Three Names 
 
 > 
 
 of the habit of taking the plunge without first as- 
 certaining whether the water was deep or shallow. 
 All any one had to do was to dare him. Where 
 the dickens was this adventure going to lead him? 
 
 Of course Mansfield viewed the affair in the 
 light of a huge joke. Apparently no human 
 being might climb over the wall with which he 
 had surrounded his daughter. But unknown to 
 Dunleigh Mansfield, there was a postern gate 
 to this wall. Through this love would find a 
 way. 
 
 A writer with a little money! He laughed 
 aloud, ironically; and some of the children standing 
 by eyed him owlishly. Could he honourably offer 
 love to any woman a man with three names? 
 
 Now then, every afternoon, around about three, 
 Betty came down the companion-ladder to the 
 waist. Her father always stood at the crossrail on 
 guard, a tolerant expression on his handsome face. 
 If she wanted to feed goodies to these wild little 
 pigs, she was at liberty to do so. She had rather 
 curious ideas, and later he would undertake to 
 curb them. Invariably she carried a package of 
 cakes and fruit and nuts which she distributed 
 among the children of the steerage. At first they 
 had been shy and suspicious as you and I would 
 have been had an angel appeared before us with 
 manna. But now they swarmed about her with
 
 The Han With Three Names 23 
 
 that trust and joyousness which are peculiar to 
 children and puppies. 
 
 I doubt if she ever noticed the young man on the 
 hatch. Perhaps it was because his clothes were 
 of the same nondescript pattern as that of the other 
 steerage passengers . Let us strike the bell at once. 
 Women especially young women rarely look 
 pointblank into a man's face until after they have 
 covertly inspected his clothes. This precaution- 
 ary measure is not necessarily due to snobbishness; 
 it is more or less instinctive. As you know, they 
 must always be on the watch. 
 
 To-day, as she was returning to the ladder, she 
 dropped something. Instantly the young man 
 sprang up and across the deck. He snatched the 
 filmy bit of lace and cambric just as the wind 
 threatened to carry it under the scupper. 
 
 "Your handkerchief, miss," he said. 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 If the face she saw registered itself upon her 
 memory, it would be due to the beautifully 
 modelled head. She continued on toward the 
 ladder, mounted, serenely unconscious of the fact 
 that she had left standing by the rail a man who 
 was one day to make her heart ache dreadfully, 
 who was to hold her in the strangest thrall that 
 ever fell to the lot of a young woman. 
 
 Cathewe smiled up at Mansfield, who returned
 
 24 The Man With Three Names 
 
 the smile. But there was something totally 
 different in the quality of those two smiles. One 
 was boyish and whimsical; the other was sardonic. 
 For one knew life in theory and the other knew it 
 in fact.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ACROSS the shining threads of steel the 
 railway yard a man ran lightly, with the 
 sure foot of the athlete. He wore a blue 
 checkered Mackinaw and a woollen cap pulled 
 down over his ears. Behind lay a sinister outline : 
 chimneys spouting fire and black smoke, giant 
 furnace doors opening and closing, blinding rivu- 
 lets of /molten metal. Men, with the aspect of 
 demons, flitted past these luminous backgrounds. 
 Beyond the runner stood rows of forlorn tenements, 
 frame houses, shacks, evidently his objective. 
 Farther on were the angry waters of a great lake, 
 baffled by the huge ice-floes which the extreme 
 cold had locked and riveted anew. For it was zero 
 weather, despite the fact that there was little snow 
 visible. The fierce, high winds generally whipped 
 the snow inland, to the hills south of the city. 
 
 It was the drab end of a day made doubly drab 
 by environment. 
 
 The runner, nicely measuring the distance be- 
 tween the rails, never faltered. He was in a hurry. 
 At any moment a mile-long freight might cut him 
 off. When at length he leaped across the last 
 
 25
 
 26 The Man With Three Names 
 
 rail, under the very nose of a disgruntled switch- 
 engine with a string of empties rattling behind, the 
 runner was fairly well spent. 
 
 At the curb to be precise, the ditch in front 
 of one of the tenements, before which ran a crumb- 
 ling tar walk, stood a two-seated runabout, rusty 
 and battered, but as faithful as a mongrel dog. 
 Of its kind it was a mongrel. It was seven or 
 eight years old if a day. It had been added to at 
 various periods, for safety and convenience, until 
 there wasn't a toe-hold on either of the running 
 boards, for the batteries, tanks, and tool-boxes that 
 cluttered them. 
 
 In passing I might say that in the city of Ban- 
 nister this ramshackle vehicle was as familiar to 
 the sight as the police- van and the fire-engines. 
 You were quite as likely to see it reposing impu- 
 dently before some handsome mansion on Polygon 
 Hill as here in Poverty Row, where, in truth, it 
 seemed more at home. 
 
 The man in the Mackinaw paused for a moment 
 to eye this car. Though he was panting heavily, a 
 smile parted his lips a tender smile. The chariot 
 of Elijah. God bless his beautiful, kindly old heart ! 
 
 He pushed his way into the hall of the tenement 
 and climbed four gloomy and smelly flights of 
 stairs. He came to a door, but he did not bother 
 to knock. He opened it and stepped inside.
 
 The Man With Three Names 27 
 
 It was a forlorn room. Whichever way you 
 looked you saw squares and triangles of lath from 
 which the plaster had fallen. In a window a 
 newspaper served as a pane of glass. The sur- 
 viving panes were dim with soot and cobwebs. 
 At the side of a dilapidated iron bed sat a man in a 
 fur-lined overcoat, the collar up about his ears. 
 He wore a coonskin cap. On the floor beside his 
 chair was a long black satchel, more familiar to 
 women and children than to men. He was 
 Doctor Maddox, hale and hearty at sixty, white 
 of hair and ruddy countenance, loved by dogs 
 and children and men and women. But there 
 were some in Bannister who feared him, for he 
 was a ruthless enemy of dirt and disease and 
 inefficiency. 
 
 On the bed, under a tattered sheet, there was a 
 body, sinisterly rigid in outline. I wonder if God 
 ever looks down upon any picture more forlorn that 
 death in poverty? 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 "Yes, son. He was dead when I got back from 
 telephoning you." 
 
 "I was just starting out for a tramp. I came as 
 fast as I could. How did it happen? " 
 
 "He was old and slow and got in the way of a 
 swinging crane. There wasn't a whole bone in 
 his body. The men brought him here on an im-
 
 28 The Man With Three Names 
 
 provised stretcher. I was attending another case 
 in the block." 
 
 "Could he talk?" 
 
 "He mumbled something about the seventh 
 plank from the west wall, naming you. What's 
 your interest in him? He wasn't a Bannister 
 man." 
 
 "Human." The young man walked over to the 
 west wall, counted off six planks in the floor, and 
 pried back the seventh. From the cavity he ex- 
 tracted a bundle of papers. "Doctor, do you 
 know what has doubled Mansfield's fortune since 
 the war began?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Those barbwire machines. The man on the 
 bed there was the inventor. These papers are the 
 documents in the case. Is there nothing sinister 
 in the fact that he lies there dead? Why should 
 he be doing manual labour at three dollars the day, 
 working at a kind of charity job, when he should 
 have had all the comforts of life? Think of him 
 dying in bitterness like that! Eighteen dollars the 
 week, with the music of his own creation in his ears, 
 day after day, and another man taking all the 
 profits!" 
 
 "You mean he was cheated and robbed? " 
 
 "Legally, no; morally, yes." 
 
 The young man in the Mackinaw went over to
 
 The Man With Three Names 29 
 
 the window, rubbed a little clearing, and stared at 
 the great drab buildings on the far side of the rail- 
 way yard. He was smooth-shaven, anywhere be- 
 tween twenty-five and thirty-five: one of those for- 
 tunate individuals upon whom age leaves no grinding 
 impression. A fine face, gentle and scholarly; but 
 scrutiny brought forth salients which would have 
 baffled the physiognomist temporarily. It was as 
 if one gazed at a composite of faces. The face was 
 clearly even beautifully defined until you began 
 to study it; then, somehow, it escaped you. One 
 moment you would call it proud and hawky; 
 in the next, whimsical and lovable. 
 
 The doctor, no mean physiognomist, had studied 
 the face of his friend for nearly three years, and 
 still he could not put a positive label on it. Their 
 paths had crossed and recrossed, socially and pro- 
 fessionally, a thousand times; but in this hour the 
 doctor was confronted with the fact that this 
 young man was still a stranger. What he knew of 
 Brandon Cathewe had not been acquired from de- 
 ductive sources; he had gathered his information, 
 such as it was, from the young man's acts. He 
 had seen him tender and pitiful; resolute and in- 
 domitable; he had seen him happy-go-lucky, a 
 light heart; and he had seen him ruthless and 
 terrible, but just. There was something elemental, 
 primordial, in the way this handsome boy his,
 
 30 The Man With Three Names 
 
 years did not matter fitted into conditions. And 
 always and eternally on the side of the weak and 
 the oppressed. Sometimes the doctor felt that he 
 was chatting with a man who still believed in 
 fairies. 
 
 "Son, have you anything personally against 
 Dunleigh Mansfield? " 
 
 " I hadn't when I came here to take charge of the 
 Herald. I came to Bannister upon an almost 
 unbelievable adventure. Some day I may tell you 
 about that. Often when I have time to think 
 of it I'm convinced that I am the most colossal 
 fool alive. When a man finds his foot in the bog, 
 what does he do? Yank it out. As for me, I put 
 in both feet to see how deep it is" bitterly. "No; 
 at the start I had nothing against Mansfield. But 
 for three years I've done nothing but stumble over 
 cases like this: mean and contemptible. Cold- 
 blooded, but always within the law. What's the 
 object in piling up more gold? He can't count his 
 millions. He doesn't need money, and yet he robs 
 a man like this. Look at the gin-holes he draws 
 revenue from, under the shelter of another man's 
 name ! Is it for the sport of the thing? The whole 
 town is under his thumb politically. The elections 
 are farces. W 7 hat's his idea? " 
 
 "Perhaps his underlings " began the doctor. 
 
 "No, no. He alone is responsible. No mat-
 
 The Man With Three Names 31 
 
 ter where he is, he knows what is going on here. It 
 was only by a miracle that we pried loose his grip 
 on the Health Department." 
 
 "And yet he gives a great deal to charity." 
 
 " Ah, charity ! His distinguished name at the top 
 of the column. Trust him for that. There is no 
 feel in charity that does not entail some sacrifice. 
 What's a million to him? He doesn't feel it any 
 more than you do when you pass out two coppers 
 for my newspaper. Charity! He gives to hos- 
 pitals because they are officered by the prominent 
 society women of the town. He builds libraries 
 where the poor are afraid to go. A playground 
 where the children can't play on the grass. When 
 we started to clean up the Health Department, he 
 gave himself away with his hullabaloo. He knew 
 that if we got our man in, we'd soon clean up these 
 typhoid pits. Do you know that he owns all these 
 tenements and shacks as he owns the gin-holes 
 under the cloak of another man's name? He gets 
 his perfumed liquors and aromatic tobaccos out of 
 these rat-traps." 
 
 "And the queer part is, he's a gentleman, born 
 and bred." The doctor wagged his head, gravely. 
 
 "And there it is. Had he come up from the 
 gutter, one could understand. But he is, as you 
 say, a gentleman. He should be great, whereas he 
 is only sordid."
 
 32 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "No; I shouldn't call him sordid. A blind spot. 
 I knew him, son, as a youth. There was none 
 better, but he began to change when he took hold 
 of the mills. There's good in him, if one could find 
 the way to it." 
 
 "I'm going to make a try," replied Cathewe, 
 grimly, "beginning to-morrow." 
 
 "What are you going to do print this story?" 
 asked the doctor, indicating the poor broken thing 
 on the bed. 
 
 "Yes. I've known all along what kind of a 
 man he was. But I dared not attack him until 
 I'd made the paper a go. Now I can start the 
 guns." 
 
 "You're a queer duck." 
 
 "Because I want to help the under dog? Aren't 
 you always helping him yourself? How am I 
 queer?" 
 
 "Because you haven't got your balance yet, son. 
 The way to do is to go along without letting your 
 hackles rear up every time you scent a wrong. 
 Cure the wrong, if you can. Don't go smashing 
 through the barbwire when there's another way 
 around. I was once like you; but I am old and 
 wise; and I accomplish much more these days by 
 going the other way around. You're doing a lot 
 of good in this town. Don't spoil it. Once Mans- 
 field recognizes in you a dangerous enemy, he will
 
 The Man With Three Names 33 
 
 snuff you. That's why I don't want you to play 
 your hand too strongly." 
 
 "Snuff me? I pick up that gauntlet," was the 
 truculent retort. "Before I'm through I promise 
 to render Mansfield impotent for future harm. I 
 have facts, facts. My audience has learned to 
 trust me; and they'll believe the Herald. I am 
 going to protect these poor human beings who 
 don't know how to fight for their rights. I mean 
 the honorable poor. I've no use for socialism or 
 any of that flapdoodle. I realize that the only 
 way to right the world is to right the individual 
 first." 
 
 "He will break you." 
 
 "My soul is like cork, Doctor. There's noth- 
 ing brittle about cork. You know a little about 
 me. Have you ever known 1 me to step back ? ' ' 
 
 "No. But what can you do against his tre- 
 mendous power, which reaches from here to 
 Washington?" 
 
 "I can speak the truth and back it up with in- 
 controvertible facts." 
 
 Doctor Maddox sighed. "Let us be off. The 
 coroner must be notified. I'll take you into town. 
 You are going to print this?" 
 
 "lam." 
 
 "Mention Mansfield?" 
 
 "I am. No editorial comment; just the bald
 
 34 The Man With Three Names 
 
 news facts. I'll refer to him as the Lord of Poly- 
 gon Hill." 
 
 "Son, they will have your hide on the fence. " 
 
 "They'll find it pretty tough for nails. Too 
 long have the folks hereabouts feared Mansfield. 
 His power and his money have cowed them. But 
 I'm not afraid of money or prestige." 
 
 "Have you ever come into contact with them?" 
 
 "Yes." But he said it sadly. 
 
 The two passed down into the street, where 
 the younger cranked up the runabout. It was a 
 faithful old trap. The engine began to clitter- 
 clutter at once. Cathewe sprang in beside the 
 doctor, and the car lurched forward over the frozen, 
 corrugated road. They were well upon the asphalt 
 of the city when the young man spoke. 
 
 "I can't quite understand why you defend 
 Mansfield." 
 
 "I'm not defending him. I am only suggesting 
 that there is good in him. And you are going to 
 pound your way to it. No, boy; the harder you 
 pound Mansfield, the harder he gets. But go to 
 it. The town is dull, and a little excitement won't 
 hurt it. So you've waited to get an audience be- 
 fore you began your campaign? That was shrewd. 
 The other editors couldn't wait; and where are 
 they? But keep your eye open for libellous slips. 
 Be absolutely sure of your facts."
 
 The Man With Three Names 35 
 
 "Don't worry about that." 
 
 "Mansfield has a daughter who believes him to 
 be a demigod as mine believes me to be." 
 
 "Ah, but you are one. Nancy has a right to 
 believe that. But Mansfield's daughter! What 
 is she but an inconsequent butterfly? The war 
 drove her back to this country; she let it. She 
 deserted her foster mother in an hour like that! 
 She did not even return here, where she might have 
 done some good. She went to New York, to 
 Washington, to dance and to play." 
 
 "She is young. In judging her you may be a 
 little hasty. Nancy, who is visiting her in Wash- 
 ington, says she is tender and lovely and lovable." 
 
 "I was wondering what had become of Nancy. 
 Miss Mansfield will improve. You can't help it, 
 and be with Nancy Maddox." 
 
 "A good girl." 
 
 "She's splendid!" with enthusiasm. 
 
 The doctor's eyes sparkled. If only this odd, 
 clean boy and Nancy might fall in love with each 
 other ! 
 
 "They are beginning to renovate the house," he 
 said. 
 
 "Mansfield's?" 
 
 "Nancy writes that they expect to return and 
 settle down permanently in the early fall. And 
 then we shall see. Betty has a beautiful soul, son;
 
 36 The Man With Three Names 
 
 only, she isn't quite awake yet. She is not 
 dancing entirely, down there in Washington. 
 Wait until you see her. The marvel to me is that 
 she is still unmarried. The young men in Washing- 
 ton have gone off their heads over her. She has 
 all the qualities in one like the mother who bore 
 her beauty, goodness, and money." 
 
 "Oh, well, if you say so. Doctor, I want to ask 
 you a question. Am I anything like a force in 
 this town?" 
 
 "There isn't a working man in the county who 
 does not trust you. There isn't a politician in the 
 city hall who does not fear you. That's why I 
 don't want you to break your head against Mans- 
 field." 
 
 "I'm kind o' set in my ways. You're a fighting 
 man yourself. Would you quit in my place? " 
 
 "Probably not. I'm only trying to keep you 
 where you'll do the most good. The moment you 
 appear formidable to Mansfield, watch out." 
 
 "Won't you stop in for tea? " 
 
 "Spoil my supper. And your mother would 
 make me forget that there was such a thing as a 
 wife and supper waiting for me." 
 
 Cathewe laughed. " She is a wonder, isn't she ! " 
 
 "Cathewe, I can't get it out of my noddle, but 
 both you and your mother seem out of place in that 
 modest little home with the picket fence."
 
 The Man With Three Names 37 
 
 "What gives you that idea?" asked Cathewe, 
 with a searching glance. 
 
 "I enter all houses, and my mind is formed. I 
 should say that you paid about six thousand for 
 the little house." 
 
 "About that." 
 
 "And the contents are as rare and beautiful as 
 anything on Polygon Hill. Not a chair without a 
 history. But that isn't it. You two move about 
 as though what shall I say? as though you had 
 always been accustomed to such surroundings. 
 And neither of you goes out socially. Off the con- 
 cert stage I never heard the equal of your mother 
 at the piano. Understand me, son. I'm not 
 poking around. I'm only telling you that you 
 mystify us simple folks in Bannister. Now many 
 shares do you own of the Herald ? " 
 
 "Forty-nine per cent." 
 
 "Why not fifty-one the control? " 
 
 "We can't locate fifty shares. They have com- 
 pletely vanished in some manner. Transfer rec- 
 ords gone, too. So long as they don't turn up, 
 I'm in control." 
 
 "The paper is paying dividends, I hear." 
 
 "Small, but satisfactory." 
 
 "A good joke on the Times and the Telegram. 
 They laughed at you for taking hold of that mil- 
 dewed, moribund sheet. You're clever."
 
 38 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "Business. I inherited that talent." This was 
 spoken sharply, as if there was something dis- 
 tasteful hi the confession. "And I'm something 
 of a sport, too. The greatest gamble in the world 
 is the newspaper game." 
 
 " How'd you happen to hit Bannister? " 
 
 "When you play poker, you never know 
 what's in the draw. A newspaper friend told 
 me that the Herald was on the market for 
 the "price of the presses. And here I am to 
 stay." 
 
 "Ah! That depends." 
 
 Cathewe laughed. "If I didn't know you, I'd 
 say you, too, were afraid of the man." 
 
 "No. Merely I know him. I've taken a fancy 
 to you and don't want to see you ruined. But 
 you came here with a double purpose?" 
 
 "Yes. As an honest man and a Tomfool. But 
 more of that some other day. Doctor, what 
 would you say if I told you I was a man with three 
 names?" 
 
 "What? three names? " 
 
 " Yes. My own and two others." 
 
 "What's the joke, son?" 
 
 For a block Cathewe remained silent. "After 
 all, a doctor is like a priest the repository of 
 secrets. One more won't hurt you. I am going 
 to talk to you as the family physician."
 
 The Man With Three Names 39 
 
 "You mean that you do not want me to repeat 
 what you are about to tell me? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " It is nothing I ought not to know? " 
 
 " I am not a fugitive from justice." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, son ! " 
 
 "But I'm a kind of Ishmael. I am pursued by 
 the Furies. I am in the same category as a ship 
 beset by a typhoon a victim. Three names. I 
 have an assumed one. By that name I make a 
 modest living, honourably. Brandon Cathewe are 
 my given names, the tail of the kite, which is 
 Hallo well. Have you ever by chance heard of 
 DigbyHallowell?" 
 
 The doctor repeated the name ruminatingly. 
 "Seems I've heard the name somewhere, but it 
 escapes me at this moment." 
 
 "You will recall it with a little digging," said 
 the young man with gentle irony. "And when you 
 do, remember I'm Digby Hallowell's son and my 
 mother is his widow. Here we are. Thanks for 
 the lift. When you pick the Herald off your door 
 step to-morrow morning, you'll see some interesting 
 facts relative to Dunleigh Mansfield and his way 
 of doing business. The Lord of Polygon Hill. 
 That will make a good catch-phrase." 
 
 Cathewe jumped down from the car and with 
 astonishing ease vaulted the gate. He turned,
 
 40 The Man With Three Names 
 
 waved his hand, and ran up the brick path to the 
 door. 
 
 The doctor turned the car to his own driveway 
 which was diagonally across the street. Digby 
 Hallo well. He tried to wake up certain memory 
 cells, but without success. Three names. All 
 along the boy had mystified him. A fine linguist, 
 and for his age, a remarkable scholar. That would 
 be a European education. He had made the 
 Herald the most popular newspaper in town, but 
 he himself was almost unknown, having stayed 
 resolutely in the background. And all the time 
 waiting for the psychological moment to arrive 
 when he might engage his lance against Mans- 
 field's! The boy would be ground to powder. It 
 would not matter that right was on his side; might 
 was on the side of Mansfield. The boy would 
 lose eventually all he had in the world. An old 
 score to settle against Mansfield? He wondered 
 if that was at the bottom of it all. It would be 
 David with his sling against a dozen Goliaths 
 armed with machine-guns. Not the least chance 
 in the world. But he would go on, this boy, be- 
 cause he was the kind who had to go on. The 
 prospect of defeat would not daunt him. It was a 
 pity. 
 
 Digby Hallo well. Where had he heard that 
 name? Certainly he had heard it. Digby Hal-
 
 The Man With Three Names 41 
 
 lowell. It was not until after eight, when office 
 hours were over, and he was seated by the reading 
 lamp in the library, that the memory cell opened 
 unexpectedly. Thunder-struck, he lowered his 
 pipe. The son of that man ! The pity and tragedy 
 of it! Now he understood many baffling things. 
 He understood why that beautiful white-haired 
 woman seldom smiled save when her boy was the 
 object of her gaze. Digby Hallo well's son! Ish- 
 mael indeed ! 
 
 People in Bannister talked a good deal about 
 Dunleigh Mansfield, discussed him and his method 
 frankly enough; but the newspapers fought shy of 
 any spectacular tale. Mansfield had a habit of 
 presenting editors with tickets of transportation 
 when he found he did not like them. So, on the 
 morrow, when subscribers picked up the Herald 
 off their front steps, they sensed a shock, at once 
 pleasurable and sorrowful. By noon the whole 
 city was aware of the fact that Mansfield had been 
 boldly and skilfully assailed in his castle-keep. 
 
 Between the counsel for the Mansfield interests 
 in Bannister and Mansfield himself there were ex- 
 changed a series of brief telegrams. An excerpt of 
 the story had been telegraphed to Washington. 
 
 From Washington: "Is it blackmail? Give 
 the editor a scare."
 
 42 The Man With Three Names 
 
 From Bannister: "No blackmail. He won't 
 scare. Have seen his proofs. We can't do any- 
 thing through courts." 
 
 From Washington: "Buy the sheet.'* 
 From Bannister: "Editor says it is not for 
 sale." 
 
 From Washington : " What is editor's name? " 
 When Mansfield received the answer to this 
 query, he was in his study. He was in evening 
 dress, waiting for his daughter and her guest, Miss 
 Nancy Maddox, to come down. They were going 
 out to dinner and later to a dance. Impatiently 
 Mansfield ripped open the yellow envelope and 
 drew out Medusa's head! Anyhow, he stared 
 at the sheet, motionless and stonily, in a kind of 
 petrified astonishment. He had all but forgotten 
 the man and the incident. 
 " Brandon Cathewe!"
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 THAT fellow, that impertinent beggar who 
 had taken a joke in earnest! Gone to 
 Bannister and bought a newspaper! But 
 why was he turning his cannon upon Dunleigh 
 Mansfield? If he wanted Betty, why attack the 
 father in this manner? The infernal blackguard! 
 Mansfield picked up a cigarette. It would spoil his 
 dinner, but the sudden craving for tobacco would 
 not be denied. Of course he had purchased the in- 
 vention outright, at an absurd figure. That was 
 merely good business. If the inventor hadn't the 
 brains and foresight to guard himself, that was none 
 of Dunleigh Mansfield's affair. After a certain 
 number of years, if the production reached a cer- 
 tain height, the inventor was to receive royalty. If 
 a " certain height" had signified a computation be- 
 yond the possibilities of production, why hadn't the 
 inventor looked into the facts and registered a pro- 
 test? A perfectly legal business deal; the moral side 
 of it was negligible. It just happened to be one of 
 those newspaper sensations for which the American 
 public clamoured. Spite, probably. The young 
 fool had suddenly realized that Betty was as far 
 
 43
 
 44 The Man With Three Names 
 
 out of his reach as the stars, and had now em- 
 barked upon a campaign of spite. 
 
 But for all that, the madman had gone to Ban- 
 nister; and madmen who accomplished things were 
 dangerous. Of all the insane projects! But there 
 occurred to Mansfield that there was a sinister 
 phase to the affair. The young anarchist must 
 be suppressed before he made any headway. He 
 must find out how long the fool had been in Ban- 
 nister and what success he was making of the sheet. 
 Actually gone to Bannister to become a force ! 
 
 Very good. Mansfield knew all about editors 
 and newspapers. He had eliminated more than 
 one editor from the affairs of Bannister. Another 
 was now due to follow his predecessors. An anar- 
 chist; and sooner or later he would be meddling 
 with the men in the shops if let be. 
 
 Betty, however, must know nothing; the scur- 
 rilous sheet must not fall into her hands. It was 
 perfectly legitimate business; but the young woman 
 had odd ideas hi her head. She was sometimes 
 painfully clear and direct. 
 
 Soon she would be returning to Bannister. He 
 did not want her to go back there at all, but there 
 was apparently no visible method by which he would 
 dissuade her. But why didn't he want her to go 
 back? That puzzled him. He had tried to an- 
 alyze this objection, but it eluded him perpetually.
 
 The Man With Three Names 45 
 
 Was it because the child had ceased to be a 
 stranger? Was it because her point of view was 
 subtly undermining his? Of what was he afraid? 
 That in returning to Bannister she might eventu- 
 ally learn that her father was not quite the demigod 
 she pictured him? 
 
 Well, he would have that Cathewe chap out of 
 the way before she did return. His only concern 
 was that she might stumble upon something in type. 
 Very few in Bannister would dare whisper even that 
 Dunleigh Mansfield was not always scrupulous. 
 
 Concern. He began to turn the word over and 
 over in his mind. Was it concern? Was it not 
 something akin to fear? The child actually loved 
 him, though he had never melted beyond the per- 
 functory kiss and embrace; and his fear or concern, 
 or whatever it was, was for her rather than for him- 
 self. He did not want her to learn that business 
 and politics were ruthless adventures. 
 
 He was really fond of her. There was no doubt 
 in his mind regarding this fact. He had also grown 
 accustomed to her. She was always amiable and 
 witty; and he was just beginning to find amazing 
 pleasure in the sound of her singing voice. Hith- 
 erto music had left him untouched emotionally; 
 now he at least found it soothing. 
 
 There was no love in his heart for her; the in- 
 stinct was merely that of possession. That fell in
 
 46 The Man With Three Names 
 
 accord with his ruling passion to possess that 
 which the other man had not, or if he did possess it 
 to dispossess him. His daughter was a lovely and 
 companionable ornament. Years ago he had 
 written in granite that love and business should not 
 be mixed, that it was impossible to mix them, that 
 it must be one or the other. He knew that he did 
 not love her. He never worried about her when 
 she went out alone as she often did. There was 
 never any thrill when she returned. He was al- 
 ways glad to see her; this much was an established 
 fact. She had become a part of his daily routine. 
 He recognized that he did not want to love her. 
 Such a condition of mind would become a disinte- 
 grating force in relation to the tremendous plans 
 he was forming against the future when this silly 
 war was done with. One could not be ruthless and 
 love anything. 
 
 Long ago Mansfield had lost the art of intro- 
 spection. Self -analysis was a waste of time. And 
 he seldom inclined toward retrospection. The 
 past was like a series of shut doors. He rarely if 
 ever turned back to open one; or, if one was opened 
 somebody else opened it: as for instance, this im- 
 pertinent young anarchist who had just pilloried 
 Mansfield's business methods in such a manner as 
 to leave the object of the onslaught without a 
 counter-attack in the courts.
 
 JIhe Man With Three Names 47 
 
 After all, there was something startling in the 
 event. Of all the insane projects ! The fellow had 
 actually taken him at his word and gone to Ban- 
 nister to make good. There existed, then, a human 
 being who could embark upon such an enterprise, 
 who could accept conditions which would have 
 wrinkled the brow of the young Hercules? Mans- 
 field recalled what he could of that remarkable inter- 
 view. Why, the fellow had caught the spirit of the 
 jest, but had pinned the jester down to a gentle- 
 man's agreement. A Don Quixote in a cotton 
 shirt! Gone to Bannister, bought that semi- 
 socialistic sheet, all with the idea of winning 
 Betty ! The fellow ought to be looked over by the 
 commission in lunacy. 
 
 Very well. Shortly the editor would sell his 
 newspaper; if he refused to sell, he would be driven 
 into bankruptcy. One did not have to dynamite 
 a newspaper to get rid of it; you took away its ad- 
 vertising. In one manner or another, he should 
 be driven out of Bannister, where he did not belong. 
 There was no fear in Mansfield's heart. His pre- 
 rogatives had been encroached upon, and the en- 
 croacher must be punished, as an example and a 
 warning to other editors that one man ruled the 
 destinies of Bannister. 
 
 When his daughter and her friend came down, 
 Mansfield had himself in hand. His handsome
 
 48 The Man With Three Names 
 
 face was expressive of pleasure and amiability and 
 gave no hint of the cold plans of annihilation that 
 were forming in his head. 
 
 "I don't know which of you two affords me the 
 most pleasure the orchid or the rose," he said. 
 "I expect to be very much envied to-night." 
 
 " Which of us is which? " asked Betty. 
 
 "I'm the country rose," said Nancy, readily. 
 
 " Then I am to consider myself an orchid? " 
 
 "The white orchid of Borneo," said her father, 
 gallantly. 
 
 " Daddy, that was very nice. Ready? " 
 
 "Yes. I shall have to leave you two after din- 
 ner. I am expecting to wind up a munitions con- 
 tract. You are not afraid to come home alone, 
 Betty?" 
 
 Betty laughed. "I adore these adventures 
 where I have to depend upon myself. Think of 
 the thrill of saying 'Home, James!' on a dark 
 night!" 
 
 "Honestly, I don't believe you are afraid of 
 anything, Betty," declared Mansfield, pleased. 
 
 "Why should I be?" 
 
 "The dark," said Nancy, "has no terrors for 
 either of us. It all depends upon what you read." 
 
 "And what do you read?" asked Mansfield, 
 who was really a fine scholar. 
 
 "Good books, books about human beings who
 
 The Man With Three Names 49 
 
 are striving to better themselves. I like that 
 * Prosaic Lives/ The author wrote from his heart." 
 
 Mansfield picked up the book from the table. 
 "A green young man. It is quite patent that he 
 wrote from his heart, not from a brain that had 
 gathered the facts first-hand and sifted false ideals 
 from the true. A good book, a worth-while book, 
 must be the result of a nicely balanced brain and 
 heart. If you let the heart dictate, you generally 
 invite trouble. It is as if a soldier were giving 
 orders to his general. A well- written book, but 
 green." 
 
 "It was very popular," Nancy defended. 
 
 "And there are some lines that are beautiful," 
 added Betty. "They are like little children. You 
 want to cuddle them." 
 
 "Oh, he has promise. But his fault is patent. 
 He strives for realism, and an inherent romanticism 
 is always cropping forth. Some day he will look 
 back upon this book with chagrin. Well, suppose 
 we start?" 
 
 "But what an odd name to assume!" Betty 
 balanced the book on her palm. 
 
 "George Cottar; Kipling's Brushwood Boy. 
 And there you are," declared her father. "A 
 dreamer, not a doer; a dweller in a fairyland of 
 his own making, observing life through roseate 
 clouds!"
 
 50 The Man With Three Names 
 
 i 
 
 "But what would we do in this world if there 
 
 weren't any Brushwood Boys?" asked Nancy. 
 "Don't we all make believe at one time or another? 
 Do you mean to tell me that you've never built 
 any dreams?" 
 
 "Oh, when I was a youngster, probably the 
 kind of dreams you mean. I have my dreams all 
 right; but they come to me in the form of blue- 
 prints. And I have the advantage over your 
 George Cottar, for my dreams come true." 
 
 "Didn't his? " said Betty, softly. 
 
 "But that's a story only. It happened in a 
 book"; and Mansfield started for the hall. 
 
 He sat in the forward chair of the limousine. 
 Occasionally he heard the girls laugh. When- 
 ever they spoke to him, he replied in monosyllables. 
 His thoughts were busy mulling over the Cathewe 
 affair. A man, a grown man, to attempt a game 
 like this ! 
 
 Suddenly he had it; and the illumination chilled 
 him slightly. Reprisal. The whole affair on ship- 
 board a blind, Betty a pretence. The son of some 
 man he had broken via the Wall Street method. 
 The affair now had sense and significance. Reprisal. 
 Very good. What he had meted out to the father 
 he would mete out to the son.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 WHEN the girls returned neither was in 
 the mood for bed. So they went into 
 the library and curled up on the daven- 
 port. The soft-coal fire, full of little flaming 
 tongues of gas, was the only light. For awhile 
 they did not speak. They were revolving that 
 marvellous kaleidoscope called memory. They 
 were building in the fire, as they say, castles and 
 cottages, gardens and young romance. 
 
 I wish I had some new words; or that I could 
 twist the old ones about in such a fashion as to 
 make them look new. To have described these 
 two young women a thousand years ago, when the 
 language blocks were freshly painted! Both of 
 them had beauty. The beauty of one was cloud- 
 like : a summer cloud, brilliantly white against the 
 blue, changing subtilely and continuously, mirrored 
 on the stream a serene beauty. Her lovely white 
 arms were spread out on each side of her. Her 
 skin, reflecting the firelight, was like a gold-beater's 
 leaf; and there were magic threads of gold in the 
 blue iris of her eye. Her hair was a ruddy brown, 
 like the leaf of the copper-beech in October. The 
 
 51
 
 52 The Man With Three Names 
 
 other girl was resting her elbows on her knees, her 
 chin in the cup of her palms. She was as pretty 
 as a hollyhock: homesy, frank, and friendly. Good 
 foils, a summer cloud and a hollyhock. 
 
 There was no continuity to Nancy Maddox's 
 thoughts. They were like butterflies, wheeling 
 and turning in a most wonderful garden. These 
 amazing two weeks! It seemed to her that she 
 wasn't real, that in some mysterious fashion she 
 had been incorporated between the covers of an 
 English society novel. Ambassadors and diplo- 
 mats, officers from all parts of the world, heroes 
 and politicians! Men with brains to sell, guns, 
 secrets. And they danced with Nancy Maddox 
 because she was Betty Mansfield's friend. 
 
 Betty ! How they flocked about her, these men ! 
 She was like a whirlpool, drawing everyone toward 
 her, and quite as unconscious of her power as any 
 real whirlpool. Nancy had learned a stupendous 
 fact, that the great in soul are always simple and 
 genuine. And this lovely girl at her side was 
 totally free of artifice. Possibly this was one of 
 her main attractions. To blase Washington it 
 was a novelty to come into contact with a mind 
 that was as frank and kindly bent as it was brilliant. 
 And yet, what was it? Always Betty seemed to 
 be gazing over the heads of her admirers with the 
 air of a watcher. That was it precisely: watching
 
 The Man With Three Names 53 
 
 and waiting for something. The baffling eager- 
 ness with which she greeted strange young men, 
 and then shortly the lack of interest in them! A 
 riddle of some sort. 
 
 Boom-boom! said the ormulu clock on the man- 
 tel. 
 
 "Good gracious!" exclaimed the hollyhock; 
 "two o'clock in the morning!" 
 
 "Sleepy, Nancy? Why, two o'clock in the 
 morning here is only the shank of the evening." 
 
 "I guess I'm truly a country mouse. Anything 
 after midnight scares me. What a gorgeous time 
 you have given me! I wonder if you haven't 
 spoiled me for Bannister? Dear old father will 
 notice my airs and make fun of me." 
 
 "Nothing could spoil you, Nancy. Isn't it odd, 
 though? I haven't seen you but three times in all 
 these years and you are just the same as when we 
 played in pinafores. Nancy, I just love you!" 
 And Betty threw her arms around her friend. 
 "And you love me?" 
 
 " With all my heart ! " Nancy returned the em- 
 brace vigorously. "Aren't you tired?" 
 
 "Of all this? Of travel, of living in villas and 
 hotels? Oh, I tired of that long ago, before the war 
 forced me home. And I did so want to stay in 
 France, which I love so. Unhappy France to do 
 something for her ! B ut Daddy ordered me home. ' '
 
 54 The Man With Three Names 
 
 There was a long pause. 
 
 "Betty, you baffle me. Sometimes I think I 
 know you; then I'm sure I don't." 
 
 "How why?" 
 
 "For what are you watching and waiting?" 
 
 "Watching and waiting?" startled. "Is it 
 noticeable?" 
 
 "To me, Betty. You are so beautiful that I 
 find myself watching you constantly. And I 
 can't get away from the idea that you are watch- 
 ing and waiting for something or someone. The 
 eager way in which you greet new men ! I thought 
 at first it was one of those little tricks women use to 
 trap men's interest. But not you. I have noticed 
 that after you've talked a little while with a new 
 man you leave him utterly bewildered by your 
 sudden lack of interest." 
 
 "And so you have noticed! I wonder if others 
 have? Nancy, have you ever been in love?" 
 rather intensely. 
 
 "I don't know, Betty. There is a young man 
 in Bannister I'm very fond of. I'm afraid I am 
 fonder than it is wise to be, since no act or word of 
 his has ever carried him over the boundary line of 
 friendship. He's the queerest boy! Merry and 
 whimsical and shrewd: but sometimes I sense 
 precipices in his soul depths that I cannot see into. 
 Father says he is the finest young man he ever met.
 
 The Man With Three Names 55 
 
 But there! I'm not in love that I know of. It 
 may happen, but I'm not going to let go until he 
 gives me the right to." 
 
 "Poor little country mouse! Do you believe 
 love is something you can put snaffle and curb on? 
 You are right, Nancy. I am watching. I don't 
 suppose there's another woman in all this world so 
 strangely and inexorably trapped as I am." 
 
 " Trapped? What do you mean? " 
 
 "Exactly what I say trapped. Enmeshed in 
 delicate cobweb, and yet I cannot break through." 
 Betty stood up. She swept a hand across her eyes. 
 " Oh, I must tell someone, or go mad ! I dare not 
 tell Daddy. Besides, he would not understand. 
 He doesn't believe in Brushwood Boys." Betty 
 suddenly dropped to her knees and seized the 
 bewildered Nancy's hands. "Romance! Nancy, 
 do I look like the kind am I the kind for any 
 man to play with? I mean, is it right that any 
 m'an should hurt and mock me when I have wit- 
 tingly harmed no one? It isn't fair, it isn't fair! 
 Love! as if one could say howdy-do to it and 
 then good-bye!" 
 
 "Betty, whatever has happened? I just knew 
 that something was wrong. But there must be 
 some mistake. No man would hurt and mock you 
 intentionally." 
 
 Betty turned and sat on her heels, staring into
 
 56 The Man With Three Names 
 
 the crumbling embers. She drew one of Nancy's 
 hands down across her shoulder and held it tightly. 
 
 "Letters! from the sky, the clouds, the stars, 
 burning with fire. Oh, he must have loved me! 
 He couldn't have written like that else. The 
 first came in the fall of nineteen twelve, just after 
 I had returned to Paris. It was beautifully 
 written, full of poetry and music . . . and love. 
 I read it and threw it into the empty grate. But I 
 went back and recovered it. There was a phrase 
 that kept singing through my head, and I wanted 
 to see if I had interpreted it correctly. Well, I 
 put the letter away. It wasn't as if I had never 
 met young men. After I was eighteen the chateau 
 doors were thrown open. It was my father's wish 
 that I should be a little worldly defensively. I 
 shall inherit a vast fortune some day, aside from 
 that which my mother left me; and it was a wise 
 provision that I should know how to guard myself. 
 So I wasn't an innocent, newly emerged from the 
 nursery." 
 
 Nancy laid her free hand on the beautiful hair 
 and stroked it. 
 
 "Of course I wondered who and what he was. 
 I had nearly forgotten the letter a month later 
 when the second one came, quite as wonderful as 
 the first, which I resurrected for comparison. 
 They were absolutely unlike except in theme.
 
 The Man With Three Names 57 
 
 That was love. Father, as you know, was never 
 with me to any extent. Somehow I could not go 
 to the Countess my foster mother and ask 
 her if it were proper for me to keep the letters. I 
 did not want to keep them, and I just couldn't 
 destroy them. You see, no answer was expected, 
 for there was neither name nor address. A month 
 later the third letter came. And then I began to 
 wait for them, eager and thrilled. For nearly 
 three years they came, Paris, Rome, London, 
 Cairo, Florence, Washington, direct, there was 
 never any forwarding marks upon the envelopes. 
 Someone who knew where I was, where I was going. 
 That alone fascinated me." 
 
 "From where were they mailed? " 
 
 "Always from New York. I have done silly 
 things. I have even carried an autograph album 
 about. Imagine it! one of those old things our 
 grandmothers used. All the young men who 
 have danced or dined or had tea at this house or in 
 New York have written their names in this album. 
 But I never found the handwriting I was in search 
 of." 
 
 "But it would be easy to disguise that." 
 
 "I made them write a paragraph with three or 
 four sentences quotations. It wasn't the writing ; 
 it was the style of punctuation by which they 
 ended a sentence."
 
 58 The Man With Three Names 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 "I was hunting for a curious period a little x 
 instead of a dot, such as you and I make. A man 
 might change the style of his stroke, but habit 
 would lure him into making that odd little period 
 so I believed." 
 
 "And you never found it? " 
 
 
 
 "No. There was always a postscript to these 
 letters. Some day I shall come to you. Five 
 months ago the letters ceased to come. What has 
 happened? Is he dead? If alive, why doesn't he 
 come to me? when he knows where I am? A 
 man so clever and resourceful, who always knows 
 where I am going to be and when, ought not to 
 have any difficulty in finding me. Nancy, I'm 
 much afraid." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 "That he has created in my heart something 
 that will always be there." 
 
 "Love?" whispered Nancy. 
 
 "I don't know what it is, but it is beginning to 
 hurt dreadfully. Such beautiful letters: poetry, 
 music, nature. How many times have I fashioned 
 him in the grate there! Odd, that we cannot im- 
 agine a face and retain it in the memory. Imagine 
 the lure of it! When I am in Florence, he tells me 
 where to go: strange places the average tourist 
 never hears about. It is the same when I am in
 
 Oh, Nancy . . . if I could only stamp out 
 the thought of him
 
 The Man With Three Names 59 
 
 Paris. It is almost as if he were walking beside 
 me." 
 
 "He may be poor, Betty." 
 
 "Poor? A man who has travelled as he has? 
 who knows Florence better than the Florentine? 
 No, Nancy. It costs money. But why did he 
 write me in the first place, if he did not intend pre- 
 senting himself some day? Nancy, I have carried 
 these letters in passionate anger to this fire, deter- 
 mined to throw them into the flames. And what 
 do I do? I sit down, read them, cry over them, 
 and carry them back to the Florentine box I keep 
 them in. At first, when I got a letter, it made me 
 curiously happy. I'd sit down at the piano and 
 sing happy songs. Now I can't sing anything but 
 sad ones. What is happening to me? Whatever 
 can it mean ? I am afraid . ' ' 
 
 "He may be ill." 
 
 "He would have found some way of notifying 
 me." 
 
 " He may have gone to war." 
 
 "He would have let me know." 
 
 "He might be too old and afraid to come." 
 
 "Oh, Nancy, he is young like I am! I know 
 it. But if I could only stamp out the thought of 
 him, free myself. I am watching and waiting and 
 searching. I am always straining my ears for some 
 sign. He doesn't come. And now he writes no
 
 60 The Man With Three Names 
 
 more. Where and under what circumstances did 
 he first see me? Have I really met him? Do I 
 know him? What impelled him to write like that 
 to me? No man would make sport of me. My 
 brain is in a turmoil. I would have disobeyed 
 father and remained in France but for the hope 
 that if I came home I might meet this strange and 
 unusual man. Nancy, I am hurt." 
 
 "Burn the letters," said Nancy, indignantly. 
 "It is going back to them that holds you. Burn 
 them. Cut the Gorgon knot." 
 
 "I've tried and I can't!"
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ON THE sunny side of a huge boulder, on 
 the top of a rusty green hill, sat a man with 
 a small book on his knees. He wore a 
 gray flannel shirt, tieless ; a pair of brown corduroy 
 trousers, much battered for wear; and a pair of 
 ugly russet walking boots. For the present he 
 was hatless, and his hair was tousled from constant 
 plowing of his fingers. 
 
 From time to time his gaze would rove over the 
 top of the book to the dancing waters of the great 
 fresh- water sea, half a mile or more to the north. 
 Behind him there was a fine country road. Oc- 
 casionally an automobile flew past with a whining 
 zoum; but the brisk northwest wind carried the 
 dust to the south side of the highway. Eastward, 
 above the brown and green and scarlet boscage, 
 several church spires were visible in the late Sep- 
 tember haze. There lay the city of Bannister. 
 Nature, hating the ugly, hid it as well as she could. 
 Farther east, a drab smudge, which seemed to shut 
 off the world beyond. 
 
 Whenever the man's gaze went back to his book, 
 his expression was one of contentment. When- 
 
 61
 
 62 The Man With Three Names 
 
 ever this gaze shifted toward the spires, an ironical 
 smile twisted up the corners of his lips. It was 
 when he looked at the water and the sky that an 
 observer might have caught the vague glimpse of 
 a poet's soul. To be a poet one does not have to 
 write verse; it is necessary only to love the beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 "Clouds!" he said aloud, in a kind of ecstasy. 
 The book slipped from his knees. 
 
 Fairy castles and witches' caverns and Ali 
 Baba's caves: rolling billows of white with ice-blue 
 shadows and patches of intense blue; clouds, with 
 the zenith and the dancing sapphire waters for a 
 frame. 
 
 He frowned, for the smudge in the east again 
 came into his range of vision. They were after 
 him down there. Nearly all the local advertising 
 had fallen away, and the stockholders were ex- 
 hibiting signs of restiveness; and that signified 
 that Mansfield or his agents had approached them. 
 Still, he had their solemn promises that neither 
 Mansfield nor his accredited agents would lay a 
 finger on the stock, that under no provocation 
 would they sell to the Lord of Polygon Hill. 
 Cathewe knew that he could have settled the 
 matter by a stroke of the pen. What made him 
 dodder and risk betrayal? There was no logical 
 reason at all why he shouldn't buy out the dis-
 
 The Man With Three Names 63 
 
 gruntled stockholders and make his grip on the 
 Herald absolute and permanent. There was some- 
 thing quicksilvery about this hesitance to act as 
 he knew he ought to act, for he could not grasp it. 
 
 Had his diatribes and the success of the Herald 
 brought Mansfield home, he wondered. Power. 
 What an instrument to play on, this shifting, 
 volatile thing called the public! People in Ban- 
 nister who had to work had finally accepted the 
 Herald as their pilot, whether the subject was war, 
 politics, or religion. Power, a strong arm and a 
 shield for the weak; to have sought the bird of 
 paradise, and to have found the eagle. 
 
 His thought went to his mother. What a 
 thoroughbred she was, to stick to him on his 
 crazy adventure, to follow his fortunes, when she 
 might have remained in the peace and seclusion of 
 the villa up Fiesole way, with that riot of roses in 
 the spring-time and the sun on the red roofs of 
 Florence! 
 
 Cathewe, her maiden name; and to be forced to 
 prefix it with Mrs. in order to share his fortunes! 
 And always just a little worried for fear that some- 
 one from the old world she had known might cross 
 her path and recognize her. It would have been 
 better for them both had she remained in Italy, 
 to have let him work out his amazing destiny 
 alone. But what would he have done without her?
 
 64 The Man With Three Names 
 
 When he was tired, discouraged, and heart-achy, to 
 go home to her and sit in the twilight while she 
 soothed him with that marvellous art of hers his 
 mother and his comrade. And the joy of sitting 
 beside her on the piano bench, an arm around her, 
 while she improvised and talked at the same time. 
 God bless her! And it was inevitable that some 
 day he would have to leave her. For he recog- 
 nized the trend of events. America could not stay 
 out of this war much longer. 
 
 The thousand doors of fate, as the ancient China- 
 man had said. A thousand open doors, and he 
 had entered this one, to find himself. That was 
 the amazing part of it. A chance shot in the dark 
 and here was the chosen highway; obstacled, 
 yes, but now clearly defined. No more blind 
 alleys leading nowhere, no more doddering and 
 doubting. And all because a woman's face had 
 filled him with flame. That beautiful face, then, 
 had been merely a sign-post to direct him on his 
 way. He had gone aboard that ship, his head 
 full of wondrous plans for the future and here he 
 was, in Bannister. 
 
 Human beings could get over most things even 
 love and he knew that his sense of chagrin was 
 slowly but surely effecting a cure. The face of an 
 angel and the soul of a butterfly. There was no 
 niche for a butterfly in his plan of life, a gilded,
 
 The Man With Three Names 65 
 
 inconsequent butterfly. The world was on fire 
 and she could dance! 
 
 What possessed a man, he wondered, to fall in 
 love with a picture? For that was what he had 
 done. A picture, inexpressibly lovely, but still a 
 picture. Twice, during the past two weeks, he 
 had seen her in her limousine, her face in the cool 
 shade of an old-fashioned Leghorn hat. There 
 was a quaintness in her air that reminded him of 
 Botticelli. And she was shallow. 
 
 Three or four times he had been on the point of 
 quizzing Nancy; but Nancy was so shrewd that 
 he was afraid lest she suspect the character of his 
 interest. 
 
 Nancy. Why couldn't he fall in love with 
 Nancy, pretty and wholesome and homesy, with 
 her broad, sensible outlook, her kindness and ten- 
 derness, her deep sympathy for his cause? What 
 fun it was, dropping in there for tea and chattering 
 about books. The only home, save his own, he 
 ever entered. Why had the butterfly crossed his 
 path before he had seen the bee? That was one 
 of life's ironies. 
 
 But was he getting over it? Was the cure really 
 in process? If so, why had he gone up to Poly- 
 gon Hill the other night, in the rain, to stand on the 
 sidewalk with the hoi-polloi, while the 2Kte of 
 Bannister emerged from their limousines and
 
 66 The Man With Three Names 
 
 taxis to pass under a canvas canopy fully three 
 hundred feet long? What freakish curiosity had 
 impelled him to wait there like a yokel, for nothing? 
 There had been no earthly hope of seeing the 
 butterfly in whose honour this affair had been ar- 
 ranged. Vaguely he had sensed the urge of one of 
 those wild, spectacular plunges of his: to walk in, 
 uninvited and as welcome as the plague, and de- 
 mand of Mansfield that he carry out his end of the 
 absurd agreement, since Brandon Cathewe had 
 become a force in the city of Bannister. Had he not 
 already fashioned a flaming sword? and wasn't 
 he striking sound and rugged blows against the 
 predatory in the interests of the weak? And as 
 evidence, wasn't Dunleigh Mansfield throwing the 
 full weight of his power against the Herald? To 
 have walked into that magnificent hallway, in his 
 rain-sodden clothes, and demanded an introduction 
 to Betty Mansfield! 
 
 The vast humour of such an exploit his perfect 
 sense of the denouement had doubtless saved 
 him from committing it. He had burst forth into 
 a gale of sardonic laughter, touch to the astonish- 
 ment of the hoi-polloi who had peered at him sus- 
 piciously from under teetering umbrellas. 
 
 There came an interruption the whine of an 
 automobile. A plague on them: a man had to 
 climb the Matterhorn these days to find solitude.
 
 The Man With Three Names 67 
 
 "Sandy!" cried a woman's voice from the far 
 side of the boulder. "Sandy, come here! . . . 
 Sandy!" 
 
 The automobile whizzed by. Cathewe recovered 
 his book and stood up resentfully. But this resent- 
 ment died swiftly. 
 
 On the slope just beyond the ditch where he 
 had been flung lay an Airedale, motionless. 
 Kneeling beside him was Betty Mansfield, her 
 hands clenched against her bosom, her eyes full of 
 unshed tears. 
 
 "My dog!. . . . My friend and comrade!"
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 CATHEWE dropped his book, ran across, 
 looked at the dog for a moment or two, 
 then picked him up tenderly and carried 
 him back to the sunny side of the boulder, where 
 there was a patch of warm clover. The girl fol- 
 lowed, dumbly. Not a word was spoken until 
 Cathewe put his hand over the dog's heart. 
 
 "Is is he dead? " she whispered. 
 
 "No." His hands roved hither and yon over 
 the dog's body. "We'll wait a minute. I can't 
 find any breaks. Probably stunned." 
 
 "My poor Sandy!" 
 
 A moment later Cathewe received a slight but 
 pleasurable shock. He had reached for the dog's 
 head the same instant as she, and their hands 
 touched. A great bitterness swept over him ;* for 
 the aftermath of that pleasurable shock was the 
 knowledge that he still cared. 
 
 A shudder ran over the Airedale; and presently 
 the stump of his tail began to beat the turf, 
 feebly. 
 
 " Sandy? " joyously. 
 
 "He's all right," said Cathewe, confidently. 
 
 68
 
 Tlie Man With Three Names 69 
 
 "Simply knocked out. He's in luck. It's mighty 
 hard to keep a dog these days; and yet I can't 
 honestly blame the motorists. The animals will 
 run at the cars. This is a particularly fine breed. 
 Never saw anything like him around these parts. 
 Big and strong enough to tackle bear." He began 
 to pat the broad head. And the wag of the tail 
 became more energetic. 
 
 The girl on her part began to observe. First, 
 the hand, which was lean and brown and well kept. 
 The sleeve of the shirt, however, was frayed at the 
 cuff. The shirt also lacked the top button, and 
 there was a sunburned patch at the base of the 
 throat. Brown corduroys, such as Italian road- 
 menders wore; and the hems were tucked into 
 dusty russet half -boots. (As a matter of fact, 
 Cathewe kept these togs in the office, where he 
 could don them whenever the lure of the highway 
 called, which was every day when the weather was 
 good.) The sight of his face, however, had the 
 effect of a blow. Where had she seen this hand- 
 some, vigorous face before? Somewhere; she 
 was positive of that. Fine, sensitive gray eyes and 
 a mouth which would have been called beautiful in 
 a woman. And above this mouth she saw the rep- 
 lica of her father's nose. Then, from the corner of 
 her eye, she saw the book. Jules Fabre, in the 
 original! The face and hands of an artist, the
 
 70 The Man With Three Names 
 
 clothes of a day-labourer, and a volume of Fabre on 
 insects ! She almost forgot th e dog . 
 
 Here Sandy struggled to his feet, sniffed the grass, 
 his mistress's dress, the man's boots, then shook 
 himself, rather groggily though, as all dogs shake 
 themselves upon coming out of water. 
 
 "Sandy is all right. Eh, old top?" Cathewe 
 held out his hand. 
 
 The dog eyed the hand, quizzically, and ap- 
 proached. He permitted the strange hand to 
 stroke his head, and his tail wagged a little. 
 " Well ! " said Betty, getting up. 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 "Sandy never permits strangers to touch him." 
 
 "But I'm no stranger" whimsically. 
 
 "What? you have met him before? " 
 
 " Oh, no. But all dogs know me," said Cathewe, 
 
 picking up his book. "Fine comrades, aren't 
 
 they? You never have to explain anything to 
 
 them; they fall in with, they never resent, your 
 
 moods. To be a kind of god to something! We 
 
 humans first began to love dogs because they 
 
 flattered us. I had a little dog a while gone. He 
 
 was just plain dog. His pedigree was as numerous 
 
 as a zebra's stripes. But that didn't matter. We 
 
 understood each other at once. Whenever he laid 
 
 his head on my knees and looked into my eyes, I 
 
 wanted to be a better man if I could. But a city
 
 The Mail With Three Names 71 
 
 man cannot keep a dog these days. They will 
 dash at the motors. And Diogenes paid the pen- 
 alty." 
 
 "He was killed?" 
 
 "Yes. Instantly." 
 
 "I'm sorry. Diogenes. To die, after having 
 found an honest man!" She smiled. 
 
 "I wonder." He let his gaze stray off toward 
 the lake. "Am I honest, or do I merely think I 
 am honest?" 
 
 Of all the unusual men ! was her thought. What 
 a beautiful head ! Certainly she had seen it before. 
 But where? She must find out who he was. No 
 man so odd as this one could wander about Ban- 
 nister without being known. 
 
 "What makes you wonder?" she asked. 
 
 "A thoroughly honest man ought not to be put- 
 ting his honesty through the mill of self-analysis; 
 and that's what I have been doing of late." 
 
 "Pardon, but I really want to know. Have I 
 ever met you before?" 
 
 " I dare say you have seen me from your car." 
 
 "Probably that is it. Fabre. You are reading 
 him in the original?" 
 
 "Good mental exercise." 
 
 "I suppose the ant's life must be very interest- 
 ing to you." 
 
 "Indeed, all life is interesting. Come along. I
 
 72 The Man With Three Names 
 
 will show you an ant city, a Canton of the insect 
 world." 
 
 She ought to have thanked him and declined; 
 but her curiosity was of the most compelling kind, 
 so she followed him afield, the dog at her heels. 
 
 Presently the philosopher came to a broad, flat 
 stone. Very carefully he put his fingers under the 
 edge and with a quick heave sent the stone over. 
 The cavity was aswarm with ants. Battalions 
 and regiments scurried about. 
 
 "They seem panic-stricken, but they are not. 
 Now watch. See all those white eggs? " 
 
 She gazed fascinatedly at the black atoms. 
 They were taking hold of the eggs and drawing 
 them rapidly into innumerable subways. Within 
 two minutes there were but half a dozen ants 
 visible. These crossed and recrossed the city to 
 see if any stores had been overlooked in the retreat. 
 At length they, too, disappeared. 
 
 " Why, it is wonderful !" she exclaimed. " And I 
 have passed stones like this all my life, and never 
 dreamed of what was seething beneath. Thanks." 
 
 "All cities human cities would look like that, 
 if you tore off the roofs. But this is an ancient 
 affair to me. As a boy I used to watch these ants, 
 and I'm afraid I poked them up a bit. Fabre only 
 renewed my interest. Notice the grass roots. 
 These shore up the thousand labyrinths. Rather
 
 The Man With Three Names 73 
 
 wonderful, isn't it?" He waved a hand toward 
 the surrounding hills. "Teeming with life and 
 eternal war. And once again human beings must 
 try their hand at it. 'What fools these mortals 
 be!' " 
 
 She felt vaguely disappointed. "You are a 
 pacifist?" 
 
 " Good heavens, no! But it's all so horribly use- 
 less. It makes me sad. The world the earth 
 so generous and kindly, and men must go on killing 
 each other. And this war will last a hundred 
 years. Four or five years of war and ninety-five 
 years of hate. And soon we shall be hurled into 
 it." 
 
 "You believe that?" 
 
 "We are a white people, aren't we? But we 
 are like a bear I once saw in the zoo. He was 
 asleep. The attendant began to prod him with a 
 long pole. The bear stirred uneasily. The at- 
 tendant, full of malice, persisted. After a few 
 minutes of this baiting, the bear suddenly raised 
 his head, caught the pole in his jaws and dragged it 
 from the attendant's hands, and broke it into 
 splinters. Then he raged up and down the bars, 
 wanting nothing so much as to treat the attendant 
 as he had treated the pole. Well, when we wake 
 up, there won't be any bars. . . . See those 
 little white butterflies? Always exterminate them,
 
 74 The Man With Three Names 
 
 for they bring blight to flowers. There's an- 
 other flat stone. Suppose we investigate?" 
 
 The Airedale, having by this time fully recovered 
 from the shock of his accident, began to inspect 
 sundry rabbit and woodchuck holes, enlarging 
 some of them futilely. 
 
 Ostensibly Betty was interested in the new ant 
 city; but her eyes did not convey any memorable 
 impressions to her brain; that was busy with 
 conjecture. A gentleman of her own sort, because 
 he was courteous and unembarrassed. Apparently 
 he knew that she was Dunleigh Mansfield's 
 daughter, and was not in the least awed by the 
 fact. That rather pleased her. He did not in- 
 troduce himself, which was another good sign. It 
 left her free to recognize him the next time they 
 met or to pass him by. She was quite confident 
 that he was not a native of Bannister. An out- 
 of-doors man and a scholar; the shabby clothes 
 now fitted into the scheme of things. Men did 
 not pursue their studies in natural history, dressed 
 as for a tea party. Who and what was he ? Nancy 
 Maddox would know, for Nancy knew everybody 
 in Bannister. He would be very easy to describe. 
 Doubtless she would be meeting him during the 
 winter. She still retained the vague impression, 
 however, that she had seen him before, and not in 
 Bannister.
 
 The Man With Three Names 75 
 
 Cathewe discoursed lightly and fluently and in- 
 terspersed his impromptu lecture on natural history 
 with a few happy jests. He talked like a man who 
 was intensely interested in his subject. And yet, 
 back of this ready flow of words, back of the knowl- 
 edge that impelled them, was another thought. 
 She was lovely and unspoiled. Somehow he 
 wished she had been a bit offish, a little more arti- 
 ficial; this would have confirmed the opinion he 
 had formed of her. Lovely and unspoiled; and 
 yet she could dance. He could not stifle his con- 
 tempt for any who could frivol these dreadful 
 times. The young woman in America would not 
 understand. Over yonder the world was on fire; 
 and over here, syncopated music, laughter, in- 
 difference, wastefulness. 
 
 The solution, he supposed, in this instance, lay 
 in the fact that she was Dunleigh Mansfield's 
 daughter; her indifference was a part of her in- 
 heritance. He must, then, crush out with all the 
 force he possessed the sentiment which had pri- 
 marily brought him to Bannister. It was all 
 utterly impossible, however one looked at it. He 
 was waging bitter warfare against her father, who, 
 though powerful and ruthless, was rushing blindly 
 to his doom. Out of a lightly spoken jest, a grim 
 earnestness. He must not meet her again ; he must 
 sedulously avoid her. He realized now that he
 
 76 The Man With Three Names 
 
 would be forced to tell Nancy of this chance meeting. 
 He must warn her not to disclose his identity. 
 
 It never occurred to him that a request of this 
 sort would serve only to fill Nancy with wonder 
 and question. And the principal question would 
 be: Why should he care whether Betty Mansfield 
 found out that he was seeking the political downfall 
 of her father? Which, later, was precisely the 
 question that did enter Nancy's head. 
 
 "Thank you," he heard Betty say. "It has 
 been very interesting. I have read Maeterlinck 
 on the bee, but Fabre is an undiscovered country. 
 Come, Sandy; we must be going." 
 
 There was an impulse to offer her hand to this 
 unusual young man, but she smothered it. She 
 turned back toward the highway, the dog leaping 
 and barking joyously. 
 
 "A lucky dog," said Cathewe, smiling. "He 
 has defied the law of irresistible force and lives to 
 tell of it. Good afternoon." 
 
 He crossed over to his boulder and once more 
 reclined against the sun-warmed granite surface. 
 He waited for a little time, then peered around. 
 Her hat was just vanishing down the drop of the 
 hill. He opened his book upside down. 
 
 " The postern gate ! " he murmured. 
 
 At half after five Nancy was agreeably sur- 
 prised by the advent of Betty.
 
 The Man With Three Names 77 
 
 "Nancy, I've had the queerest adventure," be- 
 gan Betty at once, and rather breathlessly. "No; 
 I don't want any tea. I came for some infor- 
 mation. It was so droll and unusual." 
 
 And lightly with those Gallic gestures which 
 came so naturally she recounted what had taken 
 place on top of the hill. 
 
 "Dressed like a tramp and reads Fabre in the 
 original," mused Nancy. She was about to hazard 
 a guess when the telephone in her father's office 
 rang. "Just a moment, Betty. Telephone. It 
 may be some patient of father's." Once at the 
 instrument she recognized Cathewe's voice. 
 
 "Nancy, I've had rather an odd experience; and 
 I'm going to depend upon you to help me out. I've 
 met Mansfield's daughter. She may be curious. 
 Please do not disclose my identity. You under- 
 stand? Mansfield and I are at war. I want to 
 avoid her. Tell me, what is she like? " 
 
 "Do you think she is beautiful?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Anybody could see that with half an 
 eye." 
 
 "Then," said Nancy, loyally, "interpret her 
 beauty as the condition of her heart and mind. 
 She looks upon her father as a demigod. She 
 knows absolutely nothing. There is no one to 
 hint even. Your newspaper never enters the 
 house. And she is here in the living room at this.
 
 78 The Man With Three Names 
 
 very minute, asking about you. Your call inter- 
 rupted me just as I was about to tell her. Do 
 you want me to lie, Brand?" 
 
 "Lie? Lord, no! Only, I don't want her to 
 know who I am." 
 
 "Sooner or later she will find it out. And why 
 in the world should you care? " 
 
 "Very well. I'm sorry. Don't lie on my ac- 
 count. Tell her if you must. Good-bye." 
 
 Slowly Nancy set the receiver on the hook. 
 She did not hasten back to her guest. Why was 
 her heart heavy with foreboding? What mat- 
 tered it to Brandon Cathewe whether Betty knew 
 who or what he was? It was inevitable that Betty 
 should learn sooner or later. Why this concern, 
 when Cathewe was quite as ruthless in his pursuit 
 of justice as Dunleigh Mansfield was in pursuit of 
 his dollars? She returned to the living room. 
 
 "Dressed like a tramp," she repeated, "and 
 reads Fabre in the original. It might be one of 
 your father's chemists. There is a small army of 
 them out there, and there are all sorts and con- 
 ditions of men among them." 
 
 "I can find out. He was so unusual," said 
 Betty. " He knew who I was." 
 
 "And he did not introduce himself ? " 
 
 "He did not even offer to shake hands when I 
 left him."
 
 The Man With Three Names 79 
 
 Nancy hated lies, and she hated herself for telling 
 this one, when it was not obligatory in the least. 
 She was a little afraid. Later, she would attempt 
 to analyze this perverse impulse, and she vaguely 
 dreaded what the analysis might reveal. 
 
 After his interview with Nancy, Cathewe went 
 in to his mother. 
 
 "Play something before the maid comes in to 
 light up." 
 
 "What do you want me to play, Sonny?" in a 
 soft, Southern drawl. 
 
 "Rachmaninoff's Prelude." 
 
 "Then things aren't well with you?" How 
 easy it had become to read the boy's moods by 
 the kind of music he wanted! It was always in- 
 dicative. The brave heart of him ! 
 
 "No, mother. Things aren't as smooth as they 
 might be. Of course I can keep the paper going. 
 The circulation is climbing; and if I hang on long 
 enough, the advertisers will have to come back. 
 What bothers me at this moment is the other 
 phase of the affair." 
 
 "The girl?" a little stab in his mother's heart. 
 
 "Yes. I met her to-day in the fields. I can't 
 quite make her out." 
 
 "You still believe you are in love with her?" 
 
 "I don't know, I honestly don't know. How 
 can I love her, when I have set out to destroy her
 
 80 The Man With Three Names 
 
 father, or at least render him impotent? I can't 
 have her and wreck him, too, and I can't honour- 
 ably let him go. The devil and deep blue sea. I 
 started something, didn't I? Well, I'll finish it," 
 and there was metal in his tone. "Come along 
 and play for me." 
 
 She sat on the bench, but she did not begin the 
 Prelude. Instead, she struck the opening bars of 
 Farwell's Norwegian Song, plaintive rather than 
 melancholy. She could dimly see him, his chin 
 in his palms, staring at a pattern in the Chinese 
 rug. 
 
 And as she played her thoughts travelled afar, 
 to the youth of this singular man-child of hers. 
 She could see him under the great plane-tree, 
 poring over books, odd books for a little boy to 
 read "Pilgrim's Progress," Pope's "Iliad," "Morte 
 D'Arthur," "Jehan Froissard." And the curious 
 way he had of translating himself into his favourite 
 heroes and creating magnificent exploits of his 
 own! She had not understood then. Those swift 
 and fiery impulses which had once puzzled her 
 were now all understandable. God had given 
 her one of those strange fledglings men call 
 geniuses. 
 
 "Better?" 
 
 "I am always better when I am with you, 
 mother. Life is an astonishing mess, isn't it?
 
 The Man With Three Names 81 
 
 For the innocent as well as for the guilty. I, who 
 have never wittingly harmed any one or done a 
 mean thing, I must always carry with me the sense 
 of being hunted the fear of being found out. 
 And I have dragged you into it." 
 
 " I had to come, Sonny. I am your mother. But 
 never mind. God will untangle the web. I have 
 only one fear that this Mansfield will stumble 
 upon the truth." 
 
 "In that case, a new name and a new faring 
 forth. Ishmael and his mother! I should not 
 care if I stood alone. Over in Italy, who would 
 bother or care? But here it is different. We 
 would be shunned like lepers. I told Doctor 
 Maddox. And he understood." 
 
 "You told him?" 
 
 "The name only. He did not get the sig- 
 nificance at first; but when he did, he came to me. 
 Oh, it is safe enough there. He's the dearest old 
 chap. He gives more than half his time away. 
 I've known him to desert a lucrative patient to 
 administer to the poor for nothing, even buying 
 their medicine for them. I don't know why I 
 told him. I just did, that was all." 
 
 "Sonny, I'd be very happy with Nancy as my 
 daughter." 
 
 "The substance rather than the mirage. But 
 I don't love her, mother. I know that. But is
 
 82 The Man With Three Names 
 
 the other a mirage? Nancy says not. What a 
 muddle! My new book I'm afraid I'll have to 
 chuck it. There are too many other things buzzing 
 about in my head. Here comes Mignon. Dinner's 
 ready."
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 IN THE great manor on Polygon Hill, Betty 
 sat curled up on the broad window-seat, 
 watching the receding gold and scarlet of the 
 September sunset. That is, she seemed to be 
 watching it. In reality, she was just recovering 
 from a stunning, paralyzing mental blow. The 
 door to the Apocalypse had opened slightly. On 
 her knees lay a crumpled newspaper. She found 
 it on the floor of the limousine, where some sar- 
 donic jester had tossed it. 
 
 "My father! ... They lie, they lie!" 
 She sprang up, tore the offending sheet into 
 ribbons and rammed them down with her boot in- 
 to the waste-basket. Then she began to pace the 
 room, rocking her head slightly. She did not know 
 what it meant, but for the first time in her life the 
 Mansfield blood was in the ascendant. Every 
 pulse-beat of it demanded instant reprisal venge- 
 ance. By and by she flung herself upon the bed. 
 
 Down below, in the study, a local banker eyed 
 the end of his cigar through half-closed lids. 
 Mansfield, his fingers pyramided, watched him 
 expectantly. 
 
 83
 
 84 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "Do you want some unsolicited advice?" asked 
 the banker, finally. 
 
 "Go ahead with it," said Mansfield, smiling 
 tolerantly. 
 
 "Beat him to it." 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " 
 
 "Clean up these grogshops, which you really 
 own. Tear down your rotten fire-traps. Give 
 the reform candidate the city hall to play with 
 for two years. Anticipate the .young anarchist. 
 Disarm him." 
 
 Mansfield laughed. "You are nearing your 
 second childhood. You ought to know that I am 
 not in the habit of getting scared." 
 
 "Well, I am. My vision is clearing up, fast. 
 Legally, you are practically unassailable. It is 
 the moral side of it that will break you in the end." 
 
 "Break me? " incredulously. 
 
 "Yes. Dunleigh, this war is clearing up a lot of 
 fog. The people are thinking. They are finding 
 the true cleavage between right and wrong. I 
 warn you, they are going to do away with this 
 political game as you and I know it. There is a 
 tremendous agitation going on. If we get into this 
 war and it now looks quite likely to me there 
 will be millions of soldiers returning some day; 
 and we older chaps will be wise to get our house in 
 order against that day. A tide is rising. Down
 
 The Man With Three Names 85 
 
 in the city I feel it. Up here you don't. It 
 would be a good idea to see which way this world 
 is going to roll in order to keep your feet. This 
 fellow Cathewe is no ordinary disturber. I'm 
 beginning to admire him. He knows exactly what 
 he wants. He never wastes a word; and his sim- 
 plicity has a downright touch of genius in it. I 
 defy you to find a libel in his editorial comments. 
 That boy goes down among men. He hasn't 
 accused you of doing anything criminal as under- 
 stood by law. He attacks you from the moral 
 side. Mark me, he'll soon be after your new 
 munitions plant. You are weak there, Dunleigh. 
 A scientific agglomeration of shacks, for high ex- 
 plosives; but water is lacking, in sufficiency, 
 anyhow. The temporary hospital you have erected 
 is too near the tanks. An explosion would 
 knock it to flinders. A serious explosion would 
 wreck half the town. Germany isn't going to let 
 that go on without some attempt to put it out of 
 business." 
 
 "That hospital was the fool architect's fault. 
 It looked all right in the plans." 
 
 "Remedy it." 
 
 "At the cost of seven thousand? No, thanks." 
 
 The banker shrugged. "Still, I'd fix the water, 
 if I were you." 
 
 "Let the city fire department advise me."
 
 86 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "They are afraid of you, and you know it. If 
 anything does happen out there for lack of water 
 it will be criminal negligence; and this fellow 
 Cathewe will hang your hide on his wall. I'm 
 talking plainly to you because I am your friend. 
 And I consider my advice sound. All right. For 
 the moment we'll drop that, and take up this 
 editor. You wrote me to investigate his financial 
 standing. I have." 
 
 "Well, how much has he borrowed to keep his 
 vituperous rag going? " 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "What? You mean he hasn't borrowed on his 
 notes?" 
 
 "Not a penny." 
 
 "How has he kept going on, then?" 
 
 "I'll come to that in a moment. There are but 
 seven stockholders in all. They have promised 
 never to dispose of their interests to you." 
 
 "But I don't want the rag. All I need is to 
 have him lose his following." 
 
 "And he isn't losing it. The paper's circulation 
 is growing daily, despite the fact that you struck 
 off his local advertising. Something really vital 
 is going on. The poor are beginning to boycott the 
 shops that have withdrawn their advertising at 
 your command. Soon the advertisers will drift 
 back of necessity."
 
 The Man With Three Names 87 
 
 Mansfield frowned. 
 
 "Dunleigh, there's a mystery I can't get to the 
 bottom of. There are four banks in Bannister. 
 Being president of one of them and a stockholder 
 in all of them, I am in a position to find out things. 
 This young fellow Cathewe has an active account 
 in each bank, and it is evident that he is paying 
 the losses out of his pocket. Once a month he 
 replenishes these withdrawals." 
 
 "Drafts on New York?" 
 
 "Cash. Nothing traceable." 
 
 "How much is his active account in each bank?" 
 Mansfield could not disguise his growing bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "One hundred thousand dollars, cash!"
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 NEARLY half a million?" gasped Mans- 
 field, with a full feeling in his throat. 
 " Yes. I repeat," continued thebanker : 
 "there's a mystery here that's beyond me. Some- 
 where there is a vast fortune behind this young fellow. 
 Four hundred thousand will keep his paper going 
 without advertisements for ten years. Another 
 queer thing. I don't know about the other banks, 
 but at mine he has two accounts, one general and 
 one special. The general account is never more 
 than two or three thousand. This is added to from 
 time to time by money orders payable to Brandon 
 Cathewe. The special account is never drawn 
 against except to pay the paper's pay-checks and 
 expenses. Not a postage-stamp out of that for 
 his own use. He lives simply. The only servant 
 is a maid who does general housework. His 
 mother is a charming and beautiful woman who 
 plays the piano magnificently. Beyond these 
 facts, a blank wall as thick as the Grand Canon. 
 Dunleigh, better get the rights of the game. Four 
 hundred thousand, behind a newspaper like the 
 Herald, has a tremendous power. My advice is 
 
 88
 
 The Man With Three Names 89 
 
 to get your political and financial house in order." 
 The banker rose. 
 
 "It's in pretty good order as it is, Dawson. I'm 
 an ironmonger by trade. I know how to handle 
 hot irons." 
 
 The banker laughed. "The trouble is, you've 
 never been licked. That's the matter with you. 
 Well, it's my belief that this young David has 
 never been licked, either. And he is acquiring an 
 asset more powerful than money." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 "Public opinion. It's beginning to push up 
 behind him in this odd campaign. Never mind 
 coming to the door. I can find the way." 
 
 For a long time Mansfield sat perfectly motion- 
 less, but his brain was active enough. Upon anal- 
 ysis, he found that his assurance had received 
 an astounding jolt. Four hundred thousand dol- 
 lars ! The Mansfield millions, then, would have no 
 more force against this newspaper than so many 
 feathers in the wind. For once he was confronted 
 with a situation to which there seemed to be no 
 handle. As Dawson said, it was red-hot. There 
 was no denying it; he might as well face it squarely. 
 In a manner that smacked of miracles, the young 
 fellow had actually become a force in Bannister. 
 Why did he not come forward and demand that 
 he, Mansfield, fulfil his side of that bargain?/
 
 90 The Man With Three Names 
 
 Suddenly he felt a surge of resentment on Betty's 
 account. 
 
 He got up and began to walk about the room. 
 The madman had said definitely that he loved 
 Betty. He had come to Bannister to make good 
 in order that he might have the right to pay court 
 to Betty. Mansfield was sportsman enough to 
 admit that the young scoundrel had come through. 
 But by a singular twist of events he had put him- 
 self beyond the pale, so far as Dunleigh Mansfield's 
 daughter was concerned. He had, as it were, con- 
 ducted himself like an untrained hound; taken up 
 one scent and let another lure him away, which, 
 after all, was very satisfying to Betty's father. 
 
 But four hundred thousand dollars! Mans- 
 field tugged at his crisp moustache. That signified 
 caste; and reluctantly he was forced to admit that 
 he had a respectable enemy. 
 
 All these cogitations only enlarged his deter- 
 mination to crush the upstart. There would be 
 some flaw. No man was perfect. There would 
 be a chink in the armour. The thing was to find 
 out where this fortune came from. 
 
 A droll idea entered Mansfield's head. He was 
 not without humour. So he returned to his desk, 
 looked into the telephone book, and called a num- 
 ber. A woman's voice answered. It was a sweet, 
 drawling voice.
 
 The Man With Three Names 91 
 
 "I wish to speak with Mr. Cathewe." 
 
 "He is in his study and cannot be disturbed." 
 
 "It is Dunleigh Mansfield who is talking." 
 
 "Just a moment, please." 
 
 Three or four minutes passed. 
 
 "Hello! This is Mr. Cathewe. What do you 
 wish to speak to me about?" 
 
 "I wish to ask you some questions, frankly. I 
 am curious, among other things, to learn why you 
 hate me." 
 
 "I do not hate you. My attitude is absolutely 
 impersonal. In some respects I greatly admire 
 you; in others, I look upon you with con- 
 tempt." 
 
 Mansfield suppressed the wrath that boiled up. 
 "That's blunt enough. What would you say if I 
 expressed the opinion that you carried out your 
 part of the bargain, and that the hour had arrived 
 for me to carry out mine? " 
 
 A long pause. "Events have made that im- 
 possible. I release you." 
 
 "You do not hold me, then?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I see. You are fickle by nature." 
 
 "No. But I am suspicious. You are laying a 
 trap for me." 
 
 " Indeed, no. I am merely satisfying a curiosity. 
 I am very happy to learn that you have such
 
 92 The Man With Three Names 
 
 good sense of values. Still, I am a good loser. I 
 will introduce you to my daughter.'* 
 
 "Between your daughter and me there is the 
 space of two worlds. I regret that folly on board 
 the ship. Moreover, I am a poor man, Mr. 
 Mansfield. I did not know, until I arrived here, 
 that your daughter was one of the richest heiresses 
 in America." 
 
 "Poor!" 
 
 "Yes. Every dollar I have in this world I earn 
 by honest labour." 
 
 "I don't quite get that. I have been duly in- 
 formed that you have on deposit nearly half a 
 million." 
 
 Another pause. "That money does not belong 
 to me, Mr. Mansfield." 
 
 Mansfield heard a click, and he knew that Cath- 
 ewe had abruptly concluded the remarkable inter- 
 view. He laid the receiver on the hook, slowly, 
 still retaining it in his grasp. Didn't belong to him ! 
 That four hundred thousand, which was constantly 
 being replenished from secret sources, was not 
 Cathewe's! Cathewe would be the last man in 
 the world to lie about it, under the existing cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 Mansfield sank back in his chair, about as com- 
 pletely bewildered as he had ever been in all his 
 life. With furrowed brow he searched all avenues.
 
 The Man With Three Names 93 
 
 Particularly one, the only one that seemed logical. 
 Who among his great financial enemies would seek 
 to hector him on the moral side and let his attrac- 
 tive millions be? The question the absurdity of 
 it blocked this avenue at once. There remained 
 but one other. Some rich fool of a philanthropist 
 was backing this hair-brained Galahad. Dawson 
 was right. There was an abysmal mystery here. 
 
 His original deduction began to lose its pro- 
 portions, began to break and vanish like mist in 
 the sunshine. No son of a fallen enemy would 
 have such backing as this rogue Cathewe had. 
 A form of confusion began to edge into his mind. 
 And thereafter the thought of Cathewe always re- 
 awoke it, jumbling perspectives. The point is, 
 Mansfield missed the truth because he did not 
 believe there existed in the world a purely disinter- 
 ested man. He could not get away from the idea 
 that Cathewe was here in Bannister with an axe to 
 grind. But he was determined to solve the riddle, 
 if money and patience amounted to anything. 
 
 He then wrote two letters. The first was local. 
 It was to the chief of police. It demanded as 
 quickly as possible a good photograph of Brandon 
 Cathewe. It did not matter how it was obtained. 
 The second letter was directed to a celebrated de- 
 tective agency in New York. The best man they 
 had was wanted immediately.
 
 94 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "Dinner is served, sir," announced the butler 
 from the doorway. 
 
 "Is Miss Betty down?" 
 
 "She begs to be excused, sir." 
 
 "Is she ill?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir. I knocked on her door, and 
 she told me she would not be down." 
 
 "Hold the dinner until I see." 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 Mansfield ran upstairs and rapped on the door 
 of his daughter's boudoir. 
 
 "It is father, Betty. Are you ill?" 
 
 " No, Daddy. Just tired and headachy." 
 
 " May I come in? " 
 
 He heard the key turn in the lock, and he 
 pushed in the door. He saw instantly that she 
 had been crying. 
 
 "Why, Honey, what's happened?" 
 
 "I'm ashamed! I've been in a horrible rage," 
 she confessed. 
 
 He laid his hands on her shoulders. "And 
 what have you been raging about?" He drew 
 her toward him. 
 
 "I . . . I saw that article in the Herald. 
 Someone threw it into the limousine. It made 
 me wild with fury. After you have done so much 
 for Bannister!" 
 
 A warm glow pervaded his heart. He had
 
 The Man With Three Names 95 
 
 never sensed a tingle before comparable to this. 
 His girl was furious because he had been attacked! 
 
 "You mustn't waste any tears on that twaddle, 
 Betty. It's just politics; it's all a part of the 
 game." 
 
 "But I want you to fight back. What would 
 Bannister do without you? Your genius has made 
 it rich and prosperous. It isn't fair to lie like 
 that, even in politics." 
 
 Mansfield was a political boss of the old order, 
 invisible. Originally he had entered the game 
 simply to protect his vast interests from political 
 blackmail. Then the thing got into his blood. 
 He suddenly found himself invested with tremen- 
 dous power. He had always been fond of chess; 
 now he played it with men, like the Indian princes 
 of Agra. He cared nothing for office himself. 
 That wasn't the game. The thrill lay in the 
 power to pull the wires, to make the manikins 
 dance to whatever tune he chose to whistle. 
 
 The present arraignment related to the ineffi- 
 ciency of the local fire department, where he kept 
 three or four of his faithful but now useless hench- 
 men. It was his way of pensioning off the loyal. 
 Cathewe had accused him of placing the public in 
 peril in order to pay his political debts. Ordinarily, 
 Mansfield would have ignored the assault. 
 
 "Why should you care?" curious.
 
 96 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "Because. . . ." She snuggled against his 
 shoulder. "It's because you are all I have, 
 Daddy; and I love you." 
 
 Mansfield stared over the bronze bead. What 
 entered his heart now was not a warm glow. It 
 had the chill and edge of his own crucible steel. 
 There surged over him a great baffling longing to 
 be alone, a longing beyond reach of his compre- 
 hension. Something had happened he did not 
 know what it was and he felt that he must be 
 alone to attack the riddle successfully. 
 
 "Come along to dinner, Honey. It's only 
 politics. I've been through it before. There's no 
 use bothering your pretty head about it. You 
 haven't got the hang of things in America yet. A 
 man in my position cannot strike back publicly. 
 The only way you can break an editor is to buy 
 his sheet and turn him adrift." 
 
 This statement followed Betty into her dreams 
 that night. 
 
 "The fellow would like nothing better than to 
 have me enter a game of jousts with him; and I re- 
 fuse him that satisfaction. Printer's ink is the 
 blackest. You can't rub it out any more than you 
 can rub out a thought, an idea. Don't you worry. 
 Your father knows how to take care of himself in 
 sports of this calibre. Come along to dinner. 
 I've got a surprise for you. I'm sending for your
 
 The Man With Three Names 97 
 
 aunt your mother's sister. You ought not to be 
 the only woman in this big house. Your aunt is a 
 charming woman. And there is one thing, little 
 lady, I want you always to remember: Your 
 mother's fortune makes you rich in your own 
 right. Do as you please with it. And when the 
 day comes and you find a man of your fancy, 
 marry him. I'll trust you to pick out one worth 
 while." 
 
 He laughed, tucked her arm under his, and led 
 her to the stairs. 
 
 Around about ten that night you would have 
 found her on the floor before her boudoir fire, 
 reading her letters. Somehow, they always soothed 
 her when she was troubled. She was passion- 
 ately fond of the beautiful. To-night, however, 
 a singular break appeared frequently. She would 
 read so far into a letter, and then a picture 
 would drift in between: blue sky, blue water, the 
 vague scent of clover, and an odd young man 
 bending over flat stones. 
 
 Here, on her knees, were the thoughts of the 
 perfect lover. And he had vanished. Who was 
 he and what was he and where was he? Why 
 should he have striven to capture her interest only 
 to end the romance abruptly? Oh, she knew he 
 was alive. Had he been in danger he would have 
 forewarned her. Had he been killed in France, she
 
 98 The Man With Three Names 
 
 would have had his last letter. Why should he 
 hurt her so? 
 
 She wanted to throw the letters into the fire. It 
 was impossible. She knew that she would have 
 regretted the act throughout her life. But to find 
 some way out of the thralldom! 
 
 At length she tied up the letters and rose. To- 
 morrow she would tour the offices to see if that 
 strange young man was employed there. He 
 would serve as a diversion. 
 
 She put the letters in a Florentine box, which 
 she restored to a drawer. She was about to 
 close this when her eye was attracted by a slip of 
 paper. She drew it out, returned to the fire, and 
 inspected it. It was a typewritten list of the bonds 
 and stocks and accumulated funds of which her 
 private fortune consisted. Away down toward 
 the end she came upon something which she had 
 not noticed previously: "Fifty shares The Ban- 
 nister Morning Herald" 
 
 "The only way you can break an editor," she 
 murmured, "is to buy his sheet and turn him 
 adrift." 
 
 Thereupon a great and glorious idea popped into 
 her head.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MANSFIELD could not read. The Life of 
 Benvenuto Cellini palled. One of his 
 favourite books, and he could not get in- 
 terested in it because mistily a bronze head seemed 
 to come into focus whenever his eye happened to 
 stray from the printed page. Furious on his ac- 
 count. The novelty of having someone senti- 
 mentally interested in him, someone who cared, 
 who could be hurt to the point of tears by a little 
 watery mud-slinging such as this fellow Cathewe 
 had indulged in ! 
 
 He tossed the volume upon the table and got up. 
 He lighted a cigar; then he went into the hall for 
 his hat and topcoat. He left the house through 
 the conservatory door. 
 
 It was moonlight, and a stroll about the gardens 
 might settle this unusual mental turmoil. He 
 saw the light in Betty's room, and he paused to 
 stare up at it. His! His daughter, as different 
 from the run of girls as gold is different from brass. 
 He had sent her away so as not to be bothered by 
 a growing child. As he looked back he realized 
 that he had never speculated about her future. 
 
 99
 
 100 The Man With Three Names 
 
 Financially, it was impregnable, of course; and as a 
 consequence of this knowledge he had never been 
 concerned with any other. He had never made 
 any plans for her final home-coming. Furious on 
 his account, because she loved him ! 
 
 He passed along the aisles of rose bushes. 
 There were still some flowers in bloom. He bent 
 over two or three of them, for he was fond of roses. 
 This garden had been one of his hobbies for years. 
 It was the one place hi all the world where his 
 hands came into contact with Mother Earth. He 
 had always made it a point to be here in June. 
 
 "By George!" he exclaimed. 
 
 He pushed through the bushes to the next row, 
 where there was a magnificent pink Arends. He 
 cut it with his penknife and drew it through his 
 buttonhole. He threw away his half-consumed 
 cigar. One could always find tobacco, but a rose 
 like this came but once or twice in the life of a 
 bush. He bent his head to scent the cool, fresh 
 perfume. Then he glanced again at Betty's win- 
 dow. It was dark. 
 
 Each variety of rose was squared off by paths 
 paved with pebbles brought up from the lake; 
 then there would be a row of Lombardy poplars, 
 trimmed to the standard of eight feet. They 
 made excellent hedges. In the very centre of the 
 gardens was a marble basin, with a faun seated at
 
 The Man With Three Names 101 
 
 one end, his pipes emitting thin streams of water. 
 The atmosphere was Italian. 
 
 The tinkle of the water sounded pleasantly on 
 Mansfield's ears. Suddenly he raised his chin and 
 sniffed. Pipe tobacco; and good tobacco, too! 
 Swiftly his glance roved. Evidently he was not 
 alone in the garden. After diligent scrutiny, he 
 observed a shadow on the far side of a hedge. 
 One of the gardeners? No; they all smoked abom- 
 inable weed. 
 
 "Who's there?" he demanded, sharply. 
 
 The shadow began to move. Mansfield, being 
 in vigorous health and sound of wind, ran along 
 the path. The interloper started for the drive- 
 way. Presently he, too, broke into a run. As 
 they passed the house, Mansfield saw that he was 
 gaming. But the uninvited guest lengthened his 
 stride as he neared the street. He dashed out of 
 the grounds and turned toward town. Mansfield 
 made a short cut, and arrived at the sidewalk as 
 the other ran across the street diagonally. This 
 manoeuvre set his face under the full glare of the 
 street lamp. 
 
 Mansfield stopped. Cathewe, prowling around 
 in the gardens? Thunder-struck, he leaned 
 against a maple and tried to moderate his breath- 
 ing. Cathewe! The fool, then, was really in love 
 with Betty! He could give up the woman he
 
 102 The Man With Three Names 
 
 loved for the sake of an ideal an ideal which, if 
 pursued unfalteringly, might break her father. 
 Very good. He would give this meddling fool a 
 handful before the course was run. Presently he 
 should learn that hitherto Dunleigh Mansfield had 
 simply been playing with him. 
 
 First of all, he must solve the riddle of the 
 fellow's resources. There was something sinister 
 behind that four hundred thousand a hidden 
 menace. For no one knew better than he what 
 money could do. Four hundred thousand that 
 stayed four hundred thousand, no matter how much 
 it was drawn against. Why this mystery? Why 
 did Cathewe deny that it was his, since he had ab- 
 solute control of it? 
 
 Another thing: he was young and handsome. 
 Why did he ignore the life of the town, the clubs? 
 He could not possibly be unused to that side of life. 
 Mansfield recalled plainly his polished address 
 that morning on shipboard. There should be a 
 mighty good cause for this isolation. He went to 
 the Maddox house a good deal, and perhaps the 
 doctor would be able to lift a corner of the curtain. 
 At any rate, there could be no harm in setting a 
 trap for Maddox. 
 
 Mansfield returned to the house, his usually cold 
 and precise brain off its balance. The whole af- 
 fair was so absurd that it resembled a dream
 
 The Man With Three Names 103 
 
 rather than a reality. He hung up his hat and 
 coat mechanically, plucked the rose from the 
 buttonhole, and proceeded to his room. 
 
 "Mooning under Betty's window!" he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 Deliberately he filled a cut-glass vase and set the 
 rose in it. A glorious flower, pink as a sleeping 
 infant's cheek. His thoughts travelled back; but 
 he could not remember Betty in her cradle. Odd, 
 that he should try to recall Betty in her cradle. 
 
 From this thought his recollection jumped con- 
 sistently to another. The girl's mother. He 
 touched the rose with his finger tips, and then 
 pulled at his chin. In all these years he had not 
 visited that grave. He had argued with his con- 
 science that he hated depressing thoughts, but 
 to-night the truth came home. It had been too 
 much trouble. His years had been so crowded 
 with actions and affairs that this shameful neglect 
 had never before revealed itself. He was fifty- 
 three now; he was slowing up; he was beginning to 
 notice the little backwaters, whereas previously 
 he had been cognizant only of the central cur- 
 rent. 
 
 He had missed something. No; it wasn't 
 romance. He had had his fill of that in steel. He 
 knew what he had missed. It was the thing that 
 had lured that fellow Cathewe to come prowling
 
 104 The Man With Three Names 
 
 into the gardens, merely to stand under Betty's 
 window. Love. 
 
 He sat down on the edge of the bed. His at- 
 titude would have recalled to you that drawing of 
 Dore's of the man who had in greediness killed 
 the goose that laid the golden eggs. 
 
 Love. The thing that had transformed the 
 gentle Betty into a lioness because he had been 
 attacked; that had set Cathewe down in this 
 strange, bustling city, confident of miracles; that 
 had welded together the Maddoxes, father and 
 mother and daughter. Even Sandy, the Airedale, 
 knew what it was. And as he thought of Sandy, 
 it struck Mansfield as odd that the dog had not 
 barked and made Cathewe's presence known; for 
 Sandy was nolapdog. 
 
 Slowly he rose, picked up the vase, tiptoed into 
 the hall, and set it before Betty's door. He was 
 smiling when he came back, smiling because he 
 had just discovered that there was tucked away 
 in a far corner of his heart a spark of emo- 
 tionalism, a thing he had all his life scorned as 
 weakness. 
 
 Next morning Betty came into the breakfast 
 room with a joyous rush. She was as pleasing to 
 the eye as a summer cloud: in filmy white, a pink 
 boudoir cap on her head, and the rose pinned to 
 her bodice.
 
 The Man With Three Names 105 
 
 "Daddy Mansfield, did you put this rose by my 
 door?" 
 
 "I found it in the garden last night," he said, 
 opening his newspaper. 
 
 " But why did you give it to me that way? " 
 
 What had happened to his brain? he wondered. 
 He could not answer her directly. "I thought 
 perhaps you had gone to bed. There won't be 
 many more this year. Wait until next June. I 
 know it's hopeless to try to compete with southern 
 France and Italy; but you'll admit that there are 
 some roses in your garden." 
 
 She walked over to him and stooped. "You 
 may kiss me for that. . . . No, no!" as his 
 moustache brushed her forehead. "I didn't say 
 tickle me; I said kiss me!" 
 
 He took her head between his palms and kissed 
 both her cheeks, soundly. She ran back to her 
 chair and began to volley French at him. He 
 stumbled about considerably in his endeavour to 
 follow. Finally he laughed. 
 
 "You're too much for me. My French is motor 
 truck style." 
 
 "Daddy, I want to go back to France." 
 
 * ' France ? back to the terror ? ' ' 
 
 "I'm not afraid. I'm a good nurse. I've had 
 good training in Washington. WTien I look about 
 me luxury everywhere I feel like a criminal.
 
 106 The Man With Three Names 
 
 My friends, Daddy, that were so gay and hand- 
 some . . . and some of them are dead ! To do 
 something with my hands for the land that was 
 so kind to me." 
 
 "But / need you, Honey!" he cried. And as 
 the words passed his lips, the miracle lay revealed. 
 That was it, he needed her. The mystification of 
 the recent hours was no more. He needed her. 
 The thought of her leaving him had torn away 
 and shredded into nothingness the last bits of fog. 
 He needed her. Subtly she had entered into 
 his life and become an integral part of it. All the 
 awkwardness of the situation vanished. 
 
 "Why do you need me, Daddy?" in a kind of 
 terrified whisper. 
 
 "Because I love you. Because I've only just 
 found it out. I've been a bad father, Betty, but 
 God knows I want to prove to you that I can be 
 something else ! " 
 
 Five minutes later, when the butler came to see 
 if anything more was wanted, he paused at the 
 threshold for a space, and silently returned the 
 way he had come. It was not for him to disturb 
 that picture in the bright morning sunshine 
 those two with their arms wound tightly about 
 each other.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 CATHEWE'S newspaper, for all that it was 
 losing money daily, was a success. Its 
 editorial opinions began to be copied far 
 and wide across the land. He thought and wrote 
 clearly upon all subjects. He possessed that for- 
 tunate gift of irony that made even his victims 
 smile. In fact, he woke up Bannister; and the 
 whole town was watching his affair. For a long 
 time the poor fought shy of him; but by and by 
 they comprehended that an honest man, who 
 wanted nothing for himself, was offering to aid 
 them; and in his dire need they flocked to his 
 standard. The middle class and the intellectuals 
 were also behind him. He was fighting for the 
 redemption of the city, to free it from the greedy 
 clutches of the political vultures. 
 
 His editorials were full of punch and prophecy. 
 Sooner or later America would be in. Americans 
 should prepare individually against the inevitable 
 hour. He never belittled the Teutonic victories. 
 On the contrary, he emphasized them, in order 
 to bring home the danger of America's further 
 aloofness. His war-bulletin generally had a 
 
 107
 
 108 The Man With Three Names 
 
 crowd before it; for this bulletin never grew 
 hysterical. 
 
 He had gathered about him the best staff in the 
 city, best equipped mentally and best paid. 
 After eight at night he was generally to be found 
 in his office. His door was always open, for he 
 was democratic. He was easily approached, 
 whether it was the new cub or the star reporter. 
 It was a happy family of which he was the head. 
 
 But he was losing money. He had heard tales 
 about Moloch; and now he understood. Each 
 additional boost to his circulation made a cor- 
 responding loss. Without the local advertise- 
 ments, this ascending popularity was becoming 
 more and more costly. And any day his stock- 
 holders might sell out. This would not nullify 
 his control, but it might add infinite confusion, 
 internal warfare. Still that mysterious reluctance 
 to buy them up. No matter from what angle he 
 attacked this reluctance, it eluded analysis. And 
 all his mother had in the world in jeopardy, too! 
 
 So far he had won two big battles. He had 
 made the Health Department an efficient organ- 
 ization and he had blocked a deal by the local 
 traction company (Mansfield's) to charge a six- 
 cent fare. And he had made the last election of 
 Mansfield's Congressional candidate extremely 
 difficult. He had also made himself solid with the
 
 The Man With Three Names 109 
 
 public on another count. He had repeatedly 
 declined to run for any office whatsoever. It is a 
 curious commentary on American politics that 
 when a man declines to run for office he is at once 
 written down as unimpeachably honest. 
 
 At noon one day in October Cathewe came 
 down for his breakfast, a frown between his eyes. 
 
 "What is it, Sonny?" asked his mother. 
 
 "What is what?" 
 
 "The meaning of that frown." 
 
 "Oh. Well, I had a curious experience at the 
 office last night. I heard an ahem and looked up. 
 Bang! went a flash-light; and before I could re- 
 cover from my astonishment, the photographer 
 had vanished. Took a picture of me stole it. 
 And I can't make head or tail of it. It certainly 
 wasn't done as a jest." 
 
 She laid her hand on his head . ' ' Supposing 
 
 But he interrupted. "I thought of that. To 
 identify me. But I was Cathewe those two years 
 in New York. No matter. I'm here to stick, 
 mother. I have found a rich farrow, and I've 
 planted a healthy seed. This is going to be the 
 home town. But I must get that new book done. 
 Our funds are getting low." 
 
 "I can always teach music." 
 
 "Never again that, mother. You're never 
 going to touch the piano except for your own
 
 110 The Man With Three Names 
 
 pleasure. You are on the retired list. I'll 
 finish my breakfast and tackle the book again. 
 I've had an offer of forty-five hundred for the 
 serial rights, and I've an idea that this yarn will 
 make a good movie. Seven chapters out of 
 twenty done, which is a fair start. I've got it all 
 outlined. It's merely lack of application. They 
 are dramatizing 'Prosaic Lives'; but you never 
 can tell what a play will do. If it fails I shan't 
 lose anything. If it goes, our financial worries 
 will be over." 
 
 "What an odd boy you are, Sonny!" 
 
 "How am I odd?" 
 
 "You might have put your conscience to sleep 
 and lived on the fat of the land." 
 
 "Would you love me like you do if I had?" 
 
 "No, Sonny." And she kissed him. 
 
 Shortly after he entered his study and closed 
 the door. She saw no more of him until four, 
 when he signified that he was off for a walk in the 
 hills. 
 
 He had not been gone more than twenty min- 
 utes when Nancy's smart runabout stopped at 
 the curb. Two or three times the week she 
 carried Mrs. Cathewe off for a ride hi the country. 
 
 At the same hour to-day father's clattering 
 chariot of mercy rolled under the Mansfield porte- 
 cochere. But more of that anon.
 
 The Man With Three Names 111 
 
 Mrs. Cathewe had to change, so for a few 
 moments Nancy was left to her own devices. She 
 saw the study door wide open; and impelled by a 
 curiosity she could not define, she stepped across 
 the threshold. In a house that was a miracle for 
 orderliness, this study afforded her a shock. Books 
 scattered over the floor, the air filled with the 
 strong scent of tobacco, a desk littered with paper, 
 a spindle fat with notes, a wicker basket filled to 
 the brim with closely written sheets, a waste- 
 basket choked with crumpled, discarded efforts. 
 
 She approached the desk on tiptoe, as if afraid 
 she might disturb the spirit which ruled over this 
 room. Three pipes lay on an ashtray. Pencils 
 everywhere, sharp and blunt. The one thing that 
 had a touch of orderliness was the stack of blank 
 paper arranged before the empty chair. She 
 could see that something had been written on the 
 top sheet, so she bent to see what it was. A name, 
 repeated many times. How often she had wasted 
 paper in this fashion! The hand wrote while the 
 thought was roving afar. 
 
 George Cottar, George Cottar, repeated per- 
 haps a dozen times. 
 
 "George Cottar!" She spoke the name aloud. 
 A pile of manuscript and the name George Cottar! 
 The illumination left her temporarily blinded. 
 The Brushwood Boy George Cottar Brandon
 
 The Man With Three Names 
 
 Cathewe! Without meaning to, she stumbled 
 upon a tremendous secret. Why, Brand was the 
 novelist; and hiding his light under the bushel 
 like this ! What did that signify? Why didn't he 
 wear his crown, his laurels, openly? 
 
 Impulsively at that moment bereft of the sense 
 of trespass she reached down into the waste- 
 basket and picked up one of the crumpled sheets, 
 and smoothed it out. A rejected sheet; he would 
 never miss it. So she folded it and put it in a 
 pocket. Then she stole forth, her eyes shining and 
 her cheeks aflame. 
 
 But once in the living room the enormity of 
 her trespass came full upon her. She had been 
 guilty of a shameful act. She must return that 
 stolen sheet. It did not matter that he had re- 
 jected it; she had no right to it. Still, she hesi- 
 tated and was lost. Mrs. Cathewe came in, 
 ready for the ride.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 MANSFIELD had an odd experience for 
 him that afternoon. A representative 
 of the local merchants had called to ask 
 him to release them from their promise regarding 
 the boycott of the Herald. 
 
 The representative sat on the extreme edge of 
 his chair and twirled his derby as he talked. He 
 was distinctly ill at ease. Not particularly happy 
 over the character of his office: he saw into the 
 future, himself broken and ruined for having dared 
 beard this colossus in his den. 
 
 Mansfield's handsome face, however, offered no 
 indication of the chagrin that was consuming him. 
 Here was a real defeat, a sinister one; and stormy 
 words and reproaches would not serve to turn back 
 the tide. He saw the grim walls of his fortress 
 disintegrate before his eyes, as it were. For all 
 the bitterness in his heart, he felt the inclination to 
 laugh. Out of a callous jest, this buffet! Had 
 not he himself sent Cathewe to Bannister? 
 
 "We are sorry, Mr. Mansfield, but we can't 
 carry this on any longer. We don't want to offend 
 you or lose the trade of the thousands you employ, 
 
 113
 
 114 The Man With Three Names 
 
 but we have come to the conclusion that it would 
 be far more profitable for us to cater to the other 
 seventy odd thousand and let your people go. 
 The local trade has fallen off to such an extent 
 that it will soon force some of us to the wall. 
 Somehow this young fellow has got hold of the 
 public mind. Folks hereabouts are convinced 
 that he isn't getting a square deal, and they are 
 telling us so plainly by turning their trade toward 
 the mail-order houses. We don't want to offend 
 you, but on the other hand, neither do we wish to 
 go broke. What answer shall I carry back? " 
 
 "That they are under no further obligations," 
 answered Mansfield quietly. 
 
 "Our thanks, Mr. Mansfield. We shall renew 
 our contracts with the Herald at once." 
 
 As he went out, he passed Doctor Maddox 
 coming in. 
 
 "Well, Dunleigh, what's the trouble?" asked 
 Maddox, setting his battered case on the floor 
 beside his chair. " Tobacco heart ? " 
 
 "No, John. I sent for you because I wish to 
 ask an honest man a few simple questions." 
 
 "As a patient or as a friend? " 
 
 "Hanged if I know!" whimsically. "But 
 have I any friends? " 
 
 Maddox sat back abruptly. "Do you need 
 any? " he countered.
 
 The Man With Three Names 115 
 
 "I'm beginning to wonder." 
 
 "Well, I've always had a sneaking regard for 
 you." 
 
 "Based upon what?" 
 
 "You never were afraid of anything or anybody. 
 I like courage." 
 
 "Even when it's on the wrong side of the trench? 
 John, I'd like to know for one thing what you 
 honestly think of Dunleigh Mansfield." 
 
 Maddox, plainly distressed, pulled his beard. 
 " What's happened to you? " 
 
 "An inconceivable thing. I've fallen in love 
 with something." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "My daughter." 
 
 "Nothing abnormal about that. But I begin 
 to see. You've been looking over your shoulder, 
 I suspect." 
 
 " Exactly what do you mean by that? " 
 
 "Tell me what you want to, and I'll answer as 
 an honest friend." 
 
 " What do you know about this fellow Brandon 
 Cathewe?" 
 
 "Oh." The doctor was patently disappointed. 
 "I know him to be as clean and white as a hound's 
 tooth." 
 
 "His past?" 
 
 " I know nothing of that, and little I care. It's
 
 116 The Man With Three Names 
 
 what he is that counts with me. Dunleigh, I'm 
 glad you've fallen in love with Betty. It's bound 
 to change your point of view. You've made 
 Bannister prosperous, but on a rotten foundation. 
 You've been hard and cruel. Remember, you 
 asked for this. You've done mean things, too. 
 I'll never forget the end of that poor inventor. 
 Oh, yes, it was good business; but you did not 
 need those extra thousands. You have set out to 
 break Cathewe because he is the first man who 
 ever dared oppose you openly. And I don't 
 believe you will succeed." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because he represents Right and you represent 
 Might. It is Germany against the world in 
 miniature. So long as you gain your ends, what 
 do you care about the ruin you leave in your wake? 
 I understand you. It is a kind of game with you. 
 Any kind of an obstacle is intolerable to you." 
 
 "That's plain speaking, John." 
 
 "You asked for it. And there's another thing 
 I can't forget. Your wife. Oh, she had every- 
 thing. But you crushed her under your lust for 
 power. She married you (because she loved you; 
 and you saw only her physical perfections. She 
 was one of your pawns. Bitter? Well, so I am. 
 I've stumbled across your trail so many times, and 
 always I saw the iron heel. Has this frightful war
 
 The Man With Three Names 117 
 
 touched you, I wonder? Is it anything more to 
 you than a new way of adding to your treasure? 
 On the other hand, I've always held that there 
 was a soul in you somewhere, if something could 
 crack the gold encasement. If you have fallen in 
 love with Betty, then you are on the way. You 
 could not possibly love that child I brought her 
 into this world, Dunleigh and do anything mean. 
 Get your house in order. Call in this boy and 
 ask him what he wants and give it to him. It 
 isn't you; there's nothing personal. It's merely 
 he's a kind of Sir Galahad. He has set forth to 
 right wrongs where he finds them. I don't know 
 what brought him to Bannister originally. But he's 
 found a man's job here, and tackled it properly." 
 
 "All this is quite complimentary to me," said 
 Mansfield, dryly. "Then you advise me to throw 
 up my hands and cry Kamerad? John, my 
 position is impregnable." 
 
 "On the money side, yes. Man, there's a 
 great thing under your hand. Make a clean 
 breast of it to that girl. Lord, Lord, how she will 
 love you then! But if you deceive her and she 
 finds it out, you will lose her." 
 
 Mansfield drew his palm across his forehead. 
 "First, I've got to find out where Cathewe got 
 his four hundred thousand. Did you know that 
 he had that amount in the local banks?"
 
 118 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "No." But the doctor did not exhibit any 
 surprise. 
 
 " Do you accept him in your house as an equal? " 
 
 "Assuredly!" 
 
 "Would you consider him as a son-in-law?" 
 pressed Mansfield. 
 
 Maddox thought for a moment. " Yes." 
 
 " By George, that fellow has hypnotized you ! " 
 
 "Not noticeably. Maybe you know why he 
 came to Bannister?" 
 
 " I do ! " shot back Mansfield. " But I can keep 
 a secret, too. Besides, if I told you, you would 
 say I was spoofing you, as the English say. No 
 man in his right mind. . . . Well, no matter," 
 broke off Mansfield impatiently. "I thought you 
 might throw a little light on his past." 
 
 "What would you call a past? " 
 
 " Something off-colour." 
 
 "Then you may rest easy. That boy never 
 did or thought anything off-colour. He couldn't. 
 And he's no milksop, as you know. Were you 
 enemies before he came here?" 
 
 "I had forgotten his very existence. So you 
 have written down your boyhood friend as a 
 rogue!" 
 
 "I won't answer that. I'll abide by what you 
 have written down yourself, " shrewdly. 
 
 Mansfield laughed. "I'll travel on my own.
 
 The Man With Three Names 119 
 
 But you won't find anything you'd call mean in 
 the deal. I can promise you that. But I shall 
 fight Cathewe with all I have and all I am. I 
 can promise you that also. One of us must 
 break." 
 
 "I'm on the boy's side, Dunleigh," replied 
 Maddox, getting up. 
 
 "I suspected you would be. But let us under- 
 stand each other on one point. Nothing we do 
 must come between my Betty and your Nancy." 
 
 "I agree to that. Nothing could come between 
 those two." Maddox glanced at his watch pro- 
 fessionally. "Shall I put this on the monthly 
 bill? You wanted my advice." 
 
 "I've always been fond of you, John." 
 
 "I'll wait until I see what's going to happen to 
 that white corner in your soul before I express my 
 sentiments. But I'll repeat my advice: Call up 
 Cathewe; give him what he wants. Give me 
 what I want. Give Betty what she wants. 
 Give. That's the whole trouble with you, Dun- 
 leigh. You've never given anything but money. 
 Well, if you're any worse by night, call me in," 
 and Maddox picked up his bag and marched out 
 into the hall. 
 
 That night as he sat before the fire hi the li- 
 brary his office hours over his pipe going com- 
 fortably, Nancy walked over and sat down in
 
 120 The Man With Three Names 
 
 his lap, took the pipe from his teeth, and laid it on 
 the ashtray. Then she seized his ears and drew 
 his head right about face. 
 
 "Father Maddox, who is Digby Hallowell?" 
 His start nearly upset her. "Where did you 
 hear that name?" 
 "From you." 
 
 "From me? But that's impossible!" 
 "Don't you know that you have lately acquired 
 the habit of muttering out loud when you are 
 overtired? Half a dozen times I have heard you 
 mutter that name as if it were some tremendous 
 thing." 
 
 "Nancy," he said, gravely, "you will do father a 
 great favour if you will forget you ever heard me 
 utter it. I feel, by uttering that name aloud, even 
 unconsciously, that I have broken my faith as a 
 physician."
 
 CHAPTER XH 
 
 CATHEWE saw Betty frequently. Some- 
 times she was on horseback; sometimes 
 he saw her entering or leaving a fashion- 
 able shop; sometimes she was in her limousine. 
 And he saw her in the written page, between the 
 covers of books, in the dark corners, in the fire, 
 in the smoke from his pipe. He could avoid her 
 actually, but not spiritually. She persisted in 
 entering every dream he had. 
 
 All this started an unending, philosophical 
 musing. Human beings could do such things 
 fall in love with a face and then permit it to haunt 
 one! Even if he hadn't been fighting her father, 
 the situation would have been quite as hopeless 
 and impossible. She would one day be a very 
 rich woman; and he would never be anything 
 but a scribbler. On the other hand, the little 
 odds and ends he had gathered relative to her 
 character rather convinced him that she was demo- 
 cratic, that lack of money could not constitute 
 a barrier on the way to her heart. 
 
 It did not matter that he had been born and 
 educated in Europe; there was a characteristic 
 
 121
 
 The Man With Three Names 
 
 in him essentially American: he could not possi- 
 bly live upon his wife's bounty, after the accepted 
 custom of the Latin and Teutonic male. To his 
 mind, that was degradation. This had not been 
 instilled into his mind; it had been born there, it 
 was instinctive, it was Anglo-Saxon. If ever he 
 married, his wife must lean upon him; the rewards 
 of his labour should be the financial prop. 
 
 Yet it was pleasant indeed to dream what 
 might have been. For this was the one woman; 
 nothing could shut out this fact. He had moody 
 spells, but these waxed and waned in the small 
 hours of the morning, during the twenty-minute 
 walk from the office to his home. 
 
 All this set its mark upon him, influenced him 
 subconsciously, and almost ran him upon the 
 rocks. To make a fortune himself, legitimately , 
 to write a tremendously popular novel or play. 
 Betty never could be his; but he became fired with 
 the natural ambition to reach a financial level 
 somewhere near hers. 
 
 When the advertising men of the various shops 
 penitently entered the business office of the 
 Herald the next morning, asking to renew their 
 contracts, the business manager called up Cathewe, 
 who had an extension telephone at the side of his 
 bed. Drowsily Cathewe caught the first few 
 words, then he became wide awake.
 
 *' Cathewe saw Betty frequently. Sometimes he saw her 
 entering or leaving a fashionable shop: sometimes she was 
 in her limousine . . . She persisted in entering every 
 dream lie had.'
 
 The Man With Three Names 123 
 
 "All of them?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. They want their spaces back to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "The old contracts are dead." 
 
 "I've got new ones all ready, with the cash 
 line blank. Do you want to come down, or shall 
 I handle it?" 
 
 "I'll leave it to you. But listen carefully: 
 the Herald has gained twenty thousand since those 
 chaps deserted us. Add twenty per cent, to the 
 old scale." 
 
 "Wouldn't it be better to soak them with the 
 January renewal?" 
 
 "You don't understand the big thing that's hap- 
 pened. Those fellows are not in the office because 
 they are sorry for us. They are up against a wall, 
 and we're the only way out. Twenty per cent, and 
 a year's run. When a man offers you a Corona, 
 you don't ask for a stogie. Those are the terms. 
 They can take them or leave them. Call me up 
 when they go." Cathewe propped himself with 
 his pillows and stared at the telephone for a full half 
 hour; and when the telephone finally rang again, the 
 hair on his forehead was damp. "Well?" he said. 
 
 "Not a whimper. One year, with a twenty 
 per cent, raise, and they seemed glad to sign. In 
 a couple of months if the print-paper holds out 
 we'll be carrying money to the banks."
 
 124 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "I'll be with you at four." 
 
 Cathewe set the telephone down with a bang, 
 kicked the bedclothes high into the air, turned a 
 somersault and landed with a thud on the floor. 
 He picked himself up, laughing, flung his bathrobe 
 across his shoulders, and dashed down the hall 
 to the bathroom. It was only half after nine, 
 but that did not matter. 
 
 His mother heard the racket and called upstairs : 
 "Sonny?" 
 
 "Ye-ah!" 
 
 "What has happened!" 
 
 "The millennium! . . . Ha-a-a!" as the cold 
 water from the shower struck his muscular shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 She listened for a few minutes, heard a dozen 
 "has" and "hos" and "brrrs," laughed softly, and 
 went into the kitchen to prepare the madman's 
 breakfast. He was tremendously elated over 
 something. He took his blows quietly; but when 
 he was happy he had to dance, go joy-berserker, 
 as he called it. 
 
 "I've won, mother," he said, as he came storm- 
 ing into the dining room, his eyes glistening and 
 his fine skin ruddy. "God bless the Anglo-Saxon 
 race, with its love of fair play! That's what did 
 it. And the war had something to do with it, too. 
 This war is really making us think and act. Four
 
 The Man With Three Names 
 
 or five years ago the dear people would have let 
 me go to the wall without a flutter. Now they 
 come out and drive the advertisers back. It has 
 taken me nearly three years to drive home a 
 single fact that I am honest. Think of it ! The 
 most puzzling, tantalizing, quicksilvery thing on 
 earth the public went out and won this fight 
 for me because they saw I was playing fair! We 
 can let out a few reefs in our sails from now on. 
 God bless 'em! And yet!" sobering. 
 
 "Well, and yet?" 
 
 "I couldn't have held out but for 
 
 "Sonny, we've threshed that out long ago. 
 The means to a noble end. Dismiss any doubt. 
 God understands. He knows what is in your 
 heart. My boy! to bring a people into a 
 promised land, or as near to it as it is humanly 
 possible to bring them!" 
 
 "Queer sheep that they are, they would turn 
 against me to-morrow, if they knew! Mother, 
 I'm being watched. I can't prove it, but I sense 
 it continually. I ought to make my trip to New 
 York, but I don't dare. Mansfield has just 
 received a bitter blow to his prestige. He's not 
 going to leave any stone unturned to do me injury. 
 But, oh, lady, in a little while I'll not have to touch a 
 dollar that isn't ours think of it! Not a picture 
 on the wall, not a chair, not a nail in the house
 
 126 The Man With Three Names 
 
 that is not honestly ours. Your little nest-egg 
 made it possible. What a glorious woman you 
 are! And all our dreams coming true!" 
 
 "'To thine ownself be true, and it must follow 
 as night the day. . . ." 
 
 But he smothered the rest of the quotation with 
 a kiss. "And now for another battle. I'm going 
 after that munitions plant. I'm going to force 
 him to fix that water supply. There is something 
 sinister in the way the Federal inspectors ignore 
 that water system. I dare not accuse any one of 
 taking bribes; but there seems to be a big cloud of 
 dust out there whenever the inspector shows up. 
 If a fire got loose out there., that part of the town 
 would be blown off the map, many killed, and 
 hundreds made homeless. So I'm going to get 
 busy. And now, by cracky, I'm going to pile into 
 that book! I haven't felt so like work in a month 
 of moons." 
 
 He ate his breakfast hurriedly, then bolted into 
 the study. For a little while she could hear him 
 humming some bars from the Second Polonaise; 
 then silence. Thereafter she and the maid moved 
 about their work without sound. 
 
 He wrote steadily until three; then he went to 
 the office to consult with the business manager, 
 who still exhibited an hysterical condition of the 
 mind.
 
 The Man With Three Names 127 
 
 "Not one of 'em kicked at the new rate. They 
 seemed tickled to death for the privilege of paying 
 it. But our old friend will be sailing some kind 
 of a bomb into camp before long. He isn't the kind 
 to lie down after a jolt like this. What pleases me 
 is the fact that we didn't do the job; our sub- 
 scribers did it. Huh? Think of that, when you 
 write the history of the town of Bannister. And 
 yet they'd bolt the other way if the right thing 
 turned up." 
 
 "The right thing for Mansfield. What would 
 that be?" asked Cathewe. 
 
 "Search me. But let him throw his bomb. 
 We're the best little ol' ball-players on the circuit. 
 Say, I'll want half your editorial page." 
 
 "Welcome." 
 
 " Going to make any comment editorially? " 
 
 "Not a line. I didn't do this, it was the 
 mighty fine lot of folks who inhabit this town." 
 
 "Well, you started 'em thinking, anyhow. 
 You had the grit to hang on." 
 
 "Grit? You wouldn't call it that, would you, 
 you being the one man in this office who is aware 
 of the resources of the paper?" 
 
 "Well" rather weakly "it takes grit to lose 
 twenty or thirty thousand and not throw bricks. 
 You can't get away from the fact, chief, that 
 you've given this burg a real newspaper for he-
 
 128 The Man With Three Names 
 
 men. Folks know it, and that's why the ads have 
 come ki-ooting back. Of course, you've had to 
 take me into your confidence to a certain extent, 
 but I'm an oyster. You're right. If folks knew 
 the backing you've got, they might set up the 
 yell of Wolf. You never can tell. But once we 
 get going past these bumps, you'll be able to come 
 out into the open . Sheep . ' ' 
 
 "My opinion," Cathewe agreed, starting for the 
 editorial stairs. 
 
 The keen-eyed business manager stared at 
 Cathewe's back until it vanished beyond the 
 landing. 
 
 "My middle name is Obfuscated, sure pop. 
 What the dickens is his game, anyhow? All 
 that cash in the bank, and never a copper for him- 
 self? Oh, well; I should worry about George W. 
 Future"; and he applied himself to the advertising 
 diagram for the next day's paper. 
 
 Cathewe left the office at five o'clock. It was 
 growing dark. He always walked home, even in 
 bad weather. 
 
 Bannister was like all American cities of its 
 kind spotted, you might say. Oases of fine 
 homes set in the middle of riff-raff dwellings; 
 three or four nice streets, then three or four shabby 
 ones. Polygon Hill, of course, stood aloof from 
 the town proper. The aristocracy lived there
 
 The Man With Three Names 129 
 
 and took good care that cheap residences did not 
 encroach. 
 
 Cathewe had to cross one of these shabby 
 sections on his way home. He always walked 
 swiftly, rarely observant of outward things. He 
 walked because he found this character of action 
 provocative of clear thinking. His mind was full 
 of his story, and he was eager to get at it again 
 an hour or so before he returned to the office. 
 Most people, who think as they walk, do so with 
 heads tilted forward. Cathewe walked with his 
 chin up the swinging gait of a man who could 
 see his objective. 
 
 It was dark, but still a little too early for the 
 street lamps. The darkness was partly due to the 
 heavy rainclouds that were sweeping across the 
 sky. Obliquely he saw two men across the street 
 apparently talking to a woman. What made him 
 turn his head and look squarely he never knew. 
 Ordinarily, he would have continued on. This 
 single look was enough. He broke into a run. 
 When he arrived he did not ask questions. He 
 knocked one of the men flat and whirled the other 
 into the gutter. 
 
 "Can I be of assistance?" he said, turning to 
 the woman. Then he saw who it was. "Miss 
 Mansfield? What in the world are you doing 
 alone in this quarter of the town? Here, take my
 
 130 The Man With Three Names 
 
 arm." He did not wait for her to offer it but in- 
 stantly tucked it through his arm and marched up 
 the street, never turning his head to see what the 
 rowdies were doing. "My home is only a few 
 blocks away. I'll call a taxi and you can have a 
 cup of tea while you wait." 
 
 "If you please! I ... I'm rather upset. 
 One of them touched me." Cathewe stopped. 
 "No, no! Please do not go back. My chauffeur 
 must have misunderstood my directions, for I left 
 him by the curb here." 
 
 "I'm glad I happened along." 
 
 "So am I." 
 
 And they started on again. She became a little 
 breathless trying to measure her stride with his. 
 How strong and muscular his arm was! The 
 suddenness of his appearance and the ruthless 
 manner in which he had knocked those ruffians 
 about! His home: she found herself curiously 
 excited at the thought of seeing his home. The 
 lamps were now popping up along the street, and 
 shyly she stole a glance at him. To-day he was 
 dressed like any other city man; perhaps a little 
 more tastefully than the general run. How oddly 
 he held his head, as if he were looking over the 
 tops of things. Well, to-night she would learn 
 who he was. 
 
 She had been oddly intrigued by the thought of
 
 The Man With Three Names 131 
 
 him since that adventure on the hilltop. Why? 
 Because he read Fabre in the original and hadn't 
 offered to shake hands? He was a type the like 
 of which she had never met before; that was 
 probably the reason for the sustained interest in 
 him. Perhaps, after all, she was only reaching 
 about a little blindly for some amusement which 
 would .make her forget the hurt in her heart. 
 
 The click of his heels on the sidewalk roused 
 Cathewe to the fact that presently she might 
 wonder at his silence. 
 
 "How is Sandy?" 
 
 "Very well, thank you. And how is Messer 
 the Ant?'* 
 
 "Haven't disturbed him since that day. I 
 suppose you were on a charity visit. Never visit 
 those quarters without at least your dog." 
 
 "I was never spoken to or annoyed before. I 
 did stay a little longer than usual." 
 
 He became tongue-tied again. Perhaps he 
 should have taken her into the nearest drugstore 
 and called the taxi from there. Home, she would 
 be sure to learn that the editor of the Herald and 
 Brandon Cathewe were one and the same. 
 
 "I say, it might expedite things if I called the 
 taxi from the drugstore there." 
 
 " But there wouldn't be any tea there ! " She was 
 determined to see how this unusual young man lived.
 
 132 The Man With Three Names 
 
 It struck him with the bang of thunder that 
 she might be playing with him. But the idea no 
 sooner took lodgment in his mind than he dis- 
 missed it as utterly absurd. She wasn't that 
 kind. 
 
 The meeting had been fortunate in one respect : 
 he had rescued her from a disagreeable encounter. 
 But it wrote misfortune for him. It was inevit- 
 able that to-morrow she would know the truth, 
 that the man at her side was he who had recently 
 pilloried her father, held him up to scorn. Auto- 
 matically he lengthened his stride. 
 
 "Do I have to run the rest of the way?" she 
 panted. 
 
 "I beg your pardon! " he cried, slowing down. 
 
 " There, that's better." She laughed. 
 
 "My boots are seven-leaguers." 
 
 "I always walk rapidly when I'm thinking 
 rapidly." 
 
 This comment gave him extra food for thought. 
 "Perhaps I had the tea-kettle in mind." 
 
 "A whistling tea-kettle what cheery things 
 they are!" 
 
 "How many lumps of sugar?" whimsically. 
 
 "Two." 
 
 " Cream or lemon? " 
 
 "Lemon." 
 
 "If you won't mind ordinary grocery tea, and a
 
 The Man With Three Names 133 
 
 little white clapboard house with a picket fence in 
 front." 
 
 "I shall be very grateful for a chair and a cup of 
 tea." 
 
 "Here we are," he said, swinging the gate. 
 
 She passed him, leaving a vague perfume. 
 There was no coherent thought in his head beyond 
 the knowledge that he was still thrilling from the 
 recent touch of her arm against his. He opened 
 the door for her and she stepped into the dark hall. 
 
 "'Sh!" she whispered. 
 
 And quite unconsciously her hand found his 
 arm and rested rather tensely there. Music, from 
 the darkened room beyond, glorious music! A 
 strange silence followed. Then the music began 
 again the Arab Dance by Grieg. The player, 
 however, did not finish it. 
 
 "Is that you, Sonny? " 
 
 What a pleasant voice! thought the girl, her 
 astonishment at full tide. 
 
 "Yes, mother. Will you ring for lights and 
 tea? I have company Miss Mansfield, whose 
 chauffeur misunderstood her instructions." 
 
 The girl heard a flurry of skirts in the room be- 
 yond, the tinkle of a bell, and then in a kind of 
 dream Betty entered the living room. 
 
 " Can you see the lounge? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes."
 
 134 The Man With Three Names 
 
 Almost at once the maid came in with a Roman 
 candelabrum, which she placed on the piano. 
 
 "You'll excuse me a moment," said Cathewe, 
 " while I call the taxi " ; and he stepped into the hall. 
 
 "How beautifully you play!" said Betty. But 
 her thought was: "How beautiful you are!" His 
 mother. 
 
 Oh, certainly there was a real mystery here. 
 Her glance swept the room, which was small. 
 Treasures everywhere, and taste. 
 
 "Would you like to hear something more?" 
 asked the white-haired woman standing by the 
 piano. So this was the girl! here, in this house! 
 Lovely; Sonny was right. 
 
 "Oh, if you would be so good ! " 
 
 "Do you like brilliant music? " 
 
 "I like anything that is music." 
 
 So Mrs. Cathewe sat down again and played 
 Grieg's Papillon played it without taking her 
 gaze off this flower-like young woman; and Betty 
 felt powerless to shift her eyes. She had entered 
 an enchanted castle, and the mystic inhabitants 
 had laid a spell upon her. Brahms, Moszkowski, 
 Rubenstein, Tschaikowsky, Scharwenka; the melo- 
 dies seemed to rush and whirl about her, caress, 
 confuse, startle, soothe. She was indeed under a 
 spell; for the effect of fine music upon certain 
 emotional souls is hypnotic. Betty had heard
 
 The Man With Three Names 135 
 
 nearly all the great pianists in Europe; it had 
 been a part of her education; but to be played to 
 directly, in this amazing fashion, left her with but 
 two senses seeing and hearing. She was not 
 conscious of moving. Did she drink a cup of tea? 
 She could not remember. She recollected nothing 
 until the door of the taxicab slammed behind her. 
 Then normality returned with a rush. For the 
 second time that young man had avoided giving 
 his name. What in the world could be the 
 meaning of it? 
 
 The cab had not gone a dozen yards when she 
 rapped on the window. 
 
 "Stop!" she ordered. "Do you know the 
 name of those people? " 
 
 "No, Miss," the driver lied blandly. 
 
 Betty peered from the side window, and 
 received a distinct shock. Why, this Ali Baba's 
 cave was almost opposite Nancy's! Nancy knew 
 them; she must know them. She must have 
 known that September day. It wasn't possible 
 that Nancy had not come into contact with that 
 young man and his mother. It was plain that 
 Nancy had not told the truth. Why? 
 
 She became determined to solve this riddle. 
 There wasn't any sense to it. The moment she 
 arrived home she was astonished to note that it 
 was seven. She had been in that quaint house al-
 
 136 The Man With Three Names 
 
 most two hours. She ran to the telephone and 
 called a number. 
 
 ** Dr. Maddox, please." She had to waita minute. 
 
 "Hello!" 
 
 "This is Betty Mansfield, Doctor." 
 
 "Your father ill?" 
 
 "No. Nobody's ill. I've a question to ask. 
 Who lives in that little white house across the 
 street from you the house with the picket fence? " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I want to know." 
 
 "There are four or five white houses across the 
 street." 
 
 "Thanks!" With an indignant gesture she set 
 the receiver on the hook. 
 
 But all through the evening she wondered why 
 she had not pressed the question, what freakish 
 impulse had compelled her to ring off in that 
 childish manner. Was there an undercurrent of 
 fear? Fear of what? that, once the truth was 
 hers, the white door would be closed to her forever? 
 A mystery which nobody wanted her to solve. 
 She reached in all directions, but there was no 
 connecting link. 
 
 Cathewe usually remained at his desk until the 
 paper was ready for the press, which was about 
 three o'clock in the morning. But to-night at
 
 The Man With Three Names 137 
 
 twelve he turned the office over to the night- 
 editor. He wanted to get out of doors, walk. 
 His head was full of the girl. He could not dis- 
 miss the vivid picture of her. Whichever way he 
 looked he saw her sitting tense upon the lounge, 
 against a background of Rembrandt tones, her 
 beautiful face wonder-lit. He knew what had 
 happened to her, for often it had happened to him. 
 His mother's playing had hypnotized her. But 
 he knew what the girl would never know: that his 
 mother had deliberately set out to sweep Betty 
 off her feet, to create a fascination which would 
 survive the hour. And the subsequent, ab- 
 stracted manner of the girl convinced him that 
 his mother had succeeded only too well. 
 
 "Why did you play like that?" he had asked 
 after Betty's departure. 
 
 "For your sake." 
 
 "Mine?" 
 
 "Yes. I want her to remember me as against 
 the day when she learns who you are, Sonny. She 
 has a soul like a harp. I can see that. When the 
 evil hour comes as it must she will not be able 
 to condemn you utterly. It is a muddle, isn't it, 
 Sonny? But God will clear it up for us." 
 
 Cathewe's long stride carried him to his own 
 gate. He was in the act of opening it when a 
 pistol shot cut through the silence sharply.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 CATHEWE broke into a run toward the 
 rear of the house. His reasoning was 
 sound. He saw a man dash from the 
 kitchen and make for the back fence. There was 
 no way of cutting him off, but there was a chance 
 of putting a hand on him before he could scale the 
 high board fence. Cathewe touched the man's 
 coattail, but futilely. Recognizing the useless- 
 ness of pursuit, he swung around and ran back to 
 the house, entering through the kitchen door. 
 
 "Mother?" he called, thundering through the 
 kitchen into the dining room. "Mother?" 
 
 "Yes, Sonny! I'm all right," came from his 
 study. 
 
 He found her in his chair, the light on. She was 
 pale but calm. He caught her head in his hands 
 and kissed her. And she smiled. 
 
 "I fired only to frighten him. He was rifling 
 your safe. He made no effort to touch me. Was 
 there anything of value there? " 
 
 "Only odds and ends of manuscripts and my 
 dramatic contracts. This is Mansfield. That 
 money in the bank is bothering him. He begins 
 
 138
 
 The Man With Three Names 139 
 
 to feel that he must find out. But I must go to 
 New York to-morrow night, even if I'm followed. 
 I dare not delay my going any longer." 
 
 "You are going through with it? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "In spite of the girl?" 
 
 "In spite of her. Don't worry about me, 
 mother. I've got to forget that I'm human. I 
 have dedicated my life to a cause. There's no 
 escape now. What a marvel you are, though! 
 Most women would have screamed and fainted." 
 
 "I was thinking of you, Sonny. Shall I get 
 you something to eat? There is coffee on the back 
 of the range. It will be strong. Did you see the 
 man's face?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I did. But I don't suppose I'll ever have the 
 chance to identify it. ... There goes the 
 bell!" 
 
 "Probably the patrolman." 
 
 Cathewe offered him a cup of coffee; and the 
 three of them sat around the kitchen table. 
 
 " Never kept money in that safe, did you? " 
 
 "No," answered Cathewe. "Manuscripts, 
 mostly, and receipted household bills." 
 
 "Uh-huh. Some guy found you come home at 
 three hi the morning. Took a chance. No silver 
 missing?"
 
 140 The Man With Three Names 
 
 Mrs. Cathewe shook her head. 
 
 "Any good yegg could open that safe without 
 ' soup . ' You got a good look at him ?' * 
 
 Mrs. Cathewe proceeded to describe the man 
 rather minutely. The expression of professional 
 interest on the patrolman's face changed slowly to 
 one of distress. 
 
 "I'd let the matter drop," he said. 
 
 "Clary, which are you for?" Cathewe de- 
 manded. 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 "Are you for Mansfield or for Bannister? " 
 
 "Bannister, Mr. Cathewe. But for all that, my 
 job is my bread and butter. You're a white man, 
 and this burg is beginning to wake up to the fact. 
 What your mother's just told me resembles a man 
 I know. But if I told you who, I wouldn't be able 
 to sell a newspaper on any corner in town. You 
 know the Department as well as I do. You're up 
 against a real war. You'll never get anything on 
 Mansfield that'll hold water in court. He's no 
 fool. And it's history in this town that when he 
 starts out to get a man, he gets him. He'll get 
 you." 
 
 "Not in the sense you mean, Clary. And if 
 anything should happen. . . . Cathewe 
 
 shut off the words. What he had been about to 
 say might react against him, should some pro-
 
 The Man With Three Names 141 
 
 German blow up the munitions plant. "Another 
 cup of coffee?" 
 
 " No. I'll be getting back to my beat," said the 
 patrolman, picking up his night-stick. "Good 
 luck to you, anyhow. You want me to report 
 this?" 
 
 "Let it drop, since no damage was done. Good- 
 night." 
 
 At precisely this moment the telephone rang in 
 Mansfield's library. Mansfield laid aside his book. 
 
 "Hello!" 
 
 "This Mr. Mansfield?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "There wasn't anything." 
 
 Mansfield hung up the receiver, but he did not 
 reach for the book he had been reading. Instead, 
 he stared into space. 
 
 Mansfield, who rarely suffered from mental 
 confusion, whose mind was generally a cold and 
 precise thinking machine, was, and had been for 
 some days, in a most peculiar and baffling state. 
 He recognized, as it were, two individualities in 
 continuous combat. The art of introspection, 
 which had lain dormant all these years for lack of 
 incentive, was becoming keenly active. The roots 
 of his cynicism went deep; and it was this cynicism 
 which constantly fought the ingression of senti- 
 ment. Cynicism was always striving to laugh
 
 142 The Man With Three Names 
 
 away sentimentalism. Alone or among men, 
 cynicism was victorious; but in the presence of 
 Betty's crystal honesty his cynicism strove in vain 
 to carry a bold face. The man of action, of deeds, 
 was slowly disintegrating, giving way before the 
 incomprehensible. A phenomenon walked beside 
 him, but he could not touch it. 
 
 It wasn't that Betty was twisting him around 
 her finger. That would have been real weakness. 
 The phase which would not permit of analysis was 
 this: in her presence his sense of justice went out 
 pacifically to meet her demands. Later, alone, 
 his cynicism would lash him into a fury because of 
 this easy surrender or that. But he never went 
 to her with the plea that he had changed his mind. 
 He was a sportsman. 
 
 He had formed a new habit that of wandering 
 about the great shops, alone, unnoticed except by 
 chance; and he was always being drawn toward 
 that section which contained the rows upon rows 
 of crucibles. He liked to stand there, among the 
 white-hot and dazzling containers, and speculate. 
 It was as if he had been poured into a crucible and 
 the result was in doubt. 
 
 The truth is, he was trying to fight his way 
 through the gossamer net Betty had thrown about 
 him. He sensed with panic that the fibre which 
 had made him a power in the land was softening.
 
 The Man With Three Names 143 
 
 Fiercely resolved to make no further concession to 
 her wheedling, he would return home; and then, if 
 Betty wanted something, all she had to do was 
 rumple his hair, tweak his ears, and kiss him. He 
 was helpless because she never asked anything for 
 herself. 
 
 Again, his imagination took another turn. 
 He seemed to be walking in a valley of echoes. 
 "Give Betty what she wants." "Give me what 
 I want." "Give Cathewe what he wants." "Give." 
 Maddox. 
 
 The thought of Cathewe, however, always had 
 the effect of a tonic upon a man at low ebb. To 
 crush this meddling whippersnapper who had caused 
 him the only humiliation he had known in years, 
 crush and break him and scatter him like dust. 
 Nothing should stand in the way to the accom- 
 plishment of this end. Cathewe should pay 
 dearly for his temporary victories. Mansfield 
 perceived that he was perfectly free and unham- 
 pered as regarded this project. The Herald 
 and its editor were never mentioned in the Mans- 
 field menage. Father and daughter never came 
 into conflict upon this subject; for, by one of those 
 curious twists of fate, they were both working to- 
 ward the same end, though from opposite direc- 
 tions and with different motives the undoing of 
 Cathewe.
 
 144 The Man With Three Names 
 
 Another thing worthy of mention: Betty was 
 making him see the war. It was beginning to grip 
 his imagination. It was enfiltering through the 
 layers of self-interest and indifference. The Ger- 
 mans weren't playing the game like white men: 
 there was a total lack of fair play. And observing 
 this lack of another for the first time, it swung 
 about his point of view subtly. He began to 
 wonder in a detached way if in the past he himself 
 had always played fair. So, nowadays, when he 
 wrote a check for the Belgian Relief or the Bed 
 Cross, he no longer meditated what people would 
 say regarding Dunleigh Mansfield's generosity. 
 
 So far as Cathewe was concerned, Mansfield 
 considered that he was waging lawful warfare. 
 The initial attack had come from Cathewe; and 
 he had a right to defend himself with whatever 
 weapons were available. 
 
 The sum of all these psychological incursions 
 and cogitations was this: Mansfield was giving 
 Betty what she wanted, giving it to her because 
 he loved her and because another phrase of 
 Maddox's was of recurrent quality. 
 
 "If you deceive her, and she finds it out, you 
 will lose her." 
 
 And he was deceiving her. Maddox had ad- 
 vised him to make a clean breast of it, and he had 
 permitted that opportunity to slip by. This
 
 The Man With Three Names 145 
 
 deception, however, was neither cynical nor cas- 
 ual; it was based upon a kind of unacknowledged 
 terror. The truth must be kept from her. She 
 must never know that her father was not the demi- 
 god she painted him. Of such is the miracle of 
 love. 
 
 All this, of course, intensified his hatred of 
 Cathewe. If Betty ever did find out, it would be 
 through Cathewe and his infernal newspaper. So 
 Cathewe should be broken. Not even Betty 
 had she wanted to could save the fellow. 
 
 But in regard to the girl, he was like a man fas- 
 cinated by a precipice. Something was continu- 
 ally impelling him toward the brink toward 
 confession. Not that he had committed any- 
 thing criminal in the eyes of the law; simply, it 
 was coming home to him that he had played a great 
 game badly, that his power was based upon ruth- 
 lessness rather than upon business acumen. He 
 wanted to hold her love; for day by day it grew 
 more precious. 
 
 As for Betty, surrounded by these labyrinths of 
 tergiversation, she felt herself confronted by a sing- 
 ular fact. She was being covertly snubbed : Nancy 
 was snubbing her, the doctor (who was the most 
 honest man in the world) was snubbing her, and 
 that mysterious young man and his mother were 
 snubbing her. Possessing a healthy pride, Betty
 
 146 The Man With Three Names 
 
 dropped the idea of finding out what she craved to 
 know. But she could not dismiss that remarkable 
 pair from her thoughts. They stood out cameo- 
 like against the ordinary shell of Bannister folks. 
 Whenever she was alone and idle, her thought 
 would leap back to that marvellous concert. In- 
 deed, the beauty of the mother haunted her. She 
 often searched the throngs in the street for a 
 glimpse of her, but without success. 
 
 There was a disturbing phase, too. Again and 
 again there came an almost irresistible longing to 
 drive into that quiet street, stop at that door and 
 ask for music. Here in America there was so little 
 of it, especially in a small city like Bannister. 
 Hidden away in that side-street was a great 
 pianist, the equal of any man or woman she had 
 ever heard on the concert stages of Europe an 
 American. 
 
 Upon going over the situation with a frank 
 mind, Betty was sure that it would have been easy 
 to dismiss the young man had he not been indis- 
 solubly linked with the marvellous woman who was 
 his mother. A young man who read Fabre in the 
 original and whose mother played with the fire of a 
 Paderewski! 
 
 It is supposable that one of the main reasons for 
 the continuance of this odd situation was that 
 Betty was lonely. Her hours were frequently
 
 The Man With Three Names 147 
 
 crowded with action; still she was lonely for the 
 companionships such as she had known in France. 
 With the exception of Nancy and she could not 
 be with Nancy always she had no friends such as 
 she could run to with confidence. She had gone 
 to France a child; the young men and women of 
 Bannister were strangers; there were no childhood 
 friendships to renew. The real friendships she 
 had formed were among her schoolmates in France; 
 and now these were scattered over the world. 
 
 There was a good deal of give and take socially, 
 but she moved through these affairs amiably aloof. 
 The atmosphere was not particularly congenial. 
 She admired the exuberance and vitality of the 
 American youth, but they lacked the indoor 
 polish of their foreign cousins. Art, music, liter- 
 ature were only approached, not explored; they 
 preferred sports and business. But one attribute 
 stood out clearly, and she gave it homage their 
 attitude toward women. She soon perceived that 
 upon this attitude the American woman based her 
 freedom of action. Acts which in Europe would 
 be misconstrued were here perfectly understood. 
 
 You may be sure they hovered about her as 
 bees the jasmine. If they lacked finish them- 
 selves they were not blind to it in others. There 
 was no favourite; she treated them all alike. She 
 permitted them to teach her golf and billiards, and
 
 148 The Man With Three Names 
 
 in return she gave them tea and danced with them. 
 None of them quite lost his awe of her. She was 
 not only the most beautiful girl in the world: she 
 was one of the richest heiresses in America. She 
 rather disappointed the young women because 
 there was nothing about her to criticise. 
 
 Mansfield still kept three or four saddle-horses, 
 and frequently now they two rode into the country 
 in the early morning. Now that she was no longer 
 shy, now that her confidence in him was absolute, 
 she discovered to him the beauty of her mind. 
 "Her beauty is the least of her.'* He would 
 never forget that phrase, even though his bitterest 
 enemy had made it. 
 
 He would never forget one brilliant, frosty 
 morning. They had dismounted at the top of the 
 hill where she had met Cathewe. The brown 
 earth and the rusty boscage and the flashing blue 
 water of the lake evoked in her the desire to sing. 
 
 When the last glorious note died away, Mans- 
 field asked in an uncertain voice: "What was 
 that?" 
 
 "'The Swallow'." 
 
 " What made you want to sing like that? " 
 
 "All this'* with a gesture. "To see grandly 
 is to feel grandly. I love to be up high, to see far 
 horizons. I am wild, Daddy; they never tamed 
 me."
 
 The Man With Three Names 149 
 
 "Did it ever occur to you that you are taming 
 me?" smiling. 
 
 "Are you wild? " she flashed back at him. 
 
 "Sometimes I wonder what I am. Sometimes 
 I wish I could be born over again, just the way 
 you'd like me, to be able to anticipate what you 
 want so I wouldn't have to weigh the pro and con 
 of everything." 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn't care to have you perfect. I 
 wouldn't have anything to do, then. I wouldn't 
 have anybody to boss." 
 
 Somehow that meant more to him than any 
 other thing save one she had ever said. She 
 had uttered it half in jest; but there was some- 
 thing in her eyes that convinced him that if ever a 
 denouement arrived, she would not be without 
 generosity. What a wonder-child it was ! 
 
 "It is glorious up here," he said, his gaze 
 sweeping about. "Wonder who moved that flat 
 stone there ? Some boy, probably, hunting for ants' 
 nests. The fun of being a boy ! Honey, I don't 
 believe I ever really was a boy. Your grandfather 
 was a religious bigot; anything a boy wanted to do 
 was wrong in the eyes of God. Oh, he was generous 
 with material comforts, sent me to college and 
 footed the bills without much grumbling. But I 
 couldn't read novels on Sunday. I couldn't go 
 walking or sparking. I just had to sit around the
 
 150 The Man With Three Names 
 
 house and go to church three times. I couldn't 
 do anything my boyhood friends did. Why, even 
 Maddox could play baseball on Sunday; and if he 
 doesn't go to Heaven, then it's no place -for an 
 honest man!" 
 
 Betty laughed joyously. "Poor Daddy ! ' ' 
 
 "It wasn't funny in those days. I honestly 
 believe it hardened me. I never sowed any wild- 
 oats, so my pent-up resentment never had any 
 outlet. It became petrified." 
 
 "Is that a guilty conscience?" 
 
 "Have any of us consciences free of guilt?" he 
 countered. 
 
 Gravely Betty walked over to the flat stone and 
 touched it with her foot. Was silence deception? 
 Was she actually deceiving her father? Those 
 letters! Was she deceiving her father in regard to 
 them? But they were meant for her eyes alone. 
 It would be sacrilege for a third person to touch 
 them. After all, hiding the letters themselves 
 was not deception. The real deception was that 
 she permitted him to believe her heart-whole and 
 free. 
 
 Immediately an odd thing happened to her 
 mentally. Out of the sunshine and the frosty 
 mists came a clear picture. She saw that beautiful 
 mother, her white hair and her serene face touched 
 magically by candlelight: she heard divine music.
 
 The Man With Three Names 151 
 
 She became afire with the craving to hear it 
 again. A most bizarre resolve laid hold of her. 
 Everything in her, breeding, teaching, tradition, 
 demanded that she dismiss this resolve. Nancy 
 nor her father wanted Betty Mansfield to know 
 that mother and son. The doctor would not 
 have evaded her query without a good reason. 
 And yet, Betty knew instinctively that these were 
 proper people. Moreover, they belonged to that 
 class of intellectuals from which she herself had 
 received her training. 
 
 "Mother, this is Miss Mansfield," he had said; 
 but he had not added: "My name is so-and-so." 
 
 In her world, persons who preferred to remain 
 unknown acted thus for significant reasons: they 
 did not care to know you or be known. But 
 against this was their charming hospitality. Had 
 they been everyday Bannister folks, she would 
 have passed on and forgotten. The unwritten 
 law of her kind forbade Betty to cross that thres- 
 hold again. And she was going to cross it that 
 very afternoon. 
 
 She knew that the name of the editor of the 
 Herald was Brandon Cathewe; but beyond that, 
 nothing. This is easily explained. Wherever 
 she went, that name was tabu. No one ever 
 mentioned either the editor or his newspaper in 
 her presence for fear of offending her. She was
 
 152 The Man With Three Names 
 
 incurious. The affair which she was forwarding 
 did not necessitate any personal information re- 
 garding the editor. For all she cared he might 
 be one of the Boanerges or out of Brobdignag. 
 She had, it is true, drawn a careless mental 
 picture of him a copy of an editor she had once 
 seen a wild-eyed, dark-haired, shabby individ- 
 ual of the anarchist type. 
 
 "I am ready," she said to her father. 
 
 She gathered up the reins and swung herself into 
 the saddle. Mansfield followed, rather startled at 
 the abruptness. 
 
 At half after two that afternoon Betty opened 
 the gate and hurried up to the door of the house 
 with the white clapboards. This haste was an 
 urgency of fear fear that if she hesitated or 
 looked back, she would not dare go on with the 
 mad adventure. She rang the bell and waited.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE housemaid opened the door a little 
 way, cautiously, to make note of the 
 visitor's character. Here in America one 
 had to be careful of the front doors of frame 
 houses. The free lance of business was legion, 
 and full of affable effrontery. The instant the maid 
 recognized Betty, she drew the door full-wide. 
 One did not forget Betty overnight. 
 
 As the beautiful adventuress, dazzled by her 
 temerity, stepped across the threshold, the maid 
 closed the hall door and opened that which gave 
 into the living room. 
 
 "I veel announce Ma'm'selle. . . ." began 
 the maid in broken English. 
 
 "You are French?" interrupted Betty, eagerly, 
 in that beloved tongue. 
 
 "But no, Ma'm'selle. I am Belgian. I am a 
 refugee. Monsieur brought me here from New 
 York. I go to summon Madame." 
 
 Charity, thought Betty; the finest kind, that 
 permitted the recipient to retain self-respect. A 
 Belgian refugee in Bannister and domiciled in 
 this house of subtle mystery! Somehow this re- 
 
 153
 
 154 The Man With Three Names 
 
 assured Betty that her instinct was right: these 
 people were to be trusted in spite of the mystery 
 behind which they chose to barricade themselves. 
 
 She entered the living room and sat down on 
 the lounge. Her heart wasn't quite right; it re- 
 fused to behave. In fact, it was thumping in a 
 most disloyal fashion. 
 
 Presently she had the courage to look about. 
 The room was brilliant with sunshine, and every 
 article stood out clearly and invitingly. She had 
 not been able to observe very well that memorable 
 evening in the candlelight. She became amazed; 
 and this amazement, carrying away all personal 
 thought, had the welcome effect of lessening her 
 heart-beats. 
 
 Treasures. The Chinese rug on the floor was 
 antique; probably the only one of its kind in this 
 part of the world. On the mantel over the fire- 
 place was a peachblow vase. Not an ordinary 
 piece of furniture, not a second-rate painting. 
 Not even in her own home, the finest on Polygon 
 Hill, were there antiques which approached these 
 in beauty and quality. Here, in a little ordinary 
 clapboard house! Who could they be and what 
 had brought them to Bannister? 
 
 Beyond the rosewood piano the spread was a 
 rare bit of Japanese silk tapestry, rivalling in 
 colour the Polish rugs on the wall was a series of
 
 The Man With Three Names 155 
 
 photographs. From where she sat she could see 
 that they were all autographed, and two of the 
 photographs she recognized Rubenstein's and 
 Paderewski's. After all, there was nothing as- 
 tonishing in this. It was perfectly reasonable 
 that two such great musicians should pay homage 
 to another who was quite their equal. But what 
 was not reasonable was that this equal should be 
 hidden away in an obscure street in an obscure 
 town. 
 
 Footsteps on the stairs. Betty stood up just as 
 the subject of these cogitations entered the room. 
 The hostess came forward with both hands out- 
 stretched, with a frankly amused smile on her lips. 
 
 "I know," she began at once. "You have 
 come back for some music." 
 
 "I feel so ashamed! I don't know, but I 
 believe you have hypnotized me. I wasn't invited 
 to come again." 
 
 "Indeed you were," replied the musician. 
 
 "I was?" delighted. 
 
 "I do not play for strangers ordinarily; and I 
 did play for you." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because you know how to feel, because you 
 have a soul which responds to beauty, whether it 
 be a picture or a sound." Mrs. Cathewe led the 
 girl to the chair Sonny occupied when she played
 
 156 The Man With Three Names 
 
 for him. "Sit here where I can see you while I 
 play. What is your mood? " 
 
 "My mood? I don't exactly know. Perhaps 
 I'm a little sad," said Betty. "And I am still 
 bewildered over my boldness." 
 
 "In surrendering to a fine craving? Nonsense! 
 You will always be welcome. Come any time 
 when you feel the mood." 
 
 "May I ask you one question? " timidly. 
 
 Mrs. Cathewe hesitated the fraction of a second. 
 "Ask it." 
 
 "Have you ever performed in public? " 
 
 With a sigh of relief Mrs. Cathewe answered: 
 "When I was eighteen I made my debut in 
 Vienna. But I was not a success. I was one of 
 those unfortunate persons whose nerves go to 
 pieces before large audiences. I had ambition, 
 but I lacked that incentive which conquers 
 nervousness the dread of poverty. It is pe- 
 culiar, isn't it, that truly great artists always 
 come from that background. Bread and butter 
 and genius; and I never had to want for bread and 
 butter." 
 
 She struck the opening bars of Mendelssohn's 
 "Capriccio." She possessed that marvellous faculty 
 of playing without apparently watching the keys. 
 What a beautiful child it was! Poor Sonny, with 
 that remarkable insight to character which was
 
 The Man With Three Names 157 
 
 his, he had read this girl aright the first time. 
 She was desirable. 
 
 To win her friendship this day against that 
 when, inevitable as it must be, the girl learned 
 the truth, that Sonny was right and her father 
 was wrong. To give her comparisons by which 
 to judge. And what manner of father was it who 
 could not throw ambition to the winds before 
 the altar of such perfect womanhood? As she 
 approached the finale of the "Capriccio," she struck 
 a discord. Sonny! She had forgotten. He was 
 in his study at work, and he ought never to be 
 disturbed. And he would be wondering what all 
 this was about, enter, and spoil his mother's little 
 plot. She began the "Spinnerlied." She followed 
 this with selections from Brahms, Grieg, Chopin, 
 Rubenstein, and Rachmaninoff. Then she drop- 
 ped her hands to her lap. 
 
 "You are very wonderful," said Betty. "How 
 do you remember them all without a note in front 
 of you?" 
 
 "It cost a good deal of hard work. You are 
 very wonderful, too." 
 
 Mrs. Cathewe left the seat and knelt before 
 the music case, a piece of beautiful Florentine 
 marquetry. Presently she held up a sheet of 
 music so that Betty could see the title. It was 
 one of Wolf-Ferrarri's exquisite songs.
 
 158 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "Do you know that?" 
 
 "Why . . . why, yes!" 
 
 "Will you sing it for me?" 
 
 "I'll try to, if you'll play the accompaniment." 
 
 Her voice was naturally a little husky and un- 
 certain at first, but after the third attempt she 
 found herself calm and confident; and her sweet, 
 high soprano filled the room. It was not simply 
 a good voice well trained. It had fire, colour, 
 tenderness; it was the girl herself, what she was hi 
 spirit. She sang three other songs; and then Mrs. 
 Cathewe got up and impulsively seized the girl 
 by the arms. 
 
 "You are a nightingale! With your beauty and 
 that voice, you could set the world on fire." 
 
 "I am not ambitious. I lack the incentive, too. 
 Sometimes I sing for charity; but otherwise I never 
 appear in pulbic. I sing for the same reason you 
 play because I love to." 
 
 "Will you have tea?" 
 
 "No, no! I must be going. If only you could 
 understand what pleasure you have given me! 
 May . . . may I come again some day?" 
 
 "Come whenever you feel like it. I am nearly 
 always here." 
 
 And then the mother of Sonny performed one 
 of those acts which artistic souls alone have the 
 courage to perform. She caught the girl in her
 
 The Man With Three Names 159 
 
 arms and embraced her; and Betty was pleased, 
 thrilled, astonished. The variant emotions rip- 
 pled over her face as a light breeze ripples over the 
 surface of a stream. 
 
 With their arms locked they proceeded to the 
 door. 
 
 "I think," said Betty, gravely, "that you are 
 just glorious!" 
 
 Then she ran down the steps to the gate, which 
 she sent behind her with a click. Mrs. Cathewe 
 remained in the doorway until Betty reached the 
 corner; then she closed the door and walked 
 thoughtfully toward the study. She noticed 
 that the door was open the space of a hand. She 
 pushed in to find Cathewe with his head on his 
 arms. She stooped and kissed his neck. 
 
 "What am I going to do, mother?" he said, 
 without stirring. 
 
 " I don't know, Sonny. I am falling in love with 
 her myself. I had no idea she could sing like that. 
 I am very glad she came as she did just to hear 
 me play." 
 
 "Are you sure that was the reason?" Cathewe 
 sat up. 
 
 "Absolutely sure." 
 
 "You did not give the name?" 
 
 " She did not ask for it. I am very sorry for her, 
 too. When she finds out who you are, there will
 
 160 The Man With Three Names 
 
 be doubts. She is odd, this child. She has been 
 reared in a particularly fine manner. When the 
 hour comes she will put her father on one side of 
 the scales and you and me on the other. She is 
 of the sort who are terribly just like the French 
 who brought her up. She is French. She has 
 absorbed the nationality of that people. She 
 is trying to be an American. I believe she is very 
 lonely here. My poor Sonny! What a terrible 
 mistress Honour is! She is like that Nuremburg 
 Maid: she tortures you when she embraces you." 
 
 "I'll see it through." 
 
 "Is he so bad?" 
 
 "The man who opened my safe did so at the 
 orders of Mansfield. From your description and 
 the patrolman's frank dismay, I at once had 
 my suspicions. I confirmed them. The man was 
 a plain-clothes detective from the police-station. 
 What is the inference? That Mansfield's sinister 
 influence there has made the police blind and in- 
 efficient. The amazing fact in American politics 
 is this: a single man holds a town in the hollow of 
 his hand. He can order this and that to be 
 done, and it is done. Simply because he orders 
 it. He says that this or that man shall be 
 elected or broken. It is done. Now, this man's 
 power is not based upon anything but habit, re- 
 markable as that statement may seem. He could be
 
 The Man With Three Names 16i 
 
 overthrown by a turn of the hand. And the reason 
 this hand is never turned is a human reason: 
 Human beings find it easier to be inefficient than 
 to be efficient. Many of the men who commit 
 these acts under command are honest according 
 to their lights. They consider that their moral 
 obligations are to the boss rather than to the town. 
 I am trying to convince the people in Bannister 
 that a boss is lichen, fungus, worthless and useless. 
 A King will hang on to his crown no matter how 
 bloody his feet may be. So it is with the American 
 political boss. Mansfield has the police and fire 
 department in the hollow of his hand; he dictates 
 to the common council, to the State Senators 
 and the Assemblymen, simply because a boss is a 
 boss, and the American public has really never 
 attempted to analyze his power. He secured 
 his street-car franchise for nothing, for merely 
 improving the street through which his cars run. 
 This rank exemption from taxation compels the 
 people to pay extra heavily; and in that direction 
 there is no redress, for the franchise extends to 
 ninety -nine years. He owns the controlling in- 
 terest in the other newspapers, and that is why I 
 have to stand alone. He's done petty and mean 
 things in business. You remember that poor 
 inventor. There are many instances like that. 
 He owns property all over town, but only the fine
 
 162 The Man With Three Names 
 
 buildings are recorded in his name. And I'm 
 going to knock his crown from his head . . . 
 and give up the girl I love. I've got to. I created 
 this situation, and there is nothing for me but to 
 follow through." 
 
 "And you will win.'* 
 
 "If Mansfield doesn't find out my secret too 
 soon. . . . There's the bell." 
 
 It was Nancy. She came in, bright of eye and 
 rosy-cheeked. 
 
 "Mother Cathewe, I've come to take you for a 
 ride." 
 
 "And Mother Cathewe will be delighted to go. 
 I'll run up and change." 
 
 "You're like a breath of air from the hills, 
 Nancy," said Cathewe, as he sat down on the 
 lounge beside the visitor. 
 
 But Nancy did not return his smile. 
 
 "Consciences are nuisances, aren't they?" she 
 began. 
 
 "What's yours bothering you about?" lightly. 
 
 "It's been calling out loud for several days, 
 Brand. I'm a thief. Oh, it doesn't matter that 
 what I actually took was a trifle. I stole also a 
 secret to which I had no right." 
 
 "Well, let's hear the confession. Editors and 
 priests and family physicians all are in the same 
 category."
 
 The Man With Three Names 163 
 
 "Editors?" 
 
 "Yes, Nancy. A lot of secrets come into my 
 office that never go out." 
 
 "Well, then, a few days ago I came in to take 
 your mother out, and while she was upstairs 
 dressing I saw your study door open." 
 
 "I see. I suppose I'll have to cut off your head 
 and hang it up in the closet. You found out I was 
 George Cottar?" 
 
 "Yes, I feel dreadfully about it." 
 
 "Nonsense! It doesn't matter, or it won't 
 matter, once I'm through this Mansfield fight. 
 But I didn't miss anything." 
 
 "I took a rejected sheet out of the waste- 
 basket and carried it off." 
 
 "Scandalous!" He laughed. "Keep it. Some- 
 day I'll autograph it for you, if you care." 
 
 "I may keep it?" eagerly. 
 
 "With the clearest conscience in the world." 
 
 "But why a nom de plume? " 
 
 "Oh, I never dreamed I would be successful. 
 When I finished that first novel, I just tacked 
 George Cottar to it and shipped it off. My 
 publishers still believe my name to be Cottar. 
 You'll keep the secret for a little while longer?" 
 
 "As long as you want me to. You've been 
 just splendid about it. I just walked into your 
 study without the least thought about the pro-
 
 164 The Man With Three Names 
 
 priety of the act. An author, right across the 
 street!" 
 
 "I tell you what, Nancy. Some afternoon I'll 
 run over and read you what IVe got done of a new 
 book. You've got such good judgment, I'd like 
 your opinion." 
 
 Nancy became radiant. And there entered 
 his heart a sudden distaste of life. If only it had 
 been this girl instead ! For Nancy was just as fine 
 and lovable as Betty. It was merely an accident 
 that he loved the latter instead of the former. 
 
 "Brand, what did she want?" 
 
 "Want? Who?" 
 
 "Betty. I saw her leave just as I opened the 
 garage doors." 
 
 "She came on one of those singular impulses 
 to which we all surrender at times. Mother, in a 
 manner peculiarly her own, has fascinated Miss 
 Mansfield. She came to hear mother play. And 
 Lordy, you never told me she could sing like that! 
 She didn't see me. I stuck to the study and didn't 
 come out until you rang." 
 
 "She doesn't know, then?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Brand, it's a tragedy!" 
 
 "In more ways than one, Nancy. By the way, 
 have you got that sheet of manuscript with you?" 
 he broke off.
 
 The Man With Three Names 165 
 
 She gave it to him. He went into the study 
 and returned shortly. Across the face of the manu- 
 script he had written: "From George Cottar to 
 Nancy Maddox, his friend." 
 
 "Thanks. What beautiful script you write!" 
 
 "That's because I'm fussy. When I cross out 
 a word, I generally throw the sheet away. A 
 scandalous waste of paper, but I can't help it. 
 Here's that mother o' mine." 
 
 When she returned home, Nancy ran straight 
 to her room, turned on the light, and got out that 
 precious page of manuscript. "From George 
 Cottar to Nancy Maddox, his friend." Having 
 possessed a guilty conscience regarding the theft 
 of the sheet, she had not dared scrutinize it hereto- 
 fore. She had been ashamed to take it out of the 
 drawer. But now she had a right. So she read 
 the page through, and presently was struck by the 
 curious method by which Cathewe concluded 
 his sentences. A little cross, resembling an x. 
 Now, what did that stir in her mind? A cross, 
 resembling the little x. But the riddle remained 
 unsolved. 
 
 That night a new phase of the drama unrolled. 
 Cathewe was at his desk as usual, reading some 
 proofs. The real-estate reporter truthfully, the 
 cub, for the markets and real-estate were his reg- 
 ular assignments, these jobs being the bill of fare
 
 166 The Man With Three Names 
 
 of all cubs on provincial newspapers came in 
 rather breathlessly. 
 
 "Mr. Cathewe, I've stumbled on the rip-bang- 
 ingest yarn you ever heard tell on." 
 
 "What's happened?" asked Cathewe, cordially. 
 He did not hold to the tradition that to make a 
 reporter out of a cub one had to scare him to death 
 first. 
 
 "Well, I came to you because it concerns 
 Mansfield." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "Know those tenements and shacks down by 
 his mills?" 
 
 "Yes. Supposed to be owned by Colvin, but 
 in reality owned by Mr. Mansfield. Go on." 
 
 "And those unsavory apartments on Melville 
 Street?" 
 
 Cathewe nodded. "Also owned by Mansfield." 
 
 "Well, the sale of them was recorded with the 
 clerk this afternoon." 
 
 "Who purchased them?" 
 
 "Miss Mansfield!"
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 CATHEWE rocked in his swivel chair for a 
 moment. 
 "Mr. White," he said, frankly, "I don't 
 want this repeated to a soul. This is a personal 
 affair between Mansfield and his daughter." 
 
 "But the whole town will hear of it selling 
 property to his daughter through a dummy," pro- 
 tested the cub, who saw his aureola vanishing in 
 the distance. 
 
 "There's a light on the affair that you would 
 naturally miss. The town will miss it, too. I 
 have neither the time nor the inclination to go 
 into details. To you and to others it looks as if 
 Mansfield were rooking his daughter. No. It's a 
 good story, but we can't use it. Never be afraid to 
 come directly to me when you've got a good yarn. 
 Not a word to any one, mind you." And with a 
 pleasant nod he dismissed the disappointed cub. 
 
 Cathewe got up, fired his pipe, and began pacing, 
 with wisps of smoke whirling and twisting be- 
 hind him. His door being open as usual, those 
 in the city room, where the reporters do their 
 writing, saw him flash past the door and return at 
 
 167
 
 168 The Man With Three Names 
 
 least twenty times before he ceased to appear. 
 This generally signified that the chief was up 
 in the air over something. And so he was. He 
 had just received a bit of news that had shaken 
 him profoundly, for he perfectly understood the 
 meaning of it. 
 
 He knew that Betty Mansfield had a large inde- 
 pendent fortune of her own. Still, she would never 
 have bought those pieces of property without 
 consulting her father. Rooking his daughter? 
 No. The savage irony of it! Mansfield had let 
 her spend two or three hundred thousand of her 
 own money because he had not dared confess to 
 her that he was the real proprietor of those blisters 
 on the face of a fair city. Why had he not dared? 
 What else might it be except that he now loved her 
 and wanted desperately to hold her? But what 
 indescribable phase of myopia had prevented him 
 from coming out into the open and giving the 
 property to her to do with as she pleased? A 
 keen brain like Mansfield's, to permit his feet to 
 stray into a bog like this ! The first lie, the second, 
 and then the swarming legions. 
 
 Cathewe laid his pipe on his desk and crossed 
 over to a window from which he stared at the 
 November stars. He wondered how Mansfield 
 had failed to see how the town would interpret 
 this equivocal sale of property. The ironmonger
 
 The Man With Three Names 169 
 
 was disliked so heartily that folks would be only 
 too happy to attribute the worst to him, that of 
 mulcting his daughter of her personal fortune. 
 And it was inevitable that she should find out 
 some day. One thing was clear: the child Mans- 
 field had sent away so as not to be bothered with 
 her was winning him and turning the glance of his 
 eyes inward. This predatory and paternal Ingo- 
 mar was in love at last. And this love was ob- 
 fuscating his perspectives. A temporary stay in 
 the court of fate. 
 
 He began to feel sorry for Mansfield, for he saw 
 what Mansfield was soon to lose. With a crystal 
 soul like Betty's, love must have its foundation 
 upon respect. Tear this away, and the whole edi- 
 fice must topple. 
 
 What effect had those letters upon her? he 
 wondered. Had she kept them or torn them up? 
 Had they intrigued her or only amused her? 
 Would events ever reach that point where a so- 
 lution to the mystery would arrive? What a 
 voice! Supposing he wrote to her again? On 
 the following night he would be in New York. 
 He could mail the letter from there. And per- 
 haps Nancy would note the effect, or his mother, 
 if Betty came again to hear her play. But what 
 was the use? Circumstance had put him beyond 
 the pale.
 
 170 The Man With Three Names 
 
 At three o'clock that morning he stole up the 
 path to the Maddox front door and pushed a 
 letter through the slot. And the doctor read this 
 remarkable letter while at the breakfast table : 
 
 . . . . I honestly feel sorry for him. I'm waging 
 war against him, yes, but I'm waging it above board. You 
 go to him and urge him to confess about this real-estate 
 transaction. Impress upon him that the town will interpret 
 the deal as a desire on his part to absorb his daughter's for- 
 tune. I am quite confident that he now loves her, but it is 
 evident that he has lost his balance. Keep me out of it, of 
 course. I could use this weapon with profound effect if I 
 were a first-rate scoundrel. But I want to play the game 
 on the square. Go to him as soon as you can. 
 
 Maddox carried the letter in his pocket for 
 three days before rediscovering it. On the morn- 
 ing of the third day, when he found and reread 
 it, he announced to his family to have the patients 
 wait. He was going on an errand and would not 
 be back until ten. 
 
 He got into his rattling chariot and steered for 
 Polygon Hill. He caught Mansfield just as the 
 latter was starting out for the mills. 
 
 "Dunleigh, I want a little talk with you; ten 
 or fifteen minutes. Vital, if you want to know." 
 
 "All right, John. Come into the study." 
 Arriving there, Mansfield indicated a chair. 
 "Well, what's on your mind?"
 
 The Man With Three Names 171 
 
 "I want you to read this letter, Dunleigh. 
 I'm breaking a confidence, but I think it best that 
 you get an unbiased point of view." 
 
 When Mansfield returned the letter his face 
 was gray. 
 
 "John, it is too late." 
 
 "I warned you." 
 
 "I know. But what can I do?" 
 
 "Tell her." 
 
 "And lose her!" 
 
 "There is a chance if you tell her; there is none 
 if you don't. Murder will out. And there's an- 
 other point. You've called this young chap a 
 scoundrel. He is an honest man. He is not after 
 you personally, as that letter proves. He is 
 after you publicly. The clerk of deeds will talk. 
 He knows. In a week or two it will be all over 
 town." 
 
 "John, the money Betty paid for that property 
 goes back into it two-fold. I told her she could 
 buy them and I would rebuild. On the day the 
 last shingle goes on I intend to return to her her 
 check. Just now she insists that her money shall 
 do the buying. I wanted to please her. I simply 
 couldn't tell her part of my income for years has 
 been from those . . . those places. We 
 drove around town one day, and she told me 
 what she wanted to do for Bannister; and I gave
 
 172 The Man With Three Names 
 
 her a free hand. Her money is hers without 
 restrictions. She can have anything and every- 
 thing " 
 
 "But the truth. And that, Dunleigh, means 
 more to her than a thousand millions. Here's a 
 way out. She wanted to go to France. Let her 
 go; and while she's over there, clean up this mess." 
 
 "But she's got over that idea. She believes 
 that Bannister needs her. She's also got the idea 
 that soon we'll be in war, and her duty lies here. 
 I'd let her go to France in a minute. I made my 
 mistake in bringing her here." 
 
 "No; the mistake lies in the fact that you 
 brought her back blind. Now, what are you going 
 to do about Cathewe?" 
 
 "Break him!" Mansfield brought his fist down 
 upon his desk. "Break him! I am iron there. 
 I'll tell you why." And he recounted the episode 
 on board the giant Cunarder in 1912. 
 
 As he listened to this almost incredible tale 
 the doctor's heart went down, down. So this was 
 it! The boy loved Betty, had come here to win 
 her, and his anger against Mansfield's malefactions 
 had switched him on to another trail. Nancy! 
 Gentle and merry and kindly. . . . Nancy 
 whom his keen, paternal eyes read like a book; 
 his daughter! Out of all these curious actions 
 and reactions hers would be the broken heart.
 
 The Man With Three Names 173 
 
 He put Cathewe's letter away and got up. 
 "Dunleigh, you're going to lose your fight. You're 
 going to lose your daughter, too. You have 
 chosen tortuous labyrinths when a clear, straight 
 path was in front of you! Well, my patients 
 are waiting. I'll bid you good morning." 
 
 "John, what shall I do?" 
 
 "Tell her, man; tell her why you played such 
 a farce as this real-estate deal. Tell her it was 
 because you feared to lose her. Tell her the truth. 
 Tell her that for years you've lived for and by 
 yourself, a monument to selfishness. Tell her 
 you took rents from the plague districts because 
 you'd lost the perspectives of morality. That 
 you never cared who rented those flats and apart- 
 ments so long as the rents were forthcoming. 
 Tell her you've taken money from honest men 
 through legal trickery. Tell her that you had 
 forgotten her mother. Lord, Lord! Don't you 
 know that women always forgive, if you tell them; 
 that they never forgive if the story comes to them 
 from a third person? You've got the idea that 
 you must cringe. Tell her with your chin up. 
 If you've got to lose her, lose her like a sports- 
 man"; and the indignant Maddox rushed out of 
 the study and out of the house. 
 
 Mansfield, with rather a childish burst of fury 
 against the tides of fate that were closing in upon
 
 174 The Man With Three Names 
 
 him, stalked to the study door and locked it. 
 How many times did he stride from the fireplace 
 to the far wall and back? A hundred times 
 two, three hundred times. 
 
 Until this hour he had looked upon the real- 
 estate deal with a kind of dry humour. When 
 the hour came he would refund Betty's outlay. 
 Wasn't that enough? What business was it of 
 Bannister's? Wasn't he giving her what she 
 wanted, no matter how much it went against the 
 (grain? Weren't contractors this very day excavat- 
 ing for a pipe-line from the city main that would 
 make the munitions plant as safe as the downtown 
 district? Maddox was an old fool. 
 
 Betty telephoned that she would have luncheon 
 at the Red Cross Headquarters, so her father had 
 to dine alone. It was just as well. He was in 
 that quality of mood that prefers isolation. At 
 the office that afternoon he found fault with every- 
 thing and everybody, which was so unusual that 
 a rumour quietly circulated that he had lost heavily 
 on some war stock. 
 
 And always somewhere in the woodpile was 
 that fellow Cathewe. How often he regretted 
 that day when, instead of attempting to play a 
 saturnine joke, he might have turned the young 
 fool over to the deck-steward and ended the affair 
 then and there.
 
 The Man With Three Names 175 
 
 He dropped into his club at five and decided 
 to dine there. He was still in a towering rage, 
 and he did not care to face the girl's clear eyes 
 until he had himself in hand. But he brought 
 home some new books and a box of candy, which 
 he placed before her door. 
 
 He had by this time argued himself into a line 
 of action with specious arguments whose strength 
 lay in their cumulation. Here he was, trying 
 the best he knew how to clean up the ugly spots, 
 and they insisted upon confronting him with 
 problems he did not want to solve. What mat- 
 tered it how the end was attained so long as it was 
 attained? What would Bannister have been 
 but for Dunleigh Mansfield? He had brought 
 ships into the harbour and trains into the terminal 
 and decent wages into pay-envelopes. 
 
 In every American city of the second class there 
 are districts which were but are no longer fashion- 
 able. The volatile nature of the American creates 
 one district after another, as his prosperity ad- 
 vances. There is very little sentiment in his sys- 
 tem in regard to his habitation. He wants the 
 best; and as his fortunes permit, he moves. 
 
 Maddox, however, was not of this breed. In 
 the house in which he lived his grandfather a 
 fresh-water sailor had been his father and himself
 
 176 The Man With Three Names 
 
 born. It was of limestone, weather-worn to a 
 pale gray. Millions would not have lured him to 
 Polygon Hill. In the great lakes district there 
 are thousands like it. Square and commodious, 
 the Maddox home was set in a grove of maple and 
 elm and beech. The barn was also of limestone. 
 The loft, once smelly with clover and timothy, 
 was now filled with a jumble of carriages. The 
 ground floor had been turned into a garage only 
 when Maddox was convinced that hurry-call 
 patients would have a better chance if he relied 
 upon engines and gasoline. 
 
 Maddox had a good income, but it was an in- 
 come for which he had to labour continuously. 
 He made about fifteen thousand a year and gave 
 away half. He was careless, too, not in his obliga- 
 tions to others but regarding theirs to him. He 
 never pressed for payment. He was the despair 
 of Nancy, who kept the books; she never knew 
 what to depend upon. 
 
 He stopped the ancient chariot at the stepping 
 stone and climbed out. He hoped there wouldn't 
 be any patient in the office. He did not want to 
 see tongues or feel of pulses. His own heart was 
 in agony. 
 
 Nancy! He had not studied human beings 
 all these years for nothing. Nancy loved that 
 boy. She might not be absolutely aware of it.
 
 The Man With Three Names 177 
 
 And now her heart was going to be bruised beyond 
 healing; and her father, physician though he was, 
 could not help her. Oh, he knew the child. 
 When the blow fell she would hold her chin up. 
 She would go on with the routine of life without 
 giving any sign to the world. Not even her 
 mother would suspect. But alone in her room 
 those heart-tearing sobs she would hide and 
 smother in her pillow! 
 
 So that was it! The secret was out. Cathewe 
 loved Betty, and had come to Bannister upon 
 what normal men would have called a forlorn 
 hope to make himself a force in Bannister. 
 And he had, in face of great odds; and at the same 
 time dug a gulf the width of the Atlantic between 
 himself and Betty Mansfield. A tender, whimsi- 
 cal, chivalrous madman, under the velvet a curious 
 hardness; relentless. And yet he could indirectly 
 warn Mansfield of the danger in that real-estate 
 deal! 
 
 Maddox raked his beard fiercely as he hurried 
 up the brick path to the office entrance. The 
 office was vacant. Good! What he wanted just 
 now was a pipe in the study. He would have to 
 mull this affair over and approach it from all 
 angles. But he had scarcely got the coal going 
 when Nancy came in. 
 
 "Did you order that awning?"
 
 178 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "Awning?" 
 
 "Heavens, he's forgotten! Don't you know 
 what day this is? " 
 
 "Thursday." 
 
 "What date?" 
 
 He looked at his calendar; and then his jaw 
 dropped. Her birthday, and he had forgotten 
 all about it! He jumped up, kissed her, and 
 stormed back to the office where he had left his 
 hat and coat. He rushed out and down to the 
 chariot and went clattering off. He did not stop 
 until he reached the shop of Bannister's fashion- 
 able jewellers. He was a rare visitor, but they 
 knew him personally. 
 
 "Daniels," he began, a little out of breath, 
 "this is my daughter Nancy's birthday. I want a 
 trinket tnat'll make her forget everything even 
 the day she was born," he added, humorously. 
 
 "That falls in nicely," replied the jeweller. 
 "We had something in the window the other day 
 that attracted her." 
 
 "I see," said Maddox, preparing himself for 
 the worst. "Pearls. Well, let me see it." So 
 far as he was concerned, pills and pearls looked 
 exactly alike. He would have to trust Daniels 
 absolutely. "How much?" he asked, after a 
 glance at the string. 
 
 "Twenty -five hundred."
 
 The Man With Three Names 179 
 
 "Wrap it up and charge it. A thousand 
 December first and the balance January first. 
 
 "Six months, if you like. We folks make you 
 wait often enough." 
 
 From her bedroom window Nancy saw her 
 father's return; but she did not run down to greet 
 him. She was wondering what would happen 
 when Brand and Betty Mansfield saw each other 
 across the table at dinner that evening.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 CATHEWE returned from New York that 
 morning. He was not aware that a man, 
 very much interested in his affairs, fol- 
 lowed him out of the car and to the taxicab stand. 
 He was quietly dressed, pleasant of countenance, 
 with a humorous mouth and a pair of oddly hu- 
 mourless eyes. He sent a cold, level glance into the 
 middle of Cathewe's back. At the taxicab stand 
 he waited for his quarry to engage a vehicle and 
 drive off; and then he selected a cab for himself 
 and directed the chauffeur to proceed at once to 
 Dunleigh Mansfield's on Polygon Hill. There 
 will be no more of him. He comes into the story 
 and goes out of it, comet-wise. But an astronomer 
 will tell you that the aftermath of comets is dev- 
 astation, annihilation, and obliteration. How 
 many times, though, has this old top stood wincing 
 for the blow, to escape by a hair the hair of the 
 comet's tail? 
 
 Cathewe had an appointment at the office. 
 The appointee was not a willing one; he was 
 bowing to force. When he arrived his air was 
 nonchalant, except for the restless and continuous 
 
 180
 
 The Man With Three Names 181 
 
 shifting of the strong cigar from one corner of his 
 mouth to the other. 
 
 "Well, here I am," he said, impudently. 
 
 "Sit down, Shafer. Now, exactly why did 
 you, a member of the city's detective force, 
 enter my home like a burglar and break into my 
 safe?" ' 
 
 "Because we had information that you might 
 be some kind of a crook," was the ready answer. 
 
 "You lie, Shafer. You had no information. 
 If I wanted to, I could nail your hide on my door 
 for this. I want the truth." 
 
 "Say we wanted to know where you got that 
 little four hundred thousand that always stays 
 young. We don't like the smell of that money." 
 
 "That is, Mansfield doesn't." 
 
 " You got to guess again." 
 
 "Shafer, I'm going to give you a month to 
 find a new job out of town." 
 
 "You don't say!" 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn't have sent for you if I hadn't 
 something on you, as you would say." 
 
 "On me? Can the bluff," said the detective. 
 "What have you got on me?" 
 
 "I'm going to let you wonder and worry about 
 that. One month from to-day I'll lay the evidence 
 on the chief's desk; and he won't dare back away 
 from it, even if it does come from me. And, as
 
 182 The Man With Three Names 
 
 the medium says out of the tea-cups, you'll go on 
 a journey." 
 
 "Nothing doing." 
 
 "Mansfield will not be able to protect you." 
 
 "Mansfield? Where do you get the idea that 
 I'm working for .Mansfield?" 
 
 "One month. Shafer, the count I have against 
 you I'll leave in the shadow; but there's another 
 I can talk about. One of your jobs is that violent 
 pro-Germans are kept moving; and there are a 
 dozen nests of them in and about town." 
 
 "Now you're guessing." 
 
 "Do you think I'm a fool, Shafer? Do you 
 believe I've run this newspaper for three years 
 without digging into things myself? One month 
 from to-day." 
 
 "I'll be here, Johnny on the spot, waiting to 
 hear that evidence," replied the detective, trucu- 
 lently.. The force which had brought him here 
 was primarily that impelled by curiosity. He 
 knew that Cathewe could proceed against him 
 technically on the forced entrance to the Cathewe 
 home; but he also knew that that could be quashed 
 before it got to court. He got up. 
 
 "Good morning. Thirty days ... or 
 five years." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "Five years. The evidence I have against
 
 The Man With Three Names 183 
 
 you may be computed in so much prison time. 
 Good morning." 
 
 The blood boiled up in the detective's face; 
 but the cold blue eyes looking up into his made 
 him reconsider the impulse to start something 
 of a purely physical nature. 
 
 "All right. I'll be here at the end of the month." 
 
 "Your attitude is one of the evils I'm trying 
 to eradicate, Shafer. You consider yourself im- 
 mune so long as you labour under the aegis of 
 Mansfield's power. I'm going to disabuse your 
 mind in thirty days from now." 
 
 Cathewe swung his chair around to his desk 
 and began to write. He did not look up until 
 the door slammed. Then he leaned back, musing. 
 But this musing was interrupted shortly by the 
 bell of the telephone. 
 
 "Hello!" he called. 
 
 "This Mr. Cathewe?" came from the other end 
 of the wire. 
 
 "How do you do, Nancy?" 
 
 "You told me to call you up this morning," 
 said Nancy. "You are coming to my birthday 
 dinner, Brand Cathewe?" 
 
 "I certainly am." 
 
 "What! you aren't going to argue and try to 
 get out of it?" 
 
 "No."
 
 184 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "In spite of the fact that Betty Mansfield will 
 sit across from you?" 
 
 "In spite no, because of that. I'm tired of 
 hiding from her, Nancy. She's bound to know 
 soon. I prefer to have the denouement over with." 
 
 "After all, what does it matter?" A pause. 
 "Brand, how came you to make those curious 
 little periods in your manuscript? " 
 
 "Periods. Oh, I see. You mean the cross. 
 That is a habit of newspaper writers. It is to 
 indicate to the compositor that the sentence ends 
 there." 
 
 "Ah! I was just curious. You write such a 
 clear and beautiful hand that the little crosses 
 vexed me. Now I understand. At seven, then, 
 Mr. Cottar!" 
 
 The house telephone at the Maddox home was 
 hidden conveniently under the stairs. Nancy 
 hung up the receiver, but she remained in the little 
 chair for some time, motionless, wide of eye but 
 sightless. If she heard the door-bell ring it was 
 only in a detached way. Nor did she observe 
 the maid as she passed. It was only when she 
 heard Betty's vibrant voice inquiring for her that 
 she roused herself. How oddly heavy her body 
 was! 
 
 As she quitted the recess under the stairs and 
 walked smilingly and with outstretched hands
 
 The Man With Three Names 185 
 
 toward Betty, she wanted to sit down again and 
 laugh. Over what? Human inconsistencies; over 
 habit, convention, to which the will is always 
 more or less supine. The natural inclination was 
 to run to her room, to free her breast of the stifling 
 pressure. Instead, she took Betty in her arms, 
 kissed her, and patted her shoulder, because that 
 was the conventional thing to do. And she loved 
 Betty. Nobody was to blame for the horrible 
 ache in her heart. It was just there, that was all. 
 
 "Why, Betty, what's the matter?" she asked; 
 for it came to her suddenly, as through a break in 
 a fog, that Betty was not as joyous as usual. 
 
 Betty did not answer, but led Nancy into the 
 drawing room with its freshly waxed floor for 
 dancing that evening. She drew her friend down 
 beside her on the lounge. 
 
 "I received a letter this morning," said Betty. 
 
 "A letter?" 
 
 "Don't you remember? " 
 
 "You mean a letter from that shadow man you 
 told me about in Washington?" 
 
 "Yes. I ... I had to sit down when I saw 
 that envelope. My knees wouldn't hold me up." 
 
 "Was it postmarked New York?" 
 
 "Yes. It isn't fair. The whole thing hasn't 
 been fair. I had never injured any one. I 
 wasn't a flirt. The letter, Nancy, was good-bye."
 
 186 The Man With Three Names 
 
 The blood thundered into Nancy's throat. 
 She tried to speak but could not. Good-bye! 
 He had bidden Betty good-bye ! He had given her 
 up! Hope, a hope of which she felt ashamed, 
 tingled every nerve in her. 
 
 "I can't understand," went on Betty. "I 
 am rich and he is poor. He says that always he 
 will go on loving me. He asks me to forgive him 
 if I have in any way been annoyed. Think of it! 
 I can't go to him and say that money doesn't 
 matter if . . . if he is the man I think him 
 to be. I can't tell him that I haven't been an- 
 noyed. I can't tell him that I do or don't love 
 him. Honestly, I don't know. Perhaps I've 
 just created a man the like of which never existed, 
 and I've fallen in love with that. It all hurts. 
 It hasn't been fair. And now he says good-bye! 
 You're the only friend I've got, Nancy, that I 
 could come to. I haven't told Daddy. What is 
 the use in telling him? I can't confront him with 
 a shadow. All the detectives in the world could 
 not trace the writer of these letters." 
 
 "You'll get over it, dear," said Nancy, hating 
 herself. A word or two, and the riddle would be 
 solved. Generous beyond ordinary, she stifled 
 the impulse to take that page of manuscript from 
 her bosom and spread it out for Betty to see. 
 Once, indeed, her hand did steal up; Jbut stonily
 
 The Man With Three Names 187 
 
 she forced it down. What was the use in telling 
 Betty? said Specious Argument. Wasn't there 
 the width of the poles between Betty Mansfield 
 and this shadow man? Hadn't he himself made 
 it impossible? 
 
 And this was her birthday ! To-night she would 
 have to be gay with happiness; she would have to 
 laugh and dance when her heart was breaking. 
 She took Betty in her arms suddenly and fiercely 
 and held her there. And in this position Maddox 
 found them. 
 
 "Ha!" he boomed, brushing the snow from his 
 beard and throwing his hat and coat on a chair. 
 "Nancy, do you realize that you are twenty -four 
 a woman?" 
 
 "Ami?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "What is a woman?" 
 
 "It will be unethical as a physician. . . ." 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 "Well, a woman becomes a woman when she 
 becomes curious rather than inquisitive." 
 
 "Did I used to be inquisitive?" 
 
 "Lord love you, you were the most persistent 
 human interrogation point I ever met!" 
 
 He laughed, motioned the girls to make room 
 for him, and plumped down between them with 
 another of his "Has."
 
 188 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "Father, what have you been up to?" 
 
 "Up to? What makes you think I've been up 
 to something?" 
 
 "You always act like this when you've done 
 something foolish . ' ' 
 
 "Betty, do you ever talk to your father like that? " 
 
 "I'd be afraid to," admitted Betty. 
 
 "I'm afraid I've been too easy-going with this 
 child. Nancy, exactly what is being foolish?" 
 
 "Doing something you ought not to. Out with 
 it! " She caught hold of one of his ears. 
 
 "Well, I've ordered the awning. Happy thought, 
 too, for it looks like a good snow-storm coming. 
 And that means that I'm going to get stuck some 
 night and have to walk home." 
 
 "What I want to know is, what have you been 
 doing that's foolish?" 
 
 "Is love foolish? " he countered. 
 
 "You've been buying me a birthday gift!" 
 She kissed him. "And you've gone away beyond 
 your means." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "Because you're always giving things away: 
 money, clothes, food. If mother and I did not 
 watch you, the house wouldn't have any rugs or 
 beds in it. You're the dearest, kindest man in the 
 world ! Now, what is it that I've got to take back 
 to the jewellers? "
 
 The Man With Three Names 189 
 
 "You won't take this back, Nancy. You 
 couldn't. You're human. Shut your eyes, the 
 both of you, and don't you open them until I say 
 so." 
 
 Both girls covered their eyes with their palms. 
 Miserable and unhappy, both of them, playing 
 the comedy out because they loved the actor. 
 
 "Open! "he cried. 
 
 "Oh! Oh! Oh!" cried Nancy, as she saw the 
 lovely string of pearls. 
 
 "Beautiful!" cried Betty. 
 
 Thought the father: "That'll take her mind 
 off it for awhile, anyhow." 
 
 Thought Nancy: "He's right. I never could 
 take them back. And I mustn't let him suspect."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 CUB reporters are a race apart. Say/for a 
 year; then they become reporters, or they 
 return to private life. They carry upon 
 their beardless countenances an astute look 
 the keen gaze of Vidocq and the stern mouth of 
 Holmes. In street-cars, in theatres, in restaurants, 
 they "listen in" whenever they have the chance. 
 You never can tell when a great piece of news is 
 going to break. They should, however, be 
 properly designated as butt-reporters. For they 
 are continually the butts in the editorial rooms. 
 Everybody takes a whack at them, experimentally. 
 Sardonic practical jokes are played upon them. 
 Their assignments are often wild-goose chases, 
 merely to keep them busy and out of the office. 
 
 At home and abroad everywhere except in the 
 editorial rooms he is a journalist. In France 
 that word carries genuine dignity; here in America 
 the regulars laugh at it. He becomes fascinating 
 to the young girls. The power of the press ! And 
 when he takes them to the theatre on passes he 
 inspires them with the same awe that the Matter- 
 horn inspires in the Bedouin, happen the Bedouin 
 
 190
 
 The Man With Three Names 191 
 
 got to Zermatt. Here is a great human mystery. 
 The elation of getting somewhere on a pass has 
 never responded to analysis except on the assump- 
 tion that something for nothing is far more de- 
 sirable than something for something. 
 
 Curious field of endeavour, the newspaper busi- 
 ness. An editor may have to advertise for com- 
 positors, type-setters, or a printer's devil, but a 
 mere flicker of the eyebrow will bring a thousand 
 aspirants for one reportorial job. The rewards 
 are nil. There isn't any future if you stick to the 
 game. There is yet to be found a father who will, 
 without protest, permit his son to become a news- 
 paper man. 
 
 Why this legion eternally demanding admit- 
 tance to a craft which never has and never will pay 
 commensurately? It is the primordial instinct of 
 the pioneer who finds himself without frontiers; 
 it is the bane of the wandering foot; it is the 
 hatred of routine. Take the war correspondent, 
 the foreign correspondent, the star reporter; daily 
 the desk is the same, but the task is new. Each 
 day is not merely another day; it is a different day. 
 What are mere wages set against three hundred 
 and sixty-five new jobs? That is the lure; and 
 certain souls will always respond to it. 
 
 The cub reporter on the Bannister Morning 
 Herald was exactly like all cub reporters. He
 
 192 The Man With Three Names 
 
 considered Cathewe the greatest man in the 
 world, and the city-editor the worst. Cathewe 
 knew a man when he saw one; the city-editor did 
 not. His first assignment had been a joke. He 
 had been sent out to one of the cemeteries to 
 make note of any improvements; and he had re- 
 turned with half a column describing the recent 
 mausoleums. He was still mystified because the 
 manuscript had not yet been typed. He was in- 
 formed that it was being held against a dull day. 
 
 Another time and this was recently he had 
 been sent up to interview Mansfield regarding the 
 rumour that he was going to sell out to Schwab. 
 He had succeeded in brushing by the solemn but- 
 ler. Beyond, by the stairs, he had seen a beautiful 
 young woman. 
 
 "I should like to see Mr. Mansfield. I am a 
 reporter from the Herald. " 
 
 "Indeed!" The ravishing beauty had smiled. 
 An old-timer, witnessing that smile, would have 
 turned tail at once. 
 
 "He is in his study. Follow me. . . 
 Daddy, here is a reporter from the Herald" 
 
 " Of all the damnable impudence ! " 
 
 Before the cub could telegraph to his pedal ex- 
 tremities the way out, a hand fell upon his collar 
 and he was Turkey-trotted out of the door and 
 half way to the street.
 
 The Man With Three Names 193 
 
 "Get anything?" the city -editor had inquired 
 upon his cub's return. 
 
 " No. Mansfield kicked me out." 
 
 "Uh-huh." 
 
 The cub did not suspect the city -editor; but 
 from then on he had it in for the Mansfields. Thus 
 he becomes a kind of God in the car. Without 
 the cub's rancour this tale might have had a 
 different ending. 
 
 On the same morning that Cathewe arrived from 
 New York, the cub got down before lunch and 
 went into the file room. There are always at 
 least two files in an editorial room : one to preserve 
 intact and one for the convenience of reporters 
 who sometimes have to cut out bits in order to 
 preserve the continuity of follow-up stories. 
 
 The cub, using his penknife for only editors use 
 scissors hacked out every editorial and news story 
 he could find relating to Mansfield. When this task 
 was completed he put them into a manila envelope, 
 sealed and stamped it, and carried it over to the post- 
 office, where he dropped it into the local mail-slot. 
 
 But the moment that envelope vanished from 
 sight his rancour and satisfaction turned their 
 obverse sides, as it were, and he suddenly saw 
 himself contemptible. The girl wasn't to blame. 
 The rumour might be true, that she was oblivious 
 to certain phases of her father's character.
 
 194 The Man With Three Names 
 
 He quitted the postoffice for the street, pushed 
 up his collar, for it was beginning to snow, and 
 walked half a block. There was no use ar- 
 guing; he would have to get that letter back. 
 He turned and trotted back to the postoffice, en- 
 tering one of the rear doors. He was more or less 
 familiar to the night shift; for frequently he was 
 sent over to get the one o'clock night mail which 
 carried the last of the country news stuff; and to 
 save time the clerk would give it to him out of 
 the mailbag. But he saw no familiar face this 
 morning. Still, he hailed a clerk who approached 
 the cage. 
 
 "My name is White, of the Herald. I want to 
 get a letter I just dropped in the slot." 
 
 "Want to stamp it?" 
 
 "No; it's stamped. But I don't want it to go to 
 the addressee. Changed my mind." 
 
 "Local?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Who's it addressed to? " 
 
 "Miss Mansfield." 
 
 The clerk moved off to consult some higher 
 authority and finally returned with a negative 
 shake of the head. 
 
 " Can't be done. It'll have to go through." 
 
 "But I've got to have it ! " 
 
 "Well, there's only one way now. Telephone
 
 The Man With Three Names 195 
 
 Miss Mansfield to return it unopened.'* The 
 clerk went back to his pouches. 
 
 The cub saw that the case was hopeless. It 
 was likely that he would give his name and ad- 
 dress to Miss Mansfield! Cathewe would hear 
 what he had done and fire him. Utterly miser- 
 able, he turned into a side-street and sought a 
 favourite haunt of his a buffet-saloon. He or- 
 dered a plate of hash and a cup of coffee and was 
 striving to swallow without choking when his 
 "listening in" faculties were aroused by a snatch 
 of conversation in the next booth. 
 
 "To-night . . . guard at the south gate 
 . . . more isolated." 
 
 He caught no complete sentence; only a word 
 here and there. But he possessed the true in- 
 stincts of the news-getter and was able to put two 
 and two together. He got up, took his check, and 
 walked by the next booth. He sent a quick, 
 photographic glance into it, and moved on toward 
 the cashier's desk. He paid the check and went 
 out. Once in the street he made for the police- 
 station as fast as his legs could carry him. He 
 dashed into the day-captain's office. He made a 
 bad beginning. He introduced himself and his 
 paper. 
 
 "Huh! Well, whaddayuh want?" 
 
 "Overheard some Germans in Cahill's talking
 
 196 The Man With Three Names 
 
 about blowing up something to-night. They're 
 there yet. Can you give me a couple of men?" 
 
 "On your way! Everybody's seeing things." 
 
 "You refuse?" 
 
 " Clear out " belligerently . " The Herald ain't 
 too popular in here. Mog!" 
 
 "All right," shot back the cub, his voice unsteady. 
 "But if anything does blow up, you'll get yours!" 
 
 There followed a scuffle of feet, but the cub was 
 too agile for the paunchy police captain. He 
 sensed, however, that this hasty departure had all 
 the ear-marks of Mary Anderson's farewell to the 
 public. He would never be a police reporter on 
 the Herald, not while this regime was in power. 
 Moreover, they'd have him on the carpet at the 
 office for adding another brick to the hod of the 
 regular man. On the other hand, if anything did 
 happen anything blew up Cathewe would see 
 to it that there would be a shake-up in the local 
 police department that would get New York com- 
 ment. Of course, he did not hope something 
 would blow up. 
 
 He ran back to Cahill's, and the blood jumped 
 into his throat when he observed that the men had 
 not yet gone. Thrilled, he sat down and ordered 
 another cup of coffee. He would trail these chaps; 
 and trail them he did. North, east, south, and 
 west, through this alley and that, toward the
 
 The Man With Three Names 197 
 
 country, back to town, off for the railway yard and 
 back to Cahill's. He was only eighteen. How 
 was he to know that the men had set a trap for 
 him and he had walked feverishly into it? 
 
 They kept him there at CahilFs until nine 
 o'clock that night. Once they lost sight of him; 
 but as he came out of the washroom, they sighed 
 relievedly. As a matter of fact, though, he had 
 slipped through the alley window and into the 
 adjacent tailor-shop from where he had telephoned 
 the office that he was trailing three German spies 
 and wouldn't report for his assignment. 
 
 And what did they do in the Herald office? 
 Laughed. Why not? It was only the cub, off on 
 one of his wild-goose chases. 
 
 At nine the men departed, and the cub began 
 his trailing again. This time there were no tor- 
 tuous windings. The men headed directly to- 
 ward the railway yard, and the cub decided that 
 they were going to wreck the Mansfield steel mills. 
 
 There was a deal of freight movement. Night- 
 time there generally is. And there were many 
 broken strings of empties to cut across. Once he 
 regretted he hadn't asked for a partner in this 
 enterprise. 
 
 Suddenly his men vanished. The boy fell into 
 a dog-trot to the end of a string of empties. As he 
 passed the last car, the sky fell out. When he
 
 198 The Man With Three Names 
 
 came to his senses he was both gagged and bound. 
 But he could see the cold, starry sky above him. 
 It had stopped snowing earlier in the evening. 
 He was at the bottom of a coal-car, which might 
 be hauled to the main line at any moment. In 
 that event, he would breakfast somewhere around 
 Scran ton. 
 
 He began to work at his wrists, remembering a 
 performer at the vaudeville. By ceaseless strain- 
 ing and relaxing of the muscles the rope was des- 
 tined to loosen ever so little; and ever so little is 
 always a wedge. 
 
 It was midnight when he climbed the stairs to 
 the editorial rooms. His face and hands were 
 streaked with blood and coal-dust: he was a sar- 
 torial as well as a physical wreck. The thing that 
 kept him on his feet was the knowledge that his 
 hunch had been a good one. Instinctively, he 
 staggered toward Cathewe's door open as usual 
 because he knew that the chief would not laugh at 
 him. 
 
 Groggy as he was, he saw that something was 
 wrong with the chief. On such a night he ought 
 to be at the desk in the composing room, with the 
 night editor. The city room, which he had avoided, 
 was noisy enough : the clicking of typewriters, the 
 bawling of "Copy!" and the scurrying of feet, the 
 coming and going of messenger boys. Yes, that
 
 The Man With Three Names 199 
 
 room was normal. But what was the matter 
 with the chief? friend of his been killed? Dress- 
 suit; daubs of printer's ink on the bosom of the 
 shirt, the white tie awry, exposing the collar-but- 
 ton. But it wasn't these things; it was the peculiar 
 attitude of the chief, who was dynamite on nights 
 when a big piece of news "broke." Why was he 
 sitting there like that, as if it were Sunday after- 
 noon, when the whole town was in an uproar? 
 Staring at the wall like that, his eyes wide and 
 expressionless. . . . Had he lost somebody? 
 The room suddenly began to roll. 
 
 "Chief!" began the boy, rocking on his heels. 
 "They . . . got me! ... I was a boob 
 to try it a . . . alone! But I thought . . . 
 If I reported here, you'd laugh or send . . . 
 somebody else. Anyhow, I tried. . . ." 
 
 Cathewe turned his head, and sprang to his 
 feet just in time to catch the boy as he pitched 
 forward.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IT HAD been agreed between Betty and her 
 father that, whenever she was to spend the 
 evening out, she should first pass in review 
 before him. So promptly at six-thirty she 
 presented herself. Her gown was of turquoise 
 taffeta, rather severe in its simplicity, but entranc- 
 ing her style of beauty. She wore no jewellery of 
 any kind, not even a ring. She swung on her toes 
 in a kind of pirouette. 
 
 "Like me?" 
 
 "Betty, you're what the English call ripping!" 
 
 "I'm glad somebody thinks so." 
 
 "Somebody! No normal human eye could 
 resist you. If I were a young man and you were 
 someone else's daughter, I'd be after you morning, 
 noon, and night. I'd turn over empires and all 
 that, but I'd win you." 
 
 "Young men do not love like that any more, 
 Daddy. They are timid. There are no more 
 Lochinvars." 
 
 "Young woman, you say that as if you'd been 
 trying some of them out." He advanced toward 
 her with mock sternness and caught her by the el- 
 goo
 
 TJie Man With Three Names 201 
 
 bows. "You seem so different from the run of 
 girls, that I've never contemplated your being in 
 love with any one." 
 
 "I am not attractive, then not worth a fight?" 
 
 He stared at her quizzically. "There's some- 
 thing out of kilter with that smile, Betty. What's 
 happened?" 
 
 "Nothing." An all-embracing word, both 
 truthful and equivocal. "The truth is, there is 
 too much money. The poor young man is afraid 
 of me; and the rich man is too old; and I shall be an 
 old maid." 
 
 "That's nonsense! You are free, Honey, to 
 marry when you love. I owe at least that much to 
 you. I don't believe a fortune-hunter will ever 
 trap you. You have the gift I don't know where 
 you got it of seeing through people at a glance. 
 Did you leave a sweetheart back there in France? " 
 gravely. 
 
 "Only such as school-girls dream of; nothing 
 that was in flesh and blood. I'm glad you like 
 the dress." 
 
 "I say, Betty, I almost forgot to tell you. I've 
 got that fellow Cathewe at last, right in the hollow 
 of my hand; and he is going to fade away from 
 Bannister like those people in the movies. I've 
 got him!" 
 
 "And so have I, Daddy."
 
 202 The Man With Three Names 
 
 " What? " nonplussed. 
 
 "Yes. I've got him, too, but he doesn't know 
 
 it. And when the hour comes She extended 
 
 a shapely hand, palm upward, which suddenly 
 became rigid and contorted. Slowly the fingers 
 closed. "Just like that." 
 
 "What the dickens have you been up to?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 "I haven't the time now to discuss it; but to- 
 morrow we'll exchange views on the subject. I'm 
 in a hurry. I don't want to spoil Nancy's dinner 
 by arriving like a petted prima donna late. You 
 dropped an idea one day, and I made use of it. 
 That's all. You'll laugh when I tell you . By-by !" 
 
 "Wait a moment. I've got something for you 
 to take to Nancy." 
 
 "But I'm taking her something." 
 
 "Well, you can take her this star-sapphire as my 
 share. If the ring doesn't fit, she can have it 
 reduced." 
 
 "Daddy, it's a beauty. But I forgot. The 
 doctor brought her up a pearl necklace this morning. 
 I don't like to ask questions, but is Doctor Maddox 
 rich?" 
 
 "Good Lord, no! He makes about fifteen 
 thousand a year and gives away half of that. I 
 daresay his wife and Nancy have to watch him all 
 the time. But I like that man. He's honesty in
 
 The Man With Three Names 203 
 
 the superlative. A pearl necklace, eh? It will take 
 him a year to pay for it. I say ! " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Supposing you speak to him to-night and tell 
 him I want to take over his charities, little and 
 big, for a year?" 
 
 . "Daddy, that is a beautiful thought; but I know 
 the doctor. He might accept it, but only to double 
 his efforts. Financially, he would be just as badly 
 off. But I must be going ! " 
 
 She kissed him and sped to the door, where she 
 poised for a second. What a handsome man he 
 was, this Daddy of hers ! In after days she always 
 thanked God for that glance: for she never saw her 
 father's face like that again. 
 
 Mansfield selected a cigar forgetting his own 
 dinner was in the process of making and blew a 
 cloud above his head. Cathewe out of the way 
 before Betty got a glimmer of the truth! A man 
 by the name of Dunleigh Mansfield was in luck. 
 But what the dickens had the child discovered 
 concerning Cathewe, Cathewe the impeccable, at 
 least here in Bannister? What had she discovered 
 that the local police force could not? The hollow 
 of her hand, she had said. She was her father's 
 daughter. 
 
 Cathewe, the working man's friend! Cathewe, 
 the protector of the poor! Cathewe, the stern
 
 204 The Man With Three Names 
 
 and visionary Rienzi! March weather. He had 
 come roaring into Bannister like a lion, and he 
 would depart with the meekness of a shorn lamb. 
 That dear, tender-hearted public! Having made 
 a*false God, the public would turn and rend it, 
 shatter and scatter it. Cathewe, the son of Digby 
 Hallowell! 
 
 That detective was clever. He had worked 
 upon the simplest line imaginable : taken Cathewe's 
 photograph and gone the rounds of the New York 
 banks, and day before yesterday a teller and a 
 cashier had recognized it. The son of Digby 
 Hallowell! 
 
 When the butler came in to announce dinner, 
 he received a shock. His employer, hitherto the 
 most dignified man he had ever served, thwacked 
 him on the shoulder in good fellowship, an act of 
 condescension positively unknown in this house. 
 
 "And if that steak isn't done just right, I'll 
 have your hide on the wall alongside Brandon 
 Cathewe's!" 
 
 "It is done to a turn, sir." 
 
 "Let Sandy have the bone when I'm through 
 with it. There's a celebration going on in these 
 diggings to-night." 
 
 "Yes, sir. Might I suggest. . . ." 
 
 "A drop of that old Madeira? Very well, to- 
 night."
 
 The Man With Three Names 205 
 
 When the dinner came to the coffee and cigar r 
 the butler withdrew, and Mansfield sloped com- 
 fortably in his chair. 
 
 There is magic in coffee and tobacco. The 
 stimulant is negatived by the narcotic; the 
 thinking machine moves smoothly. Berry and 
 Weed: out of these two, great empires have had 
 their initial impetus empires of peoples, of 
 moneys, of ideas. So there came into Mansfield's 
 head a plan for the reconstruction of Bannister, 
 through Betty. Whatever she wanted done was 
 as good as accomplished. But he must work out 
 these ends in his own way, subtly. One thing, of 
 course, was utterly impossible, and that was 
 directness. He would have to work out the plan by 
 labyrinthian methods. Or there might be a local 
 revolt. To give the girl a free hand, without 
 creating a revolution. Somehow that appealed 
 to his sporting blood. Cathewe out of the way, 
 the spark in the powder-room would be ex- 
 tinguished. 
 
 But what did the child mean when she said she 
 had the man in the hollow of her hand? Well, that 
 puzzle would be explained away in the morning. 
 She was her father's daughter. Under that grace 
 of form, under that gentle tenderness and charity 
 there was reinforcement of steel. 
 
 Cathewe.
 
 206 The Man With Three Names 
 
 Mansfield quitted the dining room and sought 
 his study again. He unlocked a drawer and pulled 
 out many letters, letters from his henchmen. He 
 tore them up and tossed them into the fire. There 
 was always the possibility of dying, and he did not 
 want Betty to know of certain shades even after 
 his death. He tried to analyze this desire, but 
 he came up against that same wall which con- 
 fronted human thought since the day one. That 
 he should want Betty to respect his memory! i 
 " Cathewe. 
 
 He walked over to a shelf and took down Gray's 
 Elegy. . . . 
 
 Can storied urn or animated bust 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 
 
 Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 
 Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? 
 
 What would it matter to Dunleigh Mansfield, 
 once out of the coil, whether Betty respected his 
 memory or not? Or was it that he did not want 
 the reverse side of his life to spoil her faith, to dis- 
 illusion her? There would be long years before 
 her, and he was moving on toward the aisle of 
 cypress. . . "the dull cold ear of death!" 
 A wish that she might be happy after he was gone. 
 Was that it? 
 
 Cathewe. He found that he could not get away
 
 The Man With Three Names 207 
 
 from that name. It sought him out like a search- 
 light, persistently. The futility of self -lies! The 
 boy was honest. He had played the game 
 honestly. He had not attacked the legality of 
 Dunleigh Mansfield's acts; he had criticised the 
 patent immorality of them. Under his hand lay 
 evidence which would rum Cathewe and turn him 
 forth as an outcast. An hour gone he would have 
 used this evidence joyfully; now he doddered. 
 Why? Because eventually Betty would find that 
 out also : that Cathewe himself was an honourable 
 man. 
 
 All at once Mansfield knew what he needed the 
 open. So he put on his cap and heavy coat and 
 went out to the garage for the roadster. He 
 would drive out to the munitions works and have 
 a look at the pipe-line which was in progress and 
 upon which men were even now toiling in night- 
 shifts. Out there he would decide the fate of his 
 enemy, this son of Digby Hallo well. 
 
 But fate itself had much in store for Dunleigh 
 Mansfield this night.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 GATHEWE was anxious to have a little 
 chat with Nancy before her guests began 
 to arrive. He had telephoned her to this 
 effect, and she had made the appointment at half 
 after six. This meant, of course, a somewhat 
 hurried toilet. But hollyhocks have a charm of 
 their own, impervious to destruction. There was 
 a little lock of hah* over one ear. Nancy had not 
 the time to tuck it in. There was, perhaps, a little 
 more talc on one pretty shoulder than on the other. 
 She was a trifle breathless, too, when she came into 
 the library to greet him. Nancy dressed herself. 
 
 " George Cottar, what in the world have you to 
 say to me that's more important than my new 
 dress?" 
 
 "Nancy, you would look just as charming to me 
 in a gingham apron, such as you wear when you 
 rake the leaves. And if I were twenty . . ." 
 
 "Instead of . . . ?" 
 
 " Thirty-one, I'd be tempted to kiss your cheek." 
 
 "And what difference do eleven years make?" 
 demanded Nancy, a bitter mischief pervading her. 
 
 "It is the age of compromise; so I will kiss your 
 
 208
 
 The Man With Three Names 209 
 
 hand instead and wish you many happy birth- 
 days." 
 
 Nancy gazed down upon his head as his lips 
 lightly touched her hand. The look in her eyes, 
 could he have seen it, would have made her father 
 very unhappy. But in Nancy's blood was the 
 leaven of Spartan courage. She did not release 
 his hand, but led him over to the divan. 
 
 "Brand, do you realize that this is the first time 
 I've ever seen you in the 'mournful parapher- 
 nalia of a gentleman in the evening?' That's one 
 of your own lines." 
 
 "Do I look like a waiter, or what? " 
 
 "You look as if you had really been accustomed 
 to wearing it." She laughed. "By the way, I 
 want to thank you for those beautiful books. 
 Now, what is it you wish to see me about? " 
 
 Her fingers began absently to stray across her 
 hair. Deftly they trapped the wayward lock and 
 tucked it in, found a loose hairpin and pressed it 
 into place. A pat here and another there, then 
 she dropped her hands to her lap. Into his head 
 came the thought that a woman was never more 
 attractive than when engaged in this artless pas- 
 time. 
 
 A confession by one who knows. The observ- 
 ing eye and trained ear of the novelist are stage 
 properties of the novelist. In actual life they are
 
 210 The Man With Three Names 
 
 quite as dense as any normal man's where a woman 
 is concerned. Thus, Nancy's voice and expression 
 conveyed nothing to Cathewe. She was Nancy, a 
 good comrade, to whom he had come in trouble. 
 
 "Well? "she said. 
 
 "I come to you because you are my friend, 
 Nancy. I have very few. I've rather avoided 
 friendships because I knew that it was always 
 possible to lose them." 
 
 "I am and always will be your friend, Brand." 
 
 There was a little stretch of silence. He bent 
 toward his knees and picked out a pattern in the 
 rug to study. 
 
 "You've been puzzled regarding my conduct in 
 relation to Miss Mansfield. Haven't you? " 
 
 "In a sense. I can't help wondering what mat- 
 tered it if she did know who you were." 
 
 "Did you ever enter a familiar room in the dark, 
 to find all the furniture set in new places? Men- 
 tally, that is my condition. No matter which 
 way I move, I bark my shins. I am figuratively 
 worse off than if I were in a totally strange room. 
 My caution would help me there. I came to 
 Bannister upon a mad adventure. Romance! It 
 is the strongest thing in me, and I have to fight it 
 ceaselessly. An inheritance from my mother. 
 She finds articulation in her music. I cannot find 
 articulation in my work because I am ambitious
 
 The Man With Three Names 211 
 
 to write human, not fairy, stories. So when the 
 urge comes I plunge into the nearest maze, and 
 bump and blunder through. I am in a maze now 
 which apparently offers no exit. A series of ironies, 
 some blunt, some sharp; that is life." 
 
 "Yes. Are you going to tell me that you came 
 here because you'd fallen in love with Betty . . . 
 somewhere else?" 
 
 He raised his head sharply. "Have I worn my 
 heart on my sleeve?" 
 
 "Perhaps it was your effort to hide it." 
 
 "I didn't suspect you were so keen, Nancy. 
 But you've hit upon the truth. Mansfield told 
 me I might pay court to his daughter upon the 
 condition that I come to Bannister and become a 
 force. He made this condition in jest, but I 
 accepted it in earnest. I do these mad things 
 because one day I found myself in the valley of 
 tragedy, and like a trapped animal I am always 
 desperately trying to find some way out. And I 
 found it here in Bannister, odd as that may sound. 
 I shan't go into those details now; some future 
 date, perhaps." 
 
 "Do you want me to help you?" She reached 
 over and laid her hand on his. "As between two 
 friends?" 
 
 "Nothing but magic or black art could help me, 
 Nancy."
 
 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "I'm not so sure," she replied, recalling that 
 peculiar punctuation mark in his manuscript. 
 
 "It is not possible, Nancy. I came here be- 
 cause I loved her, at first sight, to find myself 
 hoist 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. I 
 had to fight her father; I had elected a certain way 
 logo." 
 
 " 'Loved I not honour more,' " quoted Nancy, 
 softly. " Or is it that you fear your fate too much?" 
 
 "You are making fun of me?" 
 
 "No, Brand. I am very sorry. I understand. 
 A miracle must happen." 
 
 "And there ain't no sech animal. The power of 
 Mansfield's will had lain upon this town until it 
 was pretty bad in spots. So I undertook to 
 hammer into the public mind just how baneful his 
 influence was. I don't suppose he himself realized 
 to what depth he had fallen. I didn't awaken him. 
 He has given me thunder for thunder. But con- 
 tact with the beautiful mind of his daughter 
 softened him gradually; and your father tells me 
 that now Mansfield loves his daughter. And she 
 is redeeming him. A very unusual redemption it 
 is. He can't go directly; it is no longer in the 
 nature of the man to approach anything directly. 
 He is like a man who closes his eyes after putting 
 out the lamp so he won't see the dark! On her 
 side she believes him to be abused, maligned. To
 
 The Man With Three Names 213 
 
 her I am a monger of lies, a political demagogue. 
 No one dares tell her the truth; and I doubt if she 
 has seen the Herald half a dozen times. I know 
 positively that I have never been pointed out to 
 her . . . as I shall be presently. I'm not 
 going to hide any longer. So I have laid the 
 dream away." 
 
 Nancy's heart gave a great bound. The 
 buoyancy of hope! But she knew that there was 
 a miracle close at hand. It rested upon her own 
 lips. The one man, and she must give him to 
 another! Her birthday party! And yet she 
 knew that she would go serenely through it all 
 because she loved them both. Upon her word 
 rested the happiness of two people and the misery 
 of a third. Why be silent and render all three 
 miserable? 
 
 "A queer mess all around. And the odd part of 
 it is, I don't want her to doubt her father. I don't 
 want her to know any hurt. Every time I took 
 issue with him, it hurt me. I'm basically a mad- 
 man. I do the most infernally bizarre things. 
 The impulse of the moment is invariably a plunge 
 for me. Love isn't something you may direct. 
 You cannot say you will love this or that person." 
 
 "No," said Nancy. 
 
 "The bolt is blind. Often we love where we 
 don't want to love. And that is my misfortune.
 
 214 The Man With Three Names 
 
 4 
 
 I wrote her letters, Nancy. I do know human 
 nature. There is always something fascinating in 
 the unknown. So I wrote her love-letters, un- 
 signed, to keep myself in her thoughts until I ful- 
 filled the conditions of the bargain. She may have 
 torn them up; she may still have them. And now 
 I shall never know. Nancy, Bannister is going to 
 be my home. It is the way out I've been seeking. 
 Already I love it. I shall build hospitals where 
 the poor can go for nothing. I shall make play- 
 grounds where the children can play on the grass. 
 I shall tie a stout bandage around the eyes of 
 justice. No one shall rob the poor any more and 
 leave them without redress. Oh, I know. It 
 sounds like a boy's dream. But I have the power, 
 Nancy; tremendous power for good. An honest 
 newspaper. . . ." 
 
 "And a noble heart! Do you believe in fairy 
 stories, Brand? Father says he thinks you do." 
 
 "I believe in good fairies like you." 
 
 "Very well. I'm going to be one, Brand, for 
 your sake. . . . There goes the bell!" 
 
 "If you don't mind," he said, "I'll run away 
 into the greenhouse. I want to fend off the de- 
 nouement as long as possible. I don't care whom 
 I go in to dinner with." 
 
 "Run along, Brushwood Boy!" replied Nancy, 
 smiling.
 
 The Man With Three Names 215 
 
 "I wonder what in the world I'd have done 
 without you, Nancy." 
 
 "Nonsense! You're a nice boy, and any girl 
 ought to be pleased to have you around. I'll send 
 the man for you." 
 
 "I am not going in with. . . ." He 
 hesitated. 
 
 "Mercy, no! Neither of you would ever for- 
 give me." 
 
 The greenhouse had once been a long, rambling 
 side porch. The roof and the south face were of 
 glass; to the north was the house wall. There 
 were no orchids or potted orange-trees: pansies 
 and garden-pinks and geraniums and a few roses. 
 This was the doctor's playground. He liked to 
 bury his fingers in the smelly earth; and because 
 he knew it was not a conservatory, he called it a 
 greenhouse. 
 
 Cathewe sat down in a camp chair and studied 
 the stars. . . . Perhaps in a little while she 
 would go away again. Love was not immortal, 
 not the love of a man for a maid. He would never 
 forget, but the day was bound to come when 
 he could look upon her without any petty dis- 
 turbance of collective thought. He would throw 
 all his energies into his work, his books, and his 
 newspaper, and lead his followers into a promised 
 land. A powerful newspaper and three millions
 
 216 The Man With Three Names 
 
 in money! Hospitals and homes and playgrounds; 
 a law firm to handle the business of the poor, to 
 advise and protect them; a free dispensary. And 
 the thousand and one things he could and would 
 do for these people who had so recently defended 
 him. The way out, and he had found it here in 
 Bannister! 
 
 There was an incandescent lamp at each end of 
 the greenhouse; but where he sat there was only 
 the dim light of the winter stars. 
 
 He heard a door close, then a light scurry of feet 
 on the cement floor. An intrusion. He stood up. 
 A woman was approaching the spot where he 
 stood. No doubt she believed herself alone. She 
 paused suddenly to inhale the perfume of the pinks. 
 When she raised her head, he saw who it was.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 Aj day Betty had been in an unusual state 
 of mind. Emotionally, she had been 
 knocked about grievously. Wrath, in- 
 dignation, pain, bewilderment, wonder, pride, 
 chagrin: blind shuttles that wove a kind of night- 
 mare for her. She had been hurt, unfairly; and 
 she was powerless to strike back because one can- 
 not strike a phantom. Had she been reared in 
 America, she knew she would never have opened 
 the second and succeeding letters. Not because 
 of any particular sense of impropriety; rather it 
 was the point of view; and her point of view was 
 essentially French. Nancy's point of view was 
 that of the run of sensible, well-bred American 
 girls. No matter how beautifully written, the 
 anonymous letter had but one abiding place 
 the waste-basket. She recalled that her American 
 instinct had at first led her to the fire. 
 
 The French girl, eternally hedged in, was always 
 immediately susceptible to an intrigue of this 
 order; and fourteen years of association and tram- 
 ing had instilled into Betty's blood that romantic 
 ardour which makes the French woman supremely 
 
 217
 
 218 The Man With Three Names 
 
 attractive. A French woman, having received 
 that final letter, would have shrugged and looked 
 about for a new adventure. The affair would have 
 slipped from her mind with the ease of a cloak 
 from her shoulders. Betty, French by adoption 
 and American by birth, could accept the intrigue 
 but could not shake it loose. 
 
 There finally opened up in her a vein of unsus- 
 pected recklessness. She determined no longer 
 to hold herself aloof. She would make herself 
 attractive to men, and without mercy make them 
 all pay for the hurt she had received at the 
 hands of one. She never suspected that her 
 cold rage was but an expression of the Mansfield 
 blood. 
 
 A little while previous to the making of her 
 toilet for Nancy's birthday party, she had gone 
 resolutely to that Florentine box, taken out the 
 letters and ripped one of them across the middle, 
 savagely . . . and burst into tears after she 
 had done so. 
 
 When the limousine drew up to the curb before 
 the Maddox place, she did not alight at once. 
 She stared through the window at the little house 
 across the way. She wondered if, with a mother 
 like that, she would have been the victim of her 
 present unhappiness. She did not want laughter, 
 jests, dancing; she wanted to sit beside that beauti-
 
 The Man With Three Names 219 
 
 ful and remarkable woman while she played. 
 If it had been anybody's party but Nancy's! 
 
 What was it his mother had called him? Sonny? 
 
 "In a moment," she said to the chauffeur who 
 had opened the door. 
 
 The disciple of Fabre. A grave, handsome 
 young man, with a whimsical eye; now that she 
 thought of it, a mystery. She had never met him 
 anywhere socially. He did not belong to the 
 country club ; she never saw him in the fashionable 
 restaurant after the theatre. Ants. Ants and 
 butterflies did not flock together, certainly 
 . . . why not? whispered the Mother Eve. 
 And instantly a plan of campaign formed in her 
 mind. She would put the first phase of it into 
 action on the morrow. It offered attractions; 
 and when she stepped from the car, she was con- 
 scious of a lightness of spirit. 
 
 She threw her arms around Nancy and kissed 
 her; and Nancy complimented her gaily upon 
 the beauty of her gown. And both of them were 
 passing through that singular phase of life which 
 crystallizes the outlook and makes for misanthropy 
 or tender philosophy. 
 
 "And she believes I am happy!" thought Betty. 
 
 "What shall I do?" thought Nancy. "How 
 shall I act? To tell her that Brand wrote those 
 letters would only add to the confusion, since
 
 220 The Man With Three Names 
 
 he has built a Chinese wall between them. Am 
 I fool enough to hope? Would I not despise him 
 if he spoke of love to me? Nancy Maddox, 
 spinster . . . because she will never love 
 anybody else!" 
 
 Betty at once became encircled. Fresh and 
 pleasant faces these young men had; but not one 
 of them attracted her. She could not have em- 
 barked upon the mildest sort of flirtation with any 
 of them; no more than she could have struck 
 her dog when he hadn't done anything wrong. 
 Laughter began to bubble up in her. She wanted 
 to be alone. It was so funny! She had set forth 
 to wreak vengeance upon mankind for her hurt, 
 and she could not begin even on these! 
 
 Among other things, she had been taught how 
 to leave admirers without offending them. A 
 smile, a little nod, and the act was consummated. 
 She could not remember how she reached it, but 
 reach it she did the door to the greenhouse. 
 She must laugh; and if Nancy's friends heard her 
 burst into laughter, illogically, they would credit 
 her with madness or insolence. However, the 
 craving proved to be only a touch of hysteria; 
 and once the door was shut behind her, the tension 
 vanished. The scent of the flowers and the moist 
 earth helped to steady her, too. Still, she felt 
 a trifle weak and would have liked to sit down.
 
 The Man With Three Names 
 
 She remembered there were camp-chairs some- 
 where; and she walked down the little alley be- 
 tween the boxes and tubs, peering right and left. 
 When she came to the box of pinks, she stopped 
 to inhale the spicy perfume. Raising her head, she 
 saw the white expanse of a dress-shirt, quite close. 
 
 "I thought I was alone," she said. 
 
 "You say that with a shade of resentment. I 
 was here first." 
 
 "Goodness! the ant-man! What kind of bugs 
 wander about at night in greenhouses?" Just 
 what she needed : a clever, wordly man with whom 
 to exchange banter and chaff for a few minutes. 
 A thought struck her in a kind of ricochet. She 
 couldn't wreak vengeance upon this man, either, 
 because once he had been kind to Sandy the Aire- 
 dale. She laughed. There was no note of hysteria 
 in the laughter. "Please find me a chair." 
 
 He found one under a box, and opened it. 
 "You take mine. It will be cleaner and drier. 
 The bugs that wander in the night? Well, there 
 are dream-bugs, and memory-bugs, and con- 
 science-bugs; they are as populous as Jason's 
 dragon -teeth. But they vanish in company." 
 
 "That rather leaves me 'twixt wind and water, 
 as sailors say." 
 
 "Meaning?" 
 
 "I don't know whether I am welcome or not."
 
 222 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "As welcome as light coming into the dark. 
 I like to watch the stars. There's a wonder about 
 them that all the astronomers, ancient and modern, 
 cannot dissipate, because human beings are funda- 
 mentally superstitious." 
 
 She did not deem it necessary to reply; and for 
 a little while they stared at the stars .... 
 without seeing them. 
 
 Here, beside him, like this! And now he never 
 could tell her; she would never know. Had she 
 read those letters? Had they touched her, made 
 an impression on her mind? Did she comprehend 
 that it was real love? It was human to want to 
 know desperately; and there was no human way 
 through this wall which an ideal had thrust be- 
 tween them. What a madman he was! She 
 on Polygon Hill and he in this little backwater 
 street: separate destinies. In an hour or so she 
 would learn the truth; and by her faith in her 
 father she must hate and despise Brandon Cathewe. 
 
 Pits; no matter which way he turned he dug 
 them. He became aware of a new twist in the 
 many-faced irony of this adventure. He had 
 risen to power in Bannister by the leverage of her 
 father's misdeeds. Without this capital, the 
 Herald would never have been roused from its 
 moribund state. His own personality would have 
 been negligible. Mansfield had, impelled by a
 
 The Man With Three Names ZZ3 
 
 sardonic mood, directed him to Bannister; and 
 he had become Mansfield's Frankenstein, which, 
 rending the creator, would at the same time rend 
 itself. There did not exist more perfect mockery. 
 
 Here, her shoulder almost touching his the 
 woman he loved! And the God of irony had 
 whisked her as far away actually as if she had been 
 transplanted upon Jupiter. 
 
 "Jupiter!" he said aloud, unthinkingly. 
 
 "And what about Jupiter?" 
 
 "Jupiter?" 
 
 "You spoke aloud." 
 
 " Oh, I was thinking of something up there that 
 I want." 
 
 "Well! I have heard of persons wishing for 
 the moon; but Jupiter!" 
 
 "In wishing for things we cannot have, what's 
 the harm in wishing big! Why wish for the moon 
 when Jupiter is thirteen hundred times larger than 
 the earth?" 
 
 "What an erudite person you are! And what 
 would you do with Jupiter if you had it?" 
 
 "Oh, I only want to go there and come back." 
 
 "With what?" 
 
 "A dream that has, I suspect, flown that far 
 away." 
 
 "We do waste a good deal of time . . . 
 wishing for things we cannot have."
 
 24 The Man With Three Names' 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "I have, naturally, being human like every- 
 body else. What kind of a dream?" 
 
 "The most beautiful of all dreams." 
 
 "I might interpret that, if I knew you better. 
 Am I ever going to know you better? " 
 
 It required quick thought on his part to find an 
 evasion. "You will be in Bannister this winter?" 
 
 "This is my home." 
 
 "Then it is quite likely." 
 
 Silence. 
 
 Still that baffling reserve, she thought. But 
 this time he should not escape. Before they left 
 the greenhouse she intended to ask him point- 
 blank what his name was. A mystery here was 
 utter nonsense. He was Nancy's friend; and there 
 was no logical reason why he should not be Betty 
 Mansfield's. 
 
 We all have a habit of conjuring up pictures 
 of persons we hear about but do not see. We 
 stubbornly cling to these rude conceptions and 
 are nonplussed when confronted by the reality. 
 So it was with Betty. Indelibly registered in her 
 mind as Brandon Cathewe was a picture of a 
 wild-eyed, dark-haired anarchist, not very clean, 
 and thoroughly dishonest. 
 
 As the silence grew there burst upon her the 
 sudden acknowledgment that she liked this un-
 
 The Man With Three Names 2Z5 
 
 known. Nebulously he had been in her thoughts 
 frequently of late; now, in this moment, he emerged 
 into the clear. He was so different from all the 
 other men she had met. The first man who had 
 not, in some fashion or other, subtly flattered her. 
 His propinquity gave her a sense of freedom, 
 even though this was only the third meeting. 
 With all other men she was instinctively on guard, 
 at least verbally. With this one she felt that she 
 could let down the bars to any mental fancy and 
 be perfectly understood. Why? Was it be- 
 cause, just behind him, stood the vision of that 
 wonderful woman who was his mother? 
 
 "Your mother has fascinated me." 
 
 "I am quite sure the fascination is mutual. 
 She has done for you what she never does for 
 strangers. You see, I am more or less familiar 
 with her moods. She often plays for Miss Maddox 
 and her father placidly. Somehow you touched 
 the flame and passion in her. She sensed the 
 musician in you. You sing." 
 
 "You were there?" 
 
 " Yes in the study. I apologize for not making 
 my presence known. But I wanted to hear more 
 of your singing, and was afraid you'd stop if I 
 appeared." 
 
 "I shouldn't have minded . . . after the 
 first song."
 
 226 The Man With Three Names 
 
 The door opened, and Bannister's itinerant 
 butler the caterer's man announced that dinner 
 was served. As they reached the door, Betty 
 turned upon Cathewe swiftly. 
 
 "I am Miss Mansfield, as you know. And you 
 are ... ?" 
 
 "The King of Mount Sipylus." 
 
 "You are in the encyclopedia?" 
 
 "By the name of Tantalus?" 
 
 The light was in his face now, and she observed 
 that he had the air of one very tired. 
 
 Nancy herself rescued the situation. She evi- 
 dently recognized that some crisis was in the 
 making. She caught Betty by the arm and drew 
 her aside. She turned to Cathewe. 
 
 "Miss Stoddard is waiting for you." 
 
 He nodded and hurried off. 
 
 "Nancy . . ." began Betty, a fiery note in 
 her tones. 
 
 "Betty, here is something I want you to read." 
 Nancy put into Betty's hand a sealed envelope. 
 "Under no circumstance open it until you are 
 home. After you read it, telephone me what you 
 think of it." 
 
 "Something I must not read here?" asked 
 Betty, eying the envelope doubtfully, perhaps 
 impatiently. 
 
 "You would prefer to read it in seclusion.
 
 The Man With Three Names 227 
 
 Here comes your table partner. It is only a bit 
 of manuscript. I want it returned." 
 
 Betty folded the envelope and hid it in the 
 bosom of her gown. She went into the dining 
 room, angry and confused. Tantalus! What 
 did he mean? And why had Nancy intervened 
 like that? Once seated, she saw that her unknown 
 cavalier was directly opposite. He consistently 
 refused to meet her eye, however. But for all 
 that, no move of hers escaped him. 
 
 "Mr. Morrison, who is the gentleman opposite?" 
 
 "You don't know him?" 
 
 "I have met him rather unconventionally, 
 but there has been no introduction." 
 
 "Perhaps you will not want one. He is Bran- 
 don Cathewe, the editor of the Herald." 
 
 For a moment the candlelight grew dim and 
 the shadowy wall rocked. 
 
 "I had pictured him quite a different sort," 
 she said, evenly. "Will you present him before 
 we leave the room? " 
 
 "If you wish it" distressed. The young man 
 wondered what had possessed Nancy to bring 
 these two together under one roof. 
 
 "I wish it." 
 
 He glanced covertly at the beautiful profile, 
 now without colour. From the odd emphasis of 
 that crisp sentence, he gathered that, having the
 
 228 The Man With Three Names 
 
 name of Morrison instead of Cathewe, he stood 
 in great luck. 
 
 The dinner progressed smoothly to its end. 
 There was laughter and light banter and amusing 
 gossip; and underneath a current of uneasiness. 
 For all of them understood that here was food for 
 days of speculation. Brandon Cathewe on one 
 side of the table and Betty Mansfield on the other! 
 A bit of drama which all were able to grasp 
 properly. But Nancy's reason for staging this 
 drama was as legible as Urdu to a Chinaman. 
 
 Their sympathies, too, were equally divided. 
 Betty was popular. Her beauty and wealth 
 created no envy. No one ever envies the beautiful 
 princess except in fairy stories. Her sensible 
 charities and generosity, her charm of manner, 
 won them all unconditionally. At first they had 
 felt sorry for her; now this sorrow was overlaid 
 by admiration. They saw, what she did not sus- 
 pect in the least, that she was making over her 
 father, humanizing him. 
 
 And none could now doubt the honesty of the 
 aloof young man across the table, this semi-hermit 
 who wanted nothing for himself and all good things 
 for Bannister. 
 
 The introduction took place after the other 
 guests had left the dining room. Immediately 
 the embarrassed master of ceremonies took to
 
 The Man With Three Names 229 
 
 his heels. Betty and Cathewe stood alone, fac- 
 ing each other. 
 
 "Suppose we return to the greenhouse?" she 
 suggested. 
 
 He led the way, closing the door gently. "I 
 have tried to avoid this moment, but it was in- 
 evitable." 
 
 "Why do you hate my father?" 
 
 "I do not hate him. We have different ideals." 
 
 "I was just beginning to like you!" 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know! Something dreadful seems 
 to have happened to me. Has my father ever 
 wronged you or yours?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then why do you attack him?" 
 
 He was silent. All this was totally unexpected, 
 out of his reckoning. He had come prepared 
 against a cold insolence which would speak only 
 with the eye, and pass on, forever. But to con- 
 front him like this with questions, and with a 
 courage which he was inclined to believe was peri- 
 lously close to tears! He could not defend himself 
 because he loved her. He could not dispel any 
 portrait she had drawn of him; and the knowledge 
 filled him with savage irony. He had deliberately 
 set his neck in this springe. 
 
 "I love my father, and he loves me; we are twain
 
 30 The Man With Three Names 
 
 as one. He will not stoop to defend himself from 
 calumny. Different ideals ! My father has made 
 this city prosperous. What have you, an out- 
 sider, done?" 
 
 "Not an outsider, just an outcast!" in the 
 full tide of bitterness. "I am cursed with envy. 
 What another man has, I want. If I can rob a 
 man legally, I do it. Why should I care where my 
 money comes from, so long as it comes? I 
 have only one God self. I am one of those mad- 
 men whom society permits to roam at large be- 
 cause society doesn't know what to do with them. 
 And we don't know what to do with ourselves!" 
 
 The abysmal misery in the inflections went over 
 her head. "That is not defence for slander." 
 
 "But I am not defending myself. I am stating 
 a condition of the mind." 
 
 ,"And the future?" 
 
 "Whenever our ideals clash, it is inescapable 
 that I shall attack your father." 
 
 ."Then I will defend him. After January first 
 you will no longer direct the policies of your despic- 
 able newspaper." 
 
 "And what miracle will happen to prevent me?" 
 
 "It has already happened. At this moment 
 I control the majority of the stock." The level 
 quality of her tones was Mansfieldian cold and 
 implacable.
 
 The Man With Three Names 231 
 
 The normal outcome of such a revelation the 
 shattering of his wonderful dreams, his future, 
 the invitation of Ishmael once more to take to 
 the road should have been the crystallization 
 of despair. He sensed nothing beyond the fact 
 that this was the end of the last chapter and the 
 impulse to crush her in his arms, kiss her, and rush 
 away. 
 
 Perhaps he would have let this impulse have 
 its way had not a chemical phenomenon inter- 
 vened. There came a series of rumbles like thun- 
 der in the distance. The greenhouse trembled, 
 and there was the crisp tinkle of falling glass. 
 Instinctively both of them wheeled and stared 
 through the glass at the sky in the east. They 
 saw it grow lurid then sharply ruddy. 
 
 "The munitions," he gasped. And ran toward 
 the door.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 WHEN the cub reporter fell in a faint on 
 the paper-littered floor of Cathewe's 
 office, Cathewe became affected by a 
 strange tightness in his throat. This callow 
 boy, bruised and bloody but undaunted, getting 
 back to the office the Lord only knew how, but 
 getting back because the office might need such 
 information as he had acquired! 
 
 As he pillowed the lad's head upon an overcoat 
 and washed the blood and grime from his face, 
 Cathewe fell to musing upon the elusive human 
 attribute called loyalty. Reporters and soldiers, 
 there was only one difference uniform. Always 
 obeying without question, always ill-paid; but 
 the soldier had one spectacular advantage. A 
 bit of valour, and his general decorated him and 
 the public lionized him; whereas the deeds of the 
 reporter were shelved unsung. The same quality 
 of courage which carried a staff runner through a 
 barrage of high explosives had carried this cub 
 back to the office with his information and descrip- 
 tion of the men who had succeeded in blowing 
 up a section of Bannister. And to-morrow he 
 
 232
 
 The Man With Three Names 233 
 
 would be going the dull round of routine, register- 
 ing real-estate deals and the local market reports! 
 
 Loyalty directly to the Herald and indirectly 
 to the man who controlled it. He had, then, the 
 gift to draw and hold the fealty of men, of inspiring 
 them with enthusiasm, with courage. Until this 
 hour he had never given the phase a single thought. 
 
 The boy opened his eyes. 
 
 "Can you talk? Are you up to telling what 
 happened?" asked Cathewe. 
 
 "Yes, sir. I'm all right now. A little groggy, 
 but nothing to speak of." 
 
 "Take his story, Sanderson." 
 
 "Say, chief," whispered the boy, when the re- 
 porter went back to the city room, "there's 
 something else I've got to tell you. I did some- 
 thing rotten this morning. It's been bothering 
 me all day, I was a skunk." 
 
 "Well, what have you done?" 
 
 "The other day they sent me up to interview 
 Mansfield. His daughter led me into his study, 
 knowing what would happen. The old pirate 
 grabbed me by the collar and ran me past the 
 butler hah* way to the street. That made me 
 sore. So this morning I cut out all the news stories 
 and editorials concerning him and mailed them 
 to Miss Mansfield, with an unsigned note that 
 everything was true. Well, the moment I
 
 234 The Man With Three Names 
 
 dropped the stuff in the postoffice, I got cold feet. 
 I tried to get it back, but there was nothing doing 
 because I'd stamped it. It wasn't . . . well, 
 it wasn't what you'd call sportsmanlike. I'm 
 horribly sorry." 
 
 "So am I," said Cathewe, gravely. "I ought 
 to twist your neck." 
 
 "All right, I'm fired." 
 
 "No. What you did to-night squares that. 
 You're going on the payroll at twenty a week, 
 as long as I have anything to say. The fault is 
 Chadwick's. He had no business to send you 
 up there. But I'm glad you told me. There's 
 a taxi for you below. Can you make it alone, 
 or shall I call one of the boys?" 
 
 "I'm all right." The boy got up, swayed, and 
 gasped sharply: "Gee! they sure beat me up." 
 
 Cathewe called to the city room for someone to 
 help the boy to the cab; and as soon as this was 
 done, the harried editor fell to pacing. 
 
 January first. It would not have hit him so 
 hard but for that super-woman, his mother. 
 To force her to assume again the role of Hagar 
 to his Ishmael, when she had finally accepted 
 Bannister as the "haven under the hill!" To 
 lose all this, to see his dreams crumble, because he 
 had hesitated over what might be called a moral 
 technicality! Hadn't he dipped into that money
 
 The Man With Three Names 235 
 
 to carry along the payroll? What was thirty or 
 forty thousand, which in time he could have paid 
 back of a certainty, against the possibility of this 
 catastrophe? They would have sold out to him 
 eagerly enough; and he had doddered. All be- 
 cause they had agreed on honour never to sell 
 out to Mansfield. They admitted selling to a 
 young attorney who was in no wise affiliated with 
 the Mansfield interests; but they had been totally 
 unaware of the fact that Miss Mansfield had been 
 standing in the background. Nevertheless, they 
 had betrayed him. They had not warned him 
 of the offer, which signified that they had been 
 offered two or three times the par value. 
 
 Again the word loyalty. She did not want 
 the Herald. What became of it after its present 
 editor was gone would be immaterial to her. 
 She had bought the Herald simply to strangle 
 the only potent enemy her father had. Loyalty. 
 No suspicion, then, had entered her head that 
 where there was smoke there was fire. And how 
 would that envelope full of clippings affect this 
 loyalty? 
 
 The old man of the sea was still on the shoulders 
 of Digby Hallowell's son. He would have to start 
 all over again, somewhere, somehow. He would 
 sell the little home and turn back the proceeds 
 to his mother. And what would she do return
 
 236 The Man With Three Names 
 
 to Florence or follow his new fortune? After all, 
 there was no doubt in his mind. From now on 
 until the end of time together. 
 
 But where had the girl found those fifty missing 
 shares? No matter. She had found them. A 
 shadow in the doorway distracted his musings. 
 
 "Ah, Matthews!" he cried, as a man about his 
 own age came in. The newcomer's face was be- 
 grimed with smoke and his overcoat was flaked 
 with ashes. "Give me the gist of it. I've been 
 holding up the editorial page for two hours." 
 
 The star reporter dropped into the chair beside 
 his chief's desk. 
 
 "Five dead and forty -seven injured. The big- 
 gest story that ever struck this town, Mr. Cathewe, 
 and there is a phase to it I just don't know how to 
 handle. I want your point of view first. Great! 
 There'll be a revolution in thought in this burg 
 to-morrow if you will let me swing the yarn in 
 my own way." 
 
 "That's always understood here, Matthews. 
 There's no wall around the truth in this office. 
 What's the big thing?" 
 
 "Bannister has got two great citizens that we 
 didn't suspect. The bravest of the brave, and 
 all that. When I hit the trail out there, the main 
 thing in my head was this: in working a day and 
 night shift at top speed on his water-line, the
 
 The Man With Three Names 237 
 
 Federal authorities will not meddle. He had 
 originally followed the architectural plans; and 
 on paper the elevated tubs seemed to be plenty. 
 The thing that saves him, though, is his tackling 
 the pipe-line on his own initiative." 
 
 "I understand. How about the hospital?" 
 
 /'Wiped out. But it happened to be empty." 
 
 "And the two great citizens?" 
 
 "Mansfield and that stunning girl of his. That 
 girl goes sailing out there in her dinner gown and 
 turns her big limousine into an ambulance, and 
 makes twelve trips to the hospitals. I stood be- 
 side her once and brushed the sparks off her sable 
 coat, which to-morrow won't be worth thirty 
 cents. Lord, but she was a picture! When she 
 turned up for the eighth trip, the crowd cheered 
 her. I joined that cheer. I'm a hard-boiled egg, 
 for a fact, but the smoke didn't cause all the tears 
 in my eyes." 
 
 "Go on, man, go on!" Cathewe shut the door 
 to the humming city room. 
 
 "The place was totally wrecked. All the water 
 in the world could not have saved it. They must 
 have got through via the railroad. The two 
 National Guard boys on duty there are in the 
 hospital with banged-up heads. Four tanks of 
 T.N.T. you know he had four separate fields 
 of them, so that if an accident happened to one
 
 238 The Man With Three Names 
 
 field, the others would be immune in the four 
 fields exploded simultaneously. Which gave rise 
 to the supposition that time-bombs had been 
 placed under each tank. Anyhow, the fire started 
 at four points of the compass. A loss of about a 
 million, all Mansfield's; for that was an individual 
 enterprise." 
 
 "And if only someone had listened to the cub, 
 we might have prevented it. The police chased 
 him into the street, and here in the office we 
 laughed. We thought it was one of his spy-mad 
 stunts. Well, go on." 
 
 "Well, the girl is in the city hospital " 
 
 "Hurt?" 
 
 The strained note caught the reporter's ear, 
 and he looked puzzled. "No. Just watching at 
 the side of her father's cot. And here's the brilliant 
 part of the story. Seems Mansfield was out there 
 inspecting the work on the pipe-line when the 
 place blew up. He wasn't touched, but he hung 
 around, giving orders. And he was a mighty cool 
 hand, too, they tell me." 
 
 "But the hospital!" 
 
 "I'm coming to that. What he did was as 
 brave a thing as might happen over there in France. 
 One side of his face will be badly scarred and his 
 left hand crippled. Dashed into a blazing shack 
 for three Slav kiddies that had been deserted by
 
 The Man With Three Names 239 
 
 their terror-stricken father. Coming out the 
 door frame fell upon him. But he staggered 
 through, into the safety zone. He was badly 
 burned, but the kiddies escaped with nothing 
 more serious than singed hair." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "Not a sound from that crowd! First-off, 
 that struck me as rather hard and cruel. But I 
 got the rights of it shortly. Stunned. That the 
 man who had used them like sheep should risk his 
 life for three kiddies who weren't anything to him 
 had stunned them. When they awoke, he was 
 on his way to the city hospital. Looks to me, 
 chief, as if our capital has suddenly been wiped 
 out. We can't jump on the old freebooter here- 
 after." 
 
 "Thank God for that!" said Cathewe. "I'd 
 like nothing better than to go up there and shake 
 his good hand." 
 
 "Then the lid is off?" 
 
 "Squeeze all you can out of the story. Let 
 the town realize that Dunleigh Mansfield has come 
 home. For that's what has happened." 
 
 "Here's the real climax. The girl carried eleven 
 men to the Good Shepherd. When she got there 
 with the twelfth, there wasn't room. So she had 
 to take the man to the city hospital. She saw 
 to it that the man was given the best aid obtain-
 
 240 The Man With Three Names 
 
 able. When they had got him all swathed up in 
 cotton, she chanced to turn toward the next cot 
 and there lay her father!" 
 
 Cathewe caught his star man by the shoulders 
 and pushed him from the room. He himself had 
 work to do. He sat down and wrote the editorial 
 which was talked about long after the fire was 
 forgotten. This editorial was headed: "Mans- 
 field Comes Home."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 BETTY, her beautiful sable coat covered 
 with scorched spots and her dinner gown 
 soiled and disordered for she had worked 
 along with the hospital nurses Betty, who had 
 slept in the chair beside her father's cot, spread 
 out the Times and with heavy eyes scanned the 
 black headlines. After one glance her weariness 
 dropped from her. 
 
 "Daddy!" she cried, exultantly. 
 
 Mansfield's eyes, the tip of his nose, and one side 
 of his mouth were visible; the rest of his face was 
 hidden under blocks of absorbent cotton. He 
 could only whisper because one side of his mouth 
 was taut with blisters. 
 
 "You're a hero! The whole town is talking 
 about your deed. Listen." She began reading 
 the account. 
 
 When she made the first pause, he signified that 
 he wanted to speak. She leaned down. "What 
 paper is that?" he asked. 
 
 "The Times." 
 
 A newspaper he owned, body and soul. "Get 
 a Herald and see what that paper has to say." 
 
 241
 
 242 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "A Herald?" with an expression of such dis- 
 taste that it was communicated to her hands 
 which convulsively crumpled the newspaper in 
 her lap. "A. Herald?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 There was something in his eyes that puzzled 
 her. It had the appearance of a twinkle of humour, 
 but she knew that that could not be. She called 
 to one of the nurses, made her request, and waited 
 with her father's uninjured hand between hers. 
 The nurse reappeared shortly; and Betty accepted 
 the Herald with an air as of picking up, with tongs, 
 something offensive. She flung it open, rather 
 noisily and wholly resentfully . . . and be- 
 came statuesque. Mansfield watched her, his 
 glance alert. He saw the resentment fade, to 
 be replaced by an expression of stupefaction; 
 he saw a dozen emotions pass over her face 
 sunshine and cloud-shadows. He touched her 
 knee. 
 
 "Never mind the first page. See if there is an 
 editorial." 
 
 She opened the newspaper to page four. "There 
 is." 
 
 "Read it to me." 
 
 When she had done with a voice that had been 
 strong at the beginning but which presently lost 
 its resonance and broke frequently toward the
 
 The Man With Three Names 243 
 
 end the paper slipped from her hands to the floor 
 and she stared across the row of cots. 
 
 "I don't understand," she said, addressing 
 nobody in particular. "Daddy, I bought the 
 controlling interest in the Herald yesterday morn- 
 ing. And last night at Nancy's I told Mr. Cathewe 
 that his successor would be appointed in January." 
 
 "You what?" barked Mansfield, the left side 
 of his face stabbing him with pain. 
 
 "Bought it to stop its lies. But I don't under- 
 stand. That was beautiful." 
 
 The light in Mansfield's eyes broke into many 
 little points, and the lids worked rapidly. "Betty, 
 you have met him?" 
 
 "Twice, accidentally. He remained unknown 
 until last night. He ... he rather inter- 
 ested me, he was so unusual." 
 
 " He made no attempt to meet you? " 
 
 "That is the strange part of it. He always 
 tried to avoid me. He said he warred against 
 you because your ideals were different." 
 
 "He gave me an ideal?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That . . . was sportsmanlike. What do 
 you purpose to do with the paper? " This wonder- 
 child of his, secretly buying up the Herald stock; 
 his enemy her enemy ! 
 
 "I don't know now. I don't suppose I had any
 
 244 The Man With Three Names 
 
 plans mapped out for the future. I just wanted 
 the attacks against you stopped. He says you 
 have come home. What does he mean by that?" 
 
 "I'll mull it over and tell you what I think of 
 it this afternoon. You run along home, take a 
 tubbing, and climb into bed. You're about done, 
 Honey. And I'll be rested, too, when you get back." 
 
 "I am tired. But there is something I want 
 to tell you must tell you before I leave. I've 
 been hiding something from you, Daddy. In 
 France it would be called an affair. And yet, 
 I don't know. You can't have an affair with a 
 man you have never seen, whose name you do 
 not know. For more than three years I have 
 been receiving letters. Love-letters, Daddy. If 
 mother had been alive, I'd have gone to her with 
 them. Somehow I could not come to you. I 
 was afraid you would not understand. I'm going 
 to be honest. They intrigued me deeply. I 
 began to search faces, listen when young men spoke. 
 They were beautiful letters. Any woman might 
 be proud to be written to as I was. After a long 
 silence, the last letter came yesterday. It was 
 good-bye. I am still dizzy wondering why he 
 bothered me at all. They followed me all over 
 Europe. I often felt ashamed, but more often 
 thrilled and exalted. I am not philosophical, 
 Daddy; I am young; and until that morning you
 
 The Man With Three Names 245 
 
 told me you loved me, I was lonely. I can speak 
 now because the affair has come to an end. When 
 I go up to the house, I shall destroy those letters.'* 
 
 "A writer with a little money," whispered 
 Mansfield, his gaze directed toward the ceiling. 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 "Nothing important. But I would not destroy 
 those letters. Some day you will be happily 
 married, and you and your husband will laugh 
 over those effusions. I'm going to ask you a 
 question. If this phantom materialized, would 
 you find yourself in love with him?" 
 
 "I could tell better after he materialized. 
 What would you advise me to do with the Herald?" 
 
 "I'll mull that question over, too. Better 
 run along now." 
 
 She kissed the tip of his nose. Mansfield, 
 stirred by a tumult of emotions, followed her with 
 his gaze until she passed out of the ward. He 
 wanted to smile the old ironic twist of the lips. 
 Youth will be served. Letters, to trap and hold the 
 romantic side of her until he had made good! 
 A dreamer and a fighter. His own edifice the 
 grim fortress of Self lay in ruins about him. 
 But he could see distances now; his vision was no 
 longer obscured. Had he come home? He won- 
 dered. The son of Digby Hallo well; and by a 
 turn of the hand to ruin him absolutely, so far
 
 246 The Man With Three Names 
 
 as his usefulness in Bannister was concerned. 
 Magnanimity. That editorial breathed of it. What 
 to do with a man who told the world that his 
 enemy was a hero? Dunleigh Mansfield closed his 
 eyes and for a long time lay very still. 
 
 When Betty arrived home, she picked out her 
 personal mail from the stack on the hall bench, 
 and went to her room. She glanced over the 
 letters casually and decided not to read them until 
 after she had been refreshed with sleep. As the 
 maid was helping her to undress, a crumpled 
 envelope fluttered to the floor. Betty suddenly 
 recollected that it was the letter Nancy had given 
 her. She started to rip open an end, but desisted. 
 Just now she did not want to be bothered by any- 
 thing or anybody. The turmoil and horror of the 
 past night had sapped her vitality. Both her body 
 and her mind seemed drugged. 
 
 "Call me at one promptly," she said, as her 
 head touched the pillow. 
 
 "What shall I bring you for lunch?" asked the 
 maid. 
 
 Betty did not answer. She was already asleep. 
 For four straight hours her pillow was oblivion; 
 and when she awoke she had to think strongly 
 to convince herself that what she had gone through 
 was not a nightmare. She ate her lunch sitting 
 up in bed. She saw that outside the day was
 
 The Man With Three Names 247 
 
 glorious. When the maid carried off the tray, 
 Betty clasped her knees and mused. The shock 
 of that moment, when she turned to find her 
 father on the adjacent cot! Magnificent! Even 
 his enemy had admitted it. Mansfield Comes 
 Home. It was odd how that phrase clung. The 
 real significance escaped her. It was a caption. 
 The line was not repeated in the body of the 
 editorial. 
 
 She saw the mail on the bed stand and reached 
 for it. Fate decided that she should open the 
 large envelope first. Newspaper clippings. She 
 spread them apart, fan-wise. She caught a single 
 line in the top clipping "The Lord of Polygon 
 Hill is always safely within the law." She made 
 as though to fling from her the offending things; 
 but presently they took upon themselves the sin- 
 ister fascination of the door to Bluebeard's cham- 
 ber. One by one she read them. Some of them 
 mentioned her father directly; some of them spoke 
 of him as the Lord of Polygon Hill. 
 
 Throttler of efficiency in the fire and police 
 departments. 
 
 Railway franchises, non-taxable, thereby adding 
 to the burdens of the poor. 
 
 Twenty gin-mills owned by proxy. 
 
 Apartment houses in the district of ill-repute. 
 Owned under other names.
 
 248 The Man With Three Names 
 
 Seven thousand employees who were forced to 
 vote as Mansfield willed or lose their jobs, despite 
 the secret ballot. 
 
 Money -mad. Millions and wants more. 
 
 The war means only so much more profit. 
 
 Opposed the employers' liability act. 
 
 Fought direct primaries. 
 
 Holds aloof on the child-labour problem. 
 
 Fought the income tax. 
 
 One by one Betty read them, now burning with 
 fury, now cold with implacable hate. She came 
 to the last clipping. It was the story of an inven- 
 tor whom her father had betrayed and permitted 
 to die a pauper; a terrible narrative of the ruth- 
 lessness of business, of the callosity of self-interest; 
 written by someone who knew the exact meaning 
 of words, who was master of clarity, who knew 
 when and how to strike emotionalism (Cathewe 
 himself had written this article) . The girl realized 
 at once that this was not political. There was a 
 clarion ring of truth here that was inescapable. 
 And yet she knew it could not be true. Her 
 father, who had risked his life last night to save 
 three little children; her brave father, whose hand 
 would henceforth be crippled and whose face would 
 be terribly scarred! It could not be. 
 
 A picture crept into her mind, insidiously, 
 though she fought it: a bleak, cold room with
 
 The Man With Three Names 249 
 
 broken walls and bare floor and windows stuffed 
 with paper, and the quiet, broken thing on the 
 bed. Joined to this picture, her father on his cot; 
 side by side with this sinister indictment, the 
 unstinted praise "Mansfield Comes Home." 
 
 The truth! For her honest mind could no 
 longer dismiss these facts as the venom of a po- 
 litical antagonist. The truth! To whom might 
 she go? Not to her father in his present critical 
 condition . . . Maddox! The doctor would 
 not lie to his God-child; he would translate this 
 mystery. She flung herself out of bed and ran to 
 the extension telephone. She caught the doctor 
 just as he was starting out for the hospitals; for 
 all the doctors in town were in demand this day. 
 Yes; he could give her a few minutes, but he was 
 hard pressed. 
 
 She was standing by one of the living-room 
 windows when the old chariot careened up the 
 drive. She ran to the door herself, caught him 
 by the sleeve, and hurried him into the living room. 
 
 "How's Dunleigh?" he gasped. What was 
 the matter with the child? This was not the pallor 
 of weariness. "You ought to be in bed," he added. 
 
 She pushed him into a chair and laid the clip- 
 pings on his knee. "Read them," she said. 
 
 He stared at the clippings, much astonished. 
 He looked them over, or pretended to, and got a
 
 250 The Man With Three Names 
 
 glimmer of this double tragedy. In an hour like 
 this! 
 
 "Where did you get them?" 
 
 " They came this morning, anonymously. Read 
 them." 
 
 But Maddox got up and deposited the clippings 
 in her lap. Then he walked over to a window, 
 came back, and faced her. 
 
 "Are they true? Just that one about the in- 
 ventor. We won't bother about the others. Is 
 that true?" 
 
 "Did you read the editorial in the Herald this 
 morning?" 
 
 "I read that. But is this true? Did my father 
 let a human being die like that?" 
 
 "All right. It's my business curing bodies 
 and curing minds. Yes; all these things are true, 
 little lady. But what your father did last night 
 cleans the slate, in the eyes of God as well as man. 
 You baby! Don't you dare sit in judgment on 
 your father at this moment. He is a man, and 
 I'm proud to be his friend. He has been alone. 
 He never knew what love was until you came into 
 his life. He is a strong man, and strong men, 
 untempered by love, are ruthless. I have seen 
 what you could not see the change. The mo- 
 ment he discovered he loved you, he wanted to 
 wipe out the past. Whatever you wanted done,
 
 The Man With Three Names 251 
 
 he did; but he went at it in a circuitous manner 
 for fear you might learn the truth before he had 
 proved himself. He loves you. This love has 
 cleared his vision and humanized him. I know. 
 A mind so clean and pure as yours becomes hor- 
 rified, naturally. You were both yourselves last 
 night your real selves. He is going on doing 
 fine and noble things; so are you. And the noblest 
 thing you can do is never to let him know. The 
 soul of him was all right; it was only the shell that 
 was bad; and that has been knocked off. He 
 will never know that you know; and he will be 
 happy." 
 
 Betty gathered the clippings in her hand and 
 carried them to the fire. 
 
 "That's it; and throw recollection along with 
 them. They will never again call him the Lord 
 of Polygon Hill. Betty, he had travelled to the 
 point where he didn't know any better. Then 
 you came. You are going to forgive him besides? " 
 
 "Oh, yes. I love him; and I understand now. 
 Never shall he know that I know. I have always 
 loved him, since I was a little child. There wasn't 
 anybody else for me to love." A pause, and rather 
 shyly she asked: "What did Brandon Cathewe 
 mean when he wrote 'Mansfield Comes Home'?" 
 
 "What I've just been telling you: that your 
 father has found himself through you."
 
 252 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "And I ... I have misjudged Brandon 
 Cathewe?" 
 
 "I'll tell you. A few hundred years ago he 
 would be wearing a surtout with a cross on it and 
 he would be outside the Wall of Jerusalem. I 
 love that boy. I wish God had given me a son 
 like him. And your father admires him secretly. 
 He tried to avoid you because he didn't want you 
 to know him as he is. It would have made you 
 doubt your father. You have met his mother. He 
 couldn't be very bad with such a mother. He 
 misjudged you, too. He thought you had de- 
 serted France; that you were only a giddy butter- 
 
 fly." 
 
 "Whereas ... I am an ant. Who is 
 he, really? From where does he come? " 
 
 "There's only one way to find that out. Go to 
 his mother." 
 
 "Go to his mother," repeated Betty, dreamily. 
 "But I am keeping you from your patients!" 
 
 "I'm mighty glad you called me in. I don't 
 know who could have mailed you those clippings, 
 but he's done a fine service for us all. Good-bye, 
 little lady. And remember !" 
 
 "I shan't forget . . . my father, be- 
 cause he loves me!" Her eyes glistened with 
 tears. 
 
 The doctor fumbled with his handkerchief,
 
 The Man With Three Names 253 
 
 rubbed his nose violently, snatched up his famous 
 black bag, and hurried from the room. 
 
 Betty remained motionless for a space. A new 
 thought had occurred to her. Brandon Cathewe. 
 She would give him back his newspaper. Having 
 come to this decision, she returned to her room. 
 It was then she espied once more Nancy's letter. 
 This time she opened it. 
 
 It had the appearance of a page of manuscript 
 that had been crumpled and smoothed out. There 
 was a signature scrawled across its face. She 
 had to approach a window to decipher this scrawl: 
 "From George Cottar to Nancy Maddox, his 
 friend." Cottar? Nancy knew Cottar? Betty 
 lowered the sheet and stared off, as if out there, 
 up from the horizon, the solution would presently 
 become manifest. Cottar. Nancy had never told 
 her that she knew Cottar. To keep a secret like 
 this! That was so unlike Nancy. And why had 
 Nancy given the sheet to her, with instructions 
 which had struck her curiously at the tune? 
 George Cottar, the novelist; and Nancy knew him! 
 
 She raised the sheet again. Probably some 
 phrase Nancy wanted her to read and pass judg- 
 ment on. Now it came to her, upon this second 
 perusal, that the handwriting, though in lead was 
 strangely familiar. Then she came upon a little 
 cross where a period should have been.
 
 854 The Man With Three Names 
 
 There fell upon her senses a roaring like the 
 falling of mighty waters. Until this died away, 
 she was powerless to move. When she could 
 impart mobility to her feet, with her heart flutter- 
 ing wildly she ran to the precious Florentine box. 
 She opened a letter and laid it beside the sheet 
 of manuscript. The same hand had written them 
 both.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THAT which followed was rather an inco- 
 herent adventure. Betty had passed 
 through a series of tremendous emotions, 
 and she had not recovered her poise. Ordinarily 
 she would not have rushed off to Nancy's tem- 
 pestuously. But a great deal of her world had 
 been knocked from under, and she desperately 
 wanted all trembling things laid for good. She 
 wanted her illusions smashed, all of them, so that 
 when she started life anew the future would be 
 reasonably clear. Either George Cottar had 
 played with her, or he hadn't. Either he was 
 young and free, or he wasn't. The question must 
 never arise again to trouble her; it must be settled 
 within this hour. 
 
 When the Maddox door opened to admit her, 
 Betty flew past the astonished maid, never pausing 
 to inquire if Nancy were at home. 
 
 "Nancy?" she cried, running from room to 
 room. "Nancy?'* 
 
 The maid, rather inclined toward the belief 
 that Miss Mansfield was a bit out of her head 
 from the exertions of the previous night, gave 
 
 255
 
 256 The Man With Three Names 
 
 chase resolutely, catching the visitor by the arm 
 as she was about to mount the stairs. 
 
 "Miss Nancy is rolling bandages in the office. 
 Won't you please be seated until I call her? " 
 
 Betty flung herself free and rushed into the 
 official side of the house. Nancy, having felt the 
 jar of running feet, entered the waiting room at 
 the same time as Betty. 
 
 "Oh, Nancy!" 
 
 "Why, Betty, you ought to be in bed! " 
 
 "Where can I find him?" 
 
 "You want father?" 
 
 "No, no! I want George Cottar the man who 
 wrote those letters ! " 
 
 "It is really serious, then?" 
 
 "Haven't I told you? I must see him. I want 
 all my disillusions over with. I want to tear him 
 out of my heart and out of my mind ... or 
 find if he has really been thereat all! . . . You 
 must think me quite mad. I am, at this moment. 
 I don't want you to tell me what he's like; I want 
 you to tell me where he is." 
 
 "You ought to be in bed, with all you've gone 
 through." Nancy opened her arms. 
 
 "I've gone through so much! . . . Things 
 I can't tell you. I want no more mysteries, no 
 more puzzles. . . . I'm tired!" And Betty 
 laid her head on Nancy's shoulder.
 
 The Man With Three Names 257 
 
 "The Brushwood Boy George Cottar." 
 
 " Why did he give me up? " 
 
 "Circumstance was a two-edged sword; it cut 
 both ways. Do you know that the whole town 
 is ringing with the praise of you and your father? 
 His poor face and hand! And you! leaving the 
 way you did! You must have ruined that sable 
 coat." 
 
 "I did. Don't tantalize me. You gave me 
 that sheet of manuscript so that I would recognize 
 the writing and compare it with my letters. But 
 how did you suspect?" 
 
 "I didn't. I knew." 
 
 "And you sent it to me. . . ." 
 
 "Because there was no earthly reason why I 
 should keep the truth from you, once I knew it. 
 But I'll want that sheet back. One doesn't meet a 
 celebrated author every day. What did you want 
 to see father about? " 
 
 "I . . . I know everything, now, Nancy." 
 
 "You understand? I mean, you understand 
 the marvellous change you have wrought in your 
 father?" 
 
 Betty drew back, her chin up. "I think he is 
 glorious! . . . But I was stricken with horror 
 until your father came. If I had to have any other 
 father than my own, I'd want yours. My fault 
 was that I had put my father up a little too high.
 
 258 The Man With Three Names 
 
 I had built a fairy story for myself and lived in it. 
 I love him; but it isn't with the love of yesterday. 
 To-day I am human myself. Did you know Cot- 
 tar when we were in Washington? " 
 
 "No. Quite recently, and by accident." 
 
 "But you have not been away since then! . . . 
 He is here, in Bannister! " 
 
 " I'm a wretch, Betty ! Come with me." 
 
 Nancy led the way into the living room and 
 stopped only when she reached a window from 
 which the street was to be seen. 
 
 "What do you see from this window? " she asked. 
 
 "From here? I seem to be very stupid, for I 
 don't see anything." 
 
 "See, then, that temple of fine dreams and 
 music the little white house with the picket fence. 
 For the man who wrote those letters to you, and 
 George Cottar, and Brandon Cathewe they are 
 one, Betty. And I can quite understand why you 
 never suspected. Do you know what I should do 
 if I were you? I'd run across as fast as I could. 
 He isn't there. I saw him leave for his office about 
 an hour ago. But his mother will receive you. I 
 want but one promise : that you will never tell him 
 I betrayed him. Run, dear, run! Nothing lasts 
 very long in this workaday world. Run ! " 
 
 Betty never had any clear recollection of what 
 happened between the moment of this astounding
 
 The Man With Three Names 259 
 
 revelation and her advent upon the path to the 
 street. Foggily she retained the impression that 
 Nancy had fairly pushed her forth. The cold, 
 fresh air, blowing into her face, stabilized her 
 wavering thoughts. She could not enter that 
 house now. Brandon Cathewe! Her memory 
 revived that scene upon the hill: his tenderness to 
 Sandy, his amusing comments, the gravity with 
 which he discussed the life of the ant. Fabre hi 
 the original, and the truth had gone over her head! 
 She had known that he was not of Bannister; and 
 yet that had suggested nothing. The fineness of 
 his mind, his air of breeding, the wonderful crea- 
 ture who called him Sonny! . . . She had been 
 totally blind! 
 
 From behind her curtain Nancy watched. In 
 no sense was this act one of espionage. There was 
 on her face that serenity of expression which is the 
 flower of renunciation. A ghost a very dim 
 ghost of a smile moved her lips. She could very 
 well visualize the quandary in which Betty found 
 herself. Social convention nowadays is less an 
 acquisition than a legacy; and Nancy understood 
 that what was now confusing her friend was this 
 invisible wall. Would she recognize it as an 
 impasse, or would she plunge through it? And 
 there was besides the lingering pall of dazzlement. 
 
 She saw Betty hurry to the sidewalk. But
 
 260 The Man With Three Names 
 
 once there it became evident that the impellent 
 lost its force. Betty halted; she looked up and 
 down the street, back at the window, then across 
 the street. At length, with a step which seemed to 
 acquire dignity as it progressed, Betty crossed the 
 street, opened the gate and latched it behind her, 
 and approached the door. 
 
 Nancy laughed. There is no way of approaching 
 this laughter analytically, since Nancy herself did 
 not know why it had sprung past her lips. She 
 returned to the consultation office, to her work. 
 Bandage after bandage she rolled. Her father 
 would need them all on his rounds that night. 
 Occasionally she stopped work and let her gaze 
 wander about this smelly but immaculate room, 
 with its white enamelled woodwork and iron, its 
 glass cases filled with glittering instruments, its 
 stands with glass tops. It quite fit her mood, this 
 little white cabinet of mercy and pain. 
 
 Happiness, thought Betty. And what if she 
 let it slip past for the want of a little courage to 
 reach out for it? Who or what had installed in her 
 this distaste to go forward with the adventure, 
 this subtle acknowledgment of rules of conduct 
 which one person obeyed simply because another 
 had previously obeyed them? 
 
 She had no plan, no marshalled words and
 
 The Man With Three Names 261 
 
 phrases. She stepped into the hallway as she 
 would have stepped into a mirror-maze, trusting 
 instinct to carry her through. But one thing she 
 did know: that all depended upon her reception. 
 
 Mrs. Cathewe came forward, and, with that 
 interpretative insight which was the quality of her 
 genius, gathered the girl in her arms. Not a word; 
 just took Betty in her arms and held her. In- 
 stantly Betty knew that never again would there 
 be walls. Thus they stood for three or four 
 minutes. 
 
 "This is the way I would have had you come. 
 No roundabout and winding paths straight to 
 the fount. And who but Sonny's mother shall 
 tell you who and what Sonny is?" 
 
 "There is so much to ask." 
 
 "So much to tell. Sonny is always right. 
 Genius has an eye like one of those chemical rays: 
 nothing may hide from it. And yet, until he met 
 you on the hill that day, he doubted his vision. 
 Come with me. What a wonder-child you are ! " 
 
 When they were seated upon the divan, Betty 
 locked her fingers tightly and began. 
 
 "I did not know until last night that he was the 
 editor of the Herald. I was very stupid through 
 it all. Even your avoidance of giving me your 
 name did not illuminate a corner of the puzzle. 
 Then last night at Nancy's the truth came out.
 
 262 Tlie Man With Three Names 
 
 I was hard and bitter to him. I did not know 
 then that my father. . . ." 
 
 A hand flew toward her lips. "You shall not 
 say it!" cried Mrs. Cathewe. "Your father was 
 magnificent last night. What is the past against 
 an hour like that? The lives of three little 
 children at the risk of his own! There is not 
 a soul in Bannister this day that isn't the better 
 for the reading of the unselfish deed. His sur- 
 render to you through love is the most beautiful 
 thing I ever heard. And you bought Sonny's 
 newspaper from under him, to defend your father! 
 You are a pair of lions. You should have heard 
 Sonny praise you both. He was very happy over 
 it." 
 
 "Happy!" 
 
 "Yes. A phase of his task in life has come to a 
 happy ending. We can leave Bannister now, 
 content." 
 
 "Leave Bannister? because I told him that 
 after January he ... No, no ! He shall have 
 his newspaper back. He shall go on with his work. 
 Don't you understand ? I didn't know. ' ' 
 
 "Sonny will be glad. He found himself here. 
 The blind alleys he's been in and out of, searching 
 for the way!" 
 
 "Did . . . did he ever tell you about some 
 letters he wrote to me?"
 
 The Man With Three Names 263 
 
 "Yes. Between Sonny and me there are no 
 secrets." 
 
 "Did he mean what he wrote?" asked Betty, 
 miserable with shame. 
 
 "With every drop of blood in him, with every 
 fibre of his manhood!" 
 
 Betty broke down completely. The taut string 
 had snapped. But the mothering she received 
 was compensation. All her life she wanted arms 
 like these. 
 
 "There is good in everybody," presently began 
 the owner of those arms. "There was good in the 
 man who broke my heart and nearly ruined 
 Sonny his father. For there are still rough spots 
 in the road. Will you stand the test? Will you 
 stop this side, or will you go on? It will take the 
 rarest kind of courage moral. For the hour has 
 come when you must know everything. Cathewe 
 was my maiden name. There was always the 
 possibility, however, of running across someone 
 who had known me under the other name." 
 
 "Where did he first see me?" 
 
 Betty could not see the smile of tender irony 
 that flashed across the lips of the woman who 
 was about to recount for the second time the drab 
 tragedy of her life. Romance! What were yes- 
 terdays to this child who hungered for to-morrows? 
 
 "He saw you in London one night, at the Savoy
 
 264 The Man With Three Names 
 
 restaurant. The following afternoon you went 
 aboard the same ship." 
 
 "I knew it! I knew that I had seen him some- 
 where. He didn't know who I was?" 
 
 "Not at that time." 
 
 "Just saw me!" in wonder. 
 
 "Just that. He went to your father the next 
 morning and asked if he might pay court to you. 
 Imagine it! He wore old clothes and was living 
 with the steerage passengers to get colour for his 
 new book. Your father looked upon the affair as a 
 great joke, not being able to gauge Sonny. He 
 made a sardonic proposal, and Sonny accepted it. 
 He was to come to Bannister and make a name for 
 himself. He was never to seek you in any fashion. 
 So Sonny wrote you those letters, hoping to trap 
 your interest and hold it while he was fighting his 
 way to you. And I came to keep him company. 
 What are obstacles to a man like that? But soon 
 the road took a baffling and sinister twist. He 
 bought the Herald as a means of reaching you; 
 borrowed the purchase money from a friend, the 
 security being all I had in the world a small cot- 
 ton plantation. The newspaper presently became 
 an obligation; and recognizing that, he saw that he 
 must give you up." 
 
 "I understand. I searched the crowds for him. 
 I studied every new face I saw; strained my ears
 
 TJie Man With Three Names 265 
 
 for some sign. And even now, but for Nancy, I'd 
 never have known! Do you know, I loved you 
 that first night. The thought of you kept drawing 
 me; and I came again, uninvited." 
 
 "I tried to make you love me." There was a 
 pause. "Why must the innocent always suffer 
 with the guilty? What had Sonny and I done 
 that the black shadow of the name that is legally 
 ours must steal away our sunshine always? The 
 name of Digby Hallo well will mean nothing to you; 
 but your father would recall it. My husband was 
 a thief, Betty, and he died in prison. A thief the 
 most unforgivable kind. When a burglar enters a 
 house he at least risks his life. My husband did 
 not risk his; he did not even risk his comfort. He 
 sat in a beautiful office and wove his spider web for 
 the poor and ignorant, who had none to advise 
 them. . . . Did you shudder then?" 
 
 Betty did not answer. 
 
 "Ah! Already the obstacles in the road terrify 
 you. Your father. . . ." 
 
 "And shall my father sit in judgment on 
 Sonny's?" asked Betty, quietly. "The shudder 
 was instinctive. It is the second time to-day I 
 have shuddered. But go on." 
 
 "I was born in the South; but at the age of ten 
 I was taken to Europe by an aunt who saw that 
 there was music in me, that I possessed inter-
 
 266 The Man With Three Names 
 
 pretative genius. My parents were dead. My 
 inheritance was a small but lucrative cotton 
 plantation. I studied in Paris, Berlin, Leipzic, 
 Vienna. At musicales and soirees I became 
 fairly well known. I was preparing for concert 
 work. All the masters said that I had a brilliant 
 future. When my aunt died, the annuity which 
 supported us ceased automatically, but most of the 
 beautiful things you see in this room fell to me. 
 My own inheritance, untouched all those years, 
 had compounded. So I had enough for the 
 necessities of life, and a little amusement besides. 
 Somehow I had lost America. I had no desire to 
 return. I was in the Volksgarten in Vienna one 
 afternoon when a very handsome man in the early 
 thirties sat down in a chair near me. Apparently 
 he was oblivious to my propinquity. Some 
 children were playing near by. One of them 
 stumbled and fell, and the stranger sprang to its 
 assistance, brushing the bruised knees. 'Poor 
 little codger!' he said in English; and at once I 
 knew that he was an American. I was alone in the 
 world, eighteen, and bubbling with romance. I 
 met him again and again. Oh, I loved him. He 
 was charming. He was mad about children; he 
 was genuinely fond of music, paintings, books. 
 And his love for me was the one great, honest thing 
 in his life. It wouldn't have been so hard otherwise.
 
 The Man With Three Names 267 
 
 We were married. Remember, there was no one 
 to advise me. I did not want to return to America. 
 My world was the musical centres of Europe. So 
 he agreed to clear up his affairs he was a broker 
 as soon as he reasonably could, and come to Europe 
 to live." 
 
 The telephone bell rang sharply, but neither of 
 them heard it. 
 
 "Sonny came. There followed four wonderful 
 summers. Digby would arrive in May and go 
 back in October. The crash came the fourth 
 winter. He was arrested for selling bogus oil and 
 mining stock. Here in America it was the news- 
 paper sensation of the day. The shock nearly 
 drove me crazy. Only the thought of Sonny 
 saved me. Each time he came to Europe, Digby 
 brought a fortune in stocks and bonds, which 
 were turned into French consols and British Rands 
 and assigned unrestrictedly to me. Do you com- 
 prehend the cunning? To put all these ill-gotten 
 gains where the United States could not possibly 
 touch them! But he overreached. He was al- 
 ready in prison when the news came. I went to 
 him as fast as I could, for I had known only the 
 good in him, and believed that there was some 
 terrible mistake, some misdirection of justice. It 
 often comes to me that if I had gone back with 
 him the first time, I might have seen what was
 
 268 The Man With Three Names 
 
 going on and saved him. My very selfishness 
 served as a lure to drive him on. He caught 
 pneumonia in prison and died before I could get 
 to him." 
 
 " Too late to forgive him? " 
 
 "Would you have forgiven him?" 
 
 "Didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes. He had my cable in his hand when he 
 died. Until I reached Liverpool, I was absolutely 
 in the dark. From Vienna to Liverpool, without 
 a glimmer of the truth ! I cabled him that I was 
 coming, that I forgave him. Even to this day I am 
 torn. I never knew in the least this other man; I 
 had known only the handsome lover, the gay and 
 charming father of Sonny. It was as if he had 
 stepped out of the room and vanished, and that 
 somebody had stolen and defiled his name. 
 Broken, bewildered, and disillusioned I returned 
 to Europe. Over there no one would know. I 
 could not restore the money to the poor things who 
 had been robbed. I would have been the victim of 
 colossal impositions, so an attorney said. But I 
 never touched a penny of it. It went on growing, 
 naturally, and began to terrify me. It was like 
 some prehistoric monster that had grown up over- 
 night in my house, and there was no way out for 
 him without crumbling the edifice. I came to a 
 decision at last. Sonny must have his say. But
 
 The Man With Three Names 269 
 
 he should not be told until he was old enough to 
 keep his balance. Three millions, and a world 
 before him: temptation. Nevertheless, he should 
 have his say." 
 
 Betty reached blindly for the speaker's hand, 
 found it, and pressed it strongly. 
 
 "Vienna became intolerable the associations. 
 So I bought a small villa just outside of Florence, 
 on the road to Fiesole, and devoted myself to 
 Sonny's education. I never ceased to strike upon 
 one key that he was American. For in the end I 
 wanted him to come to America and make that 
 name worthy again. After all, a name is nothing. 
 It is what you do under it. I might have gone on 
 the concert stage, but all my ambition was dead. 
 
 So while he studied, I taught music and 
 languages so that he would have a little money 
 when he came of age. When he was twenty I told 
 him the story. I told him what his name was, for 
 we were then using Cathewe. I added that if he so 
 willed, he could live all his days in luxury, have all 
 his whims gratified. Without a word, he walked 
 out into the little garden, and he spent the night 
 there, walking. I could see him in the moonlight 
 from my bedroom window. He came to me at 
 dawn. 'Little mother, I'll take the burden on 
 these shoulders . I'll find some way to give it back . 
 I've got to take the name and make it clean again.
 
 270 The Man With Three Names 
 
 To give these millions indirectly to the poor, to 
 spend it in the interest of those human beings who 
 know not how to defend themselves!' He put 
 his arms around me; and I knew then that I 
 possessed a son beyond the dreams of mother- 
 hood." 
 
 "I understand now," said Betty, softly, "what 
 Doctor Maddox meant when he said your son 
 should be wearing a white surtout with a cross on it." 
 
 The mother sighed. She had at least won the 
 daughter; but there was still a grim rock in the 
 path. It would take a superman to overlook the 
 blood of Digby Hallowell. 
 
 "Sonny took the funds to New York. He went 
 to a great banker, who had once been my father's 
 friend, and outlined his plans. The account was 
 accepted; and the name of Hallowell went upon the 
 books. I remained in Italy. He had his career to 
 make; and he was thoroughly American in his 
 outlook. Eventually he became a reporter on 
 one of the great newspapers, and discovered that 
 he could write. A month each summer he spent 
 with me; he was at work on his second novel when 
 he saw you." 
 
 "George Cottar?" 
 
 "A brushwood boy. Isn't he? Here in Ban- 
 nister he found the path he had been seeking. His 
 dreams became substances. He could have turned
 
 The Man With Three Names 271 
 
 over those millions to France and Belgium and 
 been rid of the incubus at once. But Sonny has 
 ideas. This money belonged to Americans, and it 
 should flow back to them. To him the Herald is a 
 trust; it belongs to the poor of Bannister. But 
 he is still the son of a thief." 
 
 "And I am the daughter of Dunleigh Mans- 
 field. Play for me! I want music, brilliant 
 music, tremendous crashes of melody. If you play 
 anything softly, I shall cry!" 
 
 She led the mother to the piano. Then she 
 seized a Hindu pillow such as Scheherezade might 
 have curled upon and dropped it on the floor, sat, 
 and rested her head against a piano leg. 
 
 "God sometimes lets people understand each 
 other; doesn't He?"
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 CATHEWE sat in his official swivel chair and 
 teetered, his fingers locked under his chin. 
 He had read such proofs as he could find, 
 skimmed through the rival sheet, dictated his 
 correspondence; and now there was nothing to do 
 but think. One thought was predominant, not 
 submersible. As often as he thrust it down, as 
 often it returned. His philosophy was inutile. 
 He bowed to a primal fact, that the only perfect 
 philosophy is that which is applicable to the other 
 fellow's case. Having human faults, he had failed 
 in a great emprise. 
 
 It wasn't the thought of losing Betty. One 
 could not lose something one never had possessed. 
 He had laid away that dream in lavender the 
 moment he had discovered Mansfield's trail. 
 Upon this subject his philosophy had served; he 
 had had months of stern thinking to fortify this 
 acceptancy of the inevitable. Still, the love and 
 the hurt were there. What had happened was this : 
 by a singular species of blindness he had closed the 
 way out. He had had every moral right to use the 
 tainted fund in relation to the purchase of the 
 
 272
 
 The Man With Three Names 273 
 
 Herald. He should not have hesitated an instant. 
 It was one of the channels through which the fund 
 was to flow back to the poor. It constituted a 
 trust; and by his talent and energy it had already 
 become a remarkable court of appeal for the poor 
 of Bannister. In a way, he had betrayed this 
 trust. Subconsciously, he had been endeavouring to 
 make the Herald his own, a kind of monument to 
 himself. And he had not sensed it clearly until 
 this hour. He had begun to look upon himself as a 
 superman; and here he was, quite as humanly de- 
 ficient as any of his neighbours. 
 
 To move on whither? He had transplanted 
 himself in Bannister and taken root healthily. 
 Now he must dig himself up and go on, the mill- 
 stone still around his neck. It would be impossible 
 to go forward with hope and courage. Never 
 again would there be such an opportunity. On 
 the threshold of turning his dreams into realities, 
 and to have betrayed himself! He was this day a 
 minority stockholder; his usefulness was drawing 
 to a close. 
 
 The telephone buzzed. 
 
 "Hello!" he called, rather grateful for the 
 diversion. 
 
 "Is this Mr. Cathewe on the wire?" asked a 
 woman's voice. 
 
 "Yes."
 
 274 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "This is the city hospital. Mr. Mansfield 
 wants to see you immediately. He instructed 
 me to emphasize the importance of this interview.'* 
 
 "Tell him I shall be lip as soon as I can get a 
 taxi around." 
 
 Cathewe was not agitated in the least; he was 
 not even interested. There pervaded him that 
 peculiar calm which is the aftermath of defeat. 
 Nothing Mansfield might say could have the power 
 to ruffle the mental attitude of Digby Hallowell's 
 son. Indeed, some flash of prescience conveyed 
 to him that Dunleigh Mansfield was about to 
 empty the bottom of the sack, confront him with 
 the history of his father. Half an hour later he 
 stood at the side of his enemy's cot. With his 
 sound arm, Mansfield indicated the chair; and 
 his victim sat down. 
 
 "Sit close. I can't talk clearly. I want you 
 to hear distinctly what I have to say." 
 
 Cathewe drew the chair to the head of the cot. 
 "I have an idea that it relates to my father." 
 
 "In my coat at the foot of the bed is a long 
 envelope. Get it." 
 
 Cathewe obeyed; but as he raised the coat to 
 search the pockets, the pungent odour of fire and 
 water struck his nose. He had almost forgotten 
 the fine, unselfish deed of the night before. He 
 found the envelope.
 
 The Man With Three Names 275 
 
 "Open it," ordered the man on the cot. 
 
 One glance confirmed Cathewe's suspicions. 
 The envelope contained the complete history of 
 the trial and conviction of Digby Hallo well. 
 
 "Well?" he said, calmly. 
 
 "Ready to admit that I hold you in the hollow 
 of my hand?" 
 
 "No. No man shall ever hold me in the hollow 
 of his hand. But you force me to move on; and 
 I was beginning to consider Bannister as my home. 
 It's the only American home I've ever known. I 
 was born on the other side. Anyhow, I fought 
 squarely." 
 
 "Meaning that I did not?" 
 
 Cathewe tapped the envelope. "Do you call 
 this fair?" 
 
 "It was the only weapon I could find." 
 
 "This doesn't join with the fine thing you did 
 last night. After all, I must admit that you 
 puzzle me." 
 
 "I return the compliment. You had unlimited 
 resources. How did it happen that Betty was 
 able to buy the control?" 
 
 "Evidently I wanted the Herald for myself 
 wanted something not touched by the taint. 
 There was, unknown to me, a strain of vanity 
 in my make-up. I take it that the significance 
 of this interview is, that I sell out my interest and
 
 276 The Man With Three Names 
 
 move on, or you will print the story in the Times. 
 Am I correct?" 
 
 "Will you fight?" 
 
 "I might, if I stood alone. But my mother 
 has been through enough." 
 
 Silence. 
 
 "You're an odd young man! You came here 
 originally because you thought you loved my 
 daughter." 
 
 "It's in my nature to play the fool at times." 
 
 "A man who knows what he wants when he 
 sees it. I like that sort for my lieutenants. Oh, 
 don't be alarmed. I'm not offering you a job. 
 I am merely classifying you. What was the main 
 idea, anyhow?" 
 
 "You mean regarding the money my father 
 left? To give it back to the poor. To make the 
 newspaper a bulwark between your kind and mine. 
 To build a great hospital, endowed, to which the 
 poor from the ends of the world might come and 
 find aid without cost. A great free dispensary 
 where the unfortunate woman might also find 
 succour and not be callously sent back to the gutter 
 with her baby. The newspaper to doctor their 
 minds and the hospitals to doctor their bodies. 
 To rebuild their faith in humanity; to make Amer- 
 ican citizens out of them. Shall I put this envelope 
 back in your coat?"
 
 The Man With Three Names 277 
 
 "No. She sat there in that chair all night, 
 holding my hand. Toward morning she slept. 
 I was in a good deal of pain. It was very still. I 
 fell to thinking. Instead of counting sheep jumping 
 over a fence, I looked myself over, from your point 
 of view, from her point of view, happen she learns 
 the truth. I did not summon you to threaten 
 you. Still, I had to test you. Your chin is still 
 up, and that's the sign I needed. I don't want 
 that envelope. Destroy the stuff. Make Ban- 
 nister your home; build your free dispensary. 
 What I really wanted was ... to have you 
 . . . take my hand." 
 
 "To shake hands?" cried Cathewe, figuratively 
 swept off his feet. 
 
 "Why not? I needed a licking, and you were 
 the only man in the world who had the courage 
 to attempt it. I'm no fool. I know men. I 
 want to be the friend of a man who, in these hard, 
 matter-of-fact days, has the courage to walk 
 where angels fear to tread. A smile accompanies 
 that, but it's not visible to you on account of these 
 bandages. A curious idea thrust me into that 
 shack last night. Oh, yes; I saw the poor little 
 tikes, and was glad to save them. But that isn't 
 it. I fought you because I was afraid of you. 
 You were a menacing wedge between me and my 
 daughter. On the day she learned the truth, I
 
 878 The Man With Three Names 
 
 might lose her. Nothing else matters now but 
 her love. She is extremely imaginative. A deed 
 like last night's would appeal to her. She would 
 always have that moment to throw into the scales. 
 She has opened all the doors of my mind and my 
 heart; I can see and feel. Yesterday I would not 
 have understood you; to-day I do. There's an- 
 other secret in that envelope. You overlooked it. 
 You are Cottar, the novelist. But I am offering 
 my hand to the son of Digby Hallo well. Will 
 you take it?" 
 
 The strength of the hand that closed over his 
 caused a flash of stinging pain. The wince had 
 puckered the burns. 
 
 "You understand?" 
 
 "Yes. She has made all these things possible." 
 
 "That makes our understanding perfect. Her 
 beauty is the least of her. Do you remember 
 you said that? You saw in a glance what it took 
 me three years to find out. Old Johnny Maddox 
 told me to give Betty what she wanted; to give 
 him what he wanted; to find out what you wanted 
 and give it to you. This morning she spoke of 
 some letters. Very clever of you. She didn't 
 suspect, naturally. Just the sort of romance that 
 would appeal to her. You and I are going to make 
 Bannister a perfect city. But I must do my share 
 in my own fashion. I simply can't have her know;
 
 The Man With Three Names 279 
 
 at least, until I have made substantial progress. 
 You shall have your paper back, of course. I 
 am growing tired. Just a little more. You could 
 have come to me and demanded I fulfill my end 
 of that mad bargain. You were honest, and you 
 declined. Your whimsicality is on the surface; 
 underneath you are unchangeable. So it occurs 
 to me that if you gave up Betty, it was not that 
 you had ceased to care. Am I right? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "As a man cares but once?" 
 
 "But once." 
 
 "Then . . . go and find her." 
 
 "You mean that?" 
 
 "Why not? You are the son of Digby Hallo- 
 well, but she is the daughter of Dunleigh Mansfield. 
 Between these two fathers, where's the choice? 
 I merely stayed within the law and your father 
 played the game outside. I threw away all the 
 glorious hours that are before you. I sent 
 Betty to France because I didn't care to be both- 
 ered with her. Find her, and when you find her, 
 tell her I sent you. And then . . . both of 
 you . . . come back here!" 
 
 Cathewe's taxi went up Polygon Hill after the 
 manner of the tank, now so celebrated in history 
 slowly, ponderously, and heartrendingly. Street 
 cars got in the way, other taxis, lumber and coal
 
 280 The Man With Three Names 
 
 wagons, and pedestrians. Eventually he reached 
 the Mansfield place. 
 
 The butler, upon opening the door, eyed him 
 with repellent loyalty. 
 
 "Miss Mansfield is not at home, sir"; and sug- 
 gestively started the door toward the latch. 
 
 "Just a moment. I am sent by Mr. Mansfield 
 himself. He wishes me to find his daughter.'* 
 
 "I do not know where she went, sir. It is prob- 
 able that she is with Miss Maddox. The doctor 
 was here a while gone." 
 
 "May I use the telephone?" 
 
 Reluctantly the butler ushered the enemy into 
 the study and indicated the telephone. His ges- 
 ture was full of suppressed indignation. 
 
 The Maddox maid replied to the first call. No; 
 Miss Mansfield had gone across to the Cathewes'. 
 The second call was not answered, though he kept 
 Central busy for two or three minutes. Vaguely 
 alarmed, he returned to the taxi. In the end, he 
 found himself in his own hallway, breathless with 
 the chase. 
 
 Music. She had come to hear his mother play. 
 This accounted for the unanswered telephone call. 
 Suddenly he felt shaky all over. Now that he 
 was here, he did not know what he was going to do. 
 He feared the bewildering turn of events. It was 
 incredible that fate should relent absolutely, that
 
 The Man With Three Names 281 
 
 she hadn't some shabby trick up her sleeve. But 
 an old quatrain recurred to him: 
 
 He either fears his fate too much, 
 
 Or his deserts are small, 
 Who dares not put it to the touch 
 
 To win or lose it all. 
 
 He opened the door of the living room and stood 
 on the threshold. Never before had he heard his 
 mother play the Fourth Ballade with such fire and 
 passion. She swept through the magnificent finale 
 with a brilliance of technique and feeling that 
 rivalled De Pachmann at his best. 
 
 And the girl there, seated on the floor, her ex- 
 quisite profile, against the dark wine of the rose- 
 wood, as beautifully defined as a cameo! Her 
 eyes were closed in dreamy ecstasy. 
 
 Here, after what had taken place last night! 
 There could be only one meaning: that she knew 
 everything. Maddox! She had sent for the 
 doctor and in some manner had forced the truth 
 from him. On top of this came the recollection 
 of the cub reporter's confession of having sent 
 Betty a complete series of clippings. She had 
 confronted Maddox with them, and the old fellow 
 had told her the truth. And somehow he must 
 prevail upon her never to let her father know. 
 Here! because she knew also that he was the
 
 282 The Man With Three Names 
 
 author of those letters! Hadn't she come from 
 Nancy's? Out of that abysmal gloom of two 
 hours gone, this miraculous sunshine! 
 
 The performer dropped her hands. The piano 
 was still singing as she turned her head. 
 
 "Sonny?" 
 
 Betty opened her eyes, and slowly rose to her 
 feet, numb with an inexplicable terror, not unlike 
 that which childhood finds in dark rooms. What 
 had happened? This: it was the first time she had 
 ever seen the man who had written those wonderful 
 letters the exquisite proems to the idyl of this 
 hour. She had come boldly into his house in the 
 pursuit of happiness. She saw now the immodesty 
 of the act. The knowledge sent all the blood into 
 her heart, then flung it into her cheeks burgundy 
 in an alabaster cup. Always he would think that 
 she had sought him. The shame of it ! 
 
 She stood with her back to the piano, staring. 
 Tableau. Then she reached backward, toward 
 the bench, toward the arms she wanted, needed. 
 She was afraid. She turned desperately to find 
 that she had been betrayed. The bench was 
 vacant. Mrs. Cathewe had stolen quietly from the 
 room. 
 
 "I ... She has gone! "Betty stammered. 
 
 He crossed the room quickly, but he did not 
 touch her. " There is no doubt in your mind ? "
 
 " She crept back into his arms, all her mischief gone. 
 4 Love me always like that! . . . And don't be afraid 
 of Daddy 1 "
 
 The Man With Three Names 283 
 
 " Doubt of what?" beginning to recover her 
 poise. 
 
 "Of me? That I love you, that I loved you 
 the first time I saw you?" 
 
 "Which of you three is talking?" 
 
 "Which of ... What do you mean?" 
 bewildered. 
 
 "Is it Brandon Cathewe, George Cottar, or 
 Brandon Hallo well?" 
 
 "All three of us. We all love you! Can you 
 care, just a little?" 
 
 "But you gave me up!" 
 
 "Only physically. For weeks I've been torn 
 by wild horses." 
 
 "I'm glad of that!" now sure of herself, of 
 him, of all the world. 
 
 "Glad that I was unhappy?" 
 
 "Wasn't I unhappy, too? Didn't you jilt me?" 
 
 "Do you care?" 
 
 "Well . . . perhaps." A pause. "I'm be- 
 ginning to wonder if you really wrote those letters." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Well, the writer of those beautiful love-letters 
 wouldn't stand as you do, just asking questions." 
 
 "What would he do?" falling into her mood. 
 
 "He would sweep me into his arms, kiss me, put 
 me on his horse and ride away . . . and ask 
 questions . . ."
 
 284 The Man With Three Names 
 
 "Afterward!" 
 
 When she pressed back from him, she was 
 breathless. "And now I'm suspicious." 
 
 "Suspicious?" 
 
 "You did that . . . overly well!" 
 
 "The wonder of you!" 
 
 She crept back into his arms, all her mischief 
 gone. "Love me always like that! . . . And 
 don't be afraid of Daddy." 
 
 "I'm not," he replied. "Your father has made 
 all this possible. He sent me to you." 
 
 "He did? I love him! And he shall never 
 know that I know. To want to do fine and noble 
 things because he has learned to love me!" An- 
 other pause. "Is there anything now on Jupiter 
 you want?" 
 
 There was only one way to answer that. 
 
 THE END 
 
 THE COUNTRY LITE PEESS, GABDEN CITY, NEW YORK
 
 A 000128469 4