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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Somewhere in France, by Richard Harding Davis
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Somewhere in France
+
+Author: Richard Harding Davis
+
+Release Date: February 18, 2004 [EBook #11144]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: With her eye for detail Marie observed that the young
+officer, instead of imparting information, received it.]
+
+
+
+
+SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE
+
+By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
+
+
+
+
+1915
+
+
+
+
+TO HOPE DAVIS
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE"
+
+PLAYING DEAD
+
+THE CARD-SHARP
+
+BILLY AND THE BIG STICK
+
+THE BOY SCOUT
+
+THE FRAME-UP
+
+
+
+
+"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE"
+
+
+Marie Gessler, known as Marie Chaumontel, Jeanne d'Avrechy, the Countess
+d'Aurillac, was German. Her father, who served through the
+Franco-Prussian War, was a German spy. It was from her mother she
+learned to speak French sufficiently well to satisfy even an Academician
+and, among Parisians, to pass as one. Both her parents were dead. Before
+they departed, knowing they could leave their daughter nothing save
+their debts, they had had her trained as a nurse. But when they were
+gone, Marie in the Berlin hospitals played politics, intrigued,
+indiscriminately misused the appealing, violet eyes. There was a
+scandal; several scandals. At the age of twenty-five she was dismissed
+from the Municipal Hospital, and as now--save for the violet eyes--she
+was without resources, as a _compagnon de voyage_ with a German doctor
+she travelled to Monte Carlo. There she abandoned the doctor for Henri
+Ravignac, a captain in the French Aviation Corps, who, when his leave
+ended, escorted her to Paris.
+
+The duties of Captain Ravignac kept him in barracks near the aviation
+field, but Marie he established in his apartments on the Boulevard
+Haussmann. One day he brought from the barracks a roll of blue-prints,
+and as he was locking them in a drawer, said: "The Germans would pay
+through the nose for those!" The remark was indiscreet, but then Marie
+had told him she was French, and any one would have believed her.
+
+The next morning the same spirit of adventure that had exiled her from
+the Berlin hospitals carried her with the blue-prints to the German
+embassy. There, greatly shocked, they first wrote down her name and
+address, and then, indignant at her proposition, ordered her out. But
+the day following a strange young German who was not at all indignant,
+but, on the contrary, quite charming, called upon Marie. For the
+blue-prints he offered her a very large sum, and that same hour with
+them and Marie departed for Berlin. Marie did not need the money. Nor
+did the argument that she was serving her country greatly impress her.
+It was rather that she loved intrigue. And so she became a spy.
+
+Henri Ravignac, the man she had robbed of the blue-prints, was tried by
+court martial. The charge was treason, but Charles Ravignac, his
+younger brother, promised to prove that the guilty one was the girl, and
+to that end obtained leave of absence and spent much time and money. At
+the trial he was able to show the record of Marie in Berlin and Monte
+Carlo; that she was the daughter of a German secret agent; that on the
+afternoon the prints disappeared Marie, with an agent of the German
+embassy, had left Paris for Berlin. In consequence of this the charge of
+selling military secrets was altered to one of "gross neglect," and
+Henri Ravignac was sentenced to two years in the military prison at
+Tours. But he was of an ancient and noble family, and when they came to
+take him from his cell in the Cherche-Midi, he was dead. Charles, his
+brother, disappeared. It was said he also had killed himself; that he
+had been appointed a military attaché in South America; that to revenge
+his brother he had entered the secret service; but whatever became of
+him no one knew. All that was certain was that, thanks to the act of
+Marie Gessler, on the rolls of the French army the ancient and noble
+name of Ravignac no longer appeared.
+
+In her chosen profession Marie Gessler found nothing discreditable. Of
+herself her opinion was not high, and her opinion of men was lower. For
+her smiles she had watched several sacrifice honor, duty, loyalty; and
+she held them and their kind in contempt. To lie, to cajole, to rob men
+of secrets they thought important, and of secrets the importance of
+which they did not even guess, was to her merely an intricate and
+exciting game.
+
+She played it very well. So well that in the service her advance was
+rapid. On important missions she was sent to Russia, through the
+Balkans; even to the United States. There, with credentials as an army
+nurse, she inspected our military hospitals and unobtrusively asked many
+innocent questions.
+
+When she begged to be allowed to work in her beloved Paris, "they" told
+her when war came "they" intended to plant her inside that city, and
+that, until then, the less Paris knew of her the better.
+
+But just before the great war broke, to report on which way Italy might
+jump, she was sent to Rome, and it was not until September she was
+recalled. The telegram informed her that her Aunt Elizabeth was ill, and
+that at once she must return to Berlin. This, she learned from the code
+book wrapped under the cover of her thermos bottle, meant that she was
+to report to the general commanding the German forces at Soissons.
+
+From Italy she passed through Switzerland, and, after leaving Basle, on
+military trains was rushed north to Luxemburg, and then west to Laon.
+She was accompanied by her companion, Bertha, an elderly and
+respectable, even distinguished-looking female. In the secret service
+her number was 528. Their passes from the war office described them as
+nurses of the German Red Cross. Only the Intelligence Department knew
+their real mission. With her also, as her chauffeur, was a young Italian
+soldier of fortune, Paul Anfossi. He had served in the Belgian Congo, in
+the French Foreign Legion in Algiers, and spoke all the European
+languages. In Rome, where as a wireless operator he was serving a
+commercial company, in selling Marie copies of messages he had
+memorized, Marie had found him useful, and when war came she obtained
+for him, from the Wilhelmstrasse, the number 292. From Laon, in one of
+the automobiles of the General Staff, the three spies were driven first
+to Soissons, and then along the road to Meaux and Paris, to the village
+of Neufchelles. They arrived at midnight, and in a château of one of the
+champagne princes, found the colonel commanding the Intelligence
+Bureau. He accepted their credentials, destroyed them, and replaced them
+with a _laisser-passer_ signed by the mayor of Laon. That dignitary, the
+colonel explained, to citizens of Laon fleeing to Paris and the coast
+had issued many passes. But as now between Laon and Paris there were
+three German armies, the refugees had been turned back and their passes
+confiscated.
+
+"From among them," said the officer, "we have selected one for you. It
+is issued to the wife of Count d'Aurillac, a captain of reserves, and
+her aunt, Madame Benet. It asks for those ladies and their chauffeur,
+Briand, a safe-conduct through the French military lines. If it gets you
+into Paris you will destroy it and assume another name. The Count
+d'Aurillac is now with his regiment in that city. If he learned of the
+presence there of his wife, he would seek her, and that would not be
+good for you. So, if you reach Paris, you will become a Belgian refugee.
+You are highborn and rich. Your château has been destroyed. But you have
+money. You will give liberally to the Red Cross. You will volunteer to
+nurse in the hospitals. With your sad story of ill treatment by us, with
+your high birth, and your knowledge of nursing, which you acquired, of
+course, only as an amateur, you should not find it difficult to join
+the Ladies of France, or the American Ambulance. What you learn from the
+wounded English and French officers and the French doctors you will send
+us through the usual channels."
+
+"When do I start?" asked the woman.
+
+"For a few days," explained the officer, "you remain in this château.
+You will keep us informed of what is going forward after we withdraw."
+
+"Withdraw?" It was more of an exclamation than a question. Marie was too
+well trained to ask questions.
+
+"We are taking up a new position," said the officer, "on the Aisne."
+
+The woman, incredulous, stared.
+
+"And we do not enter Paris?"
+
+"_You_ do," returned the officer. "That is all that concerns you. We
+will join you later--in the spring. Meanwhile, for the winter we
+intrench ourselves along the Aisne. In a chimney of this château we have
+set up a wireless outfit. We are leaving it intact. The chauffeur
+Briand--who, you must explain to the French, you brought with you from
+Laon, and who has been long in your service--will transmit whatever you
+discover. We wish especially to know of any movement toward our left. If
+they attack in front from Soissons, we are prepared; but of any attempt
+to cross the Oise and take us in flank, you must warn us."
+
+The officer rose and hung upon himself his field-glasses, map-cases, and
+side-arms.
+
+"We leave you now," he said. "When the French arrive you will tell them
+your reason for halting at this château was that the owner, Monsieur
+Iverney, and his family are friends of your husband. You found us here,
+and we detained you. And so long as you can use the wireless, make
+excuses to remain. If they offer to send you on to Paris, tell them your
+aunt is too ill to travel."
+
+"But they will find the wireless," said the woman. "They are sure to use
+the towers for observation, and they will find it."
+
+"In that case," said the officer, "you will suggest to them that we fled
+in such haste we had no time to dismantle it. Of course, you had no
+knowledge that it existed, or, as a loyal French woman, you would have
+at once told them." To emphasize his next words the officer pointed at
+her: "Under no circumstances," he continued, "must you be suspected. If
+they should take Briand in the act, should they have even the least
+doubt concerning him, you must repudiate him entirely. If necessary, to
+keep your own skirts clear, it would be your duty yourself to denounce
+him as a spy."
+
+"Your first orders," said the woman, "were to tell them Briand had been
+long in my service; that I brought him from my home in Laon."
+
+"He might be in your service for years," returned the colonel, "and you
+not know he was a German agent."
+
+"If to save myself I inform upon him," said Marie, "of course you know
+you will lose him."
+
+The officer shrugged his shoulders. "A wireless operator," he retorted,
+"we can replace. But for you, and for the service you are to render in
+Paris, we have no substitute. _You_ must not be found out. You are
+invaluable."
+
+The spy inclined her head. "I thank you," she said.
+
+The officer sputtered indignantly.
+
+"It is not a compliment," he exclaimed; "it is an order. You must not be
+found out!"
+
+Withdrawn some two hundred yards from the Paris road, the château stood
+upon a wooded hill. Except directly in front, trees of great height
+surrounded it. The tips of their branches brushed the windows;
+interlacing, they continued until they overhung the wall of the estate.
+Where it ran with the road the wall gave way to a lofty gate and iron
+fence, through which those passing could see a stretch of noble turf, as
+wide as a polo-field, borders of flowers disappearing under the shadows
+of the trees; and the château itself, with its terrace, its many
+windows, its high-pitched, sloping roof, broken by towers and turrets.
+
+Through the remainder of the night there came from the road to those in
+the château the roar and rumbling of the army in retreat. It moved
+without panic, disorder, or haste, but unceasingly. Not for an instant
+was there a breathing-spell. And when the sun rose, the three spies--the
+two women and the chauffeur--who in the great château were now alone,
+could see as well as hear the gray column of steel rolling past below
+them.
+
+The spies knew that the gray column had reached Claye, had stood within
+fifteen miles of Paris, and then upon Paris had turned its back. They
+knew also that the reverberations from the direction of Meaux, that each
+moment grew more loud and savage, were the French "seventy-fives"
+whipping the gray column forward. Of what they felt the Germans did not
+speak. In silence they looked at each other, and in the eyes of Marie
+was bitterness and resolve.
+
+Toward noon Marie met Anfossi in the great drawing-room that stretched
+the length of the terrace and from the windows of which, through the
+park gates, they could see the Paris road.
+
+"This, that is passing now," said Marie, "is the last of our rear-guard.
+Go to your tower," she ordered, "and send word that except for
+stragglers and the wounded our column has just passed through
+Neufchelles, and that any moment we expect the French." She raised her
+hand impressively. "From now," she warned, "we speak French, we think
+French, we _are_ French!"
+
+Anfossi, or Briand, as now he called himself, addressed her in that
+language. His tone was bitter. "Pardon my lese-majesty," he said, "but
+this chief of your Intelligence Department is a _dummer Mensch_. He is
+throwing away a valuable life."
+
+Marie exclaimed in dismay. She placed her hand upon his arm, and the
+violet eyes filled with concern.
+
+"Not yours!" she protested.
+
+"Absolutely!" returned the Italian. "I can send nothing by this knapsack
+wireless that they will not learn from others; from airmen, Uhlans, the
+peasants in the fields. And certainly I will be caught. Dead I am dead,
+but alive and in Paris the opportunities are unending. From the French
+Legion Etranger I have my honorable discharge. I am an expert wireless
+operator and in their Signal Corps I can easily find a place. Imagine
+me, then, on the Eiffel Tower. From the air I snatch news from all of
+France, from the Channel, the North Sea. You and I could work together,
+as in Rome. But here, between the lines, with a pass from a village
+_sous préfet_, it is ridiculous. I am not afraid to die. But to die
+because some one else is stupid, that is hard."
+
+Marie clasped his hand in both of hers.
+
+"You must not speak of death," she cried; "you know I must carry out my
+orders, that I must force you to take this risk. And you know that
+thought of harm to you tortures me!"
+
+Quickly the young man disengaged his hand. The woman exclaimed with
+anger.
+
+"Why do you doubt me?" she cried.
+
+Briand protested vehemently.
+
+"I do not doubt you."
+
+"My affection, then?" In a whisper that carried with it the feeling of a
+caress Marie added softly: "My love?"
+
+The young man protested miserably. "You make it very hard,
+mademoiselle," he cried. "You are my superior officer, I am your
+servant. Who am I that I should share with others--"
+
+The woman interrupted eagerly.
+
+"Ah, you are jealous!" she cried. "Is that why you are so cruel? But
+when I _tell_ you I love you, and only you, can you not _feel_ it is the
+truth?"
+
+The young man frowned unhappily.
+
+"My duty, mademoiselle!" he stammered.
+
+With an exclamation of anger Marie left him. As the door slammed behind
+her, the young man drew a deep breath. On his face was the expression of
+ineffable relief.
+
+In the hall Marie met her elderly companion, Bertha, now her aunt,
+Madame Benet.
+
+"I heard you quarrelling," Bertha protested. "It is most indiscreet. It
+is not in the part of the Countess d'Aurillac that she makes love to her
+chauffeur."
+
+Marie laughed noiselessly and drew her farther down the hall. "He is
+imbecile!" she exclaimed. "He will kill me with his solemn face and his
+conceit. I make love to him--yes--that he may work the more willingly.
+But he will have none of it. He is jealous of the others."
+
+Madame Benet frowned.
+
+"He resents the others," she corrected. "I do not blame him. He is a
+gentleman!"
+
+"And the others," demanded Marie; "were they not of the most noble
+families of Rome?"
+
+"I am old and I am ugly," said Bertha, "but to me Anfossi is always as
+considerate as he is to you who are so beautiful."
+
+"An Italian gentleman," returned Marie, "does not serve in Belgian Congo
+unless it is the choice of that or the marble quarries."
+
+"I do not know what his past may be," sighed Madame Benet, "nor do I
+ask. He is only a number, as you and I are only numbers. And I beg you
+to let us work in harmony. At such a time your love-affairs threaten our
+safety. You must wait."
+
+Marie laughed insolently. "With the Du Barry," she protested, "I can
+boast that I wait for no man."
+
+"No," replied the older woman; "you pursue him!"
+
+Marie would have answered sharply, but on the instant her interest was
+diverted. For one week, by day and night, she had lived in a world
+peopled only by German soldiers. Beside her in the railroad carriage, on
+the station platforms, at the windows of the trains that passed the one
+in which she rode, at the grade crossings, on the bridges, in the roads
+that paralleled the tracks, choking the streets of the villages and
+spread over the fields of grain, she had seen only the gray-green
+uniforms. Even her professional eye no longer distinguished regiment
+from regiment, dragoon from grenadier, Uhlan from Hussar or Landsturm.
+Stripes, insignia, numerals, badges of rank, had lost their meaning.
+Those who wore them no longer were individuals. They were not even
+human. During the three last days the automobile, like a motor-boat
+fighting the tide, had crept through a gray-green river of men, stained,
+as though from the banks, by mud and yellow clay. And for hours, while
+the car was blocked, and in fury the engine raced and purred, the
+gray-green river had rolled past her, slowly but as inevitably as lava
+down the slope of a volcano, bearing on its surface faces with staring
+eyes, thousands and thousands of eyes, some fierce and bloodshot, others
+filled with weariness, homesickness, pain. At night she still saw them:
+the white faces under the sweat and dust, the eyes dumb, inarticulate,
+asking the answer. She had been suffocated by German soldiers, by the
+mass of them, engulfed and smothered; she had stifled in a land
+inhabited only by gray-green ghosts.
+
+And suddenly, as though a miracle had been wrought, she saw upon the
+lawn, riding toward her, a man in scarlet, blue, and silver. One man
+riding alone.
+
+Approaching with confidence, but alert; his reins fallen, his hands
+nursing his carbine, his eyes searched the shadows of the trees, the
+empty windows, even the sun-swept sky. His was the new face at the door,
+the new step on the floor. And the spy knew had she beheld an army corps
+it would have been no more significant, no more menacing, than the
+solitary _chasseur à cheval_ scouting in advance of the enemy.
+
+"We are saved!" exclaimed Marie, with irony. "Go quickly," she
+commanded, "to the bedroom on the second floor that opens upon the
+staircase, so that you can see all who pass. You are too ill to travel.
+They must find you in bed."
+
+"And you?" said Bertha.
+
+"I," cried Marie rapturously, "hasten to welcome our preserver!"
+
+The preserver was a peasant lad. Under the white dust his cheeks were
+burned a brown-red, his eyes, honest and blue, through much staring at
+the skies and at horizon lines, were puckered and encircled with tiny
+wrinkles. Responsibility had made him older than his years, and in
+speech brief. With the beautiful lady who with tears of joy ran to greet
+him, and who in an ecstasy of happiness pressed her cheek against the
+nose of his horse, he was unimpressed. He returned to her her papers
+and gravely echoed her answers to his questions. "This château," he
+repeated, "was occupied by their General Staff; they have left no
+wounded here; you saw the last of them pass a half-hour since." He
+gathered up his reins.
+
+Marie shrieked in alarm. "You will not leave us?" she cried.
+
+For the first time the young man permitted himself to smile. "Others
+arrive soon," he said.
+
+He touched his shako, wheeled his horse in the direction from which he
+had come, and a minute later Marie heard the hoofs echoing through the
+empty village.
+
+When they came, the others were more sympathetic. Even in times of war a
+beautiful woman is still a beautiful woman. And the staff officers who
+moved into the quarters so lately occupied by the enemy found in the
+presence of the Countess d'Aurillac nothing to distress them. In the
+absence of her dear friend, Madame Iverney, the châtelaine of the
+château, she acted as their hostess. Her chauffeur showed the company
+cooks the way to the kitchen, the larder, and the charcoal-box. She,
+herself, in the hands of General Andre placed the keys of the famous
+wine-cellar, and to the surgeon, that the wounded might be freshly
+bandaged, intrusted those of the linen-closet. After the indignities she
+had suffered while "detained" by _les Boches_, her delight and relief at
+again finding herself under the protection of her own people would have
+touched a heart of stone. And the hearts of the staff were not of stone.
+It was with regret they gave the countess permission to continue on her
+way. At this she exclaimed with gratitude. She assured them, were her
+aunt able to travel, she would immediately depart.
+
+"In Paris she will be more comfortable than here," said the kind
+surgeon. He was a reservist, and in times of peace a fashionable
+physician and as much at his ease in a boudoir as in a field hospital.
+"Perhaps if I saw Madame Benet?"
+
+At the suggestion the countess was overjoyed. But they found Madame
+Benet in a state of complete collapse. The conduct of the Germans had
+brought about a nervous breakdown.
+
+"Though the bridges are destroyed at Meaux," urged the surgeon, "even
+with a detour, you can be in Paris in four hours. I think it is worth
+the effort."
+
+But the mere thought of the journey threw Madame Benet into hysterics.
+She asked only to rest, she begged for an opiate to make her sleep. She
+begged also that they would leave the door open, so that when she
+dreamed she was still in the hands of the Germans, and woke in terror,
+the sound of the dear French voices and the sight of the beloved French
+uniforms might reassure her. She played her part well. Concerning her
+Marie felt not the least anxiety. But toward Briand, the chauffeur, the
+new arrivals were less easily satisfied.
+
+The general sent his adjutant for the countess. When the adjutant had
+closed the door General Andre began abruptly:
+
+"The chauffeur Briand," he asked, "you know him; you can vouch for him?"
+
+"But, certainly!" protested Marie. "He is an Italian."
+
+As though with sudden enlightenment, Marie laughed. It was as if now in
+the suspicion of the officer she saw a certain reasonableness. "Briand
+was so long in the Foreign Legion in Algiers," she explained, "where my
+husband found him, that we have come to think of him as French. As much
+French as ourselves, I assure you."
+
+The general and his adjutant were regarding each other questioningly.
+
+"Perhaps I should tell the countess," began the general, "that we have
+learned--"
+
+The signal from the adjutant was so slight, so swift, that Marie barely
+intercepted it.
+
+The lips of the general shut together like the leaves of a book. To show
+the interview was at an end, he reached for a pen.
+
+"I thank you," he said.
+
+"Of course," prompted the adjutant, "Madame d'Aurillac understands the
+man must not know we inquired concerning him."
+
+General Andre frowned at Marie.
+
+"Certainly not!" he commanded. "The honest fellow must not know that
+even for a moment he was doubted."
+
+Marie raised the violet eyes reprovingly.
+
+"I trust," she said with reproach, "I too well understand the feelings
+of a French soldier to let him know his loyalty is questioned."
+
+With a murmur of appreciation the officers bowed and with a gesture of
+gracious pardon Marie left them.
+
+Outside in the hall, with none but orderlies to observe, like a cloak
+the graciousness fell from her. She was drawn two ways. In her work
+Anfossi was valuable. But Anfossi suspected was less than of no value;
+he became a menace, a death-warrant.
+
+General Andre had said, "We have learned--" and the adjutant had halted
+him. What had he learned? To know that, Marie would have given much.
+Still, one important fact comforted her. Anfossi alone was suspected.
+Had there been concerning herself the slightest doubt, they certainly
+would not have allowed her to guess her companion was under
+surveillance; they would not have asked one who was herself suspected to
+vouch for the innocence of a fellow conspirator. Marie found the course
+to follow difficult. With Anfossi under suspicion his usefulness was for
+the moment at an end; and to accept the chance offered her to continue
+on to Paris seemed most wise. On the other hand, if, concerning Anfossi,
+she had succeeded in allaying their doubts, the results most to be
+desired could be attained only by remaining where they were.
+
+Their position inside the lines was of the greatest strategic value. The
+rooms of the servants were under the roof, and that Briand should sleep
+in one of them was natural. That to reach or leave his room he should
+constantly be ascending or descending the stairs also was natural. The
+field-wireless outfit, or, as he had disdainfully described it, the
+"knapsack" wireless, was situated not in the bedroom he had selected for
+himself, but in one adjoining. At other times this was occupied by the
+maid of Madame Iverney. To summon her maid Madame Iverney, from her
+apartment on the second floor, had but to press a button. And it was in
+the apartment of Madame Iverney, and on the bed of that lady, that
+Madame Benet now reclined. When through the open door she saw an officer
+or soldier mount the stairs, she pressed the button that rang a bell in
+the room of the maid. In this way, long before whoever was ascending the
+stairs could reach the top floor, warning of his approach came to
+Anfossi. It gave him time to replace the dust-board over the fireplace
+in which the wireless was concealed and to escape into his own bedroom.
+The arrangement was ideal. And already information picked up in the
+halls below by Marie had been conveyed to Anfossi to relay in a French
+cipher to the German General Staff at Rheims.
+
+Marie made an alert and charming hostess. To all who saw her it was
+evident that her mind was intent only upon the comfort of her guests.
+Throughout the day many came and went, but each she made welcome; to
+each as he departed she called "_bonne chance_." Efficient, tireless,
+tactful, she was everywhere: in the dining-room, in the kitchen, in the
+bedrooms, for the wounded finding mattresses to spread in the gorgeous
+salons of the champagne prince; for the soldier-chauffeurs carrying
+wine into the courtyard, where the automobiles panted and growled, and
+the arriving and departing shrieked for right of way. At all times an
+alluring person, now the one woman in a tumult of men, her smart frock
+covered by an apron, her head and arms bare, undismayed by the sight of
+the wounded or by the distant rumble of the guns, the Countess
+d'Aurillac was an inspiring and beautiful picture. The eyes of the
+officers, young and old, informed her of that fact, one of which already
+she was well aware. By the morning of the next day she was accepted as
+the owner of the château. And though continually she reminded the staff
+she was present only as the friend of her schoolmate, Madame Iverney,
+they deferred to her as to a hostess. Many of them she already saluted
+by name, and to those who with messages were constantly motoring to and
+from the front at Soissons she was particularly kind. Overnight the
+legend of her charm, of her devotion to the soldiers of all ranks, had
+spread from Soissons to Meaux, and from Meaux to Paris. It was noon of
+that day when from the window of the second story Marie saw an armored
+automobile sweep into the courtyard. It was driven by an officer, young
+and appallingly good-looking, and, as was obvious by the way he spun
+his car, one who held in contempt both the law of gravity and death.
+That he was some one of importance seemed evident. Before he could
+alight the adjutant had raced to meet him. With her eye for detail Marie
+observed that the young officer, instead of imparting information,
+received it. He must, she guessed, have just arrived from Paris, and his
+brother officer either was telling him the news or giving him his
+orders. Whichever it might be, in what was told him the new arrival was
+greatly interested. One instant in indignation his gauntleted fist beat
+upon the steering-wheel, the next he smiled with pleasure. To interpret
+this pantomime was difficult; and, the better to inform herself, Marie
+descended the stairs.
+
+As she reached the lower hall the two officers entered. To the spy the
+man last to arrive was always the one of greatest importance; and Marie
+assured herself that through her friend, the adjutant, to meet with this
+one would prove easy.
+
+But the chauffeur commander of the armored car made it most difficult.
+At sight of Marie, much to her alarm, as though greeting a dear friend,
+he snatched his kepi from his head and sprang toward her.
+
+"The major," he cried, "told me you were here, that you are Madame
+d'Aurillac." His eyes spoke his admiration. In delight he beamed upon
+her. "I might have known it!" he murmured. With the confidence of one
+who is sure he brings good news, he laughed happily. "And I," he cried,
+"am 'Pierrot'!"
+
+Who the devil "Pierrot" might be the spy could not guess. She knew only
+that she wished by a German shell "Pierrot" and his car had been blown
+to tiny fragments. Was it a trap, she asked herself, or was the handsome
+youth really some one the Countess d'Aurillac should know. But, as from
+his introducing himself it was evident he could not know that lady very
+well, Marie took courage and smiled.
+
+"_Which_ 'Pierrot'?" she parried.
+
+"Pierre Thierry!" cried the youth.
+
+To the relief of Marie he turned upon the adjutant and to him explained
+who Pierre Thierry might be.
+
+"Paul d'Aurillac," he said, "is my dearest friend. When he married this
+charming lady I was stationed in Algiers, and but for the war I might
+never have met her."
+
+To Marie, with his hand on his heart in a most charming manner, he
+bowed. His admiration he made no effort to conceal.
+
+"And so," he said, "I know why there is war!"
+
+The adjutant smiled indulgently, and departed on his duties, leaving
+them alone. The handsome eyes of Captain Thierry were raised to the
+violet eyes of Marie. They appraised her boldly and as boldly expressed
+their approval.
+
+In burlesque the young man exclaimed indignantly: "Paul deceived me!" he
+cried. "He told me he had married the most beautiful woman in Laon. He
+has married the most beautiful woman in France!"
+
+To Marie this was not impertinence, but gallantry.
+
+This was a language she understood, and this was the type of man,
+because he was the least difficult to manage, she held most in contempt.
+
+"But about you, Paul did not deceive me," she retorted. In apparent
+confusion her eyes refused to meet his. "He told me 'Pierrot' was a most
+dangerous man!"
+
+She continued hurriedly. With wifely solicitude she asked concerning
+Paul. She explained that for a week she had been a prisoner in the
+château, and, since the mobilization, of her husband save that he was
+with his regiment in Paris she had heard nothing. Captain Thierry was
+able to give her later news. Only the day previous, on the boulevards,
+he had met Count d'Aurillac. He was at the Grand Hôtel, and as Thierry
+was at once motoring back to Paris he would give Paul news of their
+meeting. He hoped he might tell him that soon his wife also would be in
+Paris. Marie explained that only the illness of her aunt prevented her
+from that same day joining her husband. Her manner became serious.
+
+"And what other news have you?" she asked. "Here on the firing-line we
+know less of what is going forward than you in Paris."
+
+So Pierre Thierry told her all he knew. They were preparing despatches
+he was at once to carry back to the General Staff, and, for the moment,
+his time was his own. How could he better employ it than in talking of
+the war with a patriotic and charming French woman?
+
+In consequence Marie acquired a mass of facts, gossip, and guesses. From
+these she mentally selected such information as, to her employers across
+the Aisne, would be of vital interest.
+
+And to rid herself of Thierry and on the fourth floor seek Anfossi was
+now her only wish. But, in attempting this, by the return of the
+adjutant she was delayed. To Thierry the adjutant gave a sealed
+envelope.
+
+"Thirty-one, Boulevard des Invalides," he said. With a smile he turned
+to Marie. "And you will accompany him!"
+
+"I!" exclaimed Marie. She was sick with sudden terror.
+
+But the tolerant smile of the adjutant reassured her.
+
+"The count, your husband," he explained, "has learned of your detention
+here by the enemy, and he has besieged the General Staff to have you
+convoyed safely to Paris." The adjutant glanced at a field telegram he
+held open in his hand. "He asks," he continued, "that you be permitted
+to return in the car of his friend, Captain Thierry, and that on
+arriving you join him at the Grand Hôtel."
+
+Thierry exclaimed with delight.
+
+"But how charming!" he cried. "To-night you must both dine with me at La
+Rue's." He saluted his superior officer. "Some petrol, sir," he said.
+"And I am ready." To Marie he added: "The car will be at the steps in
+five minutes." He turned and left them.
+
+The thoughts of Marie, snatching at an excuse for delay, raced madly.
+The danger of meeting the Count d'Aurillac, her supposed husband, did
+not alarm her. The Grand Hôtel has many exits, and, even before they
+reached it, for leaving the car she could invent an excuse that the
+gallant Thierry would not suspect. But what now concerned her was how,
+before she was whisked away to Paris, she could convey to Anfossi the
+information she had gathered from Thierry. First, of a woman overcome
+with delight at being reunited with her husband she gave an excellent
+imitation; then she exclaimed in distress: "But my aunt, Madame Benet!"
+she cried. "I cannot leave her!"
+
+"The Sisters of St. Francis," said the adjutant, "arrive within an hour
+to nurse the wounded. They will care also for your aunt."
+
+Marie concealed her chagrin. "Then I will at once prepare to go," she
+said.
+
+The adjutant handed her a slip of paper. "Your _laisser-passer_ to
+Paris," he said. "You leave in five minutes, madame!"
+
+As temporary hostess of the château Marie was free to visit any part of
+it, and as she passed her door a signal from Madame Benet told her that
+Anfossi was on the fourth floor, that he was at work, and that the coast
+was clear. Softly, in the felt slippers she always wore, as she
+explained, in order not to disturb the wounded, she mounted the
+staircase. In her hand she carried the housekeeper's keys, and as an
+excuse it was her plan to return with an armful of linen for the
+arriving Sisters. But Marie never reached the top of the stairs. When
+her eyes rose to the level of the fourth floor she came to a sudden
+halt. At what she saw terror gripped her, bound her hand and foot, and
+turned her blood to ice.
+
+At her post for an instant Madame Benet had slept, and an officer of the
+staff, led by curiosity, chance, or suspicion, had, unobserved and
+unannounced, mounted to the fourth floor. When Marie saw him he was in
+front of the room that held the wireless. His back was toward her, but
+she saw that he was holding the door to the room ajar, that his eye was
+pressed to the opening, and that through it he had pushed the muzzle of
+his automatic. What would be the fate of Anfossi Marie knew. Nor did she
+for an instant consider it. Her thoughts were of her own safety; that
+she might live. Not that she might still serve the Wilhelmstrasse, the
+Kaiser, or the Fatherland; but that she might live. In a moment Anfossi
+would be denounced, the château would ring with the alarm, and, though
+she knew Anfossi would not betray her, by others she might be accused.
+To avert suspicion from herself she saw only one way open. She must be
+the first to denounce Anfossi.
+
+Like a deer she leaped down the marble stairs and, in a panic she had
+no need to assume, burst into the presence of the staff.
+
+"Gentlemen!" she gasped, "my servant--the chauffeur--Briand is a spy!
+There is a German wireless in the château. He is using it! I have seen
+him." With exclamations, the officers rose to their feet. General Andre
+alone remained seated. General Andre was a veteran of many Colonial
+wars: Cochin-China, Algiers, Morocco. The great war, when it came, found
+him on duty in the Intelligence Department. His aquiline nose, bristling
+white eyebrows, and flashing, restless eyes gave him his nickname of
+_l'Aigle_.
+
+In amazement, the flashing eyes were now turned upon Marie. He glared at
+her as though he thought she suddenly had flown mad.
+
+"A German wireless!" he protested. "It is impossible!"
+
+"I was on the fourth floor," panted Marie, "collecting linen for the
+Sisters. In the room next to the linen closet I heard a strange buzzing
+sound. I opened the door softly. I saw Briand with his back to me seated
+by an instrument. There were receivers clamped to his ears! My God! The
+disgrace. The disgrace to my husband and to me, who vouched for him to
+you!" Apparently in an agony of remorse, the fingers of the woman laced
+and interlaced. "I cannot forgive myself!"
+
+The officers moved toward the door, but General Andre halted them. Still
+in a tone of incredulity, he demanded: "When did you see this?"
+
+Marie knew the question was coming, knew she must explain how she saw
+Briand, and yet did not see the staff officer who, with his prisoner,
+might now at any instant appear. She must make it plain she had
+discovered the spy and left the upper part of the house before the
+officer had visited it. When that was she could not know, but the chance
+was that he had preceded her by only a few minutes.
+
+"When did you see this?" repeated the general.
+
+"But just now," cried Marie; "not ten minutes since."
+
+"Why did you not come to me at once?"
+
+"I was afraid," replied Marie. "If I moved I was afraid he might hear
+me, and he, knowing I would expose him, would kill me--and so _escape
+you!_" There was an eager whisper of approval. For silence, General
+Andre slapped his hand upon the table.
+
+"Then," continued Marie, "I understood with the receivers on his ears he
+could not have heard me open the door, nor could he hear me leave, and
+I ran to my aunt. The thought that we had harbored such an animal
+sickened me, and I was weak enough to feel faint. But only for an
+instant. Then I came here." She moved swiftly to the door. "Let me show
+you the room," she begged; "you can take him in the act." Her eyes, wild
+with the excitement of the chase, swept the circle. "Will you come?" she
+begged.
+
+Unconscious of the crisis he interrupted, the orderly on duty opened the
+door.
+
+"Captain Thierry's compliments," he recited mechanically, "and is he to
+delay longer for Madame d'Aurillac?"
+
+With a sharp gesture General Andre waved Marie toward the door. Without
+rising, he inclined his head. "Adieu, madame," he said. "We act at once
+upon your information. I thank you!"
+
+As she crossed from the hall to the terrace, the ears of the spy were
+assaulted by a sudden tumult of voices. They were raised in threats and
+curses. Looking back, she saw Anfossi descending the stairs. His hands
+were held above his head; behind him, with his automatic, the staff
+officer she had surprised on the fourth floor was driving him forward.
+Above the clenched fists of the soldiers that ran to meet him, the eyes
+of Anfossi were turned toward her. His face was expressionless. His eyes
+neither accused nor reproached. And with the joy of one who has looked
+upon and then escaped the guillotine, Marie ran down the steps to the
+waiting automobile. With a pretty cry of pleasure she leaped into the
+seat beside Thierry. Gayly she threw out her arms. "To Paris!" she
+commanded. The handsome eyes of Thierry, eloquent with admiration,
+looked back into hers. He stooped, threw in the clutch, and the great
+gray car, with the machine gun and its crew of privates guarding the
+rear, plunged through the park.
+
+"To Paris!" echoed Thierry.
+
+In the order in which Marie had last seen them, Anfossi and the staff
+officer entered the room of General Andre, and upon the soldiers in the
+hall the door was shut. The face of the staff officer was grave, but his
+voice could not conceal his elation.
+
+"My general," he reported, "I found this man in the act of giving
+information to the enemy. There is a wireless--"
+
+General Andre rose slowly. He looked neither at the officer nor at his
+prisoner. With frowning eyes he stared down at the maps upon his table.
+
+"I know," he interrupted. "Some one has already told me." He paused,
+and then, as though recalling his manners, but still without raising his
+eyes, he added: "You have done well, sir."
+
+In silence the officers of the staff stood motionless. With surprise
+they noted that, as yet, neither in anger nor curiosity had General
+Andre glanced at the prisoner. But of the presence of the general the
+spy was most acutely conscious. He stood erect, his arms still raised,
+but his body strained forward, and on the averted eyes of the general
+his own were fixed.
+
+In an agony of supplication they asked a question.
+
+At last, as though against his wish, toward the spy the general turned
+his head, and their eyes met. And still General Andre was silent. Then
+the arms of the spy, like those of a runner who has finished his race
+and breasts the tape exhausted, fell to his sides. In a voice low and
+vibrant he spoke his question.
+
+"It has been so long, sir," he pleaded. "May I not come home?"
+
+General Andre turned to the astonished group surrounding him. His voice
+was hushed like that of one who speaks across an open grave.
+
+"Gentlemen," he began, "my children," he added. "A German spy, a woman,
+involved in a scandal your brother in arms, Henri Ravignac. His honor,
+he thought, was concerned, and without honor he refused to live. To
+prove him guiltless his younger brother Charles asked leave to seek out
+the woman who had betrayed Henri, and by us was detailed on secret
+service. He gave up home, family, friends. He lived in exile, in
+poverty, at all times in danger of a swift and ignoble death. In the War
+Office we know him as one who has given to his country services she
+cannot hope to reward. For she cannot return to him the years he has
+lost. She cannot return to him his brother. But she can and will clear
+the name of Henri Ravignac, and upon his brother Charles bestow
+promotion and honors."
+
+The general turned and embraced the spy. "My children," he said,
+"welcome your brother. He has come home."
+
+Before the car had reached the fortifications, Marie Gessler had
+arranged her plan of escape. She had departed from the château without
+even a hand-bag, and she would say that before the shops closed she must
+make purchases.
+
+Le Printemps lay in their way, and she asked that, when they reached it,
+for a moment she might alight. Captain Thierry readily gave permission.
+
+From the department store it would be most easy to disappear, and in
+anticipation Marie smiled covertly. Nor was the picture of Captain
+Thierry impatiently waiting outside unamusing.
+
+But before Le Printemps was approached, the car turned sharply down a
+narrow street. On one side, along its entire length, ran a high gray
+wall, grim and forbidding. In it was a green gate studded with iron
+bolts. Before this the automobile drew suddenly to a halt. The crew of
+the armored car tumbled off the rear seat, and one of them beat upon the
+green gate. Marie felt a hand of ice clutch at her throat. But she
+controlled herself.
+
+"And what is this?" she cried gayly.
+
+At her side Captain Thierry was smiling down at her, but his smile was
+hateful.
+
+"It is the prison of St. Lazare," he said. "It is not becoming," he
+added sternly, "that the name of the Countess d'Aurillac should be made
+common as the Paris road!"
+
+Fighting for her life, Marie thrust herself against him; her arm that
+throughout the journey had rested on the back of the driving-seat
+caressed his shoulders; her lips and the violet eyes were close to his.
+
+"Why should you care?" she whispered fiercely. "You have _me_! Let the
+Count d'Aurillac look after the honor of his wife himself."
+
+The charming Thierry laughed at her mockingly.
+
+"He means to," he said. "I _am_ the Count d'Aurillac!"
+
+
+
+
+PLAYING DEAD
+
+
+To fate, "Jimmie" Blagwin had signalled the "supreme gesture." He had
+accomplished the Great Adventure. He was dead.
+
+And as he sat on his trunk in the tiny hall bedroom, and in the
+afternoon papers read of his suicide, his eyes were lit with pleasurable
+pride. Not at the nice things the obituaries told of his past, but
+because his act of self-sacrifice, so carefully considered, had been
+carried to success. As he read Jimmie smiled with self-congratulation.
+He felt glad he was alive; or, to express it differently, felt glad he
+was dead. And he hoped Jeanne, his late wife, now his widow, also would
+be glad. But not _too_ glad. In return for relieving Jeanne of his
+presence he hoped she might at times remember him with kindness. Of her
+always would he think gratefully and tenderly. Nothing could end his
+love for Jeanne--not even this suicide.
+
+As children, in winter in New York, in summer on Long Island, Jimmie
+Blagwin and Jeanne Thayer had grown up together. They had the same
+tastes in sports, the same friends, the same worldly advantages.
+Neither of them had many ideas. It was after they married that Jeanne
+began to borrow ideas and doubt the advantages.
+
+For the first three years after the wedding, in the old farmhouse which
+Jimmie had made over into a sort of idealized country club, Jeanne lived
+a happy, healthy, out-of-door existence. To occupy her there were
+Jimmie's hunters and a pack of joyous beagles; for tennis, at week-ends
+Jimmie filled the house with men, and during the week they both played
+polo, he with the Meadow Brooks and she with the Meadow Larks, and the
+golf links of Piping Rock ran almost to their lodge-gate. Until Proctor
+Maddox took a cottage at Glen Cove and joined the golf-club, than Jeanne
+and Jimmie on all Long Island no couple were so content.
+
+At that time Proctor Maddox was the young and brilliant editor of the
+_Wilderness_ magazine, the wilderness being the world we live in, and
+the Voice crying in it the voice of Proctor Maddox. He was a Socialist
+and Feminist, he flirted with syndicalism, and he had a good word even
+for the I.W.W. He was darkly handsome, his eyeglasses were fastened to a
+black ribbon, and he addressed his hostess as "dear lady." He was that
+sort. Women described him as "dangerous," and liked him because he
+talked of things they did not understand, and because he told each of
+them it was easy to see it would be useless to flatter _her_. The men
+did not like him. The oldest and wealthiest members of the club
+protested that the things Maddox said in his magazine should exclude him
+from the society of law-abiding, money-making millionaires. But Freddy
+Bayliss, the leader of the younger crowd, said that, to him, it did not
+matter what Maddox said in the _Wilderness_, so long as he stayed there.
+It was Bayliss who christened him "the Voice."
+
+Until the Voice came to Glen Cove all that troubled Jeanne was that her
+pony had sprained a tendon, and that in the mixed doubles her eye was
+off the ball. Proctor Maddox suggested other causes for discontent.
+
+"What does it matter," he demanded, "whether you hit a rubber ball
+inside a whitewashed line, or not? That energy, that brain, that
+influence of yours over others, that something men call--charm, should
+be exerted to emancipate yourself and your unfortunate sisters."
+
+"Emaciate myself," protested Jeanne eagerly; "do you mean I'm taking on
+flesh?"
+
+"I said 'emancipate,'" corrected Maddox. "I mean to free yourself of the
+bonds that bind your sex; for instance, the bonds of matrimony. It is
+obsolete, barbarous. It makes of women--slaves and chattels."
+
+"But, since I married, I'm _much_ freer," protested Jeanne. "Mother
+never let me play polo, or ride astride. But Jimmie lets me. He says
+cross saddle is safer."
+
+"Jimmie _lets_ you!" mocked the Voice. "_That_ is exactly what I mean.
+Why should you go to him, or to any man, for permission? Are you his
+cook asking for an evening out? No! You are a free soul, and your duty
+is to keep your soul from bondage. There are others in the world besides
+your husband. What of your duty to them? Have you ever thought of them?"
+
+"No, I have not," confessed Jeanne. "Who do you mean by 'them'?
+Shop-girls, and white slaves, and women who want to vote?"
+
+"I mean the great army of the discontented," explained the Voice.
+
+"And should I be discontented?" asked Jeanne. "Tell me why."
+
+So, then and on many other occasions, Maddox told her why. It was one of
+the best things he did.
+
+People say, when the triangle forms, the husband always is the last to
+see. But, if he loves his wife, he is the first. And after three years
+of being married to Jeanne, and, before that, five years of wanting to
+marry Jeanne, Jimmie loved her devotedly, entirely, slavishly. It was
+the best thing _he_ did. So, when to Jeanne the change came, her husband
+recognized it. What the cause was he could not fathom; he saw only that,
+in spite of her impatient denials, she was discontented, restless,
+unhappy. Thinking it might be that for too long they had gone "back to
+the land," he suggested they might repeat their honeymoon in Paris. The
+idea was received only with alarm. Concerning Jeanne, Jimmie decided
+secretly to consult a doctor. Meanwhile he bought her a new hunter.
+
+The awakening came one night at a dance at the country club. That
+evening Jeanne was filled with unrest, and with Jimmie seemed
+particularly aggrieved. Whatever he said gave offense; even his
+eagerness to conciliate her was too obvious. With the other men who did
+not dance, Jimmie was standing in the doorway when, over the heads of
+those looking in from the veranda, he saw the white face and black eyes
+of Maddox. Jimmie knew Maddox did not dance, at those who danced had
+heard him jeer, and his presence caused him mild surprise. The editor,
+leaning forward, unconscious that he was conspicuous, searched the
+ballroom with his eyes. They were anxious, unsatisfied; they gave to his
+pale face the look of one who is famished. Then suddenly his face lit
+and he nodded eagerly. Following the direction of his eyes, Jimmie saw
+his wife, over the shoulder of her partner, smiling at Maddox. Her face
+was radiant; a great peace had descended upon it.
+
+Jimmie knew just as surely as though Jeanne had told him. He walked out
+and sat down on the low wall of the terrace with his back to the
+club-house and his legs dangling. Below him in the moonlight lay the
+great basin of the golf links, the white rectangle of the polo fields
+with the gallows-like goals, and on a hill opposite, above the
+tree-tops, the chimneys of his house. He was down for a tennis match the
+next morning, and the sight of his home suggested to him only that he
+ought to be in bed and asleep.
+
+Then he recognized that he never would sleep again. He went over it from
+the beginning, putting the pieces together. He never had liked Maddox,
+but he had explained that by the fact that, as Maddox was so much more
+intelligent than he, there could be little between them. And it was
+because every one said he was so intelligent that he had looked upon his
+devotion to Jeanne rather as a compliment. He wondered why already it
+had not been plain to him. When Jeanne, who mocked at golf as a refuge
+for old age, spent hours with Maddox on the links; when, after she had
+declined to ride with her husband, on his return he would find her at
+tea with Maddox in front of the wood fire.
+
+That night, when he drove Jeanne home, she still was joyous, radiant; it
+was now she who chided him upon being silent.
+
+He waited until noon the next morning and then asked her if it were
+true. It was true. Jeanne thanked him for coming to her so honestly and
+straightforwardly. She also had been straightforward and honest. They
+had waited, she said, not through deceit but only out of consideration
+for him.
+
+"Before we told you," Jeanne explained, "we wanted to be quite sure that
+_I_ was sure."
+
+The "we" hurt Jimmie like the stab of a rusty knife.
+
+But he said only: "And you _are_ sure? Three years ago you were sure you
+loved _me_."
+
+Jeanne's eyes were filled with pity, but she said: "That was three years
+ago. I was a child, and now I am a woman. In many ways you have stood
+still and I have gone on."
+
+"That's true," said Jimmie; "you always were too good for me."
+
+"_No_ woman is good enough for you," returned Jeanne loyally. "And your
+brains are just as good as mine, only you haven't used them. I have
+questioned and reached out and gained knowledge of all kinds. I am a
+Feminist and you are not. If you were you would understand."
+
+"I don't know even what a Feminist is," said Jimmie, "but I'm glad I'm
+not one."
+
+"A Feminist is one," explained Jeanne, "who does not think her life
+should be devoted to one person, but to the world."
+
+Jimmie shook his head and smiled miserably.
+
+"_You_ are _my_ world," he said. "The only world I know. The only world
+I want to know."
+
+He walked to the fireplace and leaned his elbows on the mantel, and
+buried his head in his hands. But that his distress might not hurt
+Jeanne, he turned and, to give her courage, smiled.
+
+"If you are going to devote yourself to the World," he asked, "and not
+to any one person, why can't I sort of trail along? Why need you leave
+me and go with--with some one else?"
+
+"For the work I hope to do," answered Jeanne, "you and I are not suited.
+But Proctor and I are suited. He says he never met a woman who
+understands him as I do."
+
+"Hell!" said Jimmie. After that he did not speak for some time. Then he
+asked roughly:
+
+"He's going to marry you, of course?"
+
+Jeanne flushed crimson.
+
+"Of course!" she retorted. Her blush looked like indignation, and so
+Jimmie construed it, but it was the blush of embarrassment. For Maddox
+considered the ceremony of marriage an ignoble and barbaric bond. It
+degraded the woman, he declared, in making her a slave, and the man in
+that he accepted such a sacrifice. Jeanne had not argued with him. Until
+she were free, to discuss it with him seemed indecent. But in her own
+mind there was no doubt. If she were to be the helpmate of Proctor
+Maddox in uplifting the world, she would be Mrs. Proctor Maddox; or,
+much as he was to her, each would uplift the world alone. But she did
+not see the necessity of explaining all this to Jimmie, so she said: "Of
+course!"
+
+"I will see the lawyers to-morrow," said Jimmie. "It will take some time
+to arrange, and so," he added hopefully, "you can think it over."
+
+Jeanne exclaimed miserably:
+
+"I have thought of nothing else," she cried, "for six months!"
+
+Jimmie bent above her and laid his hand upon her shoulder.
+
+"I am sorry, so sorry," he said. "If I'd any brains I'd have seen how it
+was long ago. Now I'll not waste time. You'll be rid of me as quick as
+the courts can fix it."
+
+He started for the door, but Jeanne caught his hand.
+
+"Won't you kiss me, Jimmie?" she said.
+
+Jimmie hesitated unhappily and Jeanne raised her eyes to his.
+
+"Not since we were married, Jimmie," she said, "has any one kissed me
+but you."
+
+So Jimmie bent and kissed her. She clung to his sleeve.
+
+"Jimmie," she begged, "you haven't told me you forgive me. Unless you
+forgive me I can't go on with it. Tell me you forgive me!"
+
+"Forgive you?" protested Jimmie. "I love you!"
+
+When Jimmie went to the office of the lawyer, who also was his best
+friend, and told him that Jennie wanted a separation, that young man
+kicked the waste-paper basket against the opposite wall.
+
+"I'll not do it," he protested, "and I won't let you do it, either. Why
+should you smear your name and roll in the dirt and play dead to please
+Jeanne? If Jeanne thinks I'm going to send you to a Raines hotel and
+follow you up with detectives to furnish her with a fake divorce, you
+can tell her I won't. What are they coming to?" demanded the best
+friend. "What do they want? A man gives a woman all his love, all his
+thoughts, gives her his name, his home; only asks to work his brains out
+for her, only asks to see her happy. And she calls it 'charity,' calls
+herself a 'slave'!" The best friend kicked violently at the place where
+the waste-basket had been. "_Give_ them the vote, I say," he shouted.
+"It's all they're good for!"
+
+The violence of his friend did not impress Jimmie. As he walked up-town
+the only part of the interview he carried with him was that there must
+be no scandal. Not on his account. If Jeanne wished it, he assured
+himself, in spite of the lawyer, he was willing, in the metaphor of that
+gentleman, to "roll in the dirt and play dead." "Play dead!" The words
+struck him full in the face. Were he dead and out of the way, Jeanne,
+without a touch of scandal, could marry the man she loved. Jimmie halted
+in his tracks. He believed he saw the only possible exit. He turned
+into a side street, and between the silent houses, closed for the
+summer, worked out his plan. For long afterward that city block remained
+in his memory; the doctors' signs on the sills, the caretakers seeking
+the air, the chauffeurs at the cab rank. For hours they watched the
+passing and repassing of the young man, who with bent head and fixed
+eyes struck at the pavement with his stick.
+
+That he should really kill himself Jimmie did not for a moment
+contemplate. To him self-destruction appeared only as an offense against
+nature. On his primitive, out-of-door, fox-hunting mind the ethics of
+suicide lay as uneasily as absinthe on the stomach of a baby. But, he
+argued, by _pretending_ he were dead, he could set Jeanne free, could
+save her from gossip, and could still dream of her, love her, and occupy
+with her, if not the same continent, the same world.
+
+He had three problems to solve, and as he considered them he devotedly
+wished he might consult with a brain more clever than his own. But an
+accomplice was out of the question. Were he to succeed, everybody must
+be fooled; no one could share his secret. It was "a lone game, played
+alone, and without my partner."
+
+The three problems were: first, in order to protect his wife, to
+provide for the suicide a motive other than the attentions of Maddox;
+second, to make the suicide look like a real suicide; third, without
+later creating suspicion, to draw enough money from the bank to keep
+himself alive after he was dead. For his suicide Jeanne must not hold
+herself to blame; she must not believe her conduct forced his end; above
+every one else, she must be persuaded that in bringing about his death
+she was completely innocent. What reasons then were accepted for
+suicide?
+
+As to this, Jimmie, refusing to consider the act justified for any
+reason, was somewhat at a loss. He had read of men who, owing to loss of
+honor, loss of fortune, loss of health, had "gone out." He was
+determined he owed it to himself not to go out under a cloud, and he
+could not lose his money, as then there would be none to leave Jeanne;
+so he must lose his health. As except for broken arms and collar-bones
+he never had known a sick-bed, this last was as difficult as the others,
+but it must serve. After much consideration he decided he would go
+blind. At least he would pretend he was going blind. To give a semblance
+of truth to this he would that day consult distinguished oculists and,
+in spite of their assurances, would tell them that slowly and surely
+his eyesight was failing him. He would declare to them, in the dread of
+such a catastrophe, he was of a mind to seek self-destruction. To others
+he would confide the secret of his blindness and his resolution not to
+survive it. And, later, all of these would remember and testify.
+
+The question of money also was difficult. After his death he no longer
+could sign a check or negotiate securities. He must have cash. But if
+from the bank he drew large sums of actual money, if he converted stocks
+and bonds into cash and a week later disappeared, apparently forever,
+questions as to what became of the sums he had collected would arise,
+and that his disappearance was genuine would be doubted. This difficulty
+made Jimmie for a moment wonder if being murdered for his money, and
+having his body concealed by the murderer, would not be better than
+suicide. It would, at least, explain the disappearance of the money. But
+he foresaw that for his murder some innocent one might be suspected and
+hanged. This suggested leaving behind him evidence to show that the one
+who murdered him was none other than Proctor Maddox. The idea appealed
+to his sense of humor and justice. It made the punishment fit the
+crime. Not without reluctance did he abandon it and return to his plan
+of suicide. But he recognized that to supply himself with any large sum
+of money would lead to suspicion and that he must begin his new life
+almost empty-handed. In his new existence he must work.
+
+For that day and until the next afternoon he remained in town, and in
+that time prepared the way for his final exit. At a respectable
+lodging-house on West Twenty-third Street, near the ferry, he gave his
+name as Henry Hull, and engaged a room. To this room, from a department
+store he never before had entered, he shipped a trunk and valise marked
+with his new initials and filled with clothes to suit his new estate. To
+supply himself with money, at banks, clubs, and restaurants he cashed
+many checks for small sums. The total of his collections, from places
+scattered over all the city, made quite a comfortable bank roll. And in
+his box at the safe-deposit vault he came upon a windfall. It was an
+emerald bracelet left him by an eccentric aunt who had lived and died in
+Paris. The bracelet he had offered to Jeanne, but she did not like it
+and had advised him to turn it into money and, as the aged relative had
+wished, spend it upon himself. That was three years since, and now were
+it missing Jeanne would believe that at some time in the past he had
+followed her advice. So he carried the bracelet away with him. For a
+year it would keep a single man in comfort.
+
+His next step was to acquaint himself with the nature of the affliction
+on account of which he was to destroy himself. At the public library he
+collected a half-dozen books treating of blindness, and selected his
+particular malady. He picked out glaucoma, and for his purpose it was
+admirably suited. For, so Jimmie discovered, in a case of glaucoma the
+oculist was completely at the mercy of the patient. Except to the
+patient the disease gave no sign. To an oculist a man might say, "Three
+nights ago my eyesight played me the following tricks," and from that
+the oculist would know the man was stricken with glaucoma; but the eyes
+would tell him nothing.
+
+The next morning to four oculists Jimmie detailed his symptoms. Each
+looked grave, and all diagnosed his trouble as glaucoma.
+
+"I knew it!" groaned Jimmie, and assured them sooner than go blind he
+would jump into the river. They pretended to treat this as an
+extravagance, but later, when each of them was interviewed, he
+remembered that Mr. Blagwin had threatened to drown himself. On his way
+to the train Jimmie purchased a pair of glasses and, in order to invite
+questions, in the club car pretended to read with them. When his friends
+expressed surprise, Jimmie told them of the oculists he had consulted,
+and that they had informed him his case was hopeless. If this proved
+true, he threatened to drown himself.
+
+On his return home he explained to Jeanne he had seen the lawyer, and
+that that gentleman suggested the less she knew of what was going on the
+better. In return Jeanne told him she had sent for Maddox and informed
+him that, until the divorce was secured, they had best not be seen
+together. The wisdom of this appealed even to Maddox, and already, to
+fill in what remained of the summer, he had departed for Bar Harbor. To
+Jimmie the relief of his absence was inexpressible. He had given himself
+only a week to live, and, for the few days still remaining to him, to be
+alone with Jeanne made him miserably happy. The next morning Jimmie
+confessed to his wife that his eyes were failing him. The trouble came,
+he explained, from a fall he had received the year before
+steeplechasing. He had not before spoken of it, as he did not wish to
+distress her. The oculists he had consulted gave him no hope. He would
+end it, he declared, in the gun-room.
+
+Jeanne was thoroughly alarmed. That her old playmate, lover, husband
+should come to such a plight at the very time she had struck him the
+hardest blow of all filled her with remorse. In a hundred ways she tried
+to make up to him for the loss of herself and for the loss of his eyes.
+She became his constant companion; never had she been so kind and so
+considerate. They saw no one from the outside, and each day through the
+wood paths that circled their house made silent pilgrimages. And each
+day on a bench, placed high, where the view was fairest, together, and
+yet so far apart, watched the sun sink into the sound.
+
+"These are the times I will remember," said Jimmie; "when--when I am
+alone."
+
+The last night they sat on the bench he took out his knife and carved
+the date--July, 1913.
+
+"What does that mean?" asked Jeanne.
+
+"It means to-night I seem to love you more and need you more than ever
+before," said Jimmie. "That is what it means. Will you remember?"
+
+Jeanne was looking away from him, but she stretched out her hand and
+laid it upon his.
+
+"To-morrow I am going to town," said Jimmie, "to see that oculist from
+Paris. They say what he tells you is the last word. And, if he says--"
+
+Jeanne swung toward him and with all the jealousy of possession held
+his hand. Her own eyes were blurred with tears.
+
+"He will tell you the others are wrong!" she cried. "I know he will. He
+must! You--who have always been so kind! God could not be so cruel!"
+
+Jimmie stopped her.
+
+"If I am not to see _you_--"
+
+During his last week at home Jimmie had invented a Doctor Picard, a
+distinguished French oculist, who, on a tour of the world, was by the
+rarest chance at that moment in New York. According to Jimmie, all the
+other oculists had insisted he must consult Picard, and might consider
+what Picard said as final. Picard was staying with a friend--Jimmie did
+not say where--and after receiving Jimmie was at once taking the train
+for San Francisco. As Jimmie had arranged his scenario, it was Picard
+who was to deal him his death sentence.
+
+Her husband seemed so entirely to depend on what Picard might say that
+Jeanne decided, should the verdict be unfavorable, she had best be at
+his side. But, as this would have upset Jimmie's plan, he argued against
+it. Should the news be bad, he pointed out, for her to receive it in her
+own home would be much easier for both. Jeanne felt she had been
+rebuffed, but that, if Jimmie did not want her with him, she no longer
+was in a position to insist.
+
+So she contented herself with driving him to the train and, before those
+who knew them at the station, kissing him good-by.
+
+Afterward, that she had done so comforted her greatly.
+
+"I'll be praying for you, Jimmie," she whispered. "And, as soon as you
+know, you'll--"
+
+So upset was Jimmie by the kiss, and by the knowledge that he was saying
+farewell for the last time, that he nearly exposed his purpose.
+
+"I want the last thing I say to you," he stammered, "to be this: that
+whatever you do will be right. I love you so that I will understand."
+
+When he arrived in New York, in his own name, he booked a stateroom on
+the _Ceramic_. She was listed to sail that evening after midnight. It
+was because she departed at that hour that for a week Jimmie had fixed
+upon her as furnishing the scene of his exit. During the day he told
+several of his friends that the report of the great oculist had been
+against him. Later, they recalled that he talked wildly, that he was
+deeply despondent. In the afternoon he sent a telegram to Jeanne:
+
+  "Verdict unfavorable. Will remain to-night in town.
+  All love. J."
+
+At midnight he went on board. The decks and saloons were swarming and
+noisy with seagoers, many of whom had come to the ship directly from the
+theatres and restaurants, the women bareheaded, in evening gowns. Jimmie
+felt grateful to them. They gave to the moment of his taking off an air
+of gentle gayety. Among those who were sailing, and those who had come
+to wish them "bon voyage," many were known to Jimmie. He told them he
+was going abroad at the command of his oculist. Also, he forced himself
+upon the notice of officers and stewards, giving them his name, and
+making inquiries concerning the non-appearance of fictitious baggage.
+Later, they also recalled the young man in dinner jacket and golf cap
+who had lost a dressing-case marked "James Blagwin."
+
+In his cabin Jimmie wrote two letters. The one to the captain of the
+ship read:
+
+  "After we pass Fire Island I am going overboard. Do
+  not make any effort to find me, as it will be useless.
+  I am sorry to put you to this trouble."
+
+The second letter was to Jeanne. It read:
+
+  "Picard agreed with the others. My case is hopeless.
+  I am ending all to-night. Forgive me. I leave you all
+  the love in all the world. Jimmie."
+
+When he had addressed these letters he rang for the steward.
+
+"I am not going to wait until we leave the dock," he said. "I am turning
+in now. I am very tired, and I don't want you to wake me on any excuse
+whatsoever until to-morrow at noon. Better still, don't come until I
+ring!"
+
+When the steward had left him, Jimmie pinned the two letters upon the
+pillow, changed the steamer-cap for an Alpine hat, and beneath a
+rain-coat concealed his evening clothes. He had purposely selected the
+deck cabin farthest aft. Accordingly, when after making the cabin dark
+he slipped from it, the break in the deck that separated the first from
+the second class passengers was but a step distant. The going-ashore
+bugles had sounded, and more tumult than would have followed had the
+ship struck a rock now spread to every deck. With sharp commands
+officers were speeding the parting guests; the parting guests were
+shouting passionate good-bys and sending messages to Aunt Maria;
+quartermasters howled hoarse warnings, donkey-engines panted under the
+weight of belated luggage, fall and tackle groaned and strained. And the
+ship's siren, enraged at the delay, protested in one long-drawn-out,
+inarticulate shriek.
+
+Jimmie slipped down the accommodation ladder that led to the well-deck,
+side-stepped a yawning hatch, dodged a swinging cargo net stuffed with
+trunks, and entered the second-class smoking-room. From there he elbowed
+his way to the second-class promenade deck. A stream of tearful and
+hilarious visitors who, like sheep in a chute, were being herded down
+the gangway, engulfed him. Unresisting, Jimmie let himself, by weight of
+numbers, be carried forward.
+
+A moment later he was shot back to the dock and to the country from
+which at that moment, in deck cabin A4, he was supposed to be drawing
+steadily away.
+
+Dodging the electric lights, on foot he made his way to his
+lodging-house. The night was warm and moist, and, seated on the stoop,
+stripped to shirt and trousers, was his landlord.
+
+He greeted Jimmie affably.
+
+"Evening, Mr. Hull," he said. "Hope this heat won't keep you awake."
+
+Jimmie thanked him and passed hurriedly.
+
+"Mr. Hull!"
+
+The landlord had said it.
+
+Somewhere out at sea, between Fire Island and Scotland Lightship, the
+waves were worrying with what once had been Jimmie Blagwin, and in a
+hall bedroom on Twenty-third Street Henry Hull, with frightened eyes,
+sat staring across the wharves, across the river, thinking of a
+farmhouse on Long Island.
+
+His last week on earth had been more of a strain on Jimmie than he
+appreciated; and the night the _Ceramic_ sailed he slept the drugged
+sleep of complete nervous exhaustion. Late the next morning, while he
+still slept, a passenger on the _Ceramic_ stumbled upon the fact of his
+disappearance. The man knew Jimmie; had greeted him the night before
+when he came on board, and was seeking him that he might subscribe to a
+pool on the run. When to his attack on Jimmie's door there was no reply,
+he peered through the air-port, saw on the pillow, where Jimmie's head
+should have been, two letters, and reported to the purser. Already the
+ship was three hundred miles from where Jimmie had announced he would
+drown himself; a search showed he was not on board, and the evidence of
+a smoking-room steward, who testified that at one o'clock he had left
+Mr. Blagwin alone on deck, gazing "mournful-like" at Fire Island, seemed
+to prove Jimmie had carried out his threat. When later the same
+passenger the steward had mistaken for Jimmie appeared in the
+smoking-room and ordered a drink from him, the steward was rattled. But
+as the person who had last seen Jimmie Blagwin alive he had gained
+melancholy interest, and, as his oft-told tale was bringing him many
+shillings, he did not correct it. Accordingly, from Cape Sable the news
+of Jimmie's suicide was reported. That afternoon it appeared in all the
+late editions of the evening papers.
+
+Pleading fever, Jimmie explained to his landlord that for him to venture
+out by day was most dangerous, and sent the landlord after the
+newspapers. The feelings with which he read them were mixed. He was
+proud of the complete success of his plot, but the inevitableness of it
+terrified him. The success was _too_ complete. He had left himself no
+loophole. He had locked the door on himself and thrown the key out of
+the window. Now, that she was lost to him forever, he found, if that
+were possible, he loved his wife more devotedly than before. He felt
+that to live in the same world with Jeanne and never speak to her, never
+even look at her, could not be borne. He was of a mind to rush to the
+wharf and take another leap into the dark waters, and this time without
+a life-line. From this he was restrained only by the thought that if he
+used infinite caution, at infrequent intervals, at a great distance, he
+still might look upon his wife. This he assured himself would be
+possible only after many years had aged him and turned his hair gray.
+Then on second thoughts he believed to wait so long was not absolutely
+necessary. It would be safe enough, he argued, if he grew a beard. He
+always had been clean-shaven, and he was confident a beard would
+disguise him. He wondered how long a time must pass before one would
+grow. Once on a hunting-trip he had gone for two weeks without shaving,
+and the result had not only disguised but disgusted him. His face had
+changed to one like those carved on cocoanuts. A recollection of this
+gave him great pleasure. His spirits rose happily. He saw himself in the
+rags of a tramp, his face hidden in an unkempt beard, skulking behind
+the hedges that surrounded his house. From this view-point, before
+sailing away from her forever, he would again steal a look at Jeanne. He
+determined to postpone his departure until he had grown a beard.
+Meanwhile he would plead illness, and keep to his room, or venture out
+only at night. Comforted by the thought that in two weeks he might again
+see his wife, as she sat on the terrace or walked in her gardens, he
+sank peaceably to sleep.
+
+The next morning the landlord brought him the papers. In them were many
+pictures of himself as a master of foxhounds, as a polo-player, as a
+gentleman jockey. The landlord looked at him curiously. Five minutes
+later, on a trivial excuse, he returned and again studied Jimmie as
+closely as though he were about to paint his portrait. Then two of the
+other boarders, chums of the landlord, knocked at the door, to borrow a
+match, to beg the loan of the morning paper. Each was obviously excited,
+each stared accusingly. Jimmie fell into a panic. He felt that if
+already his identity was questioned, than hiding in his room and growing
+a beard nothing could be more suspicious. At noon, for West Indian
+ports, a German boat was listed to sail from the Twenty-fourth Street
+wharf. Jimmie decided at once to sail with her and, until his beard was
+grown, not to return. It was necessary first to escape the suspicious
+landlord, and to that end he noiselessly packed his trunk and suit-case.
+In front of the house, in an unending procession, taxi-cabs returning
+empty from the Twenty-third Street ferry passed the door, and from the
+street Jimmie hailed one. Before the landlord could voice his doubts
+Jimmie was on the sidewalk, his bill had been paid, and, giving the
+address of a hotel on Fourteenth Street, he was away.
+
+At the Fourteenth Street hotel Jimmie dismissed the taxi-cab and asked
+for a room adjoining an imaginary Senator Gates. When the clerk told him
+Senator Gates was not at that hotel, Jimmie excitedly demanded to be led
+to the telephone. He telephoned the office of the steamship line: and,
+in the name of Henry Hull, secured a cabin. Then he explained to the
+clerk that over the telephone he had learned that his friend, Senator
+Gates, was at another hotel. He regretted that he must follow him.
+Another taxi was called, and Jimmie drove to an inconspicuous and
+old-fashioned hotel on the lower East Side, patronized exclusively by
+gunmen. There, in not finding Senator Gates, he was again disappointed,
+and now having broken the link that connected him with the suspicious
+landlord, he drove back to within a block of his original starting-point
+and went on board the ship. Not until she was off Sandy Hook did he
+leave his cabin.
+
+It was July, and passengers to the tropics were few; and when Jimmie
+ventured on deck he found most of them gathered at the port rail. They
+were gazing intently over the ship's side. Thinking the pilot might be
+leaving, Jimmie joined them. A young man in a yachting-cap was pointing
+north and speaking in the voice of a conductor of a "seeing New York"
+car.
+
+"Just between that lighthouse and the bow of this ship," he exclaimed,
+"is where yesterday James Blagwin jumped overboard. At any moment we may
+see the body!"
+
+An excitable passenger cried aloud and pointed at some floating seaweed.
+
+"I'll bet that's it now!" he shouted.
+
+Jimmie exclaimed indignantly:
+
+"I'll bet you ten dollars it isn't!" he said.
+
+In time the ship touched at Santiago, Kingston, and Colon, but, fearing
+recognition, Jimmie saw these places only from the deck. He travelled
+too fast for newspapers to overtake him, and those that on the return
+passage met the ship, of his death gave no details. So, except that his
+suicide had been accepted, Jimmie knew nothing.
+
+Least of all did he know, or even guess, that his act of renunciation,
+intended to bring to Jeanne happiness, had nearly brought about her own
+end. She believed Jimmie was dead, but not for a moment did she believe
+it was for fear of blindness he had killed himself. She and Maddox had
+killed him. Between them they had murdered the man who, now that he was
+gone, she found she loved devotedly. To a shocked and frightened letter
+of condolence from Maddox she wrote one that forever ordered him out of
+her life. Then she set about making a saint of Jimmie, and counting the
+days when in another world they would meet, and her years of remorse,
+penitence, and devotion would cause him to forgive her. In their home
+she shut herself off from every one. She made of it a shrine to Jimmie.
+She kept his gloves on the hall table; on her writing-desk she placed
+flowers before his picture. Preston, the butler, and the other servants
+who had been long with them feared for her sanity, but, loving "Mr.
+James" as they did, sympathized with her morbidness. So, in the old
+farmhouse, it was as though Jimmie still stamped through the halls, or
+from his room, as he dressed, whistled merrily. In the kennels the
+hounds howled dismally, in the stables at each footstep the ponies
+stamped with impatience, on the terrace his house dog, Huang Su, lay
+with his eyes fixed upon the road waiting for the return of the master,
+and in the gardens a girl in black, wasted and white-faced, walked alone
+and rebelled that she was still alive.
+
+After six weeks, when the ship re-entered New York harbor, Jimmie, his
+beard having grown, and wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, walked boldly
+down the gangplank. His confidence was not misplaced. The polo-player,
+clean-faced, lean, and fit, had disappeared. Six weeks of German
+cooking, a German barber, and the spectacles had produced a graduate of
+Heidelberg.
+
+At a furnished room on a side street Jimmie left his baggage, and at
+once at the public library, in the back numbers of the daily papers,
+read the accounts of his death and interviews with his friends. They all
+agreed the reason for his suicide was his fear of approaching blindness.
+As he read, Jimmie became deeply depressed. Any sneaking hopes he might
+have held that he was not dead were now destroyed. The evidence of his
+friends was enough to convince any one. It convinced him. Now that it
+was too late, his act of self-sacrifice appeared supremely stupid and
+ridiculous. Bitterly he attacked himself as a bungler and an ass. He
+assured himself he should have made a fight for it; should have fought
+for his wife: and against Maddox. Instead of which he weakly had effaced
+himself, had surrendered his rights, had abandoned his wife at a time
+when most was required of him. He tortured himself by thinking that
+probably at that very moment she was in need of his help. And at that
+very moment head-lines in the paper he was searching proved this was
+true.
+
+"BLAGWIN'S LOST WILL," he read. "DETECTIVES RELINQUISH SEARCH! REWARD
+OF TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS FAILS TO BRING CLEW!"
+
+Jimmie raced through the back numbers. They told him his will, in which
+he had left everything to Jeanne, could not be found; that in
+consequence, except her widow's third, all of his real estate, which was
+the bulk of his property, would now go to two distant cousins who
+already possessed more than was good for them, and who in Paris were
+leading lives of elegant wastefulness. The will had been signed the week
+before his wedding-day, but the lawyer who had drawn it was dead, and
+the witnesses, two servants, had long since quit Jimmie's service and
+could not be found. It was known Jimmie kept the will in the safe at his
+country house, but from the safe it had disappeared.
+
+Jimmie's best friend, and now Jeanne's lawyer, the man who had refused
+him the divorce, had searched the house from the attic to the coal
+cellar; detectives had failed to detect; rewards had remained unclaimed;
+no one could tell where the will was hidden. Only Jimmie could tell. And
+Jimmie was dead. And no one knew that better than Jimmie. Again he
+upbraided himself. Why had he not foreseen this catastrophe? Why,
+before his final taking off, had he not returned the will to the safe?
+Now, a word from him would give Jeanne all his fortune, and that word he
+could not speak.
+
+The will was between the leaves of a copy of "Pickwick," and it stood on
+a shelf in his bedroom. One night, six months before, to alter a small
+bequest, he had carried the will up-stairs and written a rough draft of
+the new codicil. And then, merely because he was sleepy and disinclined
+to struggle with a combination lock, he had stuck the will in the book
+he was reading. He intended the first thing the next morning to put it
+back in the safe. But the first thing the next morning word came from
+the kennels that during the night six beagle puppies had arrived, and
+naturally Jimmie gave no thought to anything so unimportant as a will.
+Nor since then had he thought of it. And now how was he, a dead man, to
+retrieve it?
+
+That those in the library might not observe his agitation, he went
+outside, and in Bryant Park on a bench faced his problem. Except
+himself, of the hidden place of the will no one could possibly know. So,
+if even by an anonymous letter, or by telephone, he gave the information
+to his late lawyer or to the detectives, they at once would guess from
+where the clew came and that James Blagwin was still alive. So that plan
+was abandoned. Then he wondered if he might not convey the tip to some
+one who had access to his bedroom; his valet or a chambermaid who, as
+though by accident, might stumble upon the will. But, as every one would
+know the anonymous tipster could be only Blagwin himself, that plan also
+was rejected. He saw himself in a blind alley. Without an accomplice he
+could not act; with an accomplice his secret would be betrayed.
+
+Suddenly a line in one of the newspapers returned to him. It was to the
+effect that to discover the lost will several clairvoyants, mediums, and
+crystal-gazers had offered their services. Jimmie determined that one of
+these should be his accomplice. He would tell the clairvoyant he
+formerly had been employed as valet by Blagwin and knew where Blagwin
+had placed his will. But he had been discharged under circumstances that
+made it necessary for him to lie low. He would hint it was the police he
+feared. This would explain why he could not come forward, and why he
+sought the aid of the clairvoyant. If the clairvoyant fell in with his
+plan he would tell him where the will could be found, the clairvoyant
+would pretend in a trance to discover the hiding-place, would confide
+his discovery to Mrs. Blagwin's lawyer, the lawyer would find the will,
+the clairvoyant would receive the reward, and an invaluable
+advertisement. And Jimmie's ghost would rest in peace. He needed only a
+clairvoyant who was not so upright that he fell over backward. Jimmie
+assured himself one of that kind would not be difficult to find.
+
+He returned to the newspaper-room of the library and in the advertising
+columns of a Sunday paper found a clairvoyant who promised to be the man
+he wanted.
+
+He was an Indian prince, but for five dollars would tell fortunes, cast
+horoscopes, and recover lost articles. Jimmie found him in the back room
+on the first floor of an old-fashioned house of sandstone on a side
+street. A blonde young woman, who was directing envelopes and enclosing
+in them the business card of the prince, accepted Jimmie's five dollars
+and ushered him into the presence. The back room was very dark. There
+were no windows showing, and the walls were entirely hidden by curtains
+in which twinkled tiny mirrors. The only light came from a lamp that
+swung on chains.
+
+The prince was young, tall, dark-skinned, with a black, pointed beard.
+He wore his national costume and over it many necklaces of strange
+stones, and of jewels more strange. He sat on a papier-maché throne with
+gilded elephants for supports, and in his hand held a crystal globe. His
+head was all but hidden in an enormous silken turban on which hung a
+single pearl. Jimmie made up his mind that if the prince was no more on
+the level than his jewels there would be no trouble.
+
+Jimmie came quickly to the point.
+
+"I can't show up," he explained, "because after I lost my job as Mr.
+Blagwin's valet several articles of value were missing. But _you_ can
+show up for me. If the will is not where I saw it--where I tell you it
+is--you're no worse off than you are now. You can say the spirits misled
+you. But, if I'm telling you the truth, you stand to get half the reward
+and the biggest press story any ghost-raiser ever put across.
+
+"And why," in conclusion Jimmie demanded, "should I ask you to do this,
+if what I say is not true?"
+
+The prince made no reply.
+
+With a sweeping gesture he brought the crystal globe into his lap and,
+bending his head, apparently peered into its depths. In reality he was
+gaining time. To himself he was repeating Jimmie's question. If the
+stranger were _not_ speaking the truth, why was he asking him to join in
+a plot to deceive? The possibility that Jimmie _was_ telling the truth
+the prince did not even consider. He was not used to the truth, and as
+to the motives of Jimmie in inviting him to break the law he already had
+made his guess. It was that Jimmie must be a detective setting a trap
+which later would betray him to the police. And the prince had no desire
+to fall in with the police nor to fall out with them. All he ever asked
+of those gentlemen was to leave him alone. And, since apparently they
+would not leave him alone, he saw, deep down in the crystal globe, a way
+by which not only could he avoid their trap, but might spring it to his
+own advantage.
+
+Instead of the detective denouncing him, he would denounce the
+detective. Of the police he would become an ally. He would call upon
+them to arrest a man who was planning to blackmail Mrs. James Blagwin.
+
+Unseen by Jimmie, in the arm of his throne he pressed an electric
+button, and in the front room in the ear of the blonde a signal buzzed.
+In her turn the blonde pushed aside the curtains that hid the door to
+the front hall.
+
+"Pardon, Highness," she said, "a certain party in Wall Street"--she
+paused impressively, and the prince nodded--"wants to consult you about
+his Standard Oil stock."
+
+"He must wait," returned the prince.
+
+"Pardon, Highness," persisted the lady; "he cannot wait. It is a matter
+of millions."
+
+Of this dialogue, which was the vehicle always used to get the prince
+out of the audience-chamber and into the front hall, undoubtedly the
+best line was the one given to the blonde--"it is a matter of millions!"
+
+Knowing this, she used to speak it slowly and impressively. It impressed
+even Jimmie. And after the prince had reverently deposited his globe
+upon a velvet cushion and disappeared, Jimmie sat wondering who in Wall
+Street was rich enough to buy Standard Oil stock, and who was fool
+enough to sell it.
+
+But over such idle questions he was not long left to meditate. Something
+more personal demanded his full attention. Behind him the prince
+carefully had closed the door to the front hall. But, not having his
+crystal globe with him, he did not know it had not remained closed, and
+as he stood under the hall stairs and softly lifted the receiver from
+the telephone, he was not aware that his voice carried to the room in
+which Jimmie was waiting.
+
+"Hello," whispered the prince softly. His voice, Jimmie noted with
+approval, even over a public telephone was as gentle as a cooing dove.
+
+"Hello! Give me Spring 3100."
+
+A cold sweat swept down Jimmie's spine. A man might forget his birthday,
+his middle name, his own telephone number, but not Spring 3100!
+
+Every drama of the underworld, crook play, and detective story had
+helped to make it famous.
+
+Jimmie stood not upon the order of his going. Even while police
+headquarters was telling the prince to get the Forty-seventh Street
+police station, Jimmie had torn open the front door and was leaping down
+the steps.
+
+Not until he reached Sixth Avenue, where if a man is seen running every
+one takes a chance and yells "Stop thief!" did Jimmie draw a halt. Then
+he burst forth indignantly.
+
+"How was I to know he was honest!" he panted. "He's a hell of a
+clairvoyant!"
+
+With indignation as great the prince was gazing at the blonde secretary;
+his eyes were filled with amazement.
+
+"Am I going dippy?" he demanded. "I sized him up for a detective--and he
+was a perfectly honest crook! And in five minutes," he roared
+remorsefully, "this house will be full of bulls! What am I to do? What
+am I to tell 'em?"
+
+"Tell 'em," said the blonde coldly, "you're going on a long journey."
+
+Jimmie now appreciated that when he determined it was best he should
+work without an accomplice he was most wise. He must work alone and,
+lest the clairvoyant had set the police after him, at once. He decided
+swiftly that that night he would return to his own house, and that he
+would return as a burglar. From its hiding-place he would rescue the
+missing will and restore it to the safe. By placing it among papers of
+little importance he hoped to persuade those who already had searched
+the safe that through their own carelessness it had been overlooked. The
+next morning, when once more it was where the proper persons could find
+it, he would again take ship for foreign parts. Jimmie recognized that
+this was a desperate plan, but the situation was desperate.
+
+And so midnight found him entering the grounds upon which he never again
+had hoped to place his foot.
+
+The conditions were in his favor. The night was warm, which meant
+windows would be left open; few stars were shining, and as he tiptoed
+across the lawn the trees and bushes wrapped him in shadows. Inside the
+hedge, through which he had forced his way, he had left his shoes, and
+he moved in silence. Except that stealing into the house where lay
+asleep the wife he so dearly loved made a cruel assault upon his
+feelings, the adventure presented no difficulties. Of ways of entering
+his house Jimmie knew a dozen, and, once inside, from cellar to attic he
+could move blindfolded. His bedroom, where was the copy of "Pickwick" in
+which he had placed the will, was separated from his wife's bedroom by
+her boudoir. The walls were thick; through them no ordinary sound could
+penetrate, and, unless since his departure Jeanne had moved her maid or
+some other chaperon into his bedroom, he could ransack it at his
+leisure. The safe in which he would replace the will was in the
+dining-room. From the sleeping-quarters of Preston, the butler, and the
+other servants it was far removed.
+
+Cautiously in the black shadows of the trees Jimmie reconnoitred. All
+that was in evidence reassured him. The old farmhouse lay sunk in
+slumber, and, though in the lower hall a lamp burned, Jimmie knew it was
+lit only that, in case of fire or of an intruder like himself, it might
+show the way to the telephone. For a moment a lace curtain fluttering at
+an open window startled him, but in an instant he was reassured, and had
+determined through that window to make his entrance. He stepped out of
+the shadows toward the veranda, and at once something warm brushed his
+leg, something moist touched his hand.
+
+Huang Su, his black chow, was welcoming him home. In a sudden access of
+fright and pleasure Jimmie dropped to his knees. He had not known he had
+been so lonely. He smothered the black bear in his hands. Huang Su
+withdrew hastily. The dignity of his breed forbade man-handling, and at
+a safe distance he stretched himself nervously and yawned.
+
+Jimmie stepped to the railing of the veranda, raised his foot to a cleat
+of the awning, and swung himself sprawling upon the veranda roof. On
+hands and knees across the shingles, still warm from the sun, he crept
+to the open window. There for some minutes, while his eyes searched the
+room, he remained motionless. When his eyes grew used to the
+semidarkness he saw that the bed lay flat, that the door to the boudoir
+was shut, that the room was empty. As he moved across it toward the
+bookcase, his stockinged feet on the bare oak floor gave forth no
+sound. He assured himself there was no occasion for alarm. But when,
+with the electric torch with which he had prepared himself, he swept the
+book-shelves, he suffered all the awful terrors of a thief.
+
+His purpose was to restore a lost fortune; had he been intent on
+stealing one he could not have felt more deeply guilty. At last the tiny
+shaft of light fell upon the title of the "Pickwick Papers." With
+shaking fingers Jimmie drew the book toward him. In his hands it fell
+open, and before him lay "The Last Will and Testament of James Blagwin,
+Esquire."
+
+With an effort Jimmie choked a cry of delight. He had reason to feel
+relief. In dragging the will from its hiding-place he had put behind him
+the most difficult part of his adventure; the final ceremony of
+replacing it in the safe was a matter only of minutes. With
+self-satisfaction Jimmie smiled; in self-pity he sighed miserably. For,
+when those same minutes had passed, again he would be an exile. As soon
+as he had set his house in order, he must leave it, and once more upon
+the earth become a wanderer and an outcast.
+
+The knob of the door from the bedroom he grasped softly and, as he
+turned it, firmly. Stealthily, with infinite patience and stepping close
+to the wall, he descended the stairs, tiptoed across the hall, and
+entered the living-room. On the lower floor he knew he was alone. No
+longer, like Oliver Twist breaking into the scullery of Mr. Giles, need
+he move in dreadful fear. But as a cautious general, even when he
+advances, maps out his line of retreat, before approaching the safe
+Jimmie prepared his escape. The only entrances to the dining-room were
+through the living-room, in which he stood, and from the butler's
+pantry. It was through the latter he determined to make his exit. He
+crossed the dining-room, and in the pantry cautiously raised the window,
+and on the floor below placed a chair. If while at work upon the safe he
+were interrupted, to reach the lawn he had but to thrust back the door
+to the pantry, leap to the chair, and through the open window fall upon
+the grass. If his possible pursuers gave him time, he would retrieve his
+shoes; if not, he would abandon them. They had not been made to his
+order, but bought in the Sixth Avenue store where he was unknown, and
+they had been delivered to a man named Henry Hull. If found, instead of
+compromising him, they rather would help to prove the intruder was a
+stranger.
+
+Having arranged his get-away, Jimmie returned to the living-room. In
+defiance of caution and that he might carry with him a farewell picture
+of the place where for years he had been so supremely happy, he swept it
+with his torch.
+
+The light fell upon Jeanne's writing-desk and there halted. Jimmie gave
+a low gasp of pleasure and surprise. In the shaft of light, undisturbed
+in their silver frames and in their place of honor, he saw three
+photographs of himself. The tears came to his eyes. Then Jeanne had not
+cast him utterly into outer darkness. She still remembered him kindly,
+still held for him a feeling of good will. Jimmie sighed gratefully. The
+sacrifice he had made for the happiness of Jeanne and Maddox now seemed
+easier to bear. And that happiness must not be jeopardized.
+
+More than ever before the fact that he, a dead man, must not be seen,
+impressed him deeply. At the slightest sound, at even the suggestion of
+an alarm, he must fly. The will might take care of itself. In case he
+were interrupted, where he dropped it there must it lie. The fact of
+supreme importance was that unrecognized he should escape.
+
+The walls of the dining-room were covered with panels of oak, and built
+into the jog of the fireplace and concealed by a movable panel was the
+safe. In front of it Jimmie sank to his knees and pushed back the
+panel. Propped upon a chair behind him, the electric torch threw its
+shaft of light full upon the combination lock. On the floor, ready to
+his hand, lay the will.
+
+The combination was not difficult. It required two turns left, three
+right, and in conjunction two numerals. While so intent upon his work
+that he scarcely breathed, Jimmie spun the knob. Then he tugged gently,
+and the steel door swung toward him.
+
+At the same moment, from behind him, a metallic click gave an instant's
+warning, and then the room was flooded with light.
+
+From his knees, in one bound, Jimmie flung himself toward his avenue of
+escape.
+
+It was blocked by the bulky form of Preston, the butler.
+
+Jimmie turned and doubled back to the door of the living-room. He found
+himself confronted by his wife.
+
+The sleeve of her night-dress had fallen to her shoulder and showed her
+white arm extended toward him. In her hand, pointing, was an automatic
+pistol.
+
+Already dead, Jimmie feared nothing but discovery.
+
+The door to the living-room was wide enough for two. With his head down
+he sprang toward it. There was a report that seemed to shake the walls,
+and something like the blow of a nightstick knocked his leg from under
+him and threw him on his back. The next instant Preston had landed with
+both knees on his lower ribs and was squeezing his windpipe.
+
+Jimmie felt he was drowning. Around him millions of stars danced. And
+then from another world, in a howl of terror, the voice of Preston
+screamed. The hands of the butler released their hold upon his throat.
+As suddenly as he had thrown himself upon him he now recoiled.
+
+"It's _'im!_" he shouted; "it's _'im!_"
+
+"Him?" demanded Jeanne.
+
+"_It's Mr. Blagwin!_"
+
+Unlike Preston, Jeanne did not scream; nor did she faint. So greatly did
+she desire to believe that "'im" was her husband, that he still was in
+the same world with herself, that she did not ask how he had escaped
+from the other world, or why, having escaped, he spent his time robbing
+his own house.
+
+Instead, much like Preston, she threw herself at him and in her young,
+firm arms lifted him and held him close.
+
+"Jimmie!" she cried, "_speak_ to me; _speak_ to me!"
+
+The blow on the back of the head, the throttling by Preston, the
+"stopping power" of the bullet, even though it passed only through his
+leg, had left Jimmie somewhat confused. He knew only that it was a
+dream. But wonderful as it was to dream that once more he was with
+Jeanne, that she clung to him, needed and welcomed him, he could not
+linger to enjoy the dream. He was dead. If not, he must escape. Honor
+compelled it. He made a movement to rise, and fell back.
+
+The voice of Preston, because he had choked his master, full of remorse,
+and, because his mistress had shot him, full of reproach, rose in
+dismay:
+
+"You've 'it 'im in the leg, ma'am!"
+
+Jimmie heard Jeanne protest hysterically:
+
+"That's nothing, he's _alive_!" she cried. "I'd hit him again if it
+would only make him _speak_!" She pressed the bearded face against her
+own. "Speak to me," she whispered; "tell me you forgive me. Tell me you
+love me!"
+
+Jimmie opened his eyes and smiled at her.
+
+"You never had to shoot me," he stammered, "to make me tell you _that_."
+
+
+
+
+THE CARD-SHARP
+
+
+I had looked forward to spending Christmas with some people in Suffolk,
+and every one in London assured me that at their house there would be
+the kind of a Christmas house party you hear about but see only in the
+illustrated Christmas numbers. They promised mistletoe, snapdragon, and
+Sir Roger de Coverley. On Christmas morning we would walk to church,
+after luncheon we would shoot, after dinner we would eat plum pudding
+floating in blazing brandy, dance with the servants, and listen to the
+waits singing "God rest you, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay."
+
+To a lone American bachelor stranded in London it sounded fine. And in
+my gratitude I had already shipped to my hostess, for her children, of
+whose age, number, and sex I was ignorant, half of Gamage's dolls,
+skees, and cricket bats, and those crackers that, when you pull them,
+sometimes explode. But it was not to be. Most inconsiderately my
+wealthiest patient gained sufficient courage to consent to an
+operation, and in all New York would permit no one to lay violent hands
+upon him save myself. By cable I advised postponement. Having lived in
+lawful harmony with his appendix for fifty years, I thought, for one
+week longer he might safely maintain the _status quo_. But his cable in
+reply was an ultimatum. So, on Christmas eve, instead of Hallam Hall and
+a Yule log, I was in a gale plunging and pitching off the coast of
+Ireland, and the only log on board was the one the captain kept to
+himself.
+
+I sat in the smoking-room, depressed and cross, and it must have been on
+the principle that misery loves company that I forgathered with Talbot,
+or rather that Talbot forgathered with me. Certainly, under happier
+conditions and in haunts of men more crowded, the open-faced manner in
+which he forced himself upon me would have put me on my guard. But,
+either out of deference to the holiday spirit, as manifested in the
+fictitious gayety of our few fellow passengers, or because the young man
+in a knowing, impertinent way was most amusing, I listened to him from
+dinner time until midnight, when the chief officer, hung with snow and
+icicles, was blown in from the deck and wished all a merry Christmas.
+
+Even after they unmasked Talbot I had neither the heart nor the
+inclination to turn him down. Indeed, had not some of the passengers
+testified that I belonged to a different profession, the smoking-room
+crowd would have quarantined me as his accomplice. On the first night I
+met him I was not certain whether he was English or giving an imitation.
+All the outward and visible signs were English, but he told me that,
+though he had been educated at Oxford and since then had spent most of
+his years in India, playing polo, he was an American. He seemed to have
+spent much time, and according to himself much money, at the French
+watering-places and on the Riviera. I felt sure that it was in France I
+had already seen him, but where I could not recall. He was hard to
+place. Of people at home and in London well worth knowing he talked
+glibly, but in speaking of them he made several slips. It was his taking
+the trouble to cover up the slips that first made me wonder if his
+talking about himself was not mere vanity, but had some special object.
+I felt he was presenting letters of introduction in order that later he
+might ask a favor. Whether he was leading up to an immediate loan, or in
+New York would ask for a card to a club, or an introduction to a banker,
+I could not tell. But in forcing himself upon me, except in
+self-interest, I could think of no other motive. The next evening I
+discovered the motive.
+
+He was in the smoking-room playing solitaire, and at once I recalled
+that it was at Aix-les-Bains I had first seen him, and that he held a
+bank at baccarat. When he asked me to sit down I said: "I saw you last
+summer at Aix-les-Bains."
+
+His eyes fell to the pack in his hands and apparently searched it for
+some particular card.
+
+"What was I doing?" he asked.
+
+"Dealing baccarat at the Casino des Fleurs."
+
+With obvious relief he laughed.
+
+"Oh, yes," he assented; "jolly place, Aix. But I lost a pot of money
+there. I'm a rotten hand at cards. Can't win, and can't leave 'em
+alone." As though for this weakness, so frankly confessed, he begged me
+to excuse him, he smiled appealingly. "Poker, bridge, chemin de fer, I
+like 'em all," he rattled on, "but they don't like me. So I stick to
+solitaire. It's dull, but cheap." He shuffled the cards clumsily. As
+though making conversation, he asked: "You care for cards yourself?"
+
+I told him truthfully I did not know the difference between a club and a
+spade and had no curiosity to learn. At this, when he found he had been
+wasting time on me, I expected him to show some sign of annoyance, even
+of irritation, but his disappointment struck far deeper. As though I had
+hurt him physically, he shut his eyes, and when again he opened them I
+saw in them distress. For the moment I believe of my presence he was
+utterly unconscious. His hands lay idle upon the table; like a man
+facing a crisis, he stared before him. Quite improperly, I felt sorry
+for him. In me he thought he had found a victim; and that the loss of
+the few dollars he might have won should so deeply disturb him showed
+his need was great. Almost at once he abandoned me and I went on deck.
+When I returned an hour later to the smoking-room he was deep in a game
+of poker.
+
+As I passed he hailed me gayly.
+
+"Don't scold, now," he laughed; "you know I can't keep away from it."
+
+From his manner those at the table might have supposed we were friends
+of long and happy companionship. I stopped behind his chair, but he
+thought I had passed, and in reply to one of the players answered:
+"Known him for years; he's set me right many a time. When I broke my
+right femur 'chasin,' he got me back in the saddle in six weeks. All my
+people swear by him."
+
+One of the players smiled up at me, and Talbot turned. But his eyes met
+mine with perfect serenity. He even held up his cards for me to see.
+"What would you draw?" he asked.
+
+His audacity so astonished me that in silence I could only stare at him
+and walk on.
+
+When on deck he met me he was not even apologetic. Instead, as though we
+were partners in crime, he chuckled delightedly.
+
+"Sorry," he said. "Had to do it. They weren't very keen at my taking a
+hand, so I had to use your name. But I'm all right now," he assured me.
+"They think you vouched for me, and to-night they're going to raise the
+limit. I've convinced them I'm an easy mark."
+
+"And I take it you are not," I said stiffly.
+
+He considered this unworthy of an answer and only smiled. Then the smile
+died, and again in his eyes I saw distress, infinite weariness, and
+fear.
+
+As though his thoughts drove him to seek protection, he came closer.
+
+"I'm 'in bad,' doctor," he said. His voice was frightened, bewildered,
+like that of a child. "I can't sleep; nerves all on the loose. I don't
+think straight. I hear voices, and no one around. I hear knockings at
+the door, and when I open it, no one there. If I don't keep fit I can't
+work, and this trip I _got_ to make expenses. You couldn't help me,
+could you--couldn't give me something to keep my head straight?"
+
+The need of my keeping his head straight that he might the easier rob
+our fellow passengers raised a pretty question of ethics. I meanly
+dodged it. I told him professional etiquette required I should leave him
+to the ship's surgeon.
+
+"But I don't know _him_," he protested.
+
+Mindful of the use he had made of my name, I objected strenuously:
+
+"Well, you certainly don't know me."
+
+My resentment obviously puzzled him.
+
+"I know who you _are_," he returned. "You and I--" With a deprecatory
+gesture, as though good taste forbade him saying who we were, he
+stopped. "But the ship's surgeon!" he protested; "he's an awful bounder!
+Besides," he added quite simply, "he's watching me."
+
+"As a doctor," I asked, "or watching you play cards?"
+
+"Play cards," the young man answered. "I'm afraid he was ship's surgeon
+on the P. & O. I came home on. There was trouble that voyage, and I
+fancy he remembers me."
+
+His confidences were becoming a nuisance.
+
+"But you mustn't tell me that," I protested. "I can't have you making
+trouble on this ship, too. How do you know I won't go straight from
+here to the captain?"
+
+As though the suggestion greatly entertained him, he laughed.
+
+He made a mock obeisance.
+
+"I claim the seal of your profession," he said.
+
+"Nonsense," I retorted. "It's a professional secret that your nerves are
+out of hand, but that you are a card-sharp is _not_. Don't mix me up
+with a priest."
+
+For a moment Talbot, as though fearing he had gone too far, looked at me
+sharply; he bit his lower lip and frowned.
+
+"I got to make expenses," he muttered. "And, besides, all card games are
+games of chance, and a card-sharp is one of the chances. Anyway," he
+repeated, as though disposing of all argument, "I got to make expenses."
+
+After dinner, when I came to the smoking-room, the poker party sat
+waiting, and one of them asked if I knew where they could find "my
+friend." I should have said then that Talbot was a steamer acquaintance
+only; but I hate a row, and I let the chance pass.
+
+"We want to give him his revenge," one of them volunteered.
+
+"He's losing, then?" I asked.
+
+The man chuckled complacently.
+
+"The only loser," he said.
+
+"I wouldn't worry," I advised. "He'll come for his revenge."
+
+That night after I had turned in he knocked at my door. I switched on
+the lights and saw him standing at the foot of my berth. I saw also that
+with difficulty he was holding himself in hand.
+
+"I'm scared," he stammered, "scared!"
+
+I wrote out a requisition on the surgeon for a sleeping-potion and sent
+it to him by the steward, giving the man to understand I wanted it for
+myself. Uninvited, Talbot had seated himself on the sofa. His eyes were
+closed, and as though he were cold he was shivering and hugging himself
+in his arms.
+
+"Have you been drinking?" I asked.
+
+In surprise he opened his eyes.
+
+"_I_ can't drink," he answered simply. "It's nerves and worry. I'm
+tired."
+
+He relaxed against the cushions; his arms fell heavily at his sides; the
+fingers lay open.
+
+"God," he whispered, "how tired I am!"
+
+In spite of his tan--and certainly he had led the out-of-door life--his
+face showed white. For the moment he looked old, worn, finished.
+
+"They're crowdin' me," the boy whispered. "They're always crowdin' me."
+His voice was querulous, uncomprehending, like that of a child
+complaining of something beyond his experience. "I can't remember when
+they haven't been crowdin' me. Movin' me on, you understand? Always
+movin' me on. Moved me out of India, then Cairo, then they closed Paris,
+and now they've shut me out of London. I opened a club there, very
+quiet, very exclusive, smart neighborhood, too--a flat in Berkeley
+Street--roulette and chemin de fer. I think it was my valet sold me out;
+anyway, they came in and took us all to Bow Street. So I've plunged on
+this. It's my last chance!"
+
+"This trip?"
+
+"No; my family in New York. Haven't seen 'em in ten years. They paid me
+to live abroad. I'm gambling on _them_; gambling on their takin' me
+back. I'm coming home as the Prodigal Son, tired of filling my belly
+with the husks that the swine do eat; reformed character, repentant and
+all that; want to follow the straight and narrow; and they'll kill the
+fatted calf." He laughed sardonically. "Like hell they will! They'd
+rather see _me_ killed."
+
+It seemed to me, if he wished his family to believe he were returning
+repentant, his course in the smoking-room would not help to reassure
+them. I suggested as much.
+
+"If you get into 'trouble,' as you call it," I said, "and they send a
+wireless to the police to be at the wharf, your people would hardly--"
+
+"I know," he interrupted; "but I got to chance that. I _got_ to make
+enough to go on with--until I see my family."
+
+"If they won't see you?" I asked. "What then?"
+
+He shrugged his shoulders and sighed lightly, almost with relief, as
+though for him the prospect held no terror.
+
+"Then it's 'Good night, nurse,'" he said. "And I won't be a bother to
+anybody any more."
+
+I told him his nerves were talking, and talking rot, and I gave him the
+sleeping-draft and sent him to bed.
+
+It was not until after luncheon the next day when he made his first
+appearance on deck that I again saw my patient. He was once more a
+healthy picture of a young Englishman of leisure; keen, smart, and fit;
+ready for any exercise or sport. The particular sport at which he was so
+expert I asked him to avoid.
+
+"Can't be done!" he assured me. "I'm the loser, and we dock to-morrow
+morning. So to-night I've got to make my killing."
+
+It was the others who made the killing.
+
+I came into the smoking-room about nine o'clock. Talbot alone was
+seated. The others were on their feet, and behind them in a wider
+semicircle were passengers, the smoking-room stewards, and the ship's
+purser.
+
+Talbot sat with his back against the bulkhead, his hands in the pockets
+of his dinner coat; from the corner of his mouth his long
+cigarette-holder was cocked at an impudent angle. There was a tumult of
+angry voices, and the eyes of all were turned upon him. Outwardly at
+least he met them with complete indifference. The voice of one of my
+countrymen, a noisy pest named Smedburg, was raised in excited
+accusation.
+
+"When the ship's surgeon first met you," he cried, "you called yourself
+Lord Ridley."
+
+"I'll call myself anything I jolly well like," returned Talbot. "If I
+choose to dodge reporters, that's _my_ pidgin. I don't have to give my
+name to every meddling busybody that--"
+
+"You'll give it to the police, all right," chortled Mr. Smedburg. In the
+confident, bullying tone of the man who knows the crowd is with him, he
+shouted: "And in the meantime you'll keep out of this smoking-room!"
+
+The chorus of assent was unanimous. It could not be disregarded. Talbot
+rose and with fastidious concern brushed the cigarette ashes from his
+sleeve. As he moved toward the door he called back: "Only too delighted
+to keep out. The crowd in this room makes a gentleman feel lonely."
+
+But he was not to escape with the last word.
+
+His prosecutor pointed his finger at him.
+
+"And the next time you take the name of Adolph Meyer," he shouted, "make
+sure first he hasn't a friend on board; some one to protect him from
+sharpers and swindlers--"
+
+Talbot turned savagely and then shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Oh, go to the devil!" he called, and walked out into the night.
+
+The purser was standing at my side and, catching my eye, shook his head.
+
+"Bad business," he exclaimed.
+
+"What happened?" I asked.
+
+"I'm told they caught him dealing from the wrong end of the pack," he
+said. "I understand they suspected him from the first--seems our surgeon
+recognized him--and to-night they had outsiders watching him. The
+outsiders claim they saw him slip himself an ace from the bottom of the
+pack. It's a pity! He's a nice-looking lad."
+
+I asked what the excited Smedburg had meant by telling Talbot not to
+call himself Meyer.
+
+"They accused him of travelling under a false name," explained the
+purser, "and he told 'em he did it to dodge the ship's news reporters.
+Then he said he _really_ was a brother of Adolph Meyer, the banker; but
+it seems Smedburg is a friend of Meyer's, and he called him hard! It was
+a silly ass thing to do," protested the purser. "Everybody knows Meyer
+hasn't a brother, and if he hadn't made _that_ break he might have got
+away with the other one. But now this Smedburg is going to wireless
+ahead to Mr. Meyer and to the police."
+
+"Has he no other way of spending his money?" I asked.
+
+"He's a confounded nuisance!" growled the purser. "He wants to show us
+he knows Adolph Meyer; wants to put Meyer under an obligation. It means
+a scene on the wharf, and newspaper talk; and," he added with disgust,
+"these smoking-room rows never helped any line."
+
+I went in search of Talbot; partly because I knew he was on the verge
+of a collapse, partly, as I frankly admitted to myself, because I was
+sorry the young man had come to grief. I searched the snow-swept decks,
+and then, after threading my way through faintly lit tunnels, I knocked
+at his cabin. The sound of his voice gave me a distinct feeling of
+relief. But he would not admit me. Through the closed door he declared
+he was "all right," wanted no medical advice, and asked only to resume
+the sleep he claimed I had broken. I left him, not without uneasiness,
+and the next morning the sight of him still in the flesh was a genuine
+thrill. I found him walking the deck carrying himself nonchalantly and
+trying to appear unconscious of the glances--amused, contemptuous,
+hostile--that were turned toward him. He would have passed me without
+speaking, but I took his arm and led him to the rail. We had long passed
+quarantine and a convoy of tugs were butting us into the dock.
+
+"What are you going to do?" I asked.
+
+"Doesn't depend on me," he said. "Depends on Smedburg. He's a busy
+little body!"
+
+The boy wanted me to think him unconcerned, but beneath the flippancy I
+saw the nerves jerking. Then quite simply he began to tell me. He spoke
+in a low, even monotone, dispassionately, as though for him the
+incident no longer was of interest.
+
+"They were watching me," he said. "But I _knew_ they were, and besides,
+no matter how close they watched I could have done what they said I did
+and they'd never have seen it. But I didn't."
+
+My scepticism must have been obvious, for he shook his head.
+
+"I didn't!" he repeated stubbornly. "I didn't have to! I was playing in
+luck--wonderful luck--sheer, dumb luck. I couldn't _help_ winning. But
+because I _was_ winning and because they were watching, I was careful
+not to win on my own deal. I laid down, or played to lose. It was the
+cards _they_ gave me I won with. And when they jumped me I told 'em
+that. I could have proved it if they'd listened. But they were all up in
+the air, shouting and spitting at me. They believed what they wanted to
+believe; they didn't want the facts."
+
+It may have been credulous of me, but I felt the boy was telling the
+truth, and I was deeply sorry he had not stuck to it. So, rather
+harshly, I said:
+
+"They didn't want you to tell them you were a brother to Adolph Meyer,
+either. Why did you think you could get away with anything like that?"
+
+Talbot did not answer.
+
+"Why?" I insisted.
+
+The boy laughed impudently.
+
+"How the devil was I to know he hadn't a brother?" he protested. "It was
+a good name, and he's a Jew, and two of the six who were in the game are
+Jews. You know how they stick together. I thought they might stick by
+me."
+
+"But you," I retorted impatiently, "are not a Jew!"
+
+"I am not," said Talbot, "but I've often _said_ I was. It's helped--lots
+of times. If I'd told you my name was Cohen, or Selmsky, or Meyer,
+instead of Craig Talbot, _you'd_ have thought I was a Jew." He smiled
+and turned his face toward me. As though furnishing a description for
+the police, he began to enumerate:
+
+"Hair, dark and curly; eyes, poppy; lips, full; nose, Roman or Hebraic,
+according to taste. Do you see?"
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"But it didn't work," he concluded. "I picked the wrong Jew."
+
+His face grew serious. "Do you suppose that Smedburg person _has_
+wirelessed that banker?"
+
+I told him I was afraid he had already sent the message.
+
+"And what will Meyer do?" he asked. "Will he drop it or make a fuss?
+What sort is he?"
+
+Briefly I described Adolph Meyer. I explained him as the richest Hebrew
+in New York; given to charity, to philanthropy, to the betterment of his
+own race.
+
+"Then maybe," cried Talbot hopefully, "he won't make a row, and my
+family won't hear of it!"
+
+He drew a quick breath of relief. As though a burden had been lifted,
+his shoulders straightened.
+
+And then suddenly, harshly, in open panic, he exclaimed aloud:
+
+"Look!" he whispered. "There, at the end of the wharf--the little Jew in
+furs!"
+
+I followed the direction of his eyes. Below us on the dock, protected by
+two obvious members of the strong-arm squad, the great banker,
+philanthropist, and Hebrew, Adolph Meyer, was waiting.
+
+We were so close that I could read his face. It was stern, set; the face
+of a man intent upon his duty, unrelenting. Without question, of a bad
+business Mr. Smedburg had made the worst. I turned to speak to Talbot
+and found him gone.
+
+His silent slipping away filled me with alarm. I fought against a
+growing fear. How many minutes I searched for him I do not know. It
+seemed many hours. His cabin, where first I sought him, was empty and
+dismantled, and by that I was reminded that if for any desperate purpose
+Talbot were seeking to conceal himself there now were hundreds of other
+empty, dismantled cabins in which he might hide. To my inquiries no one
+gave heed. In the confusion of departure no one had observed him; no one
+was in a humor to seek him out; the passengers were pressing to the
+gangway, the stewards concerned only in counting their tips. From deck
+to deck, down lane after lane of the great floating village, I raced
+blindly, peering into half-opened doors, pushing through groups of men,
+pursuing some one in the distance who appeared to be the man I sought,
+only to find he was unknown to me. When I returned to the gangway the
+last of the passengers was leaving it.
+
+I was about to follow to seek for Talbot in the customs shed when a
+white-faced steward touched my sleeve. Before he spoke his look told me
+why I was wanted.
+
+"The ship's surgeon, sir," he stammered, "asks you please to hurry to
+the sick-bay. A passenger has shot himself!"
+
+On the bed, propped up by pillows, young Talbot, with glazed, shocked
+eyes, stared at me. His shirt had been cut away; his chest lay bare.
+Against his left shoulder the doctor pressed a tiny sponge which quickly
+darkened.
+
+I must have exclaimed aloud, for the doctor turned his eyes.
+
+"It was _he_ sent for you," he said, "but he doesn't need you.
+Fortunately, he's a damned bad shot!"
+
+The boy's eyes opened wearily; before we could prevent it he spoke.
+
+"I was so tired," he whispered. "Always moving me on. I was so tired!"
+
+Behind me came heavy footsteps, and though with my arm I tried to bar
+them out, the two detectives pushed into the doorway. They shoved me to
+one side and through the passage made for him came the Jew in the sable
+coat, Mr. Adolph Meyer.
+
+For an instant the little great man stood with wide, owl-like eyes,
+staring at the face on the pillow.
+
+Then he sank softly to his knees. In both his hands he caught the hand
+of the card-sharp.
+
+"Heine!" he begged. "Don't you know me? It is your brother Adolph; your
+little brother Adolph!"
+
+
+
+
+BILLY AND THE BIG STICK
+
+
+Had the Wilmot Electric Light people remained content only to make
+light, had they not, as a by-product, attempted to make money, they need
+not have left Hayti.
+
+When they flooded with radiance the unpaved streets of Port-au-Prince no
+one, except the police, who complained that the lights kept them awake,
+made objection; but when for this illumination the Wilmot Company
+demanded payment, every one up to President Hamilcar Poussevain was
+surprised and grieved. So grieved was President Ham, as he was lovingly
+designated, that he withdrew the Wilmot concession, surrounded the
+power-house with his barefooted army, and in a proclamation announced
+that for the future the furnishing of electric light would be a monopoly
+of the government.
+
+In Hayti, as soon as it begins to make money, any industry, native or
+foreign, becomes a monopoly of the government. The thing works
+automatically. It is what in Hayti is understood as _haut finance_. The
+Wilmot people should have known that. Because they did not know that,
+they stood to lose what they had sunk in the electric-light plant, and
+after their departure to New York, which departure was accelerated as
+far as the wharf by seven generals and twelve privates, they proceeded
+to lose more money on lobbyists and lawyers who claimed to understand
+international law; even the law of Hayti. And lawyers who understand
+that are high-priced.
+
+The only employee of the Wilmot force who was not escorted to the wharf
+under guard was Billy Barlow. He escaped the honor because he was
+superintendent of the power-house, and President Ham believed that
+without him the lightning would not strike. Accordingly by an executive
+order Billy became an employee of the government. With this arrangement
+the Wilmot people were much pleased. For they trusted Billy, and they
+knew while in the courts they were fighting to regain their property, he
+would see no harm came to it.
+
+Billy's title was Directeur Général et Inspecteur Municipal de Luminaire
+Electrique, which is some title, and his salary was fifty dollars a
+week. In spite of Billy's color President Ham always treated his only
+white official with courtesy and gave him his full title. About giving
+him his full salary he was less particular. This neglect greatly annoyed
+Billy. He came of sturdy New England stock and possessed that New
+England conscience which makes the owner a torment to himself, and to
+every one else a nuisance. Like all the other Barlows of Barnstable on
+Cape Cod, Billy had worked for his every penny. He was no shirker. From
+the first day that he carried a pair of pliers in the leg pocket of his
+overalls, and in a sixty-knot gale stretched wires between ice-capped
+telegraph poles, he had more than earned his wages. Never, whether on
+time or at piece-work, had he by a slovenly job, or by beating the
+whistle, robbed his employer. And for his honest toil he was determined
+to be as honestly paid--even by President Hamilcar Poussevain. And
+President Ham never paid anybody; neither the Armenian street peddlers,
+in whose sweets he delighted, nor the Bethlehem Steel Company, nor the
+house of Rothschild.
+
+Why he paid Billy even the small sums that from time to time Billy wrung
+from the president's strong box the foreign colony were at a loss to
+explain. Wagner, the new American consul, asked Billy how he managed it.
+As an American minister had not yet been appointed, to the duties of
+the consul, as Wagner assured everybody, were added those of diplomacy.
+But Haytian diplomacy he had yet to master. At the seaport in Scotland
+where he had served as vice-consul, law and order were as solidly
+established as the stone jetties, and by contrast the eccentricities of
+the Black Republic baffled and distressed him.
+
+"It can't be that you blackmail the president," said the consul,
+"because I understand he boasts he has committed all the known crimes."
+
+"And several he invented," agreed Billy.
+
+"And you can't do it with a gun, because they tell me the president
+isn't afraid of anything except a voodoo priestess. What is your
+secret?" coaxed the consul. "If you'll only sell it, I know several
+Powers that would give you your price."
+
+Billy smiled modestly.
+
+"It's very simple," he said. "The first time my wages were shy I went to
+the palace and told him if he didn't come across I'd shut off the juice.
+I think he was so stunned at anybody asking him for real money that
+while he was still stunned he opened his safe and handed me two thousand
+francs. I think he did it more in admiration for my nerve than because
+he owed it. The next time pay-day arrived, and the pay did not, I didn't
+go to the palace. I just went to bed, and the lights went to bed, too.
+You may remember?"
+
+The consul snorted indignantly.
+
+"I was holding three queens at the time," he protested. "Was it _you_
+did that?"
+
+"It was," said Billy. "The police came for me to start the current going
+again, but I said I was too ill. Then the president's own doctor came,
+old Gautier, and Gautier examined me with a lantern and said that in
+Hayti my disease frequently proved fatal, but he thought if I turned on
+the lights I might recover. I told him I was tired of life, anyway, but
+that if I could see three thousand francs it might give me an incentive.
+He reported back to the president and the three thousand francs arrived
+almost instantly, and a chicken broth from Ham's own chef, with His
+Excellency's best wishes for the recovery of the invalid. My recovery
+was instantaneous, and I switched on the lights.
+
+"I had just moved into the Widow Ducrot's hotel that week, and her
+daughter Claire wouldn't let me eat the broth. I thought it was because,
+as she's a dandy cook herself, she was professionally jealous. She put
+the broth on the top shelf of the pantry and wrote on a piece of paper,
+'Gare!' But the next morning a perfectly good cat, who apparently
+couldn't read, was lying beside it dead."
+
+The consul frowned reprovingly.
+
+"You should not make such reckless charges," he protested. "I would call
+it only a coincidence."
+
+"You can call it what you please," said Billy, "but it won't bring the
+cat back. Anyway, the next time I went to the palace to collect, the
+president was ready for me. He said he'd been taking out information,
+and he found if I shut off the lights again he could hire another man in
+the States to turn them on. I told him he'd been deceived. I told him
+the Wilmot Electric Lights were produced by a secret process, and that
+only a trained Wilmot man could work them. And I pointed out to him if
+he dismissed me it wasn't likely the Wilmot people would loan him
+another expert; not while they were fighting him through the courts and
+the State Department. That impressed the old man; so I issued my
+ultimatum. I said if he must have electric lights he must have me, too.
+Whether he liked it or not, mine was a life job."
+
+"What did he say to that?" gasped the new consul.
+
+"Said it _wasn't_ a life job, because he was going to have me shot at
+sunset."
+
+"Then you said?"
+
+"I said if he did that there wouldn't be any electric lights, and _you_
+would bring a warship and shoot Hayti off the map."
+
+The new consul was most indignant.
+
+"You had no right to say that!" he protested. "You did very ill. My
+instructions are to avoid all serious complications."
+
+"That was what I was trying to avoid," said Billy. "Don't you call being
+shot at sunset a serious complication? Or would that be just a
+coincidence, too? You're a hellofa consul!"
+
+Since his talk with the representative of his country four months had
+passed and Billy still held his job. But each month the number of francs
+he was able to wrest from President Hamilcar dwindled, and were won only
+after verbal conflicts that each month increased in violence.
+
+To the foreign colony it became evident that, in the side of President
+Ham, Billy was a thorn, sharp, irritating, virulent, and that at any
+moment Ham might pluck that thorn and Billy would leave Hayti in haste,
+and probably in handcuffs. This was evident to Billy, also, and the
+prospect was most disquieting. Not because he loved Hayti, but because
+since he went to lodge at the café of the Widow Ducrot, he had learned
+to love her daughter Claire, and Claire loved him.
+
+On the two thousand dollars due him from Ham they plotted to marry. This
+was not as great an adventure as it might appear. Billy knew that from
+the Wilmot people he always was sure of a salary, and one which, with
+such an excellent housekeeper as was Claire, would support them both.
+But with his two thousand dollars as capital they could afford to
+plunge; they could go upon a honeymoon; they need not dread a rainy day,
+and, what was of greatest importance, they need not delay. There was
+good reason against delay, for the hand of the beautiful Claire was
+already promised. The Widow Ducrot had promised it to Paillard, he of
+the prosperous commission business, the prominent _embonpoint_, and four
+children. Monsieur Paillard possessed an establishment of his own, but
+it was a villa in the suburbs; and so, each day at noon, for his
+_déjeûné_ he left his office and crossed the street to the Café Ducrot.
+For five years this had been his habit. At first it was the widow's
+cooking that attracted him, then for a time the widow herself; but when
+from the convent Claire came to assist her mother in the café, and when
+from a lanky, big-eyed, long-legged child she grew into a slim, joyous,
+and charming young woman, she alone was the attraction, and the Widower
+Paillard decided to make her his wife. Other men had made the same
+decision; and when it was announced that between Claire and the widower
+a marriage had been "arranged," the clerks in the foreign commission
+houses and the agents of the steamship lines drowned their sorrow in rum
+and ran the house flags to half-staff. Paillard himself took the
+proposed alliance calmly. He was not an impetuous suitor. With Widow
+Ducrot he agreed that Claire was still too young to marry, and to
+himself kept the fact that to remarry he was in no haste. In his mind
+doubts still lingered. With a wife, young enough to be one of his
+children, disorganizing the routine of his villa, would it be any more
+comfortable than he now found it? Would his eldest daughter and her
+stepmother dwell together in harmony? The eldest daughter had assured
+him that so far as she was concerned they would not; and, after all, in
+marrying a girl, no matter how charming, without a dot, and the daughter
+of a boarding-house keeper, no matter how respectable, was he not
+disposing of himself too cheaply? These doubts assailed Papa Paillard;
+these speculations were in his mind. And while he speculated Billy
+acted.
+
+"I know that in France," Billy assured Claire, "marriages are arranged
+by the parents; but in _my_ country they are arranged in heaven. And who
+are we to disregard the edicts of heaven? Ages and ages ago, before the
+flood, before Napoleon, even before old Paillard with his four children,
+it was arranged in heaven that you were to marry me. So, what little
+plans your good mother may make don't cut enough ice to cool a green
+mint. Now, we can't try to get married here," continued Billy, "without
+your mother and Paillard knowing it. In this town as many people have to
+sign the marriage contract as signed our Declaration of Independence:
+all the civil authorities, all the clergy, all the relatives; if every
+man in the telephone book isn't a witness, the marriage doesn't 'take.'
+So, we must elope!"
+
+Having been brought up in a convent, where she was taught to obey her
+mother and forbidden to think of marriage, Claire was naturally
+delighted with the idea of an elopement.
+
+"To where will we elope to?" she demanded. Her English, as she learned
+it from Billy, was sometimes confusing.
+
+"To New York," said Billy. "On the voyage there I will put you in charge
+of the stewardess and the captain; and there isn't a captain on the
+Royal Dutch or the Atlas that hasn't known you since you were a baby.
+And as soon as we dock we'll drive straight to the city hall for a
+license and the mayor himself will marry us. Then I'll get back my old
+job from the Wilmot folks and we'll live happy ever after!"
+
+"In New York, also," asked Claire proudly, "are you directeur of the
+electric lights?"
+
+"On Broadway alone," Billy explained reprovingly, "there is one sign
+that uses more bulbs than there are in the whole of Hayti!"
+
+"New York is a large town!" exclaimed Claire.
+
+"It's a large sign," corrected Billy. "But," he pointed out, "with no
+money we'll never see it. So to-morrow I'm going to make a social call
+on Grandpa Ham and demand my ten thousand francs."
+
+Claire grasped his arm.
+
+"Be careful," she pleaded. "Remember the chicken soup. If he offers you
+the champagne, refuse it!"
+
+"He won't offer me the champagne," Billy assured her. "It won't be that
+kind of a call."
+
+Billy left the Café Ducrot and made his way to the water-front. He was
+expecting some electrical supplies by the _Prinz der Nederlanden_, and
+she had already come to anchor.
+
+He was late, and save for a group of his countrymen, who with the
+customs officials were having troubles of their own, the customs shed
+was all but deserted. Billy saw his freight cleared and was going away
+when one of those in trouble signalled for assistance.
+
+He was a good-looking young man in a Panama hat and his manner seemed to
+take it for granted that Billy knew who he was.
+
+"They want us to pay duty on our trunks," he explained, "and we want to
+leave them in bond. We'll be here only until to-night, when we're going
+on down the coast to Santo Domingo. But we don't speak French, and we
+can't make them understand that."
+
+"You don't need to speak any language to give a man ten dollars," said
+Billy.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed the man in the Panama. "I was afraid if I tried that
+they might arrest us."
+
+"They may arrest you if you don't," said Billy.
+
+Acting both as interpreter and disbursing agent, Billy satisfied the
+demands of his fellow employees of the government, and his fellow
+countrymen he directed to the Hotel Ducrot.
+
+As some one was sure to take their money, he thought it might as well go
+to his mother-in-law elect. The young man in the Panama expressed the
+deepest gratitude, and Billy, assuring him he would see him later,
+continued to the power-house, still wondering where he had seen him
+before.
+
+At the power-house he found seated at his desk a large, bearded stranger
+whose derby hat and ready-to-wear clothes showed that he also had but
+just arrived on the _Prinz der Nederlanden_.
+
+"You William Barlow?" demanded the stranger. "I understand you been
+threatening, unless you get your pay raised, to commit sabotage on these
+works?"
+
+"Who the devil are you?" inquired Billy.
+
+The stranger produced an impressive-looking document covered with seals.
+
+"Contract with the president," he said. "I've taken over your job. You
+better get out quiet," he advised, "as they've given me a squad of
+nigger policemen to see that you do."
+
+"Are you aware that these works are the property of the Wilmot Company?"
+asked Billy, "and that if anything went wrong here they'd hold you
+responsible?"
+
+The stranger smiled complacently.
+
+"I've run plants," he said, "that make these lights look like a stable
+lantern on a foggy night."
+
+"In that case," assented Billy, "should anything happen, you'll know
+exactly what to do, and I can leave you in charge without feeling the
+least anxiety."
+
+"That's just what you can do," the stranger agreed heartily, "and you
+can't do it too quick!" From the desk he took Billy's favorite pipe and
+loaded it from Billy's tobacco-jar. But when Billy had reached the door
+he called to him. "Before you go, son," he said, "you might give me a
+tip about this climate. I never been in the tropics. It's kind of
+unhealthy, ain't it?"
+
+His expression was one of concern.
+
+"If you hope to keep alive," began Billy, "there are two things to
+avoid--"
+
+The stranger laughed knowingly.
+
+"I got you!" he interrupted. "You're going to tell me to cut out wine
+and women."
+
+"I was going to tell you," said Billy, "to cut out hoping to collect any
+wages and to avoid every kind of soup."
+
+From the power-house Billy went direct to the palace. His anxiety was
+great. Now that Claire had consented to leave Hayti, the loss of his
+position did not distress him. But the possible loss of his back pay
+would be a catastrophe. He had hardly enough money to take them both to
+New York, and after they arrived none with which to keep them alive.
+Before the Wilmot Company could find a place for him a month might
+pass, and during that month they might starve. If he went alone and
+arranged for Claire to follow, he might lose her. Her mother might marry
+her to Paillard; Claire might fall ill; without him at her elbow to keep
+her to their purpose the voyage to an unknown land might require more
+courage than she possessed. Billy saw it was imperative they should
+depart together, and to that end he must have his two thousand dollars.
+The money was justly his. For it he had sweated and slaved; had given
+his best effort. And so, when he faced the president, he was in no
+conciliatory mood. Neither was the president.
+
+By what right, he demanded, did this foreigner affront his ears with
+demands for money; how dared he force his way into his presence and to
+his face babble of back pay? It was insolent, incredible. With
+indignation the president set forth the position of the government.
+Billy had been discharged and, with the appointment of his successor,
+the stranger in the derby hat, had ceased to exist. The government could
+not pay money to some one who did not exist. All indebtedness to Billy
+also had ceased to exist. The account had been wiped out. Billy had been
+wiped out.
+
+The big negro, with the chest and head of a gorilla, tossed his kinky
+white curls so violently that the ringlets danced. Billy, he declared,
+had been a pest; a fly that buzzed and buzzed and disturbed his
+slumbers. And now when the fly thought he slept he had caught and
+crushed it--so. President Ham clinched his great fist convulsively and,
+with delight in his pantomime, opened his fingers one by one, and held
+out his pink palm, wrinkled and crossed like the hand of a washerwoman,
+as though to show Billy that in it lay the fly, dead.
+
+"_C'est une chose jugée_!" thundered the president.
+
+He reached for his quill pen.
+
+But Billy, with Claire in his heart, with the injustice of it rankling
+in his mind, did not agree.
+
+"It is not an affair closed," shouted Billy in his best French. "It is
+an affair international, diplomatic; a cause for war!"
+
+Believing he had gone mad, President Ham gazed at him speechless.
+
+"From here I go to the cable office," shouted Billy. "I cable for a
+warship! If, by to-night, I am not paid my money, marines will surround
+our power-house, and the Wilmot people will back me up, and my
+government will back me up!"
+
+It was, so Billy thought, even as he launched it, a tirade satisfying
+and magnificent. But in his turn the president did not agree.
+
+He rose. He was a large man. Billy wondered he had not previously
+noticed how very large he was.
+
+"To-night at nine o'clock," he said, "the German boat departs for New
+York." As though aiming a pistol, he raised his arm and at Billy pointed
+a finger. "If, after she departs, you are found in Port-au-Prince, you
+will be shot!"
+
+The audience-chamber was hung with great mirrors in frames of tarnished
+gilt. In these Billy saw himself reproduced in a wavering line of
+Billies that, like the ghost of Banquo, stretched to the disappearing
+point. Of such images there was an army, but of the real Billy, as he
+was acutely conscious, there was but one. Among the black faces scowling
+from the doorways he felt the odds were against him. Without making a
+reply he passed out between the racks of rusty muskets in the anteroom,
+between the two Gatling guns guarding the entrance, and on the palace
+steps, in indecision, halted.
+
+As Billy hesitated an officer followed him from the palace and beckoned
+to the guard that sat in the bare dust of the Champ de Mars playing
+cards for cartridges. Two abandoned the game, and, having received
+their orders, picked their muskets from the dust and stood looking
+expectantly at Billy.
+
+They were his escort, and it was evident that until nine o'clock, when
+he sailed, his movements would be spied upon; his acts reported to the
+president.
+
+Such being the situation, Billy determined that his first act to be
+reported should be of a nature to cause the president active mental
+anguish. With his guard at his heels he went directly to the cable
+station, and to the Secretary of State of the United States addressed
+this message: "President refuses my pay; threatens shoot; wireless
+nearest war-ship proceed here full speed. William Barlow."
+
+Billy and the director of telegraphs, who out of office hours was a
+field-marshal, and when not in his shirt-sleeves always appeared in
+uniform, went over each word of the cablegram together. When Billy was
+assured that the field-marshal had grasped the full significance of it
+he took it back and added, "Love to Aunt Maria." The extra words cost
+four dollars and eighty cents gold, but, as they suggested ties of blood
+between himself and the Secretary of State, they seemed advisable. In
+the account-book in which he recorded his daily expenditures Billy
+credited the item to "life-insurance."
+
+The revised cablegram caused the field-marshal deep concern. He frowned
+at Billy ferociously.
+
+"I will forward this at once," he promised. "But, I warn you," he added,
+"I deliver also a copy to _my_ president!"
+
+Billy sighed hopefully.
+
+"You might deliver the copy first," he suggested.
+
+From the cable station Billy, still accompanied by his faithful
+retainers, returned to the power-house. There he bade farewell to the
+black brothers who had been his assistants, and upon one of them pressed
+a sum of money.
+
+As they parted, this one, as though giving the pass-word of a secret
+society, chanted solemnly:
+
+"_A huit heures juste_!"
+
+And Billy clasped his hand and nodded.
+
+At the office of the Royal Dutch West India Line Billy purchased a
+ticket to New York and inquired were there many passengers.
+
+"The ship is empty," said the agent.
+
+"I am glad," said Billy, "for one of my assistants may come with me. He
+also is being deported."
+
+"You can have as many cabins as you want," said the agent. "We are so
+sorry to see you go that we will try to make you feel you leave us on
+your private yacht."
+
+The next two hours Billy spent in seeking out those acquaintances from
+whom he could borrow money. He found that by asking for it in
+homoeopathic doses he was able to shame the foreign colony into loaning
+him all of one hundred dollars. This, with what he had in hand, would
+take Claire and himself to New York and for a week keep them alive.
+After that he must find work or they must starve.
+
+In the garden of the Café Ducrot Billy placed his guard at a table with
+bottles of beer between them, and at an adjoining table with Claire
+plotted the elopement for that night. The garden was in the rear of the
+hotel and a door in the lower wall opened into the rue Cambon, that led
+directly to the water-front.
+
+Billy proposed that at eight o'clock Claire should be waiting in the rue
+Cambon outside this door. They would then make their way to one of the
+less frequented wharfs, where Claire would arrange to have a rowboat in
+readiness, and in it they would take refuge on the steamer. An hour
+later, before the flight of Claire could be discovered, they would have
+started on their voyage to the mainland.
+
+"I warn you," said Billy, "that after we reach New York I have only
+enough to keep us for a week. It will be a brief honeymoon. After that
+we will probably starve. I'm not telling you this to discourage you," he
+explained; "only trying to be honest."
+
+"I would rather starve with you in New York," said Claire, "than die
+here without you."
+
+At these words Billy desired greatly to kiss Claire, but the guards were
+scowling at him. It was not until Claire had gone to her room to pack
+her bag and the chance to kiss her had passed that Billy recognized that
+the scowls were intended to convey the fact that the beer bottles were
+empty. He remedied this and remained alone at his table considering the
+outlook. The horizon was, indeed, gloomy, and the only light upon it,
+the loyalty and love of the girl, only added to his bitterness. Above
+all things he desired to make her content, to protect her from disquiet,
+to convince her that in the sacrifice she was making she also was
+plotting her own happiness. Had he been able to collect his ten thousand
+francs his world would have danced in sunshine. As it was, the heavens
+were gray and for the future the skies promised only rainy days. In
+these depressing reflections Billy was interrupted by the approach of
+the young man in the Panama hat. Billy would have avoided him, but the
+young man and his two friends would not be denied. For the service Billy
+had rendered them they wished to express their gratitude. It found
+expression in the form of Planter's punch. As they consumed this Billy
+explained to the strangers why the customs men had detained them.
+
+"You told them you were leaving to-night for Santo Domingo," said Billy;
+"but they knew that was impossible, for there is no steamer down the
+coast for two weeks."
+
+The one whose features seemed familiar replied:
+
+"Still, we _are_ leaving to-night," he said; "not on a steamer, but on a
+war-ship."
+
+"A war-ship?" cried Billy. His heart beat at high speed. "Then," he
+exclaimed, "you are a naval officer?"
+
+The young man shook his head and, as though challenging Billy to make
+another guess, smiled.
+
+"Then," Billy complied eagerly, "you are a diplomat! Are you our new
+minister?"
+
+One of the other young men exclaimed reproachfully:
+
+"You know him perfectly well!" he protested. "You've seen his picture
+thousands of times."
+
+With awe and pride he placed his hand on Billy's arm and with the other
+pointed at the one in the Panama hat.
+
+"It's Harry St. Clair," he announced. "Harry St. Clair, the King of the
+Movies!"
+
+"The King of the Movies," repeated Billy. His disappointment was so keen
+as to be embarrassing.
+
+"Oh!" he exclaimed, "I thought you--" Then he remembered his manners.
+"Glad to meet you," he said. "Seen you on the screen."
+
+Again his own troubles took precedence. "Did you say," he demanded, "one
+of our war-ships is coming here _to-day_?"
+
+"Coming to take me to Santo Domingo," explained Mr. St. Clair. He spoke
+airily, as though to him as a means of locomotion battle-ships were as
+trolley-cars. The Planter's punch, which was something he had never
+before encountered, encouraged the great young man to unbend. He
+explained further and fully, and Billy, his mind intent upon his own
+affair, pretended to listen.
+
+The United States Government, Mr. St. Clair explained, was assisting him
+and the Apollo Film Company in producing the eight-reel film entitled
+"The Man Behind the Gun."
+
+With it the Navy Department plotted to advertise the navy and encourage
+recruiting. In moving pictures, in the form of a story, with love
+interest, villain, comic relief, and thrills, it would show the life of
+American bluejackets afloat and ashore, at home and abroad. They would
+be seen at Yokohama playing baseball with Tokio University; in the
+courtyard of the Vatican receiving the blessing of the Pope; at Waikiki
+riding the breakers on a scrubbing-board; in the Philippines eating
+cocoanuts in the shade of the sheltering palm, and in Brooklyn in the
+Y.M.C.A. club, in the shadow of the New York sky-scrapers, playing
+billiards and reading the sporting extras.
+
+As it would be illustrated on the film the life of "The Man Behind the
+Gun" was one of luxurious ease. In it coal-passing, standing watch in a
+blizzard, and washing down decks, cold and unsympathetic, held no part.
+But to prove that the life of Jack was not all play he would be seen
+fighting for the flag. That was where, as "Lieutenant Hardy, U.S.A.,"
+the King of the Movies entered.
+
+"Our company arrived in Santo Domingo last week," he explained. "And
+they're waiting for me now. I'm to lead the attack on the fortress. We
+land in shore boats under the guns of the ship and I take the fortress.
+First, we show the ship clearing for action and the men lowering the
+boats and pulling for shore. Then we cut back to show the gun-crews
+serving the guns. Then we jump to the landing-party wading through the
+breakers. I lead them. The man who is carrying the flag gets shot and
+drops in the surf. I pick him up, put him on my shoulder, and carry him
+_and_ the flag to the beach, where I--"
+
+Billy suddenly awoke. His tone was one of excited interest.
+
+"You got a uniform?" he demanded.
+
+"Three," said St. Clair impressively, "made to order according to
+regulations on file in the Quartermaster's Department. Each absolutely
+correct." Without too great a show of eagerness he inquired: "Like to
+see them?"
+
+Without too great a show of eagerness Billy assured him that he would.
+
+"I got to telephone first," he added, "but by the time you get your
+trunk open I'll join you in your room."
+
+In the café, over the telephone, Billy addressed himself to the
+field-marshal in charge of the cable office. When Billy gave his name,
+the voice of that dignitary became violently agitated.
+
+"Monsieur Barlow," he demanded, "do you know that the warship for which
+you cabled your Secretary of State makes herself to arrive?"
+
+At the other end of the 'phone, although restrained by the confines of
+the booth, Billy danced joyously. But his voice was stern.
+
+"Naturally," he replied. "Where is she now?"
+
+An hour before, so the field-marshal informed him, the battleship
+_Louisiana_ had been sighted and by telegraph reported. She was
+approaching under forced draught. At any moment she might anchor in the
+outer harbor. Of this President Ham had been informed. He was grieved,
+indignant; he was also at a loss to understand.
+
+"It is very simple," explained Billy. "She probably was somewhere in the
+Windward Passage. When the Secretary got my message he cabled
+Guantanamo, and Guantanamo wirelessed the warship nearest
+Port-au-Prince."
+
+"President Poussevain," warned the field-marshal, "is greatly
+disturbed."
+
+"Tell him not to worry," said Billy. "Tell him when the bombardment
+begins I will see that the palace is outside the zone of fire."
+
+As Billy entered the room of St. Clair his eyes shone with a strange
+light. His manner, which toward a man of his repute St. Clair had
+considered a little too casual, was now enthusiastic, almost
+affectionate.
+
+"My dear St. Clair," cried Billy, "_I've fixed it_! But, until I was
+_sure_, I didn't want to raise your hopes!"
+
+"Hopes of what?" demanded the actor.
+
+"An audience with the president!" cried Billy. "I've just called him up
+and he says I'm to bring you to the palace at once. He's heard of you,
+of course, and he's very pleased to meet you. I told him about 'The Man
+Behind the Gun,' and he says you must come in your make-up as
+'Lieutenant Hardy, U. S. A.,' just as he'll see you on the screen."
+
+Mr. St. Clair stammered delightedly.
+
+"In uniform," he protested; "won't that be--"
+
+"White, special full dress," insisted Billy. "Medals, side-arms,
+full-dress belt, _and_ gloves. What a press story! 'The King of the
+Movies meets the President of Hayti!' Of course, he's only an ignorant
+negro, but on Broadway they don't know that; and it will sound fine!"
+
+St. Clair coughed nervously.
+
+"_Don't_ forget," he stammered, "I can't speak French, or understand it,
+either."
+
+The eyes of Billy became as innocent as those of a china doll.
+
+"Then I'll interpret," he said. "And, oh, yes," he added, "he's sending
+two of the palace soldiers to act as an escort--sort of guard of honor!"
+
+The King of the Movies chuckled excitedly.
+
+"Fine!" he exclaimed. "You _are_ a brick!"
+
+With trembling fingers he began to shed his outer garments.
+
+To hide his own agitation Billy walked to the window and turned his
+back. Night had fallen and the electric lights, that once had been his
+care, sprang into life. Billy looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock.
+The window gave upon the harbor, and a mile from shore he saw the cargo
+lights of the _Prinz der Nederlanden_, and slowly approaching, as though
+feeling for her berth, a great battleship. When Billy turned from the
+window his voice was apparently undisturbed.
+
+"We've got to hurry," he said. "The _Louisiana_ is standing in. She'll
+soon be sending a launch for you. We've just time to drive to the palace
+and back before the launch gets here."
+
+From his mind President Ham had dismissed all thoughts of the warship
+that had been sighted and that now had come to anchor. For the moment he
+was otherwise concerned. Fate could not harm him; he was about to dine.
+
+But, for the first time in the history of his administration, that
+solemn ceremony was rudely halted. An excited aide, trembling at his own
+temerity, burst upon the president's solitary state.
+
+In the anteroom, he announced, an officer from the battleship
+_Louisiana_ demanded instant audience.
+
+For a moment, transfixed in amazement, anger, and alarm President Ham
+remained seated. Such a visit, uninvited, was against all tradition; it
+was an affront, an insult. But that it was against all precedent argued
+some serious necessity. He decided it would be best to receive the
+officer. Besides, to continue his dinner was now out of the question.
+Both appetite and digestion had fled from him.
+
+In the anteroom Billy was whispering final instructions to St. Clair.
+
+"Whatever happens," he begged, "don't _laugh_! Don't even smile
+politely! He's very ignorant, you see, and he's sensitive. When he meets
+foreigners and can't understand their language, he's always afraid if
+they laugh that he's made a break and that they're laughing at _him_.
+So, be solemn; look grave; look haughty!"
+
+"I got you," assented St. Clair. "I'm to 'register' pride."
+
+"Exactly!" said Billy. "The more pride you register, the better for
+us."
+
+Inwardly cold with alarm, outwardly frigidly polite, Billy presented
+"Lieutenant Hardy." He had come, Billy explained, in answer to the call
+for help sent by himself to the Secretary of State, which by wireless
+had been communicated to the _Louisiana_. Lieutenant Hardy begged him to
+say to the president that he was desolate at having to approach His
+Excellency so unceremoniously. But His Excellency, having threatened the
+life of an American citizen, the captain of the _Louisiana_ was forced
+to act quickly.
+
+"And this officer?" demanded President Ham; "what does he want?"
+
+"He says," Billy translated to St. Clair, "that he is very glad to meet
+you, and he wants to know how much you earn a week."
+
+The actor suppressed his surprise and with pardonable pride said that
+his salary was six hundred dollars a week and royalties on each film.
+
+Billy bowed to the president.
+
+"He says," translated Billy, "he is here to see that I get my ten
+thousand francs, and that if I don't get them in ten minutes he will
+return to the ship and land marines."
+
+To St. Clair it seemed as though the president received his statement
+as to the amount of his salary with a disapproval that was hardly
+flattering. With the heel of his giant fist the president beat upon the
+table, his curls shook, his gorilla-like shoulders heaved.
+
+In an explanatory aside Billy made this clear.
+
+"He says," he interpreted, "that you get more as an actor than he gets
+as president, and it makes him mad."
+
+"I can see it does myself," whispered St. Clair. "And I don't understand
+French, either."
+
+President Ham was protesting violently. It was outrageous, he exclaimed;
+it was inconceivable that a great republic should shake the Big Stick
+over the head of a small republic, and for a contemptible ten thousand
+francs.
+
+"I will not believe," he growled, "that this officer has authority to
+threaten me. You have deceived him. If he knew the truth, he would
+apologize. Tell him," he roared suddenly, "that I _demand_ that he
+apologize!"
+
+Billy felt like the man who, after jauntily forcing the fighting,
+unexpectedly gets a jolt on the chin that drops him to the canvas.
+
+While the referee might have counted three Billy remained upon the
+canvas.
+
+Then again he forced the fighting. Eagerly he turned to St. Clair.
+
+"He says," he translated, "you must recite something."
+
+St. Clair exclaimed incredulously:
+
+"Recite!" he gasped.
+
+Than his indignant protest nothing could have been more appropriate.
+
+"Wants to see you act out," insisted Billy. "Go on," he begged; "humor
+him. Do what he wants or he'll put us in jail!"
+
+"But what shall I--"
+
+"He wants the curse of Rome from Richelieu," explained Billy. "He knows
+it in French and he wants you to recite it in English. Do you know it?"
+
+The actor smiled haughtily.
+
+"I _wrote_ it!" he protested. "Richelieu's my middle name. I've done it
+in stock."
+
+"Then do it now!" commanded Billy. "Give it to him hot. I'm Julie de
+Mortemar. He's the villain Barabas. Begin where Barabas hands you the
+cue, 'The country is the king! '"
+
+In embarrassment St. Clair coughed tentatively.
+
+"Whoever heard of Cardinal Richelieu," he protested, "in a navy
+uniform?"
+
+"Begin!" begged Billy.
+
+"What'll I do with my cap?" whispered St. Clair.
+
+In an ecstasy of alarm Billy danced from foot to foot.
+
+"I'll hold your cap," he cried. "Go on!"
+
+St. Clair gave his cap of gold braid to Billy and shifted his
+"full-dress" sword-belt. Not without concern did President Ham observe
+these preparations. For the fraction of a second, in alarm, his eyes
+glanced to the exits. He found that the officers of his staff completely
+filled them. Their presence gave him confidence and his eyes returned to
+Lieutenant Hardy.
+
+That gentleman heaved a deep sigh. Dejectedly, his head fell forward
+until his chin rested upon his chest. Much to the relief of the
+president, it appeared evident that Lieutenant Hardy was about to accede
+to his command and apologize.
+
+St. Clair groaned heavily.
+
+"Ay, is it so?" he muttered. His voice was deep, resonant, vibrating
+like a bell. His eyes no longer suggested apology. They were strange,
+flashing; the eyes of a religious fanatic; and balefully they were fixed
+upon President Ham.
+
+"Then wakes the power," the deep voice rumbled, "that in the age of iron
+burst forth to curb the great and raise the low." He flung out his left
+arm and pointed it at Billy.
+
+"Mark where she stands!" he commanded.
+
+With a sweeping, protecting gesture he drew a round Billy an imaginary
+circle. The pantomime was only too clear. To the aged negro, who feared
+neither God nor man, but only voodoo, there was in the voice and gesture
+that which caused his blood to chill.
+
+"Around her form," shrieked St. Clair, "I draw the awful circle of our
+solemn church! Set but one foot within that holy ground and on thy
+head--" Like a semaphore the left arm dropped, and the right arm, with
+the forefinger pointed, shot out at President Ham. "Yea, though it wore
+a CROWN--I launch the CURSE OF ROME!"
+
+No one moved. No one spoke. What terrible threat had hit him President
+Ham could not guess. He did not ask. Stiffly, like a man in a trance, he
+turned to the rusty iron safe behind his chair and spun the handle. When
+again he faced them he held a long envelope which he presented to Hilly.
+
+"There are the ten thousand francs," he said. "Ask him if he is
+satisfied, and demand that he go at once!"
+
+Billy turned to St. Clair.
+
+"He says," translated Billy, "he's very much obliged and hopes we will
+come again. Now," commanded Billy, "bow low and go out facing him. We
+don't want him to shoot us in the back!"
+
+Bowing to the president, the actor threw at Billy a glance full of
+indignation.
+
+"Was I as bad as _that_?" he demanded.
+
+On schedule time Billy drove up to the Hotel Ducrot and relinquished St.
+Clair to the ensign in charge of the launch from the _Louisiana_. At
+sight of St. Clair in the regalia of a superior officer, that young
+gentleman showed his surprise.
+
+"I've been giving a 'command' performance for the president," explained
+the actor modestly. "I recited for him, and, though I spoke in English,
+I think I made quite a hit."
+
+"You certainly," Billy assured him gratefully, "made a terrible hit with
+me."
+
+As the moving-picture actors, escorted by the ensign, followed their
+trunks to the launch, Billy looked after them with a feeling of great
+loneliness. He was aware that from the palace his carriage had been
+followed; that drawn in a cordon around the hotel negro policemen
+covertly observed him. That President Ham still hoped to recover his
+lost prestige and his lost money was only too evident.
+
+It was just five minutes to eight.
+
+Billy ran to his room, and with his suitcase in his hand slipped down
+the back stairs and into the garden. Cautiously he made his way to the
+gate in the wall, and in the street outside found Claire awaiting him.
+
+With a cry of relief she clasped his arm.
+
+"You are safe!" she cried. "I was so frightened for you. That President
+Ham, he is a beast, an ogre!" Her voice sank to a whisper. "And for
+myself also I have been frightened. The police, they are at each corner.
+They watch the hotel. They watch _me_! Why? What do they want?"
+
+"They want something of mine," said Billy. "But I can't tell you what it
+is until I'm sure it _is_ mine. Is the boat at the wharf?"
+
+"All is arranged," Claire assured him. "The boatmen are our friends;
+they will take us safely to the steamer."
+
+With a sigh of relief Billy lifted her valise and his own, but he did
+not move forward.
+
+Anxiously Claire pulled at his sleeve.
+
+"Come!" she begged. "For what it is that you wait?"
+
+It was just eight o'clock.
+
+Billy was looking up at the single electric-light bulb that lit the
+narrow street, and following the direction of his eyes, Claire saw the
+light grow dim, saw the tiny wires grow red, and disappear. From over
+all the city came shouts, and cries of consternation, oaths, and
+laughter, and then darkness.
+
+"I was waiting for _this_!" cried Billy.
+
+With the delight of a mischievous child Claire laughed aloud.
+
+"_You_--you did it!" she accused.
+
+"I did!" said Billy. "And now--we must run like the devil!"
+
+The _Prinz der Nederlanden_ was drawing slowly out of the harbor.
+Shoulder to shoulder Claire and Billy leaned upon the rail. On the
+wharfs of Port-au-Prince they saw lanterns tossing and candles
+twinkling; saw the _Louisiana_, blazing like a Christmas-tree, steaming
+majestically south; in each other's eyes saw that all was well.
+
+From his pocket Billy drew a long envelope.
+
+"I can now with certainty," said Billy, "state that this is
+mine--_ours_."
+
+He opened the envelope, and while Claire gazed upon many mille franc
+notes Billy told how he had retrieved them.
+
+"But what danger!" cried Claire. "In time Ham would have paid. Your
+president at Washington would have _made_ him pay. Why take such risks?
+You had but to wait!"
+
+Billy smiled contentedly.
+
+"Dear one!" he exclaimed, "the policy of watchful waiting is safer, but
+the Big Stick acts quicker and gets results!"
+
+
+
+
+THE BOY SCOUT
+
+
+A rule of the Boy Scouts is every day to do some one a good turn. Not
+because the copy-books tell you it deserves another, but in spite of
+that pleasing possibility. If you are a true scout, until you have
+performed your act of kindness your day is dark. You are as unhappy as
+is the grown-up who has begun his day without shaving or reading the New
+York _Sun_. But as soon as you have proved yourself you may, with a dear
+conscience, look the world in the face and untie the knot in your
+kerchief.
+
+Jimmie Reeder untied the accusing knot in his scarf at just ten minutes
+past eight on a hot August morning after he had given one dime to his
+sister Sadie. With that she could either witness the first-run films at
+the Palace, or by dividing her fortune patronize two of the nickel shows
+on Lenox Avenue. The choice Jimmie left to her. He was setting out for
+the annual encampment of the Boy Scouts at Hunter's Island, and in the
+excitement of that adventure even the movies ceased to thrill. But Sadie
+also could be unselfish. With a heroism of a camp-fire maiden she made
+a gesture which might have been interpreted to mean she was returning
+the money.
+
+"I can't, Jimmie!" she gasped. "I can't take it off you. You saved it,
+and you ought to get the fun of it."
+
+"I haven't saved it yet," said Jimmie. "I'm going to cut it out of the
+railroad fare. I'm going to get off at City Island instead of at Pelham
+Manor and walk the difference. That's ten cents cheaper."
+
+Sadie exclaimed with admiration:
+
+"An' you carryin' that heavy grip!"
+
+"Aw, that's nothin'," said the man of the family.
+
+"Good-by, mother. So long, Sadie."
+
+To ward off further expressions of gratitude he hurriedly advised Sadie
+to take in "The Curse of Cain" rather than "The Mohawk's Last Stand,"
+and fled down the front steps.
+
+He wore his khaki uniform. On his shoulders was his knapsack, from his
+hands swung his suitcase, and between his heavy stockings and his
+"shorts" his kneecaps, unkissed by the sun, as yet unscathed by
+blackberry vines, showed as white and fragile as the wrists of a girl.
+As he moved toward the "L" station at the corner, Sadie and his mother
+waved to him; in the street, boys too small to be Scouts hailed him
+enviously; even the policeman glancing over the newspapers on the
+news-stand nodded approval.
+
+"You a Scout, Jimmie?" he asked.
+
+"No," retorted Jimmie, for was not he also in uniform? "I'm Santa Claus
+out filling Christmas stockings."
+
+The patrolman also possessed a ready wit.
+
+"Then get yourself a pair," he advised. "If a dog was to see your
+legs--"
+
+Jimmie escaped the insult by fleeing up the steps of the Elevated.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An hour later, with his valise in one hand and staff in the other, he
+was tramping up the Boston Post Road and breathing heavily. The day was
+cruelly hot. Before his eyes, over an interminable stretch of asphalt,
+the heat waves danced and flickered. Already the knapsack on his
+shoulders pressed upon him like an Old Man of the Sea; the linen in the
+valise had turned to pig iron, his pipe-stem legs were wabbling, his
+eyes smarted with salt sweat, and the fingers supporting the valise
+belonged to some other boy, and were giving that boy much pain. But as
+the motor-cars flashed past with raucous warnings, or, that those who
+rode might better see the boy with bare knees, passed at "half speed,"
+Jimmie stiffened his shoulders and stepped jauntily forward. Even when
+the joy-riders mocked with "Oh, you Scout!" he smiled at them. He was
+willing to admit to those who rode that the laugh was on the one who
+walked. And he regretted--oh, so bitterly--having left the train. He was
+indignant that for his "one good turn a day" he had not selected one
+less strenuous--that, for instance, he had not assisted a frightened old
+lady through the traffic. To refuse the dime she might have offered, as
+all true scouts refuse all tips, would have been easier than to earn it
+by walking five miles, with the sun at ninety-nine degrees, and carrying
+excess baggage. Twenty times James shifted the valise to the other hand,
+twenty times he let it drop and sat upon it.
+
+And then, as again he took up his burden, the good Samaritan drew near.
+He drew near in a low gray racing-car at the rate of forty miles an
+hour, and within a hundred feet of Jimmie suddenly stopped and backed
+toward him. The good Samaritan was a young man with white hair. He wore
+a suit of blue, a golf cap; the hands that held the wheel were disguised
+in large yellow gloves. He brought the car to a halt and surveyed the
+dripping figure in the road with tired and uncurious eyes.
+
+"You a Boy Scout?" he asked.
+
+With alacrity for the twenty-first time Jimmie dropped the valise,
+forced his cramped fingers into straight lines, and saluted.
+
+The young man in the car nodded toward the seat beside him.
+
+"Get in," he commanded.
+
+When James sat panting happily at his elbow the old young man, to
+Jimmie's disappointment, did not continue to shatter the speed limit.
+Instead, he seemed inclined for conversation, and the car, growling
+indignantly, crawled.
+
+"I never saw a Boy Scout before," announced the old young man. "Tell me
+about it. First, tell me what you do when you're not scouting."
+
+Jimmie explained volubly. When not in uniform he was an office boy, and
+from peddlers and beggars guarded the gates of Carroll and Hastings,
+stock-brokers. He spoke the names of his employers with awe. It was a
+firm distinguished, conservative, and long established. The white-haired
+young man seemed to nod in assent.
+
+"Do you know them?" demanded Jimmie suspiciously. "Are you a customer of
+ours?"
+
+"I know them," said the young man. "They are customers of mine."
+
+Jimmie wondered in what way Carroll and Hastings were customers of the
+white-haired young man. Judging him by his outer garments, Jimmie
+guessed he was a Fifth Avenue tailor; he might be even a haberdasher.
+Jimmie continued. He lived, he explained, with his mother at One Hundred
+and Forty-sixth Street; Sadie, his sister, attended the public school;
+he helped support them both, and he now was about to enjoy a well-earned
+vacation camping out on Hunter's Island, where he would cook his own
+meals, and, if the mosquitoes permitted, sleep in a tent.
+
+"And you like that?" demanded the young man. "You call that fun?"
+
+"Sure!" protested Jimmie. "Don't _you_ go camping out?"
+
+"I go camping out," said the good Samaritan, "whenever I leave New
+York."
+
+Jimmie had not for three years lived in Wall Street not to understand
+that the young man spoke in metaphor.
+
+"You don't look," objected the young man critically, "as though you were
+built for the strenuous life."
+
+Jimmie glanced guiltily at his white knees.
+
+"You ought ter see me two weeks from now," he protested. "I get all
+sunburnt and hard--hard as anything!"
+
+The young man was incredulous.
+
+"You were near getting sunstruck when I picked you up," he laughed. "If
+you're going to Hunter's Island, why didn't you go to Pelham Manor?"
+
+"That's right!" assented Jimmie eagerly. "But I wanted to save the ten
+cents so's to send Sadie to the movies. So I walked."
+
+The young man looked his embarrassment.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he murmured.
+
+But Jimmie did not hear him. From the back of the car he was dragging
+excitedly at the hated suitcase.
+
+"Stop!" he commanded. "I got ter get out. I got ter _walk_."
+
+The young man showed his surprise.
+
+"Walk!" he exclaimed. "What is it--a bet?"
+
+Jimmie dropped the valise and followed it into the roadway. It took some
+time to explain to the young man. First, he had to be told about the
+Scout law and the one good turn a day, and that it must involve some
+personal sacrifice. And, as Jimmie pointed out, changing from a slow
+suburban train to a racing-car could not be listed as a sacrifice. He
+had not earned the money, Jirnmie argued; he had only avoided paying it
+to the railroad. If he did not walk he would be obtaining the gratitude
+of Sadie by a falsehood. Therefore, he must walk.
+
+"Not at all," protested the young man. "You've got it wrong. What good
+will it do your sister to have you sunstruck? I think you _are_
+sunstruck. You're crazy with the heat. You get in here, and we'll talk
+it over as we go along."
+
+Hastily Jimmie backed away. "I'd rather walk," he said.
+
+The young man shifted his legs irritably.
+
+"Then how'll this suit you?" he called. "We'll declare that first 'one
+good turn' a failure and start afresh. Do _me_ a good turn."
+
+Jimmie halted in his tracks and looked back suspiciously.
+
+"I'm going to Hunter's Island Inn," called the young man, "and I've lost
+my way. You get in here and guide me. That'll be doing me a good turn."
+
+On either side of the road, blotting out the landscape, giant hands
+picked out in electric-light bulbs pointed the way to Hunter's Island
+Inn. Jimmie grinned and nodded toward them.
+
+"Much obliged," he called. "I got ter walk." Turning his back upon
+temptation, he waddled forward into the flickering heat waves.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The young man did not attempt to pursue. At the side of the road, under
+the shade of a giant elm, he had brought the car to a halt and with his
+arms crossed upon the wheel sat motionless, following with frowning eyes
+the retreating figure of Jimmie. But the narrow-chested and knock-kneed
+boy staggering over the sun-baked asphalt no longer concerned him. It
+was not Jimmie, but the code preached by Jimmie, and not only preached
+but before his eyes put into practise, that interested him. The young
+man with white hair had been running away from temptation. At forty
+miles an hour he had been running away from the temptation to do a
+fellow mortal "a good turn." That morning, to the appeal of a drowning
+Caesar to "Help me, Cassius, or I sink," he had answered: "Sink!" That
+answer he had no wish to reconsider. That he might not reconsider he had
+sought to escape. It was his experience that a sixty-horse-power
+racing-machine is a jealous mistress. For retrospective, sentimental, or
+philanthropic thoughts she grants no leave of absence. But he had not
+escaped. Jimmie had halted him, tripped him by the heels, and set him
+again to thinking. Within the half-hour that followed those who rolled
+past saw at the side of the road a car with her engine running, and
+leaning upon the wheel, as unconscious of his surroundings as though he
+sat at his own fireplace, a young man who frowned and stared at nothing.
+The half-hour passed and the young man swung his car back toward the
+city. But at the first road-house that showed a blue-and-white telephone
+sign he left it, and into the iron box at the end of the bar dropped a
+nickel. He wished to communicate with Mr. Carroll, of Carroll and
+Hastings; and when he learned Mr. Carroll had just issued orders that he
+must not be disturbed, the young man gave his name.
+
+The effect upon the barkeeper was instantaneous. With the aggrieved air
+of one who feels he is the victim of a jest he laughed scornfully.
+
+"What are you putting over?" he demanded.
+
+The young man smiled reassuringly. He had begun to speak and, though
+apparently engaged with the beer-glass he was polishing, the barkeeper
+listened.
+
+Down in Wall Street the senior member of Carroll and Hastings also
+listened. He was alone in the most private of all his private offices,
+and when interrupted had been engaged in what, of all undertakings, is
+the most momentous. On the desk before him lay letters to his lawyer, to
+the coroner, to his wife; and hidden by a mass of papers, but within
+reach of his hand, was an automatic pistol. The promise it offered of
+swift release had made the writing of the letters simple, had given him
+a feeling of complete detachment, had released him, at least in thought,
+from all responsibilities. And when at his elbow the telephone coughed
+discreetly, it was as though some one had called him from a world from
+which already he had made his exit.
+
+Mechanically, through mere habit, he lifted the receiver.
+
+The voice over the telephone came in brisk, staccato sentences.
+
+"That letter I sent this morning? Forget it. Tear it up. I've been
+thinking and I'm going to take a chance. I've decided to back you boys,
+and I know you'll make good. I'm speaking from a road-house in the
+Bronx; going straight from here to the bank. So you can begin to draw
+against us within an hour. And--hello!--will three millions see you
+through?"
+
+From Wall Street there came no answer, but from the hands of the
+barkeeper a glass crashed to the floor.
+
+The young man regarded the barkeeper with puzzled eyes.
+
+"He doesn't answer," he exclaimed. "He must have hung up."
+
+"He must have fainted!" said the barkeeper.
+
+The white-haired one pushed a bill across the counter. "To pay for
+breakage," he said, and disappeared down Pelham Parkway.
+
+Throughout the day, with the bill, for evidence, pasted against the
+mirror, the barkeeper told and retold the wondrous tale.
+
+"He stood just where you're standing now," he related, "blowing in
+million-dollar bills like you'd blow suds off a beer. If I'd knowed it
+was _him_, I'd have hit him once and hid him in the cellar for the
+reward. Who'd I think he was? I thought he was a wire-tapper, working a
+con game!"
+
+Mr. Carroll had not "hung up," but when in the Bronx the beer-glass
+crashed, in Wall Street the receiver had slipped from the hand of the
+man who held it, and the man himself had fallen forward. His desk hit
+him in the face and woke him--woke him to the wonderful fact that he
+still lived; that at forty he had been born again; that before him
+stretched many more years in which, as the young man with the white hair
+had pointed out, he still could make good.
+
+The afternoon was far advanced when the staff of Carroll and Hastings
+were allowed to depart, and, even late as was the hour, two of them were
+asked to remain. Into the most private of the private offices Carroll
+invited Gaskell, the head clerk; in the main office Hastings had asked
+young Thorne, the bond clerk, to be seated.
+
+Until the senior partner has finished with Gaskell young Thorne must
+remain seated.
+
+"Gaskell," said Mr. Carroll, "if we had listened to you, if we'd run
+this place as it was when father was alive, this never would have
+happened. It _hasn't_ happened, but we've had our lesson. And after this
+we're going slow and going straight. And we don't need you to tell us
+how to do that. We want you to go away--on a month's vacation. When I
+thought we were going under I planned to send the children on a sea
+voyage with the governess--so they wouldn't see the newspapers. But now
+that I can look them in the eye again, I need them, I can't let them go.
+So, if you'd like to take your wife on an ocean trip to Nova Scotia and
+Quebec, here are the cabins I reserved for the kids. They call it the
+royal suite--whatever that is--and the trip lasts a month. The boat
+sails to-morrow morning. Don't sleep too late or you may miss her."
+
+The head clerk was secreting the tickets in the inside pocket of his
+waistcoat. His fingers trembled, and when he laughed his voice trembled.
+
+"Miss the boat!" the head clerk exclaimed. "If she gets away from Millie
+and me she's got to start now. We'll go on board to-night!"
+
+A half-hour later Millie was on her knees packing a trunk, and her
+husband was telephoning to the drug-store for a sponge-bag and a cure
+for seasickness.
+
+Owing to the joy in her heart and to the fact that she was on her knees,
+Millie was alternately weeping into the trunk-tray and offering up
+incoherent prayers of thanksgiving. Suddenly she sank back upon the
+floor.
+
+"John!" she cried, "doesn't it seem sinful to sail away in a 'royal
+suite' and leave this beautiful flat empty?"
+
+Over the telephone John was having trouble with the drug clerk.
+
+"No!" he explained, "I'm not seasick _now_. The medicine I want is to be
+taken later. I _know_ I'm speaking from the Pavonia; but the Pavonia
+isn't a ship; it's an apartment-house."
+
+He turned to Millie. "We can't be in two places at the same time," he
+suggested.
+
+"But, think," insisted Millie, "of all the poor people stifling to-night
+in this heat, trying to sleep on the roofs and fire-escapes; and our
+flat so cool and big and pretty--and no one in it."
+
+John nodded his head proudly.
+
+"I know it's big," he said, "but it isn't big enough to hold all the
+people who are sleeping to-night on the roofs and in the parks."
+
+"I was thinking of your brother--and Grace," said Millie. "They've been
+married only two weeks now, and they're in a stuffy hall bedroom and
+eating with all the other boarders. Think what our flat would mean to
+them; to be by themselves, with eight rooms and their own kitchen and
+bath, and our new refrigerator and the gramophone! It would be heaven!
+It would be a real honeymoon!"
+
+Abandoning the drug clerk, John lifted Millie in his arms and kissed
+her, for, next to his wife, nearest his heart was the younger brother.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The younger brother and Grace were sitting on the stoop of the
+boarding-house. On the upper steps, in their shirt-sleeves, were the
+other boarders; so the bride and bridegroom spoke in whispers. The air
+of the cross street was stale and stagnant; from it rose exhalations of
+rotting fruit, the gases of an open subway, the smoke of passing
+taxicabs. But between the street and the hall bedroom, with its odors of
+a gas-stove and a kitchen, the choice was difficult.
+
+"We've got to cool off somehow," the young husband was saying, "or you
+won't sleep. Shall we treat ourselves to ice-cream sodas or a trip on
+the Weehawken ferry-boat?"
+
+"The ferry-boat!" begged the girl, "where we can get away from all these
+people."
+
+A taxicab with a trunk in front whirled into the street, kicked itself
+to a stop, and the head clerk and Millie spilled out upon the pavement.
+They talked so fast, and the younger brother and Grace talked so fast,
+that the boarders, although they listened intently, could make nothing
+of it.
+
+They distinguished only the concluding sentences:
+
+"Why don't you drive down to the wharf with us," they heard the elder
+brother ask, "and see our royal suite?"
+
+But the younger brother laughed him to scorn.
+
+"What's your royal suite," he mocked, "to our royal palace?"
+
+An hour later, had the boarders listened outside the flat of the head
+clerk, they would have heard issuing from his bathroom the cooling
+murmur of running water and from his gramophone the jubilant notes of
+"Alexander's Ragtime Band."
+
+When in his private office Carroll was making a present of the royal
+suite to the head clerk, in the main office Hastings, the junior
+partner, was addressing "Champ" Thorne, the bond clerk. He addressed him
+familiarly and affectionately as "Champ." This was due partly to the
+fact that twenty-six years before Thorne had been christened Champneys
+and to the coincidence that he had captained the football eleven of one
+of the Big Three to the championship.
+
+"Champ," said Mr. Hastings, "last month, when you asked me to raise your
+salary, the reason I didn't do it was not because you didn't deserve it,
+but because I believed if we gave you a raise you'd immediately get
+married."
+
+The shoulders of the ex-football captain rose aggressively; he snorted
+with indignation.
+
+"And why should I _not_ get married?" he demanded. "You're a fine one to
+talk! You're the most offensively happy married man I ever met."
+
+"Perhaps I know I am happy better than you do," reproved the junior
+partner; "but I know also that it takes money to support a wife."
+
+"You raise me to a hundred a week," urged Champ, "and I'll make it
+support a wife whether it supports me or not."
+
+"A month ago," continued Hastings, "we could have _promised_ you a
+hundred, but we didn't know how long we could pay it. We didn't want you
+to rush off and marry some fine girl--"
+
+"Some fine girl!" muttered Mr. Thorne. "The finest girl!"
+
+"The finer the girl," Hastings pointed out, "the harder it would have
+been for you if we had failed and you had lost your job."
+
+The eyes of the young man opened with sympathy and concern.
+
+"Is it as bad as that?" he murmured.
+
+Hastings sighed happily.
+
+"It _was_," he said, "but this morning the Young Man of Wall Street did
+us a good turn--saved us--saved our creditors, saved our homes, saved
+our honor. We're going to start fresh and pay our debts, and we agreed
+the first debt we paid would be the small one we owe you. You've
+brought us more than we've given, and if you'll stay with us we're
+going to 'see' your fifty and raise it a hundred. What do you say?"
+
+Young Mr. Thorne leaped to his feet. What he said was: "Where'n hell's
+my hat?"
+
+But by the time he had found the hat and the door he mended his manners.
+
+"I say, 'Thank you a thousand times,'" he shouted over his shoulder.
+"Excuse me, but I've got to go. I've got to break the news to--"
+
+He did not explain to whom he was going to break the news; but Hastings
+must have guessed, for again he sighed happily and then, a little
+hysterically laughed aloud. Several months had passed since he had
+laughed aloud.
+
+In his anxiety to break the news Champ Thorne almost broke his neck. In
+his excitement he could not remember whether the red flash meant the
+elevator was going down or coming up, and sooner than wait to find out
+he started to race down eighteen flights of stairs when fortunately the
+elevator-door swung open.
+
+"You get five dollars," he announced to the elevator man, "if you drop
+to the street without a stop. Beat the speed limit! Act like the
+building is on fire and you're trying to save me before the roof falls."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Senator Barnes and his entire family, which was his daughter Barbara,
+were at the Ritz-Carlton. They were in town in August because there was
+a meeting of the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba Rubber Company, of
+which company Senator Barnes was president. It was a secret meeting.
+Those directors who were keeping cool at the edge of the ocean had been
+summoned by telegraph; those who were steaming across the ocean, by
+wireless.
+
+Up from the equator had drifted the threat of a scandal, sickening,
+grim, terrible. As yet it burned beneath the surface, giving out only an
+odor, but an odor as rank as burning rubber itself. At any moment it
+might break into flame. For the directors, was it the better wisdom to
+let the scandal smoulder, and take a chance, or to be the first to give
+the alarm, the first to lead the way to the horror and stamp it out?
+
+It was to decide this that, in the heat of August, the directors and the
+president had forgathered.
+
+Champ Thorne knew nothing of this; he knew only that by a miracle
+Barbara Barnes was in town; that at last he was in a position to ask her
+to marry him; that she would certainly say she would. That was all he
+cared to know.
+
+A year before he had issued his declaration of independence. Before he
+could marry, he told her, he must be able to support a wife on what he
+earned, without her having to accept money from her father, and until he
+received "a minimum wage" of five thousand dollars they must wait.
+
+"What is the matter with my father's money?" Barbara had demanded.
+
+Thorne had evaded the direct question.
+
+"There is too much of it," he said.
+
+"Do you object to the way he makes it?" insisted Barbara. "Because
+rubber is most useful. You put it in golf balls and auto tires and
+galoches. There is nothing so perfectly respectable as galoches. And
+what is there 'tainted' about a raincoat?"
+
+Thorne shook his head unhappily.
+
+"It's not the finished product to which I refer," he stammered; "it's
+the way they get the raw material."
+
+"They get it out of trees," said Barbara. Then she exclaimed with
+enlightenment--"Oh!" she cried, "you are thinking of the Congo. There it
+is terrible! _That_ is slavery. But there are no slaves on the Amazon.
+The natives are free and the work is easy. They just tap the trees the
+way the farmers gather sugar in Vermont. Father has told me about it
+often."
+
+Thorne had made no comment. He could abuse a friend, if the friend were
+among those present, but denouncing any one he disliked as heartily as
+he disliked Senator Barnes was a public service he preferred to leave to
+others. And he knew besides that if the father she loved and the man she
+loved distrusted each other, Barbara would not rest until she learned
+the reason why.
+
+One day, in a newspaper, Barbara read of the Puju Mayo atrocities, of
+the Indian slaves in the jungles and backwaters of the Amazon, who are
+offered up as sacrifices to "red rubber." She carried the paper to her
+father. What it said, her father told her, was untrue, and if it were
+true it was the first he had heard of it.
+
+Senator Barnes loved the good things of life, but the thing he loved
+most was his daughter; the thing he valued the highest was her good
+opinion. So when for the first time she looked at him in doubt, he
+assured her he at once would order an investigation.
+
+"But, of course," he added, "it will be many months before our agents
+can report. On the Amazon news travels very slowly."
+
+In the eyes of his daughter the doubt still lingered.
+
+"I am afraid," she said, "that that is true."
+
+That was six months before the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba Rubber
+Company were summoned to meet their president at his rooms in the
+Ritz-Carlton. They were due to arrive in half an hour, and while Senator
+Barnes awaited their coming Barbara came to him. In her eyes was a light
+that helped to tell the great news. It gave him a sharp, jealous pang.
+He wanted at once to play a part in her happiness, to make her grateful
+to him, not alone to this stranger who was taking her away. So fearful
+was he that she would shut him out of her life that had she asked for
+half his kingdom he would have parted with it.
+
+"And besides giving my consent," said the rubber king, "for which no one
+seems to have asked, what can I give my little girl to make her remember
+her old father? Some diamonds to put on her head, or pearls to hang
+around her neck, or does she want a vacant lot on Fifth Avenue?"
+
+The lovely hands of Barbara rested upon his shoulders; her lovely face
+was raised to his; her lovely eyes were appealing, and a little
+frightened.
+
+"What would one of those things cost?" asked Barbara.
+
+The question was eminently practical. It came within the scope of the
+senator's understanding. After all, he was not to be cast into outer
+darkness. His smile was complacent. He answered airily:
+
+"Anything you like," he said; "a million dollars?"
+
+The fingers closed upon his shoulders. The eyes, still frightened, still
+searched his in appeal.
+
+"Then, for my wedding-present," said the girl, "I want you to take that
+million dollars and send an expedition to the Amazon. And I will choose
+the men. Men unafraid; men not afraid of fever or sudden death; not
+afraid to tell the truth--even to _you_. And all the world will know.
+And they--I mean _you_--will set those people free!"
+
+Senator Barnes received the directors with an embarrassment which he
+concealed under a manner of just indignation.
+
+"My mind is made up," he told them. "Existing conditions cannot
+continue. And to that end, at my own expense, I am sending an expedition
+across South America. It will investigate, punish, and establish
+reforms. I suggest, on account of this damned heat, we do now adjourn."
+
+That night, over on Long Island, Carroll told his wife all, or nearly
+all. He did not tell her about the automatic pistol. And together on
+tiptoe they crept to the nursery and looked down at their sleeping
+children. When she rose from her knees the mother said: "But how can I
+thank him?"
+
+By "him" she meant the Young Man of Wall Street.
+
+"You never can thank him," said Carroll; "that's the worst of it."
+
+But after a long silence the mother said: "I will send him a photograph
+of the children. Do you think he will understand?"
+
+Down at Seabright, Hastings and his wife walked in the sunken garden.
+The moon was so bright that the roses still held their color.
+
+"I would like to thank him," said the young wife. She meant the Young
+Man of Wall Street. "But for him we would have lost _this_."
+
+Her eyes caressed the garden, the fruit-trees, the house with wide,
+hospitable verandas. "To-morrow I will send him some of these roses,"
+said the young wife. "Will he understand that they mean our home?"
+
+At a scandalously late hour, in a scandalous spirit of independence,
+Champ Thorne and Barbara were driving around Central Park in a taxicab.
+
+"How strangely the Lord moves, his wonders to perform," misquoted
+Barbara. "Had not the Young Man of Wall Street saved Mr. Hastings, Mr.
+Hastings could not have raised your salary; you would not have asked me
+to marry you, and had you not asked me to marry you, father would not
+have given me a wedding-present, and--"
+
+"And," said Champ, taking up the tale, "thousands of slaves would still
+be buried in the jungles, hidden away from their wives and children and
+the light of the sun and their fellow men. They still would be dying of
+fever, starvation, tortures."
+
+He took her hand in both of his and held her finger-tips against his
+lips.
+
+"And they will never know," he whispered, "when their freedom comes,
+that they owe it all to _you_."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Hunter's Island, Jimmie Reeder and his bunkie, Sam Sturges, each on
+his canvas cot, tossed and twisted. The heat, the moonlight, and the
+mosquitoes would not let them even think of sleep.
+
+"That was bully," said Jimmie, "what you did to-day about saving that
+dog. If it hadn't been for you he'd ha' drownded."
+
+"He would _not_!" said Sammy with punctilious regard for the truth; "it
+wasn't deep enough."
+
+"Well, the scout-master ought to know," argued Jimmie; "he said it was
+the best 'one good turn' of the day!"
+
+Modestly Sam shifted the lime-light so that it fell upon his bunkie.
+
+"I'll bet," he declared loyally, "_your_ 'one good turn' was a better
+one!"
+
+Jimmie yawned, and then laughed scornfully.
+
+"Me!" he scoffed. "I didn't do nothing. I sent my sister to the movies."
+
+
+
+
+THE FRAME-UP
+
+
+When the voice over the telephone promised to name the man who killed
+Hermann Banf, District Attorney Wharton was up-town lunching at
+Delmonico's. This was contrary to his custom and a concession to
+Hamilton Cutler, his distinguished brother-in-law. That gentleman was
+interested in a State constabulary bill and had asked State Senator
+Bissell to father it. He had suggested to the senator that, in the legal
+points involved in the bill, his brother-in-law would undoubtedly be
+charmed to advise him. So that morning, to talk it over, Bissell had
+come from Albany and, as he was forced to return the same afternoon, had
+asked Wharton to lunch with him up-town near the station.
+
+That in public life there breathed a man with soul so dead who, were he
+offered a chance to serve Hamilton Cutler, would not jump at the chance
+was outside the experience of the county chairman. And in so judging his
+fellow men, with the exception of one man, the senator was right. The
+one man was Hamilton Cutler's brother-in-law. In the national affairs
+of his party Hamilton Cutler was one of the four leaders. In two
+cabinets he had held office. At a foreign court as an ambassador his
+dinners, of which the diplomatic corps still spoke with emotion, had
+upheld the dignity of ninety million Americans. He was rich. The history
+of his family was the history of the State. When the Albany boats drew
+abreast of the old Cutler mansion on the east bank of the Hudson the
+passengers pointed at it with deference. Even when the search-lights
+pointed at it, it was with deference. And on Fifth Avenue, as the
+"Seeing New York" car passed his town house it slowed respectfully to
+half speed. When, apparently for no other reason than that she was good
+and beautiful, he had married the sister of a then unknown up-State
+lawyer, every one felt Hamilton Cutler had made his first mistake. But,
+like everything else into which he entered, for him matrimony also was a
+success. The prettiest girl in Utica showed herself worthy of her
+distinguished husband. She had given him children as beautiful as
+herself; as what Washington calls "a cabinet lady" she had kept her name
+out of the newspapers; as Madame l'Ambassatrice she had put
+archduchesses at their ease; and after ten years she was an adoring
+wife, a devoted mother, and a proud woman. Her pride was in believing
+that for every joy she knew she was indebted entirely to her husband. To
+owe everything to him, to feel that through him the blessings flowed,
+was her ideal of happiness.
+
+In this ideal her brother did not share. Her delight in a sense of
+obligation left him quite cold. No one better than himself knew that his
+rapid-fire rise in public favor was due to his own exertions, to the
+fact that he had worked very hard, had been independent, had kept his
+hands clean, and had worn no man's collar. Other people believed he owed
+his advancement to his brother-in-law. He knew they believed that, and
+it hurt him. When, at the annual dinner of the Amen Corner, they
+burlesqued him as singing to "Ham" Cutler, "You made me what I am
+to-day, I hope you're sat-isfied," he found that to laugh with the
+others was something of an effort. His was a difficult position. He was
+a party man; he had always worked inside the organization. The fact that
+whenever he ran for an elective office the reformers indorsed him and
+the best elements in the opposition parties voted for him did not shake
+his loyalty to his own people. And to Hamilton Cutler, as one of his
+party leaders, as one of the bosses of the "invisible government," he
+was willing to defer. But while he could give allegiance to his party
+leaders, and from them was willing to receive the rewards of office,
+from a rich brother-in-law he was not at all willing to accept anything.
+Still less was he willing that of the credit he deserved for years of
+hard work for the party, of self-denial, and of efficient public service
+the rich brother-in-law should rob him.
+
+His pride was to be known as a self-made man, as the servant only of the
+voters. And now that he had fought his way to one of the goals of his
+ambition, now that he was district attorney of New York City, to have it
+said that the office was the gift of his brother-in-law was bitter. But
+he believed the injustice would soon end. In a month he was coming up
+for re-election, and night and day was conducting a campaign that he
+hoped would result in a personal victory so complete as to banish the
+shadow of his brother-in-law. Were he re-elected by the majority on
+which he counted, he would have the party leaders on their knees.
+Hamilton Cutler would be forced to come to him. He would be in line for
+promotion. He knew the leaders did not want to promote him, that they
+considered him too inclined to kick over the traces; but were he now
+re-elected, at the next election, either for mayor or governor, he
+would be his party's obvious and legitimate candidate.
+
+The re-election was not to be an easy victory. Outside his own party, to
+prevent his succeeding himself as district attorney, Tammany Hall was
+using every weapon in her armory. The commissioner of police was a
+Tammany man, and in the public prints Wharton had repeatedly declared
+that Banf, his star witness against the police, had been killed by the
+police, and that they had prevented the discovery of his murderer. For
+this the wigwam wanted his scalp, and to get it had raked his public and
+private life, had used threats and bribes, and with women had tried to
+trap him into a scandal. But "Big Tim" Meehan, the lieutenant the Hall
+had detailed to destroy Wharton, had reported back that for their
+purpose his record was useless, that bribes and threats only flattered
+him, and that the traps set for him he had smilingly side-stepped. This
+was the situation a month before election day when, to oblige his
+brother-in-law, Wharton was up-town at Delmonico's lunching with Senator
+Bissell.
+
+Down-town at the office, Rumson, the assistant district attorney, was on
+his way to lunch when the telephone-girl halted him. Her voice was
+lowered and betrayed almost human interest.
+
+From the corner of her mouth she whispered:
+
+"This man has a note for Mr. Wharton--says if he don't get it quick
+it'll be too late--says it will tell him who killed 'Heimie' Banf!"
+
+The young man and the girl looked at each other and smiled. Their
+experience had not tended to make them credulous. Had he lived, Hermann
+Banf would have been, for Wharton, the star witness against a ring of
+corrupt police officials. In consequence his murder was more than the
+taking off of a shady and disreputable citizen. It was a blow struck at
+the high office of the district attorney, at the grand jury, and the
+law. But, so far, whoever struck the blow had escaped punishment, and
+though for a month, ceaselessly, by night and day "the office" and the
+police had sought him, he was still at large, still "unknown." There had
+been hundreds of clews. They had been furnished by the detectives of the
+city and county and of the private agencies, by amateurs, by newspapers,
+by members of the underworld with a score to pay off or to gain favor.
+But no clew had led anywhere. When, in hoarse whispers, the last one had
+been confided to him by his detectives, Wharton had protested
+indignantly.
+
+"Stop bringing me clews!" he exclaimed. "I want the man. I can't
+electrocute a clew!"
+
+So when, after all other efforts, over the telephone a strange voice
+offered to deliver the murderer, Rumson was sceptical. He motioned the
+girl to switch to the desk telephone.
+
+"Assistant District Attorney Rumson speaking," he said. "What can I do
+for you?"
+
+Before the answer came, as though the speaker were choosing his words,
+there was a pause. It lasted so long that Rumson exclaimed sharply:
+
+"Hello," he called. "Do you want to speak to me, or do you want to speak
+to me?"
+
+"I've gotta letter for the district attorney," said the voice. "I'm to
+give it to nobody but him. It's about Banf. He must get it quick, or
+it'll be too late."
+
+"Who are you?" demanded Rumson. "Where are you speaking from?"
+
+The man at the other end of the wire ignored the questions.
+
+"Where'll Wharton be for the next twenty minutes?"
+
+"If I tell you," parried Rumson, "will you bring the letter at once?"
+
+The voice exclaimed indignantly:
+
+"Bring nothing! I'll send it by district messenger. You're wasting time
+trying to reach me. It's the _letter you_ want. It tells"--the voice
+broke with an oath and instantly began again: "I can't talk over a
+phone. I tell you, it's life or death. If you lose out, it's your own
+fault. Where can I find Wharton?"
+
+"At Delmonico's," answered Rumson. "He'll be there until two o'clock."
+
+"Delmonico's! That's Forty-fort Street?"
+
+"Right," said Rumson. "Tell the messenger--"
+
+He heard the receiver slam upon the hook.
+
+With the light of the hunter in his eyes, he turned to the girl.
+
+"They can laugh," he cried, "but I believe we've hooked something. I'm
+going after it."
+
+In the waiting-room he found the detectives.
+
+"Hewitt," he ordered, "take the subway and whip up to Delmonico's. Talk
+to the taxi-starter till a messenger-boy brings a letter for the D.A.
+Let the boy deliver the note, and then trail him till he reports to the
+man he got it from. Bring the man here. If it's a district messenger and
+he doesn't report, but goes straight back to the office, find out who
+gave him the note; get his description. Then meet me at Delmonico's."
+
+Rumson called up that restaurant and had Wharton come to the phone. He
+asked his chief to wait until a letter he believed to be of great
+importance was delivered to him. He explained, but, of necessity,
+somewhat sketchily.
+
+"It sounds to me," commented his chief, "like a plot of yours to get a
+lunch up-town."
+
+"Invitation!" cried Rumson. "I'll be with you in ten minutes."
+
+After Rumson had joined Wharton and Bissell the note arrived. It was
+brought to the restaurant by a messenger-boy, who said that in answer to
+a call from a saloon on Sixth Avenue he had received it from a young man
+in ready-to-wear clothes and a green hat. When Hewitt, the detective,
+asked what the young man looked like, the boy said he looked like a
+young man in ready-to-wear clothes and a green hat. But when the note
+was read the identity of the man who delivered it ceased to be of
+importance. The paper on which it was written was without stamped
+address or monogram, and carried with it the mixed odors of the
+drug-store at which it had been purchased. The handwriting was that of a
+woman, and what she had written was: "If the district attorney will come
+at once, and alone, to Kessler's Café, on the Boston Post Road, near the
+city line, he will be told who killed Hermann Banf. If he don't come in
+an hour, it will be too late. If he brings anybody with him, he won't
+be told anything. Leave your car in the road and walk up the drive. Ida
+Earle."
+
+Hewitt, who had sent away the messenger-boy and had been called in to
+give expert advice, was enthusiastic.
+
+"Mr. District Attorney," he cried, "that's no crank letter. This Earle
+woman is wise. You got to take her as a serious proposition. She
+wouldn't make that play if she couldn't get away with it."
+
+"Who is she?" asked Wharton.
+
+To the police, the detective assured them, Ida Earle had been known for
+years. When she was young she had been under the protection of a man
+high in the ranks of Tammany, and, in consequence, with her different
+ventures the police had never interfered. She now was proprietress of
+the road-house in the note described as Kessler's Café. It was a place
+for joy-riders. There was a cabaret, a hall for public dancing, and
+rooms for very private suppers.
+
+In so far as it welcomed only those who could spend money it was
+exclusive, but in all other respects its reputation was of the worst. In
+situation it was lonely, and from other houses separated by a quarter of
+a mile of dying trees and vacant lots.
+
+The Boston Post Road upon which it faced was the old post road, but
+lately, through this back yard and dumping-ground of the city, had been
+relaid. It was patrolled only and infrequently by bicycle policemen.
+
+"But this," continued the detective eagerly, "is where we win out. The
+road-house is an old farmhouse built over, with the barns changed into
+garages. They stand on the edge of a wood. It's about as big as a city
+block. If we come in through the woods from the rear, the garages will
+hide us. Nobody in the house can see us, but we won't be a hundred yards
+away. You've only to blow a police whistle and we'll be with you."
+
+"You mean I ought to go?" said Wharton.
+
+Rumson exclaimed incredulously:
+
+"You _got_ to go!"
+
+"It looks to me," objected Bissell, "like a plot to get you there alone
+and rap you on the head."
+
+"Not with that note inviting him there," protested Hewitt, "and signed
+by Earle herself."
+
+"You don't know she signed it?" objected the senator.
+
+"I know _her_," returned the detective. "I know she's no fool. It's her
+place, and she wouldn't let them pull off any rough stuff there--not
+against the D.A., anyway."
+
+The D.A. was rereading the note.
+
+"Might this be it?" he asked. "Suppose it's a trick to mix me up in a
+scandal? You say the place is disreputable. Suppose they're planning to
+compromise me just before election. They've tried it already several
+times."
+
+"You've still got the note," persisted Hewitt. "It proves _why_ you went
+there. And the senator, too. He can testify. And we won't be a hundred
+yards away. And," he added grudgingly, "you have Nolan."
+
+Nolan was the spoiled child of "the office." He was the district
+attorney's pet. Although still young, he had scored as a detective and
+as a driver of racing-cars. As Wharton's chauffeur he now doubled the
+parts.
+
+"What Nolan testified wouldn't be any help," said Wharton. "They would
+say it was just a story he invented to save me."
+
+"Then square yourself this way," urged Rumson. "Send a note now by hand
+to Ham Cutler and one to your sister. Tell _them_ you're going to Ida
+Earle's--and why--tell them you're afraid it's a frame-up, and for them
+to keep your notes as evidence. And enclose the one from her."
+
+Wharton nodded in approval, and, while he wrote, Rumson and the
+detective planned how, without those inside the road-house being aware
+of their presence, they might be near it.
+
+Kessler's Café lay in the Seventy-ninth Police Precinct. In taxi-cabs
+they arranged to start at once and proceed down White Plains Avenue,
+which parallels the Boston Road, until they were on a line with
+Kessler's, but from it hidden by the woods and the garages. A walk of a
+quarter of a mile across lots and under cover of the trees would bring
+them to within a hundred yards of the house.
+
+Wharton was to give them a start of half an hour. That he might know
+they were on watch, they agreed, after they dismissed the taxi-cabs, to
+send one of them into the Boston Post Road past the road-house. When it
+was directly in front of the café, the chauffeur would throw away into
+the road an empty cigarette-case.
+
+From the cigar-stand they selected a cigarette box of a startling
+yellow. At half a mile it was conspicuous.
+
+"When you see this in the road," explained Rumson, "you'll know we're on
+the job. And after you're inside, if you need us, you've only to go to a
+rear window and wave."
+
+"If they mean to do him up," growled Bissell, "he won't get to a rear
+window."
+
+"He can always tell them we're outside," said Rumson--"and they are
+extremely likely to believe him. Do you want a gun?"
+
+"No," said the D.A.
+
+"Better have mine," urged Hewitt.
+
+"I have my own," explained the D.A.
+
+Rumson and Hewitt set off in taxi-cabs and, a half-hour later, Wharton
+followed. As he sank back against the cushions of the big touring-car he
+felt a pleasing thrill of excitement, and as he passed the traffic
+police, and they saluted mechanically, he smiled. Had they guessed his
+errand their interest in his progress would have been less perfunctory.
+In half an hour he might know that the police killed Banf; in half an
+hour he himself might walk into a trap they had, in turn, staged for
+him. As the car ran swiftly through the clean October air, and the wind
+and sun alternately chilled and warmed his blood, Wharton considered
+these possibilities.
+
+He could not believe the woman Earle would lend herself to any plot to
+do him bodily harm. She was a responsible person. In her own world she
+was as important a figure as was the district attorney in his. Her
+allies were the men "higher up" in Tammany and the police of the upper
+ranks of the uniformed force. And of the higher office of the district
+attorney she possessed an intimate and respectful knowledge. It was not
+to be considered that against the prosecuting attorney such a woman
+would wage war. So the thought that upon his person any assault was
+meditated Wharton dismissed as unintelligent. That it was upon his
+reputation the attack was planned seemed much more probable. But that
+contingency he had foreseen and so, he believed, forestalled. There then
+remained only the possibility that the offer in the letter was genuine.
+It seemed quite too good to be true. For, as he asked himself, on the
+very eve of an election, why should Tammany, or a friend of Tammany,
+place in his possession the information that to the Tammany candidate
+would bring inevitable defeat. He felt that the way they were playing
+into his hands was too open, too generous. If their object was to lead
+him into a trap, of all baits they might use the promise to tell him who
+killed Banf was the one certain to attract him. It made their invitation
+to walk into the parlor almost too obvious. But were the offer not
+genuine, there was a condition attached to it that puzzled him. It was
+not the condition that stipulated he should come alone. His experience
+had taught him many will confess, or betray, to the district attorney
+who, to a deputy, will tell nothing. The condition that puzzled him was
+the one that insisted he should come at once or it would be "too late."
+
+Why was haste so imperative? Why, if he delayed, would he be "too late"?
+Was the man he sought about to escape from his jurisdiction, was he
+dying, and was it his wish to make a death-bed confession; or was he so
+reluctant to speak that delay might cause him to reconsider and remain
+silent?
+
+With these questions in his mind, the minutes quickly passed, and it was
+with a thrill of excitement Wharton saw that Nolan had left the
+Zoological Gardens on the right and turned into the Boston Road. It had
+but lately been completed and to Wharton was unfamiliar. On either side
+of the unscarred roadway still lay scattered the uprooted trees and
+bowlders that had blocked its progress, and abandoned by the contractors
+were empty tar-barrels, cement-sacks, tool-sheds, and forges. Nor was
+the surrounding landscape less raw and unlovely. Toward the Sound
+stretched vacant lots covered with ash heaps; to the left a few old and
+broken houses set among the glass-covered cold frames of truck-farms.
+
+The district attorney felt a sudden twinge of loneliness. And when an
+automobile sign told him he was "10 miles from Columbus Circle," he felt
+that from the New York he knew he was much farther. Two miles up the
+road his car overhauled a bicycle policeman, and Wharton halted him.
+
+"Is there a road-house called Kessler's beyond here?" he asked.
+
+"On the left, farther up," the officer told him, and added: "You can't
+miss it, Mr. Wharton; there's no other house near it."
+
+"You know me," said the D.A. "Then you'll understand what I want you to
+do. I've agreed to go to that house alone. If they see you pass they may
+think I'm not playing fair. So stop here."
+
+The man nodded and dismounted.
+
+"But," added the district attorney, as the car started forward again,
+"if you hear shots, I don't care how fast you come."
+
+The officer grinned.
+
+"Better let me trail along now," he called; "that's a tough joint."
+
+But Wharton motioned him back; and when again he turned to look the man
+still stood where they had parted.
+
+Two minutes later an empty taxi-cab came swiftly toward him and, as it
+passed, the driver lifted his hand from the wheel and with his thumb
+motioned behind him.
+
+"That's one of the men," said Nolan, "that started with Mr. Rumson and
+Hewitt from Delmonico's."
+
+Wharton nodded; and, now assured that in their plan there had been no
+hitch, smiled with satisfaction. A moment later, when ahead of them on
+the asphalt road Nolan pointed out a spot of yellow, he recognized the
+signal and knew that within call were friends.
+
+The yellow ciagarette-box lay directly in front of a long wooden
+building of two stories. It was linked to the road by a curving driveway
+marked on either side by whitewashed stones. On verandas enclosed in
+glass Wharton saw white-covered tables under red candle-shades and,
+protruding from one end of the house and hung with electric lights in
+paper lanterns, a pavilion for dancing. In the rear of the house stood
+sheds and a thick tangle of trees on which the autumn leaves showed
+yellow. Painted fingers and arrows pointing, and an electric sign,
+proclaimed to all who passed that this was Kessler's. In spite of its
+reputation, the house wore the aspect of the commonplace. In evidence
+nothing flaunted, nothing threatened. From a dozen other inns along the
+Pelham Parkway and the Boston Post Road it was in no way to be
+distinguished.
+
+As directed in the note, Wharton left the car in the road. "For five
+minutes stay where you are," he ordered Nolan; "then go to the bar and
+get a drink. Don't talk to any one or they'll think you're trying to get
+information. Work around to the back of the house. Stand where I can see
+you from the window. I may want you to carry a message to Mr. Rumson."
+
+On foot Wharton walked up the curving driveway, and if from the house
+his approach was spied upon, there was no evidence. In the second story
+the blinds were drawn and on the first floor the verandas were empty.
+Nor, not even after he had mounted to the veranda and stepped inside the
+house, was there any sign that his visit was expected. He stood in a
+hall, and in front of him rose a broad flight of stairs that he guessed
+led to the private supper-rooms. On his left was the restaurant.
+
+Swept and garnished after the revels of the night previous, and as
+though resting in preparation for those to come, it wore an air of
+peaceful inactivity. At a table a maitre d'hôtel was composing the menu
+for the evening, against the walls three colored waiters lounged
+sleepily, and on a platform at a piano a pale youth with drugged eyes
+was with one hand picking an accompaniment. As Wharton paused
+uncertainly the young man, disdaining his audience, in a shrill, nasal
+tenor raised his voice and sang:
+
+  "And from the time the rooster calls
+  I'll wear my overalls,
+    And you, a simple gingham gown.
+  So, if you're strong for a shower of rice,
+  We two could make a paradise
+    Of any One-Horse Town."
+
+At sight of Wharton the head waiter reluctantly detached himself from
+his menu and rose. But before he could greet the visitor, Wharton heard
+his name spoken and, looking up, saw a woman descending the stairs. It
+was apparent that when young she had been beautiful, and, in spite of an
+expression in her eyes of hardness and distrust, which seemed habitual,
+she was still handsome. She was without a hat and wearing a house dress
+of decorous shades and in the extreme of fashion. Her black hair, built
+up in artificial waves, was heavy with brilliantine; her hands, covered
+deep with rings, and of an unnatural white, showed the most fastidious
+care. But her complexion was her own; and her skin, free from paint and
+powder, glowed with that healthy pink that is supposed to be the
+perquisite only of the simple life and a conscience undisturbed.
+
+"I am Mrs. Earle," said the woman. "I wrote you that note. Will you
+please come this way?"
+
+That she did not suppose he might not come that way was obvious, for, as
+she spoke, she turned her back on him and mounted the stairs. After an
+instant of hesitation, Wharton followed.
+
+As well as his mind, his body was now acutely alive and vigilant. Both
+physically and mentally he moved on tiptoe. For whatever surprise, for
+whatever ambush might lie in wait, he was prepared. At the top of the
+stairs he found a wide hall along which on both sides were many doors.
+The one directly facing the stairs stood open. At one side of this the
+woman halted and with a gesture of the jewelled fingers invited him to
+enter.
+
+"My sitting-room," she said. As Wharton remained motionless she
+substituted: "My office."
+
+Peering into the room, Wharton found it suited to both titles. He saw
+comfortable chairs, vases filled with autumn leaves, in silver frames
+photographs, and between two open windows a businesslike roller-top desk
+on which was a hand telephone. In plain sight through the windows he
+beheld the garage and behind it the tops of trees. To summon Rumson, to
+keep in touch with Nolan, he need only step to one of these windows and
+beckon. The strategic position of the room appealed, and with a bow of
+the head he passed in front of his hostess and entered it. He continued
+to take note of his surroundings.
+
+He now saw that from the office in which he stood doors led to rooms
+adjoining. These doors were shut, and he determined swiftly that before
+the interview began he first must know what lay behind them. Mrs. Earle
+had followed and, as she entered, closed the door.
+
+"No!" said Wharton.
+
+It was the first time he had spoken. For an instant the woman hesitated,
+regarding him thoughtfully, and then without resentment pulled the door
+open. She came toward him swiftly, and he was conscious of the rustle of
+silk and the stirring of perfumes. At the open door she cast a frown of
+disapproval and then, with her face close to his, spoke hurriedly in a
+whisper.
+
+"A man brought a girl here to lunch," she said; "they've been here
+before. The girl claims the man told her he was going to marry her. Last
+night she found out he has a wife already, and she came here to-day
+meaning to make trouble. She brought a gun. They were in the room at the
+far end of the hall. George, the waiter, heard the two shots and ran
+down here to get me. No one else heard. These rooms are fixed to keep
+out noise, and the piano was going. We broke in and found them on the
+floor. The man was shot through the shoulder, the girl through the body.
+His story is that after she fired, in trying to get the gun from her,
+she shot herself--by accident. That's right, I guess. But the girl says
+they came here to die together--what the newspaper calls a 'suicide
+pact'--because they couldn't marry, and that he first shot her,
+intending to kill her and then himself. That's silly. She framed it to
+get him. She missed him with the gun, so now she's trying to get him
+with this murder charge. I know her. If she'd been sober she wouldn't
+have shot him; she'd have blackmailed him. She's _that_ sort. I know
+her, and--"
+
+With an exclamation the district attorney broke in upon her. "And the
+man," he demanded eagerly; "was it _he_ killed Banf?"
+
+In amazement the woman stared. "Certainly _not_!" she said.
+
+"Then what _has_ this to do with Banf?"
+
+"Nothing!" Her tone was annoyed, reproachful. "That was only to bring
+you here."
+
+His disappointment was so keen that it threatened to exhibit itself in
+anger. Recognizing this, before he spoke Wharton forced himself to
+pause. Then he repeated her words quietly.
+
+"Bring me here?" he asked. "Why?"
+
+The woman exclaimed impatiently: "So you could beat the police to it,"
+she whispered. "So you could _hush it up_!"
+
+The surprised laugh of the man was quite real. It bore no resentment or
+pose. He was genuinely amused. Then the dignity of his office, tricked
+and insulted, demanded to be heard. He stared at her coldly; his
+indignation was apparent.
+
+"You have done extremely ill," he told her. "You know perfectly well you
+had no right to bring me up here; to drag me into a row in your
+road-house. 'Hush it up!'" he exclaimed hotly. This time his laugh was
+contemptuous and threatening.
+
+"I'll show you how I'll hush it up!" He moved quickly to the open
+window.
+
+"Stop!" commanded the woman. "You can't do that!"
+
+She ran to the door.
+
+Again he was conscious of the rustle of silk, of the stirring of
+perfumes.
+
+He heard the key turn in the lock. It had come. It WAS a frame-up. There
+would be a scandal. And to save himself from it they would force him to
+"hush up" this other one. But, as to the outcome, in no way was he
+concerned. Through the window, standing directly below it, he had seen
+Nolan. In the sunlit yard the chauffeur, his cap on the back of his
+head, his cigarette drooping from his lips, was tossing the remnants of
+a sandwich to a circle of excited hens. He presented a picture of bored
+indolence, of innocent preoccupation. It was almost _too_ well done.
+
+Assured of a witness for the defense, he greeted the woman with a smile.
+"Why can't I do it?" he taunted.
+
+She ran close to him and laid her hands on his arm. Her eyes were fixed
+steadily on his. "Because," she whispered, "the man who shot that
+girl--is your brother-in-law, Ham Cutler!"
+
+For what seemed a long time Wharton stood looking down into the eyes of
+the woman, and the eyes never faltered. Later he recalled that in the
+sudden silence many noises disturbed the lazy hush of the Indian-summer
+afternoon: the rush of a motor-car on the Boston Road, the tinkle of
+the piano and the voice of the youth with the drugged eyes singing, "And
+you'll wear a simple gingham gown," from the yard below the cluck-cluck
+of the chickens and the cooing of pigeons.
+
+His first thought was of his sister and of her children, and of what
+this bomb, hurled from the clouds, would mean to her. He thought of
+Cutler, at the height of his power and usefulness, by this one
+disreputable act dragged into the mire, of what disaster it might bring
+to the party, to himself.
+
+If, as the woman invited, he helped to "hush it up," and Tammany learned
+the truth, it would make short work of him. It would say, for the
+murderer of Banf he had one law and for the rich brother-in-law, who had
+tried to kill the girl he deceived, another. But before he gave voice to
+his thoughts he recognized them as springing only from panic. They were
+of a part with the acts of men driven by sudden fear, and of which acts
+in their sane moments they would be incapable.
+
+The shock of the woman's words had unsettled his traditions. Not only
+was he condemning a man unheard, but a man who, though he might dislike
+him, he had for years, for his private virtues, trusted and admired.
+The panic passed and with a confident smile he shook his head.
+
+"I don't believe you," he said quietly.
+
+The manner of the woman was equally calm, equally assured.
+
+"Will you see her?" she asked.
+
+"I'd rather see my brother-in-law," he answered.
+
+The woman handed him a card.
+
+"Doctor Muir took him to his private hospital," she said. "I loaned them
+my car because it's a limousine. The address is on that card. But," she
+added, "both your brother and Sammy--that's Sam Muir, the doctor--asked
+you wouldn't use the telephone; they're afraid of a leak."
+
+Apparently Wharton did not hear her. As though it were "Exhibit A,"
+presented in evidence by the defense, he was studying the card she had
+given him. He stuck it in his pocket.
+
+"I'll go to him at once," he said.
+
+To restrain or dissuade him, the woman made no sudden move. In level
+tones she said: "Your brother-in-law asked especially that you wouldn't
+do that until you'd fixed it with the girl. Your face is too well known.
+He's afraid some one might find out where he is--and for a day or two no
+one must know that."
+
+"This doctor knows it," retorted Wharton.
+
+The suggestion seemed to strike Mrs. Earle as humorous. For the first
+time she laughed.
+
+"Sammy!" she exclaimed. "He's a lobbygow of mine. He's worked for me for
+years. I could send him up the river if I liked. He knows it." Her tone
+was convincing. "They both asked," she continued evenly, "you should
+keep off until the girl is out of the country, and fixed."
+
+Wharton frowned thoughtfully.
+
+And, observing this, the eyes of the woman showed that, so far, toward
+the unfortunate incident the attitude of the district attorney was to
+her most gratifying.
+
+Wharton ceased frowning.
+
+"How fixed?" he asked.
+
+Mrs. Earle shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Cutler's idea is money," she said; "but, believe _me_, he's wrong. This
+girl is a vampire. She'll only come back to you for more. She'll keep on
+threatening to tell the wife, to tell the papers. The way to fix _her_
+is to throw a scare into her. And there's only one man can do that;
+there's only one man that can hush this thing up--that's you."
+
+"When can I see her?" asked Wharton.
+
+"Now," said the woman. "I'll bring her."
+
+Wharton could not suppress an involuntary start.
+
+"Here?" he exclaimed.
+
+For the shade of a second Mrs. Earle exhibited the slightest evidence of
+embarrassment.
+
+"My room's in a mess," she explained; "and she's not hurt so much as
+Sammy said. He told her she was in bad just to keep her quiet until you
+got here."
+
+Mrs. Earle opened one of the doors leading from the room. "I won't be a
+minute," she said. Quietly she closed the door behind her.
+
+Upon her disappearance the manner of the district attorney underwent an
+abrupt change. He ran softly to the door opposite the one through which
+Mrs. Earle had passed, and pulled it open. But, if beyond it he expected
+to find an audience of eavesdroppers, he was disappointed. The room was
+empty--and bore no evidence of recent occupation. He closed the door,
+and, from the roller-top desk, snatching a piece of paper, scribbled
+upon it hastily. Wrapping the paper around a coin, and holding it
+exposed to view, he showed himself at the window. Below him, to an
+increasing circle of hens and pigeons, Nolan was still scattering
+crumbs. Without withdrawing his gaze from them, the chauffeur nodded.
+Wharton opened his hand and the note fell into the yard. Behind him he
+heard the murmur of voices, the sobs of a woman in pain, and the rattle
+of a doorknob. As from the window he turned quickly, he saw that toward
+the spot where his note had fallen Nolan was tossing the last remnants
+of his sandwich.
+
+The girl who entered with Mrs. Earle, leaning on her and supported by
+her, was tall and fair. Around her shoulders her blond hair hung in
+disorder, and around her waist, under the kimono Mrs. Earle had thrown
+about her, were wrapped many layers of bandages. The girl moved
+unsteadily and sank into a chair.
+
+In a hostile tone Mrs. Earle addressed her.
+
+"Rose," she said, "this is the district attorney." To him she added:
+"She calls herself Rose Gerard."
+
+One hand the girl held close against her side, with the other she
+brushed back the hair from her forehead. From half-closed eyes she
+stared at Wharton defiantly.
+
+"Well," she challenged, "what about it?"
+
+Wharton seated himself in front of the roller-top desk.
+
+"Are you strong enough to tell me?" he asked.
+
+His tone was kind, and this the girl seemed to resent.
+
+"Don't you worry," she sneered, "I'm strong enough. Strong enough to
+tell _all_ I know--to you, and to the papers, and to a jury--until I get
+justice." She clinched her free hand and feebly shook it at him.
+"_That's_ what I'm going to get," she cried, her voice breaking
+hysterically, "justice."
+
+From behind the armchair in which the girl half-reclined Mrs. Earle
+caught the eye of the district attorney and shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Just what _did_ happen?" asked Wharton.
+
+Apparently with an effort the girl pulled herself together.
+
+"I first met your brother-in-law--" she began.
+
+Wharton interrupted quietly.
+
+"Wait!" he said. "You are not talking to me as anybody's brother-in-law,
+but as the district attorney."
+
+The girl laughed vindictively.
+
+"I don't wonder you're ashamed of him!" she jeered.
+
+Again she began: "I first met Ham Cutler last May. He wanted to marry me
+then. He told me he was not a married man."
+
+As her story unfolded, Wharton did not again interrupt; and speaking
+quickly, in abrupt, broken phrases, the girl brought her narrative to
+the moment when, as she claimed, Cutler had attempted to kill her. At
+this point a knock at the locked door caused both the girl and her
+audience to start. Wharton looked at Mrs. Earle inquiringly, but she
+shook her head, and with a look at him also of inquiry, and of suspicion
+as well, opened the door.
+
+With apologies her head waiter presented a letter.
+
+"For Mr. Wharton," he explained, "from his chauffeur."
+
+Wharton's annoyance at the interruption was most apparent. "What the
+devil--" he began.
+
+He read the note rapidly, and with a frown of irritation raised his eyes
+to Mrs. Earle.
+
+"He wants to go to New Rochelle for an inner tube," he said. "How long
+would it take him to get there and back?"
+
+The hard and distrustful expression upon the face of Mrs. Earle, which
+was habitual, was now most strongly in evidence. Her eyes searched those
+of Wharton.
+
+"Twenty minutes," she said.
+
+"He can't go," snapped Wharton.
+
+"Tell him," he directed the waiter, "to stay where he is. Tell him I
+may want to go back to the office any minute." He turned eagerly to the
+girl. "I'm sorry," he said. With impatience he crumpled the note into a
+ball and glanced about him. At his feet was a waste-paper basket. Fixed
+upon him he saw, while pretending not to see, the eyes of Mrs. Earle
+burning with suspicion. If he destroyed the note, he knew suspicion
+would become certainty. Without an instant of hesitation, carelessly he
+tossed it intact into the waste-paper basket. Toward Rose Gerard he
+swung the revolving chair.
+
+"Go on, please," he commanded.
+
+The girl had now reached the climax of her story, but the eyes of Mrs.
+Earle betrayed the fact that her thoughts were elsewhere. With an
+intense and hungry longing, they were concentrated upon her own
+waste-paper basket.
+
+The voice of the girl in anger and defiance recalled Mrs. Earle to the
+business of the moment.
+
+"He tried to kill me," shouted Miss Rose. "And his shooting himself in
+the shoulder was a bluff. _That's_ my story; that's the story I'm going
+to tell the judge"--her voice soared shrilly--"that's the story that's
+going to send your brother-in-law to Sing Sing!"
+
+For the first time Mrs. Earle contributed to the general conversation.
+
+"You talk like a fish," she said.
+
+The girl turned upon her savagely.
+
+"If he don't like the way I talk," she cried, "he can come across!"
+
+Mrs. Earle exclaimed in horror. Virtuously her hands were raised in
+protest.
+
+"Like hell he will!" she said. "You can't pull that under my roof!"
+
+Wharton looked disturbed.
+
+"'Come across'?" he asked.
+
+"Come across?" mimicked the girl. "Send me abroad and keep me there. And
+I'll swear it was an accident. Twenty-five thousand, that's all I want.
+Cutler told me he was going to make you governor. He can't make you
+governor if he's in Sing Sing, can he? Ain't it worth twenty-five
+thousand to you to be governor? Come on," she jeered, "kick in!"
+
+With a grave but untroubled voice Wharton addressed Mrs. Earle.
+
+"May I use your telephone?" he asked. He did not wait for her consent,
+but from the desk lifted the hand telephone.
+
+"Spring, three one hundred!" he said. He sat with his legs comfortably
+crossed, the stand of the instrument balanced on his knee, his eyes
+gazing meditatively at the yellow tree-tops.
+
+If with apprehension both women started, if the girl thrust herself
+forward, and by the hand of Mrs. Earle was dragged back, he did not
+appear to know it.
+
+"Police headquarters?" they heard him ask. "I want to speak to the
+commissioner. This is the district attorney."
+
+In the pause that followed, as though to torment her, the pain in her
+side apparently returned, for the girl screamed sharply.
+
+"Be still!" commanded the older woman. Breathless, across the top of the
+armchair, she was leaning forward. Upon the man at the telephone her
+eyes were fixed in fascination.
+
+"Commissioner," said the district attorney, "this is Wharton speaking. A
+woman has made a charge of attempted murder to me against my
+brother-in-law, Hamilton Cutler. On account of our relationship, I want
+YOU to make the arrest. If there were any slip, and he got away, it
+might be said I arranged it. You will find him at the Winona apartments
+on the Southern Boulevard, in the private hospital of a Doctor Samuel
+Muir. Arrest them both. The girl who makes the charge is at Kessler's
+Café, on the Boston Post Road, just inside the city line. Arrest her
+too. She tried to blackmail me. I'll appear against her."
+
+Wharton rose and addressed himself to Mrs. Earle.
+
+"I'm sorry," he said, "but I had to do it. You might have known I could
+not hush it up. I am the only man who can't hush it up. The people of
+New York elected me to enforce the laws." Wharton's voice was raised to
+a loud pitch. It seemed unnecessarily loud. It was almost as though he
+were addressing another and more distant audience. "And," he continued,
+his voice still soaring, "even if my own family suffer, even if I
+suffer, even if I lose political promotion, those laws I will enforce!"
+
+In the more conventional tone of every-day politeness, he added:
+
+"May I speak to you outside, Mrs. Earle?"
+
+But, as in silence that lady descended the stairs, the district attorney
+seemed to have forgotten what it was he wished to say.
+
+It was not until he had seen his chauffeur arouse himself from
+apparently deep slumber and crank the car that he addressed her.
+
+"That girl," he said, "had better go back to bed. My men are all around
+this house and, until the police come, will detain her."
+
+He shook the jewelled fingers of Mrs. Earle warmly. "I thank you," he
+said; "I know you meant well. I know you wanted to help me, but"--he
+shrugged his shoulders--"my duty!"
+
+As he walked down the driveway to his car his shoulders continued to
+move.
+
+But Mrs. Earle did not wait to observe this phenomenon. Rid of his
+presence, she leaped, rather than ran, up the stairs and threw open the
+door of her office.
+
+As she entered, two men followed her. One was a young man who held in
+his hand an open note-book, the other was Tim Meehan, of Tammany. The
+latter greeted her with a shout.
+
+"We heard everything he said!" he cried. His voice rose in torment. "An'
+we can't use a word of it! He acted just like we'd oughta knowed he'd
+act. He's HONEST! He's so damned honest he ain't human; he's a ----
+gilded saint!"
+
+Mrs. Earle did not heed him. On her knees she was tossing to the floor
+the contents of the waste-paper basket. From them she snatched a piece
+of crumpled paper.
+
+"Shut up!" she shouted. "Listen! His chauffeur brought him this." In a
+voice that quivered with indignation, that sobbed with anger, she read
+aloud:
+
+"'As directed by your note from the window, I went to the booth and
+called up Mrs. Cutler's house and got herself on the phone. Your
+brother-in-law lunched at home to-day with her and the children and they
+are now going to the Hippodrome.
+
+"'Stop, look, and listen! Back of the bar I see two men in a room, but
+they did not see me. One is Tim Meehan, the other is a stenographer. He
+is taking notes. Each of them has on the ear-muffs of a dictagraph.
+Looks like you'd better watch your step and not say nothing you don't
+want Tammany to print.'" The voice of Mrs. Earle rose in a shrill
+shriek.
+
+"Him--a gilded saint?" she screamed; "you big stiff! He knew he was
+talking into a dictagraph all the time--and he double-crossed us!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Somewhere in France, by Richard Harding Davis
+
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+<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN">
+<html>
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type"
+    content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of
+    Somewhere in France,
+    by Richard Harding Davis.
+</title>
+<style type="text/css">
+    <!--
+    * { font-family:   Times;}
+    P { margin-top:    .75em;
+        font-size:     12pt;
+        text-align:    justify;
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+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Somewhere in France, by Richard Harding Davis
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Somewhere in France
+
+Author: Richard Harding Davis
+
+Release Date: February 18, 2004 [EBook #11144]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+<!-- NOTE: Remove center tags and put align="left" or align="right" for text wrapped alignments -->
+
+<a name="image-1"><!-- Image 1 --></a>
+<center>
+<img src="frontis.jpg" width="33%"
+alt="With Her Eye for Detail Marie Observed That the Young officer, instead of Imparting information, Received It.">
+</center>
+<center style="margin-left: 35%; margin-right: 35%;">
+<b>"With Her Eye for Detail Marie Observed
+That the Young officer, instead of Imparting
+information, Received It."</b>
+</center>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<a name="RULE4_1"><!-- RULE4 1 --></a>
+<h2>
+	SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE
+</h2>
+
+<h3>
+By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
+</h3>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<a name="RULE4_2"><!-- RULE4 2 --></a>
+<h3>
+	1915
+</h3>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<a name="RULE4_3"><!-- RULE4 3 --></a>
+<h2>
+	TO HOPE DAVIS
+</h2>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2>
+	CONTENTS
+</h2>
+<center><a href="#RULE4_4">"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE"</a></center>
+<center><a href="#RULE4_5">PLAYING DEAD</a></center>
+<center><a href="#RULE4_6">THE CARD-SHARP</a></center>
+<center><a href="#RULE4_7">BILLY AND THE BIG STICK</a></center>
+<center><a href="#RULE4_8">THE BOY SCOUT</a></center>
+<center><a href="#RULE4_9">THE FRAME-UP</a></center>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<a name="RULE4_4"><!-- RULE4 4 --></a>
+<h2>
+	"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE"
+</h2>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>
+Marie Gessler, known as Marie Chaumontel, Jeanne d'Avrechy, the Countess
+d'Aurillac, was German. Her father, who served through the
+Franco-Prussian War, was a German spy. It was from her mother she
+learned to speak French sufficiently well to satisfy even an Academician
+and, among Parisians, to pass as one. Both her parents were dead. Before
+they departed, knowing they could leave their daughter nothing save
+their debts, they had had her trained as a nurse. But when they were
+gone, Marie in the Berlin hospitals played politics, intrigued,
+indiscriminately misused the appealing, violet eyes. There was a
+scandal; several scandals. At the age of twenty-five she was dismissed
+from the Municipal Hospital, and as now&mdash;save for the violet eyes&mdash;she
+was without resources, as a <i>compagnon de voyage</i> with a German doctor
+she travelled to Monte Carlo. There she abandoned the doctor for Henri
+Ravignac, a captain in the French Aviation Corps, who, when his leave
+ended, escorted her to Paris.
+</p>
+<p>
+The duties of Captain Ravignac kept him in barracks near the aviation
+field, but Marie he established in his apartments on the Boulevard
+Haussmann. One day he brought from the barracks a roll of blue-prints,
+and as he was locking them in a drawer, said: "The Germans would pay
+through the nose for those!" The remark was indiscreet, but then Marie
+had told him she was French, and any one would have believed her.
+</p>
+<p>
+The next morning the same spirit of adventure that had exiled her from
+the Berlin hospitals carried her with the blue-prints to the German
+embassy. There, greatly shocked, they first wrote down her name and
+address, and then, indignant at her proposition, ordered her out. But
+the day following a strange young German who was not at all indignant,
+but, on the contrary, quite charming, called upon Marie. For the
+blue-prints he offered her a very large sum, and that same hour with
+them and Marie departed for Berlin. Marie did not need the money. Nor
+did the argument that she was serving her country greatly impress her.
+It was rather that she loved intrigue. And so she became a spy.
+</p>
+<p>
+Henri Ravignac, the man she had robbed of the blue-prints, was tried by
+court martial. The charge was treason, but Charles Ravignac, his
+younger brother, promised to prove that the guilty one was the girl, and
+to that end obtained leave of absence and spent much time and money. At
+the trial he was able to show the record of Marie in Berlin and Monte
+Carlo; that she was the daughter of a German secret agent; that on the
+afternoon the prints disappeared Marie, with an agent of the German
+embassy, had left Paris for Berlin. In consequence of this the charge of
+selling military secrets was altered to one of "gross neglect," and
+Henri Ravignac was sentenced to two years in the military prison at
+Tours. But he was of an ancient and noble family, and when they came to
+take him from his cell in the Cherche-Midi, he was dead. Charles, his
+brother, disappeared. It was said he also had killed himself; that he
+had been appointed a military attach&eacute; in South America; that to revenge
+his brother he had entered the secret service; but whatever became of
+him no one knew. All that was certain was that, thanks to the act of
+Marie Gessler, on the rolls of the French army the ancient and noble
+name of Ravignac no longer appeared.
+</p>
+<p>
+In her chosen profession Marie Gessler found nothing discreditable. Of
+herself her opinion was not high, and her opinion of men was lower. For
+her smiles she had watched several sacrifice honor, duty, loyalty; and
+she held them and their kind in contempt. To lie, to cajole, to rob men
+of secrets they thought important, and of secrets the importance of
+which they did not even guess, was to her merely an intricate and
+exciting game.
+</p>
+<p>
+She played it very well. So well that in the service her advance was
+rapid. On important missions she was sent to Russia, through the
+Balkans; even to the United States. There, with credentials as an army
+nurse, she inspected our military hospitals and unobtrusively asked many
+innocent questions.
+</p>
+<p>
+When she begged to be allowed to work in her beloved Paris, "they" told
+her when war came "they" intended to plant her inside that city, and
+that, until then, the less Paris knew of her the better.
+</p>
+<p>
+But just before the great war broke, to report on which way Italy might
+jump, she was sent to Rome, and it was not until September she was
+recalled. The telegram informed her that her Aunt Elizabeth was ill, and
+that at once she must return to Berlin. This, she learned from the code
+book wrapped under the cover of her thermos bottle, meant that she was
+to report to the general commanding the German forces at Soissons.
+</p>
+<p>
+From Italy she passed through Switzerland, and, after leaving Basle, on
+military trains was rushed north to Luxemburg, and then west to Laon.
+She was accompanied by her companion, Bertha, an elderly and
+respectable, even distinguished-looking female. In the secret service
+her number was 528. Their passes from the war office described them as
+nurses of the German Red Cross. Only the Intelligence Department knew
+their real mission. With her also, as her chauffeur, was a young Italian
+soldier of fortune, Paul Anfossi. He had served in the Belgian Congo, in
+the French Foreign Legion in Algiers, and spoke all the European
+languages. In Rome, where as a wireless operator he was serving a
+commercial company, in selling Marie copies of messages he had
+memorized, Marie had found him useful, and when war came she obtained
+for him, from the Wilhelmstrasse, the number 292. From Laon, in one of
+the automobiles of the General Staff, the three spies were driven first
+to Soissons, and then along the road to Meaux and Paris, to the village
+of Neufchelles. They arrived at midnight, and in a ch&acirc;teau of one of the
+champagne princes, found the colonel commanding the Intelligence
+Bureau. He accepted their credentials, destroyed them, and replaced them
+with a <i>laisser-passer</i> signed by the mayor of Laon. That dignitary, the
+colonel explained, to citizens of Laon fleeing to Paris and the coast
+had issued many passes. But as now between Laon and Paris there were
+three German armies, the refugees had been turned back and their passes
+confiscated.
+</p>
+<p>
+"From among them," said the officer, "we have selected one for you. It
+is issued to the wife of Count d'Aurillac, a captain of reserves, and
+her aunt, Madame Benet. It asks for those ladies and their chauffeur,
+Briand, a safe-conduct through the French military lines. If it gets you
+into Paris you will destroy it and assume another name. The Count
+d'Aurillac is now with his regiment in that city. If he learned of the
+presence there of his wife, he would seek her, and that would not be
+good for you. So, if you reach Paris, you will become a Belgian refugee.
+You are highborn and rich. Your ch&acirc;teau has been destroyed. But you have
+money. You will give liberally to the Red Cross. You will volunteer to
+nurse in the hospitals. With your sad story of ill treatment by us, with
+your high birth, and your knowledge of nursing, which you acquired, of
+course, only as an amateur, you should not find it difficult to join
+the Ladies of France, or the American Ambulance. What you learn from the
+wounded English and French officers and the French doctors you will send
+us through the usual channels."
+</p>
+<p>
+"When do I start?" asked the woman.
+</p>
+<p>
+"For a few days," explained the officer, "you remain in this ch&acirc;teau.
+You will keep us informed of what is going forward after we withdraw."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Withdraw?" It was more of an exclamation than a question. Marie was too
+well trained to ask questions.
+</p>
+<p>
+"We are taking up a new position," said the officer, "on the Aisne."
+</p>
+<p>
+The woman, incredulous, stared.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And we do not enter Paris?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"<i>You</i> do," returned the officer. "That is all that concerns you. We
+will join you later&mdash;in the spring. Meanwhile, for the winter we
+intrench ourselves along the Aisne. In a chimney of this ch&acirc;teau we have
+set up a wireless outfit. We are leaving it intact. The chauffeur
+Briand&mdash;who, you must explain to the French, you brought with you from
+Laon, and who has been long in your service&mdash;will transmit whatever you
+discover. We wish especially to know of any movement toward our left. If
+they attack in front from Soissons, we are prepared; but of any attempt
+to cross the Oise and take us in flank, you must warn us."
+</p>
+<p>
+The officer rose and hung upon himself his field-glasses, map-cases, and
+side-arms.
+</p>
+<p>
+"We leave you now," he said. "When the French arrive you will tell them
+your reason for halting at this ch&acirc;teau was that the owner, Monsieur
+Iverney, and his family are friends of your husband. You found us here,
+and we detained you. And so long as you can use the wireless, make
+excuses to remain. If they offer to send you on to Paris, tell them your
+aunt is too ill to travel."
+</p>
+<p>
+"But they will find the wireless," said the woman. "They are sure to use
+the towers for observation, and they will find it."
+</p>
+<p>
+"In that case," said the officer, "you will suggest to them that we fled
+in such haste we had no time to dismantle it. Of course, you had no
+knowledge that it existed, or, as a loyal French woman, you would have
+at once told them." To emphasize his next words the officer pointed at
+her: "Under no circumstances," he continued, "must you be suspected. If
+they should take Briand in the act, should they have even the least
+doubt concerning him, you must repudiate him entirely. If necessary, to
+keep your own skirts clear, it would be your duty yourself to denounce
+him as a spy."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Your first orders," said the woman, "were to tell them Briand had been
+long in my service; that I brought him from my home in Laon."
+</p>
+<p>
+"He might be in your service for years," returned the colonel, "and you
+not know he was a German agent."
+</p>
+<p>
+"If to save myself I inform upon him," said Marie, "of course you know
+you will lose him."
+</p>
+<p>
+The officer shrugged his shoulders. "A wireless operator," he retorted,
+"we can replace. But for you, and for the service you are to render in
+Paris, we have no substitute. <i>You</i> must not be found out. You are
+invaluable."
+</p>
+<p>
+The spy inclined her head. "I thank you," she said.
+</p>
+<p>
+The officer sputtered indignantly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It is not a compliment," he exclaimed; "it is an order. You must not be
+found out!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Withdrawn some two hundred yards from the Paris road, the ch&acirc;teau stood
+upon a wooded hill. Except directly in front, trees of great height
+surrounded it. The tips of their branches brushed the windows;
+interlacing, they continued until they overhung the wall of the estate.
+Where it ran with the road the wall gave way to a lofty gate and iron
+fence, through which those passing could see a stretch of noble turf, as
+wide as a polo-field, borders of flowers disappearing under the shadows
+of the trees; and the ch&acirc;teau itself, with its terrace, its many
+windows, its high-pitched, sloping roof, broken by towers and turrets.
+</p>
+<p>
+Through the remainder of the night there came from the road to those in
+the ch&acirc;teau the roar and rumbling of the army in retreat. It moved
+without panic, disorder, or haste, but unceasingly. Not for an instant
+was there a breathing-spell. And when the sun rose, the three spies&mdash;the
+two women and the chauffeur&mdash;who in the great ch&acirc;teau were now alone,
+could see as well as hear the gray column of steel rolling past below
+them.
+</p>
+<p>
+The spies knew that the gray column had reached Claye, had stood within
+fifteen miles of Paris, and then upon Paris had turned its back. They
+knew also that the reverberations from the direction of Meaux, that each
+moment grew more loud and savage, were the French "seventy-fives"
+whipping the gray column forward. Of what they felt the Germans did not
+speak. In silence they looked at each other, and in the eyes of Marie
+was bitterness and resolve.
+</p>
+<p>
+Toward noon Marie met Anfossi in the great drawing-room that stretched
+the length of the terrace and from the windows of which, through the
+park gates, they could see the Paris road.
+</p>
+<p>
+"This, that is passing now," said Marie, "is the last of our rear-guard.
+Go to your tower," she ordered, "and send word that except for
+stragglers and the wounded our column has just passed through
+Neufchelles, and that any moment we expect the French." She raised her
+hand impressively. "From now," she warned, "we speak French, we think
+French, we <i>are</i> French!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Anfossi, or Briand, as now he called himself, addressed her in that
+language. His tone was bitter. "Pardon my lese-majesty," he said, "but
+this chief of your Intelligence Department is a <i>dummer Mensch</i>. He is
+throwing away a valuable life."
+</p>
+<p>
+Marie exclaimed in dismay. She placed her hand upon his arm, and the
+violet eyes filled with concern.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Not yours!" she protested.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Absolutely!" returned the Italian. "I can send nothing by this knapsack
+wireless that they will not learn from others; from airmen, Uhlans, the
+peasants in the fields. And certainly I will be caught. Dead I am dead,
+but alive and in Paris the opportunities are unending. From the French
+Legion Etranger I have my honorable discharge. I am an expert wireless
+operator and in their Signal Corps I can easily find a place. Imagine
+me, then, on the Eiffel Tower. From the air I snatch news from all of
+France, from the Channel, the North Sea. You and I could work together,
+as in Rome. But here, between the lines, with a pass from a village
+<i>sous pr&eacute;fet</i>, it is ridiculous. I am not afraid to die. But to die
+because some one else is stupid, that is hard."
+</p>
+<p>
+Marie clasped his hand in both of hers.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You must not speak of death," she cried; "you know I must carry out my
+orders, that I must force you to take this risk. And you know that
+thought of harm to you tortures me!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Quickly the young man disengaged his hand. The woman exclaimed with
+anger.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Why do you doubt me?" she cried.
+</p>
+<p>
+Briand protested vehemently.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I do not doubt you."
+</p>
+<p>
+"My affection, then?" In a whisper that carried with it the feeling of a
+caress Marie added softly: "My love?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man protested miserably. "You make it very hard,
+mademoiselle," he cried. "You are my superior officer, I am your
+servant. Who am I that I should share with others&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+The woman interrupted eagerly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Ah, you are jealous!" she cried. "Is that why you are so cruel? But
+when I <i>tell</i> you I love you, and only you, can you not <i>feel</i> it is the
+truth?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man frowned unhappily.
+</p>
+<p>
+"My duty, mademoiselle!" he stammered.
+</p>
+<p>
+With an exclamation of anger Marie left him. As the door slammed behind
+her, the young man drew a deep breath. On his face was the expression of
+ineffable relief.
+</p>
+<p>
+In the hall Marie met her elderly companion, Bertha, now her aunt,
+Madame Benet.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I heard you quarrelling," Bertha protested. "It is most indiscreet. It
+is not in the part of the Countess d'Aurillac that she makes love to her
+chauffeur."
+</p>
+<p>
+Marie laughed noiselessly and drew her farther down the hall. "He is
+imbecile!" she exclaimed. "He will kill me with his solemn face and his
+conceit. I make love to him&mdash;yes&mdash;that he may work the more willingly.
+But he will have none of it. He is jealous of the others."
+</p>
+<p>
+Madame Benet frowned.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He resents the others," she corrected. "I do not blame him. He is a
+gentleman!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"And the others," demanded Marie; "were they not of the most noble
+families of Rome?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I am old and I am ugly," said Bertha, "but to me Anfossi is always as
+considerate as he is to you who are so beautiful."
+</p>
+<p>
+"An Italian gentleman," returned Marie, "does not serve in Belgian Congo
+unless it is the choice of that or the marble quarries."
+</p>
+<p>
+"I do not know what his past may be," sighed Madame Benet, "nor do I
+ask. He is only a number, as you and I are only numbers. And I beg you
+to let us work in harmony. At such a time your love-affairs threaten our
+safety. You must wait."
+</p>
+<p>
+Marie laughed insolently. "With the Du Barry," she protested, "I can
+boast that I wait for no man."
+</p>
+<p>
+"No," replied the older woman; "you pursue him!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Marie would have answered sharply, but on the instant her interest was
+diverted. For one week, by day and night, she had lived in a world
+peopled only by German soldiers. Beside her in the railroad carriage, on
+the station platforms, at the windows of the trains that passed the one
+in which she rode, at the grade crossings, on the bridges, in the roads
+that paralleled the tracks, choking the streets of the villages and
+spread over the fields of grain, she had seen only the gray-green
+uniforms. Even her professional eye no longer distinguished regiment
+from regiment, dragoon from grenadier, Uhlan from Hussar or Landsturm.
+Stripes, insignia, numerals, badges of rank, had lost their meaning.
+Those who wore them no longer were individuals. They were not even
+human. During the three last days the automobile, like a motor-boat
+fighting the tide, had crept through a gray-green river of men, stained,
+as though from the banks, by mud and yellow clay. And for hours, while
+the car was blocked, and in fury the engine raced and purred, the
+gray-green river had rolled past her, slowly but as inevitably as lava
+down the slope of a volcano, bearing on its surface faces with staring
+eyes, thousands and thousands of eyes, some fierce and bloodshot, others
+filled with weariness, homesickness, pain. At night she still saw them:
+the white faces under the sweat and dust, the eyes dumb, inarticulate,
+asking the answer. She had been suffocated by German soldiers, by the
+mass of them, engulfed and smothered; she had stifled in a land
+inhabited only by gray-green ghosts.
+</p>
+<p>
+And suddenly, as though a miracle had been wrought, she saw upon the
+lawn, riding toward her, a man in scarlet, blue, and silver. One man
+riding alone.
+</p>
+<p>
+Approaching with confidence, but alert; his reins fallen, his hands
+nursing his carbine, his eyes searched the shadows of the trees, the
+empty windows, even the sun-swept sky. His was the new face at the door,
+the new step on the floor. And the spy knew had she beheld an army corps
+it would have been no more significant, no more menacing, than the
+solitary <i>chasseur &agrave; cheval</i> scouting in advance of the enemy.
+</p>
+<p>
+"We are saved!" exclaimed Marie, with irony. "Go quickly," she
+commanded, "to the bedroom on the second floor that opens upon the
+staircase, so that you can see all who pass. You are too ill to travel.
+They must find you in bed."
+</p>
+<p>
+"And you?" said Bertha.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I," cried Marie rapturously, "hasten to welcome our preserver!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The preserver was a peasant lad. Under the white dust his cheeks were
+burned a brown-red, his eyes, honest and blue, through much staring at
+the skies and at horizon lines, were puckered and encircled with tiny
+wrinkles. Responsibility had made him older than his years, and in
+speech brief. With the beautiful lady who with tears of joy ran to greet
+him, and who in an ecstasy of happiness pressed her cheek against the
+nose of his horse, he was unimpressed. He returned to her her papers
+and gravely echoed her answers to his questions. "This ch&acirc;teau," he
+repeated, "was occupied by their General Staff; they have left no
+wounded here; you saw the last of them pass a half-hour since." He
+gathered up his reins.
+</p>
+<p>
+Marie shrieked in alarm. "You will not leave us?" she cried.
+</p>
+<p>
+For the first time the young man permitted himself to smile. "Others
+arrive soon," he said.
+</p>
+<p>
+He touched his shako, wheeled his horse in the direction from which he
+had come, and a minute later Marie heard the hoofs echoing through the
+empty village.
+</p>
+<p>
+When they came, the others were more sympathetic. Even in times of war a
+beautiful woman is still a beautiful woman. And the staff officers who
+moved into the quarters so lately occupied by the enemy found in the
+presence of the Countess d'Aurillac nothing to distress them. In the
+absence of her dear friend, Madame Iverney, the ch&acirc;telaine of the
+ch&acirc;teau, she acted as their hostess. Her chauffeur showed the company
+cooks the way to the kitchen, the larder, and the charcoal-box. She,
+herself, in the hands of General Andre placed the keys of the famous
+wine-cellar, and to the surgeon, that the wounded might be freshly
+bandaged, intrusted those of the linen-closet. After the indignities she
+had suffered while "detained" by <i>les Boches</i>, her delight and relief at
+again finding herself under the protection of her own people would have
+touched a heart of stone. And the hearts of the staff were not of stone.
+It was with regret they gave the countess permission to continue on her
+way. At this she exclaimed with gratitude. She assured them, were her
+aunt able to travel, she would immediately depart.
+</p>
+<p>
+"In Paris she will be more comfortable than here," said the kind
+surgeon. He was a reservist, and in times of peace a fashionable
+physician and as much at his ease in a boudoir as in a field hospital.
+"Perhaps if I saw Madame Benet?"
+</p>
+<p>
+At the suggestion the countess was overjoyed. But they found Madame
+Benet in a state of complete collapse. The conduct of the Germans had
+brought about a nervous breakdown.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Though the bridges are destroyed at Meaux," urged the surgeon, "even
+with a detour, you can be in Paris in four hours. I think it is worth
+the effort."
+</p>
+<p>
+But the mere thought of the journey threw Madame Benet into hysterics.
+She asked only to rest, she begged for an opiate to make her sleep. She
+begged also that they would leave the door open, so that when she
+dreamed she was still in the hands of the Germans, and woke in terror,
+the sound of the dear French voices and the sight of the beloved French
+uniforms might reassure her. She played her part well. Concerning her
+Marie felt not the least anxiety. But toward Briand, the chauffeur, the
+new arrivals were less easily satisfied.
+</p>
+<p>
+The general sent his adjutant for the countess. When the adjutant had
+closed the door General Andre began abruptly:
+</p>
+<p>
+"The chauffeur Briand," he asked, "you know him; you can vouch for him?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"But, certainly!" protested Marie. "He is an Italian."
+</p>
+<p>
+As though with sudden enlightenment, Marie laughed. It was as if now in
+the suspicion of the officer she saw a certain reasonableness. "Briand
+was so long in the Foreign Legion in Algiers," she explained, "where my
+husband found him, that we have come to think of him as French. As much
+French as ourselves, I assure you."
+</p>
+<p>
+The general and his adjutant were regarding each other questioningly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Perhaps I should tell the countess," began the general, "that we have
+learned&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+The signal from the adjutant was so slight, so swift, that Marie barely
+intercepted it.
+</p>
+<p>
+The lips of the general shut together like the leaves of a book. To show
+the interview was at an end, he reached for a pen.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I thank you," he said.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Of course," prompted the adjutant, "Madame d'Aurillac understands the
+man must not know we inquired concerning him."
+</p>
+<p>
+General Andre frowned at Marie.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Certainly not!" he commanded. "The honest fellow must not know that
+even for a moment he was doubted."
+</p>
+<p>
+Marie raised the violet eyes reprovingly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I trust," she said with reproach, "I too well understand the feelings
+of a French soldier to let him know his loyalty is questioned."
+</p>
+<p>
+With a murmur of appreciation the officers bowed and with a gesture of
+gracious pardon Marie left them.
+</p>
+<p>
+Outside in the hall, with none but orderlies to observe, like a cloak
+the graciousness fell from her. She was drawn two ways. In her work
+Anfossi was valuable. But Anfossi suspected was less than of no value;
+he became a menace, a death-warrant.
+</p>
+<p>
+General Andre had said, "We have learned&mdash;" and the adjutant had halted
+him. What had he learned? To know that, Marie would have given much.
+Still, one important fact comforted her. Anfossi alone was suspected.
+Had there been concerning herself the slightest doubt, they certainly
+would not have allowed her to guess her companion was under
+surveillance; they would not have asked one who was herself suspected to
+vouch for the innocence of a fellow conspirator. Marie found the course
+to follow difficult. With Anfossi under suspicion his usefulness was for
+the moment at an end; and to accept the chance offered her to continue
+on to Paris seemed most wise. On the other hand, if, concerning Anfossi,
+she had succeeded in allaying their doubts, the results most to be
+desired could be attained only by remaining where they were.
+</p>
+<p>
+Their position inside the lines was of the greatest strategic value. The
+rooms of the servants were under the roof, and that Briand should sleep
+in one of them was natural. That to reach or leave his room he should
+constantly be ascending or descending the stairs also was natural. The
+field-wireless outfit, or, as he had disdainfully described it, the
+"knapsack" wireless, was situated not in the bedroom he had selected for
+himself, but in one adjoining. At other times this was occupied by the
+maid of Madame Iverney. To summon her maid Madame Iverney, from her
+apartment on the second floor, had but to press a button. And it was in
+the apartment of Madame Iverney, and on the bed of that lady, that
+Madame Benet now reclined. When through the open door she saw an officer
+or soldier mount the stairs, she pressed the button that rang a bell in
+the room of the maid. In this way, long before whoever was ascending the
+stairs could reach the top floor, warning of his approach came to
+Anfossi. It gave him time to replace the dust-board over the fireplace
+in which the wireless was concealed and to escape into his own bedroom.
+The arrangement was ideal. And already information picked up in the
+halls below by Marie had been conveyed to Anfossi to relay in a French
+cipher to the German General Staff at Rheims.
+</p>
+<p>
+Marie made an alert and charming hostess. To all who saw her it was
+evident that her mind was intent only upon the comfort of her guests.
+Throughout the day many came and went, but each she made welcome; to
+each as he departed she called "<i>bonne chance</i>." Efficient, tireless,
+tactful, she was everywhere: in the dining-room, in the kitchen, in the
+bedrooms, for the wounded finding mattresses to spread in the gorgeous
+salons of the champagne prince; for the soldier-chauffeurs carrying
+wine into the courtyard, where the automobiles panted and growled, and
+the arriving and departing shrieked for right of way. At all times an
+alluring person, now the one woman in a tumult of men, her smart frock
+covered by an apron, her head and arms bare, undismayed by the sight of
+the wounded or by the distant rumble of the guns, the Countess
+d'Aurillac was an inspiring and beautiful picture. The eyes of the
+officers, young and old, informed her of that fact, one of which already
+she was well aware. By the morning of the next day she was accepted as
+the owner of the ch&acirc;teau. And though continually she reminded the staff
+she was present only as the friend of her schoolmate, Madame Iverney,
+they deferred to her as to a hostess. Many of them she already saluted
+by name, and to those who with messages were constantly motoring to and
+from the front at Soissons she was particularly kind. Overnight the
+legend of her charm, of her devotion to the soldiers of all ranks, had
+spread from Soissons to Meaux, and from Meaux to Paris. It was noon of
+that day when from the window of the second story Marie saw an armored
+automobile sweep into the courtyard. It was driven by an officer, young
+and appallingly good-looking, and, as was obvious by the way he spun
+his car, one who held in contempt both the law of gravity and death.
+That he was some one of importance seemed evident. Before he could
+alight the adjutant had raced to meet him. With her eye for detail Marie
+observed that the young officer, instead of imparting information,
+received it. He must, she guessed, have just arrived from Paris, and his
+brother officer either was telling him the news or giving him his
+orders. Whichever it might be, in what was told him the new arrival was
+greatly interested. One instant in indignation his gauntleted fist beat
+upon the steering-wheel, the next he smiled with pleasure. To interpret
+this pantomime was difficult; and, the better to inform herself, Marie
+descended the stairs.
+</p>
+<p>
+As she reached the lower hall the two officers entered. To the spy the
+man last to arrive was always the one of greatest importance; and Marie
+assured herself that through her friend, the adjutant, to meet with this
+one would prove easy.
+</p>
+<p>
+But the chauffeur commander of the armored car made it most difficult.
+At sight of Marie, much to her alarm, as though greeting a dear friend,
+he snatched his kepi from his head and sprang toward her.
+</p>
+<p>
+"The major," he cried, "told me you were here, that you are Madame
+d'Aurillac." His eyes spoke his admiration. In delight he beamed upon
+her. "I might have known it!" he murmured. With the confidence of one
+who is sure he brings good news, he laughed happily. "And I," he cried,
+"am 'Pierrot'!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Who the devil "Pierrot" might be the spy could not guess. She knew only
+that she wished by a German shell "Pierrot" and his car had been blown
+to tiny fragments. Was it a trap, she asked herself, or was the handsome
+youth really some one the Countess d'Aurillac should know. But, as from
+his introducing himself it was evident he could not know that lady very
+well, Marie took courage and smiled.
+</p>
+<p>
+"<i>Which</i> 'Pierrot'?" she parried.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Pierre Thierry!" cried the youth.
+</p>
+<p>
+To the relief of Marie he turned upon the adjutant and to him explained
+who Pierre Thierry might be.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Paul d'Aurillac," he said, "is my dearest friend. When he married this
+charming lady I was stationed in Algiers, and but for the war I might
+never have met her."
+</p>
+<p>
+To Marie, with his hand on his heart in a most charming manner, he
+bowed. His admiration he made no effort to conceal.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And so," he said, "I know why there is war!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The adjutant smiled indulgently, and departed on his duties, leaving
+them alone. The handsome eyes of Captain Thierry were raised to the
+violet eyes of Marie. They appraised her boldly and as boldly expressed
+their approval.
+</p>
+<p>
+In burlesque the young man exclaimed indignantly: "Paul deceived me!" he
+cried. "He told me he had married the most beautiful woman in Laon. He
+has married the most beautiful woman in France!"
+</p>
+<p>
+To Marie this was not impertinence, but gallantry.
+</p>
+<p>
+This was a language she understood, and this was the type of man,
+because he was the least difficult to manage, she held most in contempt.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But about you, Paul did not deceive me," she retorted. In apparent
+confusion her eyes refused to meet his. "He told me 'Pierrot' was a most
+dangerous man!"
+</p>
+<p>
+She continued hurriedly. With wifely solicitude she asked concerning
+Paul. She explained that for a week she had been a prisoner in the
+ch&acirc;teau, and, since the mobilization, of her husband save that he was
+with his regiment in Paris she had heard nothing. Captain Thierry was
+able to give her later news. Only the day previous, on the boulevards,
+he had met Count d'Aurillac. He was at the Grand H&ocirc;tel, and as Thierry
+was at once motoring back to Paris he would give Paul news of their
+meeting. He hoped he might tell him that soon his wife also would be in
+Paris. Marie explained that only the illness of her aunt prevented her
+from that same day joining her husband. Her manner became serious.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And what other news have you?" she asked. "Here on the firing-line we
+know less of what is going forward than you in Paris."
+</p>
+<p>
+So Pierre Thierry told her all he knew. They were preparing despatches
+he was at once to carry back to the General Staff, and, for the moment,
+his time was his own. How could he better employ it than in talking of
+the war with a patriotic and charming French woman?
+</p>
+<p>
+In consequence Marie acquired a mass of facts, gossip, and guesses. From
+these she mentally selected such information as, to her employers across
+the Aisne, would be of vital interest.
+</p>
+<p>
+And to rid herself of Thierry and on the fourth floor seek Anfossi was
+now her only wish. But, in attempting this, by the return of the
+adjutant she was delayed. To Thierry the adjutant gave a sealed
+envelope.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Thirty-one, Boulevard des Invalides," he said. With a smile he turned
+to Marie. "And you will accompany him!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I!" exclaimed Marie. She was sick with sudden terror.
+</p>
+<p>
+But the tolerant smile of the adjutant reassured her.
+</p>
+<p>
+"The count, your husband," he explained, "has learned of your detention
+here by the enemy, and he has besieged the General Staff to have you
+convoyed safely to Paris." The adjutant glanced at a field telegram he
+held open in his hand. "He asks," he continued, "that you be permitted
+to return in the car of his friend, Captain Thierry, and that on
+arriving you join him at the Grand H&ocirc;tel."
+</p>
+<p>
+Thierry exclaimed with delight.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But how charming!" he cried. "To-night you must both dine with me at La
+Rue's." He saluted his superior officer. "Some petrol, sir," he said.
+"And I am ready." To Marie he added: "The car will be at the steps in
+five minutes." He turned and left them.
+</p>
+<p>
+The thoughts of Marie, snatching at an excuse for delay, raced madly.
+The danger of meeting the Count d'Aurillac, her supposed husband, did
+not alarm her. The Grand H&ocirc;tel has many exits, and, even before they
+reached it, for leaving the car she could invent an excuse that the
+gallant Thierry would not suspect. But what now concerned her was how,
+before she was whisked away to Paris, she could convey to Anfossi the
+information she had gathered from Thierry. First, of a woman overcome
+with delight at being reunited with her husband she gave an excellent
+imitation; then she exclaimed in distress: "But my aunt, Madame Benet!"
+she cried. "I cannot leave her!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"The Sisters of St. Francis," said the adjutant, "arrive within an hour
+to nurse the wounded. They will care also for your aunt."
+</p>
+<p>
+Marie concealed her chagrin. "Then I will at once prepare to go," she
+said.
+</p>
+<p>
+The adjutant handed her a slip of paper. "Your <i>laisser-passer</i> to
+Paris," he said. "You leave in five minutes, madame!"
+</p>
+<p>
+As temporary hostess of the ch&acirc;teau Marie was free to visit any part of
+it, and as she passed her door a signal from Madame Benet told her that
+Anfossi was on the fourth floor, that he was at work, and that the coast
+was clear. Softly, in the felt slippers she always wore, as she
+explained, in order not to disturb the wounded, she mounted the
+staircase. In her hand she carried the housekeeper's keys, and as an
+excuse it was her plan to return with an armful of linen for the
+arriving Sisters. But Marie never reached the top of the stairs. When
+her eyes rose to the level of the fourth floor she came to a sudden
+halt. At what she saw terror gripped her, bound her hand and foot, and
+turned her blood to ice.
+</p>
+<p>
+At her post for an instant Madame Benet had slept, and an officer of the
+staff, led by curiosity, chance, or suspicion, had, unobserved and
+unannounced, mounted to the fourth floor. When Marie saw him he was in
+front of the room that held the wireless. His back was toward her, but
+she saw that he was holding the door to the room ajar, that his eye was
+pressed to the opening, and that through it he had pushed the muzzle of
+his automatic. What would be the fate of Anfossi Marie knew. Nor did she
+for an instant consider it. Her thoughts were of her own safety; that
+she might live. Not that she might still serve the Wilhelmstrasse, the
+Kaiser, or the Fatherland; but that she might live. In a moment Anfossi
+would be denounced, the ch&acirc;teau would ring with the alarm, and, though
+she knew Anfossi would not betray her, by others she might be accused.
+To avert suspicion from herself she saw only one way open. She must be
+the first to denounce Anfossi.
+</p>
+<p>
+Like a deer she leaped down the marble stairs and, in a panic she had
+no need to assume, burst into the presence of the staff.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Gentlemen!" she gasped, "my servant&mdash;the chauffeur&mdash;Briand is a spy!
+There is a German wireless in the ch&acirc;teau. He is using it! I have seen
+him." With exclamations, the officers rose to their feet. General Andre
+alone remained seated. General Andre was a veteran of many Colonial
+wars: Cochin-China, Algiers, Morocco. The great war, when it came, found
+him on duty in the Intelligence Department. His aquiline nose, bristling
+white eyebrows, and flashing, restless eyes gave him his nickname of
+<i>l'Aigle.</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+In amazement, the flashing eyes were now turned upon Marie. He glared at
+her as though he thought she suddenly had flown mad.
+</p>
+<p>
+"A German wireless!" he protested. "It is impossible!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I was on the fourth floor," panted Marie, "collecting linen for the
+Sisters. In the room next to the linen closet I heard a strange buzzing
+sound. I opened the door softly. I saw Briand with his back to me seated
+by an instrument. There were receivers clamped to his ears! My God! The
+disgrace. The disgrace to my husband and to me, who vouched for him to
+you!" Apparently in an agony of remorse, the fingers of the woman laced
+and interlaced. "I cannot forgive myself!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The officers moved toward the door, but General Andre halted them. Still
+in a tone of incredulity, he demanded: "When did you see this?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Marie knew the question was coming, knew she must explain how she saw
+Briand, and yet did not see the staff officer who, with his prisoner,
+might now at any instant appear. She must make it plain she had
+discovered the spy and left the upper part of the house before the
+officer had visited it. When that was she could not know, but the chance
+was that he had preceded her by only a few minutes.
+</p>
+<p>
+"When did you see this?" repeated the general.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But just now," cried Marie; "not ten minutes since."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Why did you not come to me at once?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I was afraid," replied Marie. "If I moved I was afraid he might hear
+me, and he, knowing I would expose him, would kill me&mdash;and so <i>escape
+you!</i>" There was an eager whisper of approval. For silence, General
+Andre slapped his hand upon the table.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then," continued Marie, "I understood with the receivers on his ears he
+could not have heard me open the door, nor could he hear me leave, and
+I ran to my aunt. The thought that we had harbored such an animal
+sickened me, and I was weak enough to feel faint. But only for an
+instant. Then I came here." She moved swiftly to the door. "Let me show
+you the room," she begged; "you can take him in the act." Her eyes, wild
+with the excitement of the chase, swept the circle. "Will you come?" she
+begged.
+</p>
+<p>
+Unconscious of the crisis he interrupted, the orderly on duty opened the
+door.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Captain Thierry's compliments," he recited mechanically, "and is he to
+delay longer for Madame d'Aurillac?"
+</p>
+<p>
+With a sharp gesture General Andre waved Marie toward the door. Without
+rising, he inclined his head. "Adieu, madame," he said. "We act at once
+upon your information. I thank you!"
+</p>
+<p>
+As she crossed from the hall to the terrace, the ears of the spy were
+assaulted by a sudden tumult of voices. They were raised in threats and
+curses. Looking back, she saw Anfossi descending the stairs. His hands
+were held above his head; behind him, with his automatic, the staff
+officer she had surprised on the fourth floor was driving him forward.
+Above the clenched fists of the soldiers that ran to meet him, the eyes
+of Anfossi were turned toward her. His face was expressionless. His eyes
+neither accused nor reproached. And with the joy of one who has looked
+upon and then escaped the guillotine, Marie ran down the steps to the
+waiting automobile. With a pretty cry of pleasure she leaped into the
+seat beside Thierry. Gayly she threw out her arms. "To Paris!" she
+commanded. The handsome eyes of Thierry, eloquent with admiration,
+looked back into hers. He stooped, threw in the clutch, and the great
+gray car, with the machine gun and its crew of privates guarding the
+rear, plunged through the park.
+</p>
+<p>
+"To Paris!" echoed Thierry.
+</p>
+<p>
+In the order in which Marie had last seen them, Anfossi and the staff
+officer entered the room of General Andre, and upon the soldiers in the
+hall the door was shut. The face of the staff officer was grave, but his
+voice could not conceal his elation.
+</p>
+<p>
+"My general," he reported, "I found this man in the act of giving
+information to the enemy. There is a wireless&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+General Andre rose slowly. He looked neither at the officer nor at his
+prisoner. With frowning eyes he stared down at the maps upon his table.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I know," he interrupted. "Some one has already told me." He paused,
+and then, as though recalling his manners, but still without raising his
+eyes, he added: "You have done well, sir."
+</p>
+<p>
+In silence the officers of the staff stood motionless. With surprise
+they noted that, as yet, neither in anger nor curiosity had General
+Andre glanced at the prisoner. But of the presence of the general the
+spy was most acutely conscious. He stood erect, his arms still raised,
+but his body strained forward, and on the averted eyes of the general
+his own were fixed.
+</p>
+<p>
+In an agony of supplication they asked a question.
+</p>
+<p>
+At last, as though against his wish, toward the spy the general turned
+his head, and their eyes met. And still General Andre was silent. Then
+the arms of the spy, like those of a runner who has finished his race
+and breasts the tape exhausted, fell to his sides. In a voice low and
+vibrant he spoke his question.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It has been so long, sir," he pleaded. "May I not come home?"
+</p>
+<p>
+General Andre turned to the astonished group surrounding him. His voice
+was hushed like that of one who speaks across an open grave.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Gentlemen," he began, "my children," he added. "A German spy, a woman,
+involved in a scandal your brother in arms, Henri Ravignac. His honor,
+he thought, was concerned, and without honor he refused to live. To
+prove him guiltless his younger brother Charles asked leave to seek out
+the woman who had betrayed Henri, and by us was detailed on secret
+service. He gave up home, family, friends. He lived in exile, in
+poverty, at all times in danger of a swift and ignoble death. In the War
+Office we know him as one who has given to his country services she
+cannot hope to reward. For she cannot return to him the years he has
+lost. She cannot return to him his brother. But she can and will clear
+the name of Henri Ravignac, and upon his brother Charles bestow
+promotion and honors."
+</p>
+<p>
+The general turned and embraced the spy. "My children," he said,
+"welcome your brother. He has come home."
+</p>
+<p>
+Before the car had reached the fortifications, Marie Gessler had
+arranged her plan of escape. She had departed from the ch&acirc;teau without
+even a hand-bag, and she would say that before the shops closed she must
+make purchases.
+</p>
+<p>
+Le Printemps lay in their way, and she asked that, when they reached it,
+for a moment she might alight. Captain Thierry readily gave permission.
+</p>
+<p>
+From the department store it would be most easy to disappear, and in
+anticipation Marie smiled covertly. Nor was the picture of Captain
+Thierry impatiently waiting outside unamusing.
+</p>
+<p>
+But before Le Printemps was approached, the car turned sharply down a
+narrow street. On one side, along its entire length, ran a high gray
+wall, grim and forbidding. In it was a green gate studded with iron
+bolts. Before this the automobile drew suddenly to a halt. The crew of
+the armored car tumbled off the rear seat, and one of them beat upon the
+green gate. Marie felt a hand of ice clutch at her throat. But she
+controlled herself.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And what is this?" she cried gayly.
+</p>
+<p>
+At her side Captain Thierry was smiling down at her, but his smile was
+hateful.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It is the prison of St. Lazare," he said. "It is not becoming," he
+added sternly, "that the name of the Countess d'Aurillac should be made
+common as the Paris road!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Fighting for her life, Marie thrust herself against him; her arm that
+throughout the journey had rested on the back of the driving-seat
+caressed his shoulders; her lips and the violet eyes were close to his.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Why should you care?" she whispered fiercely. "You have <i>me!</i> Let the
+Count d'Aurillac look after the honor of his wife himself."
+</p>
+<p>
+The charming Thierry laughed at her mockingly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He means to," he said. "I <i>am</i> the Count d'Aurillac!"
+</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<a name="RULE4_5"><!-- RULE4 5 --></a>
+<h2>
+	PLAYING DEAD
+</h2>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>
+To fate, "Jimmie" Blagwin had signalled the "supreme gesture." He had
+accomplished the Great Adventure. He was dead.
+</p>
+<p>
+And as he sat on his trunk in the tiny hall bedroom, and in the
+afternoon papers read of his suicide, his eyes were lit with pleasurable
+pride. Not at the nice things the obituaries told of his past, but
+because his act of self-sacrifice, so carefully considered, had been
+carried to success. As he read Jimmie smiled with self-congratulation.
+He felt glad he was alive; or, to express it differently, felt glad he
+was dead. And he hoped Jeanne, his late wife, now his widow, also would
+be glad. But not <i>too</i> glad. In return for relieving Jeanne of his
+presence he hoped she might at times remember him with kindness. Of her
+always would he think gratefully and tenderly. Nothing could end his
+love for Jeanne&mdash;not even this suicide.
+</p>
+<p>
+As children, in winter in New York, in summer on Long Island, Jimmie
+Blagwin and Jeanne Thayer had grown up together. They had the same
+tastes in sports, the same friends, the same worldly advantages.
+Neither of them had many ideas. It was after they married that Jeanne
+began to borrow ideas and doubt the advantages.
+</p>
+<p>
+For the first three years after the wedding, in the old farmhouse which
+Jimmie had made over into a sort of idealized country club, Jeanne lived
+a happy, healthy, out-of-door existence. To occupy her there were
+Jimmie's hunters and a pack of joyous beagles; for tennis, at week-ends
+Jimmie filled the house with men, and during the week they both played
+polo, he with the Meadow Brooks and she with the Meadow Larks, and the
+golf links of Piping Rock ran almost to their lodge-gate. Until Proctor
+Maddox took a cottage at Glen Cove and joined the golf-club, than Jeanne
+and Jimmie on all Long Island no couple were so content.
+</p>
+<p>
+At that time Proctor Maddox was the young and brilliant editor of the
+<i>Wilderness</i> magazine, the wilderness being the world we live in, and
+the Voice crying in it the voice of Proctor Maddox. He was a Socialist
+and Feminist, he flirted with syndicalism, and he had a good word even
+for the I.W.W. He was darkly handsome, his eyeglasses were fastened to a
+black ribbon, and he addressed his hostess as "dear lady." He was that
+sort. Women described him as "dangerous," and liked him because he
+talked of things they did not understand, and because he told each of
+them it was easy to see it would be useless to flatter <i>her</i>. The men
+did not like him. The oldest and wealthiest members of the club
+protested that the things Maddox said in his magazine should exclude him
+from the society of law-abiding, money-making millionaires. But Freddy
+Bayliss, the leader of the younger crowd, said that, to him, it did not
+matter what Maddox said in the <i>Wilderness</i>, so long as he stayed there.
+It was Bayliss who christened him "the Voice."
+</p>
+<p>
+Until the Voice came to Glen Cove all that troubled Jeanne was that her
+pony had sprained a tendon, and that in the mixed doubles her eye was
+off the ball. Proctor Maddox suggested other causes for discontent.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What does it matter," he demanded, "whether you hit a rubber ball
+inside a whitewashed line, or not? That energy, that brain, that
+influence of yours over others, that something men call&mdash;charm, should
+be exerted to emancipate yourself and your unfortunate sisters."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Emaciate myself," protested Jeanne eagerly; "do you mean I'm taking on
+flesh?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I said 'emancipate,'" corrected Maddox. "I mean to free yourself of the
+bonds that bind your sex; for instance, the bonds of matrimony. It is
+obsolete, barbarous. It makes of women&mdash;slaves and chattels."
+</p>
+<p>
+"But, since I married, I'm <i>much</i> freer," protested Jeanne. "Mother
+never let me play polo, or ride astride. But Jimmie lets me. He says
+cross saddle is safer."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Jimmie <i>lets</i> you!" mocked the Voice. "<i>That</i> is exactly what I mean.
+Why should you go to him, or to any man, for permission? Are you his
+cook asking for an evening out? No! You are a free soul, and your duty
+is to keep your soul from bondage. There are others in the world besides
+your husband. What of your duty to them? Have you ever thought of them?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"No, I have not," confessed Jeanne. "Who do you mean by 'them'?
+Shop-girls, and white slaves, and women who want to vote?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I mean the great army of the discontented," explained the Voice.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And should I be discontented?" asked Jeanne. "Tell me why."
+</p>
+<p>
+So, then and on many other occasions, Maddox told her why. It was one of
+the best things he did.
+</p>
+<p>
+People say, when the triangle forms, the husband always is the last to
+see. But, if he loves his wife, he is the first. And after three years
+of being married to Jeanne, and, before that, five years of wanting to
+marry Jeanne, Jimmie loved her devotedly, entirely, slavishly. It was
+the best thing <i>he</i> did. So, when to Jeanne the change came, her husband
+recognized it. What the cause was he could not fathom; he saw only that,
+in spite of her impatient denials, she was discontented, restless,
+unhappy. Thinking it might be that for too long they had gone "back to
+the land," he suggested they might repeat their honeymoon in Paris. The
+idea was received only with alarm. Concerning Jeanne, Jimmie decided
+secretly to consult a doctor. Meanwhile he bought her a new hunter.
+</p>
+<p>
+The awakening came one night at a dance at the country club. That
+evening Jeanne was filled with unrest, and with Jimmie seemed
+particularly aggrieved. Whatever he said gave offense; even his
+eagerness to conciliate her was too obvious. With the other men who did
+not dance, Jimmie was standing in the doorway when, over the heads of
+those looking in from the veranda, he saw the white face and black eyes
+of Maddox. Jimmie knew Maddox did not dance, at those who danced had
+heard him jeer, and his presence caused him mild surprise. The editor,
+leaning forward, unconscious that he was conspicuous, searched the
+ballroom with his eyes. They were anxious, unsatisfied; they gave to his
+pale face the look of one who is famished. Then suddenly his face lit
+and he nodded eagerly. Following the direction of his eyes, Jimmie saw
+his wife, over the shoulder of her partner, smiling at Maddox. Her face
+was radiant; a great peace had descended upon it.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie knew just as surely as though Jeanne had told him. He walked out
+and sat down on the low wall of the terrace with his back to the
+club-house and his legs dangling. Below him in the moonlight lay the
+great basin of the golf links, the white rectangle of the polo fields
+with the gallows-like goals, and on a hill opposite, above the
+tree-tops, the chimneys of his house. He was down for a tennis match the
+next morning, and the sight of his home suggested to him only that he
+ought to be in bed and asleep.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then he recognized that he never would sleep again. He went over it from
+the beginning, putting the pieces together. He never had liked Maddox,
+but he had explained that by the fact that, as Maddox was so much more
+intelligent than he, there could be little between them. And it was
+because every one said he was so intelligent that he had looked upon his
+devotion to Jeanne rather as a compliment. He wondered why already it
+had not been plain to him. When Jeanne, who mocked at golf as a refuge
+for old age, spent hours with Maddox on the links; when, after she had
+declined to ride with her husband, on his return he would find her at
+tea with Maddox in front of the wood fire.
+</p>
+<p>
+That night, when he drove Jeanne home, she still was joyous, radiant; it
+was now she who chided him upon being silent.
+</p>
+<p>
+He waited until noon the next morning and then asked her if it were
+true. It was true. Jeanne thanked him for coming to her so honestly and
+straightforwardly. She also had been straightforward and honest. They
+had waited, she said, not through deceit but only out of consideration
+for him.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Before we told you," Jeanne explained, "we wanted to be quite sure that
+<i>I</i> was sure."
+</p>
+<p>
+The "we" hurt Jimmie like the stab of a rusty knife.
+</p>
+<p>
+But he said only: "And you <i>are</i> sure? Three years ago you were sure you
+loved <i>me</i>."
+</p>
+<p>
+Jeanne's eyes were filled with pity, but she said: "That was three years
+ago. I was a child, and now I am a woman. In many ways you have stood
+still and I have gone on."
+</p>
+<p>
+"That's true," said Jimmie; "you always were too good for me."
+</p>
+<p>
+"<i>No</i> woman is good enough for you," returned Jeanne loyally. "And your
+brains are just as good as mine, only you haven't used them. I have
+questioned and reached out and gained knowledge of all kinds. I am a
+Feminist and you are not. If you were you would understand."
+</p>
+<p>
+"I don't know even what a Feminist is," said Jimmie, "but I'm glad I'm
+not one."
+</p>
+<p>
+"A Feminist is one," explained Jeanne, "who does not think her life
+should be devoted to one person, but to the world."
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie shook his head and smiled miserably.
+</p>
+<p>
+"<i>You</i> are <i>my</i> world," he said. "The only world I know. The only world
+I want to know."
+</p>
+<p>
+He walked to the fireplace and leaned his elbows on the mantel, and
+buried his head in his hands. But that his distress might not hurt
+Jeanne, he turned and, to give her courage, smiled.
+</p>
+<p>
+"If you are going to devote yourself to the World," he asked, "and not
+to any one person, why can't I sort of trail along? Why need you leave
+me and go with&mdash;with some one else?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"For the work I hope to do," answered Jeanne, "you and I are not suited.
+But Proctor and I are suited. He says he never met a woman who
+understands him as I do."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Hell!" said Jimmie. After that he did not speak for some time. Then he
+asked roughly:
+</p>
+<p>
+"He's going to marry you, of course?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jeanne flushed crimson.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Of course!" she retorted. Her blush looked like indignation, and so
+Jimmie construed it, but it was the blush of embarrassment. For Maddox
+considered the ceremony of marriage an ignoble and barbaric bond. It
+degraded the woman, he declared, in making her a slave, and the man in
+that he accepted such a sacrifice. Jeanne had not argued with him. Until
+she were free, to discuss it with him seemed indecent. But in her own
+mind there was no doubt. If she were to be the helpmate of Proctor
+Maddox in uplifting the world, she would be Mrs. Proctor Maddox; or,
+much as he was to her, each would uplift the world alone. But she did
+not see the necessity of explaining all this to Jimmie, so she said: "Of
+course!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I will see the lawyers to-morrow," said Jimmie. "It will take some time
+to arrange, and so," he added hopefully, "you can think it over."
+</p>
+<p>
+Jeanne exclaimed miserably:
+</p>
+<p>
+"I have thought of nothing else," she cried, "for six months!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie bent above her and laid his hand upon her shoulder.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I am sorry, so sorry," he said. "If I'd any brains I'd have seen how it
+was long ago. Now I'll not waste time. You'll be rid of me as quick as
+the courts can fix it."
+</p>
+<p>
+He started for the door, but Jeanne caught his hand.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Won't you kiss me, Jimmie?" she said.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie hesitated unhappily and Jeanne raised her eyes to his.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Not since we were married, Jimmie," she said, "has any one kissed me
+but you."
+</p>
+<p>
+So Jimmie bent and kissed her. She clung to his sleeve.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Jimmie," she begged, "you haven't told me you forgive me. Unless you
+forgive me I can't go on with it. Tell me you forgive me!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Forgive you?" protested Jimmie. "I love you!"
+</p>
+<p>
+When Jimmie went to the office of the lawyer, who also was his best
+friend, and told him that Jennie wanted a separation, that young man
+kicked the waste-paper basket against the opposite wall.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'll not do it," he protested, "and I won't let you do it, either. Why
+should you smear your name and roll in the dirt and play dead to please
+Jeanne? If Jeanne thinks I'm going to send you to a Raines hotel and
+follow you up with detectives to furnish her with a fake divorce, you
+can tell her I won't. What are they coming to?" demanded the best
+friend. "What do they want? A man gives a woman all his love, all his
+thoughts, gives her his name, his home; only asks to work his brains out
+for her, only asks to see her happy. And she calls it 'charity,' calls
+herself a 'slave'!" The best friend kicked violently at the place where
+the waste-basket had been. "<i>Give</i> them the vote, I say," he shouted.
+"It's all they're good for!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The violence of his friend did not impress Jimmie. As he walked up-town
+the only part of the interview he carried with him was that there must
+be no scandal. Not on his account. If Jeanne wished it, he assured
+himself, in spite of the lawyer, he was willing, in the metaphor of that
+gentleman, to "roll in the dirt and play dead." "Play dead!" The words
+struck him full in the face. Were he dead and out of the way, Jeanne,
+without a touch of scandal, could marry the man she loved. Jimmie halted
+in his tracks. He believed he saw the only possible exit. He turned
+into a side street, and between the silent houses, closed for the
+summer, worked out his plan. For long afterward that city block remained
+in his memory; the doctors' signs on the sills, the caretakers seeking
+the air, the chauffeurs at the cab rank. For hours they watched the
+passing and repassing of the young man, who with bent head and fixed
+eyes struck at the pavement with his stick.
+</p>
+<p>
+That he should really kill himself Jimmie did not for a moment
+contemplate. To him self-destruction appeared only as an offense against
+nature. On his primitive, out-of-door, fox-hunting mind the ethics of
+suicide lay as uneasily as absinthe on the stomach of a baby. But, he
+argued, by <i>pretending</i> he were dead, he could set Jeanne free, could
+save her from gossip, and could still dream of her, love her, and occupy
+with her, if not the same continent, the same world.
+</p>
+<p>
+He had three problems to solve, and as he considered them he devotedly
+wished he might consult with a brain more clever than his own. But an
+accomplice was out of the question. Were he to succeed, everybody must
+be fooled; no one could share his secret. It was "a lone game, played
+alone, and without my partner."
+</p>
+<p>
+The three problems were: first, in order to protect his wife, to
+provide for the suicide a motive other than the attentions of Maddox;
+second, to make the suicide look like a real suicide; third, without
+later creating suspicion, to draw enough money from the bank to keep
+himself alive after he was dead. For his suicide Jeanne must not hold
+herself to blame; she must not believe her conduct forced his end; above
+every one else, she must be persuaded that in bringing about his death
+she was completely innocent. What reasons then were accepted for
+suicide?
+</p>
+<p>
+As to this, Jimmie, refusing to consider the act justified for any
+reason, was somewhat at a loss. He had read of men who, owing to loss of
+honor, loss of fortune, loss of health, had "gone out." He was
+determined he owed it to himself not to go out under a cloud, and he
+could not lose his money, as then there would be none to leave Jeanne;
+so he must lose his health. As except for broken arms and collar-bones
+he never had known a sick-bed, this last was as difficult as the others,
+but it must serve. After much consideration he decided he would go
+blind. At least he would pretend he was going blind. To give a semblance
+of truth to this he would that day consult distinguished oculists and,
+in spite of their assurances, would tell them that slowly and surely
+his eyesight was failing him. He would declare to them, in the dread of
+such a catastrophe, he was of a mind to seek self-destruction. To others
+he would confide the secret of his blindness and his resolution not to
+survive it. And, later, all of these would remember and testify.
+</p>
+<p>
+The question of money also was difficult. After his death he no longer
+could sign a check or negotiate securities. He must have cash. But if
+from the bank he drew large sums of actual money, if he converted stocks
+and bonds into cash and a week later disappeared, apparently forever,
+questions as to what became of the sums he had collected would arise,
+and that his disappearance was genuine would be doubted. This difficulty
+made Jimmie for a moment wonder if being murdered for his money, and
+having his body concealed by the murderer, would not be better than
+suicide. It would, at least, explain the disappearance of the money. But
+he foresaw that for his murder some innocent one might be suspected and
+hanged. This suggested leaving behind him evidence to show that the one
+who murdered him was none other than Proctor Maddox. The idea appealed
+to his sense of humor and justice. It made the punishment fit the
+crime. Not without reluctance did he abandon it and return to his plan
+of suicide. But he recognized that to supply himself with any large sum
+of money would lead to suspicion and that he must begin his new life
+almost empty-handed. In his new existence he must work.
+</p>
+<p>
+For that day and until the next afternoon he remained in town, and in
+that time prepared the way for his final exit. At a respectable
+lodging-house on West Twenty-third Street, near the ferry, he gave his
+name as Henry Hull, and engaged a room. To this room, from a department
+store he never before had entered, he shipped a trunk and valise marked
+with his new initials and filled with clothes to suit his new estate. To
+supply himself with money, at banks, clubs, and restaurants he cashed
+many checks for small sums. The total of his collections, from places
+scattered over all the city, made quite a comfortable bank roll. And in
+his box at the safe-deposit vault he came upon a windfall. It was an
+emerald bracelet left him by an eccentric aunt who had lived and died in
+Paris. The bracelet he had offered to Jeanne, but she did not like it
+and had advised him to turn it into money and, as the aged relative had
+wished, spend it upon himself. That was three years since, and now were
+it missing Jeanne would believe that at some time in the past he had
+followed her advice. So he carried the bracelet away with him. For a
+year it would keep a single man in comfort.
+</p>
+<p>
+His next step was to acquaint himself with the nature of the affliction
+on account of which he was to destroy himself. At the public library he
+collected a half-dozen books treating of blindness, and selected his
+particular malady. He picked out glaucoma, and for his purpose it was
+admirably suited. For, so Jimmie discovered, in a case of glaucoma the
+oculist was completely at the mercy of the patient. Except to the
+patient the disease gave no sign. To an oculist a man might say, "Three
+nights ago my eyesight played me the following tricks," and from that
+the oculist would know the man was stricken with glaucoma; but the eyes
+would tell him nothing.
+</p>
+<p>
+The next morning to four oculists Jimmie detailed his symptoms. Each
+looked grave, and all diagnosed his trouble as glaucoma.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I knew it!" groaned Jimmie, and assured them sooner than go blind he
+would jump into the river. They pretended to treat this as an
+extravagance, but later, when each of them was interviewed, he
+remembered that Mr. Blagwin had threatened to drown himself. On his way
+to the train Jimmie purchased a pair of glasses and, in order to invite
+questions, in the club car pretended to read with them. When his friends
+expressed surprise, Jimmie told them of the oculists he had consulted,
+and that they had informed him his case was hopeless. If this proved
+true, he threatened to drown himself.
+</p>
+<p>
+On his return home he explained to Jeanne he had seen the lawyer, and
+that that gentleman suggested the less she knew of what was going on the
+better. In return Jeanne told him she had sent for Maddox and informed
+him that, until the divorce was secured, they had best not be seen
+together. The wisdom of this appealed even to Maddox, and already, to
+fill in what remained of the summer, he had departed for Bar Harbor. To
+Jimmie the relief of his absence was inexpressible. He had given himself
+only a week to live, and, for the few days still remaining to him, to be
+alone with Jeanne made him miserably happy. The next morning Jimmie
+confessed to his wife that his eyes were failing him. The trouble came,
+he explained, from a fall he had received the year before
+steeplechasing. He had not before spoken of it, as he did not wish to
+distress her. The oculists he had consulted gave him no hope. He would
+end it, he declared, in the gun-room.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jeanne was thoroughly alarmed. That her old playmate, lover, husband
+should come to such a plight at the very time she had struck him the
+hardest blow of all filled her with remorse. In a hundred ways she tried
+to make up to him for the loss of herself and for the loss of his eyes.
+She became his constant companion; never had she been so kind and so
+considerate. They saw no one from the outside, and each day through the
+wood paths that circled their house made silent pilgrimages. And each
+day on a bench, placed high, where the view was fairest, together, and
+yet so far apart, watched the sun sink into the sound.
+</p>
+<p>
+"These are the times I will remember," said Jimmie; "when&mdash;when I am
+alone."
+</p>
+<p>
+The last night they sat on the bench he took out his knife and carved
+the date&mdash;July, 1913.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What does that mean?" asked Jeanne.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It means to-night I seem to love you more and need you more than ever
+before," said Jimmie. "That is what it means. Will you remember?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jeanne was looking away from him, but she stretched out her hand and
+laid it upon his.
+</p>
+<p>
+"To-morrow I am going to town," said Jimmie, "to see that oculist from
+Paris. They say what he tells you is the last word. And, if he says&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jeanne swung toward him and with all the jealousy of possession held
+his hand. Her own eyes were blurred with tears.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He will tell you the others are wrong!" she cried. "I know he will. He
+must! You&mdash;who have always been so kind! God could not be so cruel!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie stopped her.
+</p>
+<p>
+"If I am not to see <i>you</i>&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+During his last week at home Jimmie had invented a Doctor Picard, a
+distinguished French oculist, who, on a tour of the world, was by the
+rarest chance at that moment in New York. According to Jimmie, all the
+other oculists had insisted he must consult Picard, and might consider
+what Picard said as final. Picard was staying with a friend&mdash;Jimmie did
+not say where&mdash;and after receiving Jimmie was at once taking the train
+for San Francisco. As Jimmie had arranged his scenario, it was Picard
+who was to deal him his death sentence.
+</p>
+<p>
+Her husband seemed so entirely to depend on what Picard might say that
+Jeanne decided, should the verdict be unfavorable, she had best be at
+his side. But, as this would have upset Jimmie's plan, he argued against
+it. Should the news be bad, he pointed out, for her to receive it in her
+own home would be much easier for both. Jeanne felt she had been
+rebuffed, but that, if Jimmie did not want her with him, she no longer
+was in a position to insist.
+</p>
+<p>
+So she contented herself with driving him to the train and, before those
+who knew them at the station, kissing him good-by.
+</p>
+<p>
+Afterward, that she had done so comforted her greatly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'll be praying for you, Jimmie," she whispered. "And, as soon as you
+know, you'll&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+So upset was Jimmie by the kiss, and by the knowledge that he was saying
+farewell for the last time, that he nearly exposed his purpose.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I want the last thing I say to you," he stammered, "to be this: that
+whatever you do will be right. I love you so that I will understand."
+</p>
+<p>
+When he arrived in New York, in his own name, he booked a stateroom on
+the <i>Ceramic</i>. She was listed to sail that evening after midnight. It
+was because she departed at that hour that for a week Jimmie had fixed
+upon her as furnishing the scene of his exit. During the day he told
+several of his friends that the report of the great oculist had been
+against him. Later, they recalled that he talked wildly, that he was
+deeply despondent. In the afternoon he sent a telegram to Jeanne:
+</p>
+<pre>
+  "Verdict unfavorable. Will remain to-night in town.
+  All love. J."
+</pre>
+<p>
+At midnight he went on board. The decks and saloons were swarming and
+noisy with seagoers, many of whom had come to the ship directly from the
+theatres and restaurants, the women bareheaded, in evening gowns. Jimmie
+felt grateful to them. They gave to the moment of his taking off an air
+of gentle gayety. Among those who were sailing, and those who had come
+to wish them "bon voyage," many were known to Jimmie. He told them he
+was going abroad at the command of his oculist. Also, he forced himself
+upon the notice of officers and stewards, giving them his name, and
+making inquiries concerning the non-appearance of fictitious baggage.
+Later, they also recalled the young man in dinner jacket and golf cap
+who had lost a dressing-case marked "James Blagwin."
+</p>
+<p>
+In his cabin Jimmie wrote two letters. The one to the captain of the
+ship read:
+</p>
+<pre>
+  "After we pass Fire Island I am going overboard. Do
+  not make any effort to find me, as it will be useless.
+  I am sorry to put you to this trouble."
+</pre>
+<p>
+The second letter was to Jeanne. It read:
+</p>
+<pre>
+  "Picard agreed with the others. My case is hopeless.
+  I am ending all to-night. Forgive me. I leave you all
+  the love in all the world. Jimmie."
+</pre>
+<p>
+When he had addressed these letters he rang for the steward.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I am not going to wait until we leave the dock," he said. "I am turning
+in now. I am very tired, and I don't want you to wake me on any excuse
+whatsoever until to-morrow at noon. Better still, don't come until I
+ring!"
+</p>
+<p>
+When the steward had left him, Jimmie pinned the two letters upon the
+pillow, changed the steamer-cap for an Alpine hat, and beneath a
+rain-coat concealed his evening clothes. He had purposely selected the
+deck cabin farthest aft. Accordingly, when after making the cabin dark
+he slipped from it, the break in the deck that separated the first from
+the second class passengers was but a step distant. The going-ashore
+bugles had sounded, and more tumult than would have followed had the
+ship struck a rock now spread to every deck. With sharp commands
+officers were speeding the parting guests; the parting guests were
+shouting passionate good-bys and sending messages to Aunt Maria;
+quartermasters howled hoarse warnings, donkey-engines panted under the
+weight of belated luggage, fall and tackle groaned and strained. And the
+ship's siren, enraged at the delay, protested in one long-drawn-out,
+inarticulate shriek.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie slipped down the accommodation ladder that led to the well-deck,
+side-stepped a yawning hatch, dodged a swinging cargo net stuffed with
+trunks, and entered the second-class smoking-room. From there he elbowed
+his way to the second-class promenade deck. A stream of tearful and
+hilarious visitors who, like sheep in a chute, were being herded down
+the gangway, engulfed him. Unresisting, Jimmie let himself, by weight of
+numbers, be carried forward.
+</p>
+<p>
+A moment later he was shot back to the dock and to the country from
+which at that moment, in deck cabin A4, he was supposed to be drawing
+steadily away.
+</p>
+<p>
+Dodging the electric lights, on foot he made his way to his
+lodging-house. The night was warm and moist, and, seated on the stoop,
+stripped to shirt and trousers, was his landlord.
+</p>
+<p>
+He greeted Jimmie affably.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Evening, Mr. Hull," he said. "Hope this heat won't keep you awake."
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie thanked him and passed hurriedly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Mr. Hull!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The landlord had said it.
+</p>
+<p>
+Somewhere out at sea, between Fire Island and Scotland Lightship, the
+waves were worrying with what once had been Jimmie Blagwin, and in a
+hall bedroom on Twenty-third Street Henry Hull, with frightened eyes,
+sat staring across the wharves, across the river, thinking of a
+farmhouse on Long Island.
+</p>
+<p>
+His last week on earth had been more of a strain on Jimmie than he
+appreciated; and the night the <i>Ceramic</i> sailed he slept the drugged
+sleep of complete nervous exhaustion. Late the next morning, while he
+still slept, a passenger on the <i>Ceramic</i> stumbled upon the fact of his
+disappearance. The man knew Jimmie; had greeted him the night before
+when he came on board, and was seeking him that he might subscribe to a
+pool on the run. When to his attack on Jimmie's door there was no reply,
+he peered through the air-port, saw on the pillow, where Jimmie's head
+should have been, two letters, and reported to the purser. Already the
+ship was three hundred miles from where Jimmie had announced he would
+drown himself; a search showed he was not on board, and the evidence of
+a smoking-room steward, who testified that at one o'clock he had left
+Mr. Blagwin alone on deck, gazing "mournful-like" at Fire Island, seemed
+to prove Jimmie had carried out his threat. When later the same
+passenger the steward had mistaken for Jimmie appeared in the
+smoking-room and ordered a drink from him, the steward was rattled. But
+as the person who had last seen Jimmie Blagwin alive he had gained
+melancholy interest, and, as his oft-told tale was bringing him many
+shillings, he did not correct it. Accordingly, from Cape Sable the news
+of Jimmie's suicide was reported. That afternoon it appeared in all the
+late editions of the evening papers.
+</p>
+<p>
+Pleading fever, Jimmie explained to his landlord that for him to venture
+out by day was most dangerous, and sent the landlord after the
+newspapers. The feelings with which he read them were mixed. He was
+proud of the complete success of his plot, but the inevitableness of it
+terrified him. The success was <i>too</i> complete. He had left himself no
+loophole. He had locked the door on himself and thrown the key out of
+the window. Now, that she was lost to him forever, he found, if that
+were possible, he loved his wife more devotedly than before. He felt
+that to live in the same world with Jeanne and never speak to her, never
+even look at her, could not be borne. He was of a mind to rush to the
+wharf and take another leap into the dark waters, and this time without
+a life-line. From this he was restrained only by the thought that if he
+used infinite caution, at infrequent intervals, at a great distance, he
+still might look upon his wife. This he assured himself would be
+possible only after many years had aged him and turned his hair gray.
+Then on second thoughts he believed to wait so long was not absolutely
+necessary. It would be safe enough, he argued, if he grew a beard. He
+always had been clean-shaven, and he was confident a beard would
+disguise him. He wondered how long a time must pass before one would
+grow. Once on a hunting-trip he had gone for two weeks without shaving,
+and the result had not only disguised but disgusted him. His face had
+changed to one like those carved on cocoanuts. A recollection of this
+gave him great pleasure. His spirits rose happily. He saw himself in the
+rags of a tramp, his face hidden in an unkempt beard, skulking behind
+the hedges that surrounded his house. From this view-point, before
+sailing away from her forever, he would again steal a look at Jeanne. He
+determined to postpone his departure until he had grown a beard.
+Meanwhile he would plead illness, and keep to his room, or venture out
+only at night. Comforted by the thought that in two weeks he might again
+see his wife, as she sat on the terrace or walked in her gardens, he
+sank peaceably to sleep.
+</p>
+<p>
+The next morning the landlord brought him the papers. In them were many
+pictures of himself as a master of foxhounds, as a polo-player, as a
+gentleman jockey. The landlord looked at him curiously. Five minutes
+later, on a trivial excuse, he returned and again studied Jimmie as
+closely as though he were about to paint his portrait. Then two of the
+other boarders, chums of the landlord, knocked at the door, to borrow a
+match, to beg the loan of the morning paper. Each was obviously excited,
+each stared accusingly. Jimmie fell into a panic. He felt that if
+already his identity was questioned, than hiding in his room and growing
+a beard nothing could be more suspicious. At noon, for West Indian
+ports, a German boat was listed to sail from the Twenty-fourth Street
+wharf. Jimmie decided at once to sail with her and, until his beard was
+grown, not to return. It was necessary first to escape the suspicious
+landlord, and to that end he noiselessly packed his trunk and suit-case.
+In front of the house, in an unending procession, taxi-cabs returning
+empty from the Twenty-third Street ferry passed the door, and from the
+street Jimmie hailed one. Before the landlord could voice his doubts
+Jimmie was on the sidewalk, his bill had been paid, and, giving the
+address of a hotel on Fourteenth Street, he was away.
+</p>
+<p>
+At the Fourteenth Street hotel Jimmie dismissed the taxi-cab and asked
+for a room adjoining an imaginary Senator Gates. When the clerk told him
+Senator Gates was not at that hotel, Jimmie excitedly demanded to be led
+to the telephone. He telephoned the office of the steamship line: and,
+in the name of Henry Hull, secured a cabin. Then he explained to the
+clerk that over the telephone he had learned that his friend, Senator
+Gates, was at another hotel. He regretted that he must follow him.
+Another taxi was called, and Jimmie drove to an inconspicuous and
+old-fashioned hotel on the lower East Side, patronized exclusively by
+gunmen. There, in not finding Senator Gates, he was again disappointed,
+and now having broken the link that connected him with the suspicious
+landlord, he drove back to within a block of his original starting-point
+and went on board the ship. Not until she was off Sandy Hook did he
+leave his cabin.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was July, and passengers to the tropics were few; and when Jimmie
+ventured on deck he found most of them gathered at the port rail. They
+were gazing intently over the ship's side. Thinking the pilot might be
+leaving, Jimmie joined them. A young man in a yachting-cap was pointing
+north and speaking in the voice of a conductor of a "seeing New York"
+car.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Just between that lighthouse and the bow of this ship," he exclaimed,
+"is where yesterday James Blagwin jumped overboard. At any moment we may
+see the body!"
+</p>
+<p>
+An excitable passenger cried aloud and pointed at some floating seaweed.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'll bet that's it now!" he shouted.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie exclaimed indignantly:
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'll bet you ten dollars it isn't!" he said.
+</p>
+<p>
+In time the ship touched at Santiago, Kingston, and Colon, but, fearing
+recognition, Jimmie saw these places only from the deck. He travelled
+too fast for newspapers to overtake him, and those that on the return
+passage met the ship, of his death gave no details. So, except that his
+suicide had been accepted, Jimmie knew nothing.
+</p>
+<p>
+Least of all did he know, or even guess, that his act of renunciation,
+intended to bring to Jeanne happiness, had nearly brought about her own
+end. She believed Jimmie was dead, but not for a moment did she believe
+it was for fear of blindness he had killed himself. She and Maddox had
+killed him. Between them they had murdered the man who, now that he was
+gone, she found she loved devotedly. To a shocked and frightened letter
+of condolence from Maddox she wrote one that forever ordered him out of
+her life. Then she set about making a saint of Jimmie, and counting the
+days when in another world they would meet, and her years of remorse,
+penitence, and devotion would cause him to forgive her. In their home
+she shut herself off from every one. She made of it a shrine to Jimmie.
+She kept his gloves on the hall table; on her writing-desk she placed
+flowers before his picture. Preston, the butler, and the other servants
+who had been long with them feared for her sanity, but, loving "Mr.
+James" as they did, sympathized with her morbidness. So, in the old
+farmhouse, it was as though Jimmie still stamped through the halls, or
+from his room, as he dressed, whistled merrily. In the kennels the
+hounds howled dismally, in the stables at each footstep the ponies
+stamped with impatience, on the terrace his house dog, Huang Su, lay
+with his eyes fixed upon the road waiting for the return of the master,
+and in the gardens a girl in black, wasted and white-faced, walked alone
+and rebelled that she was still alive.
+</p>
+<p>
+After six weeks, when the ship re-entered New York harbor, Jimmie, his
+beard having grown, and wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, walked boldly
+down the gangplank. His confidence was not misplaced. The polo-player,
+clean-faced, lean, and fit, had disappeared. Six weeks of German
+cooking, a German barber, and the spectacles had produced a graduate of
+Heidelberg.
+</p>
+<p>
+At a furnished room on a side street Jimmie left his baggage, and at
+once at the public library, in the back numbers of the daily papers,
+read the accounts of his death and interviews with his friends. They all
+agreed the reason for his suicide was his fear of approaching blindness.
+As he read, Jimmie became deeply depressed. Any sneaking hopes he might
+have held that he was not dead were now destroyed. The evidence of his
+friends was enough to convince any one. It convinced him. Now that it
+was too late, his act of self-sacrifice appeared supremely stupid and
+ridiculous. Bitterly he attacked himself as a bungler and an ass. He
+assured himself he should have made a fight for it; should have fought
+for his wife: and against Maddox. Instead of which he weakly had effaced
+himself, had surrendered his rights, had abandoned his wife at a time
+when most was required of him. He tortured himself by thinking that
+probably at that very moment she was in need of his help. And at that
+very moment head-lines in the paper he was searching proved this was
+true.
+</p>
+<p>
+"BLAGWIN'S LOST WILL," he read. "DETECTIVES RELINQUISH SEARCH! REWARD
+OF TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS FAILS TO BRING CLEW!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie raced through the back numbers. They told him his will, in which
+he had left everything to Jeanne, could not be found; that in
+consequence, except her widow's third, all of his real estate, which was
+the bulk of his property, would now go to two distant cousins who
+already possessed more than was good for them, and who in Paris were
+leading lives of elegant wastefulness. The will had been signed the week
+before his wedding-day, but the lawyer who had drawn it was dead, and
+the witnesses, two servants, had long since quit Jimmie's service and
+could not be found. It was known Jimmie kept the will in the safe at his
+country house, but from the safe it had disappeared.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie's best friend, and now Jeanne's lawyer, the man who had refused
+him the divorce, had searched the house from the attic to the coal
+cellar; detectives had failed to detect; rewards had remained unclaimed;
+no one could tell where the will was hidden. Only Jimmie could tell. And
+Jimmie was dead. And no one knew that better than Jimmie. Again he
+upbraided himself. Why had he not foreseen this catastrophe? Why,
+before his final taking off, had he not returned the will to the safe?
+Now, a word from him would give Jeanne all his fortune, and that word he
+could not speak.
+</p>
+<p>
+The will was between the leaves of a copy of "Pickwick," and it stood on
+a shelf in his bedroom. One night, six months before, to alter a small
+bequest, he had carried the will up-stairs and written a rough draft of
+the new codicil. And then, merely because he was sleepy and disinclined
+to struggle with a combination lock, he had stuck the will in the book
+he was reading. He intended the first thing the next morning to put it
+back in the safe. But the first thing the next morning word came from
+the kennels that during the night six beagle puppies had arrived, and
+naturally Jimmie gave no thought to anything so unimportant as a will.
+Nor since then had he thought of it. And now how was he, a dead man, to
+retrieve it?
+</p>
+<p>
+That those in the library might not observe his agitation, he went
+outside, and in Bryant Park on a bench faced his problem. Except
+himself, of the hidden place of the will no one could possibly know. So,
+if even by an anonymous letter, or by telephone, he gave the information
+to his late lawyer or to the detectives, they at once would guess from
+where the clew came and that James Blagwin was still alive. So that plan
+was abandoned. Then he wondered if he might not convey the tip to some
+one who had access to his bedroom; his valet or a chambermaid who, as
+though by accident, might stumble upon the will. But, as every one would
+know the anonymous tipster could be only Blagwin himself, that plan also
+was rejected. He saw himself in a blind alley. Without an accomplice he
+could not act; with an accomplice his secret would be betrayed.
+</p>
+<p>
+Suddenly a line in one of the newspapers returned to him. It was to the
+effect that to discover the lost will several clairvoyants, mediums, and
+crystal-gazers had offered their services. Jimmie determined that one of
+these should be his accomplice. He would tell the clairvoyant he
+formerly had been employed as valet by Blagwin and knew where Blagwin
+had placed his will. But he had been discharged under circumstances that
+made it necessary for him to lie low. He would hint it was the police he
+feared. This would explain why he could not come forward, and why he
+sought the aid of the clairvoyant. If the clairvoyant fell in with his
+plan he would tell him where the will could be found, the clairvoyant
+would pretend in a trance to discover the hiding-place, would confide
+his discovery to Mrs. Blagwin's lawyer, the lawyer would find the will,
+the clairvoyant would receive the reward, and an invaluable
+advertisement. And Jimmie's ghost would rest in peace. He needed only a
+clairvoyant who was not so upright that he fell over backward. Jimmie
+assured himself one of that kind would not be difficult to find.
+</p>
+<p>
+He returned to the newspaper-room of the library and in the advertising
+columns of a Sunday paper found a clairvoyant who promised to be the man
+he wanted.
+</p>
+<p>
+He was an Indian prince, but for five dollars would tell fortunes, cast
+horoscopes, and recover lost articles. Jimmie found him in the back room
+on the first floor of an old-fashioned house of sandstone on a side
+street. A blonde young woman, who was directing envelopes and enclosing
+in them the business card of the prince, accepted Jimmie's five dollars
+and ushered him into the presence. The back room was very dark. There
+were no windows showing, and the walls were entirely hidden by curtains
+in which twinkled tiny mirrors. The only light came from a lamp that
+swung on chains.
+</p>
+<p>
+The prince was young, tall, dark-skinned, with a black, pointed beard.
+He wore his national costume and over it many necklaces of strange
+stones, and of jewels more strange. He sat on a papier-mach&eacute; throne with
+gilded elephants for supports, and in his hand held a crystal globe. His
+head was all but hidden in an enormous silken turban on which hung a
+single pearl. Jimmie made up his mind that if the prince was no more on
+the level than his jewels there would be no trouble.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie came quickly to the point.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I can't show up," he explained, "because after I lost my job as Mr.
+Blagwin's valet several articles of value were missing. But <i>you</i> can
+show up for me. If the will is not where I saw it&mdash;where I tell you it
+is&mdash;you're no worse off than you are now. You can say the spirits misled
+you. But, if I'm telling you the truth, you stand to get half the reward
+and the biggest press story any ghost-raiser ever put across.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And why," in conclusion Jimmie demanded, "should I ask you to do this,
+if what I say is not true?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The prince made no reply.
+</p>
+<p>
+With a sweeping gesture he brought the crystal globe into his lap and,
+bending his head, apparently peered into its depths. In reality he was
+gaining time. To himself he was repeating Jimmie's question. If the
+stranger were <i>not</i> speaking the truth, why was he asking him to join in
+a plot to deceive? The possibility that Jimmie <i>was</i> telling the truth
+the prince did not even consider. He was not used to the truth, and as
+to the motives of Jimmie in inviting him to break the law he already had
+made his guess. It was that Jimmie must be a detective setting a trap
+which later would betray him to the police. And the prince had no desire
+to fall in with the police nor to fall out with them. All he ever asked
+of those gentlemen was to leave him alone. And, since apparently they
+would not leave him alone, he saw, deep down in the crystal globe, a way
+by which not only could he avoid their trap, but might spring it to his
+own advantage.
+</p>
+<p>
+Instead of the detective denouncing him, he would denounce the
+detective. Of the police he would become an ally. He would call upon
+them to arrest a man who was planning to blackmail Mrs. James Blagwin.
+</p>
+<p>
+Unseen by Jimmie, in the arm of his throne he pressed an electric
+button, and in the front room in the ear of the blonde a signal buzzed.
+In her turn the blonde pushed aside the curtains that hid the door to
+the front hall.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Pardon, Highness," she said, "a certain party in Wall Street"&mdash;she
+paused impressively, and the prince nodded&mdash;"wants to consult you about
+his Standard Oil stock."
+</p>
+<p>
+"He must wait," returned the prince.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Pardon, Highness," persisted the lady; "he cannot wait. It is a matter
+of millions."
+</p>
+<p>
+Of this dialogue, which was the vehicle always used to get the prince
+out of the audience-chamber and into the front hall, undoubtedly the
+best line was the one given to the blonde&mdash;"it is a matter of millions!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Knowing this, she used to speak it slowly and impressively. It impressed
+even Jimmie. And after the prince had reverently deposited his globe
+upon a velvet cushion and disappeared, Jimmie sat wondering who in Wall
+Street was rich enough to buy Standard Oil stock, and who was fool
+enough to sell it.
+</p>
+<p>
+But over such idle questions he was not long left to meditate. Something
+more personal demanded his full attention. Behind him the prince
+carefully had closed the door to the front hall. But, not having his
+crystal globe with him, he did not know it had not remained closed, and
+as he stood under the hall stairs and softly lifted the receiver from
+the telephone, he was not aware that his voice carried to the room in
+which Jimmie was waiting.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Hello," whispered the prince softly. His voice, Jimmie noted with
+approval, even over a public telephone was as gentle as a cooing dove.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Hello! Give me Spring 3100."
+</p>
+<p>
+A cold sweat swept down Jimmie's spine. A man might forget his birthday,
+his middle name, his own telephone number, but not Spring 3100!
+</p>
+<p>
+Every drama of the underworld, crook play, and detective story had
+helped to make it famous.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie stood not upon the order of his going. Even while police
+headquarters was telling the prince to get the Forty-seventh Street
+police station, Jimmie had torn open the front door and was leaping down
+the steps.
+</p>
+<p>
+Not until he reached Sixth Avenue, where if a man is seen running every
+one takes a chance and yells "Stop thief!" did Jimmie draw a halt. Then
+he burst forth indignantly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"How was I to know he was honest!" he panted. "He's a hell of a
+clairvoyant!"
+</p>
+<p>
+With indignation as great the prince was gazing at the blonde secretary;
+his eyes were filled with amazement.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Am I going dippy?" he demanded. "I sized him up for a detective&mdash;and he
+was a perfectly honest crook! And in five minutes," he roared
+remorsefully, "this house will be full of bulls! What am I to do? What
+am I to tell 'em?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Tell 'em," said the blonde coldly, "you're going on a long journey."
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie now appreciated that when he determined it was best he should
+work without an accomplice he was most wise. He must work alone and,
+lest the clairvoyant had set the police after him, at once. He decided
+swiftly that that night he would return to his own house, and that he
+would return as a burglar. From its hiding-place he would rescue the
+missing will and restore it to the safe. By placing it among papers of
+little importance he hoped to persuade those who already had searched
+the safe that through their own carelessness it had been overlooked. The
+next morning, when once more it was where the proper persons could find
+it, he would again take ship for foreign parts. Jimmie recognized that
+this was a desperate plan, but the situation was desperate.
+</p>
+<p>
+And so midnight found him entering the grounds upon which he never again
+had hoped to place his foot.
+</p>
+<p>
+The conditions were in his favor. The night was warm, which meant
+windows would be left open; few stars were shining, and as he tiptoed
+across the lawn the trees and bushes wrapped him in shadows. Inside the
+hedge, through which he had forced his way, he had left his shoes, and
+he moved in silence. Except that stealing into the house where lay
+asleep the wife he so dearly loved made a cruel assault upon his
+feelings, the adventure presented no difficulties. Of ways of entering
+his house Jimmie knew a dozen, and, once inside, from cellar to attic he
+could move blindfolded. His bedroom, where was the copy of "Pickwick" in
+which he had placed the will, was separated from his wife's bedroom by
+her boudoir. The walls were thick; through them no ordinary sound could
+penetrate, and, unless since his departure Jeanne had moved her maid or
+some other chaperon into his bedroom, he could ransack it at his
+leisure. The safe in which he would replace the will was in the
+dining-room. From the sleeping-quarters of Preston, the butler, and the
+other servants it was far removed.
+</p>
+<p>
+Cautiously in the black shadows of the trees Jimmie reconnoitred. All
+that was in evidence reassured him. The old farmhouse lay sunk in
+slumber, and, though in the lower hall a lamp burned, Jimmie knew it was
+lit only that, in case of fire or of an intruder like himself, it might
+show the way to the telephone. For a moment a lace curtain fluttering at
+an open window startled him, but in an instant he was reassured, and had
+determined through that window to make his entrance. He stepped out of
+the shadows toward the veranda, and at once something warm brushed his
+leg, something moist touched his hand.
+</p>
+<p>
+Huang Su, his black chow, was welcoming him home. In a sudden access of
+fright and pleasure Jimmie dropped to his knees. He had not known he had
+been so lonely. He smothered the black bear in his hands. Huang Su
+withdrew hastily. The dignity of his breed forbade man-handling, and at
+a safe distance he stretched himself nervously and yawned.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie stepped to the railing of the veranda, raised his foot to a cleat
+of the awning, and swung himself sprawling upon the veranda roof. On
+hands and knees across the shingles, still warm from the sun, he crept
+to the open window. There for some minutes, while his eyes searched the
+room, he remained motionless. When his eyes grew used to the
+semidarkness he saw that the bed lay flat, that the door to the boudoir
+was shut, that the room was empty. As he moved across it toward the
+bookcase, his stockinged feet on the bare oak floor gave forth no
+sound. He assured himself there was no occasion for alarm. But when,
+with the electric torch with which he had prepared himself, he swept the
+book-shelves, he suffered all the awful terrors of a thief.
+</p>
+<p>
+His purpose was to restore a lost fortune; had he been intent on
+stealing one he could not have felt more deeply guilty. At last the tiny
+shaft of light fell upon the title of the "Pickwick Papers." With
+shaking fingers Jimmie drew the book toward him. In his hands it fell
+open, and before him lay "The Last Will and Testament of James Blagwin,
+Esquire."
+</p>
+<p>
+With an effort Jimmie choked a cry of delight. He had reason to feel
+relief. In dragging the will from its hiding-place he had put behind him
+the most difficult part of his adventure; the final ceremony of
+replacing it in the safe was a matter only of minutes. With
+self-satisfaction Jimmie smiled; in self-pity he sighed miserably. For,
+when those same minutes had passed, again he would be an exile. As soon
+as he had set his house in order, he must leave it, and once more upon
+the earth become a wanderer and an outcast.
+</p>
+<p>
+The knob of the door from the bedroom he grasped softly and, as he
+turned it, firmly. Stealthily, with infinite patience and stepping close
+to the wall, he descended the stairs, tiptoed across the hall, and
+entered the living-room. On the lower floor he knew he was alone. No
+longer, like Oliver Twist breaking into the scullery of Mr. Giles, need
+he move in dreadful fear. But as a cautious general, even when he
+advances, maps out his line of retreat, before approaching the safe
+Jimmie prepared his escape. The only entrances to the dining-room were
+through the living-room, in which he stood, and from the butler's
+pantry. It was through the latter he determined to make his exit. He
+crossed the dining-room, and in the pantry cautiously raised the window,
+and on the floor below placed a chair. If while at work upon the safe he
+were interrupted, to reach the lawn he had but to thrust back the door
+to the pantry, leap to the chair, and through the open window fall upon
+the grass. If his possible pursuers gave him time, he would retrieve his
+shoes; if not, he would abandon them. They had not been made to his
+order, but bought in the Sixth Avenue store where he was unknown, and
+they had been delivered to a man named Henry Hull. If found, instead of
+compromising him, they rather would help to prove the intruder was a
+stranger.
+</p>
+<p>
+Having arranged his get-away, Jimmie returned to the living-room. In
+defiance of caution and that he might carry with him a farewell picture
+of the place where for years he had been so supremely happy, he swept it
+with his torch.
+</p>
+<p>
+The light fell upon Jeanne's writing-desk and there halted. Jimmie gave
+a low gasp of pleasure and surprise. In the shaft of light, undisturbed
+in their silver frames and in their place of honor, he saw three
+photographs of himself. The tears came to his eyes. Then Jeanne had not
+cast him utterly into outer darkness. She still remembered him kindly,
+still held for him a feeling of good will. Jimmie sighed gratefully. The
+sacrifice he had made for the happiness of Jeanne and Maddox now seemed
+easier to bear. And that happiness must not be jeopardized.
+</p>
+<p>
+More than ever before the fact that he, a dead man, must not be seen,
+impressed him deeply. At the slightest sound, at even the suggestion of
+an alarm, he must fly. The will might take care of itself. In case he
+were interrupted, where he dropped it there must it lie. The fact of
+supreme importance was that unrecognized he should escape.
+</p>
+<p>
+The walls of the dining-room were covered with panels of oak, and built
+into the jog of the fireplace and concealed by a movable panel was the
+safe. In front of it Jimmie sank to his knees and pushed back the
+panel. Propped upon a chair behind him, the electric torch threw its
+shaft of light full upon the combination lock. On the floor, ready to
+his hand, lay the will.
+</p>
+<p>
+The combination was not difficult. It required two turns left, three
+right, and in conjunction two numerals. While so intent upon his work
+that he scarcely breathed, Jimmie spun the knob. Then he tugged gently,
+and the steel door swung toward him.
+</p>
+<p>
+At the same moment, from behind him, a metallic click gave an instant's
+warning, and then the room was flooded with light.
+</p>
+<p>
+From his knees, in one bound, Jimmie flung himself toward his avenue of
+escape.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was blocked by the bulky form of Preston, the butler.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie turned and doubled back to the door of the living-room. He found
+himself confronted by his wife.
+</p>
+<p>
+The sleeve of her night-dress had fallen to her shoulder and showed her
+white arm extended toward him. In her hand, pointing, was an automatic
+pistol.
+</p>
+<p>
+Already dead, Jimmie feared nothing but discovery.
+</p>
+<p>
+The door to the living-room was wide enough for two. With his head down
+he sprang toward it. There was a report that seemed to shake the walls,
+and something like the blow of a nightstick knocked his leg from under
+him and threw him on his back. The next instant Preston had landed with
+both knees on his lower ribs and was squeezing his windpipe.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie felt he was drowning. Around him millions of stars danced. And
+then from another world, in a howl of terror, the voice of Preston
+screamed. The hands of the butler released their hold upon his throat.
+As suddenly as he had thrown himself upon him he now recoiled.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It's <i>'im!</i>" he shouted; "it's <i>'im!</i>"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Him?" demanded Jeanne.
+</p>
+<p>
+"<i>It's Mr. Blagwin!</i>"
+</p>
+<p>
+Unlike Preston, Jeanne did not scream; nor did she faint. So greatly did
+she desire to believe that "'im" was her husband, that he still was in
+the same world with herself, that she did not ask how he had escaped
+from the other world, or why, having escaped, he spent his time robbing
+his own house.
+</p>
+<p>
+Instead, much like Preston, she threw herself at him and in her young,
+firm arms lifted him and held him close.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Jimmie!" she cried, "<i>speak</i> to me; <i>speak</i> to me!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The blow on the back of the head, the throttling by Preston, the
+"stopping power" of the bullet, even though it passed only through his
+leg, had left Jimmie somewhat confused. He knew only that it was a
+dream. But wonderful as it was to dream that once more he was with
+Jeanne, that she clung to him, needed and welcomed him, he could not
+linger to enjoy the dream. He was dead. If not, he must escape. Honor
+compelled it. He made a movement to rise, and fell back.
+</p>
+<p>
+The voice of Preston, because he had choked his master, full of remorse,
+and, because his mistress had shot him, full of reproach, rose in
+dismay:
+</p>
+<p>
+"You've 'it 'im in the leg, ma'am!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie heard Jeanne protest hysterically:
+</p>
+<p>
+"That's nothing, he's <i>alive!</i>" she cried. "I'd hit him again if it
+would only make him <i>speak!</i>" She pressed the bearded face against her
+own. "Speak to me," she whispered; "tell me you forgive me. Tell me you
+love me!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie opened his eyes and smiled at her.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You never had to shoot me," he stammered, "to make me tell you <i>that</i>."
+</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<a name="RULE4_6"><!-- RULE4 6 --></a>
+<h2>
+	THE CARD-SHARP
+</h2>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>
+I had looked forward to spending Christmas with some people in Suffolk,
+and every one in London assured me that at their house there would be
+the kind of a Christmas house party you hear about but see only in the
+illustrated Christmas numbers. They promised mistletoe, snapdragon, and
+Sir Roger de Coverley. On Christmas morning we would walk to church,
+after luncheon we would shoot, after dinner we would eat plum pudding
+floating in blazing brandy, dance with the servants, and listen to the
+waits singing "God rest you, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay."
+</p>
+<p>
+To a lone American bachelor stranded in London it sounded fine. And in
+my gratitude I had already shipped to my hostess, for her children, of
+whose age, number, and sex I was ignorant, half of Gamage's dolls,
+skees, and cricket bats, and those crackers that, when you pull them,
+sometimes explode. But it was not to be. Most inconsiderately my
+wealthiest patient gained sufficient courage to consent to an
+operation, and in all New York would permit no one to lay violent hands
+upon him save myself. By cable I advised postponement. Having lived in
+lawful harmony with his appendix for fifty years, I thought, for one
+week longer he might safely maintain the <i>status quo</i>. But his cable in
+reply was an ultimatum. So, on Christmas eve, instead of Hallam Hall and
+a Yule log, I was in a gale plunging and pitching off the coast of
+Ireland, and the only log on board was the one the captain kept to
+himself.
+</p>
+<p>
+I sat in the smoking-room, depressed and cross, and it must have been on
+the principle that misery loves company that I forgathered with Talbot,
+or rather that Talbot forgathered with me. Certainly, under happier
+conditions and in haunts of men more crowded, the open-faced manner in
+which he forced himself upon me would have put me on my guard. But,
+either out of deference to the holiday spirit, as manifested in the
+fictitious gayety of our few fellow passengers, or because the young man
+in a knowing, impertinent way was most amusing, I listened to him from
+dinner time until midnight, when the chief officer, hung with snow and
+icicles, was blown in from the deck and wished all a merry Christmas.
+</p>
+<p>
+Even after they unmasked Talbot I had neither the heart nor the
+inclination to turn him down. Indeed, had not some of the passengers
+testified that I belonged to a different profession, the smoking-room
+crowd would have quarantined me as his accomplice. On the first night I
+met him I was not certain whether he was English or giving an imitation.
+All the outward and visible signs were English, but he told me that,
+though he had been educated at Oxford and since then had spent most of
+his years in India, playing polo, he was an American. He seemed to have
+spent much time, and according to himself much money, at the French
+watering-places and on the Riviera. I felt sure that it was in France I
+had already seen him, but where I could not recall. He was hard to
+place. Of people at home and in London well worth knowing he talked
+glibly, but in speaking of them he made several slips. It was his taking
+the trouble to cover up the slips that first made me wonder if his
+talking about himself was not mere vanity, but had some special object.
+I felt he was presenting letters of introduction in order that later he
+might ask a favor. Whether he was leading up to an immediate loan, or in
+New York would ask for a card to a club, or an introduction to a banker,
+I could not tell. But in forcing himself upon me, except in
+self-interest, I could think of no other motive. The next evening I
+discovered the motive.
+</p>
+<p>
+He was in the smoking-room playing solitaire, and at once I recalled
+that it was at Aix-les-Bains I had first seen him, and that he held a
+bank at baccarat. When he asked me to sit down I said: "I saw you last
+summer at Aix-les-Bains."
+</p>
+<p>
+His eyes fell to the pack in his hands and apparently searched it for
+some particular card.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What was I doing?" he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Dealing baccarat at the Casino des Fleurs."
+</p>
+<p>
+With obvious relief he laughed.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Oh, yes," he assented; "jolly place, Aix. But I lost a pot of money
+there. I'm a rotten hand at cards. Can't win, and can't leave 'em
+alone." As though for this weakness, so frankly confessed, he begged me
+to excuse him, he smiled appealingly. "Poker, bridge, chemin de fer, I
+like 'em all," he rattled on, "but they don't like me. So I stick to
+solitaire. It's dull, but cheap." He shuffled the cards clumsily. As
+though making conversation, he asked: "You care for cards yourself?"
+</p>
+<p>
+I told him truthfully I did not know the difference between a club and a
+spade and had no curiosity to learn. At this, when he found he had been
+wasting time on me, I expected him to show some sign of annoyance, even
+of irritation, but his disappointment struck far deeper. As though I had
+hurt him physically, he shut his eyes, and when again he opened them I
+saw in them distress. For the moment I believe of my presence he was
+utterly unconscious. His hands lay idle upon the table; like a man
+facing a crisis, he stared before him. Quite improperly, I felt sorry
+for him. In me he thought he had found a victim; and that the loss of
+the few dollars he might have won should so deeply disturb him showed
+his need was great. Almost at once he abandoned me and I went on deck.
+When I returned an hour later to the smoking-room he was deep in a game
+of poker.
+</p>
+<p>
+As I passed he hailed me gayly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Don't scold, now," he laughed; "you know I can't keep away from it."
+</p>
+<p>
+From his manner those at the table might have supposed we were friends
+of long and happy companionship. I stopped behind his chair, but he
+thought I had passed, and in reply to one of the players answered:
+"Known him for years; he's set me right many a time. When I broke my
+right femur 'chasin,' he got me back in the saddle in six weeks. All my
+people swear by him."
+</p>
+<p>
+One of the players smiled up at me, and Talbot turned. But his eyes met
+mine with perfect serenity. He even held up his cards for me to see.
+"What would you draw?" he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+His audacity so astonished me that in silence I could only stare at him
+and walk on.
+</p>
+<p>
+When on deck he met me he was not even apologetic. Instead, as though we
+were partners in crime, he chuckled delightedly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Sorry," he said. "Had to do it. They weren't very keen at my taking a
+hand, so I had to use your name. But I'm all right now," he assured me.
+"They think you vouched for me, and to-night they're going to raise the
+limit. I've convinced them I'm an easy mark."
+</p>
+<p>
+"And I take it you are not," I said stiffly.
+</p>
+<p>
+He considered this unworthy of an answer and only smiled. Then the smile
+died, and again in his eyes I saw distress, infinite weariness, and
+fear.
+</p>
+<p>
+As though his thoughts drove him to seek protection, he came closer.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'm 'in bad,' doctor," he said. His voice was frightened, bewildered,
+like that of a child. "I can't sleep; nerves all on the loose. I don't
+think straight. I hear voices, and no one around. I hear knockings at
+the door, and when I open it, no one there. If I don't keep fit I can't
+work, and this trip I <i>got</i> to make expenses. You couldn't help me,
+could you&mdash;couldn't give me something to keep my head straight?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The need of my keeping his head straight that he might the easier rob
+our fellow passengers raised a pretty question of ethics. I meanly
+dodged it. I told him professional etiquette required I should leave him
+to the ship's surgeon.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But I don't know <i>him</i>," he protested.
+</p>
+<p>
+Mindful of the use he had made of my name, I objected strenuously:
+</p>
+<p>
+"Well, you certainly don't know me."
+</p>
+<p>
+My resentment obviously puzzled him.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I know who you <i>are</i>," he returned. "You and I&mdash;" With a deprecatory
+gesture, as though good taste forbade him saying who we were, he
+stopped. "But the ship's surgeon!" he protested; "he's an awful bounder!
+Besides," he added quite simply, "he's watching me."
+</p>
+<p>
+"As a doctor," I asked, "or watching you play cards?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Play cards," the young man answered. "I'm afraid he was ship's surgeon
+on the P. &amp; O. I came home on. There was trouble that voyage, and I
+fancy he remembers me."
+</p>
+<p>
+His confidences were becoming a nuisance.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But you mustn't tell me that," I protested. "I can't have you making
+trouble on this ship, too. How do you know I won't go straight from
+here to the captain?"
+</p>
+<p>
+As though the suggestion greatly entertained him, he laughed.
+</p>
+<p>
+He made a mock obeisance.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I claim the seal of your profession," he said.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Nonsense," I retorted. "It's a professional secret that your nerves are
+out of hand, but that you are a card-sharp is <i>not</i>. Don't mix me up
+with a priest."
+</p>
+<p>
+For a moment Talbot, as though fearing he had gone too far, looked at me
+sharply; he bit his lower lip and frowned.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I got to make expenses," he muttered. "And, besides, all card games are
+games of chance, and a card-sharp is one of the chances. Anyway," he
+repeated, as though disposing of all argument, "I got to make expenses."
+</p>
+<p>
+After dinner, when I came to the smoking-room, the poker party sat
+waiting, and one of them asked if I knew where they could find "my
+friend." I should have said then that Talbot was a steamer acquaintance
+only; but I hate a row, and I let the chance pass.
+</p>
+<p>
+"We want to give him his revenge," one of them volunteered.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He's losing, then?" I asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+The man chuckled complacently.
+</p>
+<p>
+"The only loser," he said.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I wouldn't worry," I advised. "He'll come for his revenge."
+</p>
+<p>
+That night after I had turned in he knocked at my door. I switched on
+the lights and saw him standing at the foot of my berth. I saw also that
+with difficulty he was holding himself in hand.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'm scared," he stammered, "scared!"
+</p>
+<p>
+I wrote out a requisition on the surgeon for a sleeping-potion and sent
+it to him by the steward, giving the man to understand I wanted it for
+myself. Uninvited, Talbot had seated himself on the sofa. His eyes were
+closed, and as though he were cold he was shivering and hugging himself
+in his arms.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Have you been drinking?" I asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+In surprise he opened his eyes.
+</p>
+<p>
+"<i>I</i> can't drink," he answered simply. "It's nerves and worry. I'm
+tired."
+</p>
+<p>
+He relaxed against the cushions; his arms fell heavily at his sides; the
+fingers lay open.
+</p>
+<p>
+"God," he whispered, "how tired I am!"
+</p>
+<p>
+In spite of his tan&mdash;and certainly he had led the out-of-door life&mdash;his
+face showed white. For the moment he looked old, worn, finished.
+</p>
+<p>
+"They're crowdin' me," the boy whispered. "They're always crowdin' me."
+His voice was querulous, uncomprehending, like that of a child
+complaining of something beyond his experience. "I can't remember when
+they haven't been crowdin' me. Movin' me on, you understand? Always
+movin' me on. Moved me out of India, then Cairo, then they closed Paris,
+and now they've shut me out of London. I opened a club there, very
+quiet, very exclusive, smart neighborhood, too&mdash;a flat in Berkeley
+Street&mdash;roulette and chemin de fer. I think it was my valet sold me out;
+anyway, they came in and took us all to Bow Street. So I've plunged on
+this. It's my last chance!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"This trip?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"No; my family in New York. Haven't seen 'em in ten years. They paid me
+to live abroad. I'm gambling on <i>them</i>; gambling on their takin' me
+back. I'm coming home as the Prodigal Son, tired of filling my belly
+with the husks that the swine do eat; reformed character, repentant and
+all that; want to follow the straight and narrow; and they'll kill the
+fatted calf." He laughed sardonically. "Like hell they will! They'd
+rather see <i>me</i> killed."
+</p>
+<p>
+It seemed to me, if he wished his family to believe he were returning
+repentant, his course in the smoking-room would not help to reassure
+them. I suggested as much.
+</p>
+<p>
+"If you get into 'trouble,' as you call it," I said, "and they send a
+wireless to the police to be at the wharf, your people would hardly&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I know," he interrupted; "but I got to chance that. I <i>got</i> to make
+enough to go on with&mdash;until I see my family."
+</p>
+<p>
+"If they won't see you?" I asked. "What then?"
+</p>
+<p>
+He shrugged his shoulders and sighed lightly, almost with relief, as
+though for him the prospect held no terror.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then it's 'Good night, nurse,'" he said. "And I won't be a bother to
+anybody any more."
+</p>
+<p>
+I told him his nerves were talking, and talking rot, and I gave him the
+sleeping-draft and sent him to bed.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was not until after luncheon the next day when he made his first
+appearance on deck that I again saw my patient. He was once more a
+healthy picture of a young Englishman of leisure; keen, smart, and fit;
+ready for any exercise or sport. The particular sport at which he was so
+expert I asked him to avoid.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Can't be done!" he assured me. "I'm the loser, and we dock to-morrow
+morning. So to-night I've got to make my killing."
+</p>
+<p>
+It was the others who made the killing.
+</p>
+<p>
+I came into the smoking-room about nine o'clock. Talbot alone was
+seated. The others were on their feet, and behind them in a wider
+semicircle were passengers, the smoking-room stewards, and the ship's
+purser.
+</p>
+<p>
+Talbot sat with his back against the bulkhead, his hands in the pockets
+of his dinner coat; from the corner of his mouth his long
+cigarette-holder was cocked at an impudent angle. There was a tumult of
+angry voices, and the eyes of all were turned upon him. Outwardly at
+least he met them with complete indifference. The voice of one of my
+countrymen, a noisy pest named Smedburg, was raised in excited
+accusation.
+</p>
+<p>
+"When the ship's surgeon first met you," he cried, "you called yourself
+Lord Ridley."
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'll call myself anything I jolly well like," returned Talbot. "If I
+choose to dodge reporters, that's <i>my</i> pidgin. I don't have to give my
+name to every meddling busybody that&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+"You'll give it to the police, all right," chortled Mr. Smedburg. In the
+confident, bullying tone of the man who knows the crowd is with him, he
+shouted: "And in the meantime you'll keep out of this smoking-room!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The chorus of assent was unanimous. It could not be disregarded. Talbot
+rose and with fastidious concern brushed the cigarette ashes from his
+sleeve. As he moved toward the door he called back: "Only too delighted
+to keep out. The crowd in this room makes a gentleman feel lonely."
+</p>
+<p>
+But he was not to escape with the last word.
+</p>
+<p>
+His prosecutor pointed his finger at him.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And the next time you take the name of Adolph Meyer," he shouted, "make
+sure first he hasn't a friend on board; some one to protect him from
+sharpers and swindlers&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+Talbot turned savagely and then shrugged his shoulders.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Oh, go to the devil!" he called, and walked out into the night.
+</p>
+<p>
+The purser was standing at my side and, catching my eye, shook his head.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Bad business," he exclaimed.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What happened?" I asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'm told they caught him dealing from the wrong end of the pack," he
+said. "I understand they suspected him from the first&mdash;seems our surgeon
+recognized him&mdash;and to-night they had outsiders watching him. The
+outsiders claim they saw him slip himself an ace from the bottom of the
+pack. It's a pity! He's a nice-looking lad."
+</p>
+<p>
+I asked what the excited Smedburg had meant by telling Talbot not to
+call himself Meyer.
+</p>
+<p>
+"They accused him of travelling under a false name," explained the
+purser, "and he told 'em he did it to dodge the ship's news reporters.
+Then he said he <i>really</i> was a brother of Adolph Meyer, the banker; but
+it seems Smedburg is a friend of Meyer's, and he called him hard! It was
+a silly ass thing to do," protested the purser. "Everybody knows Meyer
+hasn't a brother, and if he hadn't made <i>that</i> break he might have got
+away with the other one. But now this Smedburg is going to wireless
+ahead to Mr. Meyer and to the police."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Has he no other way of spending his money?" I asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He's a confounded nuisance!" growled the purser. "He wants to show us
+he knows Adolph Meyer; wants to put Meyer under an obligation. It means
+a scene on the wharf, and newspaper talk; and," he added with disgust,
+"these smoking-room rows never helped any line."
+</p>
+<p>
+I went in search of Talbot; partly because I knew he was on the verge
+of a collapse, partly, as I frankly admitted to myself, because I was
+sorry the young man had come to grief. I searched the snow-swept decks,
+and then, after threading my way through faintly lit tunnels, I knocked
+at his cabin. The sound of his voice gave me a distinct feeling of
+relief. But he would not admit me. Through the closed door he declared
+he was "all right," wanted no medical advice, and asked only to resume
+the sleep he claimed I had broken. I left him, not without uneasiness,
+and the next morning the sight of him still in the flesh was a genuine
+thrill. I found him walking the deck carrying himself nonchalantly and
+trying to appear unconscious of the glances&mdash;amused, contemptuous,
+hostile&mdash;that were turned toward him. He would have passed me without
+speaking, but I took his arm and led him to the rail. We had long passed
+quarantine and a convoy of tugs were butting us into the dock.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What are you going to do?" I asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Doesn't depend on me," he said. "Depends on Smedburg. He's a busy
+little body!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The boy wanted me to think him unconcerned, but beneath the flippancy I
+saw the nerves jerking. Then quite simply he began to tell me. He spoke
+in a low, even monotone, dispassionately, as though for him the
+incident no longer was of interest.
+</p>
+<p>
+"They were watching me," he said. "But I <i>knew</i> they were, and besides,
+no matter how close they watched I could have done what they said I did
+and they'd never have seen it. But I didn't."
+</p>
+<p>
+My scepticism must have been obvious, for he shook his head.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I didn't!" he repeated stubbornly. "I didn't have to! I was playing in
+luck&mdash;wonderful luck&mdash;sheer, dumb luck. I couldn't <i>help</i> winning. But
+because I <i>was</i> winning and because they were watching, I was careful
+not to win on my own deal. I laid down, or played to lose. It was the
+cards <i>they</i> gave me I won with. And when they jumped me I told 'em
+that. I could have proved it if they'd listened. But they were all up in
+the air, shouting and spitting at me. They believed what they wanted to
+believe; they didn't want the facts."
+</p>
+<p>
+It may have been credulous of me, but I felt the boy was telling the
+truth, and I was deeply sorry he had not stuck to it. So, rather
+harshly, I said:
+</p>
+<p>
+"They didn't want you to tell them you were a brother to Adolph Meyer,
+either. Why did you think you could get away with anything like that?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Talbot did not answer.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Why?" I insisted.
+</p>
+<p>
+The boy laughed impudently.
+</p>
+<p>
+"How the devil was I to know he hadn't a brother?" he protested. "It was
+a good name, and he's a Jew, and two of the six who were in the game are
+Jews. You know how they stick together. I thought they might stick by
+me."
+</p>
+<p>
+"But you," I retorted impatiently, "are not a Jew!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I am not," said Talbot, "but I've often <i>said</i> I was. It's helped&mdash;lots
+of times. If I'd told you my name was Cohen, or Selmsky, or Meyer,
+instead of Craig Talbot, <i>you'd</i> have thought I was a Jew." He smiled
+and turned his face toward me. As though furnishing a description for
+the police, he began to enumerate:
+</p>
+<p>
+"Hair, dark and curly; eyes, poppy; lips, full; nose, Roman or Hebraic,
+according to taste. Do you see?"
+</p>
+<p>
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But it didn't work," he concluded. "I picked the wrong Jew."
+</p>
+<p>
+His face grew serious. "Do you suppose that Smedburg person <i>has</i>
+wirelessed that banker?"
+</p>
+<p>
+I told him I was afraid he had already sent the message.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And what will Meyer do?" he asked. "Will he drop it or make a fuss?
+What sort is he?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Briefly I described Adolph Meyer. I explained him as the richest Hebrew
+in New York; given to charity, to philanthropy, to the betterment of his
+own race.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then maybe," cried Talbot hopefully, "he won't make a row, and my
+family won't hear of it!"
+</p>
+<p>
+He drew a quick breath of relief. As though a burden had been lifted,
+his shoulders straightened.
+</p>
+<p>
+And then suddenly, harshly, in open panic, he exclaimed aloud:
+</p>
+<p>
+"Look!" he whispered. "There, at the end of the wharf&mdash;the little Jew in
+furs!"
+</p>
+<p>
+I followed the direction of his eyes. Below us on the dock, protected by
+two obvious members of the strong-arm squad, the great banker,
+philanthropist, and Hebrew, Adolph Meyer, was waiting.
+</p>
+<p>
+We were so close that I could read his face. It was stern, set; the face
+of a man intent upon his duty, unrelenting. Without question, of a bad
+business Mr. Smedburg had made the worst. I turned to speak to Talbot
+and found him gone.
+</p>
+<p>
+His silent slipping away filled me with alarm. I fought against a
+growing fear. How many minutes I searched for him I do not know. It
+seemed many hours. His cabin, where first I sought him, was empty and
+dismantled, and by that I was reminded that if for any desperate purpose
+Talbot were seeking to conceal himself there now were hundreds of other
+empty, dismantled cabins in which he might hide. To my inquiries no one
+gave heed. In the confusion of departure no one had observed him; no one
+was in a humor to seek him out; the passengers were pressing to the
+gangway, the stewards concerned only in counting their tips. From deck
+to deck, down lane after lane of the great floating village, I raced
+blindly, peering into half-opened doors, pushing through groups of men,
+pursuing some one in the distance who appeared to be the man I sought,
+only to find he was unknown to me. When I returned to the gangway the
+last of the passengers was leaving it.
+</p>
+<p>
+I was about to follow to seek for Talbot in the customs shed when a
+white-faced steward touched my sleeve. Before he spoke his look told me
+why I was wanted.
+</p>
+<p>
+"The ship's surgeon, sir," he stammered, "asks you please to hurry to
+the sick-bay. A passenger has shot himself!"
+</p>
+<p>
+On the bed, propped up by pillows, young Talbot, with glazed, shocked
+eyes, stared at me. His shirt had been cut away; his chest lay bare.
+Against his left shoulder the doctor pressed a tiny sponge which quickly
+darkened.
+</p>
+<p>
+I must have exclaimed aloud, for the doctor turned his eyes.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It was <i>he</i> sent for you," he said, "but he doesn't need you.
+Fortunately, he's a damned bad shot!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The boy's eyes opened wearily; before we could prevent it he spoke.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I was so tired," he whispered. "Always moving me on. I was so tired!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Behind me came heavy footsteps, and though with my arm I tried to bar
+them out, the two detectives pushed into the doorway. They shoved me to
+one side and through the passage made for him came the Jew in the sable
+coat, Mr. Adolph Meyer.
+</p>
+<p>
+For an instant the little great man stood with wide, owl-like eyes,
+staring at the face on the pillow.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then he sank softly to his knees. In both his hands he caught the hand
+of the card-sharp.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Heine!" he begged. "Don't you know me? It is your brother Adolph; your
+little brother Adolph!"
+</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<a name="RULE4_7"><!-- RULE4 7 --></a>
+<h2>
+	BILLY AND THE BIG STICK
+</h2>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>
+Had the Wilmot Electric Light people remained content only to make
+light, had they not, as a by-product, attempted to make money, they need
+not have left Hayti.
+</p>
+<p>
+When they flooded with radiance the unpaved streets of Port-au-Prince no
+one, except the police, who complained that the lights kept them awake,
+made objection; but when for this illumination the Wilmot Company
+demanded payment, every one up to President Hamilcar Poussevain was
+surprised and grieved. So grieved was President Ham, as he was lovingly
+designated, that he withdrew the Wilmot concession, surrounded the
+power-house with his barefooted army, and in a proclamation announced
+that for the future the furnishing of electric light would be a monopoly
+of the government.
+</p>
+<p>
+In Hayti, as soon as it begins to make money, any industry, native or
+foreign, becomes a monopoly of the government. The thing works
+automatically. It is what in Hayti is understood as <i>haut finance</i>. The
+Wilmot people should have known that. Because they did not know that,
+they stood to lose what they had sunk in the electric-light plant, and
+after their departure to New York, which departure was accelerated as
+far as the wharf by seven generals and twelve privates, they proceeded
+to lose more money on lobbyists and lawyers who claimed to understand
+international law; even the law of Hayti. And lawyers who understand
+that are high-priced.
+</p>
+<p>
+The only employee of the Wilmot force who was not escorted to the wharf
+under guard was Billy Barlow. He escaped the honor because he was
+superintendent of the power-house, and President Ham believed that
+without him the lightning would not strike. Accordingly by an executive
+order Billy became an employee of the government. With this arrangement
+the Wilmot people were much pleased. For they trusted Billy, and they
+knew while in the courts they were fighting to regain their property, he
+would see no harm came to it.
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy's title was Directeur G&eacute;n&eacute;ral et Inspecteur Municipal de Luminaire
+Electrique, which is some title, and his salary was fifty dollars a
+week. In spite of Billy's color President Ham always treated his only
+white official with courtesy and gave him his full title. About giving
+him his full salary he was less particular. This neglect greatly annoyed
+Billy. He came of sturdy New England stock and possessed that New
+England conscience which makes the owner a torment to himself, and to
+every one else a nuisance. Like all the other Barlows of Barnstable on
+Cape Cod, Billy had worked for his every penny. He was no shirker. From
+the first day that he carried a pair of pliers in the leg pocket of his
+overalls, and in a sixty-knot gale stretched wires between ice-capped
+telegraph poles, he had more than earned his wages. Never, whether on
+time or at piece-work, had he by a slovenly job, or by beating the
+whistle, robbed his employer. And for his honest toil he was determined
+to be as honestly paid&mdash;even by President Hamilcar Poussevain. And
+President Ham never paid anybody; neither the Armenian street peddlers,
+in whose sweets he delighted, nor the Bethlehem Steel Company, nor the
+house of Rothschild.
+</p>
+<p>
+Why he paid Billy even the small sums that from time to time Billy wrung
+from the president's strong box the foreign colony were at a loss to
+explain. Wagner, the new American consul, asked Billy how he managed it.
+As an American minister had not yet been appointed, to the duties of
+the consul, as Wagner assured everybody, were added those of diplomacy.
+But Haytian diplomacy he had yet to master. At the seaport in Scotland
+where he had served as vice-consul, law and order were as solidly
+established as the stone jetties, and by contrast the eccentricities of
+the Black Republic baffled and distressed him.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It can't be that you blackmail the president," said the consul,
+"because I understand he boasts he has committed all the known crimes."
+</p>
+<p>
+"And several he invented," agreed Billy.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And you can't do it with a gun, because they tell me the president
+isn't afraid of anything except a voodoo priestess. What is your
+secret?" coaxed the consul. "If you'll only sell it, I know several
+Powers that would give you your price."
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy smiled modestly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It's very simple," he said. "The first time my wages were shy I went to
+the palace and told him if he didn't come across I'd shut off the juice.
+I think he was so stunned at anybody asking him for real money that
+while he was still stunned he opened his safe and handed me two thousand
+francs. I think he did it more in admiration for my nerve than because
+he owed it. The next time pay-day arrived, and the pay did not, I didn't
+go to the palace. I just went to bed, and the lights went to bed, too.
+You may remember?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The consul snorted indignantly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I was holding three queens at the time," he protested. "Was it <i>you</i>
+did that?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"It was," said Billy. "The police came for me to start the current going
+again, but I said I was too ill. Then the president's own doctor came,
+old Gautier, and Gautier examined me with a lantern and said that in
+Hayti my disease frequently proved fatal, but he thought if I turned on
+the lights I might recover. I told him I was tired of life, anyway, but
+that if I could see three thousand francs it might give me an incentive.
+He reported back to the president and the three thousand francs arrived
+almost instantly, and a chicken broth from Ham's own chef, with His
+Excellency's best wishes for the recovery of the invalid. My recovery
+was instantaneous, and I switched on the lights.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I had just moved into the Widow Ducrot's hotel that week, and her
+daughter Claire wouldn't let me eat the broth. I thought it was because,
+as she's a dandy cook herself, she was professionally jealous. She put
+the broth on the top shelf of the pantry and wrote on a piece of paper,
+'Gare!' But the next morning a perfectly good cat, who apparently
+couldn't read, was lying beside it dead."
+</p>
+<p>
+The consul frowned reprovingly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You should not make such reckless charges," he protested. "I would call
+it only a coincidence."
+</p>
+<p>
+"You can call it what you please," said Billy, "but it won't bring the
+cat back. Anyway, the next time I went to the palace to collect, the
+president was ready for me. He said he'd been taking out information,
+and he found if I shut off the lights again he could hire another man in
+the States to turn them on. I told him he'd been deceived. I told him
+the Wilmot Electric Lights were produced by a secret process, and that
+only a trained Wilmot man could work them. And I pointed out to him if
+he dismissed me it wasn't likely the Wilmot people would loan him
+another expert; not while they were fighting him through the courts and
+the State Department. That impressed the old man; so I issued my
+ultimatum. I said if he must have electric lights he must have me, too.
+Whether he liked it or not, mine was a life job."
+</p>
+<p>
+"What did he say to that?" gasped the new consul.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Said it <i>wasn't</i> a life job, because he was going to have me shot at
+sunset."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then you said?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I said if he did that there wouldn't be any electric lights, and <i>you</i>
+would bring a warship and shoot Hayti off the map."
+</p>
+<p>
+The new consul was most indignant.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You had no right to say that!" he protested. "You did very ill. My
+instructions are to avoid all serious complications."
+</p>
+<p>
+"That was what I was trying to avoid," said Billy. "Don't you call being
+shot at sunset a serious complication? Or would that be just a
+coincidence, too? You're a hellofa consul!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Since his talk with the representative of his country four months had
+passed and Billy still held his job. But each month the number of francs
+he was able to wrest from President Hamilcar dwindled, and were won only
+after verbal conflicts that each month increased in violence.
+</p>
+<p>
+To the foreign colony it became evident that, in the side of President
+Ham, Billy was a thorn, sharp, irritating, virulent, and that at any
+moment Ham might pluck that thorn and Billy would leave Hayti in haste,
+and probably in handcuffs. This was evident to Billy, also, and the
+prospect was most disquieting. Not because he loved Hayti, but because
+since he went to lodge at the caf&eacute; of the Widow Ducrot, he had learned
+to love her daughter Claire, and Claire loved him.
+</p>
+<p>
+On the two thousand dollars due him from Ham they plotted to marry. This
+was not as great an adventure as it might appear. Billy knew that from
+the Wilmot people he always was sure of a salary, and one which, with
+such an excellent housekeeper as was Claire, would support them both.
+But with his two thousand dollars as capital they could afford to
+plunge; they could go upon a honeymoon; they need not dread a rainy day,
+and, what was of greatest importance, they need not delay. There was
+good reason against delay, for the hand of the beautiful Claire was
+already promised. The Widow Ducrot had promised it to Paillard, he of
+the prosperous commission business, the prominent <i>embonpoint</i>, and four
+children. Monsieur Paillard possessed an establishment of his own, but
+it was a villa in the suburbs; and so, each day at noon, for his
+<i>d&eacute;je&ucirc;n&eacute;</i> he left his office and crossed the street to the Caf&eacute; Ducrot.
+For five years this had been his habit. At first it was the widow's
+cooking that attracted him, then for a time the widow herself; but when
+from the convent Claire came to assist her mother in the caf&eacute;, and when
+from a lanky, big-eyed, long-legged child she grew into a slim, joyous,
+and charming young woman, she alone was the attraction, and the Widower
+Paillard decided to make her his wife. Other men had made the same
+decision; and when it was announced that between Claire and the widower
+a marriage had been "arranged," the clerks in the foreign commission
+houses and the agents of the steamship lines drowned their sorrow in rum
+and ran the house flags to half-staff. Paillard himself took the
+proposed alliance calmly. He was not an impetuous suitor. With Widow
+Ducrot he agreed that Claire was still too young to marry, and to
+himself kept the fact that to remarry he was in no haste. In his mind
+doubts still lingered. With a wife, young enough to be one of his
+children, disorganizing the routine of his villa, would it be any more
+comfortable than he now found it? Would his eldest daughter and her
+stepmother dwell together in harmony? The eldest daughter had assured
+him that so far as she was concerned they would not; and, after all, in
+marrying a girl, no matter how charming, without a dot, and the daughter
+of a boarding-house keeper, no matter how respectable, was he not
+disposing of himself too cheaply? These doubts assailed Papa Paillard;
+these speculations were in his mind. And while he speculated Billy
+acted.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I know that in France," Billy assured Claire, "marriages are arranged
+by the parents; but in <i>my</i> country they are arranged in heaven. And who
+are we to disregard the edicts of heaven? Ages and ages ago, before the
+flood, before Napoleon, even before old Paillard with his four children,
+it was arranged in heaven that you were to marry me. So, what little
+plans your good mother may make don't cut enough ice to cool a green
+mint. Now, we can't try to get married here," continued Billy, "without
+your mother and Paillard knowing it. In this town as many people have to
+sign the marriage contract as signed our Declaration of Independence:
+all the civil authorities, all the clergy, all the relatives; if every
+man in the telephone book isn't a witness, the marriage doesn't 'take.'
+So, we must elope!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Having been brought up in a convent, where she was taught to obey her
+mother and forbidden to think of marriage, Claire was naturally
+delighted with the idea of an elopement.
+</p>
+<p>
+"To where will we elope to?" she demanded. Her English, as she learned
+it from Billy, was sometimes confusing.
+</p>
+<p>
+"To New York," said Billy. "On the voyage there I will put you in charge
+of the stewardess and the captain; and there isn't a captain on the
+Royal Dutch or the Atlas that hasn't known you since you were a baby.
+And as soon as we dock we'll drive straight to the city hall for a
+license and the mayor himself will marry us. Then I'll get back my old
+job from the Wilmot folks and we'll live happy ever after!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"In New York, also," asked Claire proudly, "are you directeur of the
+electric lights?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"On Broadway alone," Billy explained reprovingly, "there is one sign
+that uses more bulbs than there are in the whole of Hayti!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"New York is a large town!" exclaimed Claire.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It's a large sign," corrected Billy. "But," he pointed out, "with no
+money we'll never see it. So to-morrow I'm going to make a social call
+on Grandpa Ham and demand my ten thousand francs."
+</p>
+<p>
+Claire grasped his arm.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Be careful," she pleaded. "Remember the chicken soup. If he offers you
+the champagne, refuse it!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"He won't offer me the champagne," Billy assured her. "It won't be that
+kind of a call."
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy left the Caf&eacute; Ducrot and made his way to the water-front. He was
+expecting some electrical supplies by the <i>Prinz der Nederlanden</i>, and
+she had already come to anchor.
+</p>
+<p>
+He was late, and save for a group of his countrymen, who with the
+customs officials were having troubles of their own, the customs shed
+was all but deserted. Billy saw his freight cleared and was going away
+when one of those in trouble signalled for assistance.
+</p>
+<p>
+He was a good-looking young man in a Panama hat and his manner seemed to
+take it for granted that Billy knew who he was.
+</p>
+<p>
+"They want us to pay duty on our trunks," he explained, "and we want to
+leave them in bond. We'll be here only until to-night, when we're going
+on down the coast to Santo Domingo. But we don't speak French, and we
+can't make them understand that."
+</p>
+<p>
+"You don't need to speak any language to give a man ten dollars," said
+Billy.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Oh!" exclaimed the man in the Panama. "I was afraid if I tried that
+they might arrest us."
+</p>
+<p>
+"They may arrest you if you don't," said Billy.
+</p>
+<p>
+Acting both as interpreter and disbursing agent, Billy satisfied the
+demands of his fellow employees of the government, and his fellow
+countrymen he directed to the Hotel Ducrot.
+</p>
+<p>
+As some one was sure to take their money, he thought it might as well go
+to his mother-in-law elect. The young man in the Panama expressed the
+deepest gratitude, and Billy, assuring him he would see him later,
+continued to the power-house, still wondering where he had seen him
+before.
+</p>
+<p>
+At the power-house he found seated at his desk a large, bearded stranger
+whose derby hat and ready-to-wear clothes showed that he also had but
+just arrived on the <i>Prinz der Nederlanden</i>.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You William Barlow?" demanded the stranger. "I understand you been
+threatening, unless you get your pay raised, to commit sabotage on these
+works?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Who the devil are you?" inquired Billy.
+</p>
+<p>
+The stranger produced an impressive-looking document covered with seals.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Contract with the president," he said. "I've taken over your job. You
+better get out quiet," he advised, "as they've given me a squad of
+nigger policemen to see that you do."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Are you aware that these works are the property of the Wilmot Company?"
+asked Billy, "and that if anything went wrong here they'd hold you
+responsible?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The stranger smiled complacently.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I've run plants," he said, "that make these lights look like a stable
+lantern on a foggy night."
+</p>
+<p>
+"In that case," assented Billy, "should anything happen, you'll know
+exactly what to do, and I can leave you in charge without feeling the
+least anxiety."
+</p>
+<p>
+"That's just what you can do," the stranger agreed heartily, "and you
+can't do it too quick!" From the desk he took Billy's favorite pipe and
+loaded it from Billy's tobacco-jar. But when Billy had reached the door
+he called to him. "Before you go, son," he said, "you might give me a
+tip about this climate. I never been in the tropics. It's kind of
+unhealthy, ain't it?"
+</p>
+<p>
+His expression was one of concern.
+</p>
+<p>
+"If you hope to keep alive," began Billy, "there are two things to
+avoid&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+The stranger laughed knowingly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I got you!" he interrupted. "You're going to tell me to cut out wine
+and women."
+</p>
+<p>
+"I was going to tell you," said Billy, "to cut out hoping to collect any
+wages and to avoid every kind of soup."
+</p>
+<p>
+From the power-house Billy went direct to the palace. His anxiety was
+great. Now that Claire had consented to leave Hayti, the loss of his
+position did not distress him. But the possible loss of his back pay
+would be a catastrophe. He had hardly enough money to take them both to
+New York, and after they arrived none with which to keep them alive.
+Before the Wilmot Company could find a place for him a month might
+pass, and during that month they might starve. If he went alone and
+arranged for Claire to follow, he might lose her. Her mother might marry
+her to Paillard; Claire might fall ill; without him at her elbow to keep
+her to their purpose the voyage to an unknown land might require more
+courage than she possessed. Billy saw it was imperative they should
+depart together, and to that end he must have his two thousand dollars.
+The money was justly his. For it he had sweated and slaved; had given
+his best effort. And so, when he faced the president, he was in no
+conciliatory mood. Neither was the president.
+</p>
+<p>
+By what right, he demanded, did this foreigner affront his ears with
+demands for money; how dared he force his way into his presence and to
+his face babble of back pay? It was insolent, incredible. With
+indignation the president set forth the position of the government.
+Billy had been discharged and, with the appointment of his successor,
+the stranger in the derby hat, had ceased to exist. The government could
+not pay money to some one who did not exist. All indebtedness to Billy
+also had ceased to exist. The account had been wiped out. Billy had been
+wiped out.
+</p>
+<p>
+The big negro, with the chest and head of a gorilla, tossed his kinky
+white curls so violently that the ringlets danced. Billy, he declared,
+had been a pest; a fly that buzzed and buzzed and disturbed his
+slumbers. And now when the fly thought he slept he had caught and
+crushed it&mdash;so. President Ham clinched his great fist convulsively and,
+with delight in his pantomime, opened his fingers one by one, and held
+out his pink palm, wrinkled and crossed like the hand of a washerwoman,
+as though to show Billy that in it lay the fly, dead.
+</p>
+<p>
+"<i>C'est une chose jug&eacute;e!</i>" thundered the president.
+</p>
+<p>
+He reached for his quill pen.
+</p>
+<p>
+But Billy, with Claire in his heart, with the injustice of it rankling
+in his mind, did not agree.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It is not an affair closed," shouted Billy in his best French. "It is
+an affair international, diplomatic; a cause for war!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Believing he had gone mad, President Ham gazed at him speechless.
+</p>
+<p>
+"From here I go to the cable office," shouted Billy. "I cable for a
+warship! If, by to-night, I am not paid my money, marines will surround
+our power-house, and the Wilmot people will back me up, and my
+government will back me up!"
+</p>
+<p>
+It was, so Billy thought, even as he launched it, a tirade satisfying
+and magnificent. But in his turn the president did not agree.
+</p>
+<p>
+He rose. He was a large man. Billy wondered he had not previously
+noticed how very large he was.
+</p>
+<p>
+"To-night at nine o'clock," he said, "the German boat departs for New
+York." As though aiming a pistol, he raised his arm and at Billy pointed
+a finger. "If, after she departs, you are found in Port-au-Prince, you
+will be shot!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The audience-chamber was hung with great mirrors in frames of tarnished
+gilt. In these Billy saw himself reproduced in a wavering line of
+Billies that, like the ghost of Banquo, stretched to the disappearing
+point. Of such images there was an army, but of the real Billy, as he
+was acutely conscious, there was but one. Among the black faces scowling
+from the doorways he felt the odds were against him. Without making a
+reply he passed out between the racks of rusty muskets in the anteroom,
+between the two Gatling guns guarding the entrance, and on the palace
+steps, in indecision, halted.
+</p>
+<p>
+As Billy hesitated an officer followed him from the palace and beckoned
+to the guard that sat in the bare dust of the Champ de Mars playing
+cards for cartridges. Two abandoned the game, and, having received
+their orders, picked their muskets from the dust and stood looking
+expectantly at Billy.
+</p>
+<p>
+They were his escort, and it was evident that until nine o'clock, when
+he sailed, his movements would be spied upon; his acts reported to the
+president.
+</p>
+<p>
+Such being the situation, Billy determined that his first act to be
+reported should be of a nature to cause the president active mental
+anguish. With his guard at his heels he went directly to the cable
+station, and to the Secretary of State of the United States addressed
+this message: "President refuses my pay; threatens shoot; wireless
+nearest war-ship proceed here full speed. William Barlow."
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy and the director of telegraphs, who out of office hours was a
+field-marshal, and when not in his shirt-sleeves always appeared in
+uniform, went over each word of the cablegram together. When Billy was
+assured that the field-marshal had grasped the full significance of it
+he took it back and added, "Love to Aunt Maria." The extra words cost
+four dollars and eighty cents gold, but, as they suggested ties of blood
+between himself and the Secretary of State, they seemed advisable. In
+the account-book in which he recorded his daily expenditures Billy
+credited the item to "life-insurance."
+</p>
+<p>
+The revised cablegram caused the field-marshal deep concern. He frowned
+at Billy ferociously.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I will forward this at once," he promised. "But, I warn you," he added,
+"I deliver also a copy to <i>my</i> president!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy sighed hopefully.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You might deliver the copy first," he suggested.
+</p>
+<p>
+From the cable station Billy, still accompanied by his faithful
+retainers, returned to the power-house. There he bade farewell to the
+black brothers who had been his assistants, and upon one of them pressed
+a sum of money.
+</p>
+<p>
+As they parted, this one, as though giving the pass-word of a secret
+society, chanted solemnly:
+</p>
+<p>
+"<i>A huit heures juste!</i>"
+</p>
+<p>
+And Billy clasped his hand and nodded.
+</p>
+<p>
+At the office of the Royal Dutch West India Line Billy purchased a
+ticket to New York and inquired were there many passengers.
+</p>
+<p>
+"The ship is empty," said the agent.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I am glad," said Billy, "for one of my assistants may come with me. He
+also is being deported."
+</p>
+<p>
+"You can have as many cabins as you want," said the agent. "We are so
+sorry to see you go that we will try to make you feel you leave us on
+your private yacht."
+</p>
+<p>
+The next two hours Billy spent in seeking out those acquaintances from
+whom he could borrow money. He found that by asking for it in
+homoeopathic doses he was able to shame the foreign colony into loaning
+him all of one hundred dollars. This, with what he had in hand, would
+take Claire and himself to New York and for a week keep them alive.
+After that he must find work or they must starve.
+</p>
+<p>
+In the garden of the Caf&eacute; Ducrot Billy placed his guard at a table with
+bottles of beer between them, and at an adjoining table with Claire
+plotted the elopement for that night. The garden was in the rear of the
+hotel and a door in the lower wall opened into the rue Cambon, that led
+directly to the water-front.
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy proposed that at eight o'clock Claire should be waiting in the rue
+Cambon outside this door. They would then make their way to one of the
+less frequented wharfs, where Claire would arrange to have a rowboat in
+readiness, and in it they would take refuge on the steamer. An hour
+later, before the flight of Claire could be discovered, they would have
+started on their voyage to the mainland.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I warn you," said Billy, "that after we reach New York I have only
+enough to keep us for a week. It will be a brief honeymoon. After that
+we will probably starve. I'm not telling you this to discourage you," he
+explained; "only trying to be honest."
+</p>
+<p>
+"I would rather starve with you in New York," said Claire, "than die
+here without you."
+</p>
+<p>
+At these words Billy desired greatly to kiss Claire, but the guards were
+scowling at him. It was not until Claire had gone to her room to pack
+her bag and the chance to kiss her had passed that Billy recognized that
+the scowls were intended to convey the fact that the beer bottles were
+empty. He remedied this and remained alone at his table considering the
+outlook. The horizon was, indeed, gloomy, and the only light upon it,
+the loyalty and love of the girl, only added to his bitterness. Above
+all things he desired to make her content, to protect her from disquiet,
+to convince her that in the sacrifice she was making she also was
+plotting her own happiness. Had he been able to collect his ten thousand
+francs his world would have danced in sunshine. As it was, the heavens
+were gray and for the future the skies promised only rainy days. In
+these depressing reflections Billy was interrupted by the approach of
+the young man in the Panama hat. Billy would have avoided him, but the
+young man and his two friends would not be denied. For the service Billy
+had rendered them they wished to express their gratitude. It found
+expression in the form of Planter's punch. As they consumed this Billy
+explained to the strangers why the customs men had detained them.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You told them you were leaving to-night for Santo Domingo," said Billy;
+"but they knew that was impossible, for there is no steamer down the
+coast for two weeks."
+</p>
+<p>
+The one whose features seemed familiar replied:
+</p>
+<p>
+"Still, we <i>are</i> leaving to-night," he said; "not on a steamer, but on a
+war-ship."
+</p>
+<p>
+"A war-ship?" cried Billy. His heart beat at high speed. "Then," he
+exclaimed, "you are a naval officer?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man shook his head and, as though challenging Billy to make
+another guess, smiled.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then," Billy complied eagerly, "you are a diplomat! Are you our new
+minister?"
+</p>
+<p>
+One of the other young men exclaimed reproachfully:
+</p>
+<p>
+"You know him perfectly well!" he protested. "You've seen his picture
+thousands of times."
+</p>
+<p>
+With awe and pride he placed his hand on Billy's arm and with the other
+pointed at the one in the Panama hat.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It's Harry St. Clair," he announced. "Harry St. Clair, the King of the
+Movies!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"The King of the Movies," repeated Billy. His disappointment was so keen
+as to be embarrassing.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Oh!" he exclaimed, "I thought you&mdash;" Then he remembered his manners.
+"Glad to meet you," he said. "Seen you on the screen."
+</p>
+<p>
+Again his own troubles took precedence. "Did you say," he demanded, "one
+of our war-ships is coming here <i>to-day?</i>"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Coming to take me to Santo Domingo," explained Mr. St. Clair. He spoke
+airily, as though to him as a means of locomotion battle-ships were as
+trolley-cars. The Planter's punch, which was something he had never
+before encountered, encouraged the great young man to unbend. He
+explained further and fully, and Billy, his mind intent upon his own
+affair, pretended to listen.
+</p>
+<p>
+The United States Government, Mr. St. Clair explained, was assisting him
+and the Apollo Film Company in producing the eight-reel film entitled
+"The Man Behind the Gun."
+</p>
+<p>
+With it the Navy Department plotted to advertise the navy and encourage
+recruiting. In moving pictures, in the form of a story, with love
+interest, villain, comic relief, and thrills, it would show the life of
+American bluejackets afloat and ashore, at home and abroad. They would
+be seen at Yokohama playing baseball with Tokio University; in the
+courtyard of the Vatican receiving the blessing of the Pope; at Waikiki
+riding the breakers on a scrubbing-board; in the Philippines eating
+cocoanuts in the shade of the sheltering palm, and in Brooklyn in the
+Y.M.C.A. club, in the shadow of the New York sky-scrapers, playing
+billiards and reading the sporting extras.
+</p>
+<p>
+As it would be illustrated on the film the life of "The Man Behind the
+Gun" was one of luxurious ease. In it coal-passing, standing watch in a
+blizzard, and washing down decks, cold and unsympathetic, held no part.
+But to prove that the life of Jack was not all play he would be seen
+fighting for the flag. That was where, as "Lieutenant Hardy, U.S.A.,"
+the King of the Movies entered.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Our company arrived in Santo Domingo last week," he explained. "And
+they're waiting for me now. I'm to lead the attack on the fortress. We
+land in shore boats under the guns of the ship and I take the fortress.
+First, we show the ship clearing for action and the men lowering the
+boats and pulling for shore. Then we cut back to show the gun-crews
+serving the guns. Then we jump to the landing-party wading through the
+breakers. I lead them. The man who is carrying the flag gets shot and
+drops in the surf. I pick him up, put him on my shoulder, and carry him
+<i>and</i> the flag to the beach, where I&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy suddenly awoke. His tone was one of excited interest.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You got a uniform?" he demanded.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Three," said St. Clair impressively, "made to order according to
+regulations on file in the Quartermaster's Department. Each absolutely
+correct." Without too great a show of eagerness he inquired: "Like to
+see them?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Without too great a show of eagerness Billy assured him that he would.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I got to telephone first," he added, "but by the time you get your
+trunk open I'll join you in your room."
+</p>
+<p>
+In the caf&eacute;, over the telephone, Billy addressed himself to the
+field-marshal in charge of the cable office. When Billy gave his name,
+the voice of that dignitary became violently agitated.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Monsieur Barlow," he demanded, "do you know that the warship for which
+you cabled your Secretary of State makes herself to arrive?"
+</p>
+<p>
+At the other end of the 'phone, although restrained by the confines of
+the booth, Billy danced joyously. But his voice was stern.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Naturally," he replied. "Where is she now?"
+</p>
+<p>
+An hour before, so the field-marshal informed him, the battleship
+<i>Louisiana</i> had been sighted and by telegraph reported. She was
+approaching under forced draught. At any moment she might anchor in the
+outer harbor. Of this President Ham had been informed. He was grieved,
+indignant; he was also at a loss to understand.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It is very simple," explained Billy. "She probably was somewhere in the
+Windward Passage. When the Secretary got my message he cabled
+Guantanamo, and Guantanamo wirelessed the warship nearest
+Port-au-Prince."
+</p>
+<p>
+"President Poussevain," warned the field-marshal, "is greatly
+disturbed."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Tell him not to worry," said Billy. "Tell him when the bombardment
+begins I will see that the palace is outside the zone of fire."
+</p>
+<p>
+As Billy entered the room of St. Clair his eyes shone with a strange
+light. His manner, which toward a man of his repute St. Clair had
+considered a little too casual, was now enthusiastic, almost
+affectionate.
+</p>
+<p>
+"My dear St. Clair," cried Billy, "<i>I've fixed it!</i> But, until I was
+<i>sure</i>, I didn't want to raise your hopes!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Hopes of what?" demanded the actor.
+</p>
+<p>
+"An audience with the president!" cried Billy. "I've just called him up
+and he says I'm to bring you to the palace at once. He's heard of you,
+of course, and he's very pleased to meet you. I told him about 'The Man
+Behind the Gun,' and he says you must come in your make-up as
+'Lieutenant Hardy, U. S. A.,' just as he'll see you on the screen."
+</p>
+<p>
+Mr. St. Clair stammered delightedly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"In uniform," he protested; "won't that be&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+"White, special full dress," insisted Billy. "Medals, side-arms,
+full-dress belt, <i>and</i> gloves. What a press story! 'The King of the
+Movies meets the President of Hayti!' Of course, he's only an ignorant
+negro, but on Broadway they don't know that; and it will sound fine!"
+</p>
+<p>
+St. Clair coughed nervously.
+</p>
+<p>
+"<i>Don't</i> forget," he stammered, "I can't speak French, or understand it,
+either."
+</p>
+<p>
+The eyes of Billy became as innocent as those of a china doll.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then I'll interpret," he said. "And, oh, yes," he added, "he's sending
+two of the palace soldiers to act as an escort&mdash;sort of guard of honor!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The King of the Movies chuckled excitedly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Fine!" he exclaimed. "You <i>are</i> a brick!"
+</p>
+<p>
+With trembling fingers he began to shed his outer garments.
+</p>
+<p>
+To hide his own agitation Billy walked to the window and turned his
+back. Night had fallen and the electric lights, that once had been his
+care, sprang into life. Billy looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock.
+The window gave upon the harbor, and a mile from shore he saw the cargo
+lights of the <i>Prinz der Nederlanden</i>, and slowly approaching, as though
+feeling for her berth, a great battleship. When Billy turned from the
+window his voice was apparently undisturbed.
+</p>
+<p>
+"We've got to hurry," he said. "The <i>Louisiana</i> is standing in. She'll
+soon be sending a launch for you. We've just time to drive to the palace
+and back before the launch gets here."
+</p>
+<p>
+From his mind President Ham had dismissed all thoughts of the warship
+that had been sighted and that now had come to anchor. For the moment he
+was otherwise concerned. Fate could not harm him; he was about to dine.
+</p>
+<p>
+But, for the first time in the history of his administration, that
+solemn ceremony was rudely halted. An excited aide, trembling at his own
+temerity, burst upon the president's solitary state.
+</p>
+<p>
+In the anteroom, he announced, an officer from the battleship
+<i>Louisiana</i> demanded instant audience.
+</p>
+<p>
+For a moment, transfixed in amazement, anger, and alarm President Ham
+remained seated. Such a visit, uninvited, was against all tradition; it
+was an affront, an insult. But that it was against all precedent argued
+some serious necessity. He decided it would be best to receive the
+officer. Besides, to continue his dinner was now out of the question.
+Both appetite and digestion had fled from him.
+</p>
+<p>
+In the anteroom Billy was whispering final instructions to St. Clair.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Whatever happens," he begged, "don't <i>laugh!</i> Don't even smile
+politely! He's very ignorant, you see, and he's sensitive. When he meets
+foreigners and can't understand their language, he's always afraid if
+they laugh that he's made a break and that they're laughing at <i>him</i>.
+So, be solemn; look grave; look haughty!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I got you," assented St. Clair. "I'm to 'register' pride."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Exactly!" said Billy. "The more pride you register, the better for
+us."
+</p>
+<p>
+Inwardly cold with alarm, outwardly frigidly polite, Billy presented
+"Lieutenant Hardy." He had come, Billy explained, in answer to the call
+for help sent by himself to the Secretary of State, which by wireless
+had been communicated to the <i>Louisiana</i>. Lieutenant Hardy begged him to
+say to the president that he was desolate at having to approach His
+Excellency so unceremoniously. But His Excellency, having threatened the
+life of an American citizen, the captain of the <i>Louisiana</i> was forced
+to act quickly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And this officer?" demanded President Ham; "what does he want?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"He says," Billy translated to St. Clair, "that he is very glad to meet
+you, and he wants to know how much you earn a week."
+</p>
+<p>
+The actor suppressed his surprise and with pardonable pride said that
+his salary was six hundred dollars a week and royalties on each film.
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy bowed to the president.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He says," translated Billy, "he is here to see that I get my ten
+thousand francs, and that if I don't get them in ten minutes he will
+return to the ship and land marines."
+</p>
+<p>
+To St. Clair it seemed as though the president received his statement
+as to the amount of his salary with a disapproval that was hardly
+flattering. With the heel of his giant fist the president beat upon the
+table, his curls shook, his gorilla-like shoulders heaved.
+</p>
+<p>
+In an explanatory aside Billy made this clear.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He says," he interpreted, "that you get more as an actor than he gets
+as president, and it makes him mad."
+</p>
+<p>
+"I can see it does myself," whispered St. Clair. "And I don't understand
+French, either."
+</p>
+<p>
+President Ham was protesting violently. It was outrageous, he exclaimed;
+it was inconceivable that a great republic should shake the Big Stick
+over the head of a small republic, and for a contemptible ten thousand
+francs.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I will not believe," he growled, "that this officer has authority to
+threaten me. You have deceived him. If he knew the truth, he would
+apologize. Tell him," he roared suddenly, "that I <i>demand</i> that he
+apologize!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy felt like the man who, after jauntily forcing the fighting,
+unexpectedly gets a jolt on the chin that drops him to the canvas.
+</p>
+<p>
+While the referee might have counted three Billy remained upon the
+canvas.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then again he forced the fighting. Eagerly he turned to St. Clair.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He says," he translated, "you must recite something."
+</p>
+<p>
+St. Clair exclaimed incredulously:
+</p>
+<p>
+"Recite!" he gasped.
+</p>
+<p>
+Than his indignant protest nothing could have been more appropriate.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Wants to see you act out," insisted Billy. "Go on," he begged; "humor
+him. Do what he wants or he'll put us in jail!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"But what shall I&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+"He wants the curse of Rome from Richelieu," explained Billy. "He knows
+it in French and he wants you to recite it in English. Do you know it?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The actor smiled haughtily.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I <i>wrote</i> it!" he protested. "Richelieu's my middle name. I've done it
+in stock."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then do it now!" commanded Billy. "Give it to him hot. I'm Julie de
+Mortemar. He's the villain Barabas. Begin where Barabas hands you the
+cue, 'The country is the king! '"
+</p>
+<p>
+In embarrassment St. Clair coughed tentatively.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Whoever heard of Cardinal Richelieu," he protested, "in a navy
+uniform?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Begin!" begged Billy.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What'll I do with my cap?" whispered St. Clair.
+</p>
+<p>
+In an ecstasy of alarm Billy danced from foot to foot.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'll hold your cap," he cried. "Go on!"
+</p>
+<p>
+St. Clair gave his cap of gold braid to Billy and shifted his
+"full-dress" sword-belt. Not without concern did President Ham observe
+these preparations. For the fraction of a second, in alarm, his eyes
+glanced to the exits. He found that the officers of his staff completely
+filled them. Their presence gave him confidence and his eyes returned to
+Lieutenant Hardy.
+</p>
+<p>
+That gentleman heaved a deep sigh. Dejectedly, his head fell forward
+until his chin rested upon his chest. Much to the relief of the
+president, it appeared evident that Lieutenant Hardy was about to accede
+to his command and apologize.
+</p>
+<p>
+St. Clair groaned heavily.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Ay, is it so?" he muttered. His voice was deep, resonant, vibrating
+like a bell. His eyes no longer suggested apology. They were strange,
+flashing; the eyes of a religious fanatic; and balefully they were fixed
+upon President Ham.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then wakes the power," the deep voice rumbled, "that in the age of iron
+burst forth to curb the great and raise the low." He flung out his left
+arm and pointed it at Billy.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Mark where she stands!" he commanded.
+</p>
+<p>
+With a sweeping, protecting gesture he drew a round Billy an imaginary
+circle. The pantomime was only too clear. To the aged negro, who feared
+neither God nor man, but only voodoo, there was in the voice and gesture
+that which caused his blood to chill.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Around her form," shrieked St. Clair, "I draw the awful circle of our
+solemn church! Set but one foot within that holy ground and on thy
+head&mdash;" Like a semaphore the left arm dropped, and the right arm, with
+the forefinger pointed, shot out at President Ham. "Yea, though it wore
+a CROWN&mdash;I launch the CURSE OF ROME!"
+</p>
+<p>
+No one moved. No one spoke. What terrible threat had hit him President
+Ham could not guess. He did not ask. Stiffly, like a man in a trance, he
+turned to the rusty iron safe behind his chair and spun the handle. When
+again he faced them he held a long envelope which he presented to Hilly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"There are the ten thousand francs," he said. "Ask him if he is
+satisfied, and demand that he go at once!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy turned to St. Clair.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He says," translated Billy, "he's very much obliged and hopes we will
+come again. Now," commanded Billy, "bow low and go out facing him. We
+don't want him to shoot us in the back!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Bowing to the president, the actor threw at Billy a glance full of
+indignation.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Was I as bad as <i>that?</i>" he demanded.
+</p>
+<p>
+On schedule time Billy drove up to the Hotel Ducrot and relinquished St.
+Clair to the ensign in charge of the launch from the <i>Louisiana</i>. At
+sight of St. Clair in the regalia of a superior officer, that young
+gentleman showed his surprise.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I've been giving a 'command' performance for the president," explained
+the actor modestly. "I recited for him, and, though I spoke in English,
+I think I made quite a hit."
+</p>
+<p>
+"You certainly," Billy assured him gratefully, "made a terrible hit with
+me."
+</p>
+<p>
+As the moving-picture actors, escorted by the ensign, followed their
+trunks to the launch, Billy looked after them with a feeling of great
+loneliness. He was aware that from the palace his carriage had been
+followed; that drawn in a cordon around the hotel negro policemen
+covertly observed him. That President Ham still hoped to recover his
+lost prestige and his lost money was only too evident.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was just five minutes to eight.
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy ran to his room, and with his suitcase in his hand slipped down
+the back stairs and into the garden. Cautiously he made his way to the
+gate in the wall, and in the street outside found Claire awaiting him.
+</p>
+<p>
+With a cry of relief she clasped his arm.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You are safe!" she cried. "I was so frightened for you. That President
+Ham, he is a beast, an ogre!" Her voice sank to a whisper. "And for
+myself also I have been frightened. The police, they are at each corner.
+They watch the hotel. They watch <i>me!</i> Why? What do they want?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"They want something of mine," said Billy. "But I can't tell you what it
+is until I'm sure it <i>is</i> mine. Is the boat at the wharf?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"All is arranged," Claire assured him. "The boatmen are our friends;
+they will take us safely to the steamer."
+</p>
+<p>
+With a sigh of relief Billy lifted her valise and his own, but he did
+not move forward.
+</p>
+<p>
+Anxiously Claire pulled at his sleeve.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Come!" she begged. "For what it is that you wait?"
+</p>
+<p>
+It was just eight o'clock.
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy was looking up at the single electric-light bulb that lit the
+narrow street, and following the direction of his eyes, Claire saw the
+light grow dim, saw the tiny wires grow red, and disappear. From over
+all the city came shouts, and cries of consternation, oaths, and
+laughter, and then darkness.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I was waiting for <i>this!</i>" cried Billy.
+</p>
+<p>
+With the delight of a mischievous child Claire laughed aloud.
+</p>
+<p>
+"<i>You</i>&mdash;you did it!" she accused.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I did!" said Billy. "And now&mdash;we must run like the devil!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The <i>Prinz der Nederlanden</i> was drawing slowly out of the harbor.
+Shoulder to shoulder Claire and Billy leaned upon the rail. On the
+wharfs of Port-au-Prince they saw lanterns tossing and candles
+twinkling; saw the <i>Louisiana</i>, blazing like a Christmas-tree, steaming
+majestically south; in each other's eyes saw that all was well.
+</p>
+<p>
+From his pocket Billy drew a long envelope.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I can now with certainty," said Billy, "state that this is
+mine&mdash;<i>ours</i>."
+</p>
+<p>
+He opened the envelope, and while Claire gazed upon many mille franc
+notes Billy told how he had retrieved them.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But what danger!" cried Claire. "In time Ham would have paid. Your
+president at Washington would have <i>made</i> him pay. Why take such risks?
+You had but to wait!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Billy smiled contentedly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Dear one!" he exclaimed, "the policy of watchful waiting is safer, but
+the Big Stick acts quicker and gets results!"
+</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<a name="RULE4_8"><!-- RULE4 8 --></a>
+<h2>
+	THE BOY SCOUT
+</h2>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>
+A rule of the Boy Scouts is every day to do some one a good turn. Not
+because the copy-books tell you it deserves another, but in spite of
+that pleasing possibility. If you are a true scout, until you have
+performed your act of kindness your day is dark. You are as unhappy as
+is the grown-up who has begun his day without shaving or reading the New
+York <i>Sun</i>. But as soon as you have proved yourself you may, with a dear
+conscience, look the world in the face and untie the knot in your
+kerchief.
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie Reeder untied the accusing knot in his scarf at just ten minutes
+past eight on a hot August morning after he had given one dime to his
+sister Sadie. With that she could either witness the first-run films at
+the Palace, or by dividing her fortune patronize two of the nickel shows
+on Lenox Avenue. The choice Jimmie left to her. He was setting out for
+the annual encampment of the Boy Scouts at Hunter's Island, and in the
+excitement of that adventure even the movies ceased to thrill. But Sadie
+also could be unselfish. With a heroism of a camp-fire maiden she made
+a gesture which might have been interpreted to mean she was returning
+the money.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I can't, Jimmie!" she gasped. "I can't take it off you. You saved it,
+and you ought to get the fun of it."
+</p>
+<p>
+"I haven't saved it yet," said Jimmie. "I'm going to cut it out of the
+railroad fare. I'm going to get off at City Island instead of at Pelham
+Manor and walk the difference. That's ten cents cheaper."
+</p>
+<p>
+Sadie exclaimed with admiration:
+</p>
+<p>
+"An' you carryin' that heavy grip!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Aw, that's nothin'," said the man of the family.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Good-by, mother. So long, Sadie."
+</p>
+<p>
+To ward off further expressions of gratitude he hurriedly advised Sadie
+to take in "The Curse of Cain" rather than "The Mohawk's Last Stand,"
+and fled down the front steps.
+</p>
+<p>
+He wore his khaki uniform. On his shoulders was his knapsack, from his
+hands swung his suitcase, and between his heavy stockings and his
+"shorts" his kneecaps, unkissed by the sun, as yet unscathed by
+blackberry vines, showed as white and fragile as the wrists of a girl.
+As he moved toward the "L" station at the corner, Sadie and his mother
+waved to him; in the street, boys too small to be Scouts hailed him
+enviously; even the policeman glancing over the newspapers on the
+news-stand nodded approval.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You a Scout, Jimmie?" he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+"No," retorted Jimmie, for was not he also in uniform? "I'm Santa Claus
+out filling Christmas stockings."
+</p>
+<p>
+The patrolman also possessed a ready wit.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then get yourself a pair," he advised. "If a dog was to see your
+legs&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie escaped the insult by fleeing up the steps of the Elevated.
+</p>
+<hr>
+<p>
+An hour later, with his valise in one hand and staff in the other, he
+was tramping up the Boston Post Road and breathing heavily. The day was
+cruelly hot. Before his eyes, over an interminable stretch of asphalt,
+the heat waves danced and flickered. Already the knapsack on his
+shoulders pressed upon him like an Old Man of the Sea; the linen in the
+valise had turned to pig iron, his pipe-stem legs were wabbling, his
+eyes smarted with salt sweat, and the fingers supporting the valise
+belonged to some other boy, and were giving that boy much pain. But as
+the motor-cars flashed past with raucous warnings, or, that those who
+rode might better see the boy with bare knees, passed at "half speed,"
+Jimmie stiffened his shoulders and stepped jauntily forward. Even when
+the joy-riders mocked with "Oh, you Scout!" he smiled at them. He was
+willing to admit to those who rode that the laugh was on the one who
+walked. And he regretted&mdash;oh, so bitterly&mdash;having left the train. He was
+indignant that for his "one good turn a day" he had not selected one
+less strenuous&mdash;that, for instance, he had not assisted a frightened old
+lady through the traffic. To refuse the dime she might have offered, as
+all true scouts refuse all tips, would have been easier than to earn it
+by walking five miles, with the sun at ninety-nine degrees, and carrying
+excess baggage. Twenty times James shifted the valise to the other hand,
+twenty times he let it drop and sat upon it.
+</p>
+<p>
+And then, as again he took up his burden, the good Samaritan drew near.
+He drew near in a low gray racing-car at the rate of forty miles an
+hour, and within a hundred feet of Jimmie suddenly stopped and backed
+toward him. The good Samaritan was a young man with white hair. He wore
+a suit of blue, a golf cap; the hands that held the wheel were disguised
+in large yellow gloves. He brought the car to a halt and surveyed the
+dripping figure in the road with tired and uncurious eyes.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You a Boy Scout?" he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+With alacrity for the twenty-first time Jimmie dropped the valise,
+forced his cramped fingers into straight lines, and saluted.
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man in the car nodded toward the seat beside him.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Get in," he commanded.
+</p>
+<p>
+When James sat panting happily at his elbow the old young man, to
+Jimmie's disappointment, did not continue to shatter the speed limit.
+Instead, he seemed inclined for conversation, and the car, growling
+indignantly, crawled.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I never saw a Boy Scout before," announced the old young man. "Tell me
+about it. First, tell me what you do when you're not scouting."
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie explained volubly. When not in uniform he was an office boy, and
+from peddlers and beggars guarded the gates of Carroll and Hastings,
+stock-brokers. He spoke the names of his employers with awe. It was a
+firm distinguished, conservative, and long established. The white-haired
+young man seemed to nod in assent.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Do you know them?" demanded Jimmie suspiciously. "Are you a customer of
+ours?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I know them," said the young man. "They are customers of mine."
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie wondered in what way Carroll and Hastings were customers of the
+white-haired young man. Judging him by his outer garments, Jimmie
+guessed he was a Fifth Avenue tailor; he might be even a haberdasher.
+Jimmie continued. He lived, he explained, with his mother at One Hundred
+and Forty-sixth Street; Sadie, his sister, attended the public school;
+he helped support them both, and he now was about to enjoy a well-earned
+vacation camping out on Hunter's Island, where he would cook his own
+meals, and, if the mosquitoes permitted, sleep in a tent.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And you like that?" demanded the young man. "You call that fun?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Sure!" protested Jimmie. "Don't <i>you</i> go camping out?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I go camping out," said the good Samaritan, "whenever I leave New
+York."
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie had not for three years lived in Wall Street not to understand
+that the young man spoke in metaphor.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You don't look," objected the young man critically, "as though you were
+built for the strenuous life."
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie glanced guiltily at his white knees.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You ought ter see me two weeks from now," he protested. "I get all
+sunburnt and hard&mdash;hard as anything!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man was incredulous.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You were near getting sunstruck when I picked you up," he laughed. "If
+you're going to Hunter's Island, why didn't you go to Pelham Manor?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"That's right!" assented Jimmie eagerly. "But I wanted to save the ten
+cents so's to send Sadie to the movies. So I walked."
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man looked his embarrassment.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I beg your pardon," he murmured.
+</p>
+<p>
+But Jimmie did not hear him. From the back of the car he was dragging
+excitedly at the hated suitcase.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Stop!" he commanded. "I got ter get out. I got ter <i>walk</i>."
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man showed his surprise.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Walk!" he exclaimed. "What is it&mdash;a bet?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie dropped the valise and followed it into the roadway. It took some
+time to explain to the young man. First, he had to be told about the
+Scout law and the one good turn a day, and that it must involve some
+personal sacrifice. And, as Jimmie pointed out, changing from a slow
+suburban train to a racing-car could not be listed as a sacrifice. He
+had not earned the money, Jirnmie argued; he had only avoided paying it
+to the railroad. If he did not walk he would be obtaining the gratitude
+of Sadie by a falsehood. Therefore, he must walk.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Not at all," protested the young man. "You've got it wrong. What good
+will it do your sister to have you sunstruck? I think you <i>are</i>
+sunstruck. You're crazy with the heat. You get in here, and we'll talk
+it over as we go along."
+</p>
+<p>
+Hastily Jimmie backed away. "I'd rather walk," he said.
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man shifted his legs irritably.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then how'll this suit you?" he called. "We'll declare that first 'one
+good turn' a failure and start afresh. Do <i>me</i> a good turn."
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie halted in his tracks and looked back suspiciously.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'm going to Hunter's Island Inn," called the young man, "and I've lost
+my way. You get in here and guide me. That'll be doing me a good turn."
+</p>
+<p>
+On either side of the road, blotting out the landscape, giant hands
+picked out in electric-light bulbs pointed the way to Hunter's Island
+Inn. Jimmie grinned and nodded toward them.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Much obliged," he called. "I got ter walk." Turning his back upon
+temptation, he waddled forward into the flickering heat waves.
+</p>
+<hr>
+<p>
+The young man did not attempt to pursue. At the side of the road, under
+the shade of a giant elm, he had brought the car to a halt and with his
+arms crossed upon the wheel sat motionless, following with frowning eyes
+the retreating figure of Jimmie. But the narrow-chested and knock-kneed
+boy staggering over the sun-baked asphalt no longer concerned him. It
+was not Jimmie, but the code preached by Jimmie, and not only preached
+but before his eyes put into practise, that interested him. The young
+man with white hair had been running away from temptation. At forty
+miles an hour he had been running away from the temptation to do a
+fellow mortal "a good turn." That morning, to the appeal of a drowning
+Caesar to "Help me, Cassius, or I sink," he had answered: "Sink!" That
+answer he had no wish to reconsider. That he might not reconsider he had
+sought to escape. It was his experience that a sixty-horse-power
+racing-machine is a jealous mistress. For retrospective, sentimental, or
+philanthropic thoughts she grants no leave of absence. But he had not
+escaped. Jimmie had halted him, tripped him by the heels, and set him
+again to thinking. Within the half-hour that followed those who rolled
+past saw at the side of the road a car with her engine running, and
+leaning upon the wheel, as unconscious of his surroundings as though he
+sat at his own fireplace, a young man who frowned and stared at nothing.
+The half-hour passed and the young man swung his car back toward the
+city. But at the first road-house that showed a blue-and-white telephone
+sign he left it, and into the iron box at the end of the bar dropped a
+nickel. He wished to communicate with Mr. Carroll, of Carroll and
+Hastings; and when he learned Mr. Carroll had just issued orders that he
+must not be disturbed, the young man gave his name.
+</p>
+<p>
+The effect upon the barkeeper was instantaneous. With the aggrieved air
+of one who feels he is the victim of a jest he laughed scornfully.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What are you putting over?" he demanded.
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man smiled reassuringly. He had begun to speak and, though
+apparently engaged with the beer-glass he was polishing, the barkeeper
+listened.
+</p>
+<p>
+Down in Wall Street the senior member of Carroll and Hastings also
+listened. He was alone in the most private of all his private offices,
+and when interrupted had been engaged in what, of all undertakings, is
+the most momentous. On the desk before him lay letters to his lawyer, to
+the coroner, to his wife; and hidden by a mass of papers, but within
+reach of his hand, was an automatic pistol. The promise it offered of
+swift release had made the writing of the letters simple, had given him
+a feeling of complete detachment, had released him, at least in thought,
+from all responsibilities. And when at his elbow the telephone coughed
+discreetly, it was as though some one had called him from a world from
+which already he had made his exit.
+</p>
+<p>
+Mechanically, through mere habit, he lifted the receiver.
+</p>
+<p>
+The voice over the telephone came in brisk, staccato sentences.
+</p>
+<p>
+"That letter I sent this morning? Forget it. Tear it up. I've been
+thinking and I'm going to take a chance. I've decided to back you boys,
+and I know you'll make good. I'm speaking from a road-house in the
+Bronx; going straight from here to the bank. So you can begin to draw
+against us within an hour. And&mdash;hello!&mdash;will three millions see you
+through?"
+</p>
+<p>
+From Wall Street there came no answer, but from the hands of the
+barkeeper a glass crashed to the floor.
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man regarded the barkeeper with puzzled eyes.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He doesn't answer," he exclaimed. "He must have hung up."
+</p>
+<p>
+"He must have fainted!" said the barkeeper.
+</p>
+<p>
+The white-haired one pushed a bill across the counter. "To pay for
+breakage," he said, and disappeared down Pelham Parkway.
+</p>
+<p>
+Throughout the day, with the bill, for evidence, pasted against the
+mirror, the barkeeper told and retold the wondrous tale.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He stood just where you're standing now," he related, "blowing in
+million-dollar bills like you'd blow suds off a beer. If I'd knowed it
+was <i>him</i>, I'd have hit him once and hid him in the cellar for the
+reward. Who'd I think he was? I thought he was a wire-tapper, working a
+con game!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Mr. Carroll had not "hung up," but when in the Bronx the beer-glass
+crashed, in Wall Street the receiver had slipped from the hand of the
+man who held it, and the man himself had fallen forward. His desk hit
+him in the face and woke him&mdash;woke him to the wonderful fact that he
+still lived; that at forty he had been born again; that before him
+stretched many more years in which, as the young man with the white hair
+had pointed out, he still could make good.
+</p>
+<p>
+The afternoon was far advanced when the staff of Carroll and Hastings
+were allowed to depart, and, even late as was the hour, two of them were
+asked to remain. Into the most private of the private offices Carroll
+invited Gaskell, the head clerk; in the main office Hastings had asked
+young Thorne, the bond clerk, to be seated.
+</p>
+<p>
+Until the senior partner has finished with Gaskell young Thorne must
+remain seated.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Gaskell," said Mr. Carroll, "if we had listened to you, if we'd run
+this place as it was when father was alive, this never would have
+happened. It <i>hasn't</i> happened, but we've had our lesson. And after this
+we're going slow and going straight. And we don't need you to tell us
+how to do that. We want you to go away&mdash;on a month's vacation. When I
+thought we were going under I planned to send the children on a sea
+voyage with the governess&mdash;so they wouldn't see the newspapers. But now
+that I can look them in the eye again, I need them, I can't let them go.
+So, if you'd like to take your wife on an ocean trip to Nova Scotia and
+Quebec, here are the cabins I reserved for the kids. They call it the
+royal suite&mdash;whatever that is&mdash;and the trip lasts a month. The boat
+sails to-morrow morning. Don't sleep too late or you may miss her."
+</p>
+<p>
+The head clerk was secreting the tickets in the inside pocket of his
+waistcoat. His fingers trembled, and when he laughed his voice trembled.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Miss the boat!" the head clerk exclaimed. "If she gets away from Millie
+and me she's got to start now. We'll go on board to-night!"
+</p>
+<p>
+A half-hour later Millie was on her knees packing a trunk, and her
+husband was telephoning to the drug-store for a sponge-bag and a cure
+for seasickness.
+</p>
+<p>
+Owing to the joy in her heart and to the fact that she was on her knees,
+Millie was alternately weeping into the trunk-tray and offering up
+incoherent prayers of thanksgiving. Suddenly she sank back upon the
+floor.
+</p>
+<p>
+"John!" she cried, "doesn't it seem sinful to sail away in a 'royal
+suite' and leave this beautiful flat empty?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Over the telephone John was having trouble with the drug clerk.
+</p>
+<p>
+"No!" he explained, "I'm not seasick <i>now</i>. The medicine I want is to be
+taken later. I <i>know</i> I'm speaking from the Pavonia; but the Pavonia
+isn't a ship; it's an apartment-house."
+</p>
+<p>
+He turned to Millie. "We can't be in two places at the same time," he
+suggested.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But, think," insisted Millie, "of all the poor people stifling to-night
+in this heat, trying to sleep on the roofs and fire-escapes; and our
+flat so cool and big and pretty&mdash;and no one in it."
+</p>
+<p>
+John nodded his head proudly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I know it's big," he said, "but it isn't big enough to hold all the
+people who are sleeping to-night on the roofs and in the parks."
+</p>
+<p>
+"I was thinking of your brother&mdash;and Grace," said Millie. "They've been
+married only two weeks now, and they're in a stuffy hall bedroom and
+eating with all the other boarders. Think what our flat would mean to
+them; to be by themselves, with eight rooms and their own kitchen and
+bath, and our new refrigerator and the gramophone! It would be heaven!
+It would be a real honeymoon!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Abandoning the drug clerk, John lifted Millie in his arms and kissed
+her, for, next to his wife, nearest his heart was the younger brother.
+</p>
+<hr>
+<p>
+The younger brother and Grace were sitting on the stoop of the
+boarding-house. On the upper steps, in their shirt-sleeves, were the
+other boarders; so the bride and bridegroom spoke in whispers. The air
+of the cross street was stale and stagnant; from it rose exhalations of
+rotting fruit, the gases of an open subway, the smoke of passing
+taxicabs. But between the street and the hall bedroom, with its odors of
+a gas-stove and a kitchen, the choice was difficult.
+</p>
+<p>
+"We've got to cool off somehow," the young husband was saying, "or you
+won't sleep. Shall we treat ourselves to ice-cream sodas or a trip on
+the Weehawken ferry-boat?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"The ferry-boat!" begged the girl, "where we can get away from all these
+people."
+</p>
+<p>
+A taxicab with a trunk in front whirled into the street, kicked itself
+to a stop, and the head clerk and Millie spilled out upon the pavement.
+They talked so fast, and the younger brother and Grace talked so fast,
+that the boarders, although they listened intently, could make nothing
+of it.
+</p>
+<p>
+They distinguished only the concluding sentences:
+</p>
+<p>
+"Why don't you drive down to the wharf with us," they heard the elder
+brother ask, "and see our royal suite?"
+</p>
+<p>
+But the younger brother laughed him to scorn.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What's your royal suite," he mocked, "to our royal palace?"
+</p>
+<p>
+An hour later, had the boarders listened outside the flat of the head
+clerk, they would have heard issuing from his bathroom the cooling
+murmur of running water and from his gramophone the jubilant notes of
+"Alexander's Ragtime Band."
+</p>
+<p>
+When in his private office Carroll was making a present of the royal
+suite to the head clerk, in the main office Hastings, the junior
+partner, was addressing "Champ" Thorne, the bond clerk. He addressed him
+familiarly and affectionately as "Champ." This was due partly to the
+fact that twenty-six years before Thorne had been christened Champneys
+and to the coincidence that he had captained the football eleven of one
+of the Big Three to the championship.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Champ," said Mr. Hastings, "last month, when you asked me to raise your
+salary, the reason I didn't do it was not because you didn't deserve it,
+but because I believed if we gave you a raise you'd immediately get
+married."
+</p>
+<p>
+The shoulders of the ex-football captain rose aggressively; he snorted
+with indignation.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And why should I <i>not</i> get married?" he demanded. "You're a fine one to
+talk! You're the most offensively happy married man I ever met."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Perhaps I know I am happy better than you do," reproved the junior
+partner; "but I know also that it takes money to support a wife."
+</p>
+<p>
+"You raise me to a hundred a week," urged Champ, "and I'll make it
+support a wife whether it supports me or not."
+</p>
+<p>
+"A month ago," continued Hastings, "we could have <i>promised</i> you a
+hundred, but we didn't know how long we could pay it. We didn't want you
+to rush off and marry some fine girl&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Some fine girl!" muttered Mr. Thorne. "The finest girl!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"The finer the girl," Hastings pointed out, "the harder it would have
+been for you if we had failed and you had lost your job."
+</p>
+<p>
+The eyes of the young man opened with sympathy and concern.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Is it as bad as that?" he murmured.
+</p>
+<p>
+Hastings sighed happily.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It <i>was</i>," he said, "but this morning the Young Man of Wall Street did
+us a good turn&mdash;saved us&mdash;saved our creditors, saved our homes, saved
+our honor. We're going to start fresh and pay our debts, and we agreed
+the first debt we paid would be the small one we owe you. You've
+brought us more than we've given, and if you'll stay with us we're
+going to 'see' your fifty and raise it a hundred. What do you say?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Young Mr. Thorne leaped to his feet. What he said was: "Where'n hell's
+my hat?"
+</p>
+<p>
+But by the time he had found the hat and the door he mended his manners.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I say, 'Thank you a thousand times,'" he shouted over his shoulder.
+"Excuse me, but I've got to go. I've got to break the news to&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+He did not explain to whom he was going to break the news; but Hastings
+must have guessed, for again he sighed happily and then, a little
+hysterically laughed aloud. Several months had passed since he had
+laughed aloud.
+</p>
+<p>
+In his anxiety to break the news Champ Thorne almost broke his neck. In
+his excitement he could not remember whether the red flash meant the
+elevator was going down or coming up, and sooner than wait to find out
+he started to race down eighteen flights of stairs when fortunately the
+elevator-door swung open.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You get five dollars," he announced to the elevator man, "if you drop
+to the street without a stop. Beat the speed limit! Act like the
+building is on fire and you're trying to save me before the roof falls."
+</p>
+<hr>
+<p>
+Senator Barnes and his entire family, which was his daughter Barbara,
+were at the Ritz-Carlton. They were in town in August because there was
+a meeting of the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba Rubber Company, of
+which company Senator Barnes was president. It was a secret meeting.
+Those directors who were keeping cool at the edge of the ocean had been
+summoned by telegraph; those who were steaming across the ocean, by
+wireless.
+</p>
+<p>
+Up from the equator had drifted the threat of a scandal, sickening,
+grim, terrible. As yet it burned beneath the surface, giving out only an
+odor, but an odor as rank as burning rubber itself. At any moment it
+might break into flame. For the directors, was it the better wisdom to
+let the scandal smoulder, and take a chance, or to be the first to give
+the alarm, the first to lead the way to the horror and stamp it out?
+</p>
+<p>
+It was to decide this that, in the heat of August, the directors and the
+president had forgathered.
+</p>
+<p>
+Champ Thorne knew nothing of this; he knew only that by a miracle
+Barbara Barnes was in town; that at last he was in a position to ask her
+to marry him; that she would certainly say she would. That was all he
+cared to know.
+</p>
+<p>
+A year before he had issued his declaration of independence. Before he
+could marry, he told her, he must be able to support a wife on what he
+earned, without her having to accept money from her father, and until he
+received "a minimum wage" of five thousand dollars they must wait.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What is the matter with my father's money?" Barbara had demanded.
+</p>
+<p>
+Thorne had evaded the direct question.
+</p>
+<p>
+"There is too much of it," he said.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Do you object to the way he makes it?" insisted Barbara. "Because
+rubber is most useful. You put it in golf balls and auto tires and
+galoches. There is nothing so perfectly respectable as galoches. And
+what is there 'tainted' about a raincoat?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Thorne shook his head unhappily.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It's not the finished product to which I refer," he stammered; "it's
+the way they get the raw material."
+</p>
+<p>
+"They get it out of trees," said Barbara. Then she exclaimed with
+enlightenment&mdash;"Oh!" she cried, "you are thinking of the Congo. There it
+is terrible! <i>That</i> is slavery. But there are no slaves on the Amazon.
+The natives are free and the work is easy. They just tap the trees the
+way the farmers gather sugar in Vermont. Father has told me about it
+often."
+</p>
+<p>
+Thorne had made no comment. He could abuse a friend, if the friend were
+among those present, but denouncing any one he disliked as heartily as
+he disliked Senator Barnes was a public service he preferred to leave to
+others. And he knew besides that if the father she loved and the man she
+loved distrusted each other, Barbara would not rest until she learned
+the reason why.
+</p>
+<p>
+One day, in a newspaper, Barbara read of the Puju Mayo atrocities, of
+the Indian slaves in the jungles and backwaters of the Amazon, who are
+offered up as sacrifices to "red rubber." She carried the paper to her
+father. What it said, her father told her, was untrue, and if it were
+true it was the first he had heard of it.
+</p>
+<p>
+Senator Barnes loved the good things of life, but the thing he loved
+most was his daughter; the thing he valued the highest was her good
+opinion. So when for the first time she looked at him in doubt, he
+assured her he at once would order an investigation.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But, of course," he added, "it will be many months before our agents
+can report. On the Amazon news travels very slowly."
+</p>
+<p>
+In the eyes of his daughter the doubt still lingered.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I am afraid," she said, "that that is true."
+</p>
+<p>
+That was six months before the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba Rubber
+Company were summoned to meet their president at his rooms in the
+Ritz-Carlton. They were due to arrive in half an hour, and while Senator
+Barnes awaited their coming Barbara came to him. In her eyes was a light
+that helped to tell the great news. It gave him a sharp, jealous pang.
+He wanted at once to play a part in her happiness, to make her grateful
+to him, not alone to this stranger who was taking her away. So fearful
+was he that she would shut him out of her life that had she asked for
+half his kingdom he would have parted with it.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And besides giving my consent," said the rubber king, "for which no one
+seems to have asked, what can I give my little girl to make her remember
+her old father? Some diamonds to put on her head, or pearls to hang
+around her neck, or does she want a vacant lot on Fifth Avenue?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The lovely hands of Barbara rested upon his shoulders; her lovely face
+was raised to his; her lovely eyes were appealing, and a little
+frightened.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What would one of those things cost?" asked Barbara.
+</p>
+<p>
+The question was eminently practical. It came within the scope of the
+senator's understanding. After all, he was not to be cast into outer
+darkness. His smile was complacent. He answered airily:
+</p>
+<p>
+"Anything you like," he said; "a million dollars?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The fingers closed upon his shoulders. The eyes, still frightened, still
+searched his in appeal.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then, for my wedding-present," said the girl, "I want you to take that
+million dollars and send an expedition to the Amazon. And I will choose
+the men. Men unafraid; men not afraid of fever or sudden death; not
+afraid to tell the truth&mdash;even to <i>you</i>. And all the world will know.
+And they&mdash;I mean <i>you</i>&mdash;will set those people free!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Senator Barnes received the directors with an embarrassment which he
+concealed under a manner of just indignation.
+</p>
+<p>
+"My mind is made up," he told them. "Existing conditions cannot
+continue. And to that end, at my own expense, I am sending an expedition
+across South America. It will investigate, punish, and establish
+reforms. I suggest, on account of this damned heat, we do now adjourn."
+</p>
+<p>
+That night, over on Long Island, Carroll told his wife all, or nearly
+all. He did not tell her about the automatic pistol. And together on
+tiptoe they crept to the nursery and looked down at their sleeping
+children. When she rose from her knees the mother said: "But how can I
+thank him?"
+</p>
+<p>
+By "him" she meant the Young Man of Wall Street.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You never can thank him," said Carroll; "that's the worst of it."
+</p>
+<p>
+But after a long silence the mother said: "I will send him a photograph
+of the children. Do you think he will understand?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Down at Seabright, Hastings and his wife walked in the sunken garden.
+The moon was so bright that the roses still held their color.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I would like to thank him," said the young wife. She meant the Young
+Man of Wall Street. "But for him we would have lost <i>this</i>."
+</p>
+<p>
+Her eyes caressed the garden, the fruit-trees, the house with wide,
+hospitable verandas. "To-morrow I will send him some of these roses,"
+said the young wife. "Will he understand that they mean our home?"
+</p>
+<p>
+At a scandalously late hour, in a scandalous spirit of independence,
+Champ Thorne and Barbara were driving around Central Park in a taxicab.
+</p>
+<p>
+"How strangely the Lord moves, his wonders to perform," misquoted
+Barbara. "Had not the Young Man of Wall Street saved Mr. Hastings, Mr.
+Hastings could not have raised your salary; you would not have asked me
+to marry you, and had you not asked me to marry you, father would not
+have given me a wedding-present, and&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+"And," said Champ, taking up the tale, "thousands of slaves would still
+be buried in the jungles, hidden away from their wives and children and
+the light of the sun and their fellow men. They still would be dying of
+fever, starvation, tortures."
+</p>
+<p>
+He took her hand in both of his and held her finger-tips against his
+lips.
+</p>
+<p>
+"And they will never know," he whispered, "when their freedom comes,
+that they owe it all to <i>you</i>."
+</p>
+<hr>
+<p>
+On Hunter's Island, Jimmie Reeder and his bunkie, Sam Sturges, each on
+his canvas cot, tossed and twisted. The heat, the moonlight, and the
+mosquitoes would not let them even think of sleep.
+</p>
+<p>
+"That was bully," said Jimmie, "what you did to-day about saving that
+dog. If it hadn't been for you he'd ha' drownded."
+</p>
+<p>
+"He would <i>not!</i>" said Sammy with punctilious regard for the truth; "it
+wasn't deep enough."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Well, the scout-master ought to know," argued Jimmie; "he said it was
+the best 'one good turn' of the day!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Modestly Sam shifted the lime-light so that it fell upon his bunkie.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'll bet," he declared loyally, "<i>your</i> 'one good turn' was a better
+one!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Jimmie yawned, and then laughed scornfully.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Me!" he scoffed. "I didn't do nothing. I sent my sister to the movies."
+</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<a name="RULE4_9"><!-- RULE4 9 --></a>
+<h2>
+	THE FRAME-UP
+</h2>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>
+When the voice over the telephone promised to name the man who killed
+Hermann Banf, District Attorney Wharton was up-town lunching at
+Delmonico's. This was contrary to his custom and a concession to
+Hamilton Cutler, his distinguished brother-in-law. That gentleman was
+interested in a State constabulary bill and had asked State Senator
+Bissell to father it. He had suggested to the senator that, in the legal
+points involved in the bill, his brother-in-law would undoubtedly be
+charmed to advise him. So that morning, to talk it over, Bissell had
+come from Albany and, as he was forced to return the same afternoon, had
+asked Wharton to lunch with him up-town near the station.
+</p>
+<p>
+That in public life there breathed a man with soul so dead who, were he
+offered a chance to serve Hamilton Cutler, would not jump at the chance
+was outside the experience of the county chairman. And in so judging his
+fellow men, with the exception of one man, the senator was right. The
+one man was Hamilton Cutler's brother-in-law. In the national affairs
+of his party Hamilton Cutler was one of the four leaders. In two
+cabinets he had held office. At a foreign court as an ambassador his
+dinners, of which the diplomatic corps still spoke with emotion, had
+upheld the dignity of ninety million Americans. He was rich. The history
+of his family was the history of the State. When the Albany boats drew
+abreast of the old Cutler mansion on the east bank of the Hudson the
+passengers pointed at it with deference. Even when the search-lights
+pointed at it, it was with deference. And on Fifth Avenue, as the
+"Seeing New York" car passed his town house it slowed respectfully to
+half speed. When, apparently for no other reason than that she was good
+and beautiful, he had married the sister of a then unknown up-State
+lawyer, every one felt Hamilton Cutler had made his first mistake. But,
+like everything else into which he entered, for him matrimony also was a
+success. The prettiest girl in Utica showed herself worthy of her
+distinguished husband. She had given him children as beautiful as
+herself; as what Washington calls "a cabinet lady" she had kept her name
+out of the newspapers; as Madame l'Ambassatrice she had put
+archduchesses at their ease; and after ten years she was an adoring
+wife, a devoted mother, and a proud woman. Her pride was in believing
+that for every joy she knew she was indebted entirely to her husband. To
+owe everything to him, to feel that through him the blessings flowed,
+was her ideal of happiness.
+</p>
+<p>
+In this ideal her brother did not share. Her delight in a sense of
+obligation left him quite cold. No one better than himself knew that his
+rapid-fire rise in public favor was due to his own exertions, to the
+fact that he had worked very hard, had been independent, had kept his
+hands clean, and had worn no man's collar. Other people believed he owed
+his advancement to his brother-in-law. He knew they believed that, and
+it hurt him. When, at the annual dinner of the Amen Corner, they
+burlesqued him as singing to "Ham" Cutler, "You made me what I am
+to-day, I hope you're sat-isfied," he found that to laugh with the
+others was something of an effort. His was a difficult position. He was
+a party man; he had always worked inside the organization. The fact that
+whenever he ran for an elective office the reformers indorsed him and
+the best elements in the opposition parties voted for him did not shake
+his loyalty to his own people. And to Hamilton Cutler, as one of his
+party leaders, as one of the bosses of the "invisible government," he
+was willing to defer. But while he could give allegiance to his party
+leaders, and from them was willing to receive the rewards of office,
+from a rich brother-in-law he was not at all willing to accept anything.
+Still less was he willing that of the credit he deserved for years of
+hard work for the party, of self-denial, and of efficient public service
+the rich brother-in-law should rob him.
+</p>
+<p>
+His pride was to be known as a self-made man, as the servant only of the
+voters. And now that he had fought his way to one of the goals of his
+ambition, now that he was district attorney of New York City, to have it
+said that the office was the gift of his brother-in-law was bitter. But
+he believed the injustice would soon end. In a month he was coming up
+for re-election, and night and day was conducting a campaign that he
+hoped would result in a personal victory so complete as to banish the
+shadow of his brother-in-law. Were he re-elected by the majority on
+which he counted, he would have the party leaders on their knees.
+Hamilton Cutler would be forced to come to him. He would be in line for
+promotion. He knew the leaders did not want to promote him, that they
+considered him too inclined to kick over the traces; but were he now
+re-elected, at the next election, either for mayor or governor, he
+would be his party's obvious and legitimate candidate.
+</p>
+<p>
+The re-election was not to be an easy victory. Outside his own party, to
+prevent his succeeding himself as district attorney, Tammany Hall was
+using every weapon in her armory. The commissioner of police was a
+Tammany man, and in the public prints Wharton had repeatedly declared
+that Banf, his star witness against the police, had been killed by the
+police, and that they had prevented the discovery of his murderer. For
+this the wigwam wanted his scalp, and to get it had raked his public and
+private life, had used threats and bribes, and with women had tried to
+trap him into a scandal. But "Big Tim" Meehan, the lieutenant the Hall
+had detailed to destroy Wharton, had reported back that for their
+purpose his record was useless, that bribes and threats only flattered
+him, and that the traps set for him he had smilingly side-stepped. This
+was the situation a month before election day when, to oblige his
+brother-in-law, Wharton was up-town at Delmonico's lunching with Senator
+Bissell.
+</p>
+<p>
+Down-town at the office, Rumson, the assistant district attorney, was on
+his way to lunch when the telephone-girl halted him. Her voice was
+lowered and betrayed almost human interest.
+</p>
+<p>
+From the corner of her mouth she whispered:
+</p>
+<p>
+"This man has a note for Mr. Wharton&mdash;says if he don't get it quick
+it'll be too late&mdash;says it will tell him who killed 'Heimie' Banf!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man and the girl looked at each other and smiled. Their
+experience had not tended to make them credulous. Had he lived, Hermann
+Banf would have been, for Wharton, the star witness against a ring of
+corrupt police officials. In consequence his murder was more than the
+taking off of a shady and disreputable citizen. It was a blow struck at
+the high office of the district attorney, at the grand jury, and the
+law. But, so far, whoever struck the blow had escaped punishment, and
+though for a month, ceaselessly, by night and day "the office" and the
+police had sought him, he was still at large, still "unknown." There had
+been hundreds of clews. They had been furnished by the detectives of the
+city and county and of the private agencies, by amateurs, by newspapers,
+by members of the underworld with a score to pay off or to gain favor.
+But no clew had led anywhere. When, in hoarse whispers, the last one had
+been confided to him by his detectives, Wharton had protested
+indignantly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Stop bringing me clews!" he exclaimed. "I want the man. I can't
+electrocute a clew!"
+</p>
+<p>
+So when, after all other efforts, over the telephone a strange voice
+offered to deliver the murderer, Rumson was sceptical. He motioned the
+girl to switch to the desk telephone.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Assistant District Attorney Rumson speaking," he said. "What can I do
+for you?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Before the answer came, as though the speaker were choosing his words,
+there was a pause. It lasted so long that Rumson exclaimed sharply:
+</p>
+<p>
+"Hello," he called. "Do you want to speak to me, or do you want to speak
+to me?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"I've gotta letter for the district attorney," said the voice. "I'm to
+give it to nobody but him. It's about Banf. He must get it quick, or
+it'll be too late."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Who are you?" demanded Rumson. "Where are you speaking from?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The man at the other end of the wire ignored the questions.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Where'll Wharton be for the next twenty minutes?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"If I tell you," parried Rumson, "will you bring the letter at once?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The voice exclaimed indignantly:
+</p>
+<p>
+"Bring nothing! I'll send it by district messenger. You're wasting time
+trying to reach me. It's the <i>letter you</i> want. It tells"&mdash;the voice
+broke with an oath and instantly began again: "I can't talk over a
+phone. I tell you, it's life or death. If you lose out, it's your own
+fault. Where can I find Wharton?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"At Delmonico's," answered Rumson. "He'll be there until two o'clock."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Delmonico's! That's Forty-fort Street?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Right," said Rumson. "Tell the messenger&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+He heard the receiver slam upon the hook.
+</p>
+<p>
+With the light of the hunter in his eyes, he turned to the girl.
+</p>
+<p>
+"They can laugh," he cried, "but I believe we've hooked something. I'm
+going after it."
+</p>
+<p>
+In the waiting-room he found the detectives.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Hewitt," he ordered, "take the subway and whip up to Delmonico's. Talk
+to the taxi-starter till a messenger-boy brings a letter for the D.A.
+Let the boy deliver the note, and then trail him till he reports to the
+man he got it from. Bring the man here. If it's a district messenger and
+he doesn't report, but goes straight back to the office, find out who
+gave him the note; get his description. Then meet me at Delmonico's."
+</p>
+<p>
+Rumson called up that restaurant and had Wharton come to the phone. He
+asked his chief to wait until a letter he believed to be of great
+importance was delivered to him. He explained, but, of necessity,
+somewhat sketchily.
+</p>
+<p>
+"It sounds to me," commented his chief, "like a plot of yours to get a
+lunch up-town."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Invitation!" cried Rumson. "I'll be with you in ten minutes."
+</p>
+<p>
+After Rumson had joined Wharton and Bissell the note arrived. It was
+brought to the restaurant by a messenger-boy, who said that in answer to
+a call from a saloon on Sixth Avenue he had received it from a young man
+in ready-to-wear clothes and a green hat. When Hewitt, the detective,
+asked what the young man looked like, the boy said he looked like a
+young man in ready-to-wear clothes and a green hat. But when the note
+was read the identity of the man who delivered it ceased to be of
+importance. The paper on which it was written was without stamped
+address or monogram, and carried with it the mixed odors of the
+drug-store at which it had been purchased. The handwriting was that of a
+woman, and what she had written was: "If the district attorney will come
+at once, and alone, to Kessler's Caf&eacute;, on the Boston Post Road, near the
+city line, he will be told who killed Hermann Banf. If he don't come in
+an hour, it will be too late. If he brings anybody with him, he won't
+be told anything. Leave your car in the road and walk up the drive. Ida
+Earle."
+</p>
+<p>
+Hewitt, who had sent away the messenger-boy and had been called in to
+give expert advice, was enthusiastic.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Mr. District Attorney," he cried, "that's no crank letter. This Earle
+woman is wise. You got to take her as a serious proposition. She
+wouldn't make that play if she couldn't get away with it."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Who is she?" asked Wharton.
+</p>
+<p>
+To the police, the detective assured them, Ida Earle had been known for
+years. When she was young she had been under the protection of a man
+high in the ranks of Tammany, and, in consequence, with her different
+ventures the police had never interfered. She now was proprietress of
+the road-house in the note described as Kessler's Caf&eacute;. It was a place
+for joy-riders. There was a cabaret, a hall for public dancing, and
+rooms for very private suppers.
+</p>
+<p>
+In so far as it welcomed only those who could spend money it was
+exclusive, but in all other respects its reputation was of the worst. In
+situation it was lonely, and from other houses separated by a quarter of
+a mile of dying trees and vacant lots.
+</p>
+<p>
+The Boston Post Road upon which it faced was the old post road, but
+lately, through this back yard and dumping-ground of the city, had been
+relaid. It was patrolled only and infrequently by bicycle policemen.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But this," continued the detective eagerly, "is where we win out. The
+road-house is an old farmhouse built over, with the barns changed into
+garages. They stand on the edge of a wood. It's about as big as a city
+block. If we come in through the woods from the rear, the garages will
+hide us. Nobody in the house can see us, but we won't be a hundred yards
+away. You've only to blow a police whistle and we'll be with you."
+</p>
+<p>
+"You mean I ought to go?" said Wharton.
+</p>
+<p>
+Rumson exclaimed incredulously:
+</p>
+<p>
+"You <i>got</i> to go!"
+</p>
+<p>
+"It looks to me," objected Bissell, "like a plot to get you there alone
+and rap you on the head."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Not with that note inviting him there," protested Hewitt, "and signed
+by Earle herself."
+</p>
+<p>
+"You don't know she signed it?" objected the senator.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I know <i>her</i>," returned the detective. "I know she's no fool. It's her
+place, and she wouldn't let them pull off any rough stuff there&mdash;not
+against the D.A., anyway."
+</p>
+<p>
+The D.A. was rereading the note.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Might this be it?" he asked. "Suppose it's a trick to mix me up in a
+scandal? You say the place is disreputable. Suppose they're planning to
+compromise me just before election. They've tried it already several
+times."
+</p>
+<p>
+"You've still got the note," persisted Hewitt. "It proves <i>why</i> you went
+there. And the senator, too. He can testify. And we won't be a hundred
+yards away. And," he added grudgingly, "you have Nolan."
+</p>
+<p>
+Nolan was the spoiled child of "the office." He was the district
+attorney's pet. Although still young, he had scored as a detective and
+as a driver of racing-cars. As Wharton's chauffeur he now doubled the
+parts.
+</p>
+<p>
+"What Nolan testified wouldn't be any help," said Wharton. "They would
+say it was just a story he invented to save me."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then square yourself this way," urged Rumson. "Send a note now by hand
+to Ham Cutler and one to your sister. Tell <i>them</i> you're going to Ida
+Earle's&mdash;and why&mdash;tell them you're afraid it's a frame-up, and for them
+to keep your notes as evidence. And enclose the one from her."
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton nodded in approval, and, while he wrote, Rumson and the
+detective planned how, without those inside the road-house being aware
+of their presence, they might be near it.
+</p>
+<p>
+Kessler's Caf&eacute; lay in the Seventy-ninth Police Precinct. In taxi-cabs
+they arranged to start at once and proceed down White Plains Avenue,
+which parallels the Boston Road, until they were on a line with
+Kessler's, but from it hidden by the woods and the garages. A walk of a
+quarter of a mile across lots and under cover of the trees would bring
+them to within a hundred yards of the house.
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton was to give them a start of half an hour. That he might know
+they were on watch, they agreed, after they dismissed the taxi-cabs, to
+send one of them into the Boston Post Road past the road-house. When it
+was directly in front of the caf&eacute;, the chauffeur would throw away into
+the road an empty cigarette-case.
+</p>
+<p>
+From the cigar-stand they selected a cigarette box of a startling
+yellow. At half a mile it was conspicuous.
+</p>
+<p>
+"When you see this in the road," explained Rumson, "you'll know we're on
+the job. And after you're inside, if you need us, you've only to go to a
+rear window and wave."
+</p>
+<p>
+"If they mean to do him up," growled Bissell, "he won't get to a rear
+window."
+</p>
+<p>
+"He can always tell them we're outside," said Rumson&mdash;"and they are
+extremely likely to believe him. Do you want a gun?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"No," said the D.A.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Better have mine," urged Hewitt.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I have my own," explained the D.A.
+</p>
+<p>
+Rumson and Hewitt set off in taxi-cabs and, a half-hour later, Wharton
+followed. As he sank back against the cushions of the big touring-car he
+felt a pleasing thrill of excitement, and as he passed the traffic
+police, and they saluted mechanically, he smiled. Had they guessed his
+errand their interest in his progress would have been less perfunctory.
+In half an hour he might know that the police killed Banf; in half an
+hour he himself might walk into a trap they had, in turn, staged for
+him. As the car ran swiftly through the clean October air, and the wind
+and sun alternately chilled and warmed his blood, Wharton considered
+these possibilities.
+</p>
+<p>
+He could not believe the woman Earle would lend herself to any plot to
+do him bodily harm. She was a responsible person. In her own world she
+was as important a figure as was the district attorney in his. Her
+allies were the men "higher up" in Tammany and the police of the upper
+ranks of the uniformed force. And of the higher office of the district
+attorney she possessed an intimate and respectful knowledge. It was not
+to be considered that against the prosecuting attorney such a woman
+would wage war. So the thought that upon his person any assault was
+meditated Wharton dismissed as unintelligent. That it was upon his
+reputation the attack was planned seemed much more probable. But that
+contingency he had foreseen and so, he believed, forestalled. There then
+remained only the possibility that the offer in the letter was genuine.
+It seemed quite too good to be true. For, as he asked himself, on the
+very eve of an election, why should Tammany, or a friend of Tammany,
+place in his possession the information that to the Tammany candidate
+would bring inevitable defeat. He felt that the way they were playing
+into his hands was too open, too generous. If their object was to lead
+him into a trap, of all baits they might use the promise to tell him who
+killed Banf was the one certain to attract him. It made their invitation
+to walk into the parlor almost too obvious. But were the offer not
+genuine, there was a condition attached to it that puzzled him. It was
+not the condition that stipulated he should come alone. His experience
+had taught him many will confess, or betray, to the district attorney
+who, to a deputy, will tell nothing. The condition that puzzled him was
+the one that insisted he should come at once or it would be "too late."
+</p>
+<p>
+Why was haste so imperative? Why, if he delayed, would he be "too late"?
+Was the man he sought about to escape from his jurisdiction, was he
+dying, and was it his wish to make a death-bed confession; or was he so
+reluctant to speak that delay might cause him to reconsider and remain
+silent?
+</p>
+<p>
+With these questions in his mind, the minutes quickly passed, and it was
+with a thrill of excitement Wharton saw that Nolan had left the
+Zoological Gardens on the right and turned into the Boston Road. It had
+but lately been completed and to Wharton was unfamiliar. On either side
+of the unscarred roadway still lay scattered the uprooted trees and
+bowlders that had blocked its progress, and abandoned by the contractors
+were empty tar-barrels, cement-sacks, tool-sheds, and forges. Nor was
+the surrounding landscape less raw and unlovely. Toward the Sound
+stretched vacant lots covered with ash heaps; to the left a few old and
+broken houses set among the glass-covered cold frames of truck-farms.
+</p>
+<p>
+The district attorney felt a sudden twinge of loneliness. And when an
+automobile sign told him he was "10 miles from Columbus Circle," he felt
+that from the New York he knew he was much farther. Two miles up the
+road his car overhauled a bicycle policeman, and Wharton halted him.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Is there a road-house called Kessler's beyond here?" he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+"On the left, farther up," the officer told him, and added: "You can't
+miss it, Mr. Wharton; there's no other house near it."
+</p>
+<p>
+"You know me," said the D.A. "Then you'll understand what I want you to
+do. I've agreed to go to that house alone. If they see you pass they may
+think I'm not playing fair. So stop here."
+</p>
+<p>
+The man nodded and dismounted.
+</p>
+<p>
+"But," added the district attorney, as the car started forward again,
+"if you hear shots, I don't care how fast you come."
+</p>
+<p>
+The officer grinned.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Better let me trail along now," he called; "that's a tough joint."
+</p>
+<p>
+But Wharton motioned him back; and when again he turned to look the man
+still stood where they had parted.
+</p>
+<p>
+Two minutes later an empty taxi-cab came swiftly toward him and, as it
+passed, the driver lifted his hand from the wheel and with his thumb
+motioned behind him.
+</p>
+<p>
+"That's one of the men," said Nolan, "that started with Mr. Rumson and
+Hewitt from Delmonico's."
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton nodded; and, now assured that in their plan there had been no
+hitch, smiled with satisfaction. A moment later, when ahead of them on
+the asphalt road Nolan pointed out a spot of yellow, he recognized the
+signal and knew that within call were friends.
+</p>
+<p>
+The yellow ciagarette-box lay directly in front of a long wooden
+building of two stories. It was linked to the road by a curving driveway
+marked on either side by whitewashed stones. On verandas enclosed in
+glass Wharton saw white-covered tables under red candle-shades and,
+protruding from one end of the house and hung with electric lights in
+paper lanterns, a pavilion for dancing. In the rear of the house stood
+sheds and a thick tangle of trees on which the autumn leaves showed
+yellow. Painted fingers and arrows pointing, and an electric sign,
+proclaimed to all who passed that this was Kessler's. In spite of its
+reputation, the house wore the aspect of the commonplace. In evidence
+nothing flaunted, nothing threatened. From a dozen other inns along the
+Pelham Parkway and the Boston Post Road it was in no way to be
+distinguished.
+</p>
+<p>
+As directed in the note, Wharton left the car in the road. "For five
+minutes stay where you are," he ordered Nolan; "then go to the bar and
+get a drink. Don't talk to any one or they'll think you're trying to get
+information. Work around to the back of the house. Stand where I can see
+you from the window. I may want you to carry a message to Mr. Rumson."
+</p>
+<p>
+On foot Wharton walked up the curving driveway, and if from the house
+his approach was spied upon, there was no evidence. In the second story
+the blinds were drawn and on the first floor the verandas were empty.
+Nor, not even after he had mounted to the veranda and stepped inside the
+house, was there any sign that his visit was expected. He stood in a
+hall, and in front of him rose a broad flight of stairs that he guessed
+led to the private supper-rooms. On his left was the restaurant.
+</p>
+<p>
+Swept and garnished after the revels of the night previous, and as
+though resting in preparation for those to come, it wore an air of
+peaceful inactivity. At a table a maitre d'h&ocirc;tel was composing the menu
+for the evening, against the walls three colored waiters lounged
+sleepily, and on a platform at a piano a pale youth with drugged eyes
+was with one hand picking an accompaniment. As Wharton paused
+uncertainly the young man, disdaining his audience, in a shrill, nasal
+tenor raised his voice and sang:
+</p>
+<pre>
+  "And from the time the rooster calls
+  I'll wear my overalls,
+    And you, a simple gingham gown.
+  So, if you're strong for a shower of rice,
+  We two could make a paradise
+    Of any One-Horse Town."
+</pre>
+<p>
+At sight of Wharton the head waiter reluctantly detached himself from
+his menu and rose. But before he could greet the visitor, Wharton heard
+his name spoken and, looking up, saw a woman descending the stairs. It
+was apparent that when young she had been beautiful, and, in spite of an
+expression in her eyes of hardness and distrust, which seemed habitual,
+she was still handsome. She was without a hat and wearing a house dress
+of decorous shades and in the extreme of fashion. Her black hair, built
+up in artificial waves, was heavy with brilliantine; her hands, covered
+deep with rings, and of an unnatural white, showed the most fastidious
+care. But her complexion was her own; and her skin, free from paint and
+powder, glowed with that healthy pink that is supposed to be the
+perquisite only of the simple life and a conscience undisturbed.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I am Mrs. Earle," said the woman. "I wrote you that note. Will you
+please come this way?"
+</p>
+<p>
+That she did not suppose he might not come that way was obvious, for, as
+she spoke, she turned her back on him and mounted the stairs. After an
+instant of hesitation, Wharton followed.
+</p>
+<p>
+As well as his mind, his body was now acutely alive and vigilant. Both
+physically and mentally he moved on tiptoe. For whatever surprise, for
+whatever ambush might lie in wait, he was prepared. At the top of the
+stairs he found a wide hall along which on both sides were many doors.
+The one directly facing the stairs stood open. At one side of this the
+woman halted and with a gesture of the jewelled fingers invited him to
+enter.
+</p>
+<p>
+"My sitting-room," she said. As Wharton remained motionless she
+substituted: "My office."
+</p>
+<p>
+Peering into the room, Wharton found it suited to both titles. He saw
+comfortable chairs, vases filled with autumn leaves, in silver frames
+photographs, and between two open windows a businesslike roller-top desk
+on which was a hand telephone. In plain sight through the windows he
+beheld the garage and behind it the tops of trees. To summon Rumson, to
+keep in touch with Nolan, he need only step to one of these windows and
+beckon. The strategic position of the room appealed, and with a bow of
+the head he passed in front of his hostess and entered it. He continued
+to take note of his surroundings.
+</p>
+<p>
+He now saw that from the office in which he stood doors led to rooms
+adjoining. These doors were shut, and he determined swiftly that before
+the interview began he first must know what lay behind them. Mrs. Earle
+had followed and, as she entered, closed the door.
+</p>
+<p>
+"No!" said Wharton.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was the first time he had spoken. For an instant the woman hesitated,
+regarding him thoughtfully, and then without resentment pulled the door
+open. She came toward him swiftly, and he was conscious of the rustle of
+silk and the stirring of perfumes. At the open door she cast a frown of
+disapproval and then, with her face close to his, spoke hurriedly in a
+whisper.
+</p>
+<p>
+"A man brought a girl here to lunch," she said; "they've been here
+before. The girl claims the man told her he was going to marry her. Last
+night she found out he has a wife already, and she came here to-day
+meaning to make trouble. She brought a gun. They were in the room at the
+far end of the hall. George, the waiter, heard the two shots and ran
+down here to get me. No one else heard. These rooms are fixed to keep
+out noise, and the piano was going. We broke in and found them on the
+floor. The man was shot through the shoulder, the girl through the body.
+His story is that after she fired, in trying to get the gun from her,
+she shot herself&mdash;by accident. That's right, I guess. But the girl says
+they came here to die together&mdash;what the newspaper calls a 'suicide
+pact'&mdash;because they couldn't marry, and that he first shot her,
+intending to kill her and then himself. That's silly. She framed it to
+get him. She missed him with the gun, so now she's trying to get him
+with this murder charge. I know her. If she'd been sober she wouldn't
+have shot him; she'd have blackmailed him. She's <i>that</i> sort. I know
+her, and&mdash;"
+</p>
+<p>
+With an exclamation the district attorney broke in upon her. "And the
+man," he demanded eagerly; "was it <i>he</i> killed Banf?"
+</p>
+<p>
+In amazement the woman stared. "Certainly <i>not!</i>" she said.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Then what <i>has</i> this to do with Banf?"
+</p>
+<p>
+"Nothing!" Her tone was annoyed, reproachful. "That was only to bring
+you here."
+</p>
+<p>
+His disappointment was so keen that it threatened to exhibit itself in
+anger. Recognizing this, before he spoke Wharton forced himself to
+pause. Then he repeated her words quietly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Bring me here?" he asked. "Why?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The woman exclaimed impatiently: "So you could beat the police to it,"
+she whispered. "So you could <i>hush it up!</i>"
+</p>
+<p>
+The surprised laugh of the man was quite real. It bore no resentment or
+pose. He was genuinely amused. Then the dignity of his office, tricked
+and insulted, demanded to be heard. He stared at her coldly; his
+indignation was apparent.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You have done extremely ill," he told her. "You know perfectly well you
+had no right to bring me up here; to drag me into a row in your
+road-house. 'Hush it up!'" he exclaimed hotly. This time his laugh was
+contemptuous and threatening.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'll show you how I'll hush it up!" He moved quickly to the open
+window.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Stop!" commanded the woman. "You can't do that!"
+</p>
+<p>
+She ran to the door.
+</p>
+<p>
+Again he was conscious of the rustle of silk, of the stirring of
+perfumes.
+</p>
+<p>
+He heard the key turn in the lock. It had come. It WAS a frame-up. There
+would be a scandal. And to save himself from it they would force him to
+"hush up" this other one. But, as to the outcome, in no way was he
+concerned. Through the window, standing directly below it, he had seen
+Nolan. In the sunlit yard the chauffeur, his cap on the back of his
+head, his cigarette drooping from his lips, was tossing the remnants of
+a sandwich to a circle of excited hens. He presented a picture of bored
+indolence, of innocent preoccupation. It was almost <i>too</i> well done.
+</p>
+<p>
+Assured of a witness for the defense, he greeted the woman with a smile.
+"Why can't I do it?" he taunted.
+</p>
+<p>
+She ran close to him and laid her hands on his arm. Her eyes were fixed
+steadily on his. "Because," she whispered, "the man who shot that
+girl&mdash;is your brother-in-law, Ham Cutler!"
+</p>
+<p>
+For what seemed a long time Wharton stood looking down into the eyes of
+the woman, and the eyes never faltered. Later he recalled that in the
+sudden silence many noises disturbed the lazy hush of the Indian-summer
+afternoon: the rush of a motor-car on the Boston Road, the tinkle of
+the piano and the voice of the youth with the drugged eyes singing, "And
+you'll wear a simple gingham gown," from the yard below the cluck-cluck
+of the chickens and the cooing of pigeons.
+</p>
+<p>
+His first thought was of his sister and of her children, and of what
+this bomb, hurled from the clouds, would mean to her. He thought of
+Cutler, at the height of his power and usefulness, by this one
+disreputable act dragged into the mire, of what disaster it might bring
+to the party, to himself.
+</p>
+<p>
+If, as the woman invited, he helped to "hush it up," and Tammany learned
+the truth, it would make short work of him. It would say, for the
+murderer of Banf he had one law and for the rich brother-in-law, who had
+tried to kill the girl he deceived, another. But before he gave voice to
+his thoughts he recognized them as springing only from panic. They were
+of a part with the acts of men driven by sudden fear, and of which acts
+in their sane moments they would be incapable.
+</p>
+<p>
+The shock of the woman's words had unsettled his traditions. Not only
+was he condemning a man unheard, but a man who, though he might dislike
+him, he had for years, for his private virtues, trusted and admired.
+The panic passed and with a confident smile he shook his head.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I don't believe you," he said quietly.
+</p>
+<p>
+The manner of the woman was equally calm, equally assured.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Will you see her?" she asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'd rather see my brother-in-law," he answered.
+</p>
+<p>
+The woman handed him a card.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Doctor Muir took him to his private hospital," she said. "I loaned them
+my car because it's a limousine. The address is on that card. But," she
+added, "both your brother and Sammy&mdash;that's Sam Muir, the doctor&mdash;asked
+you wouldn't use the telephone; they're afraid of a leak."
+</p>
+<p>
+Apparently Wharton did not hear her. As though it were "Exhibit A,"
+presented in evidence by the defense, he was studying the card she had
+given him. He stuck it in his pocket.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'll go to him at once," he said.
+</p>
+<p>
+To restrain or dissuade him, the woman made no sudden move. In level
+tones she said: "Your brother-in-law asked especially that you wouldn't
+do that until you'd fixed it with the girl. Your face is too well known.
+He's afraid some one might find out where he is&mdash;and for a day or two no
+one must know that."
+</p>
+<p>
+"This doctor knows it," retorted Wharton.
+</p>
+<p>
+The suggestion seemed to strike Mrs. Earle as humorous. For the first
+time she laughed.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Sammy!" she exclaimed. "He's a lobbygow of mine. He's worked for me for
+years. I could send him up the river if I liked. He knows it." Her tone
+was convincing. "They both asked," she continued evenly, "you should
+keep off until the girl is out of the country, and fixed."
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton frowned thoughtfully.
+</p>
+<p>
+And, observing this, the eyes of the woman showed that, so far, toward
+the unfortunate incident the attitude of the district attorney was to
+her most gratifying.
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton ceased frowning.
+</p>
+<p>
+"How fixed?" he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+Mrs. Earle shrugged her shoulders.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Cutler's idea is money," she said; "but, believe <i>me</i>, he's wrong. This
+girl is a vampire. She'll only come back to you for more. She'll keep on
+threatening to tell the wife, to tell the papers. The way to fix <i>her</i>
+is to throw a scare into her. And there's only one man can do that;
+there's only one man that can hush this thing up&mdash;that's you."
+</p>
+<p>
+"When can I see her?" asked Wharton.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Now," said the woman. "I'll bring her."
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton could not suppress an involuntary start.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Here?" he exclaimed.
+</p>
+<p>
+For the shade of a second Mrs. Earle exhibited the slightest evidence of
+embarrassment.
+</p>
+<p>
+"My room's in a mess," she explained; "and she's not hurt so much as
+Sammy said. He told her she was in bad just to keep her quiet until you
+got here."
+</p>
+<p>
+Mrs. Earle opened one of the doors leading from the room. "I won't be a
+minute," she said. Quietly she closed the door behind her.
+</p>
+<p>
+Upon her disappearance the manner of the district attorney underwent an
+abrupt change. He ran softly to the door opposite the one through which
+Mrs. Earle had passed, and pulled it open. But, if beyond it he expected
+to find an audience of eavesdroppers, he was disappointed. The room was
+empty&mdash;and bore no evidence of recent occupation. He closed the door,
+and, from the roller-top desk, snatching a piece of paper, scribbled
+upon it hastily. Wrapping the paper around a coin, and holding it
+exposed to view, he showed himself at the window. Below him, to an
+increasing circle of hens and pigeons, Nolan was still scattering
+crumbs. Without withdrawing his gaze from them, the chauffeur nodded.
+Wharton opened his hand and the note fell into the yard. Behind him he
+heard the murmur of voices, the sobs of a woman in pain, and the rattle
+of a doorknob. As from the window he turned quickly, he saw that toward
+the spot where his note had fallen Nolan was tossing the last remnants
+of his sandwich.
+</p>
+<p>
+The girl who entered with Mrs. Earle, leaning on her and supported by
+her, was tall and fair. Around her shoulders her blond hair hung in
+disorder, and around her waist, under the kimono Mrs. Earle had thrown
+about her, were wrapped many layers of bandages. The girl moved
+unsteadily and sank into a chair.
+</p>
+<p>
+In a hostile tone Mrs. Earle addressed her.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Rose," she said, "this is the district attorney." To him she added:
+"She calls herself Rose Gerard."
+</p>
+<p>
+One hand the girl held close against her side, with the other she
+brushed back the hair from her forehead. From half-closed eyes she
+stared at Wharton defiantly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Well," she challenged, "what about it?"
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton seated himself in front of the roller-top desk.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Are you strong enough to tell me?" he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+His tone was kind, and this the girl seemed to resent.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Don't you worry," she sneered, "I'm strong enough. Strong enough to
+tell <i>all</i> I know&mdash;to you, and to the papers, and to a jury&mdash;until I get
+justice." She clinched her free hand and feebly shook it at him.
+"<i>That's</i> what I'm going to get," she cried, her voice breaking
+hysterically, "justice."
+</p>
+<p>
+From behind the armchair in which the girl half-reclined Mrs. Earle
+caught the eye of the district attorney and shrugged her shoulders.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Just what <i>did</i> happen?" asked Wharton.
+</p>
+<p>
+Apparently with an effort the girl pulled herself together.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I first met your brother-in-law&mdash;" she began.
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton interrupted quietly.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Wait!" he said. "You are not talking to me as anybody's brother-in-law,
+but as the district attorney."
+</p>
+<p>
+The girl laughed vindictively.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I don't wonder you're ashamed of him!" she jeered.
+</p>
+<p>
+Again she began: "I first met Ham Cutler last May. He wanted to marry me
+then. He told me he was not a married man."
+</p>
+<p>
+As her story unfolded, Wharton did not again interrupt; and speaking
+quickly, in abrupt, broken phrases, the girl brought her narrative to
+the moment when, as she claimed, Cutler had attempted to kill her. At
+this point a knock at the locked door caused both the girl and her
+audience to start. Wharton looked at Mrs. Earle inquiringly, but she
+shook her head, and with a look at him also of inquiry, and of suspicion
+as well, opened the door.
+</p>
+<p>
+With apologies her head waiter presented a letter.
+</p>
+<p>
+"For Mr. Wharton," he explained, "from his chauffeur."
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton's annoyance at the interruption was most apparent. "What the
+devil&mdash;" he began.
+</p>
+<p>
+He read the note rapidly, and with a frown of irritation raised his eyes
+to Mrs. Earle.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He wants to go to New Rochelle for an inner tube," he said. "How long
+would it take him to get there and back?"
+</p>
+<p>
+The hard and distrustful expression upon the face of Mrs. Earle, which
+was habitual, was now most strongly in evidence. Her eyes searched those
+of Wharton.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Twenty minutes," she said.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He can't go," snapped Wharton.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Tell him," he directed the waiter, "to stay where he is. Tell him I
+may want to go back to the office any minute." He turned eagerly to the
+girl. "I'm sorry," he said. With impatience he crumpled the note into a
+ball and glanced about him. At his feet was a waste-paper basket. Fixed
+upon him he saw, while pretending not to see, the eyes of Mrs. Earle
+burning with suspicion. If he destroyed the note, he knew suspicion
+would become certainty. Without an instant of hesitation, carelessly he
+tossed it intact into the waste-paper basket. Toward Rose Gerard he
+swung the revolving chair.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Go on, please," he commanded.
+</p>
+<p>
+The girl had now reached the climax of her story, but the eyes of Mrs.
+Earle betrayed the fact that her thoughts were elsewhere. With an
+intense and hungry longing, they were concentrated upon her own
+waste-paper basket.
+</p>
+<p>
+The voice of the girl in anger and defiance recalled Mrs. Earle to the
+business of the moment.
+</p>
+<p>
+"He tried to kill me," shouted Miss Rose. "And his shooting himself in
+the shoulder was a bluff. <i>That's</i> my story; that's the story I'm going
+to tell the judge"&mdash;her voice soared shrilly&mdash;"that's the story that's
+going to send your brother-in-law to Sing Sing!"
+</p>
+<p>
+For the first time Mrs. Earle contributed to the general conversation.
+</p>
+<p>
+"You talk like a fish," she said.
+</p>
+<p>
+The girl turned upon her savagely.
+</p>
+<p>
+"If he don't like the way I talk," she cried, "he can come across!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Mrs. Earle exclaimed in horror. Virtuously her hands were raised in
+protest.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Like hell he will!" she said. "You can't pull that under my roof!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton looked disturbed.
+</p>
+<p>
+"'Come across'?" he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Come across?" mimicked the girl. "Send me abroad and keep me there. And
+I'll swear it was an accident. Twenty-five thousand, that's all I want.
+Cutler told me he was going to make you governor. He can't make you
+governor if he's in Sing Sing, can he? Ain't it worth twenty-five
+thousand to you to be governor? Come on," she jeered, "kick in!"
+</p>
+<p>
+With a grave but untroubled voice Wharton addressed Mrs. Earle.
+</p>
+<p>
+"May I use your telephone?" he asked. He did not wait for her consent,
+but from the desk lifted the hand telephone.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Spring, three one hundred!" he said. He sat with his legs comfortably
+crossed, the stand of the instrument balanced on his knee, his eyes
+gazing meditatively at the yellow tree-tops.
+</p>
+<p>
+If with apprehension both women started, if the girl thrust herself
+forward, and by the hand of Mrs. Earle was dragged back, he did not
+appear to know it.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Police headquarters?" they heard him ask. "I want to speak to the
+commissioner. This is the district attorney."
+</p>
+<p>
+In the pause that followed, as though to torment her, the pain in her
+side apparently returned, for the girl screamed sharply.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Be still!" commanded the older woman. Breathless, across the top of the
+armchair, she was leaning forward. Upon the man at the telephone her
+eyes were fixed in fascination.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Commissioner," said the district attorney, "this is Wharton speaking. A
+woman has made a charge of attempted murder to me against my
+brother-in-law, Hamilton Cutler. On account of our relationship, I want
+YOU to make the arrest. If there were any slip, and he got away, it
+might be said I arranged it. You will find him at the Winona apartments
+on the Southern Boulevard, in the private hospital of a Doctor Samuel
+Muir. Arrest them both. The girl who makes the charge is at Kessler's
+Caf&eacute;, on the Boston Post Road, just inside the city line. Arrest her
+too. She tried to blackmail me. I'll appear against her."
+</p>
+<p>
+Wharton rose and addressed himself to Mrs. Earle.
+</p>
+<p>
+"I'm sorry," he said, "but I had to do it. You might have known I could
+not hush it up. I am the only man who can't hush it up. The people of
+New York elected me to enforce the laws." Wharton's voice was raised to
+a loud pitch. It seemed unnecessarily loud. It was almost as though he
+were addressing another and more distant audience. "And," he continued,
+his voice still soaring, "even if my own family suffer, even if I
+suffer, even if I lose political promotion, those laws I will enforce!"
+</p>
+<p>
+In the more conventional tone of every-day politeness, he added:
+</p>
+<p>
+"May I speak to you outside, Mrs. Earle?"
+</p>
+<p>
+But, as in silence that lady descended the stairs, the district attorney
+seemed to have forgotten what it was he wished to say.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was not until he had seen his chauffeur arouse himself from
+apparently deep slumber and crank the car that he addressed her.
+</p>
+<p>
+"That girl," he said, "had better go back to bed. My men are all around
+this house and, until the police come, will detain her."
+</p>
+<p>
+He shook the jewelled fingers of Mrs. Earle warmly. "I thank you," he
+said; "I know you meant well. I know you wanted to help me, but"&mdash;he
+shrugged his shoulders&mdash;"my duty!"
+</p>
+<p>
+As he walked down the driveway to his car his shoulders continued to
+move.
+</p>
+<p>
+But Mrs. Earle did not wait to observe this phenomenon. Rid of his
+presence, she leaped, rather than ran, up the stairs and threw open the
+door of her office.
+</p>
+<p>
+As she entered, two men followed her. One was a young man who held in
+his hand an open note-book, the other was Tim Meehan, of Tammany. The
+latter greeted her with a shout.
+</p>
+<p>
+"We heard everything he said!" he cried. His voice rose in torment. "An'
+we can't use a word of it! He acted just like we'd oughta knowed he'd
+act. He's HONEST! He's so damned honest he ain't human; he's a &mdash;&mdash;
+gilded saint!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Mrs. Earle did not heed him. On her knees she was tossing to the floor
+the contents of the waste-paper basket. From them she snatched a piece
+of crumpled paper.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Shut up!" she shouted. "Listen! His chauffeur brought him this." In a
+voice that quivered with indignation, that sobbed with anger, she read
+aloud:
+</p>
+<p>
+"'As directed by your note from the window, I went to the booth and
+called up Mrs. Cutler's house and got herself on the phone. Your
+brother-in-law lunched at home to-day with her and the children and they
+are now going to the Hippodrome.
+</p>
+<p>
+"'Stop, look, and listen! Back of the bar I see two men in a room, but
+they did not see me. One is Tim Meehan, the other is a stenographer. He
+is taking notes. Each of them has on the ear-muffs of a dictagraph.
+Looks like you'd better watch your step and not say nothing you don't
+want Tammany to print.'" The voice of Mrs. Earle rose in a shrill
+shriek.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Him&mdash;a gilded saint?" she screamed; "you big stiff! He knew he was
+talking into a dictagraph all the time&mdash;and he double-crossed us!"
+</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Somewhere in France, by Richard Harding Davis
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,5463 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Somewhere in France, by Richard Harding Davis
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Somewhere in France
+
+Author: Richard Harding Davis
+
+Release Date: February 18, 2004 [EBook #11144]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: With her eye for detail Marie observed that the young
+officer, instead of imparting information, received it.]
+
+
+
+
+SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE
+
+By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
+
+
+
+
+1915
+
+
+
+
+TO HOPE DAVIS
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE"
+
+PLAYING DEAD
+
+THE CARD-SHARP
+
+BILLY AND THE BIG STICK
+
+THE BOY SCOUT
+
+THE FRAME-UP
+
+
+
+
+"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE"
+
+
+Marie Gessler, known as Marie Chaumontel, Jeanne d'Avrechy, the Countess
+d'Aurillac, was German. Her father, who served through the
+Franco-Prussian War, was a German spy. It was from her mother she
+learned to speak French sufficiently well to satisfy even an Academician
+and, among Parisians, to pass as one. Both her parents were dead. Before
+they departed, knowing they could leave their daughter nothing save
+their debts, they had had her trained as a nurse. But when they were
+gone, Marie in the Berlin hospitals played politics, intrigued,
+indiscriminately misused the appealing, violet eyes. There was a
+scandal; several scandals. At the age of twenty-five she was dismissed
+from the Municipal Hospital, and as now--save for the violet eyes--she
+was without resources, as a _compagnon de voyage_ with a German doctor
+she travelled to Monte Carlo. There she abandoned the doctor for Henri
+Ravignac, a captain in the French Aviation Corps, who, when his leave
+ended, escorted her to Paris.
+
+The duties of Captain Ravignac kept him in barracks near the aviation
+field, but Marie he established in his apartments on the Boulevard
+Haussmann. One day he brought from the barracks a roll of blue-prints,
+and as he was locking them in a drawer, said: "The Germans would pay
+through the nose for those!" The remark was indiscreet, but then Marie
+had told him she was French, and any one would have believed her.
+
+The next morning the same spirit of adventure that had exiled her from
+the Berlin hospitals carried her with the blue-prints to the German
+embassy. There, greatly shocked, they first wrote down her name and
+address, and then, indignant at her proposition, ordered her out. But
+the day following a strange young German who was not at all indignant,
+but, on the contrary, quite charming, called upon Marie. For the
+blue-prints he offered her a very large sum, and that same hour with
+them and Marie departed for Berlin. Marie did not need the money. Nor
+did the argument that she was serving her country greatly impress her.
+It was rather that she loved intrigue. And so she became a spy.
+
+Henri Ravignac, the man she had robbed of the blue-prints, was tried by
+court martial. The charge was treason, but Charles Ravignac, his
+younger brother, promised to prove that the guilty one was the girl, and
+to that end obtained leave of absence and spent much time and money. At
+the trial he was able to show the record of Marie in Berlin and Monte
+Carlo; that she was the daughter of a German secret agent; that on the
+afternoon the prints disappeared Marie, with an agent of the German
+embassy, had left Paris for Berlin. In consequence of this the charge of
+selling military secrets was altered to one of "gross neglect," and
+Henri Ravignac was sentenced to two years in the military prison at
+Tours. But he was of an ancient and noble family, and when they came to
+take him from his cell in the Cherche-Midi, he was dead. Charles, his
+brother, disappeared. It was said he also had killed himself; that he
+had been appointed a military attache in South America; that to revenge
+his brother he had entered the secret service; but whatever became of
+him no one knew. All that was certain was that, thanks to the act of
+Marie Gessler, on the rolls of the French army the ancient and noble
+name of Ravignac no longer appeared.
+
+In her chosen profession Marie Gessler found nothing discreditable. Of
+herself her opinion was not high, and her opinion of men was lower. For
+her smiles she had watched several sacrifice honor, duty, loyalty; and
+she held them and their kind in contempt. To lie, to cajole, to rob men
+of secrets they thought important, and of secrets the importance of
+which they did not even guess, was to her merely an intricate and
+exciting game.
+
+She played it very well. So well that in the service her advance was
+rapid. On important missions she was sent to Russia, through the
+Balkans; even to the United States. There, with credentials as an army
+nurse, she inspected our military hospitals and unobtrusively asked many
+innocent questions.
+
+When she begged to be allowed to work in her beloved Paris, "they" told
+her when war came "they" intended to plant her inside that city, and
+that, until then, the less Paris knew of her the better.
+
+But just before the great war broke, to report on which way Italy might
+jump, she was sent to Rome, and it was not until September she was
+recalled. The telegram informed her that her Aunt Elizabeth was ill, and
+that at once she must return to Berlin. This, she learned from the code
+book wrapped under the cover of her thermos bottle, meant that she was
+to report to the general commanding the German forces at Soissons.
+
+From Italy she passed through Switzerland, and, after leaving Basle, on
+military trains was rushed north to Luxemburg, and then west to Laon.
+She was accompanied by her companion, Bertha, an elderly and
+respectable, even distinguished-looking female. In the secret service
+her number was 528. Their passes from the war office described them as
+nurses of the German Red Cross. Only the Intelligence Department knew
+their real mission. With her also, as her chauffeur, was a young Italian
+soldier of fortune, Paul Anfossi. He had served in the Belgian Congo, in
+the French Foreign Legion in Algiers, and spoke all the European
+languages. In Rome, where as a wireless operator he was serving a
+commercial company, in selling Marie copies of messages he had
+memorized, Marie had found him useful, and when war came she obtained
+for him, from the Wilhelmstrasse, the number 292. From Laon, in one of
+the automobiles of the General Staff, the three spies were driven first
+to Soissons, and then along the road to Meaux and Paris, to the village
+of Neufchelles. They arrived at midnight, and in a chateau of one of the
+champagne princes, found the colonel commanding the Intelligence
+Bureau. He accepted their credentials, destroyed them, and replaced them
+with a _laisser-passer_ signed by the mayor of Laon. That dignitary, the
+colonel explained, to citizens of Laon fleeing to Paris and the coast
+had issued many passes. But as now between Laon and Paris there were
+three German armies, the refugees had been turned back and their passes
+confiscated.
+
+"From among them," said the officer, "we have selected one for you. It
+is issued to the wife of Count d'Aurillac, a captain of reserves, and
+her aunt, Madame Benet. It asks for those ladies and their chauffeur,
+Briand, a safe-conduct through the French military lines. If it gets you
+into Paris you will destroy it and assume another name. The Count
+d'Aurillac is now with his regiment in that city. If he learned of the
+presence there of his wife, he would seek her, and that would not be
+good for you. So, if you reach Paris, you will become a Belgian refugee.
+You are highborn and rich. Your chateau has been destroyed. But you have
+money. You will give liberally to the Red Cross. You will volunteer to
+nurse in the hospitals. With your sad story of ill treatment by us, with
+your high birth, and your knowledge of nursing, which you acquired, of
+course, only as an amateur, you should not find it difficult to join
+the Ladies of France, or the American Ambulance. What you learn from the
+wounded English and French officers and the French doctors you will send
+us through the usual channels."
+
+"When do I start?" asked the woman.
+
+"For a few days," explained the officer, "you remain in this chateau.
+You will keep us informed of what is going forward after we withdraw."
+
+"Withdraw?" It was more of an exclamation than a question. Marie was too
+well trained to ask questions.
+
+"We are taking up a new position," said the officer, "on the Aisne."
+
+The woman, incredulous, stared.
+
+"And we do not enter Paris?"
+
+"_You_ do," returned the officer. "That is all that concerns you. We
+will join you later--in the spring. Meanwhile, for the winter we
+intrench ourselves along the Aisne. In a chimney of this chateau we have
+set up a wireless outfit. We are leaving it intact. The chauffeur
+Briand--who, you must explain to the French, you brought with you from
+Laon, and who has been long in your service--will transmit whatever you
+discover. We wish especially to know of any movement toward our left. If
+they attack in front from Soissons, we are prepared; but of any attempt
+to cross the Oise and take us in flank, you must warn us."
+
+The officer rose and hung upon himself his field-glasses, map-cases, and
+side-arms.
+
+"We leave you now," he said. "When the French arrive you will tell them
+your reason for halting at this chateau was that the owner, Monsieur
+Iverney, and his family are friends of your husband. You found us here,
+and we detained you. And so long as you can use the wireless, make
+excuses to remain. If they offer to send you on to Paris, tell them your
+aunt is too ill to travel."
+
+"But they will find the wireless," said the woman. "They are sure to use
+the towers for observation, and they will find it."
+
+"In that case," said the officer, "you will suggest to them that we fled
+in such haste we had no time to dismantle it. Of course, you had no
+knowledge that it existed, or, as a loyal French woman, you would have
+at once told them." To emphasize his next words the officer pointed at
+her: "Under no circumstances," he continued, "must you be suspected. If
+they should take Briand in the act, should they have even the least
+doubt concerning him, you must repudiate him entirely. If necessary, to
+keep your own skirts clear, it would be your duty yourself to denounce
+him as a spy."
+
+"Your first orders," said the woman, "were to tell them Briand had been
+long in my service; that I brought him from my home in Laon."
+
+"He might be in your service for years," returned the colonel, "and you
+not know he was a German agent."
+
+"If to save myself I inform upon him," said Marie, "of course you know
+you will lose him."
+
+The officer shrugged his shoulders. "A wireless operator," he retorted,
+"we can replace. But for you, and for the service you are to render in
+Paris, we have no substitute. _You_ must not be found out. You are
+invaluable."
+
+The spy inclined her head. "I thank you," she said.
+
+The officer sputtered indignantly.
+
+"It is not a compliment," he exclaimed; "it is an order. You must not be
+found out!"
+
+Withdrawn some two hundred yards from the Paris road, the chateau stood
+upon a wooded hill. Except directly in front, trees of great height
+surrounded it. The tips of their branches brushed the windows;
+interlacing, they continued until they overhung the wall of the estate.
+Where it ran with the road the wall gave way to a lofty gate and iron
+fence, through which those passing could see a stretch of noble turf, as
+wide as a polo-field, borders of flowers disappearing under the shadows
+of the trees; and the chateau itself, with its terrace, its many
+windows, its high-pitched, sloping roof, broken by towers and turrets.
+
+Through the remainder of the night there came from the road to those in
+the chateau the roar and rumbling of the army in retreat. It moved
+without panic, disorder, or haste, but unceasingly. Not for an instant
+was there a breathing-spell. And when the sun rose, the three spies--the
+two women and the chauffeur--who in the great chateau were now alone,
+could see as well as hear the gray column of steel rolling past below
+them.
+
+The spies knew that the gray column had reached Claye, had stood within
+fifteen miles of Paris, and then upon Paris had turned its back. They
+knew also that the reverberations from the direction of Meaux, that each
+moment grew more loud and savage, were the French "seventy-fives"
+whipping the gray column forward. Of what they felt the Germans did not
+speak. In silence they looked at each other, and in the eyes of Marie
+was bitterness and resolve.
+
+Toward noon Marie met Anfossi in the great drawing-room that stretched
+the length of the terrace and from the windows of which, through the
+park gates, they could see the Paris road.
+
+"This, that is passing now," said Marie, "is the last of our rear-guard.
+Go to your tower," she ordered, "and send word that except for
+stragglers and the wounded our column has just passed through
+Neufchelles, and that any moment we expect the French." She raised her
+hand impressively. "From now," she warned, "we speak French, we think
+French, we _are_ French!"
+
+Anfossi, or Briand, as now he called himself, addressed her in that
+language. His tone was bitter. "Pardon my lese-majesty," he said, "but
+this chief of your Intelligence Department is a _dummer Mensch_. He is
+throwing away a valuable life."
+
+Marie exclaimed in dismay. She placed her hand upon his arm, and the
+violet eyes filled with concern.
+
+"Not yours!" she protested.
+
+"Absolutely!" returned the Italian. "I can send nothing by this knapsack
+wireless that they will not learn from others; from airmen, Uhlans, the
+peasants in the fields. And certainly I will be caught. Dead I am dead,
+but alive and in Paris the opportunities are unending. From the French
+Legion Etranger I have my honorable discharge. I am an expert wireless
+operator and in their Signal Corps I can easily find a place. Imagine
+me, then, on the Eiffel Tower. From the air I snatch news from all of
+France, from the Channel, the North Sea. You and I could work together,
+as in Rome. But here, between the lines, with a pass from a village
+_sous prefet_, it is ridiculous. I am not afraid to die. But to die
+because some one else is stupid, that is hard."
+
+Marie clasped his hand in both of hers.
+
+"You must not speak of death," she cried; "you know I must carry out my
+orders, that I must force you to take this risk. And you know that
+thought of harm to you tortures me!"
+
+Quickly the young man disengaged his hand. The woman exclaimed with
+anger.
+
+"Why do you doubt me?" she cried.
+
+Briand protested vehemently.
+
+"I do not doubt you."
+
+"My affection, then?" In a whisper that carried with it the feeling of a
+caress Marie added softly: "My love?"
+
+The young man protested miserably. "You make it very hard,
+mademoiselle," he cried. "You are my superior officer, I am your
+servant. Who am I that I should share with others--"
+
+The woman interrupted eagerly.
+
+"Ah, you are jealous!" she cried. "Is that why you are so cruel? But
+when I _tell_ you I love you, and only you, can you not _feel_ it is the
+truth?"
+
+The young man frowned unhappily.
+
+"My duty, mademoiselle!" he stammered.
+
+With an exclamation of anger Marie left him. As the door slammed behind
+her, the young man drew a deep breath. On his face was the expression of
+ineffable relief.
+
+In the hall Marie met her elderly companion, Bertha, now her aunt,
+Madame Benet.
+
+"I heard you quarrelling," Bertha protested. "It is most indiscreet. It
+is not in the part of the Countess d'Aurillac that she makes love to her
+chauffeur."
+
+Marie laughed noiselessly and drew her farther down the hall. "He is
+imbecile!" she exclaimed. "He will kill me with his solemn face and his
+conceit. I make love to him--yes--that he may work the more willingly.
+But he will have none of it. He is jealous of the others."
+
+Madame Benet frowned.
+
+"He resents the others," she corrected. "I do not blame him. He is a
+gentleman!"
+
+"And the others," demanded Marie; "were they not of the most noble
+families of Rome?"
+
+"I am old and I am ugly," said Bertha, "but to me Anfossi is always as
+considerate as he is to you who are so beautiful."
+
+"An Italian gentleman," returned Marie, "does not serve in Belgian Congo
+unless it is the choice of that or the marble quarries."
+
+"I do not know what his past may be," sighed Madame Benet, "nor do I
+ask. He is only a number, as you and I are only numbers. And I beg you
+to let us work in harmony. At such a time your love-affairs threaten our
+safety. You must wait."
+
+Marie laughed insolently. "With the Du Barry," she protested, "I can
+boast that I wait for no man."
+
+"No," replied the older woman; "you pursue him!"
+
+Marie would have answered sharply, but on the instant her interest was
+diverted. For one week, by day and night, she had lived in a world
+peopled only by German soldiers. Beside her in the railroad carriage, on
+the station platforms, at the windows of the trains that passed the one
+in which she rode, at the grade crossings, on the bridges, in the roads
+that paralleled the tracks, choking the streets of the villages and
+spread over the fields of grain, she had seen only the gray-green
+uniforms. Even her professional eye no longer distinguished regiment
+from regiment, dragoon from grenadier, Uhlan from Hussar or Landsturm.
+Stripes, insignia, numerals, badges of rank, had lost their meaning.
+Those who wore them no longer were individuals. They were not even
+human. During the three last days the automobile, like a motor-boat
+fighting the tide, had crept through a gray-green river of men, stained,
+as though from the banks, by mud and yellow clay. And for hours, while
+the car was blocked, and in fury the engine raced and purred, the
+gray-green river had rolled past her, slowly but as inevitably as lava
+down the slope of a volcano, bearing on its surface faces with staring
+eyes, thousands and thousands of eyes, some fierce and bloodshot, others
+filled with weariness, homesickness, pain. At night she still saw them:
+the white faces under the sweat and dust, the eyes dumb, inarticulate,
+asking the answer. She had been suffocated by German soldiers, by the
+mass of them, engulfed and smothered; she had stifled in a land
+inhabited only by gray-green ghosts.
+
+And suddenly, as though a miracle had been wrought, she saw upon the
+lawn, riding toward her, a man in scarlet, blue, and silver. One man
+riding alone.
+
+Approaching with confidence, but alert; his reins fallen, his hands
+nursing his carbine, his eyes searched the shadows of the trees, the
+empty windows, even the sun-swept sky. His was the new face at the door,
+the new step on the floor. And the spy knew had she beheld an army corps
+it would have been no more significant, no more menacing, than the
+solitary _chasseur a cheval_ scouting in advance of the enemy.
+
+"We are saved!" exclaimed Marie, with irony. "Go quickly," she
+commanded, "to the bedroom on the second floor that opens upon the
+staircase, so that you can see all who pass. You are too ill to travel.
+They must find you in bed."
+
+"And you?" said Bertha.
+
+"I," cried Marie rapturously, "hasten to welcome our preserver!"
+
+The preserver was a peasant lad. Under the white dust his cheeks were
+burned a brown-red, his eyes, honest and blue, through much staring at
+the skies and at horizon lines, were puckered and encircled with tiny
+wrinkles. Responsibility had made him older than his years, and in
+speech brief. With the beautiful lady who with tears of joy ran to greet
+him, and who in an ecstasy of happiness pressed her cheek against the
+nose of his horse, he was unimpressed. He returned to her her papers
+and gravely echoed her answers to his questions. "This chateau," he
+repeated, "was occupied by their General Staff; they have left no
+wounded here; you saw the last of them pass a half-hour since." He
+gathered up his reins.
+
+Marie shrieked in alarm. "You will not leave us?" she cried.
+
+For the first time the young man permitted himself to smile. "Others
+arrive soon," he said.
+
+He touched his shako, wheeled his horse in the direction from which he
+had come, and a minute later Marie heard the hoofs echoing through the
+empty village.
+
+When they came, the others were more sympathetic. Even in times of war a
+beautiful woman is still a beautiful woman. And the staff officers who
+moved into the quarters so lately occupied by the enemy found in the
+presence of the Countess d'Aurillac nothing to distress them. In the
+absence of her dear friend, Madame Iverney, the chatelaine of the
+chateau, she acted as their hostess. Her chauffeur showed the company
+cooks the way to the kitchen, the larder, and the charcoal-box. She,
+herself, in the hands of General Andre placed the keys of the famous
+wine-cellar, and to the surgeon, that the wounded might be freshly
+bandaged, intrusted those of the linen-closet. After the indignities she
+had suffered while "detained" by _les Boches_, her delight and relief at
+again finding herself under the protection of her own people would have
+touched a heart of stone. And the hearts of the staff were not of stone.
+It was with regret they gave the countess permission to continue on her
+way. At this she exclaimed with gratitude. She assured them, were her
+aunt able to travel, she would immediately depart.
+
+"In Paris she will be more comfortable than here," said the kind
+surgeon. He was a reservist, and in times of peace a fashionable
+physician and as much at his ease in a boudoir as in a field hospital.
+"Perhaps if I saw Madame Benet?"
+
+At the suggestion the countess was overjoyed. But they found Madame
+Benet in a state of complete collapse. The conduct of the Germans had
+brought about a nervous breakdown.
+
+"Though the bridges are destroyed at Meaux," urged the surgeon, "even
+with a detour, you can be in Paris in four hours. I think it is worth
+the effort."
+
+But the mere thought of the journey threw Madame Benet into hysterics.
+She asked only to rest, she begged for an opiate to make her sleep. She
+begged also that they would leave the door open, so that when she
+dreamed she was still in the hands of the Germans, and woke in terror,
+the sound of the dear French voices and the sight of the beloved French
+uniforms might reassure her. She played her part well. Concerning her
+Marie felt not the least anxiety. But toward Briand, the chauffeur, the
+new arrivals were less easily satisfied.
+
+The general sent his adjutant for the countess. When the adjutant had
+closed the door General Andre began abruptly:
+
+"The chauffeur Briand," he asked, "you know him; you can vouch for him?"
+
+"But, certainly!" protested Marie. "He is an Italian."
+
+As though with sudden enlightenment, Marie laughed. It was as if now in
+the suspicion of the officer she saw a certain reasonableness. "Briand
+was so long in the Foreign Legion in Algiers," she explained, "where my
+husband found him, that we have come to think of him as French. As much
+French as ourselves, I assure you."
+
+The general and his adjutant were regarding each other questioningly.
+
+"Perhaps I should tell the countess," began the general, "that we have
+learned--"
+
+The signal from the adjutant was so slight, so swift, that Marie barely
+intercepted it.
+
+The lips of the general shut together like the leaves of a book. To show
+the interview was at an end, he reached for a pen.
+
+"I thank you," he said.
+
+"Of course," prompted the adjutant, "Madame d'Aurillac understands the
+man must not know we inquired concerning him."
+
+General Andre frowned at Marie.
+
+"Certainly not!" he commanded. "The honest fellow must not know that
+even for a moment he was doubted."
+
+Marie raised the violet eyes reprovingly.
+
+"I trust," she said with reproach, "I too well understand the feelings
+of a French soldier to let him know his loyalty is questioned."
+
+With a murmur of appreciation the officers bowed and with a gesture of
+gracious pardon Marie left them.
+
+Outside in the hall, with none but orderlies to observe, like a cloak
+the graciousness fell from her. She was drawn two ways. In her work
+Anfossi was valuable. But Anfossi suspected was less than of no value;
+he became a menace, a death-warrant.
+
+General Andre had said, "We have learned--" and the adjutant had halted
+him. What had he learned? To know that, Marie would have given much.
+Still, one important fact comforted her. Anfossi alone was suspected.
+Had there been concerning herself the slightest doubt, they certainly
+would not have allowed her to guess her companion was under
+surveillance; they would not have asked one who was herself suspected to
+vouch for the innocence of a fellow conspirator. Marie found the course
+to follow difficult. With Anfossi under suspicion his usefulness was for
+the moment at an end; and to accept the chance offered her to continue
+on to Paris seemed most wise. On the other hand, if, concerning Anfossi,
+she had succeeded in allaying their doubts, the results most to be
+desired could be attained only by remaining where they were.
+
+Their position inside the lines was of the greatest strategic value. The
+rooms of the servants were under the roof, and that Briand should sleep
+in one of them was natural. That to reach or leave his room he should
+constantly be ascending or descending the stairs also was natural. The
+field-wireless outfit, or, as he had disdainfully described it, the
+"knapsack" wireless, was situated not in the bedroom he had selected for
+himself, but in one adjoining. At other times this was occupied by the
+maid of Madame Iverney. To summon her maid Madame Iverney, from her
+apartment on the second floor, had but to press a button. And it was in
+the apartment of Madame Iverney, and on the bed of that lady, that
+Madame Benet now reclined. When through the open door she saw an officer
+or soldier mount the stairs, she pressed the button that rang a bell in
+the room of the maid. In this way, long before whoever was ascending the
+stairs could reach the top floor, warning of his approach came to
+Anfossi. It gave him time to replace the dust-board over the fireplace
+in which the wireless was concealed and to escape into his own bedroom.
+The arrangement was ideal. And already information picked up in the
+halls below by Marie had been conveyed to Anfossi to relay in a French
+cipher to the German General Staff at Rheims.
+
+Marie made an alert and charming hostess. To all who saw her it was
+evident that her mind was intent only upon the comfort of her guests.
+Throughout the day many came and went, but each she made welcome; to
+each as he departed she called "_bonne chance_." Efficient, tireless,
+tactful, she was everywhere: in the dining-room, in the kitchen, in the
+bedrooms, for the wounded finding mattresses to spread in the gorgeous
+salons of the champagne prince; for the soldier-chauffeurs carrying
+wine into the courtyard, where the automobiles panted and growled, and
+the arriving and departing shrieked for right of way. At all times an
+alluring person, now the one woman in a tumult of men, her smart frock
+covered by an apron, her head and arms bare, undismayed by the sight of
+the wounded or by the distant rumble of the guns, the Countess
+d'Aurillac was an inspiring and beautiful picture. The eyes of the
+officers, young and old, informed her of that fact, one of which already
+she was well aware. By the morning of the next day she was accepted as
+the owner of the chateau. And though continually she reminded the staff
+she was present only as the friend of her schoolmate, Madame Iverney,
+they deferred to her as to a hostess. Many of them she already saluted
+by name, and to those who with messages were constantly motoring to and
+from the front at Soissons she was particularly kind. Overnight the
+legend of her charm, of her devotion to the soldiers of all ranks, had
+spread from Soissons to Meaux, and from Meaux to Paris. It was noon of
+that day when from the window of the second story Marie saw an armored
+automobile sweep into the courtyard. It was driven by an officer, young
+and appallingly good-looking, and, as was obvious by the way he spun
+his car, one who held in contempt both the law of gravity and death.
+That he was some one of importance seemed evident. Before he could
+alight the adjutant had raced to meet him. With her eye for detail Marie
+observed that the young officer, instead of imparting information,
+received it. He must, she guessed, have just arrived from Paris, and his
+brother officer either was telling him the news or giving him his
+orders. Whichever it might be, in what was told him the new arrival was
+greatly interested. One instant in indignation his gauntleted fist beat
+upon the steering-wheel, the next he smiled with pleasure. To interpret
+this pantomime was difficult; and, the better to inform herself, Marie
+descended the stairs.
+
+As she reached the lower hall the two officers entered. To the spy the
+man last to arrive was always the one of greatest importance; and Marie
+assured herself that through her friend, the adjutant, to meet with this
+one would prove easy.
+
+But the chauffeur commander of the armored car made it most difficult.
+At sight of Marie, much to her alarm, as though greeting a dear friend,
+he snatched his kepi from his head and sprang toward her.
+
+"The major," he cried, "told me you were here, that you are Madame
+d'Aurillac." His eyes spoke his admiration. In delight he beamed upon
+her. "I might have known it!" he murmured. With the confidence of one
+who is sure he brings good news, he laughed happily. "And I," he cried,
+"am 'Pierrot'!"
+
+Who the devil "Pierrot" might be the spy could not guess. She knew only
+that she wished by a German shell "Pierrot" and his car had been blown
+to tiny fragments. Was it a trap, she asked herself, or was the handsome
+youth really some one the Countess d'Aurillac should know. But, as from
+his introducing himself it was evident he could not know that lady very
+well, Marie took courage and smiled.
+
+"_Which_ 'Pierrot'?" she parried.
+
+"Pierre Thierry!" cried the youth.
+
+To the relief of Marie he turned upon the adjutant and to him explained
+who Pierre Thierry might be.
+
+"Paul d'Aurillac," he said, "is my dearest friend. When he married this
+charming lady I was stationed in Algiers, and but for the war I might
+never have met her."
+
+To Marie, with his hand on his heart in a most charming manner, he
+bowed. His admiration he made no effort to conceal.
+
+"And so," he said, "I know why there is war!"
+
+The adjutant smiled indulgently, and departed on his duties, leaving
+them alone. The handsome eyes of Captain Thierry were raised to the
+violet eyes of Marie. They appraised her boldly and as boldly expressed
+their approval.
+
+In burlesque the young man exclaimed indignantly: "Paul deceived me!" he
+cried. "He told me he had married the most beautiful woman in Laon. He
+has married the most beautiful woman in France!"
+
+To Marie this was not impertinence, but gallantry.
+
+This was a language she understood, and this was the type of man,
+because he was the least difficult to manage, she held most in contempt.
+
+"But about you, Paul did not deceive me," she retorted. In apparent
+confusion her eyes refused to meet his. "He told me 'Pierrot' was a most
+dangerous man!"
+
+She continued hurriedly. With wifely solicitude she asked concerning
+Paul. She explained that for a week she had been a prisoner in the
+chateau, and, since the mobilization, of her husband save that he was
+with his regiment in Paris she had heard nothing. Captain Thierry was
+able to give her later news. Only the day previous, on the boulevards,
+he had met Count d'Aurillac. He was at the Grand Hotel, and as Thierry
+was at once motoring back to Paris he would give Paul news of their
+meeting. He hoped he might tell him that soon his wife also would be in
+Paris. Marie explained that only the illness of her aunt prevented her
+from that same day joining her husband. Her manner became serious.
+
+"And what other news have you?" she asked. "Here on the firing-line we
+know less of what is going forward than you in Paris."
+
+So Pierre Thierry told her all he knew. They were preparing despatches
+he was at once to carry back to the General Staff, and, for the moment,
+his time was his own. How could he better employ it than in talking of
+the war with a patriotic and charming French woman?
+
+In consequence Marie acquired a mass of facts, gossip, and guesses. From
+these she mentally selected such information as, to her employers across
+the Aisne, would be of vital interest.
+
+And to rid herself of Thierry and on the fourth floor seek Anfossi was
+now her only wish. But, in attempting this, by the return of the
+adjutant she was delayed. To Thierry the adjutant gave a sealed
+envelope.
+
+"Thirty-one, Boulevard des Invalides," he said. With a smile he turned
+to Marie. "And you will accompany him!"
+
+"I!" exclaimed Marie. She was sick with sudden terror.
+
+But the tolerant smile of the adjutant reassured her.
+
+"The count, your husband," he explained, "has learned of your detention
+here by the enemy, and he has besieged the General Staff to have you
+convoyed safely to Paris." The adjutant glanced at a field telegram he
+held open in his hand. "He asks," he continued, "that you be permitted
+to return in the car of his friend, Captain Thierry, and that on
+arriving you join him at the Grand Hotel."
+
+Thierry exclaimed with delight.
+
+"But how charming!" he cried. "To-night you must both dine with me at La
+Rue's." He saluted his superior officer. "Some petrol, sir," he said.
+"And I am ready." To Marie he added: "The car will be at the steps in
+five minutes." He turned and left them.
+
+The thoughts of Marie, snatching at an excuse for delay, raced madly.
+The danger of meeting the Count d'Aurillac, her supposed husband, did
+not alarm her. The Grand Hotel has many exits, and, even before they
+reached it, for leaving the car she could invent an excuse that the
+gallant Thierry would not suspect. But what now concerned her was how,
+before she was whisked away to Paris, she could convey to Anfossi the
+information she had gathered from Thierry. First, of a woman overcome
+with delight at being reunited with her husband she gave an excellent
+imitation; then she exclaimed in distress: "But my aunt, Madame Benet!"
+she cried. "I cannot leave her!"
+
+"The Sisters of St. Francis," said the adjutant, "arrive within an hour
+to nurse the wounded. They will care also for your aunt."
+
+Marie concealed her chagrin. "Then I will at once prepare to go," she
+said.
+
+The adjutant handed her a slip of paper. "Your _laisser-passer_ to
+Paris," he said. "You leave in five minutes, madame!"
+
+As temporary hostess of the chateau Marie was free to visit any part of
+it, and as she passed her door a signal from Madame Benet told her that
+Anfossi was on the fourth floor, that he was at work, and that the coast
+was clear. Softly, in the felt slippers she always wore, as she
+explained, in order not to disturb the wounded, she mounted the
+staircase. In her hand she carried the housekeeper's keys, and as an
+excuse it was her plan to return with an armful of linen for the
+arriving Sisters. But Marie never reached the top of the stairs. When
+her eyes rose to the level of the fourth floor she came to a sudden
+halt. At what she saw terror gripped her, bound her hand and foot, and
+turned her blood to ice.
+
+At her post for an instant Madame Benet had slept, and an officer of the
+staff, led by curiosity, chance, or suspicion, had, unobserved and
+unannounced, mounted to the fourth floor. When Marie saw him he was in
+front of the room that held the wireless. His back was toward her, but
+she saw that he was holding the door to the room ajar, that his eye was
+pressed to the opening, and that through it he had pushed the muzzle of
+his automatic. What would be the fate of Anfossi Marie knew. Nor did she
+for an instant consider it. Her thoughts were of her own safety; that
+she might live. Not that she might still serve the Wilhelmstrasse, the
+Kaiser, or the Fatherland; but that she might live. In a moment Anfossi
+would be denounced, the chateau would ring with the alarm, and, though
+she knew Anfossi would not betray her, by others she might be accused.
+To avert suspicion from herself she saw only one way open. She must be
+the first to denounce Anfossi.
+
+Like a deer she leaped down the marble stairs and, in a panic she had
+no need to assume, burst into the presence of the staff.
+
+"Gentlemen!" she gasped, "my servant--the chauffeur--Briand is a spy!
+There is a German wireless in the chateau. He is using it! I have seen
+him." With exclamations, the officers rose to their feet. General Andre
+alone remained seated. General Andre was a veteran of many Colonial
+wars: Cochin-China, Algiers, Morocco. The great war, when it came, found
+him on duty in the Intelligence Department. His aquiline nose, bristling
+white eyebrows, and flashing, restless eyes gave him his nickname of
+_l'Aigle_.
+
+In amazement, the flashing eyes were now turned upon Marie. He glared at
+her as though he thought she suddenly had flown mad.
+
+"A German wireless!" he protested. "It is impossible!"
+
+"I was on the fourth floor," panted Marie, "collecting linen for the
+Sisters. In the room next to the linen closet I heard a strange buzzing
+sound. I opened the door softly. I saw Briand with his back to me seated
+by an instrument. There were receivers clamped to his ears! My God! The
+disgrace. The disgrace to my husband and to me, who vouched for him to
+you!" Apparently in an agony of remorse, the fingers of the woman laced
+and interlaced. "I cannot forgive myself!"
+
+The officers moved toward the door, but General Andre halted them. Still
+in a tone of incredulity, he demanded: "When did you see this?"
+
+Marie knew the question was coming, knew she must explain how she saw
+Briand, and yet did not see the staff officer who, with his prisoner,
+might now at any instant appear. She must make it plain she had
+discovered the spy and left the upper part of the house before the
+officer had visited it. When that was she could not know, but the chance
+was that he had preceded her by only a few minutes.
+
+"When did you see this?" repeated the general.
+
+"But just now," cried Marie; "not ten minutes since."
+
+"Why did you not come to me at once?"
+
+"I was afraid," replied Marie. "If I moved I was afraid he might hear
+me, and he, knowing I would expose him, would kill me--and so _escape
+you!_" There was an eager whisper of approval. For silence, General
+Andre slapped his hand upon the table.
+
+"Then," continued Marie, "I understood with the receivers on his ears he
+could not have heard me open the door, nor could he hear me leave, and
+I ran to my aunt. The thought that we had harbored such an animal
+sickened me, and I was weak enough to feel faint. But only for an
+instant. Then I came here." She moved swiftly to the door. "Let me show
+you the room," she begged; "you can take him in the act." Her eyes, wild
+with the excitement of the chase, swept the circle. "Will you come?" she
+begged.
+
+Unconscious of the crisis he interrupted, the orderly on duty opened the
+door.
+
+"Captain Thierry's compliments," he recited mechanically, "and is he to
+delay longer for Madame d'Aurillac?"
+
+With a sharp gesture General Andre waved Marie toward the door. Without
+rising, he inclined his head. "Adieu, madame," he said. "We act at once
+upon your information. I thank you!"
+
+As she crossed from the hall to the terrace, the ears of the spy were
+assaulted by a sudden tumult of voices. They were raised in threats and
+curses. Looking back, she saw Anfossi descending the stairs. His hands
+were held above his head; behind him, with his automatic, the staff
+officer she had surprised on the fourth floor was driving him forward.
+Above the clenched fists of the soldiers that ran to meet him, the eyes
+of Anfossi were turned toward her. His face was expressionless. His eyes
+neither accused nor reproached. And with the joy of one who has looked
+upon and then escaped the guillotine, Marie ran down the steps to the
+waiting automobile. With a pretty cry of pleasure she leaped into the
+seat beside Thierry. Gayly she threw out her arms. "To Paris!" she
+commanded. The handsome eyes of Thierry, eloquent with admiration,
+looked back into hers. He stooped, threw in the clutch, and the great
+gray car, with the machine gun and its crew of privates guarding the
+rear, plunged through the park.
+
+"To Paris!" echoed Thierry.
+
+In the order in which Marie had last seen them, Anfossi and the staff
+officer entered the room of General Andre, and upon the soldiers in the
+hall the door was shut. The face of the staff officer was grave, but his
+voice could not conceal his elation.
+
+"My general," he reported, "I found this man in the act of giving
+information to the enemy. There is a wireless--"
+
+General Andre rose slowly. He looked neither at the officer nor at his
+prisoner. With frowning eyes he stared down at the maps upon his table.
+
+"I know," he interrupted. "Some one has already told me." He paused,
+and then, as though recalling his manners, but still without raising his
+eyes, he added: "You have done well, sir."
+
+In silence the officers of the staff stood motionless. With surprise
+they noted that, as yet, neither in anger nor curiosity had General
+Andre glanced at the prisoner. But of the presence of the general the
+spy was most acutely conscious. He stood erect, his arms still raised,
+but his body strained forward, and on the averted eyes of the general
+his own were fixed.
+
+In an agony of supplication they asked a question.
+
+At last, as though against his wish, toward the spy the general turned
+his head, and their eyes met. And still General Andre was silent. Then
+the arms of the spy, like those of a runner who has finished his race
+and breasts the tape exhausted, fell to his sides. In a voice low and
+vibrant he spoke his question.
+
+"It has been so long, sir," he pleaded. "May I not come home?"
+
+General Andre turned to the astonished group surrounding him. His voice
+was hushed like that of one who speaks across an open grave.
+
+"Gentlemen," he began, "my children," he added. "A German spy, a woman,
+involved in a scandal your brother in arms, Henri Ravignac. His honor,
+he thought, was concerned, and without honor he refused to live. To
+prove him guiltless his younger brother Charles asked leave to seek out
+the woman who had betrayed Henri, and by us was detailed on secret
+service. He gave up home, family, friends. He lived in exile, in
+poverty, at all times in danger of a swift and ignoble death. In the War
+Office we know him as one who has given to his country services she
+cannot hope to reward. For she cannot return to him the years he has
+lost. She cannot return to him his brother. But she can and will clear
+the name of Henri Ravignac, and upon his brother Charles bestow
+promotion and honors."
+
+The general turned and embraced the spy. "My children," he said,
+"welcome your brother. He has come home."
+
+Before the car had reached the fortifications, Marie Gessler had
+arranged her plan of escape. She had departed from the chateau without
+even a hand-bag, and she would say that before the shops closed she must
+make purchases.
+
+Le Printemps lay in their way, and she asked that, when they reached it,
+for a moment she might alight. Captain Thierry readily gave permission.
+
+From the department store it would be most easy to disappear, and in
+anticipation Marie smiled covertly. Nor was the picture of Captain
+Thierry impatiently waiting outside unamusing.
+
+But before Le Printemps was approached, the car turned sharply down a
+narrow street. On one side, along its entire length, ran a high gray
+wall, grim and forbidding. In it was a green gate studded with iron
+bolts. Before this the automobile drew suddenly to a halt. The crew of
+the armored car tumbled off the rear seat, and one of them beat upon the
+green gate. Marie felt a hand of ice clutch at her throat. But she
+controlled herself.
+
+"And what is this?" she cried gayly.
+
+At her side Captain Thierry was smiling down at her, but his smile was
+hateful.
+
+"It is the prison of St. Lazare," he said. "It is not becoming," he
+added sternly, "that the name of the Countess d'Aurillac should be made
+common as the Paris road!"
+
+Fighting for her life, Marie thrust herself against him; her arm that
+throughout the journey had rested on the back of the driving-seat
+caressed his shoulders; her lips and the violet eyes were close to his.
+
+"Why should you care?" she whispered fiercely. "You have _me_! Let the
+Count d'Aurillac look after the honor of his wife himself."
+
+The charming Thierry laughed at her mockingly.
+
+"He means to," he said. "I _am_ the Count d'Aurillac!"
+
+
+
+
+PLAYING DEAD
+
+
+To fate, "Jimmie" Blagwin had signalled the "supreme gesture." He had
+accomplished the Great Adventure. He was dead.
+
+And as he sat on his trunk in the tiny hall bedroom, and in the
+afternoon papers read of his suicide, his eyes were lit with pleasurable
+pride. Not at the nice things the obituaries told of his past, but
+because his act of self-sacrifice, so carefully considered, had been
+carried to success. As he read Jimmie smiled with self-congratulation.
+He felt glad he was alive; or, to express it differently, felt glad he
+was dead. And he hoped Jeanne, his late wife, now his widow, also would
+be glad. But not _too_ glad. In return for relieving Jeanne of his
+presence he hoped she might at times remember him with kindness. Of her
+always would he think gratefully and tenderly. Nothing could end his
+love for Jeanne--not even this suicide.
+
+As children, in winter in New York, in summer on Long Island, Jimmie
+Blagwin and Jeanne Thayer had grown up together. They had the same
+tastes in sports, the same friends, the same worldly advantages.
+Neither of them had many ideas. It was after they married that Jeanne
+began to borrow ideas and doubt the advantages.
+
+For the first three years after the wedding, in the old farmhouse which
+Jimmie had made over into a sort of idealized country club, Jeanne lived
+a happy, healthy, out-of-door existence. To occupy her there were
+Jimmie's hunters and a pack of joyous beagles; for tennis, at week-ends
+Jimmie filled the house with men, and during the week they both played
+polo, he with the Meadow Brooks and she with the Meadow Larks, and the
+golf links of Piping Rock ran almost to their lodge-gate. Until Proctor
+Maddox took a cottage at Glen Cove and joined the golf-club, than Jeanne
+and Jimmie on all Long Island no couple were so content.
+
+At that time Proctor Maddox was the young and brilliant editor of the
+_Wilderness_ magazine, the wilderness being the world we live in, and
+the Voice crying in it the voice of Proctor Maddox. He was a Socialist
+and Feminist, he flirted with syndicalism, and he had a good word even
+for the I.W.W. He was darkly handsome, his eyeglasses were fastened to a
+black ribbon, and he addressed his hostess as "dear lady." He was that
+sort. Women described him as "dangerous," and liked him because he
+talked of things they did not understand, and because he told each of
+them it was easy to see it would be useless to flatter _her_. The men
+did not like him. The oldest and wealthiest members of the club
+protested that the things Maddox said in his magazine should exclude him
+from the society of law-abiding, money-making millionaires. But Freddy
+Bayliss, the leader of the younger crowd, said that, to him, it did not
+matter what Maddox said in the _Wilderness_, so long as he stayed there.
+It was Bayliss who christened him "the Voice."
+
+Until the Voice came to Glen Cove all that troubled Jeanne was that her
+pony had sprained a tendon, and that in the mixed doubles her eye was
+off the ball. Proctor Maddox suggested other causes for discontent.
+
+"What does it matter," he demanded, "whether you hit a rubber ball
+inside a whitewashed line, or not? That energy, that brain, that
+influence of yours over others, that something men call--charm, should
+be exerted to emancipate yourself and your unfortunate sisters."
+
+"Emaciate myself," protested Jeanne eagerly; "do you mean I'm taking on
+flesh?"
+
+"I said 'emancipate,'" corrected Maddox. "I mean to free yourself of the
+bonds that bind your sex; for instance, the bonds of matrimony. It is
+obsolete, barbarous. It makes of women--slaves and chattels."
+
+"But, since I married, I'm _much_ freer," protested Jeanne. "Mother
+never let me play polo, or ride astride. But Jimmie lets me. He says
+cross saddle is safer."
+
+"Jimmie _lets_ you!" mocked the Voice. "_That_ is exactly what I mean.
+Why should you go to him, or to any man, for permission? Are you his
+cook asking for an evening out? No! You are a free soul, and your duty
+is to keep your soul from bondage. There are others in the world besides
+your husband. What of your duty to them? Have you ever thought of them?"
+
+"No, I have not," confessed Jeanne. "Who do you mean by 'them'?
+Shop-girls, and white slaves, and women who want to vote?"
+
+"I mean the great army of the discontented," explained the Voice.
+
+"And should I be discontented?" asked Jeanne. "Tell me why."
+
+So, then and on many other occasions, Maddox told her why. It was one of
+the best things he did.
+
+People say, when the triangle forms, the husband always is the last to
+see. But, if he loves his wife, he is the first. And after three years
+of being married to Jeanne, and, before that, five years of wanting to
+marry Jeanne, Jimmie loved her devotedly, entirely, slavishly. It was
+the best thing _he_ did. So, when to Jeanne the change came, her husband
+recognized it. What the cause was he could not fathom; he saw only that,
+in spite of her impatient denials, she was discontented, restless,
+unhappy. Thinking it might be that for too long they had gone "back to
+the land," he suggested they might repeat their honeymoon in Paris. The
+idea was received only with alarm. Concerning Jeanne, Jimmie decided
+secretly to consult a doctor. Meanwhile he bought her a new hunter.
+
+The awakening came one night at a dance at the country club. That
+evening Jeanne was filled with unrest, and with Jimmie seemed
+particularly aggrieved. Whatever he said gave offense; even his
+eagerness to conciliate her was too obvious. With the other men who did
+not dance, Jimmie was standing in the doorway when, over the heads of
+those looking in from the veranda, he saw the white face and black eyes
+of Maddox. Jimmie knew Maddox did not dance, at those who danced had
+heard him jeer, and his presence caused him mild surprise. The editor,
+leaning forward, unconscious that he was conspicuous, searched the
+ballroom with his eyes. They were anxious, unsatisfied; they gave to his
+pale face the look of one who is famished. Then suddenly his face lit
+and he nodded eagerly. Following the direction of his eyes, Jimmie saw
+his wife, over the shoulder of her partner, smiling at Maddox. Her face
+was radiant; a great peace had descended upon it.
+
+Jimmie knew just as surely as though Jeanne had told him. He walked out
+and sat down on the low wall of the terrace with his back to the
+club-house and his legs dangling. Below him in the moonlight lay the
+great basin of the golf links, the white rectangle of the polo fields
+with the gallows-like goals, and on a hill opposite, above the
+tree-tops, the chimneys of his house. He was down for a tennis match the
+next morning, and the sight of his home suggested to him only that he
+ought to be in bed and asleep.
+
+Then he recognized that he never would sleep again. He went over it from
+the beginning, putting the pieces together. He never had liked Maddox,
+but he had explained that by the fact that, as Maddox was so much more
+intelligent than he, there could be little between them. And it was
+because every one said he was so intelligent that he had looked upon his
+devotion to Jeanne rather as a compliment. He wondered why already it
+had not been plain to him. When Jeanne, who mocked at golf as a refuge
+for old age, spent hours with Maddox on the links; when, after she had
+declined to ride with her husband, on his return he would find her at
+tea with Maddox in front of the wood fire.
+
+That night, when he drove Jeanne home, she still was joyous, radiant; it
+was now she who chided him upon being silent.
+
+He waited until noon the next morning and then asked her if it were
+true. It was true. Jeanne thanked him for coming to her so honestly and
+straightforwardly. She also had been straightforward and honest. They
+had waited, she said, not through deceit but only out of consideration
+for him.
+
+"Before we told you," Jeanne explained, "we wanted to be quite sure that
+_I_ was sure."
+
+The "we" hurt Jimmie like the stab of a rusty knife.
+
+But he said only: "And you _are_ sure? Three years ago you were sure you
+loved _me_."
+
+Jeanne's eyes were filled with pity, but she said: "That was three years
+ago. I was a child, and now I am a woman. In many ways you have stood
+still and I have gone on."
+
+"That's true," said Jimmie; "you always were too good for me."
+
+"_No_ woman is good enough for you," returned Jeanne loyally. "And your
+brains are just as good as mine, only you haven't used them. I have
+questioned and reached out and gained knowledge of all kinds. I am a
+Feminist and you are not. If you were you would understand."
+
+"I don't know even what a Feminist is," said Jimmie, "but I'm glad I'm
+not one."
+
+"A Feminist is one," explained Jeanne, "who does not think her life
+should be devoted to one person, but to the world."
+
+Jimmie shook his head and smiled miserably.
+
+"_You_ are _my_ world," he said. "The only world I know. The only world
+I want to know."
+
+He walked to the fireplace and leaned his elbows on the mantel, and
+buried his head in his hands. But that his distress might not hurt
+Jeanne, he turned and, to give her courage, smiled.
+
+"If you are going to devote yourself to the World," he asked, "and not
+to any one person, why can't I sort of trail along? Why need you leave
+me and go with--with some one else?"
+
+"For the work I hope to do," answered Jeanne, "you and I are not suited.
+But Proctor and I are suited. He says he never met a woman who
+understands him as I do."
+
+"Hell!" said Jimmie. After that he did not speak for some time. Then he
+asked roughly:
+
+"He's going to marry you, of course?"
+
+Jeanne flushed crimson.
+
+"Of course!" she retorted. Her blush looked like indignation, and so
+Jimmie construed it, but it was the blush of embarrassment. For Maddox
+considered the ceremony of marriage an ignoble and barbaric bond. It
+degraded the woman, he declared, in making her a slave, and the man in
+that he accepted such a sacrifice. Jeanne had not argued with him. Until
+she were free, to discuss it with him seemed indecent. But in her own
+mind there was no doubt. If she were to be the helpmate of Proctor
+Maddox in uplifting the world, she would be Mrs. Proctor Maddox; or,
+much as he was to her, each would uplift the world alone. But she did
+not see the necessity of explaining all this to Jimmie, so she said: "Of
+course!"
+
+"I will see the lawyers to-morrow," said Jimmie. "It will take some time
+to arrange, and so," he added hopefully, "you can think it over."
+
+Jeanne exclaimed miserably:
+
+"I have thought of nothing else," she cried, "for six months!"
+
+Jimmie bent above her and laid his hand upon her shoulder.
+
+"I am sorry, so sorry," he said. "If I'd any brains I'd have seen how it
+was long ago. Now I'll not waste time. You'll be rid of me as quick as
+the courts can fix it."
+
+He started for the door, but Jeanne caught his hand.
+
+"Won't you kiss me, Jimmie?" she said.
+
+Jimmie hesitated unhappily and Jeanne raised her eyes to his.
+
+"Not since we were married, Jimmie," she said, "has any one kissed me
+but you."
+
+So Jimmie bent and kissed her. She clung to his sleeve.
+
+"Jimmie," she begged, "you haven't told me you forgive me. Unless you
+forgive me I can't go on with it. Tell me you forgive me!"
+
+"Forgive you?" protested Jimmie. "I love you!"
+
+When Jimmie went to the office of the lawyer, who also was his best
+friend, and told him that Jennie wanted a separation, that young man
+kicked the waste-paper basket against the opposite wall.
+
+"I'll not do it," he protested, "and I won't let you do it, either. Why
+should you smear your name and roll in the dirt and play dead to please
+Jeanne? If Jeanne thinks I'm going to send you to a Raines hotel and
+follow you up with detectives to furnish her with a fake divorce, you
+can tell her I won't. What are they coming to?" demanded the best
+friend. "What do they want? A man gives a woman all his love, all his
+thoughts, gives her his name, his home; only asks to work his brains out
+for her, only asks to see her happy. And she calls it 'charity,' calls
+herself a 'slave'!" The best friend kicked violently at the place where
+the waste-basket had been. "_Give_ them the vote, I say," he shouted.
+"It's all they're good for!"
+
+The violence of his friend did not impress Jimmie. As he walked up-town
+the only part of the interview he carried with him was that there must
+be no scandal. Not on his account. If Jeanne wished it, he assured
+himself, in spite of the lawyer, he was willing, in the metaphor of that
+gentleman, to "roll in the dirt and play dead." "Play dead!" The words
+struck him full in the face. Were he dead and out of the way, Jeanne,
+without a touch of scandal, could marry the man she loved. Jimmie halted
+in his tracks. He believed he saw the only possible exit. He turned
+into a side street, and between the silent houses, closed for the
+summer, worked out his plan. For long afterward that city block remained
+in his memory; the doctors' signs on the sills, the caretakers seeking
+the air, the chauffeurs at the cab rank. For hours they watched the
+passing and repassing of the young man, who with bent head and fixed
+eyes struck at the pavement with his stick.
+
+That he should really kill himself Jimmie did not for a moment
+contemplate. To him self-destruction appeared only as an offense against
+nature. On his primitive, out-of-door, fox-hunting mind the ethics of
+suicide lay as uneasily as absinthe on the stomach of a baby. But, he
+argued, by _pretending_ he were dead, he could set Jeanne free, could
+save her from gossip, and could still dream of her, love her, and occupy
+with her, if not the same continent, the same world.
+
+He had three problems to solve, and as he considered them he devotedly
+wished he might consult with a brain more clever than his own. But an
+accomplice was out of the question. Were he to succeed, everybody must
+be fooled; no one could share his secret. It was "a lone game, played
+alone, and without my partner."
+
+The three problems were: first, in order to protect his wife, to
+provide for the suicide a motive other than the attentions of Maddox;
+second, to make the suicide look like a real suicide; third, without
+later creating suspicion, to draw enough money from the bank to keep
+himself alive after he was dead. For his suicide Jeanne must not hold
+herself to blame; she must not believe her conduct forced his end; above
+every one else, she must be persuaded that in bringing about his death
+she was completely innocent. What reasons then were accepted for
+suicide?
+
+As to this, Jimmie, refusing to consider the act justified for any
+reason, was somewhat at a loss. He had read of men who, owing to loss of
+honor, loss of fortune, loss of health, had "gone out." He was
+determined he owed it to himself not to go out under a cloud, and he
+could not lose his money, as then there would be none to leave Jeanne;
+so he must lose his health. As except for broken arms and collar-bones
+he never had known a sick-bed, this last was as difficult as the others,
+but it must serve. After much consideration he decided he would go
+blind. At least he would pretend he was going blind. To give a semblance
+of truth to this he would that day consult distinguished oculists and,
+in spite of their assurances, would tell them that slowly and surely
+his eyesight was failing him. He would declare to them, in the dread of
+such a catastrophe, he was of a mind to seek self-destruction. To others
+he would confide the secret of his blindness and his resolution not to
+survive it. And, later, all of these would remember and testify.
+
+The question of money also was difficult. After his death he no longer
+could sign a check or negotiate securities. He must have cash. But if
+from the bank he drew large sums of actual money, if he converted stocks
+and bonds into cash and a week later disappeared, apparently forever,
+questions as to what became of the sums he had collected would arise,
+and that his disappearance was genuine would be doubted. This difficulty
+made Jimmie for a moment wonder if being murdered for his money, and
+having his body concealed by the murderer, would not be better than
+suicide. It would, at least, explain the disappearance of the money. But
+he foresaw that for his murder some innocent one might be suspected and
+hanged. This suggested leaving behind him evidence to show that the one
+who murdered him was none other than Proctor Maddox. The idea appealed
+to his sense of humor and justice. It made the punishment fit the
+crime. Not without reluctance did he abandon it and return to his plan
+of suicide. But he recognized that to supply himself with any large sum
+of money would lead to suspicion and that he must begin his new life
+almost empty-handed. In his new existence he must work.
+
+For that day and until the next afternoon he remained in town, and in
+that time prepared the way for his final exit. At a respectable
+lodging-house on West Twenty-third Street, near the ferry, he gave his
+name as Henry Hull, and engaged a room. To this room, from a department
+store he never before had entered, he shipped a trunk and valise marked
+with his new initials and filled with clothes to suit his new estate. To
+supply himself with money, at banks, clubs, and restaurants he cashed
+many checks for small sums. The total of his collections, from places
+scattered over all the city, made quite a comfortable bank roll. And in
+his box at the safe-deposit vault he came upon a windfall. It was an
+emerald bracelet left him by an eccentric aunt who had lived and died in
+Paris. The bracelet he had offered to Jeanne, but she did not like it
+and had advised him to turn it into money and, as the aged relative had
+wished, spend it upon himself. That was three years since, and now were
+it missing Jeanne would believe that at some time in the past he had
+followed her advice. So he carried the bracelet away with him. For a
+year it would keep a single man in comfort.
+
+His next step was to acquaint himself with the nature of the affliction
+on account of which he was to destroy himself. At the public library he
+collected a half-dozen books treating of blindness, and selected his
+particular malady. He picked out glaucoma, and for his purpose it was
+admirably suited. For, so Jimmie discovered, in a case of glaucoma the
+oculist was completely at the mercy of the patient. Except to the
+patient the disease gave no sign. To an oculist a man might say, "Three
+nights ago my eyesight played me the following tricks," and from that
+the oculist would know the man was stricken with glaucoma; but the eyes
+would tell him nothing.
+
+The next morning to four oculists Jimmie detailed his symptoms. Each
+looked grave, and all diagnosed his trouble as glaucoma.
+
+"I knew it!" groaned Jimmie, and assured them sooner than go blind he
+would jump into the river. They pretended to treat this as an
+extravagance, but later, when each of them was interviewed, he
+remembered that Mr. Blagwin had threatened to drown himself. On his way
+to the train Jimmie purchased a pair of glasses and, in order to invite
+questions, in the club car pretended to read with them. When his friends
+expressed surprise, Jimmie told them of the oculists he had consulted,
+and that they had informed him his case was hopeless. If this proved
+true, he threatened to drown himself.
+
+On his return home he explained to Jeanne he had seen the lawyer, and
+that that gentleman suggested the less she knew of what was going on the
+better. In return Jeanne told him she had sent for Maddox and informed
+him that, until the divorce was secured, they had best not be seen
+together. The wisdom of this appealed even to Maddox, and already, to
+fill in what remained of the summer, he had departed for Bar Harbor. To
+Jimmie the relief of his absence was inexpressible. He had given himself
+only a week to live, and, for the few days still remaining to him, to be
+alone with Jeanne made him miserably happy. The next morning Jimmie
+confessed to his wife that his eyes were failing him. The trouble came,
+he explained, from a fall he had received the year before
+steeplechasing. He had not before spoken of it, as he did not wish to
+distress her. The oculists he had consulted gave him no hope. He would
+end it, he declared, in the gun-room.
+
+Jeanne was thoroughly alarmed. That her old playmate, lover, husband
+should come to such a plight at the very time she had struck him the
+hardest blow of all filled her with remorse. In a hundred ways she tried
+to make up to him for the loss of herself and for the loss of his eyes.
+She became his constant companion; never had she been so kind and so
+considerate. They saw no one from the outside, and each day through the
+wood paths that circled their house made silent pilgrimages. And each
+day on a bench, placed high, where the view was fairest, together, and
+yet so far apart, watched the sun sink into the sound.
+
+"These are the times I will remember," said Jimmie; "when--when I am
+alone."
+
+The last night they sat on the bench he took out his knife and carved
+the date--July, 1913.
+
+"What does that mean?" asked Jeanne.
+
+"It means to-night I seem to love you more and need you more than ever
+before," said Jimmie. "That is what it means. Will you remember?"
+
+Jeanne was looking away from him, but she stretched out her hand and
+laid it upon his.
+
+"To-morrow I am going to town," said Jimmie, "to see that oculist from
+Paris. They say what he tells you is the last word. And, if he says--"
+
+Jeanne swung toward him and with all the jealousy of possession held
+his hand. Her own eyes were blurred with tears.
+
+"He will tell you the others are wrong!" she cried. "I know he will. He
+must! You--who have always been so kind! God could not be so cruel!"
+
+Jimmie stopped her.
+
+"If I am not to see _you_--"
+
+During his last week at home Jimmie had invented a Doctor Picard, a
+distinguished French oculist, who, on a tour of the world, was by the
+rarest chance at that moment in New York. According to Jimmie, all the
+other oculists had insisted he must consult Picard, and might consider
+what Picard said as final. Picard was staying with a friend--Jimmie did
+not say where--and after receiving Jimmie was at once taking the train
+for San Francisco. As Jimmie had arranged his scenario, it was Picard
+who was to deal him his death sentence.
+
+Her husband seemed so entirely to depend on what Picard might say that
+Jeanne decided, should the verdict be unfavorable, she had best be at
+his side. But, as this would have upset Jimmie's plan, he argued against
+it. Should the news be bad, he pointed out, for her to receive it in her
+own home would be much easier for both. Jeanne felt she had been
+rebuffed, but that, if Jimmie did not want her with him, she no longer
+was in a position to insist.
+
+So she contented herself with driving him to the train and, before those
+who knew them at the station, kissing him good-by.
+
+Afterward, that she had done so comforted her greatly.
+
+"I'll be praying for you, Jimmie," she whispered. "And, as soon as you
+know, you'll--"
+
+So upset was Jimmie by the kiss, and by the knowledge that he was saying
+farewell for the last time, that he nearly exposed his purpose.
+
+"I want the last thing I say to you," he stammered, "to be this: that
+whatever you do will be right. I love you so that I will understand."
+
+When he arrived in New York, in his own name, he booked a stateroom on
+the _Ceramic_. She was listed to sail that evening after midnight. It
+was because she departed at that hour that for a week Jimmie had fixed
+upon her as furnishing the scene of his exit. During the day he told
+several of his friends that the report of the great oculist had been
+against him. Later, they recalled that he talked wildly, that he was
+deeply despondent. In the afternoon he sent a telegram to Jeanne:
+
+  "Verdict unfavorable. Will remain to-night in town.
+  All love. J."
+
+At midnight he went on board. The decks and saloons were swarming and
+noisy with seagoers, many of whom had come to the ship directly from the
+theatres and restaurants, the women bareheaded, in evening gowns. Jimmie
+felt grateful to them. They gave to the moment of his taking off an air
+of gentle gayety. Among those who were sailing, and those who had come
+to wish them "bon voyage," many were known to Jimmie. He told them he
+was going abroad at the command of his oculist. Also, he forced himself
+upon the notice of officers and stewards, giving them his name, and
+making inquiries concerning the non-appearance of fictitious baggage.
+Later, they also recalled the young man in dinner jacket and golf cap
+who had lost a dressing-case marked "James Blagwin."
+
+In his cabin Jimmie wrote two letters. The one to the captain of the
+ship read:
+
+  "After we pass Fire Island I am going overboard. Do
+  not make any effort to find me, as it will be useless.
+  I am sorry to put you to this trouble."
+
+The second letter was to Jeanne. It read:
+
+  "Picard agreed with the others. My case is hopeless.
+  I am ending all to-night. Forgive me. I leave you all
+  the love in all the world. Jimmie."
+
+When he had addressed these letters he rang for the steward.
+
+"I am not going to wait until we leave the dock," he said. "I am turning
+in now. I am very tired, and I don't want you to wake me on any excuse
+whatsoever until to-morrow at noon. Better still, don't come until I
+ring!"
+
+When the steward had left him, Jimmie pinned the two letters upon the
+pillow, changed the steamer-cap for an Alpine hat, and beneath a
+rain-coat concealed his evening clothes. He had purposely selected the
+deck cabin farthest aft. Accordingly, when after making the cabin dark
+he slipped from it, the break in the deck that separated the first from
+the second class passengers was but a step distant. The going-ashore
+bugles had sounded, and more tumult than would have followed had the
+ship struck a rock now spread to every deck. With sharp commands
+officers were speeding the parting guests; the parting guests were
+shouting passionate good-bys and sending messages to Aunt Maria;
+quartermasters howled hoarse warnings, donkey-engines panted under the
+weight of belated luggage, fall and tackle groaned and strained. And the
+ship's siren, enraged at the delay, protested in one long-drawn-out,
+inarticulate shriek.
+
+Jimmie slipped down the accommodation ladder that led to the well-deck,
+side-stepped a yawning hatch, dodged a swinging cargo net stuffed with
+trunks, and entered the second-class smoking-room. From there he elbowed
+his way to the second-class promenade deck. A stream of tearful and
+hilarious visitors who, like sheep in a chute, were being herded down
+the gangway, engulfed him. Unresisting, Jimmie let himself, by weight of
+numbers, be carried forward.
+
+A moment later he was shot back to the dock and to the country from
+which at that moment, in deck cabin A4, he was supposed to be drawing
+steadily away.
+
+Dodging the electric lights, on foot he made his way to his
+lodging-house. The night was warm and moist, and, seated on the stoop,
+stripped to shirt and trousers, was his landlord.
+
+He greeted Jimmie affably.
+
+"Evening, Mr. Hull," he said. "Hope this heat won't keep you awake."
+
+Jimmie thanked him and passed hurriedly.
+
+"Mr. Hull!"
+
+The landlord had said it.
+
+Somewhere out at sea, between Fire Island and Scotland Lightship, the
+waves were worrying with what once had been Jimmie Blagwin, and in a
+hall bedroom on Twenty-third Street Henry Hull, with frightened eyes,
+sat staring across the wharves, across the river, thinking of a
+farmhouse on Long Island.
+
+His last week on earth had been more of a strain on Jimmie than he
+appreciated; and the night the _Ceramic_ sailed he slept the drugged
+sleep of complete nervous exhaustion. Late the next morning, while he
+still slept, a passenger on the _Ceramic_ stumbled upon the fact of his
+disappearance. The man knew Jimmie; had greeted him the night before
+when he came on board, and was seeking him that he might subscribe to a
+pool on the run. When to his attack on Jimmie's door there was no reply,
+he peered through the air-port, saw on the pillow, where Jimmie's head
+should have been, two letters, and reported to the purser. Already the
+ship was three hundred miles from where Jimmie had announced he would
+drown himself; a search showed he was not on board, and the evidence of
+a smoking-room steward, who testified that at one o'clock he had left
+Mr. Blagwin alone on deck, gazing "mournful-like" at Fire Island, seemed
+to prove Jimmie had carried out his threat. When later the same
+passenger the steward had mistaken for Jimmie appeared in the
+smoking-room and ordered a drink from him, the steward was rattled. But
+as the person who had last seen Jimmie Blagwin alive he had gained
+melancholy interest, and, as his oft-told tale was bringing him many
+shillings, he did not correct it. Accordingly, from Cape Sable the news
+of Jimmie's suicide was reported. That afternoon it appeared in all the
+late editions of the evening papers.
+
+Pleading fever, Jimmie explained to his landlord that for him to venture
+out by day was most dangerous, and sent the landlord after the
+newspapers. The feelings with which he read them were mixed. He was
+proud of the complete success of his plot, but the inevitableness of it
+terrified him. The success was _too_ complete. He had left himself no
+loophole. He had locked the door on himself and thrown the key out of
+the window. Now, that she was lost to him forever, he found, if that
+were possible, he loved his wife more devotedly than before. He felt
+that to live in the same world with Jeanne and never speak to her, never
+even look at her, could not be borne. He was of a mind to rush to the
+wharf and take another leap into the dark waters, and this time without
+a life-line. From this he was restrained only by the thought that if he
+used infinite caution, at infrequent intervals, at a great distance, he
+still might look upon his wife. This he assured himself would be
+possible only after many years had aged him and turned his hair gray.
+Then on second thoughts he believed to wait so long was not absolutely
+necessary. It would be safe enough, he argued, if he grew a beard. He
+always had been clean-shaven, and he was confident a beard would
+disguise him. He wondered how long a time must pass before one would
+grow. Once on a hunting-trip he had gone for two weeks without shaving,
+and the result had not only disguised but disgusted him. His face had
+changed to one like those carved on cocoanuts. A recollection of this
+gave him great pleasure. His spirits rose happily. He saw himself in the
+rags of a tramp, his face hidden in an unkempt beard, skulking behind
+the hedges that surrounded his house. From this view-point, before
+sailing away from her forever, he would again steal a look at Jeanne. He
+determined to postpone his departure until he had grown a beard.
+Meanwhile he would plead illness, and keep to his room, or venture out
+only at night. Comforted by the thought that in two weeks he might again
+see his wife, as she sat on the terrace or walked in her gardens, he
+sank peaceably to sleep.
+
+The next morning the landlord brought him the papers. In them were many
+pictures of himself as a master of foxhounds, as a polo-player, as a
+gentleman jockey. The landlord looked at him curiously. Five minutes
+later, on a trivial excuse, he returned and again studied Jimmie as
+closely as though he were about to paint his portrait. Then two of the
+other boarders, chums of the landlord, knocked at the door, to borrow a
+match, to beg the loan of the morning paper. Each was obviously excited,
+each stared accusingly. Jimmie fell into a panic. He felt that if
+already his identity was questioned, than hiding in his room and growing
+a beard nothing could be more suspicious. At noon, for West Indian
+ports, a German boat was listed to sail from the Twenty-fourth Street
+wharf. Jimmie decided at once to sail with her and, until his beard was
+grown, not to return. It was necessary first to escape the suspicious
+landlord, and to that end he noiselessly packed his trunk and suit-case.
+In front of the house, in an unending procession, taxi-cabs returning
+empty from the Twenty-third Street ferry passed the door, and from the
+street Jimmie hailed one. Before the landlord could voice his doubts
+Jimmie was on the sidewalk, his bill had been paid, and, giving the
+address of a hotel on Fourteenth Street, he was away.
+
+At the Fourteenth Street hotel Jimmie dismissed the taxi-cab and asked
+for a room adjoining an imaginary Senator Gates. When the clerk told him
+Senator Gates was not at that hotel, Jimmie excitedly demanded to be led
+to the telephone. He telephoned the office of the steamship line: and,
+in the name of Henry Hull, secured a cabin. Then he explained to the
+clerk that over the telephone he had learned that his friend, Senator
+Gates, was at another hotel. He regretted that he must follow him.
+Another taxi was called, and Jimmie drove to an inconspicuous and
+old-fashioned hotel on the lower East Side, patronized exclusively by
+gunmen. There, in not finding Senator Gates, he was again disappointed,
+and now having broken the link that connected him with the suspicious
+landlord, he drove back to within a block of his original starting-point
+and went on board the ship. Not until she was off Sandy Hook did he
+leave his cabin.
+
+It was July, and passengers to the tropics were few; and when Jimmie
+ventured on deck he found most of them gathered at the port rail. They
+were gazing intently over the ship's side. Thinking the pilot might be
+leaving, Jimmie joined them. A young man in a yachting-cap was pointing
+north and speaking in the voice of a conductor of a "seeing New York"
+car.
+
+"Just between that lighthouse and the bow of this ship," he exclaimed,
+"is where yesterday James Blagwin jumped overboard. At any moment we may
+see the body!"
+
+An excitable passenger cried aloud and pointed at some floating seaweed.
+
+"I'll bet that's it now!" he shouted.
+
+Jimmie exclaimed indignantly:
+
+"I'll bet you ten dollars it isn't!" he said.
+
+In time the ship touched at Santiago, Kingston, and Colon, but, fearing
+recognition, Jimmie saw these places only from the deck. He travelled
+too fast for newspapers to overtake him, and those that on the return
+passage met the ship, of his death gave no details. So, except that his
+suicide had been accepted, Jimmie knew nothing.
+
+Least of all did he know, or even guess, that his act of renunciation,
+intended to bring to Jeanne happiness, had nearly brought about her own
+end. She believed Jimmie was dead, but not for a moment did she believe
+it was for fear of blindness he had killed himself. She and Maddox had
+killed him. Between them they had murdered the man who, now that he was
+gone, she found she loved devotedly. To a shocked and frightened letter
+of condolence from Maddox she wrote one that forever ordered him out of
+her life. Then she set about making a saint of Jimmie, and counting the
+days when in another world they would meet, and her years of remorse,
+penitence, and devotion would cause him to forgive her. In their home
+she shut herself off from every one. She made of it a shrine to Jimmie.
+She kept his gloves on the hall table; on her writing-desk she placed
+flowers before his picture. Preston, the butler, and the other servants
+who had been long with them feared for her sanity, but, loving "Mr.
+James" as they did, sympathized with her morbidness. So, in the old
+farmhouse, it was as though Jimmie still stamped through the halls, or
+from his room, as he dressed, whistled merrily. In the kennels the
+hounds howled dismally, in the stables at each footstep the ponies
+stamped with impatience, on the terrace his house dog, Huang Su, lay
+with his eyes fixed upon the road waiting for the return of the master,
+and in the gardens a girl in black, wasted and white-faced, walked alone
+and rebelled that she was still alive.
+
+After six weeks, when the ship re-entered New York harbor, Jimmie, his
+beard having grown, and wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, walked boldly
+down the gangplank. His confidence was not misplaced. The polo-player,
+clean-faced, lean, and fit, had disappeared. Six weeks of German
+cooking, a German barber, and the spectacles had produced a graduate of
+Heidelberg.
+
+At a furnished room on a side street Jimmie left his baggage, and at
+once at the public library, in the back numbers of the daily papers,
+read the accounts of his death and interviews with his friends. They all
+agreed the reason for his suicide was his fear of approaching blindness.
+As he read, Jimmie became deeply depressed. Any sneaking hopes he might
+have held that he was not dead were now destroyed. The evidence of his
+friends was enough to convince any one. It convinced him. Now that it
+was too late, his act of self-sacrifice appeared supremely stupid and
+ridiculous. Bitterly he attacked himself as a bungler and an ass. He
+assured himself he should have made a fight for it; should have fought
+for his wife: and against Maddox. Instead of which he weakly had effaced
+himself, had surrendered his rights, had abandoned his wife at a time
+when most was required of him. He tortured himself by thinking that
+probably at that very moment she was in need of his help. And at that
+very moment head-lines in the paper he was searching proved this was
+true.
+
+"BLAGWIN'S LOST WILL," he read. "DETECTIVES RELINQUISH SEARCH! REWARD
+OF TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS FAILS TO BRING CLEW!"
+
+Jimmie raced through the back numbers. They told him his will, in which
+he had left everything to Jeanne, could not be found; that in
+consequence, except her widow's third, all of his real estate, which was
+the bulk of his property, would now go to two distant cousins who
+already possessed more than was good for them, and who in Paris were
+leading lives of elegant wastefulness. The will had been signed the week
+before his wedding-day, but the lawyer who had drawn it was dead, and
+the witnesses, two servants, had long since quit Jimmie's service and
+could not be found. It was known Jimmie kept the will in the safe at his
+country house, but from the safe it had disappeared.
+
+Jimmie's best friend, and now Jeanne's lawyer, the man who had refused
+him the divorce, had searched the house from the attic to the coal
+cellar; detectives had failed to detect; rewards had remained unclaimed;
+no one could tell where the will was hidden. Only Jimmie could tell. And
+Jimmie was dead. And no one knew that better than Jimmie. Again he
+upbraided himself. Why had he not foreseen this catastrophe? Why,
+before his final taking off, had he not returned the will to the safe?
+Now, a word from him would give Jeanne all his fortune, and that word he
+could not speak.
+
+The will was between the leaves of a copy of "Pickwick," and it stood on
+a shelf in his bedroom. One night, six months before, to alter a small
+bequest, he had carried the will up-stairs and written a rough draft of
+the new codicil. And then, merely because he was sleepy and disinclined
+to struggle with a combination lock, he had stuck the will in the book
+he was reading. He intended the first thing the next morning to put it
+back in the safe. But the first thing the next morning word came from
+the kennels that during the night six beagle puppies had arrived, and
+naturally Jimmie gave no thought to anything so unimportant as a will.
+Nor since then had he thought of it. And now how was he, a dead man, to
+retrieve it?
+
+That those in the library might not observe his agitation, he went
+outside, and in Bryant Park on a bench faced his problem. Except
+himself, of the hidden place of the will no one could possibly know. So,
+if even by an anonymous letter, or by telephone, he gave the information
+to his late lawyer or to the detectives, they at once would guess from
+where the clew came and that James Blagwin was still alive. So that plan
+was abandoned. Then he wondered if he might not convey the tip to some
+one who had access to his bedroom; his valet or a chambermaid who, as
+though by accident, might stumble upon the will. But, as every one would
+know the anonymous tipster could be only Blagwin himself, that plan also
+was rejected. He saw himself in a blind alley. Without an accomplice he
+could not act; with an accomplice his secret would be betrayed.
+
+Suddenly a line in one of the newspapers returned to him. It was to the
+effect that to discover the lost will several clairvoyants, mediums, and
+crystal-gazers had offered their services. Jimmie determined that one of
+these should be his accomplice. He would tell the clairvoyant he
+formerly had been employed as valet by Blagwin and knew where Blagwin
+had placed his will. But he had been discharged under circumstances that
+made it necessary for him to lie low. He would hint it was the police he
+feared. This would explain why he could not come forward, and why he
+sought the aid of the clairvoyant. If the clairvoyant fell in with his
+plan he would tell him where the will could be found, the clairvoyant
+would pretend in a trance to discover the hiding-place, would confide
+his discovery to Mrs. Blagwin's lawyer, the lawyer would find the will,
+the clairvoyant would receive the reward, and an invaluable
+advertisement. And Jimmie's ghost would rest in peace. He needed only a
+clairvoyant who was not so upright that he fell over backward. Jimmie
+assured himself one of that kind would not be difficult to find.
+
+He returned to the newspaper-room of the library and in the advertising
+columns of a Sunday paper found a clairvoyant who promised to be the man
+he wanted.
+
+He was an Indian prince, but for five dollars would tell fortunes, cast
+horoscopes, and recover lost articles. Jimmie found him in the back room
+on the first floor of an old-fashioned house of sandstone on a side
+street. A blonde young woman, who was directing envelopes and enclosing
+in them the business card of the prince, accepted Jimmie's five dollars
+and ushered him into the presence. The back room was very dark. There
+were no windows showing, and the walls were entirely hidden by curtains
+in which twinkled tiny mirrors. The only light came from a lamp that
+swung on chains.
+
+The prince was young, tall, dark-skinned, with a black, pointed beard.
+He wore his national costume and over it many necklaces of strange
+stones, and of jewels more strange. He sat on a papier-mache throne with
+gilded elephants for supports, and in his hand held a crystal globe. His
+head was all but hidden in an enormous silken turban on which hung a
+single pearl. Jimmie made up his mind that if the prince was no more on
+the level than his jewels there would be no trouble.
+
+Jimmie came quickly to the point.
+
+"I can't show up," he explained, "because after I lost my job as Mr.
+Blagwin's valet several articles of value were missing. But _you_ can
+show up for me. If the will is not where I saw it--where I tell you it
+is--you're no worse off than you are now. You can say the spirits misled
+you. But, if I'm telling you the truth, you stand to get half the reward
+and the biggest press story any ghost-raiser ever put across.
+
+"And why," in conclusion Jimmie demanded, "should I ask you to do this,
+if what I say is not true?"
+
+The prince made no reply.
+
+With a sweeping gesture he brought the crystal globe into his lap and,
+bending his head, apparently peered into its depths. In reality he was
+gaining time. To himself he was repeating Jimmie's question. If the
+stranger were _not_ speaking the truth, why was he asking him to join in
+a plot to deceive? The possibility that Jimmie _was_ telling the truth
+the prince did not even consider. He was not used to the truth, and as
+to the motives of Jimmie in inviting him to break the law he already had
+made his guess. It was that Jimmie must be a detective setting a trap
+which later would betray him to the police. And the prince had no desire
+to fall in with the police nor to fall out with them. All he ever asked
+of those gentlemen was to leave him alone. And, since apparently they
+would not leave him alone, he saw, deep down in the crystal globe, a way
+by which not only could he avoid their trap, but might spring it to his
+own advantage.
+
+Instead of the detective denouncing him, he would denounce the
+detective. Of the police he would become an ally. He would call upon
+them to arrest a man who was planning to blackmail Mrs. James Blagwin.
+
+Unseen by Jimmie, in the arm of his throne he pressed an electric
+button, and in the front room in the ear of the blonde a signal buzzed.
+In her turn the blonde pushed aside the curtains that hid the door to
+the front hall.
+
+"Pardon, Highness," she said, "a certain party in Wall Street"--she
+paused impressively, and the prince nodded--"wants to consult you about
+his Standard Oil stock."
+
+"He must wait," returned the prince.
+
+"Pardon, Highness," persisted the lady; "he cannot wait. It is a matter
+of millions."
+
+Of this dialogue, which was the vehicle always used to get the prince
+out of the audience-chamber and into the front hall, undoubtedly the
+best line was the one given to the blonde--"it is a matter of millions!"
+
+Knowing this, she used to speak it slowly and impressively. It impressed
+even Jimmie. And after the prince had reverently deposited his globe
+upon a velvet cushion and disappeared, Jimmie sat wondering who in Wall
+Street was rich enough to buy Standard Oil stock, and who was fool
+enough to sell it.
+
+But over such idle questions he was not long left to meditate. Something
+more personal demanded his full attention. Behind him the prince
+carefully had closed the door to the front hall. But, not having his
+crystal globe with him, he did not know it had not remained closed, and
+as he stood under the hall stairs and softly lifted the receiver from
+the telephone, he was not aware that his voice carried to the room in
+which Jimmie was waiting.
+
+"Hello," whispered the prince softly. His voice, Jimmie noted with
+approval, even over a public telephone was as gentle as a cooing dove.
+
+"Hello! Give me Spring 3100."
+
+A cold sweat swept down Jimmie's spine. A man might forget his birthday,
+his middle name, his own telephone number, but not Spring 3100!
+
+Every drama of the underworld, crook play, and detective story had
+helped to make it famous.
+
+Jimmie stood not upon the order of his going. Even while police
+headquarters was telling the prince to get the Forty-seventh Street
+police station, Jimmie had torn open the front door and was leaping down
+the steps.
+
+Not until he reached Sixth Avenue, where if a man is seen running every
+one takes a chance and yells "Stop thief!" did Jimmie draw a halt. Then
+he burst forth indignantly.
+
+"How was I to know he was honest!" he panted. "He's a hell of a
+clairvoyant!"
+
+With indignation as great the prince was gazing at the blonde secretary;
+his eyes were filled with amazement.
+
+"Am I going dippy?" he demanded. "I sized him up for a detective--and he
+was a perfectly honest crook! And in five minutes," he roared
+remorsefully, "this house will be full of bulls! What am I to do? What
+am I to tell 'em?"
+
+"Tell 'em," said the blonde coldly, "you're going on a long journey."
+
+Jimmie now appreciated that when he determined it was best he should
+work without an accomplice he was most wise. He must work alone and,
+lest the clairvoyant had set the police after him, at once. He decided
+swiftly that that night he would return to his own house, and that he
+would return as a burglar. From its hiding-place he would rescue the
+missing will and restore it to the safe. By placing it among papers of
+little importance he hoped to persuade those who already had searched
+the safe that through their own carelessness it had been overlooked. The
+next morning, when once more it was where the proper persons could find
+it, he would again take ship for foreign parts. Jimmie recognized that
+this was a desperate plan, but the situation was desperate.
+
+And so midnight found him entering the grounds upon which he never again
+had hoped to place his foot.
+
+The conditions were in his favor. The night was warm, which meant
+windows would be left open; few stars were shining, and as he tiptoed
+across the lawn the trees and bushes wrapped him in shadows. Inside the
+hedge, through which he had forced his way, he had left his shoes, and
+he moved in silence. Except that stealing into the house where lay
+asleep the wife he so dearly loved made a cruel assault upon his
+feelings, the adventure presented no difficulties. Of ways of entering
+his house Jimmie knew a dozen, and, once inside, from cellar to attic he
+could move blindfolded. His bedroom, where was the copy of "Pickwick" in
+which he had placed the will, was separated from his wife's bedroom by
+her boudoir. The walls were thick; through them no ordinary sound could
+penetrate, and, unless since his departure Jeanne had moved her maid or
+some other chaperon into his bedroom, he could ransack it at his
+leisure. The safe in which he would replace the will was in the
+dining-room. From the sleeping-quarters of Preston, the butler, and the
+other servants it was far removed.
+
+Cautiously in the black shadows of the trees Jimmie reconnoitred. All
+that was in evidence reassured him. The old farmhouse lay sunk in
+slumber, and, though in the lower hall a lamp burned, Jimmie knew it was
+lit only that, in case of fire or of an intruder like himself, it might
+show the way to the telephone. For a moment a lace curtain fluttering at
+an open window startled him, but in an instant he was reassured, and had
+determined through that window to make his entrance. He stepped out of
+the shadows toward the veranda, and at once something warm brushed his
+leg, something moist touched his hand.
+
+Huang Su, his black chow, was welcoming him home. In a sudden access of
+fright and pleasure Jimmie dropped to his knees. He had not known he had
+been so lonely. He smothered the black bear in his hands. Huang Su
+withdrew hastily. The dignity of his breed forbade man-handling, and at
+a safe distance he stretched himself nervously and yawned.
+
+Jimmie stepped to the railing of the veranda, raised his foot to a cleat
+of the awning, and swung himself sprawling upon the veranda roof. On
+hands and knees across the shingles, still warm from the sun, he crept
+to the open window. There for some minutes, while his eyes searched the
+room, he remained motionless. When his eyes grew used to the
+semidarkness he saw that the bed lay flat, that the door to the boudoir
+was shut, that the room was empty. As he moved across it toward the
+bookcase, his stockinged feet on the bare oak floor gave forth no
+sound. He assured himself there was no occasion for alarm. But when,
+with the electric torch with which he had prepared himself, he swept the
+book-shelves, he suffered all the awful terrors of a thief.
+
+His purpose was to restore a lost fortune; had he been intent on
+stealing one he could not have felt more deeply guilty. At last the tiny
+shaft of light fell upon the title of the "Pickwick Papers." With
+shaking fingers Jimmie drew the book toward him. In his hands it fell
+open, and before him lay "The Last Will and Testament of James Blagwin,
+Esquire."
+
+With an effort Jimmie choked a cry of delight. He had reason to feel
+relief. In dragging the will from its hiding-place he had put behind him
+the most difficult part of his adventure; the final ceremony of
+replacing it in the safe was a matter only of minutes. With
+self-satisfaction Jimmie smiled; in self-pity he sighed miserably. For,
+when those same minutes had passed, again he would be an exile. As soon
+as he had set his house in order, he must leave it, and once more upon
+the earth become a wanderer and an outcast.
+
+The knob of the door from the bedroom he grasped softly and, as he
+turned it, firmly. Stealthily, with infinite patience and stepping close
+to the wall, he descended the stairs, tiptoed across the hall, and
+entered the living-room. On the lower floor he knew he was alone. No
+longer, like Oliver Twist breaking into the scullery of Mr. Giles, need
+he move in dreadful fear. But as a cautious general, even when he
+advances, maps out his line of retreat, before approaching the safe
+Jimmie prepared his escape. The only entrances to the dining-room were
+through the living-room, in which he stood, and from the butler's
+pantry. It was through the latter he determined to make his exit. He
+crossed the dining-room, and in the pantry cautiously raised the window,
+and on the floor below placed a chair. If while at work upon the safe he
+were interrupted, to reach the lawn he had but to thrust back the door
+to the pantry, leap to the chair, and through the open window fall upon
+the grass. If his possible pursuers gave him time, he would retrieve his
+shoes; if not, he would abandon them. They had not been made to his
+order, but bought in the Sixth Avenue store where he was unknown, and
+they had been delivered to a man named Henry Hull. If found, instead of
+compromising him, they rather would help to prove the intruder was a
+stranger.
+
+Having arranged his get-away, Jimmie returned to the living-room. In
+defiance of caution and that he might carry with him a farewell picture
+of the place where for years he had been so supremely happy, he swept it
+with his torch.
+
+The light fell upon Jeanne's writing-desk and there halted. Jimmie gave
+a low gasp of pleasure and surprise. In the shaft of light, undisturbed
+in their silver frames and in their place of honor, he saw three
+photographs of himself. The tears came to his eyes. Then Jeanne had not
+cast him utterly into outer darkness. She still remembered him kindly,
+still held for him a feeling of good will. Jimmie sighed gratefully. The
+sacrifice he had made for the happiness of Jeanne and Maddox now seemed
+easier to bear. And that happiness must not be jeopardized.
+
+More than ever before the fact that he, a dead man, must not be seen,
+impressed him deeply. At the slightest sound, at even the suggestion of
+an alarm, he must fly. The will might take care of itself. In case he
+were interrupted, where he dropped it there must it lie. The fact of
+supreme importance was that unrecognized he should escape.
+
+The walls of the dining-room were covered with panels of oak, and built
+into the jog of the fireplace and concealed by a movable panel was the
+safe. In front of it Jimmie sank to his knees and pushed back the
+panel. Propped upon a chair behind him, the electric torch threw its
+shaft of light full upon the combination lock. On the floor, ready to
+his hand, lay the will.
+
+The combination was not difficult. It required two turns left, three
+right, and in conjunction two numerals. While so intent upon his work
+that he scarcely breathed, Jimmie spun the knob. Then he tugged gently,
+and the steel door swung toward him.
+
+At the same moment, from behind him, a metallic click gave an instant's
+warning, and then the room was flooded with light.
+
+From his knees, in one bound, Jimmie flung himself toward his avenue of
+escape.
+
+It was blocked by the bulky form of Preston, the butler.
+
+Jimmie turned and doubled back to the door of the living-room. He found
+himself confronted by his wife.
+
+The sleeve of her night-dress had fallen to her shoulder and showed her
+white arm extended toward him. In her hand, pointing, was an automatic
+pistol.
+
+Already dead, Jimmie feared nothing but discovery.
+
+The door to the living-room was wide enough for two. With his head down
+he sprang toward it. There was a report that seemed to shake the walls,
+and something like the blow of a nightstick knocked his leg from under
+him and threw him on his back. The next instant Preston had landed with
+both knees on his lower ribs and was squeezing his windpipe.
+
+Jimmie felt he was drowning. Around him millions of stars danced. And
+then from another world, in a howl of terror, the voice of Preston
+screamed. The hands of the butler released their hold upon his throat.
+As suddenly as he had thrown himself upon him he now recoiled.
+
+"It's _'im!_" he shouted; "it's _'im!_"
+
+"Him?" demanded Jeanne.
+
+"_It's Mr. Blagwin!_"
+
+Unlike Preston, Jeanne did not scream; nor did she faint. So greatly did
+she desire to believe that "'im" was her husband, that he still was in
+the same world with herself, that she did not ask how he had escaped
+from the other world, or why, having escaped, he spent his time robbing
+his own house.
+
+Instead, much like Preston, she threw herself at him and in her young,
+firm arms lifted him and held him close.
+
+"Jimmie!" she cried, "_speak_ to me; _speak_ to me!"
+
+The blow on the back of the head, the throttling by Preston, the
+"stopping power" of the bullet, even though it passed only through his
+leg, had left Jimmie somewhat confused. He knew only that it was a
+dream. But wonderful as it was to dream that once more he was with
+Jeanne, that she clung to him, needed and welcomed him, he could not
+linger to enjoy the dream. He was dead. If not, he must escape. Honor
+compelled it. He made a movement to rise, and fell back.
+
+The voice of Preston, because he had choked his master, full of remorse,
+and, because his mistress had shot him, full of reproach, rose in
+dismay:
+
+"You've 'it 'im in the leg, ma'am!"
+
+Jimmie heard Jeanne protest hysterically:
+
+"That's nothing, he's _alive_!" she cried. "I'd hit him again if it
+would only make him _speak_!" She pressed the bearded face against her
+own. "Speak to me," she whispered; "tell me you forgive me. Tell me you
+love me!"
+
+Jimmie opened his eyes and smiled at her.
+
+"You never had to shoot me," he stammered, "to make me tell you _that_."
+
+
+
+
+THE CARD-SHARP
+
+
+I had looked forward to spending Christmas with some people in Suffolk,
+and every one in London assured me that at their house there would be
+the kind of a Christmas house party you hear about but see only in the
+illustrated Christmas numbers. They promised mistletoe, snapdragon, and
+Sir Roger de Coverley. On Christmas morning we would walk to church,
+after luncheon we would shoot, after dinner we would eat plum pudding
+floating in blazing brandy, dance with the servants, and listen to the
+waits singing "God rest you, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay."
+
+To a lone American bachelor stranded in London it sounded fine. And in
+my gratitude I had already shipped to my hostess, for her children, of
+whose age, number, and sex I was ignorant, half of Gamage's dolls,
+skees, and cricket bats, and those crackers that, when you pull them,
+sometimes explode. But it was not to be. Most inconsiderately my
+wealthiest patient gained sufficient courage to consent to an
+operation, and in all New York would permit no one to lay violent hands
+upon him save myself. By cable I advised postponement. Having lived in
+lawful harmony with his appendix for fifty years, I thought, for one
+week longer he might safely maintain the _status quo_. But his cable in
+reply was an ultimatum. So, on Christmas eve, instead of Hallam Hall and
+a Yule log, I was in a gale plunging and pitching off the coast of
+Ireland, and the only log on board was the one the captain kept to
+himself.
+
+I sat in the smoking-room, depressed and cross, and it must have been on
+the principle that misery loves company that I forgathered with Talbot,
+or rather that Talbot forgathered with me. Certainly, under happier
+conditions and in haunts of men more crowded, the open-faced manner in
+which he forced himself upon me would have put me on my guard. But,
+either out of deference to the holiday spirit, as manifested in the
+fictitious gayety of our few fellow passengers, or because the young man
+in a knowing, impertinent way was most amusing, I listened to him from
+dinner time until midnight, when the chief officer, hung with snow and
+icicles, was blown in from the deck and wished all a merry Christmas.
+
+Even after they unmasked Talbot I had neither the heart nor the
+inclination to turn him down. Indeed, had not some of the passengers
+testified that I belonged to a different profession, the smoking-room
+crowd would have quarantined me as his accomplice. On the first night I
+met him I was not certain whether he was English or giving an imitation.
+All the outward and visible signs were English, but he told me that,
+though he had been educated at Oxford and since then had spent most of
+his years in India, playing polo, he was an American. He seemed to have
+spent much time, and according to himself much money, at the French
+watering-places and on the Riviera. I felt sure that it was in France I
+had already seen him, but where I could not recall. He was hard to
+place. Of people at home and in London well worth knowing he talked
+glibly, but in speaking of them he made several slips. It was his taking
+the trouble to cover up the slips that first made me wonder if his
+talking about himself was not mere vanity, but had some special object.
+I felt he was presenting letters of introduction in order that later he
+might ask a favor. Whether he was leading up to an immediate loan, or in
+New York would ask for a card to a club, or an introduction to a banker,
+I could not tell. But in forcing himself upon me, except in
+self-interest, I could think of no other motive. The next evening I
+discovered the motive.
+
+He was in the smoking-room playing solitaire, and at once I recalled
+that it was at Aix-les-Bains I had first seen him, and that he held a
+bank at baccarat. When he asked me to sit down I said: "I saw you last
+summer at Aix-les-Bains."
+
+His eyes fell to the pack in his hands and apparently searched it for
+some particular card.
+
+"What was I doing?" he asked.
+
+"Dealing baccarat at the Casino des Fleurs."
+
+With obvious relief he laughed.
+
+"Oh, yes," he assented; "jolly place, Aix. But I lost a pot of money
+there. I'm a rotten hand at cards. Can't win, and can't leave 'em
+alone." As though for this weakness, so frankly confessed, he begged me
+to excuse him, he smiled appealingly. "Poker, bridge, chemin de fer, I
+like 'em all," he rattled on, "but they don't like me. So I stick to
+solitaire. It's dull, but cheap." He shuffled the cards clumsily. As
+though making conversation, he asked: "You care for cards yourself?"
+
+I told him truthfully I did not know the difference between a club and a
+spade and had no curiosity to learn. At this, when he found he had been
+wasting time on me, I expected him to show some sign of annoyance, even
+of irritation, but his disappointment struck far deeper. As though I had
+hurt him physically, he shut his eyes, and when again he opened them I
+saw in them distress. For the moment I believe of my presence he was
+utterly unconscious. His hands lay idle upon the table; like a man
+facing a crisis, he stared before him. Quite improperly, I felt sorry
+for him. In me he thought he had found a victim; and that the loss of
+the few dollars he might have won should so deeply disturb him showed
+his need was great. Almost at once he abandoned me and I went on deck.
+When I returned an hour later to the smoking-room he was deep in a game
+of poker.
+
+As I passed he hailed me gayly.
+
+"Don't scold, now," he laughed; "you know I can't keep away from it."
+
+From his manner those at the table might have supposed we were friends
+of long and happy companionship. I stopped behind his chair, but he
+thought I had passed, and in reply to one of the players answered:
+"Known him for years; he's set me right many a time. When I broke my
+right femur 'chasin,' he got me back in the saddle in six weeks. All my
+people swear by him."
+
+One of the players smiled up at me, and Talbot turned. But his eyes met
+mine with perfect serenity. He even held up his cards for me to see.
+"What would you draw?" he asked.
+
+His audacity so astonished me that in silence I could only stare at him
+and walk on.
+
+When on deck he met me he was not even apologetic. Instead, as though we
+were partners in crime, he chuckled delightedly.
+
+"Sorry," he said. "Had to do it. They weren't very keen at my taking a
+hand, so I had to use your name. But I'm all right now," he assured me.
+"They think you vouched for me, and to-night they're going to raise the
+limit. I've convinced them I'm an easy mark."
+
+"And I take it you are not," I said stiffly.
+
+He considered this unworthy of an answer and only smiled. Then the smile
+died, and again in his eyes I saw distress, infinite weariness, and
+fear.
+
+As though his thoughts drove him to seek protection, he came closer.
+
+"I'm 'in bad,' doctor," he said. His voice was frightened, bewildered,
+like that of a child. "I can't sleep; nerves all on the loose. I don't
+think straight. I hear voices, and no one around. I hear knockings at
+the door, and when I open it, no one there. If I don't keep fit I can't
+work, and this trip I _got_ to make expenses. You couldn't help me,
+could you--couldn't give me something to keep my head straight?"
+
+The need of my keeping his head straight that he might the easier rob
+our fellow passengers raised a pretty question of ethics. I meanly
+dodged it. I told him professional etiquette required I should leave him
+to the ship's surgeon.
+
+"But I don't know _him_," he protested.
+
+Mindful of the use he had made of my name, I objected strenuously:
+
+"Well, you certainly don't know me."
+
+My resentment obviously puzzled him.
+
+"I know who you _are_," he returned. "You and I--" With a deprecatory
+gesture, as though good taste forbade him saying who we were, he
+stopped. "But the ship's surgeon!" he protested; "he's an awful bounder!
+Besides," he added quite simply, "he's watching me."
+
+"As a doctor," I asked, "or watching you play cards?"
+
+"Play cards," the young man answered. "I'm afraid he was ship's surgeon
+on the P. & O. I came home on. There was trouble that voyage, and I
+fancy he remembers me."
+
+His confidences were becoming a nuisance.
+
+"But you mustn't tell me that," I protested. "I can't have you making
+trouble on this ship, too. How do you know I won't go straight from
+here to the captain?"
+
+As though the suggestion greatly entertained him, he laughed.
+
+He made a mock obeisance.
+
+"I claim the seal of your profession," he said.
+
+"Nonsense," I retorted. "It's a professional secret that your nerves are
+out of hand, but that you are a card-sharp is _not_. Don't mix me up
+with a priest."
+
+For a moment Talbot, as though fearing he had gone too far, looked at me
+sharply; he bit his lower lip and frowned.
+
+"I got to make expenses," he muttered. "And, besides, all card games are
+games of chance, and a card-sharp is one of the chances. Anyway," he
+repeated, as though disposing of all argument, "I got to make expenses."
+
+After dinner, when I came to the smoking-room, the poker party sat
+waiting, and one of them asked if I knew where they could find "my
+friend." I should have said then that Talbot was a steamer acquaintance
+only; but I hate a row, and I let the chance pass.
+
+"We want to give him his revenge," one of them volunteered.
+
+"He's losing, then?" I asked.
+
+The man chuckled complacently.
+
+"The only loser," he said.
+
+"I wouldn't worry," I advised. "He'll come for his revenge."
+
+That night after I had turned in he knocked at my door. I switched on
+the lights and saw him standing at the foot of my berth. I saw also that
+with difficulty he was holding himself in hand.
+
+"I'm scared," he stammered, "scared!"
+
+I wrote out a requisition on the surgeon for a sleeping-potion and sent
+it to him by the steward, giving the man to understand I wanted it for
+myself. Uninvited, Talbot had seated himself on the sofa. His eyes were
+closed, and as though he were cold he was shivering and hugging himself
+in his arms.
+
+"Have you been drinking?" I asked.
+
+In surprise he opened his eyes.
+
+"_I_ can't drink," he answered simply. "It's nerves and worry. I'm
+tired."
+
+He relaxed against the cushions; his arms fell heavily at his sides; the
+fingers lay open.
+
+"God," he whispered, "how tired I am!"
+
+In spite of his tan--and certainly he had led the out-of-door life--his
+face showed white. For the moment he looked old, worn, finished.
+
+"They're crowdin' me," the boy whispered. "They're always crowdin' me."
+His voice was querulous, uncomprehending, like that of a child
+complaining of something beyond his experience. "I can't remember when
+they haven't been crowdin' me. Movin' me on, you understand? Always
+movin' me on. Moved me out of India, then Cairo, then they closed Paris,
+and now they've shut me out of London. I opened a club there, very
+quiet, very exclusive, smart neighborhood, too--a flat in Berkeley
+Street--roulette and chemin de fer. I think it was my valet sold me out;
+anyway, they came in and took us all to Bow Street. So I've plunged on
+this. It's my last chance!"
+
+"This trip?"
+
+"No; my family in New York. Haven't seen 'em in ten years. They paid me
+to live abroad. I'm gambling on _them_; gambling on their takin' me
+back. I'm coming home as the Prodigal Son, tired of filling my belly
+with the husks that the swine do eat; reformed character, repentant and
+all that; want to follow the straight and narrow; and they'll kill the
+fatted calf." He laughed sardonically. "Like hell they will! They'd
+rather see _me_ killed."
+
+It seemed to me, if he wished his family to believe he were returning
+repentant, his course in the smoking-room would not help to reassure
+them. I suggested as much.
+
+"If you get into 'trouble,' as you call it," I said, "and they send a
+wireless to the police to be at the wharf, your people would hardly--"
+
+"I know," he interrupted; "but I got to chance that. I _got_ to make
+enough to go on with--until I see my family."
+
+"If they won't see you?" I asked. "What then?"
+
+He shrugged his shoulders and sighed lightly, almost with relief, as
+though for him the prospect held no terror.
+
+"Then it's 'Good night, nurse,'" he said. "And I won't be a bother to
+anybody any more."
+
+I told him his nerves were talking, and talking rot, and I gave him the
+sleeping-draft and sent him to bed.
+
+It was not until after luncheon the next day when he made his first
+appearance on deck that I again saw my patient. He was once more a
+healthy picture of a young Englishman of leisure; keen, smart, and fit;
+ready for any exercise or sport. The particular sport at which he was so
+expert I asked him to avoid.
+
+"Can't be done!" he assured me. "I'm the loser, and we dock to-morrow
+morning. So to-night I've got to make my killing."
+
+It was the others who made the killing.
+
+I came into the smoking-room about nine o'clock. Talbot alone was
+seated. The others were on their feet, and behind them in a wider
+semicircle were passengers, the smoking-room stewards, and the ship's
+purser.
+
+Talbot sat with his back against the bulkhead, his hands in the pockets
+of his dinner coat; from the corner of his mouth his long
+cigarette-holder was cocked at an impudent angle. There was a tumult of
+angry voices, and the eyes of all were turned upon him. Outwardly at
+least he met them with complete indifference. The voice of one of my
+countrymen, a noisy pest named Smedburg, was raised in excited
+accusation.
+
+"When the ship's surgeon first met you," he cried, "you called yourself
+Lord Ridley."
+
+"I'll call myself anything I jolly well like," returned Talbot. "If I
+choose to dodge reporters, that's _my_ pidgin. I don't have to give my
+name to every meddling busybody that--"
+
+"You'll give it to the police, all right," chortled Mr. Smedburg. In the
+confident, bullying tone of the man who knows the crowd is with him, he
+shouted: "And in the meantime you'll keep out of this smoking-room!"
+
+The chorus of assent was unanimous. It could not be disregarded. Talbot
+rose and with fastidious concern brushed the cigarette ashes from his
+sleeve. As he moved toward the door he called back: "Only too delighted
+to keep out. The crowd in this room makes a gentleman feel lonely."
+
+But he was not to escape with the last word.
+
+His prosecutor pointed his finger at him.
+
+"And the next time you take the name of Adolph Meyer," he shouted, "make
+sure first he hasn't a friend on board; some one to protect him from
+sharpers and swindlers--"
+
+Talbot turned savagely and then shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Oh, go to the devil!" he called, and walked out into the night.
+
+The purser was standing at my side and, catching my eye, shook his head.
+
+"Bad business," he exclaimed.
+
+"What happened?" I asked.
+
+"I'm told they caught him dealing from the wrong end of the pack," he
+said. "I understand they suspected him from the first--seems our surgeon
+recognized him--and to-night they had outsiders watching him. The
+outsiders claim they saw him slip himself an ace from the bottom of the
+pack. It's a pity! He's a nice-looking lad."
+
+I asked what the excited Smedburg had meant by telling Talbot not to
+call himself Meyer.
+
+"They accused him of travelling under a false name," explained the
+purser, "and he told 'em he did it to dodge the ship's news reporters.
+Then he said he _really_ was a brother of Adolph Meyer, the banker; but
+it seems Smedburg is a friend of Meyer's, and he called him hard! It was
+a silly ass thing to do," protested the purser. "Everybody knows Meyer
+hasn't a brother, and if he hadn't made _that_ break he might have got
+away with the other one. But now this Smedburg is going to wireless
+ahead to Mr. Meyer and to the police."
+
+"Has he no other way of spending his money?" I asked.
+
+"He's a confounded nuisance!" growled the purser. "He wants to show us
+he knows Adolph Meyer; wants to put Meyer under an obligation. It means
+a scene on the wharf, and newspaper talk; and," he added with disgust,
+"these smoking-room rows never helped any line."
+
+I went in search of Talbot; partly because I knew he was on the verge
+of a collapse, partly, as I frankly admitted to myself, because I was
+sorry the young man had come to grief. I searched the snow-swept decks,
+and then, after threading my way through faintly lit tunnels, I knocked
+at his cabin. The sound of his voice gave me a distinct feeling of
+relief. But he would not admit me. Through the closed door he declared
+he was "all right," wanted no medical advice, and asked only to resume
+the sleep he claimed I had broken. I left him, not without uneasiness,
+and the next morning the sight of him still in the flesh was a genuine
+thrill. I found him walking the deck carrying himself nonchalantly and
+trying to appear unconscious of the glances--amused, contemptuous,
+hostile--that were turned toward him. He would have passed me without
+speaking, but I took his arm and led him to the rail. We had long passed
+quarantine and a convoy of tugs were butting us into the dock.
+
+"What are you going to do?" I asked.
+
+"Doesn't depend on me," he said. "Depends on Smedburg. He's a busy
+little body!"
+
+The boy wanted me to think him unconcerned, but beneath the flippancy I
+saw the nerves jerking. Then quite simply he began to tell me. He spoke
+in a low, even monotone, dispassionately, as though for him the
+incident no longer was of interest.
+
+"They were watching me," he said. "But I _knew_ they were, and besides,
+no matter how close they watched I could have done what they said I did
+and they'd never have seen it. But I didn't."
+
+My scepticism must have been obvious, for he shook his head.
+
+"I didn't!" he repeated stubbornly. "I didn't have to! I was playing in
+luck--wonderful luck--sheer, dumb luck. I couldn't _help_ winning. But
+because I _was_ winning and because they were watching, I was careful
+not to win on my own deal. I laid down, or played to lose. It was the
+cards _they_ gave me I won with. And when they jumped me I told 'em
+that. I could have proved it if they'd listened. But they were all up in
+the air, shouting and spitting at me. They believed what they wanted to
+believe; they didn't want the facts."
+
+It may have been credulous of me, but I felt the boy was telling the
+truth, and I was deeply sorry he had not stuck to it. So, rather
+harshly, I said:
+
+"They didn't want you to tell them you were a brother to Adolph Meyer,
+either. Why did you think you could get away with anything like that?"
+
+Talbot did not answer.
+
+"Why?" I insisted.
+
+The boy laughed impudently.
+
+"How the devil was I to know he hadn't a brother?" he protested. "It was
+a good name, and he's a Jew, and two of the six who were in the game are
+Jews. You know how they stick together. I thought they might stick by
+me."
+
+"But you," I retorted impatiently, "are not a Jew!"
+
+"I am not," said Talbot, "but I've often _said_ I was. It's helped--lots
+of times. If I'd told you my name was Cohen, or Selmsky, or Meyer,
+instead of Craig Talbot, _you'd_ have thought I was a Jew." He smiled
+and turned his face toward me. As though furnishing a description for
+the police, he began to enumerate:
+
+"Hair, dark and curly; eyes, poppy; lips, full; nose, Roman or Hebraic,
+according to taste. Do you see?"
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"But it didn't work," he concluded. "I picked the wrong Jew."
+
+His face grew serious. "Do you suppose that Smedburg person _has_
+wirelessed that banker?"
+
+I told him I was afraid he had already sent the message.
+
+"And what will Meyer do?" he asked. "Will he drop it or make a fuss?
+What sort is he?"
+
+Briefly I described Adolph Meyer. I explained him as the richest Hebrew
+in New York; given to charity, to philanthropy, to the betterment of his
+own race.
+
+"Then maybe," cried Talbot hopefully, "he won't make a row, and my
+family won't hear of it!"
+
+He drew a quick breath of relief. As though a burden had been lifted,
+his shoulders straightened.
+
+And then suddenly, harshly, in open panic, he exclaimed aloud:
+
+"Look!" he whispered. "There, at the end of the wharf--the little Jew in
+furs!"
+
+I followed the direction of his eyes. Below us on the dock, protected by
+two obvious members of the strong-arm squad, the great banker,
+philanthropist, and Hebrew, Adolph Meyer, was waiting.
+
+We were so close that I could read his face. It was stern, set; the face
+of a man intent upon his duty, unrelenting. Without question, of a bad
+business Mr. Smedburg had made the worst. I turned to speak to Talbot
+and found him gone.
+
+His silent slipping away filled me with alarm. I fought against a
+growing fear. How many minutes I searched for him I do not know. It
+seemed many hours. His cabin, where first I sought him, was empty and
+dismantled, and by that I was reminded that if for any desperate purpose
+Talbot were seeking to conceal himself there now were hundreds of other
+empty, dismantled cabins in which he might hide. To my inquiries no one
+gave heed. In the confusion of departure no one had observed him; no one
+was in a humor to seek him out; the passengers were pressing to the
+gangway, the stewards concerned only in counting their tips. From deck
+to deck, down lane after lane of the great floating village, I raced
+blindly, peering into half-opened doors, pushing through groups of men,
+pursuing some one in the distance who appeared to be the man I sought,
+only to find he was unknown to me. When I returned to the gangway the
+last of the passengers was leaving it.
+
+I was about to follow to seek for Talbot in the customs shed when a
+white-faced steward touched my sleeve. Before he spoke his look told me
+why I was wanted.
+
+"The ship's surgeon, sir," he stammered, "asks you please to hurry to
+the sick-bay. A passenger has shot himself!"
+
+On the bed, propped up by pillows, young Talbot, with glazed, shocked
+eyes, stared at me. His shirt had been cut away; his chest lay bare.
+Against his left shoulder the doctor pressed a tiny sponge which quickly
+darkened.
+
+I must have exclaimed aloud, for the doctor turned his eyes.
+
+"It was _he_ sent for you," he said, "but he doesn't need you.
+Fortunately, he's a damned bad shot!"
+
+The boy's eyes opened wearily; before we could prevent it he spoke.
+
+"I was so tired," he whispered. "Always moving me on. I was so tired!"
+
+Behind me came heavy footsteps, and though with my arm I tried to bar
+them out, the two detectives pushed into the doorway. They shoved me to
+one side and through the passage made for him came the Jew in the sable
+coat, Mr. Adolph Meyer.
+
+For an instant the little great man stood with wide, owl-like eyes,
+staring at the face on the pillow.
+
+Then he sank softly to his knees. In both his hands he caught the hand
+of the card-sharp.
+
+"Heine!" he begged. "Don't you know me? It is your brother Adolph; your
+little brother Adolph!"
+
+
+
+
+BILLY AND THE BIG STICK
+
+
+Had the Wilmot Electric Light people remained content only to make
+light, had they not, as a by-product, attempted to make money, they need
+not have left Hayti.
+
+When they flooded with radiance the unpaved streets of Port-au-Prince no
+one, except the police, who complained that the lights kept them awake,
+made objection; but when for this illumination the Wilmot Company
+demanded payment, every one up to President Hamilcar Poussevain was
+surprised and grieved. So grieved was President Ham, as he was lovingly
+designated, that he withdrew the Wilmot concession, surrounded the
+power-house with his barefooted army, and in a proclamation announced
+that for the future the furnishing of electric light would be a monopoly
+of the government.
+
+In Hayti, as soon as it begins to make money, any industry, native or
+foreign, becomes a monopoly of the government. The thing works
+automatically. It is what in Hayti is understood as _haut finance_. The
+Wilmot people should have known that. Because they did not know that,
+they stood to lose what they had sunk in the electric-light plant, and
+after their departure to New York, which departure was accelerated as
+far as the wharf by seven generals and twelve privates, they proceeded
+to lose more money on lobbyists and lawyers who claimed to understand
+international law; even the law of Hayti. And lawyers who understand
+that are high-priced.
+
+The only employee of the Wilmot force who was not escorted to the wharf
+under guard was Billy Barlow. He escaped the honor because he was
+superintendent of the power-house, and President Ham believed that
+without him the lightning would not strike. Accordingly by an executive
+order Billy became an employee of the government. With this arrangement
+the Wilmot people were much pleased. For they trusted Billy, and they
+knew while in the courts they were fighting to regain their property, he
+would see no harm came to it.
+
+Billy's title was Directeur General et Inspecteur Municipal de Luminaire
+Electrique, which is some title, and his salary was fifty dollars a
+week. In spite of Billy's color President Ham always treated his only
+white official with courtesy and gave him his full title. About giving
+him his full salary he was less particular. This neglect greatly annoyed
+Billy. He came of sturdy New England stock and possessed that New
+England conscience which makes the owner a torment to himself, and to
+every one else a nuisance. Like all the other Barlows of Barnstable on
+Cape Cod, Billy had worked for his every penny. He was no shirker. From
+the first day that he carried a pair of pliers in the leg pocket of his
+overalls, and in a sixty-knot gale stretched wires between ice-capped
+telegraph poles, he had more than earned his wages. Never, whether on
+time or at piece-work, had he by a slovenly job, or by beating the
+whistle, robbed his employer. And for his honest toil he was determined
+to be as honestly paid--even by President Hamilcar Poussevain. And
+President Ham never paid anybody; neither the Armenian street peddlers,
+in whose sweets he delighted, nor the Bethlehem Steel Company, nor the
+house of Rothschild.
+
+Why he paid Billy even the small sums that from time to time Billy wrung
+from the president's strong box the foreign colony were at a loss to
+explain. Wagner, the new American consul, asked Billy how he managed it.
+As an American minister had not yet been appointed, to the duties of
+the consul, as Wagner assured everybody, were added those of diplomacy.
+But Haytian diplomacy he had yet to master. At the seaport in Scotland
+where he had served as vice-consul, law and order were as solidly
+established as the stone jetties, and by contrast the eccentricities of
+the Black Republic baffled and distressed him.
+
+"It can't be that you blackmail the president," said the consul,
+"because I understand he boasts he has committed all the known crimes."
+
+"And several he invented," agreed Billy.
+
+"And you can't do it with a gun, because they tell me the president
+isn't afraid of anything except a voodoo priestess. What is your
+secret?" coaxed the consul. "If you'll only sell it, I know several
+Powers that would give you your price."
+
+Billy smiled modestly.
+
+"It's very simple," he said. "The first time my wages were shy I went to
+the palace and told him if he didn't come across I'd shut off the juice.
+I think he was so stunned at anybody asking him for real money that
+while he was still stunned he opened his safe and handed me two thousand
+francs. I think he did it more in admiration for my nerve than because
+he owed it. The next time pay-day arrived, and the pay did not, I didn't
+go to the palace. I just went to bed, and the lights went to bed, too.
+You may remember?"
+
+The consul snorted indignantly.
+
+"I was holding three queens at the time," he protested. "Was it _you_
+did that?"
+
+"It was," said Billy. "The police came for me to start the current going
+again, but I said I was too ill. Then the president's own doctor came,
+old Gautier, and Gautier examined me with a lantern and said that in
+Hayti my disease frequently proved fatal, but he thought if I turned on
+the lights I might recover. I told him I was tired of life, anyway, but
+that if I could see three thousand francs it might give me an incentive.
+He reported back to the president and the three thousand francs arrived
+almost instantly, and a chicken broth from Ham's own chef, with His
+Excellency's best wishes for the recovery of the invalid. My recovery
+was instantaneous, and I switched on the lights.
+
+"I had just moved into the Widow Ducrot's hotel that week, and her
+daughter Claire wouldn't let me eat the broth. I thought it was because,
+as she's a dandy cook herself, she was professionally jealous. She put
+the broth on the top shelf of the pantry and wrote on a piece of paper,
+'Gare!' But the next morning a perfectly good cat, who apparently
+couldn't read, was lying beside it dead."
+
+The consul frowned reprovingly.
+
+"You should not make such reckless charges," he protested. "I would call
+it only a coincidence."
+
+"You can call it what you please," said Billy, "but it won't bring the
+cat back. Anyway, the next time I went to the palace to collect, the
+president was ready for me. He said he'd been taking out information,
+and he found if I shut off the lights again he could hire another man in
+the States to turn them on. I told him he'd been deceived. I told him
+the Wilmot Electric Lights were produced by a secret process, and that
+only a trained Wilmot man could work them. And I pointed out to him if
+he dismissed me it wasn't likely the Wilmot people would loan him
+another expert; not while they were fighting him through the courts and
+the State Department. That impressed the old man; so I issued my
+ultimatum. I said if he must have electric lights he must have me, too.
+Whether he liked it or not, mine was a life job."
+
+"What did he say to that?" gasped the new consul.
+
+"Said it _wasn't_ a life job, because he was going to have me shot at
+sunset."
+
+"Then you said?"
+
+"I said if he did that there wouldn't be any electric lights, and _you_
+would bring a warship and shoot Hayti off the map."
+
+The new consul was most indignant.
+
+"You had no right to say that!" he protested. "You did very ill. My
+instructions are to avoid all serious complications."
+
+"That was what I was trying to avoid," said Billy. "Don't you call being
+shot at sunset a serious complication? Or would that be just a
+coincidence, too? You're a hellofa consul!"
+
+Since his talk with the representative of his country four months had
+passed and Billy still held his job. But each month the number of francs
+he was able to wrest from President Hamilcar dwindled, and were won only
+after verbal conflicts that each month increased in violence.
+
+To the foreign colony it became evident that, in the side of President
+Ham, Billy was a thorn, sharp, irritating, virulent, and that at any
+moment Ham might pluck that thorn and Billy would leave Hayti in haste,
+and probably in handcuffs. This was evident to Billy, also, and the
+prospect was most disquieting. Not because he loved Hayti, but because
+since he went to lodge at the cafe of the Widow Ducrot, he had learned
+to love her daughter Claire, and Claire loved him.
+
+On the two thousand dollars due him from Ham they plotted to marry. This
+was not as great an adventure as it might appear. Billy knew that from
+the Wilmot people he always was sure of a salary, and one which, with
+such an excellent housekeeper as was Claire, would support them both.
+But with his two thousand dollars as capital they could afford to
+plunge; they could go upon a honeymoon; they need not dread a rainy day,
+and, what was of greatest importance, they need not delay. There was
+good reason against delay, for the hand of the beautiful Claire was
+already promised. The Widow Ducrot had promised it to Paillard, he of
+the prosperous commission business, the prominent _embonpoint_, and four
+children. Monsieur Paillard possessed an establishment of his own, but
+it was a villa in the suburbs; and so, each day at noon, for his
+_dejeune_ he left his office and crossed the street to the Cafe Ducrot.
+For five years this had been his habit. At first it was the widow's
+cooking that attracted him, then for a time the widow herself; but when
+from the convent Claire came to assist her mother in the cafe, and when
+from a lanky, big-eyed, long-legged child she grew into a slim, joyous,
+and charming young woman, she alone was the attraction, and the Widower
+Paillard decided to make her his wife. Other men had made the same
+decision; and when it was announced that between Claire and the widower
+a marriage had been "arranged," the clerks in the foreign commission
+houses and the agents of the steamship lines drowned their sorrow in rum
+and ran the house flags to half-staff. Paillard himself took the
+proposed alliance calmly. He was not an impetuous suitor. With Widow
+Ducrot he agreed that Claire was still too young to marry, and to
+himself kept the fact that to remarry he was in no haste. In his mind
+doubts still lingered. With a wife, young enough to be one of his
+children, disorganizing the routine of his villa, would it be any more
+comfortable than he now found it? Would his eldest daughter and her
+stepmother dwell together in harmony? The eldest daughter had assured
+him that so far as she was concerned they would not; and, after all, in
+marrying a girl, no matter how charming, without a dot, and the daughter
+of a boarding-house keeper, no matter how respectable, was he not
+disposing of himself too cheaply? These doubts assailed Papa Paillard;
+these speculations were in his mind. And while he speculated Billy
+acted.
+
+"I know that in France," Billy assured Claire, "marriages are arranged
+by the parents; but in _my_ country they are arranged in heaven. And who
+are we to disregard the edicts of heaven? Ages and ages ago, before the
+flood, before Napoleon, even before old Paillard with his four children,
+it was arranged in heaven that you were to marry me. So, what little
+plans your good mother may make don't cut enough ice to cool a green
+mint. Now, we can't try to get married here," continued Billy, "without
+your mother and Paillard knowing it. In this town as many people have to
+sign the marriage contract as signed our Declaration of Independence:
+all the civil authorities, all the clergy, all the relatives; if every
+man in the telephone book isn't a witness, the marriage doesn't 'take.'
+So, we must elope!"
+
+Having been brought up in a convent, where she was taught to obey her
+mother and forbidden to think of marriage, Claire was naturally
+delighted with the idea of an elopement.
+
+"To where will we elope to?" she demanded. Her English, as she learned
+it from Billy, was sometimes confusing.
+
+"To New York," said Billy. "On the voyage there I will put you in charge
+of the stewardess and the captain; and there isn't a captain on the
+Royal Dutch or the Atlas that hasn't known you since you were a baby.
+And as soon as we dock we'll drive straight to the city hall for a
+license and the mayor himself will marry us. Then I'll get back my old
+job from the Wilmot folks and we'll live happy ever after!"
+
+"In New York, also," asked Claire proudly, "are you directeur of the
+electric lights?"
+
+"On Broadway alone," Billy explained reprovingly, "there is one sign
+that uses more bulbs than there are in the whole of Hayti!"
+
+"New York is a large town!" exclaimed Claire.
+
+"It's a large sign," corrected Billy. "But," he pointed out, "with no
+money we'll never see it. So to-morrow I'm going to make a social call
+on Grandpa Ham and demand my ten thousand francs."
+
+Claire grasped his arm.
+
+"Be careful," she pleaded. "Remember the chicken soup. If he offers you
+the champagne, refuse it!"
+
+"He won't offer me the champagne," Billy assured her. "It won't be that
+kind of a call."
+
+Billy left the Cafe Ducrot and made his way to the water-front. He was
+expecting some electrical supplies by the _Prinz der Nederlanden_, and
+she had already come to anchor.
+
+He was late, and save for a group of his countrymen, who with the
+customs officials were having troubles of their own, the customs shed
+was all but deserted. Billy saw his freight cleared and was going away
+when one of those in trouble signalled for assistance.
+
+He was a good-looking young man in a Panama hat and his manner seemed to
+take it for granted that Billy knew who he was.
+
+"They want us to pay duty on our trunks," he explained, "and we want to
+leave them in bond. We'll be here only until to-night, when we're going
+on down the coast to Santo Domingo. But we don't speak French, and we
+can't make them understand that."
+
+"You don't need to speak any language to give a man ten dollars," said
+Billy.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed the man in the Panama. "I was afraid if I tried that
+they might arrest us."
+
+"They may arrest you if you don't," said Billy.
+
+Acting both as interpreter and disbursing agent, Billy satisfied the
+demands of his fellow employees of the government, and his fellow
+countrymen he directed to the Hotel Ducrot.
+
+As some one was sure to take their money, he thought it might as well go
+to his mother-in-law elect. The young man in the Panama expressed the
+deepest gratitude, and Billy, assuring him he would see him later,
+continued to the power-house, still wondering where he had seen him
+before.
+
+At the power-house he found seated at his desk a large, bearded stranger
+whose derby hat and ready-to-wear clothes showed that he also had but
+just arrived on the _Prinz der Nederlanden_.
+
+"You William Barlow?" demanded the stranger. "I understand you been
+threatening, unless you get your pay raised, to commit sabotage on these
+works?"
+
+"Who the devil are you?" inquired Billy.
+
+The stranger produced an impressive-looking document covered with seals.
+
+"Contract with the president," he said. "I've taken over your job. You
+better get out quiet," he advised, "as they've given me a squad of
+nigger policemen to see that you do."
+
+"Are you aware that these works are the property of the Wilmot Company?"
+asked Billy, "and that if anything went wrong here they'd hold you
+responsible?"
+
+The stranger smiled complacently.
+
+"I've run plants," he said, "that make these lights look like a stable
+lantern on a foggy night."
+
+"In that case," assented Billy, "should anything happen, you'll know
+exactly what to do, and I can leave you in charge without feeling the
+least anxiety."
+
+"That's just what you can do," the stranger agreed heartily, "and you
+can't do it too quick!" From the desk he took Billy's favorite pipe and
+loaded it from Billy's tobacco-jar. But when Billy had reached the door
+he called to him. "Before you go, son," he said, "you might give me a
+tip about this climate. I never been in the tropics. It's kind of
+unhealthy, ain't it?"
+
+His expression was one of concern.
+
+"If you hope to keep alive," began Billy, "there are two things to
+avoid--"
+
+The stranger laughed knowingly.
+
+"I got you!" he interrupted. "You're going to tell me to cut out wine
+and women."
+
+"I was going to tell you," said Billy, "to cut out hoping to collect any
+wages and to avoid every kind of soup."
+
+From the power-house Billy went direct to the palace. His anxiety was
+great. Now that Claire had consented to leave Hayti, the loss of his
+position did not distress him. But the possible loss of his back pay
+would be a catastrophe. He had hardly enough money to take them both to
+New York, and after they arrived none with which to keep them alive.
+Before the Wilmot Company could find a place for him a month might
+pass, and during that month they might starve. If he went alone and
+arranged for Claire to follow, he might lose her. Her mother might marry
+her to Paillard; Claire might fall ill; without him at her elbow to keep
+her to their purpose the voyage to an unknown land might require more
+courage than she possessed. Billy saw it was imperative they should
+depart together, and to that end he must have his two thousand dollars.
+The money was justly his. For it he had sweated and slaved; had given
+his best effort. And so, when he faced the president, he was in no
+conciliatory mood. Neither was the president.
+
+By what right, he demanded, did this foreigner affront his ears with
+demands for money; how dared he force his way into his presence and to
+his face babble of back pay? It was insolent, incredible. With
+indignation the president set forth the position of the government.
+Billy had been discharged and, with the appointment of his successor,
+the stranger in the derby hat, had ceased to exist. The government could
+not pay money to some one who did not exist. All indebtedness to Billy
+also had ceased to exist. The account had been wiped out. Billy had been
+wiped out.
+
+The big negro, with the chest and head of a gorilla, tossed his kinky
+white curls so violently that the ringlets danced. Billy, he declared,
+had been a pest; a fly that buzzed and buzzed and disturbed his
+slumbers. And now when the fly thought he slept he had caught and
+crushed it--so. President Ham clinched his great fist convulsively and,
+with delight in his pantomime, opened his fingers one by one, and held
+out his pink palm, wrinkled and crossed like the hand of a washerwoman,
+as though to show Billy that in it lay the fly, dead.
+
+"_C'est une chose jugee_!" thundered the president.
+
+He reached for his quill pen.
+
+But Billy, with Claire in his heart, with the injustice of it rankling
+in his mind, did not agree.
+
+"It is not an affair closed," shouted Billy in his best French. "It is
+an affair international, diplomatic; a cause for war!"
+
+Believing he had gone mad, President Ham gazed at him speechless.
+
+"From here I go to the cable office," shouted Billy. "I cable for a
+warship! If, by to-night, I am not paid my money, marines will surround
+our power-house, and the Wilmot people will back me up, and my
+government will back me up!"
+
+It was, so Billy thought, even as he launched it, a tirade satisfying
+and magnificent. But in his turn the president did not agree.
+
+He rose. He was a large man. Billy wondered he had not previously
+noticed how very large he was.
+
+"To-night at nine o'clock," he said, "the German boat departs for New
+York." As though aiming a pistol, he raised his arm and at Billy pointed
+a finger. "If, after she departs, you are found in Port-au-Prince, you
+will be shot!"
+
+The audience-chamber was hung with great mirrors in frames of tarnished
+gilt. In these Billy saw himself reproduced in a wavering line of
+Billies that, like the ghost of Banquo, stretched to the disappearing
+point. Of such images there was an army, but of the real Billy, as he
+was acutely conscious, there was but one. Among the black faces scowling
+from the doorways he felt the odds were against him. Without making a
+reply he passed out between the racks of rusty muskets in the anteroom,
+between the two Gatling guns guarding the entrance, and on the palace
+steps, in indecision, halted.
+
+As Billy hesitated an officer followed him from the palace and beckoned
+to the guard that sat in the bare dust of the Champ de Mars playing
+cards for cartridges. Two abandoned the game, and, having received
+their orders, picked their muskets from the dust and stood looking
+expectantly at Billy.
+
+They were his escort, and it was evident that until nine o'clock, when
+he sailed, his movements would be spied upon; his acts reported to the
+president.
+
+Such being the situation, Billy determined that his first act to be
+reported should be of a nature to cause the president active mental
+anguish. With his guard at his heels he went directly to the cable
+station, and to the Secretary of State of the United States addressed
+this message: "President refuses my pay; threatens shoot; wireless
+nearest war-ship proceed here full speed. William Barlow."
+
+Billy and the director of telegraphs, who out of office hours was a
+field-marshal, and when not in his shirt-sleeves always appeared in
+uniform, went over each word of the cablegram together. When Billy was
+assured that the field-marshal had grasped the full significance of it
+he took it back and added, "Love to Aunt Maria." The extra words cost
+four dollars and eighty cents gold, but, as they suggested ties of blood
+between himself and the Secretary of State, they seemed advisable. In
+the account-book in which he recorded his daily expenditures Billy
+credited the item to "life-insurance."
+
+The revised cablegram caused the field-marshal deep concern. He frowned
+at Billy ferociously.
+
+"I will forward this at once," he promised. "But, I warn you," he added,
+"I deliver also a copy to _my_ president!"
+
+Billy sighed hopefully.
+
+"You might deliver the copy first," he suggested.
+
+From the cable station Billy, still accompanied by his faithful
+retainers, returned to the power-house. There he bade farewell to the
+black brothers who had been his assistants, and upon one of them pressed
+a sum of money.
+
+As they parted, this one, as though giving the pass-word of a secret
+society, chanted solemnly:
+
+"_A huit heures juste_!"
+
+And Billy clasped his hand and nodded.
+
+At the office of the Royal Dutch West India Line Billy purchased a
+ticket to New York and inquired were there many passengers.
+
+"The ship is empty," said the agent.
+
+"I am glad," said Billy, "for one of my assistants may come with me. He
+also is being deported."
+
+"You can have as many cabins as you want," said the agent. "We are so
+sorry to see you go that we will try to make you feel you leave us on
+your private yacht."
+
+The next two hours Billy spent in seeking out those acquaintances from
+whom he could borrow money. He found that by asking for it in
+homoeopathic doses he was able to shame the foreign colony into loaning
+him all of one hundred dollars. This, with what he had in hand, would
+take Claire and himself to New York and for a week keep them alive.
+After that he must find work or they must starve.
+
+In the garden of the Cafe Ducrot Billy placed his guard at a table with
+bottles of beer between them, and at an adjoining table with Claire
+plotted the elopement for that night. The garden was in the rear of the
+hotel and a door in the lower wall opened into the rue Cambon, that led
+directly to the water-front.
+
+Billy proposed that at eight o'clock Claire should be waiting in the rue
+Cambon outside this door. They would then make their way to one of the
+less frequented wharfs, where Claire would arrange to have a rowboat in
+readiness, and in it they would take refuge on the steamer. An hour
+later, before the flight of Claire could be discovered, they would have
+started on their voyage to the mainland.
+
+"I warn you," said Billy, "that after we reach New York I have only
+enough to keep us for a week. It will be a brief honeymoon. After that
+we will probably starve. I'm not telling you this to discourage you," he
+explained; "only trying to be honest."
+
+"I would rather starve with you in New York," said Claire, "than die
+here without you."
+
+At these words Billy desired greatly to kiss Claire, but the guards were
+scowling at him. It was not until Claire had gone to her room to pack
+her bag and the chance to kiss her had passed that Billy recognized that
+the scowls were intended to convey the fact that the beer bottles were
+empty. He remedied this and remained alone at his table considering the
+outlook. The horizon was, indeed, gloomy, and the only light upon it,
+the loyalty and love of the girl, only added to his bitterness. Above
+all things he desired to make her content, to protect her from disquiet,
+to convince her that in the sacrifice she was making she also was
+plotting her own happiness. Had he been able to collect his ten thousand
+francs his world would have danced in sunshine. As it was, the heavens
+were gray and for the future the skies promised only rainy days. In
+these depressing reflections Billy was interrupted by the approach of
+the young man in the Panama hat. Billy would have avoided him, but the
+young man and his two friends would not be denied. For the service Billy
+had rendered them they wished to express their gratitude. It found
+expression in the form of Planter's punch. As they consumed this Billy
+explained to the strangers why the customs men had detained them.
+
+"You told them you were leaving to-night for Santo Domingo," said Billy;
+"but they knew that was impossible, for there is no steamer down the
+coast for two weeks."
+
+The one whose features seemed familiar replied:
+
+"Still, we _are_ leaving to-night," he said; "not on a steamer, but on a
+war-ship."
+
+"A war-ship?" cried Billy. His heart beat at high speed. "Then," he
+exclaimed, "you are a naval officer?"
+
+The young man shook his head and, as though challenging Billy to make
+another guess, smiled.
+
+"Then," Billy complied eagerly, "you are a diplomat! Are you our new
+minister?"
+
+One of the other young men exclaimed reproachfully:
+
+"You know him perfectly well!" he protested. "You've seen his picture
+thousands of times."
+
+With awe and pride he placed his hand on Billy's arm and with the other
+pointed at the one in the Panama hat.
+
+"It's Harry St. Clair," he announced. "Harry St. Clair, the King of the
+Movies!"
+
+"The King of the Movies," repeated Billy. His disappointment was so keen
+as to be embarrassing.
+
+"Oh!" he exclaimed, "I thought you--" Then he remembered his manners.
+"Glad to meet you," he said. "Seen you on the screen."
+
+Again his own troubles took precedence. "Did you say," he demanded, "one
+of our war-ships is coming here _to-day_?"
+
+"Coming to take me to Santo Domingo," explained Mr. St. Clair. He spoke
+airily, as though to him as a means of locomotion battle-ships were as
+trolley-cars. The Planter's punch, which was something he had never
+before encountered, encouraged the great young man to unbend. He
+explained further and fully, and Billy, his mind intent upon his own
+affair, pretended to listen.
+
+The United States Government, Mr. St. Clair explained, was assisting him
+and the Apollo Film Company in producing the eight-reel film entitled
+"The Man Behind the Gun."
+
+With it the Navy Department plotted to advertise the navy and encourage
+recruiting. In moving pictures, in the form of a story, with love
+interest, villain, comic relief, and thrills, it would show the life of
+American bluejackets afloat and ashore, at home and abroad. They would
+be seen at Yokohama playing baseball with Tokio University; in the
+courtyard of the Vatican receiving the blessing of the Pope; at Waikiki
+riding the breakers on a scrubbing-board; in the Philippines eating
+cocoanuts in the shade of the sheltering palm, and in Brooklyn in the
+Y.M.C.A. club, in the shadow of the New York sky-scrapers, playing
+billiards and reading the sporting extras.
+
+As it would be illustrated on the film the life of "The Man Behind the
+Gun" was one of luxurious ease. In it coal-passing, standing watch in a
+blizzard, and washing down decks, cold and unsympathetic, held no part.
+But to prove that the life of Jack was not all play he would be seen
+fighting for the flag. That was where, as "Lieutenant Hardy, U.S.A.,"
+the King of the Movies entered.
+
+"Our company arrived in Santo Domingo last week," he explained. "And
+they're waiting for me now. I'm to lead the attack on the fortress. We
+land in shore boats under the guns of the ship and I take the fortress.
+First, we show the ship clearing for action and the men lowering the
+boats and pulling for shore. Then we cut back to show the gun-crews
+serving the guns. Then we jump to the landing-party wading through the
+breakers. I lead them. The man who is carrying the flag gets shot and
+drops in the surf. I pick him up, put him on my shoulder, and carry him
+_and_ the flag to the beach, where I--"
+
+Billy suddenly awoke. His tone was one of excited interest.
+
+"You got a uniform?" he demanded.
+
+"Three," said St. Clair impressively, "made to order according to
+regulations on file in the Quartermaster's Department. Each absolutely
+correct." Without too great a show of eagerness he inquired: "Like to
+see them?"
+
+Without too great a show of eagerness Billy assured him that he would.
+
+"I got to telephone first," he added, "but by the time you get your
+trunk open I'll join you in your room."
+
+In the cafe, over the telephone, Billy addressed himself to the
+field-marshal in charge of the cable office. When Billy gave his name,
+the voice of that dignitary became violently agitated.
+
+"Monsieur Barlow," he demanded, "do you know that the warship for which
+you cabled your Secretary of State makes herself to arrive?"
+
+At the other end of the 'phone, although restrained by the confines of
+the booth, Billy danced joyously. But his voice was stern.
+
+"Naturally," he replied. "Where is she now?"
+
+An hour before, so the field-marshal informed him, the battleship
+_Louisiana_ had been sighted and by telegraph reported. She was
+approaching under forced draught. At any moment she might anchor in the
+outer harbor. Of this President Ham had been informed. He was grieved,
+indignant; he was also at a loss to understand.
+
+"It is very simple," explained Billy. "She probably was somewhere in the
+Windward Passage. When the Secretary got my message he cabled
+Guantanamo, and Guantanamo wirelessed the warship nearest
+Port-au-Prince."
+
+"President Poussevain," warned the field-marshal, "is greatly
+disturbed."
+
+"Tell him not to worry," said Billy. "Tell him when the bombardment
+begins I will see that the palace is outside the zone of fire."
+
+As Billy entered the room of St. Clair his eyes shone with a strange
+light. His manner, which toward a man of his repute St. Clair had
+considered a little too casual, was now enthusiastic, almost
+affectionate.
+
+"My dear St. Clair," cried Billy, "_I've fixed it_! But, until I was
+_sure_, I didn't want to raise your hopes!"
+
+"Hopes of what?" demanded the actor.
+
+"An audience with the president!" cried Billy. "I've just called him up
+and he says I'm to bring you to the palace at once. He's heard of you,
+of course, and he's very pleased to meet you. I told him about 'The Man
+Behind the Gun,' and he says you must come in your make-up as
+'Lieutenant Hardy, U. S. A.,' just as he'll see you on the screen."
+
+Mr. St. Clair stammered delightedly.
+
+"In uniform," he protested; "won't that be--"
+
+"White, special full dress," insisted Billy. "Medals, side-arms,
+full-dress belt, _and_ gloves. What a press story! 'The King of the
+Movies meets the President of Hayti!' Of course, he's only an ignorant
+negro, but on Broadway they don't know that; and it will sound fine!"
+
+St. Clair coughed nervously.
+
+"_Don't_ forget," he stammered, "I can't speak French, or understand it,
+either."
+
+The eyes of Billy became as innocent as those of a china doll.
+
+"Then I'll interpret," he said. "And, oh, yes," he added, "he's sending
+two of the palace soldiers to act as an escort--sort of guard of honor!"
+
+The King of the Movies chuckled excitedly.
+
+"Fine!" he exclaimed. "You _are_ a brick!"
+
+With trembling fingers he began to shed his outer garments.
+
+To hide his own agitation Billy walked to the window and turned his
+back. Night had fallen and the electric lights, that once had been his
+care, sprang into life. Billy looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock.
+The window gave upon the harbor, and a mile from shore he saw the cargo
+lights of the _Prinz der Nederlanden_, and slowly approaching, as though
+feeling for her berth, a great battleship. When Billy turned from the
+window his voice was apparently undisturbed.
+
+"We've got to hurry," he said. "The _Louisiana_ is standing in. She'll
+soon be sending a launch for you. We've just time to drive to the palace
+and back before the launch gets here."
+
+From his mind President Ham had dismissed all thoughts of the warship
+that had been sighted and that now had come to anchor. For the moment he
+was otherwise concerned. Fate could not harm him; he was about to dine.
+
+But, for the first time in the history of his administration, that
+solemn ceremony was rudely halted. An excited aide, trembling at his own
+temerity, burst upon the president's solitary state.
+
+In the anteroom, he announced, an officer from the battleship
+_Louisiana_ demanded instant audience.
+
+For a moment, transfixed in amazement, anger, and alarm President Ham
+remained seated. Such a visit, uninvited, was against all tradition; it
+was an affront, an insult. But that it was against all precedent argued
+some serious necessity. He decided it would be best to receive the
+officer. Besides, to continue his dinner was now out of the question.
+Both appetite and digestion had fled from him.
+
+In the anteroom Billy was whispering final instructions to St. Clair.
+
+"Whatever happens," he begged, "don't _laugh_! Don't even smile
+politely! He's very ignorant, you see, and he's sensitive. When he meets
+foreigners and can't understand their language, he's always afraid if
+they laugh that he's made a break and that they're laughing at _him_.
+So, be solemn; look grave; look haughty!"
+
+"I got you," assented St. Clair. "I'm to 'register' pride."
+
+"Exactly!" said Billy. "The more pride you register, the better for
+us."
+
+Inwardly cold with alarm, outwardly frigidly polite, Billy presented
+"Lieutenant Hardy." He had come, Billy explained, in answer to the call
+for help sent by himself to the Secretary of State, which by wireless
+had been communicated to the _Louisiana_. Lieutenant Hardy begged him to
+say to the president that he was desolate at having to approach His
+Excellency so unceremoniously. But His Excellency, having threatened the
+life of an American citizen, the captain of the _Louisiana_ was forced
+to act quickly.
+
+"And this officer?" demanded President Ham; "what does he want?"
+
+"He says," Billy translated to St. Clair, "that he is very glad to meet
+you, and he wants to know how much you earn a week."
+
+The actor suppressed his surprise and with pardonable pride said that
+his salary was six hundred dollars a week and royalties on each film.
+
+Billy bowed to the president.
+
+"He says," translated Billy, "he is here to see that I get my ten
+thousand francs, and that if I don't get them in ten minutes he will
+return to the ship and land marines."
+
+To St. Clair it seemed as though the president received his statement
+as to the amount of his salary with a disapproval that was hardly
+flattering. With the heel of his giant fist the president beat upon the
+table, his curls shook, his gorilla-like shoulders heaved.
+
+In an explanatory aside Billy made this clear.
+
+"He says," he interpreted, "that you get more as an actor than he gets
+as president, and it makes him mad."
+
+"I can see it does myself," whispered St. Clair. "And I don't understand
+French, either."
+
+President Ham was protesting violently. It was outrageous, he exclaimed;
+it was inconceivable that a great republic should shake the Big Stick
+over the head of a small republic, and for a contemptible ten thousand
+francs.
+
+"I will not believe," he growled, "that this officer has authority to
+threaten me. You have deceived him. If he knew the truth, he would
+apologize. Tell him," he roared suddenly, "that I _demand_ that he
+apologize!"
+
+Billy felt like the man who, after jauntily forcing the fighting,
+unexpectedly gets a jolt on the chin that drops him to the canvas.
+
+While the referee might have counted three Billy remained upon the
+canvas.
+
+Then again he forced the fighting. Eagerly he turned to St. Clair.
+
+"He says," he translated, "you must recite something."
+
+St. Clair exclaimed incredulously:
+
+"Recite!" he gasped.
+
+Than his indignant protest nothing could have been more appropriate.
+
+"Wants to see you act out," insisted Billy. "Go on," he begged; "humor
+him. Do what he wants or he'll put us in jail!"
+
+"But what shall I--"
+
+"He wants the curse of Rome from Richelieu," explained Billy. "He knows
+it in French and he wants you to recite it in English. Do you know it?"
+
+The actor smiled haughtily.
+
+"I _wrote_ it!" he protested. "Richelieu's my middle name. I've done it
+in stock."
+
+"Then do it now!" commanded Billy. "Give it to him hot. I'm Julie de
+Mortemar. He's the villain Barabas. Begin where Barabas hands you the
+cue, 'The country is the king! '"
+
+In embarrassment St. Clair coughed tentatively.
+
+"Whoever heard of Cardinal Richelieu," he protested, "in a navy
+uniform?"
+
+"Begin!" begged Billy.
+
+"What'll I do with my cap?" whispered St. Clair.
+
+In an ecstasy of alarm Billy danced from foot to foot.
+
+"I'll hold your cap," he cried. "Go on!"
+
+St. Clair gave his cap of gold braid to Billy and shifted his
+"full-dress" sword-belt. Not without concern did President Ham observe
+these preparations. For the fraction of a second, in alarm, his eyes
+glanced to the exits. He found that the officers of his staff completely
+filled them. Their presence gave him confidence and his eyes returned to
+Lieutenant Hardy.
+
+That gentleman heaved a deep sigh. Dejectedly, his head fell forward
+until his chin rested upon his chest. Much to the relief of the
+president, it appeared evident that Lieutenant Hardy was about to accede
+to his command and apologize.
+
+St. Clair groaned heavily.
+
+"Ay, is it so?" he muttered. His voice was deep, resonant, vibrating
+like a bell. His eyes no longer suggested apology. They were strange,
+flashing; the eyes of a religious fanatic; and balefully they were fixed
+upon President Ham.
+
+"Then wakes the power," the deep voice rumbled, "that in the age of iron
+burst forth to curb the great and raise the low." He flung out his left
+arm and pointed it at Billy.
+
+"Mark where she stands!" he commanded.
+
+With a sweeping, protecting gesture he drew a round Billy an imaginary
+circle. The pantomime was only too clear. To the aged negro, who feared
+neither God nor man, but only voodoo, there was in the voice and gesture
+that which caused his blood to chill.
+
+"Around her form," shrieked St. Clair, "I draw the awful circle of our
+solemn church! Set but one foot within that holy ground and on thy
+head--" Like a semaphore the left arm dropped, and the right arm, with
+the forefinger pointed, shot out at President Ham. "Yea, though it wore
+a CROWN--I launch the CURSE OF ROME!"
+
+No one moved. No one spoke. What terrible threat had hit him President
+Ham could not guess. He did not ask. Stiffly, like a man in a trance, he
+turned to the rusty iron safe behind his chair and spun the handle. When
+again he faced them he held a long envelope which he presented to Hilly.
+
+"There are the ten thousand francs," he said. "Ask him if he is
+satisfied, and demand that he go at once!"
+
+Billy turned to St. Clair.
+
+"He says," translated Billy, "he's very much obliged and hopes we will
+come again. Now," commanded Billy, "bow low and go out facing him. We
+don't want him to shoot us in the back!"
+
+Bowing to the president, the actor threw at Billy a glance full of
+indignation.
+
+"Was I as bad as _that_?" he demanded.
+
+On schedule time Billy drove up to the Hotel Ducrot and relinquished St.
+Clair to the ensign in charge of the launch from the _Louisiana_. At
+sight of St. Clair in the regalia of a superior officer, that young
+gentleman showed his surprise.
+
+"I've been giving a 'command' performance for the president," explained
+the actor modestly. "I recited for him, and, though I spoke in English,
+I think I made quite a hit."
+
+"You certainly," Billy assured him gratefully, "made a terrible hit with
+me."
+
+As the moving-picture actors, escorted by the ensign, followed their
+trunks to the launch, Billy looked after them with a feeling of great
+loneliness. He was aware that from the palace his carriage had been
+followed; that drawn in a cordon around the hotel negro policemen
+covertly observed him. That President Ham still hoped to recover his
+lost prestige and his lost money was only too evident.
+
+It was just five minutes to eight.
+
+Billy ran to his room, and with his suitcase in his hand slipped down
+the back stairs and into the garden. Cautiously he made his way to the
+gate in the wall, and in the street outside found Claire awaiting him.
+
+With a cry of relief she clasped his arm.
+
+"You are safe!" she cried. "I was so frightened for you. That President
+Ham, he is a beast, an ogre!" Her voice sank to a whisper. "And for
+myself also I have been frightened. The police, they are at each corner.
+They watch the hotel. They watch _me_! Why? What do they want?"
+
+"They want something of mine," said Billy. "But I can't tell you what it
+is until I'm sure it _is_ mine. Is the boat at the wharf?"
+
+"All is arranged," Claire assured him. "The boatmen are our friends;
+they will take us safely to the steamer."
+
+With a sigh of relief Billy lifted her valise and his own, but he did
+not move forward.
+
+Anxiously Claire pulled at his sleeve.
+
+"Come!" she begged. "For what it is that you wait?"
+
+It was just eight o'clock.
+
+Billy was looking up at the single electric-light bulb that lit the
+narrow street, and following the direction of his eyes, Claire saw the
+light grow dim, saw the tiny wires grow red, and disappear. From over
+all the city came shouts, and cries of consternation, oaths, and
+laughter, and then darkness.
+
+"I was waiting for _this_!" cried Billy.
+
+With the delight of a mischievous child Claire laughed aloud.
+
+"_You_--you did it!" she accused.
+
+"I did!" said Billy. "And now--we must run like the devil!"
+
+The _Prinz der Nederlanden_ was drawing slowly out of the harbor.
+Shoulder to shoulder Claire and Billy leaned upon the rail. On the
+wharfs of Port-au-Prince they saw lanterns tossing and candles
+twinkling; saw the _Louisiana_, blazing like a Christmas-tree, steaming
+majestically south; in each other's eyes saw that all was well.
+
+From his pocket Billy drew a long envelope.
+
+"I can now with certainty," said Billy, "state that this is
+mine--_ours_."
+
+He opened the envelope, and while Claire gazed upon many mille franc
+notes Billy told how he had retrieved them.
+
+"But what danger!" cried Claire. "In time Ham would have paid. Your
+president at Washington would have _made_ him pay. Why take such risks?
+You had but to wait!"
+
+Billy smiled contentedly.
+
+"Dear one!" he exclaimed, "the policy of watchful waiting is safer, but
+the Big Stick acts quicker and gets results!"
+
+
+
+
+THE BOY SCOUT
+
+
+A rule of the Boy Scouts is every day to do some one a good turn. Not
+because the copy-books tell you it deserves another, but in spite of
+that pleasing possibility. If you are a true scout, until you have
+performed your act of kindness your day is dark. You are as unhappy as
+is the grown-up who has begun his day without shaving or reading the New
+York _Sun_. But as soon as you have proved yourself you may, with a dear
+conscience, look the world in the face and untie the knot in your
+kerchief.
+
+Jimmie Reeder untied the accusing knot in his scarf at just ten minutes
+past eight on a hot August morning after he had given one dime to his
+sister Sadie. With that she could either witness the first-run films at
+the Palace, or by dividing her fortune patronize two of the nickel shows
+on Lenox Avenue. The choice Jimmie left to her. He was setting out for
+the annual encampment of the Boy Scouts at Hunter's Island, and in the
+excitement of that adventure even the movies ceased to thrill. But Sadie
+also could be unselfish. With a heroism of a camp-fire maiden she made
+a gesture which might have been interpreted to mean she was returning
+the money.
+
+"I can't, Jimmie!" she gasped. "I can't take it off you. You saved it,
+and you ought to get the fun of it."
+
+"I haven't saved it yet," said Jimmie. "I'm going to cut it out of the
+railroad fare. I'm going to get off at City Island instead of at Pelham
+Manor and walk the difference. That's ten cents cheaper."
+
+Sadie exclaimed with admiration:
+
+"An' you carryin' that heavy grip!"
+
+"Aw, that's nothin'," said the man of the family.
+
+"Good-by, mother. So long, Sadie."
+
+To ward off further expressions of gratitude he hurriedly advised Sadie
+to take in "The Curse of Cain" rather than "The Mohawk's Last Stand,"
+and fled down the front steps.
+
+He wore his khaki uniform. On his shoulders was his knapsack, from his
+hands swung his suitcase, and between his heavy stockings and his
+"shorts" his kneecaps, unkissed by the sun, as yet unscathed by
+blackberry vines, showed as white and fragile as the wrists of a girl.
+As he moved toward the "L" station at the corner, Sadie and his mother
+waved to him; in the street, boys too small to be Scouts hailed him
+enviously; even the policeman glancing over the newspapers on the
+news-stand nodded approval.
+
+"You a Scout, Jimmie?" he asked.
+
+"No," retorted Jimmie, for was not he also in uniform? "I'm Santa Claus
+out filling Christmas stockings."
+
+The patrolman also possessed a ready wit.
+
+"Then get yourself a pair," he advised. "If a dog was to see your
+legs--"
+
+Jimmie escaped the insult by fleeing up the steps of the Elevated.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An hour later, with his valise in one hand and staff in the other, he
+was tramping up the Boston Post Road and breathing heavily. The day was
+cruelly hot. Before his eyes, over an interminable stretch of asphalt,
+the heat waves danced and flickered. Already the knapsack on his
+shoulders pressed upon him like an Old Man of the Sea; the linen in the
+valise had turned to pig iron, his pipe-stem legs were wabbling, his
+eyes smarted with salt sweat, and the fingers supporting the valise
+belonged to some other boy, and were giving that boy much pain. But as
+the motor-cars flashed past with raucous warnings, or, that those who
+rode might better see the boy with bare knees, passed at "half speed,"
+Jimmie stiffened his shoulders and stepped jauntily forward. Even when
+the joy-riders mocked with "Oh, you Scout!" he smiled at them. He was
+willing to admit to those who rode that the laugh was on the one who
+walked. And he regretted--oh, so bitterly--having left the train. He was
+indignant that for his "one good turn a day" he had not selected one
+less strenuous--that, for instance, he had not assisted a frightened old
+lady through the traffic. To refuse the dime she might have offered, as
+all true scouts refuse all tips, would have been easier than to earn it
+by walking five miles, with the sun at ninety-nine degrees, and carrying
+excess baggage. Twenty times James shifted the valise to the other hand,
+twenty times he let it drop and sat upon it.
+
+And then, as again he took up his burden, the good Samaritan drew near.
+He drew near in a low gray racing-car at the rate of forty miles an
+hour, and within a hundred feet of Jimmie suddenly stopped and backed
+toward him. The good Samaritan was a young man with white hair. He wore
+a suit of blue, a golf cap; the hands that held the wheel were disguised
+in large yellow gloves. He brought the car to a halt and surveyed the
+dripping figure in the road with tired and uncurious eyes.
+
+"You a Boy Scout?" he asked.
+
+With alacrity for the twenty-first time Jimmie dropped the valise,
+forced his cramped fingers into straight lines, and saluted.
+
+The young man in the car nodded toward the seat beside him.
+
+"Get in," he commanded.
+
+When James sat panting happily at his elbow the old young man, to
+Jimmie's disappointment, did not continue to shatter the speed limit.
+Instead, he seemed inclined for conversation, and the car, growling
+indignantly, crawled.
+
+"I never saw a Boy Scout before," announced the old young man. "Tell me
+about it. First, tell me what you do when you're not scouting."
+
+Jimmie explained volubly. When not in uniform he was an office boy, and
+from peddlers and beggars guarded the gates of Carroll and Hastings,
+stock-brokers. He spoke the names of his employers with awe. It was a
+firm distinguished, conservative, and long established. The white-haired
+young man seemed to nod in assent.
+
+"Do you know them?" demanded Jimmie suspiciously. "Are you a customer of
+ours?"
+
+"I know them," said the young man. "They are customers of mine."
+
+Jimmie wondered in what way Carroll and Hastings were customers of the
+white-haired young man. Judging him by his outer garments, Jimmie
+guessed he was a Fifth Avenue tailor; he might be even a haberdasher.
+Jimmie continued. He lived, he explained, with his mother at One Hundred
+and Forty-sixth Street; Sadie, his sister, attended the public school;
+he helped support them both, and he now was about to enjoy a well-earned
+vacation camping out on Hunter's Island, where he would cook his own
+meals, and, if the mosquitoes permitted, sleep in a tent.
+
+"And you like that?" demanded the young man. "You call that fun?"
+
+"Sure!" protested Jimmie. "Don't _you_ go camping out?"
+
+"I go camping out," said the good Samaritan, "whenever I leave New
+York."
+
+Jimmie had not for three years lived in Wall Street not to understand
+that the young man spoke in metaphor.
+
+"You don't look," objected the young man critically, "as though you were
+built for the strenuous life."
+
+Jimmie glanced guiltily at his white knees.
+
+"You ought ter see me two weeks from now," he protested. "I get all
+sunburnt and hard--hard as anything!"
+
+The young man was incredulous.
+
+"You were near getting sunstruck when I picked you up," he laughed. "If
+you're going to Hunter's Island, why didn't you go to Pelham Manor?"
+
+"That's right!" assented Jimmie eagerly. "But I wanted to save the ten
+cents so's to send Sadie to the movies. So I walked."
+
+The young man looked his embarrassment.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he murmured.
+
+But Jimmie did not hear him. From the back of the car he was dragging
+excitedly at the hated suitcase.
+
+"Stop!" he commanded. "I got ter get out. I got ter _walk_."
+
+The young man showed his surprise.
+
+"Walk!" he exclaimed. "What is it--a bet?"
+
+Jimmie dropped the valise and followed it into the roadway. It took some
+time to explain to the young man. First, he had to be told about the
+Scout law and the one good turn a day, and that it must involve some
+personal sacrifice. And, as Jimmie pointed out, changing from a slow
+suburban train to a racing-car could not be listed as a sacrifice. He
+had not earned the money, Jirnmie argued; he had only avoided paying it
+to the railroad. If he did not walk he would be obtaining the gratitude
+of Sadie by a falsehood. Therefore, he must walk.
+
+"Not at all," protested the young man. "You've got it wrong. What good
+will it do your sister to have you sunstruck? I think you _are_
+sunstruck. You're crazy with the heat. You get in here, and we'll talk
+it over as we go along."
+
+Hastily Jimmie backed away. "I'd rather walk," he said.
+
+The young man shifted his legs irritably.
+
+"Then how'll this suit you?" he called. "We'll declare that first 'one
+good turn' a failure and start afresh. Do _me_ a good turn."
+
+Jimmie halted in his tracks and looked back suspiciously.
+
+"I'm going to Hunter's Island Inn," called the young man, "and I've lost
+my way. You get in here and guide me. That'll be doing me a good turn."
+
+On either side of the road, blotting out the landscape, giant hands
+picked out in electric-light bulbs pointed the way to Hunter's Island
+Inn. Jimmie grinned and nodded toward them.
+
+"Much obliged," he called. "I got ter walk." Turning his back upon
+temptation, he waddled forward into the flickering heat waves.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The young man did not attempt to pursue. At the side of the road, under
+the shade of a giant elm, he had brought the car to a halt and with his
+arms crossed upon the wheel sat motionless, following with frowning eyes
+the retreating figure of Jimmie. But the narrow-chested and knock-kneed
+boy staggering over the sun-baked asphalt no longer concerned him. It
+was not Jimmie, but the code preached by Jimmie, and not only preached
+but before his eyes put into practise, that interested him. The young
+man with white hair had been running away from temptation. At forty
+miles an hour he had been running away from the temptation to do a
+fellow mortal "a good turn." That morning, to the appeal of a drowning
+Caesar to "Help me, Cassius, or I sink," he had answered: "Sink!" That
+answer he had no wish to reconsider. That he might not reconsider he had
+sought to escape. It was his experience that a sixty-horse-power
+racing-machine is a jealous mistress. For retrospective, sentimental, or
+philanthropic thoughts she grants no leave of absence. But he had not
+escaped. Jimmie had halted him, tripped him by the heels, and set him
+again to thinking. Within the half-hour that followed those who rolled
+past saw at the side of the road a car with her engine running, and
+leaning upon the wheel, as unconscious of his surroundings as though he
+sat at his own fireplace, a young man who frowned and stared at nothing.
+The half-hour passed and the young man swung his car back toward the
+city. But at the first road-house that showed a blue-and-white telephone
+sign he left it, and into the iron box at the end of the bar dropped a
+nickel. He wished to communicate with Mr. Carroll, of Carroll and
+Hastings; and when he learned Mr. Carroll had just issued orders that he
+must not be disturbed, the young man gave his name.
+
+The effect upon the barkeeper was instantaneous. With the aggrieved air
+of one who feels he is the victim of a jest he laughed scornfully.
+
+"What are you putting over?" he demanded.
+
+The young man smiled reassuringly. He had begun to speak and, though
+apparently engaged with the beer-glass he was polishing, the barkeeper
+listened.
+
+Down in Wall Street the senior member of Carroll and Hastings also
+listened. He was alone in the most private of all his private offices,
+and when interrupted had been engaged in what, of all undertakings, is
+the most momentous. On the desk before him lay letters to his lawyer, to
+the coroner, to his wife; and hidden by a mass of papers, but within
+reach of his hand, was an automatic pistol. The promise it offered of
+swift release had made the writing of the letters simple, had given him
+a feeling of complete detachment, had released him, at least in thought,
+from all responsibilities. And when at his elbow the telephone coughed
+discreetly, it was as though some one had called him from a world from
+which already he had made his exit.
+
+Mechanically, through mere habit, he lifted the receiver.
+
+The voice over the telephone came in brisk, staccato sentences.
+
+"That letter I sent this morning? Forget it. Tear it up. I've been
+thinking and I'm going to take a chance. I've decided to back you boys,
+and I know you'll make good. I'm speaking from a road-house in the
+Bronx; going straight from here to the bank. So you can begin to draw
+against us within an hour. And--hello!--will three millions see you
+through?"
+
+From Wall Street there came no answer, but from the hands of the
+barkeeper a glass crashed to the floor.
+
+The young man regarded the barkeeper with puzzled eyes.
+
+"He doesn't answer," he exclaimed. "He must have hung up."
+
+"He must have fainted!" said the barkeeper.
+
+The white-haired one pushed a bill across the counter. "To pay for
+breakage," he said, and disappeared down Pelham Parkway.
+
+Throughout the day, with the bill, for evidence, pasted against the
+mirror, the barkeeper told and retold the wondrous tale.
+
+"He stood just where you're standing now," he related, "blowing in
+million-dollar bills like you'd blow suds off a beer. If I'd knowed it
+was _him_, I'd have hit him once and hid him in the cellar for the
+reward. Who'd I think he was? I thought he was a wire-tapper, working a
+con game!"
+
+Mr. Carroll had not "hung up," but when in the Bronx the beer-glass
+crashed, in Wall Street the receiver had slipped from the hand of the
+man who held it, and the man himself had fallen forward. His desk hit
+him in the face and woke him--woke him to the wonderful fact that he
+still lived; that at forty he had been born again; that before him
+stretched many more years in which, as the young man with the white hair
+had pointed out, he still could make good.
+
+The afternoon was far advanced when the staff of Carroll and Hastings
+were allowed to depart, and, even late as was the hour, two of them were
+asked to remain. Into the most private of the private offices Carroll
+invited Gaskell, the head clerk; in the main office Hastings had asked
+young Thorne, the bond clerk, to be seated.
+
+Until the senior partner has finished with Gaskell young Thorne must
+remain seated.
+
+"Gaskell," said Mr. Carroll, "if we had listened to you, if we'd run
+this place as it was when father was alive, this never would have
+happened. It _hasn't_ happened, but we've had our lesson. And after this
+we're going slow and going straight. And we don't need you to tell us
+how to do that. We want you to go away--on a month's vacation. When I
+thought we were going under I planned to send the children on a sea
+voyage with the governess--so they wouldn't see the newspapers. But now
+that I can look them in the eye again, I need them, I can't let them go.
+So, if you'd like to take your wife on an ocean trip to Nova Scotia and
+Quebec, here are the cabins I reserved for the kids. They call it the
+royal suite--whatever that is--and the trip lasts a month. The boat
+sails to-morrow morning. Don't sleep too late or you may miss her."
+
+The head clerk was secreting the tickets in the inside pocket of his
+waistcoat. His fingers trembled, and when he laughed his voice trembled.
+
+"Miss the boat!" the head clerk exclaimed. "If she gets away from Millie
+and me she's got to start now. We'll go on board to-night!"
+
+A half-hour later Millie was on her knees packing a trunk, and her
+husband was telephoning to the drug-store for a sponge-bag and a cure
+for seasickness.
+
+Owing to the joy in her heart and to the fact that she was on her knees,
+Millie was alternately weeping into the trunk-tray and offering up
+incoherent prayers of thanksgiving. Suddenly she sank back upon the
+floor.
+
+"John!" she cried, "doesn't it seem sinful to sail away in a 'royal
+suite' and leave this beautiful flat empty?"
+
+Over the telephone John was having trouble with the drug clerk.
+
+"No!" he explained, "I'm not seasick _now_. The medicine I want is to be
+taken later. I _know_ I'm speaking from the Pavonia; but the Pavonia
+isn't a ship; it's an apartment-house."
+
+He turned to Millie. "We can't be in two places at the same time," he
+suggested.
+
+"But, think," insisted Millie, "of all the poor people stifling to-night
+in this heat, trying to sleep on the roofs and fire-escapes; and our
+flat so cool and big and pretty--and no one in it."
+
+John nodded his head proudly.
+
+"I know it's big," he said, "but it isn't big enough to hold all the
+people who are sleeping to-night on the roofs and in the parks."
+
+"I was thinking of your brother--and Grace," said Millie. "They've been
+married only two weeks now, and they're in a stuffy hall bedroom and
+eating with all the other boarders. Think what our flat would mean to
+them; to be by themselves, with eight rooms and their own kitchen and
+bath, and our new refrigerator and the gramophone! It would be heaven!
+It would be a real honeymoon!"
+
+Abandoning the drug clerk, John lifted Millie in his arms and kissed
+her, for, next to his wife, nearest his heart was the younger brother.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The younger brother and Grace were sitting on the stoop of the
+boarding-house. On the upper steps, in their shirt-sleeves, were the
+other boarders; so the bride and bridegroom spoke in whispers. The air
+of the cross street was stale and stagnant; from it rose exhalations of
+rotting fruit, the gases of an open subway, the smoke of passing
+taxicabs. But between the street and the hall bedroom, with its odors of
+a gas-stove and a kitchen, the choice was difficult.
+
+"We've got to cool off somehow," the young husband was saying, "or you
+won't sleep. Shall we treat ourselves to ice-cream sodas or a trip on
+the Weehawken ferry-boat?"
+
+"The ferry-boat!" begged the girl, "where we can get away from all these
+people."
+
+A taxicab with a trunk in front whirled into the street, kicked itself
+to a stop, and the head clerk and Millie spilled out upon the pavement.
+They talked so fast, and the younger brother and Grace talked so fast,
+that the boarders, although they listened intently, could make nothing
+of it.
+
+They distinguished only the concluding sentences:
+
+"Why don't you drive down to the wharf with us," they heard the elder
+brother ask, "and see our royal suite?"
+
+But the younger brother laughed him to scorn.
+
+"What's your royal suite," he mocked, "to our royal palace?"
+
+An hour later, had the boarders listened outside the flat of the head
+clerk, they would have heard issuing from his bathroom the cooling
+murmur of running water and from his gramophone the jubilant notes of
+"Alexander's Ragtime Band."
+
+When in his private office Carroll was making a present of the royal
+suite to the head clerk, in the main office Hastings, the junior
+partner, was addressing "Champ" Thorne, the bond clerk. He addressed him
+familiarly and affectionately as "Champ." This was due partly to the
+fact that twenty-six years before Thorne had been christened Champneys
+and to the coincidence that he had captained the football eleven of one
+of the Big Three to the championship.
+
+"Champ," said Mr. Hastings, "last month, when you asked me to raise your
+salary, the reason I didn't do it was not because you didn't deserve it,
+but because I believed if we gave you a raise you'd immediately get
+married."
+
+The shoulders of the ex-football captain rose aggressively; he snorted
+with indignation.
+
+"And why should I _not_ get married?" he demanded. "You're a fine one to
+talk! You're the most offensively happy married man I ever met."
+
+"Perhaps I know I am happy better than you do," reproved the junior
+partner; "but I know also that it takes money to support a wife."
+
+"You raise me to a hundred a week," urged Champ, "and I'll make it
+support a wife whether it supports me or not."
+
+"A month ago," continued Hastings, "we could have _promised_ you a
+hundred, but we didn't know how long we could pay it. We didn't want you
+to rush off and marry some fine girl--"
+
+"Some fine girl!" muttered Mr. Thorne. "The finest girl!"
+
+"The finer the girl," Hastings pointed out, "the harder it would have
+been for you if we had failed and you had lost your job."
+
+The eyes of the young man opened with sympathy and concern.
+
+"Is it as bad as that?" he murmured.
+
+Hastings sighed happily.
+
+"It _was_," he said, "but this morning the Young Man of Wall Street did
+us a good turn--saved us--saved our creditors, saved our homes, saved
+our honor. We're going to start fresh and pay our debts, and we agreed
+the first debt we paid would be the small one we owe you. You've
+brought us more than we've given, and if you'll stay with us we're
+going to 'see' your fifty and raise it a hundred. What do you say?"
+
+Young Mr. Thorne leaped to his feet. What he said was: "Where'n hell's
+my hat?"
+
+But by the time he had found the hat and the door he mended his manners.
+
+"I say, 'Thank you a thousand times,'" he shouted over his shoulder.
+"Excuse me, but I've got to go. I've got to break the news to--"
+
+He did not explain to whom he was going to break the news; but Hastings
+must have guessed, for again he sighed happily and then, a little
+hysterically laughed aloud. Several months had passed since he had
+laughed aloud.
+
+In his anxiety to break the news Champ Thorne almost broke his neck. In
+his excitement he could not remember whether the red flash meant the
+elevator was going down or coming up, and sooner than wait to find out
+he started to race down eighteen flights of stairs when fortunately the
+elevator-door swung open.
+
+"You get five dollars," he announced to the elevator man, "if you drop
+to the street without a stop. Beat the speed limit! Act like the
+building is on fire and you're trying to save me before the roof falls."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Senator Barnes and his entire family, which was his daughter Barbara,
+were at the Ritz-Carlton. They were in town in August because there was
+a meeting of the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba Rubber Company, of
+which company Senator Barnes was president. It was a secret meeting.
+Those directors who were keeping cool at the edge of the ocean had been
+summoned by telegraph; those who were steaming across the ocean, by
+wireless.
+
+Up from the equator had drifted the threat of a scandal, sickening,
+grim, terrible. As yet it burned beneath the surface, giving out only an
+odor, but an odor as rank as burning rubber itself. At any moment it
+might break into flame. For the directors, was it the better wisdom to
+let the scandal smoulder, and take a chance, or to be the first to give
+the alarm, the first to lead the way to the horror and stamp it out?
+
+It was to decide this that, in the heat of August, the directors and the
+president had forgathered.
+
+Champ Thorne knew nothing of this; he knew only that by a miracle
+Barbara Barnes was in town; that at last he was in a position to ask her
+to marry him; that she would certainly say she would. That was all he
+cared to know.
+
+A year before he had issued his declaration of independence. Before he
+could marry, he told her, he must be able to support a wife on what he
+earned, without her having to accept money from her father, and until he
+received "a minimum wage" of five thousand dollars they must wait.
+
+"What is the matter with my father's money?" Barbara had demanded.
+
+Thorne had evaded the direct question.
+
+"There is too much of it," he said.
+
+"Do you object to the way he makes it?" insisted Barbara. "Because
+rubber is most useful. You put it in golf balls and auto tires and
+galoches. There is nothing so perfectly respectable as galoches. And
+what is there 'tainted' about a raincoat?"
+
+Thorne shook his head unhappily.
+
+"It's not the finished product to which I refer," he stammered; "it's
+the way they get the raw material."
+
+"They get it out of trees," said Barbara. Then she exclaimed with
+enlightenment--"Oh!" she cried, "you are thinking of the Congo. There it
+is terrible! _That_ is slavery. But there are no slaves on the Amazon.
+The natives are free and the work is easy. They just tap the trees the
+way the farmers gather sugar in Vermont. Father has told me about it
+often."
+
+Thorne had made no comment. He could abuse a friend, if the friend were
+among those present, but denouncing any one he disliked as heartily as
+he disliked Senator Barnes was a public service he preferred to leave to
+others. And he knew besides that if the father she loved and the man she
+loved distrusted each other, Barbara would not rest until she learned
+the reason why.
+
+One day, in a newspaper, Barbara read of the Puju Mayo atrocities, of
+the Indian slaves in the jungles and backwaters of the Amazon, who are
+offered up as sacrifices to "red rubber." She carried the paper to her
+father. What it said, her father told her, was untrue, and if it were
+true it was the first he had heard of it.
+
+Senator Barnes loved the good things of life, but the thing he loved
+most was his daughter; the thing he valued the highest was her good
+opinion. So when for the first time she looked at him in doubt, he
+assured her he at once would order an investigation.
+
+"But, of course," he added, "it will be many months before our agents
+can report. On the Amazon news travels very slowly."
+
+In the eyes of his daughter the doubt still lingered.
+
+"I am afraid," she said, "that that is true."
+
+That was six months before the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba Rubber
+Company were summoned to meet their president at his rooms in the
+Ritz-Carlton. They were due to arrive in half an hour, and while Senator
+Barnes awaited their coming Barbara came to him. In her eyes was a light
+that helped to tell the great news. It gave him a sharp, jealous pang.
+He wanted at once to play a part in her happiness, to make her grateful
+to him, not alone to this stranger who was taking her away. So fearful
+was he that she would shut him out of her life that had she asked for
+half his kingdom he would have parted with it.
+
+"And besides giving my consent," said the rubber king, "for which no one
+seems to have asked, what can I give my little girl to make her remember
+her old father? Some diamonds to put on her head, or pearls to hang
+around her neck, or does she want a vacant lot on Fifth Avenue?"
+
+The lovely hands of Barbara rested upon his shoulders; her lovely face
+was raised to his; her lovely eyes were appealing, and a little
+frightened.
+
+"What would one of those things cost?" asked Barbara.
+
+The question was eminently practical. It came within the scope of the
+senator's understanding. After all, he was not to be cast into outer
+darkness. His smile was complacent. He answered airily:
+
+"Anything you like," he said; "a million dollars?"
+
+The fingers closed upon his shoulders. The eyes, still frightened, still
+searched his in appeal.
+
+"Then, for my wedding-present," said the girl, "I want you to take that
+million dollars and send an expedition to the Amazon. And I will choose
+the men. Men unafraid; men not afraid of fever or sudden death; not
+afraid to tell the truth--even to _you_. And all the world will know.
+And they--I mean _you_--will set those people free!"
+
+Senator Barnes received the directors with an embarrassment which he
+concealed under a manner of just indignation.
+
+"My mind is made up," he told them. "Existing conditions cannot
+continue. And to that end, at my own expense, I am sending an expedition
+across South America. It will investigate, punish, and establish
+reforms. I suggest, on account of this damned heat, we do now adjourn."
+
+That night, over on Long Island, Carroll told his wife all, or nearly
+all. He did not tell her about the automatic pistol. And together on
+tiptoe they crept to the nursery and looked down at their sleeping
+children. When she rose from her knees the mother said: "But how can I
+thank him?"
+
+By "him" she meant the Young Man of Wall Street.
+
+"You never can thank him," said Carroll; "that's the worst of it."
+
+But after a long silence the mother said: "I will send him a photograph
+of the children. Do you think he will understand?"
+
+Down at Seabright, Hastings and his wife walked in the sunken garden.
+The moon was so bright that the roses still held their color.
+
+"I would like to thank him," said the young wife. She meant the Young
+Man of Wall Street. "But for him we would have lost _this_."
+
+Her eyes caressed the garden, the fruit-trees, the house with wide,
+hospitable verandas. "To-morrow I will send him some of these roses,"
+said the young wife. "Will he understand that they mean our home?"
+
+At a scandalously late hour, in a scandalous spirit of independence,
+Champ Thorne and Barbara were driving around Central Park in a taxicab.
+
+"How strangely the Lord moves, his wonders to perform," misquoted
+Barbara. "Had not the Young Man of Wall Street saved Mr. Hastings, Mr.
+Hastings could not have raised your salary; you would not have asked me
+to marry you, and had you not asked me to marry you, father would not
+have given me a wedding-present, and--"
+
+"And," said Champ, taking up the tale, "thousands of slaves would still
+be buried in the jungles, hidden away from their wives and children and
+the light of the sun and their fellow men. They still would be dying of
+fever, starvation, tortures."
+
+He took her hand in both of his and held her finger-tips against his
+lips.
+
+"And they will never know," he whispered, "when their freedom comes,
+that they owe it all to _you_."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Hunter's Island, Jimmie Reeder and his bunkie, Sam Sturges, each on
+his canvas cot, tossed and twisted. The heat, the moonlight, and the
+mosquitoes would not let them even think of sleep.
+
+"That was bully," said Jimmie, "what you did to-day about saving that
+dog. If it hadn't been for you he'd ha' drownded."
+
+"He would _not_!" said Sammy with punctilious regard for the truth; "it
+wasn't deep enough."
+
+"Well, the scout-master ought to know," argued Jimmie; "he said it was
+the best 'one good turn' of the day!"
+
+Modestly Sam shifted the lime-light so that it fell upon his bunkie.
+
+"I'll bet," he declared loyally, "_your_ 'one good turn' was a better
+one!"
+
+Jimmie yawned, and then laughed scornfully.
+
+"Me!" he scoffed. "I didn't do nothing. I sent my sister to the movies."
+
+
+
+
+THE FRAME-UP
+
+
+When the voice over the telephone promised to name the man who killed
+Hermann Banf, District Attorney Wharton was up-town lunching at
+Delmonico's. This was contrary to his custom and a concession to
+Hamilton Cutler, his distinguished brother-in-law. That gentleman was
+interested in a State constabulary bill and had asked State Senator
+Bissell to father it. He had suggested to the senator that, in the legal
+points involved in the bill, his brother-in-law would undoubtedly be
+charmed to advise him. So that morning, to talk it over, Bissell had
+come from Albany and, as he was forced to return the same afternoon, had
+asked Wharton to lunch with him up-town near the station.
+
+That in public life there breathed a man with soul so dead who, were he
+offered a chance to serve Hamilton Cutler, would not jump at the chance
+was outside the experience of the county chairman. And in so judging his
+fellow men, with the exception of one man, the senator was right. The
+one man was Hamilton Cutler's brother-in-law. In the national affairs
+of his party Hamilton Cutler was one of the four leaders. In two
+cabinets he had held office. At a foreign court as an ambassador his
+dinners, of which the diplomatic corps still spoke with emotion, had
+upheld the dignity of ninety million Americans. He was rich. The history
+of his family was the history of the State. When the Albany boats drew
+abreast of the old Cutler mansion on the east bank of the Hudson the
+passengers pointed at it with deference. Even when the search-lights
+pointed at it, it was with deference. And on Fifth Avenue, as the
+"Seeing New York" car passed his town house it slowed respectfully to
+half speed. When, apparently for no other reason than that she was good
+and beautiful, he had married the sister of a then unknown up-State
+lawyer, every one felt Hamilton Cutler had made his first mistake. But,
+like everything else into which he entered, for him matrimony also was a
+success. The prettiest girl in Utica showed herself worthy of her
+distinguished husband. She had given him children as beautiful as
+herself; as what Washington calls "a cabinet lady" she had kept her name
+out of the newspapers; as Madame l'Ambassatrice she had put
+archduchesses at their ease; and after ten years she was an adoring
+wife, a devoted mother, and a proud woman. Her pride was in believing
+that for every joy she knew she was indebted entirely to her husband. To
+owe everything to him, to feel that through him the blessings flowed,
+was her ideal of happiness.
+
+In this ideal her brother did not share. Her delight in a sense of
+obligation left him quite cold. No one better than himself knew that his
+rapid-fire rise in public favor was due to his own exertions, to the
+fact that he had worked very hard, had been independent, had kept his
+hands clean, and had worn no man's collar. Other people believed he owed
+his advancement to his brother-in-law. He knew they believed that, and
+it hurt him. When, at the annual dinner of the Amen Corner, they
+burlesqued him as singing to "Ham" Cutler, "You made me what I am
+to-day, I hope you're sat-isfied," he found that to laugh with the
+others was something of an effort. His was a difficult position. He was
+a party man; he had always worked inside the organization. The fact that
+whenever he ran for an elective office the reformers indorsed him and
+the best elements in the opposition parties voted for him did not shake
+his loyalty to his own people. And to Hamilton Cutler, as one of his
+party leaders, as one of the bosses of the "invisible government," he
+was willing to defer. But while he could give allegiance to his party
+leaders, and from them was willing to receive the rewards of office,
+from a rich brother-in-law he was not at all willing to accept anything.
+Still less was he willing that of the credit he deserved for years of
+hard work for the party, of self-denial, and of efficient public service
+the rich brother-in-law should rob him.
+
+His pride was to be known as a self-made man, as the servant only of the
+voters. And now that he had fought his way to one of the goals of his
+ambition, now that he was district attorney of New York City, to have it
+said that the office was the gift of his brother-in-law was bitter. But
+he believed the injustice would soon end. In a month he was coming up
+for re-election, and night and day was conducting a campaign that he
+hoped would result in a personal victory so complete as to banish the
+shadow of his brother-in-law. Were he re-elected by the majority on
+which he counted, he would have the party leaders on their knees.
+Hamilton Cutler would be forced to come to him. He would be in line for
+promotion. He knew the leaders did not want to promote him, that they
+considered him too inclined to kick over the traces; but were he now
+re-elected, at the next election, either for mayor or governor, he
+would be his party's obvious and legitimate candidate.
+
+The re-election was not to be an easy victory. Outside his own party, to
+prevent his succeeding himself as district attorney, Tammany Hall was
+using every weapon in her armory. The commissioner of police was a
+Tammany man, and in the public prints Wharton had repeatedly declared
+that Banf, his star witness against the police, had been killed by the
+police, and that they had prevented the discovery of his murderer. For
+this the wigwam wanted his scalp, and to get it had raked his public and
+private life, had used threats and bribes, and with women had tried to
+trap him into a scandal. But "Big Tim" Meehan, the lieutenant the Hall
+had detailed to destroy Wharton, had reported back that for their
+purpose his record was useless, that bribes and threats only flattered
+him, and that the traps set for him he had smilingly side-stepped. This
+was the situation a month before election day when, to oblige his
+brother-in-law, Wharton was up-town at Delmonico's lunching with Senator
+Bissell.
+
+Down-town at the office, Rumson, the assistant district attorney, was on
+his way to lunch when the telephone-girl halted him. Her voice was
+lowered and betrayed almost human interest.
+
+From the corner of her mouth she whispered:
+
+"This man has a note for Mr. Wharton--says if he don't get it quick
+it'll be too late--says it will tell him who killed 'Heimie' Banf!"
+
+The young man and the girl looked at each other and smiled. Their
+experience had not tended to make them credulous. Had he lived, Hermann
+Banf would have been, for Wharton, the star witness against a ring of
+corrupt police officials. In consequence his murder was more than the
+taking off of a shady and disreputable citizen. It was a blow struck at
+the high office of the district attorney, at the grand jury, and the
+law. But, so far, whoever struck the blow had escaped punishment, and
+though for a month, ceaselessly, by night and day "the office" and the
+police had sought him, he was still at large, still "unknown." There had
+been hundreds of clews. They had been furnished by the detectives of the
+city and county and of the private agencies, by amateurs, by newspapers,
+by members of the underworld with a score to pay off or to gain favor.
+But no clew had led anywhere. When, in hoarse whispers, the last one had
+been confided to him by his detectives, Wharton had protested
+indignantly.
+
+"Stop bringing me clews!" he exclaimed. "I want the man. I can't
+electrocute a clew!"
+
+So when, after all other efforts, over the telephone a strange voice
+offered to deliver the murderer, Rumson was sceptical. He motioned the
+girl to switch to the desk telephone.
+
+"Assistant District Attorney Rumson speaking," he said. "What can I do
+for you?"
+
+Before the answer came, as though the speaker were choosing his words,
+there was a pause. It lasted so long that Rumson exclaimed sharply:
+
+"Hello," he called. "Do you want to speak to me, or do you want to speak
+to me?"
+
+"I've gotta letter for the district attorney," said the voice. "I'm to
+give it to nobody but him. It's about Banf. He must get it quick, or
+it'll be too late."
+
+"Who are you?" demanded Rumson. "Where are you speaking from?"
+
+The man at the other end of the wire ignored the questions.
+
+"Where'll Wharton be for the next twenty minutes?"
+
+"If I tell you," parried Rumson, "will you bring the letter at once?"
+
+The voice exclaimed indignantly:
+
+"Bring nothing! I'll send it by district messenger. You're wasting time
+trying to reach me. It's the _letter you_ want. It tells"--the voice
+broke with an oath and instantly began again: "I can't talk over a
+phone. I tell you, it's life or death. If you lose out, it's your own
+fault. Where can I find Wharton?"
+
+"At Delmonico's," answered Rumson. "He'll be there until two o'clock."
+
+"Delmonico's! That's Forty-fort Street?"
+
+"Right," said Rumson. "Tell the messenger--"
+
+He heard the receiver slam upon the hook.
+
+With the light of the hunter in his eyes, he turned to the girl.
+
+"They can laugh," he cried, "but I believe we've hooked something. I'm
+going after it."
+
+In the waiting-room he found the detectives.
+
+"Hewitt," he ordered, "take the subway and whip up to Delmonico's. Talk
+to the taxi-starter till a messenger-boy brings a letter for the D.A.
+Let the boy deliver the note, and then trail him till he reports to the
+man he got it from. Bring the man here. If it's a district messenger and
+he doesn't report, but goes straight back to the office, find out who
+gave him the note; get his description. Then meet me at Delmonico's."
+
+Rumson called up that restaurant and had Wharton come to the phone. He
+asked his chief to wait until a letter he believed to be of great
+importance was delivered to him. He explained, but, of necessity,
+somewhat sketchily.
+
+"It sounds to me," commented his chief, "like a plot of yours to get a
+lunch up-town."
+
+"Invitation!" cried Rumson. "I'll be with you in ten minutes."
+
+After Rumson had joined Wharton and Bissell the note arrived. It was
+brought to the restaurant by a messenger-boy, who said that in answer to
+a call from a saloon on Sixth Avenue he had received it from a young man
+in ready-to-wear clothes and a green hat. When Hewitt, the detective,
+asked what the young man looked like, the boy said he looked like a
+young man in ready-to-wear clothes and a green hat. But when the note
+was read the identity of the man who delivered it ceased to be of
+importance. The paper on which it was written was without stamped
+address or monogram, and carried with it the mixed odors of the
+drug-store at which it had been purchased. The handwriting was that of a
+woman, and what she had written was: "If the district attorney will come
+at once, and alone, to Kessler's Cafe, on the Boston Post Road, near the
+city line, he will be told who killed Hermann Banf. If he don't come in
+an hour, it will be too late. If he brings anybody with him, he won't
+be told anything. Leave your car in the road and walk up the drive. Ida
+Earle."
+
+Hewitt, who had sent away the messenger-boy and had been called in to
+give expert advice, was enthusiastic.
+
+"Mr. District Attorney," he cried, "that's no crank letter. This Earle
+woman is wise. You got to take her as a serious proposition. She
+wouldn't make that play if she couldn't get away with it."
+
+"Who is she?" asked Wharton.
+
+To the police, the detective assured them, Ida Earle had been known for
+years. When she was young she had been under the protection of a man
+high in the ranks of Tammany, and, in consequence, with her different
+ventures the police had never interfered. She now was proprietress of
+the road-house in the note described as Kessler's Cafe. It was a place
+for joy-riders. There was a cabaret, a hall for public dancing, and
+rooms for very private suppers.
+
+In so far as it welcomed only those who could spend money it was
+exclusive, but in all other respects its reputation was of the worst. In
+situation it was lonely, and from other houses separated by a quarter of
+a mile of dying trees and vacant lots.
+
+The Boston Post Road upon which it faced was the old post road, but
+lately, through this back yard and dumping-ground of the city, had been
+relaid. It was patrolled only and infrequently by bicycle policemen.
+
+"But this," continued the detective eagerly, "is where we win out. The
+road-house is an old farmhouse built over, with the barns changed into
+garages. They stand on the edge of a wood. It's about as big as a city
+block. If we come in through the woods from the rear, the garages will
+hide us. Nobody in the house can see us, but we won't be a hundred yards
+away. You've only to blow a police whistle and we'll be with you."
+
+"You mean I ought to go?" said Wharton.
+
+Rumson exclaimed incredulously:
+
+"You _got_ to go!"
+
+"It looks to me," objected Bissell, "like a plot to get you there alone
+and rap you on the head."
+
+"Not with that note inviting him there," protested Hewitt, "and signed
+by Earle herself."
+
+"You don't know she signed it?" objected the senator.
+
+"I know _her_," returned the detective. "I know she's no fool. It's her
+place, and she wouldn't let them pull off any rough stuff there--not
+against the D.A., anyway."
+
+The D.A. was rereading the note.
+
+"Might this be it?" he asked. "Suppose it's a trick to mix me up in a
+scandal? You say the place is disreputable. Suppose they're planning to
+compromise me just before election. They've tried it already several
+times."
+
+"You've still got the note," persisted Hewitt. "It proves _why_ you went
+there. And the senator, too. He can testify. And we won't be a hundred
+yards away. And," he added grudgingly, "you have Nolan."
+
+Nolan was the spoiled child of "the office." He was the district
+attorney's pet. Although still young, he had scored as a detective and
+as a driver of racing-cars. As Wharton's chauffeur he now doubled the
+parts.
+
+"What Nolan testified wouldn't be any help," said Wharton. "They would
+say it was just a story he invented to save me."
+
+"Then square yourself this way," urged Rumson. "Send a note now by hand
+to Ham Cutler and one to your sister. Tell _them_ you're going to Ida
+Earle's--and why--tell them you're afraid it's a frame-up, and for them
+to keep your notes as evidence. And enclose the one from her."
+
+Wharton nodded in approval, and, while he wrote, Rumson and the
+detective planned how, without those inside the road-house being aware
+of their presence, they might be near it.
+
+Kessler's Cafe lay in the Seventy-ninth Police Precinct. In taxi-cabs
+they arranged to start at once and proceed down White Plains Avenue,
+which parallels the Boston Road, until they were on a line with
+Kessler's, but from it hidden by the woods and the garages. A walk of a
+quarter of a mile across lots and under cover of the trees would bring
+them to within a hundred yards of the house.
+
+Wharton was to give them a start of half an hour. That he might know
+they were on watch, they agreed, after they dismissed the taxi-cabs, to
+send one of them into the Boston Post Road past the road-house. When it
+was directly in front of the cafe, the chauffeur would throw away into
+the road an empty cigarette-case.
+
+From the cigar-stand they selected a cigarette box of a startling
+yellow. At half a mile it was conspicuous.
+
+"When you see this in the road," explained Rumson, "you'll know we're on
+the job. And after you're inside, if you need us, you've only to go to a
+rear window and wave."
+
+"If they mean to do him up," growled Bissell, "he won't get to a rear
+window."
+
+"He can always tell them we're outside," said Rumson--"and they are
+extremely likely to believe him. Do you want a gun?"
+
+"No," said the D.A.
+
+"Better have mine," urged Hewitt.
+
+"I have my own," explained the D.A.
+
+Rumson and Hewitt set off in taxi-cabs and, a half-hour later, Wharton
+followed. As he sank back against the cushions of the big touring-car he
+felt a pleasing thrill of excitement, and as he passed the traffic
+police, and they saluted mechanically, he smiled. Had they guessed his
+errand their interest in his progress would have been less perfunctory.
+In half an hour he might know that the police killed Banf; in half an
+hour he himself might walk into a trap they had, in turn, staged for
+him. As the car ran swiftly through the clean October air, and the wind
+and sun alternately chilled and warmed his blood, Wharton considered
+these possibilities.
+
+He could not believe the woman Earle would lend herself to any plot to
+do him bodily harm. She was a responsible person. In her own world she
+was as important a figure as was the district attorney in his. Her
+allies were the men "higher up" in Tammany and the police of the upper
+ranks of the uniformed force. And of the higher office of the district
+attorney she possessed an intimate and respectful knowledge. It was not
+to be considered that against the prosecuting attorney such a woman
+would wage war. So the thought that upon his person any assault was
+meditated Wharton dismissed as unintelligent. That it was upon his
+reputation the attack was planned seemed much more probable. But that
+contingency he had foreseen and so, he believed, forestalled. There then
+remained only the possibility that the offer in the letter was genuine.
+It seemed quite too good to be true. For, as he asked himself, on the
+very eve of an election, why should Tammany, or a friend of Tammany,
+place in his possession the information that to the Tammany candidate
+would bring inevitable defeat. He felt that the way they were playing
+into his hands was too open, too generous. If their object was to lead
+him into a trap, of all baits they might use the promise to tell him who
+killed Banf was the one certain to attract him. It made their invitation
+to walk into the parlor almost too obvious. But were the offer not
+genuine, there was a condition attached to it that puzzled him. It was
+not the condition that stipulated he should come alone. His experience
+had taught him many will confess, or betray, to the district attorney
+who, to a deputy, will tell nothing. The condition that puzzled him was
+the one that insisted he should come at once or it would be "too late."
+
+Why was haste so imperative? Why, if he delayed, would he be "too late"?
+Was the man he sought about to escape from his jurisdiction, was he
+dying, and was it his wish to make a death-bed confession; or was he so
+reluctant to speak that delay might cause him to reconsider and remain
+silent?
+
+With these questions in his mind, the minutes quickly passed, and it was
+with a thrill of excitement Wharton saw that Nolan had left the
+Zoological Gardens on the right and turned into the Boston Road. It had
+but lately been completed and to Wharton was unfamiliar. On either side
+of the unscarred roadway still lay scattered the uprooted trees and
+bowlders that had blocked its progress, and abandoned by the contractors
+were empty tar-barrels, cement-sacks, tool-sheds, and forges. Nor was
+the surrounding landscape less raw and unlovely. Toward the Sound
+stretched vacant lots covered with ash heaps; to the left a few old and
+broken houses set among the glass-covered cold frames of truck-farms.
+
+The district attorney felt a sudden twinge of loneliness. And when an
+automobile sign told him he was "10 miles from Columbus Circle," he felt
+that from the New York he knew he was much farther. Two miles up the
+road his car overhauled a bicycle policeman, and Wharton halted him.
+
+"Is there a road-house called Kessler's beyond here?" he asked.
+
+"On the left, farther up," the officer told him, and added: "You can't
+miss it, Mr. Wharton; there's no other house near it."
+
+"You know me," said the D.A. "Then you'll understand what I want you to
+do. I've agreed to go to that house alone. If they see you pass they may
+think I'm not playing fair. So stop here."
+
+The man nodded and dismounted.
+
+"But," added the district attorney, as the car started forward again,
+"if you hear shots, I don't care how fast you come."
+
+The officer grinned.
+
+"Better let me trail along now," he called; "that's a tough joint."
+
+But Wharton motioned him back; and when again he turned to look the man
+still stood where they had parted.
+
+Two minutes later an empty taxi-cab came swiftly toward him and, as it
+passed, the driver lifted his hand from the wheel and with his thumb
+motioned behind him.
+
+"That's one of the men," said Nolan, "that started with Mr. Rumson and
+Hewitt from Delmonico's."
+
+Wharton nodded; and, now assured that in their plan there had been no
+hitch, smiled with satisfaction. A moment later, when ahead of them on
+the asphalt road Nolan pointed out a spot of yellow, he recognized the
+signal and knew that within call were friends.
+
+The yellow ciagarette-box lay directly in front of a long wooden
+building of two stories. It was linked to the road by a curving driveway
+marked on either side by whitewashed stones. On verandas enclosed in
+glass Wharton saw white-covered tables under red candle-shades and,
+protruding from one end of the house and hung with electric lights in
+paper lanterns, a pavilion for dancing. In the rear of the house stood
+sheds and a thick tangle of trees on which the autumn leaves showed
+yellow. Painted fingers and arrows pointing, and an electric sign,
+proclaimed to all who passed that this was Kessler's. In spite of its
+reputation, the house wore the aspect of the commonplace. In evidence
+nothing flaunted, nothing threatened. From a dozen other inns along the
+Pelham Parkway and the Boston Post Road it was in no way to be
+distinguished.
+
+As directed in the note, Wharton left the car in the road. "For five
+minutes stay where you are," he ordered Nolan; "then go to the bar and
+get a drink. Don't talk to any one or they'll think you're trying to get
+information. Work around to the back of the house. Stand where I can see
+you from the window. I may want you to carry a message to Mr. Rumson."
+
+On foot Wharton walked up the curving driveway, and if from the house
+his approach was spied upon, there was no evidence. In the second story
+the blinds were drawn and on the first floor the verandas were empty.
+Nor, not even after he had mounted to the veranda and stepped inside the
+house, was there any sign that his visit was expected. He stood in a
+hall, and in front of him rose a broad flight of stairs that he guessed
+led to the private supper-rooms. On his left was the restaurant.
+
+Swept and garnished after the revels of the night previous, and as
+though resting in preparation for those to come, it wore an air of
+peaceful inactivity. At a table a maitre d'hotel was composing the menu
+for the evening, against the walls three colored waiters lounged
+sleepily, and on a platform at a piano a pale youth with drugged eyes
+was with one hand picking an accompaniment. As Wharton paused
+uncertainly the young man, disdaining his audience, in a shrill, nasal
+tenor raised his voice and sang:
+
+  "And from the time the rooster calls
+  I'll wear my overalls,
+    And you, a simple gingham gown.
+  So, if you're strong for a shower of rice,
+  We two could make a paradise
+    Of any One-Horse Town."
+
+At sight of Wharton the head waiter reluctantly detached himself from
+his menu and rose. But before he could greet the visitor, Wharton heard
+his name spoken and, looking up, saw a woman descending the stairs. It
+was apparent that when young she had been beautiful, and, in spite of an
+expression in her eyes of hardness and distrust, which seemed habitual,
+she was still handsome. She was without a hat and wearing a house dress
+of decorous shades and in the extreme of fashion. Her black hair, built
+up in artificial waves, was heavy with brilliantine; her hands, covered
+deep with rings, and of an unnatural white, showed the most fastidious
+care. But her complexion was her own; and her skin, free from paint and
+powder, glowed with that healthy pink that is supposed to be the
+perquisite only of the simple life and a conscience undisturbed.
+
+"I am Mrs. Earle," said the woman. "I wrote you that note. Will you
+please come this way?"
+
+That she did not suppose he might not come that way was obvious, for, as
+she spoke, she turned her back on him and mounted the stairs. After an
+instant of hesitation, Wharton followed.
+
+As well as his mind, his body was now acutely alive and vigilant. Both
+physically and mentally he moved on tiptoe. For whatever surprise, for
+whatever ambush might lie in wait, he was prepared. At the top of the
+stairs he found a wide hall along which on both sides were many doors.
+The one directly facing the stairs stood open. At one side of this the
+woman halted and with a gesture of the jewelled fingers invited him to
+enter.
+
+"My sitting-room," she said. As Wharton remained motionless she
+substituted: "My office."
+
+Peering into the room, Wharton found it suited to both titles. He saw
+comfortable chairs, vases filled with autumn leaves, in silver frames
+photographs, and between two open windows a businesslike roller-top desk
+on which was a hand telephone. In plain sight through the windows he
+beheld the garage and behind it the tops of trees. To summon Rumson, to
+keep in touch with Nolan, he need only step to one of these windows and
+beckon. The strategic position of the room appealed, and with a bow of
+the head he passed in front of his hostess and entered it. He continued
+to take note of his surroundings.
+
+He now saw that from the office in which he stood doors led to rooms
+adjoining. These doors were shut, and he determined swiftly that before
+the interview began he first must know what lay behind them. Mrs. Earle
+had followed and, as she entered, closed the door.
+
+"No!" said Wharton.
+
+It was the first time he had spoken. For an instant the woman hesitated,
+regarding him thoughtfully, and then without resentment pulled the door
+open. She came toward him swiftly, and he was conscious of the rustle of
+silk and the stirring of perfumes. At the open door she cast a frown of
+disapproval and then, with her face close to his, spoke hurriedly in a
+whisper.
+
+"A man brought a girl here to lunch," she said; "they've been here
+before. The girl claims the man told her he was going to marry her. Last
+night she found out he has a wife already, and she came here to-day
+meaning to make trouble. She brought a gun. They were in the room at the
+far end of the hall. George, the waiter, heard the two shots and ran
+down here to get me. No one else heard. These rooms are fixed to keep
+out noise, and the piano was going. We broke in and found them on the
+floor. The man was shot through the shoulder, the girl through the body.
+His story is that after she fired, in trying to get the gun from her,
+she shot herself--by accident. That's right, I guess. But the girl says
+they came here to die together--what the newspaper calls a 'suicide
+pact'--because they couldn't marry, and that he first shot her,
+intending to kill her and then himself. That's silly. She framed it to
+get him. She missed him with the gun, so now she's trying to get him
+with this murder charge. I know her. If she'd been sober she wouldn't
+have shot him; she'd have blackmailed him. She's _that_ sort. I know
+her, and--"
+
+With an exclamation the district attorney broke in upon her. "And the
+man," he demanded eagerly; "was it _he_ killed Banf?"
+
+In amazement the woman stared. "Certainly _not_!" she said.
+
+"Then what _has_ this to do with Banf?"
+
+"Nothing!" Her tone was annoyed, reproachful. "That was only to bring
+you here."
+
+His disappointment was so keen that it threatened to exhibit itself in
+anger. Recognizing this, before he spoke Wharton forced himself to
+pause. Then he repeated her words quietly.
+
+"Bring me here?" he asked. "Why?"
+
+The woman exclaimed impatiently: "So you could beat the police to it,"
+she whispered. "So you could _hush it up_!"
+
+The surprised laugh of the man was quite real. It bore no resentment or
+pose. He was genuinely amused. Then the dignity of his office, tricked
+and insulted, demanded to be heard. He stared at her coldly; his
+indignation was apparent.
+
+"You have done extremely ill," he told her. "You know perfectly well you
+had no right to bring me up here; to drag me into a row in your
+road-house. 'Hush it up!'" he exclaimed hotly. This time his laugh was
+contemptuous and threatening.
+
+"I'll show you how I'll hush it up!" He moved quickly to the open
+window.
+
+"Stop!" commanded the woman. "You can't do that!"
+
+She ran to the door.
+
+Again he was conscious of the rustle of silk, of the stirring of
+perfumes.
+
+He heard the key turn in the lock. It had come. It WAS a frame-up. There
+would be a scandal. And to save himself from it they would force him to
+"hush up" this other one. But, as to the outcome, in no way was he
+concerned. Through the window, standing directly below it, he had seen
+Nolan. In the sunlit yard the chauffeur, his cap on the back of his
+head, his cigarette drooping from his lips, was tossing the remnants of
+a sandwich to a circle of excited hens. He presented a picture of bored
+indolence, of innocent preoccupation. It was almost _too_ well done.
+
+Assured of a witness for the defense, he greeted the woman with a smile.
+"Why can't I do it?" he taunted.
+
+She ran close to him and laid her hands on his arm. Her eyes were fixed
+steadily on his. "Because," she whispered, "the man who shot that
+girl--is your brother-in-law, Ham Cutler!"
+
+For what seemed a long time Wharton stood looking down into the eyes of
+the woman, and the eyes never faltered. Later he recalled that in the
+sudden silence many noises disturbed the lazy hush of the Indian-summer
+afternoon: the rush of a motor-car on the Boston Road, the tinkle of
+the piano and the voice of the youth with the drugged eyes singing, "And
+you'll wear a simple gingham gown," from the yard below the cluck-cluck
+of the chickens and the cooing of pigeons.
+
+His first thought was of his sister and of her children, and of what
+this bomb, hurled from the clouds, would mean to her. He thought of
+Cutler, at the height of his power and usefulness, by this one
+disreputable act dragged into the mire, of what disaster it might bring
+to the party, to himself.
+
+If, as the woman invited, he helped to "hush it up," and Tammany learned
+the truth, it would make short work of him. It would say, for the
+murderer of Banf he had one law and for the rich brother-in-law, who had
+tried to kill the girl he deceived, another. But before he gave voice to
+his thoughts he recognized them as springing only from panic. They were
+of a part with the acts of men driven by sudden fear, and of which acts
+in their sane moments they would be incapable.
+
+The shock of the woman's words had unsettled his traditions. Not only
+was he condemning a man unheard, but a man who, though he might dislike
+him, he had for years, for his private virtues, trusted and admired.
+The panic passed and with a confident smile he shook his head.
+
+"I don't believe you," he said quietly.
+
+The manner of the woman was equally calm, equally assured.
+
+"Will you see her?" she asked.
+
+"I'd rather see my brother-in-law," he answered.
+
+The woman handed him a card.
+
+"Doctor Muir took him to his private hospital," she said. "I loaned them
+my car because it's a limousine. The address is on that card. But," she
+added, "both your brother and Sammy--that's Sam Muir, the doctor--asked
+you wouldn't use the telephone; they're afraid of a leak."
+
+Apparently Wharton did not hear her. As though it were "Exhibit A,"
+presented in evidence by the defense, he was studying the card she had
+given him. He stuck it in his pocket.
+
+"I'll go to him at once," he said.
+
+To restrain or dissuade him, the woman made no sudden move. In level
+tones she said: "Your brother-in-law asked especially that you wouldn't
+do that until you'd fixed it with the girl. Your face is too well known.
+He's afraid some one might find out where he is--and for a day or two no
+one must know that."
+
+"This doctor knows it," retorted Wharton.
+
+The suggestion seemed to strike Mrs. Earle as humorous. For the first
+time she laughed.
+
+"Sammy!" she exclaimed. "He's a lobbygow of mine. He's worked for me for
+years. I could send him up the river if I liked. He knows it." Her tone
+was convincing. "They both asked," she continued evenly, "you should
+keep off until the girl is out of the country, and fixed."
+
+Wharton frowned thoughtfully.
+
+And, observing this, the eyes of the woman showed that, so far, toward
+the unfortunate incident the attitude of the district attorney was to
+her most gratifying.
+
+Wharton ceased frowning.
+
+"How fixed?" he asked.
+
+Mrs. Earle shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Cutler's idea is money," she said; "but, believe _me_, he's wrong. This
+girl is a vampire. She'll only come back to you for more. She'll keep on
+threatening to tell the wife, to tell the papers. The way to fix _her_
+is to throw a scare into her. And there's only one man can do that;
+there's only one man that can hush this thing up--that's you."
+
+"When can I see her?" asked Wharton.
+
+"Now," said the woman. "I'll bring her."
+
+Wharton could not suppress an involuntary start.
+
+"Here?" he exclaimed.
+
+For the shade of a second Mrs. Earle exhibited the slightest evidence of
+embarrassment.
+
+"My room's in a mess," she explained; "and she's not hurt so much as
+Sammy said. He told her she was in bad just to keep her quiet until you
+got here."
+
+Mrs. Earle opened one of the doors leading from the room. "I won't be a
+minute," she said. Quietly she closed the door behind her.
+
+Upon her disappearance the manner of the district attorney underwent an
+abrupt change. He ran softly to the door opposite the one through which
+Mrs. Earle had passed, and pulled it open. But, if beyond it he expected
+to find an audience of eavesdroppers, he was disappointed. The room was
+empty--and bore no evidence of recent occupation. He closed the door,
+and, from the roller-top desk, snatching a piece of paper, scribbled
+upon it hastily. Wrapping the paper around a coin, and holding it
+exposed to view, he showed himself at the window. Below him, to an
+increasing circle of hens and pigeons, Nolan was still scattering
+crumbs. Without withdrawing his gaze from them, the chauffeur nodded.
+Wharton opened his hand and the note fell into the yard. Behind him he
+heard the murmur of voices, the sobs of a woman in pain, and the rattle
+of a doorknob. As from the window he turned quickly, he saw that toward
+the spot where his note had fallen Nolan was tossing the last remnants
+of his sandwich.
+
+The girl who entered with Mrs. Earle, leaning on her and supported by
+her, was tall and fair. Around her shoulders her blond hair hung in
+disorder, and around her waist, under the kimono Mrs. Earle had thrown
+about her, were wrapped many layers of bandages. The girl moved
+unsteadily and sank into a chair.
+
+In a hostile tone Mrs. Earle addressed her.
+
+"Rose," she said, "this is the district attorney." To him she added:
+"She calls herself Rose Gerard."
+
+One hand the girl held close against her side, with the other she
+brushed back the hair from her forehead. From half-closed eyes she
+stared at Wharton defiantly.
+
+"Well," she challenged, "what about it?"
+
+Wharton seated himself in front of the roller-top desk.
+
+"Are you strong enough to tell me?" he asked.
+
+His tone was kind, and this the girl seemed to resent.
+
+"Don't you worry," she sneered, "I'm strong enough. Strong enough to
+tell _all_ I know--to you, and to the papers, and to a jury--until I get
+justice." She clinched her free hand and feebly shook it at him.
+"_That's_ what I'm going to get," she cried, her voice breaking
+hysterically, "justice."
+
+From behind the armchair in which the girl half-reclined Mrs. Earle
+caught the eye of the district attorney and shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Just what _did_ happen?" asked Wharton.
+
+Apparently with an effort the girl pulled herself together.
+
+"I first met your brother-in-law--" she began.
+
+Wharton interrupted quietly.
+
+"Wait!" he said. "You are not talking to me as anybody's brother-in-law,
+but as the district attorney."
+
+The girl laughed vindictively.
+
+"I don't wonder you're ashamed of him!" she jeered.
+
+Again she began: "I first met Ham Cutler last May. He wanted to marry me
+then. He told me he was not a married man."
+
+As her story unfolded, Wharton did not again interrupt; and speaking
+quickly, in abrupt, broken phrases, the girl brought her narrative to
+the moment when, as she claimed, Cutler had attempted to kill her. At
+this point a knock at the locked door caused both the girl and her
+audience to start. Wharton looked at Mrs. Earle inquiringly, but she
+shook her head, and with a look at him also of inquiry, and of suspicion
+as well, opened the door.
+
+With apologies her head waiter presented a letter.
+
+"For Mr. Wharton," he explained, "from his chauffeur."
+
+Wharton's annoyance at the interruption was most apparent. "What the
+devil--" he began.
+
+He read the note rapidly, and with a frown of irritation raised his eyes
+to Mrs. Earle.
+
+"He wants to go to New Rochelle for an inner tube," he said. "How long
+would it take him to get there and back?"
+
+The hard and distrustful expression upon the face of Mrs. Earle, which
+was habitual, was now most strongly in evidence. Her eyes searched those
+of Wharton.
+
+"Twenty minutes," she said.
+
+"He can't go," snapped Wharton.
+
+"Tell him," he directed the waiter, "to stay where he is. Tell him I
+may want to go back to the office any minute." He turned eagerly to the
+girl. "I'm sorry," he said. With impatience he crumpled the note into a
+ball and glanced about him. At his feet was a waste-paper basket. Fixed
+upon him he saw, while pretending not to see, the eyes of Mrs. Earle
+burning with suspicion. If he destroyed the note, he knew suspicion
+would become certainty. Without an instant of hesitation, carelessly he
+tossed it intact into the waste-paper basket. Toward Rose Gerard he
+swung the revolving chair.
+
+"Go on, please," he commanded.
+
+The girl had now reached the climax of her story, but the eyes of Mrs.
+Earle betrayed the fact that her thoughts were elsewhere. With an
+intense and hungry longing, they were concentrated upon her own
+waste-paper basket.
+
+The voice of the girl in anger and defiance recalled Mrs. Earle to the
+business of the moment.
+
+"He tried to kill me," shouted Miss Rose. "And his shooting himself in
+the shoulder was a bluff. _That's_ my story; that's the story I'm going
+to tell the judge"--her voice soared shrilly--"that's the story that's
+going to send your brother-in-law to Sing Sing!"
+
+For the first time Mrs. Earle contributed to the general conversation.
+
+"You talk like a fish," she said.
+
+The girl turned upon her savagely.
+
+"If he don't like the way I talk," she cried, "he can come across!"
+
+Mrs. Earle exclaimed in horror. Virtuously her hands were raised in
+protest.
+
+"Like hell he will!" she said. "You can't pull that under my roof!"
+
+Wharton looked disturbed.
+
+"'Come across'?" he asked.
+
+"Come across?" mimicked the girl. "Send me abroad and keep me there. And
+I'll swear it was an accident. Twenty-five thousand, that's all I want.
+Cutler told me he was going to make you governor. He can't make you
+governor if he's in Sing Sing, can he? Ain't it worth twenty-five
+thousand to you to be governor? Come on," she jeered, "kick in!"
+
+With a grave but untroubled voice Wharton addressed Mrs. Earle.
+
+"May I use your telephone?" he asked. He did not wait for her consent,
+but from the desk lifted the hand telephone.
+
+"Spring, three one hundred!" he said. He sat with his legs comfortably
+crossed, the stand of the instrument balanced on his knee, his eyes
+gazing meditatively at the yellow tree-tops.
+
+If with apprehension both women started, if the girl thrust herself
+forward, and by the hand of Mrs. Earle was dragged back, he did not
+appear to know it.
+
+"Police headquarters?" they heard him ask. "I want to speak to the
+commissioner. This is the district attorney."
+
+In the pause that followed, as though to torment her, the pain in her
+side apparently returned, for the girl screamed sharply.
+
+"Be still!" commanded the older woman. Breathless, across the top of the
+armchair, she was leaning forward. Upon the man at the telephone her
+eyes were fixed in fascination.
+
+"Commissioner," said the district attorney, "this is Wharton speaking. A
+woman has made a charge of attempted murder to me against my
+brother-in-law, Hamilton Cutler. On account of our relationship, I want
+YOU to make the arrest. If there were any slip, and he got away, it
+might be said I arranged it. You will find him at the Winona apartments
+on the Southern Boulevard, in the private hospital of a Doctor Samuel
+Muir. Arrest them both. The girl who makes the charge is at Kessler's
+Cafe, on the Boston Post Road, just inside the city line. Arrest her
+too. She tried to blackmail me. I'll appear against her."
+
+Wharton rose and addressed himself to Mrs. Earle.
+
+"I'm sorry," he said, "but I had to do it. You might have known I could
+not hush it up. I am the only man who can't hush it up. The people of
+New York elected me to enforce the laws." Wharton's voice was raised to
+a loud pitch. It seemed unnecessarily loud. It was almost as though he
+were addressing another and more distant audience. "And," he continued,
+his voice still soaring, "even if my own family suffer, even if I
+suffer, even if I lose political promotion, those laws I will enforce!"
+
+In the more conventional tone of every-day politeness, he added:
+
+"May I speak to you outside, Mrs. Earle?"
+
+But, as in silence that lady descended the stairs, the district attorney
+seemed to have forgotten what it was he wished to say.
+
+It was not until he had seen his chauffeur arouse himself from
+apparently deep slumber and crank the car that he addressed her.
+
+"That girl," he said, "had better go back to bed. My men are all around
+this house and, until the police come, will detain her."
+
+He shook the jewelled fingers of Mrs. Earle warmly. "I thank you," he
+said; "I know you meant well. I know you wanted to help me, but"--he
+shrugged his shoulders--"my duty!"
+
+As he walked down the driveway to his car his shoulders continued to
+move.
+
+But Mrs. Earle did not wait to observe this phenomenon. Rid of his
+presence, she leaped, rather than ran, up the stairs and threw open the
+door of her office.
+
+As she entered, two men followed her. One was a young man who held in
+his hand an open note-book, the other was Tim Meehan, of Tammany. The
+latter greeted her with a shout.
+
+"We heard everything he said!" he cried. His voice rose in torment. "An'
+we can't use a word of it! He acted just like we'd oughta knowed he'd
+act. He's HONEST! He's so damned honest he ain't human; he's a ----
+gilded saint!"
+
+Mrs. Earle did not heed him. On her knees she was tossing to the floor
+the contents of the waste-paper basket. From them she snatched a piece
+of crumpled paper.
+
+"Shut up!" she shouted. "Listen! His chauffeur brought him this." In a
+voice that quivered with indignation, that sobbed with anger, she read
+aloud:
+
+"'As directed by your note from the window, I went to the booth and
+called up Mrs. Cutler's house and got herself on the phone. Your
+brother-in-law lunched at home to-day with her and the children and they
+are now going to the Hippodrome.
+
+"'Stop, look, and listen! Back of the bar I see two men in a room, but
+they did not see me. One is Tim Meehan, the other is a stenographer. He
+is taking notes. Each of them has on the ear-muffs of a dictagraph.
+Looks like you'd better watch your step and not say nothing you don't
+want Tammany to print.'" The voice of Mrs. Earle rose in a shrill
+shriek.
+
+"Him--a gilded saint?" she screamed; "you big stiff! He knew he was
+talking into a dictagraph all the time--and he double-crossed us!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Somewhere in France, by Richard Harding Davis
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