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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13180-0.txt b/13180-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cad911b --- /dev/null +++ b/13180-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7580 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13180 *** + +[Illustration: "'Then in charity say that word!'"] + +THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS + +BY R. W. CHAMBERS + + + +TO MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM A. HALL + + +1906 + + + + _For the harmony of the world, like that of a harp, is made up of + discords._ + + --HERACLITUS. + + + +THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS + + +CHAPTER I + + +He was thirty-three, agreeable to look at, equipped with as much culture +and intelligence as is tolerated east of Fifth Avenue and west of +Madison. He had a couple of elaborate rooms at the Lenox Club, a larger +income than seemed to be good for him, and no profession. It follows +that he was a pessimist before breakfast. Besides, it's a bad thing for +a man at thirty-three to come to the conclusion that he has seen all the +most attractive girls in the world and that they have been vastly +overrated. So, when a club servant with gilt buttons on his coat tails +knocked at the door, the invitation to enter was not very cordial. He of +the buttons knocked again to take the edge off before he entered; then +opened the door and unburdened himself as follows: + +"Mr. Gatewood, sir, Mr. Kerns's compliments, and wishes to know if 'e +may 'ave 'is coffee served at your tyble, sir." + +Gatewood, before the mirror, gave a vicious twist to his tie, inserted a +pearl scarf pin, and regarded the effect with gloomy approval. + +"Say to Mr. Kerns that I am--flattered," he replied morosely; "and tell +Henry I want him." + +"'Enry, sir? Yes, sir." + +The servant left; one of the sleek club valets came in, softly sidling. + +"Henry!" + +"Sir?" + +"I'll wear a white waistcoat, if you don't object." + +The valet laid out half a dozen. + +"Which one do you usually wear when I'm away, Henry? Which is _your_ +favorite?" + +"Sir?" + +"Pick it out and don't look injured, and _don't_ roll up your eyes. I +merely desire to borrow it for one day." + +"Very good, sir." + +"And, Henry, hereafter always help yourself to my _best_ cigars. Those I +smoke may injure you. I've attempted to conceal the keys, but you will, +of course, eventually discover them under that loose tile on the +hearth." + +"Yes, sir; thanky', sir," returned the valet gravely. + +"And--Henry!" + +"Sir?" with martyred dignity. + +"When you are tired of searching for my olivine and opal pin, just find +it, for a change. I'd like to wear that pin for a day or two if it would +not inconvenience you." + +"Very good, sir; I will 'unt it hup, sir." + +Gatewood put on his coat, took hat and gloves from the unabashed valet, +and sauntered down to the sunny breakfast room, where he found Kerns +inspecting a morning paper and leisurely consuming grapefruit with a +cocktail on the side. + +"Hullo," observed Kerns briefly. + +"I'm not on the telephone," snapped Gatewood. + +"I beg your pardon; how are you, dear friend?" + +"_I_ don't know how I am," retorted Gatewood irritably; "how the devil +should a man know how he is?" + +"Everything going to the bowwows, _as_ usual, dear friend?" + +"_As_ usual. Oh, read your paper, Tommy! You know well enough I'm not +one of those tail-wagging imbeciles who wakes up in the morning singing +like a half-witted lark. Why should I, with this taste in my mouth, and +the laundress using vitriol, and Henry sneering at my cigars?" He yawned +and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. "Besides, there's too much gilt +all over this club! There's too much everywhere. Half the world is +stucco, the rest rococo. Where's that Martini I bid for?" + +Kerns, undisturbed, applied himself to cocoa and toasted muffins. +Grapefruit and an amber-tinted accessory were brought for the other and +sampled without mirth. However, a little later Gatewood said: "Well, are +you going to read your paper all day?" + +"What you need," said Kerns, laying the paper aside, "is a job--any old +kind would do, dear friend." + +"I don't want to make any more money." + +"I don't want you to. I mean a job where you'd lose a lot and be scared +into thanking Heaven for carfare. _You're_ a nice object for the +breakfast table!" + +"Bridge. I will be amiable enough by noon time." + +"Yes, you're endurable by noon time, as a rule. When you're forty you +may be tolerated after five o'clock; when you're fifty your wife and +children might even venture to emerge from the cellar after dinner--" + +"Wife!" + +"I said wife," replied Kerns, as he calmly watched his man. + +He had managed it well, so far, and he was wise enough not to overdo it. +An interval of silence was what the situation required. + +"I wish I _had_ a wife," muttered Gatewood after a long pause. + +"Oh, haven't you said that every day for five years? Wife! Look at the +willing assortment of dreams playing Sally Waters around town. Isn't +this borough a bower of beauty--a flowery thicket where the prettiest +kind in all the world grow under glass or outdoors? And what do you do? +You used to pretend to prowl about inspecting the yearly crop of posies, +growling, cynical, dissatisfied; but you've even given that up. Now you +only point your nose skyward and squall for a mate, and yowl mournfully +that you never have seen your ideal. _I_ know _you_." + +"I never have seen my ideal," retorted Gatewood sulkily, "but I know she +exists--somewhere between heaven and Hoboken." + +"You're sure, are you?" + +"Oh, _I'm_ sure. And, rich or poor, good or bad, she was fashioned for +me alone. That's a theory of mine; _you_ needn't accept it; in fact, +it's none of your business, Tommy." + +"All the same," insisted Kerns, "did you ever consider that if your +ideal does exist somewhere, it is morally up to you to find her?" + +"Haven't I inspected every débutante for ten years? You don't expect me +to advertise for an ideal, do you--object, matrimony?" + +Kerns regarded him intently. "Now, I'm going to make a vivid suggestion, +Jack. In fact, that's why I subjected myself to the ordeal of +breakfasting with you. It's none of my business, as you so kindly put +it, but--_shall_ I suggest something?" + +"Go ahead," replied Gatewood, tranquilly lighting a cigarette. "I know +what you'll say." + +"No, you don't. Firstly, you are having such a good time in this world +that you don't really enjoy yourself--isn't that so?" + +"I--well I--well, let it go at that." + +"Secondly, with all your crimes and felonies, you have one decent trait +left: you really would like to fall in love. And I suspect you'd even +marry." + +"There are grounds," said Gatewood guardedly, "for your suspicions. _Et +après?_" + +"Good. Then there's a way! I know--" + +"Oh, don't tell me you 'know a girl,' or anything like that!" began +Gatewood sullenly. "I've heard that before, and I won't meet her." + +"I don't want you to; I don't know anybody. All I desire to say is this: +I do know a way. The other day I noticed a sign on Fifth Avenue: + + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +It was a most extraordinary sign; and having a little unemployed +imagination I began to speculate on how Keen & Co. might operate, and I +wondered a little, too, that, the conditions of life in this city could +enable a firm to make a living by devoting itself exclusively to the +business of hunting up missing people." + +Kerns paused, partly to light a cigarette, partly for diplomatic +reasons. + +"What has all this to do with me?" inquired Gatewood curiously; and +diplomacy scored one. + +"Why not try Keen & Co.?" + +"Try them? Why? I haven't lost anybody, have I?" + +"You haven't, precisely _lost anybody_, but the fact remains that you +can't _find somebody_," returned Kerns coolly. "Why not employ Keen & +Co. to look for her?" + +"Look for whom, in Heaven's name?" + +"Your ideal." + +"Look for--for my ideal! Kerns, you're crazy. How the mischief can +anybody hunt for somebody who doesn't exist?" + +"You _say_ that she _does_ exist." + +"But I can't prove it, man." + +"You don't have to; it's up to Keen & Co. to prove it. That's why you +employ them." + +"What wild nonsense you talk! Keen & Co. might, perhaps, be able to +trace the concrete, but how are they going to trace and find the +abstract?" + +"She isn't abstract; she is a lovely, healthy, and youthful concrete +object--if, as you say, she _does_ exist." + +"How can I _prove_ she exists?" + +"You don't have to; they do that." + +"Look here," said Gatewood almost angrily, "do you suppose that if I +were ass enough to go to these people and tell them that I wanted to +find my ideal--" + +"_Don't_ tell them _that_!" + +"But how--" + +"There is no necessity for going into such trivial details. All you +need say is: 'I am very anxious to find a young lady'--and then describe +her as minutely as you please. Then, when they locate a girl of that +description they'll notify you; you will go, judge for yourself whether +she is the one woman on earth--and, if disappointed, you need only shake +your head and murmur: 'Not _the_ same!' And it's for them to find +another." + +"I won't do it!" said Gatewood hotly. + +"Why not? At least, it would be amusing. You haven't many mental +resources, and it might occupy you for a week or two." + +Gatewood glared. + +"You have a pleasant way of putting things this morning, haven't you?" + +"I don't want to be pleasant: I want to jar you. Don't I care enough +about you to breakfast with you? Then I've a right to be pleasantly +unpleasant. I can't bear to watch your mental and spiritual +dissolution--a man like you, with all your latent ability and capacity +for being nobody in particular--which is the sort of man this nation +needs. Do you want to turn into a club-window gazer like Van Bronk? Do +you want to become another Courtlandt Allerton and go rocking down the +avenue--a grimacing, tailor-made sepulcher?--the pompous obsequies of a +dead intellect?--a funeral on two wavering legs, carrying the corpse of +all that should be deathless in a man? Why, Jack, I'd rather see you in +bankruptcy--I'd rather see you trying to lead a double life in a single +flat on seven dollars and a half a week--I'd almost rather see you every +day at breakfast than have it come to that! + +"Wake up and get jocund with life! Why, you could have all good citizens +stung to death if you chose. It isn't that I want you to make money; but +I want you to worry over somebody besides yourself--not in Wall +Street--a fool and its money are soon parted. But in your own home, +where a beautiful wife and seven angel children have you dippy and close +to the ropes; where the housekeeper gets a rake off, and the cook is +red-headed and comes from Sligo, and the butler's cousin will bear +watching, and the chauffeur is a Frenchman, and the coachman's uncle is +a Harlem vet, and every scullion in the establishment lies, drinks, +steals, and supports twenty satiated relatives at your expense. That +would mean the making of you; for, after all, Jack, you are no +genius--you're a plain, non-partisan, uninspired, clean-built, wholesome +citizen, thank God!--the sort whose unimaginative mission is to pitch in +with eighty-odd millions of us and, like the busy coral creatures, +multiply with all your might, and make this little old Republic the +greatest, biggest, finest article that an overworked world has ever yet +put up! . . . Now you can call for help if you choose." + +Gatewood's breath returned slowly. In an intimacy of many years he had +never suspected that sort of thing from Kerns. That is why, no doubt, +the opinions expressed by Kerns stirred him to an astonishment too +innocent to harbor anger or chagrin. + +And when Kerns stood up with an unembarrassed laugh, saying, "I'm going +to the office; see you this evening?" Gatewood replied rather vacantly: +"Oh, yes; I'm dining here. Good-by, Tommy." + +Kerns glanced at his watch, lingering. "Was there anything you wished to +ask me, Jack?" he inquired guilelessly. + +"Ask you? No, I don't think so." + +"Oh; I had an idea you might care to know where Keen & Co. were to be +found." + +"_That_," said Gatewood firmly, "is foolish." + +"I'll write the address for you, anyway," rejoined Kerns, scribbling it +and handing the card to his friend. + +Then he went down the stairs, several at a time, eased in conscience, +satisfied that he had done his duty by a friend he cared enough for to +breakfast with. + +"Of course," he ruminated as he crawled into a hansom and lay back +buried in meditation--"of course there may be nothing in this Keen & Co. +business. But it will stir him up and set him thinking; and the longer +Keen & Co. take to hunt up an imaginary lady that doesn't exist, the +more anxious and impatient poor old Jack Gatewood will become, until +he'll catch the fever and go cantering about with that one fixed idea in +his head. And," added Kerns softly, "no New Yorker in his right mind can +go galloping through these five boroughs very long before he's roped, +tied, and marked by the 'only girl in the world'--the _only_ girl--if +you don't care to turn around and look at another million girls +precisely like her. O Lord!--precisely like her!" + +Here was a nice exhorter to incite others to matrimony. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Meanwhile, Gatewood was walking along Fifth Avenue, more or less soothed +by the May sunshine. First, he went to his hatters, looked at straw +hats, didn't like them, protested, and bought one, wishing he had +strength of mind enough to wear it home. But he hadn't. Then he entered +the huge white marble palace of his jeweler, left his watch to be +regulated, caught a glimpse of a girl whose hair and neck resembled the +hair and neck of his ideal, sidled around until he discovered that she +was chewing gum, and backed off, with a bitter smile, into the avenue +once more. + +Every day for years he had had glimpses of girls whose hair, hands, +figures, eyes, hats, carriage, resembled the features required by his +ideal; there always was something wrong somewhere. And, as he strolled +moodily, a curious feeling of despair seized him--something that, even +in his most sentimental moments, even amid the most unexpected +disappointment, he had never before experienced. + +"I do want to love _somebody_!" he found himself saying half aloud; "I +want to marry; I--" He turned to look after three pretty children with +their maids--"I want several like those--several!--seven--ten--I don't +care how many! I want a house to worry me, just as Tommy described it; I +want to see the same girl across the breakfast table--or she can sip her +cocoa in bed if she desires--" A slow, modest blush stole over his +features; it was one of the nicest things he ever did. Glancing up, he +beheld across the way a white sign, ornamented with strenuous crimson +lettering: + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +The moment he discovered it, he realized he had been covertly hunting +for it; he also realized that he was going to climb the stairs. He +hadn't quite decided what he meant to do after that; nor was his mind +clear on the matter when he found himself opening a door of opaque glass +on which was printed in red: + + KEEN & CO. + +He was neither embarrassed nor nervous when he found himself in a big +carpeted anteroom where a negro attendant bowed him to a seat and took +his card; and he looked calmly around to see what was to be seen. + +Several people occupied easy chairs in various parts of the room--an old +woman very neatly dressed, clutching in her withered hand a photograph +which she studied and studied with tear-dimmed eyes; a young man wearing +last year's most fashionable styles in everything except his features: +and soap could have aided him there; two policemen, helmets resting on +their knees; and, last of all, a rather thin child of twelve, staring +open-mouthed at everybody, a bundle of soiled clothing under one arm. +Through an open door he saw a dozen young women garbed in black, with +white cuffs and collars, all rattling away steadily at typewriters. +Every now and then, from some hidden office, a bell rang decisively, and +one of the girls would rise from her machine and pass noiselessly out of +sight to obey the summons. From time to time, too, the darky servant +with marvelous manners would usher somebody through the room where the +typewriters were rattling, into the unseen office. First the old woman +went--shakily, clutching her photograph; then the thin child with the +bundle, staring at everything; then the two fat policemen, in portentous +single file, helmets in their white-gloved hands, oiled hair glistening. + +Gatewood's turn was approaching; he waited without any definite +emotion, watching newcomers enter to take the places of those who had +been summoned. He hadn't the slightest idea of what he was to say; nor +did it worry him. A curious sense of impending good fortune left him +pleasantly tranquil; he picked up, from the silver tray on the table at +his elbow, one of the firm's business cards, and scanned it with +interest: + + KEEN & CO. + + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + + _Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found._ + + _Blanks on application._ + + WESTREL KEEN, _Manager_. + +"Mistuh Keen will see you, suh," came a persuasive voice at his elbow; +and he rose and followed the softly moving colored servant out of the +room, through a labyrinth of demure young women at their typewriters, +then sharply to the right and into a big, handsomely furnished office, +where a sleepy-looking elderly gentleman rose from an armchair and +bowed. There could not be the slightest doubt that he _was_ a +gentleman; every movement, every sound he uttered, settled the fact. + +"Mr. Keen?" + +"Mr. Gatewood?"--with a quiet certainty which had its charm. "This is +very good of you." + +Gatewood sat down and looked at his host. Then he said: "I'm searching +for somebody, Mr. Keen, whom you are not likely to find." + +"I doubt it," said Keen pleasantly. + +Gatewood smiled. "If," he said, "you will undertake to find the person +_I_ cannot find, I must ask you to accept a retainer." + +"We don't require retainers," replied Keen. "Unless we find the person +sought for, we make no charges, Mr. Gatewood." + +"I must ask you to do so in my case. It is not fair that you should +undertake it on other terms. I desire to make a special arrangement with +you. Do you mind?" + +"What arrangement had you contemplated?" inquired Keen, amused. + +"Only this: charge me in advance exactly what you would charge if +successful. And, on the other hand, do not ask me for detailed +information--I mean, do not insist on any information that I decline to +give. Do you mind taking up such an extraordinary and unbusinesslike +proposition, Mr. Keen?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons looked up sharply: + +"About how much information _do_ you decline to give, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"About enough to incriminate and degrade," replied the young man, +laughing. + +The elderly gentleman sat silent, apparently buried in meditation. Once +or twice his pleasant steel-gray eyes wandered over Gatewood as an +expert, a connoisseur, glances at a picture and assimilates its history, +its value, its artistic merit, its every detail in one practiced glance. + +"I think we may take up this matter for you, Mr. Gatewood," he said, +smiling his singularly agreeable smile. + +"But--but you would first desire to know something about me--would you +not?" + +Keen looked at him: "You will not mistake me--you will consider it +entirely inoffensive--if I say that I know something about you, Mr. +Gatewood?" + +"About _me_? How can you? Of course, there is the social register and +the club lists and all that--" + +"And many, many sources of information which are necessary in such a +business as this, Mr. Gatewood. It is a necessity for us to be almost +as well informed as our clients' own lawyers. I could pay you no +sincerer compliment than to undertake your case. I am half inclined to +do so even _without_ a retainer. Mind, I haven't yet said that I _will_ +take it." + +"I prefer to regulate any possible indebtedness in advance," said +Gatewood. + +"As you wish," replied the older man, smiling. "In that case, suppose +you draw your check" (he handed Gatewood a fountain pen as the young man +fished a check-book from his pocket)--"your check for--well, say for +$5,000, to the order of Keen & Co." + +Gatewood met his eye without wincing; he was in for it now; and he was +always perfectly game. He had brought it upon himself; it was his own +proposition. Not that he would have for a moment considered the sum as +high--or any sum exorbitant--if there had been a chance of success; one +cannot compare and weigh such matters. But how could there be any chance +for success? + +As he slowly smoothed out the check and stub, pen poised, Keen was +saying: "Of course, we should succeed sooner or later--if we took up +your case. We might succeed to-morrow--to-day. That would mean a large +profit for us. But we might not succeed to-day, or next month, or even +next year. That would leave us little or no profit; and, as it is our +custom to go on until we do succeed, no matter how long it may require, +you see, Mr. Gatewood, I should be taking all sorts of chances. It might +even cost us double your retainer before we found her--" + +"Her? How did--_why_ do you say '_her_'?" + +"Am I wrong?" asked Keen, smiling. + +"No--you are right." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons sank into abstraction again. Gatewood waited, +hoping that his case might be declined, yet ready to face any music +started at his own request. + +"She is young," mused Keen aloud, "very beautiful and accomplished. _Is_ +she wealthy?" He looked up mildly. + +Gatewood said: "I don't know--the truth is I don't care--" And stopped. + +"O-ho!" mused Keen slowly. "I--think--I understand. Am I wrong, Mr. +Gatewood, in surmising that this young lady whom you seek is, in your +eyes, very--I may say ideally gifted?" + +"She is my ideal," replied the young man, coloring. + +"_Ex_actly. And--her general allure?" + +"Charming!" + +"_Ex_actly; but to be a trifle more precise--if you could give me a +sketch, an idea, a mere outline delicately tinted, now. _Is_ she more +blond than brunette?" + +"Yes--but her eyes are brown. I--I insist on that." + +"Why should you not? _You_ know her; I don't," said Keen, laughing. "I +merely wished to form a mental picture. . . . You say her hair is--is--" + +"It's full of sunny color; that's all I can say." + +"_Ex_actly--I see. A rare and lovely combination with brown eyes and +creamy skin, Mr. Gatewood. I fancy she might be, perhaps, an inch or two +under your height?" + +"Just about that. Her hands should be--_are_ beautiful--" + +"_Ex_actly. The ensemble is most vividly portrayed, Mr. Gatewood; +and--you have intimated that her lack of fortune--er--we might almost +say her pecuniary distress--is more than compensated for by her +accomplishments, character, and very unusual beauty. . . . _Did_ I so +understand you, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"That's what I meant, anyhow," he said, flushing up. + +"You _did_ mean it?" + +"I did: I do." + +"Then we take your case, Mr. Gatewood. . . . No haste about the check, +my dear sir--pray consider us at your service." + +But Gatewood doggedly filled in the check and handed it to the Tracer of +Lost Persons. + +"I wish you happiness," said the older man in a low voice. "The lady you +describe exists; it is for us to discover her." + +"Thank you," stammered Gatewood, astounded. + +Keen touched an electric button; a moment later a young girl entered the +room. + +"Miss Southerland, Mr. Gatewood. Will you be kind enough to take Mr. +Gatewood's dictation in Room 19?" + +For a second Gatewood stared--as though in the young girl before him the +ghost of his ideal had risen to confront him--only for a second; then he +bowed, matching her perfect acknowledgment of his presence by a bearing +and courtesy which must have been inbred to be so faultless. + +And he followed her to Room 19. + +What had Keen meant by saying, "The lady you describe exists!" Did this +remarkable elderly gentleman suspect that it was to be a hunt for an +ideal? Had he deliberately entered into such a bargain? Impossible! + +His disturbed thoughts reverted to the terms of the bargain, the entire +enterprise, the figures on his check. His own amazing imbecility +appalled him. What idiocy! What sudden madness had seized him to +entangle himself in such unheard-of negotiations! True, he had played +bridge until dawn the night before, but, on awaking, he had discovered +no perceptible hold-over. It must have been sheer weakness of intellect +that permitted him to be dominated by the suggestions of Kerns. And now +the game was on: the jack declared, cards dealt, and his ante was up. +Had he openers? + +Room 19, duly labeled with its number on the opaque glass door, +contained a desk, a table and typewriter, several comfortable chairs, +and a window opening on Fifth Avenue, through which the eastern sun +poured a stream of glory, washing curtain, walls, and ceiling with +palest gold. + +And all this time, preoccupied with new impressions and his own growing +chagrin, he watched the girl who conducted him with all the unconscious +assurance and grace of a young chatelaine passing through her own domain +under escort of a distinguished guest. + +When they had entered Room 19, she half turned, but he forestalled her +and closed the door, and she passed before him with a perceptible +inclination of her finely modeled head, seating herself at the desk by +the open window. He took an armchair at her elbow and removed his +gloves, looking at her expectantly. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +"This is a list of particular and general questions for you to answer, +Mr. Gatewood," she said, handing him a long slip of printed matter. "The +replies to such questions as you are able or willing to answer you may +dictate to me." The beauty of her modulated voice was scarcely a +surprise--no woman who moved and carried herself as did this tall young +girl in black and white could reasonably be expected to speak with less +distinction--yet the charm of her voice, from the moment her lips +unclosed, so engrossed him that the purport of her speech escaped him. + +"Would you mind saying it once more?" he asked. + +She did so; he attempted to concentrate his attention, and succeeded +sufficiently to look as though some vestige of intellect remained in +him. He saw her pick up a pad and pencil; the contour and grace of two +deliciously fashioned hands arrested his mental process once more. + +"I _beg_ your pardon," he said hastily; "what were you saying, Miss +Southerland?" + +"Nothing, Mr. Gatewood. I did not speak." And he realized, hazily, that +she had not spoken--that it was the subtle eloquence of her youth and +loveliness that had appealed like a sudden voice--a sound faintly +exquisite echoing his own thought of her. + +Troubled, he looked at the slip of paper in his hand; it was headed: + + SPECIAL DESCRIPTION BLANK + (_Form K_) + +And he read it as carefully as he was able to--the curious little clamor +of his pulses, the dazed sense of elation, almost of expectation, +distracting his attention all the time. + +"I wish you would read it to me," he said; "that would give me time to +think up answers." + +"If you wish," she assented pleasantly, swinging around toward him in +her desk chair. Then she crossed one knee over the other to support the +pad, and, bending above it, lifted her brown eyes. She could have done +nothing in the world more distracting at that moment. + +"What is the sex of the person you desire to find, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"Her sex? I--well, I fancy it is feminine." + +She wrote after "Sex" the words "She is probably feminine"; looked at +him absently, glanced at what she had written, flushed a little, rubbed +out the "she is probably," wondering why a moment's mental wandering +should have committed her to absurdity. + +"Married?" she asked with emphasis. + +"No," he replied, startled; then, vexed, "I beg your pardon--you mean to +ask if _she_ is married!" + +"Oh, I didn't mean _you_, Mr. Gatewood; it's the next question, you +see"--she held out the blank toward him. "Is the person you are looking +for married?" + +"Oh, no; she isn't married, either--at least--trust--not--because if she +_is_ I don't want to find her!" he ended, entangled in an explanation +which threatened to involve him deeper than he desired. And, looking up, +he saw the beautiful brown eyes regarding him steadily. They reverted to +the paper at once, and the white fingers sent the pencil flying. + +"He trusts that she is unmarried, but if she _is_ (underlined) married +he doesn't want to find her," she wrote. + +"That," she explained, "goes under the head of 'General Remarks' at the +bottom of the page"--she held it out, pointing with her pencil. He +nodded, staring at her slender hand. + +"Age?" she continued, setting the pad firmly on her rounded, yielding +knee and looking up at him. + +"Age? Well, I--as a matter of fact, I could only venture a surmise. You +know," he said earnestly, "how difficult it is to guess ages, don't you, +Miss Southerland?" + +"How old do you _think_ she is? Could you not hazard a guess--judging, +say, from her appearance?" + +"I have no data--no experience to guide me." He was becoming involved +again. "Would you, for practice, permit me first to guess your age, Miss +Southerland?" + +"Why--yes--if you think that might help you to guess hers." + +So he leaned back in his armchair and considered her a very long +time--having a respectable excuse to do so. Twenty times he forgot he +was looking at her for any purpose except that of disinterested delight, +and twenty times he remembered with a guilty wince that it was a matter +of business. + +"Perhaps I had better tell you," she suggested, her color rising a +little under his scrutiny. + +"Is it eighteen? Just _her_ age!" + +"Twenty-one, Mr. Gatewood--and you _said_ you didn't know her age." + +"I have just remembered that I _thought_ it might be eighteen; but I +dare say I was shy three years in her case, too. You may put it down at +twenty-one." + +For the slightest fraction of a second the brown eyes rested on his, the +pencil hovered in hesitation. Then the eyes fell, and the moving fingers +wrote. + +"Did you write 'twenty-one'?" he inquired carelessly. + +"I did not, Mr. Gatewood." + +"What did you write?" + +"I wrote: 'He doesn't appear to know much about her age.'" + +"But I _do_ know--" + +"You said--" They looked at one another earnestly. + +"The next question," she continued with composure, "is: 'Date and place +of birth?' Can you answer any part of _that_ question?" + +"I trust I may be able to--some day. . . . What _are_ you writing?" + +"I'm writing: 'He trusts he may be able to, some day.' Wasn't that what +you said?" + +"Yes, I did say that. I--I'm not perfectly sure what I meant by it." + +She passed to the next question: + +"Height?" + +"About five feet six," he said, fascinated gaze on her. + +"Hair?" + +"More gold than brown--full of--er--gleams--" She looked up quickly; his +eyes reverted to the window rather suddenly. He had been looking at her +hair. + +"Complexion?" she continued after a shade of hesitation. + +"It's a sort of delicious mixture--bisque, tinted with a pinkish +bloom--ivory and rose--" He was explaining volubly, when she began to +shake her head, timing each shake to his words. + +"Really, Mr. Gatewood, I think you are hopelessly vague on that +point--unless you desire to convey the impression that she is speckled." + +"Speckled!" he repeated, horrified. "Why, I am describing a woman who is +my ideal of beauty--" + +But she had already gone to the next question: + +"Teeth?" + +"P-p-perfect p-p-pearls!" he stammered. The laughing red mouth closed +like a flower at dusk, veiling the sparkle of her teeth. + +Was he trying to be impertinent? Was he deliberately describing her? He +did not look like that sort of man; yet _why_ was he watching her so +closely, so curiously at every question? Why did he look at her teeth +when she laughed? + +"Eyes?" Her own dared him to continue what, coincidence or not, was +plainly a description of herself. + +"B-b-b--" He grew suddenly timorous, hesitating, pretending to a +perplexity which was really a healthy scare. For she was frowning. + +"Curious I can't think of the color of her eyes," he said; "is--isn't +it?" + +She coldly inspected her pad and made a correction; but all she did was +to rub out a comma and put another in its place. Meanwhile, Gatewood, +chin in his hand, sat buried in profound thought. "_Were_ they blue?" he +murmured to himself aloud, "or _were_ they brown? Blue begins with a _b_ +and brown begins with a _b_. I'm convinced that her eyes began with a +_b_. They were not, therefore, gray or green, because," he added in a +burst of confidence, "it is utterly impossible to spell gray or green +with a _b_!" + +Miss Southerland looked slightly astonished. + +"All you can recollect, then, is that the color of her eyes began with +the letter _b_?" + +"That is absolutely all I can remember; but I _think_ they +_were_--brown." + +"If they _were_ brown they must be brown now," she observed, looking out +of the window. + +"That's true! Isn't it curious I never thought of that? What are you +writing?" + +"Brown," she said, so briefly that it sounded something like a snub. + +"Mouth?" inquired the girl, turning a new leaf on her pad. + +"Perfect. Write it: there is no other term fit to describe its color, +shape, its sensitive beauty, its--_What_ did you write just then?" + +"I wrote, 'Mouth, ordinary.'" + +"I don't want you to! I want--" + +"Really, Mr. Gatewood, a rhapsody on a girl's mouth is proper in poetry, +but scarcely germane to the record of a purely business transaction. +Please answer the next question tersely, if you don't mind: 'Figure?'" + +"Oh, I _do_ mind! I can't! Any poem is much too brief to describe her +figure--" + +"Shall we say 'Perfect'?" asked the girl, raising her brown eyes in a +glimmering transition from vexation to amusement. For, after all, it +could be _only_ a coincidence that this young man should be describing +features peculiar to herself. + +"Couldn't you write, 'Venus-of-Milo-like'?" he inquired. "That is +laconic." + +"I could--if it's true. But if you mean it for praise--I--don't think +any modern woman would be flattered." + +"I always supposed that she of Milo had an ideal figure," he said, +perplexed. + +She wrote, "A good figure." Then, propping her rounded chin on one +lovely white hand, she glanced at the next question: + +"Hands?" + +"White, beautiful, rose-tipped, slender yet softly and firmly rounded--" + +"How _can_ they be soft and firm, too, Mr. Gatewood?" she protested; +then, surprising his guilty eyes fixed on her hands, hastily dropped +them and sat up straight, level-browed, cold as marble. _Was_ he +deliberately being rude to her? + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +As a matter of fact, he was not. Too poor in imagination to invent, on +the spur of the moment, charms and qualities suited to his ideal, he +had, at first unconsciously, taken as a model the girl before him; quite +unconsciously and innocently at first--then furtively, and with a +dawning perception of the almost flawless beauty he was secretly +plagiarizing. Aware, now, that something had annoyed her; aware, too, at +the same moment that there appeared to be nothing lacking in her to +satisfy his imagination of the ideal, he began to turn redder than he +had ever turned in all his life. + +Several minutes of sixty seconds each ensued before he ventured to stir +a finger. And it was only when she bent again very gravely over her pad +that he cautiously eased a cramped muscle or two, and drew a breath--a +long, noiseless, deep and timid respiration. He realized the enormity of +what he had been doing--how close he had come to giving unpardonable +offense by drawing a perfect portrait of her as the person he desired to +find through the good offices of Keen & Co. + +But there was no such person--unless she had a double: for what more +could a man desire than the ideal traits he had been able to describe +only by using her as his inspiration. + +When he ventured to look at her, one glance was enough to convince him +that she, too, had noticed the parallel--had been forced to recognize +her own features in the portrait he had constructed of an ideal. And she +had caught him in absent-minded contemplation of the hands he had been +describing. He knew that his face was the face of a guilty man. + +"What is the next question?" he stammered, eager to answer it in a +manner calculated to allay her suspicions. + +"The next question?" She glanced at the list, then with a voice of +velvet which belied the eyes, clear as frosty brown pools in November: +"The next question requires a description of her feet." + +"Feet! Oh---they--they're rather large--why, her feet are enormous, I +believe--" + +She looked at him as though stunned; suddenly a flood of pink spread, +wave on wave, from the white nape of her neck to her hair; she bent low +over her pad and wrote something, remaining in that attitude until her +face cooled. + +"Somehow or other I've done it again!" he thought, horrified. "The best +thing I can do is to end it and go home." + +In his distress he began to hedge, saying: "Of course, she is rather +tall and her feet are in some sort of proportion--in fact, they are +perfectly symmetrical feet--" + +Never in his life had he encountered a pair of such angrily beautiful +eyes. Speech stopped with a dry gulp. + +"We now come to 'General Remarks,'" she said in a voice made absolutely +steady and emotionless. "Have you any remarks of that description to +offer, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"I'm willing to make remarks," he said, "if I only knew what you wished +me to say." + +She mused, eyes on the sunny window, then looked up. "Where did you last +see her?" + +"Near Fifth Avenue." + +"And what street?" + +He named the street. + +"Near _here_?" + +"Rather," he said timidly. + +She ruffled the edges of her pad, wrote something and erased it, bit her +scarlet upper lip, and frowned. + +"Out of doors, of course?" + +"No; indoors," he admitted furtively. + +She looked up with a movement almost nervous. + +"Do you dare--I mean, care--to be more concise?" + +"I would rather not," he replied in a voice from which he hoped he had +expelled the tremors of alarm. + +"As you please, Mr. Gatewood. And would you care to answer any of these +other questions: Who and what are or were her parents? Give all +particulars concerning all her relatives. Is she employed or not? What +are her social, financial, and general circumstances? Her character, +personal traits, aims, interests, desires? Has she any vices? Any +virtues? Talents? Ambitions? Caprices? Fads? Are you in love with her? +Is--" + +"Yes," he said, "I am." + +"Is she in love with you?" + +"No; she hates me--I'm afraid." + +"Is she in love with anybody?" + +"That is a very difficult--" + +The girl wrote: "He doesn't know," with a satisfaction apparently +causeless. + +"Is she a relative of yours, Mr. Gatewood?" very sweetly. + +"No, Miss Southerland," very positively. + +"You--you desire to marry her--you say?" + +"I do. But I didn't say it." + +She was silent; then: + +"What is her name?" in a low voice which started several agreeable +thrills chasing one another over him. + +"I--I decline to answer," he stammered. + +"On what grounds, Mr. Gatewood?" + +He looked her full in the eyes; suddenly he bent forward and gazed at +the printed paper from which she had been apparently reading. + +"Why, all those questions you are scaring me with are not there!" he +exclaimed indignantly. "You are making them up?" + +"I--I know, but"--she was flushing furiously--"but they are on the other +forms--some of them. Can't you see you are answering 'Form K'? That is a +special form--" + +"But why do you ask me questions that are _not_ on Form K?" + +"Because it is my duty to do all I can to secure evidence which may lead +to the discovery of the person you desire to find. I--I assure you, Mr, +Gatewood, this duty is not--not always agreeable--and some people make +it harder still." + +Gatewood looked out of the window. Various emotions---among them shame, +mortification, chagrin--pervaded him, and chased each other along his +nervous system, coloring his neck and ears a fiery red for the +enlightenment of any observer. + +"I--I did not mean to offend you," said the girl in a low voice--such a +gently regretful voice that Gatewood swung around in his chair. + +"There is nothing I would not be glad to tell you about the woman I have +fallen in love with," he said. "She is overwhelmingly lovely; and--when +I dare--I will tell you her name and where I first saw her--and where I +saw her last--if you desire. Shall I?" + +"It would be advisable. When will you do this?" + +"When I dare." + +"You--you don't dare--now?" + +"No . . . not now." + +She absently wrote on her pad: "He doesn't dare tell me now." Then, with +head still bent, she lifted her mischief-making, trouble-breeding brown +eyes to his once more. + +"I am to come here, of course, to consult you?" he asked dizzily. + +"Mr. Keen will receive you--" + +"He may be busy." + +"He may be," she repeated dreamily. + +"So--I'll ask for you." + +"We _could_ write you, Mr. Gatewood." + +He said hastily: "It's no trouble for me to come; I walk every +morning." + +"But there would be no use, I think, in your coming very soon. All +I--all Mr. Keen could do for a while would be to report progress--" + +"That is all I dare look for: progress--for the present." + +During the time that he remained--which was not very long--neither of +them spoke until he arose to take his departure. + +"Good-by, Miss Southerland. I hope you may find the person I have been +searching for." + +"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. . . . I hope we shall; . . . but +I--don't--know." + +And, as a matter of fact, she did not know; she was rather excited over +nothing, apparently; and also somewhat preoccupied with several rather +disturbing emotions the species of which she was interested in +determining. But to label and catalogue each of these emotions +separately required privacy and leisure to think--and she also wished to +look very earnestly at the reflection of her own face in the mirror of +her own chamber. For it is a trifle exciting--though but an innocent +coincidence--to be compared, feature by feature, to a young man's ideal. +As far as that went, she excelled it, too; and, as she stood by the +desk, alone, gathering up her notes, she suddenly bent over and lifted +the hem of her gown a trifle--sufficient to reassure herself that the +dainty pair of shoes she wore, would have baffled the efforts of any +Venus ever sculptured. And she was perfectly right. + +"Of course," she thought to herself, "his ideal runaway hasn't enormous +feet. He, too, must have been struck with the similarity between me and +his ideal, and when he realized that I also noticed it, he was +frightened by my frown into saying that her feet were enormous. How +silly! . . . For I didn't _mean_ to frighten him. . . . He frightened +me--once or twice--I mean he irritated me--no, interested me, is what I +_do_ mean. . . . Heigho! I wonder why she ran away? I wonder why he +can't find her? . . . It's--it's silly to run away from a man like that. +. . . Heigho! . . . She doesn't deserve to be found. There is nothing to +be afraid of--nothing to alarm anybody in a man like that." + +So she gathered up her notes and walked slowly out and across to the +private office of the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Come in," said the Tracer when she knocked. He was using the telephone; +she seated herself rather listlessly beside the window, where spring +sunshine lay in gilded patches on the rug and spring breezes stirred +the curtains. She was a little tired, but there seemed to be no good +reason why. Yet, with the soft wind blowing on her cheek, the languor +grew; she rested her face on one closed hand, shutting her eyes. + +When they opened again it was to meet the fixed gaze of Mr. Keen. + +"Oh--I beg your pardon!" + +"There is no need of it, child. Be seated. Never mind that report just +now." He paced the length of the room once or twice, hands clasped +behind him; then, halting to confront her: + +"What sort of a man is this young Gatewood?" + +"What _sort_, Mr. Keen? Why--I think he is the--the sort--that--" + +"I see that you don't think much of him," said Keen, laughing. + +"Oh, indeed I did not mean that at all; I mean that he appeared to +be--to be--" + +"Rather a cad?" + +"Why, _no_!" she said, flushing up. "He is absolutely well-bred, Mr. +Keen." + +"You received no unpleasant impression of him?" + +"On the contrary!" she said rather warmly--for it hurt her sense of +justice that Keen should so misjudge even a stranger in whom she had no +personal interest. + +"You think he looks like an honest man?" + +"Honest?" She was rosy with annoyance. "Have you any idea that he is +dishonest?" + +"Have you?" + +"Not the slightest," she said with emphasis. + +"Suppose a man should set us hunting for a person who does not exist--on +our terms, which are no payment unless successful? Would that be +honest?" asked Keen gravely. + +"Did--did _he_ do that?" + +"No, child." + +"I knew he _couldn't_ do such a thing!" + +"No, he--er--couldn't, because I wouldn't allow it--not that he tried +to!" added Keen hastily as the indignant brown eyes sparkled ominously. +"Really, Miss Southerland, he must be all you say he is, for he has a +stanch champion to vouch for him." + +"All I _say_ he is? I haven't said anything about him!" + +Mr. Keen nodded. "_Ex_actly. Let us drop him for a moment. . . . Are you +perfectly well, Miss Southerland?" + +"Why, yes." + +"I'm glad of it. You are a trifle pale; you seem to be a little +languid. . . . When do you take your vacation?" + +"You suggested May, I believe," she said wistfully. + +The Tracer leaned back in his chair, joining the tips of his fingers +reflectively. + +"Miss Southerland," he said, "you have been with us a year. I thought it +might interest you to know that I am exceedingly pleased with you." + +She colored charmingly. + +"But," he added, "I'm terribly afraid we're going to lose you." + +"Why?" she asked, startled. + +"However," he continued, ignoring her half-frightened question with a +smile, "I am going to promote you--for faithful and efficient service." + +"O-h!" + +"With an agreeable increase of salary, and new duties which will take +you into the open air. . . . You ride?" + +"I--I used to before----" + +"_Ex_actly; before you were obliged to earn your living. Please have +yourself measured for habit and boots this afternoon. I shall arrange +for horse, saddle, and groom. You will spend most of your time riding +in the Park--for the present." + +"But--Mr. Keen--am I to be one of your agents--a sort of detective?" + +Keen regarded her absently, then crossed one leg over the other. + +"Read me your notes," he said with a smile. + +She read them, folded them, and he took them from her, thoughtfully +regarding her. + +"Did you know that your mother and I were children together?" he asked. + +"No!" She stared. "Is _that_ why you sent for me that day at the school +of stenography?" + +"That is why . . . When I learned that my playmate--your mother--was +dead, is it not reasonable to suppose that I should wish her daughter to +have a chance?" + +Miss Southerland looked at him steadily. + +"She was like you--when she married . . . I never married . . . Do you +wonder that I sent for you, child?" + +Nothing but the clock ticking there in the sunny room, and an old man +staring into two dimmed brown eyes, and the little breezes at the open +window whispering of summers past. + +"This young man, Gatewood," said the Tracer, clearing his voice of its +hoarseness--"this young man ought to be all right, if I did not +misjudge his father--years ago, child, years ago. And he _is_ all +right--" He half turned toward a big letter-file; "his record is clean, +so far. The trouble with him is idleness. He ought to marry." + +"Isn't he trying to?" she asked. + +"It looks like it. Miss Southerland, we _must_ find this woman!" + +"Yes, but I don't see how you are going to--on such slight +information--" + +"Information! Child, I have all I want--all I could desire." He laughed, +passing his hands over his gray hair. "We are going to find the girl he +is in love with before the week ends!" + +"Do you really think so?" she exclaimed. + +"Yes. But you must do a great deal in this case." + +"I?" + +"_Ex_actly." + +"And--and what am I to do?" + +"Ride in the Park, child! And if you see Mr. Gatewood, don't you dare +take your eyes off him for one moment. Watch him; observe everything he +does. If he should recognize you and speak to you, be as amiable to him +as though it were not by my orders." + +"Then--then I _am_ to be a detective!" she faltered. + +The Tracer did not appear to hear her. He took up the notes, turned to +the telephone, and began to send out a general alarm, reading the +description of the person whom Gatewood had described. The vast, +intricate and delicate machinery under his control was being set in +motion all over the Union. + +"Not that I expect to find her outside the borough of Manhattan," he +said, smiling, as he hung up the receiver and turned to her; "but it's +as well to know how many types of that species exist in this Republic, +and who they are--in case any other young man comes here raving of brown +eyes and 'gleams' in the hair." + +Miss Southerland, to her own intense consternation, blushed. + +"I think you had better order that habit at once," said the Tracer +carelessly. + +"Tell me, Mr. Keen," she asked tremulously, "am I to spy upon Mr. +Gatewood? And report to you? . . . For I simply cannot bear to do it--" + +"Child, you need report nothing unless you desire to. And when there is +something to report, it will be about the woman I am searching for. +_Don't_ you understand? I have already located her. You will find her +in the Park. And when you are _sure_ she is the right one--and if you +care to report it to me--I shall be ready to listen . . . I am always +ready to listen to you." + +"But--I warn you, Mr. Keen, that I have perfect faith in the honor of +Mr. Gatewood. I _know_ that I could have nothing unworthy to report." + +"I am sure of it," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, studying her with +eyes that were not quite clear. "Now, I think you had better order that +habit . . . Your mother sat her saddle perfectly . . . We rode very +often--my lost playmate and I." + +He turned, hands clasped behind his back, absently pacing the room, +backward, forward, there in the spring sunshine. Nor did he notice her +lingering, nor mark her as she stole from the room, brown eyes saddened +and thoughtful, wondering, too, that there should be in the world so +much room for sorrow. + +[Illustration: "'I am sure of it,' said the Tracer of Lost Persons."] + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Gatewood, burdened with restlessness and gnawed by curiosity, consumed a +week in prowling about the edifice where Keen & Co. carried on an +interesting profession. + +His first visit resulted merely in a brief interview with Mr. Keen, who +smilingly reported progress and suavely bowed him out. He looked about +for Miss Southerland as he was leaving, but did not see her. + +On his second visit he mustered the adequate courage to ask for her, and +experienced a curiously sickly sensation when informed that Miss +Southerland was no longer employed in the bureau of statistics, having +been promoted to an outside position of great responsibility. His third +visit proved anything but satisfactory. He sidled and side-stepped for +ten minutes before he dared ask Mr. Keen _where_ Miss Southerland had +gone. And when the Tracer replied that, considering the business he had +undertaken for Mr. Gatewood, he really could not see why Mr. Gatewood +should interest himself concerning the whereabouts of Miss Southerland, +the young man had nothing to say, and escaped as soon as possible, +enraged at himself, at Mr. Keen, and vaguely holding the entire world +guilty of conspiracy. + +He had no definite idea of what he wanted, except that his desire to see +Miss Southerland again seemed out of all proportion to any reasonable +motive for seeing her. Occasional fits of disgust with himself for what +he had done were varied with moody hours of speculation. Suppose Mr. +Keen did find his ideal? What of it? He no longer wanted to see her. He +had no use for her. The savor of the enterprise had gone stale in his +mouth; he was by turns worried, restless, melancholy, sulky, uneasy. A +vast emptiness pervaded his life. He smoked more and more and ate less +and less. He even disliked to see others eat, particularly Kerns. + +And one exquisite May morning he came down to breakfast and found the +unspeakable Kerns immersed in grapefruit, calm, well balanced, and +bland. + +"How-de-dee, dear friend?" said that gentleman affably. "Any news from +Cupid this beautiful May morning?" + +"No; and I don't want any," returned Gatewood, sorting his mail with a +scowl and waving away his fruit. + +"Tut, tut! Lovers must be patient. Dearie will be found some day--" + +"Some day," snarled Gatewood, "I shall destroy you, Tommy." + +"Naughty! Naughty!" reflected Kerns, pensively assaulting the breakfast +food. "Lovey must _not_ worry; Dovey shall be found, and all will be joy +and gingerbread. . . . If you throw that orange I'll run screaming to +the governors. Aren't you ashamed--just because you're in a love +tantrum!" + +"One more word and you get it!" + +"May I sing as I trifle with this frugal fare, dear friend? My heart is +_so_ happy that I should love to warble a few wild notes--" + +He paused to watch his badgered victim dispose of a Martini. + +"I wonder," he mused, "if you'd like me to tell you what a cocktail +before breakfast does to the lining of your stomach? Would you?" + +"No. I suppose it's what the laundress does to my linen. What do I +care?" + +"_Don't_ be a short sport, Jack." + +"Well, I don't care for the game you put me up against. Do you know what +has happened?" + +"I really don't, dear friend. The Tracer of Lost Persons has not found +her--_has_ he?" + +"He says he has," retorted Gatewood sullenly, pulling a crumpled +telegram from his pocket and casting it upon the table. "I don't want to +see her; I'm not interested. I never saw but one girl in my life who +interested me in the slightest; and she's employed to help in this +ridiculous search." + +Kerns, meanwhile, had smoothed out the telegram and was intently +perusing it: + + "_John Gatewood, Lenox Club, Fifth Avenue:_ + + "Person probably discovered. Call here as soon as possible. + + W. KEEN." + +"_What_ do you make of that?" demanded Gatewood hoarsely. + +"Make of it? Why, it's true enough, I fancy. Go and see, and if it's +she, be hers!" + +"I won't! I don't want to see any ideal! I don't want to marry. Why do +you try to make me marry somebody?" + +"Because it's good for you, dear friend. Otherwise you'll go to the +doggy-dogs. You don't realize how much worry you are to me." + +"Confound it! Why don't _you_ marry? Why didn't I ask you that when you +put me up to all this foolishness? What right have you to--" + +"Tut, friend! _I_ know there's no woman alive fit to wed me and spend +her life in stealing kisses from me. _I_ have no ideal. _You_ have an +ideal." + +"I haven't!" + +"Oh, yes, dear friend, there's a stub in your check book to prove it. +You simply bet $5,000 that your ideal existed. You've won. Go and be her +joy and sunshine." + +"I'll put an end to this whole business," said Gatewood wrathfully, "and +I'll do it now!" + +"Bet you that you're engaged within the week!" said Kerns with a placid +smile. + +The other swung around savagely: "What will you bet, Tommy? You may have +what odds you please. I'll make you sit up for this." + +"I'll bet you," answered Kerns, deliberately, "an entire silver dinner +service against a saddle horse for the bride." + +"That's a fool bet!" snapped Gatewood. "What do you mean?" + +"Oh, if you don't care to--" + +"What do I want of a silver service? But, all right; I'll bet you +anything." + +"_She'll_ want it," replied Kerns significantly, booking the bet. "I may +as well canter out to Tiffany's this morning, I fancy. . . . Where are +you going, Jack?" + +"To see Keen and confess what an ass I've been!" returned Gatewood +sullenly, striding across the breakfast room to take his hat and gloves +from the rack. And out he went, mad all over. + +On his way up the avenue he attempted to formulate the humiliating +confession which already he shrank from. But it had to be done. He +simply could not stand the prospect of being notified month after month +that a lady would be on view somewhere. It was like going for a fitting; +it was horrible. Besides, what use was it? Within a week or two an +enormous and utterly inexplicable emptiness had yawned before him, +revealing life as a hollow delusion. He no longer cared. + +Immersed in bitter reflection, he climbed the familiar stairway and sent +his card to Mr. Keen, and in due time he was ushered into the presence +of the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Mr. Keen," he began, with a headlong desire to get it over and be done +with it, "I may as well tell you how impossible it is for you, or +anybody, to find that person I described--" + +Mr. Keen raised an expostulatory hand, smiling indulgence. + +"It is more than possible, Mr. Gatewood, more than probable; it is +almost an accomplished fact. In other words, I think I may venture to +congratulate you and say that she _is_ found." + +"Now, _how_ can she be found, when there isn't--" + +"Mr. Gatewood, the magician will always wave his magic wand for you and +show you his miracles for the price of admission. But for that price he +does not show you how he works his miracles," said Keen, laughing. + +"But I ought to tell you," persisted Gatewood, "that it is utterly +impossible you should find the person I wished to discover, because +she--" + +"I can only prove that you are wrong," smiled Keen, rising from his easy +chair. + +"Mr. Keen," said the young man earnestly, "I have been more or less of a +chump at times. One of those times was when I came here on this errand. +All I desire, now, is to let the matter rest as it is. I am satisfied, +and you have lost nothing. Nor have you found anything or anybody. You +think you have, but you haven't. I do not wish you to continue the +search, or to send me any further reports. I want to forget the whole +miserable matter--to be free--to feel myself freed from any obligations +to that irritating person I asked you to find." + +The Tracer regarded him very gravely. + +"Is that your wish, Mr. Gatewood? I can scarcely credit it." + +"It is. I've been a fool; I simply want to stop being one if anybody +will permit it." + +"And you decline to attempt to identify the very beautiful person we +have discovered to be the individual for whom you asked us to search?" + +"I do. She may be beautiful; but I know well enough she can't compare +with--some one." + +"I am sorry," said Keen thoughtfully. "We take so much pride in these +matters. When one of my agents discovered where this person was, I was +rather--happy; for I have taken a peculiar personal interest in your +case. However--" + +"Mr. Keen," said Gatewood, "if you could understand how ashamed and +mortified I am at my own conduct--" + +Keen gazed pensively out of the window. "I also am sorry; Miss +Southerland was to have received a handsome bonus for her discovery--" + +"Miss S-S-S-S-outherland!" + +"_Ex_actly; without quite so many _S's_," said Keen, smiling. + +"Did _she_ discover that--that person?" exclaimed the young man, +startled. + +"She thinks she has. I am not sure she is correct; but I am absolutely +certain that Miss Southerland could eventually discover the person you +were in search of. It seems a little hard on her--just on the eve of +success--to lose. But that can't be helped now." + +Gatewood, more excited and uncomfortable than he had ever been in all +his life, watched Keen intently. + +"Too bad, too bad," muttered the Tracer to himself. "The child needs the +encouragement. It meant a thousand dollars to her--" He shrugged his +shoulders, looked up, and, as though rather surprised to see Gatewood +still there, smiled an impersonal smile and offered his hand in adieu. +Gatewood winced. + +"Could I--I see Miss Southerland?" he asked. + +"I am afraid not. She is at this moment following my instructions +to--but that cannot interest you now--" + +"Yes, it does!--if you don't mind. Where is she? I--I'll take a look at +the person she discovered; I will, really." + +"Why, it's only this: I suspected that you might identify a person whom +I had reason to believe was to be found every morning riding in the +Park. So Miss Southerland has been riding there every day. Yesterday she +came here, greatly excited--" + +"Yes--yes--go on!" + +Keen gazed dreamily at the sunny window. "She thought she had found +your--er--the person. So I said you would meet her on the bridle path, +near--but that's of no interest now--" + +"Near where?" demanded Gatewood, suppressing inexplicable excitement. +And as Keen said nothing: "I'll go; I want to go, I really do! +Can't--can't a fellow change his mind? Oh, I know you think I'm a +lunatic, and there's plenty of reason, too!" + +Keen studied him calmly. "Yes, plenty of reason, plenty of reason, Mr. +Gatewood. But do you suppose you are the only one? I know another who +was perfectly sane two weeks ago." + +The young man waited impatiently; the Tracer paced the room, gray head +bent, delicate, wrinkled hands clasped loosely behind his bent back. + +"You have horses at the Whip and Spur Club," he said abruptly. "Suppose +you ride out and see how close Miss Southerland has come to solving our +problem." + +Gatewood seized the offered hand and wrung it with a fervor out of all +reason; and it is curious that the Tracer of Lost Persons did not appear +to be astonished. + +"You're rather impetuous--like your father," he said slowly. "I knew +him; so I've ventured to trust his son--even when I heard how aimlessly +he was living his life. Mr. Gatewood! May I ask you something--as an old +friend of your father?" + +The young man nodded, subdued, perplexed, scarcely understanding. + +"It's only this: If you _do_ find the woman you could love--in the +Park--to-day--come back to me some day and let me tell you all those +foolish, trite, tiresome things that I should have told a son of mine. I +am so old that you will not take offense--you will not mind listening to +me, or forgetting the dull, prosy things I say about the curse of +idleness, and the habits of cynical thinking, and the perils of +vacant-minded indulgence. You will forgive me--and you will forget me. +That will be as it should be. Good-by." + +Gatewood, sobered, surprised, descended the stairs and hailed a hansom. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +All the way to the Whip and Spur Club he sat buried in a reverie from +which, at intervals, he started, aroused by the heavy, expectant beating +of his own pulses. But what did he expect, in Heaven's name? Not the +discovery of a woman who had never existed. Yet his excitement and +impatience grew as he watched the saddling of his horse; and when at +length he rode out into the sunshine and cantered through the Park +entrance, his sense of impending events and his expectancy amounted to a +fever which colored his face attractively. + +He saw her almost immediately. Her horse was walking slowly in the +dappled shadows of the new foliage; she, listless in her saddle, +sometimes watching the throngs of riders passing, at moments turning to +gaze into the woodland vistas where, over the thickets of flowering +shrubbery, orioles and robins sped flashing on tinted wings from shadow +to sun, from sun to shadow. But she looked up as he drew bridle and +wheeled his mount beside her; and, "Oh!" she said, flushing in +recognition. + +"I have missed you terribly," he said quietly. + +It was dreamy weather, even for late spring: the scent of lilacs and +mock-orange hung heavy as incense along the woods. Their voices +unconsciously found the key to harmonize with it all. + +She said: "Well, I think I have succeeded. In a few moments she will be +passing. I do not know her name; she rides a big roan. She is very +beautiful, Mr. Gatewood." + +He said: "I am perfectly certain we shall find her. I doubted it until +now. But now I know." + +"Oh-h, but I _may_ be wrong," she protested. + +"No; you cannot be." + +She looked up at him. + +"You can have no idea how happy you make me," he said unsteadily. + +"But--I--but I may be all wrong--dreadfully wrong!" + +"Y-es; you may be, but I shall not be. For do you know that I have +already seen her in the Park?" + +"When?" she demanded incredulously, then turned in the saddle, +repeating: "Where? Did she pass? How perfectly stupid of me! And _was_ +she the--the right one?" + +"She _is_ the right one. . . . Don't turn: I have seen her. Ride on: I +want to say something--if I can." + +"No, no," she insisted. "I must know whether I was right--" + +"You _are_ right--but you don't know it yet. . . . Oh, very well, then; +we'll turn if you insist." And he wheeled his mount as she did, riding +at her bridle again. + +"How can you take it so coolly--so indifferently?" she said. "Where has +that woman--where has she gone? . . . Never mind; she must turn and pass +us sooner or later, for she lives uptown. _What_ are you laughing at, +Mr. Gatewood?"--in annoyed surprise. + +"I am laughing at myself. Oh, I'm so many kinds of a fool--you can't +think how many, and it's no use!" + +She stared, astonished; he shook his head. + +"No, you don't understand yet. But you will. Listen to me: this very +beautiful lady you have discovered is nothing to me!" + +"Nothing--to you!" she faltered. Two pink spots of indignation burned in +her cheeks. "How--how dare you say that!--after all that has been +done--all that you have said. You said you loved her; you _did_ say +so--to _me_!" + +"I don't love her now." + +"But you did!" Tears of pure vexation started; she faced him, eye to +eye, thoroughly incensed. + +"What sort of man are you?" she said under her breath. "Your friend Mr. +Kerns is wrong. You are not worth saving from yourself." + +"Kerns!" he repeated, angry and amazed. "What the deuce has Kerns to do +with this affair?" + +She stared, then, realizing her indiscretion, bit her lip, and spurred +forward. But he put his horse to a gallop, and they pounded along in +silence. In a little while she drew bridle and looked around coldly, +grave with displeasure. + +"Mr. Kerns came to us before you did. He said you would probably come, +and he begged us to strain every effort in your behalf, because, he +said, your happiness absolutely depended upon our finding for you the +woman you were seeking. . . . And I tried--very hard--and now she's +found. You admit that--and _now_ you say--" + +"I say that one of these balmy summer days I'll assassinate Tommy +Kerns!" broke in Gatewood. "What on earth possessed that prince of +butters-in to go to Mr. Keen?" + +"To save you from yourself!" retorted the girl in a low, exasperated +voice. "He did not say what threatened you; he is a good friend for a +man to have. But we soon found out what you were--a man well born, well +bred, full of brilliant possibility, who was slowly becoming an idle, +cynical, self-centered egoist--a man who, lacking the lash of need or +the spur of ambition, was degenerating through the sheer uselessness and +inanity of his life. And, oh, the pity of it! For Mr. Keen and I have +taken a--a curiously personal interest in you--in your case. I say, the +pity of it!" + +Astounded, dumb under her stinging words, he rode beside her through the +brilliant sunshine, wheeled mechanically as she turned her horse, and +rode north again. + +"And now--_now_!" she said passionately, "you turn on the woman you +loved! Oh, you are not worth it!" + +"You are quite right," he said, turning very white under her scorn. +"Almost all you have said is true enough, I fancy. I amount to nothing; +I am idle, cynical, selfish. The emptiness of such a life requires a +stimulant; even a fool abhors a vacuum. So I drink--not so very much +yet--but more than I realize. And it is close enough to a habit to worry +me. . . . Yes, almost all you say is true; Kerns knows it; I know +it--now that you have told me. You see, he couldn't tell me, because I +should not have believed him. But I believe you--all you say, except one +thing. And that is only a glimmer of decency left in me--not that I make +any merit of it. No, it is merely instinctive. For I have _not_ turned +on the woman I loved." + +Her face was pale as her level eyes met him: + +"You said she was nothing to you. . . . Look there! Do you see her? Do +you see?" + +Her voice broke nervously as he swung around to stare at a rider bearing +down at a gallop--a woman on a big roan, tearing along through the +spring sunshine, passing them with wind-flushed cheeks and dark, +incurious eyes, while her powerful horse carried her on, away through +the quivering light and shadow of the woodland vista. + +"Is _that_ the person?" + +"Y-es," she faltered. "Was I wrong?" + +"Quite wrong, Miss Southerland." + +"But--but you said you had seen her here this morning!" + +"Yes, I have." + +"Did you speak to her before you met me?" + +"No--not before I met you." + +"Then you have not spoken to her. Is she still here in the Park?" + +"Yes, she is still here." + +The girl turned on him excitedly: "Do you mean to say that you will not +speak to her?" + +"I had rather not--" + +"And your happiness depends on your speaking?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it is cowardly not to speak." + +"Oh, yes, it is cowardly. . . . If you wish me to speak to her I will. +Shall I?" + +"Yes . . . Show her to me." + +"And you think that such a man as I am has a right to speak of love to +her?" + +"I--we believe it will be your salvation. Mr. Kerns says you must marry +her to be happy. Mr. Keen told me yesterday that it only needed a word +from the right woman to put you on your mettle. . . . And--and that is +my opinion." + +"Then in charity say that word!" he breathed, bending toward her. "Can't +you see? Can't you understand? Don't you know that from the moment I +looked into your eyes I loved you?" + +"How--how dare you!" she stammered, crimsoning. + +"God knows," he said wistfully. "I am a coward. I don't know how I +dared. Good-by. . . ." + +He walked his horse a little way, then launched him into a gallop, +tearing on and on, sun, wind, trees swimming, whirling like a vision, +hearing nothing, feeling nothing, save the leaden pounding of his pulse +and the breathless, terrible tightening in his throat. + +When he cleared his eyes and looked around he was quite alone, his horse +walking under the trees and breathing heavily. + +At first he laughed, and the laugh was not pleasant. Then he said aloud: +"It is worth having lived for, after all!"--and was silent. And again: +"I could expect nothing; she was perfectly right to side-step a fool. +. . . And _such_ a fool!" + +The distant gallop of a horse, dulled on the soft soil, but coming +nearer, could not arouse him from the bitter depths he had sunk in; not +even when the sound ceased beside him, and horse snorted recognition to +horse. It was only when a light touch rested on his arm that he looked +up heavily, caught his breath. + +"Where is the other--woman?" she gasped. + +"There never was any other." + +"You said--" + +"I said I loved my ideal. I did not know she existed--until I saw you." + +"Then--then we were searching for--" + +"A vision. But it was your face that haunted me. . . . And I am not +worth it, as you say. And I know it, . . . for you have opened my eyes." + +He drew bridle, forcing a laugh. "I cut a sorry figure in your life; be +patient; I am going out of it now." And he swung his horse. At the same +moment she did the same, making a demi-tour and meeting him halfway, +confronting him. + +"Do you--you mean to ride out of my life without a word?" she asked +unsteadily. + +"Good-by." He offered his hand, stirring his horse forward; she leaned +lightly over and laid both hands in his. Then, her face surging in +color, she lifted her beautiful dark eyes to his as the horses +approached, nearer, nearer, until, as they passed, flank brushing flank, +her eyes fell, then closed as she swayed toward him, and clung, her +young lips crushed to his. + +There was nobody to witness it except the birds and squirrels--nobody +but a distant mounted policeman, who almost fainted away in his saddle. + +Oh, it was awful, awful! Apparently she had been kissed speechless, for +she said nothing. The man fool did all the talking, incoherently enough, +but evidently satisfactory to her, judging from the way she looked at +him, and blushed and blushed, and touched her eyes with a bit of cambric +at intervals. + +All the policeman heard as they passed him was; "I'm going to give you +this horse, and Kerns is to give us our silver; and what do you think, +my darling?" + +"W-what?" + +But they had already passed out of earshot; and in a few moments the +shady, sun-flecked bridle path was deserted again save for the birds and +squirrels, and a single mounted policeman, rigid, wild eyed, twisting +his mustache and breathing hard. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The news of Gatewood's fate filled Kerns with a pleasure bordering upon +melancholy. It was his work; he had done it; it was good for Gatewood +too--time for him to stop his irresponsible cruise through life, lower +sail, heave to, set his signals, and turn over matters to this charming +pilot. + +And now they would come into port together and anchor somewhere east of +Fifth Avenue--which, Kerns reflected, was far more proper a place for +Gatewood than somewhere east of Suez, where young men so often sail. + +And yet, and yet there was something melancholy in the pleasure he +experienced. Gatewood was practically lost to him. He knew what might be +expected from engaged men and newly married men. Gatewood's club life +was ended--for a while; and there was no other man with whom he cared to +embark for those brightly lighted harbors twinkling east of Suez across +the metropolitan wastes. + +"It's very generous of me to get him married," he said frequently to +himself, rather sadly. "I did it pretty well, too. It only shows that +women have no particular monopoly in the realms of diplomacy and +finesse; in fact, if a man really chooses to put his mind to such +matters, he can make it no trumps and win out behind a bum ace and a +guarded knave." + +He was pleased with himself. He followed Gatewood about explaining how +good he had been to him. An enthusiasm for marrying off his friends +began to germinate within him; he tried it on Darrell, on Barnes, on +Yates, but was turned down and severely stung. + +Then one day Harren of the Philippine Scouts turned up at the club, and +they held a determined reunion until daylight, and they told each other +all about it all and what upper-cuts life had handed out to them since +the troopship sailed. + +And after the rosy glow had deepened to a more gorgeous hue in the room, +and the electric lights had turned into silver pinwheels; and after they +had told each other the story of their lives, and the last siphon fizzed +impotently when urged beyond its capacity, Kerns arose and extended his +hand, and Harren took it. And they executed a song resembling "Auld Lang +Syne." + +"Ole man," said Kerns reproachfully, "there's one thing you have been +deuced careful _not_ to mention, and that is about what happened to you +three years ago--" + +"Steady!" said Harren; "there is nothing to tell, Tommy." + +"Nothing?" + +"Nothing. I never saw her again. I never shall." + +Kerns looked long and unsteadily upon his friend; then very gravely +fumbled in his pocket and drew forth the business card of Westrel Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"That," he said, "will be about all." And he bestowed the card upon +Harren with magnificent condescension. + +And about five o'clock the following afternoon Harren found the card +among various effects of his, scattered over his dresser. + +It took him several days to make up his mind to pay any attention to the +card or the suggestion it contained. He scarcely considered it seriously +even when, passing along Fifth Avenue one sunny afternoon, he chanced to +glance up and see the sign + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +staring him in the face. + +He continued his stroll, but that evening, upon mere impulse, he sat +down and wrote a letter to Mr. Keen. + +The next morning's mail brought a reply and an appointment for an +interview on Wednesday week. Harren tossed the letter aside, satisfied +to let the matter go, because his leave expired on Tuesday, and the +appointment was impossible. + +On Sunday, however, the melancholy of the deserted club affected his +spirits. A curious desire to see this Tracer of Lost Persons seized him +with a persistence unaccountable. He slept poorly, haunted with visions. + +On Monday he went to see Mr. Keen. It could do no harm; it was too late +to do either harm or good, for his leave expired the next day at noon. + +The business of Keen & Co., Tracers of Lost Persons, had grown to +enormous proportions; appointments for a personal interview with Mr. +Keen were now made a week in advance, so when young Harren sent in his +card, the gayly liveried negro servant came back presently, threading +his way through the waiting throng with pomp and circumstance, and +returned the card to Harren with the date of appointment rewritten in +ink across the top. The day named was Wednesday. On Tuesday Harren's +leave expired. + +"That won't do," said the young man brusquely; "I must see Mr. Keen +to-day. I wrote last week for an appointment." + +The liveried darky was polite but obdurate. + +"Dis here am de 'pintment, suh," he explained persuasively. + +"But I want to see Mr. Keen at once," insisted Harren. + +"Hit ain't no use, suh," said the darky respectfully; "dey's mi'ions an' +mi'ions ob gemmen jess a-settin' roun' an' waitin' foh Mistuh Keen. In +dis here perfeshion, suh, de fustest gemman dat has a 'pintment is de +fustest gemman dat kin see Mistuh Keen. You is a military gemman +yohse'f, Cap'm Harren, an' you is aware dat precedence am de rigger." + +The bronzed young man smiled, glanced at the date of appointment written +on his card, which also bore his own name followed by the letters +U.S.A., then his amused gray eyes darkened and he glanced leisurely +around the room, where a dozen or more assorted people sat waiting their +turns to interview Mr. Keen: all sorts and conditions of people--smartly +gowned women, an anxious-browed business man or two, a fat German truck +driver, his greasy cap on his knees, a surly policeman, and an old +Irishwoman, wearing a shawl and an ancient straw bonnet. Harren's eyes +reverted to the darky. + +"You will explain to Mr. Keen," he said, "that I am an army officer on +leave, and that I am obliged to start for Manila to-morrow. This is my +excuse for asking an immediate interview; and if it's not a good enough +excuse I must cancel this appointment, that is all." + +The darky stood, irresolute, inclined to argue, but something in the +steel-gray eyes of the man set him in involuntary motion, and he went +away once more with the young man's message. Harren turned and walked +back to his seat. The old woman with the faded shawl was explaining +volubly to a handsomely gowned woman beside her that she was looking for +her boy, Danny; that her name was Mrs. Regan, and that she washed for +the aristocracy of Hunter's Point at a liberal price per dozen, using no +deleterious substances in the suds as Heaven was her witness. + +The German truck driver, moved by this confidence, was stirred to begin +an endless account of his domestic misfortunes, and old Mrs. Regan, +becoming impatient, had already begun to interrupt with an account of +Regan's recent hoisting on the wings of a premature petard, when the +dark servant reappeared. + +"Mistuh Keen will receive you, suh," he whispered, leading the way into +a large room where dozens of attractive young girls sat very busily +engaged at typewriting machines. Door after door they passed, all +numbered on the ground-glass panes, then swung to the right, where the +darky bowed him into a big, handsomely furnished room flooded with the +morning sun. A tall, gray man, faultlessly dressed in a gray frock suit +and wearing white spats, turned from the breezy, open window to inspect +him; the lean, well groomed, rather lank type of gentleman suggesting a +retired colonel of cavalry; unmistakably well bred from the ends of his +drooping gray mustache to the last button on his immaculate spats. + +"Captain Harren?" he said pleasantly. + +"Mr. Keen?" + +They bowed. Young Harren drew from his pocket a card. It was the +business card of Keen & Co., and, glancing up at Mr. Keen, he read it +aloud, carefully: + + KEEN & CO. + + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + + Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found. + + _Blanks on Application._ + + WESTREL KEEN, Manager. + +Harren raised his clear, gray eyes. "I assume this statement to be +correct, Mr. Keen?" + +"You may safely assume so," said Mr. Keen, smiling. + +"Does this statement include _all_ that you are prepared to undertake?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons inspected him coolly. "What more is there, +Captain Harren? I undertake to find lost people. I even undertake to +find the undiscovered ideals of young people who have failed to meet +them. What further field would you suggest?" Harren glanced at the card +which he held in his gloved hand; then, very slowly, he re-read, "the +whereabouts of anybody _on earth_," accenting the last two words +deliberately as he encountered Keen's piercing gaze again. + +"Well?" asked Mr. Keen laughingly, "is not that sufficient? Our clients +could scarcely expect us to invade heaven in our search for the +vanished." + +"There are other regions," said Harren. + +"_Ex_actly. Sit down, sir. There is a row of bookcases for your +amusement. Please help yourself while I clear decks for action." + +Harren stood fingering the card, his gray eyes lost in retrospection; +then he sauntered over to the bookcases, scanning the titles. The +Searcher for Lost Persons studied him for a moment or two, turned, and +began to pace the room. After a moment or two he touched a bell. A +sweet-faced young girl entered; she was gowned in black and wore a white +collar, and cuffs turned back over her hands. + +"Take this memorandum," he said. The girl picked up a pencil and pad, +and Mr. Keen, still pacing the room, dictated in a quiet voice as he +walked to and fro: + +"Mrs. Regan's Danny is doing six months in Butte, Montana. Break it to +her as mercifully as possible. He is a bad one. We make no charge. The +truck driver, Becker, can find his wife at her mother's house, Leonia, +New Jersey. Tell him to be less pig-headed or she'll go for good some +day. Ten dollars. Mrs. M., No. 36001, can find her missing butler in +service at 79 Vine Street, Hartford, Connecticut. She may notify the +police whenever she wishes. His portrait is No. 170529, Rogues' Gallery. +Five hundred dollars. Miss K. (No. 3679) may send her letter, care of +Cisneros & Co., Rio, where the person she is seeking has gone into the +coffee business. If she decides that she really does love him, he'll +come back fast enough. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Mr. W. (No. 3620) +must go to the morgue for further information. His repentance is too +late; but he can see that there is a decent burial. The charge: one +thousand dollars to the Florence Mission. You may add that we possess +his full record." + +The Tracer paused and waited for the stenographer to finish. When she +looked up: "Who else is waiting?" he asked. + +The girl read over the initials and numbers. + +"Tell that policeman that Kid Conroy sails on the _Carania_ to-morrow. +Fifty dollars. There is nothing definite in the other cases. Report +progress and send out a general alarm for the cashier inquired for by +No. 3608. You will find details in vol. xxxix under B." + +"Is that all, Mr. Keen?" + +"Yes. I'm going to be very busy with"--turning slowly toward +Harren--"with Captain Harren, of the Philippine Scouts, until +to-morrow--a very complicated case, Miss Borrow, involving cipher codes +and photography--" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Harren started, then walked slowly to the center of the room as the +pretty stenographer passed out with a curious level glance at him. + +"Why do you say that photography plays a part in my case?" he asked. + +"Doesn't it?" + +"Yes. But how--" + +"Oh, I only guessed it," said Keen with a smile. "I made another guess +that your case involved a cipher code. Does it?" + +"Y-es," said the young man, astonished, "but I don't see--" + +"It also involves the occult," observed Keen calmly. "We may need Miss +Borrow to help us." + +Almost staggered, Harren stared at the Tracer out of his astonished gray +eyes until that gentleman laughed outright and seated himself, motioning +Harren to do likewise. + +"Don't be surprised, Captain Harren," he said. "I suppose you have no +conception of our business, no realization of its scope--its network of +information bureaus all over the civilized world, its myriad sources of +information, the immensity of its delicate machinery, the endless data +and the infinitesimal details we have at our command. You, of course, +have no idea of the number of people of every sort and condition who are +in our employ, of the ceaseless yet inoffensive surveillance we +maintain. For example, when your letter came last week I called up the +person who has charge of the army list. There you were, Kenneth Harren, +Captain Philippine Scouts, with the date of your graduation from West +Point. Then I called up a certain department devoted to personal detail, +and in five minutes I knew your entire history. I then touched another +electric button, and in a minute I had before me the date of your +arrival in New York, your present address, and"--he looked up +quizzically at Harren--"and several items of general information, such +as your peculiar use of your camera, and the list of books on Psychical +Phenomena and Cryptograms which you have been buying--" + +Harren flushed up. "Do you mean to say that I have been spied upon, Mr. +Keen?" + +"No more than anybody else who comes to us as a client. There was +nothing offensive in the surveillance." He shrugged his shoulders and +made a deprecating gesture. "Ours is a business, my dear sir, like any +other. We, of course, are obliged to know about people who call on us. +Last week you wrote me, and I immediately set every wheel in motion; in +other words, I had you under observation from the day I received your +letter to this very moment." + +"You learned much concerning me?" asked Harren quietly. + +"_Ex_actly, my dear sir." + +"But," continued Harren with a touch of malice, "you didn't learn that +my leave is up to-morrow, did you?" + +"Yes, I learned that, too." + +"Then why did you give me an appointment for the day after to-morrow?" +demanded the young man bluntly. + +The Tracer looked him squarely in the eye. "Your leave is to be +extended," he said. + +"What?" + +"_Ex_actly. It has been extended one week." + +"How do you know that?" + +"You applied for extension, did you not?" + +"Yes," said Harren, turning red, "but I don't see how you knew that I--" + +"By cable?" + +"Y-yes." + +"There's a cablegram in your rooms at this very moment," said the +Tracer carelessly. "You have the extension you desired. And now, Captain +Harren," with a singularly pleasant smile, "what can I do to help you to +a pursuit of that true happiness which is guaranteed for all good +citizens under our Constitution?" + +Captain Harren crossed his long legs, dropping one knee over the other, +and deliberately surveyed his interrogator. + +"I really have no right to come to you," he said slowly. "Your +prospectus distinctly states that Keen & Co. undertake to find _live_ +people, and I don't know whether the person I am seeking is alive +or--or--" + +His steady voice faltered; the Tracer watched him curiously. + +"Of course, that is important," he said. "If she _is_ dead--" + +"_She_!" + +"Didn't you say 'she,' Captain?" + +"No, I did not." + +"I beg your pardon, then, for anticipating you," said the Tracer +carelessly. + +"Anticipating? _How_ do you know it is not a man I am in search of?" +demanded Harren. + +"Captain Harren, you are unmarried and have no son; you have no father, +no brother, no sister. Therefore I infer--several things--for example, +that you are in love." + +"I? In love?" + +"Desperately, Captain." + +"Your inferences seem to satisfy you, at least," said Harren almost +sullenly, "but they don't satisfy me--clever as they appear to be." + +"_Ex_actly. Then you are _not_ in love?" + +"I don't know whether I am or not." + +"I do," said the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Then you know more than I," retorted Harren sharply. + +"But that is my business--to know more than you do," returned Mr. Keen +patiently. "Else why are you here to consult me?" And as Harren made no +reply: "I have seen thousands and thousands of people in love. I have +reduced the superficial muscular phenomena and facial symptomatic aspect +of such people to an exact science founded upon a schedule approximating +the Bertillon system of records. And," he added, smiling, "out of the +twenty-seven known vocal variations your voice betrays twenty-five +unmistakable symptoms; and out of the sixteen reflex muscular symptoms +your face has furnished six, your hands three, your limbs and feet six. +Then there are other superficial symptoms--" + +"Good heavens!" broke in Harren; "how can you prove a man to be in love +when he himself doesn't know whether he is or not? If a man isn't in +love no Bertillon system can make him so; and if a man doesn't know +whether or not he is in love, who can tell him the truth?" + +"I can," said the Tracer calmly. + +"What! When I tell you I myself don't know?" + +"_That_," said the Tracer, smiling, "is the final and convincing +symptom. _You_ don't know. _I_ know because you _don't_ know. That is +the easiest way to be sure that you are in love, Captain Harren, because +you always are when you are not sure. You'd know if you were _not_ in +love. Now, my dear sir, you may lay your case confidently before me." + +Harren, unconvinced, sat frowning and biting his lip and twisting his +short, crisp mustache which the tropical sun had turned straw color and +curly. + +"I feel like a fool to tell you," he said. "I'm not an imaginative man, +Mr. Keen; I'm not fanciful, not sentimental. I'm perfectly healthy, +perfectly normal--a very busy man in my profession, with no time and no +inclination to fall in love." + +"Just the sort of man who does it," commented Keen. "Continue." + +Harren fidgeted about in his chair, looked out of the window, squinted +at the ceiling, then straightened up, folding his arms with sudden +determination. + +"I'd rather be boloed than tell you," he said. "Perhaps, after all, I +_am_ a lunatic; perhaps I've had a touch of the Luzon sun and don't know +it." + +"I'll be the judge," said the Tracer, smiling. + +"Very well, sir. Then I'll begin by telling you that I've seen a ghost." + +"There are such things," observed Keen quietly. + +"Oh, I don't mean one of those fabled sheeted creatures that float about +at night; I mean a phantom--a real phantom--in the sunlight--standing +before my very eyes in broad day! . . . Now do you feel inclined to go +on with my case, Mr. Keen?" + +"Certainly," replied the Tracer gravely. "Please continue, Captain +Harren." + +"All right, then. Here's the beginning of it: Three years ago, here in +New York, drifting along Fifth Avenue with the crowd, I looked up to +encounter the most wonderful pair of eyes that I ever beheld--that any +living man ever beheld! The most--wonderfully--beautiful--" + +He sat so long immersed in retrospection that the Tracer said: "I am +listening, Captain," and the Captain woke up with a start. + +"What was I saying? How far had I proceeded?" + +"Only to the eyes." + +"Oh, I see! The eyes were dark, sir, dark and lovely beyond any power of +description. The hair was also dark--very soft and thick and--er--wavy +and dark. The face was extremely youthful, and ornamental to the +uttermost verges of a beauty so exquisite that, were I to attempt to +formulate for you its individual attractions, I should, I fear, +transgress the strictly rigid bounds of that reticence which becomes a +gentleman in complete possession of his senses." + +"_Ex_actly," mused the Tracer. + +"Also," continued Captain Harren, with growing animation, "to attempt to +describe her figure would be utterly useless, because I am a practical +man and not a poet, nor do I read poetry or indulge in futile novels or +romances of any description. Therefore I can only add that it was a +figure, a poise, absolutely faultless, youthful, beautiful, erect, +wholesome, gracious, graceful, charmingly buoyant and--well, I cannot +describe her figure, and I shall not try." + +"_Ex_actly; don't try." + +"No," said Harren mournfully, "it is useless"; and he relapsed into +enchanted retrospection. + +"Who was she?" asked Mr. Keen softly. + +"I don't know." + +"You never again saw her?" + +"Mr. Keen, I--I am not ill-bred, but I simply could not help following +her. She was so b-b-beautiful that it hurt; and I only wanted to look at +her; I didn't mind being hurt. So I walked on and on, and sometimes I'd +pass her and sometimes I'd let her pass me, and when she wasn't looking +I'd look--not offensively, but just because I _couldn't_ help it. And +all the time my senses were humming like a top and my heart kept jumping +to get into my throat, and I hadn't a notion where I was going or what +time it was or what day of the week. She didn't see me; she didn't dream +that I was looking at her; she didn't know me from any of the thousand +silk-hatted, frock-coated men who passed and repassed her on Fifth +Avenue. And when she went into St. Berold's Church, I went, too, and I +stood where I could see her and where she couldn't see me. It was like a +touch of the Luzon sun, Mr. Keen. And then she came out and got into a +Fifth Avenue stage, and I got in, too. And whenever she looked away I +looked at her--without the slightest offense, Mr. Keen, until, once, she +caught my eye--" + +He passed an unsteady hand over his forehead. + +"For a moment we looked full at one another," he continued. "I got red, +sir; I felt it, and I couldn't look away. And when I turned color like a +blooming beet, she began to turn pink like a rosebud, and she looked +full into my eyes with such a wonderful purity, such exquisite +innocence, that I--I never felt so near--er--heaven in my life! No, sir, +not even when they ambushed us at Manoa Wells--but that's another +thing--only it is part of this business." + +He tightened his clasped hands over his knee until the knuckles +whitened. + +"_That's_ my story, Mr. Keen," he said crisply. + +"All of it?" + +Harren looked at the floor, then at Keen: "No, not all. You'll think me +a lunatic if I tell you all." + +"Oh, you saw her again?" + +"N-never! That is--" + +"Never?" + +"Not in--in the flesh." + +"Oh, in dreams?" + +Harren stirred uneasily. "I don't know what you call them. I have seen +her since--in the sunlight, in the open, in my quarters in Manila, +standing there perfectly distinct, looking at me with such strange, +beautiful eyes--" + +"Go on," said the Tracer, nodding. + +"What else is there to say?" muttered Harren. + +"You saw her--or a phantom which resembled her. Did she speak?" + +"No." + +"Did you speak to her?" + +"N-no. Once I held out my--my arms." + +"What happened?" + +"She wasn't there," said Harren simply. + +"She vanished?" + +"No--I don't know. I--I didn't see her any more." + +"Didn't she fade?" + +"No. I can't explain. She--there was only myself in the room." + +"How many times has she appeared to you?" + +"A great many times." + +"In your room?" + +"Yes. And in the road under a vertical sun; in the forest, in the paddy +fields. I have seen her passing through the hallway of a friend's +house--turning on the stair to look back at me! I saw her standing just +back of the firing-line at Manoa Wells when we were preparing to rush +the forts, and it scared me so that I jumped forward to draw her back. +But--she wasn't there, Mr. Keen. . . . + +"On the transport she stood facing me on deck one moonlit evening for +five minutes. I saw her in 'Frisco; she sat in the Pullman twice between +Denver and this city. Twice in my room at the Vice-Regent she has sat +opposite me at midday, so clear, so beautiful, so real that--that I +could scarcely believe she was only a--a--" He hesitated. + +"The apparition of her own subconscious self," said the Tracer quietly. +"Science has been forced to admit such things, and, as you know, we are +on the verge of understanding the alphabet of some of the unknown forces +which we must some day reckon with." + +Harren, tense, a trifle pale, gazed at him earnestly. + +"Do _you_ believe in such things?" + +"How can I avoid believing?" said the Tracer. "Every day, in my +profession, we have proof of the existence of forces for which we have +as yet no explanation--or, at best, a very crude one. I have had case +after case of premonition; case after case of dual and even multiple +personality; case after case where apparitions played a vital part in +the plot which was brought to me to investigate. I'll tell you this, +Captain: I, personally, never saw an apparition, never was obsessed by +premonitions, never received any communications from the outer void. But +I have had to do with those who undoubtedly did. Therefore I listen with +all seriousness and respect to what you tell me." + +"Suppose," said Harren, growing suddenly red, "that I should tell you I +have succeeded in photographing this phantom." + +The Tracer sat silent. He was astounded, but, he did not betray it. + +"You have that photograph, Captain Harren?" + +"Yes." + +"Where is it?" + +"In my rooms." + +"You wish me to see it?" + +Harren hesitated. "I--there is--seems to be--something almost sacred to +me in that photograph. . . . You understand me, do you not? Yet, if it +will help you in finding her--" + +"Oh," said the Tracer in guileless astonishment, "you desire to find +this young lady. Why?" + +Harren stared. "Why? Why do I want to find her? Man, I--I can't live +without her!" + +"I thought you were not certain whether you really could be in love." + +The hot color in the Captain's bronzed cheeks mounted to his hair. + +"_Ex_actly," purred the Tracer, looking out of the window. "Suppose we +walk around to your rooms after luncheon. Shall we?" + +Harren picked up his hat and gloves, hesitating, lingering on the +threshold. "You _don't_ think she is--a--dead?" he asked unsteadily. + +"No," said Mr. Keen, "I don't." + +"Because," said Harren wistfully, "her apparition is so superbly healthy +and--and glowing with youth and life--" + +"That is probably what sent it half the world over to confront you," +said the Tracer gravely; "youth and life aglow with spiritual health. I +think, Captain, that she has been seeing you, too, during these three +years, but probably only in her dreams--memories of your encounters with +her subconscious self floating over continents and oceans in a quest of +which her waking intelligence is innocently unaware." + +The Captain colored like a schoolboy, lingering at the door, hat in +hand. Then he straightened up to the full height of his slim but +powerful figure. + +"At three?" he inquired bluntly. + +"At three o'clock in your room, Hotel Vice-Regent. Good morning, +Captain." + +"Good morning," said Harren dreamily, and walked away, head bent, gray +eyes lost in retrospection, and on his lean, bronzed, attractive face an +afterglow of color wholly becoming. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +When the Tracer of Lost Persons entered Captain Harren's room at the +Hotel Vice-Regent that afternoon he found the young man standing at a +center table, pencil in hand, studying a sheet of paper which was +covered with letters and figures. + +The two men eyed one another in silence for a moment, then Harren +pointed grimly to the confusion of letters and figures covering dozens +of scattered sheets lying on the table. + +"That's part of my madness," he said with a short laugh. "Can you make +anything of such lunatic work?" + +The Tracer picked up a sheet of paper covered with letters of the +alphabet and Roman and Arabic numerals. He dropped it presently and +picked up another comparatively blank sheet, on which were the following +figures: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +He studied it for a while, then glanced interrogatively at Harren. + +"It's nothing," said Harren. "I've been groping for three years--but +it's no use. That's lunatics' work." He wheeled squarely on his heels, +looking straight at the Tracer. "_Do_ you think I've had a touch of the +sun?" + +"No," said Mr. Keen, drawing a chair to the table. "Saner men than you +or I have spent a lifetime over this so-called Seal of Solomon." He laid +his finger on the two symbols-- + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +Then, looking across the table at Harren: "What," he asked, "has the +Seal of Solomon to do with your case?" + +"_She_--" muttered Harren, and fell silent. + +The Tracer waited; Harren said nothing. + +"Where is the photograph?" + +Harren unlocked a drawer in the table, hesitated, looked strangely at +the Tracer. + +"Mr. Keen," he said, "there is nothing on earth I hold more sacred than +this. There is only one thing in the world that could justify me in +showing it to a living soul--my--my desire to find--her--" + +"No," said Keen coolly, "that is not enough to justify you--the mere +desire to find the living original of this apparition. Nothing could +justify your showing it unless you love her." + +Harren held the picture tightly, staring full at the Tracer. A dull +flush mounted to his forehead, and very slowly he laid the picture +before the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +Minute after minute sped while the Tracer bent above the photograph, his +finely modeled features absolutely devoid of expression. Harren had +drawn his chair beside him, and now sat leaning forward, bronzed cheek +resting in his hand, staring fixedly at the picture. + +"When was this--this photograph taken?" asked the Tracer quietly. + +"The day after I arrived in New York. I was here, alone, smoking my pipe +and glancing over the evening paper just before dressing for dinner. It +was growing rather dark in the room; I had not turned on the electric +light. My camera lay on the table--there it is!--that kodak. I had taken +a few snapshots on shipboard; there was one film left." + +He leaned more heavily on his elbow, eyes fixed upon the picture. + +"It was almost dark," he repeated. "I laid aside the evening paper and +stood up, thinking about dressing for dinner, when my eyes happened to +fall on the camera. It occurred to me that I might as well unload it, +let the unused film go, and send the roll to be developed and printed; +and I picked up the camera--" + +"Yes," said the Tracer softly. + +"I picked it up and was starting toward the window where there remained +enough daylight to see by--" + +The Tracer nodded gently. + +"Then I saw _her_!" said Harren under his breath. + +"Where?" + +"There--standing by that window. You can see the window and curtain in +the photograph." + +The Tracer gazed intently at the picture. + +"She looked at me," said Harren, steadying his voice. "She was as real +as you are, and she stood there, smiling faintly, her dark, lovely eyes +meeting mine." + +"Did you speak?" + +"No." + +"How long did she remain there?" + +"I don't know--time seemed to stop--the world--everything grew still. +. . . Then, little by little, something began to stir under my stunned +senses--that germ of misgiving, that dreadful doubt of my own sanity. +. . . I scarcely knew what I was doing when I took the photograph; +besides, it had grown quite dark, and I could scarcely see her." He drew +himself erect with a nervous movement. "How on earth could I have +obtained that photograph of her in the darkness?" he demanded. + +"N-rays," said the Tracer coolly. "It has been done in France." + +"Yes, from living people, but--" + +"What the N-ray is in living organisms, we must call, for lack of a +better term, the subaura in the phantom." + +They bent over the photograph together. Presently the Tracer said: "She +is very, very beautiful?" + +Harren's dry lips unclosed, but he uttered no sound. + +"She is beautiful, is she not?" repeated the Tracer, turning to look at +the young man. + +"Can you not see she is?" he asked impatiently. + +"No," said the Tracer. + +Harren stared at him. + +"Captain Harren," continued the Tracer, "I can see nothing upon this bit +of paper that resembles in the remotest degree a human face or figure." + +Harren turned white. + +"Not that I doubt that _you_ can see it," pursued the Tracer calmly. "I +simply repeat that I see absolutely nothing on this paper except a part +of a curtain, a window pane, and--and--" + +"What! for God's sake!" cried Harren hoarsely. + +"I don't know yet. Wait; let me study it." + +"Can you not see her face, her eyes? _Don't_ you see that exquisite slim +figure standing there by the curtain?" demanded Harren, laying his +shaking finger on the photograph. "Why, man, it is as clear, as clean +cut, as distinct as though the picture had been taken in sunlight! Do +you mean to say that there is nothing there--that I am crazy?" + +"No. Wait." + +"Wait! How can I wait when you sit staring at her picture and telling me +that you can't see it, but that it is doubtless there? Are you deceiving +me, Mr. Keen? Are you trying to humor me, trying to be kind to me, +knowing all the while that I'm crazy--" + +"Wait, man! You are no more crazy than I am. I tell you that I can see +something on the window pane--" + +He suddenly sprang up and walked to the window, leaning close and +examining the glass. Harren followed and laid his hand lightly over the +pane. + +"Do you see any marks on the glass?" demanded Keen. + +Harren shook his head. + +"Have you a magnifying glass?" asked the Tracer. + +Harren pointed back to the table, and they returned to the photograph, +the Tracer bending over it and examining it through the glass. + +"All I see," he said, still studying the photograph, "is a corner of a +curtain and a window on which certain figures seem to have been cut. +. . . Look, Captain Harren, can you see them?" + +"I see some marks--some squares." + +"You can't see anything written on that pane--as though cut by a +diamond?" + +"Nothing distinct." + +"But you see _her_?" + +"Perfectly." + +"In minute detail?" + +"Yes." + +The Tracer thought a moment: "Does she wear a ring?" + +"Yes; can't you see?" + +"Draw it for me." + +They seated themselves side by side, and Harren drew a rough sketch of +the ring which he insisted was so plainly visible on her hand: + +[Illustration: Ring with an X] + +"Oh," observed the Tracer, "she wears the Seal of Solomon on her ring." + +Harren looked up at him. "That symbol has haunted me persistently for +three years," he said. "I have found it everywhere--on articles that I +buy, on house furniture, on the belts of dead ladrones, on the hilts of +creeses, on the funnels of steamers, on the headstalls of horses. If +they put a laundry mark on my linen it's certain to be this! If I buy a +box of matches the sign is on it. Why, I've even seen it on the +brilliant wings of tropical insects. It's got on my nerves. I dream +about it." + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"And you buy books about it and try to work out its mystical meaning?" +suggested the Tracer, smiling. + +But Harren's gray eyes were serious. He said: "_She_ never comes to me +without that symbol somewhere about her. . . . I told you she never +spoke to me. That is true; yet once, in a vivid dream of her, she did +speak. I--I was almost ashamed to tell you of that." + +"Tell me." + +"A--a dream? Do you wish to know what I dreamed?" + +"Yes--if it was a dream." + +"It was. I was asleep on the deck of the _Mindinao_, dead tired after a +fruitless hike. I dreamed she came toward me through a young woodland +all lighted by the sun, and in her hands she held masses of that wild +flower we call Solomon's Seal. And she said--in the voice I know must be +like hers: 'If you could only read! If you would only understand the +message I send you! It is everywhere on earth for you to read, if you +only would!' + +"I said: 'Is the message in the seal? Is that the key to it?' + +"She nodded, laughing, burying her face in the flowers, and said: + +"'Perhaps I can write it more plainly for you some day; I will try very, +very hard.' + +"And after that she went away--not swiftly--for I saw her at moments far +away in the woods; but I must have confused her with the glimmering +shafts of sunlight, and in a little while the woodland grew dark and I +woke with the racket of a Colt's automatic in my ears." + +He passed his sun-bronzed hand over his face, hesitated, then leaned +over the photograph once more, which the Tracer was studying intently +through the magnifying glass. + +"There is something on that window in the photograph which I'm going to +copy," he said. "Please shove a pad and pencil toward me." + +Still examining the photograph through the glass which he held in his +right hand, Mr. Keen picked up the pencil and, feeling for the pad, +began very slowly to form the following series of symbols: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +"What on earth are you doing?" muttered Captain Harren, twisting his +short mustache in perplexity. + +"I am copying what I see through this magnifying glass written on the +window pane in the photograph," said the Tracer calmly. "Can't you see +those marks?" + +"I--I do now; I never noticed them before particularly--only that there +were scratches there." + +When at length the Tracer had finished his work he sat, chin on hand, +examining it in silence. Presently he turned toward Harren, smiling. + +"Well?" inquired the younger man impatiently; "do those scratches +representing Solomon's Seal mean anything?" + +"It's the strangest cipher I ever encountered," said Mr. Keen--"the +strangest I ever heard of. I have seen hundreds of +ciphers--hundreds--secret codes of the State Department, secret military +codes, elaborate Oriental ciphers, symbols used in commercial +transactions, symbols used by criminals and every species of malefactor. +And every one of them can be solved with time and patience and a little +knowledge of the subject. But this"--he sat looking at it with eyes half +closed--"this is _too_ simple." + +"Simple!" + +"Very. It's so simple that it's baffling." + +"Do you mean to say you are going to be able to find a meaning in +squares and crosses?" + +"I--I don't believe it is going to be so very difficult to translate +them." + +"Great guns!" said the Captain. "Do you mean to say that you can +ultimately translate that cipher?" + +The Tracer smiled. "Let's examine it for repetitions first. Here we have +this symbol + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +repeated five times. It's likely to be the letter E. I think--" His +voice ceased; for a quarter of an hour he pored over the symbols, pencil +in hand, checking off some, substituting a letter here and there. + +"No," he said; "the usual doesn't work in this case. It's an absurdly +simple cipher. I have a notion that numbers play a part in it--you see +where these crossed squares are bracketed--those must be numbers +requiring two figures--" + +He fell silent again, and for another quarter of an hour he remained +motionless, immersed in the problem before him, Harren frowning at the +paper over his shoulder. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +"Come!" said the Tracer suddenly; "this won't do. There are too few +symbols to give us a key; too few repetitions to furnish us with any key +basis. Come, Captain, let us use our intellects; let us talk it over +with that paper lying there between us. It's a simple cipher--a +childishly simple one if we use our wits. Now, sir, what I see repeated +before us on this sheet of paper is merely one of the forms of a symbol +known as Solomon's Seal. The symbol is, as we see, repeated a great many +times. Every seal has been dotted or crossed on some one of the lines +composing it; some seals are coupled with brackets and armatures." + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"What of it?" inquired Harren vacantly. + +"Well, sir, in the first place, that symbol is supposed to represent the +spiritual and material, as you know. What else do you know about it?" + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"Nothing. I bought a book about it, but made nothing of it." + +"Isn't it supposed," asked Mr. Keen, "to contain within itself the nine +numerals, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and even the zero symbol?" + +"I believe so." + +"_Ex_actly. Here's the seal + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Now I'll mark the one, two, and three by crossing the lines, like this: + +one, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +two, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +three, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Now, eliminating all lines not crossed there remains + +the one, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +the two, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +the three, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +And here is the entire series: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +and the zero--" + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +A sudden excitement stirred Harren; he leaned over the paper, gazing +earnestly at the cipher; the Tracer rose and glanced around the room as +though in search of something. + +"Is there a telephone here?" he asked. + +"For Heaven's sake, don't give this up just yet," exclaimed Harren. +"These things mean numbers; don't you see? Look at that!" pointing to a +linked pair of seals, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"That means the number nineteen! You can form it by using only the +crossed lines of the seal. + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Don't you see, Mr. Keen?" + +"Yes, Captain Harren, the cipher is, as you say, very plain; quite as +easy to read as so much handwriting. That is why I wish to use your +telephone--at once, if you please." + +"It's in my bedroom; you don't mind if I go on working out this cipher +while you're telephoning?" + +"Not in the least," said the Tracer blandly. He walked into the +Captain's bedroom, closing the door behind him; then he stepped over to +the telephone, unhooked the receiver, and called up his own +headquarters. + +"Hello. This is Mr. Keen. I want to speak to Miss Borrow." + +In a few moments Miss Borrow answered: "I am here, Mr. Keen." + +"Good. Look up the name Inwood. Try New York first--Edith Inwood is the +name. Look sharp, please; I am holding the wire." + +He held it for ten full minutes; then Miss Borrow's low voice called him +over the wire. + +"Go ahead," said the Tracer quietly. + +"There is only one Edith Inwood in New York, Mr. Keen--Miss Edith +Inwood, graduate of Barnard, 1902--left an orphan 1903 and obliged to +support herself--became an assistant to Professor Boggs of the Museum of +Inscriptions. Is considered an authority upon Arabian cryptograms. Has +written a monograph on the Herati symbol--a short treatise on the +Swastika. She is twenty-four years of age. Do you require further +details?" + +"No," said the Tracer; "please ring off." + +Then he called up General Information. "I want the Museum of +Inscriptions. Get me their number, please." After a moment: "Is this the +Museum of Inscriptions?" + + * * * * * + +"Is Professor Boggs there?" + + * * * * * + +"Is this Professor Boggs?" + + * * * * * + +"Could you find time to decipher an inscription for me at once?" + + * * * * * + +"Of course I know you are extremely busy, but have you no assistant who +could do it?" + + * * * * * + +"What did you say her name is? Miss Inwood?" + + * * * * * + +"Oh! And will the young lady translate the inscription at once if I send +a copy of it to her by messenger?" + + * * * * * + +"Thank you very much, Professor. I will send a messenger to Miss Inwood +with a copy of the inscription. Good-by." + +He hung up the receiver, turned thoughtfully, opened the door again, and +walked into the sunlit living room. + +"Look here!" cried the Captain in a high state of excitement. "I've got +a lot of numbers out of it already." + +"Wonderful!" murmured the Tracer, looking over the young man's broad +shoulders at a sheet of paper bearing these numbers: + +9--14--5--22--5--18--19--1--23--25--15--21--2--21--20--15--14--3--5-- +9--12--15--22--5--25--15--21--5--4--9--20--8--9--14--23--15--15--4. + +"Marvelous!" repeated the Tracer, smiling. "Now what _do_ you suppose +those numbers can stand for?" + +"Letters!" announced the Captain triumphantly. "Take the number nine, +for example. The ninth letter in the alphabet is I! Mr. Keen, suppose we +try writing down the letters according to that system!" + +"Suppose we do," agreed the Tracer gravely. + +So, counting under his breath, the young man set down the letters in the +following order, not attempting to group them into words: + +INEVERSAWYOUBUTONCEILOVEYOUEDITHINWOOD. + +Then he leaned back, excited, triumphant. + +"There you are!" he said; "only, of course, it makes no sense." He +examined it in silence, and gradually a hopeless expression effaced the +animation. "How the deuce am I going to separate that mass of letters +into words?" he muttered. + +"This way," said the Tracer, smilingly taking the pencil from his +fingers, and he wrote: I--NEVER--SAW--YOU--BUT--ONCE. I--LOVE--YOU. +EDITH INWOOD. + +Then he laid the pencil on the table and walked to the window. + +Once or twice he fancied that he heard incoherent sounds behind him. +And after a while he turned, retracing his steps leisurely. Captain +Harren, extremely pink, stood tugging at his short mustache and studying +the papers on the desk. + +"Well?" inquired the Tracer, amused. + +The young man pointed to the translation with unsteady finger. "W-what +on earth does that mean?" he demanded shakily. "Who is Edith Inwood? +W-what on earth does that cryptogram mean on the window pane in the +photograph? How did it come there? It isn't on my window pane, you see!" + +The Tracer said quietly: "That is not a photograph of your window." + +"What!" + +"No, Captain. Here! Look at it closely through this glass. There are +sixteen small panes in that sash; now count the panes in your +window--eight! Besides, look at that curtain. It is made of some figured +stuff like chintz. Now, look at your own curtain yonder! It is of plain +velour." + +"But--but I took that photograph! She stood there--there by that very +window!" + +The Tracer leaned over the photograph, examining it through the glass. +And, studying it, he said: "Do you still see _her_ in this photograph, +Captain Harren?" + +"Certainly. Can you not see her?" + +"No," murmured the Tracer, "but I see the window which she really stood +by when her phantom came here seeking you. And that is sufficient. Come, +Captain Harren, we are going out together." + +The Captain looked at him earnestly; something in Mr. Keen's eyes seemed +to fascinate him. + +"You think that--that it's likely we are g-going to see--_her_!" he +faltered. + +"If I were you," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, joining the tips of +his lean fingers meditatively--"If I were you I should wear a silk hat +and a frock coat. It's--it's afternoon, anyhow," he added deprecatingly, +"and we are liable to make a call." + +Captain Harren turned like a man in a dream and entered his bedroom. And +when he emerged he was dressed and groomed with pathetic precision. + +"Mr. Keen," he said, "I--I don't know why I am d-daring to hope for all +s-sorts of things. Nothing you have said really warrants it. But somehow +I'm venturing to cherish an absurd notion that I may s-see her." + +"Perhaps," said the Tracer, smiling. + +"Mr. Keen! You wouldn't say that if--if there was no chance, would you? +You wouldn't dash a fellow's hopes--" + +"No, I wouldn't," said Mr. Keen. "I tell you frankly that I expect to +find her." + +"To-day?" + +"We'll see," said Mr. Keen guardedly. "Come, Captain, don't look that +way! Courage, sir! We are about to execute a turning movement; but you +look like a Russian general on his way to the south front." + +Harren managed to laugh; they went out, side by side, descended the +elevator, and found a cab at the _porte-cochère_. Mr. Keen gave the +directions and followed the Captain into the cab. + +"Now," he said, as they wheeled south, "we are first going to visit the +Museum of Inscriptions and have this cipher translation verified. Here +is the cipher as I copied it. Hold it tightly, Captain; we've only a few +blocks to drive." + +Indeed they were already nearly there. The hansom drew up in front of a +plain granite building wedged in between some rather elaborate private +dwelling-houses. Over the door were letters of dull bronze: + + AMERICAN MUSEUM OF INSCRIPTIONS + +and the two men descended and entered a wide marble hall lined with +glass-covered cabinets containing plaster casts of various ancient +inscriptions and a few bronze and marble originals. Several female +frumps were nosing the exhibits. + +An attendant in livery stood in the middle distance. The Tracer walked +over to him. "I have an appointment to consult Miss Inwood," he +whispered. + +"This way, sir," nodded the attendant, and the Tracer signaled the +Captain to follow. + +They climbed several marble stairways, crossed a rotunda, and entered a +room--a sort of library. Beyond was a door which bore the inscription: + + ASSISTANT CURATOR + +"Now," said the Tracer of Lost Persons in a low voice to Captain Harren, +"I am going to ask you to sit here for a few minutes while I interview +the assistant curator. You don't mind, do you?" + +"No, I don't mind," said Harren wearily, "only, when are we going to +begin to search for--_her_?" + +"Very soon--I may say extremely soon," said Mr. Keen gravely. "By the +way, I think I'll take that sheet of paper on which I copied the cipher. +Thank you. I won't be long." + +The attendant had vanished. Captain Harren sat down by a window and +gazed out into the late afternoon sunshine. The Tracer of Lost Persons, +treading softly across the carpeted floor, approached the sanctuary, +turned the handle, and walked in, carefully closing the door behind him. + +There was a young girl seated at a desk by an open window; she looked up +quietly as he entered, then rose leisurely. + +"Miss Inwood?" + +"Yes." + +She was slender, dark-eyed, dark-haired--a lovely, wholesome young +creature; gracious and graceful. And that was all--for the Tracer of +Lost Persons could not see through the eyes of Captain Harren, and +perhaps that is why he was not able to discern a miracle of beauty in +the pretty girl who confronted him--no magic and matchless marvel of +transcendent loveliness--only a quiet, sweet-faced, dark-eyed young girl +whose features and figure were attractive in the manner that youth is +always attractive. But then it is a gift of the gods to see through eyes +anointed by the gods. + +The Tracer touched his gray mustache and bowed; the girl bowed very +sweetly. + +"You are Mr. Keen," she said; "you have an inscription for me to +translate." + +"A mystery for young eyes to interpret," he said, smiling. "May I sit +here--and tell my story before I show you my inscription?" + +"Please do," she said, seating herself at her desk and facing him, one +slender white hand supporting the oval of her face. + +The Tracer drew his chair a little forward. "It is a curious matter," he +said. "May I give you a brief outline of the details?" + +"By all means, Mr. Keen." + +"Then let me begin by saying that the inscription of which I have a copy +was probably scratched upon a window pane by means of a diamond." + +"Oh! Then--then it is not an ancient inscription, Mr. Keen." + +"The theme is ancient--the oldest theme in the world--love! The cipher +is old--as old as King Solomon." She looked up quickly. The Tracer, +apparently engrossed in his own story, went on with it. "Three years ago +the young girl who wrote this inscription upon the window pane of +her--her bedroom, I think it was--fell in love. Do you follow me, Miss +Inwood?" + +Miss Inwood sat very still--wide, dark eyes fixed on him. + +"Fell in love," repeated the Tracer musingly, "not in the ordinary way. +That is the point, you see. No, she fell in love at first sight; fell +in love with a young man whom she never before had seen, never again +beheld--and never forgot. Do you still follow me, Miss Inwood?" + +She made the slightest motion with her lips. + +"No," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, "she never forgot him. I am not +sure, but I think she sometimes dreamed of him. She dreamed of him +awake, too. Once she inscribed a message to him, cutting it with the +diamond in her ring on the window pane--" + +A slight sound escaped from Miss Inwood's lips. "I beg your pardon," +said the Tracer, "did you say something?" + +The girl had risen, pale, astounded, incredulous. + +"Who are you?" she faltered. "What has this--this story to do with me?" + +"Child," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, "the Seal of Solomon is a +splendid mystery. All of heaven and earth are included within its +symbol. And more, more than you dream of, more than I dare fathom; and I +am an old man, my child--old, alone, with nobody to fear for, nothing to +dread, not even the end of all--because I am ready for that, too. Yet I, +having nothing on earth to dread, dare not fathom what that symbol may +mean, nor what vast powers it may exert on life. God knows. It may be +the very signet of Fate itself; the sign manual of Destiny." + +He drew the paper from his pocket, unrolled it, and spread it out under +her frightened eyes. + +"_That!_" she whispered, steadying herself blindly against the arm he +offered. She stood a moment so, then, shuddering, covered her eyes with +both hands. The Tracer of Lost Persons looked at her, turned and opened +the door. + +"Captain Harren!" he called quietly. Harren, pacing the anteroom, turned +and came forward. As he entered the door he caught sight of the girl +crouching by the window, her face hidden in her hands, and at the same +moment she dropped her hands and looked straight at him. + +"_You!_" she gasped. + +The Tracer of Lost Persons stepped out, closing the door. For a moment +he stood there, tall, gaunt, gray, staring vacantly into space. + +"She _was_ beautiful--when she looked at him," he muttered. + +For another minute he stood there, hesitating, glancing backward at the +closed door. Then he went away, stooping slightly, his top hat held +close against the breast of his tightly buttoned frock coat. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +During his first year of wedded bliss, Gatewood cut the club. When Kerns +wanted to see him he had to call like other people or, like other +people, accept young Mrs. Gatewood's invitations. + +"Why," said Gatewood scornfully, "should I, thirty-four years of age and +safely married, go to a club? Why should I, at my age, idle with a lot +of idlers and listen to stuffy stories from stuffier individuals? Do you +think that stale tobacco smoke, and the idiotically reiterated click of +billiard balls, and the vacant stare of the fashionably brainless, and +the meaningless exchange of banalities with the intellectually aimless +have any attractions for me?" + +Mrs. Gatewood raised her pretty eyes in silence; Kerns returned her +amused gaze rather blankly. + +"Clubs!" sniffed Gatewood. "What are clubs but pretexts for wasting +time? What mental, what spiritual stimulus can a man expect to find in a +club? Why, Kerns, when I look back a year and think what I was, and when +I look at you and think what you still are--" + +"John," said Mrs. Gatewood softly. + +"Oh, he knows it!" insisted her husband, "don't you, Tommy? You know the +sort of life you're leading, don't you? You know what a miserable, +aimless, selfish, unambitious, pitiable existence an unmarried man leads +who lives at his club; don't you?" + +"Certainly," said Kerns, blinking into the smiling gaze of Mrs. +Gatewood. + +"Then why don't you marry?" + +But Kerns had risen and was making his adieus with cheerful decision; +and Mrs. Gatewood was laughing as she gave him her slender hand. + +"Now I know a girl--" began Gatewood; but his wife was still speaking to +Kerns, so he circled around them, politely suppressing the excitement of +a sudden idea struggling for utterance. + +Mrs. Gatewood was saying: "I do wish John would go to his clubs +occasionally. Because a man is married is no reason for his losing touch +with his clubs--" + +"I know a girl," broke in Gatewood excitedly, laying his arm on Kerns's +to detain him; but Kerns slid sideways through the door with a smile so +noncommittal that Mrs. Gatewood laughed again and, linking her arm in +her husband's, faced partly toward him. This maneuver, and the +slightest pressure of her shoulder, obliged her husband to begin a +turning movement, so that Kerns might reasonably make his escape in the +middle of Gatewood's sentence; which he did with nimble and circumspect +agility. + +"I--I know a--" began Gatewood desperately, twisting his head over his +shoulder, only to hear the deadened patter of his friend's feet over the +velvet stair carpet and the subdued clang of the front door. + +"Isn't it extraordinary?" he said to his wife. "I've been trying to tell +Tommy, every time he comes here, about a girl I know--just the very girl +he ought to marry; and something prevents him from listening every +time." + +The attractive young matron beside him turned her face so that her eyes +were directly in line with his. + +"Did you ever know any people named Manners?" she asked. + +"No. Why?" + +"You never knew a girl named Marjorie Manners, did you, John?" + +"No. What about her?" + +"You never heard Mr. Kerns speak of her, did you, dear?" + +"No, never. Tommy doesn't talk about girls." + +"You never heard him speak of a Mrs. Stanley?" + +"Never. Who are these two women?" + +"One and the same, dear. Marjorie Manners married an Englishman named +Stanley six years ago. Do you happen to recollect that Mr. Kerns took +his vacation in England six years ago?" + +"Yes. What of it?" + +"He crossed to Southampton with Marjorie and her mother. He didn't know +she was going over to be married, and she didn't tell him. She wrote to +me about it, though. I was in school at Farmington; she left school to +marry--a mere child of eighteen, undeveloped for her age, thin, almost +scrawny, with pipe-stem arms and neck, red hair, a very sweet, +full-lipped mouth, and gray eyes that were too big for her face." + +"Well," said Gatewood with a short laugh, "what about it? You don't +think Kerns fell in love with an insect of that genus, do you?" + +"Yes, I do," smiled Mrs. Gatewood. + +"Nonsense. Besides, what of it? She's married, you say." + +"Her husband died of enteric at Ladysmith. She wrote me. She has never +remarried. Think of it, John--in all these years she has never +remarried!" + +"Oh!" said Gatewood pityingly; "do you really suppose that Tommy Kerns +has been nursing a blighted affection all these years without ever +giving _me_ an inkling? Besides, men don't do that; men don't curl up +and blight. Besides, men don't take any stock in big-eyed, flat-chested, +red-headed pipe stems. Why do you think that Kerns ever cared for her?" + +"I know he did." + +"How do you know it?" + +"From Marjorie's letters." + +"The conceited kid! Well, of all insufferable nerve! A man like Kerns--a +man--one of the finest, noblest characters--spiritually, intellectually, +physically--a practically faultless specimen of manhood! And a +red-headed, spindle-legged--Oh, my! Oh, fizz! Dearest, men don't worship +a cage of bones with an eighteen-year-old soul in it--like a nervous +canary pecking out at the world!" + +"She created a furor in England," observed his wife, smiling. + +"Oh, I dare say she might over there. Besides, she's doubtless fattened +up since then. But if you suppose for one moment that Tommy could even +remember a girl like that--" + +Mrs. Gatewood smiled again--the wise, sweet smile of a young matron in +whom her husband's closest friend had confided. And after a moment or +two the wise smile became more thoughtful and less assured; for that +very day the Tracer of Lost Persons had called on her to inquire about a +Mrs. Stanley--a new client of his who had recently bought a town house +in East Eighty-third Street and a country house on Long Island; and who +had applied to him to find her fugitive butler and a pint or two of +family jewels. And, after her talk with the Tracer of Lost Persons, Mrs. +Gatewood knew that her favorite among all her husband's friends, Mr. +Kerns, would never of his own volition go near that same Marjorie +Manners who had flirted with him to the very perilous verge before she +told him why she was going to England--and who, now a widow, had +returned with her five-year-old daughter to dwell once more in the city +of her ancestors. + +Kerns had said very simply: "She has spoiled women for me--all except +you, Mrs. Gatewood. And if Jack hadn't married you--" + +"I understand, Mr. Kerns. I'm awfully sorry." + +"Don't feel sorry; only, if you can, call Jack off. He's been perfectly +possessed to marry me to somebody ever since he married you. And if I +told him why I don't care to consider the matter he wouldn't believe +me--he'd spend his life in trying to bring me around. Besides, I +couldn't ever tell him about--Marjorie Manners. Anyhow, nothing on earth +could ever induce me to look at her again. . . . You say she is now a +widow?" + +"Yes, Mr. Kerns, and very beautiful." + +"Never again," muttered Kerns. "Never! She was homely enough when I +asked her to marry me. I don't want to see her; I don't want to know +what she looks like. I'm glad she has changed so I wouldn't recognize +her, for that means the end of it all--the final elimination of the girl +I remember on the ship. . . . It was probably a sort of diseased +infatuation, wasn't it, Mrs. Gatewood? Think of it! A few days on +shipboard and--and I asked her to marry me! . . . I don't blame her, +after all, for letting me dangle. It was an excellent opportunity for +her to study a rare species of idiot. She was justified and I am +satisfied. Only, do call Jack off with a hint or two." + +"I shall try," said young Mrs. Gatewood thoughtfully--very thoughtfully, +for already every atom and fiber of her femininity was aroused in behalf +of these two estranged young people whom Providence certainly had not +meant to put asunder. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +"Nothing," said Gatewood firmly, "can make me believe that Kerns ought +not to marry somebody; and I'm never going to let up on him until he +does. I'll bet I could fix him for life if I called in the Tracer to +help me. Isn't it extraordinary how Kerns has kept out of it all these +years?" + +The attractive girl beside him turned her face once more so that her +clear, sweet eyes were directly in line with his. + +"It _is_ extraordinary," she said seriously. "I think you ought to drop +in at the club some day when you can corner him and bully him." + +"I don't want to go to the club," said the infatuated man. + +"Why, dear?" + +He looked straight at her and she flushed prettily, while a tint of +color touched his own face. Which was very nice of him. So she didn't +say what she was going to say--that it would be perhaps better for them +both if he practiced on her an artistic absence now and then. Younger in +years, she was more mature than he. She knew. But she was too much in +love with him to salt their ambrosia with common sense or suggest +economy in their use of the nectar bottle. + +However, the gods attend to that, and she knew they would, and she let +them. So one balmy evening late in May, when the new moon's ghost +floated through the upper haze, and the golden Diana above Manhattan +turned flame color, and the electric lights began to glimmer along Fifth +Avenue, and the first faint scent of the young summer freshened the +foliage in square and park, Kerns, stopping at the club for a moment, +found Gatewood seated at the same window they both were wont to haunt in +earlier and more flippant days. + +"Are you dining here?" inquired Kerns, pushing the electric button with +enthusiasm. "Well, that's the first glimmer of common sense you've +betrayed since you've been married!" + +"Dining _here_!" repeated Gatewood. "I should hope not! I am just going +home--" + +"He's thoroughly cowed," commented Kerns; "every married man you meet at +the club is just going home." But he continued to push the button, +nevertheless. + +Gatewood leaned back in his chair and gazed about him, nose in the air. +"What a life!" he observed virtuously. "It's all I can do to stand it +for ten minutes. You're here for the evening, I suppose?" he added +pityingly. + +"No," said Kerns; "I'm going uptown to Billy Lee's house to get my suit +case. His family are out of town, and he is at Seabright, so he let me +camp there until the workmen finish papering my rooms upstairs. I'm to +lock up the house and send the key to the Burglar Alarm Company +to-night. Then I go to Boston on the 12.10. Want to come? There'll be a +few doing." + +"To Boston! What for?" + +"Contracts! We can go out to Cambridge when I've finished my business. +There'll be _etwas_ doing." + +"_Can't_ you ever recover from being an undergraduate?" asked Gatewood, +disgusted. + +"Well--is there anything the matter with a man getting next to a little +amusement in life?" asked Kerns. "Do you object to my being happy?" + +"Amusement? You don't know how to amuse yourself. You don't know how to +be happy. Here you sit, day after day, swallowing Martinis--" He paused +to finish his own, then resumed: "Here you sit, day after day, +intellectually stultified, unemotionally ignorant of the higher and +better life--" + +"No, I don't. I've a book upstairs that tells all about that. I read it +when I have holdovers--" + +"Kerns, I wish to speak seriously. I've had it on my mind ever since I +married. May I speak frankly?" + +"Well, when I come back from Boston--" + +"Because I know a girl," interrupted Gatewood--"wait a moment, +Tommy!"--as Kerns rose and sauntered toward the door--"you've plenty of +time to catch your train and be civil, too! I mean to tell you about +that girl, if you'll listen." + +Kerns halted and turned upon his friend a pair of eyes, unwinking in +their placid intelligence. + +"I was going to say that I know a girl," continued Gatewood, "who is +just the sort of a girl you--" + +"No, she isn't!" said Kerns, wheeling to resume his progress toward the +cloakroom. + +"Tom!" + +Kerns halted. + +"_You're_ a fine specimen!" commented Gatewood scornfully. "You spent +the best years of your life in persuading me to get married, and the +first time I try to do the same for you, you make for the tall timber!" + +"I know it," admitted Kerns, unashamed; "I'm bashful. I'm a chipmunk for +shyness, so I'll say good night--" + +"Come back," said Gatewood coldly. + +"But my suit case--" + +"You left it at the Lee's, didn't you? Well, you've time enough to go +there, get it, make your train, and listen to me, too. Look here, Kerns, +have you any of the elements of decency about you?" + +"No," said Kerns, "not a single element." He seated himself defiantly in +the club window facing Gatewood and began to button his gloves. When he +had finished he settled his new straw hat more comfortably on his head, +and, leaning forward and balancing his malacca walking stick across his +knees, gazed at Gatewood with composure. + +"Crank up!" he said pleasantly; "I'm going in less than three minutes." +He pushed the electric knob as an afterthought, and when the gilt +buttons of the club servant glimmered through the dusk, "Two more," he +explained briskly. After a few moments' silence, broken by the tinkle of +ice in thin glassware, Gatewood leaned forward, menacing his friend with +an impressive forefinger: + +"Did you or didn't you once tell me that a decent citizen ought to +marry?" + +"I did, dear friend." + +"Did I or didn't I do it?" + +"In the words of the classic, you _done_ it," admitted Kerns. + +"Was I or wasn't I going to the devil before I had the sense to marry?" +persisted Gatewood. + +"You was! You _was_, dear friend!" said Kerns with enthusiasm. "You had +almost went there ere I appeared and saved you." + +"Then why shouldn't you marry and let me save you?" + +"But I'm not going to the bowwows. _I'm_ all right. I'm a decent +citizen. I awake in the rosy dawn with a song on my lips; I softly +whistle rag time as I button my collar; I warble a few delicious vagrant +notes as I part my sparse hair; I'm not murderous before breakfast; I go +down town, singing, to my daily toil; I fish for fat contracts in +Georgia marble; I return uptown immersed in a holy calm and the evening +paper. I offer myself a cocktail; I bow and accept; I dress for dinner +with the aid of a rascally valet, but--_do_ I swear at him? No, dear +friend; I say, 'Henry, I have known far, far worse scoundrels than you. +Thank you for filling up my bay rum with water. Bless you for wearing +my imported hosiery! I deeply regret that my new shirts do not fit you, +Henry!' And my smile is a benediction upon that wayward scullion. Then, +dear friend, why, why do you desire to offer me up upon the altar of +unrest? What is a little wifey to me or I to any wifey?" + +"Because," said Gatewood irritated, "you offered me up. I'm happy and I +want you to be--you great, hulking, self-satisfied symbol of supreme +self-centered selfishness--" + +"Oh, splash!" said Kerns feebly. + +"Yes, you are. What do you do all day? Grub for money and study how to +make life agreeable to yourself! Every minute of the day you are +occupied in having a good time! You've admitted it! You wake up singing +like a fool canary; you wear imported hosiery; you've made a soft, warm +wallow for yourself at this club, and here you bask your life away, +waddling downtown to nail contracts and cut coupons, and uptown to +dinners and theaters, only to return and sprawl here in luxury without +one single thought for posterity. _Your_ crime is race suicide!" + +"I--my--_what_!" + +"Certainly. Some shirk taxes, some jury duty. _You_ shirk fatherhood, +and all its happy and sacred obligations! You deny posterity! You strike +a blow at it! You flout it! You menace the future of this Republic! +Your inertia is a crime against the people! Instead of _pro bono +publico_ your motto is _pro bono tempo_--for a good time! And, dog Latin +or not, it's the truth, and our great President" + +"Splash!" said Kerns, rising. + +"I've a good mind," said Gatewood indignantly, "to put the Tracer of +Lost Persons on your trail. He'd rope you and tie you in record time!" + +Kerns's smile was a provocation. + +"I'll do it, too!" added Gatewood, losing his temper, "if you dare give +me the chance." + +"Seriously," inquired Kerns, delighted, "_do_ you think your friend, Mr. +Keen, could encompass my matrimony against my better sense and the full +enjoyment of my unimpaired mental faculties?" + +"Didn't he--fortunately for me--force me into matrimony when I had never +seen a woman I would look at twice? Didn't you put him up to it? Very +well, why can't I put him on your trail then? Why can't _he_ do the same +for you?" + +"Try it, dear friend," retorted Kerns courteously. + +"Do you mean that you are not afraid? Do you mean you give me full +liberty to set him on you? And do you realize what that means? No, you +don't; for you haven't a notion of what that man, Westrel Keen, can +accomplish. You haven't the slightest idea of the machinery which he +controls with a delicacy absolutely faultless; with a perfectly +terrifying precision. Why, man, the Pinkerton system itself has become +merely a detail in the immense complexity of the system of control which +the Tracer of Lost Persons exercises over this entire continent. The +urban police, the State constabulary of Pennsylvania, the rural systems +of surveillance, the Secret Service, all municipal, provincial, State, +and national organizations form but a few strands in the universal web +he has woven. Custom officials, revenue officers, the militia of the +States, the army, the navy, the personnel of every city, State, and +national legislative bodies form interdependent threads in the mesh he +is master of; and, like a big beneficent spider, he sits in the center +of his web, able to tell by the slightest tremor of any thread exactly +where to begin investigations!" + +Flushed, earnest, a trifle out of breath with his own eloquence, +Gatewood waved his hand to indicate a Ciceronian period, adding, as +Kerns's incredulous smile broadened: "Say splash again, and I'll put you +at his mercy!" + +"Ker-splash! dear friend," observed Kerns pleasantly. "If a man doesn't +want to marry, the army, the navy, the Senate, the white wings, and the +great White Father at Washington can't make him." + +"I tell you I want to see you happy!" said Gatewood angrily. + +"Then gaze upon me. I'm it!" + +"You're not! You don't know what happiness is." + +"Don't I? Well, I don't miss it, dear friend--" + +"But if you've never had it, and therefore don't miss it, it's time +somebody found some real happiness for you. Kerns, I simply can't bear +to see you missing so much happiness--" + +"Why grieve?" + +"Yes, I will! I do grieve--in spite of your grinning skepticism and your +bantering attitude. See here, Tom; I've started about a thousand times +to say that I knew a girl--" + +"Do you want to hear that splash again?" + +Gatewood grew madder. He said: "I could easily lay your case before Mr. +Keen and have you in love and married and happy whether you like it or +not!" + +"If I were not going to Boston, my son, I should enjoy your misguided +efforts," returned Kerns blandly. + +"Your going to Boston makes no difference. The Tracer of Lost Persons +doesn't care where you go or what you do. If he starts in on your case, +Tommy, you can't escape." + +"You mean he can catch me now? Here? At my own club? Or on the public +highway? Or on the classic Boston train?" + +"He _could_. Yes, I firmly believe he could land you before you ever saw +the Boston State House. I tell you he can work like lightning, Kerns. I +know it; I am so absolutely convinced of it that I--I almost hesitate--" + +"Don't feel delicate about it," laughed Kerns; "you may call him on the +telephone while I go uptown and get my suit case. Perhaps I'll come back +a blushing bridegroom; who knows?" + +"If you'll wait here I'll call him up now," said Gatewood grimly. + +"Oh, very well. Only I left my suit case in Billy's room, and it's full +of samples of Georgia marble, and I've got to get it to the train." + +"You've plenty of time. If you'll wait until I talk to Mr. Keen I'll +dine with you here. Will you?" + +"What? Dine in this abandoned joint with an outcast like me? Dear +friend, are you dippy this lovely May evening?" + +"I'll do it if you'll wait. Will you? And I'll bet you now that I'll +have you in love and sprinting toward the altar before we meet again at +this club. Do you dare bet?" + +"The terms of the wager, kind friend?" drawled Kerns, delighted; and he +fished out a notebook kept for such transactions. + +"Let me see," reflected Gatewood; "you'll need a silver service when +you're married. . . . Well, say, forks and spoons and things against an +imported trap gun--twelve-gauge, you know." + +"Done. Go and telephone to your friend, Mr. Keen." And Kerns pushed the +electric button with a jeering laugh, and asked the servant for a dinner +card. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Gatewood, in the telephone booth, waited impatiently for Mr. Keen; and +after a few moments the Tracer of Lost Persons' agreeable voice sounded +in the receiver. + +"It's about Mr. Kerns," began Gatewood; "I want to see him happy, and +the idiot won't be. Now, Mr. Keen, you know what happiness you and he +brought to me! You know what sort of an idle, selfish, aimless, +meaningless life you saved me from? I want you to do the same for Mr. +Kerns. I want to ask you to take up his case at once. Besides, I've a +bet on it. Could you attend to it at once?" + +"To-night?" asked the Tracer, laughing. + +"Why--ah--well, of course, that would be impossible. I suppose--" + +"My profession is to overcome the impossible, Mr. Gatewood. Where is Mr. +Kerns?" + +"Here, in this club, defying me and drinking cocktails. He won't get +married, and I want you to make him do it." + +"Where is he spending the evening?" asked the Tracer, laughing again. + +"Why, he's been stopping at the Danforth Lees' in Eighty-third Street +until the workmen at the club here finish putting new paper on his +walls. The Lees are out of town. He left his suit case at their house +and he's going up to get it and catch the 12.10 train for Boston." + +"He goes from the Lenox Club to the residence of Mr. W. Danforth Lee, +East Eighty-third Street, to get a suit case," repeated the Tracer. "Is +that correct?" + +"Yes." + +"What is in the suit case?" + +"Samples of that new marble he's quarrying in Georgia." + +"Is it an old suit case? Has it Mr. Kerns's initials on it?" + +"Hold the wire; I'll find out." + +And Gatewood left the telephone and walked into the great lounging room, +where Kerns sat twirling his stick and smiling to himself. + +"All over, dear friend?" inquired Kerns, starting to rise. "I've ordered +a corking dinner." + +"Wait!" returned Gatewood ominously. "What sort of a suit case is that +one you're going after?" + +"What sort? Oh, just an ordinary--" + +"Is it old or new?" + +"Brand new. Why?" + +"Is your name on it?" + +"No; why? Would that thicken the plot, dear friend? Or is the Tracer +foiled, ha! ha!" + +Gatewood turned on his heel, went back to the telephone, and, carefully +shutting the door of the booth, took up the receiver. + +"It's a new suit case, Mr. Keen," he said; "no initials on it--just an +ordinary case." + +"Mr. Lee's residence is 38 East Eighty-third Street, between Madison and +Fifth, I believe." + +"Yes," replied Gatewood. + +"And the family are out of town?" + +"Yes." + +"Is there a caretaker there?" + +"No; Mr. Kerns camped there. When he leaves to-night he will send the +key to the Burglar Alarm Company." + +"Very well. Please hold the wire for a while." + +For ten full minutes Gatewood sat gleefully cuddling the receiver +against his ear. His faith in Mr. Keen was naturally boundless; he +believed that whatever the Tracer attempted could not result in failure. +He desired nothing in the world so ardently as to see Kerns safely +married. His own happiness may have been the motive power which had set +him in action in behalf of his friend--that and a certain indefinable +desire to practice a species of heavenly revenge, of grateful +retaliation upon the prime mover and _collaborateur_, if not the sole +author, of his own wedded bliss. Kerns had made him happy. + +"And I'm hanged if I don't pay him off and make him happy, too!" +muttered Gatewood. "Does he think I'm going to sit still and see him go +tearing and gyrating about town with no responsibility, no moral check +to his evolutions, no wholesome home duties to limit his acrobatics, no +wife to clip his wings? It's time he had somebody to report to; time he +assumed moral burdens and spiritual responsibilities. A man is just as +happy when he is certain where he is going to sleep. A man can find just +as much enjoyment in life when he feels it his duty to account for his +movements. I don't care whether Kerns is comparatively happy or +not--there's nothing either sacred or holy in that kind of happiness, +and I'm not going to endure the sort of life he likes any longer!" + +Immersed in moral reflections, inspired by affectionate obligations to +violently inflict happiness upon Kerns, the minutes passed very +agreeably until the amused voice of the Tracer of Lost Persons sounded +again in the receiver. + +"Mr. Gatewood?" + +"Yes, I am here, Mr. Keen." + +"Do you really think it best for Mr. Kerns to fall in love?" + +"I do, certainly!" replied Gatewood with emphasis. + +"Because," continued the Tracer of Lost Persons, "I see little chance +for him to do otherwise if I take up this case. Fate itself, in the +shape of a young lady, is already on the way here in a railroad train." + +"Good! Good!" exclaimed Gatewood. "Don't let him escape, Mr. Keen! I beg +of you to take up his case! I urge you most seriously to do so. Mr. +Kerns is now exactly what I was a year ago--an utterly useless member of +the community--a typical bachelor who lives at his clubs, shirking the +duties of a decent citizen." + +"_Ex_actly," said the Tracer. "Do you insist that I take this case? That +I attempt to trace and find for Mr. Kerns a sort of happiness he himself +has never found?" + +"I implore you to do so, Mr. Keen." + +"_Ex_actly. If I do--if I carry it out as it has been arranged--or +rather as the case seems to have already arranged itself, for it is +rather a simple matter, I fancy--I do not exactly see how Mr. Kerns can +avoid experiencing a--ahem--a tender sentiment for the very charming +young lady whom I--and chance--have designed for him as a partner +through life." + +"Excellent! Splendid!" shouted Gatewood through the telephone. "Can I do +anything to aid you in this?" + +"Yes," replied the Tracer, laughing. "If you can keep him amused for an +hour or two before he goes after his suit case it might make it easier +for me. This young lady is due to arrive in New York at eight o'clock--a +client of mine--coming to consult me. Her presence plays an important +part in Mr. Kerns's future. I wish you to detain Mr. Kerns until she is +ready to receive him. But of this he must know nothing. Good-by, Mr. +Gatewood, and would you be kind enough to present my compliments to Mrs. +Gatewood?" + +"Indeed I will! We never can forget what you have done for us. Good-by." + +"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. Try to keep Mr. Kerns amused for two or three +hours. Of course, if you can't do this, there are other methods I may +employ--a dozen other plans already partly outlined in my mind; but the +present plan, which accident and coincidence make so easy, is likely to +work itself out to your entire satisfaction within a few hours. We are +already weaving a web around Mr. Kerns; we already have taken exclusive +charge of his future movements after he leaves the Lenox Club. I do not +believe he can escape us, or his charming destiny. Good night!" + +Gatewood, enchanted, hung up the receiver. Song broke softly from his +lips as he started in search of Kerns; his step was springy, +buoyant--sort of subdued and modest prance. + +"Now," he said to himself, "Tommy must take out his papers. The time is +ended when he can issue letters of marque to himself, hoist sail, square +away, and go cruising all over this metropolis at his own sweet will." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +In the meanwhile, at the other end of the wire, Mr. Keen, the Tracer of +Lost Persons, was preparing to trace for Mr. Kerns, against that +gentleman's will, the true happiness which Mr. Kerns had never been able +to find for himself. + +He sat in his easy chair within the four walls of his own office, +inspecting a line of people who stood before him on the carpet forming a +single and attentive rank. In this rank were five men: a policeman, a +cab driver, an agent of the telephone company, an agent of the electric +company, and a reformed burglar carrying a kit of his trade tools. + +The Tracer of Lost Persons gazed at them, meditatively joining the tips +of his thin fingers. + +"I want the number on 36 East Eighty-third Street changed to No. 38, and +the number 38 replaced by No. 36," he said to the policeman. "I want it +done at once. Get a glazier and go up there and have it finished in an +hour. Mrs. Kenna, caretaker at No. 36, is in my pay; she will not +interfere. There is nobody in No. 38: Mr. Kerns leaves there to-night +and the Burglar Alarm Company takes charge to-morrow." + +And, turning to the others: "You," nodding at the reformed burglar, +"know your duty. Mike!" to the cab driver, "don't miss Mr. Kerns at the +Lenox Club. If he calls you before eleven, drive into the park and have +an accident. And you," to the agent of the telephone company, "will +sever all telephone connection in Mrs. Stanley's house; and you," to the +official of the electric company, "will see that the circuit in Mrs. +Stanley's house is cut so that no electric light may be lighted and no +electric bell sound." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons stroked his gray mustache thoughtfully. "And +that," he ended, "will do, I think. Good night." + +He rose and stood by the door as the policeman headed the solemn file +which marched out to their duty; then he looked at his watch, and, as it +was already a few minutes after eight, he called up No. 36 East +Eighty-third Street, and in a moment more had Mrs. Stanley on the wire. + +"Good evening," he said pleasantly. "I suppose you have just arrived +from Rosylyn. I may be a little late--I may be very late, in fact, so I +called you up to say so. And I wished to say another thing; to ask you +whether your servants could recollect ever having seen a young man +about the place, a rather attractive young man with excellent address +and manners, five feet eleven inches, slim but well built, dark hair, +dark eyes, and dark mustache, offering samples of Georgia marble for +sale." + +"Really, Mr. Keen," replied a silvery voice, "I have heard them say +nothing about such an individual. If you will hold the wire I will ask +my maid." And, after a pause: "No, Mr. Keen, my maid cannot remember any +such person. Do you think he was a confederate of that wretched butler +of mine?" + +"I am scarcely prepared to say that; in fact," added Mr. Keen, "I +haven't the slightest idea that this young man could have been concerned +in anything of that sort. Only, if you should ever by any chance see +such a man, detain him if possible until you can communicate with me; +detain him by any pretext, by ruse, by force if you can, only detain him +until I can get there. Will you do this?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Keen, if I can. Please describe him again?" + +Mr. Keen did so minutely. + +"You say he sells Georgia marble by samples, which he carries in a suit +case?" + +"He _says_ that he has samples of Georgia marble in his suit case," +replied the Tracer cautiously. "It might be well, if possible, to see +what he has in his suit case." + +"I will warn the servants as soon as I return to Rosylyn. When may I +expect you this evening, Mr. Keen?" + +"It is impossible to say, Mrs. Stanley. If I am not there by midnight I +shall try to call next morning." + +So they exchanged civil adieus; the Tracer hung up his receiver and +leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself. + +"Curious," he said, "that chance should have sent that pretty woman to +me at such a time. . . . Kerns _is_ a fine fellow, every inch of him. It +hit him hard when he crossed with her to Southampton six years ago; it +hit him harder when she married that Englishman. I don't wonder he never +cared to marry after that brief week of her society; for she is just +about the most charming woman I have ever met--red hair and all. . . . +And if quick action is what is required, it's well to break the ice +between them at once with a dreadful misunderstanding." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +The dinner that Kerns had planned for himself and Gatewood was an +ingenious one, cunningly contrived to discontent Gatewood with home fare +and lure him by its seductive quality into frequent revisits to the club +which was responsible for such delectable wines and viands. + +A genial glow already enveloped Gatewood and pleasantly suffused Kerns. +From time to time they held some rare vintage aloft, squinting through +the crystal-imprisoned crimson with deep content. + +"Not that _my_ word is necessarily the _last_ word concerning Burgundy," +said Gatewood modestly; "but I venture to doubt that any club in America +can match this bottle, Kerns." + +"Now, Jack," wheedled Kerns, "isn't it pleasant to dine here once in a +while? Be frank, man! Look about at the other tables--at all the +pleasant, familiar faces--the same fine fellows, bless 'em--the same +smoky old ceiling, the same bum portraits of dead governors, the same +old stag heads on the wall. Now, Jack, isn't it mighty pleasant, after +all? Be a gentleman and admit it!" + +"Y-yes," confessed Gatewood, "it's all right for me once in a while, +because I know that I am presently going back to my own home--a jolly +lamplit room and the prettiest girl in Manhattan curled up in an +armchair--" + +"You're fortunate," said Kerns shortly. And for the first time there +remained no lurking mockery in his voice; for the first time his retort +was tinged with bitterness. But the next instant his eyes glimmered with +the same gay malice, and the unbelieving smile twitched at his clean-cut +lips, and he raised his hand, touching the short ends of his mustache +with that careless, amused cynicism which rather became him. + +"All that you picture so entrancingly is forbidden the true believer," +he said; and began to repeat: + + "'O weaver! weave the flowers of Feraghan + Into the fabric that thy birth began; + Iris, narcissus, tulips cloud-band tied, + These thou shalt picture for the eye of Man; + Henna, Herati, and the Jhelums tide + In Sarraband and Saruk be thy guide, + And the red dye of Ispahan beside + The checkered Chinese fret of ancient gold; + --So heed the ban, old as the law is old, + Nor weave into thy warp the laughing face, + Nor limb, nor body, nor one line of grace, + Nor hint, nor tint, nor any veiled device + Of Woman who is barred from Paradise!'" + +"A nice sentiment!" said Gatewood hotly. + +"Can't help it; you see I'm forbidden to monkey with the eternal looms +or weave the forbidden into the pattern of my life." + +Gatewood sat silent for a moment, then looked up at Kerns with something +so closely akin to a grin that his friend became interested in its +scarcely veiled significance, and grinned in reply. + +"So you really expect that your friend, Mr. Keen, is going to marry me +to somebody, _nolens volens_?" asked Kerns. + +"I do. That's what I dream of, Tommy." + +"My poor friend, dream on!" + +"I am. Tommy, you're lost! I mean you're as good as married now!" + +"You think so?" + +"I _know_ it! There you sit, savoring your Burgundy, idling over a +cigar, happy, care free, fancy free, at liberty, as you believe, to roam +off anywhere at any time and continue the eternal hunt for pleasure! +That's what you _think_! Ha! Tommy, I know better! That's not the sort +of man _I_ see sitting on the same chair where you are now sprawling in +such content! I see a doomed man, already in the shadow of the altar, +wasting his time unsuspiciously while Chance comes whirling into the +city behind a Long Island locomotive, and Fate, the footman, sits +outside ready to follow him, and Destiny awaits him no matter what he +does, what he desires, where he goes, wherever he turns to-night! +Destiny awaits him at his journey's end!" + +"Very fine," said Kerns admiringly. "Too bad it's due to the Burgundy." + +"Never mind what my eloquence is due to," retorted Gatewood, "the fact +remains that this is probably your last bachelor dinner. Kerns, old +fellow! Here's to her! Bless her! I--I wish sincerely that we knew who +she is and where to send those roses. Anyway, here's to the bride!" + +He stood up very gravely and drank the toast, then, reseating himself, +tapped the empty glass gently against the table's edge until it broke. + +"You are certainly doing your part well," said Kerns admiringly. Then he +swallowed the remainder of his Burgundy and looked up at the club clock. + +"Eleven," he said with regret. "I've about time to go to Eighty-third +Street, get my suit case, and catch my train at 125th Street." To a +servant he said, "Call a hansom," then rose and sauntered downstairs to +the cloakroom, where presently both men stood, hatted and gloved, +swinging their sticks. + +"That was a fool bet you made," began Kerns; "I'll release you, Jack." + +"Sorry, but I must insist on holding you," replied Gatewood, laughing. +"You're going to your doom. Come on! I'll see you as far as the cab +door." + +They walked out, and Kerns gave the cabby the street and number and +entered the hansom. + +"Now," said Gatewood, "you're in for it! You're done for! You can't help +yourself! I've won my twelve-gauge trap gun already, and I'll have to +set you up in table silver, anyway, so it's an even break. You're all +in, Tommy! The Tracer is on your trail!" + +In the beginning of a flippant retort Kerns experienced a curious +sensation of hesitation. Something in Gatewood's earnestness, in his +jeering assurance and delighted certainty, made him, for one moment, +feel doubtful, even uncomfortable. + +"What nonsense you talk," he said, recovering his equanimity. "Nothing +on earth can prevent me driving to 38 East Eighty-third Street, getting +my luggage, and taking the Boston express. Your Tracer doesn't intend to +stop my hansom and drag me into a cave, does he? You haven't put +knock-outs into that Burgundy, have you? Then what in the dickens are +you laughing at?" + +But Gatewood, on the sidewalk under the lamplight, was still laughing as +Kerns drove away, for he had recognized in the cab driver a man he had +seen in Mr. Kern's office, and he knew that the Tracer of Lost Persons +had Kerns already well in hand. + +The hansom drove on through the summer darkness between rows of electric +globes drooping like huge white moon flowers from their foliated bronze +stalks, on up the splendid avenue, past the great brilliantly +illuminated hotels, past the white cathedral, past clubs and churches +and the palaces of the wealthy; on, on along the park wall edged by its +double rows of elms under which shadowy forms moved--lovers strolling in +couples. + +"Pooh," sniffed Kerns, "the whole world has gone love mad, and I'm the +only sane man left." + +But he leaned back in his cab and fell a-thinking of a thin girl with +red hair and great gray eyes--a thin, frail creature, scarcely more than +a child, who had held him for a week in a strange sorcery only to +release him with a frightened smile, leaving her indelible impression +upon his life forever. + +And, thinking, he looked up, realizing that the cab had stopped in East +Eighty-third Street before one of a line of brownstone houses, all +externally alike. + +Then he leaned out and saw that the house number was thirty-eight. That +was the number of the Lees' house; he descended, bade the cabman await +him, and, producing his latch key, started up the steps, whistling +gayly. + +But he didn't require his key, for, as he reached the front door, he +found, to his surprise and concern, that it swung partly open--just a +mere crack. + +"The mischief!" he muttered; "could I have failed to close it? Could +anybody have seen it and crept in?" + +He entered the hallway hastily and pressed the electric knob. No light +appeared in the sconces. + +"What the deuce!" he murmured; "something wrong with the switch!" And he +hurriedly lighted a match and peered into the darkness. By the vague +glimmer of the burning match he could distinguish nothing. He listened +intently, tried the electric switch again without success. The match +burned his fingers and he dropped it, watching the last red spark die +out in the darkness. + +Something about the shadowy hallway seemed unfamiliar; he went to the +door, stepped out on the stoop, and looked up at the number on the +transom. It was thirty-eight; no doubt about the house. Hesitating, he +glanced around to see that his hansom was still there. It had +disappeared. + +"What an idiot that cabman is!" he exclaimed, intensely annoyed at the +prospect of lugging his heavy suit case to a Madison Avenue car and +traveling with it to Harlem. + +He looked up and down the dimly lighted street; east, an electric car +glided down Madison Avenue; west, the lights of Fifth Avenue glimmered +against the dark foliage of the Park. He stood a moment, angry at the +desertion of his cabman, then turned and reëntered the dark hall, +closing the door behind him. + +Up the staircase he felt his way to the first landing, and, lighting a +match, looked for the electric button. + +"Am I crazy, or was there no electric button in this hall?" he thought. +The match burned low; he had to drop it. Perplexed, he struck another +match and opened the door leading into the front room, and stood on the +threshold a moment, looking about him at the linen-shrouded furniture +and pictures. This front room, closed for the summer, he had not before +entered, but he stepped in now, poking about for any possible intruder, +lighting match after match. + +"I suppose I ought to go over this confounded house inch by inch," he +murmured. "What could have possessed me to leave the front door ajar +this morning?" + +For an instant he thought that perhaps Mrs. Nolan, the woman who came in +the morning to make his bed, might have left the door open, but he knew +that couldn't be so, because he always waited for her to finish her work +and leave before he went out. So either he must have left the door open, +or some marauder had visited the house--was perhaps at that moment in +the house! And it was his duty to find out. + +"I'd better be about it, too," he thought savagely, "or I'll never make +my train." + +He struck his last match, looked around, and, seeing gas jets among the +clustered electric bulbs of the sconces, tried to light one and +succeeded. + +He had left his suit case in the passageway between the front and rear +rooms, and now, cautiously, stick in hand, he turned toward the dim +corridor leading to the bedroom. There was his suit case, anyway! He +picked it up and started to push open the door of the rear room; but at +the same time, and before he could lay his hand on the knob, the door +before him opened suddenly in a flood of light, and a woman stood there, +dark against the gas-lit glare, a pistol waveringly extended in the +general direction of his head. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +"Good heavens!" he said, appalled, and dropped his suit case with a +crash. + +"W-what are you d-doing--" She controlled her voice and the wavering +weapon with an effort. "What are you doing in this house?" + +"Doing? In _this_ house?" he repeated, his eyes protruding in the +direction of the unsteady pistol muzzle. "What are _you_ doing in this +house--if you don't mind saying!" + +"I--I m-must ask you to put up your hands," she said. "If you move I +shall certainly s-shoot off this pistol." + +"It will go off, anyway, if you handle it like that!" he said, +exasperated. "What do you mean by pointing it at me?" + +"I mean to fire it off in a few moments if you don't raise your hands +above your head!" + +He looked at the pistol; it was new and shiny; he looked at the athletic +young figure silhouetted against the brilliant light. + +"Well, if you make a point of it, of course." He slowly held up both +hands, higher, then higher still. "Upon my word!" he breathed. "Held up +by a woman!" And he said aloud, bitterly: "No doubt you have assistance +close at hand." + +"No doubt," she said coolly. "What have you been packing into that +valise?" + +"P-packing into _what_? Oh, into that suit case? That is my suit case." + +"Of course it is," she said quietly, "but what have you inside it?" + +"Nothing _you_ or your friends would care for," he said meaningly. + +"I must be the judge of that," she retorted. "Please open that suit +case." + +"How can I if my hands are in the air?" he expostulated, now intensely +interested in the novelty of being held up by this graceful and vaguely +pretty silhouette. + +"You may lower your arms to unpack the suit case," she said. + +"I--I had rather not if you are going to keep me covered with your +pistol." + +"Of course I shall keep you covered. Unpack your booty at once!" + +"My--_what_?" + +"Booty." + +"Madam, do you take _me_ for a thief? Have you, by chance, entered the +wrong house? I--I cannot reconcile your voice with what I am forced to +consider you--a housebreaker--" + +"We will discuss that later. Unpack that bag!" she insisted. + +"But--but there is nothing in it except samples of marble--" + +"What!" she exclaimed nervously. "_What_ did you say? Samples of +_marble_?" + +"Marble, madam! Georgia marble!" + +"Oh! So _you_ are the young man who goes about pretending to peddle +Georgia marble from samples! Are you? The famous marble man I have heard +of." + +"I? Madam, I don't know what you mean!" + +"Come!" she said scornfully; "let me see the contents of that suit case. +I--I am not afraid of you; I am not a bit afraid of you. And I shall +catch your accomplice, too." + +"Madam, you speak like an honest woman! You _must_ have managed to enter +the wrong house. This is number thirty-eight, where I live." + +"It is number thirty-six; my house!" + +"But I _know_ it is number thirty-eight; Mr. Lee's house," he protested +hopefully. "This is some dreadful mistake." + +"Mr. Lee's house is next door," she said. "Do you not suppose I know my +own house? Besides, I have been warned against a plausible young man who +pretends he has Georgia marble to sell--" + +"There is a dreadful mistake somewhere," he insisted. "Please p-p-put up +your p-pistol and aid me to solve it. I am no robber, madam. I thought +at first that you were. I'm living in Mr. Lee's house, No. 38 East +Eighty-third Street, and I've looked carefully at the number over the +door of this house and the number is thirty-eight, and the street is +East Eighty-third. So I naturally conclude that I am in Mr. Lee's +house." + +"Your arguments and your conclusions are very plausible," she said, +"but, fortunately for me, I have been expressly warned against a young +man of your description. _You_ are the marble man!" + +"It's a mistake! A very dreadful one." + +"Then how did you enter this house?" + +"I have a key--I mean I found the front door unlatched. Please don't +misunderstand me; I know it sounds unconvincing, but I really have a key +to number thirty-eight." + +He attempted to reach for his pocket and the pistol glittered in his +face. + +"Won't you let me prove my innocence?" he asked. + +"You can't prove it by showing me a key. Besides, it's probably a +weapon. Anyhow, if, as you pretend, you have managed to get into the +wrong house, why did you bring that suit case up here?" + +"It was here. It's mine. I left it here in this passageway." + +"In _my_ house?" she asked incredulously. + +"In number thirty-eight; that is all I know. I'll open the suit case if +you will let me. I have already described its contents. If it has +samples of marble in it you _must_ be convinced!" + +"It will convince me that it is your valise. But what of that? I know it +is yours already," she said defiantly. "I know, at least, that you are +the marble man--if nothing worse!" + +"But malefactors don't go about carrying samples of Georgia marble," he +protested, dropping on one knee under the muzzle of her revolver and +tugging at the straps and buckles. In a second or two he threw open the +case--and the sight of the contents staggered him. For there, thrown in +pellmell among small square blocks of polished marble was a complete kit +of burglar's tools, including also a mask, a dark lantern, and a +blackjack. + +"What--w--w--what on earth is this?" he stammered. "These things don't +belong to me. I won't have them! I don't want them. Who put them into my +suit case? How the deuce--" + +"You _are_ the marble man!" she said with a shudder. "Your crimes are +known! Your wretched accomplice will be caught! You are the marble +man--or something worse!" + +Kneeling there, aghast, bewildered, he passed his hand across his eyes +as though to clear them from some terrible vision. But the suit case was +still there with its incriminating contents when he looked again. + +"I am sorry for you," she said tremulously. "I--if it were not for the +marble--I would let you go. But you are the marble man!" + +"Yes, and I'm probably a madman, too. I don't know what I am! I don't +know what is happening to me. I ought to be going, that is all I know--" + +"I cannot let you go." + +"But I must! I've got to catch a train." + +The feebleness of his excuse chilled her pity. + +"I shall not let you go," she said, resting the hand which held the +pistol on her hip, but keeping him covered. "I know you came to rob my +house; I know you are a thoroughly bad and depraved young man, but for +all that I could find it in my heart to let you go if you were not also +the _marble man_!" + +"What on earth is the marble man?" he asked, exasperated. + +"I don't know. I have been earnestly warned against him. Probably he is +a relative of my butler--" + +"I'm not a relative of anybody's butler!" + +"You _say_ you are not. How do I know? I--I will make you an offer. I +will give you one last chance. If you will return to me the jewels that +my butler took--" + +"Good heavens, madam! Do you really take me for a professional burglar?" + +"How can I help it?" she said indignantly. "Look at your suit case full +of lanterns and masks--full of _marble_, too!" + +Speechless, he stared at the burglar's kit. + +"I am sorry--" Her voice had altered again to a tremulous sweetness. "I +can't help feeling sorry for you. You do not seem to be hardened; your +voice and manner are not characteristically criminal. I--I can't see +your face very clearly, but it does not seem to be a brutally inhuman +face--" + +An awful desire to laugh seized Kerns; he struggled against it; +hysteria lay that way; and he covered his face with both hands and +pinched himself. + +She probably mistook the action for the emotion of shame and despair +born of bitter grief; perhaps of terror of the law. It frightened her a +little, but pity dominated. She could scarcely endure to do what she +must do. + +"This is dreadful, dreadful!" she faltered. "If you only would give me +back my jewels--" + +Sounds, hastily smothered, escaped him. She believed them to be groans, +and it made her slightly faint. + +"I--I've simply got to telephone for the police," she said pityingly. "I +must ask you to sit down there and wait--there is a chair. Sit +there--and please don't move, for I--this has unnerved me--I am not +accustomed to doing cruel things; and if you should move too quickly or +attempt to run away I feel certain that this pistol would explode." + +"Are you going to telephone?" he asked. + +"Yes, I am." + +She backed away, cautiously, pistol menacing him, reached for the +receiver, and waited for Central. She waited a long time before she +realized that the telephone as well as the electric light was out of +commission. + +"Did _you_ cut all these wires?" she demanded angrily. + +"I? What wires?" + +She reached out and pressed the electric button which should have rung a +bell in her maid's bedroom on the top floor. She kept her finger on the +button for ten minutes. It was useless. + +"You laid deliberate plans to rob this house," she said, her cheeks pink +with indignation. "I am not a bit sorry for you. I shall _not_ let you +go! I shall sit here until somebody comes to my assistance, if I have to +sit here for weeks and weeks!" + +"If you'd let me telephone to my club--" he began. + +"Your club! You are very plausible. You didn't offer to call up any club +until you found that the telephone was not working!" + +He thought a moment. "I don't suppose you would trust me to go out and +get a policeman?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Or go into the front room and open a window and summon some passer-by?" + +"How do I know you haven't confederates waiting outside?" + +"That's true," he said seriously. + +There was a silence. Her nerves seemed to trouble her, for she began to +pace to and fro in front of the passageway where he sat comfortably on +his chair, arms folded, one knee dropped over the other. + +The light being behind her he could not as yet distinguish her features +very clearly. Her figure was youthful, slender, yet beautifully rounded; +her head charming in contour. He watched her restlessly walking on the +floor, small hand clutching the pistol resting on her hip. + +The ruddy burnished glimmer on the edges of her hair he supposed, at +first, was caused by the strong light behind her. + +"This is atrocious!" she murmured, halting to confront him. "How dared +you sever every electric connection in my house?" + +As she spoke she stepped backward a pace or two, resting herself for a +moment against the footboard of the bed--full in the gaslight. And he +saw her face. + +For a moment he studied her; an immense wave of incredulity swept over +him--of wild unbelief, slowly changing to the astonishment of dawning +conviction. Astounded, silent, he stared at her from his shadowy corner; +and after a while his pulses began to throb and throb and hammer, and +the clamoring confusion of his senses seemed to deafen him. + +[Illustration: "'This is atrocious,' she murmured, halting to confront +him."] + +She rested a moment or two against the footboard of the bed, her big +gray eyes fixed on his vague and shadowy form. + +"This won't do," she said. + +"No," he said, "it won't do." + +He spoke very quietly, very gently. She detected the alteration in his +voice and started slightly, as though the distant echo of a familiar +voice had sounded. + +"What did you say?" she asked, coming nearer, pistol glittering in +advance. + +"I said 'It won't do.' I don't know what I meant by it. If I meant +anything I was wrong. It _will_ do. The situation is perfectly agreeable +to me." + +"Insolence will not help you," she said sharply. And under the sharpness +he detected the slightest quaver of a new alarm. + +"I am going to free myself," he said coolly. + +"If you move I shall certainly shoot!" she retorted. + +"I am going to move--but only my lips. I have only to move my lips to +free myself." + +"I should scarcely advise you to trust to your eloquence. I have been +duly warned, you see." + +"Who warned you?" he asked curiously. And, as she disdained to reply: +"Never mind. We can clear that up later. Now let me ask you something." + +"You are scarcely in a position to ask questions," she said. + +"May I not speak to you?" + +"Is it necessary?" + +He thought a moment. "No, not necessary. Nothing is in this life, you +know. I thought differently once. Once--when I was younger--six years +younger--I thought happiness was necessary. I found that a man might +live without it." + +She stood gazing at him through the shadows, pistol on hip. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. + +"I mean that happiness is not necessary to life. Life goes on all the +same. My life has continued for six years without that happiness which +some believe to be essential." + +After a silence she said: "I can tell by the way you speak that you are +well born. I--I dread to do what I simply must do." + +He, too, sat silent a long time--long enough for an utterly perverse and +whimsical humor to take complete possession of him. + +"_Won't_ you let me go--_this_ time?" he pleaded. + +"I cannot." + +"You had better let me go while you can," he said, "because, perhaps, +you may find it difficult to get rid of me later." + +Affronted, she shrank back from the doorway and stood in the center of +her room, angry, disdainful, beautiful, under the ruddy glory of her +lustrous hair. + +His perverse mood changed, too; he leaned forward, studying her +minutely--the splendid gray eyes, the delicate mouth and nose, the full, +sweet lips, the witchery of wrist and hand, and the flowing, rounded +outline of limb and body under the pretty gown. Could this be _she_? +This lovely, mature woman, wearing scarcely a trace of the young girl he +had never forgotten--scarcely a trace save in the beauty of her eyes and +hair--save in the full, red mouth, sweet and sensitive even in its +sudden sullenness? + +"Once," he said, and his voice sounded to him like voices heard in +dreams--"once, years and years ago, there was a steamer, and a man and a +young girl on board. Do you mind my telling you about it?" + +She stood leaning against the footboard of the bed, not even deigning to +raise her eyes in reply. So he made the slightest stir in his chair; and +then she looked up quickly enough, pistol poised. + +"The steamer," said Kerns slowly, "was coming into Southampton--six +years ago. On deck these two people stood--a man of twenty-eight, a girl +of eighteen--six years ago. The name of the steamer was the _Carnatic_. +Did you ever hear of that ship?" + +She was looking at him attentively. He waited for her reply; she made +none; and he went on. + +"The man had asked the girl something--I don't know what--I don't know +why her gray eyes filled with tears. Perhaps it was because she could +not do what the man asked her to do. It may have been to love him; it +may have been that he was asking her to marry him and that she couldn't. +Perhaps that is why there were tears in her eyes--because she may have +been sorry to cause him the pain of refusal--sorry, perhaps, perhaps a +little guilty. Because she must have seen that he was falling in love +with her, and she--she let him--knowing all the time that she was to +marry another man. Did you ever hear of that man before?" + +She had straightened up, quivering, wide eyed, lips parted. He rose and +walked slowly into her room, confronting her under the full glare of +light. + +Her pistol fell clattering to the floor. It did not explode because it +was not loaded. + +"Now," he said unsteadily, "will you give me my freedom? I have waited +for it--not minutes--but years--six years. I ask it now--the freedom I +enjoyed before I ever saw you. Can you give it back to me? Can you +restore to me a capacity for happiness? Can you give me a heart to love +with--love some woman, as other men love? Is it very much I ask of +you--to give me a chance in life--the chance I had before I ever saw +you?" + +Her big gray eyes seemed fascinated; he looked deep into them, smiling; +and she turned white. + +"Will you give me what I ask?" he said, still smiling. + +She strove to speak; she could not, but her eyes never faltered. +Suddenly the color flooded her neck and cheeks to the hair, and the +quick tears glimmered. + +"I--I did not understand; I was too young to be cruel," she faltered. +"How could I know what I was doing? Or what--what you did?" + +"I? To _you_?" + +"Y-yes. Did you think that I escaped heart free? Do you realize what +_my_ punishment was--to--to marry--and _remember_! If I was too young, +too inexperienced to know what I was doing, I was not too young to +suffer for it!" + +"You mean--" He strove to control his voice, but the sweet, fearless +gray eyes met his; the old flame leaped in his veins. He reached out to +steady himself and his hand touched hers--that soft, white hand that had +held him all these years in the hollow of its palm. + +"Did you _ever_ love me?" he demanded. + +Her eyes, wet with tears, met his straight as the starry gaze of a +child. + +"Yes," she said. + +His hand tightened over hers; she swayed a moment, quivering from head +to foot; then drawing a quick, sobbing breath, closed her eyes, +imprisoned in his arms; and, after a long while, aroused, she looked up +at him, her divine eyes unclosing dreamily. + +"Somebody is hammering at the front door," he breathed. "Listen!" + +"I hear. I believe it must be the Tracer of Lost Persons." + +"What?" + +"Only a Mr. Keen." + +"O Lord!" said Kerns faintly, and covered his face with her fragrant +hands. + +Very tenderly, very gravely, she drew her hands away, and, laying them +on his shoulders, looked up at him. + +"You--you know what there is in your suit case," she faltered; "_are_ +you a burglar, dear?" + +"Ask the Tracer of Lost Persons," said Kerns gently, "what sort of a +criminal I am!" + +They stood together for one blissful moment listening to the loud +knocking below, then, hand in hand, they descended the dark stairway to +admit the Tracer of Lost Persons. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +On the thirteenth day of March, 1906, Kerns received the following cable +from an old friend: + + "Is there anybody in New York who can find two criminals for me? I + don't want to call in the police. + + "J.T. BURKE." + +To which Kerns replied promptly: + + "Wire Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, N.Y." + +And a day or two later, being on his honeymoon, he forgot all about his +old friend Jack Burke. + +On the fifteenth day of March, 1906, Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, +received the following cablegram from Alexandria, Egypt: + + "_Keen, Tracer, New York:_--Locate Joram Smiles, forty, stout, + lame, red hair, ragged red mustache, cast in left eye, pallid skin; + carries one crutch; supposed to have arrived in America per S. S. + _Scythian Queen_, with man known as Emanuel Gandon, swarthy, short, + fat, light bluish eyes, Eurasian type. + + "I will call on you at your office as soon as my steamer, _Empress + of Babylon_, arrives. If you discover my men, keep them under + surveillance, but on no account call in police. Spare no expense. + Dundas, Gray & Co. are my bankers and reference. + + "JOHN TEMPLETON BURKE." + +On Monday, April 2d, a few minutes after eight o'clock in the morning, +the card of Mr. John Templeton Burke was brought to Mr. Keen, Tracer of +Lost Persons, and a moment later a well-built, wiry, sun-scorched young +man was ushered into Mr. Keen's private office by a stenographer +prepared to take minutes of the interview. + +The first thing that the Tracer of Lost Persons noted in his visitor was +his mouth; the next his eyes. Both were unmistakably good--the eyes +which his Creator had given him looked people squarely in the face at +every word; the mouth, which a man's own character fashions agreeably or +mars, was pleasant, but firm when the trace of the smile lurking in the +corners died out. + +There were dozens of other external characteristics which Mr. Keen +always looked for in his clients; and now the rapid exchange of +preliminary glances appeared to satisfy both men, for they advanced +toward each other and exchanged a formal hand clasp. + +"Have you any news for me?" asked Burke. + +"I have," said the Tracer. "There are cigars on the table beside +you--matches in that silver case. No, I never smoke; but I like the +aroma--and I like to watch men smoke. Do you know, Mr. Burke, that no +two men smoke in the same fashion? There is as much character in the +manner of holding a cigar as there is difference in the technic of +artists." + +Burke nodded, amused, but, catching sight of the busy stenographer, his +bronzed features became serious, and he looked at Mr. Keen inquiringly. + +"It is my custom," said the Tracer. "Do you object to my stenographer?" + +Burke looked at the slim young girl in her black gown and white collar +and cuffs. Then, very simply, he asked her pardon for objecting to her +presence, but said that he could not discuss his case if she remained. +So she rose, with a humorous glance at Mr. Keen; and the two men stood +up until she had vanished, then reseated themselves _vis-a-vis_. Mr. +Keen calmly dropped his elbow on the concealed button which prepared a +hidden phonograph for the reception of every word that passed between +them. + +"What news have you for me, Mr. Keen?" asked the younger man with that +same directness which the Tracer had already been prepared for, and +which only corroborated the frankness of eyes and voice. + +"My news is brief," he said. "I have both your men under observation." + +"Already?" exclaimed Burke, plainly unprepared. "Do you actually mean +that I can see these men whenever I desire to do so? Are these +scoundrels in this town--within pistol shot?" + +His youthful face hardened as he snapped out his last word, like the +crack of a whip. + +"I don't know how far your pistol carries," said Mr. Keen. "Do you wish +to swear out a warrant?" + +"No, I do not. I merely wish their addresses. You have not used the +police in this matter, have you, Mr. Keen?" + +"No. Your cable was explicit," said the Tracer. "Had you permitted me to +use the police it would have been much less expensive for you." + +"I can't help that," said the young man. "Besides, in a matter of this +sort, a man cannot decently consider expense." + +"A matter of what sort?" asked the Tracer blandly. + +"Of _this_ sort." + +"Oh! Yet even now I do not understand. You must remember, Mr. Burke, +that you have not told me anything concerning the reasons for your quest +of these two men, Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon. Besides, this is the +first time you have mentioned pistol range." + +Burke, smoking steadily, looked at the Tracer through the blue fog of +his cigar. + +"No," he said, "I have not told you anything about them." + +Mr. Keen waited a moment; then, smiling quietly to himself, he wrote +down the present addresses of Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon, and, +tearing off the leaf, handed it to the younger man, saying: "I omit the +pistol range, Mr. Burke." + +"I am very grateful to you," said Burke. "The efficiency of your system +is too famous for me to venture to praise it. All I can say is 'Thank +you'; all I can do in gratitude is to write my check--if you will be +kind enough to suggest the figures." + +"Are you sure that my services are ended?" + +"Thank you, quite sure." + +So the Tracer of Lost Persons named the figures, and his client produced +a check book and filled in a check for the amount. This was presented +and received with pleasant formality. Burke rose, prepared to take his +leave, but the Tracer was apparently busy with the combination lock of a +safe, and the young man lingered a moment to make his adieus. + +As he stood waiting for the Tracer to turn around he studied the writing +on the sheet of paper which he held toward the light: + + Joram Smiles, no profession, 613 West 24th Street. Emanuel Gandon, + no profession, same address. Very dangerous men. + +It occurred to him that these three lines of pencil-writing had cost him +a thousand dollars--and at the same instant he flushed with shame at the +idea of measuring the money value of anything in such a quest as this. + +And yet--and yet he had already spent a great deal of money in his brief +quest, and--_was_ he any nearer the goal--even with the penciled +addresses of these two men in his possession? Even with these men almost +within pistol shot! + +Pondering there, immersed in frowning retrospection, the room, the +Tracer, the city seemed to fade from his view. He saw the red sand +blowing in the desert; he heard the sickly squealing of camels at the El +Teb Wells; he saw the sun strike fire from the rippling waters of Saïs; +he saw the plain, and the ruins high above it; and the odor of the Long +Bazaar smote him like a blow, and he heard the far call to prayer from +the minarets of Sa-el-Hagar, once Saïs, the mysterious--Saïs of the +million lanterns, Saïs of that splendid festival where the Great Triad's +worship swayed dynasty after dynasty, and where, through the hot +centuries, Isis, veiled, impassive, looked out upon the hundredth king +of kings, Meris, the Builder of Gardens, dragged dead at the chariot of +Upper and Lower Egypt. + +Slowly the visions faded; into his remote eyes crept the consciousness +of the twentieth century again; he heard the river whistles blowing, and +the far dissonance of the streets--that iron undertone vibrating through +the metropolis of the West from river to river and from the Palisades to +the sea. + +His gaze wandered about the room, from telephone desk to bookcase, from +the table to the huge steel safe, door ajar, swung outward like the +polished breech of a twelve-inch gun. + +Then his vacant eyes met the eyes of the Tracer of Lost Persons, almost +helplessly. And for the first time the full significance of this quest +he had undertaken came over him like despair--this strange, hopeless, +fantastic quest, blindly, savagely pursued from the sand wastes of Saïs +to the wastes of this vast arid city of iron and masonry, ringing to the +sky with the menacing clamor of its five monstrous boroughs. + +Curiously weary of a sudden, he sat down, resting his head on one hand. +The Tracer watched him, bent partly over his desk. From moment to moment +he tore minute pieces from the blotter, or drew imaginary circles and +arabesques on his pad with an inkless pen. + +"Perhaps I could help you, after all--if you'd let me try," he said +quietly. + +"Dou you mean--_me_?" asked Burke, without raising his head. + +"If you like--yes, you--or any man in trouble--in perplexity--in the +uncertain deductions which arise from an attempt at self-analysis." + +"It is true; I am trying to analyze myself. I believe that I don't know +how. All has been mere impulse--so far. No, I don't know how to analyze +it all." + +"I do," said the Tracer. + +Burke raised his level, unbelieving eyes. + +"You are in love," said the Tracer. + +After a long time Burke looked up again. "Do you think so?" + +"Yes. Can I help you?" asked the Tracer pleasantly. + +The young man sat silent, frowning into space; then: + +"I tell you plainly enough that I have come here to argue with two men +at the end of a pistol; and--you tell me I'm in love. By what logic--" + +"It is written in your face, Mr. Burke--in your eyes, in every feature, +every muscle's contraction, every modulation of your voice. My tables, +containing six hundred classified superficial phenomena peculiar to all +human emotions, have been compiled and scientifically arranged according +to Bertillon's system. It is an absolutely accurate key to every phase +of human emotion, from hate, through all its amazingly paradoxical +phenomena, to love, with all its genera under the suborder--all its +species, subspecies, and varieties." + +He leaned back, surveying the young man with kindly amusement. + +"You talk of pistol range, but you are thinking of something more fatal +than bullets, Mr. Burke. You are thinking of love--of the first, great, +absorbing, unreasoning passion that has ever shaken you, blinded you, +seized you and dragged you out of the ordered path of life, to push you +violently into the strange and unexplored! That is what stares out on +the world through those haunted eyes of yours, when the smile dies out +and you are off your guard; that is what is hardening those flat, clean +bands of muscle in jaw and cheek; that is what those hints of shadow +mean beneath the eye, that new and delicate pinch to the nostril, that +refining, almost to sharpness, of the nose, that sensitive edging to the +lips, and the lean delicacy of the chin." + +He bent slightly forward in his chair. + +"There is all that there, Mr. Burke, and something else--the glimmering +dawn of desperation." + +"Yes," said the other, "that is there. I am desperate." + +"_Ex_actly. Also you wear two revolvers in a light, leather harness +strapped up under your armpits," said the Tracer, laughing. "Take them +off, Mr. Burke. There is nothing to be gained in shooting up Mr. Smiles +or converting Mr. Gandon into nitrates." + +"If it is a matter where one man can help another," the Tracer added +simply, "it would give me pleasure to place my resources at your +command--without recompense--" + +"Mr. Keen!" said Burke, astonished. + +"Yes?" + +"You are very amiable; I had not wished--had not expected anything +except professional interest from you." + +"Why not? I like you, Mr. Burke." + +The utter disarming candor of this quiet, elderly gentleman silenced the +younger man with a suddenness born of emotions long crushed, long +relentlessly mastered, and which now, in revolt, shook him fiercely in +every fiber. All at once he felt very young, very helpless in the +world--that same world through which, until within a few weeks, he had +roved so confidently, so arrogantly, challenging man and the gods +themselves in the pride of his strength and youth. + +But now, halting, bewildered, lost amid the strange maze of byways +whither impulse had lured and abandoned him, he looked out into a world +of wilderness and unfamiliar stars and shadow shapes undreamed of, and +he knew not which way to turn--not even how to return along the ways his +impetuous feet had trodden in this strange and hopeless quest of his. + +"How can you help me?" he said bluntly, while the quivering undertone +rang in spite of him. "Yes, I am in love; but how can any living man +help me?" + +"Are you in love with the dead?" asked the Tracer gravely. "For that +only is hopeless. Are you in love with one who is not living?" + +"Yes." + +"You love one whom you know to be dead?" + +"Yes; dead." + +"How do you know that she is dead?" + +"That is not the question. I knew that when I fell in love with her. It +is not that which appals me; I ask nothing more than to live my life out +loving the dead. I--I ask very little." + +He passed his unsteady hand across his dry lips, across his eyes and +forehead, then laid his clinched fist on the table. + +"Some men remain constant to a memory; some to a picture--sane, +wholesome, normal men. Some men, with a fixed ideal, never encounter its +facsimile, and so never love. There is nothing strange, after all, in +this; nothing abnormal, nothing unwholesome. Grünwald loved the marble +head and shoulders of the lovely Amazon in the Munich Museum; he died +unmarried, leaving the charities and good deeds of a blameless life to +justify him. Sir Henry Guest, the great surgeon who worked among the +poor without recompense, loved Gainsborough's 'Lady Wilton.' The +portrait hangs above his tomb in St. Clement's Hundreds. D'Epernay loved +Mlle. Jeanne Vacaresco, who died before he was born. And I--I love in +my own fashion." + +His low voice rang with the repressed undertone of excitement; he opened +and closed his clinched hand as though controlling the lever of his +emotions. + +"What can you do for a man who loves the shadow of Life?" he asked. + +"If you love the shadow because the substance has passed away--if you +love the soul because the dust has returned to the earth as it was--" + +"It has _not_!" said the younger man. + +The Tracer said very gravely: "It is written that whenever 'the Silver +Cord' is loosed, 'then shall the dust return unto the earth as it was, +and the spirit shall return unto Him who gave it.'" + +"The spirit--yes; _that_ has taken its splendid flight--" + +His voice choked up, died out; he strove to speak again, but could not. +The Tracer let him alone, and bent again over his desk, drawing +imaginary circles on the stained blotter, while moment after moment +passed under the tension of that fiercest of all struggles, when a man +sits throttling his own soul into silence. + +And, after a long time, Burke lifted a haggard face from the cradle of +his crossed arms and shook his shoulders, drawing a deep, steady breath. + +"Listen to _me_!" he said in an altered voice. + +And the Tracer of Lost Persons nodded. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +"When I left the Point I was assigned to the colored cavalry. They are +good men; we went up Kettle Hill together. Then came the Philippine +troubles, then that Chinese affair. Then I did staff duty, and could not +stand the inactivity and resigned. They had no use for me in Manchuria; +I tired of waiting, and went to Venezuela. The prospects for service +there were absurd; I heard of the Moorish troubles and went to Morocco. +Others of my sort swarmed there; matters dragged and dragged, and the +Kaiser never meant business, anyway. + +"Being independent, and my means permitting me, I got some shooting in +the back country. This all degenerated into the merest nomadic +wandering--nothing but sand, camels, ruins, tents, white walls, and blue +skies. And at last I came to the town of Sa-el-Hagar." + +His voice died out; his restless, haunted eyes became fixed. + +"Sa-el-Hagar, once ancient Saïs," repeated the Tracer quietly; and the +young man looked at him. + +"You know _that_?" + +"Yes," said the Tracer. + +For a while Burke remained silent, preoccupied, then, resting his chin +on his hand and speaking in a curiously monotonous voice, as though +repeating to himself by rote, he went on: + +"The town is on the heights--have you a pencil? Thank you. Here is the +town of Sa-el-Hagar, here are the ruins, here is the wall, and somewhere +hereabouts should be the buried temple of Neith, which nobody has +found." He shifted his pencil. "Here is the lake of Saïs; here, standing +all alone on the plain, are those great monolithic pillars stretching +away into perspective--four hundred of them in all--a hundred and nine +still upright. There were one hundred and ten when I arrived at El Teb +Wells." + +He looked across at the Tracer, repeating: "One hundred and ten--when I +arrived. One fell the first night--a distant pillar far away on the +horizon. Four thousand years had it stood there. And it fell--the first +night of my arrival. I heard it; the nights are cold at El Teb Wells, +and I was lying awake, all a-shiver, counting the stars to make me +sleep. And very, very far away in the desert I heard and felt the shock +of its fall--the fall of forty centuries under the Egyptian stars." + +His eyes grew dreamy; a slight glow had stained his face. + +"Did you ever halt suddenly in the Northern forests, listening, as +though a distant voice had hailed you? Then you understand why that far, +dull sound from the dark horizon brought me to my feet, bewildered, +listening, as though my own name had been spoken. + +"I heard the wind in the tents and the stir of camels; I heard the reeds +whispering on Saïs Lake and the yap-yap of a shivering jackal; and +always, always, the hushed echo in my ears of my own name called across +the star-lit waste. + +"At dawn I had forgotten. An Arab told me that a pillar had fallen; it +was all the same to me, to him, to the others, too. The sun came out +hot. I like heat. My men sprawled in the tents; some watered, some went +up to the town to gossip in the bazaar. I mounted and cast bridle on +neck--you see how much I cared where I went! In two hours we had +completed a circle--like a ruddy hawk above El Teb. And my horse halted +beside the fallen pillar." + +As he spoke his language had become very simple, very direct, almost +without accent, and he spoke slowly, picking his way with that lack of +inflection, of emotion characteristic of a child reading a new reader. + +"The column had fallen from its base, eastward, and with its base it had +upheaved another buried base, laying bare a sort of cellar and a flight +of stone steps descending into darkness. + +"Into this excavation the sand was still running in tiny rivulets. +Listening, I could hear it pattering far, far down into the shadows. + +"Sitting there in the saddle, the thing explained itself as I looked. +The fallen pillar had been built upon older ruins; all Egypt is that +way, ruin founded on the ruin of ruins--like human hopes. + +"The stone steps, descending into the shadow of remote ages, invited me. +I dismounted, walked to the edge of the excavation, and, kneeling, +peered downward. And I saw a wall and the lotus-carved rim of a vast +stone-framed pool; and as I looked I heard the tinkle of water. For the +pillar, falling, had unbottled the ancient spring, and now the +stone-framed lagoon was slowly filling after its drought of centuries. + +"There was light enough to see by, but, not knowing how far I might +penetrate, I returned to my horse, pocketed matches and candles from +the saddlebags, and, returning, started straight down the steps of +stone. + +"Fountain, wall, lagoon, steps, terraces half buried--all showed what +the place had been: a water garden of ancient Egypt--probably +royal--because, although I am not able to decipher hieroglyphics, I have +heard somewhere that these picture inscriptions, when inclosed in a +cartouch like this"--he drew rapidly-- + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"or this + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +indicate that the subject of the inscription was once a king. + +"And on every wall, every column, I saw the insignia of ancient royalty, +and I saw strange hawk-headed figures bearing symbols engraved on +stone--beasts, birds, fishes, unknown signs and symbols; and everywhere +the lotus carved in stone--the bud, the blossom half-inclosed, the +perfect flower." + +His dreamy eyes met the gaze of the Tracer, unseeing; he rested his +sunburned face between both palms, speaking in the same vague monotone: + +"Everywhere dust, ashes, decay, the death of life, the utter +annihilation of the living--save only the sparkle of reborn waters +slowly covering the baked bed of the stone-edged pool--strange, luminous +water, lacking the vital sky tint, enameled with a film of dust, yet, +for all that, quickening with imprisoned brilliancy like an opal. + +"The slow filling of the pool fascinated me; I stood I know not how long +watching the thin film of water spreading away into the dimness beyond. +At last I turned and passed curiously along the wall where, at its base, +mounds of dust marked what may have been trees. Into these I probed with +my riding crop, but discovered nothing except the depths of the dust. + +"When I had penetrated the ghost of this ancient garden for a thousand +yards the light from the opening was no longer of any service. I lighted +a candle; and its yellow rays fell upon a square portal into which led +another flight of steps. And I went down. + +"There were eighteen steps descending into a square stone room. Strange +gleams and glimmers from wall and ceiling flashed dimly in my eyes under +the wavering flame of the candle. Then the flame grew still--still as +death--and Death lay at my feet--there on the stone floor--a man, square +shouldered, hairless, the cobwebs of his tunic mantling him, lying face +downward, arms outflung. + +"After a moment I stooped and touched him, and the entire prostrate +figure dissolved into dust where it lay, leaving at my feet a shadow +shape in thin silhouette against the pavement--merely a gray layer of +finest dust shaped like a man, a tracery of impalpable powder on the +stones. + +"Upward and around me I passed the burning candle; vast figures in blue +and red and gold grew out of the darkness; the painted walls sparkled; +the shadows that had slept through all those centuries trembled and +shrank away into distant corners. + +"And then--and then I saw the gold edges of her sandals sparkle in the +darkness, and the clasped girdle of virgin gold around her slender waist +glimmered like purest flame!" + +Burke, leaning far across the table, interlocked hands tightening, +stared and stared into space. A smile edged his mouth; his voice grew +wonderfully gentle: + +"Why, she was scarcely eighteen--this child--there so motionless, so +lifelike, with the sandals edging her little upturned feet, and the +small hands of her folded between the breasts. It was as though she +had just stretched herself out there--scarcely sound asleep as yet, and +her thick, silky hair--cut as they cut children's hair in these days, +you know--cradled her head and cheeks. + +[Illustration: "'As though . . . scarcely sound asleep as yet.'"] + +"So marvelous the mimicry of life, so absolute the deception of +breathing sleep, that I scarce dared move, fearing to awaken her. + +"When I did move I forgot the dusty shape of the dead at my feet, and +left, full across his neck, the imprint of a spurred riding boot. It +gave me my first shudder; I turned, feeling beneath my foot the soft, +yielding powder, and stood aghast. Then--it is absurd!--but I felt as a +man feels who has trodden inadvertently upon another's foot--and in an +impulse of reparation I stooped hastily and attempted to smooth out the +mortal dust which bore the imprint of my heel. But the fine powder +flaked my glove, and, looking about for something to compose the ashes +with, I picked up a papyrus scroll. Perhaps he himself had written on +it; nobody can ever know, and I used it as a sort of hoe to scrape him +together and smooth him out on the stones." + +The young man drew a yellowish roll of paper-like substance from his +pocket and laid it on the table. + +"This is the same papyrus," he said. "I had forgotten that I carried it +away with me until I found it in my shooting coat while packing to sail +for New York." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons reached over and picked up the scroll. It was +flexible still, but brittle; he opened it with great care, considered +the strange figures upon it for a while, then turned almost sharply on +his visitor. + +"Go on," he said. + +And Burke went on: + +"The candle was burning low; I lighted two more, placing them at her +head and feet on the edges of the stone couch. Then, lighting a third +candle, I stood beside the couch and looked down at the dead girl under +her veil-like robe, set with golden stars." + +He passed his hand wearily over his hair and forehead. + +"I do not know what the accepted meaning of beauty may be if it was not +there under my eyes. Flawless as palest amber ivory and rose, the +smooth-flowing contours melted into exquisite symmetry; lashes like +darkest velvet rested on the pure curve of the cheeks; the closed lids, +the mouth still faintly stained with color, the delicate nose, the full, +childish lips, sensitive, sweet, resting softly upon each other--if +these were not all parts of but one lovely miracle, then there is no +beauty save in a dream of Paradise. . . . + +"A gold band of linked scarabs bound her short, thick hair straight +across the forehead; thin scales of gold fell from a necklace, clothing +her breasts in brilliant discolored metal, through which ivory-tinted +skin showed. A belt of pure, soft gold clasped her body at the waist; +gold-edged sandals clung to her little feet. + +"At first, when the stunned surprise had subsided, I thought that I was +looking upon some miracle of ancient embalming, hitherto unknown. Yet, +in the smooth skin there was no slit to prove it, no opening in any vein +or artery, no mutilation of this sculptured masterpiece of the Most +High, no cerements, no bandages, no gilded carven case with painted face +to stare open eyed through the wailing cycles. + +"This was the image of sleep--of life unconscious--not of death. Yet is +was death--death that had come upon her centuries and centuries ago; for +the gold had turned iridescent and magnificently discolored; the sandal +straps fell into dust as I bent above them, leaving the sandals clinging +to her feet only by the wired silver core of the thongs. And, as I +touched it fearfully, the veil-like garment covering her, vanished into +thin air, its metal stars twinkling in a shower around her on the stone +floor." + +The Tracer, motionless, intent, scarcely breathed; the younger man moved +restlessly in his chair, the dazed light in his eyes clearing to sullen +consciousness. + +"What more is there to tell?" he said. "And to what purpose? All this is +time wasted. I have my work cut out for me. What more is there to tell?" + +"What you have left untold," said the Tracer, with the slightest ring of +authority in his quiet voice. + +And, as though he had added "Obey!" the younger man sank back in his +chair, his hands contracting nervously. + +"I went back to El Teb," he said; "I walked like a dreaming man. My +sleep was haunted by her beauty; night after night, when at last I fell +asleep, instantly I saw her face, and her dark eyes opening into mine in +childish bewilderment; day after day I rode out to the fallen pillar and +descended to that dark chamber where she lay alone. Then there came a +time when I could not endure the thought of her lying there alone. I had +never dared to touch her. Horror of what might happen had held me aloof +lest she crumble at my touch to that awful powder which I had trodden +on. + +"I did not know what to do; my Arabs had begun to whisper among +themselves, suspicious of my absences, impatient to break camp, perhaps, +and roam on once more. Perhaps they believed I had discovered treasure +somewhere; I am not sure. At any rate, dread of their following me, +determination to take my dead away with me, drove me into action; and +that day when I reached her silent chamber I lighted my candle, and, +leaning above her for one last look, I touched her shoulder with my +finger tip. + +"It was a strange sensation. Prepared for a dreadful dissolution, +utterly unprepared for cool, yielding flesh, I almost dropped where I +stood. For her body was neither cold nor warm, neither dust-dry nor +moist; neither the skin of the living nor the dead. It was firm, almost +stiff, yet not absolutely without a certain hint of flexibility. + +"The appalling wonder of it consumed me; fear, incredulity, terror, +apathy succeeded each other; then slowly a fierce shrinking happiness +swept me in every fiber. + +"This marvelous death, this triumph of beauty over death, was mine. +Never again should she lie here alone through the solitudes of night and +day; never again should the dignity of Death lack the tribute demanded +of Life. Here was the appointed watcher--I, who had found her alone in +the wastes of the world--all alone on the outermost edges of the +world--a child, dead and unguarded. And standing there beside her I knew +that I should never love again." + +He straightened up, stretching out his arm: "I did not intend to carry +her away to what is known as Christian burial. How could I consign her +to darkness again, with all its dreadful mockery of marble, all its +awful emblems? + +"This lovely stranger was to be my guest forever. The living should be +near her while she slept so sweetly her slumber through the centuries; +she should have warmth, and soft hangings and sunlight and flowers; and +her unconscious ears should be filled with the pleasant stir of living +things. . . . I have a house in the country, a very old house among +meadows and young woodlands. And I--I had dreamed of giving this child a +home--" + +His voice broke; he buried his head in his hands a moment; but when he +lifted it again his features were hard as steel. + +"There was already talk in the bazaar about me. I was probably followed, +but I did not know it. Then one of my men disappeared. For a week I +hesitated to trust my Arabs; but there was no other way. I told them +there was a mummy which I desired to carry to some port and smuggle out +of the country without consulting the Government. I knew perfectly well +that the Government would never forego its claim to such a relic of +Egyptian antiquity. I offered my men too much, perhaps. I don't know. +They hesitated for a week, trying by every artifice to see the treasure, +but I never let them out of my sight. + +"Then one day two white men came into camp; and with them came a +government escort to arrest me for looting an Egyptian tomb. The white +men were Joram Smiles and that Eurasian, Emanuel Gandon, who was partly +white, I suppose. I didn't comprehend what they were up to at first. +They escorted me forty miles to confront the official at Shen-Bak. When, +after a stormy week, I was permitted to return to Saïs, my Arabs and the +white men were gone. And the stone chamber under the water garden wall +was empty as the hand I hold out to you!" + +He opened his palm and rose, his narrowing eyes clear and dangerous. + +"At the bazaar I learned enough to know what had been done. I traced the +white men to the coast. They sailed on the _Scythian Queen_, taking +with them all that I care for on earth or in heaven! And you ask me why +I measure their distance from me by a bullet's flight!" + +The Tracer also rose, pale and grave. + +"Wait!" he said. "There are other things to be done before you prepare +to face a jury for double murder." + +"It is for them to choose," said Burke. "They shall have the choice of +returning to me my dead, or of going to hell full of lead." + +"_Ex_actly, my dear sir. That part is not difficult," said the Tracer +quietly. "There will be no occasion for violence, I assure you. Kindly +leave such details to me. I know what is to be done. You are outwardly +very calm, Mr. Burke--even dangerously placid; but though you maintain +an admirable command over yourself superficially, you are laboring under +terrible excitement. Therefore it is my duty to say to you at once that +there is no cause for your excitement, no cause for your apprehension as +to results. I feel exceedingly confident that you will, in due time, +regain possession of all that you care for most--quietly, quietly, my +dear sir! You are not yet ready to meet these men, nor am I ready to go +with you. I beg you to continue your habit of self-command for a +little while. There is no haste--that is to say, there is every reason +to make haste slowly. And the quickest method is to seat yourself. Thank +you. And I shall sit here beside you and spread out this papyrus scroll +for your inspection." + +[Illustration: Hieroglyphics] + +Burke stared at the Tracer, then at the scroll. + +"What has that inscription to do with the matter in hand?" he demanded +impatiently. + +"I leave you to judge," said the Tracer. A dull tint of excitement +flushed his lean cheeks; he twisted his gray mustache and bent over the +unrolled scroll which was now held flat by weights at the four corners. + +"Can you understand any of these symbols, Mr. Burke?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Curious," mused the Tracer. "Do you know it was fortunate that you put +this bit of papyrus in the pocket of your shooting coat--so fortunate +that, in a way, it approaches the miraculous?" + +"What do you mean? Is there anything in that scroll bearing on this +matter?" + +"Yes." + +"And you can read it? Are you versed in such learning, Mr. Keen?" + +"I am an Egyptologist--among other details," said the Tracer calmly. + +The young man gazed at him, astonished. The Tracer of Lost Persons +picked up a pencil, laid a sheet of paper on the table beside the +papyrus, and slowly began to copy the first symbol: + +[Illustration: Glyph] + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +"The ancient Egyptian word for the personal pronoun 'I' was _anuk_," +said the Tracer placidly. "The phonetic for _a_ was the hieroglyph + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a reed; for _n_ the water symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +for _u_ the symbols + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +for _k_ + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +Therefore this hieroglyphic inscription begins with the personal pronoun + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +or _I_. That is very easy, of course. + +"Now, the most ancient of Egyptian inscriptions read vertically in +columns; there are only two columns in this papyrus, so we'll try it +vertically and pass downward to the next symbol, which is inclosed in a +sort of frame or cartouch. That immediately signifies that royalty is +mentioned; therefore, we have already translated as much as 'I, the king +(or queen).' Do you see?" + +"Yes," said Burke, staring. + +"Very well. Now this symbol, number two, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +spells out the word '_Meris_,' in this way: M (pronounced _me_) is +phonetically symbolized by the characters + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +_r_ by + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +(a mouth) and the comma + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and the hieroglyph + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +_i_ by two reeds + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and two oblique strokes, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and _s_ by + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +This gives us Meris, the name of that deposed and fugitive king of +Egypt who, after a last raid on the summer palace of Mer-Shen, usurping +ruler of Egypt, was followed and tracked to Saïs, where, with an arrow +through his back, he crawled to El Teb and finally died there of his +wound. All this Egyptologists are perfectly familiar with in the +translations of the boastful tablets and inscriptions erected near Saïs +by Mer-Shen, the three hundred and twelfth sovereign after Queen +Nitocris." + +He looked up at Burke, smiling. "Therefore," he said, "this papyrus +scroll was written by Meris, ex-king, a speculative thousands of years +before Christ. And it begins: 'I, Meris the King.'" + +"How does all this bear upon what concerns me?" demanded Burke. + +"Wait!" + +Something in the quiet significance of the Tracer's brief command sent a +curious thrill through the younger man. He leaned stiffly forward, +studying the scroll, every faculty concentrated on the symbol which the +Tracer had now touched with the carefully sharpened point of his pencil: + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"That," said Mr. Keen, "is the ancient Egyptian word for 'little,' +'_Ket_.' The next, below, written in two lines, is 'Samaris,' a proper +name--the name of a woman. Under that, again, is the symbol for the +number 18; the decimal sign, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and eight vertical strokes, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +Under that, again, is a hieroglyph of another sort, an ideograph +representing a girl with a harp; and, beneath that, the symbol which +always represented a dancing girl + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and also the royal symbol inclosed in a cartouch, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means literally 'the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that +is the significant symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +representing an arm and a hand holding a stick. This always means +_force_--to take forcibly or to use violence. Therefore, so far, we have +the following literal translation: 'I, Meris the King, little Samaris, +eighteen, a harpist, dancing girl, the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt, +to take by violence--'" + +"What does that make?" broke in Burke impatiently. + +"_Wait!_ Wait until we have translated everything literally. And, Mr. +Burke, it might make it easier for us both if you would remember that I +have had the pleasure of deciphering many hundreds of papyri before you +had ever heard that there were such things." + +"I beg your pardon," said the young man in a low voice. + +"I beg yours for my impatience," said the Tracer pleasantly. "This +deciphering always did affect my nerves and shorten my temper. And, no +doubt, it is quite as hard on you. Shall we go on, Mr. Burke?" + +"If you please, Mr. Keen." + +So the Tracer laid his pencil point on the next symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"That is the symbol for night," he said; "and that + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +is the water symbol again, as you know; and that + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +is the ideograph, meaning a ship. The five reversed crescents + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +record the number of days voyage; the sign + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +means a house, and is also the letter H in the Egyptian alphabet. + +"Under it, again, we have a repetition of the first symbol meaning _I_, +and a repetition of the second symbol, meaning 'Meris, the King.' Then, +below that cartouch, comes a new symbol, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which is the feminine personal pronoun, _sentus_, meaning '_she_'; and +the first column is completed with the symbol for the ancient Egyptian +verb, _nehes_, 'to awake,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"And now we take the second column, which begins with the jackal +ideograph expressing slyness or cleverness. Under it is the hieroglyph +meaning 'to run away,' 'to escape.' And under that, Mr. Burke, is one of +the rarest of all Egyptian symbols; a symbol seldom seen on stone or +papyrus, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +except in rare references to the mysteries of Isis. The meaning of it, +so long in dispute, has finally been practically determined through a +new discovery in the cuneiform inscriptions. It is the symbol of two +hands holding two _closed_ eyes; and it signifies power." + +"You mean that those ancients understood hypnotism?" asked Burke, +astonished. + +"Evidently their priests did; evidently hypnotism was understood and +employed in certain mysteries. And there is the symbol of it; and under +it the hieroglyphs + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +meaning 'a day and a night,' with the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +as usual present to signify force or strength employed. Under that, +again, is a human figure stretched upon a typical Egyptian couch. And +now, Mr. Burke, _note carefully_ three modifying signs: first, that it +is a _couch_ or _bed_ on which the figure is stretched, not the funeral +couch, not the embalming slab; second, there is no mummy mask covering +the face, and no mummy case covering the body; third, that under the +recumbent figure is pictured an _open_ mouth, not a _closed_ one. + +"All these modify the ideograph, apparently representing death. But the +sleep symbol is not present. Therefore it is a sound inference that all +this simply confirms the symbol of hypnotism." + +Burke, intensely absorbed, stared steadily at the scroll. + +"Now," continued Mr. Keen, "we note the symbol of force again, always +present; and, continuing horizontally, a cartouch quite empty except for +the midday sun. That is simply translated; the midday sun illuminates +nothing. Meris, deposed, is king only in name; and the sun no longer +shines on him as 'Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that despairing +symbol, 'King of Nothing,' we have + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +the phonetics which spell _sha_, the word for garden. And, just beyond +this, horizontally, the modifying ideograph meaning 'a _water_ garden'; + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a design of lotus and tree alternating on a terrace. Under that is the +symbol for the word '_aneb_,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a 'wall.' Beyond that, horizontally, is the symbol for 'house.' It +should be placed under the wall symbol, but the Egyptians were very apt +to fill up spaces instead of continuing their vertical columns. Now, +beneath, we find the imperative command + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +'arise!' And the Egyptian personal pronoun '_entuten_,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means 'you' or 'thou.' + +"Under that is the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means 'priest,' or, literally, 'priest man.' Then comes the +imperative 'awake to life!' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +After that, our first symbol again, meaning '_I_,' followed horizontally +by the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +signifying 'to go.' + +"Then comes a very important drawing--you see?--the picture of a man +with a jackal's head, not a dog's head. It is not accompanied by the +phonetic in a cartouch, as it should be. Probably the writer was in +desperate haste at the end. But, nevertheless, it is easy to translate +that symbol of the man with a jackal's head. It is a picture of the +Egyptian god, Anubis, who was supposed to linger at the side of the +dying to conduct their souls. Anubis, the jackal-headed, is the courier, +the personal escort of departing souls. And this is he. + +"And now the screed ends with the cry 'Pray for me!' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +the last symbol on this strange scroll--this missive written by a +deposed, wounded, and dying king to an unnamed priest. Here is the +literal translation in columns: + +I cunning +Meris the King escape +little hypnotize +Samaris King of Nothing +eighteen place forcibly +a harpist garden +a dancing girl--Ruler of water garden + Upper and Lower wall + Egypt house +took forcibly--night Arise. Do +by water Thou +five days Priest Man +ship Awake +house To life +I I go +Meris the King Anubis +she Pray +awake + +"And this is what that letter, thousands of years old, means in this +language of ours, hundreds of years young: 'I, Meris the King, seized +little Samaris, a harpist and a dancing girl, eighteen years of age, +belonging to the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, and carried her away at +night on shipboard--a voyage of five days--to my house. I, Meris the +King, lest she lie awake watching cunningly for a chance to escape, +hypnotized her (or had her hypnotized) so that she lay like one dead or +asleep, but breathing, and I, King no longer of Upper and Lower Egypt, +took her and placed her in my house under the wall of the water garden. +Arise! therefore, O thou priest; (go) and awaken her to life. I am dying +(I go with Anubis!). Pray for me!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +For a full minute the two men sat there without moving or speaking. Then +the Tracer laid aside his pencil. + +"To sum up," he said, opening the palm of his left hand and placing the +forefinger of his right across it, "the excavation made by the falling +pillar raised in triumph above the water garden of the deposed king, +Meris, by his rival, was the subterranean house of Meris. The prostrate +figure which crumbled to powder at your touch may have been the very +priest to whom this letter or papyrus was written. Perhaps the bearer of +the scroll was a traitor and stabbed the priest as he was reading the +missive. Who can tell how that priest died? He either died or betrayed +his trust, for he never aroused the little Samaris from her suspended +animation. And the water garden fell into ruins and she slept; and the +Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt raised his columns, lotus crowned, above +the ruins; and she slept on. Then--_you_ came." + +Burke stared like one stupefied. + +"I do not know," said the Tracer gravely, "what balm there may be in a +suspension of sensation, perhaps of vitality, to protect the human body +from corruption after death. I do not know how soon suspended animation +or the state of hypnotic coma, undisturbed, changes into death--whether +it comes gradually, imperceptibly freeing the soul; whether the soul +hides there, asleep, until suddenly the flame of vitality is +extinguished. I do not know how long she lay there with life in her." + +He leaned back and touched an electric bell, then, turning to Burke: + +"Speaking of pistol range," he said, "unstrap those weapons and pass +them over, if you please." + +And the young man obeyed as in a trance. + +"Thank you. There are four men coming into this room. You will keep your +seat, if you please, Mr. Burke." + +After a moment the door opened noiselessly. Two men handcuffed together +entered the room; two men, hands in their pockets, sauntered carelessly +behind the prisoners and leaned back against the closed door. + +"That short, red-haired, lame man with the cast in his eye--do you +recognize him?" asked the Tracer quietly. + +Burke, grasping the arms of his chair, had started to rise, fury fairly +blazing from his eyes; but, at the sound of the Tracer's calm, even +voice, he sank back into his chair. + +"That is Joram Smiles? You recognize him?" continued Mr. Keen. + +Burke nodded. + +"_Ex_actly--alias Limpy, alias Red Jo, alias Big Stick Joram, alias +Pinky; swindler, international confidence man, fence, burglar, gambler; +convicted in 1887, and sent to Sing Sing for forgery; convicted in 1898, +and sent to Auburn for swindling; arrested by my men on board the S. S. +_Scythian Queen_, at the cabled request of John T. Burke, Esquire, and +held to explain the nature of his luggage, which consisted of the +contents of an Egyptian vault or underground ruin, declared at the +customhouse as a mummy, and passed as such." + +The quiet, monotonous voice of the Tracer halted, then, as he glanced at +the second prisoner, grew harder: + +"Emanuel Gandon, general international criminal, with over half a +hundred aliases, arrested in company with Smiles and held until Mr. +Burke's arrival." + +Turning to Burke, the Tracer continued: "Fortunately, the _Scythian +Queen_ broke down off Brindisi. It gave us time to act on your cable; +we found these men aboard when she was signaled off the Hook. I went out +with the pilot myself, Mr. Burke." + +Smiles shot a wicked look at Burke; Gandon scowled at the floor. + +"Now," said the Tracer pleasantly, meeting the venomous glare of Smiles, +"I'll get you that warrant you have been demanding to have exhibited to +you. Here it is--charging you and your amiable friend Gandon with +breaking into and robbing the Metropolitan Museum of ancient Egyptian +gold ornaments, in March, 1903, and taking them to France, where they +were sold to collectors. It seems that you found the business good +enough to go prowling about Egypt on a hunt for something to sell here. +A great mistake, my friends--a very great mistake, because, after the +Museum has finished with you, the Egyptian Government desires to +extradite you. And I rather suspect you'll have to go." + +He nodded to the two quiet men leaning against the door. + +"Come, Joram," said one of them pleasantly. + +But Smiles turned furiously on the Tracer. "You lie, you old gray rat!" +he cried. "That ain't no mummy; that's a plain dead girl! And there +ain't no extrydition for body snatchin', so I guess them niggers at +Cairo won't get us, after all!" + +"Perhaps," said the Tracer, looking at Burke, who had risen, pale and +astounded. "Sit down, Mr. Burke! There is no need to question these men; +no need to demand what they robbed you of. For," he added slowly, "what +they took from the garden grotto of Saïs, and from you, I have under my +own protection." + +The Tracer rose, locked the door through which the prisoners and their +escorts had departed; then, turning gravely on Burke, he continued: + +"That panel, there, is a door. There is a room beyond--a room facing to +the south, bright with sunshine, flowers, soft rugs, and draperies of +the East. _She_ is there--like a child asleep!" + +Burke reeled, steadying himself against the wall; the Tracer stared at +space, speaking very slowly: + +"Such death I have never before heard of. From the moment she came under +my protection I have dared to doubt--many things. And an hour ago you +brought me a papyrus scroll confirming my doubts. I doubt still--Heaven +knows what! Who can say how long the flame of life may flicker within +suspended animation? A week? A month? A year? Longer than that? Yes; +the Hindoos have proved it. How long? The span of a normal life? Or +longer? Can the life flame burn indefinitely when the functions are +absolutely suspended--generation after generation, century after +century?" + +Burke, ghastly white, straightened up, quivering in every limb; the +Tracer, as pale as he, laid his hand on the secret panel. + +"If--if you dare say it--the phrase is this: '_O Ket Samaris, +Nehes!_'--'O Little Samaris, awake!'" + +"I--dare. In Heaven's name, open that door!" + +Then, averting his head, the Tracer of Lost Persons swung open the +panel. + +A flood of sunshine flashed on Burke's face; he entered; and the paneled +door closed behind him without a sound. + +Minute after minute passed; the Tracer stood as though turned to stone, +gray head bent. + +Then he heard Burke's voice ring out unsteadily: + +"O Ket Samaris--Samaris! O Ket Samaris--_Nehes!_" + +And again: "Samaris! Samaris! O beloved, awake!" + +And once more: "_Nehes!_ O Samaris!" + +Silence, broken by a strange, sweet, drowsy plaint--like a child +awakened at midnight by a dazzling light. + +"Samaris!" + +Then, through the stillness, a little laugh, and a softly tremulous +voice: + +"_Ari un aha, O Entuk sen!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +"What we want to do," said Gatewood over the telephone, "is to give you +a corking little dinner at the Santa Regina. There'll be Mr. and Mrs. +Tommy Kerns, Captain and Mrs. Harren, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Burke, Mrs. +Gatewood, and myself. We want you to set the date for it, Mr. Keen, and +we also wish you to suggest one more deliriously happy couple whom you +have dragged out of misery and flung head-first into terrestrial +paradise." + +"Do you young people really care to do this for me?" asked the Tracer, +laughing. + +"Of course we do. We're crazy about it. We want one more couple, and you +to set the date." + +There was the slightest pause; then the Tracer's voice, with the same +undertone of amusement ringing through it: + +"How would your cousin, Victor Carden, do?" + +"He's all right, only he isn't married. We want two people whom you have +joined together after hazard has put them asunder and done stunts with +them." + +"Very well; Victor Carden and his very lovely wife will be just the +people." + +"Is Victor married?" demanded Gatewood, astonished. + +"No," said the Tracer demurely, "but he will be in time for that +dinner." And he set the date for the end of the week in an amused voice, +and rang off. + +Then he glanced at the clock, touched an electric bell, and again +unhooking the receiver of the telephone, called up the Sherwood Studios +and asked for Mr. Carden. + +"Is _this_ Mr. Carden? Oh, good morning, Mr. Carden! This is Mr. Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons. Could you make it convenient to call--say in +course of half an hour? Thank you. . . . What? . . . Well, speaking with +that caution and reserve which we are obliged to employ in making any +preliminary statements to our clients, I think I may safely say that you +have every reason to feel moderately encouraged." + +"You mean," said Carden's voice, "that you have actually solved the +proposition?" + +"It has been a difficult proposition, Mr. Carden; I will not deny that +it has taxed our resources to the uttermost. Over a thousand people, +first and last, have been employed on this case. It has been a slow and +tedious affair, Mr. Carden--tedious for us all. We seldom have a case +continue as long as this has; it is a year ago to-day since you placed +the matter in our hands. . . . What? Well, without committing myself, I +think that I may venture to express a carefully qualified opinion that +the solution of the case is probably practically in the way of being +almost accomplished! . . . Yes, I shall expect you in half an hour. +Good-by!" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons' eyes were twinkling as he hung up the +receiver and turned in his revolving chair to meet the pretty young +woman who had entered in response to his ring. + +"The Carden case, if you please, Miss Smith," he said, smiling to +himself. + +The young woman also smiled; the Carden case had become a classic in the +office. Nobody except Mr. Keen had believed that the case could ever be +solved. + +"Safe-deposit box 108923!" said Miss Smith softly, pressing a speaking +tube to her red lips. In a few moments there came a hissing thud from +the pneumatic tube; Miss Smith unlocked it and extracted a smooth, steel +cylinder. + +"The combination for that cylinder is A-4-44-11-X," observed the Tracer, +consulting a cipher code, "which, translated," he added, "gives us the +setting combination, One, D, R-R,-J-'24." + +Miss Smith turned the movable disks at the end of the cylinder until +the required combination appeared. Then she unscrewed the cylinder head +and dumped out the documents in the famous Carden case. + +"As Mr. Carden will be here in half an hour or so I think we had better +run over the case briefly," nodded the Tracer, leaning back in his chair +and composing himself to listen. "Begin with my preliminary memorandum, +Miss Smith." + +"Case 108923," began the girl. Then she read the date, Carden's full +name, Victor Carden, a terse biography of the same gentleman, and added: +"Case accepted. Contingent fee, $5,000." + +"Quite so," said Mr. Keen; "now, run through the minutes of the first +interview." + +And Miss Smith unrolled a typewritten scroll and read: + +"Victor Carden, Esquire, the well-known artist, called this evening at +6.30. Tall, well-bred, good appearance, very handsome; very much +embarrassed. Questioned by Mr. Keen he turned pink, and looked timidly +at the stenographer (Miss Colt). Asked if he might not see Mr. Keen +alone, Miss Colt retired. Mr. Keen set the recording phonograph in +motion by dropping his elbow on his desk." + +A brief _résumé_ of the cylinder records followed: + +"Mr. Carden asked Mr. Keen if he (Mr. Keen) knew who he (Mr. Carden) +was. Mr. Keen replied that everybody knew Mr. Carden, the celebrated +painter and illustrator who had created the popular type of beauty known +as the 'Carden Girl.' Mr. Carden blushed and fidgeted. (_Notes from. Mr. +Keen's Observation Book, pp. 291-297._) Admitted that he was the creator +of the 'Carden Girl.' Admitted he had drawn and painted that particular +type of feminine beauty many times. Fidgeted some more. (_Keen's O.B., +pp. 298-299._) Volunteered the statement that this type of beauty, known +as the 'Carden Girl,' was the cause of great unhappiness to himself. +Questioned, turned pinker and fidgeted. (_K.O.B., page 300._) Denied +that his present trouble was caused by the model who had posed for the +'Carden Girl.' Explained that a number of assorted models had posed for +that type of beauty. Further explained that none of them resembled the +type; that the type was his own creation; that he used models merely for +the anatomy, and that he always idealized form and features. + +"Questioned again, admitted that the features of the 'Carden Girl' were +his ideal of the highest and loveliest type of feminine beauty. Did not +deny that he had fallen in love with his own creation. Turned red and +tried to smoke. (_K.O.B., page 303._) Admitted he had been fascinated +himself with his own rendering of a type of beauty which he had never +seen anywhere except as rendered by his own pencil on paper or on +canvas. Fidgeted. (_K.O.B., page 304._) Admitted that he could easily +fall in love with a woman who resembled the 'Carden Girl.' Didn't +believe she ever really existed. Confessed he had hoped for years to +encounter her, but had begun to despair. Admitted that he had ventured +to think that Mr. Keen might trace such a girl for him. Doubted Mr. +Keen's success. Fidgeted (_K.O.B., page 306_), and asked Mr. Keen to +take the case. Promised to send to Mr. Keen a painting in oil which +embodied his loftiest ideal of the type known as the 'Carden Girl.' +(_Portrait received; lithographs made and distributed to our agents +according to routine, from Canada to Mexico and from the Atlantic to the +Pacific._) + +"Mr. Keen terminated the interview with characteristic tact, accepting +the case on the contingent fee of $5,000." + +"Very well," said the Tracer, as Miss Smith rolled up the scroll and +looked at him for further instructions. "Now, perhaps you had better run +over the short summary of proceedings to date. I mean the digest which +you will find attached to the completed records." + +Miss Smith found the paper, unrolled it, and read: + +"During the twelve months' investigation and search (_in re Carden_) +seven hundred and nine young women were discovered who resembled very +closely the type sought for. By process of elimination, owing to defects +in figure, features, speech, breeding, etc., etc., this list was cut +down to three. One of these occasionally chewed gum, but otherwise +resembled the type. The second married before the investigation of her +habits could be completed. The third is apparently a flawless replica of +Mr. Carden's original in face, figure, breeding, education, moral and +mental habits. (_See Document 23, A._)" + +"Read Document 23, A," nodded Mr. Keen. + +And Miss Smith read: + +ROSALIND HOLLIS, M.D. + +Age . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 + +Height . . . . . . 5 feet 9 inches + +Weight . . . . . . . . 160 pounds + + Thick, bright, ruddy +Hair . . . . . . golden, and inclined + to curl. + +Teeth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Eyes . . . . . . . Dark violet-blue + +Mouth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Color . . . . Fair. An ivory-tinted + blonde. + +Figure . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Health . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Temper . . . . . . . . . Feminine + + Austere, with a +Habits . . . . resolutely suppressed + capacity for romance. + +Business . . . . . . . . . None + +Profession . . . . . . . Physician + +Mania . . . . . . . . A Mission + +"NOTE.--Dr. Rosalind Hollis was presented to society in her eighteenth +year. At the end of her second season she withdrew from society with the +determination to devote her entire life to charity. Settlement work and +the study of medicine have occupied her constantly. Recently admitted to +practice, she spends her mornings in visiting the poor, whom she treats +free of all charge; her afternoons and evenings are devoted to what she +expects is to be her specialty: the study of the rare malady known as +Lamour's Disease. (_See note on second page._) + +"It is understood that Dr. Hollis has abjured the society of all men +other than her patients and such of her professional _confrères_ as she +is obliged to consult or work with. Her theory is that of the beehive: +drones for mates, workers for work. She adds, very decidedly, that she +belongs to the latter division, and means to remain there permanently. + +"NOTE (_Mr. Keen's O.B., pp. 916-18_).--Her eccentricity is probably the +result of a fine, wholesome, highly strung young girl taking life and +herself too seriously. The remedy will be the _Right Man_." + +"_Ex_actly," nodded Mr. Keen, joining the tips of his thin fingers and +partly closing his eyes. "Now, Miss Smith, the disease which Dr. Hollis +intends to make her specialty--have you any notes on that?" + +"Here they are," said Miss Smith; and she read: "Lamour's Disease; the +rarest of all known diseases; first discovered and described by Ero S. +Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H., in 1861. Only a single case has ever +been observed. This case is fully described in Dr. Lamour's superb and +monumental work in sixteen volumes. Briefly, the disease appears without +any known cause, and is ultimately supposed to result fatally. The first +symptom is the appearance of a faintly bluish circle under the eyes, as +though the patient was accustomed to using the eyes too steadily at +times. Sometimes a slight degree of fever accompanies this +manifestation; pulse and temperature vary. The patient is apparently in +excellent health, but liable to loss of appetite, restlessness, and a +sudden flushing of the face. These symptoms are followed by others +unmistakable: the patient becomes silent at times; at times evinces a +weakness for sentimental expressions; flushes easily; is easily +depressed; will sit for hours looking at one person; and, if not +checked, will exhibit impulsive symptoms of affection for the opposite +sex. The strangest symptom of all, however, is the physical change in +the patient, whose features and figure, under the trained eye of the +observer, gradually from day to day assume the symmetry and charm of a +beauty almost unearthly, sometimes accompanied by a spiritual pallor +which is unmistakable in confirming the diagnosis, and which, Dr. Lamour +believes, presages the inexorable approach of immortality. + +"There is no known remedy for Lamour's Disease. The only case on record +is the case of the young lady described by Dr. Lamour, who watched her +for years with unexampled patience and enthusiasm; finally, in the +interest of science, marrying his patient in order to devote his life +to a study of her symptoms. Unfortunately, some of these disappeared +early--within a week--but the curious manifestation of physical beauty +remained, and continued to increase daily to a dazzling radiance, with +no apparent injury to the patient. Dr. Lamour, unfortunately, died +before his investigations, covering over forty years, could be +completed; his widow survived him for a day or two only, leaving sixteen +children. + +"Here is a wide and unknown field for medical men to investigate. It is +safe to say that the physician who first discovers the bacillus of +Lamour's Disease and the proper remedy to combat it will reap as his +reward a glory and renown imperishable. Lamour's Disease is a disease +not yet understood--a disease whose termination is believed to be +fatal--a strange disease which seems to render radiant and beautiful the +features of the patient, brightening them with the forewarning of +impending death and the splendid resurrection of immortality." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons caressed his chin reflectively. "_Ex_actly, +Miss Smith. So this is the disease which Dr. Hollis has chosen for her +specialty. And only one case on record. _Ex_actly. Thank you." + +Miss Smith replaced the papers in the steel cylinder, slipped it into +the pneumatic tube, sent it whizzing below to the safe-deposit vaults, +and, saluting Mr. Keen with a pleasant inclination of her head, went out +of the room. + +The Tracer turned in his chair, picked up the daily detective report, +and scanned it until he came to the name Hollis. It appeared that the +daily routine of Rosalind Hollis had not varied during the past three +weeks. In the mornings she was good to the poor with bottles and pills; +in the afternoons she tucked one of Lamour's famous sixteen volumes +under her arm and walked to Central Park, where, with democratic +simplicity, she sat on a secluded bench and pored over the symptoms of +Lamour's Disease. About five she retired to her severely simple +apartments in the big brownstone office building devoted to physicians, +corner of Fifty-eighth Street and Madison Avenue. Here she took tea, +read a little, dined all alone, and retired about nine. This was the +guileless but determined existence of Rosalind Hollis, M.D., according +to McConnell, the detective assigned to observe her. + +The Tracer refolded the report of his chief of detectives and +pigeonholed it just as the door opened and a tall, well-built, +attractive young man entered. + +Shyness was written all over him; he offered his hand to Mr. Keen with +an embarrassed air and seated himself at that gentleman's invitation. + +"I'm almost sorry I ever began this sort of thing," he blurted out, like +a big schoolboy appalled at his own misdemeanors. "The truth is, Mr. +Keen, that the prospect of actually seeing a 'Carden Girl' alive has +scared me through and through. I've a notion that my business with that +sort of a girl ends when I've drawn her picture." + +"But surely," said the Tracer mildly, "you have some natural curiosity +to see the living copy of your charming but inanimate originals, haven't +you, Mr. Carden?" + +"Yes--oh, certainly. I'd like to see one of them alive--say out of a +window, or from a cab. I should not care to be too close to her." + +"But merely seeing her does not commit you," interposed Mr. Keen, +smiling. "She is far too busy, too much absorbed in her own affairs to +take any notice of you. I understand that she has something of an +aversion for men." + +"Aversion!" + +"Well, she excludes them as unnecessary to her existence." + +"Why?" asked Carden. + +"Because she has a mission in life," said Mr. Keen gravely. + +Carden looked out of the window. It was pleasant weather--June in all +its early loveliness--the fifth day of June. The sixth was his birthday. + +"I've simply got to marry somebody before the day after to-morrow," he +said aloud--"that is, if I want my legacy." + +"What!" demanded the Tracer sharply. + +Carden turned, pink and guilty. "I didn't tell you all the circumstances +of my case," he said. "I suppose I ought to have done so." + +"_Ex_actly," said the Tracer severely. "Why is it necessary that you +marry somebody before the day after to-morrow?" + +"Well, it's my twenty-fifth birthday--" + +"Somebody has left you money on condition that you marry before your +twenty-fifth birthday? Is that it, Mr. Carden? An uncle? An imbecile +grandfather? A sentimental aunt?" + +"My Aunt Tabby Van Beekman." + +"Where is she?" + +"In Trinity churchyard. It's too late to expostulate with her, you see. +Besides, it wouldn't have done any good when she was alive." + +The Tracer knitted his brows, musing, the points of his slim fingers +joined. + +"She was very proud, very autocratic," said Carden. "I am the last of +my race and my aunt was determined that the race should not die out with +me. I don't want to marry and increase, but she's trying to make me. At +all events, I am not going to marry any woman inferior to the type I +have created with my pencil--what the public calls the 'Carden Girl.' +And now you see that your discovery of this living type comes rather +late. In two days I must be legally married if I want my Aunt Tabby's +legacy; and to-day for the first time I hear of a girl who, you assure +me, compares favorably to my copyrighted type, but who has a mission and +an aversion to men. So you see, Mr. Keen, that the matter is perfectly +hopeless." + +"I don't see anything of the kind," said Mr. Keen firmly. + +"What?--do you believe there is any chance--" + +"Of your falling in love within the next hour or so? Yes, I do. I think +there is every chance of it. I am sure of it. But that is not the +difficulty. The problem is far more complicated." + +"You mean--" + +"_Ex_actly; how to marry that girl before day after to-morrow. That's +the problem, Mr. Carden!--not whether you are capable of falling in +love with her. I have seen her; I _know_ you can't avoid falling in +love with her. Nobody could. I myself am on the verge of it; and I am +fifty: you can't avoid loving her." + +"If that were so," said Carden gravely; "if I were really going to fall +in love with her--I would not care a rap about my Aunt Tabby and her +money--" + +"You ought to care about it for this young girl's sake. That legacy is +virtually hers, not yours. She has a right to it. No man can ever give +enough to the woman he loves; no man has ever done so. What _she_ gives +and what _he_ gives are never a fair exchange. If you can balance the +account in any measure, it is your duty to do it. Mr. Carden, if she +comes to love you she may think it very fine that you bring to her your +love, yourself, your fame, your talents, your success, your position, +your gratifying income. But I tell you it's not enough to balance the +account. It is never enough--no, not all your devotion to her included! +You can never balance the account on earth--all you can do is to try to +balance it materially and spiritually. Therefore I say, endow her with +_all_ your earthly goods. Give all you can in every way to lighten as +much as possible man's hopeless debt to all women who have ever loved." + +"You talk about it as though I were already committed," said Carden, +astonished. + +"You are, morally. For a month I have, without her knowledge, it is +true, invaded the privacy of a very lovely young girl--studied her +minutely, possessed myself of her history, informed myself of her +habits. What excuse had I for this unless I desired her happiness and +yours? Nobody could offer me any inducement to engage in such a practice +unless I believed that the means might justify a moral conclusion. And +the moral conclusion of this investigation is your marriage to her." + +"Certainly," said Carden uneasily, "but how are we going to accomplish +it by to-morrow? How is it going to be accomplished at all?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons rose and began to pace the long rug, clasping +his hands behind his back. Minute after minute sped; Carden stared +alternately at Mr. Keen and at the blue sky through the open window. + +"It is seldom," said Mr. Keen with evident annoyance, "that I personally +take any spectacular part in the actual and concrete demonstrations +necessary to a successful conclusion of a client's case. But I've got to +do it this time." + +He went to a cupboard, picked out a gray wig and gray side whiskers and +deliberately waved them at Carden. + +"You see what these look like?" he demanded. + +"Y-yes." + +"Very well. It is now noon. Do you know the Park? Do you happen to +recollect a shady turn in the path after you cross the bridge over the +swan lake? Here; I'll draw it for you. Now, here is the lake; here's the +esplanade and fountain, you see. Here's the path. You follow +it--so!--around the lake, across the bridge, then following the lake to +the right--so!--then up the wooded slope to the left--so! Now, here is a +bench. I mark it Number One. _She_ sits there with her book--there she +is!" + +"If she looks like _that_--" began Carden. And they both laughed with +the slightest trace of excitement. + +"Here is Bench Number Two!" resumed the Tracer. "Here you sit--and there +you are!" + +[Illustration: MR. KEEN'S SKETCH OF THE RENDEZVOUS] + +"Thanks," said Carden, laughing again. + +"Now," continued the Tracer, "you must be there at one o'clock. She will +be there at one-thirty, or earlier perhaps. A little later I will become +benignly visible. Your part is merely a thinking part; you are to do +nothing, say nothing, unless spoken to. And when you are spoken to you +are to acquiesce in whatever anybody says to you, and you are to do +whatever anybody requests you to do. And, above all, don't be surprised +at _anything_ that may happen. You'll be nervous enough; I expect that. +You'll probably color up and flush and fidget; I expect that; I count on +that. But don't lose your nerve entirely; and don't think of attempting +to escape." + +"Escape! From what? From whom?" + +"From her." + +"_Her?_" + +"Are you going to follow my instructions?" demanded the Tracer of Lost +Persons. + +"I--y-yes, of course." + +"Very well, then, I am going to rub some of this under your eyes." And +Mr. Keen produced a make-up box and, walking over to Carden, calmly +darkened the skin under his eyes. + +"I look as though I had been on a bat!" exclaimed Carden, surveying +himself in a mirror. "Do you think any girl could find any attraction in +such a countenance?" + +"_She_ will," observed the Tracer meaningly. "Now, Mr. Carden, one last +word: The moment you find yourself in love with her, and the first +moment you have the chance to do so decently, make love to her. She +won't dismiss you; she will repulse you, of course, but she won't let +you go. I know what I am saying; all I ask of you is to promise on your +honor to carry out these instructions. Do you promise?" + +"I do." + +"Then here is the map of the rendezvous which I have drawn. Be there +promptly. Good morning." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +At one o'clock that afternoon a young man earnestly consulting a map +might have been seen pursuing his solitary way through Central Park. +Fresh green foliage arched above him, flecking the path with fretted +shadow and sunlight; the sweet odor of flowering shrubs saturated the +air; the waters of the lake sparkled where swans swept to and fro, snowy +wings spread like sails to the fitful June wind. + +"This," he murmured, pausing at a shaded bend in the path, "must be +Bench Number One. I am not to sit on that. This must be Bench Number +Two. I _am_ to sit on that. So here I am," he added nervously, seating +himself and looking about him with the caution of a cat in a strange +back yard. + +There was nobody in sight. Reassured, he ventured to drop one knee over +the other and lean upon his walking stick. For a few minutes he remained +in this noncommittal attitude, alert at every sound, anxious, +uncomfortable, dreading he knew not what. A big, fat, gray squirrel +racing noisily across the fallen leaves gave him a shock. A number of +birds came to look at him--or so it appeared to him, for in the +inquisitive scrutiny of a robin he fancied he divined sardonic meaning, +and in the blank yellow stare of a purple grackle, a sinister +significance out of all proportion to the size of the bird. + +"What an absurd position to be in!" he thought. And suddenly he was +seized with a desire to flee. + +He didn't because he had promised not to, but the desire persisted to +the point of mania. Oh, how he could run if he only hadn't promised not +to! His entire being tingled with the latent possibilities of a burst of +terrific speed. He wanted to scuttle away like a scared rabbit. The pace +of the kangaroo would be slow in comparison. What a record he could make +if he hadn't promised not to. + +He crossed his knees the other way and brooded. The gray squirrel +climbed the bench and nosed his pockets for possible peanuts, then +hopped off hopefully toward a distant nursemaid and two children. + +Growing more alarmed every time he consulted his watch Carden attempted +to stem his rising panic with logic and philosophy, repeating: "Steady! +my son! Don't act like this! You're not obliged to marry her if you +don't fall in love with her; and if you do, you won't mind marrying her. +That is philosophy. That is logic. Oh, I wonder what will have happened +to me by this time to-morrow! I wish it _were_ this time to-morrow! I +wish it were this time next month! Then it would be all over. Then it +would be--" + +His muttering speech froze on his lips. Rooted to his bench he sat +staring at a distant figure approaching--the figure of a young girl in a +summer gown. + +Nearer, nearer she came, walking with a free-limbed, graceful step, head +high, one arm clasping a book. + +That was the way the girls he drew would have walked had they ever +lived. Even in the midst of his fright his artist's eyes noted that: +noted the perfect figure, too, and the witchery of its grace and +contour, and the fascinating poise of her head, and the splendid color +of her hair; noted mechanically the flowing lines of her gown, and the +dainty modeling of arm and wrist and throat and ear. + +Then, as she reached her bench and seated herself, she raised her eyes +and looked at him. And for the first time in his life he realized that +ideal beauty was but the pale phantom of the real and founded on +something more than imagination and thought; on something of vaster +import than fancy and taste and technical skill; that it was founded on +Life itself--on breathing, living, palpitating, tremulous Life!--from +which all true inspiration must come. + +Over and over to himself he was repeating: "Of course, it is perfectly +impossible that I can be in love already. Love doesn't happen between +two ticks of a watch. I am merely amazed at that girl's beauty; that is +all. I am merely astounded in the presence of perfection; that is all. +There is nothing more serious the matter with me. It isn't necessary for +me to continue to look at her; it isn't vital to my happiness if I never +saw her again. . . . That is--of course, I should like to see her, +because I never did see living beauty such as hers in any woman. Not +even in my pictures. What superb eyes! What a fascinately delicate nose! +_What_ a nose! By Heaven, that nose _is_ a nose! I'll draw noses _that_ +way in future. My pictures are all out of drawing; I must fit arms into +their sockets the way hers fit! I must remember the modeling of her +eyelids, too--and that chin! and those enchanting hands--" + +She looked up leisurely from her book, surveyed him calmly, absent-eyed, +then bent her head again to the reading. + +"There _is_ something the matter with me," he thought with a suppressed +gulp. "I--if she looks at me again--with those iris-hued eyes of a +young goddess--I--I think I'm done for. I believe I'm done for anyway. +It seems rather mad to think it. But there _is_ something the matter--" + +She deliberately looked at him again. + +"It's all wrong for them to let loose a girl like that on people," he +thought to himself, "all wrong. Everybody is bound to go mad over her. +I'm going now. I'm mad already. I know I am, which proves I'm no +lunatic. It isn't her beauty; it's the way she wears it--every motion, +every breath of her. I know exactly what her voice is like. Anybody who +looks into her eyes can see what her soul is like. She isn't out of +drawing anywhere--physically or spiritually. And when a man sees a girl +like that, why--why there's only one thing that can happen to him as far +as I can see. And it doesn't take a year either. Heavens! How awfully +remote from me she seems to be." + +She looked up again, calmly, but not at him. A kindly, gray-whiskered +old gentleman came tottering and rocking into view, his rosy, wrinkled +face beaming benediction on the world as he passed through it--on the +sunshine dappling the undergrowth, on the furry squirrels sitting up on +their hind legs to watch him pass, on the stray dickybird that hopped +fearlessly in his path, at the young man sitting very rigid there on +his bench, at the fair, sweet-faced girl who met his aged eyes with the +gentlest of involuntary smiles. And Carden did not recognize him! + +Who could help smiling confidently into that benign face, with its gray +hair and gray whiskers? Goodness radiated from every wrinkle. + +"Dr. Atwood!" exclaimed the girl softly as she rose to meet this +marvelous imitation of Dr. Austin Atwood, the great specialist on +children's diseases. + +The old man beamed weakly at her, halted, still beaming, fumbled for his +eyeglasses, adjusted them, and peered closely into her face. + +"Bless my soul," he smiled, "our pretty Dr. Hollis!" + +"I--I did not suppose you would remember me," she said, rosy with +pleasure. + +"Remember you? Surely, surely." He made her a quaint, old-fashioned bow, +turned, and peeped across the walk at Carden. And Carden, looking +straight into his face, did not know the old man, who turned to Dr. +Hollis again with many mysterious nods of his doddering head. + +"You're watching him, too, are you?" he chuckled, leaning toward her. + +"Watching whom, Dr. Atwood?" she asked surprised. + +"Hush, child! I thought you had noticed that unfortunate and afflicted +young man opposite." + +Dr. Hollis looked curiously at Carden, then at the old gentleman with +gray whiskers. + +"Please sit down, Dr. Atwood, and tell me," she murmured. "I have +noticed nothing in particular about the young man on the bench there." +And she moved to give him room; and the young man opposite stared at +them both as though bereft of reason. + +"A heavy book for small hands, my child," said the old gentleman in his +quaintly garrulous fashion, peering with dimmed eyes at the volume in +her lap. + +She smiled, looking around at him. + +"My, my!" he said, tremblingly raising his eyeglasses to scan the title +on the page; "Dr. Lamour's famous works! Are _you_ studying Lamour, +child?" + +"Yes," she said with that charming inflection youth reserves for age. + +"Astonishing!" he murmured. "The coincidence is more than remarkable. A +physician! And studying Lamour's Disease! Incredible!" + +"Is there anything strange in that, Dr. Atwood?" she smiled. + +"Strange!" He lowered his voice, peering across at Carden. "Strange, +did you say? Look across the path at that poor young man sitting there!" + +"Yes," she said, perplexed, "I see him." + +"_What_ do you see?" whispered the old gentleman in a shakily portentous +voice. "Here you sit reading about what others have seen; now what do +_you_ see?" + +"Why, only a man--rather young--" + +"No _symptoms_?" + +"Symptoms? Of what?" + +The old gentleman folded his withered hands over his cane. "My child," +he said, "for a year I have had that unfortunate young man under secret +observation. He was not aware of it; it never entered his mind that I +could be observing _him_ with minutest attention. He may have supposed +there was nothing the matter with him. He was in error. I have studied +him carefully. Look closer! _Are_ there dark circles under his eyes--or +are there not?" he ended in senile triumph. + +"There are," she began, puzzled, "but I--but of what interest to me--" + +"Compare his symptoms with the symptoms in that book you are studying," +said the old gentleman hoarsely. + +"Do you mean--do you suppose--" she stammered, turning her eyes on +Carden, who promptly blushed to his ears and began to fidget. + +"_Every symptom_," muttered the old gentleman. "Poor, poor young man!" + +She had seen Carden turn a vivid pink; she now saw him fidget with his +walking stick; she discovered the blue circles under his eyes. Three +symptoms at once! + +"Do you believe it _possible_?" she whispered excitedly under her breath +to the old gentleman beside her. "It seems incredible! Such a rare +disease! Only one single case ever described and studied! It seems +impossible that I could be so fortunate as actually to see a case! Tell +me, Dr. Atwood, do you believe that young man is really afflicted with +Lamour's Disease?" + +"There is but one way to be absolutely certain," said the old gentleman +in a solemn voice, "and that is to study him; corroborate your +suspicions by observing his pulse and temperature, as did Dr. Lamour." + +"But--how can I?" she faltered. "I--he would probably object to becoming +a patient of mine--" + +"Ask him, child! Ask him." + +"I have not courage--" + +"Courage should be the badge of your profession," said the old +gentleman gravely. "When did a good physician ever show the white +feather in the cause of humanity?" + +"I--I know, but this requires a different sort of courage." + +"How," persisted the old gentleman, "can you confirm your very natural +suspicions concerning this unfortunate young man unless you corroborate +your observations by studying him at close range? Besides, already it +seems to me that certain unmistakable signs are visible; I mean that +strange physical phase which Dr. Lamour dwells on: the symmetry of +feature and limb, the curiously spiritual beauty. Do you not notice +these? Or is my sight so dim that I only imagine it?" + +"He is certainly symmetrical--and--in a certain way--almost handsome in +regard to features," she admitted, looking at Carden. + +"Poor, poor boy!" muttered the old gentleman, wagging his gray whiskers. +"I am too old to help him--too old to dream of finding a remedy for the +awful malady which I am now convinced has seized him. I shall study him +no more. It is useless. All I can do now is to mention his case to some +young, vigorous, ambitious physician--some specialist--" + +"Don't!" she whispered almost fiercely, "don't do that, Dr. Atwood! I +want him, please! I--you helped me to discover him, you see. And his +malady is to be my specialty. Please, do you mind if I keep him all to +myself and study him?" + +"But you refused, child." + +"I didn't mean to. I--I didn't exactly see how I was to study him. But I +must study him! Oh, I _must_! There will surely be some way. Please let +me. You discovered him, I admit, but I will promise you faithfully to +devote my entire life to studying him, as the great Lamour devoted his +life for forty years to his single patient." + +"But Dr. Lamour married his patient," said the Tracer mildly. + +"He--I--that need not be necessary--" + +"But if it should prove necessary?" + +"I--you--" + +"Answer me, child." + +She stared across at Carden, biting her red lips. He turned pink +promptly and fidgeted. + +"He _has_ got it!" she whispered excitedly. "Oh, _do_ you mind if I take +him for mine? I am perfectly wild to begin on him!" + +"You have not yet answered my question," said the old gentleman gravely. +"Do you lack the courage to marry him if it becomes necessary to do so +in order to devote your entire life to studying him?" + +"Oh--it _cannot_ be necessary--" + +"You lack the courage." + +She was silent. + +"Braver things have been done by those of your profession who have gone +among lepers," said the old gentleman sadly. + +She flushed up instantly; her eyes sparkled; her head proudly high, +delicate nostrils dilated. + +"I am not afraid!" she said. "If it ever becomes necessary, I _can_ show +courage and devotion, as well as those of my profession who minister to +the lepers of Molokai! Yes; I do promise you to marry him if I cannot +otherwise study him. And I promise you solemnly to devote my entire life +to observing his symptoms and searching for proper means to combat them. +My one ambition in life is personally to observe and study a case of +Lamour's Disease, and to give my entire life to investigating its +origin, its course, and its cure." + +The old gentleman rose, bowing with that quaintly obsolete courtesy +which was in vogue in his youth. + +"I am contented to leave him exclusively to you, Dr. Hollis. And I wish +you happiness in your life's work--and success in your cure of this +unhappy young man." + +Hat in hand, he bowed again as he tottered past her, muttering and +smiling to himself and shaking his trembling head as he went rocking on +unsteady legs out into the sunshine, where the nursemaids and children +flocked along the lake shore throwing peanuts to the waterfowl and +satiated goldfish. + +Dr. Hollis looked after him, her small hand buried among the pages of +her open book. Carden viewed his disappearing figure with guileless +emotions. He was vaguely aware that something important was about to +happen to him. And it did before he was prepared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +When Rosalind Hollis found herself on her feet again a slight sensation +of fright checked her for a moment. Then, resolutely suppressing such +unworthy weakness, the lofty inspiration of her mission in life +dominated her, and she stepped forward undaunted. And Carden, seeing her +advance toward him, arose in astonishment to meet her. + +For a second they stood facing each other, he astounded, she a trifle +pale but firm. Then in a low voice she asked his pardon for disturbing +him. + +"I am Rosalind Hollis, a physician," she said quietly, "and physicians +are sometimes obliged to do difficult things in the interest of their +profession. It is dreadfully difficult for me to speak to you in this +way. But"--she looked fearlessly at him--"I am confident you will not +misinterpret what I have done." + +He managed to assure her that he did not misinterpret it. + +She regarded him steadily; she examined the dark circles under his eyes; +she coolly observed his rising color under her calm inspection; she saw +him fidgeting with his walking stick. She _must_ try his pulse! + +"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions in the interest of +science?" she said earnestly. + +"As a m-m-matter of fact," he stammered, "I don't know much about +science. Awfully glad to do anything I can, you know." + +"Oh, I don't mean it that way," she reassured him. A hint of a smile +tinted her eyes with brilliant amethyst. "Would you mind if I sat here +for a few moments? _Could_ you overlook this horrid unconventionality +long enough for me to explain why I have spoken to you?" + +"I could indeed!" he said, so anxiously cordial that her lovely face +grew serious and she hesitated. But he was standing aside, hat off, +placing the bench at her disposal, and she seated herself, placing her +book on the bench beside her. + +"Would you mind sitting here for a few moments?" she asked him gravely. + +Dazed, scarcely crediting the evidence of his senses, he took possession +of the end of the bench with the silent obedience of a schoolboy. His +attitude was irreproachable. She was grateful for this, and her +satisfaction with herself for not having misjudged him renewed her +confidence in him, in herself, and in the difficult situation. + +She began, quietly, by again telling him her name and profession; where +she lived, and that she was studying to be a specialist, though she did +not intimate what that specialty was to be. + +Outwardly composed and attentively deferential, his astonishment at +times dominated a stronger sentiment that seemed to grow and expand with +her every word, seizing him in a fierce possession absolutely and +hopelessly complete. + +The bewildering fascination of her mastered him. No cool analysis of +what his senses were confirming could be necessary to convince him of +his condition. Every word of hers, every gesture, every inflection of +her sweet, clear voice, every lifting of her head, her eyes, her +perfectly gloved hands, only repeated to him what he knew was a +certainty. Never had he looked upon such physical loveliness; never had +he dreamed of such a voice. + +She had asked him a question, and, absorbed in the pure delight of +looking at her, he had not comprehended or answered. She flushed +sensitively, accepting his silence as refusal, and he came out of his +trance hastily. + +"I beg your pardon; I did not quite understand your question, Miss +Hollis--I mean, Dr. Hollis." + +"I asked you if you minded my noting your pulse," she said. + +He stretched out his right hand; she stripped off her glove, laid the +tip of her middle finger on his wrist, and glanced down at the gold +watch which she held. + +"I am wondering," he said, laughing uncertainly, "whether you believe me +to be ill. Of course it is easy to see that you have found something +unusual about me--something of particular interest to a physician. Is +there anything very dreadful going to happen to me, Dr. Hollis? I feel +perfectly well." + +"Are you sure you feel well?" she asked, so earnestly that the smile on +his lips faded out. + +"Absolutely. Is my pulse queer?" + +"It is not normal." + +He could easily account for that, but he said nothing. + +She questioned him for a few minutes, noted his pulse again, looked +closely at the bluish circles under his eyes. Naturally he flushed up +and grew restless under the calm, grave, beautiful eyes. + +"I--I have an absolutely new and carefully sterilized thermometer--" She +drew it from a tiny gold-initialed pocket case, and looked wistfully at +him. + +"You want to put that into my mouth?" he asked, astonished. + +"If you don't mind." + +She held it up, shook it once or twice, and deliberately inserted it +between his lips. And there he sat, round-eyed, silent, the end of the +thermometer protruding at a rakish angle from the corner of his mouth. +And he grew redder and redder. + +"I _don't_ wish to alarm you," she was saying, "but all this is so +deeply significant, so full of vital interest to me--to the world, to +science--" + +"_What_ have I got, in Heaven's name?" he said thickly, the thermometer +wiggling in his mouth. + +"Ah!" she exclaimed with soft enthusiasm, clasping her pretty ungloved +hands, "I cannot be sure yet--I dare not be too sanguine--" + +"Do you mean that you _want_ me to have something queer?" he blurted +out, while the thermometer wiggled with every word he uttered. + +"N-no, of course, I don't _want_ you to be ill," she said hastily. +"Only, if you _are_ ill it will be a wonderful thing for me. I +mean--a--that I am intensely interested in certain symptoms which--" + +She gently withdrew the glass tube from his lips and examined it +carefully. + +"_Is_ there anything the matter?" he insisted, looking at the instrument +over her shoulder. + +She did not reply; pure excitement rendered her speechless. + +"I seem to _feel_ all right," he added uneasily. "If you really believe +that there's anything wrong with me, I'll stop in to see my doctor." + +"Your doctor!" she repeated, appalled. + +"Yes, certainly. Why not?" + +"Don't do that! Please don't do that! I--why _I_ discovered this case. I +beg you most earnestly to let me observe it. You don't understand the +importance of it! You don't begin to dream of the rarity of this case! +How much it means to me!" + +He flushed up. "Do you intend to intimate that I am afflicted with some +sort of rare and s-s-trange d-d-disease?" he stammered. + +"I dare not pronounce upon it too confidently," she said with +enthusiasm; "I have not yet absolutely determined the nature of the +disease. But, oh, I am beginning to hope--" + +"Then I _am_ diseased!" he faltered. "I've got _something_ anyhow; is +that it? Only you are not yet perfectly sure what it is called! Is that +the truth, Miss Hollis?" + +"How can I answer positively until I have had time to observe these +symptoms? It requires time to be certain. I do not wish to alarm you, +but it is my duty to say to you that you should immediately place +yourself under medical observation." + +"You think that?" + +"I do; I am convinced of it. Please understand me; I do not pronounce +upon these visible symptoms; I do not express an unqualified opinion; +but I could be in a position to do so if you consent to place yourself +under my observations and care. For these suspicious symptoms are not +only very plainly apparent to me, but were even noted by that old +gentleman whom you may perhaps have observed conversing with me." + +"Yes, I saw him. Who is he?" + +"Dr. Austin Atwood," said the girl solemnly. + +"Oh! And you say he also observed something queer about me? What did he +see? Are there spots on me? Am I turning any remarkable color? Am I--" +And in the very midst of his genuine alarm he suddenly remembered the +make-up box and what the Tracer of Lost Persons had done to his eyes. +Was _that_ it? Where was the Tracer, anyway? He had promised to appear. +And then Carden recollected the gray wig and whiskers that the Tracer +had waved at him from the cupboard, bidding him note them well. _Could_ +that beaming, benignant, tottering old gentleman have been the Tracer of +Lost Persons himself? And the same instant Carden was sure of it, spite +of the miraculous change in the man. + +Then logic came to his aid; and, deducing with care and patience, an +earnest conviction grew within him that the dark circles under his eyes +and the tottering old gentleman resembling Dr. Austin Atwood had a great +deal to do with this dreadful disease which Dr. Hollis desired to study. + +He looked at the charming girl beside him, and she looked back at him +very sweetly, very earnestly, awaiting his decision. + +For a moment he realized that she had really scared him, and in the +reaction of relief an overwhelming desire to laugh seized him. He +managed to suppress it, to compose himself. Then he remembered the +Tracer's admonition to acquiesce in everything, do what he was told to +do, not to run away, and to pay his court at the first decent +opportunity. + +He had no longer any desire to escape; he was quite willing to do +anything she desired. + +"Do you really want to study me, Dr. Hollis?" he asked, feeling like a +hypocrite. + +"Indeed I do," she replied fervently. + +"You believe me worth studying?" + +"Oh, truly, truly, you are! You don't suspect--you cannot conceive how +important you have suddenly become to me." + +"Then I think you had better take my case, Dr. Hollis," he said +seriously. "I begin now to realize that you believe me to be a sort of +freak--an afflicted curiosity, and that, in the interest of medicine, I +ought to go to an asylum or submit myself to the ceaseless observation +of a competent private physician." + +"I--I think it best for you to place yourself in my care," she said. +"Will you?" + +"Yes," he said, "I will. I'll do anything in the world you ask." + +"That is very--very generous, very noble of you!" she exclaimed, +flushing with excitement and delight. "It means a great deal to me--it +means, perhaps, a fame that I scarcely dared dream of even in my most +enthusiastic years. I am too grateful to express my gratitude +coherently; I am trying to say to you that I thank you; that I recognize +in you those broad, liberal, generous qualities which, from your +appearance and bearing, I--I thought perhaps you must possess." + +She colored again very prettily; he bowed, and ventured to remind her +that she had not yet given him the privilege of naming himself. + +"That is true!" she said, surprised. "I had quite forgotten it." But +when he named himself she raised her head, startled. + +"Victor Carden!" she repeated. "You are the _artist_, Victor Carden!" + +"Yes," he said, watching her dilated eyes like two violet-tinted jewels. + +For a minute she sat looking at him; and imperceptibly a change came +into her face, and its bewildering beauty softened as the vivid tints +died out, leaving her cheeks almost pale. + +"It is--a pity," she said under her breath. All the excitement, all the +latent triumph, all the scarcely veiled eager enthusiasm had gone from +her now. + +"A pity?" he repeated, smiling. + +"Yes. I wish it had been only an ordinary man. I--why should this happen +to you? You have done so much for us all--made us forget ourselves in +the beauty of what you offer us. Why should this happen to _you_!" + +"But you have not told me yet what has happened to me, Miss Hollis." + +She looked up, almost frightened. + +"_Are_ you our Victor Carden? I do not wish to believe it! You have done +so much for the world--you have taught us to understand and desire all +that is noble and upright and clean and beautiful!--to desire it, to +aspire toward it, to venture to live the good, true, wholesome lives +that your penciled creations must lead--_must_ lead to wear such +beautiful bodies and such divine eyes!" + +"Do _you_ care for my work?" he asked, astonished and moved. + +"I? Yes, of course I do. Who does not?" + +"Many," he replied simply. + +"I am sorry for them," she said. + +They sat silent for a long while. + +At first his overwhelming desire was to tell her of the deception +practiced upon her; but he could not do that, because in exposing +himself he must fail in loyalty to the Tracer of Lost Persons. Besides, +she would not believe him. She would think him mad if he told her that +the old gentleman she had taken for Dr. Atwood was probably Mr. Keen, +the Tracer of Lost Persons. Also, he himself was not absolutely certain +about it. He had merely deduced as much. + +"Tell me," he said very gently, "what is the malady from which you +believe I am suffering?" + +For a moment she remained silent, then, face averted, laid her finger on +the book beside her. + +"That," she said unsteadily. + +He read aloud: "Lamour's Disease. A Treatise in sixteen volumes by Ero +S. Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H." + +"All that?" he asked guiltily. + +"I don't know, Mr. Carden. Are you laughing at me? Do you not believe +me?" She had turned suddenly to confront him, surprising a humorous +glimmer in his eyes. + +"I really do not believe I am seriously ill," he said, laughing in spite +of her grave eyes. + +"Then perhaps you had better read a little about what Lamour describes +as the symptoms of this malady," she said sadly. + +"Is it fatal?" he inquired. + +"Ultimately. That is why I desire to spend my life in studying means to +combat it. That is why I desire you so earnestly to place yourself under +my observation and let me try." + +"Tell me one thing," he said; "is it contagious? Is it infectious? No? +Then I don't mind your studying me all you wish, Dr. Hollis. You may +take my temperature every ten minutes if you care to. You may observe my +pulse every five minutes if you desire. Only please tell me how this is +to be accomplished; because, you see, I live in the Sherwood Studio +Building, and you live on Madison Avenue." + +"I--I have a ward--a room--fitted up with every modern surgical +device--every improvement," she said. "It adjoins my office. _Would_ you +mind living there for a while--say for a week at first--until I can be +perfectly certain in my diagnosis?" + +"Do you intend to put me to bed?" he asked, appalled. + +"Oh, no! Only I wish to watch you carefully and note your symptoms from +moment to moment. I also desire to try the effects of certain medicines +on you--" + +"What kind of medicines?" he asked uneasily. + +"I cannot tell yet. Perhaps antitoxin; I don't know; perhaps formalin +later. Truly, Mr. Carden, this case has taken on a graver, a more +intimate significance since I have learned who you are. I would have +worked hard to save any life; I shall put my very heart and soul into my +work to save you, who have done so much for us all." + +The trace of innocent emotion in her voice moved him. + +"I am really not ill," he said unsteadily. "I cannot let you think I +am--" + +"Don't speak that way, Mr. Carden. I--I am perfectly miserable over it; +I don't feel any happiness in my discovery now--not the least bit. I had +rather live my entire life without seeing one case of Lamour's Disease +than to believe you are afflicted with it." + +"But I'm not, Miss Hollis!--really, I am not--" + +She looked at him compassionately for a moment, then rose. + +"It is best that you should be informed as to your probable condition," +she said. "In Lamour's works, volume nine, you had better read exactly +what Lamour says. Do you mind coming to the office with me, Mr. Carden?" + +"Now?" + +"Yes. The book is there. Do you mind coming?" + +"No--no, of course not." And, as they turned away together under the +trees: "You don't intend to begin observing me this afternoon, do you?" +he ventured. + +"I think it best if you can arrange your affairs. Can you, Mr. Carden?" + +"Why, yes, I suppose I can. Did you mean for me to begin to occupy that +surgical bedroom at once?" + +"Do you mind?" + +"N-no. I'll telephone my servants to pack a steamer trunk and send it +around to your apartment this evening. And--where am I to board?" + +"I have a dining room," she said simply. "My apartment consists of the +usual number of servants and rooms, including my office, and my +observation ward which you will occupy." + +He walked on, troubled. + +"I only w-want to ask one or two things, Dr. Hollis. Am I to be placed +on a diet? I hate diets!" + +"Not at once." + +"May I smoke?" + +"Certainly," she said, smiling. + +"And you won't p-put me--send me to bed too early?" + +"Oh, no! The later you sit up the better, because I shall wish to take +your temperature every ten minutes and I shall feel very sorry to arouse +you." + +"You mean you are coming in to wake me up every ten minutes and put that +tube in my mouth?" he asked, aghast. + +"Only every half-hour, Mr. Carden. Can't you stand it for a week?" + +"Well," he said, "I--I suppose I can if _you_ can. Only, upon my honor, +there is really nothing the matter with me, and I'll prove it to you out +of your own book." + +"I wish you could, Mr. Carden. I should be only too happy to give you +back to the world with a clear bill of health if you can convince me I +am wrong. Do you not believe me? Indeed, indeed I am not selfish and +wicked enough to wish you this illness, no matter how rare it is!" + +"The rarer a disease is the madder it makes people who contract it," he +said. "I should be the maddest man in Manhattan if I really did have +Lamour's malady. But I haven't. There is only one malady afflicting me, +and I am waiting for a suitable opportunity to tell you all about it, +but--" + +"Tell me now," she said, raising her eyes to his. + +"Not now." + +"To-night?" + +"I hope so. I will if I can, Miss Hollis." + +"But you must not fear to tell a physician about anything which troubles +you, Mr. Carden." + +"I'll remember that," he said thoughtfully, as they emerged from the +Park and crossed to Madison Avenue. + +A moment later he hailed a car and they both entered. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +No, there could be no longer any doubt in her mind as she went into her +bedroom, closed the door, and, unhooking the telephone receiver, called +up the great specialist in rare diseases, Dr. Austin Atwood, M.S., +F.B.A., M.F.H. + +"Dr. Atwood," she said with scarcely concealed emotion, "this is Dr. +Rosalind Hollis." + +"How-de-do?" squeaked the aged specialist amiably. + +"Oh, I am well enough, thank you, doctor--except in spirits. Dr. Atwood, +you were right! He _has_ got it, and I am perfectly wretched!" + +"_Who_ has got _what_?" retorted the voice of Atwood. + +"The unfortunate young gentleman we saw to-day in the Park." + +"What park?" + +"Why, Central Park, doctor." + +"Central Park! _I_ haven't been in Central Park for ten years, my +child." + +"Why, Dr. Atwood!--A--_is_ this Dr. Austin Atwood with whom I am +talking?" + +"Not the least doubt! And you are that pretty Dr. Hollis--Rosalind +Hollis, who consulted me in those charity cases, are you not?" + +"I certainly am. And I wanted to say to you that I have the unfortunate +patient now under closest observation here in my own apartment. I have +given him the room next to the office. And, doctor, you were perfectly +right. He shows every symptom of the disease--he is even inclined to +sentimentalism; he begins to blush and fidget and look at me--a--in that +unmistakable manner--not that he isn't well-bred and charming--indeed he +is most attractive, and it grieves me dreadfully to see that he already +is beginning to believe himself in love with the first person of the +opposite sex he encounters--I mean that he--that I cannot mistake his +attitude toward me--which is perfectly correct, only one cannot avoid +seeing the curious infatuation--" + +"_What_ the dickens is all this?" roared the great specialist, and Dr. +Hollis jumped. + +"I was only confirming your diagnosis, doctor," she explained meekly. + +"What diagnosis?" + +"Yours, doctor. I have confirmed it, I fear. And the certainty has made +me perfectly miserable, because his is such a valuable life to the +world, and he himself is such a splendid, wholesome, noble specimen of +youth and courage, that I cannot bear to believe him incurably +afflicted." + +"Good Heavens!" shouted the doctor, "_what_ has he got and _who_ is he?" + +"He is Victor Carden, the celebrated artist, and he has Lamour's +Disease!" she gasped. + +There was a dead silence; then: "Keep him there until I come! Chloroform +him if he attempts to escape!" + +And the great specialist rang off excitedly. + +So Rosalind Hollis went back to the lamp-lit office where, in a +luxurious armchair, Carden was sitting, contentedly poring over the +ninth volume of Lamour's great treatise and smoking his second cigar. + +"Dr. Atwood is coming here," she said in a discouraged voice, as he rose +with alacrity to place her chair. + +"Oh! What for?" + +"T-to see you, Mr. Carden." + +"Who? Me? Great Scott! I don't want to be slapped and pinched and polled +by a man! I didn't expect that, you know. I'm willing enough to have you +observe me in the interest of humanity--" + +"But, Mr. Carden, he is only called in for consultation. I--I have a +dreadful sort of desperate hope that perhaps I may have made a mistake; +that possibly I am in error." + +"No doubt you are," he said cheerfully. "Let me read a few more pages, +Dr. Hollis, and then I think I shall be all ready to dispute my +symptoms, one by one, and convince you what really is the trouble with +me. And, by the way, did Dr. Atwood seem a trifle astonished when you +told him about me?" + +"A trifle--yes," she said uncertainly. "He is a very, very old man; he +forgets. But he is coming." + +"Oh! And didn't he appear to recollect seeing me in the Park?" + +"N-not clearly. He is very old, you know. But he is coming here." + +"_Ex_actly--as a friend of mine puts it," smiled Carden. "May I be +permitted to use your telephone a moment?" + +"By all means, Mr. Carden. You will find it there in my bedroom." + +So he entered her pretty bedroom and, closing the door tightly, called +up the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Is that you, Mr. Keen? This is Mr. Carden. I'm head over heels in love. +I simply must win her, and I'm going to try. If I don't--if she will +not listen to me--I'll certainly go to smash. And what I want you to do +is to prevent Atwood from butting in. Do you understand? . . . Yes, Dr. +Austin Atwood. Keep him away somehow. . . . Yes, I'm here, at Dr. +Hollis's apartments, under anxious observation. . . . She is the _only_ +woman in the world! I'm mad about her--and getting madder every moment! +She is the most perfectly splendid specimen of womanhood--_what_? Oh, +yes; I rang you up to ask you whether it was _you_ in the Park +to-day?--that old gentleman--_What!_ Yes, in Central Park. Yes, this +afternoon! No, he didn't resemble you; and Dr. Hollis took him for Dr. +Atwood. . . . What are you laughing about? . . . I can _hear_ you +laughing. . . . _Was_ it you? . . . What do I think? Why, I don't know +exactly what to think, but I suppose it must have been you. Was it? +. . . Oh, I see. You don't wish me to know. Certainly, you are quite +right. Your clients have no business behind the scenes. I only asked out +of curiosity. . . . All right. Good-by." + +He came back to the lamp-lit office, which was more of a big, handsome, +comfortable living room than a physician's quarters, and for a moment or +two he stood on the threshold, looking around. + +In the pleasant, subdued light of the lamp Rosalind Hollis looked up +and around, smiling involuntarily to see him standing there; then, +serious, silent, she dropped her eyes to the pages of the volume he had +discarded--volume nine of Lamour's great works. + +Even with the evidence before her, corroborated in these inexorably +scientific pages which she sat so sadly turning, she found it almost +impossible to believe that this big, broad-shouldered, attractive young +man could be fatally stricken. + +Twice her violet eyes stole toward him; twice the thick lashes veiled +them, and the printed pages on her knee sprang into view, and the cold +precision of the type confirmed her fears remorselessly: + +"The trained scrutiny of the observer will detect in the victim of this +disease a peculiar and indefinable charm--a strange symmetry which, on +closer examination, reveals traces of physical beauty almost +superhuman--" + +Again her eyes were lifted to Carden; again she dropped her white lids. +Her worst fears were confirmed. + +Meanwhile he stood on the threshold looking at her, his pulses racing, +his very soul staring through his eyes; and, within him, every sense +clamoring out revolt at the deception, demanding confession and its +penalty. + +"I can't stand this!" he blurted out; and she looked up quickly, her +face blanched with foreboding. + +"Are you in pain?" she asked. + +"No--not that sort of pain! I--_won't_ you please believe that I am not +ill? I'm imposing on you. I'm an impostor! There's nothing whatever the +trouble with me except--something that I want to tell you--if you'll let +me--" + +"Why should you hesitate to confide in a physician, Mr. Carden?" + +He came forward slowly. She laid her small hand on the empty chair which +faced hers and he sank into it, clasping his restless hands under his +chin. + +"You are feeling depressed," she said gently. Depression was a +significant symptom. Three chapters were devoted to it. + +"I'm depressed, of course. I'm horribly depressed and ashamed of myself, +because there is nothing on earth the matter with me, and I've let you +think there is." + +She smiled mournfully; this was another symptom of a morbid state. She +turned, unconsciously, to page 379 to verify her observation. + +"See here, Miss Hollis," he broke out, "haven't I any chance to +convince you that I am not ill? I want to be honest without involving +a--a friend of mine. I can't endure this deception. Won't you let me +prove to you that these symptoms are--are only significant of something +else?" + +She looked straight at him, considering him in silence. + +"Let us begin with those dark circles under my eyes," he said +desperately. "I found some cold-cream in my room and--look! They are +practically gone! At any rate, if there is a sort of shadow left it's +because I use my eyes in my profession." + +"Dr. Lamour says that the dark circles disappear, anyway," said the +girl, unconvinced. "Cold-cream had nothing to do with it." + +"But it _did_! Really it did. And as for the other symptoms, I--well, I +can't help my pulses when y-you t-t-touch me." + +"Please, Mr. Carden." + +"I don't mean to be impertinent. I am trying my hardest to tell the +truth. And my pulses _do_ gallop when you test them; they're galloping +now! This very moment!" + +"Let me try them," she said coolly, laying her hand on his wrist. + +"Didn't I say so!" he insisted grimly. "And I'm turning red, too. But +those symptoms mean something else; they mean _you_!" + +"Mr. Carden!" + +"I can't help saying so--" + +"I know it," she said soothingly; "these sentimental outbursts are part +of the disease--" + +"Good Heavens! _Won't_ you try to believe me! There's nothing in the +world the matter with me except that I am--am--p-p-perfectly +f-f-fascinated--" + +"You must struggle against it, Mr. Carden. That is only part of the--" + +"It isn't! It isn't! It's you! It's your mere presence, your +personality, your charm, your beauty, your loveliness, your--" + +"Mr. Carden, I beg of you! I--it is part of my duty to observe symptoms, +but--but you are making it very hard for me--very difficult--" + +"I am only proving to you that it isn't Lamour's Disease which does +stunts with my pulses, my temperature, my color. I'm not morbid except +when I realize my deception. I'm not depressed except when I think how +far you are from me--how far above me--how far out of reach of such a +man as I am--how desperately I--I--" + +"D-don't you think I had better administer a s-s-sedative, Mr. Carden?" +she said, distressed. + +"I don't care. I'll take anything you give me--as long as _you_ give it +to me. I'll swallow pint after pint of pills! I'll fletcherize 'em! I'll +luxuriate in poison--anything--" + +She was hastily running through the pages of the ninth volume to see +whether the symptoms of sentimental excitement ever turned into frenzy. + +"What can you learn from that book?" he insisted, leaning forward to see +what she was reading. "Anyway, Dr. Lamour married his patient so early +in the game that all the symptoms disappeared. And I believe the trouble +with his patient was my trouble. She had every symptom of it until he +married her! She was in love with him, that is absolutely all!" + +Rosalind Hollis raised her beautiful, incredulous eyes. + +"What do you mean, Mr. Carden?" + +"I mean that, in my opinion, there's no such disease as Lamour's +Disease. That young girl was in love with him. Then he married her at +last, and--presto!--all the symptoms vanished--the pulse, the +temperature, the fidgets, the blushes, the moods, the whole business!" + +"W-what about the strangely curious manifestations of physical +beauty--superhuman symmetry, Mr. Carden?" + +"Do you notice them in _me_?" he gasped. + +"A--yes--in a m-modified measure--" + +"In _me_?" + +"Certainly!" she said firmly; but the slow glow suffusing her cheeks was +disconcerting her. Then his own face began to reflect the splendid color +in hers; their eyes met, dismayed. + +"There are sixteen volumes about this disease," she said. "There _must_ +be such a disease!" + +"There is," he said. "I have it badly. But I never had it before I first +saw you in the Park!" + +"Mr. Carden--this is the wildest absurdity--" + +"I know it. Wildness is a symptom. I'm mad as a hatter. I've got every +separate symptom, and I wish it was infectious and contagious and +catching and fatal!" + +She made an effort to turn the pages to the chapter entitled "Manias and +Illusions," but he laid his hand across the book and his clear eyes +defied her. + +"Mr. Carden--" + +Her smooth hand trembled under his, then, suddenly nerveless, relaxed. +With an effort she lifted her head; their eyes met, spellbound. + +"_You_ have _every_ symptom," he said unsteadily--"every one! What have +you to say?" + +Her fascinated eyes held his. + +"What have you to say?" he repeated under his breath--"you, with every +symptom, and your heavenly radiant beauty to confirm them--that splendid +youthful loveliness which blinds and stuns me as I look--as I speak--as +I tell you that I love you. That is my malady; that is the beginning and +the end of it; love!" + +She sat speechless, immovable, as one under enchantment. + +"All my life," he said, "I have spent in painting shadows. But the +shadows were those dim celestial shapes cast by your presence in the +world. You tell me that the world is better for my work; that I have +offered my people beauty and a sort of truth, which they had never +dreamed of until I revealed it? Yet what inspired me was the shadow +only, for I had never seen the substance; I had never believed I should +ever see the living source of the shadows which inspired me. And now I +see; now I have seen with my own eyes. Now the confession of faith is no +longer a blind creed, born of instinct. You live! You are you! What I +believed from necessity I find proved in fact. The occult no longer can +sway one who has seen. And you, who, without your knowledge or mine, +have always been the one and only source of any good in me or in my +work--why is it strange that I loved you at first sight?--that I +worshiped you at first breath?--I, who, like him who raises his altar to +'the unknown god,' raised my altar to truth and beauty? And a miracle +has answered me." + +She rose, the beautiful dazed eyes meeting his, both hands clasping the +ninth volume of Lamour's great monograph to her breast as though to +protect it from him--from him who was threatening her, enthralling her, +thrilling her with his magic voice, his enchanted youth, the masterful +mystery of his eyes. What was he saying to her? What was this mounting +intoxication sweeping her senses--this delicious menace threatening her +very will? What did he want with her? What was he asking? What was he +doing now--with both her hands in his, and her gaze deeply lost in +his--and the ninth volume of Lamour on the floor between them, sprawling +there, abandoned, waving its helpless, discredited leaves in +air--discredited, abandoned, obsolete as her own specialty--her life's +work! He had taken that, too--taken her life's work from her. And in +return she was holding nothing!--nothing except a young man's +hands--strong, muscular hands which, after all, were holding her own +imprisoned. So she had nothing in exchange for the ninth volume of +Lamour; and her life's work had been annihilated by a smile; and she was +very much alone in the world--very isolated and very youthful. + +After a while she emerged from the chaos of attempted reflection and +listened to what he was saying. He spoke very quietly, very distinctly, +not sparing himself, laying bare every deception without involving +anybody except himself. + +He told her the entire history of his case, excluding Mr. Keen in +person; he told her about his aunt, about his birthday, about his +determination to let the legacy go. Then in a very manly way he told her +that he had never before loved a woman; and fell silent, her hands a +dead weight in his. + +She was surprised that she could experience no resentment. A curious +inertia crept over her. She was tired of expectancy, tired of effort, +weary of the burden of decision. Life and its problems overweighted her. +Her eyes wandered to his broad young shoulders, then were raised to his +face. + +"What shall we do?" she asked innocently. + +Unresisting, she suffered him to explain. His explanation was not +elaborate; he only touched his lips to her hands and straightened up, a +trifle pale. + +After a moment they walked together to the door and he took his hat and +gloves from the rack. + +"Will you come to-morrow morning?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"Come early. I am quite certain of how matters are with me. Everything +has gone out of my life--everything I once cared for--all the familiar +things. So come early, for I am quite alone without you." + +"And I without you, Rosalind." + +"That is only right," she said simply. "I shall cast no more shadows for +you. . . . Are you going? . . . Oh, I know it is best that you should +go, but--" + +He halted. She laid both hands in his. + +"We both have it," she faltered--"every symptom. And--you will come +early, won't you?" + + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Tracer of Lost Persons, by Robert W. Chambers + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13180 *** diff --git a/13180-h/13180-h.htm b/13180-h/13180-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f91e085 --- /dev/null +++ b/13180-h/13180-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7790 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=UTF-8"> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Tracer Of Lost Persons, by R. W. Chambers. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 4%; + margin-right: 4%; + } + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + .caption {margin-left: 35%; margin-right: 35%; text-align: center; font-size: smaller;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13180 ***</div> + +<center> +<img src='images/image-1.jpg' height='75%' alt=""'Then in charity say that word!'"" title=''> +</center> +<div class='caption'><p>"'Then in charity say that word!'"</p></div> +<br /> + +<h1>THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS</h1> + +<h2>BY R. W. CHAMBERS</h2> +<br /> + +<h3>TO MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM A. HALL</h3> + +<h3>1906</h3> +<br /> + +<div class='blkquot'><p><i>For the harmony of the world, like that +of a harp, is made up of discords.</i></p> + +<p> —HERACLITUS.</p></div> + +<br /> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> + +<br /> + +<a name='THE_TRACER_OF_LOST_PERSONS'></a><h2>THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS</h2> + +<h4> <a href='#CHAPTER_I'>CHAPTER I</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_II'>CHAPTER II</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_III'>CHAPTER III</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_IV'>CHAPTER IV</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_V'>CHAPTER V</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_VI'>CHAPTER VI</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_VII'>CHAPTER VII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_VIII'>CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_IX'>CHAPTER IX</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_X'>CHAPTER X</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XI'>CHAPTER XI</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XII'>CHAPTER XII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XIII'>CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XIV'>CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XV'>CHAPTER XV</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XVI'>CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XVII'>CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XVIII'>CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XIX'>CHAPTER XIX</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XX'>CHAPTER XX</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XXI'>CHAPTER XXI</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XXII'>CHAPTER XXII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XXIII'>CHAPTER XXIII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XXIV'>CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4> +<br /> + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_I'></a><h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>He was thirty-three, agreeable to look at, equipped with as much culture +and intelligence as is tolerated east of Fifth Avenue and west of +Madison. He had a couple of elaborate rooms at the Lenox Club, a larger +income than seemed to be good for him, and no profession. It follows +that he was a pessimist before breakfast. Besides, it's a bad thing for +a man at thirty-three to come to the conclusion that he has seen all the +most attractive girls in the world and that they have been vastly +overrated. So, when a club servant with gilt buttons on his coat tails +knocked at the door, the invitation to enter was not very cordial. He of +the buttons knocked again to take the edge off before he entered; then +opened the door and unburdened himself as follows:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gatewood, sir, Mr. Kerns's compliments, and wishes to know if 'e +may 'ave 'is coffee served at your tyble, sir."</p> + +<p>Gatewood, before the mirror, gave a vicious twist to his tie, inserted a +pearl scarf pin, and regarded the effect with gloomy approval.</p> + +<p>"Say to Mr. Kerns that I am—flattered," he replied morosely; "and tell +Henry I want him."</p> + +<p>"'Enry, sir? Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>The servant left; one of the sleek club valets came in, softly sidling.</p> + +<p>"Henry!"</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"I'll wear a white waistcoat, if you don't object."</p> + +<p>The valet laid out half a dozen.</p> + +<p>"Which one do you usually wear when I'm away, Henry? Which is <i>your</i> +favorite?"</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Pick it out and don't look injured, and <i>don't</i> roll up your eyes. I +merely desire to borrow it for one day."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir."</p> + +<p>"And, Henry, hereafter always help yourself to my <i>best</i> cigars. Those I +smoke may injure you. I've attempted to conceal the keys, but you will, +of course, eventually discover them under that loose tile on the +hearth."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; thanky', sir," returned the valet gravely.</p> + +<p>"And—Henry!"</p> + +<p>"Sir?" with martyred dignity.</p> + +<p>"When you are tired of searching for my olivine and opal pin, just find +it, for a change. I'd like to wear that pin for a day or two if it would +not inconvenience you."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir; I will 'unt it hup, sir."</p> + +<p>Gatewood put on his coat, took hat and gloves from the unabashed valet, +and sauntered down to the sunny breakfast room, where he found Kerns +inspecting a morning paper and leisurely consuming grapefruit with a +cocktail on the side.</p> + +<p>"Hullo," observed Kerns briefly.</p> + +<p>"I'm not on the telephone," snapped Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon; how are you, dear friend?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't know how I am," retorted Gatewood irritably; "how the devil +should a man know how he is?"</p> + +<p>"Everything going to the bowwows, <i>as</i> usual, dear friend?"</p> + +<p>"<i>As</i> usual. Oh, read your paper, Tommy! You know well enough I'm not +one of those tail-wagging imbeciles who wakes up in the morning singing +like a half-witted lark. Why should I, with this taste in my mouth, and +the laundress using vitriol, and Henry sneering at my cigars?" He yawned +and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. "Besides, there's too much gilt +all over this club! There's too much everywhere. Half the world is +stucco, the rest rococo. Where's that Martini I bid for?"</p> + +<p>Kerns, undisturbed, applied himself to cocoa and toasted muffins. +Grapefruit and an amber-tinted accessory were brought for the other and +sampled without mirth. However, a little later Gatewood said: "Well, are +you going to read your paper all day?"</p> + +<p>"What you need," said Kerns, laying the paper aside, "is a job—any old +kind would do, dear friend."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to make any more money."</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to. I mean a job where you'd lose a lot and be scared +into thanking Heaven for carfare. <i>You're</i> a nice object for the +breakfast table!"</p> + +<p>"Bridge. I will be amiable enough by noon time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you're endurable by noon time, as a rule. When you're forty you +may be tolerated after five o'clock; when you're fifty your wife and +children might even venture to emerge from the cellar after dinner—"</p> + +<p>"Wife!"</p> + +<p>"I said wife," replied Kerns, as he calmly watched his man.</p> + +<p>He had managed it well, so far, and he was wise enough not to overdo it. +An interval of silence was what the situation required.</p> + +<p>"I wish I <i>had</i> a wife," muttered Gatewood after a long pause.</p> + +<p>"Oh, haven't you said that every day for five years? Wife! Look at the +willing assortment of dreams playing Sally Waters around town. Isn't +this borough a bower of beauty—a flowery thicket where the prettiest +kind in all the world grow under glass or outdoors? And what do you do? +You used to pretend to prowl about inspecting the yearly crop of posies, +growling, cynical, dissatisfied; but you've even given that up. Now you +only point your nose skyward and squall for a mate, and yowl mournfully +that you never have seen your ideal. <i>I</i> know <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"I never have seen my ideal," retorted Gatewood sulkily, "but I know she +exists—somewhere between heaven and Hoboken."</p> + +<p>"You're sure, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>I'm</i> sure. And, rich or poor, good or bad, she was fashioned for +me alone. That's a theory of mine; <i>you</i> needn't accept it; in fact, +it's none of your business, Tommy."</p> + +<p>"All the same," insisted Kerns, "did you ever consider that if your +ideal does exist somewhere, it is morally up to you to find her?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't I inspected every débutante for ten years? You don't expect me +to advertise for an ideal, do you—object, matrimony?"</p> + +<p>Kerns regarded him intently. "Now, I'm going to make a vivid suggestion, +Jack. In fact, that's why I subjected myself to the ordeal of +breakfasting with you. It's none of my business, as you so kindly put +it, but—<i>shall</i> I suggest something?"</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," replied Gatewood, tranquilly lighting a cigarette. "I know +what you'll say."</p> + +<p>"No, you don't. Firstly, you are having such a good time in this world +that you don't really enjoy yourself—isn't that so?"</p> + +<p>"I—well I—well, let it go at that."</p> + +<p>"Secondly, with all your crimes and felonies, you have one decent trait +left: you really would like to fall in love. And I suspect you'd even +marry."</p> + +<p>"There are grounds," said Gatewood guardedly, "for your suspicions. <i>Et +après?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Good. Then there's a way! I know—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't tell me you 'know a girl,' or anything like that!" began +Gatewood sullenly. "I've heard that before, and I won't meet her."</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to; I don't know anybody. All I desire to say is this: +I do know a way. The other day I noticed a sign on Fifth Avenue:</p> + +<center>KEEN & CO.<br /> +TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS</center> + +<p>It was a most extraordinary sign; and having a little unemployed +imagination I began to speculate on how Keen & Co. might operate, and I +wondered a little, too, that, the conditions of life in this city could +enable a firm to make a living by devoting itself exclusively to the +business of hunting up missing people."</p> + +<p>Kerns paused, partly to light a cigarette, partly for diplomatic +reasons.</p> + +<p>"What has all this to do with me?" inquired Gatewood curiously; and +diplomacy scored one.</p> + +<p>"Why not try Keen & Co.?"</p> + +<p>"Try them? Why? I haven't lost anybody, have I?"</p> + +<p>"You haven't, precisely <i>lost anybody</i>, but the fact remains that you +can't <i>find somebody</i>," returned Kerns coolly. "Why not employ Keen & +Co. to look for her?"</p> + +<p>"Look for whom, in Heaven's name?"</p> + +<p>"Your ideal."</p> + +<p>"Look for—for my ideal! Kerns, you're crazy. How the mischief can +anybody hunt for somebody who doesn't exist?"</p> + +<p>"You <i>say</i> that she <i>does</i> exist."</p> + +<p>"But I can't prove it, man."</p> + +<p>"You don't have to; it's up to Keen & Co. to prove it. That's why you +employ them."</p> + +<p>"What wild nonsense you talk! Keen & Co. might, perhaps, be able to +trace the concrete, but how are they going to trace and find the +abstract?"</p> + +<p>"She isn't abstract; she is a lovely, healthy, and youthful concrete +object—if, as you say, she <i>does</i> exist."</p> + +<p>"How can I <i>prove</i> she exists?"</p> + +<p>"You don't have to; they do that."</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Gatewood almost angrily, "do you suppose that if I +were ass enough to go to these people and tell them that I wanted to +find my ideal—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't</i> tell them <i>that</i>!"</p> + +<p>"But how—"</p> + +<p>"There is no necessity for going into such trivial details. All you +need say is: 'I am very anxious to find a young lady'—and then describe +her as minutely as you please. Then, when they locate a girl of that +description they'll notify you; you will go, judge for yourself whether +she is the one woman on earth—and, if disappointed, you need only shake +your head and murmur: 'Not <i>the</i> same!' And it's for them to find +another."</p> + +<p>"I won't do it!" said Gatewood hotly.</p> + +<p>"Why not? At least, it would be amusing. You haven't many mental +resources, and it might occupy you for a week or two."</p> + +<p>Gatewood glared.</p> + +<p>"You have a pleasant way of putting things this morning, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be pleasant: I want to jar you. Don't I care enough +about you to breakfast with you? Then I've a right to be pleasantly +unpleasant. I can't bear to watch your mental and spiritual +dissolution—a man like you, with all your latent ability and capacity +for being nobody in particular—which is the sort of man this nation +needs. Do you want to turn into a club-window gazer like Van Bronk? Do +you want to become another Courtlandt Allerton and go rocking down the +avenue—a grimacing, tailor-made sepulcher?—the pompous obsequies of a +dead intellect?—a funeral on two wavering legs, carrying the corpse of +all that should be deathless in a man? Why, Jack, I'd rather see you in +bankruptcy—I'd rather see you trying to lead a double life in a single +flat on seven dollars and a half a week—I'd almost rather see you every +day at breakfast than have it come to that!</p> + +<p>"Wake up and get jocund with life! Why, you could have all good citizens +stung to death if you chose. It isn't that I want you to make money; but +I want you to worry over somebody besides yourself—not in Wall +Street—a fool and its money are soon parted. But in your own home, +where a beautiful wife and seven angel children have you dippy and close +to the ropes; where the housekeeper gets a rake off, and the cook is +red-headed and comes from Sligo, and the butler's cousin will bear +watching, and the chauffeur is a Frenchman, and the coachman's uncle is +a Harlem vet, and every scullion in the establishment lies, drinks, +steals, and supports twenty satiated relatives at your expense. That +would mean the making of you; for, after all, Jack, you are no +genius—you're a plain, non-partisan, uninspired, clean-built, wholesome +citizen, thank God!—the sort whose unimaginative mission is to pitch in +with eighty-odd millions of us and, like the busy coral creatures, +multiply with all your might, and make this little old Republic the +greatest, biggest, finest article that an overworked world has ever yet +put up! . . . Now you can call for help if you choose."</p> + +<p>Gatewood's breath returned slowly. In an intimacy of many years he had +never suspected that sort of thing from Kerns. That is why, no doubt, +the opinions expressed by Kerns stirred him to an astonishment too +innocent to harbor anger or chagrin.</p> + +<p>And when Kerns stood up with an unembarrassed laugh, saying, "I'm going +to the office; see you this evening?" Gatewood replied rather vacantly: +"Oh, yes; I'm dining here. Good-by, Tommy."</p> + +<p>Kerns glanced at his watch, lingering. "Was there anything you wished to +ask me, Jack?" he inquired guilelessly.</p> + +<p>"Ask you? No, I don't think so."</p> + +<p>"Oh; I had an idea you might care to know where Keen & Co. were to be +found."</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i>," said Gatewood firmly, "is foolish."</p> + +<p>"I'll write the address for you, anyway," rejoined Kerns, scribbling it +and handing the card to his friend.</p> + +<p>Then he went down the stairs, several at a time, eased in conscience, +satisfied that he had done his duty by a friend he cared enough for to +breakfast with.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he ruminated as he crawled into a hansom and lay back +buried in meditation—"of course there may be nothing in this Keen & Co. +business. But it will stir him up and set him thinking; and the longer +Keen & Co. take to hunt up an imaginary lady that doesn't exist, the +more anxious and impatient poor old Jack Gatewood will become, until +he'll catch the fever and go cantering about with that one fixed idea in +his head. And," added Kerns softly, "no New Yorker in his right mind can +go galloping through these five boroughs very long before he's roped, +tied, and marked by the 'only girl in the world'—the <i>only</i> girl—if +you don't care to turn around and look at another million girls +precisely like her. O Lord!—precisely like her!"</p> + +<p>Here was a nice exhorter to incite others to matrimony.</p> + +<br /> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_II'></a><h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Meanwhile, Gatewood was walking along Fifth Avenue, more or less soothed +by the May sunshine. First, he went to his hatters, looked at straw +hats, didn't like them, protested, and bought one, wishing he had +strength of mind enough to wear it home. But he hadn't. Then he entered +the huge white marble palace of his jeweler, left his watch to be +regulated, caught a glimpse of a girl whose hair and neck resembled the +hair and neck of his ideal, sidled around until he discovered that she +was chewing gum, and backed off, with a bitter smile, into the avenue +once more.</p> + +<p>Every day for years he had had glimpses of girls whose hair, hands, +figures, eyes, hats, carriage, resembled the features required by his +ideal; there always was something wrong somewhere. And, as he strolled +moodily, a curious feeling of despair seized him—something that, even +in his most sentimental moments, even amid the most unexpected +disappointment, he had never before experienced.</p> + +<p>"I do want to love <i>somebody</i>!" he found himself saying half aloud; "I +want to marry; I—" He turned to look after three pretty children with +their maids—"I want several like those—several!—seven—ten—I don't +care how many! I want a house to worry me, just as Tommy described it; I +want to see the same girl across the breakfast table—or she can sip her +cocoa in bed if she desires—" A slow, modest blush stole over his +features; it was one of the nicest things he ever did. Glancing up, he +beheld across the way a white sign, ornamented with strenuous crimson +lettering:</p> + +<center>KEEN & CO.<br /> +TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS</center> + +<p>The moment he discovered it, he realized he had been covertly hunting +for it; he also realized that he was going to climb the stairs. He +hadn't quite decided what he meant to do after that; nor was his mind +clear on the matter when he found himself opening a door of opaque glass +on which was printed in red:</p> + +<center>KEEN & CO.</center> + +<p>He was neither embarrassed nor nervous when he found himself in a big +carpeted anteroom where a negro attendant bowed him to a seat and took +his card; and he looked calmly around to see what was to be seen.</p> + +<p>Several people occupied easy chairs in various parts of the room—an old +woman very neatly dressed, clutching in her withered hand a photograph +which she studied and studied with tear-dimmed eyes; a young man wearing +last year's most fashionable styles in everything except his features: +and soap could have aided him there; two policemen, helmets resting on +their knees; and, last of all, a rather thin child of twelve, staring +open-mouthed at everybody, a bundle of soiled clothing under one arm. +Through an open door he saw a dozen young women garbed in black, with +white cuffs and collars, all rattling away steadily at typewriters. +Every now and then, from some hidden office, a bell rang decisively, and +one of the girls would rise from her machine and pass noiselessly out of +sight to obey the summons. From time to time, too, the darky servant +with marvelous manners would usher somebody through the room where the +typewriters were rattling, into the unseen office. First the old woman +went—shakily, clutching her photograph; then the thin child with the +bundle, staring at everything; then the two fat policemen, in portentous +single file, helmets in their white-gloved hands, oiled hair glistening.</p> + +<p>Gatewood's turn was approaching; he waited without any definite +emotion, watching newcomers enter to take the places of those who had +been summoned. He hadn't the slightest idea of what he was to say; nor +did it worry him. A curious sense of impending good fortune left him +pleasantly tranquil; he picked up, from the silver tray on the table at +his elbow, one of the firm's business cards, and scanned it with +interest:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>KEEN & CO. + +<p> TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS</p> + +<p> <i>Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Blanks on application.</i></p> + +<p> WESTREL KEEN, <i>Manager</i>.</p></div> + +<p>"Mistuh Keen will see you, suh," came a persuasive voice at his elbow; +and he rose and followed the softly moving colored servant out of the +room, through a labyrinth of demure young women at their typewriters, +then sharply to the right and into a big, handsomely furnished office, +where a sleepy-looking elderly gentleman rose from an armchair and +bowed. There could not be the slightest doubt that he <i>was</i> a +gentleman; every movement, every sound he uttered, settled the fact.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gatewood?"—with a quiet certainty which had its charm. "This is +very good of you."</p> + +<p>Gatewood sat down and looked at his host. Then he said: "I'm searching +for somebody, Mr. Keen, whom you are not likely to find."</p> + +<p>"I doubt it," said Keen pleasantly.</p> + +<p>Gatewood smiled. "If," he said, "you will undertake to find the person +<i>I</i> cannot find, I must ask you to accept a retainer."</p> + +<p>"We don't require retainers," replied Keen. "Unless we find the person +sought for, we make no charges, Mr. Gatewood."</p> + +<p>"I must ask you to do so in my case. It is not fair that you should +undertake it on other terms. I desire to make a special arrangement with +you. Do you mind?"</p> + +<p>"What arrangement had you contemplated?" inquired Keen, amused.</p> + +<p>"Only this: charge me in advance exactly what you would charge if +successful. And, on the other hand, do not ask me for detailed +information—I mean, do not insist on any information that I decline to +give. Do you mind taking up such an extraordinary and unbusinesslike +proposition, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons looked up sharply:</p> + +<p>"About how much information <i>do</i> you decline to give, Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"About enough to incriminate and degrade," replied the young man, +laughing.</p> + +<p>The elderly gentleman sat silent, apparently buried in meditation. Once +or twice his pleasant steel-gray eyes wandered over Gatewood as an +expert, a connoisseur, glances at a picture and assimilates its history, +its value, its artistic merit, its every detail in one practiced glance.</p> + +<p>"I think we may take up this matter for you, Mr. Gatewood," he said, +smiling his singularly agreeable smile.</p> + +<p>"But—but you would first desire to know something about me—would you +not?"</p> + +<p>Keen looked at him: "You will not mistake me—you will consider it +entirely inoffensive—if I say that I know something about you, Mr. +Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"About <i>me</i>? How can you? Of course, there is the social register and +the club lists and all that—"</p> + +<p>"And many, many sources of information which are necessary in such a +business as this, Mr. Gatewood. It is a necessity for us to be almost +as well informed as our clients' own lawyers. I could pay you no +sincerer compliment than to undertake your case. I am half inclined to +do so even <i>without</i> a retainer. Mind, I haven't yet said that I <i>will</i> +take it."</p> + +<p>"I prefer to regulate any possible indebtedness in advance," said +Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"As you wish," replied the older man, smiling. "In that case, suppose +you draw your check" (he handed Gatewood a fountain pen as the young man +fished a check-book from his pocket)—"your check for—well, say for +$5,000, to the order of Keen & Co."</p> + +<p>Gatewood met his eye without wincing; he was in for it now; and he was +always perfectly game. He had brought it upon himself; it was his own +proposition. Not that he would have for a moment considered the sum as +high—or any sum exorbitant—if there had been a chance of success; one +cannot compare and weigh such matters. But how could there be any chance +for success?</p> + +<p>As he slowly smoothed out the check and stub, pen poised, Keen was +saying: "Of course, we should succeed sooner or later—if we took up +your case. We might succeed to-morrow—to-day. That would mean a large +profit for us. But we might not succeed to-day, or next month, or even +next year. That would leave us little or no profit; and, as it is our +custom to go on until we do succeed, no matter how long it may require, +you see, Mr. Gatewood, I should be taking all sorts of chances. It might +even cost us double your retainer before we found her—"</p> + +<p>"Her? How did—<i>why</i> do you say '<i>her</i>'?"</p> + +<p>"Am I wrong?" asked Keen, smiling.</p> + +<p>"No—you are right."</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons sank into abstraction again. Gatewood waited, +hoping that his case might be declined, yet ready to face any music +started at his own request.</p> + +<p>"She is young," mused Keen aloud, "very beautiful and accomplished. <i>Is</i> +she wealthy?" He looked up mildly.</p> + +<p>Gatewood said: "I don't know—the truth is I don't care—" And stopped.</p> + +<p>"O-ho!" mused Keen slowly. "I—think—I understand. Am I wrong, Mr. +Gatewood, in surmising that this young lady whom you seek is, in your +eyes, very—I may say ideally gifted?"</p> + +<p>"She is my ideal," replied the young man, coloring.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. And—her general allure?"</p> + +<p>"Charming!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly; but to be a trifle more precise—if you could give me a +sketch, an idea, a mere outline delicately tinted, now. <i>Is</i> she more +blond than brunette?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—but her eyes are brown. I—I insist on that."</p> + +<p>"Why should you not? <i>You</i> know her; I don't," said Keen, laughing. "I +merely wished to form a mental picture. . . . You say her hair is—is—"</p> + +<p>"It's full of sunny color; that's all I can say."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly—I see. A rare and lovely combination with brown eyes and +creamy skin, Mr. Gatewood. I fancy she might be, perhaps, an inch or two +under your height?"</p> + +<p>"Just about that. Her hands should be—<i>are</i> beautiful—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. The ensemble is most vividly portrayed, Mr. Gatewood; +and—you have intimated that her lack of fortune—er—we might almost +say her pecuniary distress—is more than compensated for by her +accomplishments, character, and very unusual beauty. . . . <i>Did</i> I so +understand you, Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I meant, anyhow," he said, flushing up.</p> + +<p>"You <i>did</i> mean it?"</p> + +<p>"I did: I do."</p> + +<p>"Then we take your case, Mr. Gatewood. . . . No haste about the check, +my dear sir—pray consider us at your service."</p> + +<p>But Gatewood doggedly filled in the check and handed it to the Tracer of +Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"I wish you happiness," said the older man in a low voice. "The lady you +describe exists; it is for us to discover her."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," stammered Gatewood, astounded.</p> + +<p>Keen touched an electric button; a moment later a young girl entered the +room.</p> + +<p>"Miss Southerland, Mr. Gatewood. Will you be kind enough to take Mr. +Gatewood's dictation in Room 19?"</p> + +<p>For a second Gatewood stared—as though in the young girl before him the +ghost of his ideal had risen to confront him—only for a second; then he +bowed, matching her perfect acknowledgment of his presence by a bearing +and courtesy which must have been inbred to be so faultless.</p> + +<p>And he followed her to Room 19.</p> + +<p>What had Keen meant by saying, "The lady you describe exists!" Did this +remarkable elderly gentleman suspect that it was to be a hunt for an +ideal? Had he deliberately entered into such a bargain? Impossible!</p> + +<p>His disturbed thoughts reverted to the terms of the bargain, the entire +enterprise, the figures on his check. His own amazing imbecility +appalled him. What idiocy! What sudden madness had seized him to +entangle himself in such unheard-of negotiations! True, he had played +bridge until dawn the night before, but, on awaking, he had discovered +no perceptible hold-over. It must have been sheer weakness of intellect +that permitted him to be dominated by the suggestions of Kerns. And now +the game was on: the jack declared, cards dealt, and his ante was up. +Had he openers?</p> + +<p>Room 19, duly labeled with its number on the opaque glass door, +contained a desk, a table and typewriter, several comfortable chairs, +and a window opening on Fifth Avenue, through which the eastern sun +poured a stream of glory, washing curtain, walls, and ceiling with +palest gold.</p> + +<p>And all this time, preoccupied with new impressions and his own growing +chagrin, he watched the girl who conducted him with all the unconscious +assurance and grace of a young chatelaine passing through her own domain +under escort of a distinguished guest.</p> + +<p>When they had entered Room 19, she half turned, but he forestalled her +and closed the door, and she passed before him with a perceptible +inclination of her finely modeled head, seating herself at the desk by +the open window. He took an armchair at her elbow and removed his +gloves, looking at her expectantly.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_III'></a><h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"This is a list of particular and general questions for you to answer, +Mr. Gatewood," she said, handing him a long slip of printed matter. "The +replies to such questions as you are able or willing to answer you may +dictate to me." The beauty of her modulated voice was scarcely a +surprise—no woman who moved and carried herself as did this tall young +girl in black and white could reasonably be expected to speak with less +distinction—yet the charm of her voice, from the moment her lips +unclosed, so engrossed him that the purport of her speech escaped him.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind saying it once more?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She did so; he attempted to concentrate his attention, and succeeded +sufficiently to look as though some vestige of intellect remained in +him. He saw her pick up a pad and pencil; the contour and grace of two +deliciously fashioned hands arrested his mental process once more.</p> + +<p>"I <i>beg</i> your pardon," he said hastily; "what were you saying, Miss +Southerland?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Mr. Gatewood. I did not speak." And he realized, hazily, that +she had not spoken—that it was the subtle eloquence of her youth and +loveliness that had appealed like a sudden voice—a sound faintly +exquisite echoing his own thought of her.</p> + +<p>Troubled, he looked at the slip of paper in his hand; it was headed:</p> + +<center>SPECIAL DESCRIPTION BLANK<br /> +(<i>Form K</i>)</center> + +<p>And he read it as carefully as he was able to—the curious little clamor +of his pulses, the dazed sense of elation, almost of expectation, +distracting his attention all the time.</p> + +<p>"I wish you would read it to me," he said; "that would give me time to +think up answers."</p> + +<p>"If you wish," she assented pleasantly, swinging around toward him in +her desk chair. Then she crossed one knee over the other to support the +pad, and, bending above it, lifted her brown eyes. She could have done +nothing in the world more distracting at that moment.</p> + +<p>"What is the sex of the person you desire to find, Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"Her sex? I—well, I fancy it is feminine."</p> + +<p>She wrote after "Sex" the words "She is probably feminine"; looked at +him absently, glanced at what she had written, flushed a little, rubbed +out the "she is probably," wondering why a moment's mental wandering +should have committed her to absurdity.</p> + +<p>"Married?" she asked with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, startled; then, vexed, "I beg your pardon—you mean to +ask if <i>she</i> is married!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't mean <i>you</i>, Mr. Gatewood; it's the next question, you +see"—she held out the blank toward him. "Is the person you are looking +for married?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; she isn't married, either—at least—trust—not—because if she +<i>is</i> I don't want to find her!" he ended, entangled in an explanation +which threatened to involve him deeper than he desired. And, looking up, +he saw the beautiful brown eyes regarding him steadily. They reverted to +the paper at once, and the white fingers sent the pencil flying.</p> + +<p>"He trusts that she is unmarried, but if she <i>is</i> (underlined) married +he doesn't want to find her," she wrote.</p> + +<p>"That," she explained, "goes under the head of 'General Remarks' at the +bottom of the page"—she held it out, pointing with her pencil. He +nodded, staring at her slender hand.</p> + +<p>"Age?" she continued, setting the pad firmly on her rounded, yielding +knee and looking up at him.</p> + +<p>"Age? Well, I—as a matter of fact, I could only venture a surmise. You +know," he said earnestly, "how difficult it is to guess ages, don't you, +Miss Southerland?"</p> + +<p>"How old do you <i>think</i> she is? Could you not hazard a guess—judging, +say, from her appearance?"</p> + +<p>"I have no data—no experience to guide me." He was becoming involved +again. "Would you, for practice, permit me first to guess your age, Miss +Southerland?"</p> + +<p>"Why—yes—if you think that might help you to guess hers."</p> + +<p>So he leaned back in his armchair and considered her a very long +time—having a respectable excuse to do so. Twenty times he forgot he +was looking at her for any purpose except that of disinterested delight, +and twenty times he remembered with a guilty wince that it was a matter +of business.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I had better tell you," she suggested, her color rising a +little under his scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"Is it eighteen? Just <i>her</i> age!"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-one, Mr. Gatewood—and you <i>said</i> you didn't know her age."</p> + +<p>"I have just remembered that I <i>thought</i> it might be eighteen; but I +dare say I was shy three years in her case, too. You may put it down at +twenty-one."</p> + +<p>For the slightest fraction of a second the brown eyes rested on his, the +pencil hovered in hesitation. Then the eyes fell, and the moving fingers +wrote.</p> + +<p>"Did you write 'twenty-one'?" he inquired carelessly.</p> + +<p>"I did not, Mr. Gatewood."</p> + +<p>"What did you write?"</p> + +<p>"I wrote: 'He doesn't appear to know much about her age.'"</p> + +<p>"But I <i>do</i> know—"</p> + +<p>"You said—" They looked at one another earnestly.</p> + +<p>"The next question," she continued with composure, "is: 'Date and place +of birth?' Can you answer any part of <i>that</i> question?"</p> + +<p>"I trust I may be able to—some day. . . . What <i>are</i> you writing?"</p> + +<p>"I'm writing: 'He trusts he may be able to, some day.' Wasn't that what +you said?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did say that. I—I'm not perfectly sure what I meant by it."</p> + +<p>She passed to the next question:</p> + +<p>"Height?"</p> + +<p>"About five feet six," he said, fascinated gaze on her.</p> + +<p>"Hair?"</p> + +<p>"More gold than brown—full of—er—gleams—" She looked up quickly; his +eyes reverted to the window rather suddenly. He had been looking at her +hair.</p> + +<p>"Complexion?" she continued after a shade of hesitation.</p> + +<p>"It's a sort of delicious mixture—bisque, tinted with a pinkish +bloom—ivory and rose—" He was explaining volubly, when she began to +shake her head, timing each shake to his words.</p> + +<p>"Really, Mr. Gatewood, I think you are hopelessly vague on that +point—unless you desire to convey the impression that she is speckled."</p> + +<p>"Speckled!" he repeated, horrified. "Why, I am describing a woman who is +my ideal of beauty—"</p> + +<p>But she had already gone to the next question:</p> + +<p>"Teeth?"</p> + +<p>"P-p-perfect p-p-pearls!" he stammered. The laughing red mouth closed +like a flower at dusk, veiling the sparkle of her teeth.</p> + +<p>Was he trying to be impertinent? Was he deliberately describing her? He +did not look like that sort of man; yet <i>why</i> was he watching her so +closely, so curiously at every question? Why did he look at her teeth +when she laughed?</p> + +<p>"Eyes?" Her own dared him to continue what, coincidence or not, was +plainly a description of herself.</p> + +<p>"B-b-b—" He grew suddenly timorous, hesitating, pretending to a +perplexity which was really a healthy scare. For she was frowning.</p> + +<p>"Curious I can't think of the color of her eyes," he said; "is—isn't +it?"</p> + +<p>She coldly inspected her pad and made a correction; but all she did was +to rub out a comma and put another in its place. Meanwhile, Gatewood, +chin in his hand, sat buried in profound thought. "<i>Were</i> they blue?" he +murmured to himself aloud, "or <i>were</i> they brown? Blue begins with a <i>b</i> +and brown begins with a <i>b</i>. I'm convinced that her eyes began with a +<i>b</i>. They were not, therefore, gray or green, because," he added in a +burst of confidence, "it is utterly impossible to spell gray or green +with a <i>b</i>!"</p> + +<p>Miss Southerland looked slightly astonished.</p> + +<p>"All you can recollect, then, is that the color of her eyes began with +the letter <i>b</i>?"</p> + +<p>"That is absolutely all I can remember; but I <i>think</i> they +<i>were</i>—brown."</p> + +<p>"If they <i>were</i> brown they must be brown now," she observed, looking out +of the window.</p> + +<p>"That's true! Isn't it curious I never thought of that? What are you +writing?"</p> + +<p>"Brown," she said, so briefly that it sounded something like a snub.</p> + +<p>"Mouth?" inquired the girl, turning a new leaf on her pad.</p> + +<p>"Perfect. Write it: there is no other term fit to describe its color, +shape, its sensitive beauty, its—<i>What</i> did you write just then?"</p> + +<p>"I wrote, 'Mouth, ordinary.'"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to! I want—"</p> + +<p>"Really, Mr. Gatewood, a rhapsody on a girl's mouth is proper in poetry, +but scarcely germane to the record of a purely business transaction. +Please answer the next question tersely, if you don't mind: 'Figure?'"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I <i>do</i> mind! I can't! Any poem is much too brief to describe her +figure—"</p> + +<p>"Shall we say 'Perfect'?" asked the girl, raising her brown eyes in a +glimmering transition from vexation to amusement. For, after all, it +could be <i>only</i> a coincidence that this young man should be describing +features peculiar to herself.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you write, 'Venus-of-Milo-like'?" he inquired. "That is +laconic."</p> + +<p>"I could—if it's true. But if you mean it for praise—I—don't think +any modern woman would be flattered."</p> + +<p>"I always supposed that she of Milo had an ideal figure," he said, +perplexed.</p> + +<p>She wrote, "A good figure." Then, propping her rounded chin on one +lovely white hand, she glanced at the next question:</p> + +<p>"Hands?"</p> + +<p>"White, beautiful, rose-tipped, slender yet softly and firmly rounded—"</p> + +<p>"How <i>can</i> they be soft and firm, too, Mr. Gatewood?" she protested; +then, surprising his guilty eyes fixed on her hands, hastily dropped +them and sat up straight, level-browed, cold as marble. <i>Was</i> he +deliberately being rude to her?</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV'></a><h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>As a matter of fact, he was not. Too poor in imagination to invent, on +the spur of the moment, charms and qualities suited to his ideal, he +had, at first unconsciously, taken as a model the girl before him; quite +unconsciously and innocently at first—then furtively, and with a +dawning perception of the almost flawless beauty he was secretly +plagiarizing. Aware, now, that something had annoyed her; aware, too, at +the same moment that there appeared to be nothing lacking in her to +satisfy his imagination of the ideal, he began to turn redder than he +had ever turned in all his life.</p> + +<p>Several minutes of sixty seconds each ensued before he ventured to stir +a finger. And it was only when she bent again very gravely over her pad +that he cautiously eased a cramped muscle or two, and drew a breath—a +long, noiseless, deep and timid respiration. He realized the enormity of +what he had been doing—how close he had come to giving unpardonable +offense by drawing a perfect portrait of her as the person he desired to +find through the good offices of Keen & Co.</p> + +<p>But there was no such person—unless she had a double: for what more +could a man desire than the ideal traits he had been able to describe +only by using her as his inspiration.</p> + +<p>When he ventured to look at her, one glance was enough to convince him +that she, too, had noticed the parallel—had been forced to recognize +her own features in the portrait he had constructed of an ideal. And she +had caught him in absent-minded contemplation of the hands he had been +describing. He knew that his face was the face of a guilty man.</p> + +<p>"What is the next question?" he stammered, eager to answer it in a +manner calculated to allay her suspicions.</p> + +<p>"The next question?" She glanced at the list, then with a voice of +velvet which belied the eyes, clear as frosty brown pools in November: +"The next question requires a description of her feet."</p> + +<p>"Feet! Oh—-they—they're rather large—why, her feet are enormous, I +believe—"</p> + +<p>She looked at him as though stunned; suddenly a flood of pink spread, +wave on wave, from the white nape of her neck to her hair; she bent low +over her pad and wrote something, remaining in that attitude until her +face cooled.</p> + +<p>"Somehow or other I've done it again!" he thought, horrified. "The best +thing I can do is to end it and go home."</p> + +<p>In his distress he began to hedge, saying: "Of course, she is rather +tall and her feet are in some sort of proportion—in fact, they are +perfectly symmetrical feet—"</p> + +<p>Never in his life had he encountered a pair of such angrily beautiful +eyes. Speech stopped with a dry gulp.</p> + +<p>"We now come to 'General Remarks,'" she said in a voice made absolutely +steady and emotionless. "Have you any remarks of that description to +offer, Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"I'm willing to make remarks," he said, "if I only knew what you wished +me to say."</p> + +<p>She mused, eyes on the sunny window, then looked up. "Where did you last +see her?"</p> + +<p>"Near Fifth Avenue."</p> + +<p>"And what street?"</p> + +<p>He named the street.</p> + +<p>"Near <i>here</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Rather," he said timidly.</p> + +<p>She ruffled the edges of her pad, wrote something and erased it, bit her +scarlet upper lip, and frowned.</p> + +<p>"Out of doors, of course?"</p> + +<p>"No; indoors," he admitted furtively.</p> + +<p>She looked up with a movement almost nervous.</p> + +<p>"Do you dare—I mean, care—to be more concise?"</p> + +<p>"I would rather not," he replied in a voice from which he hoped he had +expelled the tremors of alarm.</p> + +<p>"As you please, Mr. Gatewood. And would you care to answer any of these +other questions: Who and what are or were her parents? Give all +particulars concerning all her relatives. Is she employed or not? What +are her social, financial, and general circumstances? Her character, +personal traits, aims, interests, desires? Has she any vices? Any +virtues? Talents? Ambitions? Caprices? Fads? Are you in love with her? +Is—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I am."</p> + +<p>"Is she in love with you?"</p> + +<p>"No; she hates me—I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"Is she in love with anybody?"</p> + +<p>"That is a very difficult—"</p> + +<p>The girl wrote: "He doesn't know," with a satisfaction apparently +causeless.</p> + +<p>"Is she a relative of yours, Mr. Gatewood?" very sweetly.</p> + +<p>"No, Miss Southerland," very positively.</p> + +<p>"You—you desire to marry her—you say?"</p> + +<p>"I do. But I didn't say it."</p> + +<p>She was silent; then:</p> + +<p>"What is her name?" in a low voice which started several agreeable +thrills chasing one another over him.</p> + +<p>"I—I decline to answer," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"On what grounds, Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>He looked her full in the eyes; suddenly he bent forward and gazed at +the printed paper from which she had been apparently reading.</p> + +<p>"Why, all those questions you are scaring me with are not there!" he +exclaimed indignantly. "You are making them up?"</p> + +<p>"I—I know, but"—she was flushing furiously—"but they are on the other +forms—some of them. Can't you see you are answering 'Form K'? That is a +special form—"</p> + +<p>"But why do you ask me questions that are <i>not</i> on Form K?"</p> + +<p>"Because it is my duty to do all I can to secure evidence which may lead +to the discovery of the person you desire to find. I—I assure you, Mr, +Gatewood, this duty is not—not always agreeable—and some people make +it harder still."</p> + +<p>Gatewood looked out of the window. Various emotions—-among them shame, +mortification, chagrin—pervaded him, and chased each other along his +nervous system, coloring his neck and ears a fiery red for the +enlightenment of any observer.</p> + +<p>"I—I did not mean to offend you," said the girl in a low voice—such a +gently regretful voice that Gatewood swung around in his chair.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing I would not be glad to tell you about the woman I have +fallen in love with," he said. "She is overwhelmingly lovely; and—when +I dare—I will tell you her name and where I first saw her—and where I +saw her last—if you desire. Shall I?"</p> + +<p>"It would be advisable. When will you do this?"</p> + +<p>"When I dare."</p> + +<p>"You—you don't dare—now?"</p> + +<p>"No . . . not now."</p> + +<p>She absently wrote on her pad: "He doesn't dare tell me now." Then, with +head still bent, she lifted her mischief-making, trouble-breeding brown +eyes to his once more.</p> + +<p>"I am to come here, of course, to consult you?" he asked dizzily.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen will receive you—"</p> + +<p>"He may be busy."</p> + +<p>"He may be," she repeated dreamily.</p> + +<p>"So—I'll ask for you."</p> + +<p>"We <i>could</i> write you, Mr. Gatewood."</p> + +<p>He said hastily: "It's no trouble for me to come; I walk every +morning."</p> + +<p>"But there would be no use, I think, in your coming very soon. All +I—all Mr. Keen could do for a while would be to report progress—"</p> + +<p>"That is all I dare look for: progress—for the present."</p> + +<p>During the time that he remained—which was not very long—neither of +them spoke until he arose to take his departure.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Miss Southerland. I hope you may find the person I have been +searching for."</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. . . . I hope we shall; . . . but +I—don't—know."</p> + +<p>And, as a matter of fact, she did not know; she was rather excited over +nothing, apparently; and also somewhat preoccupied with several rather +disturbing emotions the species of which she was interested in +determining. But to label and catalogue each of these emotions +separately required privacy and leisure to think—and she also wished to +look very earnestly at the reflection of her own face in the mirror of +her own chamber. For it is a trifle exciting—though but an innocent +coincidence—to be compared, feature by feature, to a young man's ideal. +As far as that went, she excelled it, too; and, as she stood by the +desk, alone, gathering up her notes, she suddenly bent over and lifted +the hem of her gown a trifle—sufficient to reassure herself that the +dainty pair of shoes she wore, would have baffled the efforts of any +Venus ever sculptured. And she was perfectly right.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she thought to herself, "his ideal runaway hasn't enormous +feet. He, too, must have been struck with the similarity between me and +his ideal, and when he realized that I also noticed it, he was +frightened by my frown into saying that her feet were enormous. How +silly! . . . For I didn't <i>mean</i> to frighten him. . . . He frightened +me—once or twice—I mean he irritated me—no, interested me, is what I +<i>do</i> mean. . . . Heigho! I wonder why she ran away? I wonder why he +can't find her? . . . It's—it's silly to run away from a man like that. +. . . Heigho! . . . She doesn't deserve to be found. There is nothing to +be afraid of—nothing to alarm anybody in a man like that."</p> + +<p>So she gathered up her notes and walked slowly out and across to the +private office of the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"Come in," said the Tracer when she knocked. He was using the telephone; +she seated herself rather listlessly beside the window, where spring +sunshine lay in gilded patches on the rug and spring breezes stirred +the curtains. She was a little tired, but there seemed to be no good +reason why. Yet, with the soft wind blowing on her cheek, the languor +grew; she rested her face on one closed hand, shutting her eyes.</p> + +<p>When they opened again it was to meet the fixed gaze of Mr. Keen.</p> + +<p>"Oh—I beg your pardon!"</p> + +<p>"There is no need of it, child. Be seated. Never mind that report just +now." He paced the length of the room once or twice, hands clasped +behind him; then, halting to confront her:</p> + +<p>"What sort of a man is this young Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"What <i>sort</i>, Mr. Keen? Why—I think he is the—the sort—that—"</p> + +<p>"I see that you don't think much of him," said Keen, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed I did not mean that at all; I mean that he appeared to +be—to be—"</p> + +<p>"Rather a cad?"</p> + +<p>"Why, <i>no</i>!" she said, flushing up. "He is absolutely well-bred, Mr. +Keen."</p> + +<p>"You received no unpleasant impression of him?"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary!" she said rather warmly—for it hurt her sense of +justice that Keen should so misjudge even a stranger in whom she had no +personal interest.</p> + +<p>"You think he looks like an honest man?"</p> + +<p>"Honest?" She was rosy with annoyance. "Have you any idea that he is +dishonest?"</p> + +<p>"Have you?"</p> + +<p>"Not the slightest," she said with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"Suppose a man should set us hunting for a person who does not exist—on +our terms, which are no payment unless successful? Would that be +honest?" asked Keen gravely.</p> + +<p>"Did—did <i>he</i> do that?"</p> + +<p>"No, child."</p> + +<p>"I knew he <i>couldn't</i> do such a thing!"</p> + +<p>"No, he—er—couldn't, because I wouldn't allow it—not that he tried +to!" added Keen hastily as the indignant brown eyes sparkled ominously. +"Really, Miss Southerland, he must be all you say he is, for he has a +stanch champion to vouch for him."</p> + +<p>"All I <i>say</i> he is? I haven't said anything about him!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Keen nodded. "<i>Ex</i>actly. Let us drop him for a moment. . . . Are you +perfectly well, Miss Southerland?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of it. You are a trifle pale; you seem to be a little +languid. . . . When do you take your vacation?"</p> + +<p>"You suggested May, I believe," she said wistfully.</p> + +<p>The Tracer leaned back in his chair, joining the tips of his fingers +reflectively.</p> + +<p>"Miss Southerland," he said, "you have been with us a year. I thought it +might interest you to know that I am exceedingly pleased with you."</p> + +<p>She colored charmingly.</p> + +<p>"But," he added, "I'm terribly afraid we're going to lose you."</p> + +<p>"Why?" she asked, startled.</p> + +<p>"However," he continued, ignoring her half-frightened question with a +smile, "I am going to promote you—for faithful and efficient service."</p> + +<p>"O-h!"</p> + +<p>"With an agreeable increase of salary, and new duties which will take +you into the open air. . . . You ride?"</p> + +<p>"I—I used to before—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly; before you were obliged to earn your living. Please have +yourself measured for habit and boots this afternoon. I shall arrange +for horse, saddle, and groom. You will spend most of your time riding +in the Park—for the present."</p> + +<p>"But—Mr. Keen—am I to be one of your agents—a sort of detective?"</p> + +<p>Keen regarded her absently, then crossed one leg over the other.</p> + +<p>"Read me your notes," he said with a smile.</p> + +<p>She read them, folded them, and he took them from her, thoughtfully +regarding her.</p> + +<p>"Did you know that your mother and I were children together?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No!" She stared. "Is <i>that</i> why you sent for me that day at the school +of stenography?"</p> + +<p>"That is why . . . When I learned that my playmate—your mother—was +dead, is it not reasonable to suppose that I should wish her daughter to +have a chance?"</p> + +<p>Miss Southerland looked at him steadily.</p> + +<p>"She was like you—when she married . . . I never married . . . Do you +wonder that I sent for you, child?"</p> + +<p>Nothing but the clock ticking there in the sunny room, and an old man +staring into two dimmed brown eyes, and the little breezes at the open +window whispering of summers past.</p> + +<p>"This young man, Gatewood," said the Tracer, clearing his voice of its +hoarseness—"this young man ought to be all right, if I did not +misjudge his father—years ago, child, years ago. And he <i>is</i> all +right—" He half turned toward a big letter-file; "his record is clean, +so far. The trouble with him is idleness. He ought to marry."</p> + +<p>"Isn't he trying to?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"It looks like it. Miss Southerland, we <i>must</i> find this woman!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I don't see how you are going to—on such slight +information—"</p> + +<p>"Information! Child, I have all I want—all I could desire." He laughed, +passing his hands over his gray hair. "We are going to find the girl he +is in love with before the week ends!"</p> + +<p>"Do you really think so?" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. But you must do a great deal in this case."</p> + +<p>"I?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly."</p> + +<p>"And—and what am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"Ride in the Park, child! And if you see Mr. Gatewood, don't you dare +take your eyes off him for one moment. Watch him; observe everything he +does. If he should recognize you and speak to you, be as amiable to him +as though it were not by my orders."</p> + +<p>"Then—then I <i>am</i> to be a detective!" she faltered.</p> + +<p>The Tracer did not appear to hear her. He took up the notes, turned to +the telephone, and began to send out a general alarm, reading the +description of the person whom Gatewood had described. The vast, +intricate and delicate machinery under his control was being set in +motion all over the Union.</p> + +<p>"Not that I expect to find her outside the borough of Manhattan," he +said, smiling, as he hung up the receiver and turned to her; "but it's +as well to know how many types of that species exist in this Republic, +and who they are—in case any other young man comes here raving of brown +eyes and 'gleams' in the hair."</p> + +<p>Miss Southerland, to her own intense consternation, blushed.</p> + +<p>"I think you had better order that habit at once," said the Tracer +carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Mr. Keen," she asked tremulously, "am I to spy upon Mr. +Gatewood? And report to you? . . . For I simply cannot bear to do it—"</p> + +<p>"Child, you need report nothing unless you desire to. And when there is +something to report, it will be about the woman I am searching for. +<i>Don't</i> you understand? I have already located her. You will find her +in the Park. And when you are <i>sure</i> she is the right one—and if you +care to report it to me—I shall be ready to listen . . . I am always +ready to listen to you."</p> + +<p>"But—I warn you, Mr. Keen, that I have perfect faith in the honor of +Mr. Gatewood. I <i>know</i> that I could have nothing unworthy to report."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, studying her with +eyes that were not quite clear. "Now, I think you had better order that +habit . . . Your mother sat her saddle perfectly . . . We rode very +often—my lost playmate and I."</p> + +<p>He turned, hands clasped behind his back, absently pacing the room, +backward, forward, there in the spring sunshine. Nor did he notice her +lingering, nor mark her as she stole from the room, brown eyes saddened +and thoughtful, wondering, too, that there should be in the world so +much room for sorrow.</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/image-2.jpg' height='75%' alt=""'I am sure of it,' said the Tracer of Lost Persons."" title=''> +</center> +<div class='caption'><p>"'I am sure of it,' said the Tracer of Lost Persons."</p></div> +<br /> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_V'></a><h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Gatewood, burdened with restlessness and gnawed by curiosity, consumed a +week in prowling about the edifice where Keen & Co. carried on an +interesting profession.</p> + +<p>His first visit resulted merely in a brief interview with Mr. Keen, who +smilingly reported progress and suavely bowed him out. He looked about +for Miss Southerland as he was leaving, but did not see her.</p> + +<p>On his second visit he mustered the adequate courage to ask for her, and +experienced a curiously sickly sensation when informed that Miss +Southerland was no longer employed in the bureau of statistics, having +been promoted to an outside position of great responsibility. His third +visit proved anything but satisfactory. He sidled and side-stepped for +ten minutes before he dared ask Mr. Keen <i>where</i> Miss Southerland had +gone. And when the Tracer replied that, considering the business he had +undertaken for Mr. Gatewood, he really could not see why Mr. Gatewood +should interest himself concerning the whereabouts of Miss Southerland, +the young man had nothing to say, and escaped as soon as possible, +enraged at himself, at Mr. Keen, and vaguely holding the entire world +guilty of conspiracy.</p> + +<p>He had no definite idea of what he wanted, except that his desire to see +Miss Southerland again seemed out of all proportion to any reasonable +motive for seeing her. Occasional fits of disgust with himself for what +he had done were varied with moody hours of speculation. Suppose Mr. +Keen did find his ideal? What of it? He no longer wanted to see her. He +had no use for her. The savor of the enterprise had gone stale in his +mouth; he was by turns worried, restless, melancholy, sulky, uneasy. A +vast emptiness pervaded his life. He smoked more and more and ate less +and less. He even disliked to see others eat, particularly Kerns.</p> + +<p>And one exquisite May morning he came down to breakfast and found the +unspeakable Kerns immersed in grapefruit, calm, well balanced, and +bland.</p> + +<p>"How-de-dee, dear friend?" said that gentleman affably. "Any news from +Cupid this beautiful May morning?"</p> + +<p>"No; and I don't want any," returned Gatewood, sorting his mail with a +scowl and waving away his fruit.</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut! Lovers must be patient. Dearie will be found some day—"</p> + +<p>"Some day," snarled Gatewood, "I shall destroy you, Tommy."</p> + +<p>"Naughty! Naughty!" reflected Kerns, pensively assaulting the breakfast +food. "Lovey must <i>not</i> worry; Dovey shall be found, and all will be joy +and gingerbread. . . . If you throw that orange I'll run screaming to +the governors. Aren't you ashamed—just because you're in a love +tantrum!"</p> + +<p>"One more word and you get it!"</p> + +<p>"May I sing as I trifle with this frugal fare, dear friend? My heart is +<i>so</i> happy that I should love to warble a few wild notes—"</p> + +<p>He paused to watch his badgered victim dispose of a Martini.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," he mused, "if you'd like me to tell you what a cocktail +before breakfast does to the lining of your stomach? Would you?"</p> + +<p>"No. I suppose it's what the laundress does to my linen. What do I +care?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't</i> be a short sport, Jack."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't care for the game you put me up against. Do you know what +has happened?"</p> + +<p>"I really don't, dear friend. The Tracer of Lost Persons has not found +her—<i>has</i> he?"</p> + +<p>"He says he has," retorted Gatewood sullenly, pulling a crumpled +telegram from his pocket and casting it upon the table. "I don't want to +see her; I'm not interested. I never saw but one girl in my life who +interested me in the slightest; and she's employed to help in this +ridiculous search."</p> + +<p>Kerns, meanwhile, had smoothed out the telegram and was intently +perusing it:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"<i>John Gatewood, Lenox Club, Fifth Avenue:</i> + +<p> "Person probably discovered. Call here as soon as possible.</p> + +<p> W. KEEN."</p></div> + +<p>"<i>What</i> do you make of that?" demanded Gatewood hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Make of it? Why, it's true enough, I fancy. Go and see, and if it's +she, be hers!"</p> + +<p>"I won't! I don't want to see any ideal! I don't want to marry. Why do +you try to make me marry somebody?"</p> + +<p>"Because it's good for you, dear friend. Otherwise you'll go to the +doggy-dogs. You don't realize how much worry you are to me."</p> + +<p>"Confound it! Why don't <i>you</i> marry? Why didn't I ask you that when you +put me up to all this foolishness? What right have you to—"</p> + +<p>"Tut, friend! <i>I</i> know there's no woman alive fit to wed me and spend +her life in stealing kisses from me. <i>I</i> have no ideal. <i>You</i> have an +ideal."</p> + +<p>"I haven't!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, dear friend, there's a stub in your check book to prove it. +You simply bet $5,000 that your ideal existed. You've won. Go and be her +joy and sunshine."</p> + +<p>"I'll put an end to this whole business," said Gatewood wrathfully, "and +I'll do it now!"</p> + +<p>"Bet you that you're engaged within the week!" said Kerns with a placid +smile.</p> + +<p>The other swung around savagely: "What will you bet, Tommy? You may have +what odds you please. I'll make you sit up for this."</p> + +<p>"I'll bet you," answered Kerns, deliberately, "an entire silver dinner +service against a saddle horse for the bride."</p> + +<p>"That's a fool bet!" snapped Gatewood. "What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you don't care to—"</p> + +<p>"What do I want of a silver service? But, all right; I'll bet you +anything."</p> + +<p>"<i>She'll</i> want it," replied Kerns significantly, booking the bet. "I may +as well canter out to Tiffany's this morning, I fancy. . . . Where are +you going, Jack?"</p> + +<p>"To see Keen and confess what an ass I've been!" returned Gatewood +sullenly, striding across the breakfast room to take his hat and gloves +from the rack. And out he went, mad all over.</p> + +<p>On his way up the avenue he attempted to formulate the humiliating +confession which already he shrank from. But it had to be done. He +simply could not stand the prospect of being notified month after month +that a lady would be on view somewhere. It was like going for a fitting; +it was horrible. Besides, what use was it? Within a week or two an +enormous and utterly inexplicable emptiness had yawned before him, +revealing life as a hollow delusion. He no longer cared.</p> + +<p>Immersed in bitter reflection, he climbed the familiar stairway and sent +his card to Mr. Keen, and in due time he was ushered into the presence +of the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen," he began, with a headlong desire to get it over and be done +with it, "I may as well tell you how impossible it is for you, or +anybody, to find that person I described—"</p> + +<p>Mr. Keen raised an expostulatory hand, smiling indulgence.</p> + +<p>"It is more than possible, Mr. Gatewood, more than probable; it is +almost an accomplished fact. In other words, I think I may venture to +congratulate you and say that she <i>is</i> found."</p> + +<p>"Now, <i>how</i> can she be found, when there isn't—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gatewood, the magician will always wave his magic wand for you and +show you his miracles for the price of admission. But for that price he +does not show you how he works his miracles," said Keen, laughing.</p> + +<p>"But I ought to tell you," persisted Gatewood, "that it is utterly +impossible you should find the person I wished to discover, because +she—"</p> + +<p>"I can only prove that you are wrong," smiled Keen, rising from his easy +chair.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen," said the young man earnestly, "I have been more or less of a +chump at times. One of those times was when I came here on this errand. +All I desire, now, is to let the matter rest as it is. I am satisfied, +and you have lost nothing. Nor have you found anything or anybody. You +think you have, but you haven't. I do not wish you to continue the +search, or to send me any further reports. I want to forget the whole +miserable matter—to be free—to feel myself freed from any obligations +to that irritating person I asked you to find."</p> + +<p>The Tracer regarded him very gravely.</p> + +<p>"Is that your wish, Mr. Gatewood? I can scarcely credit it."</p> + +<p>"It is. I've been a fool; I simply want to stop being one if anybody +will permit it."</p> + +<p>"And you decline to attempt to identify the very beautiful person we +have discovered to be the individual for whom you asked us to search?"</p> + +<p>"I do. She may be beautiful; but I know well enough she can't compare +with—some one."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," said Keen thoughtfully. "We take so much pride in these +matters. When one of my agents discovered where this person was, I was +rather—happy; for I have taken a peculiar personal interest in your +case. However—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen," said Gatewood, "if you could understand how ashamed and +mortified I am at my own conduct—"</p> + +<p>Keen gazed pensively out of the window. "I also am sorry; Miss +Southerland was to have received a handsome bonus for her discovery—"</p> + +<p>"Miss S-S-S-S-outherland!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly; without quite so many <i>S</i>'s," said Keen, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Did <i>she</i> discover that—that person?" exclaimed the young man, +startled.</p> + +<p>"She thinks she has. I am not sure she is correct; but I am absolutely +certain that Miss Southerland could eventually discover the person you +were in search of. It seems a little hard on her—just on the eve of +success—to lose. But that can't be helped now."</p> + +<p>Gatewood, more excited and uncomfortable than he had ever been in all +his life, watched Keen intently.</p> + +<p>"Too bad, too bad," muttered the Tracer to himself. "The child needs the +encouragement. It meant a thousand dollars to her—" He shrugged his +shoulders, looked up, and, as though rather surprised to see Gatewood +still there, smiled an impersonal smile and offered his hand in adieu. +Gatewood winced.</p> + +<p>"Could I—I see Miss Southerland?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid not. She is at this moment following my instructions +to—but that cannot interest you now—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it does!—if you don't mind. Where is she? I—I'll take a look at +the person she discovered; I will, really."</p> + +<p>"Why, it's only this: I suspected that you might identify a person whom +I had reason to believe was to be found every morning riding in the +Park. So Miss Southerland has been riding there every day. Yesterday she +came here, greatly excited—"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes—go on!"</p> + +<p>Keen gazed dreamily at the sunny window. "She thought she had found +your—er—the person. So I said you would meet her on the bridle path, +near—but that's of no interest now—"</p> + +<p>"Near where?" demanded Gatewood, suppressing inexplicable excitement. +And as Keen said nothing: "I'll go; I want to go, I really do! +Can't—can't a fellow change his mind? Oh, I know you think I'm a +lunatic, and there's plenty of reason, too!"</p> + +<p>Keen studied him calmly. "Yes, plenty of reason, plenty of reason, Mr. +Gatewood. But do you suppose you are the only one? I know another who +was perfectly sane two weeks ago."</p> + +<p>The young man waited impatiently; the Tracer paced the room, gray head +bent, delicate, wrinkled hands clasped loosely behind his bent back.</p> + +<p>"You have horses at the Whip and Spur Club," he said abruptly. "Suppose +you ride out and see how close Miss Southerland has come to solving our +problem."</p> + +<p>Gatewood seized the offered hand and wrung it with a fervor out of all +reason; and it is curious that the Tracer of Lost Persons did not appear +to be astonished.</p> + +<p>"You're rather impetuous—like your father," he said slowly. "I knew +him; so I've ventured to trust his son—even when I heard how aimlessly +he was living his life. Mr. Gatewood! May I ask you something—as an old +friend of your father?"</p> + +<p>The young man nodded, subdued, perplexed, scarcely understanding.</p> + +<p>"It's only this: If you <i>do</i> find the woman you could love—in the +Park—to-day—come back to me some day and let me tell you all those +foolish, trite, tiresome things that I should have told a son of mine. I +am so old that you will not take offense—you will not mind listening to +me, or forgetting the dull, prosy things I say about the curse of +idleness, and the habits of cynical thinking, and the perils of +vacant-minded indulgence. You will forgive me—and you will forget me. +That will be as it should be. Good-by."</p> + +<p>Gatewood, sobered, surprised, descended the stairs and hailed a hansom.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI'></a><h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<br /> + +<p>All the way to the Whip and Spur Club he sat buried in a reverie from +which, at intervals, he started, aroused by the heavy, expectant beating +of his own pulses. But what did he expect, in Heaven's name? Not the +discovery of a woman who had never existed. Yet his excitement and +impatience grew as he watched the saddling of his horse; and when at +length he rode out into the sunshine and cantered through the Park +entrance, his sense of impending events and his expectancy amounted to a +fever which colored his face attractively.</p> + +<p>He saw her almost immediately. Her horse was walking slowly in the +dappled shadows of the new foliage; she, listless in her saddle, +sometimes watching the throngs of riders passing, at moments turning to +gaze into the woodland vistas where, over the thickets of flowering +shrubbery, orioles and robins sped flashing on tinted wings from shadow +to sun, from sun to shadow. But she looked up as he drew bridle and +wheeled his mount beside her; and, "Oh!" she said, flushing in +recognition.</p> + +<p>"I have missed you terribly," he said quietly.</p> + +<p>It was dreamy weather, even for late spring: the scent of lilacs and +mock-orange hung heavy as incense along the woods. Their voices +unconsciously found the key to harmonize with it all.</p> + +<p>She said: "Well, I think I have succeeded. In a few moments she will be +passing. I do not know her name; she rides a big roan. She is very +beautiful, Mr. Gatewood."</p> + +<p>He said: "I am perfectly certain we shall find her. I doubted it until +now. But now I know."</p> + +<p>"Oh-h, but I <i>may</i> be wrong," she protested.</p> + +<p>"No; you cannot be."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"You can have no idea how happy you make me," he said unsteadily.</p> + +<p>"But—I—but I may be all wrong—dreadfully wrong!"</p> + +<p>"Y-es; you may be, but I shall not be. For do you know that I have +already seen her in the Park?"</p> + +<p>"When?" she demanded incredulously, then turned in the saddle, +repeating: "Where? Did she pass? How perfectly stupid of me! And <i>was</i> +she the—the right one?"</p> + +<p>"She <i>is</i> the right one. . . . Don't turn: I have seen her. Ride on: I +want to say something—if I can."</p> + +<p>"No, no," she insisted. "I must know whether I was right—"</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> right—but you don't know it yet. . . . Oh, very well, then; +we'll turn if you insist." And he wheeled his mount as she did, riding +at her bridle again.</p> + +<p>"How can you take it so coolly—so indifferently?" she said. "Where has +that woman—where has she gone? . . . Never mind; she must turn and pass +us sooner or later, for she lives uptown. <i>What</i> are you laughing at, +Mr. Gatewood?"—in annoyed surprise.</p> + +<p>"I am laughing at myself. Oh, I'm so many kinds of a fool—you can't +think how many, and it's no use!"</p> + +<p>She stared, astonished; he shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No, you don't understand yet. But you will. Listen to me: this very +beautiful lady you have discovered is nothing to me!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing—to you!" she faltered. Two pink spots of indignation burned in +her cheeks. "How—how dare you say that!—after all that has been +done—all that you have said. You said you loved her; you <i>did</i> say +so—to <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I don't love her now."</p> + +<p>"But you did!" Tears of pure vexation started; she faced him, eye to +eye, thoroughly incensed.</p> + +<p>"What sort of man are you?" she said under her breath. "Your friend Mr. +Kerns is wrong. You are not worth saving from yourself."</p> + +<p>"Kerns!" he repeated, angry and amazed. "What the deuce has Kerns to do +with this affair?"</p> + +<p>She stared, then, realizing her indiscretion, bit her lip, and spurred +forward. But he put his horse to a gallop, and they pounded along in +silence. In a little while she drew bridle and looked around coldly, +grave with displeasure.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kerns came to us before you did. He said you would probably come, +and he begged us to strain every effort in your behalf, because, he +said, your happiness absolutely depended upon our finding for you the +woman you were seeking. . . . And I tried—very hard—and now she's +found. You admit that—and <i>now</i> you say—"</p> + +<p>"I say that one of these balmy summer days I'll assassinate Tommy +Kerns!" broke in Gatewood. "What on earth possessed that prince of +butters-in to go to Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"To save you from yourself!" retorted the girl in a low, exasperated +voice. "He did not say what threatened you; he is a good friend for a +man to have. But we soon found out what you were—a man well born, well +bred, full of brilliant possibility, who was slowly becoming an idle, +cynical, self-centered egoist—a man who, lacking the lash of need or +the spur of ambition, was degenerating through the sheer uselessness and +inanity of his life. And, oh, the pity of it! For Mr. Keen and I have +taken a—a curiously personal interest in you—in your case. I say, the +pity of it!"</p> + +<p>Astounded, dumb under her stinging words, he rode beside her through the +brilliant sunshine, wheeled mechanically as she turned her horse, and +rode north again.</p> + +<p>"And now—<i>now</i>!" she said passionately, "you turn on the woman you +loved! Oh, you are not worth it!"</p> + +<p>"You are quite right," he said, turning very white under her scorn. +"Almost all you have said is true enough, I fancy. I amount to nothing; +I am idle, cynical, selfish. The emptiness of such a life requires a +stimulant; even a fool abhors a vacuum. So I drink—not so very much +yet—but more than I realize. And it is close enough to a habit to worry +me. . . . Yes, almost all you say is true; Kerns knows it; I know +it—now that you have told me. You see, he couldn't tell me, because I +should not have believed him. But I believe you—all you say, except one +thing. And that is only a glimmer of decency left in me—not that I make +any merit of it. No, it is merely instinctive. For I have <i>not</i> turned +on the woman I loved."</p> + +<p>Her face was pale as her level eyes met him:</p> + +<p>"You said she was nothing to you. . . . Look there! Do you see her? Do +you see?"</p> + +<p>Her voice broke nervously as he swung around to stare at a rider bearing +down at a gallop—a woman on a big roan, tearing along through the +spring sunshine, passing them with wind-flushed cheeks and dark, +incurious eyes, while her powerful horse carried her on, away through +the quivering light and shadow of the woodland vista.</p> + +<p>"Is <i>that</i> the person?"</p> + +<p>"Y-es," she faltered. "Was I wrong?"</p> + +<p>"Quite wrong, Miss Southerland."</p> + +<p>"But—but you said you had seen her here this morning!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have."</p> + +<p>"Did you speak to her before you met me?"</p> + +<p>"No—not before I met you."</p> + +<p>"Then you have not spoken to her. Is she still here in the Park?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is still here."</p> + +<p>The girl turned on him excitedly: "Do you mean to say that you will not +speak to her?"</p> + +<p>"I had rather not—"</p> + +<p>"And your happiness depends on your speaking?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then it is cowardly not to speak."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it is cowardly. . . . If you wish me to speak to her I will. +Shall I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes . . . Show her to me."</p> + +<p>"And you think that such a man as I am has a right to speak of love to +her?"</p> + +<p>"I—we believe it will be your salvation. Mr. Kerns says you must marry +her to be happy. Mr. Keen told me yesterday that it only needed a word +from the right woman to put you on your mettle. . . . And—and that is +my opinion."</p> + +<p>"Then in charity say that word!" he breathed, bending toward her. "Can't +you see? Can't you understand? Don't you know that from the moment I +looked into your eyes I loved you?"</p> + +<p>"How—how dare you!" she stammered, crimsoning.</p> + +<p>"God knows," he said wistfully. "I am a coward. I don't know how I +dared. Good-by. . . ."</p> + +<p>He walked his horse a little way, then launched him into a gallop, +tearing on and on, sun, wind, trees swimming, whirling like a vision, +hearing nothing, feeling nothing, save the leaden pounding of his pulse +and the breathless, terrible tightening in his throat.</p> + +<p>When he cleared his eyes and looked around he was quite alone, his horse +walking under the trees and breathing heavily.</p> + +<p>At first he laughed, and the laugh was not pleasant. Then he said aloud: +"It is worth having lived for, after all!"—and was silent. And again: +"I could expect nothing; she was perfectly right to side-step a fool. +. . . And <i>such</i> a fool!"</p> + +<p>The distant gallop of a horse, dulled on the soft soil, but coming +nearer, could not arouse him from the bitter depths he had sunk in; not +even when the sound ceased beside him, and horse snorted recognition to +horse. It was only when a light touch rested on his arm that he looked +up heavily, caught his breath.</p> + +<p>"Where is the other—woman?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"There never was any other."</p> + +<p>"You said—"</p> + +<p>"I said I loved my ideal. I did not know she existed—until I saw you."</p> + +<p>"Then—then we were searching for—"</p> + +<p>"A vision. But it was your face that haunted me. . . . And I am not +worth it, as you say. And I know it, . . . for you have opened my eyes."</p> + +<p>He drew bridle, forcing a laugh. "I cut a sorry figure in your life; be +patient; I am going out of it now." And he swung his horse. At the same +moment she did the same, making a demi-tour and meeting him halfway, +confronting him.</p> + +<p>"Do you—you mean to ride out of my life without a word?" she asked +unsteadily.</p> + +<p>"Good-by." He offered his hand, stirring his horse forward; she leaned +lightly over and laid both hands in his. Then, her face surging in +color, she lifted her beautiful dark eyes to his as the horses +approached, nearer, nearer, until, as they passed, flank brushing flank, +her eyes fell, then closed as she swayed toward him, and clung, her +young lips crushed to his.</p> + +<p>There was nobody to witness it except the birds and squirrels—nobody +but a distant mounted policeman, who almost fainted away in his saddle.</p> + +<p>Oh, it was awful, awful! Apparently she had been kissed speechless, for +she said nothing. The man fool did all the talking, incoherently enough, +but evidently satisfactory to her, judging from the way she looked at +him, and blushed and blushed, and touched her eyes with a bit of cambric +at intervals.</p> + +<p>All the policeman heard as they passed him was; "I'm going to give you +this horse, and Kerns is to give us our silver; and what do you think, +my darling?"</p> + +<p>"W-what?"</p> + +<p>But they had already passed out of earshot; and in a few moments the +shady, sun-flecked bridle path was deserted again save for the birds and +squirrels, and a single mounted policeman, rigid, wild eyed, twisting +his mustache and breathing hard.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII'></a><h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The news of Gatewood's fate filled Kerns with a pleasure bordering upon +melancholy. It was his work; he had done it; it was good for Gatewood +too—time for him to stop his irresponsible cruise through life, lower +sail, heave to, set his signals, and turn over matters to this charming +pilot.</p> + +<p>And now they would come into port together and anchor somewhere east of +Fifth Avenue—which, Kerns reflected, was far more proper a place for +Gatewood than somewhere east of Suez, where young men so often sail.</p> + +<p>And yet, and yet there was something melancholy in the pleasure he +experienced. Gatewood was practically lost to him. He knew what might be +expected from engaged men and newly married men. Gatewood's club life +was ended—for a while; and there was no other man with whom he cared to +embark for those brightly lighted harbors twinkling east of Suez across +the metropolitan wastes.</p> + +<p>"It's very generous of me to get him married," he said frequently to +himself, rather sadly. "I did it pretty well, too. It only shows that +women have no particular monopoly in the realms of diplomacy and +finesse; in fact, if a man really chooses to put his mind to such +matters, he can make it no trumps and win out behind a bum ace and a +guarded knave."</p> + +<p>He was pleased with himself. He followed Gatewood about explaining how +good he had been to him. An enthusiasm for marrying off his friends +began to germinate within him; he tried it on Darrell, on Barnes, on +Yates, but was turned down and severely stung.</p> + +<p>Then one day Harren of the Philippine Scouts turned up at the club, and +they held a determined reunion until daylight, and they told each other +all about it all and what upper-cuts life had handed out to them since +the troopship sailed.</p> + +<p>And after the rosy glow had deepened to a more gorgeous hue in the room, +and the electric lights had turned into silver pinwheels; and after they +had told each other the story of their lives, and the last siphon fizzed +impotently when urged beyond its capacity, Kerns arose and extended his +hand, and Harren took it. And they executed a song resembling "Auld Lang +Syne."</p> + +<p>"Ole man," said Kerns reproachfully, "there's one thing you have been +deuced careful <i>not</i> to mention, and that is about what happened to you +three years ago—"</p> + +<p>"Steady!" said Harren; "there is nothing to tell, Tommy."</p> + +<p>"Nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I never saw her again. I never shall."</p> + +<p>Kerns looked long and unsteadily upon his friend; then very gravely +fumbled in his pocket and drew forth the business card of Westrel Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"That," he said, "will be about all." And he bestowed the card upon +Harren with magnificent condescension.</p> + +<p>And about five o'clock the following afternoon Harren found the card +among various effects of his, scattered over his dresser.</p> + +<p>It took him several days to make up his mind to pay any attention to the +card or the suggestion it contained. He scarcely considered it seriously +even when, passing along Fifth Avenue one sunny afternoon, he chanced to +glance up and see the sign</p> + +<center>KEEN & CO.<br /> +TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS</center> + +<p>staring him in the face.</p> + +<p>He continued his stroll, but that evening, upon mere impulse, he sat +down and wrote a letter to Mr. Keen.</p> + +<p>The next morning's mail brought a reply and an appointment for an +interview on Wednesday week. Harren tossed the letter aside, satisfied +to let the matter go, because his leave expired on Tuesday, and the +appointment was impossible.</p> + +<p>On Sunday, however, the melancholy of the deserted club affected his +spirits. A curious desire to see this Tracer of Lost Persons seized him +with a persistence unaccountable. He slept poorly, haunted with visions.</p> + +<p>On Monday he went to see Mr. Keen. It could do no harm; it was too late +to do either harm or good, for his leave expired the next day at noon.</p> + +<p>The business of Keen & Co., Tracers of Lost Persons, had grown to +enormous proportions; appointments for a personal interview with Mr. +Keen were now made a week in advance, so when young Harren sent in his +card, the gayly liveried negro servant came back presently, threading +his way through the waiting throng with pomp and circumstance, and +returned the card to Harren with the date of appointment rewritten in +ink across the top. The day named was Wednesday. On Tuesday Harren's +leave expired.</p> + +<p>"That won't do," said the young man brusquely; "I must see Mr. Keen +to-day. I wrote last week for an appointment."</p> + +<p>The liveried darky was polite but obdurate.</p> + +<p>"Dis here am de 'pintment, suh," he explained persuasively.</p> + +<p>"But I want to see Mr. Keen at once," insisted Harren.</p> + +<p>"Hit ain't no use, suh," said the darky respectfully; "dey's mi'ions an' +mi'ions ob gemmen jess a-settin' roun' an' waitin' foh Mistuh Keen. In +dis here perfeshion, suh, de fustest gemman dat has a 'pintment is de +fustest gemman dat kin see Mistuh Keen. You is a military gemman +yohse'f, Cap'm Harren, an' you is aware dat precedence am de rigger."</p> + +<p>The bronzed young man smiled, glanced at the date of appointment written +on his card, which also bore his own name followed by the letters +U.S.A., then his amused gray eyes darkened and he glanced leisurely +around the room, where a dozen or more assorted people sat waiting their +turns to interview Mr. Keen: all sorts and conditions of people—smartly +gowned women, an anxious-browed business man or two, a fat German truck +driver, his greasy cap on his knees, a surly policeman, and an old +Irishwoman, wearing a shawl and an ancient straw bonnet. Harren's eyes +reverted to the darky.</p> + +<p>"You will explain to Mr. Keen," he said, "that I am an army officer on +leave, and that I am obliged to start for Manila to-morrow. This is my +excuse for asking an immediate interview; and if it's not a good enough +excuse I must cancel this appointment, that is all."</p> + +<p>The darky stood, irresolute, inclined to argue, but something in the +steel-gray eyes of the man set him in involuntary motion, and he went +away once more with the young man's message. Harren turned and walked +back to his seat. The old woman with the faded shawl was explaining +volubly to a handsomely gowned woman beside her that she was looking for +her boy, Danny; that her name was Mrs. Regan, and that she washed for +the aristocracy of Hunter's Point at a liberal price per dozen, using no +deleterious substances in the suds as Heaven was her witness.</p> + +<p>The German truck driver, moved by this confidence, was stirred to begin +an endless account of his domestic misfortunes, and old Mrs. Regan, +becoming impatient, had already begun to interrupt with an account of +Regan's recent hoisting on the wings of a premature petard, when the +dark servant reappeared.</p> + +<p>"Mistuh Keen will receive you, suh," he whispered, leading the way into +a large room where dozens of attractive young girls sat very busily +engaged at typewriting machines. Door after door they passed, all +numbered on the ground-glass panes, then swung to the right, where the +darky bowed him into a big, handsomely furnished room flooded with the +morning sun. A tall, gray man, faultlessly dressed in a gray frock suit +and wearing white spats, turned from the breezy, open window to inspect +him; the lean, well groomed, rather lank type of gentleman suggesting a +retired colonel of cavalry; unmistakably well bred from the ends of his +drooping gray mustache to the last button on his immaculate spats.</p> + +<p>"Captain Harren?" he said pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>They bowed. Young Harren drew from his pocket a card. It was the +business card of Keen & Co., and, glancing up at Mr. Keen, he read it +aloud, carefully:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>KEEN & CO. + +<p> TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS</p> + +<p> Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found.</p> + +<p> <i>Blanks on Application.</i></p> + +<p> WESTREL KEEN, Manager.</p></div> + +<p>Harren raised his clear, gray eyes. "I assume this statement to be +correct, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"You may safely assume so," said Mr. Keen, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Does this statement include <i>all</i> that you are prepared to undertake?"</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons inspected him coolly. "What more is there, +Captain Harren? I undertake to find lost people. I even undertake to +find the undiscovered ideals of young people who have failed to meet +them. What further field would you suggest?" Harren glanced at the card +which he held in his gloved hand; then, very slowly, he re-read, "the +whereabouts of anybody <i>on earth</i>," accenting the last two words +deliberately as he encountered Keen's piercing gaze again.</p> + +<p>"Well?" asked Mr. Keen laughingly, "is not that sufficient? Our clients +could scarcely expect us to invade heaven in our search for the +vanished."</p> + +<p>"There are other regions," said Harren.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. Sit down, sir. There is a row of bookcases for your +amusement. Please help yourself while I clear decks for action."</p> + +<p>Harren stood fingering the card, his gray eyes lost in retrospection; +then he sauntered over to the bookcases, scanning the titles. The +Searcher for Lost Persons studied him for a moment or two, turned, and +began to pace the room. After a moment or two he touched a bell. A +sweet-faced young girl entered; she was gowned in black and wore a white +collar, and cuffs turned back over her hands.</p> + +<p>"Take this memorandum," he said. The girl picked up a pencil and pad, +and Mr. Keen, still pacing the room, dictated in a quiet voice as he +walked to and fro:</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Regan's Danny is doing six months in Butte, Montana. Break it to +her as mercifully as possible. He is a bad one. We make no charge. The +truck driver, Becker, can find his wife at her mother's house, Leonia, +New Jersey. Tell him to be less pig-headed or she'll go for good some +day. Ten dollars. Mrs. M., No. 36001, can find her missing butler in +service at 79 Vine Street, Hartford, Connecticut. She may notify the +police whenever she wishes. His portrait is No. 170529, Rogues' Gallery. +Five hundred dollars. Miss K. (No. 3679) may send her letter, care of +Cisneros & Co., Rio, where the person she is seeking has gone into the +coffee business. If she decides that she really does love him, he'll +come back fast enough. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Mr. W. (No. 3620) +must go to the morgue for further information. His repentance is too +late; but he can see that there is a decent burial. The charge: one +thousand dollars to the Florence Mission. You may add that we possess +his full record."</p> + +<p>The Tracer paused and waited for the stenographer to finish. When she +looked up: "Who else is waiting?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The girl read over the initials and numbers.</p> + +<p>"Tell that policeman that Kid Conroy sails on the <i>Carania</i> to-morrow. +Fifty dollars. There is nothing definite in the other cases. Report +progress and send out a general alarm for the cashier inquired for by +No. 3608. You will find details in vol. xxxix under B."</p> + +<p>"Is that all, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm going to be very busy with"—turning slowly toward +Harren—"with Captain Harren, of the Philippine Scouts, until +to-morrow—a very complicated case, Miss Borrow, involving cipher codes +and photography—"</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII'></a><h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Harren started, then walked slowly to the center of the room as the +pretty stenographer passed out with a curious level glance at him.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that photography plays a part in my case?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But how—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I only guessed it," said Keen with a smile. "I made another guess +that your case involved a cipher code. Does it?"</p> + +<p>"Y-es," said the young man, astonished, "but I don't see—"</p> + +<p>"It also involves the occult," observed Keen calmly. "We may need Miss +Borrow to help us."</p> + +<p>Almost staggered, Harren stared at the Tracer out of his astonished gray +eyes until that gentleman laughed outright and seated himself, motioning +Harren to do likewise.</p> + +<p>"Don't be surprised, Captain Harren," he said. "I suppose you have no +conception of our business, no realization of its scope—its network of +information bureaus all over the civilized world, its myriad sources of +information, the immensity of its delicate machinery, the endless data +and the infinitesimal details we have at our command. You, of course, +have no idea of the number of people of every sort and condition who are +in our employ, of the ceaseless yet inoffensive surveillance we +maintain. For example, when your letter came last week I called up the +person who has charge of the army list. There you were, Kenneth Harren, +Captain Philippine Scouts, with the date of your graduation from West +Point. Then I called up a certain department devoted to personal detail, +and in five minutes I knew your entire history. I then touched another +electric button, and in a minute I had before me the date of your +arrival in New York, your present address, and"—he looked up +quizzically at Harren—"and several items of general information, such +as your peculiar use of your camera, and the list of books on Psychical +Phenomena and Cryptograms which you have been buying—"</p> + +<p>Harren flushed up. "Do you mean to say that I have been spied upon, Mr. +Keen?"</p> + +<p>"No more than anybody else who comes to us as a client. There was +nothing offensive in the surveillance." He shrugged his shoulders and +made a deprecating gesture. "Ours is a business, my dear sir, like any +other. We, of course, are obliged to know about people who call on us. +Last week you wrote me, and I immediately set every wheel in motion; in +other words, I had you under observation from the day I received your +letter to this very moment."</p> + +<p>"You learned much concerning me?" asked Harren quietly.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly, my dear sir."</p> + +<p>"But," continued Harren with a touch of malice, "you didn't learn that +my leave is up to-morrow, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I learned that, too."</p> + +<p>"Then why did you give me an appointment for the day after to-morrow?" +demanded the young man bluntly.</p> + +<p>The Tracer looked him squarely in the eye. "Your leave is to be +extended," he said.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. It has been extended one week."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?"</p> + +<p>"You applied for extension, did you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Harren, turning red, "but I don't see how you knew that I—"</p> + +<p>"By cable?"</p> + +<p>"Y-yes."</p> + +<p>"There's a cablegram in your rooms at this very moment," said the +Tracer carelessly. "You have the extension you desired. And now, Captain +Harren," with a singularly pleasant smile, "what can I do to help you to +a pursuit of that true happiness which is guaranteed for all good +citizens under our Constitution?"</p> + +<p>Captain Harren crossed his long legs, dropping one knee over the other, +and deliberately surveyed his interrogator.</p> + +<p>"I really have no right to come to you," he said slowly. "Your +prospectus distinctly states that Keen & Co. undertake to find <i>live</i> +people, and I don't know whether the person I am seeking is alive +or—or—"</p> + +<p>His steady voice faltered; the Tracer watched him curiously.</p> + +<p>"Of course, that is important," he said. "If she <i>is</i> dead—"</p> + +<p>"<i>She</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Didn't you say 'she,' Captain?"</p> + +<p>"No, I did not."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, then, for anticipating you," said the Tracer +carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Anticipating? <i>How</i> do you know it is not a man I am in search of?" +demanded Harren.</p> + +<p>"Captain Harren, you are unmarried and have no son; you have no father, +no brother, no sister. Therefore I infer—several things—for example, +that you are in love."</p> + +<p>"I? In love?"</p> + +<p>"Desperately, Captain."</p> + +<p>"Your inferences seem to satisfy you, at least," said Harren almost +sullenly, "but they don't satisfy me—clever as they appear to be."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. Then you are <i>not</i> in love?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether I am or not."</p> + +<p>"I do," said the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"Then you know more than I," retorted Harren sharply.</p> + +<p>"But that is my business—to know more than you do," returned Mr. Keen +patiently. "Else why are you here to consult me?" And as Harren made no +reply: "I have seen thousands and thousands of people in love. I have +reduced the superficial muscular phenomena and facial symptomatic aspect +of such people to an exact science founded upon a schedule approximating +the Bertillon system of records. And," he added, smiling, "out of the +twenty-seven known vocal variations your voice betrays twenty-five +unmistakable symptoms; and out of the sixteen reflex muscular symptoms +your face has furnished six, your hands three, your limbs and feet six. +Then there are other superficial symptoms—"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" broke in Harren; "how can you prove a man to be in love +when he himself doesn't know whether he is or not? If a man isn't in +love no Bertillon system can make him so; and if a man doesn't know +whether or not he is in love, who can tell him the truth?"</p> + +<p>"I can," said the Tracer calmly.</p> + +<p>"What! When I tell you I myself don't know?"</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i>," said the Tracer, smiling, "is the final and convincing +symptom. <i>You</i> don't know. <i>I</i> know because you <i>don't</i> know. That is +the easiest way to be sure that you are in love, Captain Harren, because +you always are when you are not sure. You'd know if you were <i>not</i> in +love. Now, my dear sir, you may lay your case confidently before me."</p> + +<p>Harren, unconvinced, sat frowning and biting his lip and twisting his +short, crisp mustache which the tropical sun had turned straw color and +curly.</p> + +<p>"I feel like a fool to tell you," he said. "I'm not an imaginative man, +Mr. Keen; I'm not fanciful, not sentimental. I'm perfectly healthy, +perfectly normal—a very busy man in my profession, with no time and no +inclination to fall in love."</p> + +<p>"Just the sort of man who does it," commented Keen. "Continue."</p> + +<p>Harren fidgeted about in his chair, looked out of the window, squinted +at the ceiling, then straightened up, folding his arms with sudden +determination.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather be boloed than tell you," he said. "Perhaps, after all, I +<i>am</i> a lunatic; perhaps I've had a touch of the Luzon sun and don't know +it."</p> + +<p>"I'll be the judge," said the Tracer, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir. Then I'll begin by telling you that I've seen a ghost."</p> + +<p>"There are such things," observed Keen quietly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mean one of those fabled sheeted creatures that float about +at night; I mean a phantom—a real phantom—in the sunlight—standing +before my very eyes in broad day! . . . Now do you feel inclined to go +on with my case, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," replied the Tracer gravely. "Please continue, Captain +Harren."</p> + +<p>"All right, then. Here's the beginning of it: Three years ago, here in +New York, drifting along Fifth Avenue with the crowd, I looked up to +encounter the most wonderful pair of eyes that I ever beheld—that any +living man ever beheld! The most—wonderfully—beautiful—"</p> + +<p>He sat so long immersed in retrospection that the Tracer said: "I am +listening, Captain," and the Captain woke up with a start.</p> + +<p>"What was I saying? How far had I proceeded?"</p> + +<p>"Only to the eyes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see! The eyes were dark, sir, dark and lovely beyond any power of +description. The hair was also dark—very soft and thick and—er—wavy +and dark. The face was extremely youthful, and ornamental to the +uttermost verges of a beauty so exquisite that, were I to attempt to +formulate for you its individual attractions, I should, I fear, +transgress the strictly rigid bounds of that reticence which becomes a +gentleman in complete possession of his senses."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly," mused the Tracer.</p> + +<p>"Also," continued Captain Harren, with growing animation, "to attempt to +describe her figure would be utterly useless, because I am a practical +man and not a poet, nor do I read poetry or indulge in futile novels or +romances of any description. Therefore I can only add that it was a +figure, a poise, absolutely faultless, youthful, beautiful, erect, +wholesome, gracious, graceful, charmingly buoyant and—well, I cannot +describe her figure, and I shall not try."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly; don't try."</p> + +<p>"No," said Harren mournfully, "it is useless"; and he relapsed into +enchanted retrospection.</p> + +<p>"Who was she?" asked Mr. Keen softly.</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"You never again saw her?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen, I—I am not ill-bred, but I simply could not help following +her. She was so b-b-beautiful that it hurt; and I only wanted to look at +her; I didn't mind being hurt. So I walked on and on, and sometimes I'd +pass her and sometimes I'd let her pass me, and when she wasn't looking +I'd look—not offensively, but just because I <i>couldn't</i> help it. And +all the time my senses were humming like a top and my heart kept jumping +to get into my throat, and I hadn't a notion where I was going or what +time it was or what day of the week. She didn't see me; she didn't dream +that I was looking at her; she didn't know me from any of the thousand +silk-hatted, frock-coated men who passed and repassed her on Fifth +Avenue. And when she went into St. Berold's Church, I went, too, and I +stood where I could see her and where she couldn't see me. It was like a +touch of the Luzon sun, Mr. Keen. And then she came out and got into a +Fifth Avenue stage, and I got in, too. And whenever she looked away I +looked at her—without the slightest offense, Mr. Keen, until, once, she +caught my eye—"</p> + +<p>He passed an unsteady hand over his forehead.</p> + +<p>"For a moment we looked full at one another," he continued. "I got red, +sir; I felt it, and I couldn't look away. And when I turned color like a +blooming beet, she began to turn pink like a rosebud, and she looked +full into my eyes with such a wonderful purity, such exquisite +innocence, that I—I never felt so near—er—heaven in my life! No, sir, +not even when they ambushed us at Manoa Wells—but that's another +thing—only it is part of this business."</p> + +<p>He tightened his clasped hands over his knee until the knuckles +whitened.</p> + +<p>"<i>That's</i> my story, Mr. Keen," he said crisply.</p> + +<p>"All of it?"</p> + +<p>Harren looked at the floor, then at Keen: "No, not all. You'll think me +a lunatic if I tell you all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you saw her again?"</p> + +<p>"N-never! That is—"</p> + +<p>"Never?"</p> + +<p>"Not in—in the flesh."</p> + +<p>"Oh, in dreams?"</p> + +<p>Harren stirred uneasily. "I don't know what you call them. I have seen +her since—in the sunlight, in the open, in my quarters in Manila, +standing there perfectly distinct, looking at me with such strange, +beautiful eyes—"</p> + +<p>"Go on," said the Tracer, nodding.</p> + +<p>"What else is there to say?" muttered Harren.</p> + +<p>"You saw her—or a phantom which resembled her. Did she speak?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Did you speak to her?"</p> + +<p>"N-no. Once I held out my—my arms."</p> + +<p>"What happened?"</p> + +<p>"She wasn't there," said Harren simply.</p> + +<p>"She vanished?"</p> + +<p>"No—I don't know. I—I didn't see her any more."</p> + +<p>"Didn't she fade?"</p> + +<p>"No. I can't explain. She—there was only myself in the room."</p> + +<p>"How many times has she appeared to you?"</p> + +<p>"A great many times."</p> + +<p>"In your room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And in the road under a vertical sun; in the forest, in the paddy +fields. I have seen her passing through the hallway of a friend's +house—turning on the stair to look back at me! I saw her standing just +back of the firing-line at Manoa Wells when we were preparing to rush +the forts, and it scared me so that I jumped forward to draw her back. +But—she wasn't there, Mr. Keen. . . .</p> + +<p>"On the transport she stood facing me on deck one moonlit evening for +five minutes. I saw her in 'Frisco; she sat in the Pullman twice between +Denver and this city. Twice in my room at the Vice-Regent she has sat +opposite me at midday, so clear, so beautiful, so real that—that I +could scarcely believe she was only a—a—" He hesitated.</p> + +<p>"The apparition of her own subconscious self," said the Tracer quietly. +"Science has been forced to admit such things, and, as you know, we are +on the verge of understanding the alphabet of some of the unknown forces +which we must some day reckon with."</p> + +<p>Harren, tense, a trifle pale, gazed at him earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Do <i>you</i> believe in such things?"</p> + +<p>"How can I avoid believing?" said the Tracer. "Every day, in my +profession, we have proof of the existence of forces for which we have +as yet no explanation—or, at best, a very crude one. I have had case +after case of premonition; case after case of dual and even multiple +personality; case after case where apparitions played a vital part in +the plot which was brought to me to investigate. I'll tell you this, +Captain: I, personally, never saw an apparition, never was obsessed by +premonitions, never received any communications from the outer void. But +I have had to do with those who undoubtedly did. Therefore I listen with +all seriousness and respect to what you tell me."</p> + +<p>"Suppose," said Harren, growing suddenly red, "that I should tell you I +have succeeded in photographing this phantom."</p> + +<p>The Tracer sat silent. He was astounded, but, he did not betray it.</p> + +<p>"You have that photograph, Captain Harren?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Where is it?"</p> + +<p>"In my rooms."</p> + +<p>"You wish me to see it?"</p> + +<p>Harren hesitated. "I—there is—seems to be—something almost sacred to +me in that photograph. . . . You understand me, do you not? Yet, if it +will help you in finding her—"</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the Tracer in guileless astonishment, "you desire to find +this young lady. Why?"</p> + +<p>Harren stared. "Why? Why do I want to find her? Man, I—I can't live +without her!"</p> + +<p>"I thought you were not certain whether you really could be in love."</p> + +<p>The hot color in the Captain's bronzed cheeks mounted to his hair.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly," purred the Tracer, looking out of the window. "Suppose we +walk around to your rooms after luncheon. Shall we?"</p> + +<p>Harren picked up his hat and gloves, hesitating, lingering on the +threshold. "You <i>don't</i> think she is—a—dead?" he asked unsteadily.</p> + +<p>"No," said Mr. Keen, "I don't."</p> + +<p>"Because," said Harren wistfully, "her apparition is so superbly healthy +and—and glowing with youth and life—"</p> + +<p>"That is probably what sent it half the world over to confront you," +said the Tracer gravely; "youth and life aglow with spiritual health. I +think, Captain, that she has been seeing you, too, during these three +years, but probably only in her dreams—memories of your encounters with +her subconscious self floating over continents and oceans in a quest of +which her waking intelligence is innocently unaware."</p> + +<p>The Captain colored like a schoolboy, lingering at the door, hat in +hand. Then he straightened up to the full height of his slim but +powerful figure.</p> + +<p>"At three?" he inquired bluntly.</p> + +<p>"At three o'clock in your room, Hotel Vice-Regent. Good morning, +Captain."</p> + +<p>"Good morning," said Harren dreamily, and walked away, head bent, gray +eyes lost in retrospection, and on his lean, bronzed, attractive face an +afterglow of color wholly becoming.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX'></a><h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<br /> + +<p>When the Tracer of Lost Persons entered Captain Harren's room at the +Hotel Vice-Regent that afternoon he found the young man standing at a +center table, pencil in hand, studying a sheet of paper which was +covered with letters and figures.</p> + +<p>The two men eyed one another in silence for a moment, then Harren +pointed grimly to the confusion of letters and figures covering dozens +of scattered sheets lying on the table.</p> + +<p>"That's part of my madness," he said with a short laugh. "Can you make +anything of such lunatic work?"</p> + +<p>The Tracer picked up a sheet of paper covered with letters of the +alphabet and Roman and Arabic numerals. He dropped it presently and +picked up another comparatively blank sheet, on which were the following +figures:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-1.png' width='80%' alt='Cryptographic symbols' title=''> +</center> + +<p>He studied it for a while, then glanced interrogatively at Harren.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing," said Harren. "I've been groping for three years—but +it's no use. That's lunatics' work." He wheeled squarely on his heels, +looking straight at the Tracer. "<i>Do</i> you think I've had a touch of the +sun?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Mr. Keen, drawing a chair to the table. "Saner men than you +or I have spent a lifetime over this so-called Seal of Solomon." He laid +his finger on the two symbols—</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-2.png' width='337' height='167' alt='Cryptographic symbols' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Then, looking across the table at Harren: "What," he asked, "has the +Seal of Solomon to do with your case?"</p> + +<p>"<i>She</i>—" muttered Harren, and fell silent.</p> + +<p>The Tracer waited; Harren said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Where is the photograph?"</p> + +<p>Harren unlocked a drawer in the table, hesitated, looked strangely at +the Tracer.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen," he said, "there is nothing on earth I hold more sacred than +this. There is only one thing in the world that could justify me in +showing it to a living soul—my—my desire to find—her—"</p> + +<p>"No," said Keen coolly, "that is not enough to justify you—the mere +desire to find the living original of this apparition. Nothing could +justify your showing it unless you love her."</p> + +<p>Harren held the picture tightly, staring full at the Tracer. A dull +flush mounted to his forehead, and very slowly he laid the picture +before the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>Minute after minute sped while the Tracer bent above the photograph, his +finely modeled features absolutely devoid of expression. Harren had +drawn his chair beside him, and now sat leaning forward, bronzed cheek +resting in his hand, staring fixedly at the picture.</p> + +<p>"When was this—this photograph taken?" asked the Tracer quietly.</p> + +<p>"The day after I arrived in New York. I was here, alone, smoking my pipe +and glancing over the evening paper just before dressing for dinner. It +was growing rather dark in the room; I had not turned on the electric +light. My camera lay on the table—there it is!—that kodak. I had taken +a few snapshots on shipboard; there was one film left."</p> + +<p>He leaned more heavily on his elbow, eyes fixed upon the picture.</p> + +<p>"It was almost dark," he repeated. "I laid aside the evening paper and +stood up, thinking about dressing for dinner, when my eyes happened to +fall on the camera. It occurred to me that I might as well unload it, +let the unused film go, and send the roll to be developed and printed; +and I picked up the camera—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Tracer softly.</p> + +<p>"I picked it up and was starting toward the window where there remained +enough daylight to see by—"</p> + +<p>The Tracer nodded gently.</p> + +<p>"Then I saw <i>her</i>!" said Harren under his breath.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"There—standing by that window. You can see the window and curtain in +the photograph."</p> + +<p>The Tracer gazed intently at the picture.</p> + +<p>"She looked at me," said Harren, steadying his voice. "She was as real +as you are, and she stood there, smiling faintly, her dark, lovely eyes +meeting mine."</p> + +<p>"Did you speak?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"How long did she remain there?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—time seemed to stop—the world—everything grew still. +. . . Then, little by little, something began to stir under my stunned +senses—that germ of misgiving, that dreadful doubt of my own sanity. +. . . I scarcely knew what I was doing when I took the photograph; +besides, it had grown quite dark, and I could scarcely see her." He drew +himself erect with a nervous movement. "How on earth could I have +obtained that photograph of her in the darkness?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"N-rays," said the Tracer coolly. "It has been done in France."</p> + +<p>"Yes, from living people, but—"</p> + +<p>"What the N-ray is in living organisms, we must call, for lack of a +better term, the subaura in the phantom."</p> + +<p>They bent over the photograph together. Presently the Tracer said: "She +is very, very beautiful?"</p> + +<p>Harren's dry lips unclosed, but he uttered no sound.</p> + +<p>"She is beautiful, is she not?" repeated the Tracer, turning to look at +the young man.</p> + +<p>"Can you not see she is?" he asked impatiently.</p> + +<p>"No," said the Tracer.</p> + +<p>Harren stared at him.</p> + +<p>"Captain Harren," continued the Tracer, "I can see nothing upon this bit +of paper that resembles in the remotest degree a human face or figure."</p> + +<p>Harren turned white.</p> + +<p>"Not that I doubt that <i>you</i> can see it," pursued the Tracer calmly. "I +simply repeat that I see absolutely nothing on this paper except a part +of a curtain, a window pane, and—and—"</p> + +<p>"What! for God's sake!" cried Harren hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"I don't know yet. Wait; let me study it."</p> + +<p>"Can you not see her face, her eyes? <i>Don't</i> you see that exquisite slim +figure standing there by the curtain?" demanded Harren, laying his +shaking finger on the photograph. "Why, man, it is as clear, as clean +cut, as distinct as though the picture had been taken in sunlight! Do +you mean to say that there is nothing there—that I am crazy?"</p> + +<p>"No. Wait."</p> + +<p>"Wait! How can I wait when you sit staring at her picture and telling me +that you can't see it, but that it is doubtless there? Are you deceiving +me, Mr. Keen? Are you trying to humor me, trying to be kind to me, +knowing all the while that I'm crazy—"</p> + +<p>"Wait, man! You are no more crazy than I am. I tell you that I can see +something on the window pane—"</p> + +<p>He suddenly sprang up and walked to the window, leaning close and +examining the glass. Harren followed and laid his hand lightly over the +pane.</p> + +<p>"Do you see any marks on the glass?" demanded Keen.</p> + +<p>Harren shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Have you a magnifying glass?" asked the Tracer.</p> + +<p>Harren pointed back to the table, and they returned to the photograph, +the Tracer bending over it and examining it through the glass.</p> + +<p>"All I see," he said, still studying the photograph, "is a corner of a +curtain and a window on which certain figures seem to have been cut. +. . . Look, Captain Harren, can you see them?"</p> + +<p>"I see some marks—some squares."</p> + +<p>"You can't see anything written on that pane—as though cut by a +diamond?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing distinct."</p> + +<p>"But you see <i>her</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly."</p> + +<p>"In minute detail?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The Tracer thought a moment: "Does she wear a ring?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; can't you see?"</p> + +<p>"Draw it for me."</p> + +<p>They seated themselves side by side, and Harren drew a rough sketch of +the ring which he insisted was so plainly visible on her hand:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/ring.png' width='143' height='113' alt='Ring with an X' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"Oh," observed the Tracer, "she wears the Seal of Solomon on her ring."</p> + +<p>Harren looked up at him. "That symbol has haunted me persistently for +three years," he said. "I have found it everywhere—on articles that I +buy, on house furniture, on the belts of dead ladrones, on the hilts of +creeses, on the funnels of steamers, on the headstalls of horses. If +they put a laundry mark on my linen it's certain to be this! If I buy a +box of matches the sign is on it. Why, I've even seen it on the +brilliant wings of tropical insects. It's got on my nerves. I dream +about it."</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-3.png' width='121' height='96' alt='Ring with an X' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"And you buy books about it and try to work out its mystical meaning?" +suggested the Tracer, smiling.</p> + +<p>But Harren's gray eyes were serious. He said: "<i>She</i> never comes to me +without that symbol somewhere about her. . . . I told you she never +spoke to me. That is true; yet once, in a vivid dream of her, she did +speak. I—I was almost ashamed to tell you of that."</p> + +<p>"Tell me."</p> + +<p>"A—a dream? Do you wish to know what I dreamed?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—if it was a dream."</p> + +<p>"It was. I was asleep on the deck of the <i>Mindinao</i>, dead tired after a +fruitless hike. I dreamed she came toward me through a young woodland +all lighted by the sun, and in her hands she held masses of that wild +flower we call Solomon's Seal. And she said—in the voice I know must be +like hers: 'If you could only read! If you would only understand the +message I send you! It is everywhere on earth for you to read, if you +only would!'</p> + +<p>"I said: 'Is the message in the seal? Is that the key to it?'</p> + +<p>"She nodded, laughing, burying her face in the flowers, and said:</p> + +<p>"'Perhaps I can write it more plainly for you some day; I will try very, +very hard.'</p> + +<p>"And after that she went away—not swiftly—for I saw her at moments far +away in the woods; but I must have confused her with the glimmering +shafts of sunlight, and in a little while the woodland grew dark and I +woke with the racket of a Colt's automatic in my ears."</p> + +<p>He passed his sun-bronzed hand over his face, hesitated, then leaned +over the photograph once more, which the Tracer was studying intently +through the magnifying glass.</p> + +<p>"There is something on that window in the photograph which I'm going to +copy," he said. "Please shove a pad and pencil toward me."</p> + +<p>Still examining the photograph through the glass which he held in his +right hand, Mr. Keen picked up the pencil and, feeling for the pad, +began very slowly to form the following series of symbols:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-4.png' width='80%' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"What on earth are you doing?" muttered Captain Harren, twisting his +short mustache in perplexity.</p> + +<p>"I am copying what I see through this magnifying glass written on the +window pane in the photograph," said the Tracer calmly. "Can't you see +those marks?"</p> + +<p>"I—I do now; I never noticed them before particularly—only that there +were scratches there."</p> + +<p>When at length the Tracer had finished his work he sat, chin on hand, +examining it in silence. Presently he turned toward Harren, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Well?" inquired the younger man impatiently; "do those scratches +representing Solomon's Seal mean anything?"</p> + +<p>"It's the strangest cipher I ever encountered," said Mr. Keen—"the +strangest I ever heard of. I have seen hundreds of +ciphers—hundreds—secret codes of the State Department, secret military +codes, elaborate Oriental ciphers, symbols used in commercial +transactions, symbols used by criminals and every species of malefactor. +And every one of them can be solved with time and patience and a little +knowledge of the subject. But this"—he sat looking at it with eyes half +closed—"this is <i>too</i> simple."</p> + +<p>"Simple!"</p> + +<p>"Very. It's so simple that it's baffling."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you are going to be able to find a meaning in +squares and crosses?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't believe it is going to be so very difficult to translate +them."</p> + +<p>"Great guns!" said the Captain. "Do you mean to say that you can +ultimately translate that cipher?"</p> + +<p>The Tracer smiled. "Let's examine it for repetitions first. Here we have +this symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-5.png' width='117' height='89' alt='Cryptographic symbols' title=''> +</center> + +<p>repeated five times. It's likely to be the letter E. I think—" His +voice ceased; for a quarter of an hour he pored over the symbols, pencil +in hand, checking off some, substituting a letter here and there.</p> + +<p>"No," he said; "the usual doesn't work in this case. It's an absurdly +simple cipher. I have a notion that numbers play a part in it—you see +where these crossed squares are bracketed—those must be numbers +requiring two figures—"</p> + +<p>He fell silent again, and for another quarter of an hour he remained +motionless, immersed in the problem before him, Harren frowning at the +paper over his shoulder.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_X'></a><h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"Come!" said the Tracer suddenly; "this won't do. There are too few +symbols to give us a key; too few repetitions to furnish us with any key +basis. Come, Captain, let us use our intellects; let us talk it over +with that paper lying there between us. It's a simple cipher—a +childishly simple one if we use our wits. Now, sir, what I see repeated +before us on this sheet of paper is merely one of the forms of a symbol +known as Solomon's Seal. The symbol is, as we see, repeated a great many +times. Every seal has been dotted or crossed on some one of the lines +composing it; some seals are coupled with brackets and armatures."</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-6.png' width='121' height='113' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"What of it?" inquired Harren vacantly.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, in the first place, that symbol is supposed to represent the +spiritual and material, as you know. What else do you know about it?"</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-7.png' width='106' height='98' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"Nothing. I bought a book about it, but made nothing of it."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it supposed," asked Mr. Keen, "to contain within itself the nine +numerals, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and even the zero symbol?"</p> + +<p>"I believe so."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. Here's the seal</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-8.png' width='113' height='115' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Now I'll mark the one, two, and three by crossing the lines, like this:</p> + +<p>one,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-9.png' width='110' height='100' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>two,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-10.png' width='113' height='94' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>three,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-11.png' width='108' height='94' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Now, eliminating all lines not crossed there remains</p> + +<p>the one,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-12.png' width='56' height='113' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> +<p>the two,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-13.png' width='73' height='90' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>the three,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-14.png' width='77' height='104' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>And here is the entire series:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-15.png' width='431' height='108' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and the zero—"</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-16.png' width='49' height='69' alt='Cryptographic symbols' title=''> +</center> + +<p>A sudden excitement stirred Harren; he leaned over the paper, gazing +earnestly at the cipher; the Tracer rose and glanced around the room as +though in search of something.</p> + +<p>"Is there a telephone here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, don't give this up just yet," exclaimed Harren. +"These things mean numbers; don't you see? Look at that!" pointing to a +linked pair of seals,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-17.png' width='288' height='142' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"That means the number nineteen! You can form it by using only the +crossed lines of the seal.</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-18.png' width='158' height='121' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Don't you see, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Captain Harren, the cipher is, as you say, very plain; quite as +easy to read as so much handwriting. That is why I wish to use your +telephone—at once, if you please."</p> + +<p>"It's in my bedroom; you don't mind if I go on working out this cipher +while you're telephoning?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," said the Tracer blandly. He walked into the +Captain's bedroom, closing the door behind him; then he stepped over to +the telephone, unhooked the receiver, and called up his own +headquarters.</p> + +<p>"Hello. This is Mr. Keen. I want to speak to Miss Borrow."</p> + +<p>In a few moments Miss Borrow answered: "I am here, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"Good. Look up the name Inwood. Try New York first—Edith Inwood is the +name. Look sharp, please; I am holding the wire."</p> + +<p>He held it for ten full minutes; then Miss Borrow's low voice called him +over the wire.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," said the Tracer quietly.</p> + +<p>"There is only one Edith Inwood in New York, Mr. Keen—Miss Edith +Inwood, graduate of Barnard, 1902—left an orphan 1903 and obliged to +support herself—became an assistant to Professor Boggs of the Museum of +Inscriptions. Is considered an authority upon Arabian cryptograms. Has +written a monograph on the Herati symbol—a short treatise on the +Swastika. She is twenty-four years of age. Do you require further +details?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the Tracer; "please ring off."</p> + +<p>Then he called up General Information. "I want the Museum of +Inscriptions. Get me their number, please." After a moment: "Is this the +Museum of Inscriptions?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Is Professor Boggs there?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Is this Professor Boggs?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Could you find time to decipher an inscription for me at once?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Of course I know you are extremely busy, but have you no assistant who +could do it?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"What did you say her name is? Miss Inwood?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Oh! And will the young lady translate the inscription at once if I send +a copy of it to her by messenger?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Thank you very much, Professor. I will send a messenger to Miss Inwood +with a copy of the inscription. Good-by."</p> + +<p>He hung up the receiver, turned thoughtfully, opened the door again, and +walked into the sunlit living room.</p> + +<p>"Look here!" cried the Captain in a high state of excitement. "I've got +a lot of numbers out of it already."</p> + +<p>"Wonderful!" murmured the Tracer, looking over the young man's broad +shoulders at a sheet of paper bearing these numbers:</p> + +9—14—5—22—5—18—19—1—23—25—15—21—2—21—20—15—14—3—5—9—12—15—22—5—25—15—21—5—4—9—20—8—9—14—23—15—15—4.<br /> + +<p>"Marvelous!" repeated the Tracer, smiling. "Now what <i>do</i> you suppose +those numbers can stand for?"</p> + +<p>"Letters!" announced the Captain triumphantly. "Take the number nine, +for example. The ninth letter in the alphabet is I! Mr. Keen, suppose we +try writing down the letters according to that system!"</p> + +<p>"Suppose we do," agreed the Tracer gravely.</p> + +<p>So, counting under his breath, the young man set down the letters in the +following order, not attempting to group them into words:</p> + +<p><b>INEVERSAWYOUBUTONCEILOVEYOUEDITHINWOOD.</b></p> + +<p>Then he leaned back, excited, triumphant.</p> + +<p>"There you are!" he said; "only, of course, it makes no sense." He +examined it in silence, and gradually a hopeless expression effaced the +animation. "How the deuce am I going to separate that mass of letters +into words?" he muttered.</p> + +<p>"This way," said the Tracer, smilingly taking the pencil from his +fingers, and he wrote: <b>I—NEVER—SAW—YOU—BUT—ONCE. I—LOVE—YOU. +EDITH INWOOD.</b></p> + +<p>Then he laid the pencil on the table and walked to the window.</p> + +<p>Once or twice he fancied that he heard incoherent sounds behind him. +And after a while he turned, retracing his steps leisurely. Captain +Harren, extremely pink, stood tugging at his short mustache and studying +the papers on the desk.</p> + +<p>"Well?" inquired the Tracer, amused.</p> + +<p>The young man pointed to the translation with unsteady finger. "W-what +on earth does that mean?" he demanded shakily. "Who is Edith Inwood? +W-what on earth does that cryptogram mean on the window pane in the +photograph? How did it come there? It isn't on my window pane, you see!"</p> + +<p>The Tracer said quietly: "That is not a photograph of your window."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"No, Captain. Here! Look at it closely through this glass. There are +sixteen small panes in that sash; now count the panes in your +window—eight! Besides, look at that curtain. It is made of some figured +stuff like chintz. Now, look at your own curtain yonder! It is of plain +velour."</p> + +<p>"But—but I took that photograph! She stood there—there by that very +window!"</p> + +<p>The Tracer leaned over the photograph, examining it through the glass. +And, studying it, he said: "Do you still see <i>her</i> in this photograph, +Captain Harren?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Can you not see her?"</p> + +<p>"No," murmured the Tracer, "but I see the window which she really stood +by when her phantom came here seeking you. And that is sufficient. Come, +Captain Harren, we are going out together."</p> + +<p>The Captain looked at him earnestly; something in Mr. Keen's eyes seemed +to fascinate him.</p> + +<p>"You think that—that it's likely we are g-going to see—<i>her</i>!" he +faltered.</p> + +<p>"If I were you," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, joining the tips of +his lean fingers meditatively—"If I were you I should wear a silk hat +and a frock coat. It's—it's afternoon, anyhow," he added deprecatingly, +"and we are liable to make a call."</p> + +<p>Captain Harren turned like a man in a dream and entered his bedroom. And +when he emerged he was dressed and groomed with pathetic precision.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen," he said, "I—I don't know why I am d-daring to hope for all +s-sorts of things. Nothing you have said really warrants it. But somehow +I'm venturing to cherish an absurd notion that I may s-see her."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said the Tracer, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen! You wouldn't say that if—if there was no chance, would you? +You wouldn't dash a fellow's hopes—"</p> + +<p>"No, I wouldn't," said Mr. Keen. "I tell you frankly that I expect to +find her."</p> + +<p>"To-day?"</p> + +<p>"We'll see," said Mr. Keen guardedly. "Come, Captain, don't look that +way! Courage, sir! We are about to execute a turning movement; but you +look like a Russian general on his way to the south front."</p> + +<p>Harren managed to laugh; they went out, side by side, descended the +elevator, and found a cab at the <i>porte-cochère</i>. Mr. Keen gave the +directions and followed the Captain into the cab.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said, as they wheeled south, "we are first going to visit the +Museum of Inscriptions and have this cipher translation verified. Here +is the cipher as I copied it. Hold it tightly, Captain; we've only a few +blocks to drive."</p> + +<p>Indeed they were already nearly there. The hansom drew up in front of a +plain granite building wedged in between some rather elaborate private +dwelling-houses. Over the door were letters of dull bronze:</p> + +<center><b>AMERICAN MUSEUM OF INSCRIPTIONS</b></center> + +<p>and the two men descended and entered a wide marble hall lined with +glass-covered cabinets containing plaster casts of various ancient +inscriptions and a few bronze and marble originals. Several female +frumps were nosing the exhibits.</p> + +<p>An attendant in livery stood in the middle distance. The Tracer walked +over to him. "I have an appointment to consult Miss Inwood," he +whispered.</p> + +<p>"This way, sir," nodded the attendant, and the Tracer signaled the +Captain to follow.</p> + +<p>They climbed several marble stairways, crossed a rotunda, and entered a +room—a sort of library. Beyond was a door which bore the inscription:</p> + +<center><b>ASSISTANT CURATOR</b></center> + +<p>"Now," said the Tracer of Lost Persons in a low voice to Captain Harren, +"I am going to ask you to sit here for a few minutes while I interview +the assistant curator. You don't mind, do you?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't mind," said Harren wearily, "only, when are we going to +begin to search for—<i>her</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Very soon—I may say extremely soon," said Mr. Keen gravely. "By the +way, I think I'll take that sheet of paper on which I copied the cipher. +Thank you. I won't be long."</p> + +<p>The attendant had vanished. Captain Harren sat down by a window and +gazed out into the late afternoon sunshine. The Tracer of Lost Persons, +treading softly across the carpeted floor, approached the sanctuary, +turned the handle, and walked in, carefully closing the door behind him.</p> + +<p>There was a young girl seated at a desk by an open window; she looked up +quietly as he entered, then rose leisurely.</p> + +<p>"Miss Inwood?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>She was slender, dark-eyed, dark-haired—a lovely, wholesome young +creature; gracious and graceful. And that was all—for the Tracer of +Lost Persons could not see through the eyes of Captain Harren, and +perhaps that is why he was not able to discern a miracle of beauty in +the pretty girl who confronted him—no magic and matchless marvel of +transcendent loveliness—only a quiet, sweet-faced, dark-eyed young girl +whose features and figure were attractive in the manner that youth is +always attractive. But then it is a gift of the gods to see through eyes +anointed by the gods.</p> + +<p>The Tracer touched his gray mustache and bowed; the girl bowed very +sweetly.</p> + +<p>"You are Mr. Keen," she said; "you have an inscription for me to +translate."</p> + +<p>"A mystery for young eyes to interpret," he said, smiling. "May I sit +here—and tell my story before I show you my inscription?"</p> + +<p>"Please do," she said, seating herself at her desk and facing him, one +slender white hand supporting the oval of her face.</p> + +<p>The Tracer drew his chair a little forward. "It is a curious matter," he +said. "May I give you a brief outline of the details?"</p> + +<p>"By all means, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"Then let me begin by saying that the inscription of which I have a copy +was probably scratched upon a window pane by means of a diamond."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Then—then it is not an ancient inscription, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"The theme is ancient—the oldest theme in the world—love! The cipher +is old—as old as King Solomon." She looked up quickly. The Tracer, +apparently engrossed in his own story, went on with it. "Three years ago +the young girl who wrote this inscription upon the window pane of +her—her bedroom, I think it was—fell in love. Do you follow me, Miss +Inwood?"</p> + +<p>Miss Inwood sat very still—wide, dark eyes fixed on him.</p> + +<p>"Fell in love," repeated the Tracer musingly, "not in the ordinary way. +That is the point, you see. No, she fell in love at first sight; fell +in love with a young man whom she never before had seen, never again +beheld—and never forgot. Do you still follow me, Miss Inwood?"</p> + +<p>She made the slightest motion with her lips.</p> + +<p>"No," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, "she never forgot him. I am not +sure, but I think she sometimes dreamed of him. She dreamed of him +awake, too. Once she inscribed a message to him, cutting it with the +diamond in her ring on the window pane—"</p> + +<p>A slight sound escaped from Miss Inwood's lips. "I beg your pardon," +said the Tracer, "did you say something?"</p> + +<p>The girl had risen, pale, astounded, incredulous.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" she faltered. "What has this—this story to do with me?"</p> + +<p>"Child," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, "the Seal of Solomon is a +splendid mystery. All of heaven and earth are included within its +symbol. And more, more than you dream of, more than I dare fathom; and I +am an old man, my child—old, alone, with nobody to fear for, nothing to +dread, not even the end of all—because I am ready for that, too. Yet I, +having nothing on earth to dread, dare not fathom what that symbol may +mean, nor what vast powers it may exert on life. God knows. It may be +the very signet of Fate itself; the sign manual of Destiny."</p> + +<p>He drew the paper from his pocket, unrolled it, and spread it out under +her frightened eyes.</p> + +<p>"<i>That!</i>" she whispered, steadying herself blindly against the arm he +offered. She stood a moment so, then, shuddering, covered her eyes with +both hands. The Tracer of Lost Persons looked at her, turned and opened +the door.</p> + +<p>"Captain Harren!" he called quietly. Harren, pacing the anteroom, turned +and came forward. As he entered the door he caught sight of the girl +crouching by the window, her face hidden in her hands, and at the same +moment she dropped her hands and looked straight at him.</p> + +<p>"<i>You!</i>" she gasped.</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons stepped out, closing the door. For a moment +he stood there, tall, gaunt, gray, staring vacantly into space.</p> + +<p>"She <i>was</i> beautiful—when she looked at him," he muttered.</p> + +<p>For another minute he stood there, hesitating, glancing backward at the +closed door. Then he went away, stooping slightly, his top hat held +close against the breast of his tightly buttoned frock coat.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI'></a><h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<br /> + +<p>During his first year of wedded bliss, Gatewood cut the club. When Kerns +wanted to see him he had to call like other people or, like other +people, accept young Mrs. Gatewood's invitations.</p> + +<p>"Why," said Gatewood scornfully, "should I, thirty-four years of age and +safely married, go to a club? Why should I, at my age, idle with a lot +of idlers and listen to stuffy stories from stuffier individuals? Do you +think that stale tobacco smoke, and the idiotically reiterated click of +billiard balls, and the vacant stare of the fashionably brainless, and +the meaningless exchange of banalities with the intellectually aimless +have any attractions for me?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gatewood raised her pretty eyes in silence; Kerns returned her +amused gaze rather blankly.</p> + +<p>"Clubs!" sniffed Gatewood. "What are clubs but pretexts for wasting +time? What mental, what spiritual stimulus can a man expect to find in a +club? Why, Kerns, when I look back a year and think what I was, and when +I look at you and think what you still are—"</p> + +<p>"John," said Mrs. Gatewood softly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he knows it!" insisted her husband, "don't you, Tommy? You know the +sort of life you're leading, don't you? You know what a miserable, +aimless, selfish, unambitious, pitiable existence an unmarried man leads +who lives at his club; don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Kerns, blinking into the smiling gaze of Mrs. +Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"Then why don't you marry?"</p> + +<p>But Kerns had risen and was making his adieus with cheerful decision; +and Mrs. Gatewood was laughing as she gave him her slender hand.</p> + +<p>"Now I know a girl—" began Gatewood; but his wife was still speaking to +Kerns, so he circled around them, politely suppressing the excitement of +a sudden idea struggling for utterance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gatewood was saying: "I do wish John would go to his clubs +occasionally. Because a man is married is no reason for his losing touch +with his clubs—"</p> + +<p>"I know a girl," broke in Gatewood excitedly, laying his arm on Kerns's +to detain him; but Kerns slid sideways through the door with a smile so +noncommittal that Mrs. Gatewood laughed again and, linking her arm in +her husband's, faced partly toward him. This maneuver, and the +slightest pressure of her shoulder, obliged her husband to begin a +turning movement, so that Kerns might reasonably make his escape in the +middle of Gatewood's sentence; which he did with nimble and circumspect +agility.</p> + +<p>"I—I know a—" began Gatewood desperately, twisting his head over his +shoulder, only to hear the deadened patter of his friend's feet over the +velvet stair carpet and the subdued clang of the front door.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it extraordinary?" he said to his wife. "I've been trying to tell +Tommy, every time he comes here, about a girl I know—just the very girl +he ought to marry; and something prevents him from listening every +time."</p> + +<p>The attractive young matron beside him turned her face so that her eyes +were directly in line with his.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever know any people named Manners?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No. Why?"</p> + +<p>"You never knew a girl named Marjorie Manners, did you, John?"</p> + +<p>"No. What about her?"</p> + +<p>"You never heard Mr. Kerns speak of her, did you, dear?"</p> + +<p>"No, never. Tommy doesn't talk about girls."</p> + +<p>"You never heard him speak of a Mrs. Stanley?"</p> + +<p>"Never. Who are these two women?"</p> + +<p>"One and the same, dear. Marjorie Manners married an Englishman named +Stanley six years ago. Do you happen to recollect that Mr. Kerns took +his vacation in England six years ago?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. What of it?"</p> + +<p>"He crossed to Southampton with Marjorie and her mother. He didn't know +she was going over to be married, and she didn't tell him. She wrote to +me about it, though. I was in school at Farmington; she left school to +marry—a mere child of eighteen, undeveloped for her age, thin, almost +scrawny, with pipe-stem arms and neck, red hair, a very sweet, +full-lipped mouth, and gray eyes that were too big for her face."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Gatewood with a short laugh, "what about it? You don't +think Kerns fell in love with an insect of that genus, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," smiled Mrs. Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense. Besides, what of it? She's married, you say."</p> + +<p>"Her husband died of enteric at Ladysmith. She wrote me. She has never +remarried. Think of it, John—in all these years she has never +remarried!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Gatewood pityingly; "do you really suppose that Tommy Kerns +has been nursing a blighted affection all these years without ever +giving <i>me</i> an inkling? Besides, men don't do that; men don't curl up +and blight. Besides, men don't take any stock in big-eyed, flat-chested, +red-headed pipe stems. Why do you think that Kerns ever cared for her?"</p> + +<p>"I know he did."</p> + +<p>"How do you know it?"</p> + +<p>"From Marjorie's letters."</p> + +<p>"The conceited kid! Well, of all insufferable nerve! A man like Kerns—a +man—one of the finest, noblest characters—spiritually, intellectually, +physically—a practically faultless specimen of manhood! And a +red-headed, spindle-legged—Oh, my! Oh, fizz! Dearest, men don't worship +a cage of bones with an eighteen-year-old soul in it—like a nervous +canary pecking out at the world!"</p> + +<p>"She created a furor in England," observed his wife, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say she might over there. Besides, she's doubtless fattened +up since then. But if you suppose for one moment that Tommy could even +remember a girl like that—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gatewood smiled again—the wise, sweet smile of a young matron in +whom her husband's closest friend had confided. And after a moment or +two the wise smile became more thoughtful and less assured; for that +very day the Tracer of Lost Persons had called on her to inquire about a +Mrs. Stanley—a new client of his who had recently bought a town house +in East Eighty-third Street and a country house on Long Island; and who +had applied to him to find her fugitive butler and a pint or two of +family jewels. And, after her talk with the Tracer of Lost Persons, Mrs. +Gatewood knew that her favorite among all her husband's friends, Mr. +Kerns, would never of his own volition go near that same Marjorie +Manners who had flirted with him to the very perilous verge before she +told him why she was going to England—and who, now a widow, had +returned with her five-year-old daughter to dwell once more in the city +of her ancestors.</p> + +<p>Kerns had said very simply: "She has spoiled women for me—all except +you, Mrs. Gatewood. And if Jack hadn't married you—"</p> + +<p>"I understand, Mr. Kerns. I'm awfully sorry."</p> + +<p>"Don't feel sorry; only, if you can, call Jack off. He's been perfectly +possessed to marry me to somebody ever since he married you. And if I +told him why I don't care to consider the matter he wouldn't believe +me—he'd spend his life in trying to bring me around. Besides, I +couldn't ever tell him about—Marjorie Manners. Anyhow, nothing on earth +could ever induce me to look at her again. . . . You say she is now a +widow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Kerns, and very beautiful."</p> + +<p>"Never again," muttered Kerns. "Never! She was homely enough when I +asked her to marry me. I don't want to see her; I don't want to know +what she looks like. I'm glad she has changed so I wouldn't recognize +her, for that means the end of it all—the final elimination of the girl +I remember on the ship. . . . It was probably a sort of diseased +infatuation, wasn't it, Mrs. Gatewood? Think of it! A few days on +shipboard and—and I asked her to marry me! . . . I don't blame her, +after all, for letting me dangle. It was an excellent opportunity for +her to study a rare species of idiot. She was justified and I am +satisfied. Only, do call Jack off with a hint or two."</p> + +<p>"I shall try," said young Mrs. Gatewood thoughtfully—very thoughtfully, +for already every atom and fiber of her femininity was aroused in behalf +of these two estranged young people whom Providence certainly had not +meant to put asunder.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"Nothing," said Gatewood firmly, "can make me believe that Kerns ought +not to marry somebody; and I'm never going to let up on him until he +does. I'll bet I could fix him for life if I called in the Tracer to +help me. Isn't it extraordinary how Kerns has kept out of it all these +years?"</p> + +<p>The attractive girl beside him turned her face once more so that her +clear, sweet eyes were directly in line with his.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> extraordinary," she said seriously. "I think you ought to drop +in at the club some day when you can corner him and bully him."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go to the club," said the infatuated man.</p> + +<p>"Why, dear?"</p> + +<p>He looked straight at her and she flushed prettily, while a tint of +color touched his own face. Which was very nice of him. So she didn't +say what she was going to say—that it would be perhaps better for them +both if he practiced on her an artistic absence now and then. Younger in +years, she was more mature than he. She knew. But she was too much in +love with him to salt their ambrosia with common sense or suggest +economy in their use of the nectar bottle.</p> + +<p>However, the gods attend to that, and she knew they would, and she let +them. So one balmy evening late in May, when the new moon's ghost +floated through the upper haze, and the golden Diana above Manhattan +turned flame color, and the electric lights began to glimmer along Fifth +Avenue, and the first faint scent of the young summer freshened the +foliage in square and park, Kerns, stopping at the club for a moment, +found Gatewood seated at the same window they both were wont to haunt in +earlier and more flippant days.</p> + +<p>"Are you dining here?" inquired Kerns, pushing the electric button with +enthusiasm. "Well, that's the first glimmer of common sense you've +betrayed since you've been married!"</p> + +<p>"Dining <i>here</i>!" repeated Gatewood. "I should hope not! I am just going +home—"</p> + +<p>"He's thoroughly cowed," commented Kerns; "every married man you meet at +the club is just going home." But he continued to push the button, +nevertheless.</p> + +<p>Gatewood leaned back in his chair and gazed about him, nose in the air. +"What a life!" he observed virtuously. "It's all I can do to stand it +for ten minutes. You're here for the evening, I suppose?" he added +pityingly.</p> + +<p>"No," said Kerns; "I'm going uptown to Billy Lee's house to get my suit +case. His family are out of town, and he is at Seabright, so he let me +camp there until the workmen finish papering my rooms upstairs. I'm to +lock up the house and send the key to the Burglar Alarm Company +to-night. Then I go to Boston on the 12.10. Want to come? There'll be a +few doing."</p> + +<p>"To Boston! What for?"</p> + +<p>"Contracts! We can go out to Cambridge when I've finished my business. +There'll be <i>etwas</i> doing."</p> + +<p>"<i>Can't</i> you ever recover from being an undergraduate?" asked Gatewood, +disgusted.</p> + +<p>"Well—is there anything the matter with a man getting next to a little +amusement in life?" asked Kerns. "Do you object to my being happy?"</p> + +<p>"Amusement? You don't know how to amuse yourself. You don't know how to +be happy. Here you sit, day after day, swallowing Martinis—" He paused +to finish his own, then resumed: "Here you sit, day after day, +intellectually stultified, unemotionally ignorant of the higher and +better life—"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't. I've a book upstairs that tells all about that. I read it +when I have holdovers—"</p> + +<p>"Kerns, I wish to speak seriously. I've had it on my mind ever since I +married. May I speak frankly?"</p> + +<p>"Well, when I come back from Boston—"</p> + +<p>"Because I know a girl," interrupted Gatewood—"wait a moment, +Tommy!"—as Kerns rose and sauntered toward the door—"you've plenty of +time to catch your train and be civil, too! I mean to tell you about +that girl, if you'll listen."</p> + +<p>Kerns halted and turned upon his friend a pair of eyes, unwinking in +their placid intelligence.</p> + +<p>"I was going to say that I know a girl," continued Gatewood, "who is +just the sort of a girl you—"</p> + +<p>"No, she isn't!" said Kerns, wheeling to resume his progress toward the +cloakroom.</p> + +<p>"Tom!"</p> + +<p>Kerns halted.</p> + +<p>"<i>You're</i> a fine specimen!" commented Gatewood scornfully. "You spent +the best years of your life in persuading me to get married, and the +first time I try to do the same for you, you make for the tall timber!"</p> + +<p>"I know it," admitted Kerns, unashamed; "I'm bashful. I'm a chipmunk for +shyness, so I'll say good night—"</p> + +<p>"Come back," said Gatewood coldly.</p> + +<p>"But my suit case—"</p> + +<p>"You left it at the Lee's, didn't you? Well, you've time enough to go +there, get it, make your train, and listen to me, too. Look here, Kerns, +have you any of the elements of decency about you?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Kerns, "not a single element." He seated himself defiantly in +the club window facing Gatewood and began to button his gloves. When he +had finished he settled his new straw hat more comfortably on his head, +and, leaning forward and balancing his malacca walking stick across his +knees, gazed at Gatewood with composure.</p> + +<p>"Crank up!" he said pleasantly; "I'm going in less than three minutes." +He pushed the electric knob as an afterthought, and when the gilt +buttons of the club servant glimmered through the dusk, "Two more," he +explained briskly. After a few moments' silence, broken by the tinkle of +ice in thin glassware, Gatewood leaned forward, menacing his friend with +an impressive forefinger:</p> + +<p>"Did you or didn't you once tell me that a decent citizen ought to +marry?"</p> + +<p>"I did, dear friend."</p> + +<p>"Did I or didn't I do it?"</p> + +<p>"In the words of the classic, you <i>done</i> it," admitted Kerns.</p> + +<p>"Was I or wasn't I going to the devil before I had the sense to marry?" +persisted Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"You was! You <i>was</i>, dear friend!" said Kerns with enthusiasm. "You had +almost went there ere I appeared and saved you."</p> + +<p>"Then why shouldn't you marry and let me save you?"</p> + +<p>"But I'm not going to the bowwows. <i>I'm</i> all right. I'm a decent +citizen. I awake in the rosy dawn with a song on my lips; I softly +whistle rag time as I button my collar; I warble a few delicious vagrant +notes as I part my sparse hair; I'm not murderous before breakfast; I go +down town, singing, to my daily toil; I fish for fat contracts in +Georgia marble; I return uptown immersed in a holy calm and the evening +paper. I offer myself a cocktail; I bow and accept; I dress for dinner +with the aid of a rascally valet, but—<i>do</i> I swear at him? No, dear +friend; I say, 'Henry, I have known far, far worse scoundrels than you. +Thank you for filling up my bay rum with water. Bless you for wearing +my imported hosiery! I deeply regret that my new shirts do not fit you, +Henry!' And my smile is a benediction upon that wayward scullion. Then, +dear friend, why, why do you desire to offer me up upon the altar of +unrest? What is a little wifey to me or I to any wifey?"</p> + +<p>"Because," said Gatewood irritated, "you offered me up. I'm happy and I +want you to be—you great, hulking, self-satisfied symbol of supreme +self-centered selfishness—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, splash!" said Kerns feebly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are. What do you do all day? Grub for money and study how to +make life agreeable to yourself! Every minute of the day you are +occupied in having a good time! You've admitted it! You wake up singing +like a fool canary; you wear imported hosiery; you've made a soft, warm +wallow for yourself at this club, and here you bask your life away, +waddling downtown to nail contracts and cut coupons, and uptown to +dinners and theaters, only to return and sprawl here in luxury without +one single thought for posterity. <i>Your</i> crime is race suicide!"</p> + +<p>"I—my—<i>what</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Some shirk taxes, some jury duty. <i>You</i> shirk fatherhood, +and all its happy and sacred obligations! You deny posterity! You strike +a blow at it! You flout it! You menace the future of this Republic! +Your inertia is a crime against the people! Instead of <i>pro bono +publico</i> your motto is <i>pro bono tempo</i>—for a good time! And, dog Latin +or not, it's the truth, and our great President"</p> + +<p>"Splash!" said Kerns, rising.</p> + +<p>"I've a good mind," said Gatewood indignantly, "to put the Tracer of +Lost Persons on your trail. He'd rope you and tie you in record time!"</p> + +<p>Kerns's smile was a provocation.</p> + +<p>"I'll do it, too!" added Gatewood, losing his temper, "if you dare give +me the chance."</p> + +<p>"Seriously," inquired Kerns, delighted, "<i>do</i> you think your friend, Mr. +Keen, could encompass my matrimony against my better sense and the full +enjoyment of my unimpaired mental faculties?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't he—fortunately for me—force me into matrimony when I had never +seen a woman I would look at twice? Didn't you put him up to it? Very +well, why can't I put him on your trail then? Why can't <i>he</i> do the same +for you?"</p> + +<p>"Try it, dear friend," retorted Kerns courteously.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you are not afraid? Do you mean you give me full +liberty to set him on you? And do you realize what that means? No, you +don't; for you haven't a notion of what that man, Westrel Keen, can +accomplish. You haven't the slightest idea of the machinery which he +controls with a delicacy absolutely faultless; with a perfectly +terrifying precision. Why, man, the Pinkerton system itself has become +merely a detail in the immense complexity of the system of control which +the Tracer of Lost Persons exercises over this entire continent. The +urban police, the State constabulary of Pennsylvania, the rural systems +of surveillance, the Secret Service, all municipal, provincial, State, +and national organizations form but a few strands in the universal web +he has woven. Custom officials, revenue officers, the militia of the +States, the army, the navy, the personnel of every city, State, and +national legislative bodies form interdependent threads in the mesh he +is master of; and, like a big beneficent spider, he sits in the center +of his web, able to tell by the slightest tremor of any thread exactly +where to begin investigations!"</p> + +<p>Flushed, earnest, a trifle out of breath with his own eloquence, +Gatewood waved his hand to indicate a Ciceronian period, adding, as +Kerns's incredulous smile broadened: "Say splash again, and I'll put you +at his mercy!"</p> + +<p>"Ker-splash! dear friend," observed Kerns pleasantly. "If a man doesn't +want to marry, the army, the navy, the Senate, the white wings, and the +great White Father at Washington can't make him."</p> + +<p>"I tell you I want to see you happy!" said Gatewood angrily.</p> + +<p>"Then gaze upon me. I'm it!"</p> + +<p>"You're not! You don't know what happiness is."</p> + +<p>"Don't I? Well, I don't miss it, dear friend—"</p> + +<p>"But if you've never had it, and therefore don't miss it, it's time +somebody found some real happiness for you. Kerns, I simply can't bear +to see you missing so much happiness—"</p> + +<p>"Why grieve?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will! I do grieve—in spite of your grinning skepticism and your +bantering attitude. See here, Tom; I've started about a thousand times +to say that I knew a girl—"</p> + +<p>"Do you want to hear that splash again?"</p> + +<p>Gatewood grew madder. He said: "I could easily lay your case before Mr. +Keen and have you in love and married and happy whether you like it or +not!"</p> + +<p>"If I were not going to Boston, my son, I should enjoy your misguided +efforts," returned Kerns blandly.</p> + +<p>"Your going to Boston makes no difference. The Tracer of Lost Persons +doesn't care where you go or what you do. If he starts in on your case, +Tommy, you can't escape."</p> + +<p>"You mean he can catch me now? Here? At my own club? Or on the public +highway? Or on the classic Boston train?"</p> + +<p>"He <i>could</i>. Yes, I firmly believe he could land you before you ever saw +the Boston State House. I tell you he can work like lightning, Kerns. I +know it; I am so absolutely convinced of it that I—I almost hesitate—"</p> + +<p>"Don't feel delicate about it," laughed Kerns; "you may call him on the +telephone while I go uptown and get my suit case. Perhaps I'll come back +a blushing bridegroom; who knows?"</p> + +<p>"If you'll wait here I'll call him up now," said Gatewood grimly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well. Only I left my suit case in Billy's room, and it's full +of samples of Georgia marble, and I've got to get it to the train."</p> + +<p>"You've plenty of time. If you'll wait until I talk to Mr. Keen I'll +dine with you here. Will you?"</p> + +<p>"What? Dine in this abandoned joint with an outcast like me? Dear +friend, are you dippy this lovely May evening?"</p> + +<p>"I'll do it if you'll wait. Will you? And I'll bet you now that I'll +have you in love and sprinting toward the altar before we meet again at +this club. Do you dare bet?"</p> + +<p>"The terms of the wager, kind friend?" drawled Kerns, delighted; and he +fished out a notebook kept for such transactions.</p> + +<p>"Let me see," reflected Gatewood; "you'll need a silver service when +you're married. . . . Well, say, forks and spoons and things against an +imported trap gun—twelve-gauge, you know."</p> + +<p>"Done. Go and telephone to your friend, Mr. Keen." And Kerns pushed the +electric button with a jeering laugh, and asked the servant for a dinner +card.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Gatewood, in the telephone booth, waited impatiently for Mr. Keen; and +after a few moments the Tracer of Lost Persons' agreeable voice sounded +in the receiver.</p> + +<p>"It's about Mr. Kerns," began Gatewood; "I want to see him happy, and +the idiot won't be. Now, Mr. Keen, you know what happiness you and he +brought to me! You know what sort of an idle, selfish, aimless, +meaningless life you saved me from? I want you to do the same for Mr. +Kerns. I want to ask you to take up his case at once. Besides, I've a +bet on it. Could you attend to it at once?"</p> + +<p>"To-night?" asked the Tracer, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Why—ah—well, of course, that would be impossible. I suppose—"</p> + +<p>"My profession is to overcome the impossible, Mr. Gatewood. Where is Mr. +Kerns?"</p> + +<p>"Here, in this club, defying me and drinking cocktails. He won't get +married, and I want you to make him do it."</p> + +<p>"Where is he spending the evening?" asked the Tracer, laughing again.</p> + +<p>"Why, he's been stopping at the Danforth Lees' in Eighty-third Street +until the workmen at the club here finish putting new paper on his +walls. The Lees are out of town. He left his suit case at their house +and he's going up to get it and catch the 12.10 train for Boston."</p> + +<p>"He goes from the Lenox Club to the residence of Mr. W. Danforth Lee, +East Eighty-third Street, to get a suit case," repeated the Tracer. "Is +that correct?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What is in the suit case?"</p> + +<p>"Samples of that new marble he's quarrying in Georgia."</p> + +<p>"Is it an old suit case? Has it Mr. Kerns's initials on it?"</p> + +<p>"Hold the wire; I'll find out."</p> + +<p>And Gatewood left the telephone and walked into the great lounging room, +where Kerns sat twirling his stick and smiling to himself.</p> + +<p>"All over, dear friend?" inquired Kerns, starting to rise. "I've ordered +a corking dinner."</p> + +<p>"Wait!" returned Gatewood ominously. "What sort of a suit case is that +one you're going after?"</p> + +<p>"What sort? Oh, just an ordinary—"</p> + +<p>"Is it old or new?"</p> + +<p>"Brand new. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Is your name on it?"</p> + +<p>"No; why? Would that thicken the plot, dear friend? Or is the Tracer +foiled, ha! ha!"</p> + +<p>Gatewood turned on his heel, went back to the telephone, and, carefully +shutting the door of the booth, took up the receiver.</p> + +<p>"It's a new suit case, Mr. Keen," he said; "no initials on it—just an +ordinary case."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lee's residence is 38 East Eighty-third Street, between Madison and +Fifth, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"And the family are out of town?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is there a caretaker there?"</p> + +<p>"No; Mr. Kerns camped there. When he leaves to-night he will send the +key to the Burglar Alarm Company."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Please hold the wire for a while."</p> + +<p>For ten full minutes Gatewood sat gleefully cuddling the receiver +against his ear. His faith in Mr. Keen was naturally boundless; he +believed that whatever the Tracer attempted could not result in failure. +He desired nothing in the world so ardently as to see Kerns safely +married. His own happiness may have been the motive power which had set +him in action in behalf of his friend—that and a certain indefinable +desire to practice a species of heavenly revenge, of grateful +retaliation upon the prime mover and <i>collaborateur</i>, if not the sole +author, of his own wedded bliss. Kerns had made him happy.</p> + +<p>"And I'm hanged if I don't pay him off and make him happy, too!" +muttered Gatewood. "Does he think I'm going to sit still and see him go +tearing and gyrating about town with no responsibility, no moral check +to his evolutions, no wholesome home duties to limit his acrobatics, no +wife to clip his wings? It's time he had somebody to report to; time he +assumed moral burdens and spiritual responsibilities. A man is just as +happy when he is certain where he is going to sleep. A man can find just +as much enjoyment in life when he feels it his duty to account for his +movements. I don't care whether Kerns is comparatively happy or +not—there's nothing either sacred or holy in that kind of happiness, +and I'm not going to endure the sort of life he likes any longer!"</p> + +<p>Immersed in moral reflections, inspired by affectionate obligations to +violently inflict happiness upon Kerns, the minutes passed very +agreeably until the amused voice of the Tracer of Lost Persons sounded +again in the receiver.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am here, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"Do you really think it best for Mr. Kerns to fall in love?"</p> + +<p>"I do, certainly!" replied Gatewood with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"Because," continued the Tracer of Lost Persons, "I see little chance +for him to do otherwise if I take up this case. Fate itself, in the +shape of a young lady, is already on the way here in a railroad train."</p> + +<p>"Good! Good!" exclaimed Gatewood. "Don't let him escape, Mr. Keen! I beg +of you to take up his case! I urge you most seriously to do so. Mr. +Kerns is now exactly what I was a year ago—an utterly useless member of +the community—a typical bachelor who lives at his clubs, shirking the +duties of a decent citizen."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly," said the Tracer. "Do you insist that I take this case? That +I attempt to trace and find for Mr. Kerns a sort of happiness he himself +has never found?"</p> + +<p>"I implore you to do so, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. If I do—if I carry it out as it has been arranged—or +rather as the case seems to have already arranged itself, for it is +rather a simple matter, I fancy—I do not exactly see how Mr. Kerns can +avoid experiencing a—ahem—a tender sentiment for the very charming +young lady whom I—and chance—have designed for him as a partner +through life."</p> + +<p>"Excellent! Splendid!" shouted Gatewood through the telephone. "Can I do +anything to aid you in this?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the Tracer, laughing. "If you can keep him amused for an +hour or two before he goes after his suit case it might make it easier +for me. This young lady is due to arrive in New York at eight o'clock—a +client of mine—coming to consult me. Her presence plays an important +part in Mr. Kerns's future. I wish you to detain Mr. Kerns until she is +ready to receive him. But of this he must know nothing. Good-by, Mr. +Gatewood, and would you be kind enough to present my compliments to Mrs. +Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I will! We never can forget what you have done for us. Good-by."</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. Try to keep Mr. Kerns amused for two or three +hours. Of course, if you can't do this, there are other methods I may +employ—a dozen other plans already partly outlined in my mind; but the +present plan, which accident and coincidence make so easy, is likely to +work itself out to your entire satisfaction within a few hours. We are +already weaving a web around Mr. Kerns; we already have taken exclusive +charge of his future movements after he leaves the Lenox Club. I do not +believe he can escape us, or his charming destiny. Good night!"</p> + +<p>Gatewood, enchanted, hung up the receiver. Song broke softly from his +lips as he started in search of Kerns; his step was springy, +buoyant—sort of subdued and modest prance.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said to himself, "Tommy must take out his papers. The time is +ended when he can issue letters of marque to himself, hoist sail, square +away, and go cruising all over this metropolis at his own sweet will."</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV'></a><h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>In the meanwhile, at the other end of the wire, Mr. Keen, the Tracer of +Lost Persons, was preparing to trace for Mr. Kerns, against that +gentleman's will, the true happiness which Mr. Kerns had never been able +to find for himself.</p> + +<p>He sat in his easy chair within the four walls of his own office, +inspecting a line of people who stood before him on the carpet forming a +single and attentive rank. In this rank were five men: a policeman, a +cab driver, an agent of the telephone company, an agent of the electric +company, and a reformed burglar carrying a kit of his trade tools.</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons gazed at them, meditatively joining the tips +of his thin fingers.</p> + +<p>"I want the number on 36 East Eighty-third Street changed to No. 38, and +the number 38 replaced by No. 36," he said to the policeman. "I want it +done at once. Get a glazier and go up there and have it finished in an +hour. Mrs. Kenna, caretaker at No. 36, is in my pay; she will not +interfere. There is nobody in No. 38: Mr. Kerns leaves there to-night +and the Burglar Alarm Company takes charge to-morrow."</p> + +<p>And, turning to the others: "You," nodding at the reformed burglar, +"know your duty. Mike!" to the cab driver, "don't miss Mr. Kerns at the +Lenox Club. If he calls you before eleven, drive into the park and have +an accident. And you," to the agent of the telephone company, "will +sever all telephone connection in Mrs. Stanley's house; and you," to the +official of the electric company, "will see that the circuit in Mrs. +Stanley's house is cut so that no electric light may be lighted and no +electric bell sound."</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons stroked his gray mustache thoughtfully. "And +that," he ended, "will do, I think. Good night."</p> + +<p>He rose and stood by the door as the policeman headed the solemn file +which marched out to their duty; then he looked at his watch, and, as it +was already a few minutes after eight, he called up No. 36 East +Eighty-third Street, and in a moment more had Mrs. Stanley on the wire.</p> + +<p>"Good evening," he said pleasantly. "I suppose you have just arrived +from Rosylyn. I may be a little late—I may be very late, in fact, so I +called you up to say so. And I wished to say another thing; to ask you +whether your servants could recollect ever having seen a young man +about the place, a rather attractive young man with excellent address +and manners, five feet eleven inches, slim but well built, dark hair, +dark eyes, and dark mustache, offering samples of Georgia marble for +sale."</p> + +<p>"Really, Mr. Keen," replied a silvery voice, "I have heard them say +nothing about such an individual. If you will hold the wire I will ask +my maid." And, after a pause: "No, Mr. Keen, my maid cannot remember any +such person. Do you think he was a confederate of that wretched butler +of mine?"</p> + +<p>"I am scarcely prepared to say that; in fact," added Mr. Keen, "I +haven't the slightest idea that this young man could have been concerned +in anything of that sort. Only, if you should ever by any chance see +such a man, detain him if possible until you can communicate with me; +detain him by any pretext, by ruse, by force if you can, only detain him +until I can get there. Will you do this?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Mr. Keen, if I can. Please describe him again?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Keen did so minutely.</p> + +<p>"You say he sells Georgia marble by samples, which he carries in a suit +case?"</p> + +<p>"He <i>says</i> that he has samples of Georgia marble in his suit case," +replied the Tracer cautiously. "It might be well, if possible, to see +what he has in his suit case."</p> + +<p>"I will warn the servants as soon as I return to Rosylyn. When may I +expect you this evening, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"It is impossible to say, Mrs. Stanley. If I am not there by midnight I +shall try to call next morning."</p> + +<p>So they exchanged civil adieus; the Tracer hung up his receiver and +leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself.</p> + +<p>"Curious," he said, "that chance should have sent that pretty woman to +me at such a time. . . . Kerns <i>is</i> a fine fellow, every inch of him. It +hit him hard when he crossed with her to Southampton six years ago; it +hit him harder when she married that Englishman. I don't wonder he never +cared to marry after that brief week of her society; for she is just +about the most charming woman I have ever met—red hair and all. . . . +And if quick action is what is required, it's well to break the ice +between them at once with a dreadful misunderstanding."</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV'></a><h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The dinner that Kerns had planned for himself and Gatewood was an +ingenious one, cunningly contrived to discontent Gatewood with home fare +and lure him by its seductive quality into frequent revisits to the club +which was responsible for such delectable wines and viands.</p> + +<p>A genial glow already enveloped Gatewood and pleasantly suffused Kerns. +From time to time they held some rare vintage aloft, squinting through +the crystal-imprisoned crimson with deep content.</p> + +<p>"Not that <i>my</i> word is necessarily the <i>last</i> word concerning Burgundy," +said Gatewood modestly; "but I venture to doubt that any club in America +can match this bottle, Kerns."</p> + +<p>"Now, Jack," wheedled Kerns, "isn't it pleasant to dine here once in a +while? Be frank, man! Look about at the other tables—at all the +pleasant, familiar faces—the same fine fellows, bless 'em—the same +smoky old ceiling, the same bum portraits of dead governors, the same +old stag heads on the wall. Now, Jack, isn't it mighty pleasant, after +all? Be a gentleman and admit it!"</p> + +<p>"Y-yes," confessed Gatewood, "it's all right for me once in a while, +because I know that I am presently going back to my own home—a jolly +lamplit room and the prettiest girl in Manhattan curled up in an +armchair—"</p> + +<p>"You're fortunate," said Kerns shortly. And for the first time there +remained no lurking mockery in his voice; for the first time his retort +was tinged with bitterness. But the next instant his eyes glimmered with +the same gay malice, and the unbelieving smile twitched at his clean-cut +lips, and he raised his hand, touching the short ends of his mustache +with that careless, amused cynicism which rather became him.</p> + +<p>"All that you picture so entrancingly is forbidden the true believer," +he said; and began to repeat:</p> + +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<span>"'O weaver! weave the flowers of Feraghan<br /></span> +<span>Into the fabric that thy birth began;<br /></span> +<span>Iris, narcissus, tulips cloud-band tied,<br /></span> +<span>These thou shalt picture for the eye of Man;<br /></span> +<span>Henna, Herati, and the Jhelums tide<br /></span> +<span>In Sarraband and Saruk be thy guide,<br /></span> +<span>And the red dye of Ispahan beside<br /></span> +<span>The checkered Chinese fret of ancient gold;<br /></span> +<span>—So heed the ban, old as the law is old,<br /></span> +<span>Nor weave into thy warp the laughing face,<br /></span> +<span>Nor limb, nor body, nor one line of grace,<br /></span> +<span>Nor hint, nor tint, nor any veiled device<br /></span> +<span>Of Woman who is barred from Paradise!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"A nice sentiment!" said Gatewood hotly.</p> + +<p>"Can't help it; you see I'm forbidden to monkey with the eternal looms +or weave the forbidden into the pattern of my life."</p> + +<p>Gatewood sat silent for a moment, then looked up at Kerns with something +so closely akin to a grin that his friend became interested in its +scarcely veiled significance, and grinned in reply.</p> + +<p>"So you really expect that your friend, Mr. Keen, is going to marry me +to somebody, <i>nolens volens</i>?" asked Kerns.</p> + +<p>"I do. That's what I dream of, Tommy."</p> + +<p>"My poor friend, dream on!"</p> + +<p>"I am. Tommy, you're lost! I mean you're as good as married now!"</p> + +<p>"You think so?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>know</i> it! There you sit, savoring your Burgundy, idling over a +cigar, happy, care free, fancy free, at liberty, as you believe, to roam +off anywhere at any time and continue the eternal hunt for pleasure! +That's what you <i>think</i>! Ha! Tommy, I know better! That's not the sort +of man <i>I</i> see sitting on the same chair where you are now sprawling in +such content! I see a doomed man, already in the shadow of the altar, +wasting his time unsuspiciously while Chance comes whirling into the +city behind a Long Island locomotive, and Fate, the footman, sits +outside ready to follow him, and Destiny awaits him no matter what he +does, what he desires, where he goes, wherever he turns to-night! +Destiny awaits him at his journey's end!"</p> + +<p>"Very fine," said Kerns admiringly. "Too bad it's due to the Burgundy."</p> + +<p>"Never mind what my eloquence is due to," retorted Gatewood, "the fact +remains that this is probably your last bachelor dinner. Kerns, old +fellow! Here's to her! Bless her! I—I wish sincerely that we knew who +she is and where to send those roses. Anyway, here's to the bride!"</p> + +<p>He stood up very gravely and drank the toast, then, reseating himself, +tapped the empty glass gently against the table's edge until it broke.</p> + +<p>"You are certainly doing your part well," said Kerns admiringly. Then he +swallowed the remainder of his Burgundy and looked up at the club clock.</p> + +<p>"Eleven," he said with regret. "I've about time to go to Eighty-third +Street, get my suit case, and catch my train at 125th Street." To a +servant he said, "Call a hansom," then rose and sauntered downstairs to +the cloakroom, where presently both men stood, hatted and gloved, +swinging their sticks.</p> + +<p>"That was a fool bet you made," began Kerns; "I'll release you, Jack."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, but I must insist on holding you," replied Gatewood, laughing. +"You're going to your doom. Come on! I'll see you as far as the cab +door."</p> + +<p>They walked out, and Kerns gave the cabby the street and number and +entered the hansom.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Gatewood, "you're in for it! You're done for! You can't help +yourself! I've won my twelve-gauge trap gun already, and I'll have to +set you up in table silver, anyway, so it's an even break. You're all +in, Tommy! The Tracer is on your trail!"</p> + +<p>In the beginning of a flippant retort Kerns experienced a curious +sensation of hesitation. Something in Gatewood's earnestness, in his +jeering assurance and delighted certainty, made him, for one moment, +feel doubtful, even uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"What nonsense you talk," he said, recovering his equanimity. "Nothing +on earth can prevent me driving to 38 East Eighty-third Street, getting +my luggage, and taking the Boston express. Your Tracer doesn't intend to +stop my hansom and drag me into a cave, does he? You haven't put +knock-outs into that Burgundy, have you? Then what in the dickens are +you laughing at?"</p> + +<p>But Gatewood, on the sidewalk under the lamplight, was still laughing as +Kerns drove away, for he had recognized in the cab driver a man he had +seen in Mr. Kern's office, and he knew that the Tracer of Lost Persons +had Kerns already well in hand.</p> + +<p>The hansom drove on through the summer darkness between rows of electric +globes drooping like huge white moon flowers from their foliated bronze +stalks, on up the splendid avenue, past the great brilliantly +illuminated hotels, past the white cathedral, past clubs and churches +and the palaces of the wealthy; on, on along the park wall edged by its +double rows of elms under which shadowy forms moved—lovers strolling in +couples.</p> + +<p>"Pooh," sniffed Kerns, "the whole world has gone love mad, and I'm the +only sane man left."</p> + +<p>But he leaned back in his cab and fell a-thinking of a thin girl with +red hair and great gray eyes—a thin, frail creature, scarcely more than +a child, who had held him for a week in a strange sorcery only to +release him with a frightened smile, leaving her indelible impression +upon his life forever.</p> + +<p>And, thinking, he looked up, realizing that the cab had stopped in East +Eighty-third Street before one of a line of brownstone houses, all +externally alike.</p> + +<p>Then he leaned out and saw that the house number was thirty-eight. That +was the number of the Lees' house; he descended, bade the cabman await +him, and, producing his latch key, started up the steps, whistling +gayly.</p> + +<p>But he didn't require his key, for, as he reached the front door, he +found, to his surprise and concern, that it swung partly open—just a +mere crack.</p> + +<p>"The mischief!" he muttered; "could I have failed to close it? Could +anybody have seen it and crept in?"</p> + +<p>He entered the hallway hastily and pressed the electric knob. No light +appeared in the sconces.</p> + +<p>"What the deuce!" he murmured; "something wrong with the switch!" And he +hurriedly lighted a match and peered into the darkness. By the vague +glimmer of the burning match he could distinguish nothing. He listened +intently, tried the electric switch again without success. The match +burned his fingers and he dropped it, watching the last red spark die +out in the darkness.</p> + +<p>Something about the shadowy hallway seemed unfamiliar; he went to the +door, stepped out on the stoop, and looked up at the number on the +transom. It was thirty-eight; no doubt about the house. Hesitating, he +glanced around to see that his hansom was still there. It had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>"What an idiot that cabman is!" he exclaimed, intensely annoyed at the +prospect of lugging his heavy suit case to a Madison Avenue car and +traveling with it to Harlem.</p> + +<p>He looked up and down the dimly lighted street; east, an electric car +glided down Madison Avenue; west, the lights of Fifth Avenue glimmered +against the dark foliage of the Park. He stood a moment, angry at the +desertion of his cabman, then turned and reëntered the dark hall, +closing the door behind him.</p> + +<p>Up the staircase he felt his way to the first landing, and, lighting a +match, looked for the electric button.</p> + +<p>"Am I crazy, or was there no electric button in this hall?" he thought. +The match burned low; he had to drop it. Perplexed, he struck another +match and opened the door leading into the front room, and stood on the +threshold a moment, looking about him at the linen-shrouded furniture +and pictures. This front room, closed for the summer, he had not before +entered, but he stepped in now, poking about for any possible intruder, +lighting match after match.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I ought to go over this confounded house inch by inch," he +murmured. "What could have possessed me to leave the front door ajar +this morning?"</p> + +<p>For an instant he thought that perhaps Mrs. Nolan, the woman who came in +the morning to make his bed, might have left the door open, but he knew +that couldn't be so, because he always waited for her to finish her work +and leave before he went out. So either he must have left the door open, +or some marauder had visited the house—was perhaps at that moment in +the house! And it was his duty to find out.</p> + +<p>"I'd better be about it, too," he thought savagely, "or I'll never make +my train."</p> + +<p>He struck his last match, looked around, and, seeing gas jets among the +clustered electric bulbs of the sconces, tried to light one and +succeeded.</p> + +<p>He had left his suit case in the passageway between the front and rear +rooms, and now, cautiously, stick in hand, he turned toward the dim +corridor leading to the bedroom. There was his suit case, anyway! He +picked it up and started to push open the door of the rear room; but at +the same time, and before he could lay his hand on the knob, the door +before him opened suddenly in a flood of light, and a woman stood there, +dark against the gas-lit glare, a pistol waveringly extended in the +general direction of his head.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI'></a><h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"Good heavens!" he said, appalled, and dropped his suit case with a +crash.</p> + +<p>"W-what are you d-doing—" She controlled her voice and the wavering +weapon with an effort. "What are you doing in this house?"</p> + +<p>"Doing? In <i>this</i> house?" he repeated, his eyes protruding in the +direction of the unsteady pistol muzzle. "What are <i>you</i> doing in this +house—if you don't mind saying!"</p> + +<p>"I—I m-must ask you to put up your hands," she said. "If you move I +shall certainly s-shoot off this pistol."</p> + +<p>"It will go off, anyway, if you handle it like that!" he said, +exasperated. "What do you mean by pointing it at me?"</p> + +<p>"I mean to fire it off in a few moments if you don't raise your hands +above your head!"</p> + +<p>He looked at the pistol; it was new and shiny; he looked at the athletic +young figure silhouetted against the brilliant light.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you make a point of it, of course." He slowly held up both +hands, higher, then higher still. "Upon my word!" he breathed. "Held up +by a woman!" And he said aloud, bitterly: "No doubt you have assistance +close at hand."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," she said coolly. "What have you been packing into that +valise?"</p> + +<p>"P-packing into <i>what</i>? Oh, into that suit case? That is my suit case."</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," she said quietly, "but what have you inside it?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing <i>you</i> or your friends would care for," he said meaningly.</p> + +<p>"I must be the judge of that," she retorted. "Please open that suit +case."</p> + +<p>"How can I if my hands are in the air?" he expostulated, now intensely +interested in the novelty of being held up by this graceful and vaguely +pretty silhouette.</p> + +<p>"You may lower your arms to unpack the suit case," she said.</p> + +<p>"I—I had rather not if you are going to keep me covered with your +pistol."</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall keep you covered. Unpack your booty at once!"</p> + +<p>"My—<i>what</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Booty."</p> + +<p>"Madam, do you take <i>me</i> for a thief? Have you, by chance, entered the +wrong house? I—I cannot reconcile your voice with what I am forced to +consider you—a housebreaker—"</p> + +<p>"We will discuss that later. Unpack that bag!" she insisted.</p> + +<p>"But—but there is nothing in it except samples of marble—"</p> + +<p>"What!" she exclaimed nervously. "<i>What</i> did you say? Samples of +<i>marble</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Marble, madam! Georgia marble!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! So <i>you</i> are the young man who goes about pretending to peddle +Georgia marble from samples! Are you? The famous marble man I have heard +of."</p> + +<p>"I? Madam, I don't know what you mean!"</p> + +<p>"Come!" she said scornfully; "let me see the contents of that suit case. +I—I am not afraid of you; I am not a bit afraid of you. And I shall +catch your accomplice, too."</p> + +<p>"Madam, you speak like an honest woman! You <i>must</i> have managed to enter +the wrong house. This is number thirty-eight, where I live."</p> + +<p>"It is number thirty-six; my house!"</p> + +<p>"But I <i>know</i> it is number thirty-eight; Mr. Lee's house," he protested +hopefully. "This is some dreadful mistake."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lee's house is next door," she said. "Do you not suppose I know my +own house? Besides, I have been warned against a plausible young man who +pretends he has Georgia marble to sell—"</p> + +<p>"There is a dreadful mistake somewhere," he insisted. "Please p-p-put up +your p-pistol and aid me to solve it. I am no robber, madam. I thought +at first that you were. I'm living in Mr. Lee's house, No. 38 East +Eighty-third Street, and I've looked carefully at the number over the +door of this house and the number is thirty-eight, and the street is +East Eighty-third. So I naturally conclude that I am in Mr. Lee's +house."</p> + +<p>"Your arguments and your conclusions are very plausible," she said, +"but, fortunately for me, I have been expressly warned against a young +man of your description. <i>You</i> are the marble man!"</p> + +<p>"It's a mistake! A very dreadful one."</p> + +<p>"Then how did you enter this house?"</p> + +<p>"I have a key—I mean I found the front door unlatched. Please don't +misunderstand me; I know it sounds unconvincing, but I really have a key +to number thirty-eight."</p> + +<p>He attempted to reach for his pocket and the pistol glittered in his +face.</p> + +<p>"Won't you let me prove my innocence?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"You can't prove it by showing me a key. Besides, it's probably a +weapon. Anyhow, if, as you pretend, you have managed to get into the +wrong house, why did you bring that suit case up here?"</p> + +<p>"It was here. It's mine. I left it here in this passageway."</p> + +<p>"In <i>my</i> house?" she asked incredulously.</p> + +<p>"In number thirty-eight; that is all I know. I'll open the suit case if +you will let me. I have already described its contents. If it has +samples of marble in it you <i>must</i> be convinced!"</p> + +<p>"It will convince me that it is your valise. But what of that? I know it +is yours already," she said defiantly. "I know, at least, that you are +the marble man—if nothing worse!"</p> + +<p>"But malefactors don't go about carrying samples of Georgia marble," he +protested, dropping on one knee under the muzzle of her revolver and +tugging at the straps and buckles. In a second or two he threw open the +case—and the sight of the contents staggered him. For there, thrown in +pellmell among small square blocks of polished marble was a complete kit +of burglar's tools, including also a mask, a dark lantern, and a +blackjack.</p> + +<p>"What—w—w—what on earth is this?" he stammered. "These things don't +belong to me. I won't have them! I don't want them. Who put them into my +suit case? How the deuce—"</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> the marble man!" she said with a shudder. "Your crimes are +known! Your wretched accomplice will be caught! You are the marble +man—or something worse!"</p> + +<p>Kneeling there, aghast, bewildered, he passed his hand across his eyes +as though to clear them from some terrible vision. But the suit case was +still there with its incriminating contents when he looked again.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for you," she said tremulously. "I—if it were not for the +marble—I would let you go. But you are the marble man!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I'm probably a madman, too. I don't know what I am! I don't +know what is happening to me. I ought to be going, that is all I know—"</p> + +<p>"I cannot let you go."</p> + +<p>"But I must! I've got to catch a train."</p> + +<p>The feebleness of his excuse chilled her pity.</p> + +<p>"I shall not let you go," she said, resting the hand which held the +pistol on her hip, but keeping him covered. "I know you came to rob my +house; I know you are a thoroughly bad and depraved young man, but for +all that I could find it in my heart to let you go if you were not also +the <i>marble man</i>!"</p> + +<p>"What on earth is the marble man?" he asked, exasperated.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I have been earnestly warned against him. Probably he is +a relative of my butler—"</p> + +<p>"I'm not a relative of anybody's butler!"</p> + +<p>"You <i>say</i> you are not. How do I know? I—I will make you an offer. I +will give you one last chance. If you will return to me the jewels that +my butler took—"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, madam! Do you really take me for a professional burglar?"</p> + +<p>"How can I help it?" she said indignantly. "Look at your suit case full +of lanterns and masks—full of <i>marble</i>, too!"</p> + +<p>Speechless, he stared at the burglar's kit.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry—" Her voice had altered again to a tremulous sweetness. "I +can't help feeling sorry for you. You do not seem to be hardened; your +voice and manner are not characteristically criminal. I—I can't see +your face very clearly, but it does not seem to be a brutally inhuman +face—"</p> + +<p>An awful desire to laugh seized Kerns; he struggled against it; +hysteria lay that way; and he covered his face with both hands and +pinched himself.</p> + +<p>She probably mistook the action for the emotion of shame and despair +born of bitter grief; perhaps of terror of the law. It frightened her a +little, but pity dominated. She could scarcely endure to do what she +must do.</p> + +<p>"This is dreadful, dreadful!" she faltered. "If you only would give me +back my jewels—"</p> + +<p>Sounds, hastily smothered, escaped him. She believed them to be groans, +and it made her slightly faint.</p> + +<p>"I—I've simply got to telephone for the police," she said pityingly. "I +must ask you to sit down there and wait—there is a chair. Sit +there—and please don't move, for I—this has unnerved me—I am not +accustomed to doing cruel things; and if you should move too quickly or +attempt to run away I feel certain that this pistol would explode."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to telephone?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am."</p> + +<p>She backed away, cautiously, pistol menacing him, reached for the +receiver, and waited for Central. She waited a long time before she +realized that the telephone as well as the electric light was out of +commission.</p> + +<p>"Did <i>you</i> cut all these wires?" she demanded angrily.</p> + +<p>"I? What wires?"</p> + +<p>She reached out and pressed the electric button which should have rung a +bell in her maid's bedroom on the top floor. She kept her finger on the +button for ten minutes. It was useless.</p> + +<p>"You laid deliberate plans to rob this house," she said, her cheeks pink +with indignation. "I am not a bit sorry for you. I shall <i>not</i> let you +go! I shall sit here until somebody comes to my assistance, if I have to +sit here for weeks and weeks!"</p> + +<p>"If you'd let me telephone to my club—" he began.</p> + +<p>"Your club! You are very plausible. You didn't offer to call up any club +until you found that the telephone was not working!"</p> + +<p>He thought a moment. "I don't suppose you would trust me to go out and +get a policeman?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"Or go into the front room and open a window and summon some passer-by?"</p> + +<p>"How do I know you haven't confederates waiting outside?"</p> + +<p>"That's true," he said seriously.</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Her nerves seemed to trouble her, for she began to +pace to and fro in front of the passageway where he sat comfortably on +his chair, arms folded, one knee dropped over the other.</p> + +<p>The light being behind her he could not as yet distinguish her features +very clearly. Her figure was youthful, slender, yet beautifully rounded; +her head charming in contour. He watched her restlessly walking on the +floor, small hand clutching the pistol resting on her hip.</p> + +<p>The ruddy burnished glimmer on the edges of her hair he supposed, at +first, was caused by the strong light behind her.</p> + +<p>"This is atrocious!" she murmured, halting to confront him. "How dared +you sever every electric connection in my house?"</p> + +<p>As she spoke she stepped backward a pace or two, resting herself for a +moment against the footboard of the bed—full in the gaslight. And he +saw her face.</p> + +<p>For a moment he studied her; an immense wave of incredulity swept over +him—of wild unbelief, slowly changing to the astonishment of dawning +conviction. Astounded, silent, he stared at her from his shadowy corner; +and after a while his pulses began to throb and throb and hammer, and +the clamoring confusion of his senses seemed to deafen him.</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/image-3.jpg' height='75%' alt=""'This is atrocious,' she murmured, halting to confront +him."" title=''> +</center> +<div class='caption'><p>"'This is atrocious,' she murmured, halting to confront +him."</p></div> + +<p>She rested a moment or two against the footboard of the bed, her big +gray eyes fixed on his vague and shadowy form.</p> + +<p>"This won't do," she said.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "it won't do."</p> + +<p>He spoke very quietly, very gently. She detected the alteration in his +voice and started slightly, as though the distant echo of a familiar +voice had sounded.</p> + +<p>"What did you say?" she asked, coming nearer, pistol glittering in +advance.</p> + +<p>"I said 'It won't do.' I don't know what I meant by it. If I meant +anything I was wrong. It <i>will</i> do. The situation is perfectly agreeable +to me."</p> + +<p>"Insolence will not help you," she said sharply. And under the sharpness +he detected the slightest quaver of a new alarm.</p> + +<p>"I am going to free myself," he said coolly.</p> + +<p>"If you move I shall certainly shoot!" she retorted.</p> + +<p>"I am going to move—but only my lips. I have only to move my lips to +free myself."</p> + +<p>"I should scarcely advise you to trust to your eloquence. I have been +duly warned, you see."</p> + +<p>"Who warned you?" he asked curiously. And, as she disdained to reply: +"Never mind. We can clear that up later. Now let me ask you something."</p> + +<p>"You are scarcely in a position to ask questions," she said.</p> + +<p>"May I not speak to you?"</p> + +<p>"Is it necessary?"</p> + +<p>He thought a moment. "No, not necessary. Nothing is in this life, you +know. I thought differently once. Once—when I was younger—six years +younger—I thought happiness was necessary. I found that a man might +live without it."</p> + +<p>She stood gazing at him through the shadows, pistol on hip.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I mean that happiness is not necessary to life. Life goes on all the +same. My life has continued for six years without that happiness which +some believe to be essential."</p> + +<p>After a silence she said: "I can tell by the way you speak that you are +well born. I—I dread to do what I simply must do."</p> + +<p>He, too, sat silent a long time—long enough for an utterly perverse and +whimsical humor to take complete possession of him.</p> + +<p>"<i>Won't</i> you let me go—<i>this</i> time?" he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"I cannot."</p> + +<p>"You had better let me go while you can," he said, "because, perhaps, +you may find it difficult to get rid of me later."</p> + +<p>Affronted, she shrank back from the doorway and stood in the center of +her room, angry, disdainful, beautiful, under the ruddy glory of her +lustrous hair.</p> + +<p>His perverse mood changed, too; he leaned forward, studying her +minutely—the splendid gray eyes, the delicate mouth and nose, the full, +sweet lips, the witchery of wrist and hand, and the flowing, rounded +outline of limb and body under the pretty gown. Could this be <i>she</i>? +This lovely, mature woman, wearing scarcely a trace of the young girl he +had never forgotten—scarcely a trace save in the beauty of her eyes and +hair—save in the full, red mouth, sweet and sensitive even in its +sudden sullenness?</p> + +<p>"Once," he said, and his voice sounded to him like voices heard in +dreams—"once, years and years ago, there was a steamer, and a man and a +young girl on board. Do you mind my telling you about it?"</p> + +<p>She stood leaning against the footboard of the bed, not even deigning to +raise her eyes in reply. So he made the slightest stir in his chair; and +then she looked up quickly enough, pistol poised.</p> + +<p>"The steamer," said Kerns slowly, "was coming into Southampton—six +years ago. On deck these two people stood—a man of twenty-eight, a girl +of eighteen—six years ago. The name of the steamer was the <i>Carnatic</i>. +Did you ever hear of that ship?"</p> + +<p>She was looking at him attentively. He waited for her reply; she made +none; and he went on.</p> + +<p>"The man had asked the girl something—I don't know what—I don't know +why her gray eyes filled with tears. Perhaps it was because she could +not do what the man asked her to do. It may have been to love him; it +may have been that he was asking her to marry him and that she couldn't. +Perhaps that is why there were tears in her eyes—because she may have +been sorry to cause him the pain of refusal—sorry, perhaps, perhaps a +little guilty. Because she must have seen that he was falling in love +with her, and she—she let him—knowing all the time that she was to +marry another man. Did you ever hear of that man before?"</p> + +<p>She had straightened up, quivering, wide eyed, lips parted. He rose and +walked slowly into her room, confronting her under the full glare of +light.</p> + +<p>Her pistol fell clattering to the floor. It did not explode because it +was not loaded.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said unsteadily, "will you give me my freedom? I have waited +for it—not minutes—but years—six years. I ask it now—the freedom I +enjoyed before I ever saw you. Can you give it back to me? Can you +restore to me a capacity for happiness? Can you give me a heart to love +with—love some woman, as other men love? Is it very much I ask of +you—to give me a chance in life—the chance I had before I ever saw +you?"</p> + +<p>Her big gray eyes seemed fascinated; he looked deep into them, smiling; +and she turned white.</p> + +<p>"Will you give me what I ask?" he said, still smiling.</p> + +<p>She strove to speak; she could not, but her eyes never faltered. +Suddenly the color flooded her neck and cheeks to the hair, and the +quick tears glimmered.</p> + +<p>"I—I did not understand; I was too young to be cruel," she faltered. +"How could I know what I was doing? Or what—what you did?"</p> + +<p>"I? To <i>you</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Y-yes. Did you think that I escaped heart free? Do you realize what +<i>my</i> punishment was—to—to marry—and <i>remember</i>! If I was too young, +too inexperienced to know what I was doing, I was not too young to +suffer for it!"</p> + +<p>"You mean—" He strove to control his voice, but the sweet, fearless +gray eyes met his; the old flame leaped in his veins. He reached out to +steady himself and his hand touched hers—that soft, white hand that had +held him all these years in the hollow of its palm.</p> + +<p>"Did you <i>ever</i> love me?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>Her eyes, wet with tears, met his straight as the starry gaze of a +child.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said.</p> + +<p>His hand tightened over hers; she swayed a moment, quivering from head +to foot; then drawing a quick, sobbing breath, closed her eyes, +imprisoned in his arms; and, after a long while, aroused, she looked up +at him, her divine eyes unclosing dreamily.</p> + +<p>"Somebody is hammering at the front door," he breathed. "Listen!"</p> + +<p>"I hear. I believe it must be the Tracer of Lost Persons."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Only a Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"O Lord!" said Kerns faintly, and covered his face with her fragrant +hands.</p> + +<p>Very tenderly, very gravely, she drew her hands away, and, laying them +on his shoulders, looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"You—you know what there is in your suit case," she faltered; "<i>are</i> +you a burglar, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Ask the Tracer of Lost Persons," said Kerns gently, "what sort of a +criminal I am!"</p> + +<p>They stood together for one blissful moment listening to the loud +knocking below, then, hand in hand, they descended the dark stairway to +admit the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>On the thirteenth day of March, 1906, Kerns received the following cable +from an old friend:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Is there anybody in New York who can find two criminals for me? I + don't want to call in the police.</p> + +<p> "J.T. BURKE."</p></div> + +<p>To which Kerns replied promptly:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Wire Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, N.Y."</p></div> + +<p>And a day or two later, being on his honeymoon, he forgot all about his +old friend Jack Burke.</p> + +<p>On the fifteenth day of March, 1906, Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, +received the following cablegram from Alexandria, Egypt:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"<i>Keen, Tracer, New York:</i>—Locate Joram Smiles, forty, stout, + lame, red hair, ragged red mustache, cast in left eye, pallid skin; + carries one crutch; supposed to have arrived in America per S. S. + <i>Scythian Queen</i>, with man known as Emanuel Gandon, swarthy, short, + fat, light bluish eyes, Eurasian type.</p> + +<p> "I will call on you at your office as soon as my steamer, <i>Empress + of Babylon</i>, arrives. If you discover my men, keep them under + surveillance, but on no account call in police. Spare no expense. + Dundas, Gray & Co. are my bankers and reference.</p> + +<p> "JOHN TEMPLETON BURKE."</p></div> + +<p>On Monday, April 2d, a few minutes after eight o'clock in the morning, +the card of Mr. John Templeton Burke was brought to Mr. Keen, Tracer of +Lost Persons, and a moment later a well-built, wiry, sun-scorched young +man was ushered into Mr. Keen's private office by a stenographer +prepared to take minutes of the interview.</p> + +<p>The first thing that the Tracer of Lost Persons noted in his visitor was +his mouth; the next his eyes. Both were unmistakably good—the eyes +which his Creator had given him looked people squarely in the face at +every word; the mouth, which a man's own character fashions agreeably or +mars, was pleasant, but firm when the trace of the smile lurking in the +corners died out.</p> + +<p>There were dozens of other external characteristics which Mr. Keen +always looked for in his clients; and now the rapid exchange of +preliminary glances appeared to satisfy both men, for they advanced +toward each other and exchanged a formal hand clasp.</p> + +<p>"Have you any news for me?" asked Burke.</p> + +<p>"I have," said the Tracer. "There are cigars on the table beside +you—matches in that silver case. No, I never smoke; but I like the +aroma—and I like to watch men smoke. Do you know, Mr. Burke, that no +two men smoke in the same fashion? There is as much character in the +manner of holding a cigar as there is difference in the technic of +artists."</p> + +<p>Burke nodded, amused, but, catching sight of the busy stenographer, his +bronzed features became serious, and he looked at Mr. Keen inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"It is my custom," said the Tracer. "Do you object to my stenographer?"</p> + +<p>Burke looked at the slim young girl in her black gown and white collar +and cuffs. Then, very simply, he asked her pardon for objecting to her +presence, but said that he could not discuss his case if she remained. +So she rose, with a humorous glance at Mr. Keen; and the two men stood +up until she had vanished, then reseated themselves <i>vis-a-vis</i>. Mr. +Keen calmly dropped his elbow on the concealed button which prepared a +hidden phonograph for the reception of every word that passed between +them.</p> + +<p>"What news have you for me, Mr. Keen?" asked the younger man with that +same directness which the Tracer had already been prepared for, and +which only corroborated the frankness of eyes and voice.</p> + +<p>"My news is brief," he said. "I have both your men under observation."</p> + +<p>"Already?" exclaimed Burke, plainly unprepared. "Do you actually mean +that I can see these men whenever I desire to do so? Are these +scoundrels in this town—within pistol shot?"</p> + +<p>His youthful face hardened as he snapped out his last word, like the +crack of a whip.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how far your pistol carries," said Mr. Keen. "Do you wish +to swear out a warrant?"</p> + +<p>"No, I do not. I merely wish their addresses. You have not used the +police in this matter, have you, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"No. Your cable was explicit," said the Tracer. "Had you permitted me to +use the police it would have been much less expensive for you."</p> + +<p>"I can't help that," said the young man. "Besides, in a matter of this +sort, a man cannot decently consider expense."</p> + +<p>"A matter of what sort?" asked the Tracer blandly.</p> + +<p>"Of <i>this</i> sort."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Yet even now I do not understand. You must remember, Mr. Burke, +that you have not told me anything concerning the reasons for your quest +of these two men, Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon. Besides, this is the +first time you have mentioned pistol range."</p> + +<p>Burke, smoking steadily, looked at the Tracer through the blue fog of +his cigar.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I have not told you anything about them."</p> + +<p>Mr. Keen waited a moment; then, smiling quietly to himself, he wrote +down the present addresses of Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon, and, +tearing off the leaf, handed it to the younger man, saying: "I omit the +pistol range, Mr. Burke."</p> + +<p>"I am very grateful to you," said Burke. "The efficiency of your system +is too famous for me to venture to praise it. All I can say is 'Thank +you'; all I can do in gratitude is to write my check—if you will be +kind enough to suggest the figures."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure that my services are ended?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, quite sure."</p> + +<p>So the Tracer of Lost Persons named the figures, and his client produced +a check book and filled in a check for the amount. This was presented +and received with pleasant formality. Burke rose, prepared to take his +leave, but the Tracer was apparently busy with the combination lock of a +safe, and the young man lingered a moment to make his adieus.</p> + +<p>As he stood waiting for the Tracer to turn around he studied the writing +on the sheet of paper which he held toward the light:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>Joram Smiles, no profession, 613 West 24th Street. Emanuel Gandon, + no profession, same address. Very dangerous men.</p></div> + +<p>It occurred to him that these three lines of pencil-writing had cost him +a thousand dollars—and at the same instant he flushed with shame at the +idea of measuring the money value of anything in such a quest as this.</p> + +<p>And yet—and yet he had already spent a great deal of money in his brief +quest, and—<i>was</i> he any nearer the goal—even with the penciled +addresses of these two men in his possession? Even with these men almost +within pistol shot!</p> + +<p>Pondering there, immersed in frowning retrospection, the room, the +Tracer, the city seemed to fade from his view. He saw the red sand +blowing in the desert; he heard the sickly squealing of camels at the El +Teb Wells; he saw the sun strike fire from the rippling waters of Saïs; +he saw the plain, and the ruins high above it; and the odor of the Long +Bazaar smote him like a blow, and he heard the far call to prayer from +the minarets of Sa-el-Hagar, once Saïs, the mysterious—Saïs of the +million lanterns, Saïs of that splendid festival where the Great Triad's +worship swayed dynasty after dynasty, and where, through the hot +centuries, Isis, veiled, impassive, looked out upon the hundredth king +of kings, Meris, the Builder of Gardens, dragged dead at the chariot of +Upper and Lower Egypt.</p> + +<p>Slowly the visions faded; into his remote eyes crept the consciousness +of the twentieth century again; he heard the river whistles blowing, and +the far dissonance of the streets—that iron undertone vibrating through +the metropolis of the West from river to river and from the Palisades to +the sea.</p> + +<p>His gaze wandered about the room, from telephone desk to bookcase, from +the table to the huge steel safe, door ajar, swung outward like the +polished breech of a twelve-inch gun.</p> + +<p>Then his vacant eyes met the eyes of the Tracer of Lost Persons, almost +helplessly. And for the first time the full significance of this quest +he had undertaken came over him like despair—this strange, hopeless, +fantastic quest, blindly, savagely pursued from the sand wastes of Saïs +to the wastes of this vast arid city of iron and masonry, ringing to the +sky with the menacing clamor of its five monstrous boroughs.</p> + +<p>Curiously weary of a sudden, he sat down, resting his head on one hand. +The Tracer watched him, bent partly over his desk. From moment to moment +he tore minute pieces from the blotter, or drew imaginary circles and +arabesques on his pad with an inkless pen.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I could help you, after all—if you'd let me try," he said +quietly.</p> + +<p>"Dou you mean—<i>me</i>?" asked Burke, without raising his head.</p> + +<p>"If you like—yes, you—or any man in trouble—in perplexity—in the +uncertain deductions which arise from an attempt at self-analysis."</p> + +<p>"It is true; I am trying to analyze myself. I believe that I don't know +how. All has been mere impulse—so far. No, I don't know how to analyze +it all."</p> + +<p>"I do," said the Tracer.</p> + +<p>Burke raised his level, unbelieving eyes.</p> + +<p>"You are in love," said the Tracer.</p> + +<p>After a long time Burke looked up again. "Do you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Can I help you?" asked the Tracer pleasantly.</p> + +<p>The young man sat silent, frowning into space; then:</p> + +<p>"I tell you plainly enough that I have come here to argue with two men +at the end of a pistol; and—you tell me I'm in love. By what logic—"</p> + +<p>"It is written in your face, Mr. Burke—in your eyes, in every feature, +every muscle's contraction, every modulation of your voice. My tables, +containing six hundred classified superficial phenomena peculiar to all +human emotions, have been compiled and scientifically arranged according +to Bertillon's system. It is an absolutely accurate key to every phase +of human emotion, from hate, through all its amazingly paradoxical +phenomena, to love, with all its genera under the suborder—all its +species, subspecies, and varieties."</p> + +<p>He leaned back, surveying the young man with kindly amusement.</p> + +<p>"You talk of pistol range, but you are thinking of something more fatal +than bullets, Mr. Burke. You are thinking of love—of the first, great, +absorbing, unreasoning passion that has ever shaken you, blinded you, +seized you and dragged you out of the ordered path of life, to push you +violently into the strange and unexplored! That is what stares out on +the world through those haunted eyes of yours, when the smile dies out +and you are off your guard; that is what is hardening those flat, clean +bands of muscle in jaw and cheek; that is what those hints of shadow +mean beneath the eye, that new and delicate pinch to the nostril, that +refining, almost to sharpness, of the nose, that sensitive edging to the +lips, and the lean delicacy of the chin."</p> + +<p>He bent slightly forward in his chair.</p> + +<p>"There is all that there, Mr. Burke, and something else—the glimmering +dawn of desperation."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the other, "that is there. I am desperate."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. Also you wear two revolvers in a light, leather harness +strapped up under your armpits," said the Tracer, laughing. "Take them +off, Mr. Burke. There is nothing to be gained in shooting up Mr. Smiles +or converting Mr. Gandon into nitrates."</p> + +<p>"If it is a matter where one man can help another," the Tracer added +simply, "it would give me pleasure to place my resources at your +command—without recompense—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen!" said Burke, astonished.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"You are very amiable; I had not wished—had not expected anything +except professional interest from you."</p> + +<p>"Why not? I like you, Mr. Burke."</p> + +<p>The utter disarming candor of this quiet, elderly gentleman silenced the +younger man with a suddenness born of emotions long crushed, long +relentlessly mastered, and which now, in revolt, shook him fiercely in +every fiber. All at once he felt very young, very helpless in the +world—that same world through which, until within a few weeks, he had +roved so confidently, so arrogantly, challenging man and the gods +themselves in the pride of his strength and youth.</p> + +<p>But now, halting, bewildered, lost amid the strange maze of byways +whither impulse had lured and abandoned him, he looked out into a world +of wilderness and unfamiliar stars and shadow shapes undreamed of, and +he knew not which way to turn—not even how to return along the ways his +impetuous feet had trodden in this strange and hopeless quest of his.</p> + +<p>"How can you help me?" he said bluntly, while the quivering undertone +rang in spite of him. "Yes, I am in love; but how can any living man +help me?"</p> + +<p>"Are you in love with the dead?" asked the Tracer gravely. "For that +only is hopeless. Are you in love with one who is not living?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You love one whom you know to be dead?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; dead."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that she is dead?"</p> + +<p>"That is not the question. I knew that when I fell in love with her. It +is not that which appals me; I ask nothing more than to live my life out +loving the dead. I—I ask very little."</p> + +<p>He passed his unsteady hand across his dry lips, across his eyes and +forehead, then laid his clinched fist on the table.</p> + +<p>"Some men remain constant to a memory; some to a picture—sane, +wholesome, normal men. Some men, with a fixed ideal, never encounter its +facsimile, and so never love. There is nothing strange, after all, in +this; nothing abnormal, nothing unwholesome. Grünwald loved the marble +head and shoulders of the lovely Amazon in the Munich Museum; he died +unmarried, leaving the charities and good deeds of a blameless life to +justify him. Sir Henry Guest, the great surgeon who worked among the +poor without recompense, loved Gainsborough's 'Lady Wilton.' The +portrait hangs above his tomb in St. Clement's Hundreds. D'Epernay loved +Mlle. Jeanne Vacaresco, who died before he was born. And I—I love in +my own fashion."</p> + +<p>His low voice rang with the repressed undertone of excitement; he opened +and closed his clinched hand as though controlling the lever of his +emotions.</p> + +<p>"What can you do for a man who loves the shadow of Life?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"If you love the shadow because the substance has passed away—if you +love the soul because the dust has returned to the earth as it was—"</p> + +<p>"It has <i>not</i>!" said the younger man.</p> + +<p>The Tracer said very gravely: "It is written that whenever 'the Silver +Cord' is loosed, 'then shall the dust return unto the earth as it was, +and the spirit shall return unto Him who gave it.'"</p> + +<p>"The spirit—yes; <i>that</i> has taken its splendid flight—"</p> + +<p>His voice choked up, died out; he strove to speak again, but could not. +The Tracer let him alone, and bent again over his desk, drawing +imaginary circles on the stained blotter, while moment after moment +passed under the tension of that fiercest of all struggles, when a man +sits throttling his own soul into silence.</p> + +<p>And, after a long time, Burke lifted a haggard face from the cradle of +his crossed arms and shook his shoulders, drawing a deep, steady breath.</p> + +<p>"Listen to <i>me</i>!" he said in an altered voice.</p> + +<p>And the Tracer of Lost Persons nodded.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"When I left the Point I was assigned to the colored cavalry. They are +good men; we went up Kettle Hill together. Then came the Philippine +troubles, then that Chinese affair. Then I did staff duty, and could not +stand the inactivity and resigned. They had no use for me in Manchuria; +I tired of waiting, and went to Venezuela. The prospects for service +there were absurd; I heard of the Moorish troubles and went to Morocco. +Others of my sort swarmed there; matters dragged and dragged, and the +Kaiser never meant business, anyway.</p> + +<p>"Being independent, and my means permitting me, I got some shooting in +the back country. This all degenerated into the merest nomadic +wandering—nothing but sand, camels, ruins, tents, white walls, and blue +skies. And at last I came to the town of Sa-el-Hagar."</p> + +<p>His voice died out; his restless, haunted eyes became fixed.</p> + +<p>"Sa-el-Hagar, once ancient Saïs," repeated the Tracer quietly; and the +young man looked at him.</p> + +<p>"You know <i>that</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Tracer.</p> + +<p>For a while Burke remained silent, preoccupied, then, resting his chin +on his hand and speaking in a curiously monotonous voice, as though +repeating to himself by rote, he went on:</p> + +<p>"The town is on the heights—have you a pencil? Thank you. Here is the +town of Sa-el-Hagar, here are the ruins, here is the wall, and somewhere +hereabouts should be the buried temple of Neith, which nobody has +found." He shifted his pencil. "Here is the lake of Saïs; here, standing +all alone on the plain, are those great monolithic pillars stretching +away into perspective—four hundred of them in all—a hundred and nine +still upright. There were one hundred and ten when I arrived at El Teb +Wells."</p> + +<p>He looked across at the Tracer, repeating: "One hundred and ten—when I +arrived. One fell the first night—a distant pillar far away on the +horizon. Four thousand years had it stood there. And it fell—the first +night of my arrival. I heard it; the nights are cold at El Teb Wells, +and I was lying awake, all a-shiver, counting the stars to make me +sleep. And very, very far away in the desert I heard and felt the shock +of its fall—the fall of forty centuries under the Egyptian stars."</p> + +<p>His eyes grew dreamy; a slight glow had stained his face.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever halt suddenly in the Northern forests, listening, as +though a distant voice had hailed you? Then you understand why that far, +dull sound from the dark horizon brought me to my feet, bewildered, +listening, as though my own name had been spoken.</p> + +<p>"I heard the wind in the tents and the stir of camels; I heard the reeds +whispering on Saïs Lake and the yap-yap of a shivering jackal; and +always, always, the hushed echo in my ears of my own name called across +the star-lit waste.</p> + +<p>"At dawn I had forgotten. An Arab told me that a pillar had fallen; it +was all the same to me, to him, to the others, too. The sun came out +hot. I like heat. My men sprawled in the tents; some watered, some went +up to the town to gossip in the bazaar. I mounted and cast bridle on +neck—you see how much I cared where I went! In two hours we had +completed a circle—like a ruddy hawk above El Teb. And my horse halted +beside the fallen pillar."</p> + +<p>As he spoke his language had become very simple, very direct, almost +without accent, and he spoke slowly, picking his way with that lack of +inflection, of emotion characteristic of a child reading a new reader.</p> + +<p>"The column had fallen from its base, eastward, and with its base it had +upheaved another buried base, laying bare a sort of cellar and a flight +of stone steps descending into darkness.</p> + +<p>"Into this excavation the sand was still running in tiny rivulets. +Listening, I could hear it pattering far, far down into the shadows.</p> + +<p>"Sitting there in the saddle, the thing explained itself as I looked. +The fallen pillar had been built upon older ruins; all Egypt is that +way, ruin founded on the ruin of ruins—like human hopes.</p> + +<p>"The stone steps, descending into the shadow of remote ages, invited me. +I dismounted, walked to the edge of the excavation, and, kneeling, +peered downward. And I saw a wall and the lotus-carved rim of a vast +stone-framed pool; and as I looked I heard the tinkle of water. For the +pillar, falling, had unbottled the ancient spring, and now the +stone-framed lagoon was slowly filling after its drought of centuries.</p> + +<p>"There was light enough to see by, but, not knowing how far I might +penetrate, I returned to my horse, pocketed matches and candles from +the saddlebags, and, returning, started straight down the steps of +stone.</p> + +<p>"Fountain, wall, lagoon, steps, terraces half buried—all showed what +the place had been: a water garden of ancient Egypt—probably +royal—because, although I am not able to decipher hieroglyphics, I have +heard somewhere that these picture inscriptions, when inclosed in a +cartouch like this"—he drew rapidly—</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-1.png' width='213' height='106' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"or this</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-2.png' width='126' height='217' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>indicate that the subject of the inscription was once a king.</p> + +<p>"And on every wall, every column, I saw the insignia of ancient royalty, +and I saw strange hawk-headed figures bearing symbols engraved on +stone—beasts, birds, fishes, unknown signs and symbols; and everywhere +the lotus carved in stone—the bud, the blossom half-inclosed, the +perfect flower."</p> + +<p>His dreamy eyes met the gaze of the Tracer, unseeing; he rested his +sunburned face between both palms, speaking in the same vague monotone:</p> + +<p>"Everywhere dust, ashes, decay, the death of life, the utter +annihilation of the living—save only the sparkle of reborn waters +slowly covering the baked bed of the stone-edged pool—strange, luminous +water, lacking the vital sky tint, enameled with a film of dust, yet, +for all that, quickening with imprisoned brilliancy like an opal.</p> + +<p>"The slow filling of the pool fascinated me; I stood I know not how long +watching the thin film of water spreading away into the dimness beyond. +At last I turned and passed curiously along the wall where, at its base, +mounds of dust marked what may have been trees. Into these I probed with +my riding crop, but discovered nothing except the depths of the dust.</p> + +<p>"When I had penetrated the ghost of this ancient garden for a thousand +yards the light from the opening was no longer of any service. I lighted +a candle; and its yellow rays fell upon a square portal into which led +another flight of steps. And I went down.</p> + +<p>"There were eighteen steps descending into a square stone room. Strange +gleams and glimmers from wall and ceiling flashed dimly in my eyes under +the wavering flame of the candle. Then the flame grew still—still as +death—and Death lay at my feet—there on the stone floor—a man, square +shouldered, hairless, the cobwebs of his tunic mantling him, lying face +downward, arms outflung.</p> + +<p>"After a moment I stooped and touched him, and the entire prostrate +figure dissolved into dust where it lay, leaving at my feet a shadow +shape in thin silhouette against the pavement—merely a gray layer of +finest dust shaped like a man, a tracery of impalpable powder on the +stones.</p> + +<p>"Upward and around me I passed the burning candle; vast figures in blue +and red and gold grew out of the darkness; the painted walls sparkled; +the shadows that had slept through all those centuries trembled and +shrank away into distant corners.</p> + +<p>"And then—and then I saw the gold edges of her sandals sparkle in the +darkness, and the clasped girdle of virgin gold around her slender waist +glimmered like purest flame!"</p> + +<p>Burke, leaning far across the table, interlocked hands tightening, +stared and stared into space. A smile edged his mouth; his voice grew +wonderfully gentle:</p> + +<p>"Why, she was scarcely eighteen—this child—there so motionless, so +lifelike, with the sandals edging her little upturned feet, and the +small hands of her folded between the breasts. It was as though she +had just stretched herself out there—scarcely sound asleep as yet, and +her thick, silky hair—cut as they cut children's hair in these days, +you know—cradled her head and cheeks.</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/image-4.jpg' width='484' height='800' alt=""'As though . . . scarcely sound asleep as yet.'"" title=''> +</center> +<div class='caption'><p>"'As though . . . scarcely sound asleep as yet.'"</p></div> + +<p>"So marvelous the mimicry of life, so absolute the deception of +breathing sleep, that I scarce dared move, fearing to awaken her.</p> + +<p>"When I did move I forgot the dusty shape of the dead at my feet, and +left, full across his neck, the imprint of a spurred riding boot. It +gave me my first shudder; I turned, feeling beneath my foot the soft, +yielding powder, and stood aghast. Then—it is absurd!—but I felt as a +man feels who has trodden inadvertently upon another's foot—and in an +impulse of reparation I stooped hastily and attempted to smooth out the +mortal dust which bore the imprint of my heel. But the fine powder +flaked my glove, and, looking about for something to compose the ashes +with, I picked up a papyrus scroll. Perhaps he himself had written on +it; nobody can ever know, and I used it as a sort of hoe to scrape him +together and smooth him out on the stones."</p> + +<p>The young man drew a yellowish roll of paper-like substance from his +pocket and laid it on the table.</p> + +<p>"This is the same papyrus," he said. "I had forgotten that I carried it +away with me until I found it in my shooting coat while packing to sail +for New York."</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons reached over and picked up the scroll. It was +flexible still, but brittle; he opened it with great care, considered +the strange figures upon it for a while, then turned almost sharply on +his visitor.</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said.</p> + +<p>And Burke went on:</p> + +<p>"The candle was burning low; I lighted two more, placing them at her +head and feet on the edges of the stone couch. Then, lighting a third +candle, I stood beside the couch and looked down at the dead girl under +her veil-like robe, set with golden stars."</p> + +<p>He passed his hand wearily over his hair and forehead.</p> + +<p>"I do not know what the accepted meaning of beauty may be if it was not +there under my eyes. Flawless as palest amber ivory and rose, the +smooth-flowing contours melted into exquisite symmetry; lashes like +darkest velvet rested on the pure curve of the cheeks; the closed lids, +the mouth still faintly stained with color, the delicate nose, the full, +childish lips, sensitive, sweet, resting softly upon each other—if +these were not all parts of but one lovely miracle, then there is no +beauty save in a dream of Paradise. . . .</p> + +<p>"A gold band of linked scarabs bound her short, thick hair straight +across the forehead; thin scales of gold fell from a necklace, clothing +her breasts in brilliant discolored metal, through which ivory-tinted +skin showed. A belt of pure, soft gold clasped her body at the waist; +gold-edged sandals clung to her little feet.</p> + +<p>"At first, when the stunned surprise had subsided, I thought that I was +looking upon some miracle of ancient embalming, hitherto unknown. Yet, +in the smooth skin there was no slit to prove it, no opening in any vein +or artery, no mutilation of this sculptured masterpiece of the Most +High, no cerements, no bandages, no gilded carven case with painted face +to stare open eyed through the wailing cycles.</p> + +<p>"This was the image of sleep—of life unconscious—not of death. Yet is +was death—death that had come upon her centuries and centuries ago; for +the gold had turned iridescent and magnificently discolored; the sandal +straps fell into dust as I bent above them, leaving the sandals clinging +to her feet only by the wired silver core of the thongs. And, as I +touched it fearfully, the veil-like garment covering her, vanished into +thin air, its metal stars twinkling in a shower around her on the stone +floor."</p> + +<p>The Tracer, motionless, intent, scarcely breathed; the younger man moved +restlessly in his chair, the dazed light in his eyes clearing to sullen +consciousness.</p> + +<p>"What more is there to tell?" he said. "And to what purpose? All this is +time wasted. I have my work cut out for me. What more is there to tell?"</p> + +<p>"What you have left untold," said the Tracer, with the slightest ring of +authority in his quiet voice.</p> + +<p>And, as though he had added "Obey!" the younger man sank back in his +chair, his hands contracting nervously.</p> + +<p>"I went back to El Teb," he said; "I walked like a dreaming man. My +sleep was haunted by her beauty; night after night, when at last I fell +asleep, instantly I saw her face, and her dark eyes opening into mine in +childish bewilderment; day after day I rode out to the fallen pillar and +descended to that dark chamber where she lay alone. Then there came a +time when I could not endure the thought of her lying there alone. I had +never dared to touch her. Horror of what might happen had held me aloof +lest she crumble at my touch to that awful powder which I had trodden +on.</p> + +<p>"I did not know what to do; my Arabs had begun to whisper among +themselves, suspicious of my absences, impatient to break camp, perhaps, +and roam on once more. Perhaps they believed I had discovered treasure +somewhere; I am not sure. At any rate, dread of their following me, +determination to take my dead away with me, drove me into action; and +that day when I reached her silent chamber I lighted my candle, and, +leaning above her for one last look, I touched her shoulder with my +finger tip.</p> + +<p>"It was a strange sensation. Prepared for a dreadful dissolution, +utterly unprepared for cool, yielding flesh, I almost dropped where I +stood. For her body was neither cold nor warm, neither dust-dry nor +moist; neither the skin of the living nor the dead. It was firm, almost +stiff, yet not absolutely without a certain hint of flexibility.</p> + +<p>"The appalling wonder of it consumed me; fear, incredulity, terror, +apathy succeeded each other; then slowly a fierce shrinking happiness +swept me in every fiber.</p> + +<p>"This marvelous death, this triumph of beauty over death, was mine. +Never again should she lie here alone through the solitudes of night and +day; never again should the dignity of Death lack the tribute demanded +of Life. Here was the appointed watcher—I, who had found her alone in +the wastes of the world—all alone on the outermost edges of the +world—a child, dead and unguarded. And standing there beside her I knew +that I should never love again."</p> + +<p>He straightened up, stretching out his arm: "I did not intend to carry +her away to what is known as Christian burial. How could I consign her +to darkness again, with all its dreadful mockery of marble, all its +awful emblems?</p> + +<p>"This lovely stranger was to be my guest forever. The living should be +near her while she slept so sweetly her slumber through the centuries; +she should have warmth, and soft hangings and sunlight and flowers; and +her unconscious ears should be filled with the pleasant stir of living +things. . . . I have a house in the country, a very old house among +meadows and young woodlands. And I—I had dreamed of giving this child a +home—"</p> + +<p>His voice broke; he buried his head in his hands a moment; but when he +lifted it again his features were hard as steel.</p> + +<p>"There was already talk in the bazaar about me. I was probably followed, +but I did not know it. Then one of my men disappeared. For a week I +hesitated to trust my Arabs; but there was no other way. I told them +there was a mummy which I desired to carry to some port and smuggle out +of the country without consulting the Government. I knew perfectly well +that the Government would never forego its claim to such a relic of +Egyptian antiquity. I offered my men too much, perhaps. I don't know. +They hesitated for a week, trying by every artifice to see the treasure, +but I never let them out of my sight.</p> + +<p>"Then one day two white men came into camp; and with them came a +government escort to arrest me for looting an Egyptian tomb. The white +men were Joram Smiles and that Eurasian, Emanuel Gandon, who was partly +white, I suppose. I didn't comprehend what they were up to at first. +They escorted me forty miles to confront the official at Shen-Bak. When, +after a stormy week, I was permitted to return to Saïs, my Arabs and the +white men were gone. And the stone chamber under the water garden wall +was empty as the hand I hold out to you!"</p> + +<p>He opened his palm and rose, his narrowing eyes clear and dangerous.</p> + +<p>"At the bazaar I learned enough to know what had been done. I traced the +white men to the coast. They sailed on the <i>Scythian Queen</i>, taking +with them all that I care for on earth or in heaven! And you ask me why +I measure their distance from me by a bullet's flight!"</p> + +<p>The Tracer also rose, pale and grave.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" he said. "There are other things to be done before you prepare +to face a jury for double murder."</p> + +<p>"It is for them to choose," said Burke. "They shall have the choice of +returning to me my dead, or of going to hell full of lead."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly, my dear sir. That part is not difficult," said the Tracer +quietly. "There will be no occasion for violence, I assure you. Kindly +leave such details to me. I know what is to be done. You are outwardly +very calm, Mr. Burke—even dangerously placid; but though you maintain +an admirable command over yourself superficially, you are laboring under +terrible excitement. Therefore it is my duty to say to you at once that +there is no cause for your excitement, no cause for your apprehension as +to results. I feel exceedingly confident that you will, in due time, +regain possession of all that you care for most—quietly, quietly, my +dear sir! You are not yet ready to meet these men, nor am I ready to go +with you. I beg you to continue your habit of self-command for a +little while. There is no haste—that is to say, there is every reason +to make haste slowly. And the quickest method is to seat yourself. Thank +you. And I shall sit here beside you and spread out this papyrus scroll +for your inspection."</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-3.png' height='80%' alt='Hieroglyphics' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Burke stared at the Tracer, then at the scroll.</p> + +<p>"What has that inscription to do with the matter in hand?" he demanded +impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I leave you to judge," said the Tracer. A dull tint of excitement +flushed his lean cheeks; he twisted his gray mustache and bent over the +unrolled scroll which was now held flat by weights at the four corners.</p> + +<p>"Can you understand any of these symbols, Mr. Burke?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Curious," mused the Tracer. "Do you know it was fortunate that you put +this bit of papyrus in the pocket of your shooting coat—so fortunate +that, in a way, it approaches the miraculous?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? Is there anything in that scroll bearing on this +matter?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you can read it? Are you versed in such learning, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"I am an Egyptologist—among other details," said the Tracer calmly.</p> + +<p>The young man gazed at him, astonished. The Tracer of Lost Persons +picked up a pencil, laid a sheet of paper on the table beside the +papyrus, and slowly began to copy the first symbol:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-4.png' width='353' height='128' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX'></a><h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"The ancient Egyptian word for the personal pronoun 'I' was <i>anuk</i>," +said the Tracer placidly. "The phonetic for <i>a</i> was the hieroglyph</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-5.png' width='73' height='96' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>a reed; for <i>n</i> the water symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-6.png' width='142' height='56' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>for <i>u</i> the symbols</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-7.png' width='167' height='94' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>for <i>k</i></p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-8.png' width='83' height='77' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Therefore this hieroglyphic inscription begins with the personal pronoun</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-9.png' width='371' height='96' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>or <i>I</i>. That is very easy, of course.</p> + +<p>"Now, the most ancient of Egyptian inscriptions read vertically in +columns; there are only two columns in this papyrus, so we'll try it +vertically and pass downward to the next symbol, which is inclosed in a +sort of frame or cartouch. That immediately signifies that royalty is +mentioned; therefore, we have already translated as much as 'I, the king +(or queen).' Do you see?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Burke, staring.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Now this symbol, number two,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-10.png' width='436' height='145' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>spells out the word '<i>Meris</i>,' in this way: M (pronounced <i>me</i>) is +phonetically symbolized by the characters</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-11.png' width='191' height='140' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p><i>r</i> by</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-12.png' width='74' height='53' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>(a mouth) and the comma</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-13.png' width='43' height='74' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and the hieroglyph</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-14.png' width='91' height='43' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p><i>i</i> by two reeds</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-15.png' width='96' height='104' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and two oblique strokes,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-16.png' width='70' height='47' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and <i>s</i> by</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-17.png' width='121' height='87' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>This gives us Meris, the name of that deposed and fugitive king of +Egypt who, after a last raid on the summer palace of Mer-Shen, usurping +ruler of Egypt, was followed and tracked to Saïs, where, with an arrow +through his back, he crawled to El Teb and finally died there of his +wound. All this Egyptologists are perfectly familiar with in the +translations of the boastful tablets and inscriptions erected near Saïs +by Mer-Shen, the three hundred and twelfth sovereign after Queen +Nitocris."</p> + +<p>He looked up at Burke, smiling. "Therefore," he said, "this papyrus +scroll was written by Meris, ex-king, a speculative thousands of years +before Christ. And it begins: 'I, Meris the King.'"</p> + +<p>"How does all this bear upon what concerns me?" demanded Burke.</p> + +<p>"Wait!"</p> + +<p>Something in the quiet significance of the Tracer's brief command sent a +curious thrill through the younger man. He leaned stiffly forward, +studying the scroll, every faculty concentrated on the symbol which the +Tracer had now touched with the carefully sharpened point of his pencil:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-18.png' width='217' height='94' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"That," said Mr. Keen, "is the ancient Egyptian word for 'little,' +'<i>Ket</i>.' The next, below, written in two lines, is 'Samaris,' a proper +name—the name of a woman. Under that, again, is the symbol for the +number 18; the decimal sign,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-19.png' width='94' height='90' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and eight vertical strokes,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-20.png' width='156' height='110' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Under that, again, is a hieroglyph of another sort, an ideograph +representing a girl with a harp; and, beneath that, the symbol which +always represented a dancing girl</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-21.png' width='183' height='240' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and also the royal symbol inclosed in a cartouch,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-22.png' width='185' height='288' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>which means literally 'the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that +is the significant symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-23.png' width='135' height='104' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>representing an arm and a hand holding a stick. This always means +<i>force</i>—to take forcibly or to use violence. Therefore, so far, we have +the following literal translation: 'I, Meris the King, little Samaris, +eighteen, a harpist, dancing girl, the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt, +to take by violence—'"</p> + +<p>"What does that make?" broke in Burke impatiently.</p> + +<p>"<i>Wait!</i> Wait until we have translated everything literally. And, Mr. +Burke, it might make it easier for us both if you would remember that I +have had the pleasure of deciphering many hundreds of papyri before you +had ever heard that there were such things."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said the young man in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"I beg yours for my impatience," said the Tracer pleasantly. "This +deciphering always did affect my nerves and shorten my temper. And, no +doubt, it is quite as hard on you. Shall we go on, Mr. Burke?"</p> + +<p>"If you please, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>So the Tracer laid his pencil point on the next symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-24.png' width='206' height='153' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"That is the symbol for night," he said; "and that</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-25.png' width='287' height='70' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>is the water symbol again, as you know; and that</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-26.png' width='240' height='145' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>is the ideograph, meaning a ship. The five reversed crescents</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-27.png' width='309' height='68' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>record the number of days voyage; the sign</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-28.png' width='123' height='100' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>means a house, and is also the letter H in the Egyptian alphabet.</p> + +<p>"Under it, again, we have a repetition of the first symbol meaning <i>I</i>, +and a repetition of the second symbol, meaning 'Meris, the King.' Then, +below that cartouch, comes a new symbol,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-29.png' width='411' height='96' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>which is the feminine personal pronoun, <i>sentus</i>, meaning '<i>she</i>'; and +the first column is completed with the symbol for the ancient Egyptian +verb, <i>nehes</i>, 'to awake,'</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-30.png' width='251' height='126' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"And now we take the second column, which begins with the jackal +ideograph expressing slyness or cleverness. Under it is the hieroglyph +meaning 'to run away,' 'to escape.' And under that, Mr. Burke, is one of +the rarest of all Egyptian symbols; a symbol seldom seen on stone or +papyrus,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-31.png' width='317' height='92' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>except in rare references to the mysteries of Isis. The meaning of it, +so long in dispute, has finally been practically determined through a +new discovery in the cuneiform inscriptions. It is the symbol of two +hands holding two <i>closed</i> eyes; and it signifies power."</p> + +<p>"You mean that those ancients understood hypnotism?" asked Burke, +astonished.</p> + +<p>"Evidently their priests did; evidently hypnotism was understood and +employed in certain mysteries. And there is the symbol of it; and under +it the hieroglyphs</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-32.png' width='156' height='123' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>meaning 'a day and a night,' with the symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-33.png' width='117' height='110' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>as usual present to signify force or strength employed. Under that, +again, is a human figure stretched upon a typical Egyptian couch. And +now, Mr. Burke, <i>note carefully</i> three modifying signs: first, that it +is a <i>couch</i> or <i>bed</i> on which the figure is stretched, not the funeral +couch, not the embalming slab; second, there is no mummy mask covering +the face, and no mummy case covering the body; third, that under the +recumbent figure is pictured an <i>open</i> mouth, not a <i>closed</i> one.</p> + +<p>"All these modify the ideograph, apparently representing death. But the +sleep symbol is not present. Therefore it is a sound inference that all +this simply confirms the symbol of hypnotism."</p> + +<p>Burke, intensely absorbed, stared steadily at the scroll.</p> + +<p>"Now," continued Mr. Keen, "we note the symbol of force again, always +present; and, continuing horizontally, a cartouch quite empty except for +the midday sun. That is simply translated; the midday sun illuminates +nothing. Meris, deposed, is king only in name; and the sun no longer +shines on him as 'Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that despairing +symbol, 'King of Nothing,' we have</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-34.png' width='233' height='94' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>the phonetics which spell <i>sha</i>, the word for garden. And, just beyond +this, horizontally, the modifying ideograph meaning 'a <i>water</i> garden';</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-35.png' width='187' height='117' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>a design of lotus and tree alternating on a terrace. Under that is the +symbol for the word '<i>aneb</i>,'</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-36.png' width='491' height='117' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>a 'wall.' Beyond that, horizontally, is the symbol for 'house.' It +should be placed under the wall symbol, but the Egyptians were very apt +to fill up spaces instead of continuing their vertical columns. Now, +beneath, we find the imperative command</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-37.png' width='526' height='128' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>'arise!' And the Egyptian personal pronoun '<i>entuten</i>,'</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-38.png' width='351' height='155' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>which means 'you' or 'thou.'</p> + +<p>"Under that is the symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-39.png' width='309' height='117' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>which means 'priest,' or, literally, 'priest man.' Then comes the +imperative 'awake to life!'</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-40.png' width='300' height='150' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>After that, our first symbol again, meaning '<i>I</i>,' followed horizontally +by the symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-41.png' width='73' height='104' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>signifying 'to go.'</p> + +<p>"Then comes a very important drawing—you see?—the picture of a man +with a jackal's head, not a dog's head. It is not accompanied by the +phonetic in a cartouch, as it should be. Probably the writer was in +desperate haste at the end. But, nevertheless, it is easy to translate +that symbol of the man with a jackal's head. It is a picture of the +Egyptian god, Anubis, who was supposed to linger at the side of the +dying to conduct their souls. Anubis, the jackal-headed, is the courier, +the personal escort of departing souls. And this is he.</p> + +<p>"And now the screed ends with the cry 'Pray for me!'</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-42.png' width='350' height='150' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>the last symbol on this strange scroll—this missive written by a +deposed, wounded, and dying king to an unnamed priest. Here is the +literal translation in columns:</p> + +<pre>I cunning +Meris the King escape +little hypnotize +Samaris King of Nothing +eighteen place forcibly +a harpist garden +a dancing girl—Ruler of water garden + Upper and Lower wall + Egypt house +took forcibly—night Arise. Do +by water Thou +five days Priest Man +ship Awake +house To life +I I go +Meris the King Anubis +she Pray +awake</pre> + +<p>"And this is what that letter, thousands of years old, means in this +language of ours, hundreds of years young: 'I, Meris the King, seized +little Samaris, a harpist and a dancing girl, eighteen years of age, +belonging to the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, and carried her away at +night on shipboard—a voyage of five days—to my house. I, Meris the +King, lest she lie awake watching cunningly for a chance to escape, +hypnotized her (or had her hypnotized) so that she lay like one dead or +asleep, but breathing, and I, King no longer of Upper and Lower Egypt, +took her and placed her in my house under the wall of the water garden. +Arise! therefore, O thou priest; (go) and awaken her to life. I am dying +(I go with Anubis!). Pray for me!'"</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XX'></a><h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<br /> + +<p>For a full minute the two men sat there without moving or speaking. Then +the Tracer laid aside his pencil.</p> + +<p>"To sum up," he said, opening the palm of his left hand and placing the +forefinger of his right across it, "the excavation made by the falling +pillar raised in triumph above the water garden of the deposed king, +Meris, by his rival, was the subterranean house of Meris. The prostrate +figure which crumbled to powder at your touch may have been the very +priest to whom this letter or papyrus was written. Perhaps the bearer of +the scroll was a traitor and stabbed the priest as he was reading the +missive. Who can tell how that priest died? He either died or betrayed +his trust, for he never aroused the little Samaris from her suspended +animation. And the water garden fell into ruins and she slept; and the +Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt raised his columns, lotus crowned, above +the ruins; and she slept on. Then—<i>you</i> came."</p> + +<p>Burke stared like one stupefied.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," said the Tracer gravely, "what balm there may be in a +suspension of sensation, perhaps of vitality, to protect the human body +from corruption after death. I do not know how soon suspended animation +or the state of hypnotic coma, undisturbed, changes into death—whether +it comes gradually, imperceptibly freeing the soul; whether the soul +hides there, asleep, until suddenly the flame of vitality is +extinguished. I do not know how long she lay there with life in her."</p> + +<p>He leaned back and touched an electric bell, then, turning to Burke:</p> + +<p>"Speaking of pistol range," he said, "unstrap those weapons and pass +them over, if you please."</p> + +<p>And the young man obeyed as in a trance.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. There are four men coming into this room. You will keep your +seat, if you please, Mr. Burke."</p> + +<p>After a moment the door opened noiselessly. Two men handcuffed together +entered the room; two men, hands in their pockets, sauntered carelessly +behind the prisoners and leaned back against the closed door.</p> + +<p>"That short, red-haired, lame man with the cast in his eye—do you +recognize him?" asked the Tracer quietly.</p> + +<p>Burke, grasping the arms of his chair, had started to rise, fury fairly +blazing from his eyes; but, at the sound of the Tracer's calm, even +voice, he sank back into his chair.</p> + +<p>"That is Joram Smiles? You recognize him?" continued Mr. Keen.</p> + +<p>Burke nodded.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly—alias Limpy, alias Red Jo, alias Big Stick Joram, alias +Pinky; swindler, international confidence man, fence, burglar, gambler; +convicted in 1887, and sent to Sing Sing for forgery; convicted in 1898, +and sent to Auburn for swindling; arrested by my men on board the S. S. +<i>Scythian Queen</i>, at the cabled request of John T. Burke, Esquire, and +held to explain the nature of his luggage, which consisted of the +contents of an Egyptian vault or underground ruin, declared at the +customhouse as a mummy, and passed as such."</p> + +<p>The quiet, monotonous voice of the Tracer halted, then, as he glanced at +the second prisoner, grew harder:</p> + +<p>"Emanuel Gandon, general international criminal, with over half a +hundred aliases, arrested in company with Smiles and held until Mr. +Burke's arrival."</p> + +<p>Turning to Burke, the Tracer continued: "Fortunately, the <i>Scythian +Queen</i> broke down off Brindisi. It gave us time to act on your cable; +we found these men aboard when she was signaled off the Hook. I went out +with the pilot myself, Mr. Burke."</p> + +<p>Smiles shot a wicked look at Burke; Gandon scowled at the floor.</p> + +<p>"Now," said the Tracer pleasantly, meeting the venomous glare of Smiles, +"I'll get you that warrant you have been demanding to have exhibited to +you. Here it is—charging you and your amiable friend Gandon with +breaking into and robbing the Metropolitan Museum of ancient Egyptian +gold ornaments, in March, 1903, and taking them to France, where they +were sold to collectors. It seems that you found the business good +enough to go prowling about Egypt on a hunt for something to sell here. +A great mistake, my friends—a very great mistake, because, after the +Museum has finished with you, the Egyptian Government desires to +extradite you. And I rather suspect you'll have to go."</p> + +<p>He nodded to the two quiet men leaning against the door.</p> + +<p>"Come, Joram," said one of them pleasantly.</p> + +<p>But Smiles turned furiously on the Tracer. "You lie, you old gray rat!" +he cried. "That ain't no mummy; that's a plain dead girl! And there +ain't no extrydition for body snatchin', so I guess them niggers at +Cairo won't get us, after all!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said the Tracer, looking at Burke, who had risen, pale and +astounded. "Sit down, Mr. Burke! There is no need to question these men; +no need to demand what they robbed you of. For," he added slowly, "what +they took from the garden grotto of Saïs, and from you, I have under my +own protection."</p> + +<p>The Tracer rose, locked the door through which the prisoners and their +escorts had departed; then, turning gravely on Burke, he continued:</p> + +<p>"That panel, there, is a door. There is a room beyond—a room facing to +the south, bright with sunshine, flowers, soft rugs, and draperies of +the East. <i>She</i> is there—like a child asleep!"</p> + +<p>Burke reeled, steadying himself against the wall; the Tracer stared at +space, speaking very slowly:</p> + +<p>"Such death I have never before heard of. From the moment she came under +my protection I have dared to doubt—many things. And an hour ago you +brought me a papyrus scroll confirming my doubts. I doubt still—Heaven +knows what! Who can say how long the flame of life may flicker within +suspended animation? A week? A month? A year? Longer than that? Yes; +the Hindoos have proved it. How long? The span of a normal life? Or +longer? Can the life flame burn indefinitely when the functions are +absolutely suspended—generation after generation, century after +century?"</p> + +<p>Burke, ghastly white, straightened up, quivering in every limb; the +Tracer, as pale as he, laid his hand on the secret panel.</p> + +<p>"If—if you dare say it—the phrase is this: '<i>O Ket Samaris, +Nehes!</i>'—'O Little Samaris, awake!'"</p> + +<p>"I—dare. In Heaven's name, open that door!"</p> + +<p>Then, averting his head, the Tracer of Lost Persons swung open the +panel.</p> + +<p>A flood of sunshine flashed on Burke's face; he entered; and the paneled +door closed behind him without a sound.</p> + +<p>Minute after minute passed; the Tracer stood as though turned to stone, +gray head bent.</p> + +<p>Then he heard Burke's voice ring out unsteadily:</p> + +<p>"O Ket Samaris—Samaris! O Ket Samaris—<i>Nehes!</i>"</p> + +<p>And again: "Samaris! Samaris! O beloved, awake!"</p> + +<p>And once more: "<i>Nehes!</i> O Samaris!"</p> + +<p>Silence, broken by a strange, sweet, drowsy plaint—like a child +awakened at midnight by a dazzling light.</p> + +<p>"Samaris!"</p> + +<p>Then, through the stillness, a little laugh, and a softly tremulous +voice:</p> + +<p>"<i>Ari un āhā, O Entuk sen!</i>"</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXI'></a><h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"What we want to do," said Gatewood over the telephone, "is to give you +a corking little dinner at the Santa Regina. There'll be Mr. and Mrs. +Tommy Kerns, Captain and Mrs. Harren, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Burke, Mrs. +Gatewood, and myself. We want you to set the date for it, Mr. Keen, and +we also wish you to suggest one more deliriously happy couple whom you +have dragged out of misery and flung head-first into terrestrial +paradise."</p> + +<p>"Do you young people really care to do this for me?" asked the Tracer, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"Of course we do. We're crazy about it. We want one more couple, and you +to set the date."</p> + +<p>There was the slightest pause; then the Tracer's voice, with the same +undertone of amusement ringing through it:</p> + +<p>"How would your cousin, Victor Carden, do?"</p> + +<p>"He's all right, only he isn't married. We want two people whom you have +joined together after hazard has put them asunder and done stunts with +them."</p> + +<p>"Very well; Victor Carden and his very lovely wife will be just the +people."</p> + +<p>"Is Victor married?" demanded Gatewood, astonished.</p> + +<p>"No," said the Tracer demurely, "but he will be in time for that +dinner." And he set the date for the end of the week in an amused voice, +and rang off.</p> + +<p>Then he glanced at the clock, touched an electric bell, and again +unhooking the receiver of the telephone, called up the Sherwood Studios +and asked for Mr. Carden.</p> + +<p>"Is <i>this</i> Mr. Carden? Oh, good morning, Mr. Carden! This is Mr. Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons. Could you make it convenient to call—say in +course of half an hour? Thank you. . . . What? . . . Well, speaking with +that caution and reserve which we are obliged to employ in making any +preliminary statements to our clients, I think I may safely say that you +have every reason to feel moderately encouraged."</p> + +<p>"You mean," said Carden's voice, "that you have actually solved the +proposition?"</p> + +<p>"It has been a difficult proposition, Mr. Carden; I will not deny that +it has taxed our resources to the uttermost. Over a thousand people, +first and last, have been employed on this case. It has been a slow and +tedious affair, Mr. Carden—tedious for us all. We seldom have a case +continue as long as this has; it is a year ago to-day since you placed +the matter in our hands. . . . What? Well, without committing myself, I +think that I may venture to express a carefully qualified opinion that +the solution of the case is probably practically in the way of being +almost accomplished! . . . Yes, I shall expect you in half an hour. +Good-by!"</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons' eyes were twinkling as he hung up the +receiver and turned in his revolving chair to meet the pretty young +woman who had entered in response to his ring.</p> + +<p>"The Carden case, if you please, Miss Smith," he said, smiling to +himself.</p> + +<p>The young woman also smiled; the Carden case had become a classic in the +office. Nobody except Mr. Keen had believed that the case could ever be +solved.</p> + +<p>"Safe-deposit box 108923!" said Miss Smith softly, pressing a speaking +tube to her red lips. In a few moments there came a hissing thud from +the pneumatic tube; Miss Smith unlocked it and extracted a smooth, steel +cylinder.</p> + +<p>"The combination for that cylinder is A-4-44-11-X," observed the Tracer, +consulting a cipher code, "which, translated," he added, "gives us the +setting combination, One, D, R-R,-J-'24."</p> + +<p>Miss Smith turned the movable disks at the end of the cylinder until +the required combination appeared. Then she unscrewed the cylinder head +and dumped out the documents in the famous Carden case.</p> + +<p>"As Mr. Carden will be here in half an hour or so I think we had better +run over the case briefly," nodded the Tracer, leaning back in his chair +and composing himself to listen. "Begin with my preliminary memorandum, +Miss Smith."</p> + +<p>"Case 108923," began the girl. Then she read the date, Carden's full +name, Victor Carden, a terse biography of the same gentleman, and added: +"Case accepted. Contingent fee, $5,000."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," said Mr. Keen; "now, run through the minutes of the first +interview."</p> + +<p>And Miss Smith unrolled a typewritten scroll and read:</p> + +<p>"Victor Carden, Esquire, the well-known artist, called this evening at +6.30. Tall, well-bred, good appearance, very handsome; very much +embarrassed. Questioned by Mr. Keen he turned pink, and looked timidly +at the stenographer (Miss Colt). Asked if he might not see Mr. Keen +alone, Miss Colt retired. Mr. Keen set the recording phonograph in +motion by dropping his elbow on his desk."</p> + +<p>A brief <i>résumé</i> of the cylinder records followed:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carden asked Mr. Keen if he (Mr. Keen) knew who he (Mr. Carden) +was. Mr. Keen replied that everybody knew Mr. Carden, the celebrated +painter and illustrator who had created the popular type of beauty known +as the 'Carden Girl.' Mr. Carden blushed and fidgeted. (<i>Notes from. Mr. +Keen's Observation Book, pp. 291-297.</i>) Admitted that he was the creator +of the 'Carden Girl.' Admitted he had drawn and painted that particular +type of feminine beauty many times. Fidgeted some more. (<i>Keen's O.B., +pp. 298-299.</i>) Volunteered the statement that this type of beauty, known +as the 'Carden Girl,' was the cause of great unhappiness to himself. +Questioned, turned pinker and fidgeted. (<i>K.O.B., page 300.</i>) Denied +that his present trouble was caused by the model who had posed for the +'Carden Girl.' Explained that a number of assorted models had posed for +that type of beauty. Further explained that none of them resembled the +type; that the type was his own creation; that he used models merely for +the anatomy, and that he always idealized form and features.</p> + +<p>"Questioned again, admitted that the features of the 'Carden Girl' were +his ideal of the highest and loveliest type of feminine beauty. Did not +deny that he had fallen in love with his own creation. Turned red and +tried to smoke. (<i>K.O.B., page 303.</i>) Admitted he had been fascinated +himself with his own rendering of a type of beauty which he had never +seen anywhere except as rendered by his own pencil on paper or on +canvas. Fidgeted. (<i>K.O.B., page 304.</i>) Admitted that he could easily +fall in love with a woman who resembled the 'Carden Girl.' Didn't +believe she ever really existed. Confessed he had hoped for years to +encounter her, but had begun to despair. Admitted that he had ventured +to think that Mr. Keen might trace such a girl for him. Doubted Mr. +Keen's success. Fidgeted (<i>K.O.B., page 306</i>), and asked Mr. Keen to +take the case. Promised to send to Mr. Keen a painting in oil which +embodied his loftiest ideal of the type known as the 'Carden Girl.' +(<i>Portrait received; lithographs made and distributed to our agents +according to routine, from Canada to Mexico and from the Atlantic to the +Pacific.</i>)</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen terminated the interview with characteristic tact, accepting +the case on the contingent fee of $5,000."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the Tracer, as Miss Smith rolled up the scroll and +looked at him for further instructions. "Now, perhaps you had better run +over the short summary of proceedings to date. I mean the digest which +you will find attached to the completed records."</p> + +<p>Miss Smith found the paper, unrolled it, and read:</p> + +<p>"During the twelve months' investigation and search (<i>in re Carden</i>) +seven hundred and nine young women were discovered who resembled very +closely the type sought for. By process of elimination, owing to defects +in figure, features, speech, breeding, etc., etc., this list was cut +down to three. One of these occasionally chewed gum, but otherwise +resembled the type. The second married before the investigation of her +habits could be completed. The third is apparently a flawless replica of +Mr. Carden's original in face, figure, breeding, education, moral and +mental habits. (<i>See Document 23, A.</i>)"</p> + +<p>"Read Document 23, A," nodded Mr. Keen.</p> + +<p>And Miss Smith read:</p> + +<pre>ROSALIND HOLLIS, M.D. + +Age . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 + +Height . . . . . . 5 feet 9 inches + +Weight . . . . . . . . 160 pounds + + Thick, bright, ruddy +Hair . . . . . . golden, and inclined + to curl. + +Teeth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Eyes . . . . . . . Dark violet-blue + +Mouth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Color . . . . Fair. An ivory-tinted + blonde. + +Figure . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Health . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Temper . . . . . . . . . Feminine + + Austere, with a +Habits . . . . resolutely suppressed + capacity for romance. + +Business . . . . . . . . . None + +Profession . . . . . . . Physician + +Mania . . . . . . . . A Mission</pre> + +<p>"NOTE.—Dr. Rosalind Hollis was presented to society in her eighteenth +year. At the end of her second season she withdrew from society with the +determination to devote her entire life to charity. Settlement work and +the study of medicine have occupied her constantly. Recently admitted to +practice, she spends her mornings in visiting the poor, whom she treats +free of all charge; her afternoons and evenings are devoted to what she +expects is to be her specialty: the study of the rare malady known as +Lamour's Disease. (<i>See note on second page.</i>)</p> + +<p>"It is understood that Dr. Hollis has abjured the society of all men +other than her patients and such of her professional <i>confrères</i> as she +is obliged to consult or work with. Her theory is that of the beehive: +drones for mates, workers for work. She adds, very decidedly, that she +belongs to the latter division, and means to remain there permanently.</p> + +<p>"NOTE (<i>Mr. Keen's O.B., pp. 916-18</i>).—Her eccentricity is probably the +result of a fine, wholesome, highly strung young girl taking life and +herself too seriously. The remedy will be the <i>Right Man</i>."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly," nodded Mr. Keen, joining the tips of his thin fingers and +partly closing his eyes. "Now, Miss Smith, the disease which Dr. Hollis +intends to make her specialty—have you any notes on that?"</p> + +<p>"Here they are," said Miss Smith; and she read: "Lamour's Disease; the +rarest of all known diseases; first discovered and described by Ero S. +Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H., in 1861. Only a single case has ever +been observed. This case is fully described in Dr. Lamour's superb and +monumental work in sixteen volumes. Briefly, the disease appears without +any known cause, and is ultimately supposed to result fatally. The first +symptom is the appearance of a faintly bluish circle under the eyes, as +though the patient was accustomed to using the eyes too steadily at +times. Sometimes a slight degree of fever accompanies this +manifestation; pulse and temperature vary. The patient is apparently in +excellent health, but liable to loss of appetite, restlessness, and a +sudden flushing of the face. These symptoms are followed by others +unmistakable: the patient becomes silent at times; at times evinces a +weakness for sentimental expressions; flushes easily; is easily +depressed; will sit for hours looking at one person; and, if not +checked, will exhibit impulsive symptoms of affection for the opposite +sex. The strangest symptom of all, however, is the physical change in +the patient, whose features and figure, under the trained eye of the +observer, gradually from day to day assume the symmetry and charm of a +beauty almost unearthly, sometimes accompanied by a spiritual pallor +which is unmistakable in confirming the diagnosis, and which, Dr. Lamour +believes, presages the inexorable approach of immortality.</p> + +<p>"There is no known remedy for Lamour's Disease. The only case on record +is the case of the young lady described by Dr. Lamour, who watched her +for years with unexampled patience and enthusiasm; finally, in the +interest of science, marrying his patient in order to devote his life +to a study of her symptoms. Unfortunately, some of these disappeared +early—within a week—but the curious manifestation of physical beauty +remained, and continued to increase daily to a dazzling radiance, with +no apparent injury to the patient. Dr. Lamour, unfortunately, died +before his investigations, covering over forty years, could be +completed; his widow survived him for a day or two only, leaving sixteen +children.</p> + +<p>"Here is a wide and unknown field for medical men to investigate. It is +safe to say that the physician who first discovers the bacillus of +Lamour's Disease and the proper remedy to combat it will reap as his +reward a glory and renown imperishable. Lamour's Disease is a disease +not yet understood—a disease whose termination is believed to be +fatal—a strange disease which seems to render radiant and beautiful the +features of the patient, brightening them with the forewarning of +impending death and the splendid resurrection of immortality."</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons caressed his chin reflectively. "<i>Ex</i>actly, +Miss Smith. So this is the disease which Dr. Hollis has chosen for her +specialty. And only one case on record. <i>Ex</i>actly. Thank you."</p> + +<p>Miss Smith replaced the papers in the steel cylinder, slipped it into +the pneumatic tube, sent it whizzing below to the safe-deposit vaults, +and, saluting Mr. Keen with a pleasant inclination of her head, went out +of the room.</p> + +<p>The Tracer turned in his chair, picked up the daily detective report, +and scanned it until he came to the name Hollis. It appeared that the +daily routine of Rosalind Hollis had not varied during the past three +weeks. In the mornings she was good to the poor with bottles and pills; +in the afternoons she tucked one of Lamour's famous sixteen volumes +under her arm and walked to Central Park, where, with democratic +simplicity, she sat on a secluded bench and pored over the symptoms of +Lamour's Disease. About five she retired to her severely simple +apartments in the big brownstone office building devoted to physicians, +corner of Fifty-eighth Street and Madison Avenue. Here she took tea, +read a little, dined all alone, and retired about nine. This was the +guileless but determined existence of Rosalind Hollis, M.D., according +to McConnell, the detective assigned to observe her.</p> + +<p>The Tracer refolded the report of his chief of detectives and +pigeonholed it just as the door opened and a tall, well-built, +attractive young man entered.</p> + +<p>Shyness was written all over him; he offered his hand to Mr. Keen with +an embarrassed air and seated himself at that gentleman's invitation.</p> + +<p>"I'm almost sorry I ever began this sort of thing," he blurted out, like +a big schoolboy appalled at his own misdemeanors. "The truth is, Mr. +Keen, that the prospect of actually seeing a 'Carden Girl' alive has +scared me through and through. I've a notion that my business with that +sort of a girl ends when I've drawn her picture."</p> + +<p>"But surely," said the Tracer mildly, "you have some natural curiosity +to see the living copy of your charming but inanimate originals, haven't +you, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—oh, certainly. I'd like to see one of them alive—say out of a +window, or from a cab. I should not care to be too close to her."</p> + +<p>"But merely seeing her does not commit you," interposed Mr. Keen, +smiling. "She is far too busy, too much absorbed in her own affairs to +take any notice of you. I understand that she has something of an +aversion for men."</p> + +<p>"Aversion!"</p> + +<p>"Well, she excludes them as unnecessary to her existence."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Carden.</p> + +<p>"Because she has a mission in life," said Mr. Keen gravely.</p> + +<p>Carden looked out of the window. It was pleasant weather—June in all +its early loveliness—the fifth day of June. The sixth was his birthday.</p> + +<p>"I've simply got to marry somebody before the day after to-morrow," he +said aloud—"that is, if I want my legacy."</p> + +<p>"What!" demanded the Tracer sharply.</p> + +<p>Carden turned, pink and guilty. "I didn't tell you all the circumstances +of my case," he said. "I suppose I ought to have done so."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly," said the Tracer severely. "Why is it necessary that you +marry somebody before the day after to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's my twenty-fifth birthday—"</p> + +<p>"Somebody has left you money on condition that you marry before your +twenty-fifth birthday? Is that it, Mr. Carden? An uncle? An imbecile +grandfather? A sentimental aunt?"</p> + +<p>"My Aunt Tabby Van Beekman."</p> + +<p>"Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"In Trinity churchyard. It's too late to expostulate with her, you see. +Besides, it wouldn't have done any good when she was alive."</p> + +<p>The Tracer knitted his brows, musing, the points of his slim fingers +joined.</p> + +<p>"She was very proud, very autocratic," said Carden. "I am the last of +my race and my aunt was determined that the race should not die out with +me. I don't want to marry and increase, but she's trying to make me. At +all events, I am not going to marry any woman inferior to the type I +have created with my pencil—what the public calls the 'Carden Girl.' +And now you see that your discovery of this living type comes rather +late. In two days I must be legally married if I want my Aunt Tabby's +legacy; and to-day for the first time I hear of a girl who, you assure +me, compares favorably to my copyrighted type, but who has a mission and +an aversion to men. So you see, Mr. Keen, that the matter is perfectly +hopeless."</p> + +<p>"I don't see anything of the kind," said Mr. Keen firmly.</p> + +<p>"What?—do you believe there is any chance—"</p> + +<p>"Of your falling in love within the next hour or so? Yes, I do. I think +there is every chance of it. I am sure of it. But that is not the +difficulty. The problem is far more complicated."</p> + +<p>"You mean—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly; how to marry that girl before day after to-morrow. That's +the problem, Mr. Carden!—not whether you are capable of falling in +love with her. I have seen her; I <i>know</i> you can't avoid falling in +love with her. Nobody could. I myself am on the verge of it; and I am +fifty: you can't avoid loving her."</p> + +<p>"If that were so," said Carden gravely; "if I were really going to fall +in love with her—I would not care a rap about my Aunt Tabby and her +money—"</p> + +<p>"You ought to care about it for this young girl's sake. That legacy is +virtually hers, not yours. She has a right to it. No man can ever give +enough to the woman he loves; no man has ever done so. What <i>she</i> gives +and what <i>he</i> gives are never a fair exchange. If you can balance the +account in any measure, it is your duty to do it. Mr. Carden, if she +comes to love you she may think it very fine that you bring to her your +love, yourself, your fame, your talents, your success, your position, +your gratifying income. But I tell you it's not enough to balance the +account. It is never enough—no, not all your devotion to her included! +You can never balance the account on earth—all you can do is to try to +balance it materially and spiritually. Therefore I say, endow her with +<i>all</i> your earthly goods. Give all you can in every way to lighten as +much as possible man's hopeless debt to all women who have ever loved."</p> + +<p>"You talk about it as though I were already committed," said Carden, +astonished.</p> + +<p>"You are, morally. For a month I have, without her knowledge, it is +true, invaded the privacy of a very lovely young girl—studied her +minutely, possessed myself of her history, informed myself of her +habits. What excuse had I for this unless I desired her happiness and +yours? Nobody could offer me any inducement to engage in such a practice +unless I believed that the means might justify a moral conclusion. And +the moral conclusion of this investigation is your marriage to her."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Carden uneasily, "but how are we going to accomplish +it by to-morrow? How is it going to be accomplished at all?"</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons rose and began to pace the long rug, clasping +his hands behind his back. Minute after minute sped; Carden stared +alternately at Mr. Keen and at the blue sky through the open window.</p> + +<p>"It is seldom," said Mr. Keen with evident annoyance, "that I personally +take any spectacular part in the actual and concrete demonstrations +necessary to a successful conclusion of a client's case. But I've got to +do it this time."</p> + +<p>He went to a cupboard, picked out a gray wig and gray side whiskers and +deliberately waved them at Carden.</p> + +<p>"You see what these look like?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Y-yes."</p> + +<p>"Very well. It is now noon. Do you know the Park? Do you happen to +recollect a shady turn in the path after you cross the bridge over the +swan lake? Here; I'll draw it for you. Now, here is the lake; here's the +esplanade and fountain, you see. Here's the path. You follow +it—so!—around the lake, across the bridge, then following the lake to +the right—so!—then up the wooded slope to the left—so! Now, here is a +bench. I mark it Number One. <i>She</i> sits there with her book—there she +is!"</p> + +<p>"If she looks like <i>that</i>—" began Carden. And they both laughed with +the slightest trace of excitement.</p> + +<p>"Here is Bench Number Two!" resumed the Tracer. "Here you sit—and there +you are!"</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/rendezvous.png' width='60%' alt="MR. KEEN'S SKETCH OF THE RENDEZVOUS" title=''> +</center> +<div class='caption'><p>MR. KEEN'S SKETCH OF THE RENDEZVOUS</p></div> + +<p>"Thanks," said Carden, laughing again.</p> + +<p>"Now," continued the Tracer, "you must be there at one o'clock. She will +be there at one-thirty, or earlier perhaps. A little later I will become +benignly visible. Your part is merely a thinking part; you are to do +nothing, say nothing, unless spoken to. And when you are spoken to you +are to acquiesce in whatever anybody says to you, and you are to do +whatever anybody requests you to do. And, above all, don't be surprised +at <i>anything</i> that may happen. You'll be nervous enough; I expect that. +You'll probably color up and flush and fidget; I expect that; I count on +that. But don't lose your nerve entirely; and don't think of attempting +to escape."</p> + +<p>"Escape! From what? From whom?"</p> + +<p>"From her."</p> + +<p>"<i>Her?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Are you going to follow my instructions?" demanded the Tracer of Lost +Persons.</p> + +<p>"I—y-yes, of course."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then, I am going to rub some of this under your eyes." And +Mr. Keen produced a make-up box and, walking over to Carden, calmly +darkened the skin under his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I look as though I had been on a bat!" exclaimed Carden, surveying +himself in a mirror. "Do you think any girl could find any attraction in +such a countenance?"</p> + +<p>"<i>She</i> will," observed the Tracer meaningly. "Now, Mr. Carden, one last +word: The moment you find yourself in love with her, and the first +moment you have the chance to do so decently, make love to her. She +won't dismiss you; she will repulse you, of course, but she won't let +you go. I know what I am saying; all I ask of you is to promise on your +honor to carry out these instructions. Do you promise?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"Then here is the map of the rendezvous which I have drawn. Be there +promptly. Good morning."</p> + + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>At one o'clock that afternoon a young man earnestly consulting a map +might have been seen pursuing his solitary way through Central Park. +Fresh green foliage arched above him, flecking the path with fretted +shadow and sunlight; the sweet odor of flowering shrubs saturated the +air; the waters of the lake sparkled where swans swept to and fro, snowy +wings spread like sails to the fitful June wind.</p> + +<p>"This," he murmured, pausing at a shaded bend in the path, "must be +Bench Number One. I am not to sit on that. This must be Bench Number +Two. I <i>am</i> to sit on that. So here I am," he added nervously, seating +himself and looking about him with the caution of a cat in a strange +back yard.</p> + +<p>There was nobody in sight. Reassured, he ventured to drop one knee over +the other and lean upon his walking stick. For a few minutes he remained +in this noncommittal attitude, alert at every sound, anxious, +uncomfortable, dreading he knew not what. A big, fat, gray squirrel +racing noisily across the fallen leaves gave him a shock. A number of +birds came to look at him—or so it appeared to him, for in the +inquisitive scrutiny of a robin he fancied he divined sardonic meaning, +and in the blank yellow stare of a purple grackle, a sinister +significance out of all proportion to the size of the bird.</p> + +<p>"What an absurd position to be in!" he thought. And suddenly he was +seized with a desire to flee.</p> + +<p>He didn't because he had promised not to, but the desire persisted to +the point of mania. Oh, how he could run if he only hadn't promised not +to! His entire being tingled with the latent possibilities of a burst of +terrific speed. He wanted to scuttle away like a scared rabbit. The pace +of the kangaroo would be slow in comparison. What a record he could make +if he hadn't promised not to.</p> + +<p>He crossed his knees the other way and brooded. The gray squirrel +climbed the bench and nosed his pockets for possible peanuts, then +hopped off hopefully toward a distant nursemaid and two children.</p> + +<p>Growing more alarmed every time he consulted his watch Carden attempted +to stem his rising panic with logic and philosophy, repeating: "Steady! +my son! Don't act like this! You're not obliged to marry her if you +don't fall in love with her; and if you do, you won't mind marrying her. +That is philosophy. That is logic. Oh, I wonder what will have happened +to me by this time to-morrow! I wish it <i>were</i> this time to-morrow! I +wish it were this time next month! Then it would be all over. Then it +would be—"</p> + +<p>His muttering speech froze on his lips. Rooted to his bench he sat +staring at a distant figure approaching—the figure of a young girl in a +summer gown.</p> + +<p>Nearer, nearer she came, walking with a free-limbed, graceful step, head +high, one arm clasping a book.</p> + +<p>That was the way the girls he drew would have walked had they ever +lived. Even in the midst of his fright his artist's eyes noted that: +noted the perfect figure, too, and the witchery of its grace and +contour, and the fascinating poise of her head, and the splendid color +of her hair; noted mechanically the flowing lines of her gown, and the +dainty modeling of arm and wrist and throat and ear.</p> + +<p>Then, as she reached her bench and seated herself, she raised her eyes +and looked at him. And for the first time in his life he realized that +ideal beauty was but the pale phantom of the real and founded on +something more than imagination and thought; on something of vaster +import than fancy and taste and technical skill; that it was founded on +Life itself—on breathing, living, palpitating, tremulous Life!—from +which all true inspiration must come.</p> + +<p>Over and over to himself he was repeating: "Of course, it is perfectly +impossible that I can be in love already. Love doesn't happen between +two ticks of a watch. I am merely amazed at that girl's beauty; that is +all. I am merely astounded in the presence of perfection; that is all. +There is nothing more serious the matter with me. It isn't necessary for +me to continue to look at her; it isn't vital to my happiness if I never +saw her again. . . . That is—of course, I should like to see her, +because I never did see living beauty such as hers in any woman. Not +even in my pictures. What superb eyes! What a fascinately delicate nose! +<i>What</i> a nose! By Heaven, that nose <i>is</i> a nose! I'll draw noses <i>that</i> +way in future. My pictures are all out of drawing; I must fit arms into +their sockets the way hers fit! I must remember the modeling of her +eyelids, too—and that chin! and those enchanting hands—"</p> + +<p>She looked up leisurely from her book, surveyed him calmly, absent-eyed, +then bent her head again to the reading.</p> + +<p>"There <i>is</i> something the matter with me," he thought with a suppressed +gulp. "I—if she looks at me again—with those iris-hued eyes of a +young goddess—I—I think I'm done for. I believe I'm done for anyway. +It seems rather mad to think it. But there <i>is</i> something the matter—"</p> + +<p>She deliberately looked at him again.</p> + +<p>"It's all wrong for them to let loose a girl like that on people," he +thought to himself, "all wrong. Everybody is bound to go mad over her. +I'm going now. I'm mad already. I know I am, which proves I'm no +lunatic. It isn't her beauty; it's the way she wears it—every motion, +every breath of her. I know exactly what her voice is like. Anybody who +looks into her eyes can see what her soul is like. She isn't out of +drawing anywhere—physically or spiritually. And when a man sees a girl +like that, why—why there's only one thing that can happen to him as far +as I can see. And it doesn't take a year either. Heavens! How awfully +remote from me she seems to be."</p> + +<p>She looked up again, calmly, but not at him. A kindly, gray-whiskered +old gentleman came tottering and rocking into view, his rosy, wrinkled +face beaming benediction on the world as he passed through it—on the +sunshine dappling the undergrowth, on the furry squirrels sitting up on +their hind legs to watch him pass, on the stray dickybird that hopped +fearlessly in his path, at the young man sitting very rigid there on +his bench, at the fair, sweet-faced girl who met his aged eyes with the +gentlest of involuntary smiles. And Carden did not recognize him!</p> + +<p>Who could help smiling confidently into that benign face, with its gray +hair and gray whiskers? Goodness radiated from every wrinkle.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Atwood!" exclaimed the girl softly as she rose to meet this +marvelous imitation of Dr. Austin Atwood, the great specialist on +children's diseases.</p> + +<p>The old man beamed weakly at her, halted, still beaming, fumbled for his +eyeglasses, adjusted them, and peered closely into her face.</p> + +<p>"Bless my soul," he smiled, "our pretty Dr. Hollis!"</p> + +<p>"I—I did not suppose you would remember me," she said, rosy with +pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Remember you? Surely, surely." He made her a quaint, old-fashioned bow, +turned, and peeped across the walk at Carden. And Carden, looking +straight into his face, did not know the old man, who turned to Dr. +Hollis again with many mysterious nods of his doddering head.</p> + +<p>"You're watching him, too, are you?" he chuckled, leaning toward her.</p> + +<p>"Watching whom, Dr. Atwood?" she asked surprised.</p> + +<p>"Hush, child! I thought you had noticed that unfortunate and afflicted +young man opposite."</p> + +<p>Dr. Hollis looked curiously at Carden, then at the old gentleman with +gray whiskers.</p> + +<p>"Please sit down, Dr. Atwood, and tell me," she murmured. "I have +noticed nothing in particular about the young man on the bench there." +And she moved to give him room; and the young man opposite stared at +them both as though bereft of reason.</p> + +<p>"A heavy book for small hands, my child," said the old gentleman in his +quaintly garrulous fashion, peering with dimmed eyes at the volume in +her lap.</p> + +<p>She smiled, looking around at him.</p> + +<p>"My, my!" he said, tremblingly raising his eyeglasses to scan the title +on the page; "Dr. Lamour's famous works! Are <i>you</i> studying Lamour, +child?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said with that charming inflection youth reserves for age.</p> + +<p>"Astonishing!" he murmured. "The coincidence is more than remarkable. A +physician! And studying Lamour's Disease! Incredible!"</p> + +<p>"Is there anything strange in that, Dr. Atwood?" she smiled.</p> + +<p>"Strange!" He lowered his voice, peering across at Carden. "Strange, +did you say? Look across the path at that poor young man sitting there!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, perplexed, "I see him."</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> do you see?" whispered the old gentleman in a shakily portentous +voice. "Here you sit reading about what others have seen; now what do +<i>you</i> see?"</p> + +<p>"Why, only a man—rather young—"</p> + +<p>"No <i>symptoms</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Symptoms? Of what?"</p> + +<p>The old gentleman folded his withered hands over his cane. "My child," +he said, "for a year I have had that unfortunate young man under secret +observation. He was not aware of it; it never entered his mind that I +could be observing <i>him</i> with minutest attention. He may have supposed +there was nothing the matter with him. He was in error. I have studied +him carefully. Look closer! <i>Are</i> there dark circles under his eyes—or +are there not?" he ended in senile triumph.</p> + +<p>"There are," she began, puzzled, "but I—but of what interest to me—"</p> + +<p>"Compare his symptoms with the symptoms in that book you are studying," +said the old gentleman hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean—do you suppose—" she stammered, turning her eyes on +Carden, who promptly blushed to his ears and began to fidget.</p> + +<p>"<i>Every symptom</i>," muttered the old gentleman. "Poor, poor young man!"</p> + +<p>She had seen Carden turn a vivid pink; she now saw him fidget with his +walking stick; she discovered the blue circles under his eyes. Three +symptoms at once!</p> + +<p>"Do you believe it <i>possible</i>?" she whispered excitedly under her breath +to the old gentleman beside her. "It seems incredible! Such a rare +disease! Only one single case ever described and studied! It seems +impossible that I could be so fortunate as actually to see a case! Tell +me, Dr. Atwood, do you believe that young man is really afflicted with +Lamour's Disease?"</p> + +<p>"There is but one way to be absolutely certain," said the old gentleman +in a solemn voice, "and that is to study him; corroborate your +suspicions by observing his pulse and temperature, as did Dr. Lamour."</p> + +<p>"But—how can I?" she faltered. "I—he would probably object to becoming +a patient of mine—"</p> + +<p>"Ask him, child! Ask him."</p> + +<p>"I have not courage—"</p> + +<p>"Courage should be the badge of your profession," said the old +gentleman gravely. "When did a good physician ever show the white +feather in the cause of humanity?"</p> + +<p>"I—I know, but this requires a different sort of courage."</p> + +<p>"How," persisted the old gentleman, "can you confirm your very natural +suspicions concerning this unfortunate young man unless you corroborate +your observations by studying him at close range? Besides, already it +seems to me that certain unmistakable signs are visible; I mean that +strange physical phase which Dr. Lamour dwells on: the symmetry of +feature and limb, the curiously spiritual beauty. Do you not notice +these? Or is my sight so dim that I only imagine it?"</p> + +<p>"He is certainly symmetrical—and—in a certain way—almost handsome in +regard to features," she admitted, looking at Carden.</p> + +<p>"Poor, poor boy!" muttered the old gentleman, wagging his gray whiskers. +"I am too old to help him—too old to dream of finding a remedy for the +awful malady which I am now convinced has seized him. I shall study him +no more. It is useless. All I can do now is to mention his case to some +young, vigorous, ambitious physician—some specialist—"</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she whispered almost fiercely, "don't do that, Dr. Atwood! I +want him, please! I—you helped me to discover him, you see. And his +malady is to be my specialty. Please, do you mind if I keep him all to +myself and study him?"</p> + +<p>"But you refused, child."</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to. I—I didn't exactly see how I was to study him. But I +must study him! Oh, I <i>must</i>! There will surely be some way. Please let +me. You discovered him, I admit, but I will promise you faithfully to +devote my entire life to studying him, as the great Lamour devoted his +life for forty years to his single patient."</p> + +<p>"But Dr. Lamour married his patient," said the Tracer mildly.</p> + +<p>"He—I—that need not be necessary—"</p> + +<p>"But if it should prove necessary?"</p> + +<p>"I—you—"</p> + +<p>"Answer me, child."</p> + +<p>She stared across at Carden, biting her red lips. He turned pink +promptly and fidgeted.</p> + +<p>"He <i>has</i> got it!" she whispered excitedly. "Oh, <i>do</i> you mind if I take +him for mine? I am perfectly wild to begin on him!"</p> + +<p>"You have not yet answered my question," said the old gentleman gravely. +"Do you lack the courage to marry him if it becomes necessary to do so +in order to devote your entire life to studying him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—it <i>cannot</i> be necessary—"</p> + +<p>"You lack the courage."</p> + +<p>She was silent.</p> + +<p>"Braver things have been done by those of your profession who have gone +among lepers," said the old gentleman sadly.</p> + +<p>She flushed up instantly; her eyes sparkled; her head proudly high, +delicate nostrils dilated.</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid!" she said. "If it ever becomes necessary, I <i>can</i> show +courage and devotion, as well as those of my profession who minister to +the lepers of Molokai! Yes; I do promise you to marry him if I cannot +otherwise study him. And I promise you solemnly to devote my entire life +to observing his symptoms and searching for proper means to combat them. +My one ambition in life is personally to observe and study a case of +Lamour's Disease, and to give my entire life to investigating its +origin, its course, and its cure."</p> + +<p>The old gentleman rose, bowing with that quaintly obsolete courtesy +which was in vogue in his youth.</p> + +<p>"I am contented to leave him exclusively to you, Dr. Hollis. And I wish +you happiness in your life's work—and success in your cure of this +unhappy young man."</p> + +<p>Hat in hand, he bowed again as he tottered past her, muttering and +smiling to himself and shaking his trembling head as he went rocking on +unsteady legs out into the sunshine, where the nursemaids and children +flocked along the lake shore throwing peanuts to the waterfowl and +satiated goldfish.</p> + +<p>Dr. Hollis looked after him, her small hand buried among the pages of +her open book. Carden viewed his disappearing figure with guileless +emotions. He was vaguely aware that something important was about to +happen to him. And it did before he was prepared.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>When Rosalind Hollis found herself on her feet again a slight sensation +of fright checked her for a moment. Then, resolutely suppressing such +unworthy weakness, the lofty inspiration of her mission in life +dominated her, and she stepped forward undaunted. And Carden, seeing her +advance toward him, arose in astonishment to meet her.</p> + +<p>For a second they stood facing each other, he astounded, she a trifle +pale but firm. Then in a low voice she asked his pardon for disturbing +him.</p> + +<p>"I am Rosalind Hollis, a physician," she said quietly, "and physicians +are sometimes obliged to do difficult things in the interest of their +profession. It is dreadfully difficult for me to speak to you in this +way. But"—she looked fearlessly at him—"I am confident you will not +misinterpret what I have done."</p> + +<p>He managed to assure her that he did not misinterpret it.</p> + +<p>She regarded him steadily; she examined the dark circles under his eyes; +she coolly observed his rising color under her calm inspection; she saw +him fidgeting with his walking stick. She <i>must</i> try his pulse!</p> + +<p>"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions in the interest of +science?" she said earnestly.</p> + +<p>"As a m-m-matter of fact," he stammered, "I don't know much about +science. Awfully glad to do anything I can, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mean it that way," she reassured him. A hint of a smile +tinted her eyes with brilliant amethyst. "Would you mind if I sat here +for a few moments? <i>Could</i> you overlook this horrid unconventionality +long enough for me to explain why I have spoken to you?"</p> + +<p>"I could indeed!" he said, so anxiously cordial that her lovely face +grew serious and she hesitated. But he was standing aside, hat off, +placing the bench at her disposal, and she seated herself, placing her +book on the bench beside her.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind sitting here for a few moments?" she asked him gravely.</p> + +<p>Dazed, scarcely crediting the evidence of his senses, he took possession +of the end of the bench with the silent obedience of a schoolboy. His +attitude was irreproachable. She was grateful for this, and her +satisfaction with herself for not having misjudged him renewed her +confidence in him, in herself, and in the difficult situation.</p> + +<p>She began, quietly, by again telling him her name and profession; where +she lived, and that she was studying to be a specialist, though she did +not intimate what that specialty was to be.</p> + +<p>Outwardly composed and attentively deferential, his astonishment at +times dominated a stronger sentiment that seemed to grow and expand with +her every word, seizing him in a fierce possession absolutely and +hopelessly complete.</p> + +<p>The bewildering fascination of her mastered him. No cool analysis of +what his senses were confirming could be necessary to convince him of +his condition. Every word of hers, every gesture, every inflection of +her sweet, clear voice, every lifting of her head, her eyes, her +perfectly gloved hands, only repeated to him what he knew was a +certainty. Never had he looked upon such physical loveliness; never had +he dreamed of such a voice.</p> + +<p>She had asked him a question, and, absorbed in the pure delight of +looking at her, he had not comprehended or answered. She flushed +sensitively, accepting his silence as refusal, and he came out of his +trance hastily.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon; I did not quite understand your question, Miss +Hollis—I mean, Dr. Hollis."</p> + +<p>"I asked you if you minded my noting your pulse," she said.</p> + +<p>He stretched out his right hand; she stripped off her glove, laid the +tip of her middle finger on his wrist, and glanced down at the gold +watch which she held.</p> + +<p>"I am wondering," he said, laughing uncertainly, "whether you believe me +to be ill. Of course it is easy to see that you have found something +unusual about me—something of particular interest to a physician. Is +there anything very dreadful going to happen to me, Dr. Hollis? I feel +perfectly well."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure you feel well?" she asked, so earnestly that the smile on +his lips faded out.</p> + +<p>"Absolutely. Is my pulse queer?"</p> + +<p>"It is not normal."</p> + +<p>He could easily account for that, but he said nothing.</p> + +<p>She questioned him for a few minutes, noted his pulse again, looked +closely at the bluish circles under his eyes. Naturally he flushed up +and grew restless under the calm, grave, beautiful eyes.</p> + +<p>"I—I have an absolutely new and carefully sterilized thermometer—" She +drew it from a tiny gold-initialed pocket case, and looked wistfully at +him.</p> + +<p>"You want to put that into my mouth?" he asked, astonished.</p> + +<p>"If you don't mind."</p> + +<p>She held it up, shook it once or twice, and deliberately inserted it +between his lips. And there he sat, round-eyed, silent, the end of the +thermometer protruding at a rakish angle from the corner of his mouth. +And he grew redder and redder.</p> + +<p>"I <i>don't</i> wish to alarm you," she was saying, "but all this is so +deeply significant, so full of vital interest to me—to the world, to +science—"</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> have I got, in Heaven's name?" he said thickly, the thermometer +wiggling in his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she exclaimed with soft enthusiasm, clasping her pretty ungloved +hands, "I cannot be sure yet—I dare not be too sanguine—"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you <i>want</i> me to have something queer?" he blurted +out, while the thermometer wiggled with every word he uttered.</p> + +<p>"N-no, of course, I don't <i>want</i> you to be ill," she said hastily. +"Only, if you <i>are</i> ill it will be a wonderful thing for me. I +mean—a—that I am intensely interested in certain symptoms which—"</p> + +<p>She gently withdrew the glass tube from his lips and examined it +carefully.</p> + +<p>"<i>Is</i> there anything the matter?" he insisted, looking at the instrument +over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>She did not reply; pure excitement rendered her speechless.</p> + +<p>"I seem to <i>feel</i> all right," he added uneasily. "If you really believe +that there's anything wrong with me, I'll stop in to see my doctor."</p> + +<p>"Your doctor!" she repeated, appalled.</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly. Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Don't do that! Please don't do that! I—why <i>I</i> discovered this case. I +beg you most earnestly to let me observe it. You don't understand the +importance of it! You don't begin to dream of the rarity of this case! +How much it means to me!"</p> + +<p>He flushed up. "Do you intend to intimate that I am afflicted with some +sort of rare and s-s-trange d-d-disease?" he stammered.</p> + +<p>"I dare not pronounce upon it too confidently," she said with +enthusiasm; "I have not yet absolutely determined the nature of the +disease. But, oh, I am beginning to hope—"</p> + +<p>"Then I <i>am</i> diseased!" he faltered. "I've got <i>something</i> anyhow; is +that it? Only you are not yet perfectly sure what it is called! Is that +the truth, Miss Hollis?"</p> + +<p>"How can I answer positively until I have had time to observe these +symptoms? It requires time to be certain. I do not wish to alarm you, +but it is my duty to say to you that you should immediately place +yourself under medical observation."</p> + +<p>"You think that?"</p> + +<p>"I do; I am convinced of it. Please understand me; I do not pronounce +upon these visible symptoms; I do not express an unqualified opinion; +but I could be in a position to do so if you consent to place yourself +under my observations and care. For these suspicious symptoms are not +only very plainly apparent to me, but were even noted by that old +gentleman whom you may perhaps have observed conversing with me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw him. Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"Dr. Austin Atwood," said the girl solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Oh! And you say he also observed something queer about me? What did he +see? Are there spots on me? Am I turning any remarkable color? Am I—" +And in the very midst of his genuine alarm he suddenly remembered the +make-up box and what the Tracer of Lost Persons had done to his eyes. +Was <i>that</i> it? Where was the Tracer, anyway? He had promised to appear. +And then Carden recollected the gray wig and whiskers that the Tracer +had waved at him from the cupboard, bidding him note them well. <i>Could</i> +that beaming, benignant, tottering old gentleman have been the Tracer of +Lost Persons himself? And the same instant Carden was sure of it, spite +of the miraculous change in the man.</p> + +<p>Then logic came to his aid; and, deducing with care and patience, an +earnest conviction grew within him that the dark circles under his eyes +and the tottering old gentleman resembling Dr. Austin Atwood had a great +deal to do with this dreadful disease which Dr. Hollis desired to study.</p> + +<p>He looked at the charming girl beside him, and she looked back at him +very sweetly, very earnestly, awaiting his decision.</p> + +<p>For a moment he realized that she had really scared him, and in the +reaction of relief an overwhelming desire to laugh seized him. He +managed to suppress it, to compose himself. Then he remembered the +Tracer's admonition to acquiesce in everything, do what he was told to +do, not to run away, and to pay his court at the first decent +opportunity.</p> + +<p>He had no longer any desire to escape; he was quite willing to do +anything she desired.</p> + +<p>"Do you really want to study me, Dr. Hollis?" he asked, feeling like a +hypocrite.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I do," she replied fervently.</p> + +<p>"You believe me worth studying?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, truly, truly, you are! You don't suspect—you cannot conceive how +important you have suddenly become to me."</p> + +<p>"Then I think you had better take my case, Dr. Hollis," he said +seriously. "I begin now to realize that you believe me to be a sort of +freak—an afflicted curiosity, and that, in the interest of medicine, I +ought to go to an asylum or submit myself to the ceaseless observation +of a competent private physician."</p> + +<p>"I—I think it best for you to place yourself in my care," she said. +"Will you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I will. I'll do anything in the world you ask."</p> + +<p>"That is very—very generous, very noble of you!" she exclaimed, +flushing with excitement and delight. "It means a great deal to me—it +means, perhaps, a fame that I scarcely dared dream of even in my most +enthusiastic years. I am too grateful to express my gratitude +coherently; I am trying to say to you that I thank you; that I recognize +in you those broad, liberal, generous qualities which, from your +appearance and bearing, I—I thought perhaps you must possess."</p> + +<p>She colored again very prettily; he bowed, and ventured to remind her +that she had not yet given him the privilege of naming himself.</p> + +<p>"That is true!" she said, surprised. "I had quite forgotten it." But +when he named himself she raised her head, startled.</p> + +<p>"Victor Carden!" she repeated. "You are the <i>artist</i>, Victor Carden!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, watching her dilated eyes like two violet-tinted jewels.</p> + +<p>For a minute she sat looking at him; and imperceptibly a change came +into her face, and its bewildering beauty softened as the vivid tints +died out, leaving her cheeks almost pale.</p> + +<p>"It is—a pity," she said under her breath. All the excitement, all the +latent triumph, all the scarcely veiled eager enthusiasm had gone from +her now.</p> + +<p>"A pity?" he repeated, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I wish it had been only an ordinary man. I—why should this happen +to you? You have done so much for us all—made us forget ourselves in +the beauty of what you offer us. Why should this happen to <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>"But you have not told me yet what has happened to me, Miss Hollis."</p> + +<p>She looked up, almost frightened.</p> + +<p>"<i>Are</i> you our Victor Carden? I do not wish to believe it! You have done +so much for the world—you have taught us to understand and desire all +that is noble and upright and clean and beautiful!—to desire it, to +aspire toward it, to venture to live the good, true, wholesome lives +that your penciled creations must lead—<i>must</i> lead to wear such +beautiful bodies and such divine eyes!"</p> + +<p>"Do <i>you</i> care for my work?" he asked, astonished and moved.</p> + +<p>"I? Yes, of course I do. Who does not?"</p> + +<p>"Many," he replied simply.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for them," she said.</p> + +<p>They sat silent for a long while.</p> + +<p>At first his overwhelming desire was to tell her of the deception +practiced upon her; but he could not do that, because in exposing +himself he must fail in loyalty to the Tracer of Lost Persons. Besides, +she would not believe him. She would think him mad if he told her that +the old gentleman she had taken for Dr. Atwood was probably Mr. Keen, +the Tracer of Lost Persons. Also, he himself was not absolutely certain +about it. He had merely deduced as much.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he said very gently, "what is the malady from which you +believe I am suffering?"</p> + +<p>For a moment she remained silent, then, face averted, laid her finger on +the book beside her.</p> + +<p>"That," she said unsteadily.</p> + +<p>He read aloud: "Lamour's Disease. A Treatise in sixteen volumes by Ero +S. Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H."</p> + +<p>"All that?" he asked guiltily.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Mr. Carden. Are you laughing at me? Do you not believe +me?" She had turned suddenly to confront him, surprising a humorous +glimmer in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I really do not believe I am seriously ill," he said, laughing in spite +of her grave eyes.</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps you had better read a little about what Lamour describes +as the symptoms of this malady," she said sadly.</p> + +<p>"Is it fatal?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Ultimately. That is why I desire to spend my life in studying means to +combat it. That is why I desire you so earnestly to place yourself under +my observation and let me try."</p> + +<p>"Tell me one thing," he said; "is it contagious? Is it infectious? No? +Then I don't mind your studying me all you wish, Dr. Hollis. You may +take my temperature every ten minutes if you care to. You may observe my +pulse every five minutes if you desire. Only please tell me how this is +to be accomplished; because, you see, I live in the Sherwood Studio +Building, and you live on Madison Avenue."</p> + +<p>"I—I have a ward—a room—fitted up with every modern surgical +device—every improvement," she said. "It adjoins my office. <i>Would</i> you +mind living there for a while—say for a week at first—until I can be +perfectly certain in my diagnosis?"</p> + +<p>"Do you intend to put me to bed?" he asked, appalled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Only I wish to watch you carefully and note your symptoms from +moment to moment. I also desire to try the effects of certain medicines +on you—"</p> + +<p>"What kind of medicines?" he asked uneasily.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell yet. Perhaps antitoxin; I don't know; perhaps formalin +later. Truly, Mr. Carden, this case has taken on a graver, a more +intimate significance since I have learned who you are. I would have +worked hard to save any life; I shall put my very heart and soul into my +work to save you, who have done so much for us all."</p> + +<p>The trace of innocent emotion in her voice moved him.</p> + +<p>"I am really not ill," he said unsteadily. "I cannot let you think I +am—"</p> + +<p>"Don't speak that way, Mr. Carden. I—I am perfectly miserable over it; +I don't feel any happiness in my discovery now—not the least bit. I had +rather live my entire life without seeing one case of Lamour's Disease +than to believe you are afflicted with it."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not, Miss Hollis!—really, I am not—"</p> + +<p>She looked at him compassionately for a moment, then rose.</p> + +<p>"It is best that you should be informed as to your probable condition," +she said. "In Lamour's works, volume nine, you had better read exactly +what Lamour says. Do you mind coming to the office with me, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>"Now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. The book is there. Do you mind coming?"</p> + +<p>"No—no, of course not." And, as they turned away together under the +trees: "You don't intend to begin observing me this afternoon, do you?" +he ventured.</p> + +<p>"I think it best if you can arrange your affairs. Can you, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, I suppose I can. Did you mean for me to begin to occupy that +surgical bedroom at once?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mind?"</p> + +<p>"N-no. I'll telephone my servants to pack a steamer trunk and send it +around to your apartment this evening. And—where am I to board?"</p> + +<p>"I have a dining room," she said simply. "My apartment consists of the +usual number of servants and rooms, including my office, and my +observation ward which you will occupy."</p> + +<p>He walked on, troubled.</p> + +<p>"I only w-want to ask one or two things, Dr. Hollis. Am I to be placed +on a diet? I hate diets!"</p> + +<p>"Not at once."</p> + +<p>"May I smoke?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," she said, smiling.</p> + +<p>"And you won't p-put me—send me to bed too early?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! The later you sit up the better, because I shall wish to take +your temperature every ten minutes and I shall feel very sorry to arouse +you."</p> + +<p>"You mean you are coming in to wake me up every ten minutes and put that +tube in my mouth?" he asked, aghast.</p> + +<p>"Only every half-hour, Mr. Carden. Can't you stand it for a week?"</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "I—I suppose I can if <i>you</i> can. Only, upon my honor, +there is really nothing the matter with me, and I'll prove it to you out +of your own book."</p> + +<p>"I wish you could, Mr. Carden. I should be only too happy to give you +back to the world with a clear bill of health if you can convince me I +am wrong. Do you not believe me? Indeed, indeed I am not selfish and +wicked enough to wish you this illness, no matter how rare it is!"</p> + +<p>"The rarer a disease is the madder it makes people who contract it," he +said. "I should be the maddest man in Manhattan if I really did have +Lamour's malady. But I haven't. There is only one malady afflicting me, +and I am waiting for a suitable opportunity to tell you all about it, +but—"</p> + +<p>"Tell me now," she said, raising her eyes to his.</p> + +<p>"Not now."</p> + +<p>"To-night?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so. I will if I can, Miss Hollis."</p> + +<p>"But you must not fear to tell a physician about anything which troubles +you, Mr. Carden."</p> + +<p>"I'll remember that," he said thoughtfully, as they emerged from the +Park and crossed to Madison Avenue.</p> + +<p>A moment later he hailed a car and they both entered.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV'></a><h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>No, there could be no longer any doubt in her mind as she went into her +bedroom, closed the door, and, unhooking the telephone receiver, called +up the great specialist in rare diseases, Dr. Austin Atwood, M.S., +F.B.A., M.F.H.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Atwood," she said with scarcely concealed emotion, "this is Dr. +Rosalind Hollis."</p> + +<p>"How-de-do?" squeaked the aged specialist amiably.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am well enough, thank you, doctor—except in spirits. Dr. Atwood, +you were right! He <i>has</i> got it, and I am perfectly wretched!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Who</i> has got <i>what</i>?" retorted the voice of Atwood.</p> + +<p>"The unfortunate young gentleman we saw to-day in the Park."</p> + +<p>"What park?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Central Park, doctor."</p> + +<p>"Central Park! <i>I</i> haven't been in Central Park for ten years, my +child."</p> + +<p>"Why, Dr. Atwood!—A—<i>is</i> this Dr. Austin Atwood with whom I am +talking?"</p> + +<p>"Not the least doubt! And you are that pretty Dr. Hollis—Rosalind +Hollis, who consulted me in those charity cases, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly am. And I wanted to say to you that I have the unfortunate +patient now under closest observation here in my own apartment. I have +given him the room next to the office. And, doctor, you were perfectly +right. He shows every symptom of the disease—he is even inclined to +sentimentalism; he begins to blush and fidget and look at me—a—in that +unmistakable manner—not that he isn't well-bred and charming—indeed he +is most attractive, and it grieves me dreadfully to see that he already +is beginning to believe himself in love with the first person of the +opposite sex he encounters—I mean that he—that I cannot mistake his +attitude toward me—which is perfectly correct, only one cannot avoid +seeing the curious infatuation—"</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> the dickens is all this?" roared the great specialist, and Dr. +Hollis jumped.</p> + +<p>"I was only confirming your diagnosis, doctor," she explained meekly.</p> + +<p>"What diagnosis?"</p> + +<p>"Yours, doctor. I have confirmed it, I fear. And the certainty has made +me perfectly miserable, because his is such a valuable life to the +world, and he himself is such a splendid, wholesome, noble specimen of +youth and courage, that I cannot bear to believe him incurably +afflicted."</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens!" shouted the doctor, "<i>what</i> has he got and <i>who</i> is he?"</p> + +<p>"He is Victor Carden, the celebrated artist, and he has Lamour's +Disease!" she gasped.</p> + +<p>There was a dead silence; then: "Keep him there until I come! Chloroform +him if he attempts to escape!"</p> + +<p>And the great specialist rang off excitedly.</p> + +<p>So Rosalind Hollis went back to the lamp-lit office where, in a +luxurious armchair, Carden was sitting, contentedly poring over the +ninth volume of Lamour's great treatise and smoking his second cigar.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Atwood is coming here," she said in a discouraged voice, as he rose +with alacrity to place her chair.</p> + +<p>"Oh! What for?"</p> + +<p>"T-to see you, Mr. Carden."</p> + +<p>"Who? Me? Great Scott! I don't want to be slapped and pinched and polled +by a man! I didn't expect that, you know. I'm willing enough to have you +observe me in the interest of humanity—"</p> + +<p>"But, Mr. Carden, he is only called in for consultation. I—I have a +dreadful sort of desperate hope that perhaps I may have made a mistake; +that possibly I am in error."</p> + +<p>"No doubt you are," he said cheerfully. "Let me read a few more pages, +Dr. Hollis, and then I think I shall be all ready to dispute my +symptoms, one by one, and convince you what really is the trouble with +me. And, by the way, did Dr. Atwood seem a trifle astonished when you +told him about me?"</p> + +<p>"A trifle—yes," she said uncertainly. "He is a very, very old man; he +forgets. But he is coming."</p> + +<p>"Oh! And didn't he appear to recollect seeing me in the Park?"</p> + +<p>"N-not clearly. He is very old, you know. But he is coming here."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly—as a friend of mine puts it," smiled Carden. "May I be +permitted to use your telephone a moment?"</p> + +<p>"By all means, Mr. Carden. You will find it there in my bedroom."</p> + +<p>So he entered her pretty bedroom and, closing the door tightly, called +up the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Mr. Keen? This is Mr. Carden. I'm head over heels in love. +I simply must win her, and I'm going to try. If I don't—if she will +not listen to me—I'll certainly go to smash. And what I want you to do +is to prevent Atwood from butting in. Do you understand? . . . Yes, Dr. +Austin Atwood. Keep him away somehow. . . . Yes, I'm here, at Dr. +Hollis's apartments, under anxious observation. . . . She is the <i>only</i> +woman in the world! I'm mad about her—and getting madder every moment! +She is the most perfectly splendid specimen of womanhood—<i>what</i>? Oh, +yes; I rang you up to ask you whether it was <i>you</i> in the Park +to-day?—that old gentleman—<i>What!</i> Yes, in Central Park. Yes, this +afternoon! No, he didn't resemble you; and Dr. Hollis took him for Dr. +Atwood. . . . What are you laughing about? . . . I can <i>hear</i> you +laughing. . . . <i>Was</i> it you? . . . What do I think? Why, I don't know +exactly what to think, but I suppose it must have been you. Was it? +. . . Oh, I see. You don't wish me to know. Certainly, you are quite +right. Your clients have no business behind the scenes. I only asked out +of curiosity. . . . All right. Good-by."</p> + +<p>He came back to the lamp-lit office, which was more of a big, handsome, +comfortable living room than a physician's quarters, and for a moment or +two he stood on the threshold, looking around.</p> + +<p>In the pleasant, subdued light of the lamp Rosalind Hollis looked up +and around, smiling involuntarily to see him standing there; then, +serious, silent, she dropped her eyes to the pages of the volume he had +discarded—volume nine of Lamour's great works.</p> + +<p>Even with the evidence before her, corroborated in these inexorably +scientific pages which she sat so sadly turning, she found it almost +impossible to believe that this big, broad-shouldered, attractive young +man could be fatally stricken.</p> + +<p>Twice her violet eyes stole toward him; twice the thick lashes veiled +them, and the printed pages on her knee sprang into view, and the cold +precision of the type confirmed her fears remorselessly:</p> + +<p>"The trained scrutiny of the observer will detect in the victim of this +disease a peculiar and indefinable charm—a strange symmetry which, on +closer examination, reveals traces of physical beauty almost +superhuman—"</p> + +<p>Again her eyes were lifted to Carden; again she dropped her white lids. +Her worst fears were confirmed.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile he stood on the threshold looking at her, his pulses racing, +his very soul staring through his eyes; and, within him, every sense +clamoring out revolt at the deception, demanding confession and its +penalty.</p> + +<p>"I can't stand this!" he blurted out; and she looked up quickly, her +face blanched with foreboding.</p> + +<p>"Are you in pain?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No—not that sort of pain! I—<i>won't</i> you please believe that I am not +ill? I'm imposing on you. I'm an impostor! There's nothing whatever the +trouble with me except—something that I want to tell you—if you'll let +me—"</p> + +<p>"Why should you hesitate to confide in a physician, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>He came forward slowly. She laid her small hand on the empty chair which +faced hers and he sank into it, clasping his restless hands under his +chin.</p> + +<p>"You are feeling depressed," she said gently. Depression was a +significant symptom. Three chapters were devoted to it.</p> + +<p>"I'm depressed, of course. I'm horribly depressed and ashamed of myself, +because there is nothing on earth the matter with me, and I've let you +think there is."</p> + +<p>She smiled mournfully; this was another symptom of a morbid state. She +turned, unconsciously, to page 379 to verify her observation.</p> + +<p>"See here, Miss Hollis," he broke out, "haven't I any chance to +convince you that I am not ill? I want to be honest without involving +a—a friend of mine. I can't endure this deception. Won't you let me +prove to you that these symptoms are—are only significant of something +else?"</p> + +<p>She looked straight at him, considering him in silence.</p> + +<p>"Let us begin with those dark circles under my eyes," he said +desperately. "I found some cold-cream in my room and—look! They are +practically gone! At any rate, if there is a sort of shadow left it's +because I use my eyes in my profession."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Lamour says that the dark circles disappear, anyway," said the +girl, unconvinced. "Cold-cream had nothing to do with it."</p> + +<p>"But it <i>did</i>! Really it did. And as for the other symptoms, I—well, I +can't help my pulses when y-you t-t-touch me."</p> + +<p>"Please, Mr. Carden."</p> + +<p>"I don't mean to be impertinent. I am trying my hardest to tell the +truth. And my pulses <i>do</i> gallop when you test them; they're galloping +now! This very moment!"</p> + +<p>"Let me try them," she said coolly, laying her hand on his wrist.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I say so!" he insisted grimly. "And I'm turning red, too. But +those symptoms mean something else; they mean <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carden!"</p> + +<p>"I can't help saying so—"</p> + +<p>"I know it," she said soothingly; "these sentimental outbursts are part +of the disease—"</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! <i>Won't</i> you try to believe me! There's nothing in the +world the matter with me except that I am—am—p-p-perfectly +f-f-fascinated—"</p> + +<p>"You must struggle against it, Mr. Carden. That is only part of the—"</p> + +<p>"It isn't! It isn't! It's you! It's your mere presence, your +personality, your charm, your beauty, your loveliness, your—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carden, I beg of you! I—it is part of my duty to observe symptoms, +but—but you are making it very hard for me—very difficult—"</p> + +<p>"I am only proving to you that it isn't Lamour's Disease which does +stunts with my pulses, my temperature, my color. I'm not morbid except +when I realize my deception. I'm not depressed except when I think how +far you are from me—how far above me—how far out of reach of such a +man as I am—how desperately I—I—"</p> + +<p>"D-don't you think I had better administer a s-s-sedative, Mr. Carden?" +she said, distressed.</p> + +<p>"I don't care. I'll take anything you give me—as long as <i>you</i> give it +to me. I'll swallow pint after pint of pills! I'll fletcherize 'em! I'll +luxuriate in poison—anything—"</p> + +<p>She was hastily running through the pages of the ninth volume to see +whether the symptoms of sentimental excitement ever turned into frenzy.</p> + +<p>"What can you learn from that book?" he insisted, leaning forward to see +what she was reading. "Anyway, Dr. Lamour married his patient so early +in the game that all the symptoms disappeared. And I believe the trouble +with his patient was my trouble. She had every symptom of it until he +married her! She was in love with him, that is absolutely all!"</p> + +<p>Rosalind Hollis raised her beautiful, incredulous eyes.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that, in my opinion, there's no such disease as Lamour's +Disease. That young girl was in love with him. Then he married her at +last, and—presto!—all the symptoms vanished—the pulse, the +temperature, the fidgets, the blushes, the moods, the whole business!"</p> + +<p>"W-what about the strangely curious manifestations of physical +beauty—superhuman symmetry, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>"Do you notice them in <i>me</i>?" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"A—yes—in a m-modified measure—"</p> + +<p>"In <i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly!" she said firmly; but the slow glow suffusing her cheeks was +disconcerting her. Then his own face began to reflect the splendid color +in hers; their eyes met, dismayed.</p> + +<p>"There are sixteen volumes about this disease," she said. "There <i>must</i> +be such a disease!"</p> + +<p>"There is," he said. "I have it badly. But I never had it before I first +saw you in the Park!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carden—this is the wildest absurdity—"</p> + +<p>"I know it. Wildness is a symptom. I'm mad as a hatter. I've got every +separate symptom, and I wish it was infectious and contagious and +catching and fatal!"</p> + +<p>She made an effort to turn the pages to the chapter entitled "Manias and +Illusions," but he laid his hand across the book and his clear eyes +defied her.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carden—"</p> + +<p>Her smooth hand trembled under his, then, suddenly nerveless, relaxed. +With an effort she lifted her head; their eyes met, spellbound.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> have <i>every</i> symptom," he said unsteadily—"every one! What have +you to say?"</p> + +<p>Her fascinated eyes held his.</p> + +<p>"What have you to say?" he repeated under his breath—"you, with every +symptom, and your heavenly radiant beauty to confirm them—that splendid +youthful loveliness which blinds and stuns me as I look—as I speak—as +I tell you that I love you. That is my malady; that is the beginning and +the end of it; love!"</p> + +<p>She sat speechless, immovable, as one under enchantment.</p> + +<p>"All my life," he said, "I have spent in painting shadows. But the +shadows were those dim celestial shapes cast by your presence in the +world. You tell me that the world is better for my work; that I have +offered my people beauty and a sort of truth, which they had never +dreamed of until I revealed it? Yet what inspired me was the shadow +only, for I had never seen the substance; I had never believed I should +ever see the living source of the shadows which inspired me. And now I +see; now I have seen with my own eyes. Now the confession of faith is no +longer a blind creed, born of instinct. You live! You are you! What I +believed from necessity I find proved in fact. The occult no longer can +sway one who has seen. And you, who, without your knowledge or mine, +have always been the one and only source of any good in me or in my +work—why is it strange that I loved you at first sight?—that I +worshiped you at first breath?—I, who, like him who raises his altar to +'the unknown god,' raised my altar to truth and beauty? And a miracle +has answered me."</p> + +<p>She rose, the beautiful dazed eyes meeting his, both hands clasping the +ninth volume of Lamour's great monograph to her breast as though to +protect it from him—from him who was threatening her, enthralling her, +thrilling her with his magic voice, his enchanted youth, the masterful +mystery of his eyes. What was he saying to her? What was this mounting +intoxication sweeping her senses—this delicious menace threatening her +very will? What did he want with her? What was he asking? What was he +doing now—with both her hands in his, and her gaze deeply lost in +his—and the ninth volume of Lamour on the floor between them, sprawling +there, abandoned, waving its helpless, discredited leaves in +air—discredited, abandoned, obsolete as her own specialty—her life's +work! He had taken that, too—taken her life's work from her. And in +return she was holding nothing!—nothing except a young man's +hands—strong, muscular hands which, after all, were holding her own +imprisoned. So she had nothing in exchange for the ninth volume of +Lamour; and her life's work had been annihilated by a smile; and she was +very much alone in the world—very isolated and very youthful.</p> + +<p>After a while she emerged from the chaos of attempted reflection and +listened to what he was saying. He spoke very quietly, very distinctly, +not sparing himself, laying bare every deception without involving +anybody except himself.</p> + +<p>He told her the entire history of his case, excluding Mr. Keen in +person; he told her about his aunt, about his birthday, about his +determination to let the legacy go. Then in a very manly way he told her +that he had never before loved a woman; and fell silent, her hands a +dead weight in his.</p> + +<p>She was surprised that she could experience no resentment. A curious +inertia crept over her. She was tired of expectancy, tired of effort, +weary of the burden of decision. Life and its problems overweighted her. +Her eyes wandered to his broad young shoulders, then were raised to his +face.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do?" she asked innocently.</p> + +<p>Unresisting, she suffered him to explain. His explanation was not +elaborate; he only touched his lips to her hands and straightened up, a +trifle pale.</p> + +<p>After a moment they walked together to the door and he took his hat and +gloves from the rack.</p> + +<p>"Will you come to-morrow morning?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Come early. I am quite certain of how matters are with me. Everything +has gone out of my life—everything I once cared for—all the familiar +things. So come early, for I am quite alone without you."</p> + +<p>"And I without you, Rosalind."</p> + +<p>"That is only right," she said simply. "I shall cast no more shadows for +you. . . . Are you going? . . . Oh, I know it is best that you should +go, but—"</p> + +<p>He halted. She laid both hands in his.</p> + +<p>"We both have it," she faltered—"every symptom. And—you will come +early, won't you?"</p> + +<br /> + +<h4>THE END</h4> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13180 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/13180-h/images/crypto-1.png b/13180-h/images/crypto-1.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6bda3a9 --- /dev/null +++ b/13180-h/images/crypto-1.png diff --git a/13180-h/images/crypto-10.png b/13180-h/images/crypto-10.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5219754 --- /dev/null +++ b/13180-h/images/crypto-10.png diff --git a/13180-h/images/crypto-11.png b/13180-h/images/crypto-11.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..37462f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/13180-h/images/crypto-11.png diff --git a/13180-h/images/crypto-12.png b/13180-h/images/crypto-12.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..640eaf9 --- /dev/null +++ b/13180-h/images/crypto-12.png diff --git a/13180-h/images/crypto-13.png b/13180-h/images/crypto-13.png Binary files differnew file mode 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..521be90 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13180 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13180) diff --git a/old/13180-0.txt b/old/13180-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5ef73b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13180-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7964 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Tracer of Lost Persons, by Robert W. Chambers + +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: The Tracer of Lost Persons + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + +Release Date: August 15, 2004 [EBook #13180] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders. + + + + + + +[Illustration: "'Then in charity say that word!'"] + +THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS + +BY R. W. CHAMBERS + + + +TO MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM A. HALL + + +1906 + + + + _For the harmony of the world, like that of a harp, is made up of + discords._ + + --HERACLITUS. + + + +THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS + + +CHAPTER I + + +He was thirty-three, agreeable to look at, equipped with as much culture +and intelligence as is tolerated east of Fifth Avenue and west of +Madison. He had a couple of elaborate rooms at the Lenox Club, a larger +income than seemed to be good for him, and no profession. It follows +that he was a pessimist before breakfast. Besides, it's a bad thing for +a man at thirty-three to come to the conclusion that he has seen all the +most attractive girls in the world and that they have been vastly +overrated. So, when a club servant with gilt buttons on his coat tails +knocked at the door, the invitation to enter was not very cordial. He of +the buttons knocked again to take the edge off before he entered; then +opened the door and unburdened himself as follows: + +"Mr. Gatewood, sir, Mr. Kerns's compliments, and wishes to know if 'e +may 'ave 'is coffee served at your tyble, sir." + +Gatewood, before the mirror, gave a vicious twist to his tie, inserted a +pearl scarf pin, and regarded the effect with gloomy approval. + +"Say to Mr. Kerns that I am--flattered," he replied morosely; "and tell +Henry I want him." + +"'Enry, sir? Yes, sir." + +The servant left; one of the sleek club valets came in, softly sidling. + +"Henry!" + +"Sir?" + +"I'll wear a white waistcoat, if you don't object." + +The valet laid out half a dozen. + +"Which one do you usually wear when I'm away, Henry? Which is _your_ +favorite?" + +"Sir?" + +"Pick it out and don't look injured, and _don't_ roll up your eyes. I +merely desire to borrow it for one day." + +"Very good, sir." + +"And, Henry, hereafter always help yourself to my _best_ cigars. Those I +smoke may injure you. I've attempted to conceal the keys, but you will, +of course, eventually discover them under that loose tile on the +hearth." + +"Yes, sir; thanky', sir," returned the valet gravely. + +"And--Henry!" + +"Sir?" with martyred dignity. + +"When you are tired of searching for my olivine and opal pin, just find +it, for a change. I'd like to wear that pin for a day or two if it would +not inconvenience you." + +"Very good, sir; I will 'unt it hup, sir." + +Gatewood put on his coat, took hat and gloves from the unabashed valet, +and sauntered down to the sunny breakfast room, where he found Kerns +inspecting a morning paper and leisurely consuming grapefruit with a +cocktail on the side. + +"Hullo," observed Kerns briefly. + +"I'm not on the telephone," snapped Gatewood. + +"I beg your pardon; how are you, dear friend?" + +"_I_ don't know how I am," retorted Gatewood irritably; "how the devil +should a man know how he is?" + +"Everything going to the bowwows, _as_ usual, dear friend?" + +"_As_ usual. Oh, read your paper, Tommy! You know well enough I'm not +one of those tail-wagging imbeciles who wakes up in the morning singing +like a half-witted lark. Why should I, with this taste in my mouth, and +the laundress using vitriol, and Henry sneering at my cigars?" He yawned +and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. "Besides, there's too much gilt +all over this club! There's too much everywhere. Half the world is +stucco, the rest rococo. Where's that Martini I bid for?" + +Kerns, undisturbed, applied himself to cocoa and toasted muffins. +Grapefruit and an amber-tinted accessory were brought for the other and +sampled without mirth. However, a little later Gatewood said: "Well, are +you going to read your paper all day?" + +"What you need," said Kerns, laying the paper aside, "is a job--any old +kind would do, dear friend." + +"I don't want to make any more money." + +"I don't want you to. I mean a job where you'd lose a lot and be scared +into thanking Heaven for carfare. _You're_ a nice object for the +breakfast table!" + +"Bridge. I will be amiable enough by noon time." + +"Yes, you're endurable by noon time, as a rule. When you're forty you +may be tolerated after five o'clock; when you're fifty your wife and +children might even venture to emerge from the cellar after dinner--" + +"Wife!" + +"I said wife," replied Kerns, as he calmly watched his man. + +He had managed it well, so far, and he was wise enough not to overdo it. +An interval of silence was what the situation required. + +"I wish I _had_ a wife," muttered Gatewood after a long pause. + +"Oh, haven't you said that every day for five years? Wife! Look at the +willing assortment of dreams playing Sally Waters around town. Isn't +this borough a bower of beauty--a flowery thicket where the prettiest +kind in all the world grow under glass or outdoors? And what do you do? +You used to pretend to prowl about inspecting the yearly crop of posies, +growling, cynical, dissatisfied; but you've even given that up. Now you +only point your nose skyward and squall for a mate, and yowl mournfully +that you never have seen your ideal. _I_ know _you_." + +"I never have seen my ideal," retorted Gatewood sulkily, "but I know she +exists--somewhere between heaven and Hoboken." + +"You're sure, are you?" + +"Oh, _I'm_ sure. And, rich or poor, good or bad, she was fashioned for +me alone. That's a theory of mine; _you_ needn't accept it; in fact, +it's none of your business, Tommy." + +"All the same," insisted Kerns, "did you ever consider that if your +ideal does exist somewhere, it is morally up to you to find her?" + +"Haven't I inspected every débutante for ten years? You don't expect me +to advertise for an ideal, do you--object, matrimony?" + +Kerns regarded him intently. "Now, I'm going to make a vivid suggestion, +Jack. In fact, that's why I subjected myself to the ordeal of +breakfasting with you. It's none of my business, as you so kindly put +it, but--_shall_ I suggest something?" + +"Go ahead," replied Gatewood, tranquilly lighting a cigarette. "I know +what you'll say." + +"No, you don't. Firstly, you are having such a good time in this world +that you don't really enjoy yourself--isn't that so?" + +"I--well I--well, let it go at that." + +"Secondly, with all your crimes and felonies, you have one decent trait +left: you really would like to fall in love. And I suspect you'd even +marry." + +"There are grounds," said Gatewood guardedly, "for your suspicions. _Et +après?_" + +"Good. Then there's a way! I know--" + +"Oh, don't tell me you 'know a girl,' or anything like that!" began +Gatewood sullenly. "I've heard that before, and I won't meet her." + +"I don't want you to; I don't know anybody. All I desire to say is this: +I do know a way. The other day I noticed a sign on Fifth Avenue: + + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +It was a most extraordinary sign; and having a little unemployed +imagination I began to speculate on how Keen & Co. might operate, and I +wondered a little, too, that, the conditions of life in this city could +enable a firm to make a living by devoting itself exclusively to the +business of hunting up missing people." + +Kerns paused, partly to light a cigarette, partly for diplomatic +reasons. + +"What has all this to do with me?" inquired Gatewood curiously; and +diplomacy scored one. + +"Why not try Keen & Co.?" + +"Try them? Why? I haven't lost anybody, have I?" + +"You haven't, precisely _lost anybody_, but the fact remains that you +can't _find somebody_," returned Kerns coolly. "Why not employ Keen & +Co. to look for her?" + +"Look for whom, in Heaven's name?" + +"Your ideal." + +"Look for--for my ideal! Kerns, you're crazy. How the mischief can +anybody hunt for somebody who doesn't exist?" + +"You _say_ that she _does_ exist." + +"But I can't prove it, man." + +"You don't have to; it's up to Keen & Co. to prove it. That's why you +employ them." + +"What wild nonsense you talk! Keen & Co. might, perhaps, be able to +trace the concrete, but how are they going to trace and find the +abstract?" + +"She isn't abstract; she is a lovely, healthy, and youthful concrete +object--if, as you say, she _does_ exist." + +"How can I _prove_ she exists?" + +"You don't have to; they do that." + +"Look here," said Gatewood almost angrily, "do you suppose that if I +were ass enough to go to these people and tell them that I wanted to +find my ideal--" + +"_Don't_ tell them _that_!" + +"But how--" + +"There is no necessity for going into such trivial details. All you +need say is: 'I am very anxious to find a young lady'--and then describe +her as minutely as you please. Then, when they locate a girl of that +description they'll notify you; you will go, judge for yourself whether +she is the one woman on earth--and, if disappointed, you need only shake +your head and murmur: 'Not _the_ same!' And it's for them to find +another." + +"I won't do it!" said Gatewood hotly. + +"Why not? At least, it would be amusing. You haven't many mental +resources, and it might occupy you for a week or two." + +Gatewood glared. + +"You have a pleasant way of putting things this morning, haven't you?" + +"I don't want to be pleasant: I want to jar you. Don't I care enough +about you to breakfast with you? Then I've a right to be pleasantly +unpleasant. I can't bear to watch your mental and spiritual +dissolution--a man like you, with all your latent ability and capacity +for being nobody in particular--which is the sort of man this nation +needs. Do you want to turn into a club-window gazer like Van Bronk? Do +you want to become another Courtlandt Allerton and go rocking down the +avenue--a grimacing, tailor-made sepulcher?--the pompous obsequies of a +dead intellect?--a funeral on two wavering legs, carrying the corpse of +all that should be deathless in a man? Why, Jack, I'd rather see you in +bankruptcy--I'd rather see you trying to lead a double life in a single +flat on seven dollars and a half a week--I'd almost rather see you every +day at breakfast than have it come to that! + +"Wake up and get jocund with life! Why, you could have all good citizens +stung to death if you chose. It isn't that I want you to make money; but +I want you to worry over somebody besides yourself--not in Wall +Street--a fool and its money are soon parted. But in your own home, +where a beautiful wife and seven angel children have you dippy and close +to the ropes; where the housekeeper gets a rake off, and the cook is +red-headed and comes from Sligo, and the butler's cousin will bear +watching, and the chauffeur is a Frenchman, and the coachman's uncle is +a Harlem vet, and every scullion in the establishment lies, drinks, +steals, and supports twenty satiated relatives at your expense. That +would mean the making of you; for, after all, Jack, you are no +genius--you're a plain, non-partisan, uninspired, clean-built, wholesome +citizen, thank God!--the sort whose unimaginative mission is to pitch in +with eighty-odd millions of us and, like the busy coral creatures, +multiply with all your might, and make this little old Republic the +greatest, biggest, finest article that an overworked world has ever yet +put up! . . . Now you can call for help if you choose." + +Gatewood's breath returned slowly. In an intimacy of many years he had +never suspected that sort of thing from Kerns. That is why, no doubt, +the opinions expressed by Kerns stirred him to an astonishment too +innocent to harbor anger or chagrin. + +And when Kerns stood up with an unembarrassed laugh, saying, "I'm going +to the office; see you this evening?" Gatewood replied rather vacantly: +"Oh, yes; I'm dining here. Good-by, Tommy." + +Kerns glanced at his watch, lingering. "Was there anything you wished to +ask me, Jack?" he inquired guilelessly. + +"Ask you? No, I don't think so." + +"Oh; I had an idea you might care to know where Keen & Co. were to be +found." + +"_That_," said Gatewood firmly, "is foolish." + +"I'll write the address for you, anyway," rejoined Kerns, scribbling it +and handing the card to his friend. + +Then he went down the stairs, several at a time, eased in conscience, +satisfied that he had done his duty by a friend he cared enough for to +breakfast with. + +"Of course," he ruminated as he crawled into a hansom and lay back +buried in meditation--"of course there may be nothing in this Keen & Co. +business. But it will stir him up and set him thinking; and the longer +Keen & Co. take to hunt up an imaginary lady that doesn't exist, the +more anxious and impatient poor old Jack Gatewood will become, until +he'll catch the fever and go cantering about with that one fixed idea in +his head. And," added Kerns softly, "no New Yorker in his right mind can +go galloping through these five boroughs very long before he's roped, +tied, and marked by the 'only girl in the world'--the _only_ girl--if +you don't care to turn around and look at another million girls +precisely like her. O Lord!--precisely like her!" + +Here was a nice exhorter to incite others to matrimony. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Meanwhile, Gatewood was walking along Fifth Avenue, more or less soothed +by the May sunshine. First, he went to his hatters, looked at straw +hats, didn't like them, protested, and bought one, wishing he had +strength of mind enough to wear it home. But he hadn't. Then he entered +the huge white marble palace of his jeweler, left his watch to be +regulated, caught a glimpse of a girl whose hair and neck resembled the +hair and neck of his ideal, sidled around until he discovered that she +was chewing gum, and backed off, with a bitter smile, into the avenue +once more. + +Every day for years he had had glimpses of girls whose hair, hands, +figures, eyes, hats, carriage, resembled the features required by his +ideal; there always was something wrong somewhere. And, as he strolled +moodily, a curious feeling of despair seized him--something that, even +in his most sentimental moments, even amid the most unexpected +disappointment, he had never before experienced. + +"I do want to love _somebody_!" he found himself saying half aloud; "I +want to marry; I--" He turned to look after three pretty children with +their maids--"I want several like those--several!--seven--ten--I don't +care how many! I want a house to worry me, just as Tommy described it; I +want to see the same girl across the breakfast table--or she can sip her +cocoa in bed if she desires--" A slow, modest blush stole over his +features; it was one of the nicest things he ever did. Glancing up, he +beheld across the way a white sign, ornamented with strenuous crimson +lettering: + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +The moment he discovered it, he realized he had been covertly hunting +for it; he also realized that he was going to climb the stairs. He +hadn't quite decided what he meant to do after that; nor was his mind +clear on the matter when he found himself opening a door of opaque glass +on which was printed in red: + + KEEN & CO. + +He was neither embarrassed nor nervous when he found himself in a big +carpeted anteroom where a negro attendant bowed him to a seat and took +his card; and he looked calmly around to see what was to be seen. + +Several people occupied easy chairs in various parts of the room--an old +woman very neatly dressed, clutching in her withered hand a photograph +which she studied and studied with tear-dimmed eyes; a young man wearing +last year's most fashionable styles in everything except his features: +and soap could have aided him there; two policemen, helmets resting on +their knees; and, last of all, a rather thin child of twelve, staring +open-mouthed at everybody, a bundle of soiled clothing under one arm. +Through an open door he saw a dozen young women garbed in black, with +white cuffs and collars, all rattling away steadily at typewriters. +Every now and then, from some hidden office, a bell rang decisively, and +one of the girls would rise from her machine and pass noiselessly out of +sight to obey the summons. From time to time, too, the darky servant +with marvelous manners would usher somebody through the room where the +typewriters were rattling, into the unseen office. First the old woman +went--shakily, clutching her photograph; then the thin child with the +bundle, staring at everything; then the two fat policemen, in portentous +single file, helmets in their white-gloved hands, oiled hair glistening. + +Gatewood's turn was approaching; he waited without any definite +emotion, watching newcomers enter to take the places of those who had +been summoned. He hadn't the slightest idea of what he was to say; nor +did it worry him. A curious sense of impending good fortune left him +pleasantly tranquil; he picked up, from the silver tray on the table at +his elbow, one of the firm's business cards, and scanned it with +interest: + + KEEN & CO. + + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + + _Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found._ + + _Blanks on application._ + + WESTREL KEEN, _Manager_. + +"Mistuh Keen will see you, suh," came a persuasive voice at his elbow; +and he rose and followed the softly moving colored servant out of the +room, through a labyrinth of demure young women at their typewriters, +then sharply to the right and into a big, handsomely furnished office, +where a sleepy-looking elderly gentleman rose from an armchair and +bowed. There could not be the slightest doubt that he _was_ a +gentleman; every movement, every sound he uttered, settled the fact. + +"Mr. Keen?" + +"Mr. Gatewood?"--with a quiet certainty which had its charm. "This is +very good of you." + +Gatewood sat down and looked at his host. Then he said: "I'm searching +for somebody, Mr. Keen, whom you are not likely to find." + +"I doubt it," said Keen pleasantly. + +Gatewood smiled. "If," he said, "you will undertake to find the person +_I_ cannot find, I must ask you to accept a retainer." + +"We don't require retainers," replied Keen. "Unless we find the person +sought for, we make no charges, Mr. Gatewood." + +"I must ask you to do so in my case. It is not fair that you should +undertake it on other terms. I desire to make a special arrangement with +you. Do you mind?" + +"What arrangement had you contemplated?" inquired Keen, amused. + +"Only this: charge me in advance exactly what you would charge if +successful. And, on the other hand, do not ask me for detailed +information--I mean, do not insist on any information that I decline to +give. Do you mind taking up such an extraordinary and unbusinesslike +proposition, Mr. Keen?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons looked up sharply: + +"About how much information _do_ you decline to give, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"About enough to incriminate and degrade," replied the young man, +laughing. + +The elderly gentleman sat silent, apparently buried in meditation. Once +or twice his pleasant steel-gray eyes wandered over Gatewood as an +expert, a connoisseur, glances at a picture and assimilates its history, +its value, its artistic merit, its every detail in one practiced glance. + +"I think we may take up this matter for you, Mr. Gatewood," he said, +smiling his singularly agreeable smile. + +"But--but you would first desire to know something about me--would you +not?" + +Keen looked at him: "You will not mistake me--you will consider it +entirely inoffensive--if I say that I know something about you, Mr. +Gatewood?" + +"About _me_? How can you? Of course, there is the social register and +the club lists and all that--" + +"And many, many sources of information which are necessary in such a +business as this, Mr. Gatewood. It is a necessity for us to be almost +as well informed as our clients' own lawyers. I could pay you no +sincerer compliment than to undertake your case. I am half inclined to +do so even _without_ a retainer. Mind, I haven't yet said that I _will_ +take it." + +"I prefer to regulate any possible indebtedness in advance," said +Gatewood. + +"As you wish," replied the older man, smiling. "In that case, suppose +you draw your check" (he handed Gatewood a fountain pen as the young man +fished a check-book from his pocket)--"your check for--well, say for +$5,000, to the order of Keen & Co." + +Gatewood met his eye without wincing; he was in for it now; and he was +always perfectly game. He had brought it upon himself; it was his own +proposition. Not that he would have for a moment considered the sum as +high--or any sum exorbitant--if there had been a chance of success; one +cannot compare and weigh such matters. But how could there be any chance +for success? + +As he slowly smoothed out the check and stub, pen poised, Keen was +saying: "Of course, we should succeed sooner or later--if we took up +your case. We might succeed to-morrow--to-day. That would mean a large +profit for us. But we might not succeed to-day, or next month, or even +next year. That would leave us little or no profit; and, as it is our +custom to go on until we do succeed, no matter how long it may require, +you see, Mr. Gatewood, I should be taking all sorts of chances. It might +even cost us double your retainer before we found her--" + +"Her? How did--_why_ do you say '_her_'?" + +"Am I wrong?" asked Keen, smiling. + +"No--you are right." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons sank into abstraction again. Gatewood waited, +hoping that his case might be declined, yet ready to face any music +started at his own request. + +"She is young," mused Keen aloud, "very beautiful and accomplished. _Is_ +she wealthy?" He looked up mildly. + +Gatewood said: "I don't know--the truth is I don't care--" And stopped. + +"O-ho!" mused Keen slowly. "I--think--I understand. Am I wrong, Mr. +Gatewood, in surmising that this young lady whom you seek is, in your +eyes, very--I may say ideally gifted?" + +"She is my ideal," replied the young man, coloring. + +"_Ex_actly. And--her general allure?" + +"Charming!" + +"_Ex_actly; but to be a trifle more precise--if you could give me a +sketch, an idea, a mere outline delicately tinted, now. _Is_ she more +blond than brunette?" + +"Yes--but her eyes are brown. I--I insist on that." + +"Why should you not? _You_ know her; I don't," said Keen, laughing. "I +merely wished to form a mental picture. . . . You say her hair is--is--" + +"It's full of sunny color; that's all I can say." + +"_Ex_actly--I see. A rare and lovely combination with brown eyes and +creamy skin, Mr. Gatewood. I fancy she might be, perhaps, an inch or two +under your height?" + +"Just about that. Her hands should be--_are_ beautiful--" + +"_Ex_actly. The ensemble is most vividly portrayed, Mr. Gatewood; +and--you have intimated that her lack of fortune--er--we might almost +say her pecuniary distress--is more than compensated for by her +accomplishments, character, and very unusual beauty. . . . _Did_ I so +understand you, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"That's what I meant, anyhow," he said, flushing up. + +"You _did_ mean it?" + +"I did: I do." + +"Then we take your case, Mr. Gatewood. . . . No haste about the check, +my dear sir--pray consider us at your service." + +But Gatewood doggedly filled in the check and handed it to the Tracer of +Lost Persons. + +"I wish you happiness," said the older man in a low voice. "The lady you +describe exists; it is for us to discover her." + +"Thank you," stammered Gatewood, astounded. + +Keen touched an electric button; a moment later a young girl entered the +room. + +"Miss Southerland, Mr. Gatewood. Will you be kind enough to take Mr. +Gatewood's dictation in Room 19?" + +For a second Gatewood stared--as though in the young girl before him the +ghost of his ideal had risen to confront him--only for a second; then he +bowed, matching her perfect acknowledgment of his presence by a bearing +and courtesy which must have been inbred to be so faultless. + +And he followed her to Room 19. + +What had Keen meant by saying, "The lady you describe exists!" Did this +remarkable elderly gentleman suspect that it was to be a hunt for an +ideal? Had he deliberately entered into such a bargain? Impossible! + +His disturbed thoughts reverted to the terms of the bargain, the entire +enterprise, the figures on his check. His own amazing imbecility +appalled him. What idiocy! What sudden madness had seized him to +entangle himself in such unheard-of negotiations! True, he had played +bridge until dawn the night before, but, on awaking, he had discovered +no perceptible hold-over. It must have been sheer weakness of intellect +that permitted him to be dominated by the suggestions of Kerns. And now +the game was on: the jack declared, cards dealt, and his ante was up. +Had he openers? + +Room 19, duly labeled with its number on the opaque glass door, +contained a desk, a table and typewriter, several comfortable chairs, +and a window opening on Fifth Avenue, through which the eastern sun +poured a stream of glory, washing curtain, walls, and ceiling with +palest gold. + +And all this time, preoccupied with new impressions and his own growing +chagrin, he watched the girl who conducted him with all the unconscious +assurance and grace of a young chatelaine passing through her own domain +under escort of a distinguished guest. + +When they had entered Room 19, she half turned, but he forestalled her +and closed the door, and she passed before him with a perceptible +inclination of her finely modeled head, seating herself at the desk by +the open window. He took an armchair at her elbow and removed his +gloves, looking at her expectantly. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +"This is a list of particular and general questions for you to answer, +Mr. Gatewood," she said, handing him a long slip of printed matter. "The +replies to such questions as you are able or willing to answer you may +dictate to me." The beauty of her modulated voice was scarcely a +surprise--no woman who moved and carried herself as did this tall young +girl in black and white could reasonably be expected to speak with less +distinction--yet the charm of her voice, from the moment her lips +unclosed, so engrossed him that the purport of her speech escaped him. + +"Would you mind saying it once more?" he asked. + +She did so; he attempted to concentrate his attention, and succeeded +sufficiently to look as though some vestige of intellect remained in +him. He saw her pick up a pad and pencil; the contour and grace of two +deliciously fashioned hands arrested his mental process once more. + +"I _beg_ your pardon," he said hastily; "what were you saying, Miss +Southerland?" + +"Nothing, Mr. Gatewood. I did not speak." And he realized, hazily, that +she had not spoken--that it was the subtle eloquence of her youth and +loveliness that had appealed like a sudden voice--a sound faintly +exquisite echoing his own thought of her. + +Troubled, he looked at the slip of paper in his hand; it was headed: + + SPECIAL DESCRIPTION BLANK + (_Form K_) + +And he read it as carefully as he was able to--the curious little clamor +of his pulses, the dazed sense of elation, almost of expectation, +distracting his attention all the time. + +"I wish you would read it to me," he said; "that would give me time to +think up answers." + +"If you wish," she assented pleasantly, swinging around toward him in +her desk chair. Then she crossed one knee over the other to support the +pad, and, bending above it, lifted her brown eyes. She could have done +nothing in the world more distracting at that moment. + +"What is the sex of the person you desire to find, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"Her sex? I--well, I fancy it is feminine." + +She wrote after "Sex" the words "She is probably feminine"; looked at +him absently, glanced at what she had written, flushed a little, rubbed +out the "she is probably," wondering why a moment's mental wandering +should have committed her to absurdity. + +"Married?" she asked with emphasis. + +"No," he replied, startled; then, vexed, "I beg your pardon--you mean to +ask if _she_ is married!" + +"Oh, I didn't mean _you_, Mr. Gatewood; it's the next question, you +see"--she held out the blank toward him. "Is the person you are looking +for married?" + +"Oh, no; she isn't married, either--at least--trust--not--because if she +_is_ I don't want to find her!" he ended, entangled in an explanation +which threatened to involve him deeper than he desired. And, looking up, +he saw the beautiful brown eyes regarding him steadily. They reverted to +the paper at once, and the white fingers sent the pencil flying. + +"He trusts that she is unmarried, but if she _is_ (underlined) married +he doesn't want to find her," she wrote. + +"That," she explained, "goes under the head of 'General Remarks' at the +bottom of the page"--she held it out, pointing with her pencil. He +nodded, staring at her slender hand. + +"Age?" she continued, setting the pad firmly on her rounded, yielding +knee and looking up at him. + +"Age? Well, I--as a matter of fact, I could only venture a surmise. You +know," he said earnestly, "how difficult it is to guess ages, don't you, +Miss Southerland?" + +"How old do you _think_ she is? Could you not hazard a guess--judging, +say, from her appearance?" + +"I have no data--no experience to guide me." He was becoming involved +again. "Would you, for practice, permit me first to guess your age, Miss +Southerland?" + +"Why--yes--if you think that might help you to guess hers." + +So he leaned back in his armchair and considered her a very long +time--having a respectable excuse to do so. Twenty times he forgot he +was looking at her for any purpose except that of disinterested delight, +and twenty times he remembered with a guilty wince that it was a matter +of business. + +"Perhaps I had better tell you," she suggested, her color rising a +little under his scrutiny. + +"Is it eighteen? Just _her_ age!" + +"Twenty-one, Mr. Gatewood--and you _said_ you didn't know her age." + +"I have just remembered that I _thought_ it might be eighteen; but I +dare say I was shy three years in her case, too. You may put it down at +twenty-one." + +For the slightest fraction of a second the brown eyes rested on his, the +pencil hovered in hesitation. Then the eyes fell, and the moving fingers +wrote. + +"Did you write 'twenty-one'?" he inquired carelessly. + +"I did not, Mr. Gatewood." + +"What did you write?" + +"I wrote: 'He doesn't appear to know much about her age.'" + +"But I _do_ know--" + +"You said--" They looked at one another earnestly. + +"The next question," she continued with composure, "is: 'Date and place +of birth?' Can you answer any part of _that_ question?" + +"I trust I may be able to--some day. . . . What _are_ you writing?" + +"I'm writing: 'He trusts he may be able to, some day.' Wasn't that what +you said?" + +"Yes, I did say that. I--I'm not perfectly sure what I meant by it." + +She passed to the next question: + +"Height?" + +"About five feet six," he said, fascinated gaze on her. + +"Hair?" + +"More gold than brown--full of--er--gleams--" She looked up quickly; his +eyes reverted to the window rather suddenly. He had been looking at her +hair. + +"Complexion?" she continued after a shade of hesitation. + +"It's a sort of delicious mixture--bisque, tinted with a pinkish +bloom--ivory and rose--" He was explaining volubly, when she began to +shake her head, timing each shake to his words. + +"Really, Mr. Gatewood, I think you are hopelessly vague on that +point--unless you desire to convey the impression that she is speckled." + +"Speckled!" he repeated, horrified. "Why, I am describing a woman who is +my ideal of beauty--" + +But she had already gone to the next question: + +"Teeth?" + +"P-p-perfect p-p-pearls!" he stammered. The laughing red mouth closed +like a flower at dusk, veiling the sparkle of her teeth. + +Was he trying to be impertinent? Was he deliberately describing her? He +did not look like that sort of man; yet _why_ was he watching her so +closely, so curiously at every question? Why did he look at her teeth +when she laughed? + +"Eyes?" Her own dared him to continue what, coincidence or not, was +plainly a description of herself. + +"B-b-b--" He grew suddenly timorous, hesitating, pretending to a +perplexity which was really a healthy scare. For she was frowning. + +"Curious I can't think of the color of her eyes," he said; "is--isn't +it?" + +She coldly inspected her pad and made a correction; but all she did was +to rub out a comma and put another in its place. Meanwhile, Gatewood, +chin in his hand, sat buried in profound thought. "_Were_ they blue?" he +murmured to himself aloud, "or _were_ they brown? Blue begins with a _b_ +and brown begins with a _b_. I'm convinced that her eyes began with a +_b_. They were not, therefore, gray or green, because," he added in a +burst of confidence, "it is utterly impossible to spell gray or green +with a _b_!" + +Miss Southerland looked slightly astonished. + +"All you can recollect, then, is that the color of her eyes began with +the letter _b_?" + +"That is absolutely all I can remember; but I _think_ they +_were_--brown." + +"If they _were_ brown they must be brown now," she observed, looking out +of the window. + +"That's true! Isn't it curious I never thought of that? What are you +writing?" + +"Brown," she said, so briefly that it sounded something like a snub. + +"Mouth?" inquired the girl, turning a new leaf on her pad. + +"Perfect. Write it: there is no other term fit to describe its color, +shape, its sensitive beauty, its--_What_ did you write just then?" + +"I wrote, 'Mouth, ordinary.'" + +"I don't want you to! I want--" + +"Really, Mr. Gatewood, a rhapsody on a girl's mouth is proper in poetry, +but scarcely germane to the record of a purely business transaction. +Please answer the next question tersely, if you don't mind: 'Figure?'" + +"Oh, I _do_ mind! I can't! Any poem is much too brief to describe her +figure--" + +"Shall we say 'Perfect'?" asked the girl, raising her brown eyes in a +glimmering transition from vexation to amusement. For, after all, it +could be _only_ a coincidence that this young man should be describing +features peculiar to herself. + +"Couldn't you write, 'Venus-of-Milo-like'?" he inquired. "That is +laconic." + +"I could--if it's true. But if you mean it for praise--I--don't think +any modern woman would be flattered." + +"I always supposed that she of Milo had an ideal figure," he said, +perplexed. + +She wrote, "A good figure." Then, propping her rounded chin on one +lovely white hand, she glanced at the next question: + +"Hands?" + +"White, beautiful, rose-tipped, slender yet softly and firmly rounded--" + +"How _can_ they be soft and firm, too, Mr. Gatewood?" she protested; +then, surprising his guilty eyes fixed on her hands, hastily dropped +them and sat up straight, level-browed, cold as marble. _Was_ he +deliberately being rude to her? + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +As a matter of fact, he was not. Too poor in imagination to invent, on +the spur of the moment, charms and qualities suited to his ideal, he +had, at first unconsciously, taken as a model the girl before him; quite +unconsciously and innocently at first--then furtively, and with a +dawning perception of the almost flawless beauty he was secretly +plagiarizing. Aware, now, that something had annoyed her; aware, too, at +the same moment that there appeared to be nothing lacking in her to +satisfy his imagination of the ideal, he began to turn redder than he +had ever turned in all his life. + +Several minutes of sixty seconds each ensued before he ventured to stir +a finger. And it was only when she bent again very gravely over her pad +that he cautiously eased a cramped muscle or two, and drew a breath--a +long, noiseless, deep and timid respiration. He realized the enormity of +what he had been doing--how close he had come to giving unpardonable +offense by drawing a perfect portrait of her as the person he desired to +find through the good offices of Keen & Co. + +But there was no such person--unless she had a double: for what more +could a man desire than the ideal traits he had been able to describe +only by using her as his inspiration. + +When he ventured to look at her, one glance was enough to convince him +that she, too, had noticed the parallel--had been forced to recognize +her own features in the portrait he had constructed of an ideal. And she +had caught him in absent-minded contemplation of the hands he had been +describing. He knew that his face was the face of a guilty man. + +"What is the next question?" he stammered, eager to answer it in a +manner calculated to allay her suspicions. + +"The next question?" She glanced at the list, then with a voice of +velvet which belied the eyes, clear as frosty brown pools in November: +"The next question requires a description of her feet." + +"Feet! Oh---they--they're rather large--why, her feet are enormous, I +believe--" + +She looked at him as though stunned; suddenly a flood of pink spread, +wave on wave, from the white nape of her neck to her hair; she bent low +over her pad and wrote something, remaining in that attitude until her +face cooled. + +"Somehow or other I've done it again!" he thought, horrified. "The best +thing I can do is to end it and go home." + +In his distress he began to hedge, saying: "Of course, she is rather +tall and her feet are in some sort of proportion--in fact, they are +perfectly symmetrical feet--" + +Never in his life had he encountered a pair of such angrily beautiful +eyes. Speech stopped with a dry gulp. + +"We now come to 'General Remarks,'" she said in a voice made absolutely +steady and emotionless. "Have you any remarks of that description to +offer, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"I'm willing to make remarks," he said, "if I only knew what you wished +me to say." + +She mused, eyes on the sunny window, then looked up. "Where did you last +see her?" + +"Near Fifth Avenue." + +"And what street?" + +He named the street. + +"Near _here_?" + +"Rather," he said timidly. + +She ruffled the edges of her pad, wrote something and erased it, bit her +scarlet upper lip, and frowned. + +"Out of doors, of course?" + +"No; indoors," he admitted furtively. + +She looked up with a movement almost nervous. + +"Do you dare--I mean, care--to be more concise?" + +"I would rather not," he replied in a voice from which he hoped he had +expelled the tremors of alarm. + +"As you please, Mr. Gatewood. And would you care to answer any of these +other questions: Who and what are or were her parents? Give all +particulars concerning all her relatives. Is she employed or not? What +are her social, financial, and general circumstances? Her character, +personal traits, aims, interests, desires? Has she any vices? Any +virtues? Talents? Ambitions? Caprices? Fads? Are you in love with her? +Is--" + +"Yes," he said, "I am." + +"Is she in love with you?" + +"No; she hates me--I'm afraid." + +"Is she in love with anybody?" + +"That is a very difficult--" + +The girl wrote: "He doesn't know," with a satisfaction apparently +causeless. + +"Is she a relative of yours, Mr. Gatewood?" very sweetly. + +"No, Miss Southerland," very positively. + +"You--you desire to marry her--you say?" + +"I do. But I didn't say it." + +She was silent; then: + +"What is her name?" in a low voice which started several agreeable +thrills chasing one another over him. + +"I--I decline to answer," he stammered. + +"On what grounds, Mr. Gatewood?" + +He looked her full in the eyes; suddenly he bent forward and gazed at +the printed paper from which she had been apparently reading. + +"Why, all those questions you are scaring me with are not there!" he +exclaimed indignantly. "You are making them up?" + +"I--I know, but"--she was flushing furiously--"but they are on the other +forms--some of them. Can't you see you are answering 'Form K'? That is a +special form--" + +"But why do you ask me questions that are _not_ on Form K?" + +"Because it is my duty to do all I can to secure evidence which may lead +to the discovery of the person you desire to find. I--I assure you, Mr, +Gatewood, this duty is not--not always agreeable--and some people make +it harder still." + +Gatewood looked out of the window. Various emotions---among them shame, +mortification, chagrin--pervaded him, and chased each other along his +nervous system, coloring his neck and ears a fiery red for the +enlightenment of any observer. + +"I--I did not mean to offend you," said the girl in a low voice--such a +gently regretful voice that Gatewood swung around in his chair. + +"There is nothing I would not be glad to tell you about the woman I have +fallen in love with," he said. "She is overwhelmingly lovely; and--when +I dare--I will tell you her name and where I first saw her--and where I +saw her last--if you desire. Shall I?" + +"It would be advisable. When will you do this?" + +"When I dare." + +"You--you don't dare--now?" + +"No . . . not now." + +She absently wrote on her pad: "He doesn't dare tell me now." Then, with +head still bent, she lifted her mischief-making, trouble-breeding brown +eyes to his once more. + +"I am to come here, of course, to consult you?" he asked dizzily. + +"Mr. Keen will receive you--" + +"He may be busy." + +"He may be," she repeated dreamily. + +"So--I'll ask for you." + +"We _could_ write you, Mr. Gatewood." + +He said hastily: "It's no trouble for me to come; I walk every +morning." + +"But there would be no use, I think, in your coming very soon. All +I--all Mr. Keen could do for a while would be to report progress--" + +"That is all I dare look for: progress--for the present." + +During the time that he remained--which was not very long--neither of +them spoke until he arose to take his departure. + +"Good-by, Miss Southerland. I hope you may find the person I have been +searching for." + +"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. . . . I hope we shall; . . . but +I--don't--know." + +And, as a matter of fact, she did not know; she was rather excited over +nothing, apparently; and also somewhat preoccupied with several rather +disturbing emotions the species of which she was interested in +determining. But to label and catalogue each of these emotions +separately required privacy and leisure to think--and she also wished to +look very earnestly at the reflection of her own face in the mirror of +her own chamber. For it is a trifle exciting--though but an innocent +coincidence--to be compared, feature by feature, to a young man's ideal. +As far as that went, she excelled it, too; and, as she stood by the +desk, alone, gathering up her notes, she suddenly bent over and lifted +the hem of her gown a trifle--sufficient to reassure herself that the +dainty pair of shoes she wore, would have baffled the efforts of any +Venus ever sculptured. And she was perfectly right. + +"Of course," she thought to herself, "his ideal runaway hasn't enormous +feet. He, too, must have been struck with the similarity between me and +his ideal, and when he realized that I also noticed it, he was +frightened by my frown into saying that her feet were enormous. How +silly! . . . For I didn't _mean_ to frighten him. . . . He frightened +me--once or twice--I mean he irritated me--no, interested me, is what I +_do_ mean. . . . Heigho! I wonder why she ran away? I wonder why he +can't find her? . . . It's--it's silly to run away from a man like that. +. . . Heigho! . . . She doesn't deserve to be found. There is nothing to +be afraid of--nothing to alarm anybody in a man like that." + +So she gathered up her notes and walked slowly out and across to the +private office of the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Come in," said the Tracer when she knocked. He was using the telephone; +she seated herself rather listlessly beside the window, where spring +sunshine lay in gilded patches on the rug and spring breezes stirred +the curtains. She was a little tired, but there seemed to be no good +reason why. Yet, with the soft wind blowing on her cheek, the languor +grew; she rested her face on one closed hand, shutting her eyes. + +When they opened again it was to meet the fixed gaze of Mr. Keen. + +"Oh--I beg your pardon!" + +"There is no need of it, child. Be seated. Never mind that report just +now." He paced the length of the room once or twice, hands clasped +behind him; then, halting to confront her: + +"What sort of a man is this young Gatewood?" + +"What _sort_, Mr. Keen? Why--I think he is the--the sort--that--" + +"I see that you don't think much of him," said Keen, laughing. + +"Oh, indeed I did not mean that at all; I mean that he appeared to +be--to be--" + +"Rather a cad?" + +"Why, _no_!" she said, flushing up. "He is absolutely well-bred, Mr. +Keen." + +"You received no unpleasant impression of him?" + +"On the contrary!" she said rather warmly--for it hurt her sense of +justice that Keen should so misjudge even a stranger in whom she had no +personal interest. + +"You think he looks like an honest man?" + +"Honest?" She was rosy with annoyance. "Have you any idea that he is +dishonest?" + +"Have you?" + +"Not the slightest," she said with emphasis. + +"Suppose a man should set us hunting for a person who does not exist--on +our terms, which are no payment unless successful? Would that be +honest?" asked Keen gravely. + +"Did--did _he_ do that?" + +"No, child." + +"I knew he _couldn't_ do such a thing!" + +"No, he--er--couldn't, because I wouldn't allow it--not that he tried +to!" added Keen hastily as the indignant brown eyes sparkled ominously. +"Really, Miss Southerland, he must be all you say he is, for he has a +stanch champion to vouch for him." + +"All I _say_ he is? I haven't said anything about him!" + +Mr. Keen nodded. "_Ex_actly. Let us drop him for a moment. . . . Are you +perfectly well, Miss Southerland?" + +"Why, yes." + +"I'm glad of it. You are a trifle pale; you seem to be a little +languid. . . . When do you take your vacation?" + +"You suggested May, I believe," she said wistfully. + +The Tracer leaned back in his chair, joining the tips of his fingers +reflectively. + +"Miss Southerland," he said, "you have been with us a year. I thought it +might interest you to know that I am exceedingly pleased with you." + +She colored charmingly. + +"But," he added, "I'm terribly afraid we're going to lose you." + +"Why?" she asked, startled. + +"However," he continued, ignoring her half-frightened question with a +smile, "I am going to promote you--for faithful and efficient service." + +"O-h!" + +"With an agreeable increase of salary, and new duties which will take +you into the open air. . . . You ride?" + +"I--I used to before----" + +"_Ex_actly; before you were obliged to earn your living. Please have +yourself measured for habit and boots this afternoon. I shall arrange +for horse, saddle, and groom. You will spend most of your time riding +in the Park--for the present." + +"But--Mr. Keen--am I to be one of your agents--a sort of detective?" + +Keen regarded her absently, then crossed one leg over the other. + +"Read me your notes," he said with a smile. + +She read them, folded them, and he took them from her, thoughtfully +regarding her. + +"Did you know that your mother and I were children together?" he asked. + +"No!" She stared. "Is _that_ why you sent for me that day at the school +of stenography?" + +"That is why . . . When I learned that my playmate--your mother--was +dead, is it not reasonable to suppose that I should wish her daughter to +have a chance?" + +Miss Southerland looked at him steadily. + +"She was like you--when she married . . . I never married . . . Do you +wonder that I sent for you, child?" + +Nothing but the clock ticking there in the sunny room, and an old man +staring into two dimmed brown eyes, and the little breezes at the open +window whispering of summers past. + +"This young man, Gatewood," said the Tracer, clearing his voice of its +hoarseness--"this young man ought to be all right, if I did not +misjudge his father--years ago, child, years ago. And he _is_ all +right--" He half turned toward a big letter-file; "his record is clean, +so far. The trouble with him is idleness. He ought to marry." + +"Isn't he trying to?" she asked. + +"It looks like it. Miss Southerland, we _must_ find this woman!" + +"Yes, but I don't see how you are going to--on such slight +information--" + +"Information! Child, I have all I want--all I could desire." He laughed, +passing his hands over his gray hair. "We are going to find the girl he +is in love with before the week ends!" + +"Do you really think so?" she exclaimed. + +"Yes. But you must do a great deal in this case." + +"I?" + +"_Ex_actly." + +"And--and what am I to do?" + +"Ride in the Park, child! And if you see Mr. Gatewood, don't you dare +take your eyes off him for one moment. Watch him; observe everything he +does. If he should recognize you and speak to you, be as amiable to him +as though it were not by my orders." + +"Then--then I _am_ to be a detective!" she faltered. + +The Tracer did not appear to hear her. He took up the notes, turned to +the telephone, and began to send out a general alarm, reading the +description of the person whom Gatewood had described. The vast, +intricate and delicate machinery under his control was being set in +motion all over the Union. + +"Not that I expect to find her outside the borough of Manhattan," he +said, smiling, as he hung up the receiver and turned to her; "but it's +as well to know how many types of that species exist in this Republic, +and who they are--in case any other young man comes here raving of brown +eyes and 'gleams' in the hair." + +Miss Southerland, to her own intense consternation, blushed. + +"I think you had better order that habit at once," said the Tracer +carelessly. + +"Tell me, Mr. Keen," she asked tremulously, "am I to spy upon Mr. +Gatewood? And report to you? . . . For I simply cannot bear to do it--" + +"Child, you need report nothing unless you desire to. And when there is +something to report, it will be about the woman I am searching for. +_Don't_ you understand? I have already located her. You will find her +in the Park. And when you are _sure_ she is the right one--and if you +care to report it to me--I shall be ready to listen . . . I am always +ready to listen to you." + +"But--I warn you, Mr. Keen, that I have perfect faith in the honor of +Mr. Gatewood. I _know_ that I could have nothing unworthy to report." + +"I am sure of it," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, studying her with +eyes that were not quite clear. "Now, I think you had better order that +habit . . . Your mother sat her saddle perfectly . . . We rode very +often--my lost playmate and I." + +He turned, hands clasped behind his back, absently pacing the room, +backward, forward, there in the spring sunshine. Nor did he notice her +lingering, nor mark her as she stole from the room, brown eyes saddened +and thoughtful, wondering, too, that there should be in the world so +much room for sorrow. + +[Illustration: "'I am sure of it,' said the Tracer of Lost Persons."] + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Gatewood, burdened with restlessness and gnawed by curiosity, consumed a +week in prowling about the edifice where Keen & Co. carried on an +interesting profession. + +His first visit resulted merely in a brief interview with Mr. Keen, who +smilingly reported progress and suavely bowed him out. He looked about +for Miss Southerland as he was leaving, but did not see her. + +On his second visit he mustered the adequate courage to ask for her, and +experienced a curiously sickly sensation when informed that Miss +Southerland was no longer employed in the bureau of statistics, having +been promoted to an outside position of great responsibility. His third +visit proved anything but satisfactory. He sidled and side-stepped for +ten minutes before he dared ask Mr. Keen _where_ Miss Southerland had +gone. And when the Tracer replied that, considering the business he had +undertaken for Mr. Gatewood, he really could not see why Mr. Gatewood +should interest himself concerning the whereabouts of Miss Southerland, +the young man had nothing to say, and escaped as soon as possible, +enraged at himself, at Mr. Keen, and vaguely holding the entire world +guilty of conspiracy. + +He had no definite idea of what he wanted, except that his desire to see +Miss Southerland again seemed out of all proportion to any reasonable +motive for seeing her. Occasional fits of disgust with himself for what +he had done were varied with moody hours of speculation. Suppose Mr. +Keen did find his ideal? What of it? He no longer wanted to see her. He +had no use for her. The savor of the enterprise had gone stale in his +mouth; he was by turns worried, restless, melancholy, sulky, uneasy. A +vast emptiness pervaded his life. He smoked more and more and ate less +and less. He even disliked to see others eat, particularly Kerns. + +And one exquisite May morning he came down to breakfast and found the +unspeakable Kerns immersed in grapefruit, calm, well balanced, and +bland. + +"How-de-dee, dear friend?" said that gentleman affably. "Any news from +Cupid this beautiful May morning?" + +"No; and I don't want any," returned Gatewood, sorting his mail with a +scowl and waving away his fruit. + +"Tut, tut! Lovers must be patient. Dearie will be found some day--" + +"Some day," snarled Gatewood, "I shall destroy you, Tommy." + +"Naughty! Naughty!" reflected Kerns, pensively assaulting the breakfast +food. "Lovey must _not_ worry; Dovey shall be found, and all will be joy +and gingerbread. . . . If you throw that orange I'll run screaming to +the governors. Aren't you ashamed--just because you're in a love +tantrum!" + +"One more word and you get it!" + +"May I sing as I trifle with this frugal fare, dear friend? My heart is +_so_ happy that I should love to warble a few wild notes--" + +He paused to watch his badgered victim dispose of a Martini. + +"I wonder," he mused, "if you'd like me to tell you what a cocktail +before breakfast does to the lining of your stomach? Would you?" + +"No. I suppose it's what the laundress does to my linen. What do I +care?" + +"_Don't_ be a short sport, Jack." + +"Well, I don't care for the game you put me up against. Do you know what +has happened?" + +"I really don't, dear friend. The Tracer of Lost Persons has not found +her--_has_ he?" + +"He says he has," retorted Gatewood sullenly, pulling a crumpled +telegram from his pocket and casting it upon the table. "I don't want to +see her; I'm not interested. I never saw but one girl in my life who +interested me in the slightest; and she's employed to help in this +ridiculous search." + +Kerns, meanwhile, had smoothed out the telegram and was intently +perusing it: + + "_John Gatewood, Lenox Club, Fifth Avenue:_ + + "Person probably discovered. Call here as soon as possible. + + W. KEEN." + +"_What_ do you make of that?" demanded Gatewood hoarsely. + +"Make of it? Why, it's true enough, I fancy. Go and see, and if it's +she, be hers!" + +"I won't! I don't want to see any ideal! I don't want to marry. Why do +you try to make me marry somebody?" + +"Because it's good for you, dear friend. Otherwise you'll go to the +doggy-dogs. You don't realize how much worry you are to me." + +"Confound it! Why don't _you_ marry? Why didn't I ask you that when you +put me up to all this foolishness? What right have you to--" + +"Tut, friend! _I_ know there's no woman alive fit to wed me and spend +her life in stealing kisses from me. _I_ have no ideal. _You_ have an +ideal." + +"I haven't!" + +"Oh, yes, dear friend, there's a stub in your check book to prove it. +You simply bet $5,000 that your ideal existed. You've won. Go and be her +joy and sunshine." + +"I'll put an end to this whole business," said Gatewood wrathfully, "and +I'll do it now!" + +"Bet you that you're engaged within the week!" said Kerns with a placid +smile. + +The other swung around savagely: "What will you bet, Tommy? You may have +what odds you please. I'll make you sit up for this." + +"I'll bet you," answered Kerns, deliberately, "an entire silver dinner +service against a saddle horse for the bride." + +"That's a fool bet!" snapped Gatewood. "What do you mean?" + +"Oh, if you don't care to--" + +"What do I want of a silver service? But, all right; I'll bet you +anything." + +"_She'll_ want it," replied Kerns significantly, booking the bet. "I may +as well canter out to Tiffany's this morning, I fancy. . . . Where are +you going, Jack?" + +"To see Keen and confess what an ass I've been!" returned Gatewood +sullenly, striding across the breakfast room to take his hat and gloves +from the rack. And out he went, mad all over. + +On his way up the avenue he attempted to formulate the humiliating +confession which already he shrank from. But it had to be done. He +simply could not stand the prospect of being notified month after month +that a lady would be on view somewhere. It was like going for a fitting; +it was horrible. Besides, what use was it? Within a week or two an +enormous and utterly inexplicable emptiness had yawned before him, +revealing life as a hollow delusion. He no longer cared. + +Immersed in bitter reflection, he climbed the familiar stairway and sent +his card to Mr. Keen, and in due time he was ushered into the presence +of the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Mr. Keen," he began, with a headlong desire to get it over and be done +with it, "I may as well tell you how impossible it is for you, or +anybody, to find that person I described--" + +Mr. Keen raised an expostulatory hand, smiling indulgence. + +"It is more than possible, Mr. Gatewood, more than probable; it is +almost an accomplished fact. In other words, I think I may venture to +congratulate you and say that she _is_ found." + +"Now, _how_ can she be found, when there isn't--" + +"Mr. Gatewood, the magician will always wave his magic wand for you and +show you his miracles for the price of admission. But for that price he +does not show you how he works his miracles," said Keen, laughing. + +"But I ought to tell you," persisted Gatewood, "that it is utterly +impossible you should find the person I wished to discover, because +she--" + +"I can only prove that you are wrong," smiled Keen, rising from his easy +chair. + +"Mr. Keen," said the young man earnestly, "I have been more or less of a +chump at times. One of those times was when I came here on this errand. +All I desire, now, is to let the matter rest as it is. I am satisfied, +and you have lost nothing. Nor have you found anything or anybody. You +think you have, but you haven't. I do not wish you to continue the +search, or to send me any further reports. I want to forget the whole +miserable matter--to be free--to feel myself freed from any obligations +to that irritating person I asked you to find." + +The Tracer regarded him very gravely. + +"Is that your wish, Mr. Gatewood? I can scarcely credit it." + +"It is. I've been a fool; I simply want to stop being one if anybody +will permit it." + +"And you decline to attempt to identify the very beautiful person we +have discovered to be the individual for whom you asked us to search?" + +"I do. She may be beautiful; but I know well enough she can't compare +with--some one." + +"I am sorry," said Keen thoughtfully. "We take so much pride in these +matters. When one of my agents discovered where this person was, I was +rather--happy; for I have taken a peculiar personal interest in your +case. However--" + +"Mr. Keen," said Gatewood, "if you could understand how ashamed and +mortified I am at my own conduct--" + +Keen gazed pensively out of the window. "I also am sorry; Miss +Southerland was to have received a handsome bonus for her discovery--" + +"Miss S-S-S-S-outherland!" + +"_Ex_actly; without quite so many _S's_," said Keen, smiling. + +"Did _she_ discover that--that person?" exclaimed the young man, +startled. + +"She thinks she has. I am not sure she is correct; but I am absolutely +certain that Miss Southerland could eventually discover the person you +were in search of. It seems a little hard on her--just on the eve of +success--to lose. But that can't be helped now." + +Gatewood, more excited and uncomfortable than he had ever been in all +his life, watched Keen intently. + +"Too bad, too bad," muttered the Tracer to himself. "The child needs the +encouragement. It meant a thousand dollars to her--" He shrugged his +shoulders, looked up, and, as though rather surprised to see Gatewood +still there, smiled an impersonal smile and offered his hand in adieu. +Gatewood winced. + +"Could I--I see Miss Southerland?" he asked. + +"I am afraid not. She is at this moment following my instructions +to--but that cannot interest you now--" + +"Yes, it does!--if you don't mind. Where is she? I--I'll take a look at +the person she discovered; I will, really." + +"Why, it's only this: I suspected that you might identify a person whom +I had reason to believe was to be found every morning riding in the +Park. So Miss Southerland has been riding there every day. Yesterday she +came here, greatly excited--" + +"Yes--yes--go on!" + +Keen gazed dreamily at the sunny window. "She thought she had found +your--er--the person. So I said you would meet her on the bridle path, +near--but that's of no interest now--" + +"Near where?" demanded Gatewood, suppressing inexplicable excitement. +And as Keen said nothing: "I'll go; I want to go, I really do! +Can't--can't a fellow change his mind? Oh, I know you think I'm a +lunatic, and there's plenty of reason, too!" + +Keen studied him calmly. "Yes, plenty of reason, plenty of reason, Mr. +Gatewood. But do you suppose you are the only one? I know another who +was perfectly sane two weeks ago." + +The young man waited impatiently; the Tracer paced the room, gray head +bent, delicate, wrinkled hands clasped loosely behind his bent back. + +"You have horses at the Whip and Spur Club," he said abruptly. "Suppose +you ride out and see how close Miss Southerland has come to solving our +problem." + +Gatewood seized the offered hand and wrung it with a fervor out of all +reason; and it is curious that the Tracer of Lost Persons did not appear +to be astonished. + +"You're rather impetuous--like your father," he said slowly. "I knew +him; so I've ventured to trust his son--even when I heard how aimlessly +he was living his life. Mr. Gatewood! May I ask you something--as an old +friend of your father?" + +The young man nodded, subdued, perplexed, scarcely understanding. + +"It's only this: If you _do_ find the woman you could love--in the +Park--to-day--come back to me some day and let me tell you all those +foolish, trite, tiresome things that I should have told a son of mine. I +am so old that you will not take offense--you will not mind listening to +me, or forgetting the dull, prosy things I say about the curse of +idleness, and the habits of cynical thinking, and the perils of +vacant-minded indulgence. You will forgive me--and you will forget me. +That will be as it should be. Good-by." + +Gatewood, sobered, surprised, descended the stairs and hailed a hansom. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +All the way to the Whip and Spur Club he sat buried in a reverie from +which, at intervals, he started, aroused by the heavy, expectant beating +of his own pulses. But what did he expect, in Heaven's name? Not the +discovery of a woman who had never existed. Yet his excitement and +impatience grew as he watched the saddling of his horse; and when at +length he rode out into the sunshine and cantered through the Park +entrance, his sense of impending events and his expectancy amounted to a +fever which colored his face attractively. + +He saw her almost immediately. Her horse was walking slowly in the +dappled shadows of the new foliage; she, listless in her saddle, +sometimes watching the throngs of riders passing, at moments turning to +gaze into the woodland vistas where, over the thickets of flowering +shrubbery, orioles and robins sped flashing on tinted wings from shadow +to sun, from sun to shadow. But she looked up as he drew bridle and +wheeled his mount beside her; and, "Oh!" she said, flushing in +recognition. + +"I have missed you terribly," he said quietly. + +It was dreamy weather, even for late spring: the scent of lilacs and +mock-orange hung heavy as incense along the woods. Their voices +unconsciously found the key to harmonize with it all. + +She said: "Well, I think I have succeeded. In a few moments she will be +passing. I do not know her name; she rides a big roan. She is very +beautiful, Mr. Gatewood." + +He said: "I am perfectly certain we shall find her. I doubted it until +now. But now I know." + +"Oh-h, but I _may_ be wrong," she protested. + +"No; you cannot be." + +She looked up at him. + +"You can have no idea how happy you make me," he said unsteadily. + +"But--I--but I may be all wrong--dreadfully wrong!" + +"Y-es; you may be, but I shall not be. For do you know that I have +already seen her in the Park?" + +"When?" she demanded incredulously, then turned in the saddle, +repeating: "Where? Did she pass? How perfectly stupid of me! And _was_ +she the--the right one?" + +"She _is_ the right one. . . . Don't turn: I have seen her. Ride on: I +want to say something--if I can." + +"No, no," she insisted. "I must know whether I was right--" + +"You _are_ right--but you don't know it yet. . . . Oh, very well, then; +we'll turn if you insist." And he wheeled his mount as she did, riding +at her bridle again. + +"How can you take it so coolly--so indifferently?" she said. "Where has +that woman--where has she gone? . . . Never mind; she must turn and pass +us sooner or later, for she lives uptown. _What_ are you laughing at, +Mr. Gatewood?"--in annoyed surprise. + +"I am laughing at myself. Oh, I'm so many kinds of a fool--you can't +think how many, and it's no use!" + +She stared, astonished; he shook his head. + +"No, you don't understand yet. But you will. Listen to me: this very +beautiful lady you have discovered is nothing to me!" + +"Nothing--to you!" she faltered. Two pink spots of indignation burned in +her cheeks. "How--how dare you say that!--after all that has been +done--all that you have said. You said you loved her; you _did_ say +so--to _me_!" + +"I don't love her now." + +"But you did!" Tears of pure vexation started; she faced him, eye to +eye, thoroughly incensed. + +"What sort of man are you?" she said under her breath. "Your friend Mr. +Kerns is wrong. You are not worth saving from yourself." + +"Kerns!" he repeated, angry and amazed. "What the deuce has Kerns to do +with this affair?" + +She stared, then, realizing her indiscretion, bit her lip, and spurred +forward. But he put his horse to a gallop, and they pounded along in +silence. In a little while she drew bridle and looked around coldly, +grave with displeasure. + +"Mr. Kerns came to us before you did. He said you would probably come, +and he begged us to strain every effort in your behalf, because, he +said, your happiness absolutely depended upon our finding for you the +woman you were seeking. . . . And I tried--very hard--and now she's +found. You admit that--and _now_ you say--" + +"I say that one of these balmy summer days I'll assassinate Tommy +Kerns!" broke in Gatewood. "What on earth possessed that prince of +butters-in to go to Mr. Keen?" + +"To save you from yourself!" retorted the girl in a low, exasperated +voice. "He did not say what threatened you; he is a good friend for a +man to have. But we soon found out what you were--a man well born, well +bred, full of brilliant possibility, who was slowly becoming an idle, +cynical, self-centered egoist--a man who, lacking the lash of need or +the spur of ambition, was degenerating through the sheer uselessness and +inanity of his life. And, oh, the pity of it! For Mr. Keen and I have +taken a--a curiously personal interest in you--in your case. I say, the +pity of it!" + +Astounded, dumb under her stinging words, he rode beside her through the +brilliant sunshine, wheeled mechanically as she turned her horse, and +rode north again. + +"And now--_now_!" she said passionately, "you turn on the woman you +loved! Oh, you are not worth it!" + +"You are quite right," he said, turning very white under her scorn. +"Almost all you have said is true enough, I fancy. I amount to nothing; +I am idle, cynical, selfish. The emptiness of such a life requires a +stimulant; even a fool abhors a vacuum. So I drink--not so very much +yet--but more than I realize. And it is close enough to a habit to worry +me. . . . Yes, almost all you say is true; Kerns knows it; I know +it--now that you have told me. You see, he couldn't tell me, because I +should not have believed him. But I believe you--all you say, except one +thing. And that is only a glimmer of decency left in me--not that I make +any merit of it. No, it is merely instinctive. For I have _not_ turned +on the woman I loved." + +Her face was pale as her level eyes met him: + +"You said she was nothing to you. . . . Look there! Do you see her? Do +you see?" + +Her voice broke nervously as he swung around to stare at a rider bearing +down at a gallop--a woman on a big roan, tearing along through the +spring sunshine, passing them with wind-flushed cheeks and dark, +incurious eyes, while her powerful horse carried her on, away through +the quivering light and shadow of the woodland vista. + +"Is _that_ the person?" + +"Y-es," she faltered. "Was I wrong?" + +"Quite wrong, Miss Southerland." + +"But--but you said you had seen her here this morning!" + +"Yes, I have." + +"Did you speak to her before you met me?" + +"No--not before I met you." + +"Then you have not spoken to her. Is she still here in the Park?" + +"Yes, she is still here." + +The girl turned on him excitedly: "Do you mean to say that you will not +speak to her?" + +"I had rather not--" + +"And your happiness depends on your speaking?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it is cowardly not to speak." + +"Oh, yes, it is cowardly. . . . If you wish me to speak to her I will. +Shall I?" + +"Yes . . . Show her to me." + +"And you think that such a man as I am has a right to speak of love to +her?" + +"I--we believe it will be your salvation. Mr. Kerns says you must marry +her to be happy. Mr. Keen told me yesterday that it only needed a word +from the right woman to put you on your mettle. . . . And--and that is +my opinion." + +"Then in charity say that word!" he breathed, bending toward her. "Can't +you see? Can't you understand? Don't you know that from the moment I +looked into your eyes I loved you?" + +"How--how dare you!" she stammered, crimsoning. + +"God knows," he said wistfully. "I am a coward. I don't know how I +dared. Good-by. . . ." + +He walked his horse a little way, then launched him into a gallop, +tearing on and on, sun, wind, trees swimming, whirling like a vision, +hearing nothing, feeling nothing, save the leaden pounding of his pulse +and the breathless, terrible tightening in his throat. + +When he cleared his eyes and looked around he was quite alone, his horse +walking under the trees and breathing heavily. + +At first he laughed, and the laugh was not pleasant. Then he said aloud: +"It is worth having lived for, after all!"--and was silent. And again: +"I could expect nothing; she was perfectly right to side-step a fool. +. . . And _such_ a fool!" + +The distant gallop of a horse, dulled on the soft soil, but coming +nearer, could not arouse him from the bitter depths he had sunk in; not +even when the sound ceased beside him, and horse snorted recognition to +horse. It was only when a light touch rested on his arm that he looked +up heavily, caught his breath. + +"Where is the other--woman?" she gasped. + +"There never was any other." + +"You said--" + +"I said I loved my ideal. I did not know she existed--until I saw you." + +"Then--then we were searching for--" + +"A vision. But it was your face that haunted me. . . . And I am not +worth it, as you say. And I know it, . . . for you have opened my eyes." + +He drew bridle, forcing a laugh. "I cut a sorry figure in your life; be +patient; I am going out of it now." And he swung his horse. At the same +moment she did the same, making a demi-tour and meeting him halfway, +confronting him. + +"Do you--you mean to ride out of my life without a word?" she asked +unsteadily. + +"Good-by." He offered his hand, stirring his horse forward; she leaned +lightly over and laid both hands in his. Then, her face surging in +color, she lifted her beautiful dark eyes to his as the horses +approached, nearer, nearer, until, as they passed, flank brushing flank, +her eyes fell, then closed as she swayed toward him, and clung, her +young lips crushed to his. + +There was nobody to witness it except the birds and squirrels--nobody +but a distant mounted policeman, who almost fainted away in his saddle. + +Oh, it was awful, awful! Apparently she had been kissed speechless, for +she said nothing. The man fool did all the talking, incoherently enough, +but evidently satisfactory to her, judging from the way she looked at +him, and blushed and blushed, and touched her eyes with a bit of cambric +at intervals. + +All the policeman heard as they passed him was; "I'm going to give you +this horse, and Kerns is to give us our silver; and what do you think, +my darling?" + +"W-what?" + +But they had already passed out of earshot; and in a few moments the +shady, sun-flecked bridle path was deserted again save for the birds and +squirrels, and a single mounted policeman, rigid, wild eyed, twisting +his mustache and breathing hard. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The news of Gatewood's fate filled Kerns with a pleasure bordering upon +melancholy. It was his work; he had done it; it was good for Gatewood +too--time for him to stop his irresponsible cruise through life, lower +sail, heave to, set his signals, and turn over matters to this charming +pilot. + +And now they would come into port together and anchor somewhere east of +Fifth Avenue--which, Kerns reflected, was far more proper a place for +Gatewood than somewhere east of Suez, where young men so often sail. + +And yet, and yet there was something melancholy in the pleasure he +experienced. Gatewood was practically lost to him. He knew what might be +expected from engaged men and newly married men. Gatewood's club life +was ended--for a while; and there was no other man with whom he cared to +embark for those brightly lighted harbors twinkling east of Suez across +the metropolitan wastes. + +"It's very generous of me to get him married," he said frequently to +himself, rather sadly. "I did it pretty well, too. It only shows that +women have no particular monopoly in the realms of diplomacy and +finesse; in fact, if a man really chooses to put his mind to such +matters, he can make it no trumps and win out behind a bum ace and a +guarded knave." + +He was pleased with himself. He followed Gatewood about explaining how +good he had been to him. An enthusiasm for marrying off his friends +began to germinate within him; he tried it on Darrell, on Barnes, on +Yates, but was turned down and severely stung. + +Then one day Harren of the Philippine Scouts turned up at the club, and +they held a determined reunion until daylight, and they told each other +all about it all and what upper-cuts life had handed out to them since +the troopship sailed. + +And after the rosy glow had deepened to a more gorgeous hue in the room, +and the electric lights had turned into silver pinwheels; and after they +had told each other the story of their lives, and the last siphon fizzed +impotently when urged beyond its capacity, Kerns arose and extended his +hand, and Harren took it. And they executed a song resembling "Auld Lang +Syne." + +"Ole man," said Kerns reproachfully, "there's one thing you have been +deuced careful _not_ to mention, and that is about what happened to you +three years ago--" + +"Steady!" said Harren; "there is nothing to tell, Tommy." + +"Nothing?" + +"Nothing. I never saw her again. I never shall." + +Kerns looked long and unsteadily upon his friend; then very gravely +fumbled in his pocket and drew forth the business card of Westrel Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"That," he said, "will be about all." And he bestowed the card upon +Harren with magnificent condescension. + +And about five o'clock the following afternoon Harren found the card +among various effects of his, scattered over his dresser. + +It took him several days to make up his mind to pay any attention to the +card or the suggestion it contained. He scarcely considered it seriously +even when, passing along Fifth Avenue one sunny afternoon, he chanced to +glance up and see the sign + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +staring him in the face. + +He continued his stroll, but that evening, upon mere impulse, he sat +down and wrote a letter to Mr. Keen. + +The next morning's mail brought a reply and an appointment for an +interview on Wednesday week. Harren tossed the letter aside, satisfied +to let the matter go, because his leave expired on Tuesday, and the +appointment was impossible. + +On Sunday, however, the melancholy of the deserted club affected his +spirits. A curious desire to see this Tracer of Lost Persons seized him +with a persistence unaccountable. He slept poorly, haunted with visions. + +On Monday he went to see Mr. Keen. It could do no harm; it was too late +to do either harm or good, for his leave expired the next day at noon. + +The business of Keen & Co., Tracers of Lost Persons, had grown to +enormous proportions; appointments for a personal interview with Mr. +Keen were now made a week in advance, so when young Harren sent in his +card, the gayly liveried negro servant came back presently, threading +his way through the waiting throng with pomp and circumstance, and +returned the card to Harren with the date of appointment rewritten in +ink across the top. The day named was Wednesday. On Tuesday Harren's +leave expired. + +"That won't do," said the young man brusquely; "I must see Mr. Keen +to-day. I wrote last week for an appointment." + +The liveried darky was polite but obdurate. + +"Dis here am de 'pintment, suh," he explained persuasively. + +"But I want to see Mr. Keen at once," insisted Harren. + +"Hit ain't no use, suh," said the darky respectfully; "dey's mi'ions an' +mi'ions ob gemmen jess a-settin' roun' an' waitin' foh Mistuh Keen. In +dis here perfeshion, suh, de fustest gemman dat has a 'pintment is de +fustest gemman dat kin see Mistuh Keen. You is a military gemman +yohse'f, Cap'm Harren, an' you is aware dat precedence am de rigger." + +The bronzed young man smiled, glanced at the date of appointment written +on his card, which also bore his own name followed by the letters +U.S.A., then his amused gray eyes darkened and he glanced leisurely +around the room, where a dozen or more assorted people sat waiting their +turns to interview Mr. Keen: all sorts and conditions of people--smartly +gowned women, an anxious-browed business man or two, a fat German truck +driver, his greasy cap on his knees, a surly policeman, and an old +Irishwoman, wearing a shawl and an ancient straw bonnet. Harren's eyes +reverted to the darky. + +"You will explain to Mr. Keen," he said, "that I am an army officer on +leave, and that I am obliged to start for Manila to-morrow. This is my +excuse for asking an immediate interview; and if it's not a good enough +excuse I must cancel this appointment, that is all." + +The darky stood, irresolute, inclined to argue, but something in the +steel-gray eyes of the man set him in involuntary motion, and he went +away once more with the young man's message. Harren turned and walked +back to his seat. The old woman with the faded shawl was explaining +volubly to a handsomely gowned woman beside her that she was looking for +her boy, Danny; that her name was Mrs. Regan, and that she washed for +the aristocracy of Hunter's Point at a liberal price per dozen, using no +deleterious substances in the suds as Heaven was her witness. + +The German truck driver, moved by this confidence, was stirred to begin +an endless account of his domestic misfortunes, and old Mrs. Regan, +becoming impatient, had already begun to interrupt with an account of +Regan's recent hoisting on the wings of a premature petard, when the +dark servant reappeared. + +"Mistuh Keen will receive you, suh," he whispered, leading the way into +a large room where dozens of attractive young girls sat very busily +engaged at typewriting machines. Door after door they passed, all +numbered on the ground-glass panes, then swung to the right, where the +darky bowed him into a big, handsomely furnished room flooded with the +morning sun. A tall, gray man, faultlessly dressed in a gray frock suit +and wearing white spats, turned from the breezy, open window to inspect +him; the lean, well groomed, rather lank type of gentleman suggesting a +retired colonel of cavalry; unmistakably well bred from the ends of his +drooping gray mustache to the last button on his immaculate spats. + +"Captain Harren?" he said pleasantly. + +"Mr. Keen?" + +They bowed. Young Harren drew from his pocket a card. It was the +business card of Keen & Co., and, glancing up at Mr. Keen, he read it +aloud, carefully: + + KEEN & CO. + + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + + Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found. + + _Blanks on Application._ + + WESTREL KEEN, Manager. + +Harren raised his clear, gray eyes. "I assume this statement to be +correct, Mr. Keen?" + +"You may safely assume so," said Mr. Keen, smiling. + +"Does this statement include _all_ that you are prepared to undertake?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons inspected him coolly. "What more is there, +Captain Harren? I undertake to find lost people. I even undertake to +find the undiscovered ideals of young people who have failed to meet +them. What further field would you suggest?" Harren glanced at the card +which he held in his gloved hand; then, very slowly, he re-read, "the +whereabouts of anybody _on earth_," accenting the last two words +deliberately as he encountered Keen's piercing gaze again. + +"Well?" asked Mr. Keen laughingly, "is not that sufficient? Our clients +could scarcely expect us to invade heaven in our search for the +vanished." + +"There are other regions," said Harren. + +"_Ex_actly. Sit down, sir. There is a row of bookcases for your +amusement. Please help yourself while I clear decks for action." + +Harren stood fingering the card, his gray eyes lost in retrospection; +then he sauntered over to the bookcases, scanning the titles. The +Searcher for Lost Persons studied him for a moment or two, turned, and +began to pace the room. After a moment or two he touched a bell. A +sweet-faced young girl entered; she was gowned in black and wore a white +collar, and cuffs turned back over her hands. + +"Take this memorandum," he said. The girl picked up a pencil and pad, +and Mr. Keen, still pacing the room, dictated in a quiet voice as he +walked to and fro: + +"Mrs. Regan's Danny is doing six months in Butte, Montana. Break it to +her as mercifully as possible. He is a bad one. We make no charge. The +truck driver, Becker, can find his wife at her mother's house, Leonia, +New Jersey. Tell him to be less pig-headed or she'll go for good some +day. Ten dollars. Mrs. M., No. 36001, can find her missing butler in +service at 79 Vine Street, Hartford, Connecticut. She may notify the +police whenever she wishes. His portrait is No. 170529, Rogues' Gallery. +Five hundred dollars. Miss K. (No. 3679) may send her letter, care of +Cisneros & Co., Rio, where the person she is seeking has gone into the +coffee business. If she decides that she really does love him, he'll +come back fast enough. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Mr. W. (No. 3620) +must go to the morgue for further information. His repentance is too +late; but he can see that there is a decent burial. The charge: one +thousand dollars to the Florence Mission. You may add that we possess +his full record." + +The Tracer paused and waited for the stenographer to finish. When she +looked up: "Who else is waiting?" he asked. + +The girl read over the initials and numbers. + +"Tell that policeman that Kid Conroy sails on the _Carania_ to-morrow. +Fifty dollars. There is nothing definite in the other cases. Report +progress and send out a general alarm for the cashier inquired for by +No. 3608. You will find details in vol. xxxix under B." + +"Is that all, Mr. Keen?" + +"Yes. I'm going to be very busy with"--turning slowly toward +Harren--"with Captain Harren, of the Philippine Scouts, until +to-morrow--a very complicated case, Miss Borrow, involving cipher codes +and photography--" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Harren started, then walked slowly to the center of the room as the +pretty stenographer passed out with a curious level glance at him. + +"Why do you say that photography plays a part in my case?" he asked. + +"Doesn't it?" + +"Yes. But how--" + +"Oh, I only guessed it," said Keen with a smile. "I made another guess +that your case involved a cipher code. Does it?" + +"Y-es," said the young man, astonished, "but I don't see--" + +"It also involves the occult," observed Keen calmly. "We may need Miss +Borrow to help us." + +Almost staggered, Harren stared at the Tracer out of his astonished gray +eyes until that gentleman laughed outright and seated himself, motioning +Harren to do likewise. + +"Don't be surprised, Captain Harren," he said. "I suppose you have no +conception of our business, no realization of its scope--its network of +information bureaus all over the civilized world, its myriad sources of +information, the immensity of its delicate machinery, the endless data +and the infinitesimal details we have at our command. You, of course, +have no idea of the number of people of every sort and condition who are +in our employ, of the ceaseless yet inoffensive surveillance we +maintain. For example, when your letter came last week I called up the +person who has charge of the army list. There you were, Kenneth Harren, +Captain Philippine Scouts, with the date of your graduation from West +Point. Then I called up a certain department devoted to personal detail, +and in five minutes I knew your entire history. I then touched another +electric button, and in a minute I had before me the date of your +arrival in New York, your present address, and"--he looked up +quizzically at Harren--"and several items of general information, such +as your peculiar use of your camera, and the list of books on Psychical +Phenomena and Cryptograms which you have been buying--" + +Harren flushed up. "Do you mean to say that I have been spied upon, Mr. +Keen?" + +"No more than anybody else who comes to us as a client. There was +nothing offensive in the surveillance." He shrugged his shoulders and +made a deprecating gesture. "Ours is a business, my dear sir, like any +other. We, of course, are obliged to know about people who call on us. +Last week you wrote me, and I immediately set every wheel in motion; in +other words, I had you under observation from the day I received your +letter to this very moment." + +"You learned much concerning me?" asked Harren quietly. + +"_Ex_actly, my dear sir." + +"But," continued Harren with a touch of malice, "you didn't learn that +my leave is up to-morrow, did you?" + +"Yes, I learned that, too." + +"Then why did you give me an appointment for the day after to-morrow?" +demanded the young man bluntly. + +The Tracer looked him squarely in the eye. "Your leave is to be +extended," he said. + +"What?" + +"_Ex_actly. It has been extended one week." + +"How do you know that?" + +"You applied for extension, did you not?" + +"Yes," said Harren, turning red, "but I don't see how you knew that I--" + +"By cable?" + +"Y-yes." + +"There's a cablegram in your rooms at this very moment," said the +Tracer carelessly. "You have the extension you desired. And now, Captain +Harren," with a singularly pleasant smile, "what can I do to help you to +a pursuit of that true happiness which is guaranteed for all good +citizens under our Constitution?" + +Captain Harren crossed his long legs, dropping one knee over the other, +and deliberately surveyed his interrogator. + +"I really have no right to come to you," he said slowly. "Your +prospectus distinctly states that Keen & Co. undertake to find _live_ +people, and I don't know whether the person I am seeking is alive +or--or--" + +His steady voice faltered; the Tracer watched him curiously. + +"Of course, that is important," he said. "If she _is_ dead--" + +"_She_!" + +"Didn't you say 'she,' Captain?" + +"No, I did not." + +"I beg your pardon, then, for anticipating you," said the Tracer +carelessly. + +"Anticipating? _How_ do you know it is not a man I am in search of?" +demanded Harren. + +"Captain Harren, you are unmarried and have no son; you have no father, +no brother, no sister. Therefore I infer--several things--for example, +that you are in love." + +"I? In love?" + +"Desperately, Captain." + +"Your inferences seem to satisfy you, at least," said Harren almost +sullenly, "but they don't satisfy me--clever as they appear to be." + +"_Ex_actly. Then you are _not_ in love?" + +"I don't know whether I am or not." + +"I do," said the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Then you know more than I," retorted Harren sharply. + +"But that is my business--to know more than you do," returned Mr. Keen +patiently. "Else why are you here to consult me?" And as Harren made no +reply: "I have seen thousands and thousands of people in love. I have +reduced the superficial muscular phenomena and facial symptomatic aspect +of such people to an exact science founded upon a schedule approximating +the Bertillon system of records. And," he added, smiling, "out of the +twenty-seven known vocal variations your voice betrays twenty-five +unmistakable symptoms; and out of the sixteen reflex muscular symptoms +your face has furnished six, your hands three, your limbs and feet six. +Then there are other superficial symptoms--" + +"Good heavens!" broke in Harren; "how can you prove a man to be in love +when he himself doesn't know whether he is or not? If a man isn't in +love no Bertillon system can make him so; and if a man doesn't know +whether or not he is in love, who can tell him the truth?" + +"I can," said the Tracer calmly. + +"What! When I tell you I myself don't know?" + +"_That_," said the Tracer, smiling, "is the final and convincing +symptom. _You_ don't know. _I_ know because you _don't_ know. That is +the easiest way to be sure that you are in love, Captain Harren, because +you always are when you are not sure. You'd know if you were _not_ in +love. Now, my dear sir, you may lay your case confidently before me." + +Harren, unconvinced, sat frowning and biting his lip and twisting his +short, crisp mustache which the tropical sun had turned straw color and +curly. + +"I feel like a fool to tell you," he said. "I'm not an imaginative man, +Mr. Keen; I'm not fanciful, not sentimental. I'm perfectly healthy, +perfectly normal--a very busy man in my profession, with no time and no +inclination to fall in love." + +"Just the sort of man who does it," commented Keen. "Continue." + +Harren fidgeted about in his chair, looked out of the window, squinted +at the ceiling, then straightened up, folding his arms with sudden +determination. + +"I'd rather be boloed than tell you," he said. "Perhaps, after all, I +_am_ a lunatic; perhaps I've had a touch of the Luzon sun and don't know +it." + +"I'll be the judge," said the Tracer, smiling. + +"Very well, sir. Then I'll begin by telling you that I've seen a ghost." + +"There are such things," observed Keen quietly. + +"Oh, I don't mean one of those fabled sheeted creatures that float about +at night; I mean a phantom--a real phantom--in the sunlight--standing +before my very eyes in broad day! . . . Now do you feel inclined to go +on with my case, Mr. Keen?" + +"Certainly," replied the Tracer gravely. "Please continue, Captain +Harren." + +"All right, then. Here's the beginning of it: Three years ago, here in +New York, drifting along Fifth Avenue with the crowd, I looked up to +encounter the most wonderful pair of eyes that I ever beheld--that any +living man ever beheld! The most--wonderfully--beautiful--" + +He sat so long immersed in retrospection that the Tracer said: "I am +listening, Captain," and the Captain woke up with a start. + +"What was I saying? How far had I proceeded?" + +"Only to the eyes." + +"Oh, I see! The eyes were dark, sir, dark and lovely beyond any power of +description. The hair was also dark--very soft and thick and--er--wavy +and dark. The face was extremely youthful, and ornamental to the +uttermost verges of a beauty so exquisite that, were I to attempt to +formulate for you its individual attractions, I should, I fear, +transgress the strictly rigid bounds of that reticence which becomes a +gentleman in complete possession of his senses." + +"_Ex_actly," mused the Tracer. + +"Also," continued Captain Harren, with growing animation, "to attempt to +describe her figure would be utterly useless, because I am a practical +man and not a poet, nor do I read poetry or indulge in futile novels or +romances of any description. Therefore I can only add that it was a +figure, a poise, absolutely faultless, youthful, beautiful, erect, +wholesome, gracious, graceful, charmingly buoyant and--well, I cannot +describe her figure, and I shall not try." + +"_Ex_actly; don't try." + +"No," said Harren mournfully, "it is useless"; and he relapsed into +enchanted retrospection. + +"Who was she?" asked Mr. Keen softly. + +"I don't know." + +"You never again saw her?" + +"Mr. Keen, I--I am not ill-bred, but I simply could not help following +her. She was so b-b-beautiful that it hurt; and I only wanted to look at +her; I didn't mind being hurt. So I walked on and on, and sometimes I'd +pass her and sometimes I'd let her pass me, and when she wasn't looking +I'd look--not offensively, but just because I _couldn't_ help it. And +all the time my senses were humming like a top and my heart kept jumping +to get into my throat, and I hadn't a notion where I was going or what +time it was or what day of the week. She didn't see me; she didn't dream +that I was looking at her; she didn't know me from any of the thousand +silk-hatted, frock-coated men who passed and repassed her on Fifth +Avenue. And when she went into St. Berold's Church, I went, too, and I +stood where I could see her and where she couldn't see me. It was like a +touch of the Luzon sun, Mr. Keen. And then she came out and got into a +Fifth Avenue stage, and I got in, too. And whenever she looked away I +looked at her--without the slightest offense, Mr. Keen, until, once, she +caught my eye--" + +He passed an unsteady hand over his forehead. + +"For a moment we looked full at one another," he continued. "I got red, +sir; I felt it, and I couldn't look away. And when I turned color like a +blooming beet, she began to turn pink like a rosebud, and she looked +full into my eyes with such a wonderful purity, such exquisite +innocence, that I--I never felt so near--er--heaven in my life! No, sir, +not even when they ambushed us at Manoa Wells--but that's another +thing--only it is part of this business." + +He tightened his clasped hands over his knee until the knuckles +whitened. + +"_That's_ my story, Mr. Keen," he said crisply. + +"All of it?" + +Harren looked at the floor, then at Keen: "No, not all. You'll think me +a lunatic if I tell you all." + +"Oh, you saw her again?" + +"N-never! That is--" + +"Never?" + +"Not in--in the flesh." + +"Oh, in dreams?" + +Harren stirred uneasily. "I don't know what you call them. I have seen +her since--in the sunlight, in the open, in my quarters in Manila, +standing there perfectly distinct, looking at me with such strange, +beautiful eyes--" + +"Go on," said the Tracer, nodding. + +"What else is there to say?" muttered Harren. + +"You saw her--or a phantom which resembled her. Did she speak?" + +"No." + +"Did you speak to her?" + +"N-no. Once I held out my--my arms." + +"What happened?" + +"She wasn't there," said Harren simply. + +"She vanished?" + +"No--I don't know. I--I didn't see her any more." + +"Didn't she fade?" + +"No. I can't explain. She--there was only myself in the room." + +"How many times has she appeared to you?" + +"A great many times." + +"In your room?" + +"Yes. And in the road under a vertical sun; in the forest, in the paddy +fields. I have seen her passing through the hallway of a friend's +house--turning on the stair to look back at me! I saw her standing just +back of the firing-line at Manoa Wells when we were preparing to rush +the forts, and it scared me so that I jumped forward to draw her back. +But--she wasn't there, Mr. Keen. . . . + +"On the transport she stood facing me on deck one moonlit evening for +five minutes. I saw her in 'Frisco; she sat in the Pullman twice between +Denver and this city. Twice in my room at the Vice-Regent she has sat +opposite me at midday, so clear, so beautiful, so real that--that I +could scarcely believe she was only a--a--" He hesitated. + +"The apparition of her own subconscious self," said the Tracer quietly. +"Science has been forced to admit such things, and, as you know, we are +on the verge of understanding the alphabet of some of the unknown forces +which we must some day reckon with." + +Harren, tense, a trifle pale, gazed at him earnestly. + +"Do _you_ believe in such things?" + +"How can I avoid believing?" said the Tracer. "Every day, in my +profession, we have proof of the existence of forces for which we have +as yet no explanation--or, at best, a very crude one. I have had case +after case of premonition; case after case of dual and even multiple +personality; case after case where apparitions played a vital part in +the plot which was brought to me to investigate. I'll tell you this, +Captain: I, personally, never saw an apparition, never was obsessed by +premonitions, never received any communications from the outer void. But +I have had to do with those who undoubtedly did. Therefore I listen with +all seriousness and respect to what you tell me." + +"Suppose," said Harren, growing suddenly red, "that I should tell you I +have succeeded in photographing this phantom." + +The Tracer sat silent. He was astounded, but, he did not betray it. + +"You have that photograph, Captain Harren?" + +"Yes." + +"Where is it?" + +"In my rooms." + +"You wish me to see it?" + +Harren hesitated. "I--there is--seems to be--something almost sacred to +me in that photograph. . . . You understand me, do you not? Yet, if it +will help you in finding her--" + +"Oh," said the Tracer in guileless astonishment, "you desire to find +this young lady. Why?" + +Harren stared. "Why? Why do I want to find her? Man, I--I can't live +without her!" + +"I thought you were not certain whether you really could be in love." + +The hot color in the Captain's bronzed cheeks mounted to his hair. + +"_Ex_actly," purred the Tracer, looking out of the window. "Suppose we +walk around to your rooms after luncheon. Shall we?" + +Harren picked up his hat and gloves, hesitating, lingering on the +threshold. "You _don't_ think she is--a--dead?" he asked unsteadily. + +"No," said Mr. Keen, "I don't." + +"Because," said Harren wistfully, "her apparition is so superbly healthy +and--and glowing with youth and life--" + +"That is probably what sent it half the world over to confront you," +said the Tracer gravely; "youth and life aglow with spiritual health. I +think, Captain, that she has been seeing you, too, during these three +years, but probably only in her dreams--memories of your encounters with +her subconscious self floating over continents and oceans in a quest of +which her waking intelligence is innocently unaware." + +The Captain colored like a schoolboy, lingering at the door, hat in +hand. Then he straightened up to the full height of his slim but +powerful figure. + +"At three?" he inquired bluntly. + +"At three o'clock in your room, Hotel Vice-Regent. Good morning, +Captain." + +"Good morning," said Harren dreamily, and walked away, head bent, gray +eyes lost in retrospection, and on his lean, bronzed, attractive face an +afterglow of color wholly becoming. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +When the Tracer of Lost Persons entered Captain Harren's room at the +Hotel Vice-Regent that afternoon he found the young man standing at a +center table, pencil in hand, studying a sheet of paper which was +covered with letters and figures. + +The two men eyed one another in silence for a moment, then Harren +pointed grimly to the confusion of letters and figures covering dozens +of scattered sheets lying on the table. + +"That's part of my madness," he said with a short laugh. "Can you make +anything of such lunatic work?" + +The Tracer picked up a sheet of paper covered with letters of the +alphabet and Roman and Arabic numerals. He dropped it presently and +picked up another comparatively blank sheet, on which were the following +figures: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +He studied it for a while, then glanced interrogatively at Harren. + +"It's nothing," said Harren. "I've been groping for three years--but +it's no use. That's lunatics' work." He wheeled squarely on his heels, +looking straight at the Tracer. "_Do_ you think I've had a touch of the +sun?" + +"No," said Mr. Keen, drawing a chair to the table. "Saner men than you +or I have spent a lifetime over this so-called Seal of Solomon." He laid +his finger on the two symbols-- + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +Then, looking across the table at Harren: "What," he asked, "has the +Seal of Solomon to do with your case?" + +"_She_--" muttered Harren, and fell silent. + +The Tracer waited; Harren said nothing. + +"Where is the photograph?" + +Harren unlocked a drawer in the table, hesitated, looked strangely at +the Tracer. + +"Mr. Keen," he said, "there is nothing on earth I hold more sacred than +this. There is only one thing in the world that could justify me in +showing it to a living soul--my--my desire to find--her--" + +"No," said Keen coolly, "that is not enough to justify you--the mere +desire to find the living original of this apparition. Nothing could +justify your showing it unless you love her." + +Harren held the picture tightly, staring full at the Tracer. A dull +flush mounted to his forehead, and very slowly he laid the picture +before the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +Minute after minute sped while the Tracer bent above the photograph, his +finely modeled features absolutely devoid of expression. Harren had +drawn his chair beside him, and now sat leaning forward, bronzed cheek +resting in his hand, staring fixedly at the picture. + +"When was this--this photograph taken?" asked the Tracer quietly. + +"The day after I arrived in New York. I was here, alone, smoking my pipe +and glancing over the evening paper just before dressing for dinner. It +was growing rather dark in the room; I had not turned on the electric +light. My camera lay on the table--there it is!--that kodak. I had taken +a few snapshots on shipboard; there was one film left." + +He leaned more heavily on his elbow, eyes fixed upon the picture. + +"It was almost dark," he repeated. "I laid aside the evening paper and +stood up, thinking about dressing for dinner, when my eyes happened to +fall on the camera. It occurred to me that I might as well unload it, +let the unused film go, and send the roll to be developed and printed; +and I picked up the camera--" + +"Yes," said the Tracer softly. + +"I picked it up and was starting toward the window where there remained +enough daylight to see by--" + +The Tracer nodded gently. + +"Then I saw _her_!" said Harren under his breath. + +"Where?" + +"There--standing by that window. You can see the window and curtain in +the photograph." + +The Tracer gazed intently at the picture. + +"She looked at me," said Harren, steadying his voice. "She was as real +as you are, and she stood there, smiling faintly, her dark, lovely eyes +meeting mine." + +"Did you speak?" + +"No." + +"How long did she remain there?" + +"I don't know--time seemed to stop--the world--everything grew still. +. . . Then, little by little, something began to stir under my stunned +senses--that germ of misgiving, that dreadful doubt of my own sanity. +. . . I scarcely knew what I was doing when I took the photograph; +besides, it had grown quite dark, and I could scarcely see her." He drew +himself erect with a nervous movement. "How on earth could I have +obtained that photograph of her in the darkness?" he demanded. + +"N-rays," said the Tracer coolly. "It has been done in France." + +"Yes, from living people, but--" + +"What the N-ray is in living organisms, we must call, for lack of a +better term, the subaura in the phantom." + +They bent over the photograph together. Presently the Tracer said: "She +is very, very beautiful?" + +Harren's dry lips unclosed, but he uttered no sound. + +"She is beautiful, is she not?" repeated the Tracer, turning to look at +the young man. + +"Can you not see she is?" he asked impatiently. + +"No," said the Tracer. + +Harren stared at him. + +"Captain Harren," continued the Tracer, "I can see nothing upon this bit +of paper that resembles in the remotest degree a human face or figure." + +Harren turned white. + +"Not that I doubt that _you_ can see it," pursued the Tracer calmly. "I +simply repeat that I see absolutely nothing on this paper except a part +of a curtain, a window pane, and--and--" + +"What! for God's sake!" cried Harren hoarsely. + +"I don't know yet. Wait; let me study it." + +"Can you not see her face, her eyes? _Don't_ you see that exquisite slim +figure standing there by the curtain?" demanded Harren, laying his +shaking finger on the photograph. "Why, man, it is as clear, as clean +cut, as distinct as though the picture had been taken in sunlight! Do +you mean to say that there is nothing there--that I am crazy?" + +"No. Wait." + +"Wait! How can I wait when you sit staring at her picture and telling me +that you can't see it, but that it is doubtless there? Are you deceiving +me, Mr. Keen? Are you trying to humor me, trying to be kind to me, +knowing all the while that I'm crazy--" + +"Wait, man! You are no more crazy than I am. I tell you that I can see +something on the window pane--" + +He suddenly sprang up and walked to the window, leaning close and +examining the glass. Harren followed and laid his hand lightly over the +pane. + +"Do you see any marks on the glass?" demanded Keen. + +Harren shook his head. + +"Have you a magnifying glass?" asked the Tracer. + +Harren pointed back to the table, and they returned to the photograph, +the Tracer bending over it and examining it through the glass. + +"All I see," he said, still studying the photograph, "is a corner of a +curtain and a window on which certain figures seem to have been cut. +. . . Look, Captain Harren, can you see them?" + +"I see some marks--some squares." + +"You can't see anything written on that pane--as though cut by a +diamond?" + +"Nothing distinct." + +"But you see _her_?" + +"Perfectly." + +"In minute detail?" + +"Yes." + +The Tracer thought a moment: "Does she wear a ring?" + +"Yes; can't you see?" + +"Draw it for me." + +They seated themselves side by side, and Harren drew a rough sketch of +the ring which he insisted was so plainly visible on her hand: + +[Illustration: Ring with an X] + +"Oh," observed the Tracer, "she wears the Seal of Solomon on her ring." + +Harren looked up at him. "That symbol has haunted me persistently for +three years," he said. "I have found it everywhere--on articles that I +buy, on house furniture, on the belts of dead ladrones, on the hilts of +creeses, on the funnels of steamers, on the headstalls of horses. If +they put a laundry mark on my linen it's certain to be this! If I buy a +box of matches the sign is on it. Why, I've even seen it on the +brilliant wings of tropical insects. It's got on my nerves. I dream +about it." + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"And you buy books about it and try to work out its mystical meaning?" +suggested the Tracer, smiling. + +But Harren's gray eyes were serious. He said: "_She_ never comes to me +without that symbol somewhere about her. . . . I told you she never +spoke to me. That is true; yet once, in a vivid dream of her, she did +speak. I--I was almost ashamed to tell you of that." + +"Tell me." + +"A--a dream? Do you wish to know what I dreamed?" + +"Yes--if it was a dream." + +"It was. I was asleep on the deck of the _Mindinao_, dead tired after a +fruitless hike. I dreamed she came toward me through a young woodland +all lighted by the sun, and in her hands she held masses of that wild +flower we call Solomon's Seal. And she said--in the voice I know must be +like hers: 'If you could only read! If you would only understand the +message I send you! It is everywhere on earth for you to read, if you +only would!' + +"I said: 'Is the message in the seal? Is that the key to it?' + +"She nodded, laughing, burying her face in the flowers, and said: + +"'Perhaps I can write it more plainly for you some day; I will try very, +very hard.' + +"And after that she went away--not swiftly--for I saw her at moments far +away in the woods; but I must have confused her with the glimmering +shafts of sunlight, and in a little while the woodland grew dark and I +woke with the racket of a Colt's automatic in my ears." + +He passed his sun-bronzed hand over his face, hesitated, then leaned +over the photograph once more, which the Tracer was studying intently +through the magnifying glass. + +"There is something on that window in the photograph which I'm going to +copy," he said. "Please shove a pad and pencil toward me." + +Still examining the photograph through the glass which he held in his +right hand, Mr. Keen picked up the pencil and, feeling for the pad, +began very slowly to form the following series of symbols: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +"What on earth are you doing?" muttered Captain Harren, twisting his +short mustache in perplexity. + +"I am copying what I see through this magnifying glass written on the +window pane in the photograph," said the Tracer calmly. "Can't you see +those marks?" + +"I--I do now; I never noticed them before particularly--only that there +were scratches there." + +When at length the Tracer had finished his work he sat, chin on hand, +examining it in silence. Presently he turned toward Harren, smiling. + +"Well?" inquired the younger man impatiently; "do those scratches +representing Solomon's Seal mean anything?" + +"It's the strangest cipher I ever encountered," said Mr. Keen--"the +strangest I ever heard of. I have seen hundreds of +ciphers--hundreds--secret codes of the State Department, secret military +codes, elaborate Oriental ciphers, symbols used in commercial +transactions, symbols used by criminals and every species of malefactor. +And every one of them can be solved with time and patience and a little +knowledge of the subject. But this"--he sat looking at it with eyes half +closed--"this is _too_ simple." + +"Simple!" + +"Very. It's so simple that it's baffling." + +"Do you mean to say you are going to be able to find a meaning in +squares and crosses?" + +"I--I don't believe it is going to be so very difficult to translate +them." + +"Great guns!" said the Captain. "Do you mean to say that you can +ultimately translate that cipher?" + +The Tracer smiled. "Let's examine it for repetitions first. Here we have +this symbol + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +repeated five times. It's likely to be the letter E. I think--" His +voice ceased; for a quarter of an hour he pored over the symbols, pencil +in hand, checking off some, substituting a letter here and there. + +"No," he said; "the usual doesn't work in this case. It's an absurdly +simple cipher. I have a notion that numbers play a part in it--you see +where these crossed squares are bracketed--those must be numbers +requiring two figures--" + +He fell silent again, and for another quarter of an hour he remained +motionless, immersed in the problem before him, Harren frowning at the +paper over his shoulder. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +"Come!" said the Tracer suddenly; "this won't do. There are too few +symbols to give us a key; too few repetitions to furnish us with any key +basis. Come, Captain, let us use our intellects; let us talk it over +with that paper lying there between us. It's a simple cipher--a +childishly simple one if we use our wits. Now, sir, what I see repeated +before us on this sheet of paper is merely one of the forms of a symbol +known as Solomon's Seal. The symbol is, as we see, repeated a great many +times. Every seal has been dotted or crossed on some one of the lines +composing it; some seals are coupled with brackets and armatures." + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"What of it?" inquired Harren vacantly. + +"Well, sir, in the first place, that symbol is supposed to represent the +spiritual and material, as you know. What else do you know about it?" + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"Nothing. I bought a book about it, but made nothing of it." + +"Isn't it supposed," asked Mr. Keen, "to contain within itself the nine +numerals, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and even the zero symbol?" + +"I believe so." + +"_Ex_actly. Here's the seal + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Now I'll mark the one, two, and three by crossing the lines, like this: + +one, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +two, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +three, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Now, eliminating all lines not crossed there remains + +the one, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +the two, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +the three, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +And here is the entire series: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +and the zero--" + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +A sudden excitement stirred Harren; he leaned over the paper, gazing +earnestly at the cipher; the Tracer rose and glanced around the room as +though in search of something. + +"Is there a telephone here?" he asked. + +"For Heaven's sake, don't give this up just yet," exclaimed Harren. +"These things mean numbers; don't you see? Look at that!" pointing to a +linked pair of seals, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"That means the number nineteen! You can form it by using only the +crossed lines of the seal. + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Don't you see, Mr. Keen?" + +"Yes, Captain Harren, the cipher is, as you say, very plain; quite as +easy to read as so much handwriting. That is why I wish to use your +telephone--at once, if you please." + +"It's in my bedroom; you don't mind if I go on working out this cipher +while you're telephoning?" + +"Not in the least," said the Tracer blandly. He walked into the +Captain's bedroom, closing the door behind him; then he stepped over to +the telephone, unhooked the receiver, and called up his own +headquarters. + +"Hello. This is Mr. Keen. I want to speak to Miss Borrow." + +In a few moments Miss Borrow answered: "I am here, Mr. Keen." + +"Good. Look up the name Inwood. Try New York first--Edith Inwood is the +name. Look sharp, please; I am holding the wire." + +He held it for ten full minutes; then Miss Borrow's low voice called him +over the wire. + +"Go ahead," said the Tracer quietly. + +"There is only one Edith Inwood in New York, Mr. Keen--Miss Edith +Inwood, graduate of Barnard, 1902--left an orphan 1903 and obliged to +support herself--became an assistant to Professor Boggs of the Museum of +Inscriptions. Is considered an authority upon Arabian cryptograms. Has +written a monograph on the Herati symbol--a short treatise on the +Swastika. She is twenty-four years of age. Do you require further +details?" + +"No," said the Tracer; "please ring off." + +Then he called up General Information. "I want the Museum of +Inscriptions. Get me their number, please." After a moment: "Is this the +Museum of Inscriptions?" + + * * * * * + +"Is Professor Boggs there?" + + * * * * * + +"Is this Professor Boggs?" + + * * * * * + +"Could you find time to decipher an inscription for me at once?" + + * * * * * + +"Of course I know you are extremely busy, but have you no assistant who +could do it?" + + * * * * * + +"What did you say her name is? Miss Inwood?" + + * * * * * + +"Oh! And will the young lady translate the inscription at once if I send +a copy of it to her by messenger?" + + * * * * * + +"Thank you very much, Professor. I will send a messenger to Miss Inwood +with a copy of the inscription. Good-by." + +He hung up the receiver, turned thoughtfully, opened the door again, and +walked into the sunlit living room. + +"Look here!" cried the Captain in a high state of excitement. "I've got +a lot of numbers out of it already." + +"Wonderful!" murmured the Tracer, looking over the young man's broad +shoulders at a sheet of paper bearing these numbers: + +9--14--5--22--5--18--19--1--23--25--15--21--2--21--20--15--14--3--5-- +9--12--15--22--5--25--15--21--5--4--9--20--8--9--14--23--15--15--4. + +"Marvelous!" repeated the Tracer, smiling. "Now what _do_ you suppose +those numbers can stand for?" + +"Letters!" announced the Captain triumphantly. "Take the number nine, +for example. The ninth letter in the alphabet is I! Mr. Keen, suppose we +try writing down the letters according to that system!" + +"Suppose we do," agreed the Tracer gravely. + +So, counting under his breath, the young man set down the letters in the +following order, not attempting to group them into words: + +INEVERSAWYOUBUTONCEILOVEYOUEDITHINWOOD. + +Then he leaned back, excited, triumphant. + +"There you are!" he said; "only, of course, it makes no sense." He +examined it in silence, and gradually a hopeless expression effaced the +animation. "How the deuce am I going to separate that mass of letters +into words?" he muttered. + +"This way," said the Tracer, smilingly taking the pencil from his +fingers, and he wrote: I--NEVER--SAW--YOU--BUT--ONCE. I--LOVE--YOU. +EDITH INWOOD. + +Then he laid the pencil on the table and walked to the window. + +Once or twice he fancied that he heard incoherent sounds behind him. +And after a while he turned, retracing his steps leisurely. Captain +Harren, extremely pink, stood tugging at his short mustache and studying +the papers on the desk. + +"Well?" inquired the Tracer, amused. + +The young man pointed to the translation with unsteady finger. "W-what +on earth does that mean?" he demanded shakily. "Who is Edith Inwood? +W-what on earth does that cryptogram mean on the window pane in the +photograph? How did it come there? It isn't on my window pane, you see!" + +The Tracer said quietly: "That is not a photograph of your window." + +"What!" + +"No, Captain. Here! Look at it closely through this glass. There are +sixteen small panes in that sash; now count the panes in your +window--eight! Besides, look at that curtain. It is made of some figured +stuff like chintz. Now, look at your own curtain yonder! It is of plain +velour." + +"But--but I took that photograph! She stood there--there by that very +window!" + +The Tracer leaned over the photograph, examining it through the glass. +And, studying it, he said: "Do you still see _her_ in this photograph, +Captain Harren?" + +"Certainly. Can you not see her?" + +"No," murmured the Tracer, "but I see the window which she really stood +by when her phantom came here seeking you. And that is sufficient. Come, +Captain Harren, we are going out together." + +The Captain looked at him earnestly; something in Mr. Keen's eyes seemed +to fascinate him. + +"You think that--that it's likely we are g-going to see--_her_!" he +faltered. + +"If I were you," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, joining the tips of +his lean fingers meditatively--"If I were you I should wear a silk hat +and a frock coat. It's--it's afternoon, anyhow," he added deprecatingly, +"and we are liable to make a call." + +Captain Harren turned like a man in a dream and entered his bedroom. And +when he emerged he was dressed and groomed with pathetic precision. + +"Mr. Keen," he said, "I--I don't know why I am d-daring to hope for all +s-sorts of things. Nothing you have said really warrants it. But somehow +I'm venturing to cherish an absurd notion that I may s-see her." + +"Perhaps," said the Tracer, smiling. + +"Mr. Keen! You wouldn't say that if--if there was no chance, would you? +You wouldn't dash a fellow's hopes--" + +"No, I wouldn't," said Mr. Keen. "I tell you frankly that I expect to +find her." + +"To-day?" + +"We'll see," said Mr. Keen guardedly. "Come, Captain, don't look that +way! Courage, sir! We are about to execute a turning movement; but you +look like a Russian general on his way to the south front." + +Harren managed to laugh; they went out, side by side, descended the +elevator, and found a cab at the _porte-cochère_. Mr. Keen gave the +directions and followed the Captain into the cab. + +"Now," he said, as they wheeled south, "we are first going to visit the +Museum of Inscriptions and have this cipher translation verified. Here +is the cipher as I copied it. Hold it tightly, Captain; we've only a few +blocks to drive." + +Indeed they were already nearly there. The hansom drew up in front of a +plain granite building wedged in between some rather elaborate private +dwelling-houses. Over the door were letters of dull bronze: + + AMERICAN MUSEUM OF INSCRIPTIONS + +and the two men descended and entered a wide marble hall lined with +glass-covered cabinets containing plaster casts of various ancient +inscriptions and a few bronze and marble originals. Several female +frumps were nosing the exhibits. + +An attendant in livery stood in the middle distance. The Tracer walked +over to him. "I have an appointment to consult Miss Inwood," he +whispered. + +"This way, sir," nodded the attendant, and the Tracer signaled the +Captain to follow. + +They climbed several marble stairways, crossed a rotunda, and entered a +room--a sort of library. Beyond was a door which bore the inscription: + + ASSISTANT CURATOR + +"Now," said the Tracer of Lost Persons in a low voice to Captain Harren, +"I am going to ask you to sit here for a few minutes while I interview +the assistant curator. You don't mind, do you?" + +"No, I don't mind," said Harren wearily, "only, when are we going to +begin to search for--_her_?" + +"Very soon--I may say extremely soon," said Mr. Keen gravely. "By the +way, I think I'll take that sheet of paper on which I copied the cipher. +Thank you. I won't be long." + +The attendant had vanished. Captain Harren sat down by a window and +gazed out into the late afternoon sunshine. The Tracer of Lost Persons, +treading softly across the carpeted floor, approached the sanctuary, +turned the handle, and walked in, carefully closing the door behind him. + +There was a young girl seated at a desk by an open window; she looked up +quietly as he entered, then rose leisurely. + +"Miss Inwood?" + +"Yes." + +She was slender, dark-eyed, dark-haired--a lovely, wholesome young +creature; gracious and graceful. And that was all--for the Tracer of +Lost Persons could not see through the eyes of Captain Harren, and +perhaps that is why he was not able to discern a miracle of beauty in +the pretty girl who confronted him--no magic and matchless marvel of +transcendent loveliness--only a quiet, sweet-faced, dark-eyed young girl +whose features and figure were attractive in the manner that youth is +always attractive. But then it is a gift of the gods to see through eyes +anointed by the gods. + +The Tracer touched his gray mustache and bowed; the girl bowed very +sweetly. + +"You are Mr. Keen," she said; "you have an inscription for me to +translate." + +"A mystery for young eyes to interpret," he said, smiling. "May I sit +here--and tell my story before I show you my inscription?" + +"Please do," she said, seating herself at her desk and facing him, one +slender white hand supporting the oval of her face. + +The Tracer drew his chair a little forward. "It is a curious matter," he +said. "May I give you a brief outline of the details?" + +"By all means, Mr. Keen." + +"Then let me begin by saying that the inscription of which I have a copy +was probably scratched upon a window pane by means of a diamond." + +"Oh! Then--then it is not an ancient inscription, Mr. Keen." + +"The theme is ancient--the oldest theme in the world--love! The cipher +is old--as old as King Solomon." She looked up quickly. The Tracer, +apparently engrossed in his own story, went on with it. "Three years ago +the young girl who wrote this inscription upon the window pane of +her--her bedroom, I think it was--fell in love. Do you follow me, Miss +Inwood?" + +Miss Inwood sat very still--wide, dark eyes fixed on him. + +"Fell in love," repeated the Tracer musingly, "not in the ordinary way. +That is the point, you see. No, she fell in love at first sight; fell +in love with a young man whom she never before had seen, never again +beheld--and never forgot. Do you still follow me, Miss Inwood?" + +She made the slightest motion with her lips. + +"No," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, "she never forgot him. I am not +sure, but I think she sometimes dreamed of him. She dreamed of him +awake, too. Once she inscribed a message to him, cutting it with the +diamond in her ring on the window pane--" + +A slight sound escaped from Miss Inwood's lips. "I beg your pardon," +said the Tracer, "did you say something?" + +The girl had risen, pale, astounded, incredulous. + +"Who are you?" she faltered. "What has this--this story to do with me?" + +"Child," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, "the Seal of Solomon is a +splendid mystery. All of heaven and earth are included within its +symbol. And more, more than you dream of, more than I dare fathom; and I +am an old man, my child--old, alone, with nobody to fear for, nothing to +dread, not even the end of all--because I am ready for that, too. Yet I, +having nothing on earth to dread, dare not fathom what that symbol may +mean, nor what vast powers it may exert on life. God knows. It may be +the very signet of Fate itself; the sign manual of Destiny." + +He drew the paper from his pocket, unrolled it, and spread it out under +her frightened eyes. + +"_That!_" she whispered, steadying herself blindly against the arm he +offered. She stood a moment so, then, shuddering, covered her eyes with +both hands. The Tracer of Lost Persons looked at her, turned and opened +the door. + +"Captain Harren!" he called quietly. Harren, pacing the anteroom, turned +and came forward. As he entered the door he caught sight of the girl +crouching by the window, her face hidden in her hands, and at the same +moment she dropped her hands and looked straight at him. + +"_You!_" she gasped. + +The Tracer of Lost Persons stepped out, closing the door. For a moment +he stood there, tall, gaunt, gray, staring vacantly into space. + +"She _was_ beautiful--when she looked at him," he muttered. + +For another minute he stood there, hesitating, glancing backward at the +closed door. Then he went away, stooping slightly, his top hat held +close against the breast of his tightly buttoned frock coat. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +During his first year of wedded bliss, Gatewood cut the club. When Kerns +wanted to see him he had to call like other people or, like other +people, accept young Mrs. Gatewood's invitations. + +"Why," said Gatewood scornfully, "should I, thirty-four years of age and +safely married, go to a club? Why should I, at my age, idle with a lot +of idlers and listen to stuffy stories from stuffier individuals? Do you +think that stale tobacco smoke, and the idiotically reiterated click of +billiard balls, and the vacant stare of the fashionably brainless, and +the meaningless exchange of banalities with the intellectually aimless +have any attractions for me?" + +Mrs. Gatewood raised her pretty eyes in silence; Kerns returned her +amused gaze rather blankly. + +"Clubs!" sniffed Gatewood. "What are clubs but pretexts for wasting +time? What mental, what spiritual stimulus can a man expect to find in a +club? Why, Kerns, when I look back a year and think what I was, and when +I look at you and think what you still are--" + +"John," said Mrs. Gatewood softly. + +"Oh, he knows it!" insisted her husband, "don't you, Tommy? You know the +sort of life you're leading, don't you? You know what a miserable, +aimless, selfish, unambitious, pitiable existence an unmarried man leads +who lives at his club; don't you?" + +"Certainly," said Kerns, blinking into the smiling gaze of Mrs. +Gatewood. + +"Then why don't you marry?" + +But Kerns had risen and was making his adieus with cheerful decision; +and Mrs. Gatewood was laughing as she gave him her slender hand. + +"Now I know a girl--" began Gatewood; but his wife was still speaking to +Kerns, so he circled around them, politely suppressing the excitement of +a sudden idea struggling for utterance. + +Mrs. Gatewood was saying: "I do wish John would go to his clubs +occasionally. Because a man is married is no reason for his losing touch +with his clubs--" + +"I know a girl," broke in Gatewood excitedly, laying his arm on Kerns's +to detain him; but Kerns slid sideways through the door with a smile so +noncommittal that Mrs. Gatewood laughed again and, linking her arm in +her husband's, faced partly toward him. This maneuver, and the +slightest pressure of her shoulder, obliged her husband to begin a +turning movement, so that Kerns might reasonably make his escape in the +middle of Gatewood's sentence; which he did with nimble and circumspect +agility. + +"I--I know a--" began Gatewood desperately, twisting his head over his +shoulder, only to hear the deadened patter of his friend's feet over the +velvet stair carpet and the subdued clang of the front door. + +"Isn't it extraordinary?" he said to his wife. "I've been trying to tell +Tommy, every time he comes here, about a girl I know--just the very girl +he ought to marry; and something prevents him from listening every +time." + +The attractive young matron beside him turned her face so that her eyes +were directly in line with his. + +"Did you ever know any people named Manners?" she asked. + +"No. Why?" + +"You never knew a girl named Marjorie Manners, did you, John?" + +"No. What about her?" + +"You never heard Mr. Kerns speak of her, did you, dear?" + +"No, never. Tommy doesn't talk about girls." + +"You never heard him speak of a Mrs. Stanley?" + +"Never. Who are these two women?" + +"One and the same, dear. Marjorie Manners married an Englishman named +Stanley six years ago. Do you happen to recollect that Mr. Kerns took +his vacation in England six years ago?" + +"Yes. What of it?" + +"He crossed to Southampton with Marjorie and her mother. He didn't know +she was going over to be married, and she didn't tell him. She wrote to +me about it, though. I was in school at Farmington; she left school to +marry--a mere child of eighteen, undeveloped for her age, thin, almost +scrawny, with pipe-stem arms and neck, red hair, a very sweet, +full-lipped mouth, and gray eyes that were too big for her face." + +"Well," said Gatewood with a short laugh, "what about it? You don't +think Kerns fell in love with an insect of that genus, do you?" + +"Yes, I do," smiled Mrs. Gatewood. + +"Nonsense. Besides, what of it? She's married, you say." + +"Her husband died of enteric at Ladysmith. She wrote me. She has never +remarried. Think of it, John--in all these years she has never +remarried!" + +"Oh!" said Gatewood pityingly; "do you really suppose that Tommy Kerns +has been nursing a blighted affection all these years without ever +giving _me_ an inkling? Besides, men don't do that; men don't curl up +and blight. Besides, men don't take any stock in big-eyed, flat-chested, +red-headed pipe stems. Why do you think that Kerns ever cared for her?" + +"I know he did." + +"How do you know it?" + +"From Marjorie's letters." + +"The conceited kid! Well, of all insufferable nerve! A man like Kerns--a +man--one of the finest, noblest characters--spiritually, intellectually, +physically--a practically faultless specimen of manhood! And a +red-headed, spindle-legged--Oh, my! Oh, fizz! Dearest, men don't worship +a cage of bones with an eighteen-year-old soul in it--like a nervous +canary pecking out at the world!" + +"She created a furor in England," observed his wife, smiling. + +"Oh, I dare say she might over there. Besides, she's doubtless fattened +up since then. But if you suppose for one moment that Tommy could even +remember a girl like that--" + +Mrs. Gatewood smiled again--the wise, sweet smile of a young matron in +whom her husband's closest friend had confided. And after a moment or +two the wise smile became more thoughtful and less assured; for that +very day the Tracer of Lost Persons had called on her to inquire about a +Mrs. Stanley--a new client of his who had recently bought a town house +in East Eighty-third Street and a country house on Long Island; and who +had applied to him to find her fugitive butler and a pint or two of +family jewels. And, after her talk with the Tracer of Lost Persons, Mrs. +Gatewood knew that her favorite among all her husband's friends, Mr. +Kerns, would never of his own volition go near that same Marjorie +Manners who had flirted with him to the very perilous verge before she +told him why she was going to England--and who, now a widow, had +returned with her five-year-old daughter to dwell once more in the city +of her ancestors. + +Kerns had said very simply: "She has spoiled women for me--all except +you, Mrs. Gatewood. And if Jack hadn't married you--" + +"I understand, Mr. Kerns. I'm awfully sorry." + +"Don't feel sorry; only, if you can, call Jack off. He's been perfectly +possessed to marry me to somebody ever since he married you. And if I +told him why I don't care to consider the matter he wouldn't believe +me--he'd spend his life in trying to bring me around. Besides, I +couldn't ever tell him about--Marjorie Manners. Anyhow, nothing on earth +could ever induce me to look at her again. . . . You say she is now a +widow?" + +"Yes, Mr. Kerns, and very beautiful." + +"Never again," muttered Kerns. "Never! She was homely enough when I +asked her to marry me. I don't want to see her; I don't want to know +what she looks like. I'm glad she has changed so I wouldn't recognize +her, for that means the end of it all--the final elimination of the girl +I remember on the ship. . . . It was probably a sort of diseased +infatuation, wasn't it, Mrs. Gatewood? Think of it! A few days on +shipboard and--and I asked her to marry me! . . . I don't blame her, +after all, for letting me dangle. It was an excellent opportunity for +her to study a rare species of idiot. She was justified and I am +satisfied. Only, do call Jack off with a hint or two." + +"I shall try," said young Mrs. Gatewood thoughtfully--very thoughtfully, +for already every atom and fiber of her femininity was aroused in behalf +of these two estranged young people whom Providence certainly had not +meant to put asunder. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +"Nothing," said Gatewood firmly, "can make me believe that Kerns ought +not to marry somebody; and I'm never going to let up on him until he +does. I'll bet I could fix him for life if I called in the Tracer to +help me. Isn't it extraordinary how Kerns has kept out of it all these +years?" + +The attractive girl beside him turned her face once more so that her +clear, sweet eyes were directly in line with his. + +"It _is_ extraordinary," she said seriously. "I think you ought to drop +in at the club some day when you can corner him and bully him." + +"I don't want to go to the club," said the infatuated man. + +"Why, dear?" + +He looked straight at her and she flushed prettily, while a tint of +color touched his own face. Which was very nice of him. So she didn't +say what she was going to say--that it would be perhaps better for them +both if he practiced on her an artistic absence now and then. Younger in +years, she was more mature than he. She knew. But she was too much in +love with him to salt their ambrosia with common sense or suggest +economy in their use of the nectar bottle. + +However, the gods attend to that, and she knew they would, and she let +them. So one balmy evening late in May, when the new moon's ghost +floated through the upper haze, and the golden Diana above Manhattan +turned flame color, and the electric lights began to glimmer along Fifth +Avenue, and the first faint scent of the young summer freshened the +foliage in square and park, Kerns, stopping at the club for a moment, +found Gatewood seated at the same window they both were wont to haunt in +earlier and more flippant days. + +"Are you dining here?" inquired Kerns, pushing the electric button with +enthusiasm. "Well, that's the first glimmer of common sense you've +betrayed since you've been married!" + +"Dining _here_!" repeated Gatewood. "I should hope not! I am just going +home--" + +"He's thoroughly cowed," commented Kerns; "every married man you meet at +the club is just going home." But he continued to push the button, +nevertheless. + +Gatewood leaned back in his chair and gazed about him, nose in the air. +"What a life!" he observed virtuously. "It's all I can do to stand it +for ten minutes. You're here for the evening, I suppose?" he added +pityingly. + +"No," said Kerns; "I'm going uptown to Billy Lee's house to get my suit +case. His family are out of town, and he is at Seabright, so he let me +camp there until the workmen finish papering my rooms upstairs. I'm to +lock up the house and send the key to the Burglar Alarm Company +to-night. Then I go to Boston on the 12.10. Want to come? There'll be a +few doing." + +"To Boston! What for?" + +"Contracts! We can go out to Cambridge when I've finished my business. +There'll be _etwas_ doing." + +"_Can't_ you ever recover from being an undergraduate?" asked Gatewood, +disgusted. + +"Well--is there anything the matter with a man getting next to a little +amusement in life?" asked Kerns. "Do you object to my being happy?" + +"Amusement? You don't know how to amuse yourself. You don't know how to +be happy. Here you sit, day after day, swallowing Martinis--" He paused +to finish his own, then resumed: "Here you sit, day after day, +intellectually stultified, unemotionally ignorant of the higher and +better life--" + +"No, I don't. I've a book upstairs that tells all about that. I read it +when I have holdovers--" + +"Kerns, I wish to speak seriously. I've had it on my mind ever since I +married. May I speak frankly?" + +"Well, when I come back from Boston--" + +"Because I know a girl," interrupted Gatewood--"wait a moment, +Tommy!"--as Kerns rose and sauntered toward the door--"you've plenty of +time to catch your train and be civil, too! I mean to tell you about +that girl, if you'll listen." + +Kerns halted and turned upon his friend a pair of eyes, unwinking in +their placid intelligence. + +"I was going to say that I know a girl," continued Gatewood, "who is +just the sort of a girl you--" + +"No, she isn't!" said Kerns, wheeling to resume his progress toward the +cloakroom. + +"Tom!" + +Kerns halted. + +"_You're_ a fine specimen!" commented Gatewood scornfully. "You spent +the best years of your life in persuading me to get married, and the +first time I try to do the same for you, you make for the tall timber!" + +"I know it," admitted Kerns, unashamed; "I'm bashful. I'm a chipmunk for +shyness, so I'll say good night--" + +"Come back," said Gatewood coldly. + +"But my suit case--" + +"You left it at the Lee's, didn't you? Well, you've time enough to go +there, get it, make your train, and listen to me, too. Look here, Kerns, +have you any of the elements of decency about you?" + +"No," said Kerns, "not a single element." He seated himself defiantly in +the club window facing Gatewood and began to button his gloves. When he +had finished he settled his new straw hat more comfortably on his head, +and, leaning forward and balancing his malacca walking stick across his +knees, gazed at Gatewood with composure. + +"Crank up!" he said pleasantly; "I'm going in less than three minutes." +He pushed the electric knob as an afterthought, and when the gilt +buttons of the club servant glimmered through the dusk, "Two more," he +explained briskly. After a few moments' silence, broken by the tinkle of +ice in thin glassware, Gatewood leaned forward, menacing his friend with +an impressive forefinger: + +"Did you or didn't you once tell me that a decent citizen ought to +marry?" + +"I did, dear friend." + +"Did I or didn't I do it?" + +"In the words of the classic, you _done_ it," admitted Kerns. + +"Was I or wasn't I going to the devil before I had the sense to marry?" +persisted Gatewood. + +"You was! You _was_, dear friend!" said Kerns with enthusiasm. "You had +almost went there ere I appeared and saved you." + +"Then why shouldn't you marry and let me save you?" + +"But I'm not going to the bowwows. _I'm_ all right. I'm a decent +citizen. I awake in the rosy dawn with a song on my lips; I softly +whistle rag time as I button my collar; I warble a few delicious vagrant +notes as I part my sparse hair; I'm not murderous before breakfast; I go +down town, singing, to my daily toil; I fish for fat contracts in +Georgia marble; I return uptown immersed in a holy calm and the evening +paper. I offer myself a cocktail; I bow and accept; I dress for dinner +with the aid of a rascally valet, but--_do_ I swear at him? No, dear +friend; I say, 'Henry, I have known far, far worse scoundrels than you. +Thank you for filling up my bay rum with water. Bless you for wearing +my imported hosiery! I deeply regret that my new shirts do not fit you, +Henry!' And my smile is a benediction upon that wayward scullion. Then, +dear friend, why, why do you desire to offer me up upon the altar of +unrest? What is a little wifey to me or I to any wifey?" + +"Because," said Gatewood irritated, "you offered me up. I'm happy and I +want you to be--you great, hulking, self-satisfied symbol of supreme +self-centered selfishness--" + +"Oh, splash!" said Kerns feebly. + +"Yes, you are. What do you do all day? Grub for money and study how to +make life agreeable to yourself! Every minute of the day you are +occupied in having a good time! You've admitted it! You wake up singing +like a fool canary; you wear imported hosiery; you've made a soft, warm +wallow for yourself at this club, and here you bask your life away, +waddling downtown to nail contracts and cut coupons, and uptown to +dinners and theaters, only to return and sprawl here in luxury without +one single thought for posterity. _Your_ crime is race suicide!" + +"I--my--_what_!" + +"Certainly. Some shirk taxes, some jury duty. _You_ shirk fatherhood, +and all its happy and sacred obligations! You deny posterity! You strike +a blow at it! You flout it! You menace the future of this Republic! +Your inertia is a crime against the people! Instead of _pro bono +publico_ your motto is _pro bono tempo_--for a good time! And, dog Latin +or not, it's the truth, and our great President" + +"Splash!" said Kerns, rising. + +"I've a good mind," said Gatewood indignantly, "to put the Tracer of +Lost Persons on your trail. He'd rope you and tie you in record time!" + +Kerns's smile was a provocation. + +"I'll do it, too!" added Gatewood, losing his temper, "if you dare give +me the chance." + +"Seriously," inquired Kerns, delighted, "_do_ you think your friend, Mr. +Keen, could encompass my matrimony against my better sense and the full +enjoyment of my unimpaired mental faculties?" + +"Didn't he--fortunately for me--force me into matrimony when I had never +seen a woman I would look at twice? Didn't you put him up to it? Very +well, why can't I put him on your trail then? Why can't _he_ do the same +for you?" + +"Try it, dear friend," retorted Kerns courteously. + +"Do you mean that you are not afraid? Do you mean you give me full +liberty to set him on you? And do you realize what that means? No, you +don't; for you haven't a notion of what that man, Westrel Keen, can +accomplish. You haven't the slightest idea of the machinery which he +controls with a delicacy absolutely faultless; with a perfectly +terrifying precision. Why, man, the Pinkerton system itself has become +merely a detail in the immense complexity of the system of control which +the Tracer of Lost Persons exercises over this entire continent. The +urban police, the State constabulary of Pennsylvania, the rural systems +of surveillance, the Secret Service, all municipal, provincial, State, +and national organizations form but a few strands in the universal web +he has woven. Custom officials, revenue officers, the militia of the +States, the army, the navy, the personnel of every city, State, and +national legislative bodies form interdependent threads in the mesh he +is master of; and, like a big beneficent spider, he sits in the center +of his web, able to tell by the slightest tremor of any thread exactly +where to begin investigations!" + +Flushed, earnest, a trifle out of breath with his own eloquence, +Gatewood waved his hand to indicate a Ciceronian period, adding, as +Kerns's incredulous smile broadened: "Say splash again, and I'll put you +at his mercy!" + +"Ker-splash! dear friend," observed Kerns pleasantly. "If a man doesn't +want to marry, the army, the navy, the Senate, the white wings, and the +great White Father at Washington can't make him." + +"I tell you I want to see you happy!" said Gatewood angrily. + +"Then gaze upon me. I'm it!" + +"You're not! You don't know what happiness is." + +"Don't I? Well, I don't miss it, dear friend--" + +"But if you've never had it, and therefore don't miss it, it's time +somebody found some real happiness for you. Kerns, I simply can't bear +to see you missing so much happiness--" + +"Why grieve?" + +"Yes, I will! I do grieve--in spite of your grinning skepticism and your +bantering attitude. See here, Tom; I've started about a thousand times +to say that I knew a girl--" + +"Do you want to hear that splash again?" + +Gatewood grew madder. He said: "I could easily lay your case before Mr. +Keen and have you in love and married and happy whether you like it or +not!" + +"If I were not going to Boston, my son, I should enjoy your misguided +efforts," returned Kerns blandly. + +"Your going to Boston makes no difference. The Tracer of Lost Persons +doesn't care where you go or what you do. If he starts in on your case, +Tommy, you can't escape." + +"You mean he can catch me now? Here? At my own club? Or on the public +highway? Or on the classic Boston train?" + +"He _could_. Yes, I firmly believe he could land you before you ever saw +the Boston State House. I tell you he can work like lightning, Kerns. I +know it; I am so absolutely convinced of it that I--I almost hesitate--" + +"Don't feel delicate about it," laughed Kerns; "you may call him on the +telephone while I go uptown and get my suit case. Perhaps I'll come back +a blushing bridegroom; who knows?" + +"If you'll wait here I'll call him up now," said Gatewood grimly. + +"Oh, very well. Only I left my suit case in Billy's room, and it's full +of samples of Georgia marble, and I've got to get it to the train." + +"You've plenty of time. If you'll wait until I talk to Mr. Keen I'll +dine with you here. Will you?" + +"What? Dine in this abandoned joint with an outcast like me? Dear +friend, are you dippy this lovely May evening?" + +"I'll do it if you'll wait. Will you? And I'll bet you now that I'll +have you in love and sprinting toward the altar before we meet again at +this club. Do you dare bet?" + +"The terms of the wager, kind friend?" drawled Kerns, delighted; and he +fished out a notebook kept for such transactions. + +"Let me see," reflected Gatewood; "you'll need a silver service when +you're married. . . . Well, say, forks and spoons and things against an +imported trap gun--twelve-gauge, you know." + +"Done. Go and telephone to your friend, Mr. Keen." And Kerns pushed the +electric button with a jeering laugh, and asked the servant for a dinner +card. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Gatewood, in the telephone booth, waited impatiently for Mr. Keen; and +after a few moments the Tracer of Lost Persons' agreeable voice sounded +in the receiver. + +"It's about Mr. Kerns," began Gatewood; "I want to see him happy, and +the idiot won't be. Now, Mr. Keen, you know what happiness you and he +brought to me! You know what sort of an idle, selfish, aimless, +meaningless life you saved me from? I want you to do the same for Mr. +Kerns. I want to ask you to take up his case at once. Besides, I've a +bet on it. Could you attend to it at once?" + +"To-night?" asked the Tracer, laughing. + +"Why--ah--well, of course, that would be impossible. I suppose--" + +"My profession is to overcome the impossible, Mr. Gatewood. Where is Mr. +Kerns?" + +"Here, in this club, defying me and drinking cocktails. He won't get +married, and I want you to make him do it." + +"Where is he spending the evening?" asked the Tracer, laughing again. + +"Why, he's been stopping at the Danforth Lees' in Eighty-third Street +until the workmen at the club here finish putting new paper on his +walls. The Lees are out of town. He left his suit case at their house +and he's going up to get it and catch the 12.10 train for Boston." + +"He goes from the Lenox Club to the residence of Mr. W. Danforth Lee, +East Eighty-third Street, to get a suit case," repeated the Tracer. "Is +that correct?" + +"Yes." + +"What is in the suit case?" + +"Samples of that new marble he's quarrying in Georgia." + +"Is it an old suit case? Has it Mr. Kerns's initials on it?" + +"Hold the wire; I'll find out." + +And Gatewood left the telephone and walked into the great lounging room, +where Kerns sat twirling his stick and smiling to himself. + +"All over, dear friend?" inquired Kerns, starting to rise. "I've ordered +a corking dinner." + +"Wait!" returned Gatewood ominously. "What sort of a suit case is that +one you're going after?" + +"What sort? Oh, just an ordinary--" + +"Is it old or new?" + +"Brand new. Why?" + +"Is your name on it?" + +"No; why? Would that thicken the plot, dear friend? Or is the Tracer +foiled, ha! ha!" + +Gatewood turned on his heel, went back to the telephone, and, carefully +shutting the door of the booth, took up the receiver. + +"It's a new suit case, Mr. Keen," he said; "no initials on it--just an +ordinary case." + +"Mr. Lee's residence is 38 East Eighty-third Street, between Madison and +Fifth, I believe." + +"Yes," replied Gatewood. + +"And the family are out of town?" + +"Yes." + +"Is there a caretaker there?" + +"No; Mr. Kerns camped there. When he leaves to-night he will send the +key to the Burglar Alarm Company." + +"Very well. Please hold the wire for a while." + +For ten full minutes Gatewood sat gleefully cuddling the receiver +against his ear. His faith in Mr. Keen was naturally boundless; he +believed that whatever the Tracer attempted could not result in failure. +He desired nothing in the world so ardently as to see Kerns safely +married. His own happiness may have been the motive power which had set +him in action in behalf of his friend--that and a certain indefinable +desire to practice a species of heavenly revenge, of grateful +retaliation upon the prime mover and _collaborateur_, if not the sole +author, of his own wedded bliss. Kerns had made him happy. + +"And I'm hanged if I don't pay him off and make him happy, too!" +muttered Gatewood. "Does he think I'm going to sit still and see him go +tearing and gyrating about town with no responsibility, no moral check +to his evolutions, no wholesome home duties to limit his acrobatics, no +wife to clip his wings? It's time he had somebody to report to; time he +assumed moral burdens and spiritual responsibilities. A man is just as +happy when he is certain where he is going to sleep. A man can find just +as much enjoyment in life when he feels it his duty to account for his +movements. I don't care whether Kerns is comparatively happy or +not--there's nothing either sacred or holy in that kind of happiness, +and I'm not going to endure the sort of life he likes any longer!" + +Immersed in moral reflections, inspired by affectionate obligations to +violently inflict happiness upon Kerns, the minutes passed very +agreeably until the amused voice of the Tracer of Lost Persons sounded +again in the receiver. + +"Mr. Gatewood?" + +"Yes, I am here, Mr. Keen." + +"Do you really think it best for Mr. Kerns to fall in love?" + +"I do, certainly!" replied Gatewood with emphasis. + +"Because," continued the Tracer of Lost Persons, "I see little chance +for him to do otherwise if I take up this case. Fate itself, in the +shape of a young lady, is already on the way here in a railroad train." + +"Good! Good!" exclaimed Gatewood. "Don't let him escape, Mr. Keen! I beg +of you to take up his case! I urge you most seriously to do so. Mr. +Kerns is now exactly what I was a year ago--an utterly useless member of +the community--a typical bachelor who lives at his clubs, shirking the +duties of a decent citizen." + +"_Ex_actly," said the Tracer. "Do you insist that I take this case? That +I attempt to trace and find for Mr. Kerns a sort of happiness he himself +has never found?" + +"I implore you to do so, Mr. Keen." + +"_Ex_actly. If I do--if I carry it out as it has been arranged--or +rather as the case seems to have already arranged itself, for it is +rather a simple matter, I fancy--I do not exactly see how Mr. Kerns can +avoid experiencing a--ahem--a tender sentiment for the very charming +young lady whom I--and chance--have designed for him as a partner +through life." + +"Excellent! Splendid!" shouted Gatewood through the telephone. "Can I do +anything to aid you in this?" + +"Yes," replied the Tracer, laughing. "If you can keep him amused for an +hour or two before he goes after his suit case it might make it easier +for me. This young lady is due to arrive in New York at eight o'clock--a +client of mine--coming to consult me. Her presence plays an important +part in Mr. Kerns's future. I wish you to detain Mr. Kerns until she is +ready to receive him. But of this he must know nothing. Good-by, Mr. +Gatewood, and would you be kind enough to present my compliments to Mrs. +Gatewood?" + +"Indeed I will! We never can forget what you have done for us. Good-by." + +"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. Try to keep Mr. Kerns amused for two or three +hours. Of course, if you can't do this, there are other methods I may +employ--a dozen other plans already partly outlined in my mind; but the +present plan, which accident and coincidence make so easy, is likely to +work itself out to your entire satisfaction within a few hours. We are +already weaving a web around Mr. Kerns; we already have taken exclusive +charge of his future movements after he leaves the Lenox Club. I do not +believe he can escape us, or his charming destiny. Good night!" + +Gatewood, enchanted, hung up the receiver. Song broke softly from his +lips as he started in search of Kerns; his step was springy, +buoyant--sort of subdued and modest prance. + +"Now," he said to himself, "Tommy must take out his papers. The time is +ended when he can issue letters of marque to himself, hoist sail, square +away, and go cruising all over this metropolis at his own sweet will." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +In the meanwhile, at the other end of the wire, Mr. Keen, the Tracer of +Lost Persons, was preparing to trace for Mr. Kerns, against that +gentleman's will, the true happiness which Mr. Kerns had never been able +to find for himself. + +He sat in his easy chair within the four walls of his own office, +inspecting a line of people who stood before him on the carpet forming a +single and attentive rank. In this rank were five men: a policeman, a +cab driver, an agent of the telephone company, an agent of the electric +company, and a reformed burglar carrying a kit of his trade tools. + +The Tracer of Lost Persons gazed at them, meditatively joining the tips +of his thin fingers. + +"I want the number on 36 East Eighty-third Street changed to No. 38, and +the number 38 replaced by No. 36," he said to the policeman. "I want it +done at once. Get a glazier and go up there and have it finished in an +hour. Mrs. Kenna, caretaker at No. 36, is in my pay; she will not +interfere. There is nobody in No. 38: Mr. Kerns leaves there to-night +and the Burglar Alarm Company takes charge to-morrow." + +And, turning to the others: "You," nodding at the reformed burglar, +"know your duty. Mike!" to the cab driver, "don't miss Mr. Kerns at the +Lenox Club. If he calls you before eleven, drive into the park and have +an accident. And you," to the agent of the telephone company, "will +sever all telephone connection in Mrs. Stanley's house; and you," to the +official of the electric company, "will see that the circuit in Mrs. +Stanley's house is cut so that no electric light may be lighted and no +electric bell sound." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons stroked his gray mustache thoughtfully. "And +that," he ended, "will do, I think. Good night." + +He rose and stood by the door as the policeman headed the solemn file +which marched out to their duty; then he looked at his watch, and, as it +was already a few minutes after eight, he called up No. 36 East +Eighty-third Street, and in a moment more had Mrs. Stanley on the wire. + +"Good evening," he said pleasantly. "I suppose you have just arrived +from Rosylyn. I may be a little late--I may be very late, in fact, so I +called you up to say so. And I wished to say another thing; to ask you +whether your servants could recollect ever having seen a young man +about the place, a rather attractive young man with excellent address +and manners, five feet eleven inches, slim but well built, dark hair, +dark eyes, and dark mustache, offering samples of Georgia marble for +sale." + +"Really, Mr. Keen," replied a silvery voice, "I have heard them say +nothing about such an individual. If you will hold the wire I will ask +my maid." And, after a pause: "No, Mr. Keen, my maid cannot remember any +such person. Do you think he was a confederate of that wretched butler +of mine?" + +"I am scarcely prepared to say that; in fact," added Mr. Keen, "I +haven't the slightest idea that this young man could have been concerned +in anything of that sort. Only, if you should ever by any chance see +such a man, detain him if possible until you can communicate with me; +detain him by any pretext, by ruse, by force if you can, only detain him +until I can get there. Will you do this?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Keen, if I can. Please describe him again?" + +Mr. Keen did so minutely. + +"You say he sells Georgia marble by samples, which he carries in a suit +case?" + +"He _says_ that he has samples of Georgia marble in his suit case," +replied the Tracer cautiously. "It might be well, if possible, to see +what he has in his suit case." + +"I will warn the servants as soon as I return to Rosylyn. When may I +expect you this evening, Mr. Keen?" + +"It is impossible to say, Mrs. Stanley. If I am not there by midnight I +shall try to call next morning." + +So they exchanged civil adieus; the Tracer hung up his receiver and +leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself. + +"Curious," he said, "that chance should have sent that pretty woman to +me at such a time. . . . Kerns _is_ a fine fellow, every inch of him. It +hit him hard when he crossed with her to Southampton six years ago; it +hit him harder when she married that Englishman. I don't wonder he never +cared to marry after that brief week of her society; for she is just +about the most charming woman I have ever met--red hair and all. . . . +And if quick action is what is required, it's well to break the ice +between them at once with a dreadful misunderstanding." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +The dinner that Kerns had planned for himself and Gatewood was an +ingenious one, cunningly contrived to discontent Gatewood with home fare +and lure him by its seductive quality into frequent revisits to the club +which was responsible for such delectable wines and viands. + +A genial glow already enveloped Gatewood and pleasantly suffused Kerns. +From time to time they held some rare vintage aloft, squinting through +the crystal-imprisoned crimson with deep content. + +"Not that _my_ word is necessarily the _last_ word concerning Burgundy," +said Gatewood modestly; "but I venture to doubt that any club in America +can match this bottle, Kerns." + +"Now, Jack," wheedled Kerns, "isn't it pleasant to dine here once in a +while? Be frank, man! Look about at the other tables--at all the +pleasant, familiar faces--the same fine fellows, bless 'em--the same +smoky old ceiling, the same bum portraits of dead governors, the same +old stag heads on the wall. Now, Jack, isn't it mighty pleasant, after +all? Be a gentleman and admit it!" + +"Y-yes," confessed Gatewood, "it's all right for me once in a while, +because I know that I am presently going back to my own home--a jolly +lamplit room and the prettiest girl in Manhattan curled up in an +armchair--" + +"You're fortunate," said Kerns shortly. And for the first time there +remained no lurking mockery in his voice; for the first time his retort +was tinged with bitterness. But the next instant his eyes glimmered with +the same gay malice, and the unbelieving smile twitched at his clean-cut +lips, and he raised his hand, touching the short ends of his mustache +with that careless, amused cynicism which rather became him. + +"All that you picture so entrancingly is forbidden the true believer," +he said; and began to repeat: + + "'O weaver! weave the flowers of Feraghan + Into the fabric that thy birth began; + Iris, narcissus, tulips cloud-band tied, + These thou shalt picture for the eye of Man; + Henna, Herati, and the Jhelums tide + In Sarraband and Saruk be thy guide, + And the red dye of Ispahan beside + The checkered Chinese fret of ancient gold; + --So heed the ban, old as the law is old, + Nor weave into thy warp the laughing face, + Nor limb, nor body, nor one line of grace, + Nor hint, nor tint, nor any veiled device + Of Woman who is barred from Paradise!'" + +"A nice sentiment!" said Gatewood hotly. + +"Can't help it; you see I'm forbidden to monkey with the eternal looms +or weave the forbidden into the pattern of my life." + +Gatewood sat silent for a moment, then looked up at Kerns with something +so closely akin to a grin that his friend became interested in its +scarcely veiled significance, and grinned in reply. + +"So you really expect that your friend, Mr. Keen, is going to marry me +to somebody, _nolens volens_?" asked Kerns. + +"I do. That's what I dream of, Tommy." + +"My poor friend, dream on!" + +"I am. Tommy, you're lost! I mean you're as good as married now!" + +"You think so?" + +"I _know_ it! There you sit, savoring your Burgundy, idling over a +cigar, happy, care free, fancy free, at liberty, as you believe, to roam +off anywhere at any time and continue the eternal hunt for pleasure! +That's what you _think_! Ha! Tommy, I know better! That's not the sort +of man _I_ see sitting on the same chair where you are now sprawling in +such content! I see a doomed man, already in the shadow of the altar, +wasting his time unsuspiciously while Chance comes whirling into the +city behind a Long Island locomotive, and Fate, the footman, sits +outside ready to follow him, and Destiny awaits him no matter what he +does, what he desires, where he goes, wherever he turns to-night! +Destiny awaits him at his journey's end!" + +"Very fine," said Kerns admiringly. "Too bad it's due to the Burgundy." + +"Never mind what my eloquence is due to," retorted Gatewood, "the fact +remains that this is probably your last bachelor dinner. Kerns, old +fellow! Here's to her! Bless her! I--I wish sincerely that we knew who +she is and where to send those roses. Anyway, here's to the bride!" + +He stood up very gravely and drank the toast, then, reseating himself, +tapped the empty glass gently against the table's edge until it broke. + +"You are certainly doing your part well," said Kerns admiringly. Then he +swallowed the remainder of his Burgundy and looked up at the club clock. + +"Eleven," he said with regret. "I've about time to go to Eighty-third +Street, get my suit case, and catch my train at 125th Street." To a +servant he said, "Call a hansom," then rose and sauntered downstairs to +the cloakroom, where presently both men stood, hatted and gloved, +swinging their sticks. + +"That was a fool bet you made," began Kerns; "I'll release you, Jack." + +"Sorry, but I must insist on holding you," replied Gatewood, laughing. +"You're going to your doom. Come on! I'll see you as far as the cab +door." + +They walked out, and Kerns gave the cabby the street and number and +entered the hansom. + +"Now," said Gatewood, "you're in for it! You're done for! You can't help +yourself! I've won my twelve-gauge trap gun already, and I'll have to +set you up in table silver, anyway, so it's an even break. You're all +in, Tommy! The Tracer is on your trail!" + +In the beginning of a flippant retort Kerns experienced a curious +sensation of hesitation. Something in Gatewood's earnestness, in his +jeering assurance and delighted certainty, made him, for one moment, +feel doubtful, even uncomfortable. + +"What nonsense you talk," he said, recovering his equanimity. "Nothing +on earth can prevent me driving to 38 East Eighty-third Street, getting +my luggage, and taking the Boston express. Your Tracer doesn't intend to +stop my hansom and drag me into a cave, does he? You haven't put +knock-outs into that Burgundy, have you? Then what in the dickens are +you laughing at?" + +But Gatewood, on the sidewalk under the lamplight, was still laughing as +Kerns drove away, for he had recognized in the cab driver a man he had +seen in Mr. Kern's office, and he knew that the Tracer of Lost Persons +had Kerns already well in hand. + +The hansom drove on through the summer darkness between rows of electric +globes drooping like huge white moon flowers from their foliated bronze +stalks, on up the splendid avenue, past the great brilliantly +illuminated hotels, past the white cathedral, past clubs and churches +and the palaces of the wealthy; on, on along the park wall edged by its +double rows of elms under which shadowy forms moved--lovers strolling in +couples. + +"Pooh," sniffed Kerns, "the whole world has gone love mad, and I'm the +only sane man left." + +But he leaned back in his cab and fell a-thinking of a thin girl with +red hair and great gray eyes--a thin, frail creature, scarcely more than +a child, who had held him for a week in a strange sorcery only to +release him with a frightened smile, leaving her indelible impression +upon his life forever. + +And, thinking, he looked up, realizing that the cab had stopped in East +Eighty-third Street before one of a line of brownstone houses, all +externally alike. + +Then he leaned out and saw that the house number was thirty-eight. That +was the number of the Lees' house; he descended, bade the cabman await +him, and, producing his latch key, started up the steps, whistling +gayly. + +But he didn't require his key, for, as he reached the front door, he +found, to his surprise and concern, that it swung partly open--just a +mere crack. + +"The mischief!" he muttered; "could I have failed to close it? Could +anybody have seen it and crept in?" + +He entered the hallway hastily and pressed the electric knob. No light +appeared in the sconces. + +"What the deuce!" he murmured; "something wrong with the switch!" And he +hurriedly lighted a match and peered into the darkness. By the vague +glimmer of the burning match he could distinguish nothing. He listened +intently, tried the electric switch again without success. The match +burned his fingers and he dropped it, watching the last red spark die +out in the darkness. + +Something about the shadowy hallway seemed unfamiliar; he went to the +door, stepped out on the stoop, and looked up at the number on the +transom. It was thirty-eight; no doubt about the house. Hesitating, he +glanced around to see that his hansom was still there. It had +disappeared. + +"What an idiot that cabman is!" he exclaimed, intensely annoyed at the +prospect of lugging his heavy suit case to a Madison Avenue car and +traveling with it to Harlem. + +He looked up and down the dimly lighted street; east, an electric car +glided down Madison Avenue; west, the lights of Fifth Avenue glimmered +against the dark foliage of the Park. He stood a moment, angry at the +desertion of his cabman, then turned and reëntered the dark hall, +closing the door behind him. + +Up the staircase he felt his way to the first landing, and, lighting a +match, looked for the electric button. + +"Am I crazy, or was there no electric button in this hall?" he thought. +The match burned low; he had to drop it. Perplexed, he struck another +match and opened the door leading into the front room, and stood on the +threshold a moment, looking about him at the linen-shrouded furniture +and pictures. This front room, closed for the summer, he had not before +entered, but he stepped in now, poking about for any possible intruder, +lighting match after match. + +"I suppose I ought to go over this confounded house inch by inch," he +murmured. "What could have possessed me to leave the front door ajar +this morning?" + +For an instant he thought that perhaps Mrs. Nolan, the woman who came in +the morning to make his bed, might have left the door open, but he knew +that couldn't be so, because he always waited for her to finish her work +and leave before he went out. So either he must have left the door open, +or some marauder had visited the house--was perhaps at that moment in +the house! And it was his duty to find out. + +"I'd better be about it, too," he thought savagely, "or I'll never make +my train." + +He struck his last match, looked around, and, seeing gas jets among the +clustered electric bulbs of the sconces, tried to light one and +succeeded. + +He had left his suit case in the passageway between the front and rear +rooms, and now, cautiously, stick in hand, he turned toward the dim +corridor leading to the bedroom. There was his suit case, anyway! He +picked it up and started to push open the door of the rear room; but at +the same time, and before he could lay his hand on the knob, the door +before him opened suddenly in a flood of light, and a woman stood there, +dark against the gas-lit glare, a pistol waveringly extended in the +general direction of his head. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +"Good heavens!" he said, appalled, and dropped his suit case with a +crash. + +"W-what are you d-doing--" She controlled her voice and the wavering +weapon with an effort. "What are you doing in this house?" + +"Doing? In _this_ house?" he repeated, his eyes protruding in the +direction of the unsteady pistol muzzle. "What are _you_ doing in this +house--if you don't mind saying!" + +"I--I m-must ask you to put up your hands," she said. "If you move I +shall certainly s-shoot off this pistol." + +"It will go off, anyway, if you handle it like that!" he said, +exasperated. "What do you mean by pointing it at me?" + +"I mean to fire it off in a few moments if you don't raise your hands +above your head!" + +He looked at the pistol; it was new and shiny; he looked at the athletic +young figure silhouetted against the brilliant light. + +"Well, if you make a point of it, of course." He slowly held up both +hands, higher, then higher still. "Upon my word!" he breathed. "Held up +by a woman!" And he said aloud, bitterly: "No doubt you have assistance +close at hand." + +"No doubt," she said coolly. "What have you been packing into that +valise?" + +"P-packing into _what_? Oh, into that suit case? That is my suit case." + +"Of course it is," she said quietly, "but what have you inside it?" + +"Nothing _you_ or your friends would care for," he said meaningly. + +"I must be the judge of that," she retorted. "Please open that suit +case." + +"How can I if my hands are in the air?" he expostulated, now intensely +interested in the novelty of being held up by this graceful and vaguely +pretty silhouette. + +"You may lower your arms to unpack the suit case," she said. + +"I--I had rather not if you are going to keep me covered with your +pistol." + +"Of course I shall keep you covered. Unpack your booty at once!" + +"My--_what_?" + +"Booty." + +"Madam, do you take _me_ for a thief? Have you, by chance, entered the +wrong house? I--I cannot reconcile your voice with what I am forced to +consider you--a housebreaker--" + +"We will discuss that later. Unpack that bag!" she insisted. + +"But--but there is nothing in it except samples of marble--" + +"What!" she exclaimed nervously. "_What_ did you say? Samples of +_marble_?" + +"Marble, madam! Georgia marble!" + +"Oh! So _you_ are the young man who goes about pretending to peddle +Georgia marble from samples! Are you? The famous marble man I have heard +of." + +"I? Madam, I don't know what you mean!" + +"Come!" she said scornfully; "let me see the contents of that suit case. +I--I am not afraid of you; I am not a bit afraid of you. And I shall +catch your accomplice, too." + +"Madam, you speak like an honest woman! You _must_ have managed to enter +the wrong house. This is number thirty-eight, where I live." + +"It is number thirty-six; my house!" + +"But I _know_ it is number thirty-eight; Mr. Lee's house," he protested +hopefully. "This is some dreadful mistake." + +"Mr. Lee's house is next door," she said. "Do you not suppose I know my +own house? Besides, I have been warned against a plausible young man who +pretends he has Georgia marble to sell--" + +"There is a dreadful mistake somewhere," he insisted. "Please p-p-put up +your p-pistol and aid me to solve it. I am no robber, madam. I thought +at first that you were. I'm living in Mr. Lee's house, No. 38 East +Eighty-third Street, and I've looked carefully at the number over the +door of this house and the number is thirty-eight, and the street is +East Eighty-third. So I naturally conclude that I am in Mr. Lee's +house." + +"Your arguments and your conclusions are very plausible," she said, +"but, fortunately for me, I have been expressly warned against a young +man of your description. _You_ are the marble man!" + +"It's a mistake! A very dreadful one." + +"Then how did you enter this house?" + +"I have a key--I mean I found the front door unlatched. Please don't +misunderstand me; I know it sounds unconvincing, but I really have a key +to number thirty-eight." + +He attempted to reach for his pocket and the pistol glittered in his +face. + +"Won't you let me prove my innocence?" he asked. + +"You can't prove it by showing me a key. Besides, it's probably a +weapon. Anyhow, if, as you pretend, you have managed to get into the +wrong house, why did you bring that suit case up here?" + +"It was here. It's mine. I left it here in this passageway." + +"In _my_ house?" she asked incredulously. + +"In number thirty-eight; that is all I know. I'll open the suit case if +you will let me. I have already described its contents. If it has +samples of marble in it you _must_ be convinced!" + +"It will convince me that it is your valise. But what of that? I know it +is yours already," she said defiantly. "I know, at least, that you are +the marble man--if nothing worse!" + +"But malefactors don't go about carrying samples of Georgia marble," he +protested, dropping on one knee under the muzzle of her revolver and +tugging at the straps and buckles. In a second or two he threw open the +case--and the sight of the contents staggered him. For there, thrown in +pellmell among small square blocks of polished marble was a complete kit +of burglar's tools, including also a mask, a dark lantern, and a +blackjack. + +"What--w--w--what on earth is this?" he stammered. "These things don't +belong to me. I won't have them! I don't want them. Who put them into my +suit case? How the deuce--" + +"You _are_ the marble man!" she said with a shudder. "Your crimes are +known! Your wretched accomplice will be caught! You are the marble +man--or something worse!" + +Kneeling there, aghast, bewildered, he passed his hand across his eyes +as though to clear them from some terrible vision. But the suit case was +still there with its incriminating contents when he looked again. + +"I am sorry for you," she said tremulously. "I--if it were not for the +marble--I would let you go. But you are the marble man!" + +"Yes, and I'm probably a madman, too. I don't know what I am! I don't +know what is happening to me. I ought to be going, that is all I know--" + +"I cannot let you go." + +"But I must! I've got to catch a train." + +The feebleness of his excuse chilled her pity. + +"I shall not let you go," she said, resting the hand which held the +pistol on her hip, but keeping him covered. "I know you came to rob my +house; I know you are a thoroughly bad and depraved young man, but for +all that I could find it in my heart to let you go if you were not also +the _marble man_!" + +"What on earth is the marble man?" he asked, exasperated. + +"I don't know. I have been earnestly warned against him. Probably he is +a relative of my butler--" + +"I'm not a relative of anybody's butler!" + +"You _say_ you are not. How do I know? I--I will make you an offer. I +will give you one last chance. If you will return to me the jewels that +my butler took--" + +"Good heavens, madam! Do you really take me for a professional burglar?" + +"How can I help it?" she said indignantly. "Look at your suit case full +of lanterns and masks--full of _marble_, too!" + +Speechless, he stared at the burglar's kit. + +"I am sorry--" Her voice had altered again to a tremulous sweetness. "I +can't help feeling sorry for you. You do not seem to be hardened; your +voice and manner are not characteristically criminal. I--I can't see +your face very clearly, but it does not seem to be a brutally inhuman +face--" + +An awful desire to laugh seized Kerns; he struggled against it; +hysteria lay that way; and he covered his face with both hands and +pinched himself. + +She probably mistook the action for the emotion of shame and despair +born of bitter grief; perhaps of terror of the law. It frightened her a +little, but pity dominated. She could scarcely endure to do what she +must do. + +"This is dreadful, dreadful!" she faltered. "If you only would give me +back my jewels--" + +Sounds, hastily smothered, escaped him. She believed them to be groans, +and it made her slightly faint. + +"I--I've simply got to telephone for the police," she said pityingly. "I +must ask you to sit down there and wait--there is a chair. Sit +there--and please don't move, for I--this has unnerved me--I am not +accustomed to doing cruel things; and if you should move too quickly or +attempt to run away I feel certain that this pistol would explode." + +"Are you going to telephone?" he asked. + +"Yes, I am." + +She backed away, cautiously, pistol menacing him, reached for the +receiver, and waited for Central. She waited a long time before she +realized that the telephone as well as the electric light was out of +commission. + +"Did _you_ cut all these wires?" she demanded angrily. + +"I? What wires?" + +She reached out and pressed the electric button which should have rung a +bell in her maid's bedroom on the top floor. She kept her finger on the +button for ten minutes. It was useless. + +"You laid deliberate plans to rob this house," she said, her cheeks pink +with indignation. "I am not a bit sorry for you. I shall _not_ let you +go! I shall sit here until somebody comes to my assistance, if I have to +sit here for weeks and weeks!" + +"If you'd let me telephone to my club--" he began. + +"Your club! You are very plausible. You didn't offer to call up any club +until you found that the telephone was not working!" + +He thought a moment. "I don't suppose you would trust me to go out and +get a policeman?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Or go into the front room and open a window and summon some passer-by?" + +"How do I know you haven't confederates waiting outside?" + +"That's true," he said seriously. + +There was a silence. Her nerves seemed to trouble her, for she began to +pace to and fro in front of the passageway where he sat comfortably on +his chair, arms folded, one knee dropped over the other. + +The light being behind her he could not as yet distinguish her features +very clearly. Her figure was youthful, slender, yet beautifully rounded; +her head charming in contour. He watched her restlessly walking on the +floor, small hand clutching the pistol resting on her hip. + +The ruddy burnished glimmer on the edges of her hair he supposed, at +first, was caused by the strong light behind her. + +"This is atrocious!" she murmured, halting to confront him. "How dared +you sever every electric connection in my house?" + +As she spoke she stepped backward a pace or two, resting herself for a +moment against the footboard of the bed--full in the gaslight. And he +saw her face. + +For a moment he studied her; an immense wave of incredulity swept over +him--of wild unbelief, slowly changing to the astonishment of dawning +conviction. Astounded, silent, he stared at her from his shadowy corner; +and after a while his pulses began to throb and throb and hammer, and +the clamoring confusion of his senses seemed to deafen him. + +[Illustration: "'This is atrocious,' she murmured, halting to confront +him."] + +She rested a moment or two against the footboard of the bed, her big +gray eyes fixed on his vague and shadowy form. + +"This won't do," she said. + +"No," he said, "it won't do." + +He spoke very quietly, very gently. She detected the alteration in his +voice and started slightly, as though the distant echo of a familiar +voice had sounded. + +"What did you say?" she asked, coming nearer, pistol glittering in +advance. + +"I said 'It won't do.' I don't know what I meant by it. If I meant +anything I was wrong. It _will_ do. The situation is perfectly agreeable +to me." + +"Insolence will not help you," she said sharply. And under the sharpness +he detected the slightest quaver of a new alarm. + +"I am going to free myself," he said coolly. + +"If you move I shall certainly shoot!" she retorted. + +"I am going to move--but only my lips. I have only to move my lips to +free myself." + +"I should scarcely advise you to trust to your eloquence. I have been +duly warned, you see." + +"Who warned you?" he asked curiously. And, as she disdained to reply: +"Never mind. We can clear that up later. Now let me ask you something." + +"You are scarcely in a position to ask questions," she said. + +"May I not speak to you?" + +"Is it necessary?" + +He thought a moment. "No, not necessary. Nothing is in this life, you +know. I thought differently once. Once--when I was younger--six years +younger--I thought happiness was necessary. I found that a man might +live without it." + +She stood gazing at him through the shadows, pistol on hip. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. + +"I mean that happiness is not necessary to life. Life goes on all the +same. My life has continued for six years without that happiness which +some believe to be essential." + +After a silence she said: "I can tell by the way you speak that you are +well born. I--I dread to do what I simply must do." + +He, too, sat silent a long time--long enough for an utterly perverse and +whimsical humor to take complete possession of him. + +"_Won't_ you let me go--_this_ time?" he pleaded. + +"I cannot." + +"You had better let me go while you can," he said, "because, perhaps, +you may find it difficult to get rid of me later." + +Affronted, she shrank back from the doorway and stood in the center of +her room, angry, disdainful, beautiful, under the ruddy glory of her +lustrous hair. + +His perverse mood changed, too; he leaned forward, studying her +minutely--the splendid gray eyes, the delicate mouth and nose, the full, +sweet lips, the witchery of wrist and hand, and the flowing, rounded +outline of limb and body under the pretty gown. Could this be _she_? +This lovely, mature woman, wearing scarcely a trace of the young girl he +had never forgotten--scarcely a trace save in the beauty of her eyes and +hair--save in the full, red mouth, sweet and sensitive even in its +sudden sullenness? + +"Once," he said, and his voice sounded to him like voices heard in +dreams--"once, years and years ago, there was a steamer, and a man and a +young girl on board. Do you mind my telling you about it?" + +She stood leaning against the footboard of the bed, not even deigning to +raise her eyes in reply. So he made the slightest stir in his chair; and +then she looked up quickly enough, pistol poised. + +"The steamer," said Kerns slowly, "was coming into Southampton--six +years ago. On deck these two people stood--a man of twenty-eight, a girl +of eighteen--six years ago. The name of the steamer was the _Carnatic_. +Did you ever hear of that ship?" + +She was looking at him attentively. He waited for her reply; she made +none; and he went on. + +"The man had asked the girl something--I don't know what--I don't know +why her gray eyes filled with tears. Perhaps it was because she could +not do what the man asked her to do. It may have been to love him; it +may have been that he was asking her to marry him and that she couldn't. +Perhaps that is why there were tears in her eyes--because she may have +been sorry to cause him the pain of refusal--sorry, perhaps, perhaps a +little guilty. Because she must have seen that he was falling in love +with her, and she--she let him--knowing all the time that she was to +marry another man. Did you ever hear of that man before?" + +She had straightened up, quivering, wide eyed, lips parted. He rose and +walked slowly into her room, confronting her under the full glare of +light. + +Her pistol fell clattering to the floor. It did not explode because it +was not loaded. + +"Now," he said unsteadily, "will you give me my freedom? I have waited +for it--not minutes--but years--six years. I ask it now--the freedom I +enjoyed before I ever saw you. Can you give it back to me? Can you +restore to me a capacity for happiness? Can you give me a heart to love +with--love some woman, as other men love? Is it very much I ask of +you--to give me a chance in life--the chance I had before I ever saw +you?" + +Her big gray eyes seemed fascinated; he looked deep into them, smiling; +and she turned white. + +"Will you give me what I ask?" he said, still smiling. + +She strove to speak; she could not, but her eyes never faltered. +Suddenly the color flooded her neck and cheeks to the hair, and the +quick tears glimmered. + +"I--I did not understand; I was too young to be cruel," she faltered. +"How could I know what I was doing? Or what--what you did?" + +"I? To _you_?" + +"Y-yes. Did you think that I escaped heart free? Do you realize what +_my_ punishment was--to--to marry--and _remember_! If I was too young, +too inexperienced to know what I was doing, I was not too young to +suffer for it!" + +"You mean--" He strove to control his voice, but the sweet, fearless +gray eyes met his; the old flame leaped in his veins. He reached out to +steady himself and his hand touched hers--that soft, white hand that had +held him all these years in the hollow of its palm. + +"Did you _ever_ love me?" he demanded. + +Her eyes, wet with tears, met his straight as the starry gaze of a +child. + +"Yes," she said. + +His hand tightened over hers; she swayed a moment, quivering from head +to foot; then drawing a quick, sobbing breath, closed her eyes, +imprisoned in his arms; and, after a long while, aroused, she looked up +at him, her divine eyes unclosing dreamily. + +"Somebody is hammering at the front door," he breathed. "Listen!" + +"I hear. I believe it must be the Tracer of Lost Persons." + +"What?" + +"Only a Mr. Keen." + +"O Lord!" said Kerns faintly, and covered his face with her fragrant +hands. + +Very tenderly, very gravely, she drew her hands away, and, laying them +on his shoulders, looked up at him. + +"You--you know what there is in your suit case," she faltered; "_are_ +you a burglar, dear?" + +"Ask the Tracer of Lost Persons," said Kerns gently, "what sort of a +criminal I am!" + +They stood together for one blissful moment listening to the loud +knocking below, then, hand in hand, they descended the dark stairway to +admit the Tracer of Lost Persons. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +On the thirteenth day of March, 1906, Kerns received the following cable +from an old friend: + + "Is there anybody in New York who can find two criminals for me? I + don't want to call in the police. + + "J.T. BURKE." + +To which Kerns replied promptly: + + "Wire Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, N.Y." + +And a day or two later, being on his honeymoon, he forgot all about his +old friend Jack Burke. + +On the fifteenth day of March, 1906, Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, +received the following cablegram from Alexandria, Egypt: + + "_Keen, Tracer, New York:_--Locate Joram Smiles, forty, stout, + lame, red hair, ragged red mustache, cast in left eye, pallid skin; + carries one crutch; supposed to have arrived in America per S. S. + _Scythian Queen_, with man known as Emanuel Gandon, swarthy, short, + fat, light bluish eyes, Eurasian type. + + "I will call on you at your office as soon as my steamer, _Empress + of Babylon_, arrives. If you discover my men, keep them under + surveillance, but on no account call in police. Spare no expense. + Dundas, Gray & Co. are my bankers and reference. + + "JOHN TEMPLETON BURKE." + +On Monday, April 2d, a few minutes after eight o'clock in the morning, +the card of Mr. John Templeton Burke was brought to Mr. Keen, Tracer of +Lost Persons, and a moment later a well-built, wiry, sun-scorched young +man was ushered into Mr. Keen's private office by a stenographer +prepared to take minutes of the interview. + +The first thing that the Tracer of Lost Persons noted in his visitor was +his mouth; the next his eyes. Both were unmistakably good--the eyes +which his Creator had given him looked people squarely in the face at +every word; the mouth, which a man's own character fashions agreeably or +mars, was pleasant, but firm when the trace of the smile lurking in the +corners died out. + +There were dozens of other external characteristics which Mr. Keen +always looked for in his clients; and now the rapid exchange of +preliminary glances appeared to satisfy both men, for they advanced +toward each other and exchanged a formal hand clasp. + +"Have you any news for me?" asked Burke. + +"I have," said the Tracer. "There are cigars on the table beside +you--matches in that silver case. No, I never smoke; but I like the +aroma--and I like to watch men smoke. Do you know, Mr. Burke, that no +two men smoke in the same fashion? There is as much character in the +manner of holding a cigar as there is difference in the technic of +artists." + +Burke nodded, amused, but, catching sight of the busy stenographer, his +bronzed features became serious, and he looked at Mr. Keen inquiringly. + +"It is my custom," said the Tracer. "Do you object to my stenographer?" + +Burke looked at the slim young girl in her black gown and white collar +and cuffs. Then, very simply, he asked her pardon for objecting to her +presence, but said that he could not discuss his case if she remained. +So she rose, with a humorous glance at Mr. Keen; and the two men stood +up until she had vanished, then reseated themselves _vis-a-vis_. Mr. +Keen calmly dropped his elbow on the concealed button which prepared a +hidden phonograph for the reception of every word that passed between +them. + +"What news have you for me, Mr. Keen?" asked the younger man with that +same directness which the Tracer had already been prepared for, and +which only corroborated the frankness of eyes and voice. + +"My news is brief," he said. "I have both your men under observation." + +"Already?" exclaimed Burke, plainly unprepared. "Do you actually mean +that I can see these men whenever I desire to do so? Are these +scoundrels in this town--within pistol shot?" + +His youthful face hardened as he snapped out his last word, like the +crack of a whip. + +"I don't know how far your pistol carries," said Mr. Keen. "Do you wish +to swear out a warrant?" + +"No, I do not. I merely wish their addresses. You have not used the +police in this matter, have you, Mr. Keen?" + +"No. Your cable was explicit," said the Tracer. "Had you permitted me to +use the police it would have been much less expensive for you." + +"I can't help that," said the young man. "Besides, in a matter of this +sort, a man cannot decently consider expense." + +"A matter of what sort?" asked the Tracer blandly. + +"Of _this_ sort." + +"Oh! Yet even now I do not understand. You must remember, Mr. Burke, +that you have not told me anything concerning the reasons for your quest +of these two men, Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon. Besides, this is the +first time you have mentioned pistol range." + +Burke, smoking steadily, looked at the Tracer through the blue fog of +his cigar. + +"No," he said, "I have not told you anything about them." + +Mr. Keen waited a moment; then, smiling quietly to himself, he wrote +down the present addresses of Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon, and, +tearing off the leaf, handed it to the younger man, saying: "I omit the +pistol range, Mr. Burke." + +"I am very grateful to you," said Burke. "The efficiency of your system +is too famous for me to venture to praise it. All I can say is 'Thank +you'; all I can do in gratitude is to write my check--if you will be +kind enough to suggest the figures." + +"Are you sure that my services are ended?" + +"Thank you, quite sure." + +So the Tracer of Lost Persons named the figures, and his client produced +a check book and filled in a check for the amount. This was presented +and received with pleasant formality. Burke rose, prepared to take his +leave, but the Tracer was apparently busy with the combination lock of a +safe, and the young man lingered a moment to make his adieus. + +As he stood waiting for the Tracer to turn around he studied the writing +on the sheet of paper which he held toward the light: + + Joram Smiles, no profession, 613 West 24th Street. Emanuel Gandon, + no profession, same address. Very dangerous men. + +It occurred to him that these three lines of pencil-writing had cost him +a thousand dollars--and at the same instant he flushed with shame at the +idea of measuring the money value of anything in such a quest as this. + +And yet--and yet he had already spent a great deal of money in his brief +quest, and--_was_ he any nearer the goal--even with the penciled +addresses of these two men in his possession? Even with these men almost +within pistol shot! + +Pondering there, immersed in frowning retrospection, the room, the +Tracer, the city seemed to fade from his view. He saw the red sand +blowing in the desert; he heard the sickly squealing of camels at the El +Teb Wells; he saw the sun strike fire from the rippling waters of Saïs; +he saw the plain, and the ruins high above it; and the odor of the Long +Bazaar smote him like a blow, and he heard the far call to prayer from +the minarets of Sa-el-Hagar, once Saïs, the mysterious--Saïs of the +million lanterns, Saïs of that splendid festival where the Great Triad's +worship swayed dynasty after dynasty, and where, through the hot +centuries, Isis, veiled, impassive, looked out upon the hundredth king +of kings, Meris, the Builder of Gardens, dragged dead at the chariot of +Upper and Lower Egypt. + +Slowly the visions faded; into his remote eyes crept the consciousness +of the twentieth century again; he heard the river whistles blowing, and +the far dissonance of the streets--that iron undertone vibrating through +the metropolis of the West from river to river and from the Palisades to +the sea. + +His gaze wandered about the room, from telephone desk to bookcase, from +the table to the huge steel safe, door ajar, swung outward like the +polished breech of a twelve-inch gun. + +Then his vacant eyes met the eyes of the Tracer of Lost Persons, almost +helplessly. And for the first time the full significance of this quest +he had undertaken came over him like despair--this strange, hopeless, +fantastic quest, blindly, savagely pursued from the sand wastes of Saïs +to the wastes of this vast arid city of iron and masonry, ringing to the +sky with the menacing clamor of its five monstrous boroughs. + +Curiously weary of a sudden, he sat down, resting his head on one hand. +The Tracer watched him, bent partly over his desk. From moment to moment +he tore minute pieces from the blotter, or drew imaginary circles and +arabesques on his pad with an inkless pen. + +"Perhaps I could help you, after all--if you'd let me try," he said +quietly. + +"Dou you mean--_me_?" asked Burke, without raising his head. + +"If you like--yes, you--or any man in trouble--in perplexity--in the +uncertain deductions which arise from an attempt at self-analysis." + +"It is true; I am trying to analyze myself. I believe that I don't know +how. All has been mere impulse--so far. No, I don't know how to analyze +it all." + +"I do," said the Tracer. + +Burke raised his level, unbelieving eyes. + +"You are in love," said the Tracer. + +After a long time Burke looked up again. "Do you think so?" + +"Yes. Can I help you?" asked the Tracer pleasantly. + +The young man sat silent, frowning into space; then: + +"I tell you plainly enough that I have come here to argue with two men +at the end of a pistol; and--you tell me I'm in love. By what logic--" + +"It is written in your face, Mr. Burke--in your eyes, in every feature, +every muscle's contraction, every modulation of your voice. My tables, +containing six hundred classified superficial phenomena peculiar to all +human emotions, have been compiled and scientifically arranged according +to Bertillon's system. It is an absolutely accurate key to every phase +of human emotion, from hate, through all its amazingly paradoxical +phenomena, to love, with all its genera under the suborder--all its +species, subspecies, and varieties." + +He leaned back, surveying the young man with kindly amusement. + +"You talk of pistol range, but you are thinking of something more fatal +than bullets, Mr. Burke. You are thinking of love--of the first, great, +absorbing, unreasoning passion that has ever shaken you, blinded you, +seized you and dragged you out of the ordered path of life, to push you +violently into the strange and unexplored! That is what stares out on +the world through those haunted eyes of yours, when the smile dies out +and you are off your guard; that is what is hardening those flat, clean +bands of muscle in jaw and cheek; that is what those hints of shadow +mean beneath the eye, that new and delicate pinch to the nostril, that +refining, almost to sharpness, of the nose, that sensitive edging to the +lips, and the lean delicacy of the chin." + +He bent slightly forward in his chair. + +"There is all that there, Mr. Burke, and something else--the glimmering +dawn of desperation." + +"Yes," said the other, "that is there. I am desperate." + +"_Ex_actly. Also you wear two revolvers in a light, leather harness +strapped up under your armpits," said the Tracer, laughing. "Take them +off, Mr. Burke. There is nothing to be gained in shooting up Mr. Smiles +or converting Mr. Gandon into nitrates." + +"If it is a matter where one man can help another," the Tracer added +simply, "it would give me pleasure to place my resources at your +command--without recompense--" + +"Mr. Keen!" said Burke, astonished. + +"Yes?" + +"You are very amiable; I had not wished--had not expected anything +except professional interest from you." + +"Why not? I like you, Mr. Burke." + +The utter disarming candor of this quiet, elderly gentleman silenced the +younger man with a suddenness born of emotions long crushed, long +relentlessly mastered, and which now, in revolt, shook him fiercely in +every fiber. All at once he felt very young, very helpless in the +world--that same world through which, until within a few weeks, he had +roved so confidently, so arrogantly, challenging man and the gods +themselves in the pride of his strength and youth. + +But now, halting, bewildered, lost amid the strange maze of byways +whither impulse had lured and abandoned him, he looked out into a world +of wilderness and unfamiliar stars and shadow shapes undreamed of, and +he knew not which way to turn--not even how to return along the ways his +impetuous feet had trodden in this strange and hopeless quest of his. + +"How can you help me?" he said bluntly, while the quivering undertone +rang in spite of him. "Yes, I am in love; but how can any living man +help me?" + +"Are you in love with the dead?" asked the Tracer gravely. "For that +only is hopeless. Are you in love with one who is not living?" + +"Yes." + +"You love one whom you know to be dead?" + +"Yes; dead." + +"How do you know that she is dead?" + +"That is not the question. I knew that when I fell in love with her. It +is not that which appals me; I ask nothing more than to live my life out +loving the dead. I--I ask very little." + +He passed his unsteady hand across his dry lips, across his eyes and +forehead, then laid his clinched fist on the table. + +"Some men remain constant to a memory; some to a picture--sane, +wholesome, normal men. Some men, with a fixed ideal, never encounter its +facsimile, and so never love. There is nothing strange, after all, in +this; nothing abnormal, nothing unwholesome. Grünwald loved the marble +head and shoulders of the lovely Amazon in the Munich Museum; he died +unmarried, leaving the charities and good deeds of a blameless life to +justify him. Sir Henry Guest, the great surgeon who worked among the +poor without recompense, loved Gainsborough's 'Lady Wilton.' The +portrait hangs above his tomb in St. Clement's Hundreds. D'Epernay loved +Mlle. Jeanne Vacaresco, who died before he was born. And I--I love in +my own fashion." + +His low voice rang with the repressed undertone of excitement; he opened +and closed his clinched hand as though controlling the lever of his +emotions. + +"What can you do for a man who loves the shadow of Life?" he asked. + +"If you love the shadow because the substance has passed away--if you +love the soul because the dust has returned to the earth as it was--" + +"It has _not_!" said the younger man. + +The Tracer said very gravely: "It is written that whenever 'the Silver +Cord' is loosed, 'then shall the dust return unto the earth as it was, +and the spirit shall return unto Him who gave it.'" + +"The spirit--yes; _that_ has taken its splendid flight--" + +His voice choked up, died out; he strove to speak again, but could not. +The Tracer let him alone, and bent again over his desk, drawing +imaginary circles on the stained blotter, while moment after moment +passed under the tension of that fiercest of all struggles, when a man +sits throttling his own soul into silence. + +And, after a long time, Burke lifted a haggard face from the cradle of +his crossed arms and shook his shoulders, drawing a deep, steady breath. + +"Listen to _me_!" he said in an altered voice. + +And the Tracer of Lost Persons nodded. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +"When I left the Point I was assigned to the colored cavalry. They are +good men; we went up Kettle Hill together. Then came the Philippine +troubles, then that Chinese affair. Then I did staff duty, and could not +stand the inactivity and resigned. They had no use for me in Manchuria; +I tired of waiting, and went to Venezuela. The prospects for service +there were absurd; I heard of the Moorish troubles and went to Morocco. +Others of my sort swarmed there; matters dragged and dragged, and the +Kaiser never meant business, anyway. + +"Being independent, and my means permitting me, I got some shooting in +the back country. This all degenerated into the merest nomadic +wandering--nothing but sand, camels, ruins, tents, white walls, and blue +skies. And at last I came to the town of Sa-el-Hagar." + +His voice died out; his restless, haunted eyes became fixed. + +"Sa-el-Hagar, once ancient Saïs," repeated the Tracer quietly; and the +young man looked at him. + +"You know _that_?" + +"Yes," said the Tracer. + +For a while Burke remained silent, preoccupied, then, resting his chin +on his hand and speaking in a curiously monotonous voice, as though +repeating to himself by rote, he went on: + +"The town is on the heights--have you a pencil? Thank you. Here is the +town of Sa-el-Hagar, here are the ruins, here is the wall, and somewhere +hereabouts should be the buried temple of Neith, which nobody has +found." He shifted his pencil. "Here is the lake of Saïs; here, standing +all alone on the plain, are those great monolithic pillars stretching +away into perspective--four hundred of them in all--a hundred and nine +still upright. There were one hundred and ten when I arrived at El Teb +Wells." + +He looked across at the Tracer, repeating: "One hundred and ten--when I +arrived. One fell the first night--a distant pillar far away on the +horizon. Four thousand years had it stood there. And it fell--the first +night of my arrival. I heard it; the nights are cold at El Teb Wells, +and I was lying awake, all a-shiver, counting the stars to make me +sleep. And very, very far away in the desert I heard and felt the shock +of its fall--the fall of forty centuries under the Egyptian stars." + +His eyes grew dreamy; a slight glow had stained his face. + +"Did you ever halt suddenly in the Northern forests, listening, as +though a distant voice had hailed you? Then you understand why that far, +dull sound from the dark horizon brought me to my feet, bewildered, +listening, as though my own name had been spoken. + +"I heard the wind in the tents and the stir of camels; I heard the reeds +whispering on Saïs Lake and the yap-yap of a shivering jackal; and +always, always, the hushed echo in my ears of my own name called across +the star-lit waste. + +"At dawn I had forgotten. An Arab told me that a pillar had fallen; it +was all the same to me, to him, to the others, too. The sun came out +hot. I like heat. My men sprawled in the tents; some watered, some went +up to the town to gossip in the bazaar. I mounted and cast bridle on +neck--you see how much I cared where I went! In two hours we had +completed a circle--like a ruddy hawk above El Teb. And my horse halted +beside the fallen pillar." + +As he spoke his language had become very simple, very direct, almost +without accent, and he spoke slowly, picking his way with that lack of +inflection, of emotion characteristic of a child reading a new reader. + +"The column had fallen from its base, eastward, and with its base it had +upheaved another buried base, laying bare a sort of cellar and a flight +of stone steps descending into darkness. + +"Into this excavation the sand was still running in tiny rivulets. +Listening, I could hear it pattering far, far down into the shadows. + +"Sitting there in the saddle, the thing explained itself as I looked. +The fallen pillar had been built upon older ruins; all Egypt is that +way, ruin founded on the ruin of ruins--like human hopes. + +"The stone steps, descending into the shadow of remote ages, invited me. +I dismounted, walked to the edge of the excavation, and, kneeling, +peered downward. And I saw a wall and the lotus-carved rim of a vast +stone-framed pool; and as I looked I heard the tinkle of water. For the +pillar, falling, had unbottled the ancient spring, and now the +stone-framed lagoon was slowly filling after its drought of centuries. + +"There was light enough to see by, but, not knowing how far I might +penetrate, I returned to my horse, pocketed matches and candles from +the saddlebags, and, returning, started straight down the steps of +stone. + +"Fountain, wall, lagoon, steps, terraces half buried--all showed what +the place had been: a water garden of ancient Egypt--probably +royal--because, although I am not able to decipher hieroglyphics, I have +heard somewhere that these picture inscriptions, when inclosed in a +cartouch like this"--he drew rapidly-- + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"or this + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +indicate that the subject of the inscription was once a king. + +"And on every wall, every column, I saw the insignia of ancient royalty, +and I saw strange hawk-headed figures bearing symbols engraved on +stone--beasts, birds, fishes, unknown signs and symbols; and everywhere +the lotus carved in stone--the bud, the blossom half-inclosed, the +perfect flower." + +His dreamy eyes met the gaze of the Tracer, unseeing; he rested his +sunburned face between both palms, speaking in the same vague monotone: + +"Everywhere dust, ashes, decay, the death of life, the utter +annihilation of the living--save only the sparkle of reborn waters +slowly covering the baked bed of the stone-edged pool--strange, luminous +water, lacking the vital sky tint, enameled with a film of dust, yet, +for all that, quickening with imprisoned brilliancy like an opal. + +"The slow filling of the pool fascinated me; I stood I know not how long +watching the thin film of water spreading away into the dimness beyond. +At last I turned and passed curiously along the wall where, at its base, +mounds of dust marked what may have been trees. Into these I probed with +my riding crop, but discovered nothing except the depths of the dust. + +"When I had penetrated the ghost of this ancient garden for a thousand +yards the light from the opening was no longer of any service. I lighted +a candle; and its yellow rays fell upon a square portal into which led +another flight of steps. And I went down. + +"There were eighteen steps descending into a square stone room. Strange +gleams and glimmers from wall and ceiling flashed dimly in my eyes under +the wavering flame of the candle. Then the flame grew still--still as +death--and Death lay at my feet--there on the stone floor--a man, square +shouldered, hairless, the cobwebs of his tunic mantling him, lying face +downward, arms outflung. + +"After a moment I stooped and touched him, and the entire prostrate +figure dissolved into dust where it lay, leaving at my feet a shadow +shape in thin silhouette against the pavement--merely a gray layer of +finest dust shaped like a man, a tracery of impalpable powder on the +stones. + +"Upward and around me I passed the burning candle; vast figures in blue +and red and gold grew out of the darkness; the painted walls sparkled; +the shadows that had slept through all those centuries trembled and +shrank away into distant corners. + +"And then--and then I saw the gold edges of her sandals sparkle in the +darkness, and the clasped girdle of virgin gold around her slender waist +glimmered like purest flame!" + +Burke, leaning far across the table, interlocked hands tightening, +stared and stared into space. A smile edged his mouth; his voice grew +wonderfully gentle: + +"Why, she was scarcely eighteen--this child--there so motionless, so +lifelike, with the sandals edging her little upturned feet, and the +small hands of her folded between the breasts. It was as though she +had just stretched herself out there--scarcely sound asleep as yet, and +her thick, silky hair--cut as they cut children's hair in these days, +you know--cradled her head and cheeks. + +[Illustration: "'As though . . . scarcely sound asleep as yet.'"] + +"So marvelous the mimicry of life, so absolute the deception of +breathing sleep, that I scarce dared move, fearing to awaken her. + +"When I did move I forgot the dusty shape of the dead at my feet, and +left, full across his neck, the imprint of a spurred riding boot. It +gave me my first shudder; I turned, feeling beneath my foot the soft, +yielding powder, and stood aghast. Then--it is absurd!--but I felt as a +man feels who has trodden inadvertently upon another's foot--and in an +impulse of reparation I stooped hastily and attempted to smooth out the +mortal dust which bore the imprint of my heel. But the fine powder +flaked my glove, and, looking about for something to compose the ashes +with, I picked up a papyrus scroll. Perhaps he himself had written on +it; nobody can ever know, and I used it as a sort of hoe to scrape him +together and smooth him out on the stones." + +The young man drew a yellowish roll of paper-like substance from his +pocket and laid it on the table. + +"This is the same papyrus," he said. "I had forgotten that I carried it +away with me until I found it in my shooting coat while packing to sail +for New York." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons reached over and picked up the scroll. It was +flexible still, but brittle; he opened it with great care, considered +the strange figures upon it for a while, then turned almost sharply on +his visitor. + +"Go on," he said. + +And Burke went on: + +"The candle was burning low; I lighted two more, placing them at her +head and feet on the edges of the stone couch. Then, lighting a third +candle, I stood beside the couch and looked down at the dead girl under +her veil-like robe, set with golden stars." + +He passed his hand wearily over his hair and forehead. + +"I do not know what the accepted meaning of beauty may be if it was not +there under my eyes. Flawless as palest amber ivory and rose, the +smooth-flowing contours melted into exquisite symmetry; lashes like +darkest velvet rested on the pure curve of the cheeks; the closed lids, +the mouth still faintly stained with color, the delicate nose, the full, +childish lips, sensitive, sweet, resting softly upon each other--if +these were not all parts of but one lovely miracle, then there is no +beauty save in a dream of Paradise. . . . + +"A gold band of linked scarabs bound her short, thick hair straight +across the forehead; thin scales of gold fell from a necklace, clothing +her breasts in brilliant discolored metal, through which ivory-tinted +skin showed. A belt of pure, soft gold clasped her body at the waist; +gold-edged sandals clung to her little feet. + +"At first, when the stunned surprise had subsided, I thought that I was +looking upon some miracle of ancient embalming, hitherto unknown. Yet, +in the smooth skin there was no slit to prove it, no opening in any vein +or artery, no mutilation of this sculptured masterpiece of the Most +High, no cerements, no bandages, no gilded carven case with painted face +to stare open eyed through the wailing cycles. + +"This was the image of sleep--of life unconscious--not of death. Yet is +was death--death that had come upon her centuries and centuries ago; for +the gold had turned iridescent and magnificently discolored; the sandal +straps fell into dust as I bent above them, leaving the sandals clinging +to her feet only by the wired silver core of the thongs. And, as I +touched it fearfully, the veil-like garment covering her, vanished into +thin air, its metal stars twinkling in a shower around her on the stone +floor." + +The Tracer, motionless, intent, scarcely breathed; the younger man moved +restlessly in his chair, the dazed light in his eyes clearing to sullen +consciousness. + +"What more is there to tell?" he said. "And to what purpose? All this is +time wasted. I have my work cut out for me. What more is there to tell?" + +"What you have left untold," said the Tracer, with the slightest ring of +authority in his quiet voice. + +And, as though he had added "Obey!" the younger man sank back in his +chair, his hands contracting nervously. + +"I went back to El Teb," he said; "I walked like a dreaming man. My +sleep was haunted by her beauty; night after night, when at last I fell +asleep, instantly I saw her face, and her dark eyes opening into mine in +childish bewilderment; day after day I rode out to the fallen pillar and +descended to that dark chamber where she lay alone. Then there came a +time when I could not endure the thought of her lying there alone. I had +never dared to touch her. Horror of what might happen had held me aloof +lest she crumble at my touch to that awful powder which I had trodden +on. + +"I did not know what to do; my Arabs had begun to whisper among +themselves, suspicious of my absences, impatient to break camp, perhaps, +and roam on once more. Perhaps they believed I had discovered treasure +somewhere; I am not sure. At any rate, dread of their following me, +determination to take my dead away with me, drove me into action; and +that day when I reached her silent chamber I lighted my candle, and, +leaning above her for one last look, I touched her shoulder with my +finger tip. + +"It was a strange sensation. Prepared for a dreadful dissolution, +utterly unprepared for cool, yielding flesh, I almost dropped where I +stood. For her body was neither cold nor warm, neither dust-dry nor +moist; neither the skin of the living nor the dead. It was firm, almost +stiff, yet not absolutely without a certain hint of flexibility. + +"The appalling wonder of it consumed me; fear, incredulity, terror, +apathy succeeded each other; then slowly a fierce shrinking happiness +swept me in every fiber. + +"This marvelous death, this triumph of beauty over death, was mine. +Never again should she lie here alone through the solitudes of night and +day; never again should the dignity of Death lack the tribute demanded +of Life. Here was the appointed watcher--I, who had found her alone in +the wastes of the world--all alone on the outermost edges of the +world--a child, dead and unguarded. And standing there beside her I knew +that I should never love again." + +He straightened up, stretching out his arm: "I did not intend to carry +her away to what is known as Christian burial. How could I consign her +to darkness again, with all its dreadful mockery of marble, all its +awful emblems? + +"This lovely stranger was to be my guest forever. The living should be +near her while she slept so sweetly her slumber through the centuries; +she should have warmth, and soft hangings and sunlight and flowers; and +her unconscious ears should be filled with the pleasant stir of living +things. . . . I have a house in the country, a very old house among +meadows and young woodlands. And I--I had dreamed of giving this child a +home--" + +His voice broke; he buried his head in his hands a moment; but when he +lifted it again his features were hard as steel. + +"There was already talk in the bazaar about me. I was probably followed, +but I did not know it. Then one of my men disappeared. For a week I +hesitated to trust my Arabs; but there was no other way. I told them +there was a mummy which I desired to carry to some port and smuggle out +of the country without consulting the Government. I knew perfectly well +that the Government would never forego its claim to such a relic of +Egyptian antiquity. I offered my men too much, perhaps. I don't know. +They hesitated for a week, trying by every artifice to see the treasure, +but I never let them out of my sight. + +"Then one day two white men came into camp; and with them came a +government escort to arrest me for looting an Egyptian tomb. The white +men were Joram Smiles and that Eurasian, Emanuel Gandon, who was partly +white, I suppose. I didn't comprehend what they were up to at first. +They escorted me forty miles to confront the official at Shen-Bak. When, +after a stormy week, I was permitted to return to Saïs, my Arabs and the +white men were gone. And the stone chamber under the water garden wall +was empty as the hand I hold out to you!" + +He opened his palm and rose, his narrowing eyes clear and dangerous. + +"At the bazaar I learned enough to know what had been done. I traced the +white men to the coast. They sailed on the _Scythian Queen_, taking +with them all that I care for on earth or in heaven! And you ask me why +I measure their distance from me by a bullet's flight!" + +The Tracer also rose, pale and grave. + +"Wait!" he said. "There are other things to be done before you prepare +to face a jury for double murder." + +"It is for them to choose," said Burke. "They shall have the choice of +returning to me my dead, or of going to hell full of lead." + +"_Ex_actly, my dear sir. That part is not difficult," said the Tracer +quietly. "There will be no occasion for violence, I assure you. Kindly +leave such details to me. I know what is to be done. You are outwardly +very calm, Mr. Burke--even dangerously placid; but though you maintain +an admirable command over yourself superficially, you are laboring under +terrible excitement. Therefore it is my duty to say to you at once that +there is no cause for your excitement, no cause for your apprehension as +to results. I feel exceedingly confident that you will, in due time, +regain possession of all that you care for most--quietly, quietly, my +dear sir! You are not yet ready to meet these men, nor am I ready to go +with you. I beg you to continue your habit of self-command for a +little while. There is no haste--that is to say, there is every reason +to make haste slowly. And the quickest method is to seat yourself. Thank +you. And I shall sit here beside you and spread out this papyrus scroll +for your inspection." + +[Illustration: Hieroglyphics] + +Burke stared at the Tracer, then at the scroll. + +"What has that inscription to do with the matter in hand?" he demanded +impatiently. + +"I leave you to judge," said the Tracer. A dull tint of excitement +flushed his lean cheeks; he twisted his gray mustache and bent over the +unrolled scroll which was now held flat by weights at the four corners. + +"Can you understand any of these symbols, Mr. Burke?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Curious," mused the Tracer. "Do you know it was fortunate that you put +this bit of papyrus in the pocket of your shooting coat--so fortunate +that, in a way, it approaches the miraculous?" + +"What do you mean? Is there anything in that scroll bearing on this +matter?" + +"Yes." + +"And you can read it? Are you versed in such learning, Mr. Keen?" + +"I am an Egyptologist--among other details," said the Tracer calmly. + +The young man gazed at him, astonished. The Tracer of Lost Persons +picked up a pencil, laid a sheet of paper on the table beside the +papyrus, and slowly began to copy the first symbol: + +[Illustration: Glyph] + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +"The ancient Egyptian word for the personal pronoun 'I' was _anuk_," +said the Tracer placidly. "The phonetic for _a_ was the hieroglyph + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a reed; for _n_ the water symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +for _u_ the symbols + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +for _k_ + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +Therefore this hieroglyphic inscription begins with the personal pronoun + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +or _I_. That is very easy, of course. + +"Now, the most ancient of Egyptian inscriptions read vertically in +columns; there are only two columns in this papyrus, so we'll try it +vertically and pass downward to the next symbol, which is inclosed in a +sort of frame or cartouch. That immediately signifies that royalty is +mentioned; therefore, we have already translated as much as 'I, the king +(or queen).' Do you see?" + +"Yes," said Burke, staring. + +"Very well. Now this symbol, number two, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +spells out the word '_Meris_,' in this way: M (pronounced _me_) is +phonetically symbolized by the characters + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +_r_ by + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +(a mouth) and the comma + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and the hieroglyph + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +_i_ by two reeds + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and two oblique strokes, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and _s_ by + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +This gives us Meris, the name of that deposed and fugitive king of +Egypt who, after a last raid on the summer palace of Mer-Shen, usurping +ruler of Egypt, was followed and tracked to Saïs, where, with an arrow +through his back, he crawled to El Teb and finally died there of his +wound. All this Egyptologists are perfectly familiar with in the +translations of the boastful tablets and inscriptions erected near Saïs +by Mer-Shen, the three hundred and twelfth sovereign after Queen +Nitocris." + +He looked up at Burke, smiling. "Therefore," he said, "this papyrus +scroll was written by Meris, ex-king, a speculative thousands of years +before Christ. And it begins: 'I, Meris the King.'" + +"How does all this bear upon what concerns me?" demanded Burke. + +"Wait!" + +Something in the quiet significance of the Tracer's brief command sent a +curious thrill through the younger man. He leaned stiffly forward, +studying the scroll, every faculty concentrated on the symbol which the +Tracer had now touched with the carefully sharpened point of his pencil: + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"That," said Mr. Keen, "is the ancient Egyptian word for 'little,' +'_Ket_.' The next, below, written in two lines, is 'Samaris,' a proper +name--the name of a woman. Under that, again, is the symbol for the +number 18; the decimal sign, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and eight vertical strokes, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +Under that, again, is a hieroglyph of another sort, an ideograph +representing a girl with a harp; and, beneath that, the symbol which +always represented a dancing girl + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and also the royal symbol inclosed in a cartouch, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means literally 'the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that +is the significant symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +representing an arm and a hand holding a stick. This always means +_force_--to take forcibly or to use violence. Therefore, so far, we have +the following literal translation: 'I, Meris the King, little Samaris, +eighteen, a harpist, dancing girl, the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt, +to take by violence--'" + +"What does that make?" broke in Burke impatiently. + +"_Wait!_ Wait until we have translated everything literally. And, Mr. +Burke, it might make it easier for us both if you would remember that I +have had the pleasure of deciphering many hundreds of papyri before you +had ever heard that there were such things." + +"I beg your pardon," said the young man in a low voice. + +"I beg yours for my impatience," said the Tracer pleasantly. "This +deciphering always did affect my nerves and shorten my temper. And, no +doubt, it is quite as hard on you. Shall we go on, Mr. Burke?" + +"If you please, Mr. Keen." + +So the Tracer laid his pencil point on the next symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"That is the symbol for night," he said; "and that + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +is the water symbol again, as you know; and that + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +is the ideograph, meaning a ship. The five reversed crescents + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +record the number of days voyage; the sign + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +means a house, and is also the letter H in the Egyptian alphabet. + +"Under it, again, we have a repetition of the first symbol meaning _I_, +and a repetition of the second symbol, meaning 'Meris, the King.' Then, +below that cartouch, comes a new symbol, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which is the feminine personal pronoun, _sentus_, meaning '_she_'; and +the first column is completed with the symbol for the ancient Egyptian +verb, _nehes_, 'to awake,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"And now we take the second column, which begins with the jackal +ideograph expressing slyness or cleverness. Under it is the hieroglyph +meaning 'to run away,' 'to escape.' And under that, Mr. Burke, is one of +the rarest of all Egyptian symbols; a symbol seldom seen on stone or +papyrus, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +except in rare references to the mysteries of Isis. The meaning of it, +so long in dispute, has finally been practically determined through a +new discovery in the cuneiform inscriptions. It is the symbol of two +hands holding two _closed_ eyes; and it signifies power." + +"You mean that those ancients understood hypnotism?" asked Burke, +astonished. + +"Evidently their priests did; evidently hypnotism was understood and +employed in certain mysteries. And there is the symbol of it; and under +it the hieroglyphs + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +meaning 'a day and a night,' with the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +as usual present to signify force or strength employed. Under that, +again, is a human figure stretched upon a typical Egyptian couch. And +now, Mr. Burke, _note carefully_ three modifying signs: first, that it +is a _couch_ or _bed_ on which the figure is stretched, not the funeral +couch, not the embalming slab; second, there is no mummy mask covering +the face, and no mummy case covering the body; third, that under the +recumbent figure is pictured an _open_ mouth, not a _closed_ one. + +"All these modify the ideograph, apparently representing death. But the +sleep symbol is not present. Therefore it is a sound inference that all +this simply confirms the symbol of hypnotism." + +Burke, intensely absorbed, stared steadily at the scroll. + +"Now," continued Mr. Keen, "we note the symbol of force again, always +present; and, continuing horizontally, a cartouch quite empty except for +the midday sun. That is simply translated; the midday sun illuminates +nothing. Meris, deposed, is king only in name; and the sun no longer +shines on him as 'Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that despairing +symbol, 'King of Nothing,' we have + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +the phonetics which spell _sha_, the word for garden. And, just beyond +this, horizontally, the modifying ideograph meaning 'a _water_ garden'; + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a design of lotus and tree alternating on a terrace. Under that is the +symbol for the word '_aneb_,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a 'wall.' Beyond that, horizontally, is the symbol for 'house.' It +should be placed under the wall symbol, but the Egyptians were very apt +to fill up spaces instead of continuing their vertical columns. Now, +beneath, we find the imperative command + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +'arise!' And the Egyptian personal pronoun '_entuten_,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means 'you' or 'thou.' + +"Under that is the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means 'priest,' or, literally, 'priest man.' Then comes the +imperative 'awake to life!' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +After that, our first symbol again, meaning '_I_,' followed horizontally +by the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +signifying 'to go.' + +"Then comes a very important drawing--you see?--the picture of a man +with a jackal's head, not a dog's head. It is not accompanied by the +phonetic in a cartouch, as it should be. Probably the writer was in +desperate haste at the end. But, nevertheless, it is easy to translate +that symbol of the man with a jackal's head. It is a picture of the +Egyptian god, Anubis, who was supposed to linger at the side of the +dying to conduct their souls. Anubis, the jackal-headed, is the courier, +the personal escort of departing souls. And this is he. + +"And now the screed ends with the cry 'Pray for me!' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +the last symbol on this strange scroll--this missive written by a +deposed, wounded, and dying king to an unnamed priest. Here is the +literal translation in columns: + +I cunning +Meris the King escape +little hypnotize +Samaris King of Nothing +eighteen place forcibly +a harpist garden +a dancing girl--Ruler of water garden + Upper and Lower wall + Egypt house +took forcibly--night Arise. Do +by water Thou +five days Priest Man +ship Awake +house To life +I I go +Meris the King Anubis +she Pray +awake + +"And this is what that letter, thousands of years old, means in this +language of ours, hundreds of years young: 'I, Meris the King, seized +little Samaris, a harpist and a dancing girl, eighteen years of age, +belonging to the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, and carried her away at +night on shipboard--a voyage of five days--to my house. I, Meris the +King, lest she lie awake watching cunningly for a chance to escape, +hypnotized her (or had her hypnotized) so that she lay like one dead or +asleep, but breathing, and I, King no longer of Upper and Lower Egypt, +took her and placed her in my house under the wall of the water garden. +Arise! therefore, O thou priest; (go) and awaken her to life. I am dying +(I go with Anubis!). Pray for me!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +For a full minute the two men sat there without moving or speaking. Then +the Tracer laid aside his pencil. + +"To sum up," he said, opening the palm of his left hand and placing the +forefinger of his right across it, "the excavation made by the falling +pillar raised in triumph above the water garden of the deposed king, +Meris, by his rival, was the subterranean house of Meris. The prostrate +figure which crumbled to powder at your touch may have been the very +priest to whom this letter or papyrus was written. Perhaps the bearer of +the scroll was a traitor and stabbed the priest as he was reading the +missive. Who can tell how that priest died? He either died or betrayed +his trust, for he never aroused the little Samaris from her suspended +animation. And the water garden fell into ruins and she slept; and the +Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt raised his columns, lotus crowned, above +the ruins; and she slept on. Then--_you_ came." + +Burke stared like one stupefied. + +"I do not know," said the Tracer gravely, "what balm there may be in a +suspension of sensation, perhaps of vitality, to protect the human body +from corruption after death. I do not know how soon suspended animation +or the state of hypnotic coma, undisturbed, changes into death--whether +it comes gradually, imperceptibly freeing the soul; whether the soul +hides there, asleep, until suddenly the flame of vitality is +extinguished. I do not know how long she lay there with life in her." + +He leaned back and touched an electric bell, then, turning to Burke: + +"Speaking of pistol range," he said, "unstrap those weapons and pass +them over, if you please." + +And the young man obeyed as in a trance. + +"Thank you. There are four men coming into this room. You will keep your +seat, if you please, Mr. Burke." + +After a moment the door opened noiselessly. Two men handcuffed together +entered the room; two men, hands in their pockets, sauntered carelessly +behind the prisoners and leaned back against the closed door. + +"That short, red-haired, lame man with the cast in his eye--do you +recognize him?" asked the Tracer quietly. + +Burke, grasping the arms of his chair, had started to rise, fury fairly +blazing from his eyes; but, at the sound of the Tracer's calm, even +voice, he sank back into his chair. + +"That is Joram Smiles? You recognize him?" continued Mr. Keen. + +Burke nodded. + +"_Ex_actly--alias Limpy, alias Red Jo, alias Big Stick Joram, alias +Pinky; swindler, international confidence man, fence, burglar, gambler; +convicted in 1887, and sent to Sing Sing for forgery; convicted in 1898, +and sent to Auburn for swindling; arrested by my men on board the S. S. +_Scythian Queen_, at the cabled request of John T. Burke, Esquire, and +held to explain the nature of his luggage, which consisted of the +contents of an Egyptian vault or underground ruin, declared at the +customhouse as a mummy, and passed as such." + +The quiet, monotonous voice of the Tracer halted, then, as he glanced at +the second prisoner, grew harder: + +"Emanuel Gandon, general international criminal, with over half a +hundred aliases, arrested in company with Smiles and held until Mr. +Burke's arrival." + +Turning to Burke, the Tracer continued: "Fortunately, the _Scythian +Queen_ broke down off Brindisi. It gave us time to act on your cable; +we found these men aboard when she was signaled off the Hook. I went out +with the pilot myself, Mr. Burke." + +Smiles shot a wicked look at Burke; Gandon scowled at the floor. + +"Now," said the Tracer pleasantly, meeting the venomous glare of Smiles, +"I'll get you that warrant you have been demanding to have exhibited to +you. Here it is--charging you and your amiable friend Gandon with +breaking into and robbing the Metropolitan Museum of ancient Egyptian +gold ornaments, in March, 1903, and taking them to France, where they +were sold to collectors. It seems that you found the business good +enough to go prowling about Egypt on a hunt for something to sell here. +A great mistake, my friends--a very great mistake, because, after the +Museum has finished with you, the Egyptian Government desires to +extradite you. And I rather suspect you'll have to go." + +He nodded to the two quiet men leaning against the door. + +"Come, Joram," said one of them pleasantly. + +But Smiles turned furiously on the Tracer. "You lie, you old gray rat!" +he cried. "That ain't no mummy; that's a plain dead girl! And there +ain't no extrydition for body snatchin', so I guess them niggers at +Cairo won't get us, after all!" + +"Perhaps," said the Tracer, looking at Burke, who had risen, pale and +astounded. "Sit down, Mr. Burke! There is no need to question these men; +no need to demand what they robbed you of. For," he added slowly, "what +they took from the garden grotto of Saïs, and from you, I have under my +own protection." + +The Tracer rose, locked the door through which the prisoners and their +escorts had departed; then, turning gravely on Burke, he continued: + +"That panel, there, is a door. There is a room beyond--a room facing to +the south, bright with sunshine, flowers, soft rugs, and draperies of +the East. _She_ is there--like a child asleep!" + +Burke reeled, steadying himself against the wall; the Tracer stared at +space, speaking very slowly: + +"Such death I have never before heard of. From the moment she came under +my protection I have dared to doubt--many things. And an hour ago you +brought me a papyrus scroll confirming my doubts. I doubt still--Heaven +knows what! Who can say how long the flame of life may flicker within +suspended animation? A week? A month? A year? Longer than that? Yes; +the Hindoos have proved it. How long? The span of a normal life? Or +longer? Can the life flame burn indefinitely when the functions are +absolutely suspended--generation after generation, century after +century?" + +Burke, ghastly white, straightened up, quivering in every limb; the +Tracer, as pale as he, laid his hand on the secret panel. + +"If--if you dare say it--the phrase is this: '_O Ket Samaris, +Nehes!_'--'O Little Samaris, awake!'" + +"I--dare. In Heaven's name, open that door!" + +Then, averting his head, the Tracer of Lost Persons swung open the +panel. + +A flood of sunshine flashed on Burke's face; he entered; and the paneled +door closed behind him without a sound. + +Minute after minute passed; the Tracer stood as though turned to stone, +gray head bent. + +Then he heard Burke's voice ring out unsteadily: + +"O Ket Samaris--Samaris! O Ket Samaris--_Nehes!_" + +And again: "Samaris! Samaris! O beloved, awake!" + +And once more: "_Nehes!_ O Samaris!" + +Silence, broken by a strange, sweet, drowsy plaint--like a child +awakened at midnight by a dazzling light. + +"Samaris!" + +Then, through the stillness, a little laugh, and a softly tremulous +voice: + +"_Ari un aha, O Entuk sen!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +"What we want to do," said Gatewood over the telephone, "is to give you +a corking little dinner at the Santa Regina. There'll be Mr. and Mrs. +Tommy Kerns, Captain and Mrs. Harren, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Burke, Mrs. +Gatewood, and myself. We want you to set the date for it, Mr. Keen, and +we also wish you to suggest one more deliriously happy couple whom you +have dragged out of misery and flung head-first into terrestrial +paradise." + +"Do you young people really care to do this for me?" asked the Tracer, +laughing. + +"Of course we do. We're crazy about it. We want one more couple, and you +to set the date." + +There was the slightest pause; then the Tracer's voice, with the same +undertone of amusement ringing through it: + +"How would your cousin, Victor Carden, do?" + +"He's all right, only he isn't married. We want two people whom you have +joined together after hazard has put them asunder and done stunts with +them." + +"Very well; Victor Carden and his very lovely wife will be just the +people." + +"Is Victor married?" demanded Gatewood, astonished. + +"No," said the Tracer demurely, "but he will be in time for that +dinner." And he set the date for the end of the week in an amused voice, +and rang off. + +Then he glanced at the clock, touched an electric bell, and again +unhooking the receiver of the telephone, called up the Sherwood Studios +and asked for Mr. Carden. + +"Is _this_ Mr. Carden? Oh, good morning, Mr. Carden! This is Mr. Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons. Could you make it convenient to call--say in +course of half an hour? Thank you. . . . What? . . . Well, speaking with +that caution and reserve which we are obliged to employ in making any +preliminary statements to our clients, I think I may safely say that you +have every reason to feel moderately encouraged." + +"You mean," said Carden's voice, "that you have actually solved the +proposition?" + +"It has been a difficult proposition, Mr. Carden; I will not deny that +it has taxed our resources to the uttermost. Over a thousand people, +first and last, have been employed on this case. It has been a slow and +tedious affair, Mr. Carden--tedious for us all. We seldom have a case +continue as long as this has; it is a year ago to-day since you placed +the matter in our hands. . . . What? Well, without committing myself, I +think that I may venture to express a carefully qualified opinion that +the solution of the case is probably practically in the way of being +almost accomplished! . . . Yes, I shall expect you in half an hour. +Good-by!" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons' eyes were twinkling as he hung up the +receiver and turned in his revolving chair to meet the pretty young +woman who had entered in response to his ring. + +"The Carden case, if you please, Miss Smith," he said, smiling to +himself. + +The young woman also smiled; the Carden case had become a classic in the +office. Nobody except Mr. Keen had believed that the case could ever be +solved. + +"Safe-deposit box 108923!" said Miss Smith softly, pressing a speaking +tube to her red lips. In a few moments there came a hissing thud from +the pneumatic tube; Miss Smith unlocked it and extracted a smooth, steel +cylinder. + +"The combination for that cylinder is A-4-44-11-X," observed the Tracer, +consulting a cipher code, "which, translated," he added, "gives us the +setting combination, One, D, R-R,-J-'24." + +Miss Smith turned the movable disks at the end of the cylinder until +the required combination appeared. Then she unscrewed the cylinder head +and dumped out the documents in the famous Carden case. + +"As Mr. Carden will be here in half an hour or so I think we had better +run over the case briefly," nodded the Tracer, leaning back in his chair +and composing himself to listen. "Begin with my preliminary memorandum, +Miss Smith." + +"Case 108923," began the girl. Then she read the date, Carden's full +name, Victor Carden, a terse biography of the same gentleman, and added: +"Case accepted. Contingent fee, $5,000." + +"Quite so," said Mr. Keen; "now, run through the minutes of the first +interview." + +And Miss Smith unrolled a typewritten scroll and read: + +"Victor Carden, Esquire, the well-known artist, called this evening at +6.30. Tall, well-bred, good appearance, very handsome; very much +embarrassed. Questioned by Mr. Keen he turned pink, and looked timidly +at the stenographer (Miss Colt). Asked if he might not see Mr. Keen +alone, Miss Colt retired. Mr. Keen set the recording phonograph in +motion by dropping his elbow on his desk." + +A brief _résumé_ of the cylinder records followed: + +"Mr. Carden asked Mr. Keen if he (Mr. Keen) knew who he (Mr. Carden) +was. Mr. Keen replied that everybody knew Mr. Carden, the celebrated +painter and illustrator who had created the popular type of beauty known +as the 'Carden Girl.' Mr. Carden blushed and fidgeted. (_Notes from. Mr. +Keen's Observation Book, pp. 291-297._) Admitted that he was the creator +of the 'Carden Girl.' Admitted he had drawn and painted that particular +type of feminine beauty many times. Fidgeted some more. (_Keen's O.B., +pp. 298-299._) Volunteered the statement that this type of beauty, known +as the 'Carden Girl,' was the cause of great unhappiness to himself. +Questioned, turned pinker and fidgeted. (_K.O.B., page 300._) Denied +that his present trouble was caused by the model who had posed for the +'Carden Girl.' Explained that a number of assorted models had posed for +that type of beauty. Further explained that none of them resembled the +type; that the type was his own creation; that he used models merely for +the anatomy, and that he always idealized form and features. + +"Questioned again, admitted that the features of the 'Carden Girl' were +his ideal of the highest and loveliest type of feminine beauty. Did not +deny that he had fallen in love with his own creation. Turned red and +tried to smoke. (_K.O.B., page 303._) Admitted he had been fascinated +himself with his own rendering of a type of beauty which he had never +seen anywhere except as rendered by his own pencil on paper or on +canvas. Fidgeted. (_K.O.B., page 304._) Admitted that he could easily +fall in love with a woman who resembled the 'Carden Girl.' Didn't +believe she ever really existed. Confessed he had hoped for years to +encounter her, but had begun to despair. Admitted that he had ventured +to think that Mr. Keen might trace such a girl for him. Doubted Mr. +Keen's success. Fidgeted (_K.O.B., page 306_), and asked Mr. Keen to +take the case. Promised to send to Mr. Keen a painting in oil which +embodied his loftiest ideal of the type known as the 'Carden Girl.' +(_Portrait received; lithographs made and distributed to our agents +according to routine, from Canada to Mexico and from the Atlantic to the +Pacific._) + +"Mr. Keen terminated the interview with characteristic tact, accepting +the case on the contingent fee of $5,000." + +"Very well," said the Tracer, as Miss Smith rolled up the scroll and +looked at him for further instructions. "Now, perhaps you had better run +over the short summary of proceedings to date. I mean the digest which +you will find attached to the completed records." + +Miss Smith found the paper, unrolled it, and read: + +"During the twelve months' investigation and search (_in re Carden_) +seven hundred and nine young women were discovered who resembled very +closely the type sought for. By process of elimination, owing to defects +in figure, features, speech, breeding, etc., etc., this list was cut +down to three. One of these occasionally chewed gum, but otherwise +resembled the type. The second married before the investigation of her +habits could be completed. The third is apparently a flawless replica of +Mr. Carden's original in face, figure, breeding, education, moral and +mental habits. (_See Document 23, A._)" + +"Read Document 23, A," nodded Mr. Keen. + +And Miss Smith read: + +ROSALIND HOLLIS, M.D. + +Age . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 + +Height . . . . . . 5 feet 9 inches + +Weight . . . . . . . . 160 pounds + + Thick, bright, ruddy +Hair . . . . . . golden, and inclined + to curl. + +Teeth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Eyes . . . . . . . Dark violet-blue + +Mouth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Color . . . . Fair. An ivory-tinted + blonde. + +Figure . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Health . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Temper . . . . . . . . . Feminine + + Austere, with a +Habits . . . . resolutely suppressed + capacity for romance. + +Business . . . . . . . . . None + +Profession . . . . . . . Physician + +Mania . . . . . . . . A Mission + +"NOTE.--Dr. Rosalind Hollis was presented to society in her eighteenth +year. At the end of her second season she withdrew from society with the +determination to devote her entire life to charity. Settlement work and +the study of medicine have occupied her constantly. Recently admitted to +practice, she spends her mornings in visiting the poor, whom she treats +free of all charge; her afternoons and evenings are devoted to what she +expects is to be her specialty: the study of the rare malady known as +Lamour's Disease. (_See note on second page._) + +"It is understood that Dr. Hollis has abjured the society of all men +other than her patients and such of her professional _confrères_ as she +is obliged to consult or work with. Her theory is that of the beehive: +drones for mates, workers for work. She adds, very decidedly, that she +belongs to the latter division, and means to remain there permanently. + +"NOTE (_Mr. Keen's O.B., pp. 916-18_).--Her eccentricity is probably the +result of a fine, wholesome, highly strung young girl taking life and +herself too seriously. The remedy will be the _Right Man_." + +"_Ex_actly," nodded Mr. Keen, joining the tips of his thin fingers and +partly closing his eyes. "Now, Miss Smith, the disease which Dr. Hollis +intends to make her specialty--have you any notes on that?" + +"Here they are," said Miss Smith; and she read: "Lamour's Disease; the +rarest of all known diseases; first discovered and described by Ero S. +Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H., in 1861. Only a single case has ever +been observed. This case is fully described in Dr. Lamour's superb and +monumental work in sixteen volumes. Briefly, the disease appears without +any known cause, and is ultimately supposed to result fatally. The first +symptom is the appearance of a faintly bluish circle under the eyes, as +though the patient was accustomed to using the eyes too steadily at +times. Sometimes a slight degree of fever accompanies this +manifestation; pulse and temperature vary. The patient is apparently in +excellent health, but liable to loss of appetite, restlessness, and a +sudden flushing of the face. These symptoms are followed by others +unmistakable: the patient becomes silent at times; at times evinces a +weakness for sentimental expressions; flushes easily; is easily +depressed; will sit for hours looking at one person; and, if not +checked, will exhibit impulsive symptoms of affection for the opposite +sex. The strangest symptom of all, however, is the physical change in +the patient, whose features and figure, under the trained eye of the +observer, gradually from day to day assume the symmetry and charm of a +beauty almost unearthly, sometimes accompanied by a spiritual pallor +which is unmistakable in confirming the diagnosis, and which, Dr. Lamour +believes, presages the inexorable approach of immortality. + +"There is no known remedy for Lamour's Disease. The only case on record +is the case of the young lady described by Dr. Lamour, who watched her +for years with unexampled patience and enthusiasm; finally, in the +interest of science, marrying his patient in order to devote his life +to a study of her symptoms. Unfortunately, some of these disappeared +early--within a week--but the curious manifestation of physical beauty +remained, and continued to increase daily to a dazzling radiance, with +no apparent injury to the patient. Dr. Lamour, unfortunately, died +before his investigations, covering over forty years, could be +completed; his widow survived him for a day or two only, leaving sixteen +children. + +"Here is a wide and unknown field for medical men to investigate. It is +safe to say that the physician who first discovers the bacillus of +Lamour's Disease and the proper remedy to combat it will reap as his +reward a glory and renown imperishable. Lamour's Disease is a disease +not yet understood--a disease whose termination is believed to be +fatal--a strange disease which seems to render radiant and beautiful the +features of the patient, brightening them with the forewarning of +impending death and the splendid resurrection of immortality." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons caressed his chin reflectively. "_Ex_actly, +Miss Smith. So this is the disease which Dr. Hollis has chosen for her +specialty. And only one case on record. _Ex_actly. Thank you." + +Miss Smith replaced the papers in the steel cylinder, slipped it into +the pneumatic tube, sent it whizzing below to the safe-deposit vaults, +and, saluting Mr. Keen with a pleasant inclination of her head, went out +of the room. + +The Tracer turned in his chair, picked up the daily detective report, +and scanned it until he came to the name Hollis. It appeared that the +daily routine of Rosalind Hollis had not varied during the past three +weeks. In the mornings she was good to the poor with bottles and pills; +in the afternoons she tucked one of Lamour's famous sixteen volumes +under her arm and walked to Central Park, where, with democratic +simplicity, she sat on a secluded bench and pored over the symptoms of +Lamour's Disease. About five she retired to her severely simple +apartments in the big brownstone office building devoted to physicians, +corner of Fifty-eighth Street and Madison Avenue. Here she took tea, +read a little, dined all alone, and retired about nine. This was the +guileless but determined existence of Rosalind Hollis, M.D., according +to McConnell, the detective assigned to observe her. + +The Tracer refolded the report of his chief of detectives and +pigeonholed it just as the door opened and a tall, well-built, +attractive young man entered. + +Shyness was written all over him; he offered his hand to Mr. Keen with +an embarrassed air and seated himself at that gentleman's invitation. + +"I'm almost sorry I ever began this sort of thing," he blurted out, like +a big schoolboy appalled at his own misdemeanors. "The truth is, Mr. +Keen, that the prospect of actually seeing a 'Carden Girl' alive has +scared me through and through. I've a notion that my business with that +sort of a girl ends when I've drawn her picture." + +"But surely," said the Tracer mildly, "you have some natural curiosity +to see the living copy of your charming but inanimate originals, haven't +you, Mr. Carden?" + +"Yes--oh, certainly. I'd like to see one of them alive--say out of a +window, or from a cab. I should not care to be too close to her." + +"But merely seeing her does not commit you," interposed Mr. Keen, +smiling. "She is far too busy, too much absorbed in her own affairs to +take any notice of you. I understand that she has something of an +aversion for men." + +"Aversion!" + +"Well, she excludes them as unnecessary to her existence." + +"Why?" asked Carden. + +"Because she has a mission in life," said Mr. Keen gravely. + +Carden looked out of the window. It was pleasant weather--June in all +its early loveliness--the fifth day of June. The sixth was his birthday. + +"I've simply got to marry somebody before the day after to-morrow," he +said aloud--"that is, if I want my legacy." + +"What!" demanded the Tracer sharply. + +Carden turned, pink and guilty. "I didn't tell you all the circumstances +of my case," he said. "I suppose I ought to have done so." + +"_Ex_actly," said the Tracer severely. "Why is it necessary that you +marry somebody before the day after to-morrow?" + +"Well, it's my twenty-fifth birthday--" + +"Somebody has left you money on condition that you marry before your +twenty-fifth birthday? Is that it, Mr. Carden? An uncle? An imbecile +grandfather? A sentimental aunt?" + +"My Aunt Tabby Van Beekman." + +"Where is she?" + +"In Trinity churchyard. It's too late to expostulate with her, you see. +Besides, it wouldn't have done any good when she was alive." + +The Tracer knitted his brows, musing, the points of his slim fingers +joined. + +"She was very proud, very autocratic," said Carden. "I am the last of +my race and my aunt was determined that the race should not die out with +me. I don't want to marry and increase, but she's trying to make me. At +all events, I am not going to marry any woman inferior to the type I +have created with my pencil--what the public calls the 'Carden Girl.' +And now you see that your discovery of this living type comes rather +late. In two days I must be legally married if I want my Aunt Tabby's +legacy; and to-day for the first time I hear of a girl who, you assure +me, compares favorably to my copyrighted type, but who has a mission and +an aversion to men. So you see, Mr. Keen, that the matter is perfectly +hopeless." + +"I don't see anything of the kind," said Mr. Keen firmly. + +"What?--do you believe there is any chance--" + +"Of your falling in love within the next hour or so? Yes, I do. I think +there is every chance of it. I am sure of it. But that is not the +difficulty. The problem is far more complicated." + +"You mean--" + +"_Ex_actly; how to marry that girl before day after to-morrow. That's +the problem, Mr. Carden!--not whether you are capable of falling in +love with her. I have seen her; I _know_ you can't avoid falling in +love with her. Nobody could. I myself am on the verge of it; and I am +fifty: you can't avoid loving her." + +"If that were so," said Carden gravely; "if I were really going to fall +in love with her--I would not care a rap about my Aunt Tabby and her +money--" + +"You ought to care about it for this young girl's sake. That legacy is +virtually hers, not yours. She has a right to it. No man can ever give +enough to the woman he loves; no man has ever done so. What _she_ gives +and what _he_ gives are never a fair exchange. If you can balance the +account in any measure, it is your duty to do it. Mr. Carden, if she +comes to love you she may think it very fine that you bring to her your +love, yourself, your fame, your talents, your success, your position, +your gratifying income. But I tell you it's not enough to balance the +account. It is never enough--no, not all your devotion to her included! +You can never balance the account on earth--all you can do is to try to +balance it materially and spiritually. Therefore I say, endow her with +_all_ your earthly goods. Give all you can in every way to lighten as +much as possible man's hopeless debt to all women who have ever loved." + +"You talk about it as though I were already committed," said Carden, +astonished. + +"You are, morally. For a month I have, without her knowledge, it is +true, invaded the privacy of a very lovely young girl--studied her +minutely, possessed myself of her history, informed myself of her +habits. What excuse had I for this unless I desired her happiness and +yours? Nobody could offer me any inducement to engage in such a practice +unless I believed that the means might justify a moral conclusion. And +the moral conclusion of this investigation is your marriage to her." + +"Certainly," said Carden uneasily, "but how are we going to accomplish +it by to-morrow? How is it going to be accomplished at all?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons rose and began to pace the long rug, clasping +his hands behind his back. Minute after minute sped; Carden stared +alternately at Mr. Keen and at the blue sky through the open window. + +"It is seldom," said Mr. Keen with evident annoyance, "that I personally +take any spectacular part in the actual and concrete demonstrations +necessary to a successful conclusion of a client's case. But I've got to +do it this time." + +He went to a cupboard, picked out a gray wig and gray side whiskers and +deliberately waved them at Carden. + +"You see what these look like?" he demanded. + +"Y-yes." + +"Very well. It is now noon. Do you know the Park? Do you happen to +recollect a shady turn in the path after you cross the bridge over the +swan lake? Here; I'll draw it for you. Now, here is the lake; here's the +esplanade and fountain, you see. Here's the path. You follow +it--so!--around the lake, across the bridge, then following the lake to +the right--so!--then up the wooded slope to the left--so! Now, here is a +bench. I mark it Number One. _She_ sits there with her book--there she +is!" + +"If she looks like _that_--" began Carden. And they both laughed with +the slightest trace of excitement. + +"Here is Bench Number Two!" resumed the Tracer. "Here you sit--and there +you are!" + +[Illustration: MR. KEEN'S SKETCH OF THE RENDEZVOUS] + +"Thanks," said Carden, laughing again. + +"Now," continued the Tracer, "you must be there at one o'clock. She will +be there at one-thirty, or earlier perhaps. A little later I will become +benignly visible. Your part is merely a thinking part; you are to do +nothing, say nothing, unless spoken to. And when you are spoken to you +are to acquiesce in whatever anybody says to you, and you are to do +whatever anybody requests you to do. And, above all, don't be surprised +at _anything_ that may happen. You'll be nervous enough; I expect that. +You'll probably color up and flush and fidget; I expect that; I count on +that. But don't lose your nerve entirely; and don't think of attempting +to escape." + +"Escape! From what? From whom?" + +"From her." + +"_Her?_" + +"Are you going to follow my instructions?" demanded the Tracer of Lost +Persons. + +"I--y-yes, of course." + +"Very well, then, I am going to rub some of this under your eyes." And +Mr. Keen produced a make-up box and, walking over to Carden, calmly +darkened the skin under his eyes. + +"I look as though I had been on a bat!" exclaimed Carden, surveying +himself in a mirror. "Do you think any girl could find any attraction in +such a countenance?" + +"_She_ will," observed the Tracer meaningly. "Now, Mr. Carden, one last +word: The moment you find yourself in love with her, and the first +moment you have the chance to do so decently, make love to her. She +won't dismiss you; she will repulse you, of course, but she won't let +you go. I know what I am saying; all I ask of you is to promise on your +honor to carry out these instructions. Do you promise?" + +"I do." + +"Then here is the map of the rendezvous which I have drawn. Be there +promptly. Good morning." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +At one o'clock that afternoon a young man earnestly consulting a map +might have been seen pursuing his solitary way through Central Park. +Fresh green foliage arched above him, flecking the path with fretted +shadow and sunlight; the sweet odor of flowering shrubs saturated the +air; the waters of the lake sparkled where swans swept to and fro, snowy +wings spread like sails to the fitful June wind. + +"This," he murmured, pausing at a shaded bend in the path, "must be +Bench Number One. I am not to sit on that. This must be Bench Number +Two. I _am_ to sit on that. So here I am," he added nervously, seating +himself and looking about him with the caution of a cat in a strange +back yard. + +There was nobody in sight. Reassured, he ventured to drop one knee over +the other and lean upon his walking stick. For a few minutes he remained +in this noncommittal attitude, alert at every sound, anxious, +uncomfortable, dreading he knew not what. A big, fat, gray squirrel +racing noisily across the fallen leaves gave him a shock. A number of +birds came to look at him--or so it appeared to him, for in the +inquisitive scrutiny of a robin he fancied he divined sardonic meaning, +and in the blank yellow stare of a purple grackle, a sinister +significance out of all proportion to the size of the bird. + +"What an absurd position to be in!" he thought. And suddenly he was +seized with a desire to flee. + +He didn't because he had promised not to, but the desire persisted to +the point of mania. Oh, how he could run if he only hadn't promised not +to! His entire being tingled with the latent possibilities of a burst of +terrific speed. He wanted to scuttle away like a scared rabbit. The pace +of the kangaroo would be slow in comparison. What a record he could make +if he hadn't promised not to. + +He crossed his knees the other way and brooded. The gray squirrel +climbed the bench and nosed his pockets for possible peanuts, then +hopped off hopefully toward a distant nursemaid and two children. + +Growing more alarmed every time he consulted his watch Carden attempted +to stem his rising panic with logic and philosophy, repeating: "Steady! +my son! Don't act like this! You're not obliged to marry her if you +don't fall in love with her; and if you do, you won't mind marrying her. +That is philosophy. That is logic. Oh, I wonder what will have happened +to me by this time to-morrow! I wish it _were_ this time to-morrow! I +wish it were this time next month! Then it would be all over. Then it +would be--" + +His muttering speech froze on his lips. Rooted to his bench he sat +staring at a distant figure approaching--the figure of a young girl in a +summer gown. + +Nearer, nearer she came, walking with a free-limbed, graceful step, head +high, one arm clasping a book. + +That was the way the girls he drew would have walked had they ever +lived. Even in the midst of his fright his artist's eyes noted that: +noted the perfect figure, too, and the witchery of its grace and +contour, and the fascinating poise of her head, and the splendid color +of her hair; noted mechanically the flowing lines of her gown, and the +dainty modeling of arm and wrist and throat and ear. + +Then, as she reached her bench and seated herself, she raised her eyes +and looked at him. And for the first time in his life he realized that +ideal beauty was but the pale phantom of the real and founded on +something more than imagination and thought; on something of vaster +import than fancy and taste and technical skill; that it was founded on +Life itself--on breathing, living, palpitating, tremulous Life!--from +which all true inspiration must come. + +Over and over to himself he was repeating: "Of course, it is perfectly +impossible that I can be in love already. Love doesn't happen between +two ticks of a watch. I am merely amazed at that girl's beauty; that is +all. I am merely astounded in the presence of perfection; that is all. +There is nothing more serious the matter with me. It isn't necessary for +me to continue to look at her; it isn't vital to my happiness if I never +saw her again. . . . That is--of course, I should like to see her, +because I never did see living beauty such as hers in any woman. Not +even in my pictures. What superb eyes! What a fascinately delicate nose! +_What_ a nose! By Heaven, that nose _is_ a nose! I'll draw noses _that_ +way in future. My pictures are all out of drawing; I must fit arms into +their sockets the way hers fit! I must remember the modeling of her +eyelids, too--and that chin! and those enchanting hands--" + +She looked up leisurely from her book, surveyed him calmly, absent-eyed, +then bent her head again to the reading. + +"There _is_ something the matter with me," he thought with a suppressed +gulp. "I--if she looks at me again--with those iris-hued eyes of a +young goddess--I--I think I'm done for. I believe I'm done for anyway. +It seems rather mad to think it. But there _is_ something the matter--" + +She deliberately looked at him again. + +"It's all wrong for them to let loose a girl like that on people," he +thought to himself, "all wrong. Everybody is bound to go mad over her. +I'm going now. I'm mad already. I know I am, which proves I'm no +lunatic. It isn't her beauty; it's the way she wears it--every motion, +every breath of her. I know exactly what her voice is like. Anybody who +looks into her eyes can see what her soul is like. She isn't out of +drawing anywhere--physically or spiritually. And when a man sees a girl +like that, why--why there's only one thing that can happen to him as far +as I can see. And it doesn't take a year either. Heavens! How awfully +remote from me she seems to be." + +She looked up again, calmly, but not at him. A kindly, gray-whiskered +old gentleman came tottering and rocking into view, his rosy, wrinkled +face beaming benediction on the world as he passed through it--on the +sunshine dappling the undergrowth, on the furry squirrels sitting up on +their hind legs to watch him pass, on the stray dickybird that hopped +fearlessly in his path, at the young man sitting very rigid there on +his bench, at the fair, sweet-faced girl who met his aged eyes with the +gentlest of involuntary smiles. And Carden did not recognize him! + +Who could help smiling confidently into that benign face, with its gray +hair and gray whiskers? Goodness radiated from every wrinkle. + +"Dr. Atwood!" exclaimed the girl softly as she rose to meet this +marvelous imitation of Dr. Austin Atwood, the great specialist on +children's diseases. + +The old man beamed weakly at her, halted, still beaming, fumbled for his +eyeglasses, adjusted them, and peered closely into her face. + +"Bless my soul," he smiled, "our pretty Dr. Hollis!" + +"I--I did not suppose you would remember me," she said, rosy with +pleasure. + +"Remember you? Surely, surely." He made her a quaint, old-fashioned bow, +turned, and peeped across the walk at Carden. And Carden, looking +straight into his face, did not know the old man, who turned to Dr. +Hollis again with many mysterious nods of his doddering head. + +"You're watching him, too, are you?" he chuckled, leaning toward her. + +"Watching whom, Dr. Atwood?" she asked surprised. + +"Hush, child! I thought you had noticed that unfortunate and afflicted +young man opposite." + +Dr. Hollis looked curiously at Carden, then at the old gentleman with +gray whiskers. + +"Please sit down, Dr. Atwood, and tell me," she murmured. "I have +noticed nothing in particular about the young man on the bench there." +And she moved to give him room; and the young man opposite stared at +them both as though bereft of reason. + +"A heavy book for small hands, my child," said the old gentleman in his +quaintly garrulous fashion, peering with dimmed eyes at the volume in +her lap. + +She smiled, looking around at him. + +"My, my!" he said, tremblingly raising his eyeglasses to scan the title +on the page; "Dr. Lamour's famous works! Are _you_ studying Lamour, +child?" + +"Yes," she said with that charming inflection youth reserves for age. + +"Astonishing!" he murmured. "The coincidence is more than remarkable. A +physician! And studying Lamour's Disease! Incredible!" + +"Is there anything strange in that, Dr. Atwood?" she smiled. + +"Strange!" He lowered his voice, peering across at Carden. "Strange, +did you say? Look across the path at that poor young man sitting there!" + +"Yes," she said, perplexed, "I see him." + +"_What_ do you see?" whispered the old gentleman in a shakily portentous +voice. "Here you sit reading about what others have seen; now what do +_you_ see?" + +"Why, only a man--rather young--" + +"No _symptoms_?" + +"Symptoms? Of what?" + +The old gentleman folded his withered hands over his cane. "My child," +he said, "for a year I have had that unfortunate young man under secret +observation. He was not aware of it; it never entered his mind that I +could be observing _him_ with minutest attention. He may have supposed +there was nothing the matter with him. He was in error. I have studied +him carefully. Look closer! _Are_ there dark circles under his eyes--or +are there not?" he ended in senile triumph. + +"There are," she began, puzzled, "but I--but of what interest to me--" + +"Compare his symptoms with the symptoms in that book you are studying," +said the old gentleman hoarsely. + +"Do you mean--do you suppose--" she stammered, turning her eyes on +Carden, who promptly blushed to his ears and began to fidget. + +"_Every symptom_," muttered the old gentleman. "Poor, poor young man!" + +She had seen Carden turn a vivid pink; she now saw him fidget with his +walking stick; she discovered the blue circles under his eyes. Three +symptoms at once! + +"Do you believe it _possible_?" she whispered excitedly under her breath +to the old gentleman beside her. "It seems incredible! Such a rare +disease! Only one single case ever described and studied! It seems +impossible that I could be so fortunate as actually to see a case! Tell +me, Dr. Atwood, do you believe that young man is really afflicted with +Lamour's Disease?" + +"There is but one way to be absolutely certain," said the old gentleman +in a solemn voice, "and that is to study him; corroborate your +suspicions by observing his pulse and temperature, as did Dr. Lamour." + +"But--how can I?" she faltered. "I--he would probably object to becoming +a patient of mine--" + +"Ask him, child! Ask him." + +"I have not courage--" + +"Courage should be the badge of your profession," said the old +gentleman gravely. "When did a good physician ever show the white +feather in the cause of humanity?" + +"I--I know, but this requires a different sort of courage." + +"How," persisted the old gentleman, "can you confirm your very natural +suspicions concerning this unfortunate young man unless you corroborate +your observations by studying him at close range? Besides, already it +seems to me that certain unmistakable signs are visible; I mean that +strange physical phase which Dr. Lamour dwells on: the symmetry of +feature and limb, the curiously spiritual beauty. Do you not notice +these? Or is my sight so dim that I only imagine it?" + +"He is certainly symmetrical--and--in a certain way--almost handsome in +regard to features," she admitted, looking at Carden. + +"Poor, poor boy!" muttered the old gentleman, wagging his gray whiskers. +"I am too old to help him--too old to dream of finding a remedy for the +awful malady which I am now convinced has seized him. I shall study him +no more. It is useless. All I can do now is to mention his case to some +young, vigorous, ambitious physician--some specialist--" + +"Don't!" she whispered almost fiercely, "don't do that, Dr. Atwood! I +want him, please! I--you helped me to discover him, you see. And his +malady is to be my specialty. Please, do you mind if I keep him all to +myself and study him?" + +"But you refused, child." + +"I didn't mean to. I--I didn't exactly see how I was to study him. But I +must study him! Oh, I _must_! There will surely be some way. Please let +me. You discovered him, I admit, but I will promise you faithfully to +devote my entire life to studying him, as the great Lamour devoted his +life for forty years to his single patient." + +"But Dr. Lamour married his patient," said the Tracer mildly. + +"He--I--that need not be necessary--" + +"But if it should prove necessary?" + +"I--you--" + +"Answer me, child." + +She stared across at Carden, biting her red lips. He turned pink +promptly and fidgeted. + +"He _has_ got it!" she whispered excitedly. "Oh, _do_ you mind if I take +him for mine? I am perfectly wild to begin on him!" + +"You have not yet answered my question," said the old gentleman gravely. +"Do you lack the courage to marry him if it becomes necessary to do so +in order to devote your entire life to studying him?" + +"Oh--it _cannot_ be necessary--" + +"You lack the courage." + +She was silent. + +"Braver things have been done by those of your profession who have gone +among lepers," said the old gentleman sadly. + +She flushed up instantly; her eyes sparkled; her head proudly high, +delicate nostrils dilated. + +"I am not afraid!" she said. "If it ever becomes necessary, I _can_ show +courage and devotion, as well as those of my profession who minister to +the lepers of Molokai! Yes; I do promise you to marry him if I cannot +otherwise study him. And I promise you solemnly to devote my entire life +to observing his symptoms and searching for proper means to combat them. +My one ambition in life is personally to observe and study a case of +Lamour's Disease, and to give my entire life to investigating its +origin, its course, and its cure." + +The old gentleman rose, bowing with that quaintly obsolete courtesy +which was in vogue in his youth. + +"I am contented to leave him exclusively to you, Dr. Hollis. And I wish +you happiness in your life's work--and success in your cure of this +unhappy young man." + +Hat in hand, he bowed again as he tottered past her, muttering and +smiling to himself and shaking his trembling head as he went rocking on +unsteady legs out into the sunshine, where the nursemaids and children +flocked along the lake shore throwing peanuts to the waterfowl and +satiated goldfish. + +Dr. Hollis looked after him, her small hand buried among the pages of +her open book. Carden viewed his disappearing figure with guileless +emotions. He was vaguely aware that something important was about to +happen to him. And it did before he was prepared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +When Rosalind Hollis found herself on her feet again a slight sensation +of fright checked her for a moment. Then, resolutely suppressing such +unworthy weakness, the lofty inspiration of her mission in life +dominated her, and she stepped forward undaunted. And Carden, seeing her +advance toward him, arose in astonishment to meet her. + +For a second they stood facing each other, he astounded, she a trifle +pale but firm. Then in a low voice she asked his pardon for disturbing +him. + +"I am Rosalind Hollis, a physician," she said quietly, "and physicians +are sometimes obliged to do difficult things in the interest of their +profession. It is dreadfully difficult for me to speak to you in this +way. But"--she looked fearlessly at him--"I am confident you will not +misinterpret what I have done." + +He managed to assure her that he did not misinterpret it. + +She regarded him steadily; she examined the dark circles under his eyes; +she coolly observed his rising color under her calm inspection; she saw +him fidgeting with his walking stick. She _must_ try his pulse! + +"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions in the interest of +science?" she said earnestly. + +"As a m-m-matter of fact," he stammered, "I don't know much about +science. Awfully glad to do anything I can, you know." + +"Oh, I don't mean it that way," she reassured him. A hint of a smile +tinted her eyes with brilliant amethyst. "Would you mind if I sat here +for a few moments? _Could_ you overlook this horrid unconventionality +long enough for me to explain why I have spoken to you?" + +"I could indeed!" he said, so anxiously cordial that her lovely face +grew serious and she hesitated. But he was standing aside, hat off, +placing the bench at her disposal, and she seated herself, placing her +book on the bench beside her. + +"Would you mind sitting here for a few moments?" she asked him gravely. + +Dazed, scarcely crediting the evidence of his senses, he took possession +of the end of the bench with the silent obedience of a schoolboy. His +attitude was irreproachable. She was grateful for this, and her +satisfaction with herself for not having misjudged him renewed her +confidence in him, in herself, and in the difficult situation. + +She began, quietly, by again telling him her name and profession; where +she lived, and that she was studying to be a specialist, though she did +not intimate what that specialty was to be. + +Outwardly composed and attentively deferential, his astonishment at +times dominated a stronger sentiment that seemed to grow and expand with +her every word, seizing him in a fierce possession absolutely and +hopelessly complete. + +The bewildering fascination of her mastered him. No cool analysis of +what his senses were confirming could be necessary to convince him of +his condition. Every word of hers, every gesture, every inflection of +her sweet, clear voice, every lifting of her head, her eyes, her +perfectly gloved hands, only repeated to him what he knew was a +certainty. Never had he looked upon such physical loveliness; never had +he dreamed of such a voice. + +She had asked him a question, and, absorbed in the pure delight of +looking at her, he had not comprehended or answered. She flushed +sensitively, accepting his silence as refusal, and he came out of his +trance hastily. + +"I beg your pardon; I did not quite understand your question, Miss +Hollis--I mean, Dr. Hollis." + +"I asked you if you minded my noting your pulse," she said. + +He stretched out his right hand; she stripped off her glove, laid the +tip of her middle finger on his wrist, and glanced down at the gold +watch which she held. + +"I am wondering," he said, laughing uncertainly, "whether you believe me +to be ill. Of course it is easy to see that you have found something +unusual about me--something of particular interest to a physician. Is +there anything very dreadful going to happen to me, Dr. Hollis? I feel +perfectly well." + +"Are you sure you feel well?" she asked, so earnestly that the smile on +his lips faded out. + +"Absolutely. Is my pulse queer?" + +"It is not normal." + +He could easily account for that, but he said nothing. + +She questioned him for a few minutes, noted his pulse again, looked +closely at the bluish circles under his eyes. Naturally he flushed up +and grew restless under the calm, grave, beautiful eyes. + +"I--I have an absolutely new and carefully sterilized thermometer--" She +drew it from a tiny gold-initialed pocket case, and looked wistfully at +him. + +"You want to put that into my mouth?" he asked, astonished. + +"If you don't mind." + +She held it up, shook it once or twice, and deliberately inserted it +between his lips. And there he sat, round-eyed, silent, the end of the +thermometer protruding at a rakish angle from the corner of his mouth. +And he grew redder and redder. + +"I _don't_ wish to alarm you," she was saying, "but all this is so +deeply significant, so full of vital interest to me--to the world, to +science--" + +"_What_ have I got, in Heaven's name?" he said thickly, the thermometer +wiggling in his mouth. + +"Ah!" she exclaimed with soft enthusiasm, clasping her pretty ungloved +hands, "I cannot be sure yet--I dare not be too sanguine--" + +"Do you mean that you _want_ me to have something queer?" he blurted +out, while the thermometer wiggled with every word he uttered. + +"N-no, of course, I don't _want_ you to be ill," she said hastily. +"Only, if you _are_ ill it will be a wonderful thing for me. I +mean--a--that I am intensely interested in certain symptoms which--" + +She gently withdrew the glass tube from his lips and examined it +carefully. + +"_Is_ there anything the matter?" he insisted, looking at the instrument +over her shoulder. + +She did not reply; pure excitement rendered her speechless. + +"I seem to _feel_ all right," he added uneasily. "If you really believe +that there's anything wrong with me, I'll stop in to see my doctor." + +"Your doctor!" she repeated, appalled. + +"Yes, certainly. Why not?" + +"Don't do that! Please don't do that! I--why _I_ discovered this case. I +beg you most earnestly to let me observe it. You don't understand the +importance of it! You don't begin to dream of the rarity of this case! +How much it means to me!" + +He flushed up. "Do you intend to intimate that I am afflicted with some +sort of rare and s-s-trange d-d-disease?" he stammered. + +"I dare not pronounce upon it too confidently," she said with +enthusiasm; "I have not yet absolutely determined the nature of the +disease. But, oh, I am beginning to hope--" + +"Then I _am_ diseased!" he faltered. "I've got _something_ anyhow; is +that it? Only you are not yet perfectly sure what it is called! Is that +the truth, Miss Hollis?" + +"How can I answer positively until I have had time to observe these +symptoms? It requires time to be certain. I do not wish to alarm you, +but it is my duty to say to you that you should immediately place +yourself under medical observation." + +"You think that?" + +"I do; I am convinced of it. Please understand me; I do not pronounce +upon these visible symptoms; I do not express an unqualified opinion; +but I could be in a position to do so if you consent to place yourself +under my observations and care. For these suspicious symptoms are not +only very plainly apparent to me, but were even noted by that old +gentleman whom you may perhaps have observed conversing with me." + +"Yes, I saw him. Who is he?" + +"Dr. Austin Atwood," said the girl solemnly. + +"Oh! And you say he also observed something queer about me? What did he +see? Are there spots on me? Am I turning any remarkable color? Am I--" +And in the very midst of his genuine alarm he suddenly remembered the +make-up box and what the Tracer of Lost Persons had done to his eyes. +Was _that_ it? Where was the Tracer, anyway? He had promised to appear. +And then Carden recollected the gray wig and whiskers that the Tracer +had waved at him from the cupboard, bidding him note them well. _Could_ +that beaming, benignant, tottering old gentleman have been the Tracer of +Lost Persons himself? And the same instant Carden was sure of it, spite +of the miraculous change in the man. + +Then logic came to his aid; and, deducing with care and patience, an +earnest conviction grew within him that the dark circles under his eyes +and the tottering old gentleman resembling Dr. Austin Atwood had a great +deal to do with this dreadful disease which Dr. Hollis desired to study. + +He looked at the charming girl beside him, and she looked back at him +very sweetly, very earnestly, awaiting his decision. + +For a moment he realized that she had really scared him, and in the +reaction of relief an overwhelming desire to laugh seized him. He +managed to suppress it, to compose himself. Then he remembered the +Tracer's admonition to acquiesce in everything, do what he was told to +do, not to run away, and to pay his court at the first decent +opportunity. + +He had no longer any desire to escape; he was quite willing to do +anything she desired. + +"Do you really want to study me, Dr. Hollis?" he asked, feeling like a +hypocrite. + +"Indeed I do," she replied fervently. + +"You believe me worth studying?" + +"Oh, truly, truly, you are! You don't suspect--you cannot conceive how +important you have suddenly become to me." + +"Then I think you had better take my case, Dr. Hollis," he said +seriously. "I begin now to realize that you believe me to be a sort of +freak--an afflicted curiosity, and that, in the interest of medicine, I +ought to go to an asylum or submit myself to the ceaseless observation +of a competent private physician." + +"I--I think it best for you to place yourself in my care," she said. +"Will you?" + +"Yes," he said, "I will. I'll do anything in the world you ask." + +"That is very--very generous, very noble of you!" she exclaimed, +flushing with excitement and delight. "It means a great deal to me--it +means, perhaps, a fame that I scarcely dared dream of even in my most +enthusiastic years. I am too grateful to express my gratitude +coherently; I am trying to say to you that I thank you; that I recognize +in you those broad, liberal, generous qualities which, from your +appearance and bearing, I--I thought perhaps you must possess." + +She colored again very prettily; he bowed, and ventured to remind her +that she had not yet given him the privilege of naming himself. + +"That is true!" she said, surprised. "I had quite forgotten it." But +when he named himself she raised her head, startled. + +"Victor Carden!" she repeated. "You are the _artist_, Victor Carden!" + +"Yes," he said, watching her dilated eyes like two violet-tinted jewels. + +For a minute she sat looking at him; and imperceptibly a change came +into her face, and its bewildering beauty softened as the vivid tints +died out, leaving her cheeks almost pale. + +"It is--a pity," she said under her breath. All the excitement, all the +latent triumph, all the scarcely veiled eager enthusiasm had gone from +her now. + +"A pity?" he repeated, smiling. + +"Yes. I wish it had been only an ordinary man. I--why should this happen +to you? You have done so much for us all--made us forget ourselves in +the beauty of what you offer us. Why should this happen to _you_!" + +"But you have not told me yet what has happened to me, Miss Hollis." + +She looked up, almost frightened. + +"_Are_ you our Victor Carden? I do not wish to believe it! You have done +so much for the world--you have taught us to understand and desire all +that is noble and upright and clean and beautiful!--to desire it, to +aspire toward it, to venture to live the good, true, wholesome lives +that your penciled creations must lead--_must_ lead to wear such +beautiful bodies and such divine eyes!" + +"Do _you_ care for my work?" he asked, astonished and moved. + +"I? Yes, of course I do. Who does not?" + +"Many," he replied simply. + +"I am sorry for them," she said. + +They sat silent for a long while. + +At first his overwhelming desire was to tell her of the deception +practiced upon her; but he could not do that, because in exposing +himself he must fail in loyalty to the Tracer of Lost Persons. Besides, +she would not believe him. She would think him mad if he told her that +the old gentleman she had taken for Dr. Atwood was probably Mr. Keen, +the Tracer of Lost Persons. Also, he himself was not absolutely certain +about it. He had merely deduced as much. + +"Tell me," he said very gently, "what is the malady from which you +believe I am suffering?" + +For a moment she remained silent, then, face averted, laid her finger on +the book beside her. + +"That," she said unsteadily. + +He read aloud: "Lamour's Disease. A Treatise in sixteen volumes by Ero +S. Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H." + +"All that?" he asked guiltily. + +"I don't know, Mr. Carden. Are you laughing at me? Do you not believe +me?" She had turned suddenly to confront him, surprising a humorous +glimmer in his eyes. + +"I really do not believe I am seriously ill," he said, laughing in spite +of her grave eyes. + +"Then perhaps you had better read a little about what Lamour describes +as the symptoms of this malady," she said sadly. + +"Is it fatal?" he inquired. + +"Ultimately. That is why I desire to spend my life in studying means to +combat it. That is why I desire you so earnestly to place yourself under +my observation and let me try." + +"Tell me one thing," he said; "is it contagious? Is it infectious? No? +Then I don't mind your studying me all you wish, Dr. Hollis. You may +take my temperature every ten minutes if you care to. You may observe my +pulse every five minutes if you desire. Only please tell me how this is +to be accomplished; because, you see, I live in the Sherwood Studio +Building, and you live on Madison Avenue." + +"I--I have a ward--a room--fitted up with every modern surgical +device--every improvement," she said. "It adjoins my office. _Would_ you +mind living there for a while--say for a week at first--until I can be +perfectly certain in my diagnosis?" + +"Do you intend to put me to bed?" he asked, appalled. + +"Oh, no! Only I wish to watch you carefully and note your symptoms from +moment to moment. I also desire to try the effects of certain medicines +on you--" + +"What kind of medicines?" he asked uneasily. + +"I cannot tell yet. Perhaps antitoxin; I don't know; perhaps formalin +later. Truly, Mr. Carden, this case has taken on a graver, a more +intimate significance since I have learned who you are. I would have +worked hard to save any life; I shall put my very heart and soul into my +work to save you, who have done so much for us all." + +The trace of innocent emotion in her voice moved him. + +"I am really not ill," he said unsteadily. "I cannot let you think I +am--" + +"Don't speak that way, Mr. Carden. I--I am perfectly miserable over it; +I don't feel any happiness in my discovery now--not the least bit. I had +rather live my entire life without seeing one case of Lamour's Disease +than to believe you are afflicted with it." + +"But I'm not, Miss Hollis!--really, I am not--" + +She looked at him compassionately for a moment, then rose. + +"It is best that you should be informed as to your probable condition," +she said. "In Lamour's works, volume nine, you had better read exactly +what Lamour says. Do you mind coming to the office with me, Mr. Carden?" + +"Now?" + +"Yes. The book is there. Do you mind coming?" + +"No--no, of course not." And, as they turned away together under the +trees: "You don't intend to begin observing me this afternoon, do you?" +he ventured. + +"I think it best if you can arrange your affairs. Can you, Mr. Carden?" + +"Why, yes, I suppose I can. Did you mean for me to begin to occupy that +surgical bedroom at once?" + +"Do you mind?" + +"N-no. I'll telephone my servants to pack a steamer trunk and send it +around to your apartment this evening. And--where am I to board?" + +"I have a dining room," she said simply. "My apartment consists of the +usual number of servants and rooms, including my office, and my +observation ward which you will occupy." + +He walked on, troubled. + +"I only w-want to ask one or two things, Dr. Hollis. Am I to be placed +on a diet? I hate diets!" + +"Not at once." + +"May I smoke?" + +"Certainly," she said, smiling. + +"And you won't p-put me--send me to bed too early?" + +"Oh, no! The later you sit up the better, because I shall wish to take +your temperature every ten minutes and I shall feel very sorry to arouse +you." + +"You mean you are coming in to wake me up every ten minutes and put that +tube in my mouth?" he asked, aghast. + +"Only every half-hour, Mr. Carden. Can't you stand it for a week?" + +"Well," he said, "I--I suppose I can if _you_ can. Only, upon my honor, +there is really nothing the matter with me, and I'll prove it to you out +of your own book." + +"I wish you could, Mr. Carden. I should be only too happy to give you +back to the world with a clear bill of health if you can convince me I +am wrong. Do you not believe me? Indeed, indeed I am not selfish and +wicked enough to wish you this illness, no matter how rare it is!" + +"The rarer a disease is the madder it makes people who contract it," he +said. "I should be the maddest man in Manhattan if I really did have +Lamour's malady. But I haven't. There is only one malady afflicting me, +and I am waiting for a suitable opportunity to tell you all about it, +but--" + +"Tell me now," she said, raising her eyes to his. + +"Not now." + +"To-night?" + +"I hope so. I will if I can, Miss Hollis." + +"But you must not fear to tell a physician about anything which troubles +you, Mr. Carden." + +"I'll remember that," he said thoughtfully, as they emerged from the +Park and crossed to Madison Avenue. + +A moment later he hailed a car and they both entered. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +No, there could be no longer any doubt in her mind as she went into her +bedroom, closed the door, and, unhooking the telephone receiver, called +up the great specialist in rare diseases, Dr. Austin Atwood, M.S., +F.B.A., M.F.H. + +"Dr. Atwood," she said with scarcely concealed emotion, "this is Dr. +Rosalind Hollis." + +"How-de-do?" squeaked the aged specialist amiably. + +"Oh, I am well enough, thank you, doctor--except in spirits. Dr. Atwood, +you were right! He _has_ got it, and I am perfectly wretched!" + +"_Who_ has got _what_?" retorted the voice of Atwood. + +"The unfortunate young gentleman we saw to-day in the Park." + +"What park?" + +"Why, Central Park, doctor." + +"Central Park! _I_ haven't been in Central Park for ten years, my +child." + +"Why, Dr. Atwood!--A--_is_ this Dr. Austin Atwood with whom I am +talking?" + +"Not the least doubt! And you are that pretty Dr. Hollis--Rosalind +Hollis, who consulted me in those charity cases, are you not?" + +"I certainly am. And I wanted to say to you that I have the unfortunate +patient now under closest observation here in my own apartment. I have +given him the room next to the office. And, doctor, you were perfectly +right. He shows every symptom of the disease--he is even inclined to +sentimentalism; he begins to blush and fidget and look at me--a--in that +unmistakable manner--not that he isn't well-bred and charming--indeed he +is most attractive, and it grieves me dreadfully to see that he already +is beginning to believe himself in love with the first person of the +opposite sex he encounters--I mean that he--that I cannot mistake his +attitude toward me--which is perfectly correct, only one cannot avoid +seeing the curious infatuation--" + +"_What_ the dickens is all this?" roared the great specialist, and Dr. +Hollis jumped. + +"I was only confirming your diagnosis, doctor," she explained meekly. + +"What diagnosis?" + +"Yours, doctor. I have confirmed it, I fear. And the certainty has made +me perfectly miserable, because his is such a valuable life to the +world, and he himself is such a splendid, wholesome, noble specimen of +youth and courage, that I cannot bear to believe him incurably +afflicted." + +"Good Heavens!" shouted the doctor, "_what_ has he got and _who_ is he?" + +"He is Victor Carden, the celebrated artist, and he has Lamour's +Disease!" she gasped. + +There was a dead silence; then: "Keep him there until I come! Chloroform +him if he attempts to escape!" + +And the great specialist rang off excitedly. + +So Rosalind Hollis went back to the lamp-lit office where, in a +luxurious armchair, Carden was sitting, contentedly poring over the +ninth volume of Lamour's great treatise and smoking his second cigar. + +"Dr. Atwood is coming here," she said in a discouraged voice, as he rose +with alacrity to place her chair. + +"Oh! What for?" + +"T-to see you, Mr. Carden." + +"Who? Me? Great Scott! I don't want to be slapped and pinched and polled +by a man! I didn't expect that, you know. I'm willing enough to have you +observe me in the interest of humanity--" + +"But, Mr. Carden, he is only called in for consultation. I--I have a +dreadful sort of desperate hope that perhaps I may have made a mistake; +that possibly I am in error." + +"No doubt you are," he said cheerfully. "Let me read a few more pages, +Dr. Hollis, and then I think I shall be all ready to dispute my +symptoms, one by one, and convince you what really is the trouble with +me. And, by the way, did Dr. Atwood seem a trifle astonished when you +told him about me?" + +"A trifle--yes," she said uncertainly. "He is a very, very old man; he +forgets. But he is coming." + +"Oh! And didn't he appear to recollect seeing me in the Park?" + +"N-not clearly. He is very old, you know. But he is coming here." + +"_Ex_actly--as a friend of mine puts it," smiled Carden. "May I be +permitted to use your telephone a moment?" + +"By all means, Mr. Carden. You will find it there in my bedroom." + +So he entered her pretty bedroom and, closing the door tightly, called +up the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Is that you, Mr. Keen? This is Mr. Carden. I'm head over heels in love. +I simply must win her, and I'm going to try. If I don't--if she will +not listen to me--I'll certainly go to smash. And what I want you to do +is to prevent Atwood from butting in. Do you understand? . . . Yes, Dr. +Austin Atwood. Keep him away somehow. . . . Yes, I'm here, at Dr. +Hollis's apartments, under anxious observation. . . . She is the _only_ +woman in the world! I'm mad about her--and getting madder every moment! +She is the most perfectly splendid specimen of womanhood--_what_? Oh, +yes; I rang you up to ask you whether it was _you_ in the Park +to-day?--that old gentleman--_What!_ Yes, in Central Park. Yes, this +afternoon! No, he didn't resemble you; and Dr. Hollis took him for Dr. +Atwood. . . . What are you laughing about? . . . I can _hear_ you +laughing. . . . _Was_ it you? . . . What do I think? Why, I don't know +exactly what to think, but I suppose it must have been you. Was it? +. . . Oh, I see. You don't wish me to know. Certainly, you are quite +right. Your clients have no business behind the scenes. I only asked out +of curiosity. . . . All right. Good-by." + +He came back to the lamp-lit office, which was more of a big, handsome, +comfortable living room than a physician's quarters, and for a moment or +two he stood on the threshold, looking around. + +In the pleasant, subdued light of the lamp Rosalind Hollis looked up +and around, smiling involuntarily to see him standing there; then, +serious, silent, she dropped her eyes to the pages of the volume he had +discarded--volume nine of Lamour's great works. + +Even with the evidence before her, corroborated in these inexorably +scientific pages which she sat so sadly turning, she found it almost +impossible to believe that this big, broad-shouldered, attractive young +man could be fatally stricken. + +Twice her violet eyes stole toward him; twice the thick lashes veiled +them, and the printed pages on her knee sprang into view, and the cold +precision of the type confirmed her fears remorselessly: + +"The trained scrutiny of the observer will detect in the victim of this +disease a peculiar and indefinable charm--a strange symmetry which, on +closer examination, reveals traces of physical beauty almost +superhuman--" + +Again her eyes were lifted to Carden; again she dropped her white lids. +Her worst fears were confirmed. + +Meanwhile he stood on the threshold looking at her, his pulses racing, +his very soul staring through his eyes; and, within him, every sense +clamoring out revolt at the deception, demanding confession and its +penalty. + +"I can't stand this!" he blurted out; and she looked up quickly, her +face blanched with foreboding. + +"Are you in pain?" she asked. + +"No--not that sort of pain! I--_won't_ you please believe that I am not +ill? I'm imposing on you. I'm an impostor! There's nothing whatever the +trouble with me except--something that I want to tell you--if you'll let +me--" + +"Why should you hesitate to confide in a physician, Mr. Carden?" + +He came forward slowly. She laid her small hand on the empty chair which +faced hers and he sank into it, clasping his restless hands under his +chin. + +"You are feeling depressed," she said gently. Depression was a +significant symptom. Three chapters were devoted to it. + +"I'm depressed, of course. I'm horribly depressed and ashamed of myself, +because there is nothing on earth the matter with me, and I've let you +think there is." + +She smiled mournfully; this was another symptom of a morbid state. She +turned, unconsciously, to page 379 to verify her observation. + +"See here, Miss Hollis," he broke out, "haven't I any chance to +convince you that I am not ill? I want to be honest without involving +a--a friend of mine. I can't endure this deception. Won't you let me +prove to you that these symptoms are--are only significant of something +else?" + +She looked straight at him, considering him in silence. + +"Let us begin with those dark circles under my eyes," he said +desperately. "I found some cold-cream in my room and--look! They are +practically gone! At any rate, if there is a sort of shadow left it's +because I use my eyes in my profession." + +"Dr. Lamour says that the dark circles disappear, anyway," said the +girl, unconvinced. "Cold-cream had nothing to do with it." + +"But it _did_! Really it did. And as for the other symptoms, I--well, I +can't help my pulses when y-you t-t-touch me." + +"Please, Mr. Carden." + +"I don't mean to be impertinent. I am trying my hardest to tell the +truth. And my pulses _do_ gallop when you test them; they're galloping +now! This very moment!" + +"Let me try them," she said coolly, laying her hand on his wrist. + +"Didn't I say so!" he insisted grimly. "And I'm turning red, too. But +those symptoms mean something else; they mean _you_!" + +"Mr. Carden!" + +"I can't help saying so--" + +"I know it," she said soothingly; "these sentimental outbursts are part +of the disease--" + +"Good Heavens! _Won't_ you try to believe me! There's nothing in the +world the matter with me except that I am--am--p-p-perfectly +f-f-fascinated--" + +"You must struggle against it, Mr. Carden. That is only part of the--" + +"It isn't! It isn't! It's you! It's your mere presence, your +personality, your charm, your beauty, your loveliness, your--" + +"Mr. Carden, I beg of you! I--it is part of my duty to observe symptoms, +but--but you are making it very hard for me--very difficult--" + +"I am only proving to you that it isn't Lamour's Disease which does +stunts with my pulses, my temperature, my color. I'm not morbid except +when I realize my deception. I'm not depressed except when I think how +far you are from me--how far above me--how far out of reach of such a +man as I am--how desperately I--I--" + +"D-don't you think I had better administer a s-s-sedative, Mr. Carden?" +she said, distressed. + +"I don't care. I'll take anything you give me--as long as _you_ give it +to me. I'll swallow pint after pint of pills! I'll fletcherize 'em! I'll +luxuriate in poison--anything--" + +She was hastily running through the pages of the ninth volume to see +whether the symptoms of sentimental excitement ever turned into frenzy. + +"What can you learn from that book?" he insisted, leaning forward to see +what she was reading. "Anyway, Dr. Lamour married his patient so early +in the game that all the symptoms disappeared. And I believe the trouble +with his patient was my trouble. She had every symptom of it until he +married her! She was in love with him, that is absolutely all!" + +Rosalind Hollis raised her beautiful, incredulous eyes. + +"What do you mean, Mr. Carden?" + +"I mean that, in my opinion, there's no such disease as Lamour's +Disease. That young girl was in love with him. Then he married her at +last, and--presto!--all the symptoms vanished--the pulse, the +temperature, the fidgets, the blushes, the moods, the whole business!" + +"W-what about the strangely curious manifestations of physical +beauty--superhuman symmetry, Mr. Carden?" + +"Do you notice them in _me_?" he gasped. + +"A--yes--in a m-modified measure--" + +"In _me_?" + +"Certainly!" she said firmly; but the slow glow suffusing her cheeks was +disconcerting her. Then his own face began to reflect the splendid color +in hers; their eyes met, dismayed. + +"There are sixteen volumes about this disease," she said. "There _must_ +be such a disease!" + +"There is," he said. "I have it badly. But I never had it before I first +saw you in the Park!" + +"Mr. Carden--this is the wildest absurdity--" + +"I know it. Wildness is a symptom. I'm mad as a hatter. I've got every +separate symptom, and I wish it was infectious and contagious and +catching and fatal!" + +She made an effort to turn the pages to the chapter entitled "Manias and +Illusions," but he laid his hand across the book and his clear eyes +defied her. + +"Mr. Carden--" + +Her smooth hand trembled under his, then, suddenly nerveless, relaxed. +With an effort she lifted her head; their eyes met, spellbound. + +"_You_ have _every_ symptom," he said unsteadily--"every one! What have +you to say?" + +Her fascinated eyes held his. + +"What have you to say?" he repeated under his breath--"you, with every +symptom, and your heavenly radiant beauty to confirm them--that splendid +youthful loveliness which blinds and stuns me as I look--as I speak--as +I tell you that I love you. That is my malady; that is the beginning and +the end of it; love!" + +She sat speechless, immovable, as one under enchantment. + +"All my life," he said, "I have spent in painting shadows. But the +shadows were those dim celestial shapes cast by your presence in the +world. You tell me that the world is better for my work; that I have +offered my people beauty and a sort of truth, which they had never +dreamed of until I revealed it? Yet what inspired me was the shadow +only, for I had never seen the substance; I had never believed I should +ever see the living source of the shadows which inspired me. And now I +see; now I have seen with my own eyes. Now the confession of faith is no +longer a blind creed, born of instinct. You live! You are you! What I +believed from necessity I find proved in fact. The occult no longer can +sway one who has seen. And you, who, without your knowledge or mine, +have always been the one and only source of any good in me or in my +work--why is it strange that I loved you at first sight?--that I +worshiped you at first breath?--I, who, like him who raises his altar to +'the unknown god,' raised my altar to truth and beauty? And a miracle +has answered me." + +She rose, the beautiful dazed eyes meeting his, both hands clasping the +ninth volume of Lamour's great monograph to her breast as though to +protect it from him--from him who was threatening her, enthralling her, +thrilling her with his magic voice, his enchanted youth, the masterful +mystery of his eyes. What was he saying to her? What was this mounting +intoxication sweeping her senses--this delicious menace threatening her +very will? What did he want with her? What was he asking? What was he +doing now--with both her hands in his, and her gaze deeply lost in +his--and the ninth volume of Lamour on the floor between them, sprawling +there, abandoned, waving its helpless, discredited leaves in +air--discredited, abandoned, obsolete as her own specialty--her life's +work! He had taken that, too--taken her life's work from her. And in +return she was holding nothing!--nothing except a young man's +hands--strong, muscular hands which, after all, were holding her own +imprisoned. So she had nothing in exchange for the ninth volume of +Lamour; and her life's work had been annihilated by a smile; and she was +very much alone in the world--very isolated and very youthful. + +After a while she emerged from the chaos of attempted reflection and +listened to what he was saying. He spoke very quietly, very distinctly, +not sparing himself, laying bare every deception without involving +anybody except himself. + +He told her the entire history of his case, excluding Mr. Keen in +person; he told her about his aunt, about his birthday, about his +determination to let the legacy go. Then in a very manly way he told her +that he had never before loved a woman; and fell silent, her hands a +dead weight in his. + +She was surprised that she could experience no resentment. A curious +inertia crept over her. She was tired of expectancy, tired of effort, +weary of the burden of decision. Life and its problems overweighted her. +Her eyes wandered to his broad young shoulders, then were raised to his +face. + +"What shall we do?" she asked innocently. + +Unresisting, she suffered him to explain. His explanation was not +elaborate; he only touched his lips to her hands and straightened up, a +trifle pale. + +After a moment they walked together to the door and he took his hat and +gloves from the rack. + +"Will you come to-morrow morning?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"Come early. I am quite certain of how matters are with me. Everything +has gone out of my life--everything I once cared for--all the familiar +things. So come early, for I am quite alone without you." + +"And I without you, Rosalind." + +"That is only right," she said simply. "I shall cast no more shadows for +you. . . . Are you going? . . . Oh, I know it is best that you should +go, but--" + +He halted. She laid both hands in his. + +"We both have it," she faltered--"every symptom. And--you will come +early, won't you?" + + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Tracer of Lost Persons, by Robert W. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/old/13180-0.zip b/old/13180-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b1ecf5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13180-0.zip diff --git a/old/13180-8.txt b/old/13180-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..db34cf6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13180-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7965 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Tracer of Lost Persons, by Robert W. Chambers + +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: The Tracer of Lost Persons + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + +Release Date: August 15, 2004 [EBook #13180] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders. + + + + + +[Illustration: "'Then in charity say that word!'"] + +THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS + +BY R. W. CHAMBERS + + + +TO MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM A. HALL + + +1906 + + + + _For the harmony of the world, like that of a harp, is made up of + discords._ + + --HERACLITUS. + + + +THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS + + +CHAPTER I + + +He was thirty-three, agreeable to look at, equipped with as much culture +and intelligence as is tolerated east of Fifth Avenue and west of +Madison. He had a couple of elaborate rooms at the Lenox Club, a larger +income than seemed to be good for him, and no profession. It follows +that he was a pessimist before breakfast. Besides, it's a bad thing for +a man at thirty-three to come to the conclusion that he has seen all the +most attractive girls in the world and that they have been vastly +overrated. So, when a club servant with gilt buttons on his coat tails +knocked at the door, the invitation to enter was not very cordial. He of +the buttons knocked again to take the edge off before he entered; then +opened the door and unburdened himself as follows: + +"Mr. Gatewood, sir, Mr. Kerns's compliments, and wishes to know if 'e +may 'ave 'is coffee served at your tyble, sir." + +Gatewood, before the mirror, gave a vicious twist to his tie, inserted a +pearl scarf pin, and regarded the effect with gloomy approval. + +"Say to Mr. Kerns that I am--flattered," he replied morosely; "and tell +Henry I want him." + +"'Enry, sir? Yes, sir." + +The servant left; one of the sleek club valets came in, softly sidling. + +"Henry!" + +"Sir?" + +"I'll wear a white waistcoat, if you don't object." + +The valet laid out half a dozen. + +"Which one do you usually wear when I'm away, Henry? Which is _your_ +favorite?" + +"Sir?" + +"Pick it out and don't look injured, and _don't_ roll up your eyes. I +merely desire to borrow it for one day." + +"Very good, sir." + +"And, Henry, hereafter always help yourself to my _best_ cigars. Those I +smoke may injure you. I've attempted to conceal the keys, but you will, +of course, eventually discover them under that loose tile on the +hearth." + +"Yes, sir; thanky', sir," returned the valet gravely. + +"And--Henry!" + +"Sir?" with martyred dignity. + +"When you are tired of searching for my olivine and opal pin, just find +it, for a change. I'd like to wear that pin for a day or two if it would +not inconvenience you." + +"Very good, sir; I will 'unt it hup, sir." + +Gatewood put on his coat, took hat and gloves from the unabashed valet, +and sauntered down to the sunny breakfast room, where he found Kerns +inspecting a morning paper and leisurely consuming grapefruit with a +cocktail on the side. + +"Hullo," observed Kerns briefly. + +"I'm not on the telephone," snapped Gatewood. + +"I beg your pardon; how are you, dear friend?" + +"_I_ don't know how I am," retorted Gatewood irritably; "how the devil +should a man know how he is?" + +"Everything going to the bowwows, _as_ usual, dear friend?" + +"_As_ usual. Oh, read your paper, Tommy! You know well enough I'm not +one of those tail-wagging imbeciles who wakes up in the morning singing +like a half-witted lark. Why should I, with this taste in my mouth, and +the laundress using vitriol, and Henry sneering at my cigars?" He yawned +and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. "Besides, there's too much gilt +all over this club! There's too much everywhere. Half the world is +stucco, the rest rococo. Where's that Martini I bid for?" + +Kerns, undisturbed, applied himself to cocoa and toasted muffins. +Grapefruit and an amber-tinted accessory were brought for the other and +sampled without mirth. However, a little later Gatewood said: "Well, are +you going to read your paper all day?" + +"What you need," said Kerns, laying the paper aside, "is a job--any old +kind would do, dear friend." + +"I don't want to make any more money." + +"I don't want you to. I mean a job where you'd lose a lot and be scared +into thanking Heaven for carfare. _You're_ a nice object for the +breakfast table!" + +"Bridge. I will be amiable enough by noon time." + +"Yes, you're endurable by noon time, as a rule. When you're forty you +may be tolerated after five o'clock; when you're fifty your wife and +children might even venture to emerge from the cellar after dinner--" + +"Wife!" + +"I said wife," replied Kerns, as he calmly watched his man. + +He had managed it well, so far, and he was wise enough not to overdo it. +An interval of silence was what the situation required. + +"I wish I _had_ a wife," muttered Gatewood after a long pause. + +"Oh, haven't you said that every day for five years? Wife! Look at the +willing assortment of dreams playing Sally Waters around town. Isn't +this borough a bower of beauty--a flowery thicket where the prettiest +kind in all the world grow under glass or outdoors? And what do you do? +You used to pretend to prowl about inspecting the yearly crop of posies, +growling, cynical, dissatisfied; but you've even given that up. Now you +only point your nose skyward and squall for a mate, and yowl mournfully +that you never have seen your ideal. _I_ know _you_." + +"I never have seen my ideal," retorted Gatewood sulkily, "but I know she +exists--somewhere between heaven and Hoboken." + +"You're sure, are you?" + +"Oh, _I'm_ sure. And, rich or poor, good or bad, she was fashioned for +me alone. That's a theory of mine; _you_ needn't accept it; in fact, +it's none of your business, Tommy." + +"All the same," insisted Kerns, "did you ever consider that if your +ideal does exist somewhere, it is morally up to you to find her?" + +"Haven't I inspected every débutante for ten years? You don't expect me +to advertise for an ideal, do you--object, matrimony?" + +Kerns regarded him intently. "Now, I'm going to make a vivid suggestion, +Jack. In fact, that's why I subjected myself to the ordeal of +breakfasting with you. It's none of my business, as you so kindly put +it, but--_shall_ I suggest something?" + +"Go ahead," replied Gatewood, tranquilly lighting a cigarette. "I know +what you'll say." + +"No, you don't. Firstly, you are having such a good time in this world +that you don't really enjoy yourself--isn't that so?" + +"I--well I--well, let it go at that." + +"Secondly, with all your crimes and felonies, you have one decent trait +left: you really would like to fall in love. And I suspect you'd even +marry." + +"There are grounds," said Gatewood guardedly, "for your suspicions. _Et +après?_" + +"Good. Then there's a way! I know--" + +"Oh, don't tell me you 'know a girl,' or anything like that!" began +Gatewood sullenly. "I've heard that before, and I won't meet her." + +"I don't want you to; I don't know anybody. All I desire to say is this: +I do know a way. The other day I noticed a sign on Fifth Avenue: + + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +It was a most extraordinary sign; and having a little unemployed +imagination I began to speculate on how Keen & Co. might operate, and I +wondered a little, too, that, the conditions of life in this city could +enable a firm to make a living by devoting itself exclusively to the +business of hunting up missing people." + +Kerns paused, partly to light a cigarette, partly for diplomatic +reasons. + +"What has all this to do with me?" inquired Gatewood curiously; and +diplomacy scored one. + +"Why not try Keen & Co.?" + +"Try them? Why? I haven't lost anybody, have I?" + +"You haven't, precisely _lost anybody_, but the fact remains that you +can't _find somebody_," returned Kerns coolly. "Why not employ Keen & +Co. to look for her?" + +"Look for whom, in Heaven's name?" + +"Your ideal." + +"Look for--for my ideal! Kerns, you're crazy. How the mischief can +anybody hunt for somebody who doesn't exist?" + +"You _say_ that she _does_ exist." + +"But I can't prove it, man." + +"You don't have to; it's up to Keen & Co. to prove it. That's why you +employ them." + +"What wild nonsense you talk! Keen & Co. might, perhaps, be able to +trace the concrete, but how are they going to trace and find the +abstract?" + +"She isn't abstract; she is a lovely, healthy, and youthful concrete +object--if, as you say, she _does_ exist." + +"How can I _prove_ she exists?" + +"You don't have to; they do that." + +"Look here," said Gatewood almost angrily, "do you suppose that if I +were ass enough to go to these people and tell them that I wanted to +find my ideal--" + +"_Don't_ tell them _that_!" + +"But how--" + +"There is no necessity for going into such trivial details. All you +need say is: 'I am very anxious to find a young lady'--and then describe +her as minutely as you please. Then, when they locate a girl of that +description they'll notify you; you will go, judge for yourself whether +she is the one woman on earth--and, if disappointed, you need only shake +your head and murmur: 'Not _the_ same!' And it's for them to find +another." + +"I won't do it!" said Gatewood hotly. + +"Why not? At least, it would be amusing. You haven't many mental +resources, and it might occupy you for a week or two." + +Gatewood glared. + +"You have a pleasant way of putting things this morning, haven't you?" + +"I don't want to be pleasant: I want to jar you. Don't I care enough +about you to breakfast with you? Then I've a right to be pleasantly +unpleasant. I can't bear to watch your mental and spiritual +dissolution--a man like you, with all your latent ability and capacity +for being nobody in particular--which is the sort of man this nation +needs. Do you want to turn into a club-window gazer like Van Bronk? Do +you want to become another Courtlandt Allerton and go rocking down the +avenue--a grimacing, tailor-made sepulcher?--the pompous obsequies of a +dead intellect?--a funeral on two wavering legs, carrying the corpse of +all that should be deathless in a man? Why, Jack, I'd rather see you in +bankruptcy--I'd rather see you trying to lead a double life in a single +flat on seven dollars and a half a week--I'd almost rather see you every +day at breakfast than have it come to that! + +"Wake up and get jocund with life! Why, you could have all good citizens +stung to death if you chose. It isn't that I want you to make money; but +I want you to worry over somebody besides yourself--not in Wall +Street--a fool and its money are soon parted. But in your own home, +where a beautiful wife and seven angel children have you dippy and close +to the ropes; where the housekeeper gets a rake off, and the cook is +red-headed and comes from Sligo, and the butler's cousin will bear +watching, and the chauffeur is a Frenchman, and the coachman's uncle is +a Harlem vet, and every scullion in the establishment lies, drinks, +steals, and supports twenty satiated relatives at your expense. That +would mean the making of you; for, after all, Jack, you are no +genius--you're a plain, non-partisan, uninspired, clean-built, wholesome +citizen, thank God!--the sort whose unimaginative mission is to pitch in +with eighty-odd millions of us and, like the busy coral creatures, +multiply with all your might, and make this little old Republic the +greatest, biggest, finest article that an overworked world has ever yet +put up! . . . Now you can call for help if you choose." + +Gatewood's breath returned slowly. In an intimacy of many years he had +never suspected that sort of thing from Kerns. That is why, no doubt, +the opinions expressed by Kerns stirred him to an astonishment too +innocent to harbor anger or chagrin. + +And when Kerns stood up with an unembarrassed laugh, saying, "I'm going +to the office; see you this evening?" Gatewood replied rather vacantly: +"Oh, yes; I'm dining here. Good-by, Tommy." + +Kerns glanced at his watch, lingering. "Was there anything you wished to +ask me, Jack?" he inquired guilelessly. + +"Ask you? No, I don't think so." + +"Oh; I had an idea you might care to know where Keen & Co. were to be +found." + +"_That_," said Gatewood firmly, "is foolish." + +"I'll write the address for you, anyway," rejoined Kerns, scribbling it +and handing the card to his friend. + +Then he went down the stairs, several at a time, eased in conscience, +satisfied that he had done his duty by a friend he cared enough for to +breakfast with. + +"Of course," he ruminated as he crawled into a hansom and lay back +buried in meditation--"of course there may be nothing in this Keen & Co. +business. But it will stir him up and set him thinking; and the longer +Keen & Co. take to hunt up an imaginary lady that doesn't exist, the +more anxious and impatient poor old Jack Gatewood will become, until +he'll catch the fever and go cantering about with that one fixed idea in +his head. And," added Kerns softly, "no New Yorker in his right mind can +go galloping through these five boroughs very long before he's roped, +tied, and marked by the 'only girl in the world'--the _only_ girl--if +you don't care to turn around and look at another million girls +precisely like her. O Lord!--precisely like her!" + +Here was a nice exhorter to incite others to matrimony. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Meanwhile, Gatewood was walking along Fifth Avenue, more or less soothed +by the May sunshine. First, he went to his hatters, looked at straw +hats, didn't like them, protested, and bought one, wishing he had +strength of mind enough to wear it home. But he hadn't. Then he entered +the huge white marble palace of his jeweler, left his watch to be +regulated, caught a glimpse of a girl whose hair and neck resembled the +hair and neck of his ideal, sidled around until he discovered that she +was chewing gum, and backed off, with a bitter smile, into the avenue +once more. + +Every day for years he had had glimpses of girls whose hair, hands, +figures, eyes, hats, carriage, resembled the features required by his +ideal; there always was something wrong somewhere. And, as he strolled +moodily, a curious feeling of despair seized him--something that, even +in his most sentimental moments, even amid the most unexpected +disappointment, he had never before experienced. + +"I do want to love _somebody_!" he found himself saying half aloud; "I +want to marry; I--" He turned to look after three pretty children with +their maids--"I want several like those--several!--seven--ten--I don't +care how many! I want a house to worry me, just as Tommy described it; I +want to see the same girl across the breakfast table--or she can sip her +cocoa in bed if she desires--" A slow, modest blush stole over his +features; it was one of the nicest things he ever did. Glancing up, he +beheld across the way a white sign, ornamented with strenuous crimson +lettering: + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +The moment he discovered it, he realized he had been covertly hunting +for it; he also realized that he was going to climb the stairs. He +hadn't quite decided what he meant to do after that; nor was his mind +clear on the matter when he found himself opening a door of opaque glass +on which was printed in red: + + KEEN & CO. + +He was neither embarrassed nor nervous when he found himself in a big +carpeted anteroom where a negro attendant bowed him to a seat and took +his card; and he looked calmly around to see what was to be seen. + +Several people occupied easy chairs in various parts of the room--an old +woman very neatly dressed, clutching in her withered hand a photograph +which she studied and studied with tear-dimmed eyes; a young man wearing +last year's most fashionable styles in everything except his features: +and soap could have aided him there; two policemen, helmets resting on +their knees; and, last of all, a rather thin child of twelve, staring +open-mouthed at everybody, a bundle of soiled clothing under one arm. +Through an open door he saw a dozen young women garbed in black, with +white cuffs and collars, all rattling away steadily at typewriters. +Every now and then, from some hidden office, a bell rang decisively, and +one of the girls would rise from her machine and pass noiselessly out of +sight to obey the summons. From time to time, too, the darky servant +with marvelous manners would usher somebody through the room where the +typewriters were rattling, into the unseen office. First the old woman +went--shakily, clutching her photograph; then the thin child with the +bundle, staring at everything; then the two fat policemen, in portentous +single file, helmets in their white-gloved hands, oiled hair glistening. + +Gatewood's turn was approaching; he waited without any definite +emotion, watching newcomers enter to take the places of those who had +been summoned. He hadn't the slightest idea of what he was to say; nor +did it worry him. A curious sense of impending good fortune left him +pleasantly tranquil; he picked up, from the silver tray on the table at +his elbow, one of the firm's business cards, and scanned it with +interest: + + KEEN & CO. + + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + + _Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found._ + + _Blanks on application._ + + WESTREL KEEN, _Manager_. + +"Mistuh Keen will see you, suh," came a persuasive voice at his elbow; +and he rose and followed the softly moving colored servant out of the +room, through a labyrinth of demure young women at their typewriters, +then sharply to the right and into a big, handsomely furnished office, +where a sleepy-looking elderly gentleman rose from an armchair and +bowed. There could not be the slightest doubt that he _was_ a +gentleman; every movement, every sound he uttered, settled the fact. + +"Mr. Keen?" + +"Mr. Gatewood?"--with a quiet certainty which had its charm. "This is +very good of you." + +Gatewood sat down and looked at his host. Then he said: "I'm searching +for somebody, Mr. Keen, whom you are not likely to find." + +"I doubt it," said Keen pleasantly. + +Gatewood smiled. "If," he said, "you will undertake to find the person +_I_ cannot find, I must ask you to accept a retainer." + +"We don't require retainers," replied Keen. "Unless we find the person +sought for, we make no charges, Mr. Gatewood." + +"I must ask you to do so in my case. It is not fair that you should +undertake it on other terms. I desire to make a special arrangement with +you. Do you mind?" + +"What arrangement had you contemplated?" inquired Keen, amused. + +"Only this: charge me in advance exactly what you would charge if +successful. And, on the other hand, do not ask me for detailed +information--I mean, do not insist on any information that I decline to +give. Do you mind taking up such an extraordinary and unbusinesslike +proposition, Mr. Keen?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons looked up sharply: + +"About how much information _do_ you decline to give, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"About enough to incriminate and degrade," replied the young man, +laughing. + +The elderly gentleman sat silent, apparently buried in meditation. Once +or twice his pleasant steel-gray eyes wandered over Gatewood as an +expert, a connoisseur, glances at a picture and assimilates its history, +its value, its artistic merit, its every detail in one practiced glance. + +"I think we may take up this matter for you, Mr. Gatewood," he said, +smiling his singularly agreeable smile. + +"But--but you would first desire to know something about me--would you +not?" + +Keen looked at him: "You will not mistake me--you will consider it +entirely inoffensive--if I say that I know something about you, Mr. +Gatewood?" + +"About _me_? How can you? Of course, there is the social register and +the club lists and all that--" + +"And many, many sources of information which are necessary in such a +business as this, Mr. Gatewood. It is a necessity for us to be almost +as well informed as our clients' own lawyers. I could pay you no +sincerer compliment than to undertake your case. I am half inclined to +do so even _without_ a retainer. Mind, I haven't yet said that I _will_ +take it." + +"I prefer to regulate any possible indebtedness in advance," said +Gatewood. + +"As you wish," replied the older man, smiling. "In that case, suppose +you draw your check" (he handed Gatewood a fountain pen as the young man +fished a check-book from his pocket)--"your check for--well, say for +$5,000, to the order of Keen & Co." + +Gatewood met his eye without wincing; he was in for it now; and he was +always perfectly game. He had brought it upon himself; it was his own +proposition. Not that he would have for a moment considered the sum as +high--or any sum exorbitant--if there had been a chance of success; one +cannot compare and weigh such matters. But how could there be any chance +for success? + +As he slowly smoothed out the check and stub, pen poised, Keen was +saying: "Of course, we should succeed sooner or later--if we took up +your case. We might succeed to-morrow--to-day. That would mean a large +profit for us. But we might not succeed to-day, or next month, or even +next year. That would leave us little or no profit; and, as it is our +custom to go on until we do succeed, no matter how long it may require, +you see, Mr. Gatewood, I should be taking all sorts of chances. It might +even cost us double your retainer before we found her--" + +"Her? How did--_why_ do you say '_her_'?" + +"Am I wrong?" asked Keen, smiling. + +"No--you are right." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons sank into abstraction again. Gatewood waited, +hoping that his case might be declined, yet ready to face any music +started at his own request. + +"She is young," mused Keen aloud, "very beautiful and accomplished. _Is_ +she wealthy?" He looked up mildly. + +Gatewood said: "I don't know--the truth is I don't care--" And stopped. + +"O-ho!" mused Keen slowly. "I--think--I understand. Am I wrong, Mr. +Gatewood, in surmising that this young lady whom you seek is, in your +eyes, very--I may say ideally gifted?" + +"She is my ideal," replied the young man, coloring. + +"_Ex_actly. And--her general allure?" + +"Charming!" + +"_Ex_actly; but to be a trifle more precise--if you could give me a +sketch, an idea, a mere outline delicately tinted, now. _Is_ she more +blond than brunette?" + +"Yes--but her eyes are brown. I--I insist on that." + +"Why should you not? _You_ know her; I don't," said Keen, laughing. "I +merely wished to form a mental picture. . . . You say her hair is--is--" + +"It's full of sunny color; that's all I can say." + +"_Ex_actly--I see. A rare and lovely combination with brown eyes and +creamy skin, Mr. Gatewood. I fancy she might be, perhaps, an inch or two +under your height?" + +"Just about that. Her hands should be--_are_ beautiful--" + +"_Ex_actly. The ensemble is most vividly portrayed, Mr. Gatewood; +and--you have intimated that her lack of fortune--er--we might almost +say her pecuniary distress--is more than compensated for by her +accomplishments, character, and very unusual beauty. . . . _Did_ I so +understand you, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"That's what I meant, anyhow," he said, flushing up. + +"You _did_ mean it?" + +"I did: I do." + +"Then we take your case, Mr. Gatewood. . . . No haste about the check, +my dear sir--pray consider us at your service." + +But Gatewood doggedly filled in the check and handed it to the Tracer of +Lost Persons. + +"I wish you happiness," said the older man in a low voice. "The lady you +describe exists; it is for us to discover her." + +"Thank you," stammered Gatewood, astounded. + +Keen touched an electric button; a moment later a young girl entered the +room. + +"Miss Southerland, Mr. Gatewood. Will you be kind enough to take Mr. +Gatewood's dictation in Room 19?" + +For a second Gatewood stared--as though in the young girl before him the +ghost of his ideal had risen to confront him--only for a second; then he +bowed, matching her perfect acknowledgment of his presence by a bearing +and courtesy which must have been inbred to be so faultless. + +And he followed her to Room 19. + +What had Keen meant by saying, "The lady you describe exists!" Did this +remarkable elderly gentleman suspect that it was to be a hunt for an +ideal? Had he deliberately entered into such a bargain? Impossible! + +His disturbed thoughts reverted to the terms of the bargain, the entire +enterprise, the figures on his check. His own amazing imbecility +appalled him. What idiocy! What sudden madness had seized him to +entangle himself in such unheard-of negotiations! True, he had played +bridge until dawn the night before, but, on awaking, he had discovered +no perceptible hold-over. It must have been sheer weakness of intellect +that permitted him to be dominated by the suggestions of Kerns. And now +the game was on: the jack declared, cards dealt, and his ante was up. +Had he openers? + +Room 19, duly labeled with its number on the opaque glass door, +contained a desk, a table and typewriter, several comfortable chairs, +and a window opening on Fifth Avenue, through which the eastern sun +poured a stream of glory, washing curtain, walls, and ceiling with +palest gold. + +And all this time, preoccupied with new impressions and his own growing +chagrin, he watched the girl who conducted him with all the unconscious +assurance and grace of a young chatelaine passing through her own domain +under escort of a distinguished guest. + +When they had entered Room 19, she half turned, but he forestalled her +and closed the door, and she passed before him with a perceptible +inclination of her finely modeled head, seating herself at the desk by +the open window. He took an armchair at her elbow and removed his +gloves, looking at her expectantly. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +"This is a list of particular and general questions for you to answer, +Mr. Gatewood," she said, handing him a long slip of printed matter. "The +replies to such questions as you are able or willing to answer you may +dictate to me." The beauty of her modulated voice was scarcely a +surprise--no woman who moved and carried herself as did this tall young +girl in black and white could reasonably be expected to speak with less +distinction--yet the charm of her voice, from the moment her lips +unclosed, so engrossed him that the purport of her speech escaped him. + +"Would you mind saying it once more?" he asked. + +She did so; he attempted to concentrate his attention, and succeeded +sufficiently to look as though some vestige of intellect remained in +him. He saw her pick up a pad and pencil; the contour and grace of two +deliciously fashioned hands arrested his mental process once more. + +"I _beg_ your pardon," he said hastily; "what were you saying, Miss +Southerland?" + +"Nothing, Mr. Gatewood. I did not speak." And he realized, hazily, that +she had not spoken--that it was the subtle eloquence of her youth and +loveliness that had appealed like a sudden voice--a sound faintly +exquisite echoing his own thought of her. + +Troubled, he looked at the slip of paper in his hand; it was headed: + + SPECIAL DESCRIPTION BLANK + (_Form K_) + +And he read it as carefully as he was able to--the curious little clamor +of his pulses, the dazed sense of elation, almost of expectation, +distracting his attention all the time. + +"I wish you would read it to me," he said; "that would give me time to +think up answers." + +"If you wish," she assented pleasantly, swinging around toward him in +her desk chair. Then she crossed one knee over the other to support the +pad, and, bending above it, lifted her brown eyes. She could have done +nothing in the world more distracting at that moment. + +"What is the sex of the person you desire to find, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"Her sex? I--well, I fancy it is feminine." + +She wrote after "Sex" the words "She is probably feminine"; looked at +him absently, glanced at what she had written, flushed a little, rubbed +out the "she is probably," wondering why a moment's mental wandering +should have committed her to absurdity. + +"Married?" she asked with emphasis. + +"No," he replied, startled; then, vexed, "I beg your pardon--you mean to +ask if _she_ is married!" + +"Oh, I didn't mean _you_, Mr. Gatewood; it's the next question, you +see"--she held out the blank toward him. "Is the person you are looking +for married?" + +"Oh, no; she isn't married, either--at least--trust--not--because if she +_is_ I don't want to find her!" he ended, entangled in an explanation +which threatened to involve him deeper than he desired. And, looking up, +he saw the beautiful brown eyes regarding him steadily. They reverted to +the paper at once, and the white fingers sent the pencil flying. + +"He trusts that she is unmarried, but if she _is_ (underlined) married +he doesn't want to find her," she wrote. + +"That," she explained, "goes under the head of 'General Remarks' at the +bottom of the page"--she held it out, pointing with her pencil. He +nodded, staring at her slender hand. + +"Age?" she continued, setting the pad firmly on her rounded, yielding +knee and looking up at him. + +"Age? Well, I--as a matter of fact, I could only venture a surmise. You +know," he said earnestly, "how difficult it is to guess ages, don't you, +Miss Southerland?" + +"How old do you _think_ she is? Could you not hazard a guess--judging, +say, from her appearance?" + +"I have no data--no experience to guide me." He was becoming involved +again. "Would you, for practice, permit me first to guess your age, Miss +Southerland?" + +"Why--yes--if you think that might help you to guess hers." + +So he leaned back in his armchair and considered her a very long +time--having a respectable excuse to do so. Twenty times he forgot he +was looking at her for any purpose except that of disinterested delight, +and twenty times he remembered with a guilty wince that it was a matter +of business. + +"Perhaps I had better tell you," she suggested, her color rising a +little under his scrutiny. + +"Is it eighteen? Just _her_ age!" + +"Twenty-one, Mr. Gatewood--and you _said_ you didn't know her age." + +"I have just remembered that I _thought_ it might be eighteen; but I +dare say I was shy three years in her case, too. You may put it down at +twenty-one." + +For the slightest fraction of a second the brown eyes rested on his, the +pencil hovered in hesitation. Then the eyes fell, and the moving fingers +wrote. + +"Did you write 'twenty-one'?" he inquired carelessly. + +"I did not, Mr. Gatewood." + +"What did you write?" + +"I wrote: 'He doesn't appear to know much about her age.'" + +"But I _do_ know--" + +"You said--" They looked at one another earnestly. + +"The next question," she continued with composure, "is: 'Date and place +of birth?' Can you answer any part of _that_ question?" + +"I trust I may be able to--some day. . . . What _are_ you writing?" + +"I'm writing: 'He trusts he may be able to, some day.' Wasn't that what +you said?" + +"Yes, I did say that. I--I'm not perfectly sure what I meant by it." + +She passed to the next question: + +"Height?" + +"About five feet six," he said, fascinated gaze on her. + +"Hair?" + +"More gold than brown--full of--er--gleams--" She looked up quickly; his +eyes reverted to the window rather suddenly. He had been looking at her +hair. + +"Complexion?" she continued after a shade of hesitation. + +"It's a sort of delicious mixture--bisque, tinted with a pinkish +bloom--ivory and rose--" He was explaining volubly, when she began to +shake her head, timing each shake to his words. + +"Really, Mr. Gatewood, I think you are hopelessly vague on that +point--unless you desire to convey the impression that she is speckled." + +"Speckled!" he repeated, horrified. "Why, I am describing a woman who is +my ideal of beauty--" + +But she had already gone to the next question: + +"Teeth?" + +"P-p-perfect p-p-pearls!" he stammered. The laughing red mouth closed +like a flower at dusk, veiling the sparkle of her teeth. + +Was he trying to be impertinent? Was he deliberately describing her? He +did not look like that sort of man; yet _why_ was he watching her so +closely, so curiously at every question? Why did he look at her teeth +when she laughed? + +"Eyes?" Her own dared him to continue what, coincidence or not, was +plainly a description of herself. + +"B-b-b--" He grew suddenly timorous, hesitating, pretending to a +perplexity which was really a healthy scare. For she was frowning. + +"Curious I can't think of the color of her eyes," he said; "is--isn't +it?" + +She coldly inspected her pad and made a correction; but all she did was +to rub out a comma and put another in its place. Meanwhile, Gatewood, +chin in his hand, sat buried in profound thought. "_Were_ they blue?" he +murmured to himself aloud, "or _were_ they brown? Blue begins with a _b_ +and brown begins with a _b_. I'm convinced that her eyes began with a +_b_. They were not, therefore, gray or green, because," he added in a +burst of confidence, "it is utterly impossible to spell gray or green +with a _b_!" + +Miss Southerland looked slightly astonished. + +"All you can recollect, then, is that the color of her eyes began with +the letter _b_?" + +"That is absolutely all I can remember; but I _think_ they +_were_--brown." + +"If they _were_ brown they must be brown now," she observed, looking out +of the window. + +"That's true! Isn't it curious I never thought of that? What are you +writing?" + +"Brown," she said, so briefly that it sounded something like a snub. + +"Mouth?" inquired the girl, turning a new leaf on her pad. + +"Perfect. Write it: there is no other term fit to describe its color, +shape, its sensitive beauty, its--_What_ did you write just then?" + +"I wrote, 'Mouth, ordinary.'" + +"I don't want you to! I want--" + +"Really, Mr. Gatewood, a rhapsody on a girl's mouth is proper in poetry, +but scarcely germane to the record of a purely business transaction. +Please answer the next question tersely, if you don't mind: 'Figure?'" + +"Oh, I _do_ mind! I can't! Any poem is much too brief to describe her +figure--" + +"Shall we say 'Perfect'?" asked the girl, raising her brown eyes in a +glimmering transition from vexation to amusement. For, after all, it +could be _only_ a coincidence that this young man should be describing +features peculiar to herself. + +"Couldn't you write, 'Venus-of-Milo-like'?" he inquired. "That is +laconic." + +"I could--if it's true. But if you mean it for praise--I--don't think +any modern woman would be flattered." + +"I always supposed that she of Milo had an ideal figure," he said, +perplexed. + +She wrote, "A good figure." Then, propping her rounded chin on one +lovely white hand, she glanced at the next question: + +"Hands?" + +"White, beautiful, rose-tipped, slender yet softly and firmly rounded--" + +"How _can_ they be soft and firm, too, Mr. Gatewood?" she protested; +then, surprising his guilty eyes fixed on her hands, hastily dropped +them and sat up straight, level-browed, cold as marble. _Was_ he +deliberately being rude to her? + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +As a matter of fact, he was not. Too poor in imagination to invent, on +the spur of the moment, charms and qualities suited to his ideal, he +had, at first unconsciously, taken as a model the girl before him; quite +unconsciously and innocently at first--then furtively, and with a +dawning perception of the almost flawless beauty he was secretly +plagiarizing. Aware, now, that something had annoyed her; aware, too, at +the same moment that there appeared to be nothing lacking in her to +satisfy his imagination of the ideal, he began to turn redder than he +had ever turned in all his life. + +Several minutes of sixty seconds each ensued before he ventured to stir +a finger. And it was only when she bent again very gravely over her pad +that he cautiously eased a cramped muscle or two, and drew a breath--a +long, noiseless, deep and timid respiration. He realized the enormity of +what he had been doing--how close he had come to giving unpardonable +offense by drawing a perfect portrait of her as the person he desired to +find through the good offices of Keen & Co. + +But there was no such person--unless she had a double: for what more +could a man desire than the ideal traits he had been able to describe +only by using her as his inspiration. + +When he ventured to look at her, one glance was enough to convince him +that she, too, had noticed the parallel--had been forced to recognize +her own features in the portrait he had constructed of an ideal. And she +had caught him in absent-minded contemplation of the hands he had been +describing. He knew that his face was the face of a guilty man. + +"What is the next question?" he stammered, eager to answer it in a +manner calculated to allay her suspicions. + +"The next question?" She glanced at the list, then with a voice of +velvet which belied the eyes, clear as frosty brown pools in November: +"The next question requires a description of her feet." + +"Feet! Oh---they--they're rather large--why, her feet are enormous, I +believe--" + +She looked at him as though stunned; suddenly a flood of pink spread, +wave on wave, from the white nape of her neck to her hair; she bent low +over her pad and wrote something, remaining in that attitude until her +face cooled. + +"Somehow or other I've done it again!" he thought, horrified. "The best +thing I can do is to end it and go home." + +In his distress he began to hedge, saying: "Of course, she is rather +tall and her feet are in some sort of proportion--in fact, they are +perfectly symmetrical feet--" + +Never in his life had he encountered a pair of such angrily beautiful +eyes. Speech stopped with a dry gulp. + +"We now come to 'General Remarks,'" she said in a voice made absolutely +steady and emotionless. "Have you any remarks of that description to +offer, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"I'm willing to make remarks," he said, "if I only knew what you wished +me to say." + +She mused, eyes on the sunny window, then looked up. "Where did you last +see her?" + +"Near Fifth Avenue." + +"And what street?" + +He named the street. + +"Near _here_?" + +"Rather," he said timidly. + +She ruffled the edges of her pad, wrote something and erased it, bit her +scarlet upper lip, and frowned. + +"Out of doors, of course?" + +"No; indoors," he admitted furtively. + +She looked up with a movement almost nervous. + +"Do you dare--I mean, care--to be more concise?" + +"I would rather not," he replied in a voice from which he hoped he had +expelled the tremors of alarm. + +"As you please, Mr. Gatewood. And would you care to answer any of these +other questions: Who and what are or were her parents? Give all +particulars concerning all her relatives. Is she employed or not? What +are her social, financial, and general circumstances? Her character, +personal traits, aims, interests, desires? Has she any vices? Any +virtues? Talents? Ambitions? Caprices? Fads? Are you in love with her? +Is--" + +"Yes," he said, "I am." + +"Is she in love with you?" + +"No; she hates me--I'm afraid." + +"Is she in love with anybody?" + +"That is a very difficult--" + +The girl wrote: "He doesn't know," with a satisfaction apparently +causeless. + +"Is she a relative of yours, Mr. Gatewood?" very sweetly. + +"No, Miss Southerland," very positively. + +"You--you desire to marry her--you say?" + +"I do. But I didn't say it." + +She was silent; then: + +"What is her name?" in a low voice which started several agreeable +thrills chasing one another over him. + +"I--I decline to answer," he stammered. + +"On what grounds, Mr. Gatewood?" + +He looked her full in the eyes; suddenly he bent forward and gazed at +the printed paper from which she had been apparently reading. + +"Why, all those questions you are scaring me with are not there!" he +exclaimed indignantly. "You are making them up?" + +"I--I know, but"--she was flushing furiously--"but they are on the other +forms--some of them. Can't you see you are answering 'Form K'? That is a +special form--" + +"But why do you ask me questions that are _not_ on Form K?" + +"Because it is my duty to do all I can to secure evidence which may lead +to the discovery of the person you desire to find. I--I assure you, Mr, +Gatewood, this duty is not--not always agreeable--and some people make +it harder still." + +Gatewood looked out of the window. Various emotions---among them shame, +mortification, chagrin--pervaded him, and chased each other along his +nervous system, coloring his neck and ears a fiery red for the +enlightenment of any observer. + +"I--I did not mean to offend you," said the girl in a low voice--such a +gently regretful voice that Gatewood swung around in his chair. + +"There is nothing I would not be glad to tell you about the woman I have +fallen in love with," he said. "She is overwhelmingly lovely; and--when +I dare--I will tell you her name and where I first saw her--and where I +saw her last--if you desire. Shall I?" + +"It would be advisable. When will you do this?" + +"When I dare." + +"You--you don't dare--now?" + +"No . . . not now." + +She absently wrote on her pad: "He doesn't dare tell me now." Then, with +head still bent, she lifted her mischief-making, trouble-breeding brown +eyes to his once more. + +"I am to come here, of course, to consult you?" he asked dizzily. + +"Mr. Keen will receive you--" + +"He may be busy." + +"He may be," she repeated dreamily. + +"So--I'll ask for you." + +"We _could_ write you, Mr. Gatewood." + +He said hastily: "It's no trouble for me to come; I walk every +morning." + +"But there would be no use, I think, in your coming very soon. All +I--all Mr. Keen could do for a while would be to report progress--" + +"That is all I dare look for: progress--for the present." + +During the time that he remained--which was not very long--neither of +them spoke until he arose to take his departure. + +"Good-by, Miss Southerland. I hope you may find the person I have been +searching for." + +"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. . . . I hope we shall; . . . but +I--don't--know." + +And, as a matter of fact, she did not know; she was rather excited over +nothing, apparently; and also somewhat preoccupied with several rather +disturbing emotions the species of which she was interested in +determining. But to label and catalogue each of these emotions +separately required privacy and leisure to think--and she also wished to +look very earnestly at the reflection of her own face in the mirror of +her own chamber. For it is a trifle exciting--though but an innocent +coincidence--to be compared, feature by feature, to a young man's ideal. +As far as that went, she excelled it, too; and, as she stood by the +desk, alone, gathering up her notes, she suddenly bent over and lifted +the hem of her gown a trifle--sufficient to reassure herself that the +dainty pair of shoes she wore, would have baffled the efforts of any +Venus ever sculptured. And she was perfectly right. + +"Of course," she thought to herself, "his ideal runaway hasn't enormous +feet. He, too, must have been struck with the similarity between me and +his ideal, and when he realized that I also noticed it, he was +frightened by my frown into saying that her feet were enormous. How +silly! . . . For I didn't _mean_ to frighten him. . . . He frightened +me--once or twice--I mean he irritated me--no, interested me, is what I +_do_ mean. . . . Heigho! I wonder why she ran away? I wonder why he +can't find her? . . . It's--it's silly to run away from a man like that. +. . . Heigho! . . . She doesn't deserve to be found. There is nothing to +be afraid of--nothing to alarm anybody in a man like that." + +So she gathered up her notes and walked slowly out and across to the +private office of the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Come in," said the Tracer when she knocked. He was using the telephone; +she seated herself rather listlessly beside the window, where spring +sunshine lay in gilded patches on the rug and spring breezes stirred +the curtains. She was a little tired, but there seemed to be no good +reason why. Yet, with the soft wind blowing on her cheek, the languor +grew; she rested her face on one closed hand, shutting her eyes. + +When they opened again it was to meet the fixed gaze of Mr. Keen. + +"Oh--I beg your pardon!" + +"There is no need of it, child. Be seated. Never mind that report just +now." He paced the length of the room once or twice, hands clasped +behind him; then, halting to confront her: + +"What sort of a man is this young Gatewood?" + +"What _sort_, Mr. Keen? Why--I think he is the--the sort--that--" + +"I see that you don't think much of him," said Keen, laughing. + +"Oh, indeed I did not mean that at all; I mean that he appeared to +be--to be--" + +"Rather a cad?" + +"Why, _no_!" she said, flushing up. "He is absolutely well-bred, Mr. +Keen." + +"You received no unpleasant impression of him?" + +"On the contrary!" she said rather warmly--for it hurt her sense of +justice that Keen should so misjudge even a stranger in whom she had no +personal interest. + +"You think he looks like an honest man?" + +"Honest?" She was rosy with annoyance. "Have you any idea that he is +dishonest?" + +"Have you?" + +"Not the slightest," she said with emphasis. + +"Suppose a man should set us hunting for a person who does not exist--on +our terms, which are no payment unless successful? Would that be +honest?" asked Keen gravely. + +"Did--did _he_ do that?" + +"No, child." + +"I knew he _couldn't_ do such a thing!" + +"No, he--er--couldn't, because I wouldn't allow it--not that he tried +to!" added Keen hastily as the indignant brown eyes sparkled ominously. +"Really, Miss Southerland, he must be all you say he is, for he has a +stanch champion to vouch for him." + +"All I _say_ he is? I haven't said anything about him!" + +Mr. Keen nodded. "_Ex_actly. Let us drop him for a moment. . . . Are you +perfectly well, Miss Southerland?" + +"Why, yes." + +"I'm glad of it. You are a trifle pale; you seem to be a little +languid. . . . When do you take your vacation?" + +"You suggested May, I believe," she said wistfully. + +The Tracer leaned back in his chair, joining the tips of his fingers +reflectively. + +"Miss Southerland," he said, "you have been with us a year. I thought it +might interest you to know that I am exceedingly pleased with you." + +She colored charmingly. + +"But," he added, "I'm terribly afraid we're going to lose you." + +"Why?" she asked, startled. + +"However," he continued, ignoring her half-frightened question with a +smile, "I am going to promote you--for faithful and efficient service." + +"O-h!" + +"With an agreeable increase of salary, and new duties which will take +you into the open air. . . . You ride?" + +"I--I used to before----" + +"_Ex_actly; before you were obliged to earn your living. Please have +yourself measured for habit and boots this afternoon. I shall arrange +for horse, saddle, and groom. You will spend most of your time riding +in the Park--for the present." + +"But--Mr. Keen--am I to be one of your agents--a sort of detective?" + +Keen regarded her absently, then crossed one leg over the other. + +"Read me your notes," he said with a smile. + +She read them, folded them, and he took them from her, thoughtfully +regarding her. + +"Did you know that your mother and I were children together?" he asked. + +"No!" She stared. "Is _that_ why you sent for me that day at the school +of stenography?" + +"That is why . . . When I learned that my playmate--your mother--was +dead, is it not reasonable to suppose that I should wish her daughter to +have a chance?" + +Miss Southerland looked at him steadily. + +"She was like you--when she married . . . I never married . . . Do you +wonder that I sent for you, child?" + +Nothing but the clock ticking there in the sunny room, and an old man +staring into two dimmed brown eyes, and the little breezes at the open +window whispering of summers past. + +"This young man, Gatewood," said the Tracer, clearing his voice of its +hoarseness--"this young man ought to be all right, if I did not +misjudge his father--years ago, child, years ago. And he _is_ all +right--" He half turned toward a big letter-file; "his record is clean, +so far. The trouble with him is idleness. He ought to marry." + +"Isn't he trying to?" she asked. + +"It looks like it. Miss Southerland, we _must_ find this woman!" + +"Yes, but I don't see how you are going to--on such slight +information--" + +"Information! Child, I have all I want--all I could desire." He laughed, +passing his hands over his gray hair. "We are going to find the girl he +is in love with before the week ends!" + +"Do you really think so?" she exclaimed. + +"Yes. But you must do a great deal in this case." + +"I?" + +"_Ex_actly." + +"And--and what am I to do?" + +"Ride in the Park, child! And if you see Mr. Gatewood, don't you dare +take your eyes off him for one moment. Watch him; observe everything he +does. If he should recognize you and speak to you, be as amiable to him +as though it were not by my orders." + +"Then--then I _am_ to be a detective!" she faltered. + +The Tracer did not appear to hear her. He took up the notes, turned to +the telephone, and began to send out a general alarm, reading the +description of the person whom Gatewood had described. The vast, +intricate and delicate machinery under his control was being set in +motion all over the Union. + +"Not that I expect to find her outside the borough of Manhattan," he +said, smiling, as he hung up the receiver and turned to her; "but it's +as well to know how many types of that species exist in this Republic, +and who they are--in case any other young man comes here raving of brown +eyes and 'gleams' in the hair." + +Miss Southerland, to her own intense consternation, blushed. + +"I think you had better order that habit at once," said the Tracer +carelessly. + +"Tell me, Mr. Keen," she asked tremulously, "am I to spy upon Mr. +Gatewood? And report to you? . . . For I simply cannot bear to do it--" + +"Child, you need report nothing unless you desire to. And when there is +something to report, it will be about the woman I am searching for. +_Don't_ you understand? I have already located her. You will find her +in the Park. And when you are _sure_ she is the right one--and if you +care to report it to me--I shall be ready to listen . . . I am always +ready to listen to you." + +"But--I warn you, Mr. Keen, that I have perfect faith in the honor of +Mr. Gatewood. I _know_ that I could have nothing unworthy to report." + +"I am sure of it," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, studying her with +eyes that were not quite clear. "Now, I think you had better order that +habit . . . Your mother sat her saddle perfectly . . . We rode very +often--my lost playmate and I." + +He turned, hands clasped behind his back, absently pacing the room, +backward, forward, there in the spring sunshine. Nor did he notice her +lingering, nor mark her as she stole from the room, brown eyes saddened +and thoughtful, wondering, too, that there should be in the world so +much room for sorrow. + +[Illustration: "'I am sure of it,' said the Tracer of Lost Persons."] + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Gatewood, burdened with restlessness and gnawed by curiosity, consumed a +week in prowling about the edifice where Keen & Co. carried on an +interesting profession. + +His first visit resulted merely in a brief interview with Mr. Keen, who +smilingly reported progress and suavely bowed him out. He looked about +for Miss Southerland as he was leaving, but did not see her. + +On his second visit he mustered the adequate courage to ask for her, and +experienced a curiously sickly sensation when informed that Miss +Southerland was no longer employed in the bureau of statistics, having +been promoted to an outside position of great responsibility. His third +visit proved anything but satisfactory. He sidled and side-stepped for +ten minutes before he dared ask Mr. Keen _where_ Miss Southerland had +gone. And when the Tracer replied that, considering the business he had +undertaken for Mr. Gatewood, he really could not see why Mr. Gatewood +should interest himself concerning the whereabouts of Miss Southerland, +the young man had nothing to say, and escaped as soon as possible, +enraged at himself, at Mr. Keen, and vaguely holding the entire world +guilty of conspiracy. + +He had no definite idea of what he wanted, except that his desire to see +Miss Southerland again seemed out of all proportion to any reasonable +motive for seeing her. Occasional fits of disgust with himself for what +he had done were varied with moody hours of speculation. Suppose Mr. +Keen did find his ideal? What of it? He no longer wanted to see her. He +had no use for her. The savor of the enterprise had gone stale in his +mouth; he was by turns worried, restless, melancholy, sulky, uneasy. A +vast emptiness pervaded his life. He smoked more and more and ate less +and less. He even disliked to see others eat, particularly Kerns. + +And one exquisite May morning he came down to breakfast and found the +unspeakable Kerns immersed in grapefruit, calm, well balanced, and +bland. + +"How-de-dee, dear friend?" said that gentleman affably. "Any news from +Cupid this beautiful May morning?" + +"No; and I don't want any," returned Gatewood, sorting his mail with a +scowl and waving away his fruit. + +"Tut, tut! Lovers must be patient. Dearie will be found some day--" + +"Some day," snarled Gatewood, "I shall destroy you, Tommy." + +"Naughty! Naughty!" reflected Kerns, pensively assaulting the breakfast +food. "Lovey must _not_ worry; Dovey shall be found, and all will be joy +and gingerbread. . . . If you throw that orange I'll run screaming to +the governors. Aren't you ashamed--just because you're in a love +tantrum!" + +"One more word and you get it!" + +"May I sing as I trifle with this frugal fare, dear friend? My heart is +_so_ happy that I should love to warble a few wild notes--" + +He paused to watch his badgered victim dispose of a Martini. + +"I wonder," he mused, "if you'd like me to tell you what a cocktail +before breakfast does to the lining of your stomach? Would you?" + +"No. I suppose it's what the laundress does to my linen. What do I +care?" + +"_Don't_ be a short sport, Jack." + +"Well, I don't care for the game you put me up against. Do you know what +has happened?" + +"I really don't, dear friend. The Tracer of Lost Persons has not found +her--_has_ he?" + +"He says he has," retorted Gatewood sullenly, pulling a crumpled +telegram from his pocket and casting it upon the table. "I don't want to +see her; I'm not interested. I never saw but one girl in my life who +interested me in the slightest; and she's employed to help in this +ridiculous search." + +Kerns, meanwhile, had smoothed out the telegram and was intently +perusing it: + + "_John Gatewood, Lenox Club, Fifth Avenue:_ + + "Person probably discovered. Call here as soon as possible. + + W. KEEN." + +"_What_ do you make of that?" demanded Gatewood hoarsely. + +"Make of it? Why, it's true enough, I fancy. Go and see, and if it's +she, be hers!" + +"I won't! I don't want to see any ideal! I don't want to marry. Why do +you try to make me marry somebody?" + +"Because it's good for you, dear friend. Otherwise you'll go to the +doggy-dogs. You don't realize how much worry you are to me." + +"Confound it! Why don't _you_ marry? Why didn't I ask you that when you +put me up to all this foolishness? What right have you to--" + +"Tut, friend! _I_ know there's no woman alive fit to wed me and spend +her life in stealing kisses from me. _I_ have no ideal. _You_ have an +ideal." + +"I haven't!" + +"Oh, yes, dear friend, there's a stub in your check book to prove it. +You simply bet $5,000 that your ideal existed. You've won. Go and be her +joy and sunshine." + +"I'll put an end to this whole business," said Gatewood wrathfully, "and +I'll do it now!" + +"Bet you that you're engaged within the week!" said Kerns with a placid +smile. + +The other swung around savagely: "What will you bet, Tommy? You may have +what odds you please. I'll make you sit up for this." + +"I'll bet you," answered Kerns, deliberately, "an entire silver dinner +service against a saddle horse for the bride." + +"That's a fool bet!" snapped Gatewood. "What do you mean?" + +"Oh, if you don't care to--" + +"What do I want of a silver service? But, all right; I'll bet you +anything." + +"_She'll_ want it," replied Kerns significantly, booking the bet. "I may +as well canter out to Tiffany's this morning, I fancy. . . . Where are +you going, Jack?" + +"To see Keen and confess what an ass I've been!" returned Gatewood +sullenly, striding across the breakfast room to take his hat and gloves +from the rack. And out he went, mad all over. + +On his way up the avenue he attempted to formulate the humiliating +confession which already he shrank from. But it had to be done. He +simply could not stand the prospect of being notified month after month +that a lady would be on view somewhere. It was like going for a fitting; +it was horrible. Besides, what use was it? Within a week or two an +enormous and utterly inexplicable emptiness had yawned before him, +revealing life as a hollow delusion. He no longer cared. + +Immersed in bitter reflection, he climbed the familiar stairway and sent +his card to Mr. Keen, and in due time he was ushered into the presence +of the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Mr. Keen," he began, with a headlong desire to get it over and be done +with it, "I may as well tell you how impossible it is for you, or +anybody, to find that person I described--" + +Mr. Keen raised an expostulatory hand, smiling indulgence. + +"It is more than possible, Mr. Gatewood, more than probable; it is +almost an accomplished fact. In other words, I think I may venture to +congratulate you and say that she _is_ found." + +"Now, _how_ can she be found, when there isn't--" + +"Mr. Gatewood, the magician will always wave his magic wand for you and +show you his miracles for the price of admission. But for that price he +does not show you how he works his miracles," said Keen, laughing. + +"But I ought to tell you," persisted Gatewood, "that it is utterly +impossible you should find the person I wished to discover, because +she--" + +"I can only prove that you are wrong," smiled Keen, rising from his easy +chair. + +"Mr. Keen," said the young man earnestly, "I have been more or less of a +chump at times. One of those times was when I came here on this errand. +All I desire, now, is to let the matter rest as it is. I am satisfied, +and you have lost nothing. Nor have you found anything or anybody. You +think you have, but you haven't. I do not wish you to continue the +search, or to send me any further reports. I want to forget the whole +miserable matter--to be free--to feel myself freed from any obligations +to that irritating person I asked you to find." + +The Tracer regarded him very gravely. + +"Is that your wish, Mr. Gatewood? I can scarcely credit it." + +"It is. I've been a fool; I simply want to stop being one if anybody +will permit it." + +"And you decline to attempt to identify the very beautiful person we +have discovered to be the individual for whom you asked us to search?" + +"I do. She may be beautiful; but I know well enough she can't compare +with--some one." + +"I am sorry," said Keen thoughtfully. "We take so much pride in these +matters. When one of my agents discovered where this person was, I was +rather--happy; for I have taken a peculiar personal interest in your +case. However--" + +"Mr. Keen," said Gatewood, "if you could understand how ashamed and +mortified I am at my own conduct--" + +Keen gazed pensively out of the window. "I also am sorry; Miss +Southerland was to have received a handsome bonus for her discovery--" + +"Miss S-S-S-S-outherland!" + +"_Ex_actly; without quite so many _S's_," said Keen, smiling. + +"Did _she_ discover that--that person?" exclaimed the young man, +startled. + +"She thinks she has. I am not sure she is correct; but I am absolutely +certain that Miss Southerland could eventually discover the person you +were in search of. It seems a little hard on her--just on the eve of +success--to lose. But that can't be helped now." + +Gatewood, more excited and uncomfortable than he had ever been in all +his life, watched Keen intently. + +"Too bad, too bad," muttered the Tracer to himself. "The child needs the +encouragement. It meant a thousand dollars to her--" He shrugged his +shoulders, looked up, and, as though rather surprised to see Gatewood +still there, smiled an impersonal smile and offered his hand in adieu. +Gatewood winced. + +"Could I--I see Miss Southerland?" he asked. + +"I am afraid not. She is at this moment following my instructions +to--but that cannot interest you now--" + +"Yes, it does!--if you don't mind. Where is she? I--I'll take a look at +the person she discovered; I will, really." + +"Why, it's only this: I suspected that you might identify a person whom +I had reason to believe was to be found every morning riding in the +Park. So Miss Southerland has been riding there every day. Yesterday she +came here, greatly excited--" + +"Yes--yes--go on!" + +Keen gazed dreamily at the sunny window. "She thought she had found +your--er--the person. So I said you would meet her on the bridle path, +near--but that's of no interest now--" + +"Near where?" demanded Gatewood, suppressing inexplicable excitement. +And as Keen said nothing: "I'll go; I want to go, I really do! +Can't--can't a fellow change his mind? Oh, I know you think I'm a +lunatic, and there's plenty of reason, too!" + +Keen studied him calmly. "Yes, plenty of reason, plenty of reason, Mr. +Gatewood. But do you suppose you are the only one? I know another who +was perfectly sane two weeks ago." + +The young man waited impatiently; the Tracer paced the room, gray head +bent, delicate, wrinkled hands clasped loosely behind his bent back. + +"You have horses at the Whip and Spur Club," he said abruptly. "Suppose +you ride out and see how close Miss Southerland has come to solving our +problem." + +Gatewood seized the offered hand and wrung it with a fervor out of all +reason; and it is curious that the Tracer of Lost Persons did not appear +to be astonished. + +"You're rather impetuous--like your father," he said slowly. "I knew +him; so I've ventured to trust his son--even when I heard how aimlessly +he was living his life. Mr. Gatewood! May I ask you something--as an old +friend of your father?" + +The young man nodded, subdued, perplexed, scarcely understanding. + +"It's only this: If you _do_ find the woman you could love--in the +Park--to-day--come back to me some day and let me tell you all those +foolish, trite, tiresome things that I should have told a son of mine. I +am so old that you will not take offense--you will not mind listening to +me, or forgetting the dull, prosy things I say about the curse of +idleness, and the habits of cynical thinking, and the perils of +vacant-minded indulgence. You will forgive me--and you will forget me. +That will be as it should be. Good-by." + +Gatewood, sobered, surprised, descended the stairs and hailed a hansom. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +All the way to the Whip and Spur Club he sat buried in a reverie from +which, at intervals, he started, aroused by the heavy, expectant beating +of his own pulses. But what did he expect, in Heaven's name? Not the +discovery of a woman who had never existed. Yet his excitement and +impatience grew as he watched the saddling of his horse; and when at +length he rode out into the sunshine and cantered through the Park +entrance, his sense of impending events and his expectancy amounted to a +fever which colored his face attractively. + +He saw her almost immediately. Her horse was walking slowly in the +dappled shadows of the new foliage; she, listless in her saddle, +sometimes watching the throngs of riders passing, at moments turning to +gaze into the woodland vistas where, over the thickets of flowering +shrubbery, orioles and robins sped flashing on tinted wings from shadow +to sun, from sun to shadow. But she looked up as he drew bridle and +wheeled his mount beside her; and, "Oh!" she said, flushing in +recognition. + +"I have missed you terribly," he said quietly. + +It was dreamy weather, even for late spring: the scent of lilacs and +mock-orange hung heavy as incense along the woods. Their voices +unconsciously found the key to harmonize with it all. + +She said: "Well, I think I have succeeded. In a few moments she will be +passing. I do not know her name; she rides a big roan. She is very +beautiful, Mr. Gatewood." + +He said: "I am perfectly certain we shall find her. I doubted it until +now. But now I know." + +"Oh-h, but I _may_ be wrong," she protested. + +"No; you cannot be." + +She looked up at him. + +"You can have no idea how happy you make me," he said unsteadily. + +"But--I--but I may be all wrong--dreadfully wrong!" + +"Y-es; you may be, but I shall not be. For do you know that I have +already seen her in the Park?" + +"When?" she demanded incredulously, then turned in the saddle, +repeating: "Where? Did she pass? How perfectly stupid of me! And _was_ +she the--the right one?" + +"She _is_ the right one. . . . Don't turn: I have seen her. Ride on: I +want to say something--if I can." + +"No, no," she insisted. "I must know whether I was right--" + +"You _are_ right--but you don't know it yet. . . . Oh, very well, then; +we'll turn if you insist." And he wheeled his mount as she did, riding +at her bridle again. + +"How can you take it so coolly--so indifferently?" she said. "Where has +that woman--where has she gone? . . . Never mind; she must turn and pass +us sooner or later, for she lives uptown. _What_ are you laughing at, +Mr. Gatewood?"--in annoyed surprise. + +"I am laughing at myself. Oh, I'm so many kinds of a fool--you can't +think how many, and it's no use!" + +She stared, astonished; he shook his head. + +"No, you don't understand yet. But you will. Listen to me: this very +beautiful lady you have discovered is nothing to me!" + +"Nothing--to you!" she faltered. Two pink spots of indignation burned in +her cheeks. "How--how dare you say that!--after all that has been +done--all that you have said. You said you loved her; you _did_ say +so--to _me_!" + +"I don't love her now." + +"But you did!" Tears of pure vexation started; she faced him, eye to +eye, thoroughly incensed. + +"What sort of man are you?" she said under her breath. "Your friend Mr. +Kerns is wrong. You are not worth saving from yourself." + +"Kerns!" he repeated, angry and amazed. "What the deuce has Kerns to do +with this affair?" + +She stared, then, realizing her indiscretion, bit her lip, and spurred +forward. But he put his horse to a gallop, and they pounded along in +silence. In a little while she drew bridle and looked around coldly, +grave with displeasure. + +"Mr. Kerns came to us before you did. He said you would probably come, +and he begged us to strain every effort in your behalf, because, he +said, your happiness absolutely depended upon our finding for you the +woman you were seeking. . . . And I tried--very hard--and now she's +found. You admit that--and _now_ you say--" + +"I say that one of these balmy summer days I'll assassinate Tommy +Kerns!" broke in Gatewood. "What on earth possessed that prince of +butters-in to go to Mr. Keen?" + +"To save you from yourself!" retorted the girl in a low, exasperated +voice. "He did not say what threatened you; he is a good friend for a +man to have. But we soon found out what you were--a man well born, well +bred, full of brilliant possibility, who was slowly becoming an idle, +cynical, self-centered egoist--a man who, lacking the lash of need or +the spur of ambition, was degenerating through the sheer uselessness and +inanity of his life. And, oh, the pity of it! For Mr. Keen and I have +taken a--a curiously personal interest in you--in your case. I say, the +pity of it!" + +Astounded, dumb under her stinging words, he rode beside her through the +brilliant sunshine, wheeled mechanically as she turned her horse, and +rode north again. + +"And now--_now_!" she said passionately, "you turn on the woman you +loved! Oh, you are not worth it!" + +"You are quite right," he said, turning very white under her scorn. +"Almost all you have said is true enough, I fancy. I amount to nothing; +I am idle, cynical, selfish. The emptiness of such a life requires a +stimulant; even a fool abhors a vacuum. So I drink--not so very much +yet--but more than I realize. And it is close enough to a habit to worry +me. . . . Yes, almost all you say is true; Kerns knows it; I know +it--now that you have told me. You see, he couldn't tell me, because I +should not have believed him. But I believe you--all you say, except one +thing. And that is only a glimmer of decency left in me--not that I make +any merit of it. No, it is merely instinctive. For I have _not_ turned +on the woman I loved." + +Her face was pale as her level eyes met him: + +"You said she was nothing to you. . . . Look there! Do you see her? Do +you see?" + +Her voice broke nervously as he swung around to stare at a rider bearing +down at a gallop--a woman on a big roan, tearing along through the +spring sunshine, passing them with wind-flushed cheeks and dark, +incurious eyes, while her powerful horse carried her on, away through +the quivering light and shadow of the woodland vista. + +"Is _that_ the person?" + +"Y-es," she faltered. "Was I wrong?" + +"Quite wrong, Miss Southerland." + +"But--but you said you had seen her here this morning!" + +"Yes, I have." + +"Did you speak to her before you met me?" + +"No--not before I met you." + +"Then you have not spoken to her. Is she still here in the Park?" + +"Yes, she is still here." + +The girl turned on him excitedly: "Do you mean to say that you will not +speak to her?" + +"I had rather not--" + +"And your happiness depends on your speaking?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it is cowardly not to speak." + +"Oh, yes, it is cowardly. . . . If you wish me to speak to her I will. +Shall I?" + +"Yes . . . Show her to me." + +"And you think that such a man as I am has a right to speak of love to +her?" + +"I--we believe it will be your salvation. Mr. Kerns says you must marry +her to be happy. Mr. Keen told me yesterday that it only needed a word +from the right woman to put you on your mettle. . . . And--and that is +my opinion." + +"Then in charity say that word!" he breathed, bending toward her. "Can't +you see? Can't you understand? Don't you know that from the moment I +looked into your eyes I loved you?" + +"How--how dare you!" she stammered, crimsoning. + +"God knows," he said wistfully. "I am a coward. I don't know how I +dared. Good-by. . . ." + +He walked his horse a little way, then launched him into a gallop, +tearing on and on, sun, wind, trees swimming, whirling like a vision, +hearing nothing, feeling nothing, save the leaden pounding of his pulse +and the breathless, terrible tightening in his throat. + +When he cleared his eyes and looked around he was quite alone, his horse +walking under the trees and breathing heavily. + +At first he laughed, and the laugh was not pleasant. Then he said aloud: +"It is worth having lived for, after all!"--and was silent. And again: +"I could expect nothing; she was perfectly right to side-step a fool. +. . . And _such_ a fool!" + +The distant gallop of a horse, dulled on the soft soil, but coming +nearer, could not arouse him from the bitter depths he had sunk in; not +even when the sound ceased beside him, and horse snorted recognition to +horse. It was only when a light touch rested on his arm that he looked +up heavily, caught his breath. + +"Where is the other--woman?" she gasped. + +"There never was any other." + +"You said--" + +"I said I loved my ideal. I did not know she existed--until I saw you." + +"Then--then we were searching for--" + +"A vision. But it was your face that haunted me. . . . And I am not +worth it, as you say. And I know it, . . . for you have opened my eyes." + +He drew bridle, forcing a laugh. "I cut a sorry figure in your life; be +patient; I am going out of it now." And he swung his horse. At the same +moment she did the same, making a demi-tour and meeting him halfway, +confronting him. + +"Do you--you mean to ride out of my life without a word?" she asked +unsteadily. + +"Good-by." He offered his hand, stirring his horse forward; she leaned +lightly over and laid both hands in his. Then, her face surging in +color, she lifted her beautiful dark eyes to his as the horses +approached, nearer, nearer, until, as they passed, flank brushing flank, +her eyes fell, then closed as she swayed toward him, and clung, her +young lips crushed to his. + +There was nobody to witness it except the birds and squirrels--nobody +but a distant mounted policeman, who almost fainted away in his saddle. + +Oh, it was awful, awful! Apparently she had been kissed speechless, for +she said nothing. The man fool did all the talking, incoherently enough, +but evidently satisfactory to her, judging from the way she looked at +him, and blushed and blushed, and touched her eyes with a bit of cambric +at intervals. + +All the policeman heard as they passed him was; "I'm going to give you +this horse, and Kerns is to give us our silver; and what do you think, +my darling?" + +"W-what?" + +But they had already passed out of earshot; and in a few moments the +shady, sun-flecked bridle path was deserted again save for the birds and +squirrels, and a single mounted policeman, rigid, wild eyed, twisting +his mustache and breathing hard. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The news of Gatewood's fate filled Kerns with a pleasure bordering upon +melancholy. It was his work; he had done it; it was good for Gatewood +too--time for him to stop his irresponsible cruise through life, lower +sail, heave to, set his signals, and turn over matters to this charming +pilot. + +And now they would come into port together and anchor somewhere east of +Fifth Avenue--which, Kerns reflected, was far more proper a place for +Gatewood than somewhere east of Suez, where young men so often sail. + +And yet, and yet there was something melancholy in the pleasure he +experienced. Gatewood was practically lost to him. He knew what might be +expected from engaged men and newly married men. Gatewood's club life +was ended--for a while; and there was no other man with whom he cared to +embark for those brightly lighted harbors twinkling east of Suez across +the metropolitan wastes. + +"It's very generous of me to get him married," he said frequently to +himself, rather sadly. "I did it pretty well, too. It only shows that +women have no particular monopoly in the realms of diplomacy and +finesse; in fact, if a man really chooses to put his mind to such +matters, he can make it no trumps and win out behind a bum ace and a +guarded knave." + +He was pleased with himself. He followed Gatewood about explaining how +good he had been to him. An enthusiasm for marrying off his friends +began to germinate within him; he tried it on Darrell, on Barnes, on +Yates, but was turned down and severely stung. + +Then one day Harren of the Philippine Scouts turned up at the club, and +they held a determined reunion until daylight, and they told each other +all about it all and what upper-cuts life had handed out to them since +the troopship sailed. + +And after the rosy glow had deepened to a more gorgeous hue in the room, +and the electric lights had turned into silver pinwheels; and after they +had told each other the story of their lives, and the last siphon fizzed +impotently when urged beyond its capacity, Kerns arose and extended his +hand, and Harren took it. And they executed a song resembling "Auld Lang +Syne." + +"Ole man," said Kerns reproachfully, "there's one thing you have been +deuced careful _not_ to mention, and that is about what happened to you +three years ago--" + +"Steady!" said Harren; "there is nothing to tell, Tommy." + +"Nothing?" + +"Nothing. I never saw her again. I never shall." + +Kerns looked long and unsteadily upon his friend; then very gravely +fumbled in his pocket and drew forth the business card of Westrel Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"That," he said, "will be about all." And he bestowed the card upon +Harren with magnificent condescension. + +And about five o'clock the following afternoon Harren found the card +among various effects of his, scattered over his dresser. + +It took him several days to make up his mind to pay any attention to the +card or the suggestion it contained. He scarcely considered it seriously +even when, passing along Fifth Avenue one sunny afternoon, he chanced to +glance up and see the sign + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +staring him in the face. + +He continued his stroll, but that evening, upon mere impulse, he sat +down and wrote a letter to Mr. Keen. + +The next morning's mail brought a reply and an appointment for an +interview on Wednesday week. Harren tossed the letter aside, satisfied +to let the matter go, because his leave expired on Tuesday, and the +appointment was impossible. + +On Sunday, however, the melancholy of the deserted club affected his +spirits. A curious desire to see this Tracer of Lost Persons seized him +with a persistence unaccountable. He slept poorly, haunted with visions. + +On Monday he went to see Mr. Keen. It could do no harm; it was too late +to do either harm or good, for his leave expired the next day at noon. + +The business of Keen & Co., Tracers of Lost Persons, had grown to +enormous proportions; appointments for a personal interview with Mr. +Keen were now made a week in advance, so when young Harren sent in his +card, the gayly liveried negro servant came back presently, threading +his way through the waiting throng with pomp and circumstance, and +returned the card to Harren with the date of appointment rewritten in +ink across the top. The day named was Wednesday. On Tuesday Harren's +leave expired. + +"That won't do," said the young man brusquely; "I must see Mr. Keen +to-day. I wrote last week for an appointment." + +The liveried darky was polite but obdurate. + +"Dis here am de 'pintment, suh," he explained persuasively. + +"But I want to see Mr. Keen at once," insisted Harren. + +"Hit ain't no use, suh," said the darky respectfully; "dey's mi'ions an' +mi'ions ob gemmen jess a-settin' roun' an' waitin' foh Mistuh Keen. In +dis here perfeshion, suh, de fustest gemman dat has a 'pintment is de +fustest gemman dat kin see Mistuh Keen. You is a military gemman +yohse'f, Cap'm Harren, an' you is aware dat precedence am de rigger." + +The bronzed young man smiled, glanced at the date of appointment written +on his card, which also bore his own name followed by the letters +U.S.A., then his amused gray eyes darkened and he glanced leisurely +around the room, where a dozen or more assorted people sat waiting their +turns to interview Mr. Keen: all sorts and conditions of people--smartly +gowned women, an anxious-browed business man or two, a fat German truck +driver, his greasy cap on his knees, a surly policeman, and an old +Irishwoman, wearing a shawl and an ancient straw bonnet. Harren's eyes +reverted to the darky. + +"You will explain to Mr. Keen," he said, "that I am an army officer on +leave, and that I am obliged to start for Manila to-morrow. This is my +excuse for asking an immediate interview; and if it's not a good enough +excuse I must cancel this appointment, that is all." + +The darky stood, irresolute, inclined to argue, but something in the +steel-gray eyes of the man set him in involuntary motion, and he went +away once more with the young man's message. Harren turned and walked +back to his seat. The old woman with the faded shawl was explaining +volubly to a handsomely gowned woman beside her that she was looking for +her boy, Danny; that her name was Mrs. Regan, and that she washed for +the aristocracy of Hunter's Point at a liberal price per dozen, using no +deleterious substances in the suds as Heaven was her witness. + +The German truck driver, moved by this confidence, was stirred to begin +an endless account of his domestic misfortunes, and old Mrs. Regan, +becoming impatient, had already begun to interrupt with an account of +Regan's recent hoisting on the wings of a premature petard, when the +dark servant reappeared. + +"Mistuh Keen will receive you, suh," he whispered, leading the way into +a large room where dozens of attractive young girls sat very busily +engaged at typewriting machines. Door after door they passed, all +numbered on the ground-glass panes, then swung to the right, where the +darky bowed him into a big, handsomely furnished room flooded with the +morning sun. A tall, gray man, faultlessly dressed in a gray frock suit +and wearing white spats, turned from the breezy, open window to inspect +him; the lean, well groomed, rather lank type of gentleman suggesting a +retired colonel of cavalry; unmistakably well bred from the ends of his +drooping gray mustache to the last button on his immaculate spats. + +"Captain Harren?" he said pleasantly. + +"Mr. Keen?" + +They bowed. Young Harren drew from his pocket a card. It was the +business card of Keen & Co., and, glancing up at Mr. Keen, he read it +aloud, carefully: + + KEEN & CO. + + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + + Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found. + + _Blanks on Application._ + + WESTREL KEEN, Manager. + +Harren raised his clear, gray eyes. "I assume this statement to be +correct, Mr. Keen?" + +"You may safely assume so," said Mr. Keen, smiling. + +"Does this statement include _all_ that you are prepared to undertake?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons inspected him coolly. "What more is there, +Captain Harren? I undertake to find lost people. I even undertake to +find the undiscovered ideals of young people who have failed to meet +them. What further field would you suggest?" Harren glanced at the card +which he held in his gloved hand; then, very slowly, he re-read, "the +whereabouts of anybody _on earth_," accenting the last two words +deliberately as he encountered Keen's piercing gaze again. + +"Well?" asked Mr. Keen laughingly, "is not that sufficient? Our clients +could scarcely expect us to invade heaven in our search for the +vanished." + +"There are other regions," said Harren. + +"_Ex_actly. Sit down, sir. There is a row of bookcases for your +amusement. Please help yourself while I clear decks for action." + +Harren stood fingering the card, his gray eyes lost in retrospection; +then he sauntered over to the bookcases, scanning the titles. The +Searcher for Lost Persons studied him for a moment or two, turned, and +began to pace the room. After a moment or two he touched a bell. A +sweet-faced young girl entered; she was gowned in black and wore a white +collar, and cuffs turned back over her hands. + +"Take this memorandum," he said. The girl picked up a pencil and pad, +and Mr. Keen, still pacing the room, dictated in a quiet voice as he +walked to and fro: + +"Mrs. Regan's Danny is doing six months in Butte, Montana. Break it to +her as mercifully as possible. He is a bad one. We make no charge. The +truck driver, Becker, can find his wife at her mother's house, Leonia, +New Jersey. Tell him to be less pig-headed or she'll go for good some +day. Ten dollars. Mrs. M., No. 36001, can find her missing butler in +service at 79 Vine Street, Hartford, Connecticut. She may notify the +police whenever she wishes. His portrait is No. 170529, Rogues' Gallery. +Five hundred dollars. Miss K. (No. 3679) may send her letter, care of +Cisneros & Co., Rio, where the person she is seeking has gone into the +coffee business. If she decides that she really does love him, he'll +come back fast enough. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Mr. W. (No. 3620) +must go to the morgue for further information. His repentance is too +late; but he can see that there is a decent burial. The charge: one +thousand dollars to the Florence Mission. You may add that we possess +his full record." + +The Tracer paused and waited for the stenographer to finish. When she +looked up: "Who else is waiting?" he asked. + +The girl read over the initials and numbers. + +"Tell that policeman that Kid Conroy sails on the _Carania_ to-morrow. +Fifty dollars. There is nothing definite in the other cases. Report +progress and send out a general alarm for the cashier inquired for by +No. 3608. You will find details in vol. xxxix under B." + +"Is that all, Mr. Keen?" + +"Yes. I'm going to be very busy with"--turning slowly toward +Harren--"with Captain Harren, of the Philippine Scouts, until +to-morrow--a very complicated case, Miss Borrow, involving cipher codes +and photography--" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Harren started, then walked slowly to the center of the room as the +pretty stenographer passed out with a curious level glance at him. + +"Why do you say that photography plays a part in my case?" he asked. + +"Doesn't it?" + +"Yes. But how--" + +"Oh, I only guessed it," said Keen with a smile. "I made another guess +that your case involved a cipher code. Does it?" + +"Y-es," said the young man, astonished, "but I don't see--" + +"It also involves the occult," observed Keen calmly. "We may need Miss +Borrow to help us." + +Almost staggered, Harren stared at the Tracer out of his astonished gray +eyes until that gentleman laughed outright and seated himself, motioning +Harren to do likewise. + +"Don't be surprised, Captain Harren," he said. "I suppose you have no +conception of our business, no realization of its scope--its network of +information bureaus all over the civilized world, its myriad sources of +information, the immensity of its delicate machinery, the endless data +and the infinitesimal details we have at our command. You, of course, +have no idea of the number of people of every sort and condition who are +in our employ, of the ceaseless yet inoffensive surveillance we +maintain. For example, when your letter came last week I called up the +person who has charge of the army list. There you were, Kenneth Harren, +Captain Philippine Scouts, with the date of your graduation from West +Point. Then I called up a certain department devoted to personal detail, +and in five minutes I knew your entire history. I then touched another +electric button, and in a minute I had before me the date of your +arrival in New York, your present address, and"--he looked up +quizzically at Harren--"and several items of general information, such +as your peculiar use of your camera, and the list of books on Psychical +Phenomena and Cryptograms which you have been buying--" + +Harren flushed up. "Do you mean to say that I have been spied upon, Mr. +Keen?" + +"No more than anybody else who comes to us as a client. There was +nothing offensive in the surveillance." He shrugged his shoulders and +made a deprecating gesture. "Ours is a business, my dear sir, like any +other. We, of course, are obliged to know about people who call on us. +Last week you wrote me, and I immediately set every wheel in motion; in +other words, I had you under observation from the day I received your +letter to this very moment." + +"You learned much concerning me?" asked Harren quietly. + +"_Ex_actly, my dear sir." + +"But," continued Harren with a touch of malice, "you didn't learn that +my leave is up to-morrow, did you?" + +"Yes, I learned that, too." + +"Then why did you give me an appointment for the day after to-morrow?" +demanded the young man bluntly. + +The Tracer looked him squarely in the eye. "Your leave is to be +extended," he said. + +"What?" + +"_Ex_actly. It has been extended one week." + +"How do you know that?" + +"You applied for extension, did you not?" + +"Yes," said Harren, turning red, "but I don't see how you knew that I--" + +"By cable?" + +"Y-yes." + +"There's a cablegram in your rooms at this very moment," said the +Tracer carelessly. "You have the extension you desired. And now, Captain +Harren," with a singularly pleasant smile, "what can I do to help you to +a pursuit of that true happiness which is guaranteed for all good +citizens under our Constitution?" + +Captain Harren crossed his long legs, dropping one knee over the other, +and deliberately surveyed his interrogator. + +"I really have no right to come to you," he said slowly. "Your +prospectus distinctly states that Keen & Co. undertake to find _live_ +people, and I don't know whether the person I am seeking is alive +or--or--" + +His steady voice faltered; the Tracer watched him curiously. + +"Of course, that is important," he said. "If she _is_ dead--" + +"_She_!" + +"Didn't you say 'she,' Captain?" + +"No, I did not." + +"I beg your pardon, then, for anticipating you," said the Tracer +carelessly. + +"Anticipating? _How_ do you know it is not a man I am in search of?" +demanded Harren. + +"Captain Harren, you are unmarried and have no son; you have no father, +no brother, no sister. Therefore I infer--several things--for example, +that you are in love." + +"I? In love?" + +"Desperately, Captain." + +"Your inferences seem to satisfy you, at least," said Harren almost +sullenly, "but they don't satisfy me--clever as they appear to be." + +"_Ex_actly. Then you are _not_ in love?" + +"I don't know whether I am or not." + +"I do," said the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Then you know more than I," retorted Harren sharply. + +"But that is my business--to know more than you do," returned Mr. Keen +patiently. "Else why are you here to consult me?" And as Harren made no +reply: "I have seen thousands and thousands of people in love. I have +reduced the superficial muscular phenomena and facial symptomatic aspect +of such people to an exact science founded upon a schedule approximating +the Bertillon system of records. And," he added, smiling, "out of the +twenty-seven known vocal variations your voice betrays twenty-five +unmistakable symptoms; and out of the sixteen reflex muscular symptoms +your face has furnished six, your hands three, your limbs and feet six. +Then there are other superficial symptoms--" + +"Good heavens!" broke in Harren; "how can you prove a man to be in love +when he himself doesn't know whether he is or not? If a man isn't in +love no Bertillon system can make him so; and if a man doesn't know +whether or not he is in love, who can tell him the truth?" + +"I can," said the Tracer calmly. + +"What! When I tell you I myself don't know?" + +"_That_," said the Tracer, smiling, "is the final and convincing +symptom. _You_ don't know. _I_ know because you _don't_ know. That is +the easiest way to be sure that you are in love, Captain Harren, because +you always are when you are not sure. You'd know if you were _not_ in +love. Now, my dear sir, you may lay your case confidently before me." + +Harren, unconvinced, sat frowning and biting his lip and twisting his +short, crisp mustache which the tropical sun had turned straw color and +curly. + +"I feel like a fool to tell you," he said. "I'm not an imaginative man, +Mr. Keen; I'm not fanciful, not sentimental. I'm perfectly healthy, +perfectly normal--a very busy man in my profession, with no time and no +inclination to fall in love." + +"Just the sort of man who does it," commented Keen. "Continue." + +Harren fidgeted about in his chair, looked out of the window, squinted +at the ceiling, then straightened up, folding his arms with sudden +determination. + +"I'd rather be boloed than tell you," he said. "Perhaps, after all, I +_am_ a lunatic; perhaps I've had a touch of the Luzon sun and don't know +it." + +"I'll be the judge," said the Tracer, smiling. + +"Very well, sir. Then I'll begin by telling you that I've seen a ghost." + +"There are such things," observed Keen quietly. + +"Oh, I don't mean one of those fabled sheeted creatures that float about +at night; I mean a phantom--a real phantom--in the sunlight--standing +before my very eyes in broad day! . . . Now do you feel inclined to go +on with my case, Mr. Keen?" + +"Certainly," replied the Tracer gravely. "Please continue, Captain +Harren." + +"All right, then. Here's the beginning of it: Three years ago, here in +New York, drifting along Fifth Avenue with the crowd, I looked up to +encounter the most wonderful pair of eyes that I ever beheld--that any +living man ever beheld! The most--wonderfully--beautiful--" + +He sat so long immersed in retrospection that the Tracer said: "I am +listening, Captain," and the Captain woke up with a start. + +"What was I saying? How far had I proceeded?" + +"Only to the eyes." + +"Oh, I see! The eyes were dark, sir, dark and lovely beyond any power of +description. The hair was also dark--very soft and thick and--er--wavy +and dark. The face was extremely youthful, and ornamental to the +uttermost verges of a beauty so exquisite that, were I to attempt to +formulate for you its individual attractions, I should, I fear, +transgress the strictly rigid bounds of that reticence which becomes a +gentleman in complete possession of his senses." + +"_Ex_actly," mused the Tracer. + +"Also," continued Captain Harren, with growing animation, "to attempt to +describe her figure would be utterly useless, because I am a practical +man and not a poet, nor do I read poetry or indulge in futile novels or +romances of any description. Therefore I can only add that it was a +figure, a poise, absolutely faultless, youthful, beautiful, erect, +wholesome, gracious, graceful, charmingly buoyant and--well, I cannot +describe her figure, and I shall not try." + +"_Ex_actly; don't try." + +"No," said Harren mournfully, "it is useless"; and he relapsed into +enchanted retrospection. + +"Who was she?" asked Mr. Keen softly. + +"I don't know." + +"You never again saw her?" + +"Mr. Keen, I--I am not ill-bred, but I simply could not help following +her. She was so b-b-beautiful that it hurt; and I only wanted to look at +her; I didn't mind being hurt. So I walked on and on, and sometimes I'd +pass her and sometimes I'd let her pass me, and when she wasn't looking +I'd look--not offensively, but just because I _couldn't_ help it. And +all the time my senses were humming like a top and my heart kept jumping +to get into my throat, and I hadn't a notion where I was going or what +time it was or what day of the week. She didn't see me; she didn't dream +that I was looking at her; she didn't know me from any of the thousand +silk-hatted, frock-coated men who passed and repassed her on Fifth +Avenue. And when she went into St. Berold's Church, I went, too, and I +stood where I could see her and where she couldn't see me. It was like a +touch of the Luzon sun, Mr. Keen. And then she came out and got into a +Fifth Avenue stage, and I got in, too. And whenever she looked away I +looked at her--without the slightest offense, Mr. Keen, until, once, she +caught my eye--" + +He passed an unsteady hand over his forehead. + +"For a moment we looked full at one another," he continued. "I got red, +sir; I felt it, and I couldn't look away. And when I turned color like a +blooming beet, she began to turn pink like a rosebud, and she looked +full into my eyes with such a wonderful purity, such exquisite +innocence, that I--I never felt so near--er--heaven in my life! No, sir, +not even when they ambushed us at Manoa Wells--but that's another +thing--only it is part of this business." + +He tightened his clasped hands over his knee until the knuckles +whitened. + +"_That's_ my story, Mr. Keen," he said crisply. + +"All of it?" + +Harren looked at the floor, then at Keen: "No, not all. You'll think me +a lunatic if I tell you all." + +"Oh, you saw her again?" + +"N-never! That is--" + +"Never?" + +"Not in--in the flesh." + +"Oh, in dreams?" + +Harren stirred uneasily. "I don't know what you call them. I have seen +her since--in the sunlight, in the open, in my quarters in Manila, +standing there perfectly distinct, looking at me with such strange, +beautiful eyes--" + +"Go on," said the Tracer, nodding. + +"What else is there to say?" muttered Harren. + +"You saw her--or a phantom which resembled her. Did she speak?" + +"No." + +"Did you speak to her?" + +"N-no. Once I held out my--my arms." + +"What happened?" + +"She wasn't there," said Harren simply. + +"She vanished?" + +"No--I don't know. I--I didn't see her any more." + +"Didn't she fade?" + +"No. I can't explain. She--there was only myself in the room." + +"How many times has she appeared to you?" + +"A great many times." + +"In your room?" + +"Yes. And in the road under a vertical sun; in the forest, in the paddy +fields. I have seen her passing through the hallway of a friend's +house--turning on the stair to look back at me! I saw her standing just +back of the firing-line at Manoa Wells when we were preparing to rush +the forts, and it scared me so that I jumped forward to draw her back. +But--she wasn't there, Mr. Keen. . . . + +"On the transport she stood facing me on deck one moonlit evening for +five minutes. I saw her in 'Frisco; she sat in the Pullman twice between +Denver and this city. Twice in my room at the Vice-Regent she has sat +opposite me at midday, so clear, so beautiful, so real that--that I +could scarcely believe she was only a--a--" He hesitated. + +"The apparition of her own subconscious self," said the Tracer quietly. +"Science has been forced to admit such things, and, as you know, we are +on the verge of understanding the alphabet of some of the unknown forces +which we must some day reckon with." + +Harren, tense, a trifle pale, gazed at him earnestly. + +"Do _you_ believe in such things?" + +"How can I avoid believing?" said the Tracer. "Every day, in my +profession, we have proof of the existence of forces for which we have +as yet no explanation--or, at best, a very crude one. I have had case +after case of premonition; case after case of dual and even multiple +personality; case after case where apparitions played a vital part in +the plot which was brought to me to investigate. I'll tell you this, +Captain: I, personally, never saw an apparition, never was obsessed by +premonitions, never received any communications from the outer void. But +I have had to do with those who undoubtedly did. Therefore I listen with +all seriousness and respect to what you tell me." + +"Suppose," said Harren, growing suddenly red, "that I should tell you I +have succeeded in photographing this phantom." + +The Tracer sat silent. He was astounded, but, he did not betray it. + +"You have that photograph, Captain Harren?" + +"Yes." + +"Where is it?" + +"In my rooms." + +"You wish me to see it?" + +Harren hesitated. "I--there is--seems to be--something almost sacred to +me in that photograph. . . . You understand me, do you not? Yet, if it +will help you in finding her--" + +"Oh," said the Tracer in guileless astonishment, "you desire to find +this young lady. Why?" + +Harren stared. "Why? Why do I want to find her? Man, I--I can't live +without her!" + +"I thought you were not certain whether you really could be in love." + +The hot color in the Captain's bronzed cheeks mounted to his hair. + +"_Ex_actly," purred the Tracer, looking out of the window. "Suppose we +walk around to your rooms after luncheon. Shall we?" + +Harren picked up his hat and gloves, hesitating, lingering on the +threshold. "You _don't_ think she is--a--dead?" he asked unsteadily. + +"No," said Mr. Keen, "I don't." + +"Because," said Harren wistfully, "her apparition is so superbly healthy +and--and glowing with youth and life--" + +"That is probably what sent it half the world over to confront you," +said the Tracer gravely; "youth and life aglow with spiritual health. I +think, Captain, that she has been seeing you, too, during these three +years, but probably only in her dreams--memories of your encounters with +her subconscious self floating over continents and oceans in a quest of +which her waking intelligence is innocently unaware." + +The Captain colored like a schoolboy, lingering at the door, hat in +hand. Then he straightened up to the full height of his slim but +powerful figure. + +"At three?" he inquired bluntly. + +"At three o'clock in your room, Hotel Vice-Regent. Good morning, +Captain." + +"Good morning," said Harren dreamily, and walked away, head bent, gray +eyes lost in retrospection, and on his lean, bronzed, attractive face an +afterglow of color wholly becoming. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +When the Tracer of Lost Persons entered Captain Harren's room at the +Hotel Vice-Regent that afternoon he found the young man standing at a +center table, pencil in hand, studying a sheet of paper which was +covered with letters and figures. + +The two men eyed one another in silence for a moment, then Harren +pointed grimly to the confusion of letters and figures covering dozens +of scattered sheets lying on the table. + +"That's part of my madness," he said with a short laugh. "Can you make +anything of such lunatic work?" + +The Tracer picked up a sheet of paper covered with letters of the +alphabet and Roman and Arabic numerals. He dropped it presently and +picked up another comparatively blank sheet, on which were the following +figures: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +He studied it for a while, then glanced interrogatively at Harren. + +"It's nothing," said Harren. "I've been groping for three years--but +it's no use. That's lunatics' work." He wheeled squarely on his heels, +looking straight at the Tracer. "_Do_ you think I've had a touch of the +sun?" + +"No," said Mr. Keen, drawing a chair to the table. "Saner men than you +or I have spent a lifetime over this so-called Seal of Solomon." He laid +his finger on the two symbols-- + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +Then, looking across the table at Harren: "What," he asked, "has the +Seal of Solomon to do with your case?" + +"_She_--" muttered Harren, and fell silent. + +The Tracer waited; Harren said nothing. + +"Where is the photograph?" + +Harren unlocked a drawer in the table, hesitated, looked strangely at +the Tracer. + +"Mr. Keen," he said, "there is nothing on earth I hold more sacred than +this. There is only one thing in the world that could justify me in +showing it to a living soul--my--my desire to find--her--" + +"No," said Keen coolly, "that is not enough to justify you--the mere +desire to find the living original of this apparition. Nothing could +justify your showing it unless you love her." + +Harren held the picture tightly, staring full at the Tracer. A dull +flush mounted to his forehead, and very slowly he laid the picture +before the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +Minute after minute sped while the Tracer bent above the photograph, his +finely modeled features absolutely devoid of expression. Harren had +drawn his chair beside him, and now sat leaning forward, bronzed cheek +resting in his hand, staring fixedly at the picture. + +"When was this--this photograph taken?" asked the Tracer quietly. + +"The day after I arrived in New York. I was here, alone, smoking my pipe +and glancing over the evening paper just before dressing for dinner. It +was growing rather dark in the room; I had not turned on the electric +light. My camera lay on the table--there it is!--that kodak. I had taken +a few snapshots on shipboard; there was one film left." + +He leaned more heavily on his elbow, eyes fixed upon the picture. + +"It was almost dark," he repeated. "I laid aside the evening paper and +stood up, thinking about dressing for dinner, when my eyes happened to +fall on the camera. It occurred to me that I might as well unload it, +let the unused film go, and send the roll to be developed and printed; +and I picked up the camera--" + +"Yes," said the Tracer softly. + +"I picked it up and was starting toward the window where there remained +enough daylight to see by--" + +The Tracer nodded gently. + +"Then I saw _her_!" said Harren under his breath. + +"Where?" + +"There--standing by that window. You can see the window and curtain in +the photograph." + +The Tracer gazed intently at the picture. + +"She looked at me," said Harren, steadying his voice. "She was as real +as you are, and she stood there, smiling faintly, her dark, lovely eyes +meeting mine." + +"Did you speak?" + +"No." + +"How long did she remain there?" + +"I don't know--time seemed to stop--the world--everything grew still. +. . . Then, little by little, something began to stir under my stunned +senses--that germ of misgiving, that dreadful doubt of my own sanity. +. . . I scarcely knew what I was doing when I took the photograph; +besides, it had grown quite dark, and I could scarcely see her." He drew +himself erect with a nervous movement. "How on earth could I have +obtained that photograph of her in the darkness?" he demanded. + +"N-rays," said the Tracer coolly. "It has been done in France." + +"Yes, from living people, but--" + +"What the N-ray is in living organisms, we must call, for lack of a +better term, the subaura in the phantom." + +They bent over the photograph together. Presently the Tracer said: "She +is very, very beautiful?" + +Harren's dry lips unclosed, but he uttered no sound. + +"She is beautiful, is she not?" repeated the Tracer, turning to look at +the young man. + +"Can you not see she is?" he asked impatiently. + +"No," said the Tracer. + +Harren stared at him. + +"Captain Harren," continued the Tracer, "I can see nothing upon this bit +of paper that resembles in the remotest degree a human face or figure." + +Harren turned white. + +"Not that I doubt that _you_ can see it," pursued the Tracer calmly. "I +simply repeat that I see absolutely nothing on this paper except a part +of a curtain, a window pane, and--and--" + +"What! for God's sake!" cried Harren hoarsely. + +"I don't know yet. Wait; let me study it." + +"Can you not see her face, her eyes? _Don't_ you see that exquisite slim +figure standing there by the curtain?" demanded Harren, laying his +shaking finger on the photograph. "Why, man, it is as clear, as clean +cut, as distinct as though the picture had been taken in sunlight! Do +you mean to say that there is nothing there--that I am crazy?" + +"No. Wait." + +"Wait! How can I wait when you sit staring at her picture and telling me +that you can't see it, but that it is doubtless there? Are you deceiving +me, Mr. Keen? Are you trying to humor me, trying to be kind to me, +knowing all the while that I'm crazy--" + +"Wait, man! You are no more crazy than I am. I tell you that I can see +something on the window pane--" + +He suddenly sprang up and walked to the window, leaning close and +examining the glass. Harren followed and laid his hand lightly over the +pane. + +"Do you see any marks on the glass?" demanded Keen. + +Harren shook his head. + +"Have you a magnifying glass?" asked the Tracer. + +Harren pointed back to the table, and they returned to the photograph, +the Tracer bending over it and examining it through the glass. + +"All I see," he said, still studying the photograph, "is a corner of a +curtain and a window on which certain figures seem to have been cut. +. . . Look, Captain Harren, can you see them?" + +"I see some marks--some squares." + +"You can't see anything written on that pane--as though cut by a +diamond?" + +"Nothing distinct." + +"But you see _her_?" + +"Perfectly." + +"In minute detail?" + +"Yes." + +The Tracer thought a moment: "Does she wear a ring?" + +"Yes; can't you see?" + +"Draw it for me." + +They seated themselves side by side, and Harren drew a rough sketch of +the ring which he insisted was so plainly visible on her hand: + +[Illustration: Ring with an X] + +"Oh," observed the Tracer, "she wears the Seal of Solomon on her ring." + +Harren looked up at him. "That symbol has haunted me persistently for +three years," he said. "I have found it everywhere--on articles that I +buy, on house furniture, on the belts of dead ladrones, on the hilts of +creeses, on the funnels of steamers, on the headstalls of horses. If +they put a laundry mark on my linen it's certain to be this! If I buy a +box of matches the sign is on it. Why, I've even seen it on the +brilliant wings of tropical insects. It's got on my nerves. I dream +about it." + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"And you buy books about it and try to work out its mystical meaning?" +suggested the Tracer, smiling. + +But Harren's gray eyes were serious. He said: "_She_ never comes to me +without that symbol somewhere about her. . . . I told you she never +spoke to me. That is true; yet once, in a vivid dream of her, she did +speak. I--I was almost ashamed to tell you of that." + +"Tell me." + +"A--a dream? Do you wish to know what I dreamed?" + +"Yes--if it was a dream." + +"It was. I was asleep on the deck of the _Mindinao_, dead tired after a +fruitless hike. I dreamed she came toward me through a young woodland +all lighted by the sun, and in her hands she held masses of that wild +flower we call Solomon's Seal. And she said--in the voice I know must be +like hers: 'If you could only read! If you would only understand the +message I send you! It is everywhere on earth for you to read, if you +only would!' + +"I said: 'Is the message in the seal? Is that the key to it?' + +"She nodded, laughing, burying her face in the flowers, and said: + +"'Perhaps I can write it more plainly for you some day; I will try very, +very hard.' + +"And after that she went away--not swiftly--for I saw her at moments far +away in the woods; but I must have confused her with the glimmering +shafts of sunlight, and in a little while the woodland grew dark and I +woke with the racket of a Colt's automatic in my ears." + +He passed his sun-bronzed hand over his face, hesitated, then leaned +over the photograph once more, which the Tracer was studying intently +through the magnifying glass. + +"There is something on that window in the photograph which I'm going to +copy," he said. "Please shove a pad and pencil toward me." + +Still examining the photograph through the glass which he held in his +right hand, Mr. Keen picked up the pencil and, feeling for the pad, +began very slowly to form the following series of symbols: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +"What on earth are you doing?" muttered Captain Harren, twisting his +short mustache in perplexity. + +"I am copying what I see through this magnifying glass written on the +window pane in the photograph," said the Tracer calmly. "Can't you see +those marks?" + +"I--I do now; I never noticed them before particularly--only that there +were scratches there." + +When at length the Tracer had finished his work he sat, chin on hand, +examining it in silence. Presently he turned toward Harren, smiling. + +"Well?" inquired the younger man impatiently; "do those scratches +representing Solomon's Seal mean anything?" + +"It's the strangest cipher I ever encountered," said Mr. Keen--"the +strangest I ever heard of. I have seen hundreds of +ciphers--hundreds--secret codes of the State Department, secret military +codes, elaborate Oriental ciphers, symbols used in commercial +transactions, symbols used by criminals and every species of malefactor. +And every one of them can be solved with time and patience and a little +knowledge of the subject. But this"--he sat looking at it with eyes half +closed--"this is _too_ simple." + +"Simple!" + +"Very. It's so simple that it's baffling." + +"Do you mean to say you are going to be able to find a meaning in +squares and crosses?" + +"I--I don't believe it is going to be so very difficult to translate +them." + +"Great guns!" said the Captain. "Do you mean to say that you can +ultimately translate that cipher?" + +The Tracer smiled. "Let's examine it for repetitions first. Here we have +this symbol + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +repeated five times. It's likely to be the letter E. I think--" His +voice ceased; for a quarter of an hour he pored over the symbols, pencil +in hand, checking off some, substituting a letter here and there. + +"No," he said; "the usual doesn't work in this case. It's an absurdly +simple cipher. I have a notion that numbers play a part in it--you see +where these crossed squares are bracketed--those must be numbers +requiring two figures--" + +He fell silent again, and for another quarter of an hour he remained +motionless, immersed in the problem before him, Harren frowning at the +paper over his shoulder. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +"Come!" said the Tracer suddenly; "this won't do. There are too few +symbols to give us a key; too few repetitions to furnish us with any key +basis. Come, Captain, let us use our intellects; let us talk it over +with that paper lying there between us. It's a simple cipher--a +childishly simple one if we use our wits. Now, sir, what I see repeated +before us on this sheet of paper is merely one of the forms of a symbol +known as Solomon's Seal. The symbol is, as we see, repeated a great many +times. Every seal has been dotted or crossed on some one of the lines +composing it; some seals are coupled with brackets and armatures." + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"What of it?" inquired Harren vacantly. + +"Well, sir, in the first place, that symbol is supposed to represent the +spiritual and material, as you know. What else do you know about it?" + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"Nothing. I bought a book about it, but made nothing of it." + +"Isn't it supposed," asked Mr. Keen, "to contain within itself the nine +numerals, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and even the zero symbol?" + +"I believe so." + +"_Ex_actly. Here's the seal + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Now I'll mark the one, two, and three by crossing the lines, like this: + +one, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +two, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +three, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Now, eliminating all lines not crossed there remains + +the one, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +the two, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +the three, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +And here is the entire series: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +and the zero--" + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +A sudden excitement stirred Harren; he leaned over the paper, gazing +earnestly at the cipher; the Tracer rose and glanced around the room as +though in search of something. + +"Is there a telephone here?" he asked. + +"For Heaven's sake, don't give this up just yet," exclaimed Harren. +"These things mean numbers; don't you see? Look at that!" pointing to a +linked pair of seals, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"That means the number nineteen! You can form it by using only the +crossed lines of the seal. + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Don't you see, Mr. Keen?" + +"Yes, Captain Harren, the cipher is, as you say, very plain; quite as +easy to read as so much handwriting. That is why I wish to use your +telephone--at once, if you please." + +"It's in my bedroom; you don't mind if I go on working out this cipher +while you're telephoning?" + +"Not in the least," said the Tracer blandly. He walked into the +Captain's bedroom, closing the door behind him; then he stepped over to +the telephone, unhooked the receiver, and called up his own +headquarters. + +"Hello. This is Mr. Keen. I want to speak to Miss Borrow." + +In a few moments Miss Borrow answered: "I am here, Mr. Keen." + +"Good. Look up the name Inwood. Try New York first--Edith Inwood is the +name. Look sharp, please; I am holding the wire." + +He held it for ten full minutes; then Miss Borrow's low voice called him +over the wire. + +"Go ahead," said the Tracer quietly. + +"There is only one Edith Inwood in New York, Mr. Keen--Miss Edith +Inwood, graduate of Barnard, 1902--left an orphan 1903 and obliged to +support herself--became an assistant to Professor Boggs of the Museum of +Inscriptions. Is considered an authority upon Arabian cryptograms. Has +written a monograph on the Herati symbol--a short treatise on the +Swastika. She is twenty-four years of age. Do you require further +details?" + +"No," said the Tracer; "please ring off." + +Then he called up General Information. "I want the Museum of +Inscriptions. Get me their number, please." After a moment: "Is this the +Museum of Inscriptions?" + + * * * * * + +"Is Professor Boggs there?" + + * * * * * + +"Is this Professor Boggs?" + + * * * * * + +"Could you find time to decipher an inscription for me at once?" + + * * * * * + +"Of course I know you are extremely busy, but have you no assistant who +could do it?" + + * * * * * + +"What did you say her name is? Miss Inwood?" + + * * * * * + +"Oh! And will the young lady translate the inscription at once if I send +a copy of it to her by messenger?" + + * * * * * + +"Thank you very much, Professor. I will send a messenger to Miss Inwood +with a copy of the inscription. Good-by." + +He hung up the receiver, turned thoughtfully, opened the door again, and +walked into the sunlit living room. + +"Look here!" cried the Captain in a high state of excitement. "I've got +a lot of numbers out of it already." + +"Wonderful!" murmured the Tracer, looking over the young man's broad +shoulders at a sheet of paper bearing these numbers: + +9--14--5--22--5--18--19--1--23--25--15--21--2--21--20--15--14--3--5-- +9--12--15--22--5--25--15--21--5--4--9--20--8--9--14--23--15--15--4. + +"Marvelous!" repeated the Tracer, smiling. "Now what _do_ you suppose +those numbers can stand for?" + +"Letters!" announced the Captain triumphantly. "Take the number nine, +for example. The ninth letter in the alphabet is I! Mr. Keen, suppose we +try writing down the letters according to that system!" + +"Suppose we do," agreed the Tracer gravely. + +So, counting under his breath, the young man set down the letters in the +following order, not attempting to group them into words: + +INEVERSAWYOUBUTONCEILOVEYOUEDITHINWOOD. + +Then he leaned back, excited, triumphant. + +"There you are!" he said; "only, of course, it makes no sense." He +examined it in silence, and gradually a hopeless expression effaced the +animation. "How the deuce am I going to separate that mass of letters +into words?" he muttered. + +"This way," said the Tracer, smilingly taking the pencil from his +fingers, and he wrote: I--NEVER--SAW--YOU--BUT--ONCE. I--LOVE--YOU. +EDITH INWOOD. + +Then he laid the pencil on the table and walked to the window. + +Once or twice he fancied that he heard incoherent sounds behind him. +And after a while he turned, retracing his steps leisurely. Captain +Harren, extremely pink, stood tugging at his short mustache and studying +the papers on the desk. + +"Well?" inquired the Tracer, amused. + +The young man pointed to the translation with unsteady finger. "W-what +on earth does that mean?" he demanded shakily. "Who is Edith Inwood? +W-what on earth does that cryptogram mean on the window pane in the +photograph? How did it come there? It isn't on my window pane, you see!" + +The Tracer said quietly: "That is not a photograph of your window." + +"What!" + +"No, Captain. Here! Look at it closely through this glass. There are +sixteen small panes in that sash; now count the panes in your +window--eight! Besides, look at that curtain. It is made of some figured +stuff like chintz. Now, look at your own curtain yonder! It is of plain +velour." + +"But--but I took that photograph! She stood there--there by that very +window!" + +The Tracer leaned over the photograph, examining it through the glass. +And, studying it, he said: "Do you still see _her_ in this photograph, +Captain Harren?" + +"Certainly. Can you not see her?" + +"No," murmured the Tracer, "but I see the window which she really stood +by when her phantom came here seeking you. And that is sufficient. Come, +Captain Harren, we are going out together." + +The Captain looked at him earnestly; something in Mr. Keen's eyes seemed +to fascinate him. + +"You think that--that it's likely we are g-going to see--_her_!" he +faltered. + +"If I were you," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, joining the tips of +his lean fingers meditatively--"If I were you I should wear a silk hat +and a frock coat. It's--it's afternoon, anyhow," he added deprecatingly, +"and we are liable to make a call." + +Captain Harren turned like a man in a dream and entered his bedroom. And +when he emerged he was dressed and groomed with pathetic precision. + +"Mr. Keen," he said, "I--I don't know why I am d-daring to hope for all +s-sorts of things. Nothing you have said really warrants it. But somehow +I'm venturing to cherish an absurd notion that I may s-see her." + +"Perhaps," said the Tracer, smiling. + +"Mr. Keen! You wouldn't say that if--if there was no chance, would you? +You wouldn't dash a fellow's hopes--" + +"No, I wouldn't," said Mr. Keen. "I tell you frankly that I expect to +find her." + +"To-day?" + +"We'll see," said Mr. Keen guardedly. "Come, Captain, don't look that +way! Courage, sir! We are about to execute a turning movement; but you +look like a Russian general on his way to the south front." + +Harren managed to laugh; they went out, side by side, descended the +elevator, and found a cab at the _porte-cochère_. Mr. Keen gave the +directions and followed the Captain into the cab. + +"Now," he said, as they wheeled south, "we are first going to visit the +Museum of Inscriptions and have this cipher translation verified. Here +is the cipher as I copied it. Hold it tightly, Captain; we've only a few +blocks to drive." + +Indeed they were already nearly there. The hansom drew up in front of a +plain granite building wedged in between some rather elaborate private +dwelling-houses. Over the door were letters of dull bronze: + + AMERICAN MUSEUM OF INSCRIPTIONS + +and the two men descended and entered a wide marble hall lined with +glass-covered cabinets containing plaster casts of various ancient +inscriptions and a few bronze and marble originals. Several female +frumps were nosing the exhibits. + +An attendant in livery stood in the middle distance. The Tracer walked +over to him. "I have an appointment to consult Miss Inwood," he +whispered. + +"This way, sir," nodded the attendant, and the Tracer signaled the +Captain to follow. + +They climbed several marble stairways, crossed a rotunda, and entered a +room--a sort of library. Beyond was a door which bore the inscription: + + ASSISTANT CURATOR + +"Now," said the Tracer of Lost Persons in a low voice to Captain Harren, +"I am going to ask you to sit here for a few minutes while I interview +the assistant curator. You don't mind, do you?" + +"No, I don't mind," said Harren wearily, "only, when are we going to +begin to search for--_her_?" + +"Very soon--I may say extremely soon," said Mr. Keen gravely. "By the +way, I think I'll take that sheet of paper on which I copied the cipher. +Thank you. I won't be long." + +The attendant had vanished. Captain Harren sat down by a window and +gazed out into the late afternoon sunshine. The Tracer of Lost Persons, +treading softly across the carpeted floor, approached the sanctuary, +turned the handle, and walked in, carefully closing the door behind him. + +There was a young girl seated at a desk by an open window; she looked up +quietly as he entered, then rose leisurely. + +"Miss Inwood?" + +"Yes." + +She was slender, dark-eyed, dark-haired--a lovely, wholesome young +creature; gracious and graceful. And that was all--for the Tracer of +Lost Persons could not see through the eyes of Captain Harren, and +perhaps that is why he was not able to discern a miracle of beauty in +the pretty girl who confronted him--no magic and matchless marvel of +transcendent loveliness--only a quiet, sweet-faced, dark-eyed young girl +whose features and figure were attractive in the manner that youth is +always attractive. But then it is a gift of the gods to see through eyes +anointed by the gods. + +The Tracer touched his gray mustache and bowed; the girl bowed very +sweetly. + +"You are Mr. Keen," she said; "you have an inscription for me to +translate." + +"A mystery for young eyes to interpret," he said, smiling. "May I sit +here--and tell my story before I show you my inscription?" + +"Please do," she said, seating herself at her desk and facing him, one +slender white hand supporting the oval of her face. + +The Tracer drew his chair a little forward. "It is a curious matter," he +said. "May I give you a brief outline of the details?" + +"By all means, Mr. Keen." + +"Then let me begin by saying that the inscription of which I have a copy +was probably scratched upon a window pane by means of a diamond." + +"Oh! Then--then it is not an ancient inscription, Mr. Keen." + +"The theme is ancient--the oldest theme in the world--love! The cipher +is old--as old as King Solomon." She looked up quickly. The Tracer, +apparently engrossed in his own story, went on with it. "Three years ago +the young girl who wrote this inscription upon the window pane of +her--her bedroom, I think it was--fell in love. Do you follow me, Miss +Inwood?" + +Miss Inwood sat very still--wide, dark eyes fixed on him. + +"Fell in love," repeated the Tracer musingly, "not in the ordinary way. +That is the point, you see. No, she fell in love at first sight; fell +in love with a young man whom she never before had seen, never again +beheld--and never forgot. Do you still follow me, Miss Inwood?" + +She made the slightest motion with her lips. + +"No," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, "she never forgot him. I am not +sure, but I think she sometimes dreamed of him. She dreamed of him +awake, too. Once she inscribed a message to him, cutting it with the +diamond in her ring on the window pane--" + +A slight sound escaped from Miss Inwood's lips. "I beg your pardon," +said the Tracer, "did you say something?" + +The girl had risen, pale, astounded, incredulous. + +"Who are you?" she faltered. "What has this--this story to do with me?" + +"Child," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, "the Seal of Solomon is a +splendid mystery. All of heaven and earth are included within its +symbol. And more, more than you dream of, more than I dare fathom; and I +am an old man, my child--old, alone, with nobody to fear for, nothing to +dread, not even the end of all--because I am ready for that, too. Yet I, +having nothing on earth to dread, dare not fathom what that symbol may +mean, nor what vast powers it may exert on life. God knows. It may be +the very signet of Fate itself; the sign manual of Destiny." + +He drew the paper from his pocket, unrolled it, and spread it out under +her frightened eyes. + +"_That!_" she whispered, steadying herself blindly against the arm he +offered. She stood a moment so, then, shuddering, covered her eyes with +both hands. The Tracer of Lost Persons looked at her, turned and opened +the door. + +"Captain Harren!" he called quietly. Harren, pacing the anteroom, turned +and came forward. As he entered the door he caught sight of the girl +crouching by the window, her face hidden in her hands, and at the same +moment she dropped her hands and looked straight at him. + +"_You!_" she gasped. + +The Tracer of Lost Persons stepped out, closing the door. For a moment +he stood there, tall, gaunt, gray, staring vacantly into space. + +"She _was_ beautiful--when she looked at him," he muttered. + +For another minute he stood there, hesitating, glancing backward at the +closed door. Then he went away, stooping slightly, his top hat held +close against the breast of his tightly buttoned frock coat. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +During his first year of wedded bliss, Gatewood cut the club. When Kerns +wanted to see him he had to call like other people or, like other +people, accept young Mrs. Gatewood's invitations. + +"Why," said Gatewood scornfully, "should I, thirty-four years of age and +safely married, go to a club? Why should I, at my age, idle with a lot +of idlers and listen to stuffy stories from stuffier individuals? Do you +think that stale tobacco smoke, and the idiotically reiterated click of +billiard balls, and the vacant stare of the fashionably brainless, and +the meaningless exchange of banalities with the intellectually aimless +have any attractions for me?" + +Mrs. Gatewood raised her pretty eyes in silence; Kerns returned her +amused gaze rather blankly. + +"Clubs!" sniffed Gatewood. "What are clubs but pretexts for wasting +time? What mental, what spiritual stimulus can a man expect to find in a +club? Why, Kerns, when I look back a year and think what I was, and when +I look at you and think what you still are--" + +"John," said Mrs. Gatewood softly. + +"Oh, he knows it!" insisted her husband, "don't you, Tommy? You know the +sort of life you're leading, don't you? You know what a miserable, +aimless, selfish, unambitious, pitiable existence an unmarried man leads +who lives at his club; don't you?" + +"Certainly," said Kerns, blinking into the smiling gaze of Mrs. +Gatewood. + +"Then why don't you marry?" + +But Kerns had risen and was making his adieus with cheerful decision; +and Mrs. Gatewood was laughing as she gave him her slender hand. + +"Now I know a girl--" began Gatewood; but his wife was still speaking to +Kerns, so he circled around them, politely suppressing the excitement of +a sudden idea struggling for utterance. + +Mrs. Gatewood was saying: "I do wish John would go to his clubs +occasionally. Because a man is married is no reason for his losing touch +with his clubs--" + +"I know a girl," broke in Gatewood excitedly, laying his arm on Kerns's +to detain him; but Kerns slid sideways through the door with a smile so +noncommittal that Mrs. Gatewood laughed again and, linking her arm in +her husband's, faced partly toward him. This maneuver, and the +slightest pressure of her shoulder, obliged her husband to begin a +turning movement, so that Kerns might reasonably make his escape in the +middle of Gatewood's sentence; which he did with nimble and circumspect +agility. + +"I--I know a--" began Gatewood desperately, twisting his head over his +shoulder, only to hear the deadened patter of his friend's feet over the +velvet stair carpet and the subdued clang of the front door. + +"Isn't it extraordinary?" he said to his wife. "I've been trying to tell +Tommy, every time he comes here, about a girl I know--just the very girl +he ought to marry; and something prevents him from listening every +time." + +The attractive young matron beside him turned her face so that her eyes +were directly in line with his. + +"Did you ever know any people named Manners?" she asked. + +"No. Why?" + +"You never knew a girl named Marjorie Manners, did you, John?" + +"No. What about her?" + +"You never heard Mr. Kerns speak of her, did you, dear?" + +"No, never. Tommy doesn't talk about girls." + +"You never heard him speak of a Mrs. Stanley?" + +"Never. Who are these two women?" + +"One and the same, dear. Marjorie Manners married an Englishman named +Stanley six years ago. Do you happen to recollect that Mr. Kerns took +his vacation in England six years ago?" + +"Yes. What of it?" + +"He crossed to Southampton with Marjorie and her mother. He didn't know +she was going over to be married, and she didn't tell him. She wrote to +me about it, though. I was in school at Farmington; she left school to +marry--a mere child of eighteen, undeveloped for her age, thin, almost +scrawny, with pipe-stem arms and neck, red hair, a very sweet, +full-lipped mouth, and gray eyes that were too big for her face." + +"Well," said Gatewood with a short laugh, "what about it? You don't +think Kerns fell in love with an insect of that genus, do you?" + +"Yes, I do," smiled Mrs. Gatewood. + +"Nonsense. Besides, what of it? She's married, you say." + +"Her husband died of enteric at Ladysmith. She wrote me. She has never +remarried. Think of it, John--in all these years she has never +remarried!" + +"Oh!" said Gatewood pityingly; "do you really suppose that Tommy Kerns +has been nursing a blighted affection all these years without ever +giving _me_ an inkling? Besides, men don't do that; men don't curl up +and blight. Besides, men don't take any stock in big-eyed, flat-chested, +red-headed pipe stems. Why do you think that Kerns ever cared for her?" + +"I know he did." + +"How do you know it?" + +"From Marjorie's letters." + +"The conceited kid! Well, of all insufferable nerve! A man like Kerns--a +man--one of the finest, noblest characters--spiritually, intellectually, +physically--a practically faultless specimen of manhood! And a +red-headed, spindle-legged--Oh, my! Oh, fizz! Dearest, men don't worship +a cage of bones with an eighteen-year-old soul in it--like a nervous +canary pecking out at the world!" + +"She created a furor in England," observed his wife, smiling. + +"Oh, I dare say she might over there. Besides, she's doubtless fattened +up since then. But if you suppose for one moment that Tommy could even +remember a girl like that--" + +Mrs. Gatewood smiled again--the wise, sweet smile of a young matron in +whom her husband's closest friend had confided. And after a moment or +two the wise smile became more thoughtful and less assured; for that +very day the Tracer of Lost Persons had called on her to inquire about a +Mrs. Stanley--a new client of his who had recently bought a town house +in East Eighty-third Street and a country house on Long Island; and who +had applied to him to find her fugitive butler and a pint or two of +family jewels. And, after her talk with the Tracer of Lost Persons, Mrs. +Gatewood knew that her favorite among all her husband's friends, Mr. +Kerns, would never of his own volition go near that same Marjorie +Manners who had flirted with him to the very perilous verge before she +told him why she was going to England--and who, now a widow, had +returned with her five-year-old daughter to dwell once more in the city +of her ancestors. + +Kerns had said very simply: "She has spoiled women for me--all except +you, Mrs. Gatewood. And if Jack hadn't married you--" + +"I understand, Mr. Kerns. I'm awfully sorry." + +"Don't feel sorry; only, if you can, call Jack off. He's been perfectly +possessed to marry me to somebody ever since he married you. And if I +told him why I don't care to consider the matter he wouldn't believe +me--he'd spend his life in trying to bring me around. Besides, I +couldn't ever tell him about--Marjorie Manners. Anyhow, nothing on earth +could ever induce me to look at her again. . . . You say she is now a +widow?" + +"Yes, Mr. Kerns, and very beautiful." + +"Never again," muttered Kerns. "Never! She was homely enough when I +asked her to marry me. I don't want to see her; I don't want to know +what she looks like. I'm glad she has changed so I wouldn't recognize +her, for that means the end of it all--the final elimination of the girl +I remember on the ship. . . . It was probably a sort of diseased +infatuation, wasn't it, Mrs. Gatewood? Think of it! A few days on +shipboard and--and I asked her to marry me! . . . I don't blame her, +after all, for letting me dangle. It was an excellent opportunity for +her to study a rare species of idiot. She was justified and I am +satisfied. Only, do call Jack off with a hint or two." + +"I shall try," said young Mrs. Gatewood thoughtfully--very thoughtfully, +for already every atom and fiber of her femininity was aroused in behalf +of these two estranged young people whom Providence certainly had not +meant to put asunder. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +"Nothing," said Gatewood firmly, "can make me believe that Kerns ought +not to marry somebody; and I'm never going to let up on him until he +does. I'll bet I could fix him for life if I called in the Tracer to +help me. Isn't it extraordinary how Kerns has kept out of it all these +years?" + +The attractive girl beside him turned her face once more so that her +clear, sweet eyes were directly in line with his. + +"It _is_ extraordinary," she said seriously. "I think you ought to drop +in at the club some day when you can corner him and bully him." + +"I don't want to go to the club," said the infatuated man. + +"Why, dear?" + +He looked straight at her and she flushed prettily, while a tint of +color touched his own face. Which was very nice of him. So she didn't +say what she was going to say--that it would be perhaps better for them +both if he practiced on her an artistic absence now and then. Younger in +years, she was more mature than he. She knew. But she was too much in +love with him to salt their ambrosia with common sense or suggest +economy in their use of the nectar bottle. + +However, the gods attend to that, and she knew they would, and she let +them. So one balmy evening late in May, when the new moon's ghost +floated through the upper haze, and the golden Diana above Manhattan +turned flame color, and the electric lights began to glimmer along Fifth +Avenue, and the first faint scent of the young summer freshened the +foliage in square and park, Kerns, stopping at the club for a moment, +found Gatewood seated at the same window they both were wont to haunt in +earlier and more flippant days. + +"Are you dining here?" inquired Kerns, pushing the electric button with +enthusiasm. "Well, that's the first glimmer of common sense you've +betrayed since you've been married!" + +"Dining _here_!" repeated Gatewood. "I should hope not! I am just going +home--" + +"He's thoroughly cowed," commented Kerns; "every married man you meet at +the club is just going home." But he continued to push the button, +nevertheless. + +Gatewood leaned back in his chair and gazed about him, nose in the air. +"What a life!" he observed virtuously. "It's all I can do to stand it +for ten minutes. You're here for the evening, I suppose?" he added +pityingly. + +"No," said Kerns; "I'm going uptown to Billy Lee's house to get my suit +case. His family are out of town, and he is at Seabright, so he let me +camp there until the workmen finish papering my rooms upstairs. I'm to +lock up the house and send the key to the Burglar Alarm Company +to-night. Then I go to Boston on the 12.10. Want to come? There'll be a +few doing." + +"To Boston! What for?" + +"Contracts! We can go out to Cambridge when I've finished my business. +There'll be _etwas_ doing." + +"_Can't_ you ever recover from being an undergraduate?" asked Gatewood, +disgusted. + +"Well--is there anything the matter with a man getting next to a little +amusement in life?" asked Kerns. "Do you object to my being happy?" + +"Amusement? You don't know how to amuse yourself. You don't know how to +be happy. Here you sit, day after day, swallowing Martinis--" He paused +to finish his own, then resumed: "Here you sit, day after day, +intellectually stultified, unemotionally ignorant of the higher and +better life--" + +"No, I don't. I've a book upstairs that tells all about that. I read it +when I have holdovers--" + +"Kerns, I wish to speak seriously. I've had it on my mind ever since I +married. May I speak frankly?" + +"Well, when I come back from Boston--" + +"Because I know a girl," interrupted Gatewood--"wait a moment, +Tommy!"--as Kerns rose and sauntered toward the door--"you've plenty of +time to catch your train and be civil, too! I mean to tell you about +that girl, if you'll listen." + +Kerns halted and turned upon his friend a pair of eyes, unwinking in +their placid intelligence. + +"I was going to say that I know a girl," continued Gatewood, "who is +just the sort of a girl you--" + +"No, she isn't!" said Kerns, wheeling to resume his progress toward the +cloakroom. + +"Tom!" + +Kerns halted. + +"_You're_ a fine specimen!" commented Gatewood scornfully. "You spent +the best years of your life in persuading me to get married, and the +first time I try to do the same for you, you make for the tall timber!" + +"I know it," admitted Kerns, unashamed; "I'm bashful. I'm a chipmunk for +shyness, so I'll say good night--" + +"Come back," said Gatewood coldly. + +"But my suit case--" + +"You left it at the Lee's, didn't you? Well, you've time enough to go +there, get it, make your train, and listen to me, too. Look here, Kerns, +have you any of the elements of decency about you?" + +"No," said Kerns, "not a single element." He seated himself defiantly in +the club window facing Gatewood and began to button his gloves. When he +had finished he settled his new straw hat more comfortably on his head, +and, leaning forward and balancing his malacca walking stick across his +knees, gazed at Gatewood with composure. + +"Crank up!" he said pleasantly; "I'm going in less than three minutes." +He pushed the electric knob as an afterthought, and when the gilt +buttons of the club servant glimmered through the dusk, "Two more," he +explained briskly. After a few moments' silence, broken by the tinkle of +ice in thin glassware, Gatewood leaned forward, menacing his friend with +an impressive forefinger: + +"Did you or didn't you once tell me that a decent citizen ought to +marry?" + +"I did, dear friend." + +"Did I or didn't I do it?" + +"In the words of the classic, you _done_ it," admitted Kerns. + +"Was I or wasn't I going to the devil before I had the sense to marry?" +persisted Gatewood. + +"You was! You _was_, dear friend!" said Kerns with enthusiasm. "You had +almost went there ere I appeared and saved you." + +"Then why shouldn't you marry and let me save you?" + +"But I'm not going to the bowwows. _I'm_ all right. I'm a decent +citizen. I awake in the rosy dawn with a song on my lips; I softly +whistle rag time as I button my collar; I warble a few delicious vagrant +notes as I part my sparse hair; I'm not murderous before breakfast; I go +down town, singing, to my daily toil; I fish for fat contracts in +Georgia marble; I return uptown immersed in a holy calm and the evening +paper. I offer myself a cocktail; I bow and accept; I dress for dinner +with the aid of a rascally valet, but--_do_ I swear at him? No, dear +friend; I say, 'Henry, I have known far, far worse scoundrels than you. +Thank you for filling up my bay rum with water. Bless you for wearing +my imported hosiery! I deeply regret that my new shirts do not fit you, +Henry!' And my smile is a benediction upon that wayward scullion. Then, +dear friend, why, why do you desire to offer me up upon the altar of +unrest? What is a little wifey to me or I to any wifey?" + +"Because," said Gatewood irritated, "you offered me up. I'm happy and I +want you to be--you great, hulking, self-satisfied symbol of supreme +self-centered selfishness--" + +"Oh, splash!" said Kerns feebly. + +"Yes, you are. What do you do all day? Grub for money and study how to +make life agreeable to yourself! Every minute of the day you are +occupied in having a good time! You've admitted it! You wake up singing +like a fool canary; you wear imported hosiery; you've made a soft, warm +wallow for yourself at this club, and here you bask your life away, +waddling downtown to nail contracts and cut coupons, and uptown to +dinners and theaters, only to return and sprawl here in luxury without +one single thought for posterity. _Your_ crime is race suicide!" + +"I--my--_what_!" + +"Certainly. Some shirk taxes, some jury duty. _You_ shirk fatherhood, +and all its happy and sacred obligations! You deny posterity! You strike +a blow at it! You flout it! You menace the future of this Republic! +Your inertia is a crime against the people! Instead of _pro bono +publico_ your motto is _pro bono tempo_--for a good time! And, dog Latin +or not, it's the truth, and our great President" + +"Splash!" said Kerns, rising. + +"I've a good mind," said Gatewood indignantly, "to put the Tracer of +Lost Persons on your trail. He'd rope you and tie you in record time!" + +Kerns's smile was a provocation. + +"I'll do it, too!" added Gatewood, losing his temper, "if you dare give +me the chance." + +"Seriously," inquired Kerns, delighted, "_do_ you think your friend, Mr. +Keen, could encompass my matrimony against my better sense and the full +enjoyment of my unimpaired mental faculties?" + +"Didn't he--fortunately for me--force me into matrimony when I had never +seen a woman I would look at twice? Didn't you put him up to it? Very +well, why can't I put him on your trail then? Why can't _he_ do the same +for you?" + +"Try it, dear friend," retorted Kerns courteously. + +"Do you mean that you are not afraid? Do you mean you give me full +liberty to set him on you? And do you realize what that means? No, you +don't; for you haven't a notion of what that man, Westrel Keen, can +accomplish. You haven't the slightest idea of the machinery which he +controls with a delicacy absolutely faultless; with a perfectly +terrifying precision. Why, man, the Pinkerton system itself has become +merely a detail in the immense complexity of the system of control which +the Tracer of Lost Persons exercises over this entire continent. The +urban police, the State constabulary of Pennsylvania, the rural systems +of surveillance, the Secret Service, all municipal, provincial, State, +and national organizations form but a few strands in the universal web +he has woven. Custom officials, revenue officers, the militia of the +States, the army, the navy, the personnel of every city, State, and +national legislative bodies form interdependent threads in the mesh he +is master of; and, like a big beneficent spider, he sits in the center +of his web, able to tell by the slightest tremor of any thread exactly +where to begin investigations!" + +Flushed, earnest, a trifle out of breath with his own eloquence, +Gatewood waved his hand to indicate a Ciceronian period, adding, as +Kerns's incredulous smile broadened: "Say splash again, and I'll put you +at his mercy!" + +"Ker-splash! dear friend," observed Kerns pleasantly. "If a man doesn't +want to marry, the army, the navy, the Senate, the white wings, and the +great White Father at Washington can't make him." + +"I tell you I want to see you happy!" said Gatewood angrily. + +"Then gaze upon me. I'm it!" + +"You're not! You don't know what happiness is." + +"Don't I? Well, I don't miss it, dear friend--" + +"But if you've never had it, and therefore don't miss it, it's time +somebody found some real happiness for you. Kerns, I simply can't bear +to see you missing so much happiness--" + +"Why grieve?" + +"Yes, I will! I do grieve--in spite of your grinning skepticism and your +bantering attitude. See here, Tom; I've started about a thousand times +to say that I knew a girl--" + +"Do you want to hear that splash again?" + +Gatewood grew madder. He said: "I could easily lay your case before Mr. +Keen and have you in love and married and happy whether you like it or +not!" + +"If I were not going to Boston, my son, I should enjoy your misguided +efforts," returned Kerns blandly. + +"Your going to Boston makes no difference. The Tracer of Lost Persons +doesn't care where you go or what you do. If he starts in on your case, +Tommy, you can't escape." + +"You mean he can catch me now? Here? At my own club? Or on the public +highway? Or on the classic Boston train?" + +"He _could_. Yes, I firmly believe he could land you before you ever saw +the Boston State House. I tell you he can work like lightning, Kerns. I +know it; I am so absolutely convinced of it that I--I almost hesitate--" + +"Don't feel delicate about it," laughed Kerns; "you may call him on the +telephone while I go uptown and get my suit case. Perhaps I'll come back +a blushing bridegroom; who knows?" + +"If you'll wait here I'll call him up now," said Gatewood grimly. + +"Oh, very well. Only I left my suit case in Billy's room, and it's full +of samples of Georgia marble, and I've got to get it to the train." + +"You've plenty of time. If you'll wait until I talk to Mr. Keen I'll +dine with you here. Will you?" + +"What? Dine in this abandoned joint with an outcast like me? Dear +friend, are you dippy this lovely May evening?" + +"I'll do it if you'll wait. Will you? And I'll bet you now that I'll +have you in love and sprinting toward the altar before we meet again at +this club. Do you dare bet?" + +"The terms of the wager, kind friend?" drawled Kerns, delighted; and he +fished out a notebook kept for such transactions. + +"Let me see," reflected Gatewood; "you'll need a silver service when +you're married. . . . Well, say, forks and spoons and things against an +imported trap gun--twelve-gauge, you know." + +"Done. Go and telephone to your friend, Mr. Keen." And Kerns pushed the +electric button with a jeering laugh, and asked the servant for a dinner +card. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Gatewood, in the telephone booth, waited impatiently for Mr. Keen; and +after a few moments the Tracer of Lost Persons' agreeable voice sounded +in the receiver. + +"It's about Mr. Kerns," began Gatewood; "I want to see him happy, and +the idiot won't be. Now, Mr. Keen, you know what happiness you and he +brought to me! You know what sort of an idle, selfish, aimless, +meaningless life you saved me from? I want you to do the same for Mr. +Kerns. I want to ask you to take up his case at once. Besides, I've a +bet on it. Could you attend to it at once?" + +"To-night?" asked the Tracer, laughing. + +"Why--ah--well, of course, that would be impossible. I suppose--" + +"My profession is to overcome the impossible, Mr. Gatewood. Where is Mr. +Kerns?" + +"Here, in this club, defying me and drinking cocktails. He won't get +married, and I want you to make him do it." + +"Where is he spending the evening?" asked the Tracer, laughing again. + +"Why, he's been stopping at the Danforth Lees' in Eighty-third Street +until the workmen at the club here finish putting new paper on his +walls. The Lees are out of town. He left his suit case at their house +and he's going up to get it and catch the 12.10 train for Boston." + +"He goes from the Lenox Club to the residence of Mr. W. Danforth Lee, +East Eighty-third Street, to get a suit case," repeated the Tracer. "Is +that correct?" + +"Yes." + +"What is in the suit case?" + +"Samples of that new marble he's quarrying in Georgia." + +"Is it an old suit case? Has it Mr. Kerns's initials on it?" + +"Hold the wire; I'll find out." + +And Gatewood left the telephone and walked into the great lounging room, +where Kerns sat twirling his stick and smiling to himself. + +"All over, dear friend?" inquired Kerns, starting to rise. "I've ordered +a corking dinner." + +"Wait!" returned Gatewood ominously. "What sort of a suit case is that +one you're going after?" + +"What sort? Oh, just an ordinary--" + +"Is it old or new?" + +"Brand new. Why?" + +"Is your name on it?" + +"No; why? Would that thicken the plot, dear friend? Or is the Tracer +foiled, ha! ha!" + +Gatewood turned on his heel, went back to the telephone, and, carefully +shutting the door of the booth, took up the receiver. + +"It's a new suit case, Mr. Keen," he said; "no initials on it--just an +ordinary case." + +"Mr. Lee's residence is 38 East Eighty-third Street, between Madison and +Fifth, I believe." + +"Yes," replied Gatewood. + +"And the family are out of town?" + +"Yes." + +"Is there a caretaker there?" + +"No; Mr. Kerns camped there. When he leaves to-night he will send the +key to the Burglar Alarm Company." + +"Very well. Please hold the wire for a while." + +For ten full minutes Gatewood sat gleefully cuddling the receiver +against his ear. His faith in Mr. Keen was naturally boundless; he +believed that whatever the Tracer attempted could not result in failure. +He desired nothing in the world so ardently as to see Kerns safely +married. His own happiness may have been the motive power which had set +him in action in behalf of his friend--that and a certain indefinable +desire to practice a species of heavenly revenge, of grateful +retaliation upon the prime mover and _collaborateur_, if not the sole +author, of his own wedded bliss. Kerns had made him happy. + +"And I'm hanged if I don't pay him off and make him happy, too!" +muttered Gatewood. "Does he think I'm going to sit still and see him go +tearing and gyrating about town with no responsibility, no moral check +to his evolutions, no wholesome home duties to limit his acrobatics, no +wife to clip his wings? It's time he had somebody to report to; time he +assumed moral burdens and spiritual responsibilities. A man is just as +happy when he is certain where he is going to sleep. A man can find just +as much enjoyment in life when he feels it his duty to account for his +movements. I don't care whether Kerns is comparatively happy or +not--there's nothing either sacred or holy in that kind of happiness, +and I'm not going to endure the sort of life he likes any longer!" + +Immersed in moral reflections, inspired by affectionate obligations to +violently inflict happiness upon Kerns, the minutes passed very +agreeably until the amused voice of the Tracer of Lost Persons sounded +again in the receiver. + +"Mr. Gatewood?" + +"Yes, I am here, Mr. Keen." + +"Do you really think it best for Mr. Kerns to fall in love?" + +"I do, certainly!" replied Gatewood with emphasis. + +"Because," continued the Tracer of Lost Persons, "I see little chance +for him to do otherwise if I take up this case. Fate itself, in the +shape of a young lady, is already on the way here in a railroad train." + +"Good! Good!" exclaimed Gatewood. "Don't let him escape, Mr. Keen! I beg +of you to take up his case! I urge you most seriously to do so. Mr. +Kerns is now exactly what I was a year ago--an utterly useless member of +the community--a typical bachelor who lives at his clubs, shirking the +duties of a decent citizen." + +"_Ex_actly," said the Tracer. "Do you insist that I take this case? That +I attempt to trace and find for Mr. Kerns a sort of happiness he himself +has never found?" + +"I implore you to do so, Mr. Keen." + +"_Ex_actly. If I do--if I carry it out as it has been arranged--or +rather as the case seems to have already arranged itself, for it is +rather a simple matter, I fancy--I do not exactly see how Mr. Kerns can +avoid experiencing a--ahem--a tender sentiment for the very charming +young lady whom I--and chance--have designed for him as a partner +through life." + +"Excellent! Splendid!" shouted Gatewood through the telephone. "Can I do +anything to aid you in this?" + +"Yes," replied the Tracer, laughing. "If you can keep him amused for an +hour or two before he goes after his suit case it might make it easier +for me. This young lady is due to arrive in New York at eight o'clock--a +client of mine--coming to consult me. Her presence plays an important +part in Mr. Kerns's future. I wish you to detain Mr. Kerns until she is +ready to receive him. But of this he must know nothing. Good-by, Mr. +Gatewood, and would you be kind enough to present my compliments to Mrs. +Gatewood?" + +"Indeed I will! We never can forget what you have done for us. Good-by." + +"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. Try to keep Mr. Kerns amused for two or three +hours. Of course, if you can't do this, there are other methods I may +employ--a dozen other plans already partly outlined in my mind; but the +present plan, which accident and coincidence make so easy, is likely to +work itself out to your entire satisfaction within a few hours. We are +already weaving a web around Mr. Kerns; we already have taken exclusive +charge of his future movements after he leaves the Lenox Club. I do not +believe he can escape us, or his charming destiny. Good night!" + +Gatewood, enchanted, hung up the receiver. Song broke softly from his +lips as he started in search of Kerns; his step was springy, +buoyant--sort of subdued and modest prance. + +"Now," he said to himself, "Tommy must take out his papers. The time is +ended when he can issue letters of marque to himself, hoist sail, square +away, and go cruising all over this metropolis at his own sweet will." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +In the meanwhile, at the other end of the wire, Mr. Keen, the Tracer of +Lost Persons, was preparing to trace for Mr. Kerns, against that +gentleman's will, the true happiness which Mr. Kerns had never been able +to find for himself. + +He sat in his easy chair within the four walls of his own office, +inspecting a line of people who stood before him on the carpet forming a +single and attentive rank. In this rank were five men: a policeman, a +cab driver, an agent of the telephone company, an agent of the electric +company, and a reformed burglar carrying a kit of his trade tools. + +The Tracer of Lost Persons gazed at them, meditatively joining the tips +of his thin fingers. + +"I want the number on 36 East Eighty-third Street changed to No. 38, and +the number 38 replaced by No. 36," he said to the policeman. "I want it +done at once. Get a glazier and go up there and have it finished in an +hour. Mrs. Kenna, caretaker at No. 36, is in my pay; she will not +interfere. There is nobody in No. 38: Mr. Kerns leaves there to-night +and the Burglar Alarm Company takes charge to-morrow." + +And, turning to the others: "You," nodding at the reformed burglar, +"know your duty. Mike!" to the cab driver, "don't miss Mr. Kerns at the +Lenox Club. If he calls you before eleven, drive into the park and have +an accident. And you," to the agent of the telephone company, "will +sever all telephone connection in Mrs. Stanley's house; and you," to the +official of the electric company, "will see that the circuit in Mrs. +Stanley's house is cut so that no electric light may be lighted and no +electric bell sound." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons stroked his gray mustache thoughtfully. "And +that," he ended, "will do, I think. Good night." + +He rose and stood by the door as the policeman headed the solemn file +which marched out to their duty; then he looked at his watch, and, as it +was already a few minutes after eight, he called up No. 36 East +Eighty-third Street, and in a moment more had Mrs. Stanley on the wire. + +"Good evening," he said pleasantly. "I suppose you have just arrived +from Rosylyn. I may be a little late--I may be very late, in fact, so I +called you up to say so. And I wished to say another thing; to ask you +whether your servants could recollect ever having seen a young man +about the place, a rather attractive young man with excellent address +and manners, five feet eleven inches, slim but well built, dark hair, +dark eyes, and dark mustache, offering samples of Georgia marble for +sale." + +"Really, Mr. Keen," replied a silvery voice, "I have heard them say +nothing about such an individual. If you will hold the wire I will ask +my maid." And, after a pause: "No, Mr. Keen, my maid cannot remember any +such person. Do you think he was a confederate of that wretched butler +of mine?" + +"I am scarcely prepared to say that; in fact," added Mr. Keen, "I +haven't the slightest idea that this young man could have been concerned +in anything of that sort. Only, if you should ever by any chance see +such a man, detain him if possible until you can communicate with me; +detain him by any pretext, by ruse, by force if you can, only detain him +until I can get there. Will you do this?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Keen, if I can. Please describe him again?" + +Mr. Keen did so minutely. + +"You say he sells Georgia marble by samples, which he carries in a suit +case?" + +"He _says_ that he has samples of Georgia marble in his suit case," +replied the Tracer cautiously. "It might be well, if possible, to see +what he has in his suit case." + +"I will warn the servants as soon as I return to Rosylyn. When may I +expect you this evening, Mr. Keen?" + +"It is impossible to say, Mrs. Stanley. If I am not there by midnight I +shall try to call next morning." + +So they exchanged civil adieus; the Tracer hung up his receiver and +leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself. + +"Curious," he said, "that chance should have sent that pretty woman to +me at such a time. . . . Kerns _is_ a fine fellow, every inch of him. It +hit him hard when he crossed with her to Southampton six years ago; it +hit him harder when she married that Englishman. I don't wonder he never +cared to marry after that brief week of her society; for she is just +about the most charming woman I have ever met--red hair and all. . . . +And if quick action is what is required, it's well to break the ice +between them at once with a dreadful misunderstanding." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +The dinner that Kerns had planned for himself and Gatewood was an +ingenious one, cunningly contrived to discontent Gatewood with home fare +and lure him by its seductive quality into frequent revisits to the club +which was responsible for such delectable wines and viands. + +A genial glow already enveloped Gatewood and pleasantly suffused Kerns. +From time to time they held some rare vintage aloft, squinting through +the crystal-imprisoned crimson with deep content. + +"Not that _my_ word is necessarily the _last_ word concerning Burgundy," +said Gatewood modestly; "but I venture to doubt that any club in America +can match this bottle, Kerns." + +"Now, Jack," wheedled Kerns, "isn't it pleasant to dine here once in a +while? Be frank, man! Look about at the other tables--at all the +pleasant, familiar faces--the same fine fellows, bless 'em--the same +smoky old ceiling, the same bum portraits of dead governors, the same +old stag heads on the wall. Now, Jack, isn't it mighty pleasant, after +all? Be a gentleman and admit it!" + +"Y-yes," confessed Gatewood, "it's all right for me once in a while, +because I know that I am presently going back to my own home--a jolly +lamplit room and the prettiest girl in Manhattan curled up in an +armchair--" + +"You're fortunate," said Kerns shortly. And for the first time there +remained no lurking mockery in his voice; for the first time his retort +was tinged with bitterness. But the next instant his eyes glimmered with +the same gay malice, and the unbelieving smile twitched at his clean-cut +lips, and he raised his hand, touching the short ends of his mustache +with that careless, amused cynicism which rather became him. + +"All that you picture so entrancingly is forbidden the true believer," +he said; and began to repeat: + + "'O weaver! weave the flowers of Feraghan + Into the fabric that thy birth began; + Iris, narcissus, tulips cloud-band tied, + These thou shalt picture for the eye of Man; + Henna, Herati, and the Jhelums tide + In Sarraband and Saruk be thy guide, + And the red dye of Ispahan beside + The checkered Chinese fret of ancient gold; + --So heed the ban, old as the law is old, + Nor weave into thy warp the laughing face, + Nor limb, nor body, nor one line of grace, + Nor hint, nor tint, nor any veiled device + Of Woman who is barred from Paradise!'" + +"A nice sentiment!" said Gatewood hotly. + +"Can't help it; you see I'm forbidden to monkey with the eternal looms +or weave the forbidden into the pattern of my life." + +Gatewood sat silent for a moment, then looked up at Kerns with something +so closely akin to a grin that his friend became interested in its +scarcely veiled significance, and grinned in reply. + +"So you really expect that your friend, Mr. Keen, is going to marry me +to somebody, _nolens volens_?" asked Kerns. + +"I do. That's what I dream of, Tommy." + +"My poor friend, dream on!" + +"I am. Tommy, you're lost! I mean you're as good as married now!" + +"You think so?" + +"I _know_ it! There you sit, savoring your Burgundy, idling over a +cigar, happy, care free, fancy free, at liberty, as you believe, to roam +off anywhere at any time and continue the eternal hunt for pleasure! +That's what you _think_! Ha! Tommy, I know better! That's not the sort +of man _I_ see sitting on the same chair where you are now sprawling in +such content! I see a doomed man, already in the shadow of the altar, +wasting his time unsuspiciously while Chance comes whirling into the +city behind a Long Island locomotive, and Fate, the footman, sits +outside ready to follow him, and Destiny awaits him no matter what he +does, what he desires, where he goes, wherever he turns to-night! +Destiny awaits him at his journey's end!" + +"Very fine," said Kerns admiringly. "Too bad it's due to the Burgundy." + +"Never mind what my eloquence is due to," retorted Gatewood, "the fact +remains that this is probably your last bachelor dinner. Kerns, old +fellow! Here's to her! Bless her! I--I wish sincerely that we knew who +she is and where to send those roses. Anyway, here's to the bride!" + +He stood up very gravely and drank the toast, then, reseating himself, +tapped the empty glass gently against the table's edge until it broke. + +"You are certainly doing your part well," said Kerns admiringly. Then he +swallowed the remainder of his Burgundy and looked up at the club clock. + +"Eleven," he said with regret. "I've about time to go to Eighty-third +Street, get my suit case, and catch my train at 125th Street." To a +servant he said, "Call a hansom," then rose and sauntered downstairs to +the cloakroom, where presently both men stood, hatted and gloved, +swinging their sticks. + +"That was a fool bet you made," began Kerns; "I'll release you, Jack." + +"Sorry, but I must insist on holding you," replied Gatewood, laughing. +"You're going to your doom. Come on! I'll see you as far as the cab +door." + +They walked out, and Kerns gave the cabby the street and number and +entered the hansom. + +"Now," said Gatewood, "you're in for it! You're done for! You can't help +yourself! I've won my twelve-gauge trap gun already, and I'll have to +set you up in table silver, anyway, so it's an even break. You're all +in, Tommy! The Tracer is on your trail!" + +In the beginning of a flippant retort Kerns experienced a curious +sensation of hesitation. Something in Gatewood's earnestness, in his +jeering assurance and delighted certainty, made him, for one moment, +feel doubtful, even uncomfortable. + +"What nonsense you talk," he said, recovering his equanimity. "Nothing +on earth can prevent me driving to 38 East Eighty-third Street, getting +my luggage, and taking the Boston express. Your Tracer doesn't intend to +stop my hansom and drag me into a cave, does he? You haven't put +knock-outs into that Burgundy, have you? Then what in the dickens are +you laughing at?" + +But Gatewood, on the sidewalk under the lamplight, was still laughing as +Kerns drove away, for he had recognized in the cab driver a man he had +seen in Mr. Kern's office, and he knew that the Tracer of Lost Persons +had Kerns already well in hand. + +The hansom drove on through the summer darkness between rows of electric +globes drooping like huge white moon flowers from their foliated bronze +stalks, on up the splendid avenue, past the great brilliantly +illuminated hotels, past the white cathedral, past clubs and churches +and the palaces of the wealthy; on, on along the park wall edged by its +double rows of elms under which shadowy forms moved--lovers strolling in +couples. + +"Pooh," sniffed Kerns, "the whole world has gone love mad, and I'm the +only sane man left." + +But he leaned back in his cab and fell a-thinking of a thin girl with +red hair and great gray eyes--a thin, frail creature, scarcely more than +a child, who had held him for a week in a strange sorcery only to +release him with a frightened smile, leaving her indelible impression +upon his life forever. + +And, thinking, he looked up, realizing that the cab had stopped in East +Eighty-third Street before one of a line of brownstone houses, all +externally alike. + +Then he leaned out and saw that the house number was thirty-eight. That +was the number of the Lees' house; he descended, bade the cabman await +him, and, producing his latch key, started up the steps, whistling +gayly. + +But he didn't require his key, for, as he reached the front door, he +found, to his surprise and concern, that it swung partly open--just a +mere crack. + +"The mischief!" he muttered; "could I have failed to close it? Could +anybody have seen it and crept in?" + +He entered the hallway hastily and pressed the electric knob. No light +appeared in the sconces. + +"What the deuce!" he murmured; "something wrong with the switch!" And he +hurriedly lighted a match and peered into the darkness. By the vague +glimmer of the burning match he could distinguish nothing. He listened +intently, tried the electric switch again without success. The match +burned his fingers and he dropped it, watching the last red spark die +out in the darkness. + +Something about the shadowy hallway seemed unfamiliar; he went to the +door, stepped out on the stoop, and looked up at the number on the +transom. It was thirty-eight; no doubt about the house. Hesitating, he +glanced around to see that his hansom was still there. It had +disappeared. + +"What an idiot that cabman is!" he exclaimed, intensely annoyed at the +prospect of lugging his heavy suit case to a Madison Avenue car and +traveling with it to Harlem. + +He looked up and down the dimly lighted street; east, an electric car +glided down Madison Avenue; west, the lights of Fifth Avenue glimmered +against the dark foliage of the Park. He stood a moment, angry at the +desertion of his cabman, then turned and reëntered the dark hall, +closing the door behind him. + +Up the staircase he felt his way to the first landing, and, lighting a +match, looked for the electric button. + +"Am I crazy, or was there no electric button in this hall?" he thought. +The match burned low; he had to drop it. Perplexed, he struck another +match and opened the door leading into the front room, and stood on the +threshold a moment, looking about him at the linen-shrouded furniture +and pictures. This front room, closed for the summer, he had not before +entered, but he stepped in now, poking about for any possible intruder, +lighting match after match. + +"I suppose I ought to go over this confounded house inch by inch," he +murmured. "What could have possessed me to leave the front door ajar +this morning?" + +For an instant he thought that perhaps Mrs. Nolan, the woman who came in +the morning to make his bed, might have left the door open, but he knew +that couldn't be so, because he always waited for her to finish her work +and leave before he went out. So either he must have left the door open, +or some marauder had visited the house--was perhaps at that moment in +the house! And it was his duty to find out. + +"I'd better be about it, too," he thought savagely, "or I'll never make +my train." + +He struck his last match, looked around, and, seeing gas jets among the +clustered electric bulbs of the sconces, tried to light one and +succeeded. + +He had left his suit case in the passageway between the front and rear +rooms, and now, cautiously, stick in hand, he turned toward the dim +corridor leading to the bedroom. There was his suit case, anyway! He +picked it up and started to push open the door of the rear room; but at +the same time, and before he could lay his hand on the knob, the door +before him opened suddenly in a flood of light, and a woman stood there, +dark against the gas-lit glare, a pistol waveringly extended in the +general direction of his head. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +"Good heavens!" he said, appalled, and dropped his suit case with a +crash. + +"W-what are you d-doing--" She controlled her voice and the wavering +weapon with an effort. "What are you doing in this house?" + +"Doing? In _this_ house?" he repeated, his eyes protruding in the +direction of the unsteady pistol muzzle. "What are _you_ doing in this +house--if you don't mind saying!" + +"I--I m-must ask you to put up your hands," she said. "If you move I +shall certainly s-shoot off this pistol." + +"It will go off, anyway, if you handle it like that!" he said, +exasperated. "What do you mean by pointing it at me?" + +"I mean to fire it off in a few moments if you don't raise your hands +above your head!" + +He looked at the pistol; it was new and shiny; he looked at the athletic +young figure silhouetted against the brilliant light. + +"Well, if you make a point of it, of course." He slowly held up both +hands, higher, then higher still. "Upon my word!" he breathed. "Held up +by a woman!" And he said aloud, bitterly: "No doubt you have assistance +close at hand." + +"No doubt," she said coolly. "What have you been packing into that +valise?" + +"P-packing into _what_? Oh, into that suit case? That is my suit case." + +"Of course it is," she said quietly, "but what have you inside it?" + +"Nothing _you_ or your friends would care for," he said meaningly. + +"I must be the judge of that," she retorted. "Please open that suit +case." + +"How can I if my hands are in the air?" he expostulated, now intensely +interested in the novelty of being held up by this graceful and vaguely +pretty silhouette. + +"You may lower your arms to unpack the suit case," she said. + +"I--I had rather not if you are going to keep me covered with your +pistol." + +"Of course I shall keep you covered. Unpack your booty at once!" + +"My--_what_?" + +"Booty." + +"Madam, do you take _me_ for a thief? Have you, by chance, entered the +wrong house? I--I cannot reconcile your voice with what I am forced to +consider you--a housebreaker--" + +"We will discuss that later. Unpack that bag!" she insisted. + +"But--but there is nothing in it except samples of marble--" + +"What!" she exclaimed nervously. "_What_ did you say? Samples of +_marble_?" + +"Marble, madam! Georgia marble!" + +"Oh! So _you_ are the young man who goes about pretending to peddle +Georgia marble from samples! Are you? The famous marble man I have heard +of." + +"I? Madam, I don't know what you mean!" + +"Come!" she said scornfully; "let me see the contents of that suit case. +I--I am not afraid of you; I am not a bit afraid of you. And I shall +catch your accomplice, too." + +"Madam, you speak like an honest woman! You _must_ have managed to enter +the wrong house. This is number thirty-eight, where I live." + +"It is number thirty-six; my house!" + +"But I _know_ it is number thirty-eight; Mr. Lee's house," he protested +hopefully. "This is some dreadful mistake." + +"Mr. Lee's house is next door," she said. "Do you not suppose I know my +own house? Besides, I have been warned against a plausible young man who +pretends he has Georgia marble to sell--" + +"There is a dreadful mistake somewhere," he insisted. "Please p-p-put up +your p-pistol and aid me to solve it. I am no robber, madam. I thought +at first that you were. I'm living in Mr. Lee's house, No. 38 East +Eighty-third Street, and I've looked carefully at the number over the +door of this house and the number is thirty-eight, and the street is +East Eighty-third. So I naturally conclude that I am in Mr. Lee's +house." + +"Your arguments and your conclusions are very plausible," she said, +"but, fortunately for me, I have been expressly warned against a young +man of your description. _You_ are the marble man!" + +"It's a mistake! A very dreadful one." + +"Then how did you enter this house?" + +"I have a key--I mean I found the front door unlatched. Please don't +misunderstand me; I know it sounds unconvincing, but I really have a key +to number thirty-eight." + +He attempted to reach for his pocket and the pistol glittered in his +face. + +"Won't you let me prove my innocence?" he asked. + +"You can't prove it by showing me a key. Besides, it's probably a +weapon. Anyhow, if, as you pretend, you have managed to get into the +wrong house, why did you bring that suit case up here?" + +"It was here. It's mine. I left it here in this passageway." + +"In _my_ house?" she asked incredulously. + +"In number thirty-eight; that is all I know. I'll open the suit case if +you will let me. I have already described its contents. If it has +samples of marble in it you _must_ be convinced!" + +"It will convince me that it is your valise. But what of that? I know it +is yours already," she said defiantly. "I know, at least, that you are +the marble man--if nothing worse!" + +"But malefactors don't go about carrying samples of Georgia marble," he +protested, dropping on one knee under the muzzle of her revolver and +tugging at the straps and buckles. In a second or two he threw open the +case--and the sight of the contents staggered him. For there, thrown in +pellmell among small square blocks of polished marble was a complete kit +of burglar's tools, including also a mask, a dark lantern, and a +blackjack. + +"What--w--w--what on earth is this?" he stammered. "These things don't +belong to me. I won't have them! I don't want them. Who put them into my +suit case? How the deuce--" + +"You _are_ the marble man!" she said with a shudder. "Your crimes are +known! Your wretched accomplice will be caught! You are the marble +man--or something worse!" + +Kneeling there, aghast, bewildered, he passed his hand across his eyes +as though to clear them from some terrible vision. But the suit case was +still there with its incriminating contents when he looked again. + +"I am sorry for you," she said tremulously. "I--if it were not for the +marble--I would let you go. But you are the marble man!" + +"Yes, and I'm probably a madman, too. I don't know what I am! I don't +know what is happening to me. I ought to be going, that is all I know--" + +"I cannot let you go." + +"But I must! I've got to catch a train." + +The feebleness of his excuse chilled her pity. + +"I shall not let you go," she said, resting the hand which held the +pistol on her hip, but keeping him covered. "I know you came to rob my +house; I know you are a thoroughly bad and depraved young man, but for +all that I could find it in my heart to let you go if you were not also +the _marble man_!" + +"What on earth is the marble man?" he asked, exasperated. + +"I don't know. I have been earnestly warned against him. Probably he is +a relative of my butler--" + +"I'm not a relative of anybody's butler!" + +"You _say_ you are not. How do I know? I--I will make you an offer. I +will give you one last chance. If you will return to me the jewels that +my butler took--" + +"Good heavens, madam! Do you really take me for a professional burglar?" + +"How can I help it?" she said indignantly. "Look at your suit case full +of lanterns and masks--full of _marble_, too!" + +Speechless, he stared at the burglar's kit. + +"I am sorry--" Her voice had altered again to a tremulous sweetness. "I +can't help feeling sorry for you. You do not seem to be hardened; your +voice and manner are not characteristically criminal. I--I can't see +your face very clearly, but it does not seem to be a brutally inhuman +face--" + +An awful desire to laugh seized Kerns; he struggled against it; +hysteria lay that way; and he covered his face with both hands and +pinched himself. + +She probably mistook the action for the emotion of shame and despair +born of bitter grief; perhaps of terror of the law. It frightened her a +little, but pity dominated. She could scarcely endure to do what she +must do. + +"This is dreadful, dreadful!" she faltered. "If you only would give me +back my jewels--" + +Sounds, hastily smothered, escaped him. She believed them to be groans, +and it made her slightly faint. + +"I--I've simply got to telephone for the police," she said pityingly. "I +must ask you to sit down there and wait--there is a chair. Sit +there--and please don't move, for I--this has unnerved me--I am not +accustomed to doing cruel things; and if you should move too quickly or +attempt to run away I feel certain that this pistol would explode." + +"Are you going to telephone?" he asked. + +"Yes, I am." + +She backed away, cautiously, pistol menacing him, reached for the +receiver, and waited for Central. She waited a long time before she +realized that the telephone as well as the electric light was out of +commission. + +"Did _you_ cut all these wires?" she demanded angrily. + +"I? What wires?" + +She reached out and pressed the electric button which should have rung a +bell in her maid's bedroom on the top floor. She kept her finger on the +button for ten minutes. It was useless. + +"You laid deliberate plans to rob this house," she said, her cheeks pink +with indignation. "I am not a bit sorry for you. I shall _not_ let you +go! I shall sit here until somebody comes to my assistance, if I have to +sit here for weeks and weeks!" + +"If you'd let me telephone to my club--" he began. + +"Your club! You are very plausible. You didn't offer to call up any club +until you found that the telephone was not working!" + +He thought a moment. "I don't suppose you would trust me to go out and +get a policeman?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Or go into the front room and open a window and summon some passer-by?" + +"How do I know you haven't confederates waiting outside?" + +"That's true," he said seriously. + +There was a silence. Her nerves seemed to trouble her, for she began to +pace to and fro in front of the passageway where he sat comfortably on +his chair, arms folded, one knee dropped over the other. + +The light being behind her he could not as yet distinguish her features +very clearly. Her figure was youthful, slender, yet beautifully rounded; +her head charming in contour. He watched her restlessly walking on the +floor, small hand clutching the pistol resting on her hip. + +The ruddy burnished glimmer on the edges of her hair he supposed, at +first, was caused by the strong light behind her. + +"This is atrocious!" she murmured, halting to confront him. "How dared +you sever every electric connection in my house?" + +As she spoke she stepped backward a pace or two, resting herself for a +moment against the footboard of the bed--full in the gaslight. And he +saw her face. + +For a moment he studied her; an immense wave of incredulity swept over +him--of wild unbelief, slowly changing to the astonishment of dawning +conviction. Astounded, silent, he stared at her from his shadowy corner; +and after a while his pulses began to throb and throb and hammer, and +the clamoring confusion of his senses seemed to deafen him. + +[Illustration: "'This is atrocious,' she murmured, halting to confront +him."] + +She rested a moment or two against the footboard of the bed, her big +gray eyes fixed on his vague and shadowy form. + +"This won't do," she said. + +"No," he said, "it won't do." + +He spoke very quietly, very gently. She detected the alteration in his +voice and started slightly, as though the distant echo of a familiar +voice had sounded. + +"What did you say?" she asked, coming nearer, pistol glittering in +advance. + +"I said 'It won't do.' I don't know what I meant by it. If I meant +anything I was wrong. It _will_ do. The situation is perfectly agreeable +to me." + +"Insolence will not help you," she said sharply. And under the sharpness +he detected the slightest quaver of a new alarm. + +"I am going to free myself," he said coolly. + +"If you move I shall certainly shoot!" she retorted. + +"I am going to move--but only my lips. I have only to move my lips to +free myself." + +"I should scarcely advise you to trust to your eloquence. I have been +duly warned, you see." + +"Who warned you?" he asked curiously. And, as she disdained to reply: +"Never mind. We can clear that up later. Now let me ask you something." + +"You are scarcely in a position to ask questions," she said. + +"May I not speak to you?" + +"Is it necessary?" + +He thought a moment. "No, not necessary. Nothing is in this life, you +know. I thought differently once. Once--when I was younger--six years +younger--I thought happiness was necessary. I found that a man might +live without it." + +She stood gazing at him through the shadows, pistol on hip. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. + +"I mean that happiness is not necessary to life. Life goes on all the +same. My life has continued for six years without that happiness which +some believe to be essential." + +After a silence she said: "I can tell by the way you speak that you are +well born. I--I dread to do what I simply must do." + +He, too, sat silent a long time--long enough for an utterly perverse and +whimsical humor to take complete possession of him. + +"_Won't_ you let me go--_this_ time?" he pleaded. + +"I cannot." + +"You had better let me go while you can," he said, "because, perhaps, +you may find it difficult to get rid of me later." + +Affronted, she shrank back from the doorway and stood in the center of +her room, angry, disdainful, beautiful, under the ruddy glory of her +lustrous hair. + +His perverse mood changed, too; he leaned forward, studying her +minutely--the splendid gray eyes, the delicate mouth and nose, the full, +sweet lips, the witchery of wrist and hand, and the flowing, rounded +outline of limb and body under the pretty gown. Could this be _she_? +This lovely, mature woman, wearing scarcely a trace of the young girl he +had never forgotten--scarcely a trace save in the beauty of her eyes and +hair--save in the full, red mouth, sweet and sensitive even in its +sudden sullenness? + +"Once," he said, and his voice sounded to him like voices heard in +dreams--"once, years and years ago, there was a steamer, and a man and a +young girl on board. Do you mind my telling you about it?" + +She stood leaning against the footboard of the bed, not even deigning to +raise her eyes in reply. So he made the slightest stir in his chair; and +then she looked up quickly enough, pistol poised. + +"The steamer," said Kerns slowly, "was coming into Southampton--six +years ago. On deck these two people stood--a man of twenty-eight, a girl +of eighteen--six years ago. The name of the steamer was the _Carnatic_. +Did you ever hear of that ship?" + +She was looking at him attentively. He waited for her reply; she made +none; and he went on. + +"The man had asked the girl something--I don't know what--I don't know +why her gray eyes filled with tears. Perhaps it was because she could +not do what the man asked her to do. It may have been to love him; it +may have been that he was asking her to marry him and that she couldn't. +Perhaps that is why there were tears in her eyes--because she may have +been sorry to cause him the pain of refusal--sorry, perhaps, perhaps a +little guilty. Because she must have seen that he was falling in love +with her, and she--she let him--knowing all the time that she was to +marry another man. Did you ever hear of that man before?" + +She had straightened up, quivering, wide eyed, lips parted. He rose and +walked slowly into her room, confronting her under the full glare of +light. + +Her pistol fell clattering to the floor. It did not explode because it +was not loaded. + +"Now," he said unsteadily, "will you give me my freedom? I have waited +for it--not minutes--but years--six years. I ask it now--the freedom I +enjoyed before I ever saw you. Can you give it back to me? Can you +restore to me a capacity for happiness? Can you give me a heart to love +with--love some woman, as other men love? Is it very much I ask of +you--to give me a chance in life--the chance I had before I ever saw +you?" + +Her big gray eyes seemed fascinated; he looked deep into them, smiling; +and she turned white. + +"Will you give me what I ask?" he said, still smiling. + +She strove to speak; she could not, but her eyes never faltered. +Suddenly the color flooded her neck and cheeks to the hair, and the +quick tears glimmered. + +"I--I did not understand; I was too young to be cruel," she faltered. +"How could I know what I was doing? Or what--what you did?" + +"I? To _you_?" + +"Y-yes. Did you think that I escaped heart free? Do you realize what +_my_ punishment was--to--to marry--and _remember_! If I was too young, +too inexperienced to know what I was doing, I was not too young to +suffer for it!" + +"You mean--" He strove to control his voice, but the sweet, fearless +gray eyes met his; the old flame leaped in his veins. He reached out to +steady himself and his hand touched hers--that soft, white hand that had +held him all these years in the hollow of its palm. + +"Did you _ever_ love me?" he demanded. + +Her eyes, wet with tears, met his straight as the starry gaze of a +child. + +"Yes," she said. + +His hand tightened over hers; she swayed a moment, quivering from head +to foot; then drawing a quick, sobbing breath, closed her eyes, +imprisoned in his arms; and, after a long while, aroused, she looked up +at him, her divine eyes unclosing dreamily. + +"Somebody is hammering at the front door," he breathed. "Listen!" + +"I hear. I believe it must be the Tracer of Lost Persons." + +"What?" + +"Only a Mr. Keen." + +"O Lord!" said Kerns faintly, and covered his face with her fragrant +hands. + +Very tenderly, very gravely, she drew her hands away, and, laying them +on his shoulders, looked up at him. + +"You--you know what there is in your suit case," she faltered; "_are_ +you a burglar, dear?" + +"Ask the Tracer of Lost Persons," said Kerns gently, "what sort of a +criminal I am!" + +They stood together for one blissful moment listening to the loud +knocking below, then, hand in hand, they descended the dark stairway to +admit the Tracer of Lost Persons. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +On the thirteenth day of March, 1906, Kerns received the following cable +from an old friend: + + "Is there anybody in New York who can find two criminals for me? I + don't want to call in the police. + + "J.T. BURKE." + +To which Kerns replied promptly: + + "Wire Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, N.Y." + +And a day or two later, being on his honeymoon, he forgot all about his +old friend Jack Burke. + +On the fifteenth day of March, 1906, Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, +received the following cablegram from Alexandria, Egypt: + + "_Keen, Tracer, New York:_--Locate Joram Smiles, forty, stout, + lame, red hair, ragged red mustache, cast in left eye, pallid skin; + carries one crutch; supposed to have arrived in America per S. S. + _Scythian Queen_, with man known as Emanuel Gandon, swarthy, short, + fat, light bluish eyes, Eurasian type. + + "I will call on you at your office as soon as my steamer, _Empress + of Babylon_, arrives. If you discover my men, keep them under + surveillance, but on no account call in police. Spare no expense. + Dundas, Gray & Co. are my bankers and reference. + + "JOHN TEMPLETON BURKE." + +On Monday, April 2d, a few minutes after eight o'clock in the morning, +the card of Mr. John Templeton Burke was brought to Mr. Keen, Tracer of +Lost Persons, and a moment later a well-built, wiry, sun-scorched young +man was ushered into Mr. Keen's private office by a stenographer +prepared to take minutes of the interview. + +The first thing that the Tracer of Lost Persons noted in his visitor was +his mouth; the next his eyes. Both were unmistakably good--the eyes +which his Creator had given him looked people squarely in the face at +every word; the mouth, which a man's own character fashions agreeably or +mars, was pleasant, but firm when the trace of the smile lurking in the +corners died out. + +There were dozens of other external characteristics which Mr. Keen +always looked for in his clients; and now the rapid exchange of +preliminary glances appeared to satisfy both men, for they advanced +toward each other and exchanged a formal hand clasp. + +"Have you any news for me?" asked Burke. + +"I have," said the Tracer. "There are cigars on the table beside +you--matches in that silver case. No, I never smoke; but I like the +aroma--and I like to watch men smoke. Do you know, Mr. Burke, that no +two men smoke in the same fashion? There is as much character in the +manner of holding a cigar as there is difference in the technic of +artists." + +Burke nodded, amused, but, catching sight of the busy stenographer, his +bronzed features became serious, and he looked at Mr. Keen inquiringly. + +"It is my custom," said the Tracer. "Do you object to my stenographer?" + +Burke looked at the slim young girl in her black gown and white collar +and cuffs. Then, very simply, he asked her pardon for objecting to her +presence, but said that he could not discuss his case if she remained. +So she rose, with a humorous glance at Mr. Keen; and the two men stood +up until she had vanished, then reseated themselves _vis-a-vis_. Mr. +Keen calmly dropped his elbow on the concealed button which prepared a +hidden phonograph for the reception of every word that passed between +them. + +"What news have you for me, Mr. Keen?" asked the younger man with that +same directness which the Tracer had already been prepared for, and +which only corroborated the frankness of eyes and voice. + +"My news is brief," he said. "I have both your men under observation." + +"Already?" exclaimed Burke, plainly unprepared. "Do you actually mean +that I can see these men whenever I desire to do so? Are these +scoundrels in this town--within pistol shot?" + +His youthful face hardened as he snapped out his last word, like the +crack of a whip. + +"I don't know how far your pistol carries," said Mr. Keen. "Do you wish +to swear out a warrant?" + +"No, I do not. I merely wish their addresses. You have not used the +police in this matter, have you, Mr. Keen?" + +"No. Your cable was explicit," said the Tracer. "Had you permitted me to +use the police it would have been much less expensive for you." + +"I can't help that," said the young man. "Besides, in a matter of this +sort, a man cannot decently consider expense." + +"A matter of what sort?" asked the Tracer blandly. + +"Of _this_ sort." + +"Oh! Yet even now I do not understand. You must remember, Mr. Burke, +that you have not told me anything concerning the reasons for your quest +of these two men, Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon. Besides, this is the +first time you have mentioned pistol range." + +Burke, smoking steadily, looked at the Tracer through the blue fog of +his cigar. + +"No," he said, "I have not told you anything about them." + +Mr. Keen waited a moment; then, smiling quietly to himself, he wrote +down the present addresses of Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon, and, +tearing off the leaf, handed it to the younger man, saying: "I omit the +pistol range, Mr. Burke." + +"I am very grateful to you," said Burke. "The efficiency of your system +is too famous for me to venture to praise it. All I can say is 'Thank +you'; all I can do in gratitude is to write my check--if you will be +kind enough to suggest the figures." + +"Are you sure that my services are ended?" + +"Thank you, quite sure." + +So the Tracer of Lost Persons named the figures, and his client produced +a check book and filled in a check for the amount. This was presented +and received with pleasant formality. Burke rose, prepared to take his +leave, but the Tracer was apparently busy with the combination lock of a +safe, and the young man lingered a moment to make his adieus. + +As he stood waiting for the Tracer to turn around he studied the writing +on the sheet of paper which he held toward the light: + + Joram Smiles, no profession, 613 West 24th Street. Emanuel Gandon, + no profession, same address. Very dangerous men. + +It occurred to him that these three lines of pencil-writing had cost him +a thousand dollars--and at the same instant he flushed with shame at the +idea of measuring the money value of anything in such a quest as this. + +And yet--and yet he had already spent a great deal of money in his brief +quest, and--_was_ he any nearer the goal--even with the penciled +addresses of these two men in his possession? Even with these men almost +within pistol shot! + +Pondering there, immersed in frowning retrospection, the room, the +Tracer, the city seemed to fade from his view. He saw the red sand +blowing in the desert; he heard the sickly squealing of camels at the El +Teb Wells; he saw the sun strike fire from the rippling waters of Saïs; +he saw the plain, and the ruins high above it; and the odor of the Long +Bazaar smote him like a blow, and he heard the far call to prayer from +the minarets of Sa-el-Hagar, once Saïs, the mysterious--Saïs of the +million lanterns, Saïs of that splendid festival where the Great Triad's +worship swayed dynasty after dynasty, and where, through the hot +centuries, Isis, veiled, impassive, looked out upon the hundredth king +of kings, Meris, the Builder of Gardens, dragged dead at the chariot of +Upper and Lower Egypt. + +Slowly the visions faded; into his remote eyes crept the consciousness +of the twentieth century again; he heard the river whistles blowing, and +the far dissonance of the streets--that iron undertone vibrating through +the metropolis of the West from river to river and from the Palisades to +the sea. + +His gaze wandered about the room, from telephone desk to bookcase, from +the table to the huge steel safe, door ajar, swung outward like the +polished breech of a twelve-inch gun. + +Then his vacant eyes met the eyes of the Tracer of Lost Persons, almost +helplessly. And for the first time the full significance of this quest +he had undertaken came over him like despair--this strange, hopeless, +fantastic quest, blindly, savagely pursued from the sand wastes of Saïs +to the wastes of this vast arid city of iron and masonry, ringing to the +sky with the menacing clamor of its five monstrous boroughs. + +Curiously weary of a sudden, he sat down, resting his head on one hand. +The Tracer watched him, bent partly over his desk. From moment to moment +he tore minute pieces from the blotter, or drew imaginary circles and +arabesques on his pad with an inkless pen. + +"Perhaps I could help you, after all--if you'd let me try," he said +quietly. + +"Dou you mean--_me_?" asked Burke, without raising his head. + +"If you like--yes, you--or any man in trouble--in perplexity--in the +uncertain deductions which arise from an attempt at self-analysis." + +"It is true; I am trying to analyze myself. I believe that I don't know +how. All has been mere impulse--so far. No, I don't know how to analyze +it all." + +"I do," said the Tracer. + +Burke raised his level, unbelieving eyes. + +"You are in love," said the Tracer. + +After a long time Burke looked up again. "Do you think so?" + +"Yes. Can I help you?" asked the Tracer pleasantly. + +The young man sat silent, frowning into space; then: + +"I tell you plainly enough that I have come here to argue with two men +at the end of a pistol; and--you tell me I'm in love. By what logic--" + +"It is written in your face, Mr. Burke--in your eyes, in every feature, +every muscle's contraction, every modulation of your voice. My tables, +containing six hundred classified superficial phenomena peculiar to all +human emotions, have been compiled and scientifically arranged according +to Bertillon's system. It is an absolutely accurate key to every phase +of human emotion, from hate, through all its amazingly paradoxical +phenomena, to love, with all its genera under the suborder--all its +species, subspecies, and varieties." + +He leaned back, surveying the young man with kindly amusement. + +"You talk of pistol range, but you are thinking of something more fatal +than bullets, Mr. Burke. You are thinking of love--of the first, great, +absorbing, unreasoning passion that has ever shaken you, blinded you, +seized you and dragged you out of the ordered path of life, to push you +violently into the strange and unexplored! That is what stares out on +the world through those haunted eyes of yours, when the smile dies out +and you are off your guard; that is what is hardening those flat, clean +bands of muscle in jaw and cheek; that is what those hints of shadow +mean beneath the eye, that new and delicate pinch to the nostril, that +refining, almost to sharpness, of the nose, that sensitive edging to the +lips, and the lean delicacy of the chin." + +He bent slightly forward in his chair. + +"There is all that there, Mr. Burke, and something else--the glimmering +dawn of desperation." + +"Yes," said the other, "that is there. I am desperate." + +"_Ex_actly. Also you wear two revolvers in a light, leather harness +strapped up under your armpits," said the Tracer, laughing. "Take them +off, Mr. Burke. There is nothing to be gained in shooting up Mr. Smiles +or converting Mr. Gandon into nitrates." + +"If it is a matter where one man can help another," the Tracer added +simply, "it would give me pleasure to place my resources at your +command--without recompense--" + +"Mr. Keen!" said Burke, astonished. + +"Yes?" + +"You are very amiable; I had not wished--had not expected anything +except professional interest from you." + +"Why not? I like you, Mr. Burke." + +The utter disarming candor of this quiet, elderly gentleman silenced the +younger man with a suddenness born of emotions long crushed, long +relentlessly mastered, and which now, in revolt, shook him fiercely in +every fiber. All at once he felt very young, very helpless in the +world--that same world through which, until within a few weeks, he had +roved so confidently, so arrogantly, challenging man and the gods +themselves in the pride of his strength and youth. + +But now, halting, bewildered, lost amid the strange maze of byways +whither impulse had lured and abandoned him, he looked out into a world +of wilderness and unfamiliar stars and shadow shapes undreamed of, and +he knew not which way to turn--not even how to return along the ways his +impetuous feet had trodden in this strange and hopeless quest of his. + +"How can you help me?" he said bluntly, while the quivering undertone +rang in spite of him. "Yes, I am in love; but how can any living man +help me?" + +"Are you in love with the dead?" asked the Tracer gravely. "For that +only is hopeless. Are you in love with one who is not living?" + +"Yes." + +"You love one whom you know to be dead?" + +"Yes; dead." + +"How do you know that she is dead?" + +"That is not the question. I knew that when I fell in love with her. It +is not that which appals me; I ask nothing more than to live my life out +loving the dead. I--I ask very little." + +He passed his unsteady hand across his dry lips, across his eyes and +forehead, then laid his clinched fist on the table. + +"Some men remain constant to a memory; some to a picture--sane, +wholesome, normal men. Some men, with a fixed ideal, never encounter its +facsimile, and so never love. There is nothing strange, after all, in +this; nothing abnormal, nothing unwholesome. Grünwald loved the marble +head and shoulders of the lovely Amazon in the Munich Museum; he died +unmarried, leaving the charities and good deeds of a blameless life to +justify him. Sir Henry Guest, the great surgeon who worked among the +poor without recompense, loved Gainsborough's 'Lady Wilton.' The +portrait hangs above his tomb in St. Clement's Hundreds. D'Epernay loved +Mlle. Jeanne Vacaresco, who died before he was born. And I--I love in +my own fashion." + +His low voice rang with the repressed undertone of excitement; he opened +and closed his clinched hand as though controlling the lever of his +emotions. + +"What can you do for a man who loves the shadow of Life?" he asked. + +"If you love the shadow because the substance has passed away--if you +love the soul because the dust has returned to the earth as it was--" + +"It has _not_!" said the younger man. + +The Tracer said very gravely: "It is written that whenever 'the Silver +Cord' is loosed, 'then shall the dust return unto the earth as it was, +and the spirit shall return unto Him who gave it.'" + +"The spirit--yes; _that_ has taken its splendid flight--" + +His voice choked up, died out; he strove to speak again, but could not. +The Tracer let him alone, and bent again over his desk, drawing +imaginary circles on the stained blotter, while moment after moment +passed under the tension of that fiercest of all struggles, when a man +sits throttling his own soul into silence. + +And, after a long time, Burke lifted a haggard face from the cradle of +his crossed arms and shook his shoulders, drawing a deep, steady breath. + +"Listen to _me_!" he said in an altered voice. + +And the Tracer of Lost Persons nodded. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +"When I left the Point I was assigned to the colored cavalry. They are +good men; we went up Kettle Hill together. Then came the Philippine +troubles, then that Chinese affair. Then I did staff duty, and could not +stand the inactivity and resigned. They had no use for me in Manchuria; +I tired of waiting, and went to Venezuela. The prospects for service +there were absurd; I heard of the Moorish troubles and went to Morocco. +Others of my sort swarmed there; matters dragged and dragged, and the +Kaiser never meant business, anyway. + +"Being independent, and my means permitting me, I got some shooting in +the back country. This all degenerated into the merest nomadic +wandering--nothing but sand, camels, ruins, tents, white walls, and blue +skies. And at last I came to the town of Sa-el-Hagar." + +His voice died out; his restless, haunted eyes became fixed. + +"Sa-el-Hagar, once ancient Saïs," repeated the Tracer quietly; and the +young man looked at him. + +"You know _that_?" + +"Yes," said the Tracer. + +For a while Burke remained silent, preoccupied, then, resting his chin +on his hand and speaking in a curiously monotonous voice, as though +repeating to himself by rote, he went on: + +"The town is on the heights--have you a pencil? Thank you. Here is the +town of Sa-el-Hagar, here are the ruins, here is the wall, and somewhere +hereabouts should be the buried temple of Neith, which nobody has +found." He shifted his pencil. "Here is the lake of Saïs; here, standing +all alone on the plain, are those great monolithic pillars stretching +away into perspective--four hundred of them in all--a hundred and nine +still upright. There were one hundred and ten when I arrived at El Teb +Wells." + +He looked across at the Tracer, repeating: "One hundred and ten--when I +arrived. One fell the first night--a distant pillar far away on the +horizon. Four thousand years had it stood there. And it fell--the first +night of my arrival. I heard it; the nights are cold at El Teb Wells, +and I was lying awake, all a-shiver, counting the stars to make me +sleep. And very, very far away in the desert I heard and felt the shock +of its fall--the fall of forty centuries under the Egyptian stars." + +His eyes grew dreamy; a slight glow had stained his face. + +"Did you ever halt suddenly in the Northern forests, listening, as +though a distant voice had hailed you? Then you understand why that far, +dull sound from the dark horizon brought me to my feet, bewildered, +listening, as though my own name had been spoken. + +"I heard the wind in the tents and the stir of camels; I heard the reeds +whispering on Saïs Lake and the yap-yap of a shivering jackal; and +always, always, the hushed echo in my ears of my own name called across +the star-lit waste. + +"At dawn I had forgotten. An Arab told me that a pillar had fallen; it +was all the same to me, to him, to the others, too. The sun came out +hot. I like heat. My men sprawled in the tents; some watered, some went +up to the town to gossip in the bazaar. I mounted and cast bridle on +neck--you see how much I cared where I went! In two hours we had +completed a circle--like a ruddy hawk above El Teb. And my horse halted +beside the fallen pillar." + +As he spoke his language had become very simple, very direct, almost +without accent, and he spoke slowly, picking his way with that lack of +inflection, of emotion characteristic of a child reading a new reader. + +"The column had fallen from its base, eastward, and with its base it had +upheaved another buried base, laying bare a sort of cellar and a flight +of stone steps descending into darkness. + +"Into this excavation the sand was still running in tiny rivulets. +Listening, I could hear it pattering far, far down into the shadows. + +"Sitting there in the saddle, the thing explained itself as I looked. +The fallen pillar had been built upon older ruins; all Egypt is that +way, ruin founded on the ruin of ruins--like human hopes. + +"The stone steps, descending into the shadow of remote ages, invited me. +I dismounted, walked to the edge of the excavation, and, kneeling, +peered downward. And I saw a wall and the lotus-carved rim of a vast +stone-framed pool; and as I looked I heard the tinkle of water. For the +pillar, falling, had unbottled the ancient spring, and now the +stone-framed lagoon was slowly filling after its drought of centuries. + +"There was light enough to see by, but, not knowing how far I might +penetrate, I returned to my horse, pocketed matches and candles from +the saddlebags, and, returning, started straight down the steps of +stone. + +"Fountain, wall, lagoon, steps, terraces half buried--all showed what +the place had been: a water garden of ancient Egypt--probably +royal--because, although I am not able to decipher hieroglyphics, I have +heard somewhere that these picture inscriptions, when inclosed in a +cartouch like this"--he drew rapidly-- + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"or this + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +indicate that the subject of the inscription was once a king. + +"And on every wall, every column, I saw the insignia of ancient royalty, +and I saw strange hawk-headed figures bearing symbols engraved on +stone--beasts, birds, fishes, unknown signs and symbols; and everywhere +the lotus carved in stone--the bud, the blossom half-inclosed, the +perfect flower." + +His dreamy eyes met the gaze of the Tracer, unseeing; he rested his +sunburned face between both palms, speaking in the same vague monotone: + +"Everywhere dust, ashes, decay, the death of life, the utter +annihilation of the living--save only the sparkle of reborn waters +slowly covering the baked bed of the stone-edged pool--strange, luminous +water, lacking the vital sky tint, enameled with a film of dust, yet, +for all that, quickening with imprisoned brilliancy like an opal. + +"The slow filling of the pool fascinated me; I stood I know not how long +watching the thin film of water spreading away into the dimness beyond. +At last I turned and passed curiously along the wall where, at its base, +mounds of dust marked what may have been trees. Into these I probed with +my riding crop, but discovered nothing except the depths of the dust. + +"When I had penetrated the ghost of this ancient garden for a thousand +yards the light from the opening was no longer of any service. I lighted +a candle; and its yellow rays fell upon a square portal into which led +another flight of steps. And I went down. + +"There were eighteen steps descending into a square stone room. Strange +gleams and glimmers from wall and ceiling flashed dimly in my eyes under +the wavering flame of the candle. Then the flame grew still--still as +death--and Death lay at my feet--there on the stone floor--a man, square +shouldered, hairless, the cobwebs of his tunic mantling him, lying face +downward, arms outflung. + +"After a moment I stooped and touched him, and the entire prostrate +figure dissolved into dust where it lay, leaving at my feet a shadow +shape in thin silhouette against the pavement--merely a gray layer of +finest dust shaped like a man, a tracery of impalpable powder on the +stones. + +"Upward and around me I passed the burning candle; vast figures in blue +and red and gold grew out of the darkness; the painted walls sparkled; +the shadows that had slept through all those centuries trembled and +shrank away into distant corners. + +"And then--and then I saw the gold edges of her sandals sparkle in the +darkness, and the clasped girdle of virgin gold around her slender waist +glimmered like purest flame!" + +Burke, leaning far across the table, interlocked hands tightening, +stared and stared into space. A smile edged his mouth; his voice grew +wonderfully gentle: + +"Why, she was scarcely eighteen--this child--there so motionless, so +lifelike, with the sandals edging her little upturned feet, and the +small hands of her folded between the breasts. It was as though she +had just stretched herself out there--scarcely sound asleep as yet, and +her thick, silky hair--cut as they cut children's hair in these days, +you know--cradled her head and cheeks. + +[Illustration: "'As though . . . scarcely sound asleep as yet.'"] + +"So marvelous the mimicry of life, so absolute the deception of +breathing sleep, that I scarce dared move, fearing to awaken her. + +"When I did move I forgot the dusty shape of the dead at my feet, and +left, full across his neck, the imprint of a spurred riding boot. It +gave me my first shudder; I turned, feeling beneath my foot the soft, +yielding powder, and stood aghast. Then--it is absurd!--but I felt as a +man feels who has trodden inadvertently upon another's foot--and in an +impulse of reparation I stooped hastily and attempted to smooth out the +mortal dust which bore the imprint of my heel. But the fine powder +flaked my glove, and, looking about for something to compose the ashes +with, I picked up a papyrus scroll. Perhaps he himself had written on +it; nobody can ever know, and I used it as a sort of hoe to scrape him +together and smooth him out on the stones." + +The young man drew a yellowish roll of paper-like substance from his +pocket and laid it on the table. + +"This is the same papyrus," he said. "I had forgotten that I carried it +away with me until I found it in my shooting coat while packing to sail +for New York." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons reached over and picked up the scroll. It was +flexible still, but brittle; he opened it with great care, considered +the strange figures upon it for a while, then turned almost sharply on +his visitor. + +"Go on," he said. + +And Burke went on: + +"The candle was burning low; I lighted two more, placing them at her +head and feet on the edges of the stone couch. Then, lighting a third +candle, I stood beside the couch and looked down at the dead girl under +her veil-like robe, set with golden stars." + +He passed his hand wearily over his hair and forehead. + +"I do not know what the accepted meaning of beauty may be if it was not +there under my eyes. Flawless as palest amber ivory and rose, the +smooth-flowing contours melted into exquisite symmetry; lashes like +darkest velvet rested on the pure curve of the cheeks; the closed lids, +the mouth still faintly stained with color, the delicate nose, the full, +childish lips, sensitive, sweet, resting softly upon each other--if +these were not all parts of but one lovely miracle, then there is no +beauty save in a dream of Paradise. . . . + +"A gold band of linked scarabs bound her short, thick hair straight +across the forehead; thin scales of gold fell from a necklace, clothing +her breasts in brilliant discolored metal, through which ivory-tinted +skin showed. A belt of pure, soft gold clasped her body at the waist; +gold-edged sandals clung to her little feet. + +"At first, when the stunned surprise had subsided, I thought that I was +looking upon some miracle of ancient embalming, hitherto unknown. Yet, +in the smooth skin there was no slit to prove it, no opening in any vein +or artery, no mutilation of this sculptured masterpiece of the Most +High, no cerements, no bandages, no gilded carven case with painted face +to stare open eyed through the wailing cycles. + +"This was the image of sleep--of life unconscious--not of death. Yet is +was death--death that had come upon her centuries and centuries ago; for +the gold had turned iridescent and magnificently discolored; the sandal +straps fell into dust as I bent above them, leaving the sandals clinging +to her feet only by the wired silver core of the thongs. And, as I +touched it fearfully, the veil-like garment covering her, vanished into +thin air, its metal stars twinkling in a shower around her on the stone +floor." + +The Tracer, motionless, intent, scarcely breathed; the younger man moved +restlessly in his chair, the dazed light in his eyes clearing to sullen +consciousness. + +"What more is there to tell?" he said. "And to what purpose? All this is +time wasted. I have my work cut out for me. What more is there to tell?" + +"What you have left untold," said the Tracer, with the slightest ring of +authority in his quiet voice. + +And, as though he had added "Obey!" the younger man sank back in his +chair, his hands contracting nervously. + +"I went back to El Teb," he said; "I walked like a dreaming man. My +sleep was haunted by her beauty; night after night, when at last I fell +asleep, instantly I saw her face, and her dark eyes opening into mine in +childish bewilderment; day after day I rode out to the fallen pillar and +descended to that dark chamber where she lay alone. Then there came a +time when I could not endure the thought of her lying there alone. I had +never dared to touch her. Horror of what might happen had held me aloof +lest she crumble at my touch to that awful powder which I had trodden +on. + +"I did not know what to do; my Arabs had begun to whisper among +themselves, suspicious of my absences, impatient to break camp, perhaps, +and roam on once more. Perhaps they believed I had discovered treasure +somewhere; I am not sure. At any rate, dread of their following me, +determination to take my dead away with me, drove me into action; and +that day when I reached her silent chamber I lighted my candle, and, +leaning above her for one last look, I touched her shoulder with my +finger tip. + +"It was a strange sensation. Prepared for a dreadful dissolution, +utterly unprepared for cool, yielding flesh, I almost dropped where I +stood. For her body was neither cold nor warm, neither dust-dry nor +moist; neither the skin of the living nor the dead. It was firm, almost +stiff, yet not absolutely without a certain hint of flexibility. + +"The appalling wonder of it consumed me; fear, incredulity, terror, +apathy succeeded each other; then slowly a fierce shrinking happiness +swept me in every fiber. + +"This marvelous death, this triumph of beauty over death, was mine. +Never again should she lie here alone through the solitudes of night and +day; never again should the dignity of Death lack the tribute demanded +of Life. Here was the appointed watcher--I, who had found her alone in +the wastes of the world--all alone on the outermost edges of the +world--a child, dead and unguarded. And standing there beside her I knew +that I should never love again." + +He straightened up, stretching out his arm: "I did not intend to carry +her away to what is known as Christian burial. How could I consign her +to darkness again, with all its dreadful mockery of marble, all its +awful emblems? + +"This lovely stranger was to be my guest forever. The living should be +near her while she slept so sweetly her slumber through the centuries; +she should have warmth, and soft hangings and sunlight and flowers; and +her unconscious ears should be filled with the pleasant stir of living +things. . . . I have a house in the country, a very old house among +meadows and young woodlands. And I--I had dreamed of giving this child a +home--" + +His voice broke; he buried his head in his hands a moment; but when he +lifted it again his features were hard as steel. + +"There was already talk in the bazaar about me. I was probably followed, +but I did not know it. Then one of my men disappeared. For a week I +hesitated to trust my Arabs; but there was no other way. I told them +there was a mummy which I desired to carry to some port and smuggle out +of the country without consulting the Government. I knew perfectly well +that the Government would never forego its claim to such a relic of +Egyptian antiquity. I offered my men too much, perhaps. I don't know. +They hesitated for a week, trying by every artifice to see the treasure, +but I never let them out of my sight. + +"Then one day two white men came into camp; and with them came a +government escort to arrest me for looting an Egyptian tomb. The white +men were Joram Smiles and that Eurasian, Emanuel Gandon, who was partly +white, I suppose. I didn't comprehend what they were up to at first. +They escorted me forty miles to confront the official at Shen-Bak. When, +after a stormy week, I was permitted to return to Saïs, my Arabs and the +white men were gone. And the stone chamber under the water garden wall +was empty as the hand I hold out to you!" + +He opened his palm and rose, his narrowing eyes clear and dangerous. + +"At the bazaar I learned enough to know what had been done. I traced the +white men to the coast. They sailed on the _Scythian Queen_, taking +with them all that I care for on earth or in heaven! And you ask me why +I measure their distance from me by a bullet's flight!" + +The Tracer also rose, pale and grave. + +"Wait!" he said. "There are other things to be done before you prepare +to face a jury for double murder." + +"It is for them to choose," said Burke. "They shall have the choice of +returning to me my dead, or of going to hell full of lead." + +"_Ex_actly, my dear sir. That part is not difficult," said the Tracer +quietly. "There will be no occasion for violence, I assure you. Kindly +leave such details to me. I know what is to be done. You are outwardly +very calm, Mr. Burke--even dangerously placid; but though you maintain +an admirable command over yourself superficially, you are laboring under +terrible excitement. Therefore it is my duty to say to you at once that +there is no cause for your excitement, no cause for your apprehension as +to results. I feel exceedingly confident that you will, in due time, +regain possession of all that you care for most--quietly, quietly, my +dear sir! You are not yet ready to meet these men, nor am I ready to go +with you. I beg you to continue your habit of self-command for a +little while. There is no haste--that is to say, there is every reason +to make haste slowly. And the quickest method is to seat yourself. Thank +you. And I shall sit here beside you and spread out this papyrus scroll +for your inspection." + +[Illustration: Hieroglyphics] + +Burke stared at the Tracer, then at the scroll. + +"What has that inscription to do with the matter in hand?" he demanded +impatiently. + +"I leave you to judge," said the Tracer. A dull tint of excitement +flushed his lean cheeks; he twisted his gray mustache and bent over the +unrolled scroll which was now held flat by weights at the four corners. + +"Can you understand any of these symbols, Mr. Burke?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Curious," mused the Tracer. "Do you know it was fortunate that you put +this bit of papyrus in the pocket of your shooting coat--so fortunate +that, in a way, it approaches the miraculous?" + +"What do you mean? Is there anything in that scroll bearing on this +matter?" + +"Yes." + +"And you can read it? Are you versed in such learning, Mr. Keen?" + +"I am an Egyptologist--among other details," said the Tracer calmly. + +The young man gazed at him, astonished. The Tracer of Lost Persons +picked up a pencil, laid a sheet of paper on the table beside the +papyrus, and slowly began to copy the first symbol: + +[Illustration: Glyph] + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +"The ancient Egyptian word for the personal pronoun 'I' was _anuk_," +said the Tracer placidly. "The phonetic for _a_ was the hieroglyph + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a reed; for _n_ the water symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +for _u_ the symbols + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +for _k_ + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +Therefore this hieroglyphic inscription begins with the personal pronoun + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +or _I_. That is very easy, of course. + +"Now, the most ancient of Egyptian inscriptions read vertically in +columns; there are only two columns in this papyrus, so we'll try it +vertically and pass downward to the next symbol, which is inclosed in a +sort of frame or cartouch. That immediately signifies that royalty is +mentioned; therefore, we have already translated as much as 'I, the king +(or queen).' Do you see?" + +"Yes," said Burke, staring. + +"Very well. Now this symbol, number two, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +spells out the word '_Meris_,' in this way: M (pronounced _me_) is +phonetically symbolized by the characters + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +_r_ by + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +(a mouth) and the comma + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and the hieroglyph + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +_i_ by two reeds + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and two oblique strokes, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and _s_ by + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +This gives us Meris, the name of that deposed and fugitive king of +Egypt who, after a last raid on the summer palace of Mer-Shen, usurping +ruler of Egypt, was followed and tracked to Saïs, where, with an arrow +through his back, he crawled to El Teb and finally died there of his +wound. All this Egyptologists are perfectly familiar with in the +translations of the boastful tablets and inscriptions erected near Saïs +by Mer-Shen, the three hundred and twelfth sovereign after Queen +Nitocris." + +He looked up at Burke, smiling. "Therefore," he said, "this papyrus +scroll was written by Meris, ex-king, a speculative thousands of years +before Christ. And it begins: 'I, Meris the King.'" + +"How does all this bear upon what concerns me?" demanded Burke. + +"Wait!" + +Something in the quiet significance of the Tracer's brief command sent a +curious thrill through the younger man. He leaned stiffly forward, +studying the scroll, every faculty concentrated on the symbol which the +Tracer had now touched with the carefully sharpened point of his pencil: + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"That," said Mr. Keen, "is the ancient Egyptian word for 'little,' +'_Ket_.' The next, below, written in two lines, is 'Samaris,' a proper +name--the name of a woman. Under that, again, is the symbol for the +number 18; the decimal sign, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and eight vertical strokes, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +Under that, again, is a hieroglyph of another sort, an ideograph +representing a girl with a harp; and, beneath that, the symbol which +always represented a dancing girl + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and also the royal symbol inclosed in a cartouch, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means literally 'the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that +is the significant symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +representing an arm and a hand holding a stick. This always means +_force_--to take forcibly or to use violence. Therefore, so far, we have +the following literal translation: 'I, Meris the King, little Samaris, +eighteen, a harpist, dancing girl, the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt, +to take by violence--'" + +"What does that make?" broke in Burke impatiently. + +"_Wait!_ Wait until we have translated everything literally. And, Mr. +Burke, it might make it easier for us both if you would remember that I +have had the pleasure of deciphering many hundreds of papyri before you +had ever heard that there were such things." + +"I beg your pardon," said the young man in a low voice. + +"I beg yours for my impatience," said the Tracer pleasantly. "This +deciphering always did affect my nerves and shorten my temper. And, no +doubt, it is quite as hard on you. Shall we go on, Mr. Burke?" + +"If you please, Mr. Keen." + +So the Tracer laid his pencil point on the next symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"That is the symbol for night," he said; "and that + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +is the water symbol again, as you know; and that + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +is the ideograph, meaning a ship. The five reversed crescents + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +record the number of days voyage; the sign + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +means a house, and is also the letter H in the Egyptian alphabet. + +"Under it, again, we have a repetition of the first symbol meaning _I_, +and a repetition of the second symbol, meaning 'Meris, the King.' Then, +below that cartouch, comes a new symbol, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which is the feminine personal pronoun, _sentus_, meaning '_she_'; and +the first column is completed with the symbol for the ancient Egyptian +verb, _nehes_, 'to awake,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"And now we take the second column, which begins with the jackal +ideograph expressing slyness or cleverness. Under it is the hieroglyph +meaning 'to run away,' 'to escape.' And under that, Mr. Burke, is one of +the rarest of all Egyptian symbols; a symbol seldom seen on stone or +papyrus, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +except in rare references to the mysteries of Isis. The meaning of it, +so long in dispute, has finally been practically determined through a +new discovery in the cuneiform inscriptions. It is the symbol of two +hands holding two _closed_ eyes; and it signifies power." + +"You mean that those ancients understood hypnotism?" asked Burke, +astonished. + +"Evidently their priests did; evidently hypnotism was understood and +employed in certain mysteries. And there is the symbol of it; and under +it the hieroglyphs + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +meaning 'a day and a night,' with the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +as usual present to signify force or strength employed. Under that, +again, is a human figure stretched upon a typical Egyptian couch. And +now, Mr. Burke, _note carefully_ three modifying signs: first, that it +is a _couch_ or _bed_ on which the figure is stretched, not the funeral +couch, not the embalming slab; second, there is no mummy mask covering +the face, and no mummy case covering the body; third, that under the +recumbent figure is pictured an _open_ mouth, not a _closed_ one. + +"All these modify the ideograph, apparently representing death. But the +sleep symbol is not present. Therefore it is a sound inference that all +this simply confirms the symbol of hypnotism." + +Burke, intensely absorbed, stared steadily at the scroll. + +"Now," continued Mr. Keen, "we note the symbol of force again, always +present; and, continuing horizontally, a cartouch quite empty except for +the midday sun. That is simply translated; the midday sun illuminates +nothing. Meris, deposed, is king only in name; and the sun no longer +shines on him as 'Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that despairing +symbol, 'King of Nothing,' we have + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +the phonetics which spell _sha_, the word for garden. And, just beyond +this, horizontally, the modifying ideograph meaning 'a _water_ garden'; + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a design of lotus and tree alternating on a terrace. Under that is the +symbol for the word '_aneb_,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a 'wall.' Beyond that, horizontally, is the symbol for 'house.' It +should be placed under the wall symbol, but the Egyptians were very apt +to fill up spaces instead of continuing their vertical columns. Now, +beneath, we find the imperative command + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +'arise!' And the Egyptian personal pronoun '_entuten_,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means 'you' or 'thou.' + +"Under that is the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means 'priest,' or, literally, 'priest man.' Then comes the +imperative 'awake to life!' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +After that, our first symbol again, meaning '_I_,' followed horizontally +by the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +signifying 'to go.' + +"Then comes a very important drawing--you see?--the picture of a man +with a jackal's head, not a dog's head. It is not accompanied by the +phonetic in a cartouch, as it should be. Probably the writer was in +desperate haste at the end. But, nevertheless, it is easy to translate +that symbol of the man with a jackal's head. It is a picture of the +Egyptian god, Anubis, who was supposed to linger at the side of the +dying to conduct their souls. Anubis, the jackal-headed, is the courier, +the personal escort of departing souls. And this is he. + +"And now the screed ends with the cry 'Pray for me!' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +the last symbol on this strange scroll--this missive written by a +deposed, wounded, and dying king to an unnamed priest. Here is the +literal translation in columns: + +I cunning +Meris the King escape +little hypnotize +Samaris King of Nothing +eighteen place forcibly +a harpist garden +a dancing girl--Ruler of water garden + Upper and Lower wall + Egypt house +took forcibly--night Arise. Do +by water Thou +five days Priest Man +ship Awake +house To life +I I go +Meris the King Anubis +she Pray +awake + +"And this is what that letter, thousands of years old, means in this +language of ours, hundreds of years young: 'I, Meris the King, seized +little Samaris, a harpist and a dancing girl, eighteen years of age, +belonging to the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, and carried her away at +night on shipboard--a voyage of five days--to my house. I, Meris the +King, lest she lie awake watching cunningly for a chance to escape, +hypnotized her (or had her hypnotized) so that she lay like one dead or +asleep, but breathing, and I, King no longer of Upper and Lower Egypt, +took her and placed her in my house under the wall of the water garden. +Arise! therefore, O thou priest; (go) and awaken her to life. I am dying +(I go with Anubis!). Pray for me!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +For a full minute the two men sat there without moving or speaking. Then +the Tracer laid aside his pencil. + +"To sum up," he said, opening the palm of his left hand and placing the +forefinger of his right across it, "the excavation made by the falling +pillar raised in triumph above the water garden of the deposed king, +Meris, by his rival, was the subterranean house of Meris. The prostrate +figure which crumbled to powder at your touch may have been the very +priest to whom this letter or papyrus was written. Perhaps the bearer of +the scroll was a traitor and stabbed the priest as he was reading the +missive. Who can tell how that priest died? He either died or betrayed +his trust, for he never aroused the little Samaris from her suspended +animation. And the water garden fell into ruins and she slept; and the +Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt raised his columns, lotus crowned, above +the ruins; and she slept on. Then--_you_ came." + +Burke stared like one stupefied. + +"I do not know," said the Tracer gravely, "what balm there may be in a +suspension of sensation, perhaps of vitality, to protect the human body +from corruption after death. I do not know how soon suspended animation +or the state of hypnotic coma, undisturbed, changes into death--whether +it comes gradually, imperceptibly freeing the soul; whether the soul +hides there, asleep, until suddenly the flame of vitality is +extinguished. I do not know how long she lay there with life in her." + +He leaned back and touched an electric bell, then, turning to Burke: + +"Speaking of pistol range," he said, "unstrap those weapons and pass +them over, if you please." + +And the young man obeyed as in a trance. + +"Thank you. There are four men coming into this room. You will keep your +seat, if you please, Mr. Burke." + +After a moment the door opened noiselessly. Two men handcuffed together +entered the room; two men, hands in their pockets, sauntered carelessly +behind the prisoners and leaned back against the closed door. + +"That short, red-haired, lame man with the cast in his eye--do you +recognize him?" asked the Tracer quietly. + +Burke, grasping the arms of his chair, had started to rise, fury fairly +blazing from his eyes; but, at the sound of the Tracer's calm, even +voice, he sank back into his chair. + +"That is Joram Smiles? You recognize him?" continued Mr. Keen. + +Burke nodded. + +"_Ex_actly--alias Limpy, alias Red Jo, alias Big Stick Joram, alias +Pinky; swindler, international confidence man, fence, burglar, gambler; +convicted in 1887, and sent to Sing Sing for forgery; convicted in 1898, +and sent to Auburn for swindling; arrested by my men on board the S. S. +_Scythian Queen_, at the cabled request of John T. Burke, Esquire, and +held to explain the nature of his luggage, which consisted of the +contents of an Egyptian vault or underground ruin, declared at the +customhouse as a mummy, and passed as such." + +The quiet, monotonous voice of the Tracer halted, then, as he glanced at +the second prisoner, grew harder: + +"Emanuel Gandon, general international criminal, with over half a +hundred aliases, arrested in company with Smiles and held until Mr. +Burke's arrival." + +Turning to Burke, the Tracer continued: "Fortunately, the _Scythian +Queen_ broke down off Brindisi. It gave us time to act on your cable; +we found these men aboard when she was signaled off the Hook. I went out +with the pilot myself, Mr. Burke." + +Smiles shot a wicked look at Burke; Gandon scowled at the floor. + +"Now," said the Tracer pleasantly, meeting the venomous glare of Smiles, +"I'll get you that warrant you have been demanding to have exhibited to +you. Here it is--charging you and your amiable friend Gandon with +breaking into and robbing the Metropolitan Museum of ancient Egyptian +gold ornaments, in March, 1903, and taking them to France, where they +were sold to collectors. It seems that you found the business good +enough to go prowling about Egypt on a hunt for something to sell here. +A great mistake, my friends--a very great mistake, because, after the +Museum has finished with you, the Egyptian Government desires to +extradite you. And I rather suspect you'll have to go." + +He nodded to the two quiet men leaning against the door. + +"Come, Joram," said one of them pleasantly. + +But Smiles turned furiously on the Tracer. "You lie, you old gray rat!" +he cried. "That ain't no mummy; that's a plain dead girl! And there +ain't no extrydition for body snatchin', so I guess them niggers at +Cairo won't get us, after all!" + +"Perhaps," said the Tracer, looking at Burke, who had risen, pale and +astounded. "Sit down, Mr. Burke! There is no need to question these men; +no need to demand what they robbed you of. For," he added slowly, "what +they took from the garden grotto of Saïs, and from you, I have under my +own protection." + +The Tracer rose, locked the door through which the prisoners and their +escorts had departed; then, turning gravely on Burke, he continued: + +"That panel, there, is a door. There is a room beyond--a room facing to +the south, bright with sunshine, flowers, soft rugs, and draperies of +the East. _She_ is there--like a child asleep!" + +Burke reeled, steadying himself against the wall; the Tracer stared at +space, speaking very slowly: + +"Such death I have never before heard of. From the moment she came under +my protection I have dared to doubt--many things. And an hour ago you +brought me a papyrus scroll confirming my doubts. I doubt still--Heaven +knows what! Who can say how long the flame of life may flicker within +suspended animation? A week? A month? A year? Longer than that? Yes; +the Hindoos have proved it. How long? The span of a normal life? Or +longer? Can the life flame burn indefinitely when the functions are +absolutely suspended--generation after generation, century after +century?" + +Burke, ghastly white, straightened up, quivering in every limb; the +Tracer, as pale as he, laid his hand on the secret panel. + +"If--if you dare say it--the phrase is this: '_O Ket Samaris, +Nehes!_'--'O Little Samaris, awake!'" + +"I--dare. In Heaven's name, open that door!" + +Then, averting his head, the Tracer of Lost Persons swung open the +panel. + +A flood of sunshine flashed on Burke's face; he entered; and the paneled +door closed behind him without a sound. + +Minute after minute passed; the Tracer stood as though turned to stone, +gray head bent. + +Then he heard Burke's voice ring out unsteadily: + +"O Ket Samaris--Samaris! O Ket Samaris--_Nehes!_" + +And again: "Samaris! Samaris! O beloved, awake!" + +And once more: "_Nehes!_ O Samaris!" + +Silence, broken by a strange, sweet, drowsy plaint--like a child +awakened at midnight by a dazzling light. + +"Samaris!" + +Then, through the stillness, a little laugh, and a softly tremulous +voice: + +"_Ari un aha, O Entuk sen!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +"What we want to do," said Gatewood over the telephone, "is to give you +a corking little dinner at the Santa Regina. There'll be Mr. and Mrs. +Tommy Kerns, Captain and Mrs. Harren, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Burke, Mrs. +Gatewood, and myself. We want you to set the date for it, Mr. Keen, and +we also wish you to suggest one more deliriously happy couple whom you +have dragged out of misery and flung head-first into terrestrial +paradise." + +"Do you young people really care to do this for me?" asked the Tracer, +laughing. + +"Of course we do. We're crazy about it. We want one more couple, and you +to set the date." + +There was the slightest pause; then the Tracer's voice, with the same +undertone of amusement ringing through it: + +"How would your cousin, Victor Carden, do?" + +"He's all right, only he isn't married. We want two people whom you have +joined together after hazard has put them asunder and done stunts with +them." + +"Very well; Victor Carden and his very lovely wife will be just the +people." + +"Is Victor married?" demanded Gatewood, astonished. + +"No," said the Tracer demurely, "but he will be in time for that +dinner." And he set the date for the end of the week in an amused voice, +and rang off. + +Then he glanced at the clock, touched an electric bell, and again +unhooking the receiver of the telephone, called up the Sherwood Studios +and asked for Mr. Carden. + +"Is _this_ Mr. Carden? Oh, good morning, Mr. Carden! This is Mr. Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons. Could you make it convenient to call--say in +course of half an hour? Thank you. . . . What? . . . Well, speaking with +that caution and reserve which we are obliged to employ in making any +preliminary statements to our clients, I think I may safely say that you +have every reason to feel moderately encouraged." + +"You mean," said Carden's voice, "that you have actually solved the +proposition?" + +"It has been a difficult proposition, Mr. Carden; I will not deny that +it has taxed our resources to the uttermost. Over a thousand people, +first and last, have been employed on this case. It has been a slow and +tedious affair, Mr. Carden--tedious for us all. We seldom have a case +continue as long as this has; it is a year ago to-day since you placed +the matter in our hands. . . . What? Well, without committing myself, I +think that I may venture to express a carefully qualified opinion that +the solution of the case is probably practically in the way of being +almost accomplished! . . . Yes, I shall expect you in half an hour. +Good-by!" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons' eyes were twinkling as he hung up the +receiver and turned in his revolving chair to meet the pretty young +woman who had entered in response to his ring. + +"The Carden case, if you please, Miss Smith," he said, smiling to +himself. + +The young woman also smiled; the Carden case had become a classic in the +office. Nobody except Mr. Keen had believed that the case could ever be +solved. + +"Safe-deposit box 108923!" said Miss Smith softly, pressing a speaking +tube to her red lips. In a few moments there came a hissing thud from +the pneumatic tube; Miss Smith unlocked it and extracted a smooth, steel +cylinder. + +"The combination for that cylinder is A-4-44-11-X," observed the Tracer, +consulting a cipher code, "which, translated," he added, "gives us the +setting combination, One, D, R-R,-J-'24." + +Miss Smith turned the movable disks at the end of the cylinder until +the required combination appeared. Then she unscrewed the cylinder head +and dumped out the documents in the famous Carden case. + +"As Mr. Carden will be here in half an hour or so I think we had better +run over the case briefly," nodded the Tracer, leaning back in his chair +and composing himself to listen. "Begin with my preliminary memorandum, +Miss Smith." + +"Case 108923," began the girl. Then she read the date, Carden's full +name, Victor Carden, a terse biography of the same gentleman, and added: +"Case accepted. Contingent fee, $5,000." + +"Quite so," said Mr. Keen; "now, run through the minutes of the first +interview." + +And Miss Smith unrolled a typewritten scroll and read: + +"Victor Carden, Esquire, the well-known artist, called this evening at +6.30. Tall, well-bred, good appearance, very handsome; very much +embarrassed. Questioned by Mr. Keen he turned pink, and looked timidly +at the stenographer (Miss Colt). Asked if he might not see Mr. Keen +alone, Miss Colt retired. Mr. Keen set the recording phonograph in +motion by dropping his elbow on his desk." + +A brief _résumé_ of the cylinder records followed: + +"Mr. Carden asked Mr. Keen if he (Mr. Keen) knew who he (Mr. Carden) +was. Mr. Keen replied that everybody knew Mr. Carden, the celebrated +painter and illustrator who had created the popular type of beauty known +as the 'Carden Girl.' Mr. Carden blushed and fidgeted. (_Notes from. Mr. +Keen's Observation Book, pp. 291-297._) Admitted that he was the creator +of the 'Carden Girl.' Admitted he had drawn and painted that particular +type of feminine beauty many times. Fidgeted some more. (_Keen's O.B., +pp. 298-299._) Volunteered the statement that this type of beauty, known +as the 'Carden Girl,' was the cause of great unhappiness to himself. +Questioned, turned pinker and fidgeted. (_K.O.B., page 300._) Denied +that his present trouble was caused by the model who had posed for the +'Carden Girl.' Explained that a number of assorted models had posed for +that type of beauty. Further explained that none of them resembled the +type; that the type was his own creation; that he used models merely for +the anatomy, and that he always idealized form and features. + +"Questioned again, admitted that the features of the 'Carden Girl' were +his ideal of the highest and loveliest type of feminine beauty. Did not +deny that he had fallen in love with his own creation. Turned red and +tried to smoke. (_K.O.B., page 303._) Admitted he had been fascinated +himself with his own rendering of a type of beauty which he had never +seen anywhere except as rendered by his own pencil on paper or on +canvas. Fidgeted. (_K.O.B., page 304._) Admitted that he could easily +fall in love with a woman who resembled the 'Carden Girl.' Didn't +believe she ever really existed. Confessed he had hoped for years to +encounter her, but had begun to despair. Admitted that he had ventured +to think that Mr. Keen might trace such a girl for him. Doubted Mr. +Keen's success. Fidgeted (_K.O.B., page 306_), and asked Mr. Keen to +take the case. Promised to send to Mr. Keen a painting in oil which +embodied his loftiest ideal of the type known as the 'Carden Girl.' +(_Portrait received; lithographs made and distributed to our agents +according to routine, from Canada to Mexico and from the Atlantic to the +Pacific._) + +"Mr. Keen terminated the interview with characteristic tact, accepting +the case on the contingent fee of $5,000." + +"Very well," said the Tracer, as Miss Smith rolled up the scroll and +looked at him for further instructions. "Now, perhaps you had better run +over the short summary of proceedings to date. I mean the digest which +you will find attached to the completed records." + +Miss Smith found the paper, unrolled it, and read: + +"During the twelve months' investigation and search (_in re Carden_) +seven hundred and nine young women were discovered who resembled very +closely the type sought for. By process of elimination, owing to defects +in figure, features, speech, breeding, etc., etc., this list was cut +down to three. One of these occasionally chewed gum, but otherwise +resembled the type. The second married before the investigation of her +habits could be completed. The third is apparently a flawless replica of +Mr. Carden's original in face, figure, breeding, education, moral and +mental habits. (_See Document 23, A._)" + +"Read Document 23, A," nodded Mr. Keen. + +And Miss Smith read: + +ROSALIND HOLLIS, M.D. + +Age . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 + +Height . . . . . . 5 feet 9 inches + +Weight . . . . . . . . 160 pounds + + Thick, bright, ruddy +Hair . . . . . . golden, and inclined + to curl. + +Teeth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Eyes . . . . . . . Dark violet-blue + +Mouth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Color . . . . Fair. An ivory-tinted + blonde. + +Figure . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Health . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Temper . . . . . . . . . Feminine + + Austere, with a +Habits . . . . resolutely suppressed + capacity for romance. + +Business . . . . . . . . . None + +Profession . . . . . . . Physician + +Mania . . . . . . . . A Mission + +"NOTE.--Dr. Rosalind Hollis was presented to society in her eighteenth +year. At the end of her second season she withdrew from society with the +determination to devote her entire life to charity. Settlement work and +the study of medicine have occupied her constantly. Recently admitted to +practice, she spends her mornings in visiting the poor, whom she treats +free of all charge; her afternoons and evenings are devoted to what she +expects is to be her specialty: the study of the rare malady known as +Lamour's Disease. (_See note on second page._) + +"It is understood that Dr. Hollis has abjured the society of all men +other than her patients and such of her professional _confrères_ as she +is obliged to consult or work with. Her theory is that of the beehive: +drones for mates, workers for work. She adds, very decidedly, that she +belongs to the latter division, and means to remain there permanently. + +"NOTE (_Mr. Keen's O.B., pp. 916-18_).--Her eccentricity is probably the +result of a fine, wholesome, highly strung young girl taking life and +herself too seriously. The remedy will be the _Right Man_." + +"_Ex_actly," nodded Mr. Keen, joining the tips of his thin fingers and +partly closing his eyes. "Now, Miss Smith, the disease which Dr. Hollis +intends to make her specialty--have you any notes on that?" + +"Here they are," said Miss Smith; and she read: "Lamour's Disease; the +rarest of all known diseases; first discovered and described by Ero S. +Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H., in 1861. Only a single case has ever +been observed. This case is fully described in Dr. Lamour's superb and +monumental work in sixteen volumes. Briefly, the disease appears without +any known cause, and is ultimately supposed to result fatally. The first +symptom is the appearance of a faintly bluish circle under the eyes, as +though the patient was accustomed to using the eyes too steadily at +times. Sometimes a slight degree of fever accompanies this +manifestation; pulse and temperature vary. The patient is apparently in +excellent health, but liable to loss of appetite, restlessness, and a +sudden flushing of the face. These symptoms are followed by others +unmistakable: the patient becomes silent at times; at times evinces a +weakness for sentimental expressions; flushes easily; is easily +depressed; will sit for hours looking at one person; and, if not +checked, will exhibit impulsive symptoms of affection for the opposite +sex. The strangest symptom of all, however, is the physical change in +the patient, whose features and figure, under the trained eye of the +observer, gradually from day to day assume the symmetry and charm of a +beauty almost unearthly, sometimes accompanied by a spiritual pallor +which is unmistakable in confirming the diagnosis, and which, Dr. Lamour +believes, presages the inexorable approach of immortality. + +"There is no known remedy for Lamour's Disease. The only case on record +is the case of the young lady described by Dr. Lamour, who watched her +for years with unexampled patience and enthusiasm; finally, in the +interest of science, marrying his patient in order to devote his life +to a study of her symptoms. Unfortunately, some of these disappeared +early--within a week--but the curious manifestation of physical beauty +remained, and continued to increase daily to a dazzling radiance, with +no apparent injury to the patient. Dr. Lamour, unfortunately, died +before his investigations, covering over forty years, could be +completed; his widow survived him for a day or two only, leaving sixteen +children. + +"Here is a wide and unknown field for medical men to investigate. It is +safe to say that the physician who first discovers the bacillus of +Lamour's Disease and the proper remedy to combat it will reap as his +reward a glory and renown imperishable. Lamour's Disease is a disease +not yet understood--a disease whose termination is believed to be +fatal--a strange disease which seems to render radiant and beautiful the +features of the patient, brightening them with the forewarning of +impending death and the splendid resurrection of immortality." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons caressed his chin reflectively. "_Ex_actly, +Miss Smith. So this is the disease which Dr. Hollis has chosen for her +specialty. And only one case on record. _Ex_actly. Thank you." + +Miss Smith replaced the papers in the steel cylinder, slipped it into +the pneumatic tube, sent it whizzing below to the safe-deposit vaults, +and, saluting Mr. Keen with a pleasant inclination of her head, went out +of the room. + +The Tracer turned in his chair, picked up the daily detective report, +and scanned it until he came to the name Hollis. It appeared that the +daily routine of Rosalind Hollis had not varied during the past three +weeks. In the mornings she was good to the poor with bottles and pills; +in the afternoons she tucked one of Lamour's famous sixteen volumes +under her arm and walked to Central Park, where, with democratic +simplicity, she sat on a secluded bench and pored over the symptoms of +Lamour's Disease. About five she retired to her severely simple +apartments in the big brownstone office building devoted to physicians, +corner of Fifty-eighth Street and Madison Avenue. Here she took tea, +read a little, dined all alone, and retired about nine. This was the +guileless but determined existence of Rosalind Hollis, M.D., according +to McConnell, the detective assigned to observe her. + +The Tracer refolded the report of his chief of detectives and +pigeonholed it just as the door opened and a tall, well-built, +attractive young man entered. + +Shyness was written all over him; he offered his hand to Mr. Keen with +an embarrassed air and seated himself at that gentleman's invitation. + +"I'm almost sorry I ever began this sort of thing," he blurted out, like +a big schoolboy appalled at his own misdemeanors. "The truth is, Mr. +Keen, that the prospect of actually seeing a 'Carden Girl' alive has +scared me through and through. I've a notion that my business with that +sort of a girl ends when I've drawn her picture." + +"But surely," said the Tracer mildly, "you have some natural curiosity +to see the living copy of your charming but inanimate originals, haven't +you, Mr. Carden?" + +"Yes--oh, certainly. I'd like to see one of them alive--say out of a +window, or from a cab. I should not care to be too close to her." + +"But merely seeing her does not commit you," interposed Mr. Keen, +smiling. "She is far too busy, too much absorbed in her own affairs to +take any notice of you. I understand that she has something of an +aversion for men." + +"Aversion!" + +"Well, she excludes them as unnecessary to her existence." + +"Why?" asked Carden. + +"Because she has a mission in life," said Mr. Keen gravely. + +Carden looked out of the window. It was pleasant weather--June in all +its early loveliness--the fifth day of June. The sixth was his birthday. + +"I've simply got to marry somebody before the day after to-morrow," he +said aloud--"that is, if I want my legacy." + +"What!" demanded the Tracer sharply. + +Carden turned, pink and guilty. "I didn't tell you all the circumstances +of my case," he said. "I suppose I ought to have done so." + +"_Ex_actly," said the Tracer severely. "Why is it necessary that you +marry somebody before the day after to-morrow?" + +"Well, it's my twenty-fifth birthday--" + +"Somebody has left you money on condition that you marry before your +twenty-fifth birthday? Is that it, Mr. Carden? An uncle? An imbecile +grandfather? A sentimental aunt?" + +"My Aunt Tabby Van Beekman." + +"Where is she?" + +"In Trinity churchyard. It's too late to expostulate with her, you see. +Besides, it wouldn't have done any good when she was alive." + +The Tracer knitted his brows, musing, the points of his slim fingers +joined. + +"She was very proud, very autocratic," said Carden. "I am the last of +my race and my aunt was determined that the race should not die out with +me. I don't want to marry and increase, but she's trying to make me. At +all events, I am not going to marry any woman inferior to the type I +have created with my pencil--what the public calls the 'Carden Girl.' +And now you see that your discovery of this living type comes rather +late. In two days I must be legally married if I want my Aunt Tabby's +legacy; and to-day for the first time I hear of a girl who, you assure +me, compares favorably to my copyrighted type, but who has a mission and +an aversion to men. So you see, Mr. Keen, that the matter is perfectly +hopeless." + +"I don't see anything of the kind," said Mr. Keen firmly. + +"What?--do you believe there is any chance--" + +"Of your falling in love within the next hour or so? Yes, I do. I think +there is every chance of it. I am sure of it. But that is not the +difficulty. The problem is far more complicated." + +"You mean--" + +"_Ex_actly; how to marry that girl before day after to-morrow. That's +the problem, Mr. Carden!--not whether you are capable of falling in +love with her. I have seen her; I _know_ you can't avoid falling in +love with her. Nobody could. I myself am on the verge of it; and I am +fifty: you can't avoid loving her." + +"If that were so," said Carden gravely; "if I were really going to fall +in love with her--I would not care a rap about my Aunt Tabby and her +money--" + +"You ought to care about it for this young girl's sake. That legacy is +virtually hers, not yours. She has a right to it. No man can ever give +enough to the woman he loves; no man has ever done so. What _she_ gives +and what _he_ gives are never a fair exchange. If you can balance the +account in any measure, it is your duty to do it. Mr. Carden, if she +comes to love you she may think it very fine that you bring to her your +love, yourself, your fame, your talents, your success, your position, +your gratifying income. But I tell you it's not enough to balance the +account. It is never enough--no, not all your devotion to her included! +You can never balance the account on earth--all you can do is to try to +balance it materially and spiritually. Therefore I say, endow her with +_all_ your earthly goods. Give all you can in every way to lighten as +much as possible man's hopeless debt to all women who have ever loved." + +"You talk about it as though I were already committed," said Carden, +astonished. + +"You are, morally. For a month I have, without her knowledge, it is +true, invaded the privacy of a very lovely young girl--studied her +minutely, possessed myself of her history, informed myself of her +habits. What excuse had I for this unless I desired her happiness and +yours? Nobody could offer me any inducement to engage in such a practice +unless I believed that the means might justify a moral conclusion. And +the moral conclusion of this investigation is your marriage to her." + +"Certainly," said Carden uneasily, "but how are we going to accomplish +it by to-morrow? How is it going to be accomplished at all?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons rose and began to pace the long rug, clasping +his hands behind his back. Minute after minute sped; Carden stared +alternately at Mr. Keen and at the blue sky through the open window. + +"It is seldom," said Mr. Keen with evident annoyance, "that I personally +take any spectacular part in the actual and concrete demonstrations +necessary to a successful conclusion of a client's case. But I've got to +do it this time." + +He went to a cupboard, picked out a gray wig and gray side whiskers and +deliberately waved them at Carden. + +"You see what these look like?" he demanded. + +"Y-yes." + +"Very well. It is now noon. Do you know the Park? Do you happen to +recollect a shady turn in the path after you cross the bridge over the +swan lake? Here; I'll draw it for you. Now, here is the lake; here's the +esplanade and fountain, you see. Here's the path. You follow +it--so!--around the lake, across the bridge, then following the lake to +the right--so!--then up the wooded slope to the left--so! Now, here is a +bench. I mark it Number One. _She_ sits there with her book--there she +is!" + +"If she looks like _that_--" began Carden. And they both laughed with +the slightest trace of excitement. + +"Here is Bench Number Two!" resumed the Tracer. "Here you sit--and there +you are!" + +[Illustration: MR. KEEN'S SKETCH OF THE RENDEZVOUS] + +"Thanks," said Carden, laughing again. + +"Now," continued the Tracer, "you must be there at one o'clock. She will +be there at one-thirty, or earlier perhaps. A little later I will become +benignly visible. Your part is merely a thinking part; you are to do +nothing, say nothing, unless spoken to. And when you are spoken to you +are to acquiesce in whatever anybody says to you, and you are to do +whatever anybody requests you to do. And, above all, don't be surprised +at _anything_ that may happen. You'll be nervous enough; I expect that. +You'll probably color up and flush and fidget; I expect that; I count on +that. But don't lose your nerve entirely; and don't think of attempting +to escape." + +"Escape! From what? From whom?" + +"From her." + +"_Her?_" + +"Are you going to follow my instructions?" demanded the Tracer of Lost +Persons. + +"I--y-yes, of course." + +"Very well, then, I am going to rub some of this under your eyes." And +Mr. Keen produced a make-up box and, walking over to Carden, calmly +darkened the skin under his eyes. + +"I look as though I had been on a bat!" exclaimed Carden, surveying +himself in a mirror. "Do you think any girl could find any attraction in +such a countenance?" + +"_She_ will," observed the Tracer meaningly. "Now, Mr. Carden, one last +word: The moment you find yourself in love with her, and the first +moment you have the chance to do so decently, make love to her. She +won't dismiss you; she will repulse you, of course, but she won't let +you go. I know what I am saying; all I ask of you is to promise on your +honor to carry out these instructions. Do you promise?" + +"I do." + +"Then here is the map of the rendezvous which I have drawn. Be there +promptly. Good morning." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +At one o'clock that afternoon a young man earnestly consulting a map +might have been seen pursuing his solitary way through Central Park. +Fresh green foliage arched above him, flecking the path with fretted +shadow and sunlight; the sweet odor of flowering shrubs saturated the +air; the waters of the lake sparkled where swans swept to and fro, snowy +wings spread like sails to the fitful June wind. + +"This," he murmured, pausing at a shaded bend in the path, "must be +Bench Number One. I am not to sit on that. This must be Bench Number +Two. I _am_ to sit on that. So here I am," he added nervously, seating +himself and looking about him with the caution of a cat in a strange +back yard. + +There was nobody in sight. Reassured, he ventured to drop one knee over +the other and lean upon his walking stick. For a few minutes he remained +in this noncommittal attitude, alert at every sound, anxious, +uncomfortable, dreading he knew not what. A big, fat, gray squirrel +racing noisily across the fallen leaves gave him a shock. A number of +birds came to look at him--or so it appeared to him, for in the +inquisitive scrutiny of a robin he fancied he divined sardonic meaning, +and in the blank yellow stare of a purple grackle, a sinister +significance out of all proportion to the size of the bird. + +"What an absurd position to be in!" he thought. And suddenly he was +seized with a desire to flee. + +He didn't because he had promised not to, but the desire persisted to +the point of mania. Oh, how he could run if he only hadn't promised not +to! His entire being tingled with the latent possibilities of a burst of +terrific speed. He wanted to scuttle away like a scared rabbit. The pace +of the kangaroo would be slow in comparison. What a record he could make +if he hadn't promised not to. + +He crossed his knees the other way and brooded. The gray squirrel +climbed the bench and nosed his pockets for possible peanuts, then +hopped off hopefully toward a distant nursemaid and two children. + +Growing more alarmed every time he consulted his watch Carden attempted +to stem his rising panic with logic and philosophy, repeating: "Steady! +my son! Don't act like this! You're not obliged to marry her if you +don't fall in love with her; and if you do, you won't mind marrying her. +That is philosophy. That is logic. Oh, I wonder what will have happened +to me by this time to-morrow! I wish it _were_ this time to-morrow! I +wish it were this time next month! Then it would be all over. Then it +would be--" + +His muttering speech froze on his lips. Rooted to his bench he sat +staring at a distant figure approaching--the figure of a young girl in a +summer gown. + +Nearer, nearer she came, walking with a free-limbed, graceful step, head +high, one arm clasping a book. + +That was the way the girls he drew would have walked had they ever +lived. Even in the midst of his fright his artist's eyes noted that: +noted the perfect figure, too, and the witchery of its grace and +contour, and the fascinating poise of her head, and the splendid color +of her hair; noted mechanically the flowing lines of her gown, and the +dainty modeling of arm and wrist and throat and ear. + +Then, as she reached her bench and seated herself, she raised her eyes +and looked at him. And for the first time in his life he realized that +ideal beauty was but the pale phantom of the real and founded on +something more than imagination and thought; on something of vaster +import than fancy and taste and technical skill; that it was founded on +Life itself--on breathing, living, palpitating, tremulous Life!--from +which all true inspiration must come. + +Over and over to himself he was repeating: "Of course, it is perfectly +impossible that I can be in love already. Love doesn't happen between +two ticks of a watch. I am merely amazed at that girl's beauty; that is +all. I am merely astounded in the presence of perfection; that is all. +There is nothing more serious the matter with me. It isn't necessary for +me to continue to look at her; it isn't vital to my happiness if I never +saw her again. . . . That is--of course, I should like to see her, +because I never did see living beauty such as hers in any woman. Not +even in my pictures. What superb eyes! What a fascinately delicate nose! +_What_ a nose! By Heaven, that nose _is_ a nose! I'll draw noses _that_ +way in future. My pictures are all out of drawing; I must fit arms into +their sockets the way hers fit! I must remember the modeling of her +eyelids, too--and that chin! and those enchanting hands--" + +She looked up leisurely from her book, surveyed him calmly, absent-eyed, +then bent her head again to the reading. + +"There _is_ something the matter with me," he thought with a suppressed +gulp. "I--if she looks at me again--with those iris-hued eyes of a +young goddess--I--I think I'm done for. I believe I'm done for anyway. +It seems rather mad to think it. But there _is_ something the matter--" + +She deliberately looked at him again. + +"It's all wrong for them to let loose a girl like that on people," he +thought to himself, "all wrong. Everybody is bound to go mad over her. +I'm going now. I'm mad already. I know I am, which proves I'm no +lunatic. It isn't her beauty; it's the way she wears it--every motion, +every breath of her. I know exactly what her voice is like. Anybody who +looks into her eyes can see what her soul is like. She isn't out of +drawing anywhere--physically or spiritually. And when a man sees a girl +like that, why--why there's only one thing that can happen to him as far +as I can see. And it doesn't take a year either. Heavens! How awfully +remote from me she seems to be." + +She looked up again, calmly, but not at him. A kindly, gray-whiskered +old gentleman came tottering and rocking into view, his rosy, wrinkled +face beaming benediction on the world as he passed through it--on the +sunshine dappling the undergrowth, on the furry squirrels sitting up on +their hind legs to watch him pass, on the stray dickybird that hopped +fearlessly in his path, at the young man sitting very rigid there on +his bench, at the fair, sweet-faced girl who met his aged eyes with the +gentlest of involuntary smiles. And Carden did not recognize him! + +Who could help smiling confidently into that benign face, with its gray +hair and gray whiskers? Goodness radiated from every wrinkle. + +"Dr. Atwood!" exclaimed the girl softly as she rose to meet this +marvelous imitation of Dr. Austin Atwood, the great specialist on +children's diseases. + +The old man beamed weakly at her, halted, still beaming, fumbled for his +eyeglasses, adjusted them, and peered closely into her face. + +"Bless my soul," he smiled, "our pretty Dr. Hollis!" + +"I--I did not suppose you would remember me," she said, rosy with +pleasure. + +"Remember you? Surely, surely." He made her a quaint, old-fashioned bow, +turned, and peeped across the walk at Carden. And Carden, looking +straight into his face, did not know the old man, who turned to Dr. +Hollis again with many mysterious nods of his doddering head. + +"You're watching him, too, are you?" he chuckled, leaning toward her. + +"Watching whom, Dr. Atwood?" she asked surprised. + +"Hush, child! I thought you had noticed that unfortunate and afflicted +young man opposite." + +Dr. Hollis looked curiously at Carden, then at the old gentleman with +gray whiskers. + +"Please sit down, Dr. Atwood, and tell me," she murmured. "I have +noticed nothing in particular about the young man on the bench there." +And she moved to give him room; and the young man opposite stared at +them both as though bereft of reason. + +"A heavy book for small hands, my child," said the old gentleman in his +quaintly garrulous fashion, peering with dimmed eyes at the volume in +her lap. + +She smiled, looking around at him. + +"My, my!" he said, tremblingly raising his eyeglasses to scan the title +on the page; "Dr. Lamour's famous works! Are _you_ studying Lamour, +child?" + +"Yes," she said with that charming inflection youth reserves for age. + +"Astonishing!" he murmured. "The coincidence is more than remarkable. A +physician! And studying Lamour's Disease! Incredible!" + +"Is there anything strange in that, Dr. Atwood?" she smiled. + +"Strange!" He lowered his voice, peering across at Carden. "Strange, +did you say? Look across the path at that poor young man sitting there!" + +"Yes," she said, perplexed, "I see him." + +"_What_ do you see?" whispered the old gentleman in a shakily portentous +voice. "Here you sit reading about what others have seen; now what do +_you_ see?" + +"Why, only a man--rather young--" + +"No _symptoms_?" + +"Symptoms? Of what?" + +The old gentleman folded his withered hands over his cane. "My child," +he said, "for a year I have had that unfortunate young man under secret +observation. He was not aware of it; it never entered his mind that I +could be observing _him_ with minutest attention. He may have supposed +there was nothing the matter with him. He was in error. I have studied +him carefully. Look closer! _Are_ there dark circles under his eyes--or +are there not?" he ended in senile triumph. + +"There are," she began, puzzled, "but I--but of what interest to me--" + +"Compare his symptoms with the symptoms in that book you are studying," +said the old gentleman hoarsely. + +"Do you mean--do you suppose--" she stammered, turning her eyes on +Carden, who promptly blushed to his ears and began to fidget. + +"_Every symptom_," muttered the old gentleman. "Poor, poor young man!" + +She had seen Carden turn a vivid pink; she now saw him fidget with his +walking stick; she discovered the blue circles under his eyes. Three +symptoms at once! + +"Do you believe it _possible_?" she whispered excitedly under her breath +to the old gentleman beside her. "It seems incredible! Such a rare +disease! Only one single case ever described and studied! It seems +impossible that I could be so fortunate as actually to see a case! Tell +me, Dr. Atwood, do you believe that young man is really afflicted with +Lamour's Disease?" + +"There is but one way to be absolutely certain," said the old gentleman +in a solemn voice, "and that is to study him; corroborate your +suspicions by observing his pulse and temperature, as did Dr. Lamour." + +"But--how can I?" she faltered. "I--he would probably object to becoming +a patient of mine--" + +"Ask him, child! Ask him." + +"I have not courage--" + +"Courage should be the badge of your profession," said the old +gentleman gravely. "When did a good physician ever show the white +feather in the cause of humanity?" + +"I--I know, but this requires a different sort of courage." + +"How," persisted the old gentleman, "can you confirm your very natural +suspicions concerning this unfortunate young man unless you corroborate +your observations by studying him at close range? Besides, already it +seems to me that certain unmistakable signs are visible; I mean that +strange physical phase which Dr. Lamour dwells on: the symmetry of +feature and limb, the curiously spiritual beauty. Do you not notice +these? Or is my sight so dim that I only imagine it?" + +"He is certainly symmetrical--and--in a certain way--almost handsome in +regard to features," she admitted, looking at Carden. + +"Poor, poor boy!" muttered the old gentleman, wagging his gray whiskers. +"I am too old to help him--too old to dream of finding a remedy for the +awful malady which I am now convinced has seized him. I shall study him +no more. It is useless. All I can do now is to mention his case to some +young, vigorous, ambitious physician--some specialist--" + +"Don't!" she whispered almost fiercely, "don't do that, Dr. Atwood! I +want him, please! I--you helped me to discover him, you see. And his +malady is to be my specialty. Please, do you mind if I keep him all to +myself and study him?" + +"But you refused, child." + +"I didn't mean to. I--I didn't exactly see how I was to study him. But I +must study him! Oh, I _must_! There will surely be some way. Please let +me. You discovered him, I admit, but I will promise you faithfully to +devote my entire life to studying him, as the great Lamour devoted his +life for forty years to his single patient." + +"But Dr. Lamour married his patient," said the Tracer mildly. + +"He--I--that need not be necessary--" + +"But if it should prove necessary?" + +"I--you--" + +"Answer me, child." + +She stared across at Carden, biting her red lips. He turned pink +promptly and fidgeted. + +"He _has_ got it!" she whispered excitedly. "Oh, _do_ you mind if I take +him for mine? I am perfectly wild to begin on him!" + +"You have not yet answered my question," said the old gentleman gravely. +"Do you lack the courage to marry him if it becomes necessary to do so +in order to devote your entire life to studying him?" + +"Oh--it _cannot_ be necessary--" + +"You lack the courage." + +She was silent. + +"Braver things have been done by those of your profession who have gone +among lepers," said the old gentleman sadly. + +She flushed up instantly; her eyes sparkled; her head proudly high, +delicate nostrils dilated. + +"I am not afraid!" she said. "If it ever becomes necessary, I _can_ show +courage and devotion, as well as those of my profession who minister to +the lepers of Molokai! Yes; I do promise you to marry him if I cannot +otherwise study him. And I promise you solemnly to devote my entire life +to observing his symptoms and searching for proper means to combat them. +My one ambition in life is personally to observe and study a case of +Lamour's Disease, and to give my entire life to investigating its +origin, its course, and its cure." + +The old gentleman rose, bowing with that quaintly obsolete courtesy +which was in vogue in his youth. + +"I am contented to leave him exclusively to you, Dr. Hollis. And I wish +you happiness in your life's work--and success in your cure of this +unhappy young man." + +Hat in hand, he bowed again as he tottered past her, muttering and +smiling to himself and shaking his trembling head as he went rocking on +unsteady legs out into the sunshine, where the nursemaids and children +flocked along the lake shore throwing peanuts to the waterfowl and +satiated goldfish. + +Dr. Hollis looked after him, her small hand buried among the pages of +her open book. Carden viewed his disappearing figure with guileless +emotions. He was vaguely aware that something important was about to +happen to him. And it did before he was prepared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +When Rosalind Hollis found herself on her feet again a slight sensation +of fright checked her for a moment. Then, resolutely suppressing such +unworthy weakness, the lofty inspiration of her mission in life +dominated her, and she stepped forward undaunted. And Carden, seeing her +advance toward him, arose in astonishment to meet her. + +For a second they stood facing each other, he astounded, she a trifle +pale but firm. Then in a low voice she asked his pardon for disturbing +him. + +"I am Rosalind Hollis, a physician," she said quietly, "and physicians +are sometimes obliged to do difficult things in the interest of their +profession. It is dreadfully difficult for me to speak to you in this +way. But"--she looked fearlessly at him--"I am confident you will not +misinterpret what I have done." + +He managed to assure her that he did not misinterpret it. + +She regarded him steadily; she examined the dark circles under his eyes; +she coolly observed his rising color under her calm inspection; she saw +him fidgeting with his walking stick. She _must_ try his pulse! + +"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions in the interest of +science?" she said earnestly. + +"As a m-m-matter of fact," he stammered, "I don't know much about +science. Awfully glad to do anything I can, you know." + +"Oh, I don't mean it that way," she reassured him. A hint of a smile +tinted her eyes with brilliant amethyst. "Would you mind if I sat here +for a few moments? _Could_ you overlook this horrid unconventionality +long enough for me to explain why I have spoken to you?" + +"I could indeed!" he said, so anxiously cordial that her lovely face +grew serious and she hesitated. But he was standing aside, hat off, +placing the bench at her disposal, and she seated herself, placing her +book on the bench beside her. + +"Would you mind sitting here for a few moments?" she asked him gravely. + +Dazed, scarcely crediting the evidence of his senses, he took possession +of the end of the bench with the silent obedience of a schoolboy. His +attitude was irreproachable. She was grateful for this, and her +satisfaction with herself for not having misjudged him renewed her +confidence in him, in herself, and in the difficult situation. + +She began, quietly, by again telling him her name and profession; where +she lived, and that she was studying to be a specialist, though she did +not intimate what that specialty was to be. + +Outwardly composed and attentively deferential, his astonishment at +times dominated a stronger sentiment that seemed to grow and expand with +her every word, seizing him in a fierce possession absolutely and +hopelessly complete. + +The bewildering fascination of her mastered him. No cool analysis of +what his senses were confirming could be necessary to convince him of +his condition. Every word of hers, every gesture, every inflection of +her sweet, clear voice, every lifting of her head, her eyes, her +perfectly gloved hands, only repeated to him what he knew was a +certainty. Never had he looked upon such physical loveliness; never had +he dreamed of such a voice. + +She had asked him a question, and, absorbed in the pure delight of +looking at her, he had not comprehended or answered. She flushed +sensitively, accepting his silence as refusal, and he came out of his +trance hastily. + +"I beg your pardon; I did not quite understand your question, Miss +Hollis--I mean, Dr. Hollis." + +"I asked you if you minded my noting your pulse," she said. + +He stretched out his right hand; she stripped off her glove, laid the +tip of her middle finger on his wrist, and glanced down at the gold +watch which she held. + +"I am wondering," he said, laughing uncertainly, "whether you believe me +to be ill. Of course it is easy to see that you have found something +unusual about me--something of particular interest to a physician. Is +there anything very dreadful going to happen to me, Dr. Hollis? I feel +perfectly well." + +"Are you sure you feel well?" she asked, so earnestly that the smile on +his lips faded out. + +"Absolutely. Is my pulse queer?" + +"It is not normal." + +He could easily account for that, but he said nothing. + +She questioned him for a few minutes, noted his pulse again, looked +closely at the bluish circles under his eyes. Naturally he flushed up +and grew restless under the calm, grave, beautiful eyes. + +"I--I have an absolutely new and carefully sterilized thermometer--" She +drew it from a tiny gold-initialed pocket case, and looked wistfully at +him. + +"You want to put that into my mouth?" he asked, astonished. + +"If you don't mind." + +She held it up, shook it once or twice, and deliberately inserted it +between his lips. And there he sat, round-eyed, silent, the end of the +thermometer protruding at a rakish angle from the corner of his mouth. +And he grew redder and redder. + +"I _don't_ wish to alarm you," she was saying, "but all this is so +deeply significant, so full of vital interest to me--to the world, to +science--" + +"_What_ have I got, in Heaven's name?" he said thickly, the thermometer +wiggling in his mouth. + +"Ah!" she exclaimed with soft enthusiasm, clasping her pretty ungloved +hands, "I cannot be sure yet--I dare not be too sanguine--" + +"Do you mean that you _want_ me to have something queer?" he blurted +out, while the thermometer wiggled with every word he uttered. + +"N-no, of course, I don't _want_ you to be ill," she said hastily. +"Only, if you _are_ ill it will be a wonderful thing for me. I +mean--a--that I am intensely interested in certain symptoms which--" + +She gently withdrew the glass tube from his lips and examined it +carefully. + +"_Is_ there anything the matter?" he insisted, looking at the instrument +over her shoulder. + +She did not reply; pure excitement rendered her speechless. + +"I seem to _feel_ all right," he added uneasily. "If you really believe +that there's anything wrong with me, I'll stop in to see my doctor." + +"Your doctor!" she repeated, appalled. + +"Yes, certainly. Why not?" + +"Don't do that! Please don't do that! I--why _I_ discovered this case. I +beg you most earnestly to let me observe it. You don't understand the +importance of it! You don't begin to dream of the rarity of this case! +How much it means to me!" + +He flushed up. "Do you intend to intimate that I am afflicted with some +sort of rare and s-s-trange d-d-disease?" he stammered. + +"I dare not pronounce upon it too confidently," she said with +enthusiasm; "I have not yet absolutely determined the nature of the +disease. But, oh, I am beginning to hope--" + +"Then I _am_ diseased!" he faltered. "I've got _something_ anyhow; is +that it? Only you are not yet perfectly sure what it is called! Is that +the truth, Miss Hollis?" + +"How can I answer positively until I have had time to observe these +symptoms? It requires time to be certain. I do not wish to alarm you, +but it is my duty to say to you that you should immediately place +yourself under medical observation." + +"You think that?" + +"I do; I am convinced of it. Please understand me; I do not pronounce +upon these visible symptoms; I do not express an unqualified opinion; +but I could be in a position to do so if you consent to place yourself +under my observations and care. For these suspicious symptoms are not +only very plainly apparent to me, but were even noted by that old +gentleman whom you may perhaps have observed conversing with me." + +"Yes, I saw him. Who is he?" + +"Dr. Austin Atwood," said the girl solemnly. + +"Oh! And you say he also observed something queer about me? What did he +see? Are there spots on me? Am I turning any remarkable color? Am I--" +And in the very midst of his genuine alarm he suddenly remembered the +make-up box and what the Tracer of Lost Persons had done to his eyes. +Was _that_ it? Where was the Tracer, anyway? He had promised to appear. +And then Carden recollected the gray wig and whiskers that the Tracer +had waved at him from the cupboard, bidding him note them well. _Could_ +that beaming, benignant, tottering old gentleman have been the Tracer of +Lost Persons himself? And the same instant Carden was sure of it, spite +of the miraculous change in the man. + +Then logic came to his aid; and, deducing with care and patience, an +earnest conviction grew within him that the dark circles under his eyes +and the tottering old gentleman resembling Dr. Austin Atwood had a great +deal to do with this dreadful disease which Dr. Hollis desired to study. + +He looked at the charming girl beside him, and she looked back at him +very sweetly, very earnestly, awaiting his decision. + +For a moment he realized that she had really scared him, and in the +reaction of relief an overwhelming desire to laugh seized him. He +managed to suppress it, to compose himself. Then he remembered the +Tracer's admonition to acquiesce in everything, do what he was told to +do, not to run away, and to pay his court at the first decent +opportunity. + +He had no longer any desire to escape; he was quite willing to do +anything she desired. + +"Do you really want to study me, Dr. Hollis?" he asked, feeling like a +hypocrite. + +"Indeed I do," she replied fervently. + +"You believe me worth studying?" + +"Oh, truly, truly, you are! You don't suspect--you cannot conceive how +important you have suddenly become to me." + +"Then I think you had better take my case, Dr. Hollis," he said +seriously. "I begin now to realize that you believe me to be a sort of +freak--an afflicted curiosity, and that, in the interest of medicine, I +ought to go to an asylum or submit myself to the ceaseless observation +of a competent private physician." + +"I--I think it best for you to place yourself in my care," she said. +"Will you?" + +"Yes," he said, "I will. I'll do anything in the world you ask." + +"That is very--very generous, very noble of you!" she exclaimed, +flushing with excitement and delight. "It means a great deal to me--it +means, perhaps, a fame that I scarcely dared dream of even in my most +enthusiastic years. I am too grateful to express my gratitude +coherently; I am trying to say to you that I thank you; that I recognize +in you those broad, liberal, generous qualities which, from your +appearance and bearing, I--I thought perhaps you must possess." + +She colored again very prettily; he bowed, and ventured to remind her +that she had not yet given him the privilege of naming himself. + +"That is true!" she said, surprised. "I had quite forgotten it." But +when he named himself she raised her head, startled. + +"Victor Carden!" she repeated. "You are the _artist_, Victor Carden!" + +"Yes," he said, watching her dilated eyes like two violet-tinted jewels. + +For a minute she sat looking at him; and imperceptibly a change came +into her face, and its bewildering beauty softened as the vivid tints +died out, leaving her cheeks almost pale. + +"It is--a pity," she said under her breath. All the excitement, all the +latent triumph, all the scarcely veiled eager enthusiasm had gone from +her now. + +"A pity?" he repeated, smiling. + +"Yes. I wish it had been only an ordinary man. I--why should this happen +to you? You have done so much for us all--made us forget ourselves in +the beauty of what you offer us. Why should this happen to _you_!" + +"But you have not told me yet what has happened to me, Miss Hollis." + +She looked up, almost frightened. + +"_Are_ you our Victor Carden? I do not wish to believe it! You have done +so much for the world--you have taught us to understand and desire all +that is noble and upright and clean and beautiful!--to desire it, to +aspire toward it, to venture to live the good, true, wholesome lives +that your penciled creations must lead--_must_ lead to wear such +beautiful bodies and such divine eyes!" + +"Do _you_ care for my work?" he asked, astonished and moved. + +"I? Yes, of course I do. Who does not?" + +"Many," he replied simply. + +"I am sorry for them," she said. + +They sat silent for a long while. + +At first his overwhelming desire was to tell her of the deception +practiced upon her; but he could not do that, because in exposing +himself he must fail in loyalty to the Tracer of Lost Persons. Besides, +she would not believe him. She would think him mad if he told her that +the old gentleman she had taken for Dr. Atwood was probably Mr. Keen, +the Tracer of Lost Persons. Also, he himself was not absolutely certain +about it. He had merely deduced as much. + +"Tell me," he said very gently, "what is the malady from which you +believe I am suffering?" + +For a moment she remained silent, then, face averted, laid her finger on +the book beside her. + +"That," she said unsteadily. + +He read aloud: "Lamour's Disease. A Treatise in sixteen volumes by Ero +S. Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H." + +"All that?" he asked guiltily. + +"I don't know, Mr. Carden. Are you laughing at me? Do you not believe +me?" She had turned suddenly to confront him, surprising a humorous +glimmer in his eyes. + +"I really do not believe I am seriously ill," he said, laughing in spite +of her grave eyes. + +"Then perhaps you had better read a little about what Lamour describes +as the symptoms of this malady," she said sadly. + +"Is it fatal?" he inquired. + +"Ultimately. That is why I desire to spend my life in studying means to +combat it. That is why I desire you so earnestly to place yourself under +my observation and let me try." + +"Tell me one thing," he said; "is it contagious? Is it infectious? No? +Then I don't mind your studying me all you wish, Dr. Hollis. You may +take my temperature every ten minutes if you care to. You may observe my +pulse every five minutes if you desire. Only please tell me how this is +to be accomplished; because, you see, I live in the Sherwood Studio +Building, and you live on Madison Avenue." + +"I--I have a ward--a room--fitted up with every modern surgical +device--every improvement," she said. "It adjoins my office. _Would_ you +mind living there for a while--say for a week at first--until I can be +perfectly certain in my diagnosis?" + +"Do you intend to put me to bed?" he asked, appalled. + +"Oh, no! Only I wish to watch you carefully and note your symptoms from +moment to moment. I also desire to try the effects of certain medicines +on you--" + +"What kind of medicines?" he asked uneasily. + +"I cannot tell yet. Perhaps antitoxin; I don't know; perhaps formalin +later. Truly, Mr. Carden, this case has taken on a graver, a more +intimate significance since I have learned who you are. I would have +worked hard to save any life; I shall put my very heart and soul into my +work to save you, who have done so much for us all." + +The trace of innocent emotion in her voice moved him. + +"I am really not ill," he said unsteadily. "I cannot let you think I +am--" + +"Don't speak that way, Mr. Carden. I--I am perfectly miserable over it; +I don't feel any happiness in my discovery now--not the least bit. I had +rather live my entire life without seeing one case of Lamour's Disease +than to believe you are afflicted with it." + +"But I'm not, Miss Hollis!--really, I am not--" + +She looked at him compassionately for a moment, then rose. + +"It is best that you should be informed as to your probable condition," +she said. "In Lamour's works, volume nine, you had better read exactly +what Lamour says. Do you mind coming to the office with me, Mr. Carden?" + +"Now?" + +"Yes. The book is there. Do you mind coming?" + +"No--no, of course not." And, as they turned away together under the +trees: "You don't intend to begin observing me this afternoon, do you?" +he ventured. + +"I think it best if you can arrange your affairs. Can you, Mr. Carden?" + +"Why, yes, I suppose I can. Did you mean for me to begin to occupy that +surgical bedroom at once?" + +"Do you mind?" + +"N-no. I'll telephone my servants to pack a steamer trunk and send it +around to your apartment this evening. And--where am I to board?" + +"I have a dining room," she said simply. "My apartment consists of the +usual number of servants and rooms, including my office, and my +observation ward which you will occupy." + +He walked on, troubled. + +"I only w-want to ask one or two things, Dr. Hollis. Am I to be placed +on a diet? I hate diets!" + +"Not at once." + +"May I smoke?" + +"Certainly," she said, smiling. + +"And you won't p-put me--send me to bed too early?" + +"Oh, no! The later you sit up the better, because I shall wish to take +your temperature every ten minutes and I shall feel very sorry to arouse +you." + +"You mean you are coming in to wake me up every ten minutes and put that +tube in my mouth?" he asked, aghast. + +"Only every half-hour, Mr. Carden. Can't you stand it for a week?" + +"Well," he said, "I--I suppose I can if _you_ can. Only, upon my honor, +there is really nothing the matter with me, and I'll prove it to you out +of your own book." + +"I wish you could, Mr. Carden. I should be only too happy to give you +back to the world with a clear bill of health if you can convince me I +am wrong. Do you not believe me? Indeed, indeed I am not selfish and +wicked enough to wish you this illness, no matter how rare it is!" + +"The rarer a disease is the madder it makes people who contract it," he +said. "I should be the maddest man in Manhattan if I really did have +Lamour's malady. But I haven't. There is only one malady afflicting me, +and I am waiting for a suitable opportunity to tell you all about it, +but--" + +"Tell me now," she said, raising her eyes to his. + +"Not now." + +"To-night?" + +"I hope so. I will if I can, Miss Hollis." + +"But you must not fear to tell a physician about anything which troubles +you, Mr. Carden." + +"I'll remember that," he said thoughtfully, as they emerged from the +Park and crossed to Madison Avenue. + +A moment later he hailed a car and they both entered. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +No, there could be no longer any doubt in her mind as she went into her +bedroom, closed the door, and, unhooking the telephone receiver, called +up the great specialist in rare diseases, Dr. Austin Atwood, M.S., +F.B.A., M.F.H. + +"Dr. Atwood," she said with scarcely concealed emotion, "this is Dr. +Rosalind Hollis." + +"How-de-do?" squeaked the aged specialist amiably. + +"Oh, I am well enough, thank you, doctor--except in spirits. Dr. Atwood, +you were right! He _has_ got it, and I am perfectly wretched!" + +"_Who_ has got _what_?" retorted the voice of Atwood. + +"The unfortunate young gentleman we saw to-day in the Park." + +"What park?" + +"Why, Central Park, doctor." + +"Central Park! _I_ haven't been in Central Park for ten years, my +child." + +"Why, Dr. Atwood!--A--_is_ this Dr. Austin Atwood with whom I am +talking?" + +"Not the least doubt! And you are that pretty Dr. Hollis--Rosalind +Hollis, who consulted me in those charity cases, are you not?" + +"I certainly am. And I wanted to say to you that I have the unfortunate +patient now under closest observation here in my own apartment. I have +given him the room next to the office. And, doctor, you were perfectly +right. He shows every symptom of the disease--he is even inclined to +sentimentalism; he begins to blush and fidget and look at me--a--in that +unmistakable manner--not that he isn't well-bred and charming--indeed he +is most attractive, and it grieves me dreadfully to see that he already +is beginning to believe himself in love with the first person of the +opposite sex he encounters--I mean that he--that I cannot mistake his +attitude toward me--which is perfectly correct, only one cannot avoid +seeing the curious infatuation--" + +"_What_ the dickens is all this?" roared the great specialist, and Dr. +Hollis jumped. + +"I was only confirming your diagnosis, doctor," she explained meekly. + +"What diagnosis?" + +"Yours, doctor. I have confirmed it, I fear. And the certainty has made +me perfectly miserable, because his is such a valuable life to the +world, and he himself is such a splendid, wholesome, noble specimen of +youth and courage, that I cannot bear to believe him incurably +afflicted." + +"Good Heavens!" shouted the doctor, "_what_ has he got and _who_ is he?" + +"He is Victor Carden, the celebrated artist, and he has Lamour's +Disease!" she gasped. + +There was a dead silence; then: "Keep him there until I come! Chloroform +him if he attempts to escape!" + +And the great specialist rang off excitedly. + +So Rosalind Hollis went back to the lamp-lit office where, in a +luxurious armchair, Carden was sitting, contentedly poring over the +ninth volume of Lamour's great treatise and smoking his second cigar. + +"Dr. Atwood is coming here," she said in a discouraged voice, as he rose +with alacrity to place her chair. + +"Oh! What for?" + +"T-to see you, Mr. Carden." + +"Who? Me? Great Scott! I don't want to be slapped and pinched and polled +by a man! I didn't expect that, you know. I'm willing enough to have you +observe me in the interest of humanity--" + +"But, Mr. Carden, he is only called in for consultation. I--I have a +dreadful sort of desperate hope that perhaps I may have made a mistake; +that possibly I am in error." + +"No doubt you are," he said cheerfully. "Let me read a few more pages, +Dr. Hollis, and then I think I shall be all ready to dispute my +symptoms, one by one, and convince you what really is the trouble with +me. And, by the way, did Dr. Atwood seem a trifle astonished when you +told him about me?" + +"A trifle--yes," she said uncertainly. "He is a very, very old man; he +forgets. But he is coming." + +"Oh! And didn't he appear to recollect seeing me in the Park?" + +"N-not clearly. He is very old, you know. But he is coming here." + +"_Ex_actly--as a friend of mine puts it," smiled Carden. "May I be +permitted to use your telephone a moment?" + +"By all means, Mr. Carden. You will find it there in my bedroom." + +So he entered her pretty bedroom and, closing the door tightly, called +up the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Is that you, Mr. Keen? This is Mr. Carden. I'm head over heels in love. +I simply must win her, and I'm going to try. If I don't--if she will +not listen to me--I'll certainly go to smash. And what I want you to do +is to prevent Atwood from butting in. Do you understand? . . . Yes, Dr. +Austin Atwood. Keep him away somehow. . . . Yes, I'm here, at Dr. +Hollis's apartments, under anxious observation. . . . She is the _only_ +woman in the world! I'm mad about her--and getting madder every moment! +She is the most perfectly splendid specimen of womanhood--_what_? Oh, +yes; I rang you up to ask you whether it was _you_ in the Park +to-day?--that old gentleman--_What!_ Yes, in Central Park. Yes, this +afternoon! No, he didn't resemble you; and Dr. Hollis took him for Dr. +Atwood. . . . What are you laughing about? . . . I can _hear_ you +laughing. . . . _Was_ it you? . . . What do I think? Why, I don't know +exactly what to think, but I suppose it must have been you. Was it? +. . . Oh, I see. You don't wish me to know. Certainly, you are quite +right. Your clients have no business behind the scenes. I only asked out +of curiosity. . . . All right. Good-by." + +He came back to the lamp-lit office, which was more of a big, handsome, +comfortable living room than a physician's quarters, and for a moment or +two he stood on the threshold, looking around. + +In the pleasant, subdued light of the lamp Rosalind Hollis looked up +and around, smiling involuntarily to see him standing there; then, +serious, silent, she dropped her eyes to the pages of the volume he had +discarded--volume nine of Lamour's great works. + +Even with the evidence before her, corroborated in these inexorably +scientific pages which she sat so sadly turning, she found it almost +impossible to believe that this big, broad-shouldered, attractive young +man could be fatally stricken. + +Twice her violet eyes stole toward him; twice the thick lashes veiled +them, and the printed pages on her knee sprang into view, and the cold +precision of the type confirmed her fears remorselessly: + +"The trained scrutiny of the observer will detect in the victim of this +disease a peculiar and indefinable charm--a strange symmetry which, on +closer examination, reveals traces of physical beauty almost +superhuman--" + +Again her eyes were lifted to Carden; again she dropped her white lids. +Her worst fears were confirmed. + +Meanwhile he stood on the threshold looking at her, his pulses racing, +his very soul staring through his eyes; and, within him, every sense +clamoring out revolt at the deception, demanding confession and its +penalty. + +"I can't stand this!" he blurted out; and she looked up quickly, her +face blanched with foreboding. + +"Are you in pain?" she asked. + +"No--not that sort of pain! I--_won't_ you please believe that I am not +ill? I'm imposing on you. I'm an impostor! There's nothing whatever the +trouble with me except--something that I want to tell you--if you'll let +me--" + +"Why should you hesitate to confide in a physician, Mr. Carden?" + +He came forward slowly. She laid her small hand on the empty chair which +faced hers and he sank into it, clasping his restless hands under his +chin. + +"You are feeling depressed," she said gently. Depression was a +significant symptom. Three chapters were devoted to it. + +"I'm depressed, of course. I'm horribly depressed and ashamed of myself, +because there is nothing on earth the matter with me, and I've let you +think there is." + +She smiled mournfully; this was another symptom of a morbid state. She +turned, unconsciously, to page 379 to verify her observation. + +"See here, Miss Hollis," he broke out, "haven't I any chance to +convince you that I am not ill? I want to be honest without involving +a--a friend of mine. I can't endure this deception. Won't you let me +prove to you that these symptoms are--are only significant of something +else?" + +She looked straight at him, considering him in silence. + +"Let us begin with those dark circles under my eyes," he said +desperately. "I found some cold-cream in my room and--look! They are +practically gone! At any rate, if there is a sort of shadow left it's +because I use my eyes in my profession." + +"Dr. Lamour says that the dark circles disappear, anyway," said the +girl, unconvinced. "Cold-cream had nothing to do with it." + +"But it _did_! Really it did. And as for the other symptoms, I--well, I +can't help my pulses when y-you t-t-touch me." + +"Please, Mr. Carden." + +"I don't mean to be impertinent. I am trying my hardest to tell the +truth. And my pulses _do_ gallop when you test them; they're galloping +now! This very moment!" + +"Let me try them," she said coolly, laying her hand on his wrist. + +"Didn't I say so!" he insisted grimly. "And I'm turning red, too. But +those symptoms mean something else; they mean _you_!" + +"Mr. Carden!" + +"I can't help saying so--" + +"I know it," she said soothingly; "these sentimental outbursts are part +of the disease--" + +"Good Heavens! _Won't_ you try to believe me! There's nothing in the +world the matter with me except that I am--am--p-p-perfectly +f-f-fascinated--" + +"You must struggle against it, Mr. Carden. That is only part of the--" + +"It isn't! It isn't! It's you! It's your mere presence, your +personality, your charm, your beauty, your loveliness, your--" + +"Mr. Carden, I beg of you! I--it is part of my duty to observe symptoms, +but--but you are making it very hard for me--very difficult--" + +"I am only proving to you that it isn't Lamour's Disease which does +stunts with my pulses, my temperature, my color. I'm not morbid except +when I realize my deception. I'm not depressed except when I think how +far you are from me--how far above me--how far out of reach of such a +man as I am--how desperately I--I--" + +"D-don't you think I had better administer a s-s-sedative, Mr. Carden?" +she said, distressed. + +"I don't care. I'll take anything you give me--as long as _you_ give it +to me. I'll swallow pint after pint of pills! I'll fletcherize 'em! I'll +luxuriate in poison--anything--" + +She was hastily running through the pages of the ninth volume to see +whether the symptoms of sentimental excitement ever turned into frenzy. + +"What can you learn from that book?" he insisted, leaning forward to see +what she was reading. "Anyway, Dr. Lamour married his patient so early +in the game that all the symptoms disappeared. And I believe the trouble +with his patient was my trouble. She had every symptom of it until he +married her! She was in love with him, that is absolutely all!" + +Rosalind Hollis raised her beautiful, incredulous eyes. + +"What do you mean, Mr. Carden?" + +"I mean that, in my opinion, there's no such disease as Lamour's +Disease. That young girl was in love with him. Then he married her at +last, and--presto!--all the symptoms vanished--the pulse, the +temperature, the fidgets, the blushes, the moods, the whole business!" + +"W-what about the strangely curious manifestations of physical +beauty--superhuman symmetry, Mr. Carden?" + +"Do you notice them in _me_?" he gasped. + +"A--yes--in a m-modified measure--" + +"In _me_?" + +"Certainly!" she said firmly; but the slow glow suffusing her cheeks was +disconcerting her. Then his own face began to reflect the splendid color +in hers; their eyes met, dismayed. + +"There are sixteen volumes about this disease," she said. "There _must_ +be such a disease!" + +"There is," he said. "I have it badly. But I never had it before I first +saw you in the Park!" + +"Mr. Carden--this is the wildest absurdity--" + +"I know it. Wildness is a symptom. I'm mad as a hatter. I've got every +separate symptom, and I wish it was infectious and contagious and +catching and fatal!" + +She made an effort to turn the pages to the chapter entitled "Manias and +Illusions," but he laid his hand across the book and his clear eyes +defied her. + +"Mr. Carden--" + +Her smooth hand trembled under his, then, suddenly nerveless, relaxed. +With an effort she lifted her head; their eyes met, spellbound. + +"_You_ have _every_ symptom," he said unsteadily--"every one! What have +you to say?" + +Her fascinated eyes held his. + +"What have you to say?" he repeated under his breath--"you, with every +symptom, and your heavenly radiant beauty to confirm them--that splendid +youthful loveliness which blinds and stuns me as I look--as I speak--as +I tell you that I love you. That is my malady; that is the beginning and +the end of it; love!" + +She sat speechless, immovable, as one under enchantment. + +"All my life," he said, "I have spent in painting shadows. But the +shadows were those dim celestial shapes cast by your presence in the +world. You tell me that the world is better for my work; that I have +offered my people beauty and a sort of truth, which they had never +dreamed of until I revealed it? Yet what inspired me was the shadow +only, for I had never seen the substance; I had never believed I should +ever see the living source of the shadows which inspired me. And now I +see; now I have seen with my own eyes. Now the confession of faith is no +longer a blind creed, born of instinct. You live! You are you! What I +believed from necessity I find proved in fact. The occult no longer can +sway one who has seen. And you, who, without your knowledge or mine, +have always been the one and only source of any good in me or in my +work--why is it strange that I loved you at first sight?--that I +worshiped you at first breath?--I, who, like him who raises his altar to +'the unknown god,' raised my altar to truth and beauty? And a miracle +has answered me." + +She rose, the beautiful dazed eyes meeting his, both hands clasping the +ninth volume of Lamour's great monograph to her breast as though to +protect it from him--from him who was threatening her, enthralling her, +thrilling her with his magic voice, his enchanted youth, the masterful +mystery of his eyes. What was he saying to her? What was this mounting +intoxication sweeping her senses--this delicious menace threatening her +very will? What did he want with her? What was he asking? What was he +doing now--with both her hands in his, and her gaze deeply lost in +his--and the ninth volume of Lamour on the floor between them, sprawling +there, abandoned, waving its helpless, discredited leaves in +air--discredited, abandoned, obsolete as her own specialty--her life's +work! He had taken that, too--taken her life's work from her. And in +return she was holding nothing!--nothing except a young man's +hands--strong, muscular hands which, after all, were holding her own +imprisoned. So she had nothing in exchange for the ninth volume of +Lamour; and her life's work had been annihilated by a smile; and she was +very much alone in the world--very isolated and very youthful. + +After a while she emerged from the chaos of attempted reflection and +listened to what he was saying. He spoke very quietly, very distinctly, +not sparing himself, laying bare every deception without involving +anybody except himself. + +He told her the entire history of his case, excluding Mr. Keen in +person; he told her about his aunt, about his birthday, about his +determination to let the legacy go. Then in a very manly way he told her +that he had never before loved a woman; and fell silent, her hands a +dead weight in his. + +She was surprised that she could experience no resentment. A curious +inertia crept over her. She was tired of expectancy, tired of effort, +weary of the burden of decision. Life and its problems overweighted her. +Her eyes wandered to his broad young shoulders, then were raised to his +face. + +"What shall we do?" she asked innocently. + +Unresisting, she suffered him to explain. His explanation was not +elaborate; he only touched his lips to her hands and straightened up, a +trifle pale. + +After a moment they walked together to the door and he took his hat and +gloves from the rack. + +"Will you come to-morrow morning?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"Come early. I am quite certain of how matters are with me. Everything +has gone out of my life--everything I once cared for--all the familiar +things. So come early, for I am quite alone without you." + +"And I without you, Rosalind." + +"That is only right," she said simply. "I shall cast no more shadows for +you. . . . Are you going? . . . Oh, I know it is best that you should +go, but--" + +He halted. She laid both hands in his. + +"We both have it," she faltered--"every symptom. And--you will come +early, won't you?" + + + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Tracer of Lost Persons, by Robert W. 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W. Chambers. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 4%; + margin-right: 4%; + } + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + .caption {margin-left: 35%; margin-right: 35%; text-align: center; font-size: smaller;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Tracer of Lost Persons, by Robert W. Chambers + +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: The Tracer of Lost Persons + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + +Release Date: August 15, 2004 [EBook #13180] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<center> +<img src='images/image-1.jpg' height='75%' alt=""'Then in charity say that word!'"" title=''> +</center> +<div class='caption'><p>"'Then in charity say that word!'"</p></div> +<br /> + +<h1>THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS</h1> + +<h2>BY R. W. CHAMBERS</h2> +<br /> + +<h3>TO MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM A. HALL</h3> + +<h3>1906</h3> +<br /> + +<div class='blkquot'><p><i>For the harmony of the world, like that +of a harp, is made up of discords.</i></p> + +<p> —HERACLITUS.</p></div> + +<br /> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> + +<br /> + +<a name='THE_TRACER_OF_LOST_PERSONS'></a><h2>THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS</h2> + +<h4> <a href='#CHAPTER_I'>CHAPTER I</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_II'>CHAPTER II</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_III'>CHAPTER III</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_IV'>CHAPTER IV</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_V'>CHAPTER V</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_VI'>CHAPTER VI</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_VII'>CHAPTER VII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_VIII'>CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_IX'>CHAPTER IX</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_X'>CHAPTER X</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XI'>CHAPTER XI</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XII'>CHAPTER XII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XIII'>CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XIV'>CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XV'>CHAPTER XV</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XVI'>CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XVII'>CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XVIII'>CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XIX'>CHAPTER XIX</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XX'>CHAPTER XX</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XXI'>CHAPTER XXI</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XXII'>CHAPTER XXII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XXIII'>CHAPTER XXIII</a><br /> + <a href='#CHAPTER_XXIV'>CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4> +<br /> + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_I'></a><h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>He was thirty-three, agreeable to look at, equipped with as much culture +and intelligence as is tolerated east of Fifth Avenue and west of +Madison. He had a couple of elaborate rooms at the Lenox Club, a larger +income than seemed to be good for him, and no profession. It follows +that he was a pessimist before breakfast. Besides, it's a bad thing for +a man at thirty-three to come to the conclusion that he has seen all the +most attractive girls in the world and that they have been vastly +overrated. So, when a club servant with gilt buttons on his coat tails +knocked at the door, the invitation to enter was not very cordial. He of +the buttons knocked again to take the edge off before he entered; then +opened the door and unburdened himself as follows:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gatewood, sir, Mr. Kerns's compliments, and wishes to know if 'e +may 'ave 'is coffee served at your tyble, sir."</p> + +<p>Gatewood, before the mirror, gave a vicious twist to his tie, inserted a +pearl scarf pin, and regarded the effect with gloomy approval.</p> + +<p>"Say to Mr. Kerns that I am—flattered," he replied morosely; "and tell +Henry I want him."</p> + +<p>"'Enry, sir? Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>The servant left; one of the sleek club valets came in, softly sidling.</p> + +<p>"Henry!"</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"I'll wear a white waistcoat, if you don't object."</p> + +<p>The valet laid out half a dozen.</p> + +<p>"Which one do you usually wear when I'm away, Henry? Which is <i>your</i> +favorite?"</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Pick it out and don't look injured, and <i>don't</i> roll up your eyes. I +merely desire to borrow it for one day."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir."</p> + +<p>"And, Henry, hereafter always help yourself to my <i>best</i> cigars. Those I +smoke may injure you. I've attempted to conceal the keys, but you will, +of course, eventually discover them under that loose tile on the +hearth."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; thanky', sir," returned the valet gravely.</p> + +<p>"And—Henry!"</p> + +<p>"Sir?" with martyred dignity.</p> + +<p>"When you are tired of searching for my olivine and opal pin, just find +it, for a change. I'd like to wear that pin for a day or two if it would +not inconvenience you."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir; I will 'unt it hup, sir."</p> + +<p>Gatewood put on his coat, took hat and gloves from the unabashed valet, +and sauntered down to the sunny breakfast room, where he found Kerns +inspecting a morning paper and leisurely consuming grapefruit with a +cocktail on the side.</p> + +<p>"Hullo," observed Kerns briefly.</p> + +<p>"I'm not on the telephone," snapped Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon; how are you, dear friend?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't know how I am," retorted Gatewood irritably; "how the devil +should a man know how he is?"</p> + +<p>"Everything going to the bowwows, <i>as</i> usual, dear friend?"</p> + +<p>"<i>As</i> usual. Oh, read your paper, Tommy! You know well enough I'm not +one of those tail-wagging imbeciles who wakes up in the morning singing +like a half-witted lark. Why should I, with this taste in my mouth, and +the laundress using vitriol, and Henry sneering at my cigars?" He yawned +and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. "Besides, there's too much gilt +all over this club! There's too much everywhere. Half the world is +stucco, the rest rococo. Where's that Martini I bid for?"</p> + +<p>Kerns, undisturbed, applied himself to cocoa and toasted muffins. +Grapefruit and an amber-tinted accessory were brought for the other and +sampled without mirth. However, a little later Gatewood said: "Well, are +you going to read your paper all day?"</p> + +<p>"What you need," said Kerns, laying the paper aside, "is a job—any old +kind would do, dear friend."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to make any more money."</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to. I mean a job where you'd lose a lot and be scared +into thanking Heaven for carfare. <i>You're</i> a nice object for the +breakfast table!"</p> + +<p>"Bridge. I will be amiable enough by noon time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you're endurable by noon time, as a rule. When you're forty you +may be tolerated after five o'clock; when you're fifty your wife and +children might even venture to emerge from the cellar after dinner—"</p> + +<p>"Wife!"</p> + +<p>"I said wife," replied Kerns, as he calmly watched his man.</p> + +<p>He had managed it well, so far, and he was wise enough not to overdo it. +An interval of silence was what the situation required.</p> + +<p>"I wish I <i>had</i> a wife," muttered Gatewood after a long pause.</p> + +<p>"Oh, haven't you said that every day for five years? Wife! Look at the +willing assortment of dreams playing Sally Waters around town. Isn't +this borough a bower of beauty—a flowery thicket where the prettiest +kind in all the world grow under glass or outdoors? And what do you do? +You used to pretend to prowl about inspecting the yearly crop of posies, +growling, cynical, dissatisfied; but you've even given that up. Now you +only point your nose skyward and squall for a mate, and yowl mournfully +that you never have seen your ideal. <i>I</i> know <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"I never have seen my ideal," retorted Gatewood sulkily, "but I know she +exists—somewhere between heaven and Hoboken."</p> + +<p>"You're sure, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>I'm</i> sure. And, rich or poor, good or bad, she was fashioned for +me alone. That's a theory of mine; <i>you</i> needn't accept it; in fact, +it's none of your business, Tommy."</p> + +<p>"All the same," insisted Kerns, "did you ever consider that if your +ideal does exist somewhere, it is morally up to you to find her?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't I inspected every débutante for ten years? You don't expect me +to advertise for an ideal, do you—object, matrimony?"</p> + +<p>Kerns regarded him intently. "Now, I'm going to make a vivid suggestion, +Jack. In fact, that's why I subjected myself to the ordeal of +breakfasting with you. It's none of my business, as you so kindly put +it, but—<i>shall</i> I suggest something?"</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," replied Gatewood, tranquilly lighting a cigarette. "I know +what you'll say."</p> + +<p>"No, you don't. Firstly, you are having such a good time in this world +that you don't really enjoy yourself—isn't that so?"</p> + +<p>"I—well I—well, let it go at that."</p> + +<p>"Secondly, with all your crimes and felonies, you have one decent trait +left: you really would like to fall in love. And I suspect you'd even +marry."</p> + +<p>"There are grounds," said Gatewood guardedly, "for your suspicions. <i>Et +après?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Good. Then there's a way! I know—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't tell me you 'know a girl,' or anything like that!" began +Gatewood sullenly. "I've heard that before, and I won't meet her."</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to; I don't know anybody. All I desire to say is this: +I do know a way. The other day I noticed a sign on Fifth Avenue:</p> + +<center>KEEN & CO.<br /> +TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS</center> + +<p>It was a most extraordinary sign; and having a little unemployed +imagination I began to speculate on how Keen & Co. might operate, and I +wondered a little, too, that, the conditions of life in this city could +enable a firm to make a living by devoting itself exclusively to the +business of hunting up missing people."</p> + +<p>Kerns paused, partly to light a cigarette, partly for diplomatic +reasons.</p> + +<p>"What has all this to do with me?" inquired Gatewood curiously; and +diplomacy scored one.</p> + +<p>"Why not try Keen & Co.?"</p> + +<p>"Try them? Why? I haven't lost anybody, have I?"</p> + +<p>"You haven't, precisely <i>lost anybody</i>, but the fact remains that you +can't <i>find somebody</i>," returned Kerns coolly. "Why not employ Keen & +Co. to look for her?"</p> + +<p>"Look for whom, in Heaven's name?"</p> + +<p>"Your ideal."</p> + +<p>"Look for—for my ideal! Kerns, you're crazy. How the mischief can +anybody hunt for somebody who doesn't exist?"</p> + +<p>"You <i>say</i> that she <i>does</i> exist."</p> + +<p>"But I can't prove it, man."</p> + +<p>"You don't have to; it's up to Keen & Co. to prove it. That's why you +employ them."</p> + +<p>"What wild nonsense you talk! Keen & Co. might, perhaps, be able to +trace the concrete, but how are they going to trace and find the +abstract?"</p> + +<p>"She isn't abstract; she is a lovely, healthy, and youthful concrete +object—if, as you say, she <i>does</i> exist."</p> + +<p>"How can I <i>prove</i> she exists?"</p> + +<p>"You don't have to; they do that."</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Gatewood almost angrily, "do you suppose that if I +were ass enough to go to these people and tell them that I wanted to +find my ideal—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't</i> tell them <i>that</i>!"</p> + +<p>"But how—"</p> + +<p>"There is no necessity for going into such trivial details. All you +need say is: 'I am very anxious to find a young lady'—and then describe +her as minutely as you please. Then, when they locate a girl of that +description they'll notify you; you will go, judge for yourself whether +she is the one woman on earth—and, if disappointed, you need only shake +your head and murmur: 'Not <i>the</i> same!' And it's for them to find +another."</p> + +<p>"I won't do it!" said Gatewood hotly.</p> + +<p>"Why not? At least, it would be amusing. You haven't many mental +resources, and it might occupy you for a week or two."</p> + +<p>Gatewood glared.</p> + +<p>"You have a pleasant way of putting things this morning, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be pleasant: I want to jar you. Don't I care enough +about you to breakfast with you? Then I've a right to be pleasantly +unpleasant. I can't bear to watch your mental and spiritual +dissolution—a man like you, with all your latent ability and capacity +for being nobody in particular—which is the sort of man this nation +needs. Do you want to turn into a club-window gazer like Van Bronk? Do +you want to become another Courtlandt Allerton and go rocking down the +avenue—a grimacing, tailor-made sepulcher?—the pompous obsequies of a +dead intellect?—a funeral on two wavering legs, carrying the corpse of +all that should be deathless in a man? Why, Jack, I'd rather see you in +bankruptcy—I'd rather see you trying to lead a double life in a single +flat on seven dollars and a half a week—I'd almost rather see you every +day at breakfast than have it come to that!</p> + +<p>"Wake up and get jocund with life! Why, you could have all good citizens +stung to death if you chose. It isn't that I want you to make money; but +I want you to worry over somebody besides yourself—not in Wall +Street—a fool and its money are soon parted. But in your own home, +where a beautiful wife and seven angel children have you dippy and close +to the ropes; where the housekeeper gets a rake off, and the cook is +red-headed and comes from Sligo, and the butler's cousin will bear +watching, and the chauffeur is a Frenchman, and the coachman's uncle is +a Harlem vet, and every scullion in the establishment lies, drinks, +steals, and supports twenty satiated relatives at your expense. That +would mean the making of you; for, after all, Jack, you are no +genius—you're a plain, non-partisan, uninspired, clean-built, wholesome +citizen, thank God!—the sort whose unimaginative mission is to pitch in +with eighty-odd millions of us and, like the busy coral creatures, +multiply with all your might, and make this little old Republic the +greatest, biggest, finest article that an overworked world has ever yet +put up! . . . Now you can call for help if you choose."</p> + +<p>Gatewood's breath returned slowly. In an intimacy of many years he had +never suspected that sort of thing from Kerns. That is why, no doubt, +the opinions expressed by Kerns stirred him to an astonishment too +innocent to harbor anger or chagrin.</p> + +<p>And when Kerns stood up with an unembarrassed laugh, saying, "I'm going +to the office; see you this evening?" Gatewood replied rather vacantly: +"Oh, yes; I'm dining here. Good-by, Tommy."</p> + +<p>Kerns glanced at his watch, lingering. "Was there anything you wished to +ask me, Jack?" he inquired guilelessly.</p> + +<p>"Ask you? No, I don't think so."</p> + +<p>"Oh; I had an idea you might care to know where Keen & Co. were to be +found."</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i>," said Gatewood firmly, "is foolish."</p> + +<p>"I'll write the address for you, anyway," rejoined Kerns, scribbling it +and handing the card to his friend.</p> + +<p>Then he went down the stairs, several at a time, eased in conscience, +satisfied that he had done his duty by a friend he cared enough for to +breakfast with.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he ruminated as he crawled into a hansom and lay back +buried in meditation—"of course there may be nothing in this Keen & Co. +business. But it will stir him up and set him thinking; and the longer +Keen & Co. take to hunt up an imaginary lady that doesn't exist, the +more anxious and impatient poor old Jack Gatewood will become, until +he'll catch the fever and go cantering about with that one fixed idea in +his head. And," added Kerns softly, "no New Yorker in his right mind can +go galloping through these five boroughs very long before he's roped, +tied, and marked by the 'only girl in the world'—the <i>only</i> girl—if +you don't care to turn around and look at another million girls +precisely like her. O Lord!—precisely like her!"</p> + +<p>Here was a nice exhorter to incite others to matrimony.</p> + +<br /> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_II'></a><h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Meanwhile, Gatewood was walking along Fifth Avenue, more or less soothed +by the May sunshine. First, he went to his hatters, looked at straw +hats, didn't like them, protested, and bought one, wishing he had +strength of mind enough to wear it home. But he hadn't. Then he entered +the huge white marble palace of his jeweler, left his watch to be +regulated, caught a glimpse of a girl whose hair and neck resembled the +hair and neck of his ideal, sidled around until he discovered that she +was chewing gum, and backed off, with a bitter smile, into the avenue +once more.</p> + +<p>Every day for years he had had glimpses of girls whose hair, hands, +figures, eyes, hats, carriage, resembled the features required by his +ideal; there always was something wrong somewhere. And, as he strolled +moodily, a curious feeling of despair seized him—something that, even +in his most sentimental moments, even amid the most unexpected +disappointment, he had never before experienced.</p> + +<p>"I do want to love <i>somebody</i>!" he found himself saying half aloud; "I +want to marry; I—" He turned to look after three pretty children with +their maids—"I want several like those—several!—seven—ten—I don't +care how many! I want a house to worry me, just as Tommy described it; I +want to see the same girl across the breakfast table—or she can sip her +cocoa in bed if she desires—" A slow, modest blush stole over his +features; it was one of the nicest things he ever did. Glancing up, he +beheld across the way a white sign, ornamented with strenuous crimson +lettering:</p> + +<center>KEEN & CO.<br /> +TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS</center> + +<p>The moment he discovered it, he realized he had been covertly hunting +for it; he also realized that he was going to climb the stairs. He +hadn't quite decided what he meant to do after that; nor was his mind +clear on the matter when he found himself opening a door of opaque glass +on which was printed in red:</p> + +<center>KEEN & CO.</center> + +<p>He was neither embarrassed nor nervous when he found himself in a big +carpeted anteroom where a negro attendant bowed him to a seat and took +his card; and he looked calmly around to see what was to be seen.</p> + +<p>Several people occupied easy chairs in various parts of the room—an old +woman very neatly dressed, clutching in her withered hand a photograph +which she studied and studied with tear-dimmed eyes; a young man wearing +last year's most fashionable styles in everything except his features: +and soap could have aided him there; two policemen, helmets resting on +their knees; and, last of all, a rather thin child of twelve, staring +open-mouthed at everybody, a bundle of soiled clothing under one arm. +Through an open door he saw a dozen young women garbed in black, with +white cuffs and collars, all rattling away steadily at typewriters. +Every now and then, from some hidden office, a bell rang decisively, and +one of the girls would rise from her machine and pass noiselessly out of +sight to obey the summons. From time to time, too, the darky servant +with marvelous manners would usher somebody through the room where the +typewriters were rattling, into the unseen office. First the old woman +went—shakily, clutching her photograph; then the thin child with the +bundle, staring at everything; then the two fat policemen, in portentous +single file, helmets in their white-gloved hands, oiled hair glistening.</p> + +<p>Gatewood's turn was approaching; he waited without any definite +emotion, watching newcomers enter to take the places of those who had +been summoned. He hadn't the slightest idea of what he was to say; nor +did it worry him. A curious sense of impending good fortune left him +pleasantly tranquil; he picked up, from the silver tray on the table at +his elbow, one of the firm's business cards, and scanned it with +interest:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>KEEN & CO. + +<p> TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS</p> + +<p> <i>Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Blanks on application.</i></p> + +<p> WESTREL KEEN, <i>Manager</i>.</p></div> + +<p>"Mistuh Keen will see you, suh," came a persuasive voice at his elbow; +and he rose and followed the softly moving colored servant out of the +room, through a labyrinth of demure young women at their typewriters, +then sharply to the right and into a big, handsomely furnished office, +where a sleepy-looking elderly gentleman rose from an armchair and +bowed. There could not be the slightest doubt that he <i>was</i> a +gentleman; every movement, every sound he uttered, settled the fact.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gatewood?"—with a quiet certainty which had its charm. "This is +very good of you."</p> + +<p>Gatewood sat down and looked at his host. Then he said: "I'm searching +for somebody, Mr. Keen, whom you are not likely to find."</p> + +<p>"I doubt it," said Keen pleasantly.</p> + +<p>Gatewood smiled. "If," he said, "you will undertake to find the person +<i>I</i> cannot find, I must ask you to accept a retainer."</p> + +<p>"We don't require retainers," replied Keen. "Unless we find the person +sought for, we make no charges, Mr. Gatewood."</p> + +<p>"I must ask you to do so in my case. It is not fair that you should +undertake it on other terms. I desire to make a special arrangement with +you. Do you mind?"</p> + +<p>"What arrangement had you contemplated?" inquired Keen, amused.</p> + +<p>"Only this: charge me in advance exactly what you would charge if +successful. And, on the other hand, do not ask me for detailed +information—I mean, do not insist on any information that I decline to +give. Do you mind taking up such an extraordinary and unbusinesslike +proposition, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons looked up sharply:</p> + +<p>"About how much information <i>do</i> you decline to give, Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"About enough to incriminate and degrade," replied the young man, +laughing.</p> + +<p>The elderly gentleman sat silent, apparently buried in meditation. Once +or twice his pleasant steel-gray eyes wandered over Gatewood as an +expert, a connoisseur, glances at a picture and assimilates its history, +its value, its artistic merit, its every detail in one practiced glance.</p> + +<p>"I think we may take up this matter for you, Mr. Gatewood," he said, +smiling his singularly agreeable smile.</p> + +<p>"But—but you would first desire to know something about me—would you +not?"</p> + +<p>Keen looked at him: "You will not mistake me—you will consider it +entirely inoffensive—if I say that I know something about you, Mr. +Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"About <i>me</i>? How can you? Of course, there is the social register and +the club lists and all that—"</p> + +<p>"And many, many sources of information which are necessary in such a +business as this, Mr. Gatewood. It is a necessity for us to be almost +as well informed as our clients' own lawyers. I could pay you no +sincerer compliment than to undertake your case. I am half inclined to +do so even <i>without</i> a retainer. Mind, I haven't yet said that I <i>will</i> +take it."</p> + +<p>"I prefer to regulate any possible indebtedness in advance," said +Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"As you wish," replied the older man, smiling. "In that case, suppose +you draw your check" (he handed Gatewood a fountain pen as the young man +fished a check-book from his pocket)—"your check for—well, say for +$5,000, to the order of Keen & Co."</p> + +<p>Gatewood met his eye without wincing; he was in for it now; and he was +always perfectly game. He had brought it upon himself; it was his own +proposition. Not that he would have for a moment considered the sum as +high—or any sum exorbitant—if there had been a chance of success; one +cannot compare and weigh such matters. But how could there be any chance +for success?</p> + +<p>As he slowly smoothed out the check and stub, pen poised, Keen was +saying: "Of course, we should succeed sooner or later—if we took up +your case. We might succeed to-morrow—to-day. That would mean a large +profit for us. But we might not succeed to-day, or next month, or even +next year. That would leave us little or no profit; and, as it is our +custom to go on until we do succeed, no matter how long it may require, +you see, Mr. Gatewood, I should be taking all sorts of chances. It might +even cost us double your retainer before we found her—"</p> + +<p>"Her? How did—<i>why</i> do you say '<i>her</i>'?"</p> + +<p>"Am I wrong?" asked Keen, smiling.</p> + +<p>"No—you are right."</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons sank into abstraction again. Gatewood waited, +hoping that his case might be declined, yet ready to face any music +started at his own request.</p> + +<p>"She is young," mused Keen aloud, "very beautiful and accomplished. <i>Is</i> +she wealthy?" He looked up mildly.</p> + +<p>Gatewood said: "I don't know—the truth is I don't care—" And stopped.</p> + +<p>"O-ho!" mused Keen slowly. "I—think—I understand. Am I wrong, Mr. +Gatewood, in surmising that this young lady whom you seek is, in your +eyes, very—I may say ideally gifted?"</p> + +<p>"She is my ideal," replied the young man, coloring.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. And—her general allure?"</p> + +<p>"Charming!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly; but to be a trifle more precise—if you could give me a +sketch, an idea, a mere outline delicately tinted, now. <i>Is</i> she more +blond than brunette?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—but her eyes are brown. I—I insist on that."</p> + +<p>"Why should you not? <i>You</i> know her; I don't," said Keen, laughing. "I +merely wished to form a mental picture. . . . You say her hair is—is—"</p> + +<p>"It's full of sunny color; that's all I can say."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly—I see. A rare and lovely combination with brown eyes and +creamy skin, Mr. Gatewood. I fancy she might be, perhaps, an inch or two +under your height?"</p> + +<p>"Just about that. Her hands should be—<i>are</i> beautiful—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. The ensemble is most vividly portrayed, Mr. Gatewood; +and—you have intimated that her lack of fortune—er—we might almost +say her pecuniary distress—is more than compensated for by her +accomplishments, character, and very unusual beauty. . . . <i>Did</i> I so +understand you, Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I meant, anyhow," he said, flushing up.</p> + +<p>"You <i>did</i> mean it?"</p> + +<p>"I did: I do."</p> + +<p>"Then we take your case, Mr. Gatewood. . . . No haste about the check, +my dear sir—pray consider us at your service."</p> + +<p>But Gatewood doggedly filled in the check and handed it to the Tracer of +Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"I wish you happiness," said the older man in a low voice. "The lady you +describe exists; it is for us to discover her."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," stammered Gatewood, astounded.</p> + +<p>Keen touched an electric button; a moment later a young girl entered the +room.</p> + +<p>"Miss Southerland, Mr. Gatewood. Will you be kind enough to take Mr. +Gatewood's dictation in Room 19?"</p> + +<p>For a second Gatewood stared—as though in the young girl before him the +ghost of his ideal had risen to confront him—only for a second; then he +bowed, matching her perfect acknowledgment of his presence by a bearing +and courtesy which must have been inbred to be so faultless.</p> + +<p>And he followed her to Room 19.</p> + +<p>What had Keen meant by saying, "The lady you describe exists!" Did this +remarkable elderly gentleman suspect that it was to be a hunt for an +ideal? Had he deliberately entered into such a bargain? Impossible!</p> + +<p>His disturbed thoughts reverted to the terms of the bargain, the entire +enterprise, the figures on his check. His own amazing imbecility +appalled him. What idiocy! What sudden madness had seized him to +entangle himself in such unheard-of negotiations! True, he had played +bridge until dawn the night before, but, on awaking, he had discovered +no perceptible hold-over. It must have been sheer weakness of intellect +that permitted him to be dominated by the suggestions of Kerns. And now +the game was on: the jack declared, cards dealt, and his ante was up. +Had he openers?</p> + +<p>Room 19, duly labeled with its number on the opaque glass door, +contained a desk, a table and typewriter, several comfortable chairs, +and a window opening on Fifth Avenue, through which the eastern sun +poured a stream of glory, washing curtain, walls, and ceiling with +palest gold.</p> + +<p>And all this time, preoccupied with new impressions and his own growing +chagrin, he watched the girl who conducted him with all the unconscious +assurance and grace of a young chatelaine passing through her own domain +under escort of a distinguished guest.</p> + +<p>When they had entered Room 19, she half turned, but he forestalled her +and closed the door, and she passed before him with a perceptible +inclination of her finely modeled head, seating herself at the desk by +the open window. He took an armchair at her elbow and removed his +gloves, looking at her expectantly.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_III'></a><h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"This is a list of particular and general questions for you to answer, +Mr. Gatewood," she said, handing him a long slip of printed matter. "The +replies to such questions as you are able or willing to answer you may +dictate to me." The beauty of her modulated voice was scarcely a +surprise—no woman who moved and carried herself as did this tall young +girl in black and white could reasonably be expected to speak with less +distinction—yet the charm of her voice, from the moment her lips +unclosed, so engrossed him that the purport of her speech escaped him.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind saying it once more?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She did so; he attempted to concentrate his attention, and succeeded +sufficiently to look as though some vestige of intellect remained in +him. He saw her pick up a pad and pencil; the contour and grace of two +deliciously fashioned hands arrested his mental process once more.</p> + +<p>"I <i>beg</i> your pardon," he said hastily; "what were you saying, Miss +Southerland?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Mr. Gatewood. I did not speak." And he realized, hazily, that +she had not spoken—that it was the subtle eloquence of her youth and +loveliness that had appealed like a sudden voice—a sound faintly +exquisite echoing his own thought of her.</p> + +<p>Troubled, he looked at the slip of paper in his hand; it was headed:</p> + +<center>SPECIAL DESCRIPTION BLANK<br /> +(<i>Form K</i>)</center> + +<p>And he read it as carefully as he was able to—the curious little clamor +of his pulses, the dazed sense of elation, almost of expectation, +distracting his attention all the time.</p> + +<p>"I wish you would read it to me," he said; "that would give me time to +think up answers."</p> + +<p>"If you wish," she assented pleasantly, swinging around toward him in +her desk chair. Then she crossed one knee over the other to support the +pad, and, bending above it, lifted her brown eyes. She could have done +nothing in the world more distracting at that moment.</p> + +<p>"What is the sex of the person you desire to find, Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"Her sex? I—well, I fancy it is feminine."</p> + +<p>She wrote after "Sex" the words "She is probably feminine"; looked at +him absently, glanced at what she had written, flushed a little, rubbed +out the "she is probably," wondering why a moment's mental wandering +should have committed her to absurdity.</p> + +<p>"Married?" she asked with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, startled; then, vexed, "I beg your pardon—you mean to +ask if <i>she</i> is married!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't mean <i>you</i>, Mr. Gatewood; it's the next question, you +see"—she held out the blank toward him. "Is the person you are looking +for married?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; she isn't married, either—at least—trust—not—because if she +<i>is</i> I don't want to find her!" he ended, entangled in an explanation +which threatened to involve him deeper than he desired. And, looking up, +he saw the beautiful brown eyes regarding him steadily. They reverted to +the paper at once, and the white fingers sent the pencil flying.</p> + +<p>"He trusts that she is unmarried, but if she <i>is</i> (underlined) married +he doesn't want to find her," she wrote.</p> + +<p>"That," she explained, "goes under the head of 'General Remarks' at the +bottom of the page"—she held it out, pointing with her pencil. He +nodded, staring at her slender hand.</p> + +<p>"Age?" she continued, setting the pad firmly on her rounded, yielding +knee and looking up at him.</p> + +<p>"Age? Well, I—as a matter of fact, I could only venture a surmise. You +know," he said earnestly, "how difficult it is to guess ages, don't you, +Miss Southerland?"</p> + +<p>"How old do you <i>think</i> she is? Could you not hazard a guess—judging, +say, from her appearance?"</p> + +<p>"I have no data—no experience to guide me." He was becoming involved +again. "Would you, for practice, permit me first to guess your age, Miss +Southerland?"</p> + +<p>"Why—yes—if you think that might help you to guess hers."</p> + +<p>So he leaned back in his armchair and considered her a very long +time—having a respectable excuse to do so. Twenty times he forgot he +was looking at her for any purpose except that of disinterested delight, +and twenty times he remembered with a guilty wince that it was a matter +of business.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I had better tell you," she suggested, her color rising a +little under his scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"Is it eighteen? Just <i>her</i> age!"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-one, Mr. Gatewood—and you <i>said</i> you didn't know her age."</p> + +<p>"I have just remembered that I <i>thought</i> it might be eighteen; but I +dare say I was shy three years in her case, too. You may put it down at +twenty-one."</p> + +<p>For the slightest fraction of a second the brown eyes rested on his, the +pencil hovered in hesitation. Then the eyes fell, and the moving fingers +wrote.</p> + +<p>"Did you write 'twenty-one'?" he inquired carelessly.</p> + +<p>"I did not, Mr. Gatewood."</p> + +<p>"What did you write?"</p> + +<p>"I wrote: 'He doesn't appear to know much about her age.'"</p> + +<p>"But I <i>do</i> know—"</p> + +<p>"You said—" They looked at one another earnestly.</p> + +<p>"The next question," she continued with composure, "is: 'Date and place +of birth?' Can you answer any part of <i>that</i> question?"</p> + +<p>"I trust I may be able to—some day. . . . What <i>are</i> you writing?"</p> + +<p>"I'm writing: 'He trusts he may be able to, some day.' Wasn't that what +you said?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did say that. I—I'm not perfectly sure what I meant by it."</p> + +<p>She passed to the next question:</p> + +<p>"Height?"</p> + +<p>"About five feet six," he said, fascinated gaze on her.</p> + +<p>"Hair?"</p> + +<p>"More gold than brown—full of—er—gleams—" She looked up quickly; his +eyes reverted to the window rather suddenly. He had been looking at her +hair.</p> + +<p>"Complexion?" she continued after a shade of hesitation.</p> + +<p>"It's a sort of delicious mixture—bisque, tinted with a pinkish +bloom—ivory and rose—" He was explaining volubly, when she began to +shake her head, timing each shake to his words.</p> + +<p>"Really, Mr. Gatewood, I think you are hopelessly vague on that +point—unless you desire to convey the impression that she is speckled."</p> + +<p>"Speckled!" he repeated, horrified. "Why, I am describing a woman who is +my ideal of beauty—"</p> + +<p>But she had already gone to the next question:</p> + +<p>"Teeth?"</p> + +<p>"P-p-perfect p-p-pearls!" he stammered. The laughing red mouth closed +like a flower at dusk, veiling the sparkle of her teeth.</p> + +<p>Was he trying to be impertinent? Was he deliberately describing her? He +did not look like that sort of man; yet <i>why</i> was he watching her so +closely, so curiously at every question? Why did he look at her teeth +when she laughed?</p> + +<p>"Eyes?" Her own dared him to continue what, coincidence or not, was +plainly a description of herself.</p> + +<p>"B-b-b—" He grew suddenly timorous, hesitating, pretending to a +perplexity which was really a healthy scare. For she was frowning.</p> + +<p>"Curious I can't think of the color of her eyes," he said; "is—isn't +it?"</p> + +<p>She coldly inspected her pad and made a correction; but all she did was +to rub out a comma and put another in its place. Meanwhile, Gatewood, +chin in his hand, sat buried in profound thought. "<i>Were</i> they blue?" he +murmured to himself aloud, "or <i>were</i> they brown? Blue begins with a <i>b</i> +and brown begins with a <i>b</i>. I'm convinced that her eyes began with a +<i>b</i>. They were not, therefore, gray or green, because," he added in a +burst of confidence, "it is utterly impossible to spell gray or green +with a <i>b</i>!"</p> + +<p>Miss Southerland looked slightly astonished.</p> + +<p>"All you can recollect, then, is that the color of her eyes began with +the letter <i>b</i>?"</p> + +<p>"That is absolutely all I can remember; but I <i>think</i> they +<i>were</i>—brown."</p> + +<p>"If they <i>were</i> brown they must be brown now," she observed, looking out +of the window.</p> + +<p>"That's true! Isn't it curious I never thought of that? What are you +writing?"</p> + +<p>"Brown," she said, so briefly that it sounded something like a snub.</p> + +<p>"Mouth?" inquired the girl, turning a new leaf on her pad.</p> + +<p>"Perfect. Write it: there is no other term fit to describe its color, +shape, its sensitive beauty, its—<i>What</i> did you write just then?"</p> + +<p>"I wrote, 'Mouth, ordinary.'"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to! I want—"</p> + +<p>"Really, Mr. Gatewood, a rhapsody on a girl's mouth is proper in poetry, +but scarcely germane to the record of a purely business transaction. +Please answer the next question tersely, if you don't mind: 'Figure?'"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I <i>do</i> mind! I can't! Any poem is much too brief to describe her +figure—"</p> + +<p>"Shall we say 'Perfect'?" asked the girl, raising her brown eyes in a +glimmering transition from vexation to amusement. For, after all, it +could be <i>only</i> a coincidence that this young man should be describing +features peculiar to herself.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you write, 'Venus-of-Milo-like'?" he inquired. "That is +laconic."</p> + +<p>"I could—if it's true. But if you mean it for praise—I—don't think +any modern woman would be flattered."</p> + +<p>"I always supposed that she of Milo had an ideal figure," he said, +perplexed.</p> + +<p>She wrote, "A good figure." Then, propping her rounded chin on one +lovely white hand, she glanced at the next question:</p> + +<p>"Hands?"</p> + +<p>"White, beautiful, rose-tipped, slender yet softly and firmly rounded—"</p> + +<p>"How <i>can</i> they be soft and firm, too, Mr. Gatewood?" she protested; +then, surprising his guilty eyes fixed on her hands, hastily dropped +them and sat up straight, level-browed, cold as marble. <i>Was</i> he +deliberately being rude to her?</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV'></a><h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>As a matter of fact, he was not. Too poor in imagination to invent, on +the spur of the moment, charms and qualities suited to his ideal, he +had, at first unconsciously, taken as a model the girl before him; quite +unconsciously and innocently at first—then furtively, and with a +dawning perception of the almost flawless beauty he was secretly +plagiarizing. Aware, now, that something had annoyed her; aware, too, at +the same moment that there appeared to be nothing lacking in her to +satisfy his imagination of the ideal, he began to turn redder than he +had ever turned in all his life.</p> + +<p>Several minutes of sixty seconds each ensued before he ventured to stir +a finger. And it was only when she bent again very gravely over her pad +that he cautiously eased a cramped muscle or two, and drew a breath—a +long, noiseless, deep and timid respiration. He realized the enormity of +what he had been doing—how close he had come to giving unpardonable +offense by drawing a perfect portrait of her as the person he desired to +find through the good offices of Keen & Co.</p> + +<p>But there was no such person—unless she had a double: for what more +could a man desire than the ideal traits he had been able to describe +only by using her as his inspiration.</p> + +<p>When he ventured to look at her, one glance was enough to convince him +that she, too, had noticed the parallel—had been forced to recognize +her own features in the portrait he had constructed of an ideal. And she +had caught him in absent-minded contemplation of the hands he had been +describing. He knew that his face was the face of a guilty man.</p> + +<p>"What is the next question?" he stammered, eager to answer it in a +manner calculated to allay her suspicions.</p> + +<p>"The next question?" She glanced at the list, then with a voice of +velvet which belied the eyes, clear as frosty brown pools in November: +"The next question requires a description of her feet."</p> + +<p>"Feet! Oh—-they—they're rather large—why, her feet are enormous, I +believe—"</p> + +<p>She looked at him as though stunned; suddenly a flood of pink spread, +wave on wave, from the white nape of her neck to her hair; she bent low +over her pad and wrote something, remaining in that attitude until her +face cooled.</p> + +<p>"Somehow or other I've done it again!" he thought, horrified. "The best +thing I can do is to end it and go home."</p> + +<p>In his distress he began to hedge, saying: "Of course, she is rather +tall and her feet are in some sort of proportion—in fact, they are +perfectly symmetrical feet—"</p> + +<p>Never in his life had he encountered a pair of such angrily beautiful +eyes. Speech stopped with a dry gulp.</p> + +<p>"We now come to 'General Remarks,'" she said in a voice made absolutely +steady and emotionless. "Have you any remarks of that description to +offer, Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"I'm willing to make remarks," he said, "if I only knew what you wished +me to say."</p> + +<p>She mused, eyes on the sunny window, then looked up. "Where did you last +see her?"</p> + +<p>"Near Fifth Avenue."</p> + +<p>"And what street?"</p> + +<p>He named the street.</p> + +<p>"Near <i>here</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Rather," he said timidly.</p> + +<p>She ruffled the edges of her pad, wrote something and erased it, bit her +scarlet upper lip, and frowned.</p> + +<p>"Out of doors, of course?"</p> + +<p>"No; indoors," he admitted furtively.</p> + +<p>She looked up with a movement almost nervous.</p> + +<p>"Do you dare—I mean, care—to be more concise?"</p> + +<p>"I would rather not," he replied in a voice from which he hoped he had +expelled the tremors of alarm.</p> + +<p>"As you please, Mr. Gatewood. And would you care to answer any of these +other questions: Who and what are or were her parents? Give all +particulars concerning all her relatives. Is she employed or not? What +are her social, financial, and general circumstances? Her character, +personal traits, aims, interests, desires? Has she any vices? Any +virtues? Talents? Ambitions? Caprices? Fads? Are you in love with her? +Is—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I am."</p> + +<p>"Is she in love with you?"</p> + +<p>"No; she hates me—I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"Is she in love with anybody?"</p> + +<p>"That is a very difficult—"</p> + +<p>The girl wrote: "He doesn't know," with a satisfaction apparently +causeless.</p> + +<p>"Is she a relative of yours, Mr. Gatewood?" very sweetly.</p> + +<p>"No, Miss Southerland," very positively.</p> + +<p>"You—you desire to marry her—you say?"</p> + +<p>"I do. But I didn't say it."</p> + +<p>She was silent; then:</p> + +<p>"What is her name?" in a low voice which started several agreeable +thrills chasing one another over him.</p> + +<p>"I—I decline to answer," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"On what grounds, Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>He looked her full in the eyes; suddenly he bent forward and gazed at +the printed paper from which she had been apparently reading.</p> + +<p>"Why, all those questions you are scaring me with are not there!" he +exclaimed indignantly. "You are making them up?"</p> + +<p>"I—I know, but"—she was flushing furiously—"but they are on the other +forms—some of them. Can't you see you are answering 'Form K'? That is a +special form—"</p> + +<p>"But why do you ask me questions that are <i>not</i> on Form K?"</p> + +<p>"Because it is my duty to do all I can to secure evidence which may lead +to the discovery of the person you desire to find. I—I assure you, Mr, +Gatewood, this duty is not—not always agreeable—and some people make +it harder still."</p> + +<p>Gatewood looked out of the window. Various emotions—-among them shame, +mortification, chagrin—pervaded him, and chased each other along his +nervous system, coloring his neck and ears a fiery red for the +enlightenment of any observer.</p> + +<p>"I—I did not mean to offend you," said the girl in a low voice—such a +gently regretful voice that Gatewood swung around in his chair.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing I would not be glad to tell you about the woman I have +fallen in love with," he said. "She is overwhelmingly lovely; and—when +I dare—I will tell you her name and where I first saw her—and where I +saw her last—if you desire. Shall I?"</p> + +<p>"It would be advisable. When will you do this?"</p> + +<p>"When I dare."</p> + +<p>"You—you don't dare—now?"</p> + +<p>"No . . . not now."</p> + +<p>She absently wrote on her pad: "He doesn't dare tell me now." Then, with +head still bent, she lifted her mischief-making, trouble-breeding brown +eyes to his once more.</p> + +<p>"I am to come here, of course, to consult you?" he asked dizzily.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen will receive you—"</p> + +<p>"He may be busy."</p> + +<p>"He may be," she repeated dreamily.</p> + +<p>"So—I'll ask for you."</p> + +<p>"We <i>could</i> write you, Mr. Gatewood."</p> + +<p>He said hastily: "It's no trouble for me to come; I walk every +morning."</p> + +<p>"But there would be no use, I think, in your coming very soon. All +I—all Mr. Keen could do for a while would be to report progress—"</p> + +<p>"That is all I dare look for: progress—for the present."</p> + +<p>During the time that he remained—which was not very long—neither of +them spoke until he arose to take his departure.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Miss Southerland. I hope you may find the person I have been +searching for."</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. . . . I hope we shall; . . . but +I—don't—know."</p> + +<p>And, as a matter of fact, she did not know; she was rather excited over +nothing, apparently; and also somewhat preoccupied with several rather +disturbing emotions the species of which she was interested in +determining. But to label and catalogue each of these emotions +separately required privacy and leisure to think—and she also wished to +look very earnestly at the reflection of her own face in the mirror of +her own chamber. For it is a trifle exciting—though but an innocent +coincidence—to be compared, feature by feature, to a young man's ideal. +As far as that went, she excelled it, too; and, as she stood by the +desk, alone, gathering up her notes, she suddenly bent over and lifted +the hem of her gown a trifle—sufficient to reassure herself that the +dainty pair of shoes she wore, would have baffled the efforts of any +Venus ever sculptured. And she was perfectly right.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she thought to herself, "his ideal runaway hasn't enormous +feet. He, too, must have been struck with the similarity between me and +his ideal, and when he realized that I also noticed it, he was +frightened by my frown into saying that her feet were enormous. How +silly! . . . For I didn't <i>mean</i> to frighten him. . . . He frightened +me—once or twice—I mean he irritated me—no, interested me, is what I +<i>do</i> mean. . . . Heigho! I wonder why she ran away? I wonder why he +can't find her? . . . It's—it's silly to run away from a man like that. +. . . Heigho! . . . She doesn't deserve to be found. There is nothing to +be afraid of—nothing to alarm anybody in a man like that."</p> + +<p>So she gathered up her notes and walked slowly out and across to the +private office of the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"Come in," said the Tracer when she knocked. He was using the telephone; +she seated herself rather listlessly beside the window, where spring +sunshine lay in gilded patches on the rug and spring breezes stirred +the curtains. She was a little tired, but there seemed to be no good +reason why. Yet, with the soft wind blowing on her cheek, the languor +grew; she rested her face on one closed hand, shutting her eyes.</p> + +<p>When they opened again it was to meet the fixed gaze of Mr. Keen.</p> + +<p>"Oh—I beg your pardon!"</p> + +<p>"There is no need of it, child. Be seated. Never mind that report just +now." He paced the length of the room once or twice, hands clasped +behind him; then, halting to confront her:</p> + +<p>"What sort of a man is this young Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"What <i>sort</i>, Mr. Keen? Why—I think he is the—the sort—that—"</p> + +<p>"I see that you don't think much of him," said Keen, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed I did not mean that at all; I mean that he appeared to +be—to be—"</p> + +<p>"Rather a cad?"</p> + +<p>"Why, <i>no</i>!" she said, flushing up. "He is absolutely well-bred, Mr. +Keen."</p> + +<p>"You received no unpleasant impression of him?"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary!" she said rather warmly—for it hurt her sense of +justice that Keen should so misjudge even a stranger in whom she had no +personal interest.</p> + +<p>"You think he looks like an honest man?"</p> + +<p>"Honest?" She was rosy with annoyance. "Have you any idea that he is +dishonest?"</p> + +<p>"Have you?"</p> + +<p>"Not the slightest," she said with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"Suppose a man should set us hunting for a person who does not exist—on +our terms, which are no payment unless successful? Would that be +honest?" asked Keen gravely.</p> + +<p>"Did—did <i>he</i> do that?"</p> + +<p>"No, child."</p> + +<p>"I knew he <i>couldn't</i> do such a thing!"</p> + +<p>"No, he—er—couldn't, because I wouldn't allow it—not that he tried +to!" added Keen hastily as the indignant brown eyes sparkled ominously. +"Really, Miss Southerland, he must be all you say he is, for he has a +stanch champion to vouch for him."</p> + +<p>"All I <i>say</i> he is? I haven't said anything about him!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Keen nodded. "<i>Ex</i>actly. Let us drop him for a moment. . . . Are you +perfectly well, Miss Southerland?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of it. You are a trifle pale; you seem to be a little +languid. . . . When do you take your vacation?"</p> + +<p>"You suggested May, I believe," she said wistfully.</p> + +<p>The Tracer leaned back in his chair, joining the tips of his fingers +reflectively.</p> + +<p>"Miss Southerland," he said, "you have been with us a year. I thought it +might interest you to know that I am exceedingly pleased with you."</p> + +<p>She colored charmingly.</p> + +<p>"But," he added, "I'm terribly afraid we're going to lose you."</p> + +<p>"Why?" she asked, startled.</p> + +<p>"However," he continued, ignoring her half-frightened question with a +smile, "I am going to promote you—for faithful and efficient service."</p> + +<p>"O-h!"</p> + +<p>"With an agreeable increase of salary, and new duties which will take +you into the open air. . . . You ride?"</p> + +<p>"I—I used to before—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly; before you were obliged to earn your living. Please have +yourself measured for habit and boots this afternoon. I shall arrange +for horse, saddle, and groom. You will spend most of your time riding +in the Park—for the present."</p> + +<p>"But—Mr. Keen—am I to be one of your agents—a sort of detective?"</p> + +<p>Keen regarded her absently, then crossed one leg over the other.</p> + +<p>"Read me your notes," he said with a smile.</p> + +<p>She read them, folded them, and he took them from her, thoughtfully +regarding her.</p> + +<p>"Did you know that your mother and I were children together?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No!" She stared. "Is <i>that</i> why you sent for me that day at the school +of stenography?"</p> + +<p>"That is why . . . When I learned that my playmate—your mother—was +dead, is it not reasonable to suppose that I should wish her daughter to +have a chance?"</p> + +<p>Miss Southerland looked at him steadily.</p> + +<p>"She was like you—when she married . . . I never married . . . Do you +wonder that I sent for you, child?"</p> + +<p>Nothing but the clock ticking there in the sunny room, and an old man +staring into two dimmed brown eyes, and the little breezes at the open +window whispering of summers past.</p> + +<p>"This young man, Gatewood," said the Tracer, clearing his voice of its +hoarseness—"this young man ought to be all right, if I did not +misjudge his father—years ago, child, years ago. And he <i>is</i> all +right—" He half turned toward a big letter-file; "his record is clean, +so far. The trouble with him is idleness. He ought to marry."</p> + +<p>"Isn't he trying to?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"It looks like it. Miss Southerland, we <i>must</i> find this woman!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I don't see how you are going to—on such slight +information—"</p> + +<p>"Information! Child, I have all I want—all I could desire." He laughed, +passing his hands over his gray hair. "We are going to find the girl he +is in love with before the week ends!"</p> + +<p>"Do you really think so?" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. But you must do a great deal in this case."</p> + +<p>"I?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly."</p> + +<p>"And—and what am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"Ride in the Park, child! And if you see Mr. Gatewood, don't you dare +take your eyes off him for one moment. Watch him; observe everything he +does. If he should recognize you and speak to you, be as amiable to him +as though it were not by my orders."</p> + +<p>"Then—then I <i>am</i> to be a detective!" she faltered.</p> + +<p>The Tracer did not appear to hear her. He took up the notes, turned to +the telephone, and began to send out a general alarm, reading the +description of the person whom Gatewood had described. The vast, +intricate and delicate machinery under his control was being set in +motion all over the Union.</p> + +<p>"Not that I expect to find her outside the borough of Manhattan," he +said, smiling, as he hung up the receiver and turned to her; "but it's +as well to know how many types of that species exist in this Republic, +and who they are—in case any other young man comes here raving of brown +eyes and 'gleams' in the hair."</p> + +<p>Miss Southerland, to her own intense consternation, blushed.</p> + +<p>"I think you had better order that habit at once," said the Tracer +carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Mr. Keen," she asked tremulously, "am I to spy upon Mr. +Gatewood? And report to you? . . . For I simply cannot bear to do it—"</p> + +<p>"Child, you need report nothing unless you desire to. And when there is +something to report, it will be about the woman I am searching for. +<i>Don't</i> you understand? I have already located her. You will find her +in the Park. And when you are <i>sure</i> she is the right one—and if you +care to report it to me—I shall be ready to listen . . . I am always +ready to listen to you."</p> + +<p>"But—I warn you, Mr. Keen, that I have perfect faith in the honor of +Mr. Gatewood. I <i>know</i> that I could have nothing unworthy to report."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, studying her with +eyes that were not quite clear. "Now, I think you had better order that +habit . . . Your mother sat her saddle perfectly . . . We rode very +often—my lost playmate and I."</p> + +<p>He turned, hands clasped behind his back, absently pacing the room, +backward, forward, there in the spring sunshine. Nor did he notice her +lingering, nor mark her as she stole from the room, brown eyes saddened +and thoughtful, wondering, too, that there should be in the world so +much room for sorrow.</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/image-2.jpg' height='75%' alt=""'I am sure of it,' said the Tracer of Lost Persons."" title=''> +</center> +<div class='caption'><p>"'I am sure of it,' said the Tracer of Lost Persons."</p></div> +<br /> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_V'></a><h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Gatewood, burdened with restlessness and gnawed by curiosity, consumed a +week in prowling about the edifice where Keen & Co. carried on an +interesting profession.</p> + +<p>His first visit resulted merely in a brief interview with Mr. Keen, who +smilingly reported progress and suavely bowed him out. He looked about +for Miss Southerland as he was leaving, but did not see her.</p> + +<p>On his second visit he mustered the adequate courage to ask for her, and +experienced a curiously sickly sensation when informed that Miss +Southerland was no longer employed in the bureau of statistics, having +been promoted to an outside position of great responsibility. His third +visit proved anything but satisfactory. He sidled and side-stepped for +ten minutes before he dared ask Mr. Keen <i>where</i> Miss Southerland had +gone. And when the Tracer replied that, considering the business he had +undertaken for Mr. Gatewood, he really could not see why Mr. Gatewood +should interest himself concerning the whereabouts of Miss Southerland, +the young man had nothing to say, and escaped as soon as possible, +enraged at himself, at Mr. Keen, and vaguely holding the entire world +guilty of conspiracy.</p> + +<p>He had no definite idea of what he wanted, except that his desire to see +Miss Southerland again seemed out of all proportion to any reasonable +motive for seeing her. Occasional fits of disgust with himself for what +he had done were varied with moody hours of speculation. Suppose Mr. +Keen did find his ideal? What of it? He no longer wanted to see her. He +had no use for her. The savor of the enterprise had gone stale in his +mouth; he was by turns worried, restless, melancholy, sulky, uneasy. A +vast emptiness pervaded his life. He smoked more and more and ate less +and less. He even disliked to see others eat, particularly Kerns.</p> + +<p>And one exquisite May morning he came down to breakfast and found the +unspeakable Kerns immersed in grapefruit, calm, well balanced, and +bland.</p> + +<p>"How-de-dee, dear friend?" said that gentleman affably. "Any news from +Cupid this beautiful May morning?"</p> + +<p>"No; and I don't want any," returned Gatewood, sorting his mail with a +scowl and waving away his fruit.</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut! Lovers must be patient. Dearie will be found some day—"</p> + +<p>"Some day," snarled Gatewood, "I shall destroy you, Tommy."</p> + +<p>"Naughty! Naughty!" reflected Kerns, pensively assaulting the breakfast +food. "Lovey must <i>not</i> worry; Dovey shall be found, and all will be joy +and gingerbread. . . . If you throw that orange I'll run screaming to +the governors. Aren't you ashamed—just because you're in a love +tantrum!"</p> + +<p>"One more word and you get it!"</p> + +<p>"May I sing as I trifle with this frugal fare, dear friend? My heart is +<i>so</i> happy that I should love to warble a few wild notes—"</p> + +<p>He paused to watch his badgered victim dispose of a Martini.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," he mused, "if you'd like me to tell you what a cocktail +before breakfast does to the lining of your stomach? Would you?"</p> + +<p>"No. I suppose it's what the laundress does to my linen. What do I +care?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't</i> be a short sport, Jack."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't care for the game you put me up against. Do you know what +has happened?"</p> + +<p>"I really don't, dear friend. The Tracer of Lost Persons has not found +her—<i>has</i> he?"</p> + +<p>"He says he has," retorted Gatewood sullenly, pulling a crumpled +telegram from his pocket and casting it upon the table. "I don't want to +see her; I'm not interested. I never saw but one girl in my life who +interested me in the slightest; and she's employed to help in this +ridiculous search."</p> + +<p>Kerns, meanwhile, had smoothed out the telegram and was intently +perusing it:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"<i>John Gatewood, Lenox Club, Fifth Avenue:</i> + +<p> "Person probably discovered. Call here as soon as possible.</p> + +<p> W. KEEN."</p></div> + +<p>"<i>What</i> do you make of that?" demanded Gatewood hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Make of it? Why, it's true enough, I fancy. Go and see, and if it's +she, be hers!"</p> + +<p>"I won't! I don't want to see any ideal! I don't want to marry. Why do +you try to make me marry somebody?"</p> + +<p>"Because it's good for you, dear friend. Otherwise you'll go to the +doggy-dogs. You don't realize how much worry you are to me."</p> + +<p>"Confound it! Why don't <i>you</i> marry? Why didn't I ask you that when you +put me up to all this foolishness? What right have you to—"</p> + +<p>"Tut, friend! <i>I</i> know there's no woman alive fit to wed me and spend +her life in stealing kisses from me. <i>I</i> have no ideal. <i>You</i> have an +ideal."</p> + +<p>"I haven't!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, dear friend, there's a stub in your check book to prove it. +You simply bet $5,000 that your ideal existed. You've won. Go and be her +joy and sunshine."</p> + +<p>"I'll put an end to this whole business," said Gatewood wrathfully, "and +I'll do it now!"</p> + +<p>"Bet you that you're engaged within the week!" said Kerns with a placid +smile.</p> + +<p>The other swung around savagely: "What will you bet, Tommy? You may have +what odds you please. I'll make you sit up for this."</p> + +<p>"I'll bet you," answered Kerns, deliberately, "an entire silver dinner +service against a saddle horse for the bride."</p> + +<p>"That's a fool bet!" snapped Gatewood. "What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you don't care to—"</p> + +<p>"What do I want of a silver service? But, all right; I'll bet you +anything."</p> + +<p>"<i>She'll</i> want it," replied Kerns significantly, booking the bet. "I may +as well canter out to Tiffany's this morning, I fancy. . . . Where are +you going, Jack?"</p> + +<p>"To see Keen and confess what an ass I've been!" returned Gatewood +sullenly, striding across the breakfast room to take his hat and gloves +from the rack. And out he went, mad all over.</p> + +<p>On his way up the avenue he attempted to formulate the humiliating +confession which already he shrank from. But it had to be done. He +simply could not stand the prospect of being notified month after month +that a lady would be on view somewhere. It was like going for a fitting; +it was horrible. Besides, what use was it? Within a week or two an +enormous and utterly inexplicable emptiness had yawned before him, +revealing life as a hollow delusion. He no longer cared.</p> + +<p>Immersed in bitter reflection, he climbed the familiar stairway and sent +his card to Mr. Keen, and in due time he was ushered into the presence +of the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen," he began, with a headlong desire to get it over and be done +with it, "I may as well tell you how impossible it is for you, or +anybody, to find that person I described—"</p> + +<p>Mr. Keen raised an expostulatory hand, smiling indulgence.</p> + +<p>"It is more than possible, Mr. Gatewood, more than probable; it is +almost an accomplished fact. In other words, I think I may venture to +congratulate you and say that she <i>is</i> found."</p> + +<p>"Now, <i>how</i> can she be found, when there isn't—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gatewood, the magician will always wave his magic wand for you and +show you his miracles for the price of admission. But for that price he +does not show you how he works his miracles," said Keen, laughing.</p> + +<p>"But I ought to tell you," persisted Gatewood, "that it is utterly +impossible you should find the person I wished to discover, because +she—"</p> + +<p>"I can only prove that you are wrong," smiled Keen, rising from his easy +chair.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen," said the young man earnestly, "I have been more or less of a +chump at times. One of those times was when I came here on this errand. +All I desire, now, is to let the matter rest as it is. I am satisfied, +and you have lost nothing. Nor have you found anything or anybody. You +think you have, but you haven't. I do not wish you to continue the +search, or to send me any further reports. I want to forget the whole +miserable matter—to be free—to feel myself freed from any obligations +to that irritating person I asked you to find."</p> + +<p>The Tracer regarded him very gravely.</p> + +<p>"Is that your wish, Mr. Gatewood? I can scarcely credit it."</p> + +<p>"It is. I've been a fool; I simply want to stop being one if anybody +will permit it."</p> + +<p>"And you decline to attempt to identify the very beautiful person we +have discovered to be the individual for whom you asked us to search?"</p> + +<p>"I do. She may be beautiful; but I know well enough she can't compare +with—some one."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," said Keen thoughtfully. "We take so much pride in these +matters. When one of my agents discovered where this person was, I was +rather—happy; for I have taken a peculiar personal interest in your +case. However—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen," said Gatewood, "if you could understand how ashamed and +mortified I am at my own conduct—"</p> + +<p>Keen gazed pensively out of the window. "I also am sorry; Miss +Southerland was to have received a handsome bonus for her discovery—"</p> + +<p>"Miss S-S-S-S-outherland!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly; without quite so many <i>S</i>'s," said Keen, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Did <i>she</i> discover that—that person?" exclaimed the young man, +startled.</p> + +<p>"She thinks she has. I am not sure she is correct; but I am absolutely +certain that Miss Southerland could eventually discover the person you +were in search of. It seems a little hard on her—just on the eve of +success—to lose. But that can't be helped now."</p> + +<p>Gatewood, more excited and uncomfortable than he had ever been in all +his life, watched Keen intently.</p> + +<p>"Too bad, too bad," muttered the Tracer to himself. "The child needs the +encouragement. It meant a thousand dollars to her—" He shrugged his +shoulders, looked up, and, as though rather surprised to see Gatewood +still there, smiled an impersonal smile and offered his hand in adieu. +Gatewood winced.</p> + +<p>"Could I—I see Miss Southerland?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid not. She is at this moment following my instructions +to—but that cannot interest you now—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it does!—if you don't mind. Where is she? I—I'll take a look at +the person she discovered; I will, really."</p> + +<p>"Why, it's only this: I suspected that you might identify a person whom +I had reason to believe was to be found every morning riding in the +Park. So Miss Southerland has been riding there every day. Yesterday she +came here, greatly excited—"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes—go on!"</p> + +<p>Keen gazed dreamily at the sunny window. "She thought she had found +your—er—the person. So I said you would meet her on the bridle path, +near—but that's of no interest now—"</p> + +<p>"Near where?" demanded Gatewood, suppressing inexplicable excitement. +And as Keen said nothing: "I'll go; I want to go, I really do! +Can't—can't a fellow change his mind? Oh, I know you think I'm a +lunatic, and there's plenty of reason, too!"</p> + +<p>Keen studied him calmly. "Yes, plenty of reason, plenty of reason, Mr. +Gatewood. But do you suppose you are the only one? I know another who +was perfectly sane two weeks ago."</p> + +<p>The young man waited impatiently; the Tracer paced the room, gray head +bent, delicate, wrinkled hands clasped loosely behind his bent back.</p> + +<p>"You have horses at the Whip and Spur Club," he said abruptly. "Suppose +you ride out and see how close Miss Southerland has come to solving our +problem."</p> + +<p>Gatewood seized the offered hand and wrung it with a fervor out of all +reason; and it is curious that the Tracer of Lost Persons did not appear +to be astonished.</p> + +<p>"You're rather impetuous—like your father," he said slowly. "I knew +him; so I've ventured to trust his son—even when I heard how aimlessly +he was living his life. Mr. Gatewood! May I ask you something—as an old +friend of your father?"</p> + +<p>The young man nodded, subdued, perplexed, scarcely understanding.</p> + +<p>"It's only this: If you <i>do</i> find the woman you could love—in the +Park—to-day—come back to me some day and let me tell you all those +foolish, trite, tiresome things that I should have told a son of mine. I +am so old that you will not take offense—you will not mind listening to +me, or forgetting the dull, prosy things I say about the curse of +idleness, and the habits of cynical thinking, and the perils of +vacant-minded indulgence. You will forgive me—and you will forget me. +That will be as it should be. Good-by."</p> + +<p>Gatewood, sobered, surprised, descended the stairs and hailed a hansom.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI'></a><h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<br /> + +<p>All the way to the Whip and Spur Club he sat buried in a reverie from +which, at intervals, he started, aroused by the heavy, expectant beating +of his own pulses. But what did he expect, in Heaven's name? Not the +discovery of a woman who had never existed. Yet his excitement and +impatience grew as he watched the saddling of his horse; and when at +length he rode out into the sunshine and cantered through the Park +entrance, his sense of impending events and his expectancy amounted to a +fever which colored his face attractively.</p> + +<p>He saw her almost immediately. Her horse was walking slowly in the +dappled shadows of the new foliage; she, listless in her saddle, +sometimes watching the throngs of riders passing, at moments turning to +gaze into the woodland vistas where, over the thickets of flowering +shrubbery, orioles and robins sped flashing on tinted wings from shadow +to sun, from sun to shadow. But she looked up as he drew bridle and +wheeled his mount beside her; and, "Oh!" she said, flushing in +recognition.</p> + +<p>"I have missed you terribly," he said quietly.</p> + +<p>It was dreamy weather, even for late spring: the scent of lilacs and +mock-orange hung heavy as incense along the woods. Their voices +unconsciously found the key to harmonize with it all.</p> + +<p>She said: "Well, I think I have succeeded. In a few moments she will be +passing. I do not know her name; she rides a big roan. She is very +beautiful, Mr. Gatewood."</p> + +<p>He said: "I am perfectly certain we shall find her. I doubted it until +now. But now I know."</p> + +<p>"Oh-h, but I <i>may</i> be wrong," she protested.</p> + +<p>"No; you cannot be."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"You can have no idea how happy you make me," he said unsteadily.</p> + +<p>"But—I—but I may be all wrong—dreadfully wrong!"</p> + +<p>"Y-es; you may be, but I shall not be. For do you know that I have +already seen her in the Park?"</p> + +<p>"When?" she demanded incredulously, then turned in the saddle, +repeating: "Where? Did she pass? How perfectly stupid of me! And <i>was</i> +she the—the right one?"</p> + +<p>"She <i>is</i> the right one. . . . Don't turn: I have seen her. Ride on: I +want to say something—if I can."</p> + +<p>"No, no," she insisted. "I must know whether I was right—"</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> right—but you don't know it yet. . . . Oh, very well, then; +we'll turn if you insist." And he wheeled his mount as she did, riding +at her bridle again.</p> + +<p>"How can you take it so coolly—so indifferently?" she said. "Where has +that woman—where has she gone? . . . Never mind; she must turn and pass +us sooner or later, for she lives uptown. <i>What</i> are you laughing at, +Mr. Gatewood?"—in annoyed surprise.</p> + +<p>"I am laughing at myself. Oh, I'm so many kinds of a fool—you can't +think how many, and it's no use!"</p> + +<p>She stared, astonished; he shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No, you don't understand yet. But you will. Listen to me: this very +beautiful lady you have discovered is nothing to me!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing—to you!" she faltered. Two pink spots of indignation burned in +her cheeks. "How—how dare you say that!—after all that has been +done—all that you have said. You said you loved her; you <i>did</i> say +so—to <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I don't love her now."</p> + +<p>"But you did!" Tears of pure vexation started; she faced him, eye to +eye, thoroughly incensed.</p> + +<p>"What sort of man are you?" she said under her breath. "Your friend Mr. +Kerns is wrong. You are not worth saving from yourself."</p> + +<p>"Kerns!" he repeated, angry and amazed. "What the deuce has Kerns to do +with this affair?"</p> + +<p>She stared, then, realizing her indiscretion, bit her lip, and spurred +forward. But he put his horse to a gallop, and they pounded along in +silence. In a little while she drew bridle and looked around coldly, +grave with displeasure.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kerns came to us before you did. He said you would probably come, +and he begged us to strain every effort in your behalf, because, he +said, your happiness absolutely depended upon our finding for you the +woman you were seeking. . . . And I tried—very hard—and now she's +found. You admit that—and <i>now</i> you say—"</p> + +<p>"I say that one of these balmy summer days I'll assassinate Tommy +Kerns!" broke in Gatewood. "What on earth possessed that prince of +butters-in to go to Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"To save you from yourself!" retorted the girl in a low, exasperated +voice. "He did not say what threatened you; he is a good friend for a +man to have. But we soon found out what you were—a man well born, well +bred, full of brilliant possibility, who was slowly becoming an idle, +cynical, self-centered egoist—a man who, lacking the lash of need or +the spur of ambition, was degenerating through the sheer uselessness and +inanity of his life. And, oh, the pity of it! For Mr. Keen and I have +taken a—a curiously personal interest in you—in your case. I say, the +pity of it!"</p> + +<p>Astounded, dumb under her stinging words, he rode beside her through the +brilliant sunshine, wheeled mechanically as she turned her horse, and +rode north again.</p> + +<p>"And now—<i>now</i>!" she said passionately, "you turn on the woman you +loved! Oh, you are not worth it!"</p> + +<p>"You are quite right," he said, turning very white under her scorn. +"Almost all you have said is true enough, I fancy. I amount to nothing; +I am idle, cynical, selfish. The emptiness of such a life requires a +stimulant; even a fool abhors a vacuum. So I drink—not so very much +yet—but more than I realize. And it is close enough to a habit to worry +me. . . . Yes, almost all you say is true; Kerns knows it; I know +it—now that you have told me. You see, he couldn't tell me, because I +should not have believed him. But I believe you—all you say, except one +thing. And that is only a glimmer of decency left in me—not that I make +any merit of it. No, it is merely instinctive. For I have <i>not</i> turned +on the woman I loved."</p> + +<p>Her face was pale as her level eyes met him:</p> + +<p>"You said she was nothing to you. . . . Look there! Do you see her? Do +you see?"</p> + +<p>Her voice broke nervously as he swung around to stare at a rider bearing +down at a gallop—a woman on a big roan, tearing along through the +spring sunshine, passing them with wind-flushed cheeks and dark, +incurious eyes, while her powerful horse carried her on, away through +the quivering light and shadow of the woodland vista.</p> + +<p>"Is <i>that</i> the person?"</p> + +<p>"Y-es," she faltered. "Was I wrong?"</p> + +<p>"Quite wrong, Miss Southerland."</p> + +<p>"But—but you said you had seen her here this morning!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have."</p> + +<p>"Did you speak to her before you met me?"</p> + +<p>"No—not before I met you."</p> + +<p>"Then you have not spoken to her. Is she still here in the Park?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is still here."</p> + +<p>The girl turned on him excitedly: "Do you mean to say that you will not +speak to her?"</p> + +<p>"I had rather not—"</p> + +<p>"And your happiness depends on your speaking?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then it is cowardly not to speak."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it is cowardly. . . . If you wish me to speak to her I will. +Shall I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes . . . Show her to me."</p> + +<p>"And you think that such a man as I am has a right to speak of love to +her?"</p> + +<p>"I—we believe it will be your salvation. Mr. Kerns says you must marry +her to be happy. Mr. Keen told me yesterday that it only needed a word +from the right woman to put you on your mettle. . . . And—and that is +my opinion."</p> + +<p>"Then in charity say that word!" he breathed, bending toward her. "Can't +you see? Can't you understand? Don't you know that from the moment I +looked into your eyes I loved you?"</p> + +<p>"How—how dare you!" she stammered, crimsoning.</p> + +<p>"God knows," he said wistfully. "I am a coward. I don't know how I +dared. Good-by. . . ."</p> + +<p>He walked his horse a little way, then launched him into a gallop, +tearing on and on, sun, wind, trees swimming, whirling like a vision, +hearing nothing, feeling nothing, save the leaden pounding of his pulse +and the breathless, terrible tightening in his throat.</p> + +<p>When he cleared his eyes and looked around he was quite alone, his horse +walking under the trees and breathing heavily.</p> + +<p>At first he laughed, and the laugh was not pleasant. Then he said aloud: +"It is worth having lived for, after all!"—and was silent. And again: +"I could expect nothing; she was perfectly right to side-step a fool. +. . . And <i>such</i> a fool!"</p> + +<p>The distant gallop of a horse, dulled on the soft soil, but coming +nearer, could not arouse him from the bitter depths he had sunk in; not +even when the sound ceased beside him, and horse snorted recognition to +horse. It was only when a light touch rested on his arm that he looked +up heavily, caught his breath.</p> + +<p>"Where is the other—woman?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"There never was any other."</p> + +<p>"You said—"</p> + +<p>"I said I loved my ideal. I did not know she existed—until I saw you."</p> + +<p>"Then—then we were searching for—"</p> + +<p>"A vision. But it was your face that haunted me. . . . And I am not +worth it, as you say. And I know it, . . . for you have opened my eyes."</p> + +<p>He drew bridle, forcing a laugh. "I cut a sorry figure in your life; be +patient; I am going out of it now." And he swung his horse. At the same +moment she did the same, making a demi-tour and meeting him halfway, +confronting him.</p> + +<p>"Do you—you mean to ride out of my life without a word?" she asked +unsteadily.</p> + +<p>"Good-by." He offered his hand, stirring his horse forward; she leaned +lightly over and laid both hands in his. Then, her face surging in +color, she lifted her beautiful dark eyes to his as the horses +approached, nearer, nearer, until, as they passed, flank brushing flank, +her eyes fell, then closed as she swayed toward him, and clung, her +young lips crushed to his.</p> + +<p>There was nobody to witness it except the birds and squirrels—nobody +but a distant mounted policeman, who almost fainted away in his saddle.</p> + +<p>Oh, it was awful, awful! Apparently she had been kissed speechless, for +she said nothing. The man fool did all the talking, incoherently enough, +but evidently satisfactory to her, judging from the way she looked at +him, and blushed and blushed, and touched her eyes with a bit of cambric +at intervals.</p> + +<p>All the policeman heard as they passed him was; "I'm going to give you +this horse, and Kerns is to give us our silver; and what do you think, +my darling?"</p> + +<p>"W-what?"</p> + +<p>But they had already passed out of earshot; and in a few moments the +shady, sun-flecked bridle path was deserted again save for the birds and +squirrels, and a single mounted policeman, rigid, wild eyed, twisting +his mustache and breathing hard.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII'></a><h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The news of Gatewood's fate filled Kerns with a pleasure bordering upon +melancholy. It was his work; he had done it; it was good for Gatewood +too—time for him to stop his irresponsible cruise through life, lower +sail, heave to, set his signals, and turn over matters to this charming +pilot.</p> + +<p>And now they would come into port together and anchor somewhere east of +Fifth Avenue—which, Kerns reflected, was far more proper a place for +Gatewood than somewhere east of Suez, where young men so often sail.</p> + +<p>And yet, and yet there was something melancholy in the pleasure he +experienced. Gatewood was practically lost to him. He knew what might be +expected from engaged men and newly married men. Gatewood's club life +was ended—for a while; and there was no other man with whom he cared to +embark for those brightly lighted harbors twinkling east of Suez across +the metropolitan wastes.</p> + +<p>"It's very generous of me to get him married," he said frequently to +himself, rather sadly. "I did it pretty well, too. It only shows that +women have no particular monopoly in the realms of diplomacy and +finesse; in fact, if a man really chooses to put his mind to such +matters, he can make it no trumps and win out behind a bum ace and a +guarded knave."</p> + +<p>He was pleased with himself. He followed Gatewood about explaining how +good he had been to him. An enthusiasm for marrying off his friends +began to germinate within him; he tried it on Darrell, on Barnes, on +Yates, but was turned down and severely stung.</p> + +<p>Then one day Harren of the Philippine Scouts turned up at the club, and +they held a determined reunion until daylight, and they told each other +all about it all and what upper-cuts life had handed out to them since +the troopship sailed.</p> + +<p>And after the rosy glow had deepened to a more gorgeous hue in the room, +and the electric lights had turned into silver pinwheels; and after they +had told each other the story of their lives, and the last siphon fizzed +impotently when urged beyond its capacity, Kerns arose and extended his +hand, and Harren took it. And they executed a song resembling "Auld Lang +Syne."</p> + +<p>"Ole man," said Kerns reproachfully, "there's one thing you have been +deuced careful <i>not</i> to mention, and that is about what happened to you +three years ago—"</p> + +<p>"Steady!" said Harren; "there is nothing to tell, Tommy."</p> + +<p>"Nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I never saw her again. I never shall."</p> + +<p>Kerns looked long and unsteadily upon his friend; then very gravely +fumbled in his pocket and drew forth the business card of Westrel Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"That," he said, "will be about all." And he bestowed the card upon +Harren with magnificent condescension.</p> + +<p>And about five o'clock the following afternoon Harren found the card +among various effects of his, scattered over his dresser.</p> + +<p>It took him several days to make up his mind to pay any attention to the +card or the suggestion it contained. He scarcely considered it seriously +even when, passing along Fifth Avenue one sunny afternoon, he chanced to +glance up and see the sign</p> + +<center>KEEN & CO.<br /> +TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS</center> + +<p>staring him in the face.</p> + +<p>He continued his stroll, but that evening, upon mere impulse, he sat +down and wrote a letter to Mr. Keen.</p> + +<p>The next morning's mail brought a reply and an appointment for an +interview on Wednesday week. Harren tossed the letter aside, satisfied +to let the matter go, because his leave expired on Tuesday, and the +appointment was impossible.</p> + +<p>On Sunday, however, the melancholy of the deserted club affected his +spirits. A curious desire to see this Tracer of Lost Persons seized him +with a persistence unaccountable. He slept poorly, haunted with visions.</p> + +<p>On Monday he went to see Mr. Keen. It could do no harm; it was too late +to do either harm or good, for his leave expired the next day at noon.</p> + +<p>The business of Keen & Co., Tracers of Lost Persons, had grown to +enormous proportions; appointments for a personal interview with Mr. +Keen were now made a week in advance, so when young Harren sent in his +card, the gayly liveried negro servant came back presently, threading +his way through the waiting throng with pomp and circumstance, and +returned the card to Harren with the date of appointment rewritten in +ink across the top. The day named was Wednesday. On Tuesday Harren's +leave expired.</p> + +<p>"That won't do," said the young man brusquely; "I must see Mr. Keen +to-day. I wrote last week for an appointment."</p> + +<p>The liveried darky was polite but obdurate.</p> + +<p>"Dis here am de 'pintment, suh," he explained persuasively.</p> + +<p>"But I want to see Mr. Keen at once," insisted Harren.</p> + +<p>"Hit ain't no use, suh," said the darky respectfully; "dey's mi'ions an' +mi'ions ob gemmen jess a-settin' roun' an' waitin' foh Mistuh Keen. In +dis here perfeshion, suh, de fustest gemman dat has a 'pintment is de +fustest gemman dat kin see Mistuh Keen. You is a military gemman +yohse'f, Cap'm Harren, an' you is aware dat precedence am de rigger."</p> + +<p>The bronzed young man smiled, glanced at the date of appointment written +on his card, which also bore his own name followed by the letters +U.S.A., then his amused gray eyes darkened and he glanced leisurely +around the room, where a dozen or more assorted people sat waiting their +turns to interview Mr. Keen: all sorts and conditions of people—smartly +gowned women, an anxious-browed business man or two, a fat German truck +driver, his greasy cap on his knees, a surly policeman, and an old +Irishwoman, wearing a shawl and an ancient straw bonnet. Harren's eyes +reverted to the darky.</p> + +<p>"You will explain to Mr. Keen," he said, "that I am an army officer on +leave, and that I am obliged to start for Manila to-morrow. This is my +excuse for asking an immediate interview; and if it's not a good enough +excuse I must cancel this appointment, that is all."</p> + +<p>The darky stood, irresolute, inclined to argue, but something in the +steel-gray eyes of the man set him in involuntary motion, and he went +away once more with the young man's message. Harren turned and walked +back to his seat. The old woman with the faded shawl was explaining +volubly to a handsomely gowned woman beside her that she was looking for +her boy, Danny; that her name was Mrs. Regan, and that she washed for +the aristocracy of Hunter's Point at a liberal price per dozen, using no +deleterious substances in the suds as Heaven was her witness.</p> + +<p>The German truck driver, moved by this confidence, was stirred to begin +an endless account of his domestic misfortunes, and old Mrs. Regan, +becoming impatient, had already begun to interrupt with an account of +Regan's recent hoisting on the wings of a premature petard, when the +dark servant reappeared.</p> + +<p>"Mistuh Keen will receive you, suh," he whispered, leading the way into +a large room where dozens of attractive young girls sat very busily +engaged at typewriting machines. Door after door they passed, all +numbered on the ground-glass panes, then swung to the right, where the +darky bowed him into a big, handsomely furnished room flooded with the +morning sun. A tall, gray man, faultlessly dressed in a gray frock suit +and wearing white spats, turned from the breezy, open window to inspect +him; the lean, well groomed, rather lank type of gentleman suggesting a +retired colonel of cavalry; unmistakably well bred from the ends of his +drooping gray mustache to the last button on his immaculate spats.</p> + +<p>"Captain Harren?" he said pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>They bowed. Young Harren drew from his pocket a card. It was the +business card of Keen & Co., and, glancing up at Mr. Keen, he read it +aloud, carefully:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>KEEN & CO. + +<p> TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS</p> + +<p> Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found.</p> + +<p> <i>Blanks on Application.</i></p> + +<p> WESTREL KEEN, Manager.</p></div> + +<p>Harren raised his clear, gray eyes. "I assume this statement to be +correct, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"You may safely assume so," said Mr. Keen, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Does this statement include <i>all</i> that you are prepared to undertake?"</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons inspected him coolly. "What more is there, +Captain Harren? I undertake to find lost people. I even undertake to +find the undiscovered ideals of young people who have failed to meet +them. What further field would you suggest?" Harren glanced at the card +which he held in his gloved hand; then, very slowly, he re-read, "the +whereabouts of anybody <i>on earth</i>," accenting the last two words +deliberately as he encountered Keen's piercing gaze again.</p> + +<p>"Well?" asked Mr. Keen laughingly, "is not that sufficient? Our clients +could scarcely expect us to invade heaven in our search for the +vanished."</p> + +<p>"There are other regions," said Harren.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. Sit down, sir. There is a row of bookcases for your +amusement. Please help yourself while I clear decks for action."</p> + +<p>Harren stood fingering the card, his gray eyes lost in retrospection; +then he sauntered over to the bookcases, scanning the titles. The +Searcher for Lost Persons studied him for a moment or two, turned, and +began to pace the room. After a moment or two he touched a bell. A +sweet-faced young girl entered; she was gowned in black and wore a white +collar, and cuffs turned back over her hands.</p> + +<p>"Take this memorandum," he said. The girl picked up a pencil and pad, +and Mr. Keen, still pacing the room, dictated in a quiet voice as he +walked to and fro:</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Regan's Danny is doing six months in Butte, Montana. Break it to +her as mercifully as possible. He is a bad one. We make no charge. The +truck driver, Becker, can find his wife at her mother's house, Leonia, +New Jersey. Tell him to be less pig-headed or she'll go for good some +day. Ten dollars. Mrs. M., No. 36001, can find her missing butler in +service at 79 Vine Street, Hartford, Connecticut. She may notify the +police whenever she wishes. His portrait is No. 170529, Rogues' Gallery. +Five hundred dollars. Miss K. (No. 3679) may send her letter, care of +Cisneros & Co., Rio, where the person she is seeking has gone into the +coffee business. If she decides that she really does love him, he'll +come back fast enough. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Mr. W. (No. 3620) +must go to the morgue for further information. His repentance is too +late; but he can see that there is a decent burial. The charge: one +thousand dollars to the Florence Mission. You may add that we possess +his full record."</p> + +<p>The Tracer paused and waited for the stenographer to finish. When she +looked up: "Who else is waiting?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The girl read over the initials and numbers.</p> + +<p>"Tell that policeman that Kid Conroy sails on the <i>Carania</i> to-morrow. +Fifty dollars. There is nothing definite in the other cases. Report +progress and send out a general alarm for the cashier inquired for by +No. 3608. You will find details in vol. xxxix under B."</p> + +<p>"Is that all, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm going to be very busy with"—turning slowly toward +Harren—"with Captain Harren, of the Philippine Scouts, until +to-morrow—a very complicated case, Miss Borrow, involving cipher codes +and photography—"</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII'></a><h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Harren started, then walked slowly to the center of the room as the +pretty stenographer passed out with a curious level glance at him.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that photography plays a part in my case?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But how—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I only guessed it," said Keen with a smile. "I made another guess +that your case involved a cipher code. Does it?"</p> + +<p>"Y-es," said the young man, astonished, "but I don't see—"</p> + +<p>"It also involves the occult," observed Keen calmly. "We may need Miss +Borrow to help us."</p> + +<p>Almost staggered, Harren stared at the Tracer out of his astonished gray +eyes until that gentleman laughed outright and seated himself, motioning +Harren to do likewise.</p> + +<p>"Don't be surprised, Captain Harren," he said. "I suppose you have no +conception of our business, no realization of its scope—its network of +information bureaus all over the civilized world, its myriad sources of +information, the immensity of its delicate machinery, the endless data +and the infinitesimal details we have at our command. You, of course, +have no idea of the number of people of every sort and condition who are +in our employ, of the ceaseless yet inoffensive surveillance we +maintain. For example, when your letter came last week I called up the +person who has charge of the army list. There you were, Kenneth Harren, +Captain Philippine Scouts, with the date of your graduation from West +Point. Then I called up a certain department devoted to personal detail, +and in five minutes I knew your entire history. I then touched another +electric button, and in a minute I had before me the date of your +arrival in New York, your present address, and"—he looked up +quizzically at Harren—"and several items of general information, such +as your peculiar use of your camera, and the list of books on Psychical +Phenomena and Cryptograms which you have been buying—"</p> + +<p>Harren flushed up. "Do you mean to say that I have been spied upon, Mr. +Keen?"</p> + +<p>"No more than anybody else who comes to us as a client. There was +nothing offensive in the surveillance." He shrugged his shoulders and +made a deprecating gesture. "Ours is a business, my dear sir, like any +other. We, of course, are obliged to know about people who call on us. +Last week you wrote me, and I immediately set every wheel in motion; in +other words, I had you under observation from the day I received your +letter to this very moment."</p> + +<p>"You learned much concerning me?" asked Harren quietly.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly, my dear sir."</p> + +<p>"But," continued Harren with a touch of malice, "you didn't learn that +my leave is up to-morrow, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I learned that, too."</p> + +<p>"Then why did you give me an appointment for the day after to-morrow?" +demanded the young man bluntly.</p> + +<p>The Tracer looked him squarely in the eye. "Your leave is to be +extended," he said.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. It has been extended one week."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?"</p> + +<p>"You applied for extension, did you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Harren, turning red, "but I don't see how you knew that I—"</p> + +<p>"By cable?"</p> + +<p>"Y-yes."</p> + +<p>"There's a cablegram in your rooms at this very moment," said the +Tracer carelessly. "You have the extension you desired. And now, Captain +Harren," with a singularly pleasant smile, "what can I do to help you to +a pursuit of that true happiness which is guaranteed for all good +citizens under our Constitution?"</p> + +<p>Captain Harren crossed his long legs, dropping one knee over the other, +and deliberately surveyed his interrogator.</p> + +<p>"I really have no right to come to you," he said slowly. "Your +prospectus distinctly states that Keen & Co. undertake to find <i>live</i> +people, and I don't know whether the person I am seeking is alive +or—or—"</p> + +<p>His steady voice faltered; the Tracer watched him curiously.</p> + +<p>"Of course, that is important," he said. "If she <i>is</i> dead—"</p> + +<p>"<i>She</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Didn't you say 'she,' Captain?"</p> + +<p>"No, I did not."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, then, for anticipating you," said the Tracer +carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Anticipating? <i>How</i> do you know it is not a man I am in search of?" +demanded Harren.</p> + +<p>"Captain Harren, you are unmarried and have no son; you have no father, +no brother, no sister. Therefore I infer—several things—for example, +that you are in love."</p> + +<p>"I? In love?"</p> + +<p>"Desperately, Captain."</p> + +<p>"Your inferences seem to satisfy you, at least," said Harren almost +sullenly, "but they don't satisfy me—clever as they appear to be."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. Then you are <i>not</i> in love?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether I am or not."</p> + +<p>"I do," said the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"Then you know more than I," retorted Harren sharply.</p> + +<p>"But that is my business—to know more than you do," returned Mr. Keen +patiently. "Else why are you here to consult me?" And as Harren made no +reply: "I have seen thousands and thousands of people in love. I have +reduced the superficial muscular phenomena and facial symptomatic aspect +of such people to an exact science founded upon a schedule approximating +the Bertillon system of records. And," he added, smiling, "out of the +twenty-seven known vocal variations your voice betrays twenty-five +unmistakable symptoms; and out of the sixteen reflex muscular symptoms +your face has furnished six, your hands three, your limbs and feet six. +Then there are other superficial symptoms—"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" broke in Harren; "how can you prove a man to be in love +when he himself doesn't know whether he is or not? If a man isn't in +love no Bertillon system can make him so; and if a man doesn't know +whether or not he is in love, who can tell him the truth?"</p> + +<p>"I can," said the Tracer calmly.</p> + +<p>"What! When I tell you I myself don't know?"</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i>," said the Tracer, smiling, "is the final and convincing +symptom. <i>You</i> don't know. <i>I</i> know because you <i>don't</i> know. That is +the easiest way to be sure that you are in love, Captain Harren, because +you always are when you are not sure. You'd know if you were <i>not</i> in +love. Now, my dear sir, you may lay your case confidently before me."</p> + +<p>Harren, unconvinced, sat frowning and biting his lip and twisting his +short, crisp mustache which the tropical sun had turned straw color and +curly.</p> + +<p>"I feel like a fool to tell you," he said. "I'm not an imaginative man, +Mr. Keen; I'm not fanciful, not sentimental. I'm perfectly healthy, +perfectly normal—a very busy man in my profession, with no time and no +inclination to fall in love."</p> + +<p>"Just the sort of man who does it," commented Keen. "Continue."</p> + +<p>Harren fidgeted about in his chair, looked out of the window, squinted +at the ceiling, then straightened up, folding his arms with sudden +determination.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather be boloed than tell you," he said. "Perhaps, after all, I +<i>am</i> a lunatic; perhaps I've had a touch of the Luzon sun and don't know +it."</p> + +<p>"I'll be the judge," said the Tracer, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir. Then I'll begin by telling you that I've seen a ghost."</p> + +<p>"There are such things," observed Keen quietly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mean one of those fabled sheeted creatures that float about +at night; I mean a phantom—a real phantom—in the sunlight—standing +before my very eyes in broad day! . . . Now do you feel inclined to go +on with my case, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," replied the Tracer gravely. "Please continue, Captain +Harren."</p> + +<p>"All right, then. Here's the beginning of it: Three years ago, here in +New York, drifting along Fifth Avenue with the crowd, I looked up to +encounter the most wonderful pair of eyes that I ever beheld—that any +living man ever beheld! The most—wonderfully—beautiful—"</p> + +<p>He sat so long immersed in retrospection that the Tracer said: "I am +listening, Captain," and the Captain woke up with a start.</p> + +<p>"What was I saying? How far had I proceeded?"</p> + +<p>"Only to the eyes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see! The eyes were dark, sir, dark and lovely beyond any power of +description. The hair was also dark—very soft and thick and—er—wavy +and dark. The face was extremely youthful, and ornamental to the +uttermost verges of a beauty so exquisite that, were I to attempt to +formulate for you its individual attractions, I should, I fear, +transgress the strictly rigid bounds of that reticence which becomes a +gentleman in complete possession of his senses."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly," mused the Tracer.</p> + +<p>"Also," continued Captain Harren, with growing animation, "to attempt to +describe her figure would be utterly useless, because I am a practical +man and not a poet, nor do I read poetry or indulge in futile novels or +romances of any description. Therefore I can only add that it was a +figure, a poise, absolutely faultless, youthful, beautiful, erect, +wholesome, gracious, graceful, charmingly buoyant and—well, I cannot +describe her figure, and I shall not try."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly; don't try."</p> + +<p>"No," said Harren mournfully, "it is useless"; and he relapsed into +enchanted retrospection.</p> + +<p>"Who was she?" asked Mr. Keen softly.</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"You never again saw her?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen, I—I am not ill-bred, but I simply could not help following +her. She was so b-b-beautiful that it hurt; and I only wanted to look at +her; I didn't mind being hurt. So I walked on and on, and sometimes I'd +pass her and sometimes I'd let her pass me, and when she wasn't looking +I'd look—not offensively, but just because I <i>couldn't</i> help it. And +all the time my senses were humming like a top and my heart kept jumping +to get into my throat, and I hadn't a notion where I was going or what +time it was or what day of the week. She didn't see me; she didn't dream +that I was looking at her; she didn't know me from any of the thousand +silk-hatted, frock-coated men who passed and repassed her on Fifth +Avenue. And when she went into St. Berold's Church, I went, too, and I +stood where I could see her and where she couldn't see me. It was like a +touch of the Luzon sun, Mr. Keen. And then she came out and got into a +Fifth Avenue stage, and I got in, too. And whenever she looked away I +looked at her—without the slightest offense, Mr. Keen, until, once, she +caught my eye—"</p> + +<p>He passed an unsteady hand over his forehead.</p> + +<p>"For a moment we looked full at one another," he continued. "I got red, +sir; I felt it, and I couldn't look away. And when I turned color like a +blooming beet, she began to turn pink like a rosebud, and she looked +full into my eyes with such a wonderful purity, such exquisite +innocence, that I—I never felt so near—er—heaven in my life! No, sir, +not even when they ambushed us at Manoa Wells—but that's another +thing—only it is part of this business."</p> + +<p>He tightened his clasped hands over his knee until the knuckles +whitened.</p> + +<p>"<i>That's</i> my story, Mr. Keen," he said crisply.</p> + +<p>"All of it?"</p> + +<p>Harren looked at the floor, then at Keen: "No, not all. You'll think me +a lunatic if I tell you all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you saw her again?"</p> + +<p>"N-never! That is—"</p> + +<p>"Never?"</p> + +<p>"Not in—in the flesh."</p> + +<p>"Oh, in dreams?"</p> + +<p>Harren stirred uneasily. "I don't know what you call them. I have seen +her since—in the sunlight, in the open, in my quarters in Manila, +standing there perfectly distinct, looking at me with such strange, +beautiful eyes—"</p> + +<p>"Go on," said the Tracer, nodding.</p> + +<p>"What else is there to say?" muttered Harren.</p> + +<p>"You saw her—or a phantom which resembled her. Did she speak?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Did you speak to her?"</p> + +<p>"N-no. Once I held out my—my arms."</p> + +<p>"What happened?"</p> + +<p>"She wasn't there," said Harren simply.</p> + +<p>"She vanished?"</p> + +<p>"No—I don't know. I—I didn't see her any more."</p> + +<p>"Didn't she fade?"</p> + +<p>"No. I can't explain. She—there was only myself in the room."</p> + +<p>"How many times has she appeared to you?"</p> + +<p>"A great many times."</p> + +<p>"In your room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And in the road under a vertical sun; in the forest, in the paddy +fields. I have seen her passing through the hallway of a friend's +house—turning on the stair to look back at me! I saw her standing just +back of the firing-line at Manoa Wells when we were preparing to rush +the forts, and it scared me so that I jumped forward to draw her back. +But—she wasn't there, Mr. Keen. . . .</p> + +<p>"On the transport she stood facing me on deck one moonlit evening for +five minutes. I saw her in 'Frisco; she sat in the Pullman twice between +Denver and this city. Twice in my room at the Vice-Regent she has sat +opposite me at midday, so clear, so beautiful, so real that—that I +could scarcely believe she was only a—a—" He hesitated.</p> + +<p>"The apparition of her own subconscious self," said the Tracer quietly. +"Science has been forced to admit such things, and, as you know, we are +on the verge of understanding the alphabet of some of the unknown forces +which we must some day reckon with."</p> + +<p>Harren, tense, a trifle pale, gazed at him earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Do <i>you</i> believe in such things?"</p> + +<p>"How can I avoid believing?" said the Tracer. "Every day, in my +profession, we have proof of the existence of forces for which we have +as yet no explanation—or, at best, a very crude one. I have had case +after case of premonition; case after case of dual and even multiple +personality; case after case where apparitions played a vital part in +the plot which was brought to me to investigate. I'll tell you this, +Captain: I, personally, never saw an apparition, never was obsessed by +premonitions, never received any communications from the outer void. But +I have had to do with those who undoubtedly did. Therefore I listen with +all seriousness and respect to what you tell me."</p> + +<p>"Suppose," said Harren, growing suddenly red, "that I should tell you I +have succeeded in photographing this phantom."</p> + +<p>The Tracer sat silent. He was astounded, but, he did not betray it.</p> + +<p>"You have that photograph, Captain Harren?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Where is it?"</p> + +<p>"In my rooms."</p> + +<p>"You wish me to see it?"</p> + +<p>Harren hesitated. "I—there is—seems to be—something almost sacred to +me in that photograph. . . . You understand me, do you not? Yet, if it +will help you in finding her—"</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the Tracer in guileless astonishment, "you desire to find +this young lady. Why?"</p> + +<p>Harren stared. "Why? Why do I want to find her? Man, I—I can't live +without her!"</p> + +<p>"I thought you were not certain whether you really could be in love."</p> + +<p>The hot color in the Captain's bronzed cheeks mounted to his hair.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly," purred the Tracer, looking out of the window. "Suppose we +walk around to your rooms after luncheon. Shall we?"</p> + +<p>Harren picked up his hat and gloves, hesitating, lingering on the +threshold. "You <i>don't</i> think she is—a—dead?" he asked unsteadily.</p> + +<p>"No," said Mr. Keen, "I don't."</p> + +<p>"Because," said Harren wistfully, "her apparition is so superbly healthy +and—and glowing with youth and life—"</p> + +<p>"That is probably what sent it half the world over to confront you," +said the Tracer gravely; "youth and life aglow with spiritual health. I +think, Captain, that she has been seeing you, too, during these three +years, but probably only in her dreams—memories of your encounters with +her subconscious self floating over continents and oceans in a quest of +which her waking intelligence is innocently unaware."</p> + +<p>The Captain colored like a schoolboy, lingering at the door, hat in +hand. Then he straightened up to the full height of his slim but +powerful figure.</p> + +<p>"At three?" he inquired bluntly.</p> + +<p>"At three o'clock in your room, Hotel Vice-Regent. Good morning, +Captain."</p> + +<p>"Good morning," said Harren dreamily, and walked away, head bent, gray +eyes lost in retrospection, and on his lean, bronzed, attractive face an +afterglow of color wholly becoming.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX'></a><h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<br /> + +<p>When the Tracer of Lost Persons entered Captain Harren's room at the +Hotel Vice-Regent that afternoon he found the young man standing at a +center table, pencil in hand, studying a sheet of paper which was +covered with letters and figures.</p> + +<p>The two men eyed one another in silence for a moment, then Harren +pointed grimly to the confusion of letters and figures covering dozens +of scattered sheets lying on the table.</p> + +<p>"That's part of my madness," he said with a short laugh. "Can you make +anything of such lunatic work?"</p> + +<p>The Tracer picked up a sheet of paper covered with letters of the +alphabet and Roman and Arabic numerals. He dropped it presently and +picked up another comparatively blank sheet, on which were the following +figures:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-1.png' width='80%' alt='Cryptographic symbols' title=''> +</center> + +<p>He studied it for a while, then glanced interrogatively at Harren.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing," said Harren. "I've been groping for three years—but +it's no use. That's lunatics' work." He wheeled squarely on his heels, +looking straight at the Tracer. "<i>Do</i> you think I've had a touch of the +sun?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Mr. Keen, drawing a chair to the table. "Saner men than you +or I have spent a lifetime over this so-called Seal of Solomon." He laid +his finger on the two symbols—</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-2.png' width='337' height='167' alt='Cryptographic symbols' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Then, looking across the table at Harren: "What," he asked, "has the +Seal of Solomon to do with your case?"</p> + +<p>"<i>She</i>—" muttered Harren, and fell silent.</p> + +<p>The Tracer waited; Harren said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Where is the photograph?"</p> + +<p>Harren unlocked a drawer in the table, hesitated, looked strangely at +the Tracer.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen," he said, "there is nothing on earth I hold more sacred than +this. There is only one thing in the world that could justify me in +showing it to a living soul—my—my desire to find—her—"</p> + +<p>"No," said Keen coolly, "that is not enough to justify you—the mere +desire to find the living original of this apparition. Nothing could +justify your showing it unless you love her."</p> + +<p>Harren held the picture tightly, staring full at the Tracer. A dull +flush mounted to his forehead, and very slowly he laid the picture +before the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>Minute after minute sped while the Tracer bent above the photograph, his +finely modeled features absolutely devoid of expression. Harren had +drawn his chair beside him, and now sat leaning forward, bronzed cheek +resting in his hand, staring fixedly at the picture.</p> + +<p>"When was this—this photograph taken?" asked the Tracer quietly.</p> + +<p>"The day after I arrived in New York. I was here, alone, smoking my pipe +and glancing over the evening paper just before dressing for dinner. It +was growing rather dark in the room; I had not turned on the electric +light. My camera lay on the table—there it is!—that kodak. I had taken +a few snapshots on shipboard; there was one film left."</p> + +<p>He leaned more heavily on his elbow, eyes fixed upon the picture.</p> + +<p>"It was almost dark," he repeated. "I laid aside the evening paper and +stood up, thinking about dressing for dinner, when my eyes happened to +fall on the camera. It occurred to me that I might as well unload it, +let the unused film go, and send the roll to be developed and printed; +and I picked up the camera—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Tracer softly.</p> + +<p>"I picked it up and was starting toward the window where there remained +enough daylight to see by—"</p> + +<p>The Tracer nodded gently.</p> + +<p>"Then I saw <i>her</i>!" said Harren under his breath.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"There—standing by that window. You can see the window and curtain in +the photograph."</p> + +<p>The Tracer gazed intently at the picture.</p> + +<p>"She looked at me," said Harren, steadying his voice. "She was as real +as you are, and she stood there, smiling faintly, her dark, lovely eyes +meeting mine."</p> + +<p>"Did you speak?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"How long did she remain there?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—time seemed to stop—the world—everything grew still. +. . . Then, little by little, something began to stir under my stunned +senses—that germ of misgiving, that dreadful doubt of my own sanity. +. . . I scarcely knew what I was doing when I took the photograph; +besides, it had grown quite dark, and I could scarcely see her." He drew +himself erect with a nervous movement. "How on earth could I have +obtained that photograph of her in the darkness?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"N-rays," said the Tracer coolly. "It has been done in France."</p> + +<p>"Yes, from living people, but—"</p> + +<p>"What the N-ray is in living organisms, we must call, for lack of a +better term, the subaura in the phantom."</p> + +<p>They bent over the photograph together. Presently the Tracer said: "She +is very, very beautiful?"</p> + +<p>Harren's dry lips unclosed, but he uttered no sound.</p> + +<p>"She is beautiful, is she not?" repeated the Tracer, turning to look at +the young man.</p> + +<p>"Can you not see she is?" he asked impatiently.</p> + +<p>"No," said the Tracer.</p> + +<p>Harren stared at him.</p> + +<p>"Captain Harren," continued the Tracer, "I can see nothing upon this bit +of paper that resembles in the remotest degree a human face or figure."</p> + +<p>Harren turned white.</p> + +<p>"Not that I doubt that <i>you</i> can see it," pursued the Tracer calmly. "I +simply repeat that I see absolutely nothing on this paper except a part +of a curtain, a window pane, and—and—"</p> + +<p>"What! for God's sake!" cried Harren hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"I don't know yet. Wait; let me study it."</p> + +<p>"Can you not see her face, her eyes? <i>Don't</i> you see that exquisite slim +figure standing there by the curtain?" demanded Harren, laying his +shaking finger on the photograph. "Why, man, it is as clear, as clean +cut, as distinct as though the picture had been taken in sunlight! Do +you mean to say that there is nothing there—that I am crazy?"</p> + +<p>"No. Wait."</p> + +<p>"Wait! How can I wait when you sit staring at her picture and telling me +that you can't see it, but that it is doubtless there? Are you deceiving +me, Mr. Keen? Are you trying to humor me, trying to be kind to me, +knowing all the while that I'm crazy—"</p> + +<p>"Wait, man! You are no more crazy than I am. I tell you that I can see +something on the window pane—"</p> + +<p>He suddenly sprang up and walked to the window, leaning close and +examining the glass. Harren followed and laid his hand lightly over the +pane.</p> + +<p>"Do you see any marks on the glass?" demanded Keen.</p> + +<p>Harren shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Have you a magnifying glass?" asked the Tracer.</p> + +<p>Harren pointed back to the table, and they returned to the photograph, +the Tracer bending over it and examining it through the glass.</p> + +<p>"All I see," he said, still studying the photograph, "is a corner of a +curtain and a window on which certain figures seem to have been cut. +. . . Look, Captain Harren, can you see them?"</p> + +<p>"I see some marks—some squares."</p> + +<p>"You can't see anything written on that pane—as though cut by a +diamond?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing distinct."</p> + +<p>"But you see <i>her</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly."</p> + +<p>"In minute detail?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The Tracer thought a moment: "Does she wear a ring?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; can't you see?"</p> + +<p>"Draw it for me."</p> + +<p>They seated themselves side by side, and Harren drew a rough sketch of +the ring which he insisted was so plainly visible on her hand:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/ring.png' width='143' height='113' alt='Ring with an X' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"Oh," observed the Tracer, "she wears the Seal of Solomon on her ring."</p> + +<p>Harren looked up at him. "That symbol has haunted me persistently for +three years," he said. "I have found it everywhere—on articles that I +buy, on house furniture, on the belts of dead ladrones, on the hilts of +creeses, on the funnels of steamers, on the headstalls of horses. If +they put a laundry mark on my linen it's certain to be this! If I buy a +box of matches the sign is on it. Why, I've even seen it on the +brilliant wings of tropical insects. It's got on my nerves. I dream +about it."</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-3.png' width='121' height='96' alt='Ring with an X' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"And you buy books about it and try to work out its mystical meaning?" +suggested the Tracer, smiling.</p> + +<p>But Harren's gray eyes were serious. He said: "<i>She</i> never comes to me +without that symbol somewhere about her. . . . I told you she never +spoke to me. That is true; yet once, in a vivid dream of her, she did +speak. I—I was almost ashamed to tell you of that."</p> + +<p>"Tell me."</p> + +<p>"A—a dream? Do you wish to know what I dreamed?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—if it was a dream."</p> + +<p>"It was. I was asleep on the deck of the <i>Mindinao</i>, dead tired after a +fruitless hike. I dreamed she came toward me through a young woodland +all lighted by the sun, and in her hands she held masses of that wild +flower we call Solomon's Seal. And she said—in the voice I know must be +like hers: 'If you could only read! If you would only understand the +message I send you! It is everywhere on earth for you to read, if you +only would!'</p> + +<p>"I said: 'Is the message in the seal? Is that the key to it?'</p> + +<p>"She nodded, laughing, burying her face in the flowers, and said:</p> + +<p>"'Perhaps I can write it more plainly for you some day; I will try very, +very hard.'</p> + +<p>"And after that she went away—not swiftly—for I saw her at moments far +away in the woods; but I must have confused her with the glimmering +shafts of sunlight, and in a little while the woodland grew dark and I +woke with the racket of a Colt's automatic in my ears."</p> + +<p>He passed his sun-bronzed hand over his face, hesitated, then leaned +over the photograph once more, which the Tracer was studying intently +through the magnifying glass.</p> + +<p>"There is something on that window in the photograph which I'm going to +copy," he said. "Please shove a pad and pencil toward me."</p> + +<p>Still examining the photograph through the glass which he held in his +right hand, Mr. Keen picked up the pencil and, feeling for the pad, +began very slowly to form the following series of symbols:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-4.png' width='80%' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"What on earth are you doing?" muttered Captain Harren, twisting his +short mustache in perplexity.</p> + +<p>"I am copying what I see through this magnifying glass written on the +window pane in the photograph," said the Tracer calmly. "Can't you see +those marks?"</p> + +<p>"I—I do now; I never noticed them before particularly—only that there +were scratches there."</p> + +<p>When at length the Tracer had finished his work he sat, chin on hand, +examining it in silence. Presently he turned toward Harren, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Well?" inquired the younger man impatiently; "do those scratches +representing Solomon's Seal mean anything?"</p> + +<p>"It's the strangest cipher I ever encountered," said Mr. Keen—"the +strangest I ever heard of. I have seen hundreds of +ciphers—hundreds—secret codes of the State Department, secret military +codes, elaborate Oriental ciphers, symbols used in commercial +transactions, symbols used by criminals and every species of malefactor. +And every one of them can be solved with time and patience and a little +knowledge of the subject. But this"—he sat looking at it with eyes half +closed—"this is <i>too</i> simple."</p> + +<p>"Simple!"</p> + +<p>"Very. It's so simple that it's baffling."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you are going to be able to find a meaning in +squares and crosses?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't believe it is going to be so very difficult to translate +them."</p> + +<p>"Great guns!" said the Captain. "Do you mean to say that you can +ultimately translate that cipher?"</p> + +<p>The Tracer smiled. "Let's examine it for repetitions first. Here we have +this symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-5.png' width='117' height='89' alt='Cryptographic symbols' title=''> +</center> + +<p>repeated five times. It's likely to be the letter E. I think—" His +voice ceased; for a quarter of an hour he pored over the symbols, pencil +in hand, checking off some, substituting a letter here and there.</p> + +<p>"No," he said; "the usual doesn't work in this case. It's an absurdly +simple cipher. I have a notion that numbers play a part in it—you see +where these crossed squares are bracketed—those must be numbers +requiring two figures—"</p> + +<p>He fell silent again, and for another quarter of an hour he remained +motionless, immersed in the problem before him, Harren frowning at the +paper over his shoulder.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_X'></a><h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"Come!" said the Tracer suddenly; "this won't do. There are too few +symbols to give us a key; too few repetitions to furnish us with any key +basis. Come, Captain, let us use our intellects; let us talk it over +with that paper lying there between us. It's a simple cipher—a +childishly simple one if we use our wits. Now, sir, what I see repeated +before us on this sheet of paper is merely one of the forms of a symbol +known as Solomon's Seal. The symbol is, as we see, repeated a great many +times. Every seal has been dotted or crossed on some one of the lines +composing it; some seals are coupled with brackets and armatures."</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-6.png' width='121' height='113' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"What of it?" inquired Harren vacantly.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, in the first place, that symbol is supposed to represent the +spiritual and material, as you know. What else do you know about it?"</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-7.png' width='106' height='98' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"Nothing. I bought a book about it, but made nothing of it."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it supposed," asked Mr. Keen, "to contain within itself the nine +numerals, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and even the zero symbol?"</p> + +<p>"I believe so."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. Here's the seal</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-8.png' width='113' height='115' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Now I'll mark the one, two, and three by crossing the lines, like this:</p> + +<p>one,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-9.png' width='110' height='100' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>two,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-10.png' width='113' height='94' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>three,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-11.png' width='108' height='94' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Now, eliminating all lines not crossed there remains</p> + +<p>the one,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-12.png' width='56' height='113' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> +<p>the two,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-13.png' width='73' height='90' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>the three,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-14.png' width='77' height='104' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>And here is the entire series:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-15.png' width='431' height='108' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and the zero—"</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-16.png' width='49' height='69' alt='Cryptographic symbols' title=''> +</center> + +<p>A sudden excitement stirred Harren; he leaned over the paper, gazing +earnestly at the cipher; the Tracer rose and glanced around the room as +though in search of something.</p> + +<p>"Is there a telephone here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, don't give this up just yet," exclaimed Harren. +"These things mean numbers; don't you see? Look at that!" pointing to a +linked pair of seals,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-17.png' width='288' height='142' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"That means the number nineteen! You can form it by using only the +crossed lines of the seal.</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/crypto-18.png' width='158' height='121' alt='Cryptographic symbol' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Don't you see, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Captain Harren, the cipher is, as you say, very plain; quite as +easy to read as so much handwriting. That is why I wish to use your +telephone—at once, if you please."</p> + +<p>"It's in my bedroom; you don't mind if I go on working out this cipher +while you're telephoning?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," said the Tracer blandly. He walked into the +Captain's bedroom, closing the door behind him; then he stepped over to +the telephone, unhooked the receiver, and called up his own +headquarters.</p> + +<p>"Hello. This is Mr. Keen. I want to speak to Miss Borrow."</p> + +<p>In a few moments Miss Borrow answered: "I am here, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"Good. Look up the name Inwood. Try New York first—Edith Inwood is the +name. Look sharp, please; I am holding the wire."</p> + +<p>He held it for ten full minutes; then Miss Borrow's low voice called him +over the wire.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," said the Tracer quietly.</p> + +<p>"There is only one Edith Inwood in New York, Mr. Keen—Miss Edith +Inwood, graduate of Barnard, 1902—left an orphan 1903 and obliged to +support herself—became an assistant to Professor Boggs of the Museum of +Inscriptions. Is considered an authority upon Arabian cryptograms. Has +written a monograph on the Herati symbol—a short treatise on the +Swastika. She is twenty-four years of age. Do you require further +details?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the Tracer; "please ring off."</p> + +<p>Then he called up General Information. "I want the Museum of +Inscriptions. Get me their number, please." After a moment: "Is this the +Museum of Inscriptions?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Is Professor Boggs there?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Is this Professor Boggs?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Could you find time to decipher an inscription for me at once?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Of course I know you are extremely busy, but have you no assistant who +could do it?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"What did you say her name is? Miss Inwood?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Oh! And will the young lady translate the inscription at once if I send +a copy of it to her by messenger?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Thank you very much, Professor. I will send a messenger to Miss Inwood +with a copy of the inscription. Good-by."</p> + +<p>He hung up the receiver, turned thoughtfully, opened the door again, and +walked into the sunlit living room.</p> + +<p>"Look here!" cried the Captain in a high state of excitement. "I've got +a lot of numbers out of it already."</p> + +<p>"Wonderful!" murmured the Tracer, looking over the young man's broad +shoulders at a sheet of paper bearing these numbers:</p> + +9—14—5—22—5—18—19—1—23—25—15—21—2—21—20—15—14—3—5—9—12—15—22—5—25—15—21—5—4—9—20—8—9—14—23—15—15—4.<br /> + +<p>"Marvelous!" repeated the Tracer, smiling. "Now what <i>do</i> you suppose +those numbers can stand for?"</p> + +<p>"Letters!" announced the Captain triumphantly. "Take the number nine, +for example. The ninth letter in the alphabet is I! Mr. Keen, suppose we +try writing down the letters according to that system!"</p> + +<p>"Suppose we do," agreed the Tracer gravely.</p> + +<p>So, counting under his breath, the young man set down the letters in the +following order, not attempting to group them into words:</p> + +<p><b>INEVERSAWYOUBUTONCEILOVEYOUEDITHINWOOD.</b></p> + +<p>Then he leaned back, excited, triumphant.</p> + +<p>"There you are!" he said; "only, of course, it makes no sense." He +examined it in silence, and gradually a hopeless expression effaced the +animation. "How the deuce am I going to separate that mass of letters +into words?" he muttered.</p> + +<p>"This way," said the Tracer, smilingly taking the pencil from his +fingers, and he wrote: <b>I—NEVER—SAW—YOU—BUT—ONCE. I—LOVE—YOU. +EDITH INWOOD.</b></p> + +<p>Then he laid the pencil on the table and walked to the window.</p> + +<p>Once or twice he fancied that he heard incoherent sounds behind him. +And after a while he turned, retracing his steps leisurely. Captain +Harren, extremely pink, stood tugging at his short mustache and studying +the papers on the desk.</p> + +<p>"Well?" inquired the Tracer, amused.</p> + +<p>The young man pointed to the translation with unsteady finger. "W-what +on earth does that mean?" he demanded shakily. "Who is Edith Inwood? +W-what on earth does that cryptogram mean on the window pane in the +photograph? How did it come there? It isn't on my window pane, you see!"</p> + +<p>The Tracer said quietly: "That is not a photograph of your window."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"No, Captain. Here! Look at it closely through this glass. There are +sixteen small panes in that sash; now count the panes in your +window—eight! Besides, look at that curtain. It is made of some figured +stuff like chintz. Now, look at your own curtain yonder! It is of plain +velour."</p> + +<p>"But—but I took that photograph! She stood there—there by that very +window!"</p> + +<p>The Tracer leaned over the photograph, examining it through the glass. +And, studying it, he said: "Do you still see <i>her</i> in this photograph, +Captain Harren?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Can you not see her?"</p> + +<p>"No," murmured the Tracer, "but I see the window which she really stood +by when her phantom came here seeking you. And that is sufficient. Come, +Captain Harren, we are going out together."</p> + +<p>The Captain looked at him earnestly; something in Mr. Keen's eyes seemed +to fascinate him.</p> + +<p>"You think that—that it's likely we are g-going to see—<i>her</i>!" he +faltered.</p> + +<p>"If I were you," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, joining the tips of +his lean fingers meditatively—"If I were you I should wear a silk hat +and a frock coat. It's—it's afternoon, anyhow," he added deprecatingly, +"and we are liable to make a call."</p> + +<p>Captain Harren turned like a man in a dream and entered his bedroom. And +when he emerged he was dressed and groomed with pathetic precision.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen," he said, "I—I don't know why I am d-daring to hope for all +s-sorts of things. Nothing you have said really warrants it. But somehow +I'm venturing to cherish an absurd notion that I may s-see her."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said the Tracer, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen! You wouldn't say that if—if there was no chance, would you? +You wouldn't dash a fellow's hopes—"</p> + +<p>"No, I wouldn't," said Mr. Keen. "I tell you frankly that I expect to +find her."</p> + +<p>"To-day?"</p> + +<p>"We'll see," said Mr. Keen guardedly. "Come, Captain, don't look that +way! Courage, sir! We are about to execute a turning movement; but you +look like a Russian general on his way to the south front."</p> + +<p>Harren managed to laugh; they went out, side by side, descended the +elevator, and found a cab at the <i>porte-cochère</i>. Mr. Keen gave the +directions and followed the Captain into the cab.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said, as they wheeled south, "we are first going to visit the +Museum of Inscriptions and have this cipher translation verified. Here +is the cipher as I copied it. Hold it tightly, Captain; we've only a few +blocks to drive."</p> + +<p>Indeed they were already nearly there. The hansom drew up in front of a +plain granite building wedged in between some rather elaborate private +dwelling-houses. Over the door were letters of dull bronze:</p> + +<center><b>AMERICAN MUSEUM OF INSCRIPTIONS</b></center> + +<p>and the two men descended and entered a wide marble hall lined with +glass-covered cabinets containing plaster casts of various ancient +inscriptions and a few bronze and marble originals. Several female +frumps were nosing the exhibits.</p> + +<p>An attendant in livery stood in the middle distance. The Tracer walked +over to him. "I have an appointment to consult Miss Inwood," he +whispered.</p> + +<p>"This way, sir," nodded the attendant, and the Tracer signaled the +Captain to follow.</p> + +<p>They climbed several marble stairways, crossed a rotunda, and entered a +room—a sort of library. Beyond was a door which bore the inscription:</p> + +<center><b>ASSISTANT CURATOR</b></center> + +<p>"Now," said the Tracer of Lost Persons in a low voice to Captain Harren, +"I am going to ask you to sit here for a few minutes while I interview +the assistant curator. You don't mind, do you?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't mind," said Harren wearily, "only, when are we going to +begin to search for—<i>her</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Very soon—I may say extremely soon," said Mr. Keen gravely. "By the +way, I think I'll take that sheet of paper on which I copied the cipher. +Thank you. I won't be long."</p> + +<p>The attendant had vanished. Captain Harren sat down by a window and +gazed out into the late afternoon sunshine. The Tracer of Lost Persons, +treading softly across the carpeted floor, approached the sanctuary, +turned the handle, and walked in, carefully closing the door behind him.</p> + +<p>There was a young girl seated at a desk by an open window; she looked up +quietly as he entered, then rose leisurely.</p> + +<p>"Miss Inwood?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>She was slender, dark-eyed, dark-haired—a lovely, wholesome young +creature; gracious and graceful. And that was all—for the Tracer of +Lost Persons could not see through the eyes of Captain Harren, and +perhaps that is why he was not able to discern a miracle of beauty in +the pretty girl who confronted him—no magic and matchless marvel of +transcendent loveliness—only a quiet, sweet-faced, dark-eyed young girl +whose features and figure were attractive in the manner that youth is +always attractive. But then it is a gift of the gods to see through eyes +anointed by the gods.</p> + +<p>The Tracer touched his gray mustache and bowed; the girl bowed very +sweetly.</p> + +<p>"You are Mr. Keen," she said; "you have an inscription for me to +translate."</p> + +<p>"A mystery for young eyes to interpret," he said, smiling. "May I sit +here—and tell my story before I show you my inscription?"</p> + +<p>"Please do," she said, seating herself at her desk and facing him, one +slender white hand supporting the oval of her face.</p> + +<p>The Tracer drew his chair a little forward. "It is a curious matter," he +said. "May I give you a brief outline of the details?"</p> + +<p>"By all means, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"Then let me begin by saying that the inscription of which I have a copy +was probably scratched upon a window pane by means of a diamond."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Then—then it is not an ancient inscription, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"The theme is ancient—the oldest theme in the world—love! The cipher +is old—as old as King Solomon." She looked up quickly. The Tracer, +apparently engrossed in his own story, went on with it. "Three years ago +the young girl who wrote this inscription upon the window pane of +her—her bedroom, I think it was—fell in love. Do you follow me, Miss +Inwood?"</p> + +<p>Miss Inwood sat very still—wide, dark eyes fixed on him.</p> + +<p>"Fell in love," repeated the Tracer musingly, "not in the ordinary way. +That is the point, you see. No, she fell in love at first sight; fell +in love with a young man whom she never before had seen, never again +beheld—and never forgot. Do you still follow me, Miss Inwood?"</p> + +<p>She made the slightest motion with her lips.</p> + +<p>"No," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, "she never forgot him. I am not +sure, but I think she sometimes dreamed of him. She dreamed of him +awake, too. Once she inscribed a message to him, cutting it with the +diamond in her ring on the window pane—"</p> + +<p>A slight sound escaped from Miss Inwood's lips. "I beg your pardon," +said the Tracer, "did you say something?"</p> + +<p>The girl had risen, pale, astounded, incredulous.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" she faltered. "What has this—this story to do with me?"</p> + +<p>"Child," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, "the Seal of Solomon is a +splendid mystery. All of heaven and earth are included within its +symbol. And more, more than you dream of, more than I dare fathom; and I +am an old man, my child—old, alone, with nobody to fear for, nothing to +dread, not even the end of all—because I am ready for that, too. Yet I, +having nothing on earth to dread, dare not fathom what that symbol may +mean, nor what vast powers it may exert on life. God knows. It may be +the very signet of Fate itself; the sign manual of Destiny."</p> + +<p>He drew the paper from his pocket, unrolled it, and spread it out under +her frightened eyes.</p> + +<p>"<i>That!</i>" she whispered, steadying herself blindly against the arm he +offered. She stood a moment so, then, shuddering, covered her eyes with +both hands. The Tracer of Lost Persons looked at her, turned and opened +the door.</p> + +<p>"Captain Harren!" he called quietly. Harren, pacing the anteroom, turned +and came forward. As he entered the door he caught sight of the girl +crouching by the window, her face hidden in her hands, and at the same +moment she dropped her hands and looked straight at him.</p> + +<p>"<i>You!</i>" she gasped.</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons stepped out, closing the door. For a moment +he stood there, tall, gaunt, gray, staring vacantly into space.</p> + +<p>"She <i>was</i> beautiful—when she looked at him," he muttered.</p> + +<p>For another minute he stood there, hesitating, glancing backward at the +closed door. Then he went away, stooping slightly, his top hat held +close against the breast of his tightly buttoned frock coat.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI'></a><h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<br /> + +<p>During his first year of wedded bliss, Gatewood cut the club. When Kerns +wanted to see him he had to call like other people or, like other +people, accept young Mrs. Gatewood's invitations.</p> + +<p>"Why," said Gatewood scornfully, "should I, thirty-four years of age and +safely married, go to a club? Why should I, at my age, idle with a lot +of idlers and listen to stuffy stories from stuffier individuals? Do you +think that stale tobacco smoke, and the idiotically reiterated click of +billiard balls, and the vacant stare of the fashionably brainless, and +the meaningless exchange of banalities with the intellectually aimless +have any attractions for me?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gatewood raised her pretty eyes in silence; Kerns returned her +amused gaze rather blankly.</p> + +<p>"Clubs!" sniffed Gatewood. "What are clubs but pretexts for wasting +time? What mental, what spiritual stimulus can a man expect to find in a +club? Why, Kerns, when I look back a year and think what I was, and when +I look at you and think what you still are—"</p> + +<p>"John," said Mrs. Gatewood softly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he knows it!" insisted her husband, "don't you, Tommy? You know the +sort of life you're leading, don't you? You know what a miserable, +aimless, selfish, unambitious, pitiable existence an unmarried man leads +who lives at his club; don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Kerns, blinking into the smiling gaze of Mrs. +Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"Then why don't you marry?"</p> + +<p>But Kerns had risen and was making his adieus with cheerful decision; +and Mrs. Gatewood was laughing as she gave him her slender hand.</p> + +<p>"Now I know a girl—" began Gatewood; but his wife was still speaking to +Kerns, so he circled around them, politely suppressing the excitement of +a sudden idea struggling for utterance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gatewood was saying: "I do wish John would go to his clubs +occasionally. Because a man is married is no reason for his losing touch +with his clubs—"</p> + +<p>"I know a girl," broke in Gatewood excitedly, laying his arm on Kerns's +to detain him; but Kerns slid sideways through the door with a smile so +noncommittal that Mrs. Gatewood laughed again and, linking her arm in +her husband's, faced partly toward him. This maneuver, and the +slightest pressure of her shoulder, obliged her husband to begin a +turning movement, so that Kerns might reasonably make his escape in the +middle of Gatewood's sentence; which he did with nimble and circumspect +agility.</p> + +<p>"I—I know a—" began Gatewood desperately, twisting his head over his +shoulder, only to hear the deadened patter of his friend's feet over the +velvet stair carpet and the subdued clang of the front door.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it extraordinary?" he said to his wife. "I've been trying to tell +Tommy, every time he comes here, about a girl I know—just the very girl +he ought to marry; and something prevents him from listening every +time."</p> + +<p>The attractive young matron beside him turned her face so that her eyes +were directly in line with his.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever know any people named Manners?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No. Why?"</p> + +<p>"You never knew a girl named Marjorie Manners, did you, John?"</p> + +<p>"No. What about her?"</p> + +<p>"You never heard Mr. Kerns speak of her, did you, dear?"</p> + +<p>"No, never. Tommy doesn't talk about girls."</p> + +<p>"You never heard him speak of a Mrs. Stanley?"</p> + +<p>"Never. Who are these two women?"</p> + +<p>"One and the same, dear. Marjorie Manners married an Englishman named +Stanley six years ago. Do you happen to recollect that Mr. Kerns took +his vacation in England six years ago?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. What of it?"</p> + +<p>"He crossed to Southampton with Marjorie and her mother. He didn't know +she was going over to be married, and she didn't tell him. She wrote to +me about it, though. I was in school at Farmington; she left school to +marry—a mere child of eighteen, undeveloped for her age, thin, almost +scrawny, with pipe-stem arms and neck, red hair, a very sweet, +full-lipped mouth, and gray eyes that were too big for her face."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Gatewood with a short laugh, "what about it? You don't +think Kerns fell in love with an insect of that genus, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," smiled Mrs. Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense. Besides, what of it? She's married, you say."</p> + +<p>"Her husband died of enteric at Ladysmith. She wrote me. She has never +remarried. Think of it, John—in all these years she has never +remarried!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Gatewood pityingly; "do you really suppose that Tommy Kerns +has been nursing a blighted affection all these years without ever +giving <i>me</i> an inkling? Besides, men don't do that; men don't curl up +and blight. Besides, men don't take any stock in big-eyed, flat-chested, +red-headed pipe stems. Why do you think that Kerns ever cared for her?"</p> + +<p>"I know he did."</p> + +<p>"How do you know it?"</p> + +<p>"From Marjorie's letters."</p> + +<p>"The conceited kid! Well, of all insufferable nerve! A man like Kerns—a +man—one of the finest, noblest characters—spiritually, intellectually, +physically—a practically faultless specimen of manhood! And a +red-headed, spindle-legged—Oh, my! Oh, fizz! Dearest, men don't worship +a cage of bones with an eighteen-year-old soul in it—like a nervous +canary pecking out at the world!"</p> + +<p>"She created a furor in England," observed his wife, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say she might over there. Besides, she's doubtless fattened +up since then. But if you suppose for one moment that Tommy could even +remember a girl like that—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gatewood smiled again—the wise, sweet smile of a young matron in +whom her husband's closest friend had confided. And after a moment or +two the wise smile became more thoughtful and less assured; for that +very day the Tracer of Lost Persons had called on her to inquire about a +Mrs. Stanley—a new client of his who had recently bought a town house +in East Eighty-third Street and a country house on Long Island; and who +had applied to him to find her fugitive butler and a pint or two of +family jewels. And, after her talk with the Tracer of Lost Persons, Mrs. +Gatewood knew that her favorite among all her husband's friends, Mr. +Kerns, would never of his own volition go near that same Marjorie +Manners who had flirted with him to the very perilous verge before she +told him why she was going to England—and who, now a widow, had +returned with her five-year-old daughter to dwell once more in the city +of her ancestors.</p> + +<p>Kerns had said very simply: "She has spoiled women for me—all except +you, Mrs. Gatewood. And if Jack hadn't married you—"</p> + +<p>"I understand, Mr. Kerns. I'm awfully sorry."</p> + +<p>"Don't feel sorry; only, if you can, call Jack off. He's been perfectly +possessed to marry me to somebody ever since he married you. And if I +told him why I don't care to consider the matter he wouldn't believe +me—he'd spend his life in trying to bring me around. Besides, I +couldn't ever tell him about—Marjorie Manners. Anyhow, nothing on earth +could ever induce me to look at her again. . . . You say she is now a +widow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Kerns, and very beautiful."</p> + +<p>"Never again," muttered Kerns. "Never! She was homely enough when I +asked her to marry me. I don't want to see her; I don't want to know +what she looks like. I'm glad she has changed so I wouldn't recognize +her, for that means the end of it all—the final elimination of the girl +I remember on the ship. . . . It was probably a sort of diseased +infatuation, wasn't it, Mrs. Gatewood? Think of it! A few days on +shipboard and—and I asked her to marry me! . . . I don't blame her, +after all, for letting me dangle. It was an excellent opportunity for +her to study a rare species of idiot. She was justified and I am +satisfied. Only, do call Jack off with a hint or two."</p> + +<p>"I shall try," said young Mrs. Gatewood thoughtfully—very thoughtfully, +for already every atom and fiber of her femininity was aroused in behalf +of these two estranged young people whom Providence certainly had not +meant to put asunder.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"Nothing," said Gatewood firmly, "can make me believe that Kerns ought +not to marry somebody; and I'm never going to let up on him until he +does. I'll bet I could fix him for life if I called in the Tracer to +help me. Isn't it extraordinary how Kerns has kept out of it all these +years?"</p> + +<p>The attractive girl beside him turned her face once more so that her +clear, sweet eyes were directly in line with his.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> extraordinary," she said seriously. "I think you ought to drop +in at the club some day when you can corner him and bully him."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go to the club," said the infatuated man.</p> + +<p>"Why, dear?"</p> + +<p>He looked straight at her and she flushed prettily, while a tint of +color touched his own face. Which was very nice of him. So she didn't +say what she was going to say—that it would be perhaps better for them +both if he practiced on her an artistic absence now and then. Younger in +years, she was more mature than he. She knew. But she was too much in +love with him to salt their ambrosia with common sense or suggest +economy in their use of the nectar bottle.</p> + +<p>However, the gods attend to that, and she knew they would, and she let +them. So one balmy evening late in May, when the new moon's ghost +floated through the upper haze, and the golden Diana above Manhattan +turned flame color, and the electric lights began to glimmer along Fifth +Avenue, and the first faint scent of the young summer freshened the +foliage in square and park, Kerns, stopping at the club for a moment, +found Gatewood seated at the same window they both were wont to haunt in +earlier and more flippant days.</p> + +<p>"Are you dining here?" inquired Kerns, pushing the electric button with +enthusiasm. "Well, that's the first glimmer of common sense you've +betrayed since you've been married!"</p> + +<p>"Dining <i>here</i>!" repeated Gatewood. "I should hope not! I am just going +home—"</p> + +<p>"He's thoroughly cowed," commented Kerns; "every married man you meet at +the club is just going home." But he continued to push the button, +nevertheless.</p> + +<p>Gatewood leaned back in his chair and gazed about him, nose in the air. +"What a life!" he observed virtuously. "It's all I can do to stand it +for ten minutes. You're here for the evening, I suppose?" he added +pityingly.</p> + +<p>"No," said Kerns; "I'm going uptown to Billy Lee's house to get my suit +case. His family are out of town, and he is at Seabright, so he let me +camp there until the workmen finish papering my rooms upstairs. I'm to +lock up the house and send the key to the Burglar Alarm Company +to-night. Then I go to Boston on the 12.10. Want to come? There'll be a +few doing."</p> + +<p>"To Boston! What for?"</p> + +<p>"Contracts! We can go out to Cambridge when I've finished my business. +There'll be <i>etwas</i> doing."</p> + +<p>"<i>Can't</i> you ever recover from being an undergraduate?" asked Gatewood, +disgusted.</p> + +<p>"Well—is there anything the matter with a man getting next to a little +amusement in life?" asked Kerns. "Do you object to my being happy?"</p> + +<p>"Amusement? You don't know how to amuse yourself. You don't know how to +be happy. Here you sit, day after day, swallowing Martinis—" He paused +to finish his own, then resumed: "Here you sit, day after day, +intellectually stultified, unemotionally ignorant of the higher and +better life—"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't. I've a book upstairs that tells all about that. I read it +when I have holdovers—"</p> + +<p>"Kerns, I wish to speak seriously. I've had it on my mind ever since I +married. May I speak frankly?"</p> + +<p>"Well, when I come back from Boston—"</p> + +<p>"Because I know a girl," interrupted Gatewood—"wait a moment, +Tommy!"—as Kerns rose and sauntered toward the door—"you've plenty of +time to catch your train and be civil, too! I mean to tell you about +that girl, if you'll listen."</p> + +<p>Kerns halted and turned upon his friend a pair of eyes, unwinking in +their placid intelligence.</p> + +<p>"I was going to say that I know a girl," continued Gatewood, "who is +just the sort of a girl you—"</p> + +<p>"No, she isn't!" said Kerns, wheeling to resume his progress toward the +cloakroom.</p> + +<p>"Tom!"</p> + +<p>Kerns halted.</p> + +<p>"<i>You're</i> a fine specimen!" commented Gatewood scornfully. "You spent +the best years of your life in persuading me to get married, and the +first time I try to do the same for you, you make for the tall timber!"</p> + +<p>"I know it," admitted Kerns, unashamed; "I'm bashful. I'm a chipmunk for +shyness, so I'll say good night—"</p> + +<p>"Come back," said Gatewood coldly.</p> + +<p>"But my suit case—"</p> + +<p>"You left it at the Lee's, didn't you? Well, you've time enough to go +there, get it, make your train, and listen to me, too. Look here, Kerns, +have you any of the elements of decency about you?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Kerns, "not a single element." He seated himself defiantly in +the club window facing Gatewood and began to button his gloves. When he +had finished he settled his new straw hat more comfortably on his head, +and, leaning forward and balancing his malacca walking stick across his +knees, gazed at Gatewood with composure.</p> + +<p>"Crank up!" he said pleasantly; "I'm going in less than three minutes." +He pushed the electric knob as an afterthought, and when the gilt +buttons of the club servant glimmered through the dusk, "Two more," he +explained briskly. After a few moments' silence, broken by the tinkle of +ice in thin glassware, Gatewood leaned forward, menacing his friend with +an impressive forefinger:</p> + +<p>"Did you or didn't you once tell me that a decent citizen ought to +marry?"</p> + +<p>"I did, dear friend."</p> + +<p>"Did I or didn't I do it?"</p> + +<p>"In the words of the classic, you <i>done</i> it," admitted Kerns.</p> + +<p>"Was I or wasn't I going to the devil before I had the sense to marry?" +persisted Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"You was! You <i>was</i>, dear friend!" said Kerns with enthusiasm. "You had +almost went there ere I appeared and saved you."</p> + +<p>"Then why shouldn't you marry and let me save you?"</p> + +<p>"But I'm not going to the bowwows. <i>I'm</i> all right. I'm a decent +citizen. I awake in the rosy dawn with a song on my lips; I softly +whistle rag time as I button my collar; I warble a few delicious vagrant +notes as I part my sparse hair; I'm not murderous before breakfast; I go +down town, singing, to my daily toil; I fish for fat contracts in +Georgia marble; I return uptown immersed in a holy calm and the evening +paper. I offer myself a cocktail; I bow and accept; I dress for dinner +with the aid of a rascally valet, but—<i>do</i> I swear at him? No, dear +friend; I say, 'Henry, I have known far, far worse scoundrels than you. +Thank you for filling up my bay rum with water. Bless you for wearing +my imported hosiery! I deeply regret that my new shirts do not fit you, +Henry!' And my smile is a benediction upon that wayward scullion. Then, +dear friend, why, why do you desire to offer me up upon the altar of +unrest? What is a little wifey to me or I to any wifey?"</p> + +<p>"Because," said Gatewood irritated, "you offered me up. I'm happy and I +want you to be—you great, hulking, self-satisfied symbol of supreme +self-centered selfishness—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, splash!" said Kerns feebly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are. What do you do all day? Grub for money and study how to +make life agreeable to yourself! Every minute of the day you are +occupied in having a good time! You've admitted it! You wake up singing +like a fool canary; you wear imported hosiery; you've made a soft, warm +wallow for yourself at this club, and here you bask your life away, +waddling downtown to nail contracts and cut coupons, and uptown to +dinners and theaters, only to return and sprawl here in luxury without +one single thought for posterity. <i>Your</i> crime is race suicide!"</p> + +<p>"I—my—<i>what</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Some shirk taxes, some jury duty. <i>You</i> shirk fatherhood, +and all its happy and sacred obligations! You deny posterity! You strike +a blow at it! You flout it! You menace the future of this Republic! +Your inertia is a crime against the people! Instead of <i>pro bono +publico</i> your motto is <i>pro bono tempo</i>—for a good time! And, dog Latin +or not, it's the truth, and our great President"</p> + +<p>"Splash!" said Kerns, rising.</p> + +<p>"I've a good mind," said Gatewood indignantly, "to put the Tracer of +Lost Persons on your trail. He'd rope you and tie you in record time!"</p> + +<p>Kerns's smile was a provocation.</p> + +<p>"I'll do it, too!" added Gatewood, losing his temper, "if you dare give +me the chance."</p> + +<p>"Seriously," inquired Kerns, delighted, "<i>do</i> you think your friend, Mr. +Keen, could encompass my matrimony against my better sense and the full +enjoyment of my unimpaired mental faculties?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't he—fortunately for me—force me into matrimony when I had never +seen a woman I would look at twice? Didn't you put him up to it? Very +well, why can't I put him on your trail then? Why can't <i>he</i> do the same +for you?"</p> + +<p>"Try it, dear friend," retorted Kerns courteously.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you are not afraid? Do you mean you give me full +liberty to set him on you? And do you realize what that means? No, you +don't; for you haven't a notion of what that man, Westrel Keen, can +accomplish. You haven't the slightest idea of the machinery which he +controls with a delicacy absolutely faultless; with a perfectly +terrifying precision. Why, man, the Pinkerton system itself has become +merely a detail in the immense complexity of the system of control which +the Tracer of Lost Persons exercises over this entire continent. The +urban police, the State constabulary of Pennsylvania, the rural systems +of surveillance, the Secret Service, all municipal, provincial, State, +and national organizations form but a few strands in the universal web +he has woven. Custom officials, revenue officers, the militia of the +States, the army, the navy, the personnel of every city, State, and +national legislative bodies form interdependent threads in the mesh he +is master of; and, like a big beneficent spider, he sits in the center +of his web, able to tell by the slightest tremor of any thread exactly +where to begin investigations!"</p> + +<p>Flushed, earnest, a trifle out of breath with his own eloquence, +Gatewood waved his hand to indicate a Ciceronian period, adding, as +Kerns's incredulous smile broadened: "Say splash again, and I'll put you +at his mercy!"</p> + +<p>"Ker-splash! dear friend," observed Kerns pleasantly. "If a man doesn't +want to marry, the army, the navy, the Senate, the white wings, and the +great White Father at Washington can't make him."</p> + +<p>"I tell you I want to see you happy!" said Gatewood angrily.</p> + +<p>"Then gaze upon me. I'm it!"</p> + +<p>"You're not! You don't know what happiness is."</p> + +<p>"Don't I? Well, I don't miss it, dear friend—"</p> + +<p>"But if you've never had it, and therefore don't miss it, it's time +somebody found some real happiness for you. Kerns, I simply can't bear +to see you missing so much happiness—"</p> + +<p>"Why grieve?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will! I do grieve—in spite of your grinning skepticism and your +bantering attitude. See here, Tom; I've started about a thousand times +to say that I knew a girl—"</p> + +<p>"Do you want to hear that splash again?"</p> + +<p>Gatewood grew madder. He said: "I could easily lay your case before Mr. +Keen and have you in love and married and happy whether you like it or +not!"</p> + +<p>"If I were not going to Boston, my son, I should enjoy your misguided +efforts," returned Kerns blandly.</p> + +<p>"Your going to Boston makes no difference. The Tracer of Lost Persons +doesn't care where you go or what you do. If he starts in on your case, +Tommy, you can't escape."</p> + +<p>"You mean he can catch me now? Here? At my own club? Or on the public +highway? Or on the classic Boston train?"</p> + +<p>"He <i>could</i>. Yes, I firmly believe he could land you before you ever saw +the Boston State House. I tell you he can work like lightning, Kerns. I +know it; I am so absolutely convinced of it that I—I almost hesitate—"</p> + +<p>"Don't feel delicate about it," laughed Kerns; "you may call him on the +telephone while I go uptown and get my suit case. Perhaps I'll come back +a blushing bridegroom; who knows?"</p> + +<p>"If you'll wait here I'll call him up now," said Gatewood grimly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well. Only I left my suit case in Billy's room, and it's full +of samples of Georgia marble, and I've got to get it to the train."</p> + +<p>"You've plenty of time. If you'll wait until I talk to Mr. Keen I'll +dine with you here. Will you?"</p> + +<p>"What? Dine in this abandoned joint with an outcast like me? Dear +friend, are you dippy this lovely May evening?"</p> + +<p>"I'll do it if you'll wait. Will you? And I'll bet you now that I'll +have you in love and sprinting toward the altar before we meet again at +this club. Do you dare bet?"</p> + +<p>"The terms of the wager, kind friend?" drawled Kerns, delighted; and he +fished out a notebook kept for such transactions.</p> + +<p>"Let me see," reflected Gatewood; "you'll need a silver service when +you're married. . . . Well, say, forks and spoons and things against an +imported trap gun—twelve-gauge, you know."</p> + +<p>"Done. Go and telephone to your friend, Mr. Keen." And Kerns pushed the +electric button with a jeering laugh, and asked the servant for a dinner +card.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Gatewood, in the telephone booth, waited impatiently for Mr. Keen; and +after a few moments the Tracer of Lost Persons' agreeable voice sounded +in the receiver.</p> + +<p>"It's about Mr. Kerns," began Gatewood; "I want to see him happy, and +the idiot won't be. Now, Mr. Keen, you know what happiness you and he +brought to me! You know what sort of an idle, selfish, aimless, +meaningless life you saved me from? I want you to do the same for Mr. +Kerns. I want to ask you to take up his case at once. Besides, I've a +bet on it. Could you attend to it at once?"</p> + +<p>"To-night?" asked the Tracer, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Why—ah—well, of course, that would be impossible. I suppose—"</p> + +<p>"My profession is to overcome the impossible, Mr. Gatewood. Where is Mr. +Kerns?"</p> + +<p>"Here, in this club, defying me and drinking cocktails. He won't get +married, and I want you to make him do it."</p> + +<p>"Where is he spending the evening?" asked the Tracer, laughing again.</p> + +<p>"Why, he's been stopping at the Danforth Lees' in Eighty-third Street +until the workmen at the club here finish putting new paper on his +walls. The Lees are out of town. He left his suit case at their house +and he's going up to get it and catch the 12.10 train for Boston."</p> + +<p>"He goes from the Lenox Club to the residence of Mr. W. Danforth Lee, +East Eighty-third Street, to get a suit case," repeated the Tracer. "Is +that correct?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What is in the suit case?"</p> + +<p>"Samples of that new marble he's quarrying in Georgia."</p> + +<p>"Is it an old suit case? Has it Mr. Kerns's initials on it?"</p> + +<p>"Hold the wire; I'll find out."</p> + +<p>And Gatewood left the telephone and walked into the great lounging room, +where Kerns sat twirling his stick and smiling to himself.</p> + +<p>"All over, dear friend?" inquired Kerns, starting to rise. "I've ordered +a corking dinner."</p> + +<p>"Wait!" returned Gatewood ominously. "What sort of a suit case is that +one you're going after?"</p> + +<p>"What sort? Oh, just an ordinary—"</p> + +<p>"Is it old or new?"</p> + +<p>"Brand new. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Is your name on it?"</p> + +<p>"No; why? Would that thicken the plot, dear friend? Or is the Tracer +foiled, ha! ha!"</p> + +<p>Gatewood turned on his heel, went back to the telephone, and, carefully +shutting the door of the booth, took up the receiver.</p> + +<p>"It's a new suit case, Mr. Keen," he said; "no initials on it—just an +ordinary case."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lee's residence is 38 East Eighty-third Street, between Madison and +Fifth, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Gatewood.</p> + +<p>"And the family are out of town?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is there a caretaker there?"</p> + +<p>"No; Mr. Kerns camped there. When he leaves to-night he will send the +key to the Burglar Alarm Company."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Please hold the wire for a while."</p> + +<p>For ten full minutes Gatewood sat gleefully cuddling the receiver +against his ear. His faith in Mr. Keen was naturally boundless; he +believed that whatever the Tracer attempted could not result in failure. +He desired nothing in the world so ardently as to see Kerns safely +married. His own happiness may have been the motive power which had set +him in action in behalf of his friend—that and a certain indefinable +desire to practice a species of heavenly revenge, of grateful +retaliation upon the prime mover and <i>collaborateur</i>, if not the sole +author, of his own wedded bliss. Kerns had made him happy.</p> + +<p>"And I'm hanged if I don't pay him off and make him happy, too!" +muttered Gatewood. "Does he think I'm going to sit still and see him go +tearing and gyrating about town with no responsibility, no moral check +to his evolutions, no wholesome home duties to limit his acrobatics, no +wife to clip his wings? It's time he had somebody to report to; time he +assumed moral burdens and spiritual responsibilities. A man is just as +happy when he is certain where he is going to sleep. A man can find just +as much enjoyment in life when he feels it his duty to account for his +movements. I don't care whether Kerns is comparatively happy or +not—there's nothing either sacred or holy in that kind of happiness, +and I'm not going to endure the sort of life he likes any longer!"</p> + +<p>Immersed in moral reflections, inspired by affectionate obligations to +violently inflict happiness upon Kerns, the minutes passed very +agreeably until the amused voice of the Tracer of Lost Persons sounded +again in the receiver.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am here, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"Do you really think it best for Mr. Kerns to fall in love?"</p> + +<p>"I do, certainly!" replied Gatewood with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"Because," continued the Tracer of Lost Persons, "I see little chance +for him to do otherwise if I take up this case. Fate itself, in the +shape of a young lady, is already on the way here in a railroad train."</p> + +<p>"Good! Good!" exclaimed Gatewood. "Don't let him escape, Mr. Keen! I beg +of you to take up his case! I urge you most seriously to do so. Mr. +Kerns is now exactly what I was a year ago—an utterly useless member of +the community—a typical bachelor who lives at his clubs, shirking the +duties of a decent citizen."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly," said the Tracer. "Do you insist that I take this case? That +I attempt to trace and find for Mr. Kerns a sort of happiness he himself +has never found?"</p> + +<p>"I implore you to do so, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. If I do—if I carry it out as it has been arranged—or +rather as the case seems to have already arranged itself, for it is +rather a simple matter, I fancy—I do not exactly see how Mr. Kerns can +avoid experiencing a—ahem—a tender sentiment for the very charming +young lady whom I—and chance—have designed for him as a partner +through life."</p> + +<p>"Excellent! Splendid!" shouted Gatewood through the telephone. "Can I do +anything to aid you in this?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the Tracer, laughing. "If you can keep him amused for an +hour or two before he goes after his suit case it might make it easier +for me. This young lady is due to arrive in New York at eight o'clock—a +client of mine—coming to consult me. Her presence plays an important +part in Mr. Kerns's future. I wish you to detain Mr. Kerns until she is +ready to receive him. But of this he must know nothing. Good-by, Mr. +Gatewood, and would you be kind enough to present my compliments to Mrs. +Gatewood?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I will! We never can forget what you have done for us. Good-by."</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. Try to keep Mr. Kerns amused for two or three +hours. Of course, if you can't do this, there are other methods I may +employ—a dozen other plans already partly outlined in my mind; but the +present plan, which accident and coincidence make so easy, is likely to +work itself out to your entire satisfaction within a few hours. We are +already weaving a web around Mr. Kerns; we already have taken exclusive +charge of his future movements after he leaves the Lenox Club. I do not +believe he can escape us, or his charming destiny. Good night!"</p> + +<p>Gatewood, enchanted, hung up the receiver. Song broke softly from his +lips as he started in search of Kerns; his step was springy, +buoyant—sort of subdued and modest prance.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said to himself, "Tommy must take out his papers. The time is +ended when he can issue letters of marque to himself, hoist sail, square +away, and go cruising all over this metropolis at his own sweet will."</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV'></a><h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>In the meanwhile, at the other end of the wire, Mr. Keen, the Tracer of +Lost Persons, was preparing to trace for Mr. Kerns, against that +gentleman's will, the true happiness which Mr. Kerns had never been able +to find for himself.</p> + +<p>He sat in his easy chair within the four walls of his own office, +inspecting a line of people who stood before him on the carpet forming a +single and attentive rank. In this rank were five men: a policeman, a +cab driver, an agent of the telephone company, an agent of the electric +company, and a reformed burglar carrying a kit of his trade tools.</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons gazed at them, meditatively joining the tips +of his thin fingers.</p> + +<p>"I want the number on 36 East Eighty-third Street changed to No. 38, and +the number 38 replaced by No. 36," he said to the policeman. "I want it +done at once. Get a glazier and go up there and have it finished in an +hour. Mrs. Kenna, caretaker at No. 36, is in my pay; she will not +interfere. There is nobody in No. 38: Mr. Kerns leaves there to-night +and the Burglar Alarm Company takes charge to-morrow."</p> + +<p>And, turning to the others: "You," nodding at the reformed burglar, +"know your duty. Mike!" to the cab driver, "don't miss Mr. Kerns at the +Lenox Club. If he calls you before eleven, drive into the park and have +an accident. And you," to the agent of the telephone company, "will +sever all telephone connection in Mrs. Stanley's house; and you," to the +official of the electric company, "will see that the circuit in Mrs. +Stanley's house is cut so that no electric light may be lighted and no +electric bell sound."</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons stroked his gray mustache thoughtfully. "And +that," he ended, "will do, I think. Good night."</p> + +<p>He rose and stood by the door as the policeman headed the solemn file +which marched out to their duty; then he looked at his watch, and, as it +was already a few minutes after eight, he called up No. 36 East +Eighty-third Street, and in a moment more had Mrs. Stanley on the wire.</p> + +<p>"Good evening," he said pleasantly. "I suppose you have just arrived +from Rosylyn. I may be a little late—I may be very late, in fact, so I +called you up to say so. And I wished to say another thing; to ask you +whether your servants could recollect ever having seen a young man +about the place, a rather attractive young man with excellent address +and manners, five feet eleven inches, slim but well built, dark hair, +dark eyes, and dark mustache, offering samples of Georgia marble for +sale."</p> + +<p>"Really, Mr. Keen," replied a silvery voice, "I have heard them say +nothing about such an individual. If you will hold the wire I will ask +my maid." And, after a pause: "No, Mr. Keen, my maid cannot remember any +such person. Do you think he was a confederate of that wretched butler +of mine?"</p> + +<p>"I am scarcely prepared to say that; in fact," added Mr. Keen, "I +haven't the slightest idea that this young man could have been concerned +in anything of that sort. Only, if you should ever by any chance see +such a man, detain him if possible until you can communicate with me; +detain him by any pretext, by ruse, by force if you can, only detain him +until I can get there. Will you do this?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Mr. Keen, if I can. Please describe him again?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Keen did so minutely.</p> + +<p>"You say he sells Georgia marble by samples, which he carries in a suit +case?"</p> + +<p>"He <i>says</i> that he has samples of Georgia marble in his suit case," +replied the Tracer cautiously. "It might be well, if possible, to see +what he has in his suit case."</p> + +<p>"I will warn the servants as soon as I return to Rosylyn. When may I +expect you this evening, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"It is impossible to say, Mrs. Stanley. If I am not there by midnight I +shall try to call next morning."</p> + +<p>So they exchanged civil adieus; the Tracer hung up his receiver and +leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself.</p> + +<p>"Curious," he said, "that chance should have sent that pretty woman to +me at such a time. . . . Kerns <i>is</i> a fine fellow, every inch of him. It +hit him hard when he crossed with her to Southampton six years ago; it +hit him harder when she married that Englishman. I don't wonder he never +cared to marry after that brief week of her society; for she is just +about the most charming woman I have ever met—red hair and all. . . . +And if quick action is what is required, it's well to break the ice +between them at once with a dreadful misunderstanding."</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV'></a><h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The dinner that Kerns had planned for himself and Gatewood was an +ingenious one, cunningly contrived to discontent Gatewood with home fare +and lure him by its seductive quality into frequent revisits to the club +which was responsible for such delectable wines and viands.</p> + +<p>A genial glow already enveloped Gatewood and pleasantly suffused Kerns. +From time to time they held some rare vintage aloft, squinting through +the crystal-imprisoned crimson with deep content.</p> + +<p>"Not that <i>my</i> word is necessarily the <i>last</i> word concerning Burgundy," +said Gatewood modestly; "but I venture to doubt that any club in America +can match this bottle, Kerns."</p> + +<p>"Now, Jack," wheedled Kerns, "isn't it pleasant to dine here once in a +while? Be frank, man! Look about at the other tables—at all the +pleasant, familiar faces—the same fine fellows, bless 'em—the same +smoky old ceiling, the same bum portraits of dead governors, the same +old stag heads on the wall. Now, Jack, isn't it mighty pleasant, after +all? Be a gentleman and admit it!"</p> + +<p>"Y-yes," confessed Gatewood, "it's all right for me once in a while, +because I know that I am presently going back to my own home—a jolly +lamplit room and the prettiest girl in Manhattan curled up in an +armchair—"</p> + +<p>"You're fortunate," said Kerns shortly. And for the first time there +remained no lurking mockery in his voice; for the first time his retort +was tinged with bitterness. But the next instant his eyes glimmered with +the same gay malice, and the unbelieving smile twitched at his clean-cut +lips, and he raised his hand, touching the short ends of his mustache +with that careless, amused cynicism which rather became him.</p> + +<p>"All that you picture so entrancingly is forbidden the true believer," +he said; and began to repeat:</p> + +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<span>"'O weaver! weave the flowers of Feraghan<br /></span> +<span>Into the fabric that thy birth began;<br /></span> +<span>Iris, narcissus, tulips cloud-band tied,<br /></span> +<span>These thou shalt picture for the eye of Man;<br /></span> +<span>Henna, Herati, and the Jhelums tide<br /></span> +<span>In Sarraband and Saruk be thy guide,<br /></span> +<span>And the red dye of Ispahan beside<br /></span> +<span>The checkered Chinese fret of ancient gold;<br /></span> +<span>—So heed the ban, old as the law is old,<br /></span> +<span>Nor weave into thy warp the laughing face,<br /></span> +<span>Nor limb, nor body, nor one line of grace,<br /></span> +<span>Nor hint, nor tint, nor any veiled device<br /></span> +<span>Of Woman who is barred from Paradise!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"A nice sentiment!" said Gatewood hotly.</p> + +<p>"Can't help it; you see I'm forbidden to monkey with the eternal looms +or weave the forbidden into the pattern of my life."</p> + +<p>Gatewood sat silent for a moment, then looked up at Kerns with something +so closely akin to a grin that his friend became interested in its +scarcely veiled significance, and grinned in reply.</p> + +<p>"So you really expect that your friend, Mr. Keen, is going to marry me +to somebody, <i>nolens volens</i>?" asked Kerns.</p> + +<p>"I do. That's what I dream of, Tommy."</p> + +<p>"My poor friend, dream on!"</p> + +<p>"I am. Tommy, you're lost! I mean you're as good as married now!"</p> + +<p>"You think so?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>know</i> it! There you sit, savoring your Burgundy, idling over a +cigar, happy, care free, fancy free, at liberty, as you believe, to roam +off anywhere at any time and continue the eternal hunt for pleasure! +That's what you <i>think</i>! Ha! Tommy, I know better! That's not the sort +of man <i>I</i> see sitting on the same chair where you are now sprawling in +such content! I see a doomed man, already in the shadow of the altar, +wasting his time unsuspiciously while Chance comes whirling into the +city behind a Long Island locomotive, and Fate, the footman, sits +outside ready to follow him, and Destiny awaits him no matter what he +does, what he desires, where he goes, wherever he turns to-night! +Destiny awaits him at his journey's end!"</p> + +<p>"Very fine," said Kerns admiringly. "Too bad it's due to the Burgundy."</p> + +<p>"Never mind what my eloquence is due to," retorted Gatewood, "the fact +remains that this is probably your last bachelor dinner. Kerns, old +fellow! Here's to her! Bless her! I—I wish sincerely that we knew who +she is and where to send those roses. Anyway, here's to the bride!"</p> + +<p>He stood up very gravely and drank the toast, then, reseating himself, +tapped the empty glass gently against the table's edge until it broke.</p> + +<p>"You are certainly doing your part well," said Kerns admiringly. Then he +swallowed the remainder of his Burgundy and looked up at the club clock.</p> + +<p>"Eleven," he said with regret. "I've about time to go to Eighty-third +Street, get my suit case, and catch my train at 125th Street." To a +servant he said, "Call a hansom," then rose and sauntered downstairs to +the cloakroom, where presently both men stood, hatted and gloved, +swinging their sticks.</p> + +<p>"That was a fool bet you made," began Kerns; "I'll release you, Jack."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, but I must insist on holding you," replied Gatewood, laughing. +"You're going to your doom. Come on! I'll see you as far as the cab +door."</p> + +<p>They walked out, and Kerns gave the cabby the street and number and +entered the hansom.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Gatewood, "you're in for it! You're done for! You can't help +yourself! I've won my twelve-gauge trap gun already, and I'll have to +set you up in table silver, anyway, so it's an even break. You're all +in, Tommy! The Tracer is on your trail!"</p> + +<p>In the beginning of a flippant retort Kerns experienced a curious +sensation of hesitation. Something in Gatewood's earnestness, in his +jeering assurance and delighted certainty, made him, for one moment, +feel doubtful, even uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"What nonsense you talk," he said, recovering his equanimity. "Nothing +on earth can prevent me driving to 38 East Eighty-third Street, getting +my luggage, and taking the Boston express. Your Tracer doesn't intend to +stop my hansom and drag me into a cave, does he? You haven't put +knock-outs into that Burgundy, have you? Then what in the dickens are +you laughing at?"</p> + +<p>But Gatewood, on the sidewalk under the lamplight, was still laughing as +Kerns drove away, for he had recognized in the cab driver a man he had +seen in Mr. Kern's office, and he knew that the Tracer of Lost Persons +had Kerns already well in hand.</p> + +<p>The hansom drove on through the summer darkness between rows of electric +globes drooping like huge white moon flowers from their foliated bronze +stalks, on up the splendid avenue, past the great brilliantly +illuminated hotels, past the white cathedral, past clubs and churches +and the palaces of the wealthy; on, on along the park wall edged by its +double rows of elms under which shadowy forms moved—lovers strolling in +couples.</p> + +<p>"Pooh," sniffed Kerns, "the whole world has gone love mad, and I'm the +only sane man left."</p> + +<p>But he leaned back in his cab and fell a-thinking of a thin girl with +red hair and great gray eyes—a thin, frail creature, scarcely more than +a child, who had held him for a week in a strange sorcery only to +release him with a frightened smile, leaving her indelible impression +upon his life forever.</p> + +<p>And, thinking, he looked up, realizing that the cab had stopped in East +Eighty-third Street before one of a line of brownstone houses, all +externally alike.</p> + +<p>Then he leaned out and saw that the house number was thirty-eight. That +was the number of the Lees' house; he descended, bade the cabman await +him, and, producing his latch key, started up the steps, whistling +gayly.</p> + +<p>But he didn't require his key, for, as he reached the front door, he +found, to his surprise and concern, that it swung partly open—just a +mere crack.</p> + +<p>"The mischief!" he muttered; "could I have failed to close it? Could +anybody have seen it and crept in?"</p> + +<p>He entered the hallway hastily and pressed the electric knob. No light +appeared in the sconces.</p> + +<p>"What the deuce!" he murmured; "something wrong with the switch!" And he +hurriedly lighted a match and peered into the darkness. By the vague +glimmer of the burning match he could distinguish nothing. He listened +intently, tried the electric switch again without success. The match +burned his fingers and he dropped it, watching the last red spark die +out in the darkness.</p> + +<p>Something about the shadowy hallway seemed unfamiliar; he went to the +door, stepped out on the stoop, and looked up at the number on the +transom. It was thirty-eight; no doubt about the house. Hesitating, he +glanced around to see that his hansom was still there. It had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>"What an idiot that cabman is!" he exclaimed, intensely annoyed at the +prospect of lugging his heavy suit case to a Madison Avenue car and +traveling with it to Harlem.</p> + +<p>He looked up and down the dimly lighted street; east, an electric car +glided down Madison Avenue; west, the lights of Fifth Avenue glimmered +against the dark foliage of the Park. He stood a moment, angry at the +desertion of his cabman, then turned and reëntered the dark hall, +closing the door behind him.</p> + +<p>Up the staircase he felt his way to the first landing, and, lighting a +match, looked for the electric button.</p> + +<p>"Am I crazy, or was there no electric button in this hall?" he thought. +The match burned low; he had to drop it. Perplexed, he struck another +match and opened the door leading into the front room, and stood on the +threshold a moment, looking about him at the linen-shrouded furniture +and pictures. This front room, closed for the summer, he had not before +entered, but he stepped in now, poking about for any possible intruder, +lighting match after match.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I ought to go over this confounded house inch by inch," he +murmured. "What could have possessed me to leave the front door ajar +this morning?"</p> + +<p>For an instant he thought that perhaps Mrs. Nolan, the woman who came in +the morning to make his bed, might have left the door open, but he knew +that couldn't be so, because he always waited for her to finish her work +and leave before he went out. So either he must have left the door open, +or some marauder had visited the house—was perhaps at that moment in +the house! And it was his duty to find out.</p> + +<p>"I'd better be about it, too," he thought savagely, "or I'll never make +my train."</p> + +<p>He struck his last match, looked around, and, seeing gas jets among the +clustered electric bulbs of the sconces, tried to light one and +succeeded.</p> + +<p>He had left his suit case in the passageway between the front and rear +rooms, and now, cautiously, stick in hand, he turned toward the dim +corridor leading to the bedroom. There was his suit case, anyway! He +picked it up and started to push open the door of the rear room; but at +the same time, and before he could lay his hand on the knob, the door +before him opened suddenly in a flood of light, and a woman stood there, +dark against the gas-lit glare, a pistol waveringly extended in the +general direction of his head.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI'></a><h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"Good heavens!" he said, appalled, and dropped his suit case with a +crash.</p> + +<p>"W-what are you d-doing—" She controlled her voice and the wavering +weapon with an effort. "What are you doing in this house?"</p> + +<p>"Doing? In <i>this</i> house?" he repeated, his eyes protruding in the +direction of the unsteady pistol muzzle. "What are <i>you</i> doing in this +house—if you don't mind saying!"</p> + +<p>"I—I m-must ask you to put up your hands," she said. "If you move I +shall certainly s-shoot off this pistol."</p> + +<p>"It will go off, anyway, if you handle it like that!" he said, +exasperated. "What do you mean by pointing it at me?"</p> + +<p>"I mean to fire it off in a few moments if you don't raise your hands +above your head!"</p> + +<p>He looked at the pistol; it was new and shiny; he looked at the athletic +young figure silhouetted against the brilliant light.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you make a point of it, of course." He slowly held up both +hands, higher, then higher still. "Upon my word!" he breathed. "Held up +by a woman!" And he said aloud, bitterly: "No doubt you have assistance +close at hand."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," she said coolly. "What have you been packing into that +valise?"</p> + +<p>"P-packing into <i>what</i>? Oh, into that suit case? That is my suit case."</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," she said quietly, "but what have you inside it?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing <i>you</i> or your friends would care for," he said meaningly.</p> + +<p>"I must be the judge of that," she retorted. "Please open that suit +case."</p> + +<p>"How can I if my hands are in the air?" he expostulated, now intensely +interested in the novelty of being held up by this graceful and vaguely +pretty silhouette.</p> + +<p>"You may lower your arms to unpack the suit case," she said.</p> + +<p>"I—I had rather not if you are going to keep me covered with your +pistol."</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall keep you covered. Unpack your booty at once!"</p> + +<p>"My—<i>what</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Booty."</p> + +<p>"Madam, do you take <i>me</i> for a thief? Have you, by chance, entered the +wrong house? I—I cannot reconcile your voice with what I am forced to +consider you—a housebreaker—"</p> + +<p>"We will discuss that later. Unpack that bag!" she insisted.</p> + +<p>"But—but there is nothing in it except samples of marble—"</p> + +<p>"What!" she exclaimed nervously. "<i>What</i> did you say? Samples of +<i>marble</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Marble, madam! Georgia marble!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! So <i>you</i> are the young man who goes about pretending to peddle +Georgia marble from samples! Are you? The famous marble man I have heard +of."</p> + +<p>"I? Madam, I don't know what you mean!"</p> + +<p>"Come!" she said scornfully; "let me see the contents of that suit case. +I—I am not afraid of you; I am not a bit afraid of you. And I shall +catch your accomplice, too."</p> + +<p>"Madam, you speak like an honest woman! You <i>must</i> have managed to enter +the wrong house. This is number thirty-eight, where I live."</p> + +<p>"It is number thirty-six; my house!"</p> + +<p>"But I <i>know</i> it is number thirty-eight; Mr. Lee's house," he protested +hopefully. "This is some dreadful mistake."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lee's house is next door," she said. "Do you not suppose I know my +own house? Besides, I have been warned against a plausible young man who +pretends he has Georgia marble to sell—"</p> + +<p>"There is a dreadful mistake somewhere," he insisted. "Please p-p-put up +your p-pistol and aid me to solve it. I am no robber, madam. I thought +at first that you were. I'm living in Mr. Lee's house, No. 38 East +Eighty-third Street, and I've looked carefully at the number over the +door of this house and the number is thirty-eight, and the street is +East Eighty-third. So I naturally conclude that I am in Mr. Lee's +house."</p> + +<p>"Your arguments and your conclusions are very plausible," she said, +"but, fortunately for me, I have been expressly warned against a young +man of your description. <i>You</i> are the marble man!"</p> + +<p>"It's a mistake! A very dreadful one."</p> + +<p>"Then how did you enter this house?"</p> + +<p>"I have a key—I mean I found the front door unlatched. Please don't +misunderstand me; I know it sounds unconvincing, but I really have a key +to number thirty-eight."</p> + +<p>He attempted to reach for his pocket and the pistol glittered in his +face.</p> + +<p>"Won't you let me prove my innocence?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"You can't prove it by showing me a key. Besides, it's probably a +weapon. Anyhow, if, as you pretend, you have managed to get into the +wrong house, why did you bring that suit case up here?"</p> + +<p>"It was here. It's mine. I left it here in this passageway."</p> + +<p>"In <i>my</i> house?" she asked incredulously.</p> + +<p>"In number thirty-eight; that is all I know. I'll open the suit case if +you will let me. I have already described its contents. If it has +samples of marble in it you <i>must</i> be convinced!"</p> + +<p>"It will convince me that it is your valise. But what of that? I know it +is yours already," she said defiantly. "I know, at least, that you are +the marble man—if nothing worse!"</p> + +<p>"But malefactors don't go about carrying samples of Georgia marble," he +protested, dropping on one knee under the muzzle of her revolver and +tugging at the straps and buckles. In a second or two he threw open the +case—and the sight of the contents staggered him. For there, thrown in +pellmell among small square blocks of polished marble was a complete kit +of burglar's tools, including also a mask, a dark lantern, and a +blackjack.</p> + +<p>"What—w—w—what on earth is this?" he stammered. "These things don't +belong to me. I won't have them! I don't want them. Who put them into my +suit case? How the deuce—"</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> the marble man!" she said with a shudder. "Your crimes are +known! Your wretched accomplice will be caught! You are the marble +man—or something worse!"</p> + +<p>Kneeling there, aghast, bewildered, he passed his hand across his eyes +as though to clear them from some terrible vision. But the suit case was +still there with its incriminating contents when he looked again.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for you," she said tremulously. "I—if it were not for the +marble—I would let you go. But you are the marble man!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I'm probably a madman, too. I don't know what I am! I don't +know what is happening to me. I ought to be going, that is all I know—"</p> + +<p>"I cannot let you go."</p> + +<p>"But I must! I've got to catch a train."</p> + +<p>The feebleness of his excuse chilled her pity.</p> + +<p>"I shall not let you go," she said, resting the hand which held the +pistol on her hip, but keeping him covered. "I know you came to rob my +house; I know you are a thoroughly bad and depraved young man, but for +all that I could find it in my heart to let you go if you were not also +the <i>marble man</i>!"</p> + +<p>"What on earth is the marble man?" he asked, exasperated.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I have been earnestly warned against him. Probably he is +a relative of my butler—"</p> + +<p>"I'm not a relative of anybody's butler!"</p> + +<p>"You <i>say</i> you are not. How do I know? I—I will make you an offer. I +will give you one last chance. If you will return to me the jewels that +my butler took—"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, madam! Do you really take me for a professional burglar?"</p> + +<p>"How can I help it?" she said indignantly. "Look at your suit case full +of lanterns and masks—full of <i>marble</i>, too!"</p> + +<p>Speechless, he stared at the burglar's kit.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry—" Her voice had altered again to a tremulous sweetness. "I +can't help feeling sorry for you. You do not seem to be hardened; your +voice and manner are not characteristically criminal. I—I can't see +your face very clearly, but it does not seem to be a brutally inhuman +face—"</p> + +<p>An awful desire to laugh seized Kerns; he struggled against it; +hysteria lay that way; and he covered his face with both hands and +pinched himself.</p> + +<p>She probably mistook the action for the emotion of shame and despair +born of bitter grief; perhaps of terror of the law. It frightened her a +little, but pity dominated. She could scarcely endure to do what she +must do.</p> + +<p>"This is dreadful, dreadful!" she faltered. "If you only would give me +back my jewels—"</p> + +<p>Sounds, hastily smothered, escaped him. She believed them to be groans, +and it made her slightly faint.</p> + +<p>"I—I've simply got to telephone for the police," she said pityingly. "I +must ask you to sit down there and wait—there is a chair. Sit +there—and please don't move, for I—this has unnerved me—I am not +accustomed to doing cruel things; and if you should move too quickly or +attempt to run away I feel certain that this pistol would explode."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to telephone?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am."</p> + +<p>She backed away, cautiously, pistol menacing him, reached for the +receiver, and waited for Central. She waited a long time before she +realized that the telephone as well as the electric light was out of +commission.</p> + +<p>"Did <i>you</i> cut all these wires?" she demanded angrily.</p> + +<p>"I? What wires?"</p> + +<p>She reached out and pressed the electric button which should have rung a +bell in her maid's bedroom on the top floor. She kept her finger on the +button for ten minutes. It was useless.</p> + +<p>"You laid deliberate plans to rob this house," she said, her cheeks pink +with indignation. "I am not a bit sorry for you. I shall <i>not</i> let you +go! I shall sit here until somebody comes to my assistance, if I have to +sit here for weeks and weeks!"</p> + +<p>"If you'd let me telephone to my club—" he began.</p> + +<p>"Your club! You are very plausible. You didn't offer to call up any club +until you found that the telephone was not working!"</p> + +<p>He thought a moment. "I don't suppose you would trust me to go out and +get a policeman?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"Or go into the front room and open a window and summon some passer-by?"</p> + +<p>"How do I know you haven't confederates waiting outside?"</p> + +<p>"That's true," he said seriously.</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Her nerves seemed to trouble her, for she began to +pace to and fro in front of the passageway where he sat comfortably on +his chair, arms folded, one knee dropped over the other.</p> + +<p>The light being behind her he could not as yet distinguish her features +very clearly. Her figure was youthful, slender, yet beautifully rounded; +her head charming in contour. He watched her restlessly walking on the +floor, small hand clutching the pistol resting on her hip.</p> + +<p>The ruddy burnished glimmer on the edges of her hair he supposed, at +first, was caused by the strong light behind her.</p> + +<p>"This is atrocious!" she murmured, halting to confront him. "How dared +you sever every electric connection in my house?"</p> + +<p>As she spoke she stepped backward a pace or two, resting herself for a +moment against the footboard of the bed—full in the gaslight. And he +saw her face.</p> + +<p>For a moment he studied her; an immense wave of incredulity swept over +him—of wild unbelief, slowly changing to the astonishment of dawning +conviction. Astounded, silent, he stared at her from his shadowy corner; +and after a while his pulses began to throb and throb and hammer, and +the clamoring confusion of his senses seemed to deafen him.</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/image-3.jpg' height='75%' alt=""'This is atrocious,' she murmured, halting to confront +him."" title=''> +</center> +<div class='caption'><p>"'This is atrocious,' she murmured, halting to confront +him."</p></div> + +<p>She rested a moment or two against the footboard of the bed, her big +gray eyes fixed on his vague and shadowy form.</p> + +<p>"This won't do," she said.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "it won't do."</p> + +<p>He spoke very quietly, very gently. She detected the alteration in his +voice and started slightly, as though the distant echo of a familiar +voice had sounded.</p> + +<p>"What did you say?" she asked, coming nearer, pistol glittering in +advance.</p> + +<p>"I said 'It won't do.' I don't know what I meant by it. If I meant +anything I was wrong. It <i>will</i> do. The situation is perfectly agreeable +to me."</p> + +<p>"Insolence will not help you," she said sharply. And under the sharpness +he detected the slightest quaver of a new alarm.</p> + +<p>"I am going to free myself," he said coolly.</p> + +<p>"If you move I shall certainly shoot!" she retorted.</p> + +<p>"I am going to move—but only my lips. I have only to move my lips to +free myself."</p> + +<p>"I should scarcely advise you to trust to your eloquence. I have been +duly warned, you see."</p> + +<p>"Who warned you?" he asked curiously. And, as she disdained to reply: +"Never mind. We can clear that up later. Now let me ask you something."</p> + +<p>"You are scarcely in a position to ask questions," she said.</p> + +<p>"May I not speak to you?"</p> + +<p>"Is it necessary?"</p> + +<p>He thought a moment. "No, not necessary. Nothing is in this life, you +know. I thought differently once. Once—when I was younger—six years +younger—I thought happiness was necessary. I found that a man might +live without it."</p> + +<p>She stood gazing at him through the shadows, pistol on hip.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I mean that happiness is not necessary to life. Life goes on all the +same. My life has continued for six years without that happiness which +some believe to be essential."</p> + +<p>After a silence she said: "I can tell by the way you speak that you are +well born. I—I dread to do what I simply must do."</p> + +<p>He, too, sat silent a long time—long enough for an utterly perverse and +whimsical humor to take complete possession of him.</p> + +<p>"<i>Won't</i> you let me go—<i>this</i> time?" he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"I cannot."</p> + +<p>"You had better let me go while you can," he said, "because, perhaps, +you may find it difficult to get rid of me later."</p> + +<p>Affronted, she shrank back from the doorway and stood in the center of +her room, angry, disdainful, beautiful, under the ruddy glory of her +lustrous hair.</p> + +<p>His perverse mood changed, too; he leaned forward, studying her +minutely—the splendid gray eyes, the delicate mouth and nose, the full, +sweet lips, the witchery of wrist and hand, and the flowing, rounded +outline of limb and body under the pretty gown. Could this be <i>she</i>? +This lovely, mature woman, wearing scarcely a trace of the young girl he +had never forgotten—scarcely a trace save in the beauty of her eyes and +hair—save in the full, red mouth, sweet and sensitive even in its +sudden sullenness?</p> + +<p>"Once," he said, and his voice sounded to him like voices heard in +dreams—"once, years and years ago, there was a steamer, and a man and a +young girl on board. Do you mind my telling you about it?"</p> + +<p>She stood leaning against the footboard of the bed, not even deigning to +raise her eyes in reply. So he made the slightest stir in his chair; and +then she looked up quickly enough, pistol poised.</p> + +<p>"The steamer," said Kerns slowly, "was coming into Southampton—six +years ago. On deck these two people stood—a man of twenty-eight, a girl +of eighteen—six years ago. The name of the steamer was the <i>Carnatic</i>. +Did you ever hear of that ship?"</p> + +<p>She was looking at him attentively. He waited for her reply; she made +none; and he went on.</p> + +<p>"The man had asked the girl something—I don't know what—I don't know +why her gray eyes filled with tears. Perhaps it was because she could +not do what the man asked her to do. It may have been to love him; it +may have been that he was asking her to marry him and that she couldn't. +Perhaps that is why there were tears in her eyes—because she may have +been sorry to cause him the pain of refusal—sorry, perhaps, perhaps a +little guilty. Because she must have seen that he was falling in love +with her, and she—she let him—knowing all the time that she was to +marry another man. Did you ever hear of that man before?"</p> + +<p>She had straightened up, quivering, wide eyed, lips parted. He rose and +walked slowly into her room, confronting her under the full glare of +light.</p> + +<p>Her pistol fell clattering to the floor. It did not explode because it +was not loaded.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said unsteadily, "will you give me my freedom? I have waited +for it—not minutes—but years—six years. I ask it now—the freedom I +enjoyed before I ever saw you. Can you give it back to me? Can you +restore to me a capacity for happiness? Can you give me a heart to love +with—love some woman, as other men love? Is it very much I ask of +you—to give me a chance in life—the chance I had before I ever saw +you?"</p> + +<p>Her big gray eyes seemed fascinated; he looked deep into them, smiling; +and she turned white.</p> + +<p>"Will you give me what I ask?" he said, still smiling.</p> + +<p>She strove to speak; she could not, but her eyes never faltered. +Suddenly the color flooded her neck and cheeks to the hair, and the +quick tears glimmered.</p> + +<p>"I—I did not understand; I was too young to be cruel," she faltered. +"How could I know what I was doing? Or what—what you did?"</p> + +<p>"I? To <i>you</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Y-yes. Did you think that I escaped heart free? Do you realize what +<i>my</i> punishment was—to—to marry—and <i>remember</i>! If I was too young, +too inexperienced to know what I was doing, I was not too young to +suffer for it!"</p> + +<p>"You mean—" He strove to control his voice, but the sweet, fearless +gray eyes met his; the old flame leaped in his veins. He reached out to +steady himself and his hand touched hers—that soft, white hand that had +held him all these years in the hollow of its palm.</p> + +<p>"Did you <i>ever</i> love me?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>Her eyes, wet with tears, met his straight as the starry gaze of a +child.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said.</p> + +<p>His hand tightened over hers; she swayed a moment, quivering from head +to foot; then drawing a quick, sobbing breath, closed her eyes, +imprisoned in his arms; and, after a long while, aroused, she looked up +at him, her divine eyes unclosing dreamily.</p> + +<p>"Somebody is hammering at the front door," he breathed. "Listen!"</p> + +<p>"I hear. I believe it must be the Tracer of Lost Persons."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Only a Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>"O Lord!" said Kerns faintly, and covered his face with her fragrant +hands.</p> + +<p>Very tenderly, very gravely, she drew her hands away, and, laying them +on his shoulders, looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"You—you know what there is in your suit case," she faltered; "<i>are</i> +you a burglar, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Ask the Tracer of Lost Persons," said Kerns gently, "what sort of a +criminal I am!"</p> + +<p>They stood together for one blissful moment listening to the loud +knocking below, then, hand in hand, they descended the dark stairway to +admit the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>On the thirteenth day of March, 1906, Kerns received the following cable +from an old friend:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Is there anybody in New York who can find two criminals for me? I + don't want to call in the police.</p> + +<p> "J.T. BURKE."</p></div> + +<p>To which Kerns replied promptly:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"Wire Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, N.Y."</p></div> + +<p>And a day or two later, being on his honeymoon, he forgot all about his +old friend Jack Burke.</p> + +<p>On the fifteenth day of March, 1906, Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, +received the following cablegram from Alexandria, Egypt:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>"<i>Keen, Tracer, New York:</i>—Locate Joram Smiles, forty, stout, + lame, red hair, ragged red mustache, cast in left eye, pallid skin; + carries one crutch; supposed to have arrived in America per S. S. + <i>Scythian Queen</i>, with man known as Emanuel Gandon, swarthy, short, + fat, light bluish eyes, Eurasian type.</p> + +<p> "I will call on you at your office as soon as my steamer, <i>Empress + of Babylon</i>, arrives. If you discover my men, keep them under + surveillance, but on no account call in police. Spare no expense. + Dundas, Gray & Co. are my bankers and reference.</p> + +<p> "JOHN TEMPLETON BURKE."</p></div> + +<p>On Monday, April 2d, a few minutes after eight o'clock in the morning, +the card of Mr. John Templeton Burke was brought to Mr. Keen, Tracer of +Lost Persons, and a moment later a well-built, wiry, sun-scorched young +man was ushered into Mr. Keen's private office by a stenographer +prepared to take minutes of the interview.</p> + +<p>The first thing that the Tracer of Lost Persons noted in his visitor was +his mouth; the next his eyes. Both were unmistakably good—the eyes +which his Creator had given him looked people squarely in the face at +every word; the mouth, which a man's own character fashions agreeably or +mars, was pleasant, but firm when the trace of the smile lurking in the +corners died out.</p> + +<p>There were dozens of other external characteristics which Mr. Keen +always looked for in his clients; and now the rapid exchange of +preliminary glances appeared to satisfy both men, for they advanced +toward each other and exchanged a formal hand clasp.</p> + +<p>"Have you any news for me?" asked Burke.</p> + +<p>"I have," said the Tracer. "There are cigars on the table beside +you—matches in that silver case. No, I never smoke; but I like the +aroma—and I like to watch men smoke. Do you know, Mr. Burke, that no +two men smoke in the same fashion? There is as much character in the +manner of holding a cigar as there is difference in the technic of +artists."</p> + +<p>Burke nodded, amused, but, catching sight of the busy stenographer, his +bronzed features became serious, and he looked at Mr. Keen inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"It is my custom," said the Tracer. "Do you object to my stenographer?"</p> + +<p>Burke looked at the slim young girl in her black gown and white collar +and cuffs. Then, very simply, he asked her pardon for objecting to her +presence, but said that he could not discuss his case if she remained. +So she rose, with a humorous glance at Mr. Keen; and the two men stood +up until she had vanished, then reseated themselves <i>vis-a-vis</i>. Mr. +Keen calmly dropped his elbow on the concealed button which prepared a +hidden phonograph for the reception of every word that passed between +them.</p> + +<p>"What news have you for me, Mr. Keen?" asked the younger man with that +same directness which the Tracer had already been prepared for, and +which only corroborated the frankness of eyes and voice.</p> + +<p>"My news is brief," he said. "I have both your men under observation."</p> + +<p>"Already?" exclaimed Burke, plainly unprepared. "Do you actually mean +that I can see these men whenever I desire to do so? Are these +scoundrels in this town—within pistol shot?"</p> + +<p>His youthful face hardened as he snapped out his last word, like the +crack of a whip.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how far your pistol carries," said Mr. Keen. "Do you wish +to swear out a warrant?"</p> + +<p>"No, I do not. I merely wish their addresses. You have not used the +police in this matter, have you, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"No. Your cable was explicit," said the Tracer. "Had you permitted me to +use the police it would have been much less expensive for you."</p> + +<p>"I can't help that," said the young man. "Besides, in a matter of this +sort, a man cannot decently consider expense."</p> + +<p>"A matter of what sort?" asked the Tracer blandly.</p> + +<p>"Of <i>this</i> sort."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Yet even now I do not understand. You must remember, Mr. Burke, +that you have not told me anything concerning the reasons for your quest +of these two men, Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon. Besides, this is the +first time you have mentioned pistol range."</p> + +<p>Burke, smoking steadily, looked at the Tracer through the blue fog of +his cigar.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I have not told you anything about them."</p> + +<p>Mr. Keen waited a moment; then, smiling quietly to himself, he wrote +down the present addresses of Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon, and, +tearing off the leaf, handed it to the younger man, saying: "I omit the +pistol range, Mr. Burke."</p> + +<p>"I am very grateful to you," said Burke. "The efficiency of your system +is too famous for me to venture to praise it. All I can say is 'Thank +you'; all I can do in gratitude is to write my check—if you will be +kind enough to suggest the figures."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure that my services are ended?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, quite sure."</p> + +<p>So the Tracer of Lost Persons named the figures, and his client produced +a check book and filled in a check for the amount. This was presented +and received with pleasant formality. Burke rose, prepared to take his +leave, but the Tracer was apparently busy with the combination lock of a +safe, and the young man lingered a moment to make his adieus.</p> + +<p>As he stood waiting for the Tracer to turn around he studied the writing +on the sheet of paper which he held toward the light:</p> + +<div class='blkquot'><p>Joram Smiles, no profession, 613 West 24th Street. Emanuel Gandon, + no profession, same address. Very dangerous men.</p></div> + +<p>It occurred to him that these three lines of pencil-writing had cost him +a thousand dollars—and at the same instant he flushed with shame at the +idea of measuring the money value of anything in such a quest as this.</p> + +<p>And yet—and yet he had already spent a great deal of money in his brief +quest, and—<i>was</i> he any nearer the goal—even with the penciled +addresses of these two men in his possession? Even with these men almost +within pistol shot!</p> + +<p>Pondering there, immersed in frowning retrospection, the room, the +Tracer, the city seemed to fade from his view. He saw the red sand +blowing in the desert; he heard the sickly squealing of camels at the El +Teb Wells; he saw the sun strike fire from the rippling waters of Saïs; +he saw the plain, and the ruins high above it; and the odor of the Long +Bazaar smote him like a blow, and he heard the far call to prayer from +the minarets of Sa-el-Hagar, once Saïs, the mysterious—Saïs of the +million lanterns, Saïs of that splendid festival where the Great Triad's +worship swayed dynasty after dynasty, and where, through the hot +centuries, Isis, veiled, impassive, looked out upon the hundredth king +of kings, Meris, the Builder of Gardens, dragged dead at the chariot of +Upper and Lower Egypt.</p> + +<p>Slowly the visions faded; into his remote eyes crept the consciousness +of the twentieth century again; he heard the river whistles blowing, and +the far dissonance of the streets—that iron undertone vibrating through +the metropolis of the West from river to river and from the Palisades to +the sea.</p> + +<p>His gaze wandered about the room, from telephone desk to bookcase, from +the table to the huge steel safe, door ajar, swung outward like the +polished breech of a twelve-inch gun.</p> + +<p>Then his vacant eyes met the eyes of the Tracer of Lost Persons, almost +helplessly. And for the first time the full significance of this quest +he had undertaken came over him like despair—this strange, hopeless, +fantastic quest, blindly, savagely pursued from the sand wastes of Saïs +to the wastes of this vast arid city of iron and masonry, ringing to the +sky with the menacing clamor of its five monstrous boroughs.</p> + +<p>Curiously weary of a sudden, he sat down, resting his head on one hand. +The Tracer watched him, bent partly over his desk. From moment to moment +he tore minute pieces from the blotter, or drew imaginary circles and +arabesques on his pad with an inkless pen.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I could help you, after all—if you'd let me try," he said +quietly.</p> + +<p>"Dou you mean—<i>me</i>?" asked Burke, without raising his head.</p> + +<p>"If you like—yes, you—or any man in trouble—in perplexity—in the +uncertain deductions which arise from an attempt at self-analysis."</p> + +<p>"It is true; I am trying to analyze myself. I believe that I don't know +how. All has been mere impulse—so far. No, I don't know how to analyze +it all."</p> + +<p>"I do," said the Tracer.</p> + +<p>Burke raised his level, unbelieving eyes.</p> + +<p>"You are in love," said the Tracer.</p> + +<p>After a long time Burke looked up again. "Do you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Can I help you?" asked the Tracer pleasantly.</p> + +<p>The young man sat silent, frowning into space; then:</p> + +<p>"I tell you plainly enough that I have come here to argue with two men +at the end of a pistol; and—you tell me I'm in love. By what logic—"</p> + +<p>"It is written in your face, Mr. Burke—in your eyes, in every feature, +every muscle's contraction, every modulation of your voice. My tables, +containing six hundred classified superficial phenomena peculiar to all +human emotions, have been compiled and scientifically arranged according +to Bertillon's system. It is an absolutely accurate key to every phase +of human emotion, from hate, through all its amazingly paradoxical +phenomena, to love, with all its genera under the suborder—all its +species, subspecies, and varieties."</p> + +<p>He leaned back, surveying the young man with kindly amusement.</p> + +<p>"You talk of pistol range, but you are thinking of something more fatal +than bullets, Mr. Burke. You are thinking of love—of the first, great, +absorbing, unreasoning passion that has ever shaken you, blinded you, +seized you and dragged you out of the ordered path of life, to push you +violently into the strange and unexplored! That is what stares out on +the world through those haunted eyes of yours, when the smile dies out +and you are off your guard; that is what is hardening those flat, clean +bands of muscle in jaw and cheek; that is what those hints of shadow +mean beneath the eye, that new and delicate pinch to the nostril, that +refining, almost to sharpness, of the nose, that sensitive edging to the +lips, and the lean delicacy of the chin."</p> + +<p>He bent slightly forward in his chair.</p> + +<p>"There is all that there, Mr. Burke, and something else—the glimmering +dawn of desperation."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the other, "that is there. I am desperate."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly. Also you wear two revolvers in a light, leather harness +strapped up under your armpits," said the Tracer, laughing. "Take them +off, Mr. Burke. There is nothing to be gained in shooting up Mr. Smiles +or converting Mr. Gandon into nitrates."</p> + +<p>"If it is a matter where one man can help another," the Tracer added +simply, "it would give me pleasure to place my resources at your +command—without recompense—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen!" said Burke, astonished.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"You are very amiable; I had not wished—had not expected anything +except professional interest from you."</p> + +<p>"Why not? I like you, Mr. Burke."</p> + +<p>The utter disarming candor of this quiet, elderly gentleman silenced the +younger man with a suddenness born of emotions long crushed, long +relentlessly mastered, and which now, in revolt, shook him fiercely in +every fiber. All at once he felt very young, very helpless in the +world—that same world through which, until within a few weeks, he had +roved so confidently, so arrogantly, challenging man and the gods +themselves in the pride of his strength and youth.</p> + +<p>But now, halting, bewildered, lost amid the strange maze of byways +whither impulse had lured and abandoned him, he looked out into a world +of wilderness and unfamiliar stars and shadow shapes undreamed of, and +he knew not which way to turn—not even how to return along the ways his +impetuous feet had trodden in this strange and hopeless quest of his.</p> + +<p>"How can you help me?" he said bluntly, while the quivering undertone +rang in spite of him. "Yes, I am in love; but how can any living man +help me?"</p> + +<p>"Are you in love with the dead?" asked the Tracer gravely. "For that +only is hopeless. Are you in love with one who is not living?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You love one whom you know to be dead?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; dead."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that she is dead?"</p> + +<p>"That is not the question. I knew that when I fell in love with her. It +is not that which appals me; I ask nothing more than to live my life out +loving the dead. I—I ask very little."</p> + +<p>He passed his unsteady hand across his dry lips, across his eyes and +forehead, then laid his clinched fist on the table.</p> + +<p>"Some men remain constant to a memory; some to a picture—sane, +wholesome, normal men. Some men, with a fixed ideal, never encounter its +facsimile, and so never love. There is nothing strange, after all, in +this; nothing abnormal, nothing unwholesome. Grünwald loved the marble +head and shoulders of the lovely Amazon in the Munich Museum; he died +unmarried, leaving the charities and good deeds of a blameless life to +justify him. Sir Henry Guest, the great surgeon who worked among the +poor without recompense, loved Gainsborough's 'Lady Wilton.' The +portrait hangs above his tomb in St. Clement's Hundreds. D'Epernay loved +Mlle. Jeanne Vacaresco, who died before he was born. And I—I love in +my own fashion."</p> + +<p>His low voice rang with the repressed undertone of excitement; he opened +and closed his clinched hand as though controlling the lever of his +emotions.</p> + +<p>"What can you do for a man who loves the shadow of Life?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"If you love the shadow because the substance has passed away—if you +love the soul because the dust has returned to the earth as it was—"</p> + +<p>"It has <i>not</i>!" said the younger man.</p> + +<p>The Tracer said very gravely: "It is written that whenever 'the Silver +Cord' is loosed, 'then shall the dust return unto the earth as it was, +and the spirit shall return unto Him who gave it.'"</p> + +<p>"The spirit—yes; <i>that</i> has taken its splendid flight—"</p> + +<p>His voice choked up, died out; he strove to speak again, but could not. +The Tracer let him alone, and bent again over his desk, drawing +imaginary circles on the stained blotter, while moment after moment +passed under the tension of that fiercest of all struggles, when a man +sits throttling his own soul into silence.</p> + +<p>And, after a long time, Burke lifted a haggard face from the cradle of +his crossed arms and shook his shoulders, drawing a deep, steady breath.</p> + +<p>"Listen to <i>me</i>!" he said in an altered voice.</p> + +<p>And the Tracer of Lost Persons nodded.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"When I left the Point I was assigned to the colored cavalry. They are +good men; we went up Kettle Hill together. Then came the Philippine +troubles, then that Chinese affair. Then I did staff duty, and could not +stand the inactivity and resigned. They had no use for me in Manchuria; +I tired of waiting, and went to Venezuela. The prospects for service +there were absurd; I heard of the Moorish troubles and went to Morocco. +Others of my sort swarmed there; matters dragged and dragged, and the +Kaiser never meant business, anyway.</p> + +<p>"Being independent, and my means permitting me, I got some shooting in +the back country. This all degenerated into the merest nomadic +wandering—nothing but sand, camels, ruins, tents, white walls, and blue +skies. And at last I came to the town of Sa-el-Hagar."</p> + +<p>His voice died out; his restless, haunted eyes became fixed.</p> + +<p>"Sa-el-Hagar, once ancient Saïs," repeated the Tracer quietly; and the +young man looked at him.</p> + +<p>"You know <i>that</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Tracer.</p> + +<p>For a while Burke remained silent, preoccupied, then, resting his chin +on his hand and speaking in a curiously monotonous voice, as though +repeating to himself by rote, he went on:</p> + +<p>"The town is on the heights—have you a pencil? Thank you. Here is the +town of Sa-el-Hagar, here are the ruins, here is the wall, and somewhere +hereabouts should be the buried temple of Neith, which nobody has +found." He shifted his pencil. "Here is the lake of Saïs; here, standing +all alone on the plain, are those great monolithic pillars stretching +away into perspective—four hundred of them in all—a hundred and nine +still upright. There were one hundred and ten when I arrived at El Teb +Wells."</p> + +<p>He looked across at the Tracer, repeating: "One hundred and ten—when I +arrived. One fell the first night—a distant pillar far away on the +horizon. Four thousand years had it stood there. And it fell—the first +night of my arrival. I heard it; the nights are cold at El Teb Wells, +and I was lying awake, all a-shiver, counting the stars to make me +sleep. And very, very far away in the desert I heard and felt the shock +of its fall—the fall of forty centuries under the Egyptian stars."</p> + +<p>His eyes grew dreamy; a slight glow had stained his face.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever halt suddenly in the Northern forests, listening, as +though a distant voice had hailed you? Then you understand why that far, +dull sound from the dark horizon brought me to my feet, bewildered, +listening, as though my own name had been spoken.</p> + +<p>"I heard the wind in the tents and the stir of camels; I heard the reeds +whispering on Saïs Lake and the yap-yap of a shivering jackal; and +always, always, the hushed echo in my ears of my own name called across +the star-lit waste.</p> + +<p>"At dawn I had forgotten. An Arab told me that a pillar had fallen; it +was all the same to me, to him, to the others, too. The sun came out +hot. I like heat. My men sprawled in the tents; some watered, some went +up to the town to gossip in the bazaar. I mounted and cast bridle on +neck—you see how much I cared where I went! In two hours we had +completed a circle—like a ruddy hawk above El Teb. And my horse halted +beside the fallen pillar."</p> + +<p>As he spoke his language had become very simple, very direct, almost +without accent, and he spoke slowly, picking his way with that lack of +inflection, of emotion characteristic of a child reading a new reader.</p> + +<p>"The column had fallen from its base, eastward, and with its base it had +upheaved another buried base, laying bare a sort of cellar and a flight +of stone steps descending into darkness.</p> + +<p>"Into this excavation the sand was still running in tiny rivulets. +Listening, I could hear it pattering far, far down into the shadows.</p> + +<p>"Sitting there in the saddle, the thing explained itself as I looked. +The fallen pillar had been built upon older ruins; all Egypt is that +way, ruin founded on the ruin of ruins—like human hopes.</p> + +<p>"The stone steps, descending into the shadow of remote ages, invited me. +I dismounted, walked to the edge of the excavation, and, kneeling, +peered downward. And I saw a wall and the lotus-carved rim of a vast +stone-framed pool; and as I looked I heard the tinkle of water. For the +pillar, falling, had unbottled the ancient spring, and now the +stone-framed lagoon was slowly filling after its drought of centuries.</p> + +<p>"There was light enough to see by, but, not knowing how far I might +penetrate, I returned to my horse, pocketed matches and candles from +the saddlebags, and, returning, started straight down the steps of +stone.</p> + +<p>"Fountain, wall, lagoon, steps, terraces half buried—all showed what +the place had been: a water garden of ancient Egypt—probably +royal—because, although I am not able to decipher hieroglyphics, I have +heard somewhere that these picture inscriptions, when inclosed in a +cartouch like this"—he drew rapidly—</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-1.png' width='213' height='106' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"or this</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-2.png' width='126' height='217' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>indicate that the subject of the inscription was once a king.</p> + +<p>"And on every wall, every column, I saw the insignia of ancient royalty, +and I saw strange hawk-headed figures bearing symbols engraved on +stone—beasts, birds, fishes, unknown signs and symbols; and everywhere +the lotus carved in stone—the bud, the blossom half-inclosed, the +perfect flower."</p> + +<p>His dreamy eyes met the gaze of the Tracer, unseeing; he rested his +sunburned face between both palms, speaking in the same vague monotone:</p> + +<p>"Everywhere dust, ashes, decay, the death of life, the utter +annihilation of the living—save only the sparkle of reborn waters +slowly covering the baked bed of the stone-edged pool—strange, luminous +water, lacking the vital sky tint, enameled with a film of dust, yet, +for all that, quickening with imprisoned brilliancy like an opal.</p> + +<p>"The slow filling of the pool fascinated me; I stood I know not how long +watching the thin film of water spreading away into the dimness beyond. +At last I turned and passed curiously along the wall where, at its base, +mounds of dust marked what may have been trees. Into these I probed with +my riding crop, but discovered nothing except the depths of the dust.</p> + +<p>"When I had penetrated the ghost of this ancient garden for a thousand +yards the light from the opening was no longer of any service. I lighted +a candle; and its yellow rays fell upon a square portal into which led +another flight of steps. And I went down.</p> + +<p>"There were eighteen steps descending into a square stone room. Strange +gleams and glimmers from wall and ceiling flashed dimly in my eyes under +the wavering flame of the candle. Then the flame grew still—still as +death—and Death lay at my feet—there on the stone floor—a man, square +shouldered, hairless, the cobwebs of his tunic mantling him, lying face +downward, arms outflung.</p> + +<p>"After a moment I stooped and touched him, and the entire prostrate +figure dissolved into dust where it lay, leaving at my feet a shadow +shape in thin silhouette against the pavement—merely a gray layer of +finest dust shaped like a man, a tracery of impalpable powder on the +stones.</p> + +<p>"Upward and around me I passed the burning candle; vast figures in blue +and red and gold grew out of the darkness; the painted walls sparkled; +the shadows that had slept through all those centuries trembled and +shrank away into distant corners.</p> + +<p>"And then—and then I saw the gold edges of her sandals sparkle in the +darkness, and the clasped girdle of virgin gold around her slender waist +glimmered like purest flame!"</p> + +<p>Burke, leaning far across the table, interlocked hands tightening, +stared and stared into space. A smile edged his mouth; his voice grew +wonderfully gentle:</p> + +<p>"Why, she was scarcely eighteen—this child—there so motionless, so +lifelike, with the sandals edging her little upturned feet, and the +small hands of her folded between the breasts. It was as though she +had just stretched herself out there—scarcely sound asleep as yet, and +her thick, silky hair—cut as they cut children's hair in these days, +you know—cradled her head and cheeks.</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/image-4.jpg' width='484' height='800' alt=""'As though . . . scarcely sound asleep as yet.'"" title=''> +</center> +<div class='caption'><p>"'As though . . . scarcely sound asleep as yet.'"</p></div> + +<p>"So marvelous the mimicry of life, so absolute the deception of +breathing sleep, that I scarce dared move, fearing to awaken her.</p> + +<p>"When I did move I forgot the dusty shape of the dead at my feet, and +left, full across his neck, the imprint of a spurred riding boot. It +gave me my first shudder; I turned, feeling beneath my foot the soft, +yielding powder, and stood aghast. Then—it is absurd!—but I felt as a +man feels who has trodden inadvertently upon another's foot—and in an +impulse of reparation I stooped hastily and attempted to smooth out the +mortal dust which bore the imprint of my heel. But the fine powder +flaked my glove, and, looking about for something to compose the ashes +with, I picked up a papyrus scroll. Perhaps he himself had written on +it; nobody can ever know, and I used it as a sort of hoe to scrape him +together and smooth him out on the stones."</p> + +<p>The young man drew a yellowish roll of paper-like substance from his +pocket and laid it on the table.</p> + +<p>"This is the same papyrus," he said. "I had forgotten that I carried it +away with me until I found it in my shooting coat while packing to sail +for New York."</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons reached over and picked up the scroll. It was +flexible still, but brittle; he opened it with great care, considered +the strange figures upon it for a while, then turned almost sharply on +his visitor.</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said.</p> + +<p>And Burke went on:</p> + +<p>"The candle was burning low; I lighted two more, placing them at her +head and feet on the edges of the stone couch. Then, lighting a third +candle, I stood beside the couch and looked down at the dead girl under +her veil-like robe, set with golden stars."</p> + +<p>He passed his hand wearily over his hair and forehead.</p> + +<p>"I do not know what the accepted meaning of beauty may be if it was not +there under my eyes. Flawless as palest amber ivory and rose, the +smooth-flowing contours melted into exquisite symmetry; lashes like +darkest velvet rested on the pure curve of the cheeks; the closed lids, +the mouth still faintly stained with color, the delicate nose, the full, +childish lips, sensitive, sweet, resting softly upon each other—if +these were not all parts of but one lovely miracle, then there is no +beauty save in a dream of Paradise. . . .</p> + +<p>"A gold band of linked scarabs bound her short, thick hair straight +across the forehead; thin scales of gold fell from a necklace, clothing +her breasts in brilliant discolored metal, through which ivory-tinted +skin showed. A belt of pure, soft gold clasped her body at the waist; +gold-edged sandals clung to her little feet.</p> + +<p>"At first, when the stunned surprise had subsided, I thought that I was +looking upon some miracle of ancient embalming, hitherto unknown. Yet, +in the smooth skin there was no slit to prove it, no opening in any vein +or artery, no mutilation of this sculptured masterpiece of the Most +High, no cerements, no bandages, no gilded carven case with painted face +to stare open eyed through the wailing cycles.</p> + +<p>"This was the image of sleep—of life unconscious—not of death. Yet is +was death—death that had come upon her centuries and centuries ago; for +the gold had turned iridescent and magnificently discolored; the sandal +straps fell into dust as I bent above them, leaving the sandals clinging +to her feet only by the wired silver core of the thongs. And, as I +touched it fearfully, the veil-like garment covering her, vanished into +thin air, its metal stars twinkling in a shower around her on the stone +floor."</p> + +<p>The Tracer, motionless, intent, scarcely breathed; the younger man moved +restlessly in his chair, the dazed light in his eyes clearing to sullen +consciousness.</p> + +<p>"What more is there to tell?" he said. "And to what purpose? All this is +time wasted. I have my work cut out for me. What more is there to tell?"</p> + +<p>"What you have left untold," said the Tracer, with the slightest ring of +authority in his quiet voice.</p> + +<p>And, as though he had added "Obey!" the younger man sank back in his +chair, his hands contracting nervously.</p> + +<p>"I went back to El Teb," he said; "I walked like a dreaming man. My +sleep was haunted by her beauty; night after night, when at last I fell +asleep, instantly I saw her face, and her dark eyes opening into mine in +childish bewilderment; day after day I rode out to the fallen pillar and +descended to that dark chamber where she lay alone. Then there came a +time when I could not endure the thought of her lying there alone. I had +never dared to touch her. Horror of what might happen had held me aloof +lest she crumble at my touch to that awful powder which I had trodden +on.</p> + +<p>"I did not know what to do; my Arabs had begun to whisper among +themselves, suspicious of my absences, impatient to break camp, perhaps, +and roam on once more. Perhaps they believed I had discovered treasure +somewhere; I am not sure. At any rate, dread of their following me, +determination to take my dead away with me, drove me into action; and +that day when I reached her silent chamber I lighted my candle, and, +leaning above her for one last look, I touched her shoulder with my +finger tip.</p> + +<p>"It was a strange sensation. Prepared for a dreadful dissolution, +utterly unprepared for cool, yielding flesh, I almost dropped where I +stood. For her body was neither cold nor warm, neither dust-dry nor +moist; neither the skin of the living nor the dead. It was firm, almost +stiff, yet not absolutely without a certain hint of flexibility.</p> + +<p>"The appalling wonder of it consumed me; fear, incredulity, terror, +apathy succeeded each other; then slowly a fierce shrinking happiness +swept me in every fiber.</p> + +<p>"This marvelous death, this triumph of beauty over death, was mine. +Never again should she lie here alone through the solitudes of night and +day; never again should the dignity of Death lack the tribute demanded +of Life. Here was the appointed watcher—I, who had found her alone in +the wastes of the world—all alone on the outermost edges of the +world—a child, dead and unguarded. And standing there beside her I knew +that I should never love again."</p> + +<p>He straightened up, stretching out his arm: "I did not intend to carry +her away to what is known as Christian burial. How could I consign her +to darkness again, with all its dreadful mockery of marble, all its +awful emblems?</p> + +<p>"This lovely stranger was to be my guest forever. The living should be +near her while she slept so sweetly her slumber through the centuries; +she should have warmth, and soft hangings and sunlight and flowers; and +her unconscious ears should be filled with the pleasant stir of living +things. . . . I have a house in the country, a very old house among +meadows and young woodlands. And I—I had dreamed of giving this child a +home—"</p> + +<p>His voice broke; he buried his head in his hands a moment; but when he +lifted it again his features were hard as steel.</p> + +<p>"There was already talk in the bazaar about me. I was probably followed, +but I did not know it. Then one of my men disappeared. For a week I +hesitated to trust my Arabs; but there was no other way. I told them +there was a mummy which I desired to carry to some port and smuggle out +of the country without consulting the Government. I knew perfectly well +that the Government would never forego its claim to such a relic of +Egyptian antiquity. I offered my men too much, perhaps. I don't know. +They hesitated for a week, trying by every artifice to see the treasure, +but I never let them out of my sight.</p> + +<p>"Then one day two white men came into camp; and with them came a +government escort to arrest me for looting an Egyptian tomb. The white +men were Joram Smiles and that Eurasian, Emanuel Gandon, who was partly +white, I suppose. I didn't comprehend what they were up to at first. +They escorted me forty miles to confront the official at Shen-Bak. When, +after a stormy week, I was permitted to return to Saïs, my Arabs and the +white men were gone. And the stone chamber under the water garden wall +was empty as the hand I hold out to you!"</p> + +<p>He opened his palm and rose, his narrowing eyes clear and dangerous.</p> + +<p>"At the bazaar I learned enough to know what had been done. I traced the +white men to the coast. They sailed on the <i>Scythian Queen</i>, taking +with them all that I care for on earth or in heaven! And you ask me why +I measure their distance from me by a bullet's flight!"</p> + +<p>The Tracer also rose, pale and grave.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" he said. "There are other things to be done before you prepare +to face a jury for double murder."</p> + +<p>"It is for them to choose," said Burke. "They shall have the choice of +returning to me my dead, or of going to hell full of lead."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly, my dear sir. That part is not difficult," said the Tracer +quietly. "There will be no occasion for violence, I assure you. Kindly +leave such details to me. I know what is to be done. You are outwardly +very calm, Mr. Burke—even dangerously placid; but though you maintain +an admirable command over yourself superficially, you are laboring under +terrible excitement. Therefore it is my duty to say to you at once that +there is no cause for your excitement, no cause for your apprehension as +to results. I feel exceedingly confident that you will, in due time, +regain possession of all that you care for most—quietly, quietly, my +dear sir! You are not yet ready to meet these men, nor am I ready to go +with you. I beg you to continue your habit of self-command for a +little while. There is no haste—that is to say, there is every reason +to make haste slowly. And the quickest method is to seat yourself. Thank +you. And I shall sit here beside you and spread out this papyrus scroll +for your inspection."</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-3.png' height='80%' alt='Hieroglyphics' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Burke stared at the Tracer, then at the scroll.</p> + +<p>"What has that inscription to do with the matter in hand?" he demanded +impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I leave you to judge," said the Tracer. A dull tint of excitement +flushed his lean cheeks; he twisted his gray mustache and bent over the +unrolled scroll which was now held flat by weights at the four corners.</p> + +<p>"Can you understand any of these symbols, Mr. Burke?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Curious," mused the Tracer. "Do you know it was fortunate that you put +this bit of papyrus in the pocket of your shooting coat—so fortunate +that, in a way, it approaches the miraculous?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? Is there anything in that scroll bearing on this +matter?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you can read it? Are you versed in such learning, Mr. Keen?"</p> + +<p>"I am an Egyptologist—among other details," said the Tracer calmly.</p> + +<p>The young man gazed at him, astonished. The Tracer of Lost Persons +picked up a pencil, laid a sheet of paper on the table beside the +papyrus, and slowly began to copy the first symbol:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-4.png' width='353' height='128' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX'></a><h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"The ancient Egyptian word for the personal pronoun 'I' was <i>anuk</i>," +said the Tracer placidly. "The phonetic for <i>a</i> was the hieroglyph</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-5.png' width='73' height='96' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>a reed; for <i>n</i> the water symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-6.png' width='142' height='56' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>for <i>u</i> the symbols</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-7.png' width='167' height='94' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>for <i>k</i></p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-8.png' width='83' height='77' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Therefore this hieroglyphic inscription begins with the personal pronoun</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-9.png' width='371' height='96' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>or <i>I</i>. That is very easy, of course.</p> + +<p>"Now, the most ancient of Egyptian inscriptions read vertically in +columns; there are only two columns in this papyrus, so we'll try it +vertically and pass downward to the next symbol, which is inclosed in a +sort of frame or cartouch. That immediately signifies that royalty is +mentioned; therefore, we have already translated as much as 'I, the king +(or queen).' Do you see?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Burke, staring.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Now this symbol, number two,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-10.png' width='436' height='145' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>spells out the word '<i>Meris</i>,' in this way: M (pronounced <i>me</i>) is +phonetically symbolized by the characters</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-11.png' width='191' height='140' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p><i>r</i> by</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-12.png' width='74' height='53' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>(a mouth) and the comma</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-13.png' width='43' height='74' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and the hieroglyph</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-14.png' width='91' height='43' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p><i>i</i> by two reeds</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-15.png' width='96' height='104' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and two oblique strokes,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-16.png' width='70' height='47' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and <i>s</i> by</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-17.png' width='121' height='87' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>This gives us Meris, the name of that deposed and fugitive king of +Egypt who, after a last raid on the summer palace of Mer-Shen, usurping +ruler of Egypt, was followed and tracked to Saïs, where, with an arrow +through his back, he crawled to El Teb and finally died there of his +wound. All this Egyptologists are perfectly familiar with in the +translations of the boastful tablets and inscriptions erected near Saïs +by Mer-Shen, the three hundred and twelfth sovereign after Queen +Nitocris."</p> + +<p>He looked up at Burke, smiling. "Therefore," he said, "this papyrus +scroll was written by Meris, ex-king, a speculative thousands of years +before Christ. And it begins: 'I, Meris the King.'"</p> + +<p>"How does all this bear upon what concerns me?" demanded Burke.</p> + +<p>"Wait!"</p> + +<p>Something in the quiet significance of the Tracer's brief command sent a +curious thrill through the younger man. He leaned stiffly forward, +studying the scroll, every faculty concentrated on the symbol which the +Tracer had now touched with the carefully sharpened point of his pencil:</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-18.png' width='217' height='94' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"That," said Mr. Keen, "is the ancient Egyptian word for 'little,' +'<i>Ket</i>.' The next, below, written in two lines, is 'Samaris,' a proper +name—the name of a woman. Under that, again, is the symbol for the +number 18; the decimal sign,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-19.png' width='94' height='90' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and eight vertical strokes,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-20.png' width='156' height='110' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>Under that, again, is a hieroglyph of another sort, an ideograph +representing a girl with a harp; and, beneath that, the symbol which +always represented a dancing girl</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-21.png' width='183' height='240' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>and also the royal symbol inclosed in a cartouch,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-22.png' width='185' height='288' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>which means literally 'the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that +is the significant symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-23.png' width='135' height='104' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>representing an arm and a hand holding a stick. This always means +<i>force</i>—to take forcibly or to use violence. Therefore, so far, we have +the following literal translation: 'I, Meris the King, little Samaris, +eighteen, a harpist, dancing girl, the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt, +to take by violence—'"</p> + +<p>"What does that make?" broke in Burke impatiently.</p> + +<p>"<i>Wait!</i> Wait until we have translated everything literally. And, Mr. +Burke, it might make it easier for us both if you would remember that I +have had the pleasure of deciphering many hundreds of papyri before you +had ever heard that there were such things."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said the young man in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"I beg yours for my impatience," said the Tracer pleasantly. "This +deciphering always did affect my nerves and shorten my temper. And, no +doubt, it is quite as hard on you. Shall we go on, Mr. Burke?"</p> + +<p>"If you please, Mr. Keen."</p> + +<p>So the Tracer laid his pencil point on the next symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-24.png' width='206' height='153' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"That is the symbol for night," he said; "and that</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-25.png' width='287' height='70' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>is the water symbol again, as you know; and that</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-26.png' width='240' height='145' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>is the ideograph, meaning a ship. The five reversed crescents</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-27.png' width='309' height='68' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>record the number of days voyage; the sign</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-28.png' width='123' height='100' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>means a house, and is also the letter H in the Egyptian alphabet.</p> + +<p>"Under it, again, we have a repetition of the first symbol meaning <i>I</i>, +and a repetition of the second symbol, meaning 'Meris, the King.' Then, +below that cartouch, comes a new symbol,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-29.png' width='411' height='96' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>which is the feminine personal pronoun, <i>sentus</i>, meaning '<i>she</i>'; and +the first column is completed with the symbol for the ancient Egyptian +verb, <i>nehes</i>, 'to awake,'</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-30.png' width='251' height='126' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"And now we take the second column, which begins with the jackal +ideograph expressing slyness or cleverness. Under it is the hieroglyph +meaning 'to run away,' 'to escape.' And under that, Mr. Burke, is one of +the rarest of all Egyptian symbols; a symbol seldom seen on stone or +papyrus,</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-31.png' width='317' height='92' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>except in rare references to the mysteries of Isis. The meaning of it, +so long in dispute, has finally been practically determined through a +new discovery in the cuneiform inscriptions. It is the symbol of two +hands holding two <i>closed</i> eyes; and it signifies power."</p> + +<p>"You mean that those ancients understood hypnotism?" asked Burke, +astonished.</p> + +<p>"Evidently their priests did; evidently hypnotism was understood and +employed in certain mysteries. And there is the symbol of it; and under +it the hieroglyphs</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-32.png' width='156' height='123' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>meaning 'a day and a night,' with the symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-33.png' width='117' height='110' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>as usual present to signify force or strength employed. Under that, +again, is a human figure stretched upon a typical Egyptian couch. And +now, Mr. Burke, <i>note carefully</i> three modifying signs: first, that it +is a <i>couch</i> or <i>bed</i> on which the figure is stretched, not the funeral +couch, not the embalming slab; second, there is no mummy mask covering +the face, and no mummy case covering the body; third, that under the +recumbent figure is pictured an <i>open</i> mouth, not a <i>closed</i> one.</p> + +<p>"All these modify the ideograph, apparently representing death. But the +sleep symbol is not present. Therefore it is a sound inference that all +this simply confirms the symbol of hypnotism."</p> + +<p>Burke, intensely absorbed, stared steadily at the scroll.</p> + +<p>"Now," continued Mr. Keen, "we note the symbol of force again, always +present; and, continuing horizontally, a cartouch quite empty except for +the midday sun. That is simply translated; the midday sun illuminates +nothing. Meris, deposed, is king only in name; and the sun no longer +shines on him as 'Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that despairing +symbol, 'King of Nothing,' we have</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-34.png' width='233' height='94' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>the phonetics which spell <i>sha</i>, the word for garden. And, just beyond +this, horizontally, the modifying ideograph meaning 'a <i>water</i> garden';</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-35.png' width='187' height='117' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>a design of lotus and tree alternating on a terrace. Under that is the +symbol for the word '<i>aneb</i>,'</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-36.png' width='491' height='117' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>a 'wall.' Beyond that, horizontally, is the symbol for 'house.' It +should be placed under the wall symbol, but the Egyptians were very apt +to fill up spaces instead of continuing their vertical columns. Now, +beneath, we find the imperative command</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-37.png' width='526' height='128' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>'arise!' And the Egyptian personal pronoun '<i>entuten</i>,'</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-38.png' width='351' height='155' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>which means 'you' or 'thou.'</p> + +<p>"Under that is the symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-39.png' width='309' height='117' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>which means 'priest,' or, literally, 'priest man.' Then comes the +imperative 'awake to life!'</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-40.png' width='300' height='150' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>After that, our first symbol again, meaning '<i>I</i>,' followed horizontally +by the symbol</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-41.png' width='73' height='104' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>signifying 'to go.'</p> + +<p>"Then comes a very important drawing—you see?—the picture of a man +with a jackal's head, not a dog's head. It is not accompanied by the +phonetic in a cartouch, as it should be. Probably the writer was in +desperate haste at the end. But, nevertheless, it is easy to translate +that symbol of the man with a jackal's head. It is a picture of the +Egyptian god, Anubis, who was supposed to linger at the side of the +dying to conduct their souls. Anubis, the jackal-headed, is the courier, +the personal escort of departing souls. And this is he.</p> + +<p>"And now the screed ends with the cry 'Pray for me!'</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/glyph-42.png' width='350' height='150' alt='Glyph' title=''> +</center> + +<p>the last symbol on this strange scroll—this missive written by a +deposed, wounded, and dying king to an unnamed priest. Here is the +literal translation in columns:</p> + +<pre>I cunning +Meris the King escape +little hypnotize +Samaris King of Nothing +eighteen place forcibly +a harpist garden +a dancing girl—Ruler of water garden + Upper and Lower wall + Egypt house +took forcibly—night Arise. Do +by water Thou +five days Priest Man +ship Awake +house To life +I I go +Meris the King Anubis +she Pray +awake</pre> + +<p>"And this is what that letter, thousands of years old, means in this +language of ours, hundreds of years young: 'I, Meris the King, seized +little Samaris, a harpist and a dancing girl, eighteen years of age, +belonging to the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, and carried her away at +night on shipboard—a voyage of five days—to my house. I, Meris the +King, lest she lie awake watching cunningly for a chance to escape, +hypnotized her (or had her hypnotized) so that she lay like one dead or +asleep, but breathing, and I, King no longer of Upper and Lower Egypt, +took her and placed her in my house under the wall of the water garden. +Arise! therefore, O thou priest; (go) and awaken her to life. I am dying +(I go with Anubis!). Pray for me!'"</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XX'></a><h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<br /> + +<p>For a full minute the two men sat there without moving or speaking. Then +the Tracer laid aside his pencil.</p> + +<p>"To sum up," he said, opening the palm of his left hand and placing the +forefinger of his right across it, "the excavation made by the falling +pillar raised in triumph above the water garden of the deposed king, +Meris, by his rival, was the subterranean house of Meris. The prostrate +figure which crumbled to powder at your touch may have been the very +priest to whom this letter or papyrus was written. Perhaps the bearer of +the scroll was a traitor and stabbed the priest as he was reading the +missive. Who can tell how that priest died? He either died or betrayed +his trust, for he never aroused the little Samaris from her suspended +animation. And the water garden fell into ruins and she slept; and the +Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt raised his columns, lotus crowned, above +the ruins; and she slept on. Then—<i>you</i> came."</p> + +<p>Burke stared like one stupefied.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," said the Tracer gravely, "what balm there may be in a +suspension of sensation, perhaps of vitality, to protect the human body +from corruption after death. I do not know how soon suspended animation +or the state of hypnotic coma, undisturbed, changes into death—whether +it comes gradually, imperceptibly freeing the soul; whether the soul +hides there, asleep, until suddenly the flame of vitality is +extinguished. I do not know how long she lay there with life in her."</p> + +<p>He leaned back and touched an electric bell, then, turning to Burke:</p> + +<p>"Speaking of pistol range," he said, "unstrap those weapons and pass +them over, if you please."</p> + +<p>And the young man obeyed as in a trance.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. There are four men coming into this room. You will keep your +seat, if you please, Mr. Burke."</p> + +<p>After a moment the door opened noiselessly. Two men handcuffed together +entered the room; two men, hands in their pockets, sauntered carelessly +behind the prisoners and leaned back against the closed door.</p> + +<p>"That short, red-haired, lame man with the cast in his eye—do you +recognize him?" asked the Tracer quietly.</p> + +<p>Burke, grasping the arms of his chair, had started to rise, fury fairly +blazing from his eyes; but, at the sound of the Tracer's calm, even +voice, he sank back into his chair.</p> + +<p>"That is Joram Smiles? You recognize him?" continued Mr. Keen.</p> + +<p>Burke nodded.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly—alias Limpy, alias Red Jo, alias Big Stick Joram, alias +Pinky; swindler, international confidence man, fence, burglar, gambler; +convicted in 1887, and sent to Sing Sing for forgery; convicted in 1898, +and sent to Auburn for swindling; arrested by my men on board the S. S. +<i>Scythian Queen</i>, at the cabled request of John T. Burke, Esquire, and +held to explain the nature of his luggage, which consisted of the +contents of an Egyptian vault or underground ruin, declared at the +customhouse as a mummy, and passed as such."</p> + +<p>The quiet, monotonous voice of the Tracer halted, then, as he glanced at +the second prisoner, grew harder:</p> + +<p>"Emanuel Gandon, general international criminal, with over half a +hundred aliases, arrested in company with Smiles and held until Mr. +Burke's arrival."</p> + +<p>Turning to Burke, the Tracer continued: "Fortunately, the <i>Scythian +Queen</i> broke down off Brindisi. It gave us time to act on your cable; +we found these men aboard when she was signaled off the Hook. I went out +with the pilot myself, Mr. Burke."</p> + +<p>Smiles shot a wicked look at Burke; Gandon scowled at the floor.</p> + +<p>"Now," said the Tracer pleasantly, meeting the venomous glare of Smiles, +"I'll get you that warrant you have been demanding to have exhibited to +you. Here it is—charging you and your amiable friend Gandon with +breaking into and robbing the Metropolitan Museum of ancient Egyptian +gold ornaments, in March, 1903, and taking them to France, where they +were sold to collectors. It seems that you found the business good +enough to go prowling about Egypt on a hunt for something to sell here. +A great mistake, my friends—a very great mistake, because, after the +Museum has finished with you, the Egyptian Government desires to +extradite you. And I rather suspect you'll have to go."</p> + +<p>He nodded to the two quiet men leaning against the door.</p> + +<p>"Come, Joram," said one of them pleasantly.</p> + +<p>But Smiles turned furiously on the Tracer. "You lie, you old gray rat!" +he cried. "That ain't no mummy; that's a plain dead girl! And there +ain't no extrydition for body snatchin', so I guess them niggers at +Cairo won't get us, after all!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said the Tracer, looking at Burke, who had risen, pale and +astounded. "Sit down, Mr. Burke! There is no need to question these men; +no need to demand what they robbed you of. For," he added slowly, "what +they took from the garden grotto of Saïs, and from you, I have under my +own protection."</p> + +<p>The Tracer rose, locked the door through which the prisoners and their +escorts had departed; then, turning gravely on Burke, he continued:</p> + +<p>"That panel, there, is a door. There is a room beyond—a room facing to +the south, bright with sunshine, flowers, soft rugs, and draperies of +the East. <i>She</i> is there—like a child asleep!"</p> + +<p>Burke reeled, steadying himself against the wall; the Tracer stared at +space, speaking very slowly:</p> + +<p>"Such death I have never before heard of. From the moment she came under +my protection I have dared to doubt—many things. And an hour ago you +brought me a papyrus scroll confirming my doubts. I doubt still—Heaven +knows what! Who can say how long the flame of life may flicker within +suspended animation? A week? A month? A year? Longer than that? Yes; +the Hindoos have proved it. How long? The span of a normal life? Or +longer? Can the life flame burn indefinitely when the functions are +absolutely suspended—generation after generation, century after +century?"</p> + +<p>Burke, ghastly white, straightened up, quivering in every limb; the +Tracer, as pale as he, laid his hand on the secret panel.</p> + +<p>"If—if you dare say it—the phrase is this: '<i>O Ket Samaris, +Nehes!</i>'—'O Little Samaris, awake!'"</p> + +<p>"I—dare. In Heaven's name, open that door!"</p> + +<p>Then, averting his head, the Tracer of Lost Persons swung open the +panel.</p> + +<p>A flood of sunshine flashed on Burke's face; he entered; and the paneled +door closed behind him without a sound.</p> + +<p>Minute after minute passed; the Tracer stood as though turned to stone, +gray head bent.</p> + +<p>Then he heard Burke's voice ring out unsteadily:</p> + +<p>"O Ket Samaris—Samaris! O Ket Samaris—<i>Nehes!</i>"</p> + +<p>And again: "Samaris! Samaris! O beloved, awake!"</p> + +<p>And once more: "<i>Nehes!</i> O Samaris!"</p> + +<p>Silence, broken by a strange, sweet, drowsy plaint—like a child +awakened at midnight by a dazzling light.</p> + +<p>"Samaris!"</p> + +<p>Then, through the stillness, a little laugh, and a softly tremulous +voice:</p> + +<p>"<i>Ari un āhā, O Entuk sen!</i>"</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXI'></a><h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"What we want to do," said Gatewood over the telephone, "is to give you +a corking little dinner at the Santa Regina. There'll be Mr. and Mrs. +Tommy Kerns, Captain and Mrs. Harren, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Burke, Mrs. +Gatewood, and myself. We want you to set the date for it, Mr. Keen, and +we also wish you to suggest one more deliriously happy couple whom you +have dragged out of misery and flung head-first into terrestrial +paradise."</p> + +<p>"Do you young people really care to do this for me?" asked the Tracer, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"Of course we do. We're crazy about it. We want one more couple, and you +to set the date."</p> + +<p>There was the slightest pause; then the Tracer's voice, with the same +undertone of amusement ringing through it:</p> + +<p>"How would your cousin, Victor Carden, do?"</p> + +<p>"He's all right, only he isn't married. We want two people whom you have +joined together after hazard has put them asunder and done stunts with +them."</p> + +<p>"Very well; Victor Carden and his very lovely wife will be just the +people."</p> + +<p>"Is Victor married?" demanded Gatewood, astonished.</p> + +<p>"No," said the Tracer demurely, "but he will be in time for that +dinner." And he set the date for the end of the week in an amused voice, +and rang off.</p> + +<p>Then he glanced at the clock, touched an electric bell, and again +unhooking the receiver of the telephone, called up the Sherwood Studios +and asked for Mr. Carden.</p> + +<p>"Is <i>this</i> Mr. Carden? Oh, good morning, Mr. Carden! This is Mr. Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons. Could you make it convenient to call—say in +course of half an hour? Thank you. . . . What? . . . Well, speaking with +that caution and reserve which we are obliged to employ in making any +preliminary statements to our clients, I think I may safely say that you +have every reason to feel moderately encouraged."</p> + +<p>"You mean," said Carden's voice, "that you have actually solved the +proposition?"</p> + +<p>"It has been a difficult proposition, Mr. Carden; I will not deny that +it has taxed our resources to the uttermost. Over a thousand people, +first and last, have been employed on this case. It has been a slow and +tedious affair, Mr. Carden—tedious for us all. We seldom have a case +continue as long as this has; it is a year ago to-day since you placed +the matter in our hands. . . . What? Well, without committing myself, I +think that I may venture to express a carefully qualified opinion that +the solution of the case is probably practically in the way of being +almost accomplished! . . . Yes, I shall expect you in half an hour. +Good-by!"</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons' eyes were twinkling as he hung up the +receiver and turned in his revolving chair to meet the pretty young +woman who had entered in response to his ring.</p> + +<p>"The Carden case, if you please, Miss Smith," he said, smiling to +himself.</p> + +<p>The young woman also smiled; the Carden case had become a classic in the +office. Nobody except Mr. Keen had believed that the case could ever be +solved.</p> + +<p>"Safe-deposit box 108923!" said Miss Smith softly, pressing a speaking +tube to her red lips. In a few moments there came a hissing thud from +the pneumatic tube; Miss Smith unlocked it and extracted a smooth, steel +cylinder.</p> + +<p>"The combination for that cylinder is A-4-44-11-X," observed the Tracer, +consulting a cipher code, "which, translated," he added, "gives us the +setting combination, One, D, R-R,-J-'24."</p> + +<p>Miss Smith turned the movable disks at the end of the cylinder until +the required combination appeared. Then she unscrewed the cylinder head +and dumped out the documents in the famous Carden case.</p> + +<p>"As Mr. Carden will be here in half an hour or so I think we had better +run over the case briefly," nodded the Tracer, leaning back in his chair +and composing himself to listen. "Begin with my preliminary memorandum, +Miss Smith."</p> + +<p>"Case 108923," began the girl. Then she read the date, Carden's full +name, Victor Carden, a terse biography of the same gentleman, and added: +"Case accepted. Contingent fee, $5,000."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," said Mr. Keen; "now, run through the minutes of the first +interview."</p> + +<p>And Miss Smith unrolled a typewritten scroll and read:</p> + +<p>"Victor Carden, Esquire, the well-known artist, called this evening at +6.30. Tall, well-bred, good appearance, very handsome; very much +embarrassed. Questioned by Mr. Keen he turned pink, and looked timidly +at the stenographer (Miss Colt). Asked if he might not see Mr. Keen +alone, Miss Colt retired. Mr. Keen set the recording phonograph in +motion by dropping his elbow on his desk."</p> + +<p>A brief <i>résumé</i> of the cylinder records followed:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carden asked Mr. Keen if he (Mr. Keen) knew who he (Mr. Carden) +was. Mr. Keen replied that everybody knew Mr. Carden, the celebrated +painter and illustrator who had created the popular type of beauty known +as the 'Carden Girl.' Mr. Carden blushed and fidgeted. (<i>Notes from. Mr. +Keen's Observation Book, pp. 291-297.</i>) Admitted that he was the creator +of the 'Carden Girl.' Admitted he had drawn and painted that particular +type of feminine beauty many times. Fidgeted some more. (<i>Keen's O.B., +pp. 298-299.</i>) Volunteered the statement that this type of beauty, known +as the 'Carden Girl,' was the cause of great unhappiness to himself. +Questioned, turned pinker and fidgeted. (<i>K.O.B., page 300.</i>) Denied +that his present trouble was caused by the model who had posed for the +'Carden Girl.' Explained that a number of assorted models had posed for +that type of beauty. Further explained that none of them resembled the +type; that the type was his own creation; that he used models merely for +the anatomy, and that he always idealized form and features.</p> + +<p>"Questioned again, admitted that the features of the 'Carden Girl' were +his ideal of the highest and loveliest type of feminine beauty. Did not +deny that he had fallen in love with his own creation. Turned red and +tried to smoke. (<i>K.O.B., page 303.</i>) Admitted he had been fascinated +himself with his own rendering of a type of beauty which he had never +seen anywhere except as rendered by his own pencil on paper or on +canvas. Fidgeted. (<i>K.O.B., page 304.</i>) Admitted that he could easily +fall in love with a woman who resembled the 'Carden Girl.' Didn't +believe she ever really existed. Confessed he had hoped for years to +encounter her, but had begun to despair. Admitted that he had ventured +to think that Mr. Keen might trace such a girl for him. Doubted Mr. +Keen's success. Fidgeted (<i>K.O.B., page 306</i>), and asked Mr. Keen to +take the case. Promised to send to Mr. Keen a painting in oil which +embodied his loftiest ideal of the type known as the 'Carden Girl.' +(<i>Portrait received; lithographs made and distributed to our agents +according to routine, from Canada to Mexico and from the Atlantic to the +Pacific.</i>)</p> + +<p>"Mr. Keen terminated the interview with characteristic tact, accepting +the case on the contingent fee of $5,000."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the Tracer, as Miss Smith rolled up the scroll and +looked at him for further instructions. "Now, perhaps you had better run +over the short summary of proceedings to date. I mean the digest which +you will find attached to the completed records."</p> + +<p>Miss Smith found the paper, unrolled it, and read:</p> + +<p>"During the twelve months' investigation and search (<i>in re Carden</i>) +seven hundred and nine young women were discovered who resembled very +closely the type sought for. By process of elimination, owing to defects +in figure, features, speech, breeding, etc., etc., this list was cut +down to three. One of these occasionally chewed gum, but otherwise +resembled the type. The second married before the investigation of her +habits could be completed. The third is apparently a flawless replica of +Mr. Carden's original in face, figure, breeding, education, moral and +mental habits. (<i>See Document 23, A.</i>)"</p> + +<p>"Read Document 23, A," nodded Mr. Keen.</p> + +<p>And Miss Smith read:</p> + +<pre>ROSALIND HOLLIS, M.D. + +Age . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 + +Height . . . . . . 5 feet 9 inches + +Weight . . . . . . . . 160 pounds + + Thick, bright, ruddy +Hair . . . . . . golden, and inclined + to curl. + +Teeth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Eyes . . . . . . . Dark violet-blue + +Mouth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Color . . . . Fair. An ivory-tinted + blonde. + +Figure . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Health . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Temper . . . . . . . . . Feminine + + Austere, with a +Habits . . . . resolutely suppressed + capacity for romance. + +Business . . . . . . . . . None + +Profession . . . . . . . Physician + +Mania . . . . . . . . A Mission</pre> + +<p>"NOTE.—Dr. Rosalind Hollis was presented to society in her eighteenth +year. At the end of her second season she withdrew from society with the +determination to devote her entire life to charity. Settlement work and +the study of medicine have occupied her constantly. Recently admitted to +practice, she spends her mornings in visiting the poor, whom she treats +free of all charge; her afternoons and evenings are devoted to what she +expects is to be her specialty: the study of the rare malady known as +Lamour's Disease. (<i>See note on second page.</i>)</p> + +<p>"It is understood that Dr. Hollis has abjured the society of all men +other than her patients and such of her professional <i>confrères</i> as she +is obliged to consult or work with. Her theory is that of the beehive: +drones for mates, workers for work. She adds, very decidedly, that she +belongs to the latter division, and means to remain there permanently.</p> + +<p>"NOTE (<i>Mr. Keen's O.B., pp. 916-18</i>).—Her eccentricity is probably the +result of a fine, wholesome, highly strung young girl taking life and +herself too seriously. The remedy will be the <i>Right Man</i>."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly," nodded Mr. Keen, joining the tips of his thin fingers and +partly closing his eyes. "Now, Miss Smith, the disease which Dr. Hollis +intends to make her specialty—have you any notes on that?"</p> + +<p>"Here they are," said Miss Smith; and she read: "Lamour's Disease; the +rarest of all known diseases; first discovered and described by Ero S. +Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H., in 1861. Only a single case has ever +been observed. This case is fully described in Dr. Lamour's superb and +monumental work in sixteen volumes. Briefly, the disease appears without +any known cause, and is ultimately supposed to result fatally. The first +symptom is the appearance of a faintly bluish circle under the eyes, as +though the patient was accustomed to using the eyes too steadily at +times. Sometimes a slight degree of fever accompanies this +manifestation; pulse and temperature vary. The patient is apparently in +excellent health, but liable to loss of appetite, restlessness, and a +sudden flushing of the face. These symptoms are followed by others +unmistakable: the patient becomes silent at times; at times evinces a +weakness for sentimental expressions; flushes easily; is easily +depressed; will sit for hours looking at one person; and, if not +checked, will exhibit impulsive symptoms of affection for the opposite +sex. The strangest symptom of all, however, is the physical change in +the patient, whose features and figure, under the trained eye of the +observer, gradually from day to day assume the symmetry and charm of a +beauty almost unearthly, sometimes accompanied by a spiritual pallor +which is unmistakable in confirming the diagnosis, and which, Dr. Lamour +believes, presages the inexorable approach of immortality.</p> + +<p>"There is no known remedy for Lamour's Disease. The only case on record +is the case of the young lady described by Dr. Lamour, who watched her +for years with unexampled patience and enthusiasm; finally, in the +interest of science, marrying his patient in order to devote his life +to a study of her symptoms. Unfortunately, some of these disappeared +early—within a week—but the curious manifestation of physical beauty +remained, and continued to increase daily to a dazzling radiance, with +no apparent injury to the patient. Dr. Lamour, unfortunately, died +before his investigations, covering over forty years, could be +completed; his widow survived him for a day or two only, leaving sixteen +children.</p> + +<p>"Here is a wide and unknown field for medical men to investigate. It is +safe to say that the physician who first discovers the bacillus of +Lamour's Disease and the proper remedy to combat it will reap as his +reward a glory and renown imperishable. Lamour's Disease is a disease +not yet understood—a disease whose termination is believed to be +fatal—a strange disease which seems to render radiant and beautiful the +features of the patient, brightening them with the forewarning of +impending death and the splendid resurrection of immortality."</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons caressed his chin reflectively. "<i>Ex</i>actly, +Miss Smith. So this is the disease which Dr. Hollis has chosen for her +specialty. And only one case on record. <i>Ex</i>actly. Thank you."</p> + +<p>Miss Smith replaced the papers in the steel cylinder, slipped it into +the pneumatic tube, sent it whizzing below to the safe-deposit vaults, +and, saluting Mr. Keen with a pleasant inclination of her head, went out +of the room.</p> + +<p>The Tracer turned in his chair, picked up the daily detective report, +and scanned it until he came to the name Hollis. It appeared that the +daily routine of Rosalind Hollis had not varied during the past three +weeks. In the mornings she was good to the poor with bottles and pills; +in the afternoons she tucked one of Lamour's famous sixteen volumes +under her arm and walked to Central Park, where, with democratic +simplicity, she sat on a secluded bench and pored over the symptoms of +Lamour's Disease. About five she retired to her severely simple +apartments in the big brownstone office building devoted to physicians, +corner of Fifty-eighth Street and Madison Avenue. Here she took tea, +read a little, dined all alone, and retired about nine. This was the +guileless but determined existence of Rosalind Hollis, M.D., according +to McConnell, the detective assigned to observe her.</p> + +<p>The Tracer refolded the report of his chief of detectives and +pigeonholed it just as the door opened and a tall, well-built, +attractive young man entered.</p> + +<p>Shyness was written all over him; he offered his hand to Mr. Keen with +an embarrassed air and seated himself at that gentleman's invitation.</p> + +<p>"I'm almost sorry I ever began this sort of thing," he blurted out, like +a big schoolboy appalled at his own misdemeanors. "The truth is, Mr. +Keen, that the prospect of actually seeing a 'Carden Girl' alive has +scared me through and through. I've a notion that my business with that +sort of a girl ends when I've drawn her picture."</p> + +<p>"But surely," said the Tracer mildly, "you have some natural curiosity +to see the living copy of your charming but inanimate originals, haven't +you, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—oh, certainly. I'd like to see one of them alive—say out of a +window, or from a cab. I should not care to be too close to her."</p> + +<p>"But merely seeing her does not commit you," interposed Mr. Keen, +smiling. "She is far too busy, too much absorbed in her own affairs to +take any notice of you. I understand that she has something of an +aversion for men."</p> + +<p>"Aversion!"</p> + +<p>"Well, she excludes them as unnecessary to her existence."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Carden.</p> + +<p>"Because she has a mission in life," said Mr. Keen gravely.</p> + +<p>Carden looked out of the window. It was pleasant weather—June in all +its early loveliness—the fifth day of June. The sixth was his birthday.</p> + +<p>"I've simply got to marry somebody before the day after to-morrow," he +said aloud—"that is, if I want my legacy."</p> + +<p>"What!" demanded the Tracer sharply.</p> + +<p>Carden turned, pink and guilty. "I didn't tell you all the circumstances +of my case," he said. "I suppose I ought to have done so."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly," said the Tracer severely. "Why is it necessary that you +marry somebody before the day after to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's my twenty-fifth birthday—"</p> + +<p>"Somebody has left you money on condition that you marry before your +twenty-fifth birthday? Is that it, Mr. Carden? An uncle? An imbecile +grandfather? A sentimental aunt?"</p> + +<p>"My Aunt Tabby Van Beekman."</p> + +<p>"Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"In Trinity churchyard. It's too late to expostulate with her, you see. +Besides, it wouldn't have done any good when she was alive."</p> + +<p>The Tracer knitted his brows, musing, the points of his slim fingers +joined.</p> + +<p>"She was very proud, very autocratic," said Carden. "I am the last of +my race and my aunt was determined that the race should not die out with +me. I don't want to marry and increase, but she's trying to make me. At +all events, I am not going to marry any woman inferior to the type I +have created with my pencil—what the public calls the 'Carden Girl.' +And now you see that your discovery of this living type comes rather +late. In two days I must be legally married if I want my Aunt Tabby's +legacy; and to-day for the first time I hear of a girl who, you assure +me, compares favorably to my copyrighted type, but who has a mission and +an aversion to men. So you see, Mr. Keen, that the matter is perfectly +hopeless."</p> + +<p>"I don't see anything of the kind," said Mr. Keen firmly.</p> + +<p>"What?—do you believe there is any chance—"</p> + +<p>"Of your falling in love within the next hour or so? Yes, I do. I think +there is every chance of it. I am sure of it. But that is not the +difficulty. The problem is far more complicated."</p> + +<p>"You mean—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly; how to marry that girl before day after to-morrow. That's +the problem, Mr. Carden!—not whether you are capable of falling in +love with her. I have seen her; I <i>know</i> you can't avoid falling in +love with her. Nobody could. I myself am on the verge of it; and I am +fifty: you can't avoid loving her."</p> + +<p>"If that were so," said Carden gravely; "if I were really going to fall +in love with her—I would not care a rap about my Aunt Tabby and her +money—"</p> + +<p>"You ought to care about it for this young girl's sake. That legacy is +virtually hers, not yours. She has a right to it. No man can ever give +enough to the woman he loves; no man has ever done so. What <i>she</i> gives +and what <i>he</i> gives are never a fair exchange. If you can balance the +account in any measure, it is your duty to do it. Mr. Carden, if she +comes to love you she may think it very fine that you bring to her your +love, yourself, your fame, your talents, your success, your position, +your gratifying income. But I tell you it's not enough to balance the +account. It is never enough—no, not all your devotion to her included! +You can never balance the account on earth—all you can do is to try to +balance it materially and spiritually. Therefore I say, endow her with +<i>all</i> your earthly goods. Give all you can in every way to lighten as +much as possible man's hopeless debt to all women who have ever loved."</p> + +<p>"You talk about it as though I were already committed," said Carden, +astonished.</p> + +<p>"You are, morally. For a month I have, without her knowledge, it is +true, invaded the privacy of a very lovely young girl—studied her +minutely, possessed myself of her history, informed myself of her +habits. What excuse had I for this unless I desired her happiness and +yours? Nobody could offer me any inducement to engage in such a practice +unless I believed that the means might justify a moral conclusion. And +the moral conclusion of this investigation is your marriage to her."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Carden uneasily, "but how are we going to accomplish +it by to-morrow? How is it going to be accomplished at all?"</p> + +<p>The Tracer of Lost Persons rose and began to pace the long rug, clasping +his hands behind his back. Minute after minute sped; Carden stared +alternately at Mr. Keen and at the blue sky through the open window.</p> + +<p>"It is seldom," said Mr. Keen with evident annoyance, "that I personally +take any spectacular part in the actual and concrete demonstrations +necessary to a successful conclusion of a client's case. But I've got to +do it this time."</p> + +<p>He went to a cupboard, picked out a gray wig and gray side whiskers and +deliberately waved them at Carden.</p> + +<p>"You see what these look like?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Y-yes."</p> + +<p>"Very well. It is now noon. Do you know the Park? Do you happen to +recollect a shady turn in the path after you cross the bridge over the +swan lake? Here; I'll draw it for you. Now, here is the lake; here's the +esplanade and fountain, you see. Here's the path. You follow +it—so!—around the lake, across the bridge, then following the lake to +the right—so!—then up the wooded slope to the left—so! Now, here is a +bench. I mark it Number One. <i>She</i> sits there with her book—there she +is!"</p> + +<p>"If she looks like <i>that</i>—" began Carden. And they both laughed with +the slightest trace of excitement.</p> + +<p>"Here is Bench Number Two!" resumed the Tracer. "Here you sit—and there +you are!"</p> + +<center> +<img src='images/rendezvous.png' width='60%' alt="MR. KEEN'S SKETCH OF THE RENDEZVOUS" title=''> +</center> +<div class='caption'><p>MR. KEEN'S SKETCH OF THE RENDEZVOUS</p></div> + +<p>"Thanks," said Carden, laughing again.</p> + +<p>"Now," continued the Tracer, "you must be there at one o'clock. She will +be there at one-thirty, or earlier perhaps. A little later I will become +benignly visible. Your part is merely a thinking part; you are to do +nothing, say nothing, unless spoken to. And when you are spoken to you +are to acquiesce in whatever anybody says to you, and you are to do +whatever anybody requests you to do. And, above all, don't be surprised +at <i>anything</i> that may happen. You'll be nervous enough; I expect that. +You'll probably color up and flush and fidget; I expect that; I count on +that. But don't lose your nerve entirely; and don't think of attempting +to escape."</p> + +<p>"Escape! From what? From whom?"</p> + +<p>"From her."</p> + +<p>"<i>Her?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Are you going to follow my instructions?" demanded the Tracer of Lost +Persons.</p> + +<p>"I—y-yes, of course."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then, I am going to rub some of this under your eyes." And +Mr. Keen produced a make-up box and, walking over to Carden, calmly +darkened the skin under his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I look as though I had been on a bat!" exclaimed Carden, surveying +himself in a mirror. "Do you think any girl could find any attraction in +such a countenance?"</p> + +<p>"<i>She</i> will," observed the Tracer meaningly. "Now, Mr. Carden, one last +word: The moment you find yourself in love with her, and the first +moment you have the chance to do so decently, make love to her. She +won't dismiss you; she will repulse you, of course, but she won't let +you go. I know what I am saying; all I ask of you is to promise on your +honor to carry out these instructions. Do you promise?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"Then here is the map of the rendezvous which I have drawn. Be there +promptly. Good morning."</p> + + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>At one o'clock that afternoon a young man earnestly consulting a map +might have been seen pursuing his solitary way through Central Park. +Fresh green foliage arched above him, flecking the path with fretted +shadow and sunlight; the sweet odor of flowering shrubs saturated the +air; the waters of the lake sparkled where swans swept to and fro, snowy +wings spread like sails to the fitful June wind.</p> + +<p>"This," he murmured, pausing at a shaded bend in the path, "must be +Bench Number One. I am not to sit on that. This must be Bench Number +Two. I <i>am</i> to sit on that. So here I am," he added nervously, seating +himself and looking about him with the caution of a cat in a strange +back yard.</p> + +<p>There was nobody in sight. Reassured, he ventured to drop one knee over +the other and lean upon his walking stick. For a few minutes he remained +in this noncommittal attitude, alert at every sound, anxious, +uncomfortable, dreading he knew not what. A big, fat, gray squirrel +racing noisily across the fallen leaves gave him a shock. A number of +birds came to look at him—or so it appeared to him, for in the +inquisitive scrutiny of a robin he fancied he divined sardonic meaning, +and in the blank yellow stare of a purple grackle, a sinister +significance out of all proportion to the size of the bird.</p> + +<p>"What an absurd position to be in!" he thought. And suddenly he was +seized with a desire to flee.</p> + +<p>He didn't because he had promised not to, but the desire persisted to +the point of mania. Oh, how he could run if he only hadn't promised not +to! His entire being tingled with the latent possibilities of a burst of +terrific speed. He wanted to scuttle away like a scared rabbit. The pace +of the kangaroo would be slow in comparison. What a record he could make +if he hadn't promised not to.</p> + +<p>He crossed his knees the other way and brooded. The gray squirrel +climbed the bench and nosed his pockets for possible peanuts, then +hopped off hopefully toward a distant nursemaid and two children.</p> + +<p>Growing more alarmed every time he consulted his watch Carden attempted +to stem his rising panic with logic and philosophy, repeating: "Steady! +my son! Don't act like this! You're not obliged to marry her if you +don't fall in love with her; and if you do, you won't mind marrying her. +That is philosophy. That is logic. Oh, I wonder what will have happened +to me by this time to-morrow! I wish it <i>were</i> this time to-morrow! I +wish it were this time next month! Then it would be all over. Then it +would be—"</p> + +<p>His muttering speech froze on his lips. Rooted to his bench he sat +staring at a distant figure approaching—the figure of a young girl in a +summer gown.</p> + +<p>Nearer, nearer she came, walking with a free-limbed, graceful step, head +high, one arm clasping a book.</p> + +<p>That was the way the girls he drew would have walked had they ever +lived. Even in the midst of his fright his artist's eyes noted that: +noted the perfect figure, too, and the witchery of its grace and +contour, and the fascinating poise of her head, and the splendid color +of her hair; noted mechanically the flowing lines of her gown, and the +dainty modeling of arm and wrist and throat and ear.</p> + +<p>Then, as she reached her bench and seated herself, she raised her eyes +and looked at him. And for the first time in his life he realized that +ideal beauty was but the pale phantom of the real and founded on +something more than imagination and thought; on something of vaster +import than fancy and taste and technical skill; that it was founded on +Life itself—on breathing, living, palpitating, tremulous Life!—from +which all true inspiration must come.</p> + +<p>Over and over to himself he was repeating: "Of course, it is perfectly +impossible that I can be in love already. Love doesn't happen between +two ticks of a watch. I am merely amazed at that girl's beauty; that is +all. I am merely astounded in the presence of perfection; that is all. +There is nothing more serious the matter with me. It isn't necessary for +me to continue to look at her; it isn't vital to my happiness if I never +saw her again. . . . That is—of course, I should like to see her, +because I never did see living beauty such as hers in any woman. Not +even in my pictures. What superb eyes! What a fascinately delicate nose! +<i>What</i> a nose! By Heaven, that nose <i>is</i> a nose! I'll draw noses <i>that</i> +way in future. My pictures are all out of drawing; I must fit arms into +their sockets the way hers fit! I must remember the modeling of her +eyelids, too—and that chin! and those enchanting hands—"</p> + +<p>She looked up leisurely from her book, surveyed him calmly, absent-eyed, +then bent her head again to the reading.</p> + +<p>"There <i>is</i> something the matter with me," he thought with a suppressed +gulp. "I—if she looks at me again—with those iris-hued eyes of a +young goddess—I—I think I'm done for. I believe I'm done for anyway. +It seems rather mad to think it. But there <i>is</i> something the matter—"</p> + +<p>She deliberately looked at him again.</p> + +<p>"It's all wrong for them to let loose a girl like that on people," he +thought to himself, "all wrong. Everybody is bound to go mad over her. +I'm going now. I'm mad already. I know I am, which proves I'm no +lunatic. It isn't her beauty; it's the way she wears it—every motion, +every breath of her. I know exactly what her voice is like. Anybody who +looks into her eyes can see what her soul is like. She isn't out of +drawing anywhere—physically or spiritually. And when a man sees a girl +like that, why—why there's only one thing that can happen to him as far +as I can see. And it doesn't take a year either. Heavens! How awfully +remote from me she seems to be."</p> + +<p>She looked up again, calmly, but not at him. A kindly, gray-whiskered +old gentleman came tottering and rocking into view, his rosy, wrinkled +face beaming benediction on the world as he passed through it—on the +sunshine dappling the undergrowth, on the furry squirrels sitting up on +their hind legs to watch him pass, on the stray dickybird that hopped +fearlessly in his path, at the young man sitting very rigid there on +his bench, at the fair, sweet-faced girl who met his aged eyes with the +gentlest of involuntary smiles. And Carden did not recognize him!</p> + +<p>Who could help smiling confidently into that benign face, with its gray +hair and gray whiskers? Goodness radiated from every wrinkle.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Atwood!" exclaimed the girl softly as she rose to meet this +marvelous imitation of Dr. Austin Atwood, the great specialist on +children's diseases.</p> + +<p>The old man beamed weakly at her, halted, still beaming, fumbled for his +eyeglasses, adjusted them, and peered closely into her face.</p> + +<p>"Bless my soul," he smiled, "our pretty Dr. Hollis!"</p> + +<p>"I—I did not suppose you would remember me," she said, rosy with +pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Remember you? Surely, surely." He made her a quaint, old-fashioned bow, +turned, and peeped across the walk at Carden. And Carden, looking +straight into his face, did not know the old man, who turned to Dr. +Hollis again with many mysterious nods of his doddering head.</p> + +<p>"You're watching him, too, are you?" he chuckled, leaning toward her.</p> + +<p>"Watching whom, Dr. Atwood?" she asked surprised.</p> + +<p>"Hush, child! I thought you had noticed that unfortunate and afflicted +young man opposite."</p> + +<p>Dr. Hollis looked curiously at Carden, then at the old gentleman with +gray whiskers.</p> + +<p>"Please sit down, Dr. Atwood, and tell me," she murmured. "I have +noticed nothing in particular about the young man on the bench there." +And she moved to give him room; and the young man opposite stared at +them both as though bereft of reason.</p> + +<p>"A heavy book for small hands, my child," said the old gentleman in his +quaintly garrulous fashion, peering with dimmed eyes at the volume in +her lap.</p> + +<p>She smiled, looking around at him.</p> + +<p>"My, my!" he said, tremblingly raising his eyeglasses to scan the title +on the page; "Dr. Lamour's famous works! Are <i>you</i> studying Lamour, +child?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said with that charming inflection youth reserves for age.</p> + +<p>"Astonishing!" he murmured. "The coincidence is more than remarkable. A +physician! And studying Lamour's Disease! Incredible!"</p> + +<p>"Is there anything strange in that, Dr. Atwood?" she smiled.</p> + +<p>"Strange!" He lowered his voice, peering across at Carden. "Strange, +did you say? Look across the path at that poor young man sitting there!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, perplexed, "I see him."</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> do you see?" whispered the old gentleman in a shakily portentous +voice. "Here you sit reading about what others have seen; now what do +<i>you</i> see?"</p> + +<p>"Why, only a man—rather young—"</p> + +<p>"No <i>symptoms</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Symptoms? Of what?"</p> + +<p>The old gentleman folded his withered hands over his cane. "My child," +he said, "for a year I have had that unfortunate young man under secret +observation. He was not aware of it; it never entered his mind that I +could be observing <i>him</i> with minutest attention. He may have supposed +there was nothing the matter with him. He was in error. I have studied +him carefully. Look closer! <i>Are</i> there dark circles under his eyes—or +are there not?" he ended in senile triumph.</p> + +<p>"There are," she began, puzzled, "but I—but of what interest to me—"</p> + +<p>"Compare his symptoms with the symptoms in that book you are studying," +said the old gentleman hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean—do you suppose—" she stammered, turning her eyes on +Carden, who promptly blushed to his ears and began to fidget.</p> + +<p>"<i>Every symptom</i>," muttered the old gentleman. "Poor, poor young man!"</p> + +<p>She had seen Carden turn a vivid pink; she now saw him fidget with his +walking stick; she discovered the blue circles under his eyes. Three +symptoms at once!</p> + +<p>"Do you believe it <i>possible</i>?" she whispered excitedly under her breath +to the old gentleman beside her. "It seems incredible! Such a rare +disease! Only one single case ever described and studied! It seems +impossible that I could be so fortunate as actually to see a case! Tell +me, Dr. Atwood, do you believe that young man is really afflicted with +Lamour's Disease?"</p> + +<p>"There is but one way to be absolutely certain," said the old gentleman +in a solemn voice, "and that is to study him; corroborate your +suspicions by observing his pulse and temperature, as did Dr. Lamour."</p> + +<p>"But—how can I?" she faltered. "I—he would probably object to becoming +a patient of mine—"</p> + +<p>"Ask him, child! Ask him."</p> + +<p>"I have not courage—"</p> + +<p>"Courage should be the badge of your profession," said the old +gentleman gravely. "When did a good physician ever show the white +feather in the cause of humanity?"</p> + +<p>"I—I know, but this requires a different sort of courage."</p> + +<p>"How," persisted the old gentleman, "can you confirm your very natural +suspicions concerning this unfortunate young man unless you corroborate +your observations by studying him at close range? Besides, already it +seems to me that certain unmistakable signs are visible; I mean that +strange physical phase which Dr. Lamour dwells on: the symmetry of +feature and limb, the curiously spiritual beauty. Do you not notice +these? Or is my sight so dim that I only imagine it?"</p> + +<p>"He is certainly symmetrical—and—in a certain way—almost handsome in +regard to features," she admitted, looking at Carden.</p> + +<p>"Poor, poor boy!" muttered the old gentleman, wagging his gray whiskers. +"I am too old to help him—too old to dream of finding a remedy for the +awful malady which I am now convinced has seized him. I shall study him +no more. It is useless. All I can do now is to mention his case to some +young, vigorous, ambitious physician—some specialist—"</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she whispered almost fiercely, "don't do that, Dr. Atwood! I +want him, please! I—you helped me to discover him, you see. And his +malady is to be my specialty. Please, do you mind if I keep him all to +myself and study him?"</p> + +<p>"But you refused, child."</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to. I—I didn't exactly see how I was to study him. But I +must study him! Oh, I <i>must</i>! There will surely be some way. Please let +me. You discovered him, I admit, but I will promise you faithfully to +devote my entire life to studying him, as the great Lamour devoted his +life for forty years to his single patient."</p> + +<p>"But Dr. Lamour married his patient," said the Tracer mildly.</p> + +<p>"He—I—that need not be necessary—"</p> + +<p>"But if it should prove necessary?"</p> + +<p>"I—you—"</p> + +<p>"Answer me, child."</p> + +<p>She stared across at Carden, biting her red lips. He turned pink +promptly and fidgeted.</p> + +<p>"He <i>has</i> got it!" she whispered excitedly. "Oh, <i>do</i> you mind if I take +him for mine? I am perfectly wild to begin on him!"</p> + +<p>"You have not yet answered my question," said the old gentleman gravely. +"Do you lack the courage to marry him if it becomes necessary to do so +in order to devote your entire life to studying him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—it <i>cannot</i> be necessary—"</p> + +<p>"You lack the courage."</p> + +<p>She was silent.</p> + +<p>"Braver things have been done by those of your profession who have gone +among lepers," said the old gentleman sadly.</p> + +<p>She flushed up instantly; her eyes sparkled; her head proudly high, +delicate nostrils dilated.</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid!" she said. "If it ever becomes necessary, I <i>can</i> show +courage and devotion, as well as those of my profession who minister to +the lepers of Molokai! Yes; I do promise you to marry him if I cannot +otherwise study him. And I promise you solemnly to devote my entire life +to observing his symptoms and searching for proper means to combat them. +My one ambition in life is personally to observe and study a case of +Lamour's Disease, and to give my entire life to investigating its +origin, its course, and its cure."</p> + +<p>The old gentleman rose, bowing with that quaintly obsolete courtesy +which was in vogue in his youth.</p> + +<p>"I am contented to leave him exclusively to you, Dr. Hollis. And I wish +you happiness in your life's work—and success in your cure of this +unhappy young man."</p> + +<p>Hat in hand, he bowed again as he tottered past her, muttering and +smiling to himself and shaking his trembling head as he went rocking on +unsteady legs out into the sunshine, where the nursemaids and children +flocked along the lake shore throwing peanuts to the waterfowl and +satiated goldfish.</p> + +<p>Dr. Hollis looked after him, her small hand buried among the pages of +her open book. Carden viewed his disappearing figure with guileless +emotions. He was vaguely aware that something important was about to +happen to him. And it did before he was prepared.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII'></a><h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>When Rosalind Hollis found herself on her feet again a slight sensation +of fright checked her for a moment. Then, resolutely suppressing such +unworthy weakness, the lofty inspiration of her mission in life +dominated her, and she stepped forward undaunted. And Carden, seeing her +advance toward him, arose in astonishment to meet her.</p> + +<p>For a second they stood facing each other, he astounded, she a trifle +pale but firm. Then in a low voice she asked his pardon for disturbing +him.</p> + +<p>"I am Rosalind Hollis, a physician," she said quietly, "and physicians +are sometimes obliged to do difficult things in the interest of their +profession. It is dreadfully difficult for me to speak to you in this +way. But"—she looked fearlessly at him—"I am confident you will not +misinterpret what I have done."</p> + +<p>He managed to assure her that he did not misinterpret it.</p> + +<p>She regarded him steadily; she examined the dark circles under his eyes; +she coolly observed his rising color under her calm inspection; she saw +him fidgeting with his walking stick. She <i>must</i> try his pulse!</p> + +<p>"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions in the interest of +science?" she said earnestly.</p> + +<p>"As a m-m-matter of fact," he stammered, "I don't know much about +science. Awfully glad to do anything I can, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mean it that way," she reassured him. A hint of a smile +tinted her eyes with brilliant amethyst. "Would you mind if I sat here +for a few moments? <i>Could</i> you overlook this horrid unconventionality +long enough for me to explain why I have spoken to you?"</p> + +<p>"I could indeed!" he said, so anxiously cordial that her lovely face +grew serious and she hesitated. But he was standing aside, hat off, +placing the bench at her disposal, and she seated herself, placing her +book on the bench beside her.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind sitting here for a few moments?" she asked him gravely.</p> + +<p>Dazed, scarcely crediting the evidence of his senses, he took possession +of the end of the bench with the silent obedience of a schoolboy. His +attitude was irreproachable. She was grateful for this, and her +satisfaction with herself for not having misjudged him renewed her +confidence in him, in herself, and in the difficult situation.</p> + +<p>She began, quietly, by again telling him her name and profession; where +she lived, and that she was studying to be a specialist, though she did +not intimate what that specialty was to be.</p> + +<p>Outwardly composed and attentively deferential, his astonishment at +times dominated a stronger sentiment that seemed to grow and expand with +her every word, seizing him in a fierce possession absolutely and +hopelessly complete.</p> + +<p>The bewildering fascination of her mastered him. No cool analysis of +what his senses were confirming could be necessary to convince him of +his condition. Every word of hers, every gesture, every inflection of +her sweet, clear voice, every lifting of her head, her eyes, her +perfectly gloved hands, only repeated to him what he knew was a +certainty. Never had he looked upon such physical loveliness; never had +he dreamed of such a voice.</p> + +<p>She had asked him a question, and, absorbed in the pure delight of +looking at her, he had not comprehended or answered. She flushed +sensitively, accepting his silence as refusal, and he came out of his +trance hastily.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon; I did not quite understand your question, Miss +Hollis—I mean, Dr. Hollis."</p> + +<p>"I asked you if you minded my noting your pulse," she said.</p> + +<p>He stretched out his right hand; she stripped off her glove, laid the +tip of her middle finger on his wrist, and glanced down at the gold +watch which she held.</p> + +<p>"I am wondering," he said, laughing uncertainly, "whether you believe me +to be ill. Of course it is easy to see that you have found something +unusual about me—something of particular interest to a physician. Is +there anything very dreadful going to happen to me, Dr. Hollis? I feel +perfectly well."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure you feel well?" she asked, so earnestly that the smile on +his lips faded out.</p> + +<p>"Absolutely. Is my pulse queer?"</p> + +<p>"It is not normal."</p> + +<p>He could easily account for that, but he said nothing.</p> + +<p>She questioned him for a few minutes, noted his pulse again, looked +closely at the bluish circles under his eyes. Naturally he flushed up +and grew restless under the calm, grave, beautiful eyes.</p> + +<p>"I—I have an absolutely new and carefully sterilized thermometer—" She +drew it from a tiny gold-initialed pocket case, and looked wistfully at +him.</p> + +<p>"You want to put that into my mouth?" he asked, astonished.</p> + +<p>"If you don't mind."</p> + +<p>She held it up, shook it once or twice, and deliberately inserted it +between his lips. And there he sat, round-eyed, silent, the end of the +thermometer protruding at a rakish angle from the corner of his mouth. +And he grew redder and redder.</p> + +<p>"I <i>don't</i> wish to alarm you," she was saying, "but all this is so +deeply significant, so full of vital interest to me—to the world, to +science—"</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> have I got, in Heaven's name?" he said thickly, the thermometer +wiggling in his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she exclaimed with soft enthusiasm, clasping her pretty ungloved +hands, "I cannot be sure yet—I dare not be too sanguine—"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you <i>want</i> me to have something queer?" he blurted +out, while the thermometer wiggled with every word he uttered.</p> + +<p>"N-no, of course, I don't <i>want</i> you to be ill," she said hastily. +"Only, if you <i>are</i> ill it will be a wonderful thing for me. I +mean—a—that I am intensely interested in certain symptoms which—"</p> + +<p>She gently withdrew the glass tube from his lips and examined it +carefully.</p> + +<p>"<i>Is</i> there anything the matter?" he insisted, looking at the instrument +over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>She did not reply; pure excitement rendered her speechless.</p> + +<p>"I seem to <i>feel</i> all right," he added uneasily. "If you really believe +that there's anything wrong with me, I'll stop in to see my doctor."</p> + +<p>"Your doctor!" she repeated, appalled.</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly. Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Don't do that! Please don't do that! I—why <i>I</i> discovered this case. I +beg you most earnestly to let me observe it. You don't understand the +importance of it! You don't begin to dream of the rarity of this case! +How much it means to me!"</p> + +<p>He flushed up. "Do you intend to intimate that I am afflicted with some +sort of rare and s-s-trange d-d-disease?" he stammered.</p> + +<p>"I dare not pronounce upon it too confidently," she said with +enthusiasm; "I have not yet absolutely determined the nature of the +disease. But, oh, I am beginning to hope—"</p> + +<p>"Then I <i>am</i> diseased!" he faltered. "I've got <i>something</i> anyhow; is +that it? Only you are not yet perfectly sure what it is called! Is that +the truth, Miss Hollis?"</p> + +<p>"How can I answer positively until I have had time to observe these +symptoms? It requires time to be certain. I do not wish to alarm you, +but it is my duty to say to you that you should immediately place +yourself under medical observation."</p> + +<p>"You think that?"</p> + +<p>"I do; I am convinced of it. Please understand me; I do not pronounce +upon these visible symptoms; I do not express an unqualified opinion; +but I could be in a position to do so if you consent to place yourself +under my observations and care. For these suspicious symptoms are not +only very plainly apparent to me, but were even noted by that old +gentleman whom you may perhaps have observed conversing with me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw him. Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"Dr. Austin Atwood," said the girl solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Oh! And you say he also observed something queer about me? What did he +see? Are there spots on me? Am I turning any remarkable color? Am I—" +And in the very midst of his genuine alarm he suddenly remembered the +make-up box and what the Tracer of Lost Persons had done to his eyes. +Was <i>that</i> it? Where was the Tracer, anyway? He had promised to appear. +And then Carden recollected the gray wig and whiskers that the Tracer +had waved at him from the cupboard, bidding him note them well. <i>Could</i> +that beaming, benignant, tottering old gentleman have been the Tracer of +Lost Persons himself? And the same instant Carden was sure of it, spite +of the miraculous change in the man.</p> + +<p>Then logic came to his aid; and, deducing with care and patience, an +earnest conviction grew within him that the dark circles under his eyes +and the tottering old gentleman resembling Dr. Austin Atwood had a great +deal to do with this dreadful disease which Dr. Hollis desired to study.</p> + +<p>He looked at the charming girl beside him, and she looked back at him +very sweetly, very earnestly, awaiting his decision.</p> + +<p>For a moment he realized that she had really scared him, and in the +reaction of relief an overwhelming desire to laugh seized him. He +managed to suppress it, to compose himself. Then he remembered the +Tracer's admonition to acquiesce in everything, do what he was told to +do, not to run away, and to pay his court at the first decent +opportunity.</p> + +<p>He had no longer any desire to escape; he was quite willing to do +anything she desired.</p> + +<p>"Do you really want to study me, Dr. Hollis?" he asked, feeling like a +hypocrite.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I do," she replied fervently.</p> + +<p>"You believe me worth studying?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, truly, truly, you are! You don't suspect—you cannot conceive how +important you have suddenly become to me."</p> + +<p>"Then I think you had better take my case, Dr. Hollis," he said +seriously. "I begin now to realize that you believe me to be a sort of +freak—an afflicted curiosity, and that, in the interest of medicine, I +ought to go to an asylum or submit myself to the ceaseless observation +of a competent private physician."</p> + +<p>"I—I think it best for you to place yourself in my care," she said. +"Will you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I will. I'll do anything in the world you ask."</p> + +<p>"That is very—very generous, very noble of you!" she exclaimed, +flushing with excitement and delight. "It means a great deal to me—it +means, perhaps, a fame that I scarcely dared dream of even in my most +enthusiastic years. I am too grateful to express my gratitude +coherently; I am trying to say to you that I thank you; that I recognize +in you those broad, liberal, generous qualities which, from your +appearance and bearing, I—I thought perhaps you must possess."</p> + +<p>She colored again very prettily; he bowed, and ventured to remind her +that she had not yet given him the privilege of naming himself.</p> + +<p>"That is true!" she said, surprised. "I had quite forgotten it." But +when he named himself she raised her head, startled.</p> + +<p>"Victor Carden!" she repeated. "You are the <i>artist</i>, Victor Carden!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, watching her dilated eyes like two violet-tinted jewels.</p> + +<p>For a minute she sat looking at him; and imperceptibly a change came +into her face, and its bewildering beauty softened as the vivid tints +died out, leaving her cheeks almost pale.</p> + +<p>"It is—a pity," she said under her breath. All the excitement, all the +latent triumph, all the scarcely veiled eager enthusiasm had gone from +her now.</p> + +<p>"A pity?" he repeated, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I wish it had been only an ordinary man. I—why should this happen +to you? You have done so much for us all—made us forget ourselves in +the beauty of what you offer us. Why should this happen to <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>"But you have not told me yet what has happened to me, Miss Hollis."</p> + +<p>She looked up, almost frightened.</p> + +<p>"<i>Are</i> you our Victor Carden? I do not wish to believe it! You have done +so much for the world—you have taught us to understand and desire all +that is noble and upright and clean and beautiful!—to desire it, to +aspire toward it, to venture to live the good, true, wholesome lives +that your penciled creations must lead—<i>must</i> lead to wear such +beautiful bodies and such divine eyes!"</p> + +<p>"Do <i>you</i> care for my work?" he asked, astonished and moved.</p> + +<p>"I? Yes, of course I do. Who does not?"</p> + +<p>"Many," he replied simply.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for them," she said.</p> + +<p>They sat silent for a long while.</p> + +<p>At first his overwhelming desire was to tell her of the deception +practiced upon her; but he could not do that, because in exposing +himself he must fail in loyalty to the Tracer of Lost Persons. Besides, +she would not believe him. She would think him mad if he told her that +the old gentleman she had taken for Dr. Atwood was probably Mr. Keen, +the Tracer of Lost Persons. Also, he himself was not absolutely certain +about it. He had merely deduced as much.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he said very gently, "what is the malady from which you +believe I am suffering?"</p> + +<p>For a moment she remained silent, then, face averted, laid her finger on +the book beside her.</p> + +<p>"That," she said unsteadily.</p> + +<p>He read aloud: "Lamour's Disease. A Treatise in sixteen volumes by Ero +S. Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H."</p> + +<p>"All that?" he asked guiltily.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Mr. Carden. Are you laughing at me? Do you not believe +me?" She had turned suddenly to confront him, surprising a humorous +glimmer in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I really do not believe I am seriously ill," he said, laughing in spite +of her grave eyes.</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps you had better read a little about what Lamour describes +as the symptoms of this malady," she said sadly.</p> + +<p>"Is it fatal?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Ultimately. That is why I desire to spend my life in studying means to +combat it. That is why I desire you so earnestly to place yourself under +my observation and let me try."</p> + +<p>"Tell me one thing," he said; "is it contagious? Is it infectious? No? +Then I don't mind your studying me all you wish, Dr. Hollis. You may +take my temperature every ten minutes if you care to. You may observe my +pulse every five minutes if you desire. Only please tell me how this is +to be accomplished; because, you see, I live in the Sherwood Studio +Building, and you live on Madison Avenue."</p> + +<p>"I—I have a ward—a room—fitted up with every modern surgical +device—every improvement," she said. "It adjoins my office. <i>Would</i> you +mind living there for a while—say for a week at first—until I can be +perfectly certain in my diagnosis?"</p> + +<p>"Do you intend to put me to bed?" he asked, appalled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Only I wish to watch you carefully and note your symptoms from +moment to moment. I also desire to try the effects of certain medicines +on you—"</p> + +<p>"What kind of medicines?" he asked uneasily.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell yet. Perhaps antitoxin; I don't know; perhaps formalin +later. Truly, Mr. Carden, this case has taken on a graver, a more +intimate significance since I have learned who you are. I would have +worked hard to save any life; I shall put my very heart and soul into my +work to save you, who have done so much for us all."</p> + +<p>The trace of innocent emotion in her voice moved him.</p> + +<p>"I am really not ill," he said unsteadily. "I cannot let you think I +am—"</p> + +<p>"Don't speak that way, Mr. Carden. I—I am perfectly miserable over it; +I don't feel any happiness in my discovery now—not the least bit. I had +rather live my entire life without seeing one case of Lamour's Disease +than to believe you are afflicted with it."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not, Miss Hollis!—really, I am not—"</p> + +<p>She looked at him compassionately for a moment, then rose.</p> + +<p>"It is best that you should be informed as to your probable condition," +she said. "In Lamour's works, volume nine, you had better read exactly +what Lamour says. Do you mind coming to the office with me, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>"Now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. The book is there. Do you mind coming?"</p> + +<p>"No—no, of course not." And, as they turned away together under the +trees: "You don't intend to begin observing me this afternoon, do you?" +he ventured.</p> + +<p>"I think it best if you can arrange your affairs. Can you, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, I suppose I can. Did you mean for me to begin to occupy that +surgical bedroom at once?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mind?"</p> + +<p>"N-no. I'll telephone my servants to pack a steamer trunk and send it +around to your apartment this evening. And—where am I to board?"</p> + +<p>"I have a dining room," she said simply. "My apartment consists of the +usual number of servants and rooms, including my office, and my +observation ward which you will occupy."</p> + +<p>He walked on, troubled.</p> + +<p>"I only w-want to ask one or two things, Dr. Hollis. Am I to be placed +on a diet? I hate diets!"</p> + +<p>"Not at once."</p> + +<p>"May I smoke?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," she said, smiling.</p> + +<p>"And you won't p-put me—send me to bed too early?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! The later you sit up the better, because I shall wish to take +your temperature every ten minutes and I shall feel very sorry to arouse +you."</p> + +<p>"You mean you are coming in to wake me up every ten minutes and put that +tube in my mouth?" he asked, aghast.</p> + +<p>"Only every half-hour, Mr. Carden. Can't you stand it for a week?"</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "I—I suppose I can if <i>you</i> can. Only, upon my honor, +there is really nothing the matter with me, and I'll prove it to you out +of your own book."</p> + +<p>"I wish you could, Mr. Carden. I should be only too happy to give you +back to the world with a clear bill of health if you can convince me I +am wrong. Do you not believe me? Indeed, indeed I am not selfish and +wicked enough to wish you this illness, no matter how rare it is!"</p> + +<p>"The rarer a disease is the madder it makes people who contract it," he +said. "I should be the maddest man in Manhattan if I really did have +Lamour's malady. But I haven't. There is only one malady afflicting me, +and I am waiting for a suitable opportunity to tell you all about it, +but—"</p> + +<p>"Tell me now," she said, raising her eyes to his.</p> + +<p>"Not now."</p> + +<p>"To-night?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so. I will if I can, Miss Hollis."</p> + +<p>"But you must not fear to tell a physician about anything which troubles +you, Mr. Carden."</p> + +<p>"I'll remember that," he said thoughtfully, as they emerged from the +Park and crossed to Madison Avenue.</p> + +<p>A moment later he hailed a car and they both entered.</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<br /> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV'></a><h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>No, there could be no longer any doubt in her mind as she went into her +bedroom, closed the door, and, unhooking the telephone receiver, called +up the great specialist in rare diseases, Dr. Austin Atwood, M.S., +F.B.A., M.F.H.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Atwood," she said with scarcely concealed emotion, "this is Dr. +Rosalind Hollis."</p> + +<p>"How-de-do?" squeaked the aged specialist amiably.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am well enough, thank you, doctor—except in spirits. Dr. Atwood, +you were right! He <i>has</i> got it, and I am perfectly wretched!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Who</i> has got <i>what</i>?" retorted the voice of Atwood.</p> + +<p>"The unfortunate young gentleman we saw to-day in the Park."</p> + +<p>"What park?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Central Park, doctor."</p> + +<p>"Central Park! <i>I</i> haven't been in Central Park for ten years, my +child."</p> + +<p>"Why, Dr. Atwood!—A—<i>is</i> this Dr. Austin Atwood with whom I am +talking?"</p> + +<p>"Not the least doubt! And you are that pretty Dr. Hollis—Rosalind +Hollis, who consulted me in those charity cases, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly am. And I wanted to say to you that I have the unfortunate +patient now under closest observation here in my own apartment. I have +given him the room next to the office. And, doctor, you were perfectly +right. He shows every symptom of the disease—he is even inclined to +sentimentalism; he begins to blush and fidget and look at me—a—in that +unmistakable manner—not that he isn't well-bred and charming—indeed he +is most attractive, and it grieves me dreadfully to see that he already +is beginning to believe himself in love with the first person of the +opposite sex he encounters—I mean that he—that I cannot mistake his +attitude toward me—which is perfectly correct, only one cannot avoid +seeing the curious infatuation—"</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> the dickens is all this?" roared the great specialist, and Dr. +Hollis jumped.</p> + +<p>"I was only confirming your diagnosis, doctor," she explained meekly.</p> + +<p>"What diagnosis?"</p> + +<p>"Yours, doctor. I have confirmed it, I fear. And the certainty has made +me perfectly miserable, because his is such a valuable life to the +world, and he himself is such a splendid, wholesome, noble specimen of +youth and courage, that I cannot bear to believe him incurably +afflicted."</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens!" shouted the doctor, "<i>what</i> has he got and <i>who</i> is he?"</p> + +<p>"He is Victor Carden, the celebrated artist, and he has Lamour's +Disease!" she gasped.</p> + +<p>There was a dead silence; then: "Keep him there until I come! Chloroform +him if he attempts to escape!"</p> + +<p>And the great specialist rang off excitedly.</p> + +<p>So Rosalind Hollis went back to the lamp-lit office where, in a +luxurious armchair, Carden was sitting, contentedly poring over the +ninth volume of Lamour's great treatise and smoking his second cigar.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Atwood is coming here," she said in a discouraged voice, as he rose +with alacrity to place her chair.</p> + +<p>"Oh! What for?"</p> + +<p>"T-to see you, Mr. Carden."</p> + +<p>"Who? Me? Great Scott! I don't want to be slapped and pinched and polled +by a man! I didn't expect that, you know. I'm willing enough to have you +observe me in the interest of humanity—"</p> + +<p>"But, Mr. Carden, he is only called in for consultation. I—I have a +dreadful sort of desperate hope that perhaps I may have made a mistake; +that possibly I am in error."</p> + +<p>"No doubt you are," he said cheerfully. "Let me read a few more pages, +Dr. Hollis, and then I think I shall be all ready to dispute my +symptoms, one by one, and convince you what really is the trouble with +me. And, by the way, did Dr. Atwood seem a trifle astonished when you +told him about me?"</p> + +<p>"A trifle—yes," she said uncertainly. "He is a very, very old man; he +forgets. But he is coming."</p> + +<p>"Oh! And didn't he appear to recollect seeing me in the Park?"</p> + +<p>"N-not clearly. He is very old, you know. But he is coming here."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>actly—as a friend of mine puts it," smiled Carden. "May I be +permitted to use your telephone a moment?"</p> + +<p>"By all means, Mr. Carden. You will find it there in my bedroom."</p> + +<p>So he entered her pretty bedroom and, closing the door tightly, called +up the Tracer of Lost Persons.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Mr. Keen? This is Mr. Carden. I'm head over heels in love. +I simply must win her, and I'm going to try. If I don't—if she will +not listen to me—I'll certainly go to smash. And what I want you to do +is to prevent Atwood from butting in. Do you understand? . . . Yes, Dr. +Austin Atwood. Keep him away somehow. . . . Yes, I'm here, at Dr. +Hollis's apartments, under anxious observation. . . . She is the <i>only</i> +woman in the world! I'm mad about her—and getting madder every moment! +She is the most perfectly splendid specimen of womanhood—<i>what</i>? Oh, +yes; I rang you up to ask you whether it was <i>you</i> in the Park +to-day?—that old gentleman—<i>What!</i> Yes, in Central Park. Yes, this +afternoon! No, he didn't resemble you; and Dr. Hollis took him for Dr. +Atwood. . . . What are you laughing about? . . . I can <i>hear</i> you +laughing. . . . <i>Was</i> it you? . . . What do I think? Why, I don't know +exactly what to think, but I suppose it must have been you. Was it? +. . . Oh, I see. You don't wish me to know. Certainly, you are quite +right. Your clients have no business behind the scenes. I only asked out +of curiosity. . . . All right. Good-by."</p> + +<p>He came back to the lamp-lit office, which was more of a big, handsome, +comfortable living room than a physician's quarters, and for a moment or +two he stood on the threshold, looking around.</p> + +<p>In the pleasant, subdued light of the lamp Rosalind Hollis looked up +and around, smiling involuntarily to see him standing there; then, +serious, silent, she dropped her eyes to the pages of the volume he had +discarded—volume nine of Lamour's great works.</p> + +<p>Even with the evidence before her, corroborated in these inexorably +scientific pages which she sat so sadly turning, she found it almost +impossible to believe that this big, broad-shouldered, attractive young +man could be fatally stricken.</p> + +<p>Twice her violet eyes stole toward him; twice the thick lashes veiled +them, and the printed pages on her knee sprang into view, and the cold +precision of the type confirmed her fears remorselessly:</p> + +<p>"The trained scrutiny of the observer will detect in the victim of this +disease a peculiar and indefinable charm—a strange symmetry which, on +closer examination, reveals traces of physical beauty almost +superhuman—"</p> + +<p>Again her eyes were lifted to Carden; again she dropped her white lids. +Her worst fears were confirmed.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile he stood on the threshold looking at her, his pulses racing, +his very soul staring through his eyes; and, within him, every sense +clamoring out revolt at the deception, demanding confession and its +penalty.</p> + +<p>"I can't stand this!" he blurted out; and she looked up quickly, her +face blanched with foreboding.</p> + +<p>"Are you in pain?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No—not that sort of pain! I—<i>won't</i> you please believe that I am not +ill? I'm imposing on you. I'm an impostor! There's nothing whatever the +trouble with me except—something that I want to tell you—if you'll let +me—"</p> + +<p>"Why should you hesitate to confide in a physician, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>He came forward slowly. She laid her small hand on the empty chair which +faced hers and he sank into it, clasping his restless hands under his +chin.</p> + +<p>"You are feeling depressed," she said gently. Depression was a +significant symptom. Three chapters were devoted to it.</p> + +<p>"I'm depressed, of course. I'm horribly depressed and ashamed of myself, +because there is nothing on earth the matter with me, and I've let you +think there is."</p> + +<p>She smiled mournfully; this was another symptom of a morbid state. She +turned, unconsciously, to page 379 to verify her observation.</p> + +<p>"See here, Miss Hollis," he broke out, "haven't I any chance to +convince you that I am not ill? I want to be honest without involving +a—a friend of mine. I can't endure this deception. Won't you let me +prove to you that these symptoms are—are only significant of something +else?"</p> + +<p>She looked straight at him, considering him in silence.</p> + +<p>"Let us begin with those dark circles under my eyes," he said +desperately. "I found some cold-cream in my room and—look! They are +practically gone! At any rate, if there is a sort of shadow left it's +because I use my eyes in my profession."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Lamour says that the dark circles disappear, anyway," said the +girl, unconvinced. "Cold-cream had nothing to do with it."</p> + +<p>"But it <i>did</i>! Really it did. And as for the other symptoms, I—well, I +can't help my pulses when y-you t-t-touch me."</p> + +<p>"Please, Mr. Carden."</p> + +<p>"I don't mean to be impertinent. I am trying my hardest to tell the +truth. And my pulses <i>do</i> gallop when you test them; they're galloping +now! This very moment!"</p> + +<p>"Let me try them," she said coolly, laying her hand on his wrist.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I say so!" he insisted grimly. "And I'm turning red, too. But +those symptoms mean something else; they mean <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carden!"</p> + +<p>"I can't help saying so—"</p> + +<p>"I know it," she said soothingly; "these sentimental outbursts are part +of the disease—"</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! <i>Won't</i> you try to believe me! There's nothing in the +world the matter with me except that I am—am—p-p-perfectly +f-f-fascinated—"</p> + +<p>"You must struggle against it, Mr. Carden. That is only part of the—"</p> + +<p>"It isn't! It isn't! It's you! It's your mere presence, your +personality, your charm, your beauty, your loveliness, your—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carden, I beg of you! I—it is part of my duty to observe symptoms, +but—but you are making it very hard for me—very difficult—"</p> + +<p>"I am only proving to you that it isn't Lamour's Disease which does +stunts with my pulses, my temperature, my color. I'm not morbid except +when I realize my deception. I'm not depressed except when I think how +far you are from me—how far above me—how far out of reach of such a +man as I am—how desperately I—I—"</p> + +<p>"D-don't you think I had better administer a s-s-sedative, Mr. Carden?" +she said, distressed.</p> + +<p>"I don't care. I'll take anything you give me—as long as <i>you</i> give it +to me. I'll swallow pint after pint of pills! I'll fletcherize 'em! I'll +luxuriate in poison—anything—"</p> + +<p>She was hastily running through the pages of the ninth volume to see +whether the symptoms of sentimental excitement ever turned into frenzy.</p> + +<p>"What can you learn from that book?" he insisted, leaning forward to see +what she was reading. "Anyway, Dr. Lamour married his patient so early +in the game that all the symptoms disappeared. And I believe the trouble +with his patient was my trouble. She had every symptom of it until he +married her! She was in love with him, that is absolutely all!"</p> + +<p>Rosalind Hollis raised her beautiful, incredulous eyes.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that, in my opinion, there's no such disease as Lamour's +Disease. That young girl was in love with him. Then he married her at +last, and—presto!—all the symptoms vanished—the pulse, the +temperature, the fidgets, the blushes, the moods, the whole business!"</p> + +<p>"W-what about the strangely curious manifestations of physical +beauty—superhuman symmetry, Mr. Carden?"</p> + +<p>"Do you notice them in <i>me</i>?" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"A—yes—in a m-modified measure—"</p> + +<p>"In <i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly!" she said firmly; but the slow glow suffusing her cheeks was +disconcerting her. Then his own face began to reflect the splendid color +in hers; their eyes met, dismayed.</p> + +<p>"There are sixteen volumes about this disease," she said. "There <i>must</i> +be such a disease!"</p> + +<p>"There is," he said. "I have it badly. But I never had it before I first +saw you in the Park!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carden—this is the wildest absurdity—"</p> + +<p>"I know it. Wildness is a symptom. I'm mad as a hatter. I've got every +separate symptom, and I wish it was infectious and contagious and +catching and fatal!"</p> + +<p>She made an effort to turn the pages to the chapter entitled "Manias and +Illusions," but he laid his hand across the book and his clear eyes +defied her.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carden—"</p> + +<p>Her smooth hand trembled under his, then, suddenly nerveless, relaxed. +With an effort she lifted her head; their eyes met, spellbound.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> have <i>every</i> symptom," he said unsteadily—"every one! What have +you to say?"</p> + +<p>Her fascinated eyes held his.</p> + +<p>"What have you to say?" he repeated under his breath—"you, with every +symptom, and your heavenly radiant beauty to confirm them—that splendid +youthful loveliness which blinds and stuns me as I look—as I speak—as +I tell you that I love you. That is my malady; that is the beginning and +the end of it; love!"</p> + +<p>She sat speechless, immovable, as one under enchantment.</p> + +<p>"All my life," he said, "I have spent in painting shadows. But the +shadows were those dim celestial shapes cast by your presence in the +world. You tell me that the world is better for my work; that I have +offered my people beauty and a sort of truth, which they had never +dreamed of until I revealed it? Yet what inspired me was the shadow +only, for I had never seen the substance; I had never believed I should +ever see the living source of the shadows which inspired me. And now I +see; now I have seen with my own eyes. Now the confession of faith is no +longer a blind creed, born of instinct. You live! You are you! What I +believed from necessity I find proved in fact. The occult no longer can +sway one who has seen. And you, who, without your knowledge or mine, +have always been the one and only source of any good in me or in my +work—why is it strange that I loved you at first sight?—that I +worshiped you at first breath?—I, who, like him who raises his altar to +'the unknown god,' raised my altar to truth and beauty? And a miracle +has answered me."</p> + +<p>She rose, the beautiful dazed eyes meeting his, both hands clasping the +ninth volume of Lamour's great monograph to her breast as though to +protect it from him—from him who was threatening her, enthralling her, +thrilling her with his magic voice, his enchanted youth, the masterful +mystery of his eyes. What was he saying to her? What was this mounting +intoxication sweeping her senses—this delicious menace threatening her +very will? What did he want with her? What was he asking? What was he +doing now—with both her hands in his, and her gaze deeply lost in +his—and the ninth volume of Lamour on the floor between them, sprawling +there, abandoned, waving its helpless, discredited leaves in +air—discredited, abandoned, obsolete as her own specialty—her life's +work! He had taken that, too—taken her life's work from her. And in +return she was holding nothing!—nothing except a young man's +hands—strong, muscular hands which, after all, were holding her own +imprisoned. So she had nothing in exchange for the ninth volume of +Lamour; and her life's work had been annihilated by a smile; and she was +very much alone in the world—very isolated and very youthful.</p> + +<p>After a while she emerged from the chaos of attempted reflection and +listened to what he was saying. He spoke very quietly, very distinctly, +not sparing himself, laying bare every deception without involving +anybody except himself.</p> + +<p>He told her the entire history of his case, excluding Mr. Keen in +person; he told her about his aunt, about his birthday, about his +determination to let the legacy go. Then in a very manly way he told her +that he had never before loved a woman; and fell silent, her hands a +dead weight in his.</p> + +<p>She was surprised that she could experience no resentment. A curious +inertia crept over her. She was tired of expectancy, tired of effort, +weary of the burden of decision. Life and its problems overweighted her. +Her eyes wandered to his broad young shoulders, then were raised to his +face.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do?" she asked innocently.</p> + +<p>Unresisting, she suffered him to explain. His explanation was not +elaborate; he only touched his lips to her hands and straightened up, a +trifle pale.</p> + +<p>After a moment they walked together to the door and he took his hat and +gloves from the rack.</p> + +<p>"Will you come to-morrow morning?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Come early. I am quite certain of how matters are with me. Everything +has gone out of my life—everything I once cared for—all the familiar +things. So come early, for I am quite alone without you."</p> + +<p>"And I without you, Rosalind."</p> + +<p>"That is only right," she said simply. "I shall cast no more shadows for +you. . . . Are you going? . . . Oh, I know it is best that you should +go, but—"</p> + +<p>He halted. She laid both hands in his.</p> + +<p>"We both have it," she faltered—"every symptom. And—you will come +early, won't you?"</p> + +<br /> + +<h4>THE END</h4> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Tracer of Lost Persons, by Robert W. 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Chambers + +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: The Tracer of Lost Persons + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + +Release Date: August 15, 2004 [EBook #13180] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders. + + + + + +[Illustration: "'Then in charity say that word!'"] + +THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS + +BY R. W. CHAMBERS + + + +TO MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM A. HALL + + +1906 + + + + _For the harmony of the world, like that of a harp, is made up of + discords._ + + --HERACLITUS. + + + +THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS + + +CHAPTER I + + +He was thirty-three, agreeable to look at, equipped with as much culture +and intelligence as is tolerated east of Fifth Avenue and west of +Madison. He had a couple of elaborate rooms at the Lenox Club, a larger +income than seemed to be good for him, and no profession. It follows +that he was a pessimist before breakfast. Besides, it's a bad thing for +a man at thirty-three to come to the conclusion that he has seen all the +most attractive girls in the world and that they have been vastly +overrated. So, when a club servant with gilt buttons on his coat tails +knocked at the door, the invitation to enter was not very cordial. He of +the buttons knocked again to take the edge off before he entered; then +opened the door and unburdened himself as follows: + +"Mr. Gatewood, sir, Mr. Kerns's compliments, and wishes to know if 'e +may 'ave 'is coffee served at your tyble, sir." + +Gatewood, before the mirror, gave a vicious twist to his tie, inserted a +pearl scarf pin, and regarded the effect with gloomy approval. + +"Say to Mr. Kerns that I am--flattered," he replied morosely; "and tell +Henry I want him." + +"'Enry, sir? Yes, sir." + +The servant left; one of the sleek club valets came in, softly sidling. + +"Henry!" + +"Sir?" + +"I'll wear a white waistcoat, if you don't object." + +The valet laid out half a dozen. + +"Which one do you usually wear when I'm away, Henry? Which is _your_ +favorite?" + +"Sir?" + +"Pick it out and don't look injured, and _don't_ roll up your eyes. I +merely desire to borrow it for one day." + +"Very good, sir." + +"And, Henry, hereafter always help yourself to my _best_ cigars. Those I +smoke may injure you. I've attempted to conceal the keys, but you will, +of course, eventually discover them under that loose tile on the +hearth." + +"Yes, sir; thanky', sir," returned the valet gravely. + +"And--Henry!" + +"Sir?" with martyred dignity. + +"When you are tired of searching for my olivine and opal pin, just find +it, for a change. I'd like to wear that pin for a day or two if it would +not inconvenience you." + +"Very good, sir; I will 'unt it hup, sir." + +Gatewood put on his coat, took hat and gloves from the unabashed valet, +and sauntered down to the sunny breakfast room, where he found Kerns +inspecting a morning paper and leisurely consuming grapefruit with a +cocktail on the side. + +"Hullo," observed Kerns briefly. + +"I'm not on the telephone," snapped Gatewood. + +"I beg your pardon; how are you, dear friend?" + +"_I_ don't know how I am," retorted Gatewood irritably; "how the devil +should a man know how he is?" + +"Everything going to the bowwows, _as_ usual, dear friend?" + +"_As_ usual. Oh, read your paper, Tommy! You know well enough I'm not +one of those tail-wagging imbeciles who wakes up in the morning singing +like a half-witted lark. Why should I, with this taste in my mouth, and +the laundress using vitriol, and Henry sneering at my cigars?" He yawned +and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. "Besides, there's too much gilt +all over this club! There's too much everywhere. Half the world is +stucco, the rest rococo. Where's that Martini I bid for?" + +Kerns, undisturbed, applied himself to cocoa and toasted muffins. +Grapefruit and an amber-tinted accessory were brought for the other and +sampled without mirth. However, a little later Gatewood said: "Well, are +you going to read your paper all day?" + +"What you need," said Kerns, laying the paper aside, "is a job--any old +kind would do, dear friend." + +"I don't want to make any more money." + +"I don't want you to. I mean a job where you'd lose a lot and be scared +into thanking Heaven for carfare. _You're_ a nice object for the +breakfast table!" + +"Bridge. I will be amiable enough by noon time." + +"Yes, you're endurable by noon time, as a rule. When you're forty you +may be tolerated after five o'clock; when you're fifty your wife and +children might even venture to emerge from the cellar after dinner--" + +"Wife!" + +"I said wife," replied Kerns, as he calmly watched his man. + +He had managed it well, so far, and he was wise enough not to overdo it. +An interval of silence was what the situation required. + +"I wish I _had_ a wife," muttered Gatewood after a long pause. + +"Oh, haven't you said that every day for five years? Wife! Look at the +willing assortment of dreams playing Sally Waters around town. Isn't +this borough a bower of beauty--a flowery thicket where the prettiest +kind in all the world grow under glass or outdoors? And what do you do? +You used to pretend to prowl about inspecting the yearly crop of posies, +growling, cynical, dissatisfied; but you've even given that up. Now you +only point your nose skyward and squall for a mate, and yowl mournfully +that you never have seen your ideal. _I_ know _you_." + +"I never have seen my ideal," retorted Gatewood sulkily, "but I know she +exists--somewhere between heaven and Hoboken." + +"You're sure, are you?" + +"Oh, _I'm_ sure. And, rich or poor, good or bad, she was fashioned for +me alone. That's a theory of mine; _you_ needn't accept it; in fact, +it's none of your business, Tommy." + +"All the same," insisted Kerns, "did you ever consider that if your +ideal does exist somewhere, it is morally up to you to find her?" + +"Haven't I inspected every debutante for ten years? You don't expect me +to advertise for an ideal, do you--object, matrimony?" + +Kerns regarded him intently. "Now, I'm going to make a vivid suggestion, +Jack. In fact, that's why I subjected myself to the ordeal of +breakfasting with you. It's none of my business, as you so kindly put +it, but--_shall_ I suggest something?" + +"Go ahead," replied Gatewood, tranquilly lighting a cigarette. "I know +what you'll say." + +"No, you don't. Firstly, you are having such a good time in this world +that you don't really enjoy yourself--isn't that so?" + +"I--well I--well, let it go at that." + +"Secondly, with all your crimes and felonies, you have one decent trait +left: you really would like to fall in love. And I suspect you'd even +marry." + +"There are grounds," said Gatewood guardedly, "for your suspicions. _Et +apres?_" + +"Good. Then there's a way! I know--" + +"Oh, don't tell me you 'know a girl,' or anything like that!" began +Gatewood sullenly. "I've heard that before, and I won't meet her." + +"I don't want you to; I don't know anybody. All I desire to say is this: +I do know a way. The other day I noticed a sign on Fifth Avenue: + + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +It was a most extraordinary sign; and having a little unemployed +imagination I began to speculate on how Keen & Co. might operate, and I +wondered a little, too, that, the conditions of life in this city could +enable a firm to make a living by devoting itself exclusively to the +business of hunting up missing people." + +Kerns paused, partly to light a cigarette, partly for diplomatic +reasons. + +"What has all this to do with me?" inquired Gatewood curiously; and +diplomacy scored one. + +"Why not try Keen & Co.?" + +"Try them? Why? I haven't lost anybody, have I?" + +"You haven't, precisely _lost anybody_, but the fact remains that you +can't _find somebody_," returned Kerns coolly. "Why not employ Keen & +Co. to look for her?" + +"Look for whom, in Heaven's name?" + +"Your ideal." + +"Look for--for my ideal! Kerns, you're crazy. How the mischief can +anybody hunt for somebody who doesn't exist?" + +"You _say_ that she _does_ exist." + +"But I can't prove it, man." + +"You don't have to; it's up to Keen & Co. to prove it. That's why you +employ them." + +"What wild nonsense you talk! Keen & Co. might, perhaps, be able to +trace the concrete, but how are they going to trace and find the +abstract?" + +"She isn't abstract; she is a lovely, healthy, and youthful concrete +object--if, as you say, she _does_ exist." + +"How can I _prove_ she exists?" + +"You don't have to; they do that." + +"Look here," said Gatewood almost angrily, "do you suppose that if I +were ass enough to go to these people and tell them that I wanted to +find my ideal--" + +"_Don't_ tell them _that_!" + +"But how--" + +"There is no necessity for going into such trivial details. All you +need say is: 'I am very anxious to find a young lady'--and then describe +her as minutely as you please. Then, when they locate a girl of that +description they'll notify you; you will go, judge for yourself whether +she is the one woman on earth--and, if disappointed, you need only shake +your head and murmur: 'Not _the_ same!' And it's for them to find +another." + +"I won't do it!" said Gatewood hotly. + +"Why not? At least, it would be amusing. You haven't many mental +resources, and it might occupy you for a week or two." + +Gatewood glared. + +"You have a pleasant way of putting things this morning, haven't you?" + +"I don't want to be pleasant: I want to jar you. Don't I care enough +about you to breakfast with you? Then I've a right to be pleasantly +unpleasant. I can't bear to watch your mental and spiritual +dissolution--a man like you, with all your latent ability and capacity +for being nobody in particular--which is the sort of man this nation +needs. Do you want to turn into a club-window gazer like Van Bronk? Do +you want to become another Courtlandt Allerton and go rocking down the +avenue--a grimacing, tailor-made sepulcher?--the pompous obsequies of a +dead intellect?--a funeral on two wavering legs, carrying the corpse of +all that should be deathless in a man? Why, Jack, I'd rather see you in +bankruptcy--I'd rather see you trying to lead a double life in a single +flat on seven dollars and a half a week--I'd almost rather see you every +day at breakfast than have it come to that! + +"Wake up and get jocund with life! Why, you could have all good citizens +stung to death if you chose. It isn't that I want you to make money; but +I want you to worry over somebody besides yourself--not in Wall +Street--a fool and its money are soon parted. But in your own home, +where a beautiful wife and seven angel children have you dippy and close +to the ropes; where the housekeeper gets a rake off, and the cook is +red-headed and comes from Sligo, and the butler's cousin will bear +watching, and the chauffeur is a Frenchman, and the coachman's uncle is +a Harlem vet, and every scullion in the establishment lies, drinks, +steals, and supports twenty satiated relatives at your expense. That +would mean the making of you; for, after all, Jack, you are no +genius--you're a plain, non-partisan, uninspired, clean-built, wholesome +citizen, thank God!--the sort whose unimaginative mission is to pitch in +with eighty-odd millions of us and, like the busy coral creatures, +multiply with all your might, and make this little old Republic the +greatest, biggest, finest article that an overworked world has ever yet +put up! . . . Now you can call for help if you choose." + +Gatewood's breath returned slowly. In an intimacy of many years he had +never suspected that sort of thing from Kerns. That is why, no doubt, +the opinions expressed by Kerns stirred him to an astonishment too +innocent to harbor anger or chagrin. + +And when Kerns stood up with an unembarrassed laugh, saying, "I'm going +to the office; see you this evening?" Gatewood replied rather vacantly: +"Oh, yes; I'm dining here. Good-by, Tommy." + +Kerns glanced at his watch, lingering. "Was there anything you wished to +ask me, Jack?" he inquired guilelessly. + +"Ask you? No, I don't think so." + +"Oh; I had an idea you might care to know where Keen & Co. were to be +found." + +"_That_," said Gatewood firmly, "is foolish." + +"I'll write the address for you, anyway," rejoined Kerns, scribbling it +and handing the card to his friend. + +Then he went down the stairs, several at a time, eased in conscience, +satisfied that he had done his duty by a friend he cared enough for to +breakfast with. + +"Of course," he ruminated as he crawled into a hansom and lay back +buried in meditation--"of course there may be nothing in this Keen & Co. +business. But it will stir him up and set him thinking; and the longer +Keen & Co. take to hunt up an imaginary lady that doesn't exist, the +more anxious and impatient poor old Jack Gatewood will become, until +he'll catch the fever and go cantering about with that one fixed idea in +his head. And," added Kerns softly, "no New Yorker in his right mind can +go galloping through these five boroughs very long before he's roped, +tied, and marked by the 'only girl in the world'--the _only_ girl--if +you don't care to turn around and look at another million girls +precisely like her. O Lord!--precisely like her!" + +Here was a nice exhorter to incite others to matrimony. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Meanwhile, Gatewood was walking along Fifth Avenue, more or less soothed +by the May sunshine. First, he went to his hatters, looked at straw +hats, didn't like them, protested, and bought one, wishing he had +strength of mind enough to wear it home. But he hadn't. Then he entered +the huge white marble palace of his jeweler, left his watch to be +regulated, caught a glimpse of a girl whose hair and neck resembled the +hair and neck of his ideal, sidled around until he discovered that she +was chewing gum, and backed off, with a bitter smile, into the avenue +once more. + +Every day for years he had had glimpses of girls whose hair, hands, +figures, eyes, hats, carriage, resembled the features required by his +ideal; there always was something wrong somewhere. And, as he strolled +moodily, a curious feeling of despair seized him--something that, even +in his most sentimental moments, even amid the most unexpected +disappointment, he had never before experienced. + +"I do want to love _somebody_!" he found himself saying half aloud; "I +want to marry; I--" He turned to look after three pretty children with +their maids--"I want several like those--several!--seven--ten--I don't +care how many! I want a house to worry me, just as Tommy described it; I +want to see the same girl across the breakfast table--or she can sip her +cocoa in bed if she desires--" A slow, modest blush stole over his +features; it was one of the nicest things he ever did. Glancing up, he +beheld across the way a white sign, ornamented with strenuous crimson +lettering: + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +The moment he discovered it, he realized he had been covertly hunting +for it; he also realized that he was going to climb the stairs. He +hadn't quite decided what he meant to do after that; nor was his mind +clear on the matter when he found himself opening a door of opaque glass +on which was printed in red: + + KEEN & CO. + +He was neither embarrassed nor nervous when he found himself in a big +carpeted anteroom where a negro attendant bowed him to a seat and took +his card; and he looked calmly around to see what was to be seen. + +Several people occupied easy chairs in various parts of the room--an old +woman very neatly dressed, clutching in her withered hand a photograph +which she studied and studied with tear-dimmed eyes; a young man wearing +last year's most fashionable styles in everything except his features: +and soap could have aided him there; two policemen, helmets resting on +their knees; and, last of all, a rather thin child of twelve, staring +open-mouthed at everybody, a bundle of soiled clothing under one arm. +Through an open door he saw a dozen young women garbed in black, with +white cuffs and collars, all rattling away steadily at typewriters. +Every now and then, from some hidden office, a bell rang decisively, and +one of the girls would rise from her machine and pass noiselessly out of +sight to obey the summons. From time to time, too, the darky servant +with marvelous manners would usher somebody through the room where the +typewriters were rattling, into the unseen office. First the old woman +went--shakily, clutching her photograph; then the thin child with the +bundle, staring at everything; then the two fat policemen, in portentous +single file, helmets in their white-gloved hands, oiled hair glistening. + +Gatewood's turn was approaching; he waited without any definite +emotion, watching newcomers enter to take the places of those who had +been summoned. He hadn't the slightest idea of what he was to say; nor +did it worry him. A curious sense of impending good fortune left him +pleasantly tranquil; he picked up, from the silver tray on the table at +his elbow, one of the firm's business cards, and scanned it with +interest: + + KEEN & CO. + + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + + _Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found._ + + _Blanks on application._ + + WESTREL KEEN, _Manager_. + +"Mistuh Keen will see you, suh," came a persuasive voice at his elbow; +and he rose and followed the softly moving colored servant out of the +room, through a labyrinth of demure young women at their typewriters, +then sharply to the right and into a big, handsomely furnished office, +where a sleepy-looking elderly gentleman rose from an armchair and +bowed. There could not be the slightest doubt that he _was_ a +gentleman; every movement, every sound he uttered, settled the fact. + +"Mr. Keen?" + +"Mr. Gatewood?"--with a quiet certainty which had its charm. "This is +very good of you." + +Gatewood sat down and looked at his host. Then he said: "I'm searching +for somebody, Mr. Keen, whom you are not likely to find." + +"I doubt it," said Keen pleasantly. + +Gatewood smiled. "If," he said, "you will undertake to find the person +_I_ cannot find, I must ask you to accept a retainer." + +"We don't require retainers," replied Keen. "Unless we find the person +sought for, we make no charges, Mr. Gatewood." + +"I must ask you to do so in my case. It is not fair that you should +undertake it on other terms. I desire to make a special arrangement with +you. Do you mind?" + +"What arrangement had you contemplated?" inquired Keen, amused. + +"Only this: charge me in advance exactly what you would charge if +successful. And, on the other hand, do not ask me for detailed +information--I mean, do not insist on any information that I decline to +give. Do you mind taking up such an extraordinary and unbusinesslike +proposition, Mr. Keen?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons looked up sharply: + +"About how much information _do_ you decline to give, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"About enough to incriminate and degrade," replied the young man, +laughing. + +The elderly gentleman sat silent, apparently buried in meditation. Once +or twice his pleasant steel-gray eyes wandered over Gatewood as an +expert, a connoisseur, glances at a picture and assimilates its history, +its value, its artistic merit, its every detail in one practiced glance. + +"I think we may take up this matter for you, Mr. Gatewood," he said, +smiling his singularly agreeable smile. + +"But--but you would first desire to know something about me--would you +not?" + +Keen looked at him: "You will not mistake me--you will consider it +entirely inoffensive--if I say that I know something about you, Mr. +Gatewood?" + +"About _me_? How can you? Of course, there is the social register and +the club lists and all that--" + +"And many, many sources of information which are necessary in such a +business as this, Mr. Gatewood. It is a necessity for us to be almost +as well informed as our clients' own lawyers. I could pay you no +sincerer compliment than to undertake your case. I am half inclined to +do so even _without_ a retainer. Mind, I haven't yet said that I _will_ +take it." + +"I prefer to regulate any possible indebtedness in advance," said +Gatewood. + +"As you wish," replied the older man, smiling. "In that case, suppose +you draw your check" (he handed Gatewood a fountain pen as the young man +fished a check-book from his pocket)--"your check for--well, say for +$5,000, to the order of Keen & Co." + +Gatewood met his eye without wincing; he was in for it now; and he was +always perfectly game. He had brought it upon himself; it was his own +proposition. Not that he would have for a moment considered the sum as +high--or any sum exorbitant--if there had been a chance of success; one +cannot compare and weigh such matters. But how could there be any chance +for success? + +As he slowly smoothed out the check and stub, pen poised, Keen was +saying: "Of course, we should succeed sooner or later--if we took up +your case. We might succeed to-morrow--to-day. That would mean a large +profit for us. But we might not succeed to-day, or next month, or even +next year. That would leave us little or no profit; and, as it is our +custom to go on until we do succeed, no matter how long it may require, +you see, Mr. Gatewood, I should be taking all sorts of chances. It might +even cost us double your retainer before we found her--" + +"Her? How did--_why_ do you say '_her_'?" + +"Am I wrong?" asked Keen, smiling. + +"No--you are right." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons sank into abstraction again. Gatewood waited, +hoping that his case might be declined, yet ready to face any music +started at his own request. + +"She is young," mused Keen aloud, "very beautiful and accomplished. _Is_ +she wealthy?" He looked up mildly. + +Gatewood said: "I don't know--the truth is I don't care--" And stopped. + +"O-ho!" mused Keen slowly. "I--think--I understand. Am I wrong, Mr. +Gatewood, in surmising that this young lady whom you seek is, in your +eyes, very--I may say ideally gifted?" + +"She is my ideal," replied the young man, coloring. + +"_Ex_actly. And--her general allure?" + +"Charming!" + +"_Ex_actly; but to be a trifle more precise--if you could give me a +sketch, an idea, a mere outline delicately tinted, now. _Is_ she more +blond than brunette?" + +"Yes--but her eyes are brown. I--I insist on that." + +"Why should you not? _You_ know her; I don't," said Keen, laughing. "I +merely wished to form a mental picture. . . . You say her hair is--is--" + +"It's full of sunny color; that's all I can say." + +"_Ex_actly--I see. A rare and lovely combination with brown eyes and +creamy skin, Mr. Gatewood. I fancy she might be, perhaps, an inch or two +under your height?" + +"Just about that. Her hands should be--_are_ beautiful--" + +"_Ex_actly. The ensemble is most vividly portrayed, Mr. Gatewood; +and--you have intimated that her lack of fortune--er--we might almost +say her pecuniary distress--is more than compensated for by her +accomplishments, character, and very unusual beauty. . . . _Did_ I so +understand you, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"That's what I meant, anyhow," he said, flushing up. + +"You _did_ mean it?" + +"I did: I do." + +"Then we take your case, Mr. Gatewood. . . . No haste about the check, +my dear sir--pray consider us at your service." + +But Gatewood doggedly filled in the check and handed it to the Tracer of +Lost Persons. + +"I wish you happiness," said the older man in a low voice. "The lady you +describe exists; it is for us to discover her." + +"Thank you," stammered Gatewood, astounded. + +Keen touched an electric button; a moment later a young girl entered the +room. + +"Miss Southerland, Mr. Gatewood. Will you be kind enough to take Mr. +Gatewood's dictation in Room 19?" + +For a second Gatewood stared--as though in the young girl before him the +ghost of his ideal had risen to confront him--only for a second; then he +bowed, matching her perfect acknowledgment of his presence by a bearing +and courtesy which must have been inbred to be so faultless. + +And he followed her to Room 19. + +What had Keen meant by saying, "The lady you describe exists!" Did this +remarkable elderly gentleman suspect that it was to be a hunt for an +ideal? Had he deliberately entered into such a bargain? Impossible! + +His disturbed thoughts reverted to the terms of the bargain, the entire +enterprise, the figures on his check. His own amazing imbecility +appalled him. What idiocy! What sudden madness had seized him to +entangle himself in such unheard-of negotiations! True, he had played +bridge until dawn the night before, but, on awaking, he had discovered +no perceptible hold-over. It must have been sheer weakness of intellect +that permitted him to be dominated by the suggestions of Kerns. And now +the game was on: the jack declared, cards dealt, and his ante was up. +Had he openers? + +Room 19, duly labeled with its number on the opaque glass door, +contained a desk, a table and typewriter, several comfortable chairs, +and a window opening on Fifth Avenue, through which the eastern sun +poured a stream of glory, washing curtain, walls, and ceiling with +palest gold. + +And all this time, preoccupied with new impressions and his own growing +chagrin, he watched the girl who conducted him with all the unconscious +assurance and grace of a young chatelaine passing through her own domain +under escort of a distinguished guest. + +When they had entered Room 19, she half turned, but he forestalled her +and closed the door, and she passed before him with a perceptible +inclination of her finely modeled head, seating herself at the desk by +the open window. He took an armchair at her elbow and removed his +gloves, looking at her expectantly. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +"This is a list of particular and general questions for you to answer, +Mr. Gatewood," she said, handing him a long slip of printed matter. "The +replies to such questions as you are able or willing to answer you may +dictate to me." The beauty of her modulated voice was scarcely a +surprise--no woman who moved and carried herself as did this tall young +girl in black and white could reasonably be expected to speak with less +distinction--yet the charm of her voice, from the moment her lips +unclosed, so engrossed him that the purport of her speech escaped him. + +"Would you mind saying it once more?" he asked. + +She did so; he attempted to concentrate his attention, and succeeded +sufficiently to look as though some vestige of intellect remained in +him. He saw her pick up a pad and pencil; the contour and grace of two +deliciously fashioned hands arrested his mental process once more. + +"I _beg_ your pardon," he said hastily; "what were you saying, Miss +Southerland?" + +"Nothing, Mr. Gatewood. I did not speak." And he realized, hazily, that +she had not spoken--that it was the subtle eloquence of her youth and +loveliness that had appealed like a sudden voice--a sound faintly +exquisite echoing his own thought of her. + +Troubled, he looked at the slip of paper in his hand; it was headed: + + SPECIAL DESCRIPTION BLANK + (_Form K_) + +And he read it as carefully as he was able to--the curious little clamor +of his pulses, the dazed sense of elation, almost of expectation, +distracting his attention all the time. + +"I wish you would read it to me," he said; "that would give me time to +think up answers." + +"If you wish," she assented pleasantly, swinging around toward him in +her desk chair. Then she crossed one knee over the other to support the +pad, and, bending above it, lifted her brown eyes. She could have done +nothing in the world more distracting at that moment. + +"What is the sex of the person you desire to find, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"Her sex? I--well, I fancy it is feminine." + +She wrote after "Sex" the words "She is probably feminine"; looked at +him absently, glanced at what she had written, flushed a little, rubbed +out the "she is probably," wondering why a moment's mental wandering +should have committed her to absurdity. + +"Married?" she asked with emphasis. + +"No," he replied, startled; then, vexed, "I beg your pardon--you mean to +ask if _she_ is married!" + +"Oh, I didn't mean _you_, Mr. Gatewood; it's the next question, you +see"--she held out the blank toward him. "Is the person you are looking +for married?" + +"Oh, no; she isn't married, either--at least--trust--not--because if she +_is_ I don't want to find her!" he ended, entangled in an explanation +which threatened to involve him deeper than he desired. And, looking up, +he saw the beautiful brown eyes regarding him steadily. They reverted to +the paper at once, and the white fingers sent the pencil flying. + +"He trusts that she is unmarried, but if she _is_ (underlined) married +he doesn't want to find her," she wrote. + +"That," she explained, "goes under the head of 'General Remarks' at the +bottom of the page"--she held it out, pointing with her pencil. He +nodded, staring at her slender hand. + +"Age?" she continued, setting the pad firmly on her rounded, yielding +knee and looking up at him. + +"Age? Well, I--as a matter of fact, I could only venture a surmise. You +know," he said earnestly, "how difficult it is to guess ages, don't you, +Miss Southerland?" + +"How old do you _think_ she is? Could you not hazard a guess--judging, +say, from her appearance?" + +"I have no data--no experience to guide me." He was becoming involved +again. "Would you, for practice, permit me first to guess your age, Miss +Southerland?" + +"Why--yes--if you think that might help you to guess hers." + +So he leaned back in his armchair and considered her a very long +time--having a respectable excuse to do so. Twenty times he forgot he +was looking at her for any purpose except that of disinterested delight, +and twenty times he remembered with a guilty wince that it was a matter +of business. + +"Perhaps I had better tell you," she suggested, her color rising a +little under his scrutiny. + +"Is it eighteen? Just _her_ age!" + +"Twenty-one, Mr. Gatewood--and you _said_ you didn't know her age." + +"I have just remembered that I _thought_ it might be eighteen; but I +dare say I was shy three years in her case, too. You may put it down at +twenty-one." + +For the slightest fraction of a second the brown eyes rested on his, the +pencil hovered in hesitation. Then the eyes fell, and the moving fingers +wrote. + +"Did you write 'twenty-one'?" he inquired carelessly. + +"I did not, Mr. Gatewood." + +"What did you write?" + +"I wrote: 'He doesn't appear to know much about her age.'" + +"But I _do_ know--" + +"You said--" They looked at one another earnestly. + +"The next question," she continued with composure, "is: 'Date and place +of birth?' Can you answer any part of _that_ question?" + +"I trust I may be able to--some day. . . . What _are_ you writing?" + +"I'm writing: 'He trusts he may be able to, some day.' Wasn't that what +you said?" + +"Yes, I did say that. I--I'm not perfectly sure what I meant by it." + +She passed to the next question: + +"Height?" + +"About five feet six," he said, fascinated gaze on her. + +"Hair?" + +"More gold than brown--full of--er--gleams--" She looked up quickly; his +eyes reverted to the window rather suddenly. He had been looking at her +hair. + +"Complexion?" she continued after a shade of hesitation. + +"It's a sort of delicious mixture--bisque, tinted with a pinkish +bloom--ivory and rose--" He was explaining volubly, when she began to +shake her head, timing each shake to his words. + +"Really, Mr. Gatewood, I think you are hopelessly vague on that +point--unless you desire to convey the impression that she is speckled." + +"Speckled!" he repeated, horrified. "Why, I am describing a woman who is +my ideal of beauty--" + +But she had already gone to the next question: + +"Teeth?" + +"P-p-perfect p-p-pearls!" he stammered. The laughing red mouth closed +like a flower at dusk, veiling the sparkle of her teeth. + +Was he trying to be impertinent? Was he deliberately describing her? He +did not look like that sort of man; yet _why_ was he watching her so +closely, so curiously at every question? Why did he look at her teeth +when she laughed? + +"Eyes?" Her own dared him to continue what, coincidence or not, was +plainly a description of herself. + +"B-b-b--" He grew suddenly timorous, hesitating, pretending to a +perplexity which was really a healthy scare. For she was frowning. + +"Curious I can't think of the color of her eyes," he said; "is--isn't +it?" + +She coldly inspected her pad and made a correction; but all she did was +to rub out a comma and put another in its place. Meanwhile, Gatewood, +chin in his hand, sat buried in profound thought. "_Were_ they blue?" he +murmured to himself aloud, "or _were_ they brown? Blue begins with a _b_ +and brown begins with a _b_. I'm convinced that her eyes began with a +_b_. They were not, therefore, gray or green, because," he added in a +burst of confidence, "it is utterly impossible to spell gray or green +with a _b_!" + +Miss Southerland looked slightly astonished. + +"All you can recollect, then, is that the color of her eyes began with +the letter _b_?" + +"That is absolutely all I can remember; but I _think_ they +_were_--brown." + +"If they _were_ brown they must be brown now," she observed, looking out +of the window. + +"That's true! Isn't it curious I never thought of that? What are you +writing?" + +"Brown," she said, so briefly that it sounded something like a snub. + +"Mouth?" inquired the girl, turning a new leaf on her pad. + +"Perfect. Write it: there is no other term fit to describe its color, +shape, its sensitive beauty, its--_What_ did you write just then?" + +"I wrote, 'Mouth, ordinary.'" + +"I don't want you to! I want--" + +"Really, Mr. Gatewood, a rhapsody on a girl's mouth is proper in poetry, +but scarcely germane to the record of a purely business transaction. +Please answer the next question tersely, if you don't mind: 'Figure?'" + +"Oh, I _do_ mind! I can't! Any poem is much too brief to describe her +figure--" + +"Shall we say 'Perfect'?" asked the girl, raising her brown eyes in a +glimmering transition from vexation to amusement. For, after all, it +could be _only_ a coincidence that this young man should be describing +features peculiar to herself. + +"Couldn't you write, 'Venus-of-Milo-like'?" he inquired. "That is +laconic." + +"I could--if it's true. But if you mean it for praise--I--don't think +any modern woman would be flattered." + +"I always supposed that she of Milo had an ideal figure," he said, +perplexed. + +She wrote, "A good figure." Then, propping her rounded chin on one +lovely white hand, she glanced at the next question: + +"Hands?" + +"White, beautiful, rose-tipped, slender yet softly and firmly rounded--" + +"How _can_ they be soft and firm, too, Mr. Gatewood?" she protested; +then, surprising his guilty eyes fixed on her hands, hastily dropped +them and sat up straight, level-browed, cold as marble. _Was_ he +deliberately being rude to her? + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +As a matter of fact, he was not. Too poor in imagination to invent, on +the spur of the moment, charms and qualities suited to his ideal, he +had, at first unconsciously, taken as a model the girl before him; quite +unconsciously and innocently at first--then furtively, and with a +dawning perception of the almost flawless beauty he was secretly +plagiarizing. Aware, now, that something had annoyed her; aware, too, at +the same moment that there appeared to be nothing lacking in her to +satisfy his imagination of the ideal, he began to turn redder than he +had ever turned in all his life. + +Several minutes of sixty seconds each ensued before he ventured to stir +a finger. And it was only when she bent again very gravely over her pad +that he cautiously eased a cramped muscle or two, and drew a breath--a +long, noiseless, deep and timid respiration. He realized the enormity of +what he had been doing--how close he had come to giving unpardonable +offense by drawing a perfect portrait of her as the person he desired to +find through the good offices of Keen & Co. + +But there was no such person--unless she had a double: for what more +could a man desire than the ideal traits he had been able to describe +only by using her as his inspiration. + +When he ventured to look at her, one glance was enough to convince him +that she, too, had noticed the parallel--had been forced to recognize +her own features in the portrait he had constructed of an ideal. And she +had caught him in absent-minded contemplation of the hands he had been +describing. He knew that his face was the face of a guilty man. + +"What is the next question?" he stammered, eager to answer it in a +manner calculated to allay her suspicions. + +"The next question?" She glanced at the list, then with a voice of +velvet which belied the eyes, clear as frosty brown pools in November: +"The next question requires a description of her feet." + +"Feet! Oh---they--they're rather large--why, her feet are enormous, I +believe--" + +She looked at him as though stunned; suddenly a flood of pink spread, +wave on wave, from the white nape of her neck to her hair; she bent low +over her pad and wrote something, remaining in that attitude until her +face cooled. + +"Somehow or other I've done it again!" he thought, horrified. "The best +thing I can do is to end it and go home." + +In his distress he began to hedge, saying: "Of course, she is rather +tall and her feet are in some sort of proportion--in fact, they are +perfectly symmetrical feet--" + +Never in his life had he encountered a pair of such angrily beautiful +eyes. Speech stopped with a dry gulp. + +"We now come to 'General Remarks,'" she said in a voice made absolutely +steady and emotionless. "Have you any remarks of that description to +offer, Mr. Gatewood?" + +"I'm willing to make remarks," he said, "if I only knew what you wished +me to say." + +She mused, eyes on the sunny window, then looked up. "Where did you last +see her?" + +"Near Fifth Avenue." + +"And what street?" + +He named the street. + +"Near _here_?" + +"Rather," he said timidly. + +She ruffled the edges of her pad, wrote something and erased it, bit her +scarlet upper lip, and frowned. + +"Out of doors, of course?" + +"No; indoors," he admitted furtively. + +She looked up with a movement almost nervous. + +"Do you dare--I mean, care--to be more concise?" + +"I would rather not," he replied in a voice from which he hoped he had +expelled the tremors of alarm. + +"As you please, Mr. Gatewood. And would you care to answer any of these +other questions: Who and what are or were her parents? Give all +particulars concerning all her relatives. Is she employed or not? What +are her social, financial, and general circumstances? Her character, +personal traits, aims, interests, desires? Has she any vices? Any +virtues? Talents? Ambitions? Caprices? Fads? Are you in love with her? +Is--" + +"Yes," he said, "I am." + +"Is she in love with you?" + +"No; she hates me--I'm afraid." + +"Is she in love with anybody?" + +"That is a very difficult--" + +The girl wrote: "He doesn't know," with a satisfaction apparently +causeless. + +"Is she a relative of yours, Mr. Gatewood?" very sweetly. + +"No, Miss Southerland," very positively. + +"You--you desire to marry her--you say?" + +"I do. But I didn't say it." + +She was silent; then: + +"What is her name?" in a low voice which started several agreeable +thrills chasing one another over him. + +"I--I decline to answer," he stammered. + +"On what grounds, Mr. Gatewood?" + +He looked her full in the eyes; suddenly he bent forward and gazed at +the printed paper from which she had been apparently reading. + +"Why, all those questions you are scaring me with are not there!" he +exclaimed indignantly. "You are making them up?" + +"I--I know, but"--she was flushing furiously--"but they are on the other +forms--some of them. Can't you see you are answering 'Form K'? That is a +special form--" + +"But why do you ask me questions that are _not_ on Form K?" + +"Because it is my duty to do all I can to secure evidence which may lead +to the discovery of the person you desire to find. I--I assure you, Mr, +Gatewood, this duty is not--not always agreeable--and some people make +it harder still." + +Gatewood looked out of the window. Various emotions---among them shame, +mortification, chagrin--pervaded him, and chased each other along his +nervous system, coloring his neck and ears a fiery red for the +enlightenment of any observer. + +"I--I did not mean to offend you," said the girl in a low voice--such a +gently regretful voice that Gatewood swung around in his chair. + +"There is nothing I would not be glad to tell you about the woman I have +fallen in love with," he said. "She is overwhelmingly lovely; and--when +I dare--I will tell you her name and where I first saw her--and where I +saw her last--if you desire. Shall I?" + +"It would be advisable. When will you do this?" + +"When I dare." + +"You--you don't dare--now?" + +"No . . . not now." + +She absently wrote on her pad: "He doesn't dare tell me now." Then, with +head still bent, she lifted her mischief-making, trouble-breeding brown +eyes to his once more. + +"I am to come here, of course, to consult you?" he asked dizzily. + +"Mr. Keen will receive you--" + +"He may be busy." + +"He may be," she repeated dreamily. + +"So--I'll ask for you." + +"We _could_ write you, Mr. Gatewood." + +He said hastily: "It's no trouble for me to come; I walk every +morning." + +"But there would be no use, I think, in your coming very soon. All +I--all Mr. Keen could do for a while would be to report progress--" + +"That is all I dare look for: progress--for the present." + +During the time that he remained--which was not very long--neither of +them spoke until he arose to take his departure. + +"Good-by, Miss Southerland. I hope you may find the person I have been +searching for." + +"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. . . . I hope we shall; . . . but +I--don't--know." + +And, as a matter of fact, she did not know; she was rather excited over +nothing, apparently; and also somewhat preoccupied with several rather +disturbing emotions the species of which she was interested in +determining. But to label and catalogue each of these emotions +separately required privacy and leisure to think--and she also wished to +look very earnestly at the reflection of her own face in the mirror of +her own chamber. For it is a trifle exciting--though but an innocent +coincidence--to be compared, feature by feature, to a young man's ideal. +As far as that went, she excelled it, too; and, as she stood by the +desk, alone, gathering up her notes, she suddenly bent over and lifted +the hem of her gown a trifle--sufficient to reassure herself that the +dainty pair of shoes she wore, would have baffled the efforts of any +Venus ever sculptured. And she was perfectly right. + +"Of course," she thought to herself, "his ideal runaway hasn't enormous +feet. He, too, must have been struck with the similarity between me and +his ideal, and when he realized that I also noticed it, he was +frightened by my frown into saying that her feet were enormous. How +silly! . . . For I didn't _mean_ to frighten him. . . . He frightened +me--once or twice--I mean he irritated me--no, interested me, is what I +_do_ mean. . . . Heigho! I wonder why she ran away? I wonder why he +can't find her? . . . It's--it's silly to run away from a man like that. +. . . Heigho! . . . She doesn't deserve to be found. There is nothing to +be afraid of--nothing to alarm anybody in a man like that." + +So she gathered up her notes and walked slowly out and across to the +private office of the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Come in," said the Tracer when she knocked. He was using the telephone; +she seated herself rather listlessly beside the window, where spring +sunshine lay in gilded patches on the rug and spring breezes stirred +the curtains. She was a little tired, but there seemed to be no good +reason why. Yet, with the soft wind blowing on her cheek, the languor +grew; she rested her face on one closed hand, shutting her eyes. + +When they opened again it was to meet the fixed gaze of Mr. Keen. + +"Oh--I beg your pardon!" + +"There is no need of it, child. Be seated. Never mind that report just +now." He paced the length of the room once or twice, hands clasped +behind him; then, halting to confront her: + +"What sort of a man is this young Gatewood?" + +"What _sort_, Mr. Keen? Why--I think he is the--the sort--that--" + +"I see that you don't think much of him," said Keen, laughing. + +"Oh, indeed I did not mean that at all; I mean that he appeared to +be--to be--" + +"Rather a cad?" + +"Why, _no_!" she said, flushing up. "He is absolutely well-bred, Mr. +Keen." + +"You received no unpleasant impression of him?" + +"On the contrary!" she said rather warmly--for it hurt her sense of +justice that Keen should so misjudge even a stranger in whom she had no +personal interest. + +"You think he looks like an honest man?" + +"Honest?" She was rosy with annoyance. "Have you any idea that he is +dishonest?" + +"Have you?" + +"Not the slightest," she said with emphasis. + +"Suppose a man should set us hunting for a person who does not exist--on +our terms, which are no payment unless successful? Would that be +honest?" asked Keen gravely. + +"Did--did _he_ do that?" + +"No, child." + +"I knew he _couldn't_ do such a thing!" + +"No, he--er--couldn't, because I wouldn't allow it--not that he tried +to!" added Keen hastily as the indignant brown eyes sparkled ominously. +"Really, Miss Southerland, he must be all you say he is, for he has a +stanch champion to vouch for him." + +"All I _say_ he is? I haven't said anything about him!" + +Mr. Keen nodded. "_Ex_actly. Let us drop him for a moment. . . . Are you +perfectly well, Miss Southerland?" + +"Why, yes." + +"I'm glad of it. You are a trifle pale; you seem to be a little +languid. . . . When do you take your vacation?" + +"You suggested May, I believe," she said wistfully. + +The Tracer leaned back in his chair, joining the tips of his fingers +reflectively. + +"Miss Southerland," he said, "you have been with us a year. I thought it +might interest you to know that I am exceedingly pleased with you." + +She colored charmingly. + +"But," he added, "I'm terribly afraid we're going to lose you." + +"Why?" she asked, startled. + +"However," he continued, ignoring her half-frightened question with a +smile, "I am going to promote you--for faithful and efficient service." + +"O-h!" + +"With an agreeable increase of salary, and new duties which will take +you into the open air. . . . You ride?" + +"I--I used to before----" + +"_Ex_actly; before you were obliged to earn your living. Please have +yourself measured for habit and boots this afternoon. I shall arrange +for horse, saddle, and groom. You will spend most of your time riding +in the Park--for the present." + +"But--Mr. Keen--am I to be one of your agents--a sort of detective?" + +Keen regarded her absently, then crossed one leg over the other. + +"Read me your notes," he said with a smile. + +She read them, folded them, and he took them from her, thoughtfully +regarding her. + +"Did you know that your mother and I were children together?" he asked. + +"No!" She stared. "Is _that_ why you sent for me that day at the school +of stenography?" + +"That is why . . . When I learned that my playmate--your mother--was +dead, is it not reasonable to suppose that I should wish her daughter to +have a chance?" + +Miss Southerland looked at him steadily. + +"She was like you--when she married . . . I never married . . . Do you +wonder that I sent for you, child?" + +Nothing but the clock ticking there in the sunny room, and an old man +staring into two dimmed brown eyes, and the little breezes at the open +window whispering of summers past. + +"This young man, Gatewood," said the Tracer, clearing his voice of its +hoarseness--"this young man ought to be all right, if I did not +misjudge his father--years ago, child, years ago. And he _is_ all +right--" He half turned toward a big letter-file; "his record is clean, +so far. The trouble with him is idleness. He ought to marry." + +"Isn't he trying to?" she asked. + +"It looks like it. Miss Southerland, we _must_ find this woman!" + +"Yes, but I don't see how you are going to--on such slight +information--" + +"Information! Child, I have all I want--all I could desire." He laughed, +passing his hands over his gray hair. "We are going to find the girl he +is in love with before the week ends!" + +"Do you really think so?" she exclaimed. + +"Yes. But you must do a great deal in this case." + +"I?" + +"_Ex_actly." + +"And--and what am I to do?" + +"Ride in the Park, child! And if you see Mr. Gatewood, don't you dare +take your eyes off him for one moment. Watch him; observe everything he +does. If he should recognize you and speak to you, be as amiable to him +as though it were not by my orders." + +"Then--then I _am_ to be a detective!" she faltered. + +The Tracer did not appear to hear her. He took up the notes, turned to +the telephone, and began to send out a general alarm, reading the +description of the person whom Gatewood had described. The vast, +intricate and delicate machinery under his control was being set in +motion all over the Union. + +"Not that I expect to find her outside the borough of Manhattan," he +said, smiling, as he hung up the receiver and turned to her; "but it's +as well to know how many types of that species exist in this Republic, +and who they are--in case any other young man comes here raving of brown +eyes and 'gleams' in the hair." + +Miss Southerland, to her own intense consternation, blushed. + +"I think you had better order that habit at once," said the Tracer +carelessly. + +"Tell me, Mr. Keen," she asked tremulously, "am I to spy upon Mr. +Gatewood? And report to you? . . . For I simply cannot bear to do it--" + +"Child, you need report nothing unless you desire to. And when there is +something to report, it will be about the woman I am searching for. +_Don't_ you understand? I have already located her. You will find her +in the Park. And when you are _sure_ she is the right one--and if you +care to report it to me--I shall be ready to listen . . . I am always +ready to listen to you." + +"But--I warn you, Mr. Keen, that I have perfect faith in the honor of +Mr. Gatewood. I _know_ that I could have nothing unworthy to report." + +"I am sure of it," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, studying her with +eyes that were not quite clear. "Now, I think you had better order that +habit . . . Your mother sat her saddle perfectly . . . We rode very +often--my lost playmate and I." + +He turned, hands clasped behind his back, absently pacing the room, +backward, forward, there in the spring sunshine. Nor did he notice her +lingering, nor mark her as she stole from the room, brown eyes saddened +and thoughtful, wondering, too, that there should be in the world so +much room for sorrow. + +[Illustration: "'I am sure of it,' said the Tracer of Lost Persons."] + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Gatewood, burdened with restlessness and gnawed by curiosity, consumed a +week in prowling about the edifice where Keen & Co. carried on an +interesting profession. + +His first visit resulted merely in a brief interview with Mr. Keen, who +smilingly reported progress and suavely bowed him out. He looked about +for Miss Southerland as he was leaving, but did not see her. + +On his second visit he mustered the adequate courage to ask for her, and +experienced a curiously sickly sensation when informed that Miss +Southerland was no longer employed in the bureau of statistics, having +been promoted to an outside position of great responsibility. His third +visit proved anything but satisfactory. He sidled and side-stepped for +ten minutes before he dared ask Mr. Keen _where_ Miss Southerland had +gone. And when the Tracer replied that, considering the business he had +undertaken for Mr. Gatewood, he really could not see why Mr. Gatewood +should interest himself concerning the whereabouts of Miss Southerland, +the young man had nothing to say, and escaped as soon as possible, +enraged at himself, at Mr. Keen, and vaguely holding the entire world +guilty of conspiracy. + +He had no definite idea of what he wanted, except that his desire to see +Miss Southerland again seemed out of all proportion to any reasonable +motive for seeing her. Occasional fits of disgust with himself for what +he had done were varied with moody hours of speculation. Suppose Mr. +Keen did find his ideal? What of it? He no longer wanted to see her. He +had no use for her. The savor of the enterprise had gone stale in his +mouth; he was by turns worried, restless, melancholy, sulky, uneasy. A +vast emptiness pervaded his life. He smoked more and more and ate less +and less. He even disliked to see others eat, particularly Kerns. + +And one exquisite May morning he came down to breakfast and found the +unspeakable Kerns immersed in grapefruit, calm, well balanced, and +bland. + +"How-de-dee, dear friend?" said that gentleman affably. "Any news from +Cupid this beautiful May morning?" + +"No; and I don't want any," returned Gatewood, sorting his mail with a +scowl and waving away his fruit. + +"Tut, tut! Lovers must be patient. Dearie will be found some day--" + +"Some day," snarled Gatewood, "I shall destroy you, Tommy." + +"Naughty! Naughty!" reflected Kerns, pensively assaulting the breakfast +food. "Lovey must _not_ worry; Dovey shall be found, and all will be joy +and gingerbread. . . . If you throw that orange I'll run screaming to +the governors. Aren't you ashamed--just because you're in a love +tantrum!" + +"One more word and you get it!" + +"May I sing as I trifle with this frugal fare, dear friend? My heart is +_so_ happy that I should love to warble a few wild notes--" + +He paused to watch his badgered victim dispose of a Martini. + +"I wonder," he mused, "if you'd like me to tell you what a cocktail +before breakfast does to the lining of your stomach? Would you?" + +"No. I suppose it's what the laundress does to my linen. What do I +care?" + +"_Don't_ be a short sport, Jack." + +"Well, I don't care for the game you put me up against. Do you know what +has happened?" + +"I really don't, dear friend. The Tracer of Lost Persons has not found +her--_has_ he?" + +"He says he has," retorted Gatewood sullenly, pulling a crumpled +telegram from his pocket and casting it upon the table. "I don't want to +see her; I'm not interested. I never saw but one girl in my life who +interested me in the slightest; and she's employed to help in this +ridiculous search." + +Kerns, meanwhile, had smoothed out the telegram and was intently +perusing it: + + "_John Gatewood, Lenox Club, Fifth Avenue:_ + + "Person probably discovered. Call here as soon as possible. + + W. KEEN." + +"_What_ do you make of that?" demanded Gatewood hoarsely. + +"Make of it? Why, it's true enough, I fancy. Go and see, and if it's +she, be hers!" + +"I won't! I don't want to see any ideal! I don't want to marry. Why do +you try to make me marry somebody?" + +"Because it's good for you, dear friend. Otherwise you'll go to the +doggy-dogs. You don't realize how much worry you are to me." + +"Confound it! Why don't _you_ marry? Why didn't I ask you that when you +put me up to all this foolishness? What right have you to--" + +"Tut, friend! _I_ know there's no woman alive fit to wed me and spend +her life in stealing kisses from me. _I_ have no ideal. _You_ have an +ideal." + +"I haven't!" + +"Oh, yes, dear friend, there's a stub in your check book to prove it. +You simply bet $5,000 that your ideal existed. You've won. Go and be her +joy and sunshine." + +"I'll put an end to this whole business," said Gatewood wrathfully, "and +I'll do it now!" + +"Bet you that you're engaged within the week!" said Kerns with a placid +smile. + +The other swung around savagely: "What will you bet, Tommy? You may have +what odds you please. I'll make you sit up for this." + +"I'll bet you," answered Kerns, deliberately, "an entire silver dinner +service against a saddle horse for the bride." + +"That's a fool bet!" snapped Gatewood. "What do you mean?" + +"Oh, if you don't care to--" + +"What do I want of a silver service? But, all right; I'll bet you +anything." + +"_She'll_ want it," replied Kerns significantly, booking the bet. "I may +as well canter out to Tiffany's this morning, I fancy. . . . Where are +you going, Jack?" + +"To see Keen and confess what an ass I've been!" returned Gatewood +sullenly, striding across the breakfast room to take his hat and gloves +from the rack. And out he went, mad all over. + +On his way up the avenue he attempted to formulate the humiliating +confession which already he shrank from. But it had to be done. He +simply could not stand the prospect of being notified month after month +that a lady would be on view somewhere. It was like going for a fitting; +it was horrible. Besides, what use was it? Within a week or two an +enormous and utterly inexplicable emptiness had yawned before him, +revealing life as a hollow delusion. He no longer cared. + +Immersed in bitter reflection, he climbed the familiar stairway and sent +his card to Mr. Keen, and in due time he was ushered into the presence +of the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Mr. Keen," he began, with a headlong desire to get it over and be done +with it, "I may as well tell you how impossible it is for you, or +anybody, to find that person I described--" + +Mr. Keen raised an expostulatory hand, smiling indulgence. + +"It is more than possible, Mr. Gatewood, more than probable; it is +almost an accomplished fact. In other words, I think I may venture to +congratulate you and say that she _is_ found." + +"Now, _how_ can she be found, when there isn't--" + +"Mr. Gatewood, the magician will always wave his magic wand for you and +show you his miracles for the price of admission. But for that price he +does not show you how he works his miracles," said Keen, laughing. + +"But I ought to tell you," persisted Gatewood, "that it is utterly +impossible you should find the person I wished to discover, because +she--" + +"I can only prove that you are wrong," smiled Keen, rising from his easy +chair. + +"Mr. Keen," said the young man earnestly, "I have been more or less of a +chump at times. One of those times was when I came here on this errand. +All I desire, now, is to let the matter rest as it is. I am satisfied, +and you have lost nothing. Nor have you found anything or anybody. You +think you have, but you haven't. I do not wish you to continue the +search, or to send me any further reports. I want to forget the whole +miserable matter--to be free--to feel myself freed from any obligations +to that irritating person I asked you to find." + +The Tracer regarded him very gravely. + +"Is that your wish, Mr. Gatewood? I can scarcely credit it." + +"It is. I've been a fool; I simply want to stop being one if anybody +will permit it." + +"And you decline to attempt to identify the very beautiful person we +have discovered to be the individual for whom you asked us to search?" + +"I do. She may be beautiful; but I know well enough she can't compare +with--some one." + +"I am sorry," said Keen thoughtfully. "We take so much pride in these +matters. When one of my agents discovered where this person was, I was +rather--happy; for I have taken a peculiar personal interest in your +case. However--" + +"Mr. Keen," said Gatewood, "if you could understand how ashamed and +mortified I am at my own conduct--" + +Keen gazed pensively out of the window. "I also am sorry; Miss +Southerland was to have received a handsome bonus for her discovery--" + +"Miss S-S-S-S-outherland!" + +"_Ex_actly; without quite so many _S's_," said Keen, smiling. + +"Did _she_ discover that--that person?" exclaimed the young man, +startled. + +"She thinks she has. I am not sure she is correct; but I am absolutely +certain that Miss Southerland could eventually discover the person you +were in search of. It seems a little hard on her--just on the eve of +success--to lose. But that can't be helped now." + +Gatewood, more excited and uncomfortable than he had ever been in all +his life, watched Keen intently. + +"Too bad, too bad," muttered the Tracer to himself. "The child needs the +encouragement. It meant a thousand dollars to her--" He shrugged his +shoulders, looked up, and, as though rather surprised to see Gatewood +still there, smiled an impersonal smile and offered his hand in adieu. +Gatewood winced. + +"Could I--I see Miss Southerland?" he asked. + +"I am afraid not. She is at this moment following my instructions +to--but that cannot interest you now--" + +"Yes, it does!--if you don't mind. Where is she? I--I'll take a look at +the person she discovered; I will, really." + +"Why, it's only this: I suspected that you might identify a person whom +I had reason to believe was to be found every morning riding in the +Park. So Miss Southerland has been riding there every day. Yesterday she +came here, greatly excited--" + +"Yes--yes--go on!" + +Keen gazed dreamily at the sunny window. "She thought she had found +your--er--the person. So I said you would meet her on the bridle path, +near--but that's of no interest now--" + +"Near where?" demanded Gatewood, suppressing inexplicable excitement. +And as Keen said nothing: "I'll go; I want to go, I really do! +Can't--can't a fellow change his mind? Oh, I know you think I'm a +lunatic, and there's plenty of reason, too!" + +Keen studied him calmly. "Yes, plenty of reason, plenty of reason, Mr. +Gatewood. But do you suppose you are the only one? I know another who +was perfectly sane two weeks ago." + +The young man waited impatiently; the Tracer paced the room, gray head +bent, delicate, wrinkled hands clasped loosely behind his bent back. + +"You have horses at the Whip and Spur Club," he said abruptly. "Suppose +you ride out and see how close Miss Southerland has come to solving our +problem." + +Gatewood seized the offered hand and wrung it with a fervor out of all +reason; and it is curious that the Tracer of Lost Persons did not appear +to be astonished. + +"You're rather impetuous--like your father," he said slowly. "I knew +him; so I've ventured to trust his son--even when I heard how aimlessly +he was living his life. Mr. Gatewood! May I ask you something--as an old +friend of your father?" + +The young man nodded, subdued, perplexed, scarcely understanding. + +"It's only this: If you _do_ find the woman you could love--in the +Park--to-day--come back to me some day and let me tell you all those +foolish, trite, tiresome things that I should have told a son of mine. I +am so old that you will not take offense--you will not mind listening to +me, or forgetting the dull, prosy things I say about the curse of +idleness, and the habits of cynical thinking, and the perils of +vacant-minded indulgence. You will forgive me--and you will forget me. +That will be as it should be. Good-by." + +Gatewood, sobered, surprised, descended the stairs and hailed a hansom. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +All the way to the Whip and Spur Club he sat buried in a reverie from +which, at intervals, he started, aroused by the heavy, expectant beating +of his own pulses. But what did he expect, in Heaven's name? Not the +discovery of a woman who had never existed. Yet his excitement and +impatience grew as he watched the saddling of his horse; and when at +length he rode out into the sunshine and cantered through the Park +entrance, his sense of impending events and his expectancy amounted to a +fever which colored his face attractively. + +He saw her almost immediately. Her horse was walking slowly in the +dappled shadows of the new foliage; she, listless in her saddle, +sometimes watching the throngs of riders passing, at moments turning to +gaze into the woodland vistas where, over the thickets of flowering +shrubbery, orioles and robins sped flashing on tinted wings from shadow +to sun, from sun to shadow. But she looked up as he drew bridle and +wheeled his mount beside her; and, "Oh!" she said, flushing in +recognition. + +"I have missed you terribly," he said quietly. + +It was dreamy weather, even for late spring: the scent of lilacs and +mock-orange hung heavy as incense along the woods. Their voices +unconsciously found the key to harmonize with it all. + +She said: "Well, I think I have succeeded. In a few moments she will be +passing. I do not know her name; she rides a big roan. She is very +beautiful, Mr. Gatewood." + +He said: "I am perfectly certain we shall find her. I doubted it until +now. But now I know." + +"Oh-h, but I _may_ be wrong," she protested. + +"No; you cannot be." + +She looked up at him. + +"You can have no idea how happy you make me," he said unsteadily. + +"But--I--but I may be all wrong--dreadfully wrong!" + +"Y-es; you may be, but I shall not be. For do you know that I have +already seen her in the Park?" + +"When?" she demanded incredulously, then turned in the saddle, +repeating: "Where? Did she pass? How perfectly stupid of me! And _was_ +she the--the right one?" + +"She _is_ the right one. . . . Don't turn: I have seen her. Ride on: I +want to say something--if I can." + +"No, no," she insisted. "I must know whether I was right--" + +"You _are_ right--but you don't know it yet. . . . Oh, very well, then; +we'll turn if you insist." And he wheeled his mount as she did, riding +at her bridle again. + +"How can you take it so coolly--so indifferently?" she said. "Where has +that woman--where has she gone? . . . Never mind; she must turn and pass +us sooner or later, for she lives uptown. _What_ are you laughing at, +Mr. Gatewood?"--in annoyed surprise. + +"I am laughing at myself. Oh, I'm so many kinds of a fool--you can't +think how many, and it's no use!" + +She stared, astonished; he shook his head. + +"No, you don't understand yet. But you will. Listen to me: this very +beautiful lady you have discovered is nothing to me!" + +"Nothing--to you!" she faltered. Two pink spots of indignation burned in +her cheeks. "How--how dare you say that!--after all that has been +done--all that you have said. You said you loved her; you _did_ say +so--to _me_!" + +"I don't love her now." + +"But you did!" Tears of pure vexation started; she faced him, eye to +eye, thoroughly incensed. + +"What sort of man are you?" she said under her breath. "Your friend Mr. +Kerns is wrong. You are not worth saving from yourself." + +"Kerns!" he repeated, angry and amazed. "What the deuce has Kerns to do +with this affair?" + +She stared, then, realizing her indiscretion, bit her lip, and spurred +forward. But he put his horse to a gallop, and they pounded along in +silence. In a little while she drew bridle and looked around coldly, +grave with displeasure. + +"Mr. Kerns came to us before you did. He said you would probably come, +and he begged us to strain every effort in your behalf, because, he +said, your happiness absolutely depended upon our finding for you the +woman you were seeking. . . . And I tried--very hard--and now she's +found. You admit that--and _now_ you say--" + +"I say that one of these balmy summer days I'll assassinate Tommy +Kerns!" broke in Gatewood. "What on earth possessed that prince of +butters-in to go to Mr. Keen?" + +"To save you from yourself!" retorted the girl in a low, exasperated +voice. "He did not say what threatened you; he is a good friend for a +man to have. But we soon found out what you were--a man well born, well +bred, full of brilliant possibility, who was slowly becoming an idle, +cynical, self-centered egoist--a man who, lacking the lash of need or +the spur of ambition, was degenerating through the sheer uselessness and +inanity of his life. And, oh, the pity of it! For Mr. Keen and I have +taken a--a curiously personal interest in you--in your case. I say, the +pity of it!" + +Astounded, dumb under her stinging words, he rode beside her through the +brilliant sunshine, wheeled mechanically as she turned her horse, and +rode north again. + +"And now--_now_!" she said passionately, "you turn on the woman you +loved! Oh, you are not worth it!" + +"You are quite right," he said, turning very white under her scorn. +"Almost all you have said is true enough, I fancy. I amount to nothing; +I am idle, cynical, selfish. The emptiness of such a life requires a +stimulant; even a fool abhors a vacuum. So I drink--not so very much +yet--but more than I realize. And it is close enough to a habit to worry +me. . . . Yes, almost all you say is true; Kerns knows it; I know +it--now that you have told me. You see, he couldn't tell me, because I +should not have believed him. But I believe you--all you say, except one +thing. And that is only a glimmer of decency left in me--not that I make +any merit of it. No, it is merely instinctive. For I have _not_ turned +on the woman I loved." + +Her face was pale as her level eyes met him: + +"You said she was nothing to you. . . . Look there! Do you see her? Do +you see?" + +Her voice broke nervously as he swung around to stare at a rider bearing +down at a gallop--a woman on a big roan, tearing along through the +spring sunshine, passing them with wind-flushed cheeks and dark, +incurious eyes, while her powerful horse carried her on, away through +the quivering light and shadow of the woodland vista. + +"Is _that_ the person?" + +"Y-es," she faltered. "Was I wrong?" + +"Quite wrong, Miss Southerland." + +"But--but you said you had seen her here this morning!" + +"Yes, I have." + +"Did you speak to her before you met me?" + +"No--not before I met you." + +"Then you have not spoken to her. Is she still here in the Park?" + +"Yes, she is still here." + +The girl turned on him excitedly: "Do you mean to say that you will not +speak to her?" + +"I had rather not--" + +"And your happiness depends on your speaking?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it is cowardly not to speak." + +"Oh, yes, it is cowardly. . . . If you wish me to speak to her I will. +Shall I?" + +"Yes . . . Show her to me." + +"And you think that such a man as I am has a right to speak of love to +her?" + +"I--we believe it will be your salvation. Mr. Kerns says you must marry +her to be happy. Mr. Keen told me yesterday that it only needed a word +from the right woman to put you on your mettle. . . . And--and that is +my opinion." + +"Then in charity say that word!" he breathed, bending toward her. "Can't +you see? Can't you understand? Don't you know that from the moment I +looked into your eyes I loved you?" + +"How--how dare you!" she stammered, crimsoning. + +"God knows," he said wistfully. "I am a coward. I don't know how I +dared. Good-by. . . ." + +He walked his horse a little way, then launched him into a gallop, +tearing on and on, sun, wind, trees swimming, whirling like a vision, +hearing nothing, feeling nothing, save the leaden pounding of his pulse +and the breathless, terrible tightening in his throat. + +When he cleared his eyes and looked around he was quite alone, his horse +walking under the trees and breathing heavily. + +At first he laughed, and the laugh was not pleasant. Then he said aloud: +"It is worth having lived for, after all!"--and was silent. And again: +"I could expect nothing; she was perfectly right to side-step a fool. +. . . And _such_ a fool!" + +The distant gallop of a horse, dulled on the soft soil, but coming +nearer, could not arouse him from the bitter depths he had sunk in; not +even when the sound ceased beside him, and horse snorted recognition to +horse. It was only when a light touch rested on his arm that he looked +up heavily, caught his breath. + +"Where is the other--woman?" she gasped. + +"There never was any other." + +"You said--" + +"I said I loved my ideal. I did not know she existed--until I saw you." + +"Then--then we were searching for--" + +"A vision. But it was your face that haunted me. . . . And I am not +worth it, as you say. And I know it, . . . for you have opened my eyes." + +He drew bridle, forcing a laugh. "I cut a sorry figure in your life; be +patient; I am going out of it now." And he swung his horse. At the same +moment she did the same, making a demi-tour and meeting him halfway, +confronting him. + +"Do you--you mean to ride out of my life without a word?" she asked +unsteadily. + +"Good-by." He offered his hand, stirring his horse forward; she leaned +lightly over and laid both hands in his. Then, her face surging in +color, she lifted her beautiful dark eyes to his as the horses +approached, nearer, nearer, until, as they passed, flank brushing flank, +her eyes fell, then closed as she swayed toward him, and clung, her +young lips crushed to his. + +There was nobody to witness it except the birds and squirrels--nobody +but a distant mounted policeman, who almost fainted away in his saddle. + +Oh, it was awful, awful! Apparently she had been kissed speechless, for +she said nothing. The man fool did all the talking, incoherently enough, +but evidently satisfactory to her, judging from the way she looked at +him, and blushed and blushed, and touched her eyes with a bit of cambric +at intervals. + +All the policeman heard as they passed him was; "I'm going to give you +this horse, and Kerns is to give us our silver; and what do you think, +my darling?" + +"W-what?" + +But they had already passed out of earshot; and in a few moments the +shady, sun-flecked bridle path was deserted again save for the birds and +squirrels, and a single mounted policeman, rigid, wild eyed, twisting +his mustache and breathing hard. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The news of Gatewood's fate filled Kerns with a pleasure bordering upon +melancholy. It was his work; he had done it; it was good for Gatewood +too--time for him to stop his irresponsible cruise through life, lower +sail, heave to, set his signals, and turn over matters to this charming +pilot. + +And now they would come into port together and anchor somewhere east of +Fifth Avenue--which, Kerns reflected, was far more proper a place for +Gatewood than somewhere east of Suez, where young men so often sail. + +And yet, and yet there was something melancholy in the pleasure he +experienced. Gatewood was practically lost to him. He knew what might be +expected from engaged men and newly married men. Gatewood's club life +was ended--for a while; and there was no other man with whom he cared to +embark for those brightly lighted harbors twinkling east of Suez across +the metropolitan wastes. + +"It's very generous of me to get him married," he said frequently to +himself, rather sadly. "I did it pretty well, too. It only shows that +women have no particular monopoly in the realms of diplomacy and +finesse; in fact, if a man really chooses to put his mind to such +matters, he can make it no trumps and win out behind a bum ace and a +guarded knave." + +He was pleased with himself. He followed Gatewood about explaining how +good he had been to him. An enthusiasm for marrying off his friends +began to germinate within him; he tried it on Darrell, on Barnes, on +Yates, but was turned down and severely stung. + +Then one day Harren of the Philippine Scouts turned up at the club, and +they held a determined reunion until daylight, and they told each other +all about it all and what upper-cuts life had handed out to them since +the troopship sailed. + +And after the rosy glow had deepened to a more gorgeous hue in the room, +and the electric lights had turned into silver pinwheels; and after they +had told each other the story of their lives, and the last siphon fizzed +impotently when urged beyond its capacity, Kerns arose and extended his +hand, and Harren took it. And they executed a song resembling "Auld Lang +Syne." + +"Ole man," said Kerns reproachfully, "there's one thing you have been +deuced careful _not_ to mention, and that is about what happened to you +three years ago--" + +"Steady!" said Harren; "there is nothing to tell, Tommy." + +"Nothing?" + +"Nothing. I never saw her again. I never shall." + +Kerns looked long and unsteadily upon his friend; then very gravely +fumbled in his pocket and drew forth the business card of Westrel Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"That," he said, "will be about all." And he bestowed the card upon +Harren with magnificent condescension. + +And about five o'clock the following afternoon Harren found the card +among various effects of his, scattered over his dresser. + +It took him several days to make up his mind to pay any attention to the +card or the suggestion it contained. He scarcely considered it seriously +even when, passing along Fifth Avenue one sunny afternoon, he chanced to +glance up and see the sign + + KEEN & CO. + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + +staring him in the face. + +He continued his stroll, but that evening, upon mere impulse, he sat +down and wrote a letter to Mr. Keen. + +The next morning's mail brought a reply and an appointment for an +interview on Wednesday week. Harren tossed the letter aside, satisfied +to let the matter go, because his leave expired on Tuesday, and the +appointment was impossible. + +On Sunday, however, the melancholy of the deserted club affected his +spirits. A curious desire to see this Tracer of Lost Persons seized him +with a persistence unaccountable. He slept poorly, haunted with visions. + +On Monday he went to see Mr. Keen. It could do no harm; it was too late +to do either harm or good, for his leave expired the next day at noon. + +The business of Keen & Co., Tracers of Lost Persons, had grown to +enormous proportions; appointments for a personal interview with Mr. +Keen were now made a week in advance, so when young Harren sent in his +card, the gayly liveried negro servant came back presently, threading +his way through the waiting throng with pomp and circumstance, and +returned the card to Harren with the date of appointment rewritten in +ink across the top. The day named was Wednesday. On Tuesday Harren's +leave expired. + +"That won't do," said the young man brusquely; "I must see Mr. Keen +to-day. I wrote last week for an appointment." + +The liveried darky was polite but obdurate. + +"Dis here am de 'pintment, suh," he explained persuasively. + +"But I want to see Mr. Keen at once," insisted Harren. + +"Hit ain't no use, suh," said the darky respectfully; "dey's mi'ions an' +mi'ions ob gemmen jess a-settin' roun' an' waitin' foh Mistuh Keen. In +dis here perfeshion, suh, de fustest gemman dat has a 'pintment is de +fustest gemman dat kin see Mistuh Keen. You is a military gemman +yohse'f, Cap'm Harren, an' you is aware dat precedence am de rigger." + +The bronzed young man smiled, glanced at the date of appointment written +on his card, which also bore his own name followed by the letters +U.S.A., then his amused gray eyes darkened and he glanced leisurely +around the room, where a dozen or more assorted people sat waiting their +turns to interview Mr. Keen: all sorts and conditions of people--smartly +gowned women, an anxious-browed business man or two, a fat German truck +driver, his greasy cap on his knees, a surly policeman, and an old +Irishwoman, wearing a shawl and an ancient straw bonnet. Harren's eyes +reverted to the darky. + +"You will explain to Mr. Keen," he said, "that I am an army officer on +leave, and that I am obliged to start for Manila to-morrow. This is my +excuse for asking an immediate interview; and if it's not a good enough +excuse I must cancel this appointment, that is all." + +The darky stood, irresolute, inclined to argue, but something in the +steel-gray eyes of the man set him in involuntary motion, and he went +away once more with the young man's message. Harren turned and walked +back to his seat. The old woman with the faded shawl was explaining +volubly to a handsomely gowned woman beside her that she was looking for +her boy, Danny; that her name was Mrs. Regan, and that she washed for +the aristocracy of Hunter's Point at a liberal price per dozen, using no +deleterious substances in the suds as Heaven was her witness. + +The German truck driver, moved by this confidence, was stirred to begin +an endless account of his domestic misfortunes, and old Mrs. Regan, +becoming impatient, had already begun to interrupt with an account of +Regan's recent hoisting on the wings of a premature petard, when the +dark servant reappeared. + +"Mistuh Keen will receive you, suh," he whispered, leading the way into +a large room where dozens of attractive young girls sat very busily +engaged at typewriting machines. Door after door they passed, all +numbered on the ground-glass panes, then swung to the right, where the +darky bowed him into a big, handsomely furnished room flooded with the +morning sun. A tall, gray man, faultlessly dressed in a gray frock suit +and wearing white spats, turned from the breezy, open window to inspect +him; the lean, well groomed, rather lank type of gentleman suggesting a +retired colonel of cavalry; unmistakably well bred from the ends of his +drooping gray mustache to the last button on his immaculate spats. + +"Captain Harren?" he said pleasantly. + +"Mr. Keen?" + +They bowed. Young Harren drew from his pocket a card. It was the +business card of Keen & Co., and, glancing up at Mr. Keen, he read it +aloud, carefully: + + KEEN & CO. + + TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS + + Keen & Co. are prepared to locate the whereabouts of anybody on + earth. No charges will be made unless the person searched for is + found. + + _Blanks on Application._ + + WESTREL KEEN, Manager. + +Harren raised his clear, gray eyes. "I assume this statement to be +correct, Mr. Keen?" + +"You may safely assume so," said Mr. Keen, smiling. + +"Does this statement include _all_ that you are prepared to undertake?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons inspected him coolly. "What more is there, +Captain Harren? I undertake to find lost people. I even undertake to +find the undiscovered ideals of young people who have failed to meet +them. What further field would you suggest?" Harren glanced at the card +which he held in his gloved hand; then, very slowly, he re-read, "the +whereabouts of anybody _on earth_," accenting the last two words +deliberately as he encountered Keen's piercing gaze again. + +"Well?" asked Mr. Keen laughingly, "is not that sufficient? Our clients +could scarcely expect us to invade heaven in our search for the +vanished." + +"There are other regions," said Harren. + +"_Ex_actly. Sit down, sir. There is a row of bookcases for your +amusement. Please help yourself while I clear decks for action." + +Harren stood fingering the card, his gray eyes lost in retrospection; +then he sauntered over to the bookcases, scanning the titles. The +Searcher for Lost Persons studied him for a moment or two, turned, and +began to pace the room. After a moment or two he touched a bell. A +sweet-faced young girl entered; she was gowned in black and wore a white +collar, and cuffs turned back over her hands. + +"Take this memorandum," he said. The girl picked up a pencil and pad, +and Mr. Keen, still pacing the room, dictated in a quiet voice as he +walked to and fro: + +"Mrs. Regan's Danny is doing six months in Butte, Montana. Break it to +her as mercifully as possible. He is a bad one. We make no charge. The +truck driver, Becker, can find his wife at her mother's house, Leonia, +New Jersey. Tell him to be less pig-headed or she'll go for good some +day. Ten dollars. Mrs. M., No. 36001, can find her missing butler in +service at 79 Vine Street, Hartford, Connecticut. She may notify the +police whenever she wishes. His portrait is No. 170529, Rogues' Gallery. +Five hundred dollars. Miss K. (No. 3679) may send her letter, care of +Cisneros & Co., Rio, where the person she is seeking has gone into the +coffee business. If she decides that she really does love him, he'll +come back fast enough. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Mr. W. (No. 3620) +must go to the morgue for further information. His repentance is too +late; but he can see that there is a decent burial. The charge: one +thousand dollars to the Florence Mission. You may add that we possess +his full record." + +The Tracer paused and waited for the stenographer to finish. When she +looked up: "Who else is waiting?" he asked. + +The girl read over the initials and numbers. + +"Tell that policeman that Kid Conroy sails on the _Carania_ to-morrow. +Fifty dollars. There is nothing definite in the other cases. Report +progress and send out a general alarm for the cashier inquired for by +No. 3608. You will find details in vol. xxxix under B." + +"Is that all, Mr. Keen?" + +"Yes. I'm going to be very busy with"--turning slowly toward +Harren--"with Captain Harren, of the Philippine Scouts, until +to-morrow--a very complicated case, Miss Borrow, involving cipher codes +and photography--" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Harren started, then walked slowly to the center of the room as the +pretty stenographer passed out with a curious level glance at him. + +"Why do you say that photography plays a part in my case?" he asked. + +"Doesn't it?" + +"Yes. But how--" + +"Oh, I only guessed it," said Keen with a smile. "I made another guess +that your case involved a cipher code. Does it?" + +"Y-es," said the young man, astonished, "but I don't see--" + +"It also involves the occult," observed Keen calmly. "We may need Miss +Borrow to help us." + +Almost staggered, Harren stared at the Tracer out of his astonished gray +eyes until that gentleman laughed outright and seated himself, motioning +Harren to do likewise. + +"Don't be surprised, Captain Harren," he said. "I suppose you have no +conception of our business, no realization of its scope--its network of +information bureaus all over the civilized world, its myriad sources of +information, the immensity of its delicate machinery, the endless data +and the infinitesimal details we have at our command. You, of course, +have no idea of the number of people of every sort and condition who are +in our employ, of the ceaseless yet inoffensive surveillance we +maintain. For example, when your letter came last week I called up the +person who has charge of the army list. There you were, Kenneth Harren, +Captain Philippine Scouts, with the date of your graduation from West +Point. Then I called up a certain department devoted to personal detail, +and in five minutes I knew your entire history. I then touched another +electric button, and in a minute I had before me the date of your +arrival in New York, your present address, and"--he looked up +quizzically at Harren--"and several items of general information, such +as your peculiar use of your camera, and the list of books on Psychical +Phenomena and Cryptograms which you have been buying--" + +Harren flushed up. "Do you mean to say that I have been spied upon, Mr. +Keen?" + +"No more than anybody else who comes to us as a client. There was +nothing offensive in the surveillance." He shrugged his shoulders and +made a deprecating gesture. "Ours is a business, my dear sir, like any +other. We, of course, are obliged to know about people who call on us. +Last week you wrote me, and I immediately set every wheel in motion; in +other words, I had you under observation from the day I received your +letter to this very moment." + +"You learned much concerning me?" asked Harren quietly. + +"_Ex_actly, my dear sir." + +"But," continued Harren with a touch of malice, "you didn't learn that +my leave is up to-morrow, did you?" + +"Yes, I learned that, too." + +"Then why did you give me an appointment for the day after to-morrow?" +demanded the young man bluntly. + +The Tracer looked him squarely in the eye. "Your leave is to be +extended," he said. + +"What?" + +"_Ex_actly. It has been extended one week." + +"How do you know that?" + +"You applied for extension, did you not?" + +"Yes," said Harren, turning red, "but I don't see how you knew that I--" + +"By cable?" + +"Y-yes." + +"There's a cablegram in your rooms at this very moment," said the +Tracer carelessly. "You have the extension you desired. And now, Captain +Harren," with a singularly pleasant smile, "what can I do to help you to +a pursuit of that true happiness which is guaranteed for all good +citizens under our Constitution?" + +Captain Harren crossed his long legs, dropping one knee over the other, +and deliberately surveyed his interrogator. + +"I really have no right to come to you," he said slowly. "Your +prospectus distinctly states that Keen & Co. undertake to find _live_ +people, and I don't know whether the person I am seeking is alive +or--or--" + +His steady voice faltered; the Tracer watched him curiously. + +"Of course, that is important," he said. "If she _is_ dead--" + +"_She_!" + +"Didn't you say 'she,' Captain?" + +"No, I did not." + +"I beg your pardon, then, for anticipating you," said the Tracer +carelessly. + +"Anticipating? _How_ do you know it is not a man I am in search of?" +demanded Harren. + +"Captain Harren, you are unmarried and have no son; you have no father, +no brother, no sister. Therefore I infer--several things--for example, +that you are in love." + +"I? In love?" + +"Desperately, Captain." + +"Your inferences seem to satisfy you, at least," said Harren almost +sullenly, "but they don't satisfy me--clever as they appear to be." + +"_Ex_actly. Then you are _not_ in love?" + +"I don't know whether I am or not." + +"I do," said the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Then you know more than I," retorted Harren sharply. + +"But that is my business--to know more than you do," returned Mr. Keen +patiently. "Else why are you here to consult me?" And as Harren made no +reply: "I have seen thousands and thousands of people in love. I have +reduced the superficial muscular phenomena and facial symptomatic aspect +of such people to an exact science founded upon a schedule approximating +the Bertillon system of records. And," he added, smiling, "out of the +twenty-seven known vocal variations your voice betrays twenty-five +unmistakable symptoms; and out of the sixteen reflex muscular symptoms +your face has furnished six, your hands three, your limbs and feet six. +Then there are other superficial symptoms--" + +"Good heavens!" broke in Harren; "how can you prove a man to be in love +when he himself doesn't know whether he is or not? If a man isn't in +love no Bertillon system can make him so; and if a man doesn't know +whether or not he is in love, who can tell him the truth?" + +"I can," said the Tracer calmly. + +"What! When I tell you I myself don't know?" + +"_That_," said the Tracer, smiling, "is the final and convincing +symptom. _You_ don't know. _I_ know because you _don't_ know. That is +the easiest way to be sure that you are in love, Captain Harren, because +you always are when you are not sure. You'd know if you were _not_ in +love. Now, my dear sir, you may lay your case confidently before me." + +Harren, unconvinced, sat frowning and biting his lip and twisting his +short, crisp mustache which the tropical sun had turned straw color and +curly. + +"I feel like a fool to tell you," he said. "I'm not an imaginative man, +Mr. Keen; I'm not fanciful, not sentimental. I'm perfectly healthy, +perfectly normal--a very busy man in my profession, with no time and no +inclination to fall in love." + +"Just the sort of man who does it," commented Keen. "Continue." + +Harren fidgeted about in his chair, looked out of the window, squinted +at the ceiling, then straightened up, folding his arms with sudden +determination. + +"I'd rather be boloed than tell you," he said. "Perhaps, after all, I +_am_ a lunatic; perhaps I've had a touch of the Luzon sun and don't know +it." + +"I'll be the judge," said the Tracer, smiling. + +"Very well, sir. Then I'll begin by telling you that I've seen a ghost." + +"There are such things," observed Keen quietly. + +"Oh, I don't mean one of those fabled sheeted creatures that float about +at night; I mean a phantom--a real phantom--in the sunlight--standing +before my very eyes in broad day! . . . Now do you feel inclined to go +on with my case, Mr. Keen?" + +"Certainly," replied the Tracer gravely. "Please continue, Captain +Harren." + +"All right, then. Here's the beginning of it: Three years ago, here in +New York, drifting along Fifth Avenue with the crowd, I looked up to +encounter the most wonderful pair of eyes that I ever beheld--that any +living man ever beheld! The most--wonderfully--beautiful--" + +He sat so long immersed in retrospection that the Tracer said: "I am +listening, Captain," and the Captain woke up with a start. + +"What was I saying? How far had I proceeded?" + +"Only to the eyes." + +"Oh, I see! The eyes were dark, sir, dark and lovely beyond any power of +description. The hair was also dark--very soft and thick and--er--wavy +and dark. The face was extremely youthful, and ornamental to the +uttermost verges of a beauty so exquisite that, were I to attempt to +formulate for you its individual attractions, I should, I fear, +transgress the strictly rigid bounds of that reticence which becomes a +gentleman in complete possession of his senses." + +"_Ex_actly," mused the Tracer. + +"Also," continued Captain Harren, with growing animation, "to attempt to +describe her figure would be utterly useless, because I am a practical +man and not a poet, nor do I read poetry or indulge in futile novels or +romances of any description. Therefore I can only add that it was a +figure, a poise, absolutely faultless, youthful, beautiful, erect, +wholesome, gracious, graceful, charmingly buoyant and--well, I cannot +describe her figure, and I shall not try." + +"_Ex_actly; don't try." + +"No," said Harren mournfully, "it is useless"; and he relapsed into +enchanted retrospection. + +"Who was she?" asked Mr. Keen softly. + +"I don't know." + +"You never again saw her?" + +"Mr. Keen, I--I am not ill-bred, but I simply could not help following +her. She was so b-b-beautiful that it hurt; and I only wanted to look at +her; I didn't mind being hurt. So I walked on and on, and sometimes I'd +pass her and sometimes I'd let her pass me, and when she wasn't looking +I'd look--not offensively, but just because I _couldn't_ help it. And +all the time my senses were humming like a top and my heart kept jumping +to get into my throat, and I hadn't a notion where I was going or what +time it was or what day of the week. She didn't see me; she didn't dream +that I was looking at her; she didn't know me from any of the thousand +silk-hatted, frock-coated men who passed and repassed her on Fifth +Avenue. And when she went into St. Berold's Church, I went, too, and I +stood where I could see her and where she couldn't see me. It was like a +touch of the Luzon sun, Mr. Keen. And then she came out and got into a +Fifth Avenue stage, and I got in, too. And whenever she looked away I +looked at her--without the slightest offense, Mr. Keen, until, once, she +caught my eye--" + +He passed an unsteady hand over his forehead. + +"For a moment we looked full at one another," he continued. "I got red, +sir; I felt it, and I couldn't look away. And when I turned color like a +blooming beet, she began to turn pink like a rosebud, and she looked +full into my eyes with such a wonderful purity, such exquisite +innocence, that I--I never felt so near--er--heaven in my life! No, sir, +not even when they ambushed us at Manoa Wells--but that's another +thing--only it is part of this business." + +He tightened his clasped hands over his knee until the knuckles +whitened. + +"_That's_ my story, Mr. Keen," he said crisply. + +"All of it?" + +Harren looked at the floor, then at Keen: "No, not all. You'll think me +a lunatic if I tell you all." + +"Oh, you saw her again?" + +"N-never! That is--" + +"Never?" + +"Not in--in the flesh." + +"Oh, in dreams?" + +Harren stirred uneasily. "I don't know what you call them. I have seen +her since--in the sunlight, in the open, in my quarters in Manila, +standing there perfectly distinct, looking at me with such strange, +beautiful eyes--" + +"Go on," said the Tracer, nodding. + +"What else is there to say?" muttered Harren. + +"You saw her--or a phantom which resembled her. Did she speak?" + +"No." + +"Did you speak to her?" + +"N-no. Once I held out my--my arms." + +"What happened?" + +"She wasn't there," said Harren simply. + +"She vanished?" + +"No--I don't know. I--I didn't see her any more." + +"Didn't she fade?" + +"No. I can't explain. She--there was only myself in the room." + +"How many times has she appeared to you?" + +"A great many times." + +"In your room?" + +"Yes. And in the road under a vertical sun; in the forest, in the paddy +fields. I have seen her passing through the hallway of a friend's +house--turning on the stair to look back at me! I saw her standing just +back of the firing-line at Manoa Wells when we were preparing to rush +the forts, and it scared me so that I jumped forward to draw her back. +But--she wasn't there, Mr. Keen. . . . + +"On the transport she stood facing me on deck one moonlit evening for +five minutes. I saw her in 'Frisco; she sat in the Pullman twice between +Denver and this city. Twice in my room at the Vice-Regent she has sat +opposite me at midday, so clear, so beautiful, so real that--that I +could scarcely believe she was only a--a--" He hesitated. + +"The apparition of her own subconscious self," said the Tracer quietly. +"Science has been forced to admit such things, and, as you know, we are +on the verge of understanding the alphabet of some of the unknown forces +which we must some day reckon with." + +Harren, tense, a trifle pale, gazed at him earnestly. + +"Do _you_ believe in such things?" + +"How can I avoid believing?" said the Tracer. "Every day, in my +profession, we have proof of the existence of forces for which we have +as yet no explanation--or, at best, a very crude one. I have had case +after case of premonition; case after case of dual and even multiple +personality; case after case where apparitions played a vital part in +the plot which was brought to me to investigate. I'll tell you this, +Captain: I, personally, never saw an apparition, never was obsessed by +premonitions, never received any communications from the outer void. But +I have had to do with those who undoubtedly did. Therefore I listen with +all seriousness and respect to what you tell me." + +"Suppose," said Harren, growing suddenly red, "that I should tell you I +have succeeded in photographing this phantom." + +The Tracer sat silent. He was astounded, but, he did not betray it. + +"You have that photograph, Captain Harren?" + +"Yes." + +"Where is it?" + +"In my rooms." + +"You wish me to see it?" + +Harren hesitated. "I--there is--seems to be--something almost sacred to +me in that photograph. . . . You understand me, do you not? Yet, if it +will help you in finding her--" + +"Oh," said the Tracer in guileless astonishment, "you desire to find +this young lady. Why?" + +Harren stared. "Why? Why do I want to find her? Man, I--I can't live +without her!" + +"I thought you were not certain whether you really could be in love." + +The hot color in the Captain's bronzed cheeks mounted to his hair. + +"_Ex_actly," purred the Tracer, looking out of the window. "Suppose we +walk around to your rooms after luncheon. Shall we?" + +Harren picked up his hat and gloves, hesitating, lingering on the +threshold. "You _don't_ think she is--a--dead?" he asked unsteadily. + +"No," said Mr. Keen, "I don't." + +"Because," said Harren wistfully, "her apparition is so superbly healthy +and--and glowing with youth and life--" + +"That is probably what sent it half the world over to confront you," +said the Tracer gravely; "youth and life aglow with spiritual health. I +think, Captain, that she has been seeing you, too, during these three +years, but probably only in her dreams--memories of your encounters with +her subconscious self floating over continents and oceans in a quest of +which her waking intelligence is innocently unaware." + +The Captain colored like a schoolboy, lingering at the door, hat in +hand. Then he straightened up to the full height of his slim but +powerful figure. + +"At three?" he inquired bluntly. + +"At three o'clock in your room, Hotel Vice-Regent. Good morning, +Captain." + +"Good morning," said Harren dreamily, and walked away, head bent, gray +eyes lost in retrospection, and on his lean, bronzed, attractive face an +afterglow of color wholly becoming. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +When the Tracer of Lost Persons entered Captain Harren's room at the +Hotel Vice-Regent that afternoon he found the young man standing at a +center table, pencil in hand, studying a sheet of paper which was +covered with letters and figures. + +The two men eyed one another in silence for a moment, then Harren +pointed grimly to the confusion of letters and figures covering dozens +of scattered sheets lying on the table. + +"That's part of my madness," he said with a short laugh. "Can you make +anything of such lunatic work?" + +The Tracer picked up a sheet of paper covered with letters of the +alphabet and Roman and Arabic numerals. He dropped it presently and +picked up another comparatively blank sheet, on which were the following +figures: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +He studied it for a while, then glanced interrogatively at Harren. + +"It's nothing," said Harren. "I've been groping for three years--but +it's no use. That's lunatics' work." He wheeled squarely on his heels, +looking straight at the Tracer. "_Do_ you think I've had a touch of the +sun?" + +"No," said Mr. Keen, drawing a chair to the table. "Saner men than you +or I have spent a lifetime over this so-called Seal of Solomon." He laid +his finger on the two symbols-- + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +Then, looking across the table at Harren: "What," he asked, "has the +Seal of Solomon to do with your case?" + +"_She_--" muttered Harren, and fell silent. + +The Tracer waited; Harren said nothing. + +"Where is the photograph?" + +Harren unlocked a drawer in the table, hesitated, looked strangely at +the Tracer. + +"Mr. Keen," he said, "there is nothing on earth I hold more sacred than +this. There is only one thing in the world that could justify me in +showing it to a living soul--my--my desire to find--her--" + +"No," said Keen coolly, "that is not enough to justify you--the mere +desire to find the living original of this apparition. Nothing could +justify your showing it unless you love her." + +Harren held the picture tightly, staring full at the Tracer. A dull +flush mounted to his forehead, and very slowly he laid the picture +before the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +Minute after minute sped while the Tracer bent above the photograph, his +finely modeled features absolutely devoid of expression. Harren had +drawn his chair beside him, and now sat leaning forward, bronzed cheek +resting in his hand, staring fixedly at the picture. + +"When was this--this photograph taken?" asked the Tracer quietly. + +"The day after I arrived in New York. I was here, alone, smoking my pipe +and glancing over the evening paper just before dressing for dinner. It +was growing rather dark in the room; I had not turned on the electric +light. My camera lay on the table--there it is!--that kodak. I had taken +a few snapshots on shipboard; there was one film left." + +He leaned more heavily on his elbow, eyes fixed upon the picture. + +"It was almost dark," he repeated. "I laid aside the evening paper and +stood up, thinking about dressing for dinner, when my eyes happened to +fall on the camera. It occurred to me that I might as well unload it, +let the unused film go, and send the roll to be developed and printed; +and I picked up the camera--" + +"Yes," said the Tracer softly. + +"I picked it up and was starting toward the window where there remained +enough daylight to see by--" + +The Tracer nodded gently. + +"Then I saw _her_!" said Harren under his breath. + +"Where?" + +"There--standing by that window. You can see the window and curtain in +the photograph." + +The Tracer gazed intently at the picture. + +"She looked at me," said Harren, steadying his voice. "She was as real +as you are, and she stood there, smiling faintly, her dark, lovely eyes +meeting mine." + +"Did you speak?" + +"No." + +"How long did she remain there?" + +"I don't know--time seemed to stop--the world--everything grew still. +. . . Then, little by little, something began to stir under my stunned +senses--that germ of misgiving, that dreadful doubt of my own sanity. +. . . I scarcely knew what I was doing when I took the photograph; +besides, it had grown quite dark, and I could scarcely see her." He drew +himself erect with a nervous movement. "How on earth could I have +obtained that photograph of her in the darkness?" he demanded. + +"N-rays," said the Tracer coolly. "It has been done in France." + +"Yes, from living people, but--" + +"What the N-ray is in living organisms, we must call, for lack of a +better term, the subaura in the phantom." + +They bent over the photograph together. Presently the Tracer said: "She +is very, very beautiful?" + +Harren's dry lips unclosed, but he uttered no sound. + +"She is beautiful, is she not?" repeated the Tracer, turning to look at +the young man. + +"Can you not see she is?" he asked impatiently. + +"No," said the Tracer. + +Harren stared at him. + +"Captain Harren," continued the Tracer, "I can see nothing upon this bit +of paper that resembles in the remotest degree a human face or figure." + +Harren turned white. + +"Not that I doubt that _you_ can see it," pursued the Tracer calmly. "I +simply repeat that I see absolutely nothing on this paper except a part +of a curtain, a window pane, and--and--" + +"What! for God's sake!" cried Harren hoarsely. + +"I don't know yet. Wait; let me study it." + +"Can you not see her face, her eyes? _Don't_ you see that exquisite slim +figure standing there by the curtain?" demanded Harren, laying his +shaking finger on the photograph. "Why, man, it is as clear, as clean +cut, as distinct as though the picture had been taken in sunlight! Do +you mean to say that there is nothing there--that I am crazy?" + +"No. Wait." + +"Wait! How can I wait when you sit staring at her picture and telling me +that you can't see it, but that it is doubtless there? Are you deceiving +me, Mr. Keen? Are you trying to humor me, trying to be kind to me, +knowing all the while that I'm crazy--" + +"Wait, man! You are no more crazy than I am. I tell you that I can see +something on the window pane--" + +He suddenly sprang up and walked to the window, leaning close and +examining the glass. Harren followed and laid his hand lightly over the +pane. + +"Do you see any marks on the glass?" demanded Keen. + +Harren shook his head. + +"Have you a magnifying glass?" asked the Tracer. + +Harren pointed back to the table, and they returned to the photograph, +the Tracer bending over it and examining it through the glass. + +"All I see," he said, still studying the photograph, "is a corner of a +curtain and a window on which certain figures seem to have been cut. +. . . Look, Captain Harren, can you see them?" + +"I see some marks--some squares." + +"You can't see anything written on that pane--as though cut by a +diamond?" + +"Nothing distinct." + +"But you see _her_?" + +"Perfectly." + +"In minute detail?" + +"Yes." + +The Tracer thought a moment: "Does she wear a ring?" + +"Yes; can't you see?" + +"Draw it for me." + +They seated themselves side by side, and Harren drew a rough sketch of +the ring which he insisted was so plainly visible on her hand: + +[Illustration: Ring with an X] + +"Oh," observed the Tracer, "she wears the Seal of Solomon on her ring." + +Harren looked up at him. "That symbol has haunted me persistently for +three years," he said. "I have found it everywhere--on articles that I +buy, on house furniture, on the belts of dead ladrones, on the hilts of +creeses, on the funnels of steamers, on the headstalls of horses. If +they put a laundry mark on my linen it's certain to be this! If I buy a +box of matches the sign is on it. Why, I've even seen it on the +brilliant wings of tropical insects. It's got on my nerves. I dream +about it." + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"And you buy books about it and try to work out its mystical meaning?" +suggested the Tracer, smiling. + +But Harren's gray eyes were serious. He said: "_She_ never comes to me +without that symbol somewhere about her. . . . I told you she never +spoke to me. That is true; yet once, in a vivid dream of her, she did +speak. I--I was almost ashamed to tell you of that." + +"Tell me." + +"A--a dream? Do you wish to know what I dreamed?" + +"Yes--if it was a dream." + +"It was. I was asleep on the deck of the _Mindinao_, dead tired after a +fruitless hike. I dreamed she came toward me through a young woodland +all lighted by the sun, and in her hands she held masses of that wild +flower we call Solomon's Seal. And she said--in the voice I know must be +like hers: 'If you could only read! If you would only understand the +message I send you! It is everywhere on earth for you to read, if you +only would!' + +"I said: 'Is the message in the seal? Is that the key to it?' + +"She nodded, laughing, burying her face in the flowers, and said: + +"'Perhaps I can write it more plainly for you some day; I will try very, +very hard.' + +"And after that she went away--not swiftly--for I saw her at moments far +away in the woods; but I must have confused her with the glimmering +shafts of sunlight, and in a little while the woodland grew dark and I +woke with the racket of a Colt's automatic in my ears." + +He passed his sun-bronzed hand over his face, hesitated, then leaned +over the photograph once more, which the Tracer was studying intently +through the magnifying glass. + +"There is something on that window in the photograph which I'm going to +copy," he said. "Please shove a pad and pencil toward me." + +Still examining the photograph through the glass which he held in his +right hand, Mr. Keen picked up the pencil and, feeling for the pad, +began very slowly to form the following series of symbols: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +"What on earth are you doing?" muttered Captain Harren, twisting his +short mustache in perplexity. + +"I am copying what I see through this magnifying glass written on the +window pane in the photograph," said the Tracer calmly. "Can't you see +those marks?" + +"I--I do now; I never noticed them before particularly--only that there +were scratches there." + +When at length the Tracer had finished his work he sat, chin on hand, +examining it in silence. Presently he turned toward Harren, smiling. + +"Well?" inquired the younger man impatiently; "do those scratches +representing Solomon's Seal mean anything?" + +"It's the strangest cipher I ever encountered," said Mr. Keen--"the +strangest I ever heard of. I have seen hundreds of +ciphers--hundreds--secret codes of the State Department, secret military +codes, elaborate Oriental ciphers, symbols used in commercial +transactions, symbols used by criminals and every species of malefactor. +And every one of them can be solved with time and patience and a little +knowledge of the subject. But this"--he sat looking at it with eyes half +closed--"this is _too_ simple." + +"Simple!" + +"Very. It's so simple that it's baffling." + +"Do you mean to say you are going to be able to find a meaning in +squares and crosses?" + +"I--I don't believe it is going to be so very difficult to translate +them." + +"Great guns!" said the Captain. "Do you mean to say that you can +ultimately translate that cipher?" + +The Tracer smiled. "Let's examine it for repetitions first. Here we have +this symbol + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +repeated five times. It's likely to be the letter E. I think--" His +voice ceased; for a quarter of an hour he pored over the symbols, pencil +in hand, checking off some, substituting a letter here and there. + +"No," he said; "the usual doesn't work in this case. It's an absurdly +simple cipher. I have a notion that numbers play a part in it--you see +where these crossed squares are bracketed--those must be numbers +requiring two figures--" + +He fell silent again, and for another quarter of an hour he remained +motionless, immersed in the problem before him, Harren frowning at the +paper over his shoulder. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +"Come!" said the Tracer suddenly; "this won't do. There are too few +symbols to give us a key; too few repetitions to furnish us with any key +basis. Come, Captain, let us use our intellects; let us talk it over +with that paper lying there between us. It's a simple cipher--a +childishly simple one if we use our wits. Now, sir, what I see repeated +before us on this sheet of paper is merely one of the forms of a symbol +known as Solomon's Seal. The symbol is, as we see, repeated a great many +times. Every seal has been dotted or crossed on some one of the lines +composing it; some seals are coupled with brackets and armatures." + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"What of it?" inquired Harren vacantly. + +"Well, sir, in the first place, that symbol is supposed to represent the +spiritual and material, as you know. What else do you know about it?" + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"Nothing. I bought a book about it, but made nothing of it." + +"Isn't it supposed," asked Mr. Keen, "to contain within itself the nine +numerals, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and even the zero symbol?" + +"I believe so." + +"_Ex_actly. Here's the seal + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Now I'll mark the one, two, and three by crossing the lines, like this: + +one, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +two, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +three, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Now, eliminating all lines not crossed there remains + +the one, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +the two, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +the three, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +And here is the entire series: + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbols] + +and the zero--" + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +A sudden excitement stirred Harren; he leaned over the paper, gazing +earnestly at the cipher; the Tracer rose and glanced around the room as +though in search of something. + +"Is there a telephone here?" he asked. + +"For Heaven's sake, don't give this up just yet," exclaimed Harren. +"These things mean numbers; don't you see? Look at that!" pointing to a +linked pair of seals, + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +"That means the number nineteen! You can form it by using only the +crossed lines of the seal. + +[Illustration: Cryptographic symbol] + +Don't you see, Mr. Keen?" + +"Yes, Captain Harren, the cipher is, as you say, very plain; quite as +easy to read as so much handwriting. That is why I wish to use your +telephone--at once, if you please." + +"It's in my bedroom; you don't mind if I go on working out this cipher +while you're telephoning?" + +"Not in the least," said the Tracer blandly. He walked into the +Captain's bedroom, closing the door behind him; then he stepped over to +the telephone, unhooked the receiver, and called up his own +headquarters. + +"Hello. This is Mr. Keen. I want to speak to Miss Borrow." + +In a few moments Miss Borrow answered: "I am here, Mr. Keen." + +"Good. Look up the name Inwood. Try New York first--Edith Inwood is the +name. Look sharp, please; I am holding the wire." + +He held it for ten full minutes; then Miss Borrow's low voice called him +over the wire. + +"Go ahead," said the Tracer quietly. + +"There is only one Edith Inwood in New York, Mr. Keen--Miss Edith +Inwood, graduate of Barnard, 1902--left an orphan 1903 and obliged to +support herself--became an assistant to Professor Boggs of the Museum of +Inscriptions. Is considered an authority upon Arabian cryptograms. Has +written a monograph on the Herati symbol--a short treatise on the +Swastika. She is twenty-four years of age. Do you require further +details?" + +"No," said the Tracer; "please ring off." + +Then he called up General Information. "I want the Museum of +Inscriptions. Get me their number, please." After a moment: "Is this the +Museum of Inscriptions?" + + * * * * * + +"Is Professor Boggs there?" + + * * * * * + +"Is this Professor Boggs?" + + * * * * * + +"Could you find time to decipher an inscription for me at once?" + + * * * * * + +"Of course I know you are extremely busy, but have you no assistant who +could do it?" + + * * * * * + +"What did you say her name is? Miss Inwood?" + + * * * * * + +"Oh! And will the young lady translate the inscription at once if I send +a copy of it to her by messenger?" + + * * * * * + +"Thank you very much, Professor. I will send a messenger to Miss Inwood +with a copy of the inscription. Good-by." + +He hung up the receiver, turned thoughtfully, opened the door again, and +walked into the sunlit living room. + +"Look here!" cried the Captain in a high state of excitement. "I've got +a lot of numbers out of it already." + +"Wonderful!" murmured the Tracer, looking over the young man's broad +shoulders at a sheet of paper bearing these numbers: + +9--14--5--22--5--18--19--1--23--25--15--21--2--21--20--15--14--3--5-- +9--12--15--22--5--25--15--21--5--4--9--20--8--9--14--23--15--15--4. + +"Marvelous!" repeated the Tracer, smiling. "Now what _do_ you suppose +those numbers can stand for?" + +"Letters!" announced the Captain triumphantly. "Take the number nine, +for example. The ninth letter in the alphabet is I! Mr. Keen, suppose we +try writing down the letters according to that system!" + +"Suppose we do," agreed the Tracer gravely. + +So, counting under his breath, the young man set down the letters in the +following order, not attempting to group them into words: + +INEVERSAWYOUBUTONCEILOVEYOUEDITHINWOOD. + +Then he leaned back, excited, triumphant. + +"There you are!" he said; "only, of course, it makes no sense." He +examined it in silence, and gradually a hopeless expression effaced the +animation. "How the deuce am I going to separate that mass of letters +into words?" he muttered. + +"This way," said the Tracer, smilingly taking the pencil from his +fingers, and he wrote: I--NEVER--SAW--YOU--BUT--ONCE. I--LOVE--YOU. +EDITH INWOOD. + +Then he laid the pencil on the table and walked to the window. + +Once or twice he fancied that he heard incoherent sounds behind him. +And after a while he turned, retracing his steps leisurely. Captain +Harren, extremely pink, stood tugging at his short mustache and studying +the papers on the desk. + +"Well?" inquired the Tracer, amused. + +The young man pointed to the translation with unsteady finger. "W-what +on earth does that mean?" he demanded shakily. "Who is Edith Inwood? +W-what on earth does that cryptogram mean on the window pane in the +photograph? How did it come there? It isn't on my window pane, you see!" + +The Tracer said quietly: "That is not a photograph of your window." + +"What!" + +"No, Captain. Here! Look at it closely through this glass. There are +sixteen small panes in that sash; now count the panes in your +window--eight! Besides, look at that curtain. It is made of some figured +stuff like chintz. Now, look at your own curtain yonder! It is of plain +velour." + +"But--but I took that photograph! She stood there--there by that very +window!" + +The Tracer leaned over the photograph, examining it through the glass. +And, studying it, he said: "Do you still see _her_ in this photograph, +Captain Harren?" + +"Certainly. Can you not see her?" + +"No," murmured the Tracer, "but I see the window which she really stood +by when her phantom came here seeking you. And that is sufficient. Come, +Captain Harren, we are going out together." + +The Captain looked at him earnestly; something in Mr. Keen's eyes seemed +to fascinate him. + +"You think that--that it's likely we are g-going to see--_her_!" he +faltered. + +"If I were you," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, joining the tips of +his lean fingers meditatively--"If I were you I should wear a silk hat +and a frock coat. It's--it's afternoon, anyhow," he added deprecatingly, +"and we are liable to make a call." + +Captain Harren turned like a man in a dream and entered his bedroom. And +when he emerged he was dressed and groomed with pathetic precision. + +"Mr. Keen," he said, "I--I don't know why I am d-daring to hope for all +s-sorts of things. Nothing you have said really warrants it. But somehow +I'm venturing to cherish an absurd notion that I may s-see her." + +"Perhaps," said the Tracer, smiling. + +"Mr. Keen! You wouldn't say that if--if there was no chance, would you? +You wouldn't dash a fellow's hopes--" + +"No, I wouldn't," said Mr. Keen. "I tell you frankly that I expect to +find her." + +"To-day?" + +"We'll see," said Mr. Keen guardedly. "Come, Captain, don't look that +way! Courage, sir! We are about to execute a turning movement; but you +look like a Russian general on his way to the south front." + +Harren managed to laugh; they went out, side by side, descended the +elevator, and found a cab at the _porte-cochere_. Mr. Keen gave the +directions and followed the Captain into the cab. + +"Now," he said, as they wheeled south, "we are first going to visit the +Museum of Inscriptions and have this cipher translation verified. Here +is the cipher as I copied it. Hold it tightly, Captain; we've only a few +blocks to drive." + +Indeed they were already nearly there. The hansom drew up in front of a +plain granite building wedged in between some rather elaborate private +dwelling-houses. Over the door were letters of dull bronze: + + AMERICAN MUSEUM OF INSCRIPTIONS + +and the two men descended and entered a wide marble hall lined with +glass-covered cabinets containing plaster casts of various ancient +inscriptions and a few bronze and marble originals. Several female +frumps were nosing the exhibits. + +An attendant in livery stood in the middle distance. The Tracer walked +over to him. "I have an appointment to consult Miss Inwood," he +whispered. + +"This way, sir," nodded the attendant, and the Tracer signaled the +Captain to follow. + +They climbed several marble stairways, crossed a rotunda, and entered a +room--a sort of library. Beyond was a door which bore the inscription: + + ASSISTANT CURATOR + +"Now," said the Tracer of Lost Persons in a low voice to Captain Harren, +"I am going to ask you to sit here for a few minutes while I interview +the assistant curator. You don't mind, do you?" + +"No, I don't mind," said Harren wearily, "only, when are we going to +begin to search for--_her_?" + +"Very soon--I may say extremely soon," said Mr. Keen gravely. "By the +way, I think I'll take that sheet of paper on which I copied the cipher. +Thank you. I won't be long." + +The attendant had vanished. Captain Harren sat down by a window and +gazed out into the late afternoon sunshine. The Tracer of Lost Persons, +treading softly across the carpeted floor, approached the sanctuary, +turned the handle, and walked in, carefully closing the door behind him. + +There was a young girl seated at a desk by an open window; she looked up +quietly as he entered, then rose leisurely. + +"Miss Inwood?" + +"Yes." + +She was slender, dark-eyed, dark-haired--a lovely, wholesome young +creature; gracious and graceful. And that was all--for the Tracer of +Lost Persons could not see through the eyes of Captain Harren, and +perhaps that is why he was not able to discern a miracle of beauty in +the pretty girl who confronted him--no magic and matchless marvel of +transcendent loveliness--only a quiet, sweet-faced, dark-eyed young girl +whose features and figure were attractive in the manner that youth is +always attractive. But then it is a gift of the gods to see through eyes +anointed by the gods. + +The Tracer touched his gray mustache and bowed; the girl bowed very +sweetly. + +"You are Mr. Keen," she said; "you have an inscription for me to +translate." + +"A mystery for young eyes to interpret," he said, smiling. "May I sit +here--and tell my story before I show you my inscription?" + +"Please do," she said, seating herself at her desk and facing him, one +slender white hand supporting the oval of her face. + +The Tracer drew his chair a little forward. "It is a curious matter," he +said. "May I give you a brief outline of the details?" + +"By all means, Mr. Keen." + +"Then let me begin by saying that the inscription of which I have a copy +was probably scratched upon a window pane by means of a diamond." + +"Oh! Then--then it is not an ancient inscription, Mr. Keen." + +"The theme is ancient--the oldest theme in the world--love! The cipher +is old--as old as King Solomon." She looked up quickly. The Tracer, +apparently engrossed in his own story, went on with it. "Three years ago +the young girl who wrote this inscription upon the window pane of +her--her bedroom, I think it was--fell in love. Do you follow me, Miss +Inwood?" + +Miss Inwood sat very still--wide, dark eyes fixed on him. + +"Fell in love," repeated the Tracer musingly, "not in the ordinary way. +That is the point, you see. No, she fell in love at first sight; fell +in love with a young man whom she never before had seen, never again +beheld--and never forgot. Do you still follow me, Miss Inwood?" + +She made the slightest motion with her lips. + +"No," mused the Tracer of Lost Persons, "she never forgot him. I am not +sure, but I think she sometimes dreamed of him. She dreamed of him +awake, too. Once she inscribed a message to him, cutting it with the +diamond in her ring on the window pane--" + +A slight sound escaped from Miss Inwood's lips. "I beg your pardon," +said the Tracer, "did you say something?" + +The girl had risen, pale, astounded, incredulous. + +"Who are you?" she faltered. "What has this--this story to do with me?" + +"Child," said the Tracer of Lost Persons, "the Seal of Solomon is a +splendid mystery. All of heaven and earth are included within its +symbol. And more, more than you dream of, more than I dare fathom; and I +am an old man, my child--old, alone, with nobody to fear for, nothing to +dread, not even the end of all--because I am ready for that, too. Yet I, +having nothing on earth to dread, dare not fathom what that symbol may +mean, nor what vast powers it may exert on life. God knows. It may be +the very signet of Fate itself; the sign manual of Destiny." + +He drew the paper from his pocket, unrolled it, and spread it out under +her frightened eyes. + +"_That!_" she whispered, steadying herself blindly against the arm he +offered. She stood a moment so, then, shuddering, covered her eyes with +both hands. The Tracer of Lost Persons looked at her, turned and opened +the door. + +"Captain Harren!" he called quietly. Harren, pacing the anteroom, turned +and came forward. As he entered the door he caught sight of the girl +crouching by the window, her face hidden in her hands, and at the same +moment she dropped her hands and looked straight at him. + +"_You!_" she gasped. + +The Tracer of Lost Persons stepped out, closing the door. For a moment +he stood there, tall, gaunt, gray, staring vacantly into space. + +"She _was_ beautiful--when she looked at him," he muttered. + +For another minute he stood there, hesitating, glancing backward at the +closed door. Then he went away, stooping slightly, his top hat held +close against the breast of his tightly buttoned frock coat. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +During his first year of wedded bliss, Gatewood cut the club. When Kerns +wanted to see him he had to call like other people or, like other +people, accept young Mrs. Gatewood's invitations. + +"Why," said Gatewood scornfully, "should I, thirty-four years of age and +safely married, go to a club? Why should I, at my age, idle with a lot +of idlers and listen to stuffy stories from stuffier individuals? Do you +think that stale tobacco smoke, and the idiotically reiterated click of +billiard balls, and the vacant stare of the fashionably brainless, and +the meaningless exchange of banalities with the intellectually aimless +have any attractions for me?" + +Mrs. Gatewood raised her pretty eyes in silence; Kerns returned her +amused gaze rather blankly. + +"Clubs!" sniffed Gatewood. "What are clubs but pretexts for wasting +time? What mental, what spiritual stimulus can a man expect to find in a +club? Why, Kerns, when I look back a year and think what I was, and when +I look at you and think what you still are--" + +"John," said Mrs. Gatewood softly. + +"Oh, he knows it!" insisted her husband, "don't you, Tommy? You know the +sort of life you're leading, don't you? You know what a miserable, +aimless, selfish, unambitious, pitiable existence an unmarried man leads +who lives at his club; don't you?" + +"Certainly," said Kerns, blinking into the smiling gaze of Mrs. +Gatewood. + +"Then why don't you marry?" + +But Kerns had risen and was making his adieus with cheerful decision; +and Mrs. Gatewood was laughing as she gave him her slender hand. + +"Now I know a girl--" began Gatewood; but his wife was still speaking to +Kerns, so he circled around them, politely suppressing the excitement of +a sudden idea struggling for utterance. + +Mrs. Gatewood was saying: "I do wish John would go to his clubs +occasionally. Because a man is married is no reason for his losing touch +with his clubs--" + +"I know a girl," broke in Gatewood excitedly, laying his arm on Kerns's +to detain him; but Kerns slid sideways through the door with a smile so +noncommittal that Mrs. Gatewood laughed again and, linking her arm in +her husband's, faced partly toward him. This maneuver, and the +slightest pressure of her shoulder, obliged her husband to begin a +turning movement, so that Kerns might reasonably make his escape in the +middle of Gatewood's sentence; which he did with nimble and circumspect +agility. + +"I--I know a--" began Gatewood desperately, twisting his head over his +shoulder, only to hear the deadened patter of his friend's feet over the +velvet stair carpet and the subdued clang of the front door. + +"Isn't it extraordinary?" he said to his wife. "I've been trying to tell +Tommy, every time he comes here, about a girl I know--just the very girl +he ought to marry; and something prevents him from listening every +time." + +The attractive young matron beside him turned her face so that her eyes +were directly in line with his. + +"Did you ever know any people named Manners?" she asked. + +"No. Why?" + +"You never knew a girl named Marjorie Manners, did you, John?" + +"No. What about her?" + +"You never heard Mr. Kerns speak of her, did you, dear?" + +"No, never. Tommy doesn't talk about girls." + +"You never heard him speak of a Mrs. Stanley?" + +"Never. Who are these two women?" + +"One and the same, dear. Marjorie Manners married an Englishman named +Stanley six years ago. Do you happen to recollect that Mr. Kerns took +his vacation in England six years ago?" + +"Yes. What of it?" + +"He crossed to Southampton with Marjorie and her mother. He didn't know +she was going over to be married, and she didn't tell him. She wrote to +me about it, though. I was in school at Farmington; she left school to +marry--a mere child of eighteen, undeveloped for her age, thin, almost +scrawny, with pipe-stem arms and neck, red hair, a very sweet, +full-lipped mouth, and gray eyes that were too big for her face." + +"Well," said Gatewood with a short laugh, "what about it? You don't +think Kerns fell in love with an insect of that genus, do you?" + +"Yes, I do," smiled Mrs. Gatewood. + +"Nonsense. Besides, what of it? She's married, you say." + +"Her husband died of enteric at Ladysmith. She wrote me. She has never +remarried. Think of it, John--in all these years she has never +remarried!" + +"Oh!" said Gatewood pityingly; "do you really suppose that Tommy Kerns +has been nursing a blighted affection all these years without ever +giving _me_ an inkling? Besides, men don't do that; men don't curl up +and blight. Besides, men don't take any stock in big-eyed, flat-chested, +red-headed pipe stems. Why do you think that Kerns ever cared for her?" + +"I know he did." + +"How do you know it?" + +"From Marjorie's letters." + +"The conceited kid! Well, of all insufferable nerve! A man like Kerns--a +man--one of the finest, noblest characters--spiritually, intellectually, +physically--a practically faultless specimen of manhood! And a +red-headed, spindle-legged--Oh, my! Oh, fizz! Dearest, men don't worship +a cage of bones with an eighteen-year-old soul in it--like a nervous +canary pecking out at the world!" + +"She created a furor in England," observed his wife, smiling. + +"Oh, I dare say she might over there. Besides, she's doubtless fattened +up since then. But if you suppose for one moment that Tommy could even +remember a girl like that--" + +Mrs. Gatewood smiled again--the wise, sweet smile of a young matron in +whom her husband's closest friend had confided. And after a moment or +two the wise smile became more thoughtful and less assured; for that +very day the Tracer of Lost Persons had called on her to inquire about a +Mrs. Stanley--a new client of his who had recently bought a town house +in East Eighty-third Street and a country house on Long Island; and who +had applied to him to find her fugitive butler and a pint or two of +family jewels. And, after her talk with the Tracer of Lost Persons, Mrs. +Gatewood knew that her favorite among all her husband's friends, Mr. +Kerns, would never of his own volition go near that same Marjorie +Manners who had flirted with him to the very perilous verge before she +told him why she was going to England--and who, now a widow, had +returned with her five-year-old daughter to dwell once more in the city +of her ancestors. + +Kerns had said very simply: "She has spoiled women for me--all except +you, Mrs. Gatewood. And if Jack hadn't married you--" + +"I understand, Mr. Kerns. I'm awfully sorry." + +"Don't feel sorry; only, if you can, call Jack off. He's been perfectly +possessed to marry me to somebody ever since he married you. And if I +told him why I don't care to consider the matter he wouldn't believe +me--he'd spend his life in trying to bring me around. Besides, I +couldn't ever tell him about--Marjorie Manners. Anyhow, nothing on earth +could ever induce me to look at her again. . . . You say she is now a +widow?" + +"Yes, Mr. Kerns, and very beautiful." + +"Never again," muttered Kerns. "Never! She was homely enough when I +asked her to marry me. I don't want to see her; I don't want to know +what she looks like. I'm glad she has changed so I wouldn't recognize +her, for that means the end of it all--the final elimination of the girl +I remember on the ship. . . . It was probably a sort of diseased +infatuation, wasn't it, Mrs. Gatewood? Think of it! A few days on +shipboard and--and I asked her to marry me! . . . I don't blame her, +after all, for letting me dangle. It was an excellent opportunity for +her to study a rare species of idiot. She was justified and I am +satisfied. Only, do call Jack off with a hint or two." + +"I shall try," said young Mrs. Gatewood thoughtfully--very thoughtfully, +for already every atom and fiber of her femininity was aroused in behalf +of these two estranged young people whom Providence certainly had not +meant to put asunder. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +"Nothing," said Gatewood firmly, "can make me believe that Kerns ought +not to marry somebody; and I'm never going to let up on him until he +does. I'll bet I could fix him for life if I called in the Tracer to +help me. Isn't it extraordinary how Kerns has kept out of it all these +years?" + +The attractive girl beside him turned her face once more so that her +clear, sweet eyes were directly in line with his. + +"It _is_ extraordinary," she said seriously. "I think you ought to drop +in at the club some day when you can corner him and bully him." + +"I don't want to go to the club," said the infatuated man. + +"Why, dear?" + +He looked straight at her and she flushed prettily, while a tint of +color touched his own face. Which was very nice of him. So she didn't +say what she was going to say--that it would be perhaps better for them +both if he practiced on her an artistic absence now and then. Younger in +years, she was more mature than he. She knew. But she was too much in +love with him to salt their ambrosia with common sense or suggest +economy in their use of the nectar bottle. + +However, the gods attend to that, and she knew they would, and she let +them. So one balmy evening late in May, when the new moon's ghost +floated through the upper haze, and the golden Diana above Manhattan +turned flame color, and the electric lights began to glimmer along Fifth +Avenue, and the first faint scent of the young summer freshened the +foliage in square and park, Kerns, stopping at the club for a moment, +found Gatewood seated at the same window they both were wont to haunt in +earlier and more flippant days. + +"Are you dining here?" inquired Kerns, pushing the electric button with +enthusiasm. "Well, that's the first glimmer of common sense you've +betrayed since you've been married!" + +"Dining _here_!" repeated Gatewood. "I should hope not! I am just going +home--" + +"He's thoroughly cowed," commented Kerns; "every married man you meet at +the club is just going home." But he continued to push the button, +nevertheless. + +Gatewood leaned back in his chair and gazed about him, nose in the air. +"What a life!" he observed virtuously. "It's all I can do to stand it +for ten minutes. You're here for the evening, I suppose?" he added +pityingly. + +"No," said Kerns; "I'm going uptown to Billy Lee's house to get my suit +case. His family are out of town, and he is at Seabright, so he let me +camp there until the workmen finish papering my rooms upstairs. I'm to +lock up the house and send the key to the Burglar Alarm Company +to-night. Then I go to Boston on the 12.10. Want to come? There'll be a +few doing." + +"To Boston! What for?" + +"Contracts! We can go out to Cambridge when I've finished my business. +There'll be _etwas_ doing." + +"_Can't_ you ever recover from being an undergraduate?" asked Gatewood, +disgusted. + +"Well--is there anything the matter with a man getting next to a little +amusement in life?" asked Kerns. "Do you object to my being happy?" + +"Amusement? You don't know how to amuse yourself. You don't know how to +be happy. Here you sit, day after day, swallowing Martinis--" He paused +to finish his own, then resumed: "Here you sit, day after day, +intellectually stultified, unemotionally ignorant of the higher and +better life--" + +"No, I don't. I've a book upstairs that tells all about that. I read it +when I have holdovers--" + +"Kerns, I wish to speak seriously. I've had it on my mind ever since I +married. May I speak frankly?" + +"Well, when I come back from Boston--" + +"Because I know a girl," interrupted Gatewood--"wait a moment, +Tommy!"--as Kerns rose and sauntered toward the door--"you've plenty of +time to catch your train and be civil, too! I mean to tell you about +that girl, if you'll listen." + +Kerns halted and turned upon his friend a pair of eyes, unwinking in +their placid intelligence. + +"I was going to say that I know a girl," continued Gatewood, "who is +just the sort of a girl you--" + +"No, she isn't!" said Kerns, wheeling to resume his progress toward the +cloakroom. + +"Tom!" + +Kerns halted. + +"_You're_ a fine specimen!" commented Gatewood scornfully. "You spent +the best years of your life in persuading me to get married, and the +first time I try to do the same for you, you make for the tall timber!" + +"I know it," admitted Kerns, unashamed; "I'm bashful. I'm a chipmunk for +shyness, so I'll say good night--" + +"Come back," said Gatewood coldly. + +"But my suit case--" + +"You left it at the Lee's, didn't you? Well, you've time enough to go +there, get it, make your train, and listen to me, too. Look here, Kerns, +have you any of the elements of decency about you?" + +"No," said Kerns, "not a single element." He seated himself defiantly in +the club window facing Gatewood and began to button his gloves. When he +had finished he settled his new straw hat more comfortably on his head, +and, leaning forward and balancing his malacca walking stick across his +knees, gazed at Gatewood with composure. + +"Crank up!" he said pleasantly; "I'm going in less than three minutes." +He pushed the electric knob as an afterthought, and when the gilt +buttons of the club servant glimmered through the dusk, "Two more," he +explained briskly. After a few moments' silence, broken by the tinkle of +ice in thin glassware, Gatewood leaned forward, menacing his friend with +an impressive forefinger: + +"Did you or didn't you once tell me that a decent citizen ought to +marry?" + +"I did, dear friend." + +"Did I or didn't I do it?" + +"In the words of the classic, you _done_ it," admitted Kerns. + +"Was I or wasn't I going to the devil before I had the sense to marry?" +persisted Gatewood. + +"You was! You _was_, dear friend!" said Kerns with enthusiasm. "You had +almost went there ere I appeared and saved you." + +"Then why shouldn't you marry and let me save you?" + +"But I'm not going to the bowwows. _I'm_ all right. I'm a decent +citizen. I awake in the rosy dawn with a song on my lips; I softly +whistle rag time as I button my collar; I warble a few delicious vagrant +notes as I part my sparse hair; I'm not murderous before breakfast; I go +down town, singing, to my daily toil; I fish for fat contracts in +Georgia marble; I return uptown immersed in a holy calm and the evening +paper. I offer myself a cocktail; I bow and accept; I dress for dinner +with the aid of a rascally valet, but--_do_ I swear at him? No, dear +friend; I say, 'Henry, I have known far, far worse scoundrels than you. +Thank you for filling up my bay rum with water. Bless you for wearing +my imported hosiery! I deeply regret that my new shirts do not fit you, +Henry!' And my smile is a benediction upon that wayward scullion. Then, +dear friend, why, why do you desire to offer me up upon the altar of +unrest? What is a little wifey to me or I to any wifey?" + +"Because," said Gatewood irritated, "you offered me up. I'm happy and I +want you to be--you great, hulking, self-satisfied symbol of supreme +self-centered selfishness--" + +"Oh, splash!" said Kerns feebly. + +"Yes, you are. What do you do all day? Grub for money and study how to +make life agreeable to yourself! Every minute of the day you are +occupied in having a good time! You've admitted it! You wake up singing +like a fool canary; you wear imported hosiery; you've made a soft, warm +wallow for yourself at this club, and here you bask your life away, +waddling downtown to nail contracts and cut coupons, and uptown to +dinners and theaters, only to return and sprawl here in luxury without +one single thought for posterity. _Your_ crime is race suicide!" + +"I--my--_what_!" + +"Certainly. Some shirk taxes, some jury duty. _You_ shirk fatherhood, +and all its happy and sacred obligations! You deny posterity! You strike +a blow at it! You flout it! You menace the future of this Republic! +Your inertia is a crime against the people! Instead of _pro bono +publico_ your motto is _pro bono tempo_--for a good time! And, dog Latin +or not, it's the truth, and our great President" + +"Splash!" said Kerns, rising. + +"I've a good mind," said Gatewood indignantly, "to put the Tracer of +Lost Persons on your trail. He'd rope you and tie you in record time!" + +Kerns's smile was a provocation. + +"I'll do it, too!" added Gatewood, losing his temper, "if you dare give +me the chance." + +"Seriously," inquired Kerns, delighted, "_do_ you think your friend, Mr. +Keen, could encompass my matrimony against my better sense and the full +enjoyment of my unimpaired mental faculties?" + +"Didn't he--fortunately for me--force me into matrimony when I had never +seen a woman I would look at twice? Didn't you put him up to it? Very +well, why can't I put him on your trail then? Why can't _he_ do the same +for you?" + +"Try it, dear friend," retorted Kerns courteously. + +"Do you mean that you are not afraid? Do you mean you give me full +liberty to set him on you? And do you realize what that means? No, you +don't; for you haven't a notion of what that man, Westrel Keen, can +accomplish. You haven't the slightest idea of the machinery which he +controls with a delicacy absolutely faultless; with a perfectly +terrifying precision. Why, man, the Pinkerton system itself has become +merely a detail in the immense complexity of the system of control which +the Tracer of Lost Persons exercises over this entire continent. The +urban police, the State constabulary of Pennsylvania, the rural systems +of surveillance, the Secret Service, all municipal, provincial, State, +and national organizations form but a few strands in the universal web +he has woven. Custom officials, revenue officers, the militia of the +States, the army, the navy, the personnel of every city, State, and +national legislative bodies form interdependent threads in the mesh he +is master of; and, like a big beneficent spider, he sits in the center +of his web, able to tell by the slightest tremor of any thread exactly +where to begin investigations!" + +Flushed, earnest, a trifle out of breath with his own eloquence, +Gatewood waved his hand to indicate a Ciceronian period, adding, as +Kerns's incredulous smile broadened: "Say splash again, and I'll put you +at his mercy!" + +"Ker-splash! dear friend," observed Kerns pleasantly. "If a man doesn't +want to marry, the army, the navy, the Senate, the white wings, and the +great White Father at Washington can't make him." + +"I tell you I want to see you happy!" said Gatewood angrily. + +"Then gaze upon me. I'm it!" + +"You're not! You don't know what happiness is." + +"Don't I? Well, I don't miss it, dear friend--" + +"But if you've never had it, and therefore don't miss it, it's time +somebody found some real happiness for you. Kerns, I simply can't bear +to see you missing so much happiness--" + +"Why grieve?" + +"Yes, I will! I do grieve--in spite of your grinning skepticism and your +bantering attitude. See here, Tom; I've started about a thousand times +to say that I knew a girl--" + +"Do you want to hear that splash again?" + +Gatewood grew madder. He said: "I could easily lay your case before Mr. +Keen and have you in love and married and happy whether you like it or +not!" + +"If I were not going to Boston, my son, I should enjoy your misguided +efforts," returned Kerns blandly. + +"Your going to Boston makes no difference. The Tracer of Lost Persons +doesn't care where you go or what you do. If he starts in on your case, +Tommy, you can't escape." + +"You mean he can catch me now? Here? At my own club? Or on the public +highway? Or on the classic Boston train?" + +"He _could_. Yes, I firmly believe he could land you before you ever saw +the Boston State House. I tell you he can work like lightning, Kerns. I +know it; I am so absolutely convinced of it that I--I almost hesitate--" + +"Don't feel delicate about it," laughed Kerns; "you may call him on the +telephone while I go uptown and get my suit case. Perhaps I'll come back +a blushing bridegroom; who knows?" + +"If you'll wait here I'll call him up now," said Gatewood grimly. + +"Oh, very well. Only I left my suit case in Billy's room, and it's full +of samples of Georgia marble, and I've got to get it to the train." + +"You've plenty of time. If you'll wait until I talk to Mr. Keen I'll +dine with you here. Will you?" + +"What? Dine in this abandoned joint with an outcast like me? Dear +friend, are you dippy this lovely May evening?" + +"I'll do it if you'll wait. Will you? And I'll bet you now that I'll +have you in love and sprinting toward the altar before we meet again at +this club. Do you dare bet?" + +"The terms of the wager, kind friend?" drawled Kerns, delighted; and he +fished out a notebook kept for such transactions. + +"Let me see," reflected Gatewood; "you'll need a silver service when +you're married. . . . Well, say, forks and spoons and things against an +imported trap gun--twelve-gauge, you know." + +"Done. Go and telephone to your friend, Mr. Keen." And Kerns pushed the +electric button with a jeering laugh, and asked the servant for a dinner +card. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Gatewood, in the telephone booth, waited impatiently for Mr. Keen; and +after a few moments the Tracer of Lost Persons' agreeable voice sounded +in the receiver. + +"It's about Mr. Kerns," began Gatewood; "I want to see him happy, and +the idiot won't be. Now, Mr. Keen, you know what happiness you and he +brought to me! You know what sort of an idle, selfish, aimless, +meaningless life you saved me from? I want you to do the same for Mr. +Kerns. I want to ask you to take up his case at once. Besides, I've a +bet on it. Could you attend to it at once?" + +"To-night?" asked the Tracer, laughing. + +"Why--ah--well, of course, that would be impossible. I suppose--" + +"My profession is to overcome the impossible, Mr. Gatewood. Where is Mr. +Kerns?" + +"Here, in this club, defying me and drinking cocktails. He won't get +married, and I want you to make him do it." + +"Where is he spending the evening?" asked the Tracer, laughing again. + +"Why, he's been stopping at the Danforth Lees' in Eighty-third Street +until the workmen at the club here finish putting new paper on his +walls. The Lees are out of town. He left his suit case at their house +and he's going up to get it and catch the 12.10 train for Boston." + +"He goes from the Lenox Club to the residence of Mr. W. Danforth Lee, +East Eighty-third Street, to get a suit case," repeated the Tracer. "Is +that correct?" + +"Yes." + +"What is in the suit case?" + +"Samples of that new marble he's quarrying in Georgia." + +"Is it an old suit case? Has it Mr. Kerns's initials on it?" + +"Hold the wire; I'll find out." + +And Gatewood left the telephone and walked into the great lounging room, +where Kerns sat twirling his stick and smiling to himself. + +"All over, dear friend?" inquired Kerns, starting to rise. "I've ordered +a corking dinner." + +"Wait!" returned Gatewood ominously. "What sort of a suit case is that +one you're going after?" + +"What sort? Oh, just an ordinary--" + +"Is it old or new?" + +"Brand new. Why?" + +"Is your name on it?" + +"No; why? Would that thicken the plot, dear friend? Or is the Tracer +foiled, ha! ha!" + +Gatewood turned on his heel, went back to the telephone, and, carefully +shutting the door of the booth, took up the receiver. + +"It's a new suit case, Mr. Keen," he said; "no initials on it--just an +ordinary case." + +"Mr. Lee's residence is 38 East Eighty-third Street, between Madison and +Fifth, I believe." + +"Yes," replied Gatewood. + +"And the family are out of town?" + +"Yes." + +"Is there a caretaker there?" + +"No; Mr. Kerns camped there. When he leaves to-night he will send the +key to the Burglar Alarm Company." + +"Very well. Please hold the wire for a while." + +For ten full minutes Gatewood sat gleefully cuddling the receiver +against his ear. His faith in Mr. Keen was naturally boundless; he +believed that whatever the Tracer attempted could not result in failure. +He desired nothing in the world so ardently as to see Kerns safely +married. His own happiness may have been the motive power which had set +him in action in behalf of his friend--that and a certain indefinable +desire to practice a species of heavenly revenge, of grateful +retaliation upon the prime mover and _collaborateur_, if not the sole +author, of his own wedded bliss. Kerns had made him happy. + +"And I'm hanged if I don't pay him off and make him happy, too!" +muttered Gatewood. "Does he think I'm going to sit still and see him go +tearing and gyrating about town with no responsibility, no moral check +to his evolutions, no wholesome home duties to limit his acrobatics, no +wife to clip his wings? It's time he had somebody to report to; time he +assumed moral burdens and spiritual responsibilities. A man is just as +happy when he is certain where he is going to sleep. A man can find just +as much enjoyment in life when he feels it his duty to account for his +movements. I don't care whether Kerns is comparatively happy or +not--there's nothing either sacred or holy in that kind of happiness, +and I'm not going to endure the sort of life he likes any longer!" + +Immersed in moral reflections, inspired by affectionate obligations to +violently inflict happiness upon Kerns, the minutes passed very +agreeably until the amused voice of the Tracer of Lost Persons sounded +again in the receiver. + +"Mr. Gatewood?" + +"Yes, I am here, Mr. Keen." + +"Do you really think it best for Mr. Kerns to fall in love?" + +"I do, certainly!" replied Gatewood with emphasis. + +"Because," continued the Tracer of Lost Persons, "I see little chance +for him to do otherwise if I take up this case. Fate itself, in the +shape of a young lady, is already on the way here in a railroad train." + +"Good! Good!" exclaimed Gatewood. "Don't let him escape, Mr. Keen! I beg +of you to take up his case! I urge you most seriously to do so. Mr. +Kerns is now exactly what I was a year ago--an utterly useless member of +the community--a typical bachelor who lives at his clubs, shirking the +duties of a decent citizen." + +"_Ex_actly," said the Tracer. "Do you insist that I take this case? That +I attempt to trace and find for Mr. Kerns a sort of happiness he himself +has never found?" + +"I implore you to do so, Mr. Keen." + +"_Ex_actly. If I do--if I carry it out as it has been arranged--or +rather as the case seems to have already arranged itself, for it is +rather a simple matter, I fancy--I do not exactly see how Mr. Kerns can +avoid experiencing a--ahem--a tender sentiment for the very charming +young lady whom I--and chance--have designed for him as a partner +through life." + +"Excellent! Splendid!" shouted Gatewood through the telephone. "Can I do +anything to aid you in this?" + +"Yes," replied the Tracer, laughing. "If you can keep him amused for an +hour or two before he goes after his suit case it might make it easier +for me. This young lady is due to arrive in New York at eight o'clock--a +client of mine--coming to consult me. Her presence plays an important +part in Mr. Kerns's future. I wish you to detain Mr. Kerns until she is +ready to receive him. But of this he must know nothing. Good-by, Mr. +Gatewood, and would you be kind enough to present my compliments to Mrs. +Gatewood?" + +"Indeed I will! We never can forget what you have done for us. Good-by." + +"Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. Try to keep Mr. Kerns amused for two or three +hours. Of course, if you can't do this, there are other methods I may +employ--a dozen other plans already partly outlined in my mind; but the +present plan, which accident and coincidence make so easy, is likely to +work itself out to your entire satisfaction within a few hours. We are +already weaving a web around Mr. Kerns; we already have taken exclusive +charge of his future movements after he leaves the Lenox Club. I do not +believe he can escape us, or his charming destiny. Good night!" + +Gatewood, enchanted, hung up the receiver. Song broke softly from his +lips as he started in search of Kerns; his step was springy, +buoyant--sort of subdued and modest prance. + +"Now," he said to himself, "Tommy must take out his papers. The time is +ended when he can issue letters of marque to himself, hoist sail, square +away, and go cruising all over this metropolis at his own sweet will." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +In the meanwhile, at the other end of the wire, Mr. Keen, the Tracer of +Lost Persons, was preparing to trace for Mr. Kerns, against that +gentleman's will, the true happiness which Mr. Kerns had never been able +to find for himself. + +He sat in his easy chair within the four walls of his own office, +inspecting a line of people who stood before him on the carpet forming a +single and attentive rank. In this rank were five men: a policeman, a +cab driver, an agent of the telephone company, an agent of the electric +company, and a reformed burglar carrying a kit of his trade tools. + +The Tracer of Lost Persons gazed at them, meditatively joining the tips +of his thin fingers. + +"I want the number on 36 East Eighty-third Street changed to No. 38, and +the number 38 replaced by No. 36," he said to the policeman. "I want it +done at once. Get a glazier and go up there and have it finished in an +hour. Mrs. Kenna, caretaker at No. 36, is in my pay; she will not +interfere. There is nobody in No. 38: Mr. Kerns leaves there to-night +and the Burglar Alarm Company takes charge to-morrow." + +And, turning to the others: "You," nodding at the reformed burglar, +"know your duty. Mike!" to the cab driver, "don't miss Mr. Kerns at the +Lenox Club. If he calls you before eleven, drive into the park and have +an accident. And you," to the agent of the telephone company, "will +sever all telephone connection in Mrs. Stanley's house; and you," to the +official of the electric company, "will see that the circuit in Mrs. +Stanley's house is cut so that no electric light may be lighted and no +electric bell sound." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons stroked his gray mustache thoughtfully. "And +that," he ended, "will do, I think. Good night." + +He rose and stood by the door as the policeman headed the solemn file +which marched out to their duty; then he looked at his watch, and, as it +was already a few minutes after eight, he called up No. 36 East +Eighty-third Street, and in a moment more had Mrs. Stanley on the wire. + +"Good evening," he said pleasantly. "I suppose you have just arrived +from Rosylyn. I may be a little late--I may be very late, in fact, so I +called you up to say so. And I wished to say another thing; to ask you +whether your servants could recollect ever having seen a young man +about the place, a rather attractive young man with excellent address +and manners, five feet eleven inches, slim but well built, dark hair, +dark eyes, and dark mustache, offering samples of Georgia marble for +sale." + +"Really, Mr. Keen," replied a silvery voice, "I have heard them say +nothing about such an individual. If you will hold the wire I will ask +my maid." And, after a pause: "No, Mr. Keen, my maid cannot remember any +such person. Do you think he was a confederate of that wretched butler +of mine?" + +"I am scarcely prepared to say that; in fact," added Mr. Keen, "I +haven't the slightest idea that this young man could have been concerned +in anything of that sort. Only, if you should ever by any chance see +such a man, detain him if possible until you can communicate with me; +detain him by any pretext, by ruse, by force if you can, only detain him +until I can get there. Will you do this?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Keen, if I can. Please describe him again?" + +Mr. Keen did so minutely. + +"You say he sells Georgia marble by samples, which he carries in a suit +case?" + +"He _says_ that he has samples of Georgia marble in his suit case," +replied the Tracer cautiously. "It might be well, if possible, to see +what he has in his suit case." + +"I will warn the servants as soon as I return to Rosylyn. When may I +expect you this evening, Mr. Keen?" + +"It is impossible to say, Mrs. Stanley. If I am not there by midnight I +shall try to call next morning." + +So they exchanged civil adieus; the Tracer hung up his receiver and +leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself. + +"Curious," he said, "that chance should have sent that pretty woman to +me at such a time. . . . Kerns _is_ a fine fellow, every inch of him. It +hit him hard when he crossed with her to Southampton six years ago; it +hit him harder when she married that Englishman. I don't wonder he never +cared to marry after that brief week of her society; for she is just +about the most charming woman I have ever met--red hair and all. . . . +And if quick action is what is required, it's well to break the ice +between them at once with a dreadful misunderstanding." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +The dinner that Kerns had planned for himself and Gatewood was an +ingenious one, cunningly contrived to discontent Gatewood with home fare +and lure him by its seductive quality into frequent revisits to the club +which was responsible for such delectable wines and viands. + +A genial glow already enveloped Gatewood and pleasantly suffused Kerns. +From time to time they held some rare vintage aloft, squinting through +the crystal-imprisoned crimson with deep content. + +"Not that _my_ word is necessarily the _last_ word concerning Burgundy," +said Gatewood modestly; "but I venture to doubt that any club in America +can match this bottle, Kerns." + +"Now, Jack," wheedled Kerns, "isn't it pleasant to dine here once in a +while? Be frank, man! Look about at the other tables--at all the +pleasant, familiar faces--the same fine fellows, bless 'em--the same +smoky old ceiling, the same bum portraits of dead governors, the same +old stag heads on the wall. Now, Jack, isn't it mighty pleasant, after +all? Be a gentleman and admit it!" + +"Y-yes," confessed Gatewood, "it's all right for me once in a while, +because I know that I am presently going back to my own home--a jolly +lamplit room and the prettiest girl in Manhattan curled up in an +armchair--" + +"You're fortunate," said Kerns shortly. And for the first time there +remained no lurking mockery in his voice; for the first time his retort +was tinged with bitterness. But the next instant his eyes glimmered with +the same gay malice, and the unbelieving smile twitched at his clean-cut +lips, and he raised his hand, touching the short ends of his mustache +with that careless, amused cynicism which rather became him. + +"All that you picture so entrancingly is forbidden the true believer," +he said; and began to repeat: + + "'O weaver! weave the flowers of Feraghan + Into the fabric that thy birth began; + Iris, narcissus, tulips cloud-band tied, + These thou shalt picture for the eye of Man; + Henna, Herati, and the Jhelums tide + In Sarraband and Saruk be thy guide, + And the red dye of Ispahan beside + The checkered Chinese fret of ancient gold; + --So heed the ban, old as the law is old, + Nor weave into thy warp the laughing face, + Nor limb, nor body, nor one line of grace, + Nor hint, nor tint, nor any veiled device + Of Woman who is barred from Paradise!'" + +"A nice sentiment!" said Gatewood hotly. + +"Can't help it; you see I'm forbidden to monkey with the eternal looms +or weave the forbidden into the pattern of my life." + +Gatewood sat silent for a moment, then looked up at Kerns with something +so closely akin to a grin that his friend became interested in its +scarcely veiled significance, and grinned in reply. + +"So you really expect that your friend, Mr. Keen, is going to marry me +to somebody, _nolens volens_?" asked Kerns. + +"I do. That's what I dream of, Tommy." + +"My poor friend, dream on!" + +"I am. Tommy, you're lost! I mean you're as good as married now!" + +"You think so?" + +"I _know_ it! There you sit, savoring your Burgundy, idling over a +cigar, happy, care free, fancy free, at liberty, as you believe, to roam +off anywhere at any time and continue the eternal hunt for pleasure! +That's what you _think_! Ha! Tommy, I know better! That's not the sort +of man _I_ see sitting on the same chair where you are now sprawling in +such content! I see a doomed man, already in the shadow of the altar, +wasting his time unsuspiciously while Chance comes whirling into the +city behind a Long Island locomotive, and Fate, the footman, sits +outside ready to follow him, and Destiny awaits him no matter what he +does, what he desires, where he goes, wherever he turns to-night! +Destiny awaits him at his journey's end!" + +"Very fine," said Kerns admiringly. "Too bad it's due to the Burgundy." + +"Never mind what my eloquence is due to," retorted Gatewood, "the fact +remains that this is probably your last bachelor dinner. Kerns, old +fellow! Here's to her! Bless her! I--I wish sincerely that we knew who +she is and where to send those roses. Anyway, here's to the bride!" + +He stood up very gravely and drank the toast, then, reseating himself, +tapped the empty glass gently against the table's edge until it broke. + +"You are certainly doing your part well," said Kerns admiringly. Then he +swallowed the remainder of his Burgundy and looked up at the club clock. + +"Eleven," he said with regret. "I've about time to go to Eighty-third +Street, get my suit case, and catch my train at 125th Street." To a +servant he said, "Call a hansom," then rose and sauntered downstairs to +the cloakroom, where presently both men stood, hatted and gloved, +swinging their sticks. + +"That was a fool bet you made," began Kerns; "I'll release you, Jack." + +"Sorry, but I must insist on holding you," replied Gatewood, laughing. +"You're going to your doom. Come on! I'll see you as far as the cab +door." + +They walked out, and Kerns gave the cabby the street and number and +entered the hansom. + +"Now," said Gatewood, "you're in for it! You're done for! You can't help +yourself! I've won my twelve-gauge trap gun already, and I'll have to +set you up in table silver, anyway, so it's an even break. You're all +in, Tommy! The Tracer is on your trail!" + +In the beginning of a flippant retort Kerns experienced a curious +sensation of hesitation. Something in Gatewood's earnestness, in his +jeering assurance and delighted certainty, made him, for one moment, +feel doubtful, even uncomfortable. + +"What nonsense you talk," he said, recovering his equanimity. "Nothing +on earth can prevent me driving to 38 East Eighty-third Street, getting +my luggage, and taking the Boston express. Your Tracer doesn't intend to +stop my hansom and drag me into a cave, does he? You haven't put +knock-outs into that Burgundy, have you? Then what in the dickens are +you laughing at?" + +But Gatewood, on the sidewalk under the lamplight, was still laughing as +Kerns drove away, for he had recognized in the cab driver a man he had +seen in Mr. Kern's office, and he knew that the Tracer of Lost Persons +had Kerns already well in hand. + +The hansom drove on through the summer darkness between rows of electric +globes drooping like huge white moon flowers from their foliated bronze +stalks, on up the splendid avenue, past the great brilliantly +illuminated hotels, past the white cathedral, past clubs and churches +and the palaces of the wealthy; on, on along the park wall edged by its +double rows of elms under which shadowy forms moved--lovers strolling in +couples. + +"Pooh," sniffed Kerns, "the whole world has gone love mad, and I'm the +only sane man left." + +But he leaned back in his cab and fell a-thinking of a thin girl with +red hair and great gray eyes--a thin, frail creature, scarcely more than +a child, who had held him for a week in a strange sorcery only to +release him with a frightened smile, leaving her indelible impression +upon his life forever. + +And, thinking, he looked up, realizing that the cab had stopped in East +Eighty-third Street before one of a line of brownstone houses, all +externally alike. + +Then he leaned out and saw that the house number was thirty-eight. That +was the number of the Lees' house; he descended, bade the cabman await +him, and, producing his latch key, started up the steps, whistling +gayly. + +But he didn't require his key, for, as he reached the front door, he +found, to his surprise and concern, that it swung partly open--just a +mere crack. + +"The mischief!" he muttered; "could I have failed to close it? Could +anybody have seen it and crept in?" + +He entered the hallway hastily and pressed the electric knob. No light +appeared in the sconces. + +"What the deuce!" he murmured; "something wrong with the switch!" And he +hurriedly lighted a match and peered into the darkness. By the vague +glimmer of the burning match he could distinguish nothing. He listened +intently, tried the electric switch again without success. The match +burned his fingers and he dropped it, watching the last red spark die +out in the darkness. + +Something about the shadowy hallway seemed unfamiliar; he went to the +door, stepped out on the stoop, and looked up at the number on the +transom. It was thirty-eight; no doubt about the house. Hesitating, he +glanced around to see that his hansom was still there. It had +disappeared. + +"What an idiot that cabman is!" he exclaimed, intensely annoyed at the +prospect of lugging his heavy suit case to a Madison Avenue car and +traveling with it to Harlem. + +He looked up and down the dimly lighted street; east, an electric car +glided down Madison Avenue; west, the lights of Fifth Avenue glimmered +against the dark foliage of the Park. He stood a moment, angry at the +desertion of his cabman, then turned and reentered the dark hall, +closing the door behind him. + +Up the staircase he felt his way to the first landing, and, lighting a +match, looked for the electric button. + +"Am I crazy, or was there no electric button in this hall?" he thought. +The match burned low; he had to drop it. Perplexed, he struck another +match and opened the door leading into the front room, and stood on the +threshold a moment, looking about him at the linen-shrouded furniture +and pictures. This front room, closed for the summer, he had not before +entered, but he stepped in now, poking about for any possible intruder, +lighting match after match. + +"I suppose I ought to go over this confounded house inch by inch," he +murmured. "What could have possessed me to leave the front door ajar +this morning?" + +For an instant he thought that perhaps Mrs. Nolan, the woman who came in +the morning to make his bed, might have left the door open, but he knew +that couldn't be so, because he always waited for her to finish her work +and leave before he went out. So either he must have left the door open, +or some marauder had visited the house--was perhaps at that moment in +the house! And it was his duty to find out. + +"I'd better be about it, too," he thought savagely, "or I'll never make +my train." + +He struck his last match, looked around, and, seeing gas jets among the +clustered electric bulbs of the sconces, tried to light one and +succeeded. + +He had left his suit case in the passageway between the front and rear +rooms, and now, cautiously, stick in hand, he turned toward the dim +corridor leading to the bedroom. There was his suit case, anyway! He +picked it up and started to push open the door of the rear room; but at +the same time, and before he could lay his hand on the knob, the door +before him opened suddenly in a flood of light, and a woman stood there, +dark against the gas-lit glare, a pistol waveringly extended in the +general direction of his head. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +"Good heavens!" he said, appalled, and dropped his suit case with a +crash. + +"W-what are you d-doing--" She controlled her voice and the wavering +weapon with an effort. "What are you doing in this house?" + +"Doing? In _this_ house?" he repeated, his eyes protruding in the +direction of the unsteady pistol muzzle. "What are _you_ doing in this +house--if you don't mind saying!" + +"I--I m-must ask you to put up your hands," she said. "If you move I +shall certainly s-shoot off this pistol." + +"It will go off, anyway, if you handle it like that!" he said, +exasperated. "What do you mean by pointing it at me?" + +"I mean to fire it off in a few moments if you don't raise your hands +above your head!" + +He looked at the pistol; it was new and shiny; he looked at the athletic +young figure silhouetted against the brilliant light. + +"Well, if you make a point of it, of course." He slowly held up both +hands, higher, then higher still. "Upon my word!" he breathed. "Held up +by a woman!" And he said aloud, bitterly: "No doubt you have assistance +close at hand." + +"No doubt," she said coolly. "What have you been packing into that +valise?" + +"P-packing into _what_? Oh, into that suit case? That is my suit case." + +"Of course it is," she said quietly, "but what have you inside it?" + +"Nothing _you_ or your friends would care for," he said meaningly. + +"I must be the judge of that," she retorted. "Please open that suit +case." + +"How can I if my hands are in the air?" he expostulated, now intensely +interested in the novelty of being held up by this graceful and vaguely +pretty silhouette. + +"You may lower your arms to unpack the suit case," she said. + +"I--I had rather not if you are going to keep me covered with your +pistol." + +"Of course I shall keep you covered. Unpack your booty at once!" + +"My--_what_?" + +"Booty." + +"Madam, do you take _me_ for a thief? Have you, by chance, entered the +wrong house? I--I cannot reconcile your voice with what I am forced to +consider you--a housebreaker--" + +"We will discuss that later. Unpack that bag!" she insisted. + +"But--but there is nothing in it except samples of marble--" + +"What!" she exclaimed nervously. "_What_ did you say? Samples of +_marble_?" + +"Marble, madam! Georgia marble!" + +"Oh! So _you_ are the young man who goes about pretending to peddle +Georgia marble from samples! Are you? The famous marble man I have heard +of." + +"I? Madam, I don't know what you mean!" + +"Come!" she said scornfully; "let me see the contents of that suit case. +I--I am not afraid of you; I am not a bit afraid of you. And I shall +catch your accomplice, too." + +"Madam, you speak like an honest woman! You _must_ have managed to enter +the wrong house. This is number thirty-eight, where I live." + +"It is number thirty-six; my house!" + +"But I _know_ it is number thirty-eight; Mr. Lee's house," he protested +hopefully. "This is some dreadful mistake." + +"Mr. Lee's house is next door," she said. "Do you not suppose I know my +own house? Besides, I have been warned against a plausible young man who +pretends he has Georgia marble to sell--" + +"There is a dreadful mistake somewhere," he insisted. "Please p-p-put up +your p-pistol and aid me to solve it. I am no robber, madam. I thought +at first that you were. I'm living in Mr. Lee's house, No. 38 East +Eighty-third Street, and I've looked carefully at the number over the +door of this house and the number is thirty-eight, and the street is +East Eighty-third. So I naturally conclude that I am in Mr. Lee's +house." + +"Your arguments and your conclusions are very plausible," she said, +"but, fortunately for me, I have been expressly warned against a young +man of your description. _You_ are the marble man!" + +"It's a mistake! A very dreadful one." + +"Then how did you enter this house?" + +"I have a key--I mean I found the front door unlatched. Please don't +misunderstand me; I know it sounds unconvincing, but I really have a key +to number thirty-eight." + +He attempted to reach for his pocket and the pistol glittered in his +face. + +"Won't you let me prove my innocence?" he asked. + +"You can't prove it by showing me a key. Besides, it's probably a +weapon. Anyhow, if, as you pretend, you have managed to get into the +wrong house, why did you bring that suit case up here?" + +"It was here. It's mine. I left it here in this passageway." + +"In _my_ house?" she asked incredulously. + +"In number thirty-eight; that is all I know. I'll open the suit case if +you will let me. I have already described its contents. If it has +samples of marble in it you _must_ be convinced!" + +"It will convince me that it is your valise. But what of that? I know it +is yours already," she said defiantly. "I know, at least, that you are +the marble man--if nothing worse!" + +"But malefactors don't go about carrying samples of Georgia marble," he +protested, dropping on one knee under the muzzle of her revolver and +tugging at the straps and buckles. In a second or two he threw open the +case--and the sight of the contents staggered him. For there, thrown in +pellmell among small square blocks of polished marble was a complete kit +of burglar's tools, including also a mask, a dark lantern, and a +blackjack. + +"What--w--w--what on earth is this?" he stammered. "These things don't +belong to me. I won't have them! I don't want them. Who put them into my +suit case? How the deuce--" + +"You _are_ the marble man!" she said with a shudder. "Your crimes are +known! Your wretched accomplice will be caught! You are the marble +man--or something worse!" + +Kneeling there, aghast, bewildered, he passed his hand across his eyes +as though to clear them from some terrible vision. But the suit case was +still there with its incriminating contents when he looked again. + +"I am sorry for you," she said tremulously. "I--if it were not for the +marble--I would let you go. But you are the marble man!" + +"Yes, and I'm probably a madman, too. I don't know what I am! I don't +know what is happening to me. I ought to be going, that is all I know--" + +"I cannot let you go." + +"But I must! I've got to catch a train." + +The feebleness of his excuse chilled her pity. + +"I shall not let you go," she said, resting the hand which held the +pistol on her hip, but keeping him covered. "I know you came to rob my +house; I know you are a thoroughly bad and depraved young man, but for +all that I could find it in my heart to let you go if you were not also +the _marble man_!" + +"What on earth is the marble man?" he asked, exasperated. + +"I don't know. I have been earnestly warned against him. Probably he is +a relative of my butler--" + +"I'm not a relative of anybody's butler!" + +"You _say_ you are not. How do I know? I--I will make you an offer. I +will give you one last chance. If you will return to me the jewels that +my butler took--" + +"Good heavens, madam! Do you really take me for a professional burglar?" + +"How can I help it?" she said indignantly. "Look at your suit case full +of lanterns and masks--full of _marble_, too!" + +Speechless, he stared at the burglar's kit. + +"I am sorry--" Her voice had altered again to a tremulous sweetness. "I +can't help feeling sorry for you. You do not seem to be hardened; your +voice and manner are not characteristically criminal. I--I can't see +your face very clearly, but it does not seem to be a brutally inhuman +face--" + +An awful desire to laugh seized Kerns; he struggled against it; +hysteria lay that way; and he covered his face with both hands and +pinched himself. + +She probably mistook the action for the emotion of shame and despair +born of bitter grief; perhaps of terror of the law. It frightened her a +little, but pity dominated. She could scarcely endure to do what she +must do. + +"This is dreadful, dreadful!" she faltered. "If you only would give me +back my jewels--" + +Sounds, hastily smothered, escaped him. She believed them to be groans, +and it made her slightly faint. + +"I--I've simply got to telephone for the police," she said pityingly. "I +must ask you to sit down there and wait--there is a chair. Sit +there--and please don't move, for I--this has unnerved me--I am not +accustomed to doing cruel things; and if you should move too quickly or +attempt to run away I feel certain that this pistol would explode." + +"Are you going to telephone?" he asked. + +"Yes, I am." + +She backed away, cautiously, pistol menacing him, reached for the +receiver, and waited for Central. She waited a long time before she +realized that the telephone as well as the electric light was out of +commission. + +"Did _you_ cut all these wires?" she demanded angrily. + +"I? What wires?" + +She reached out and pressed the electric button which should have rung a +bell in her maid's bedroom on the top floor. She kept her finger on the +button for ten minutes. It was useless. + +"You laid deliberate plans to rob this house," she said, her cheeks pink +with indignation. "I am not a bit sorry for you. I shall _not_ let you +go! I shall sit here until somebody comes to my assistance, if I have to +sit here for weeks and weeks!" + +"If you'd let me telephone to my club--" he began. + +"Your club! You are very plausible. You didn't offer to call up any club +until you found that the telephone was not working!" + +He thought a moment. "I don't suppose you would trust me to go out and +get a policeman?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Or go into the front room and open a window and summon some passer-by?" + +"How do I know you haven't confederates waiting outside?" + +"That's true," he said seriously. + +There was a silence. Her nerves seemed to trouble her, for she began to +pace to and fro in front of the passageway where he sat comfortably on +his chair, arms folded, one knee dropped over the other. + +The light being behind her he could not as yet distinguish her features +very clearly. Her figure was youthful, slender, yet beautifully rounded; +her head charming in contour. He watched her restlessly walking on the +floor, small hand clutching the pistol resting on her hip. + +The ruddy burnished glimmer on the edges of her hair he supposed, at +first, was caused by the strong light behind her. + +"This is atrocious!" she murmured, halting to confront him. "How dared +you sever every electric connection in my house?" + +As she spoke she stepped backward a pace or two, resting herself for a +moment against the footboard of the bed--full in the gaslight. And he +saw her face. + +For a moment he studied her; an immense wave of incredulity swept over +him--of wild unbelief, slowly changing to the astonishment of dawning +conviction. Astounded, silent, he stared at her from his shadowy corner; +and after a while his pulses began to throb and throb and hammer, and +the clamoring confusion of his senses seemed to deafen him. + +[Illustration: "'This is atrocious,' she murmured, halting to confront +him."] + +She rested a moment or two against the footboard of the bed, her big +gray eyes fixed on his vague and shadowy form. + +"This won't do," she said. + +"No," he said, "it won't do." + +He spoke very quietly, very gently. She detected the alteration in his +voice and started slightly, as though the distant echo of a familiar +voice had sounded. + +"What did you say?" she asked, coming nearer, pistol glittering in +advance. + +"I said 'It won't do.' I don't know what I meant by it. If I meant +anything I was wrong. It _will_ do. The situation is perfectly agreeable +to me." + +"Insolence will not help you," she said sharply. And under the sharpness +he detected the slightest quaver of a new alarm. + +"I am going to free myself," he said coolly. + +"If you move I shall certainly shoot!" she retorted. + +"I am going to move--but only my lips. I have only to move my lips to +free myself." + +"I should scarcely advise you to trust to your eloquence. I have been +duly warned, you see." + +"Who warned you?" he asked curiously. And, as she disdained to reply: +"Never mind. We can clear that up later. Now let me ask you something." + +"You are scarcely in a position to ask questions," she said. + +"May I not speak to you?" + +"Is it necessary?" + +He thought a moment. "No, not necessary. Nothing is in this life, you +know. I thought differently once. Once--when I was younger--six years +younger--I thought happiness was necessary. I found that a man might +live without it." + +She stood gazing at him through the shadows, pistol on hip. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. + +"I mean that happiness is not necessary to life. Life goes on all the +same. My life has continued for six years without that happiness which +some believe to be essential." + +After a silence she said: "I can tell by the way you speak that you are +well born. I--I dread to do what I simply must do." + +He, too, sat silent a long time--long enough for an utterly perverse and +whimsical humor to take complete possession of him. + +"_Won't_ you let me go--_this_ time?" he pleaded. + +"I cannot." + +"You had better let me go while you can," he said, "because, perhaps, +you may find it difficult to get rid of me later." + +Affronted, she shrank back from the doorway and stood in the center of +her room, angry, disdainful, beautiful, under the ruddy glory of her +lustrous hair. + +His perverse mood changed, too; he leaned forward, studying her +minutely--the splendid gray eyes, the delicate mouth and nose, the full, +sweet lips, the witchery of wrist and hand, and the flowing, rounded +outline of limb and body under the pretty gown. Could this be _she_? +This lovely, mature woman, wearing scarcely a trace of the young girl he +had never forgotten--scarcely a trace save in the beauty of her eyes and +hair--save in the full, red mouth, sweet and sensitive even in its +sudden sullenness? + +"Once," he said, and his voice sounded to him like voices heard in +dreams--"once, years and years ago, there was a steamer, and a man and a +young girl on board. Do you mind my telling you about it?" + +She stood leaning against the footboard of the bed, not even deigning to +raise her eyes in reply. So he made the slightest stir in his chair; and +then she looked up quickly enough, pistol poised. + +"The steamer," said Kerns slowly, "was coming into Southampton--six +years ago. On deck these two people stood--a man of twenty-eight, a girl +of eighteen--six years ago. The name of the steamer was the _Carnatic_. +Did you ever hear of that ship?" + +She was looking at him attentively. He waited for her reply; she made +none; and he went on. + +"The man had asked the girl something--I don't know what--I don't know +why her gray eyes filled with tears. Perhaps it was because she could +not do what the man asked her to do. It may have been to love him; it +may have been that he was asking her to marry him and that she couldn't. +Perhaps that is why there were tears in her eyes--because she may have +been sorry to cause him the pain of refusal--sorry, perhaps, perhaps a +little guilty. Because she must have seen that he was falling in love +with her, and she--she let him--knowing all the time that she was to +marry another man. Did you ever hear of that man before?" + +She had straightened up, quivering, wide eyed, lips parted. He rose and +walked slowly into her room, confronting her under the full glare of +light. + +Her pistol fell clattering to the floor. It did not explode because it +was not loaded. + +"Now," he said unsteadily, "will you give me my freedom? I have waited +for it--not minutes--but years--six years. I ask it now--the freedom I +enjoyed before I ever saw you. Can you give it back to me? Can you +restore to me a capacity for happiness? Can you give me a heart to love +with--love some woman, as other men love? Is it very much I ask of +you--to give me a chance in life--the chance I had before I ever saw +you?" + +Her big gray eyes seemed fascinated; he looked deep into them, smiling; +and she turned white. + +"Will you give me what I ask?" he said, still smiling. + +She strove to speak; she could not, but her eyes never faltered. +Suddenly the color flooded her neck and cheeks to the hair, and the +quick tears glimmered. + +"I--I did not understand; I was too young to be cruel," she faltered. +"How could I know what I was doing? Or what--what you did?" + +"I? To _you_?" + +"Y-yes. Did you think that I escaped heart free? Do you realize what +_my_ punishment was--to--to marry--and _remember_! If I was too young, +too inexperienced to know what I was doing, I was not too young to +suffer for it!" + +"You mean--" He strove to control his voice, but the sweet, fearless +gray eyes met his; the old flame leaped in his veins. He reached out to +steady himself and his hand touched hers--that soft, white hand that had +held him all these years in the hollow of its palm. + +"Did you _ever_ love me?" he demanded. + +Her eyes, wet with tears, met his straight as the starry gaze of a +child. + +"Yes," she said. + +His hand tightened over hers; she swayed a moment, quivering from head +to foot; then drawing a quick, sobbing breath, closed her eyes, +imprisoned in his arms; and, after a long while, aroused, she looked up +at him, her divine eyes unclosing dreamily. + +"Somebody is hammering at the front door," he breathed. "Listen!" + +"I hear. I believe it must be the Tracer of Lost Persons." + +"What?" + +"Only a Mr. Keen." + +"O Lord!" said Kerns faintly, and covered his face with her fragrant +hands. + +Very tenderly, very gravely, she drew her hands away, and, laying them +on his shoulders, looked up at him. + +"You--you know what there is in your suit case," she faltered; "_are_ +you a burglar, dear?" + +"Ask the Tracer of Lost Persons," said Kerns gently, "what sort of a +criminal I am!" + +They stood together for one blissful moment listening to the loud +knocking below, then, hand in hand, they descended the dark stairway to +admit the Tracer of Lost Persons. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +On the thirteenth day of March, 1906, Kerns received the following cable +from an old friend: + + "Is there anybody in New York who can find two criminals for me? I + don't want to call in the police. + + "J.T. BURKE." + +To which Kerns replied promptly: + + "Wire Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, N.Y." + +And a day or two later, being on his honeymoon, he forgot all about his +old friend Jack Burke. + +On the fifteenth day of March, 1906, Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, +received the following cablegram from Alexandria, Egypt: + + "_Keen, Tracer, New York:_--Locate Joram Smiles, forty, stout, + lame, red hair, ragged red mustache, cast in left eye, pallid skin; + carries one crutch; supposed to have arrived in America per S. S. + _Scythian Queen_, with man known as Emanuel Gandon, swarthy, short, + fat, light bluish eyes, Eurasian type. + + "I will call on you at your office as soon as my steamer, _Empress + of Babylon_, arrives. If you discover my men, keep them under + surveillance, but on no account call in police. Spare no expense. + Dundas, Gray & Co. are my bankers and reference. + + "JOHN TEMPLETON BURKE." + +On Monday, April 2d, a few minutes after eight o'clock in the morning, +the card of Mr. John Templeton Burke was brought to Mr. Keen, Tracer of +Lost Persons, and a moment later a well-built, wiry, sun-scorched young +man was ushered into Mr. Keen's private office by a stenographer +prepared to take minutes of the interview. + +The first thing that the Tracer of Lost Persons noted in his visitor was +his mouth; the next his eyes. Both were unmistakably good--the eyes +which his Creator had given him looked people squarely in the face at +every word; the mouth, which a man's own character fashions agreeably or +mars, was pleasant, but firm when the trace of the smile lurking in the +corners died out. + +There were dozens of other external characteristics which Mr. Keen +always looked for in his clients; and now the rapid exchange of +preliminary glances appeared to satisfy both men, for they advanced +toward each other and exchanged a formal hand clasp. + +"Have you any news for me?" asked Burke. + +"I have," said the Tracer. "There are cigars on the table beside +you--matches in that silver case. No, I never smoke; but I like the +aroma--and I like to watch men smoke. Do you know, Mr. Burke, that no +two men smoke in the same fashion? There is as much character in the +manner of holding a cigar as there is difference in the technic of +artists." + +Burke nodded, amused, but, catching sight of the busy stenographer, his +bronzed features became serious, and he looked at Mr. Keen inquiringly. + +"It is my custom," said the Tracer. "Do you object to my stenographer?" + +Burke looked at the slim young girl in her black gown and white collar +and cuffs. Then, very simply, he asked her pardon for objecting to her +presence, but said that he could not discuss his case if she remained. +So she rose, with a humorous glance at Mr. Keen; and the two men stood +up until she had vanished, then reseated themselves _vis-a-vis_. Mr. +Keen calmly dropped his elbow on the concealed button which prepared a +hidden phonograph for the reception of every word that passed between +them. + +"What news have you for me, Mr. Keen?" asked the younger man with that +same directness which the Tracer had already been prepared for, and +which only corroborated the frankness of eyes and voice. + +"My news is brief," he said. "I have both your men under observation." + +"Already?" exclaimed Burke, plainly unprepared. "Do you actually mean +that I can see these men whenever I desire to do so? Are these +scoundrels in this town--within pistol shot?" + +His youthful face hardened as he snapped out his last word, like the +crack of a whip. + +"I don't know how far your pistol carries," said Mr. Keen. "Do you wish +to swear out a warrant?" + +"No, I do not. I merely wish their addresses. You have not used the +police in this matter, have you, Mr. Keen?" + +"No. Your cable was explicit," said the Tracer. "Had you permitted me to +use the police it would have been much less expensive for you." + +"I can't help that," said the young man. "Besides, in a matter of this +sort, a man cannot decently consider expense." + +"A matter of what sort?" asked the Tracer blandly. + +"Of _this_ sort." + +"Oh! Yet even now I do not understand. You must remember, Mr. Burke, +that you have not told me anything concerning the reasons for your quest +of these two men, Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon. Besides, this is the +first time you have mentioned pistol range." + +Burke, smoking steadily, looked at the Tracer through the blue fog of +his cigar. + +"No," he said, "I have not told you anything about them." + +Mr. Keen waited a moment; then, smiling quietly to himself, he wrote +down the present addresses of Joram Smiles and Emanuel Gandon, and, +tearing off the leaf, handed it to the younger man, saying: "I omit the +pistol range, Mr. Burke." + +"I am very grateful to you," said Burke. "The efficiency of your system +is too famous for me to venture to praise it. All I can say is 'Thank +you'; all I can do in gratitude is to write my check--if you will be +kind enough to suggest the figures." + +"Are you sure that my services are ended?" + +"Thank you, quite sure." + +So the Tracer of Lost Persons named the figures, and his client produced +a check book and filled in a check for the amount. This was presented +and received with pleasant formality. Burke rose, prepared to take his +leave, but the Tracer was apparently busy with the combination lock of a +safe, and the young man lingered a moment to make his adieus. + +As he stood waiting for the Tracer to turn around he studied the writing +on the sheet of paper which he held toward the light: + + Joram Smiles, no profession, 613 West 24th Street. Emanuel Gandon, + no profession, same address. Very dangerous men. + +It occurred to him that these three lines of pencil-writing had cost him +a thousand dollars--and at the same instant he flushed with shame at the +idea of measuring the money value of anything in such a quest as this. + +And yet--and yet he had already spent a great deal of money in his brief +quest, and--_was_ he any nearer the goal--even with the penciled +addresses of these two men in his possession? Even with these men almost +within pistol shot! + +Pondering there, immersed in frowning retrospection, the room, the +Tracer, the city seemed to fade from his view. He saw the red sand +blowing in the desert; he heard the sickly squealing of camels at the El +Teb Wells; he saw the sun strike fire from the rippling waters of Sais; +he saw the plain, and the ruins high above it; and the odor of the Long +Bazaar smote him like a blow, and he heard the far call to prayer from +the minarets of Sa-el-Hagar, once Sais, the mysterious--Sais of the +million lanterns, Sais of that splendid festival where the Great Triad's +worship swayed dynasty after dynasty, and where, through the hot +centuries, Isis, veiled, impassive, looked out upon the hundredth king +of kings, Meris, the Builder of Gardens, dragged dead at the chariot of +Upper and Lower Egypt. + +Slowly the visions faded; into his remote eyes crept the consciousness +of the twentieth century again; he heard the river whistles blowing, and +the far dissonance of the streets--that iron undertone vibrating through +the metropolis of the West from river to river and from the Palisades to +the sea. + +His gaze wandered about the room, from telephone desk to bookcase, from +the table to the huge steel safe, door ajar, swung outward like the +polished breech of a twelve-inch gun. + +Then his vacant eyes met the eyes of the Tracer of Lost Persons, almost +helplessly. And for the first time the full significance of this quest +he had undertaken came over him like despair--this strange, hopeless, +fantastic quest, blindly, savagely pursued from the sand wastes of Sais +to the wastes of this vast arid city of iron and masonry, ringing to the +sky with the menacing clamor of its five monstrous boroughs. + +Curiously weary of a sudden, he sat down, resting his head on one hand. +The Tracer watched him, bent partly over his desk. From moment to moment +he tore minute pieces from the blotter, or drew imaginary circles and +arabesques on his pad with an inkless pen. + +"Perhaps I could help you, after all--if you'd let me try," he said +quietly. + +"Dou you mean--_me_?" asked Burke, without raising his head. + +"If you like--yes, you--or any man in trouble--in perplexity--in the +uncertain deductions which arise from an attempt at self-analysis." + +"It is true; I am trying to analyze myself. I believe that I don't know +how. All has been mere impulse--so far. No, I don't know how to analyze +it all." + +"I do," said the Tracer. + +Burke raised his level, unbelieving eyes. + +"You are in love," said the Tracer. + +After a long time Burke looked up again. "Do you think so?" + +"Yes. Can I help you?" asked the Tracer pleasantly. + +The young man sat silent, frowning into space; then: + +"I tell you plainly enough that I have come here to argue with two men +at the end of a pistol; and--you tell me I'm in love. By what logic--" + +"It is written in your face, Mr. Burke--in your eyes, in every feature, +every muscle's contraction, every modulation of your voice. My tables, +containing six hundred classified superficial phenomena peculiar to all +human emotions, have been compiled and scientifically arranged according +to Bertillon's system. It is an absolutely accurate key to every phase +of human emotion, from hate, through all its amazingly paradoxical +phenomena, to love, with all its genera under the suborder--all its +species, subspecies, and varieties." + +He leaned back, surveying the young man with kindly amusement. + +"You talk of pistol range, but you are thinking of something more fatal +than bullets, Mr. Burke. You are thinking of love--of the first, great, +absorbing, unreasoning passion that has ever shaken you, blinded you, +seized you and dragged you out of the ordered path of life, to push you +violently into the strange and unexplored! That is what stares out on +the world through those haunted eyes of yours, when the smile dies out +and you are off your guard; that is what is hardening those flat, clean +bands of muscle in jaw and cheek; that is what those hints of shadow +mean beneath the eye, that new and delicate pinch to the nostril, that +refining, almost to sharpness, of the nose, that sensitive edging to the +lips, and the lean delicacy of the chin." + +He bent slightly forward in his chair. + +"There is all that there, Mr. Burke, and something else--the glimmering +dawn of desperation." + +"Yes," said the other, "that is there. I am desperate." + +"_Ex_actly. Also you wear two revolvers in a light, leather harness +strapped up under your armpits," said the Tracer, laughing. "Take them +off, Mr. Burke. There is nothing to be gained in shooting up Mr. Smiles +or converting Mr. Gandon into nitrates." + +"If it is a matter where one man can help another," the Tracer added +simply, "it would give me pleasure to place my resources at your +command--without recompense--" + +"Mr. Keen!" said Burke, astonished. + +"Yes?" + +"You are very amiable; I had not wished--had not expected anything +except professional interest from you." + +"Why not? I like you, Mr. Burke." + +The utter disarming candor of this quiet, elderly gentleman silenced the +younger man with a suddenness born of emotions long crushed, long +relentlessly mastered, and which now, in revolt, shook him fiercely in +every fiber. All at once he felt very young, very helpless in the +world--that same world through which, until within a few weeks, he had +roved so confidently, so arrogantly, challenging man and the gods +themselves in the pride of his strength and youth. + +But now, halting, bewildered, lost amid the strange maze of byways +whither impulse had lured and abandoned him, he looked out into a world +of wilderness and unfamiliar stars and shadow shapes undreamed of, and +he knew not which way to turn--not even how to return along the ways his +impetuous feet had trodden in this strange and hopeless quest of his. + +"How can you help me?" he said bluntly, while the quivering undertone +rang in spite of him. "Yes, I am in love; but how can any living man +help me?" + +"Are you in love with the dead?" asked the Tracer gravely. "For that +only is hopeless. Are you in love with one who is not living?" + +"Yes." + +"You love one whom you know to be dead?" + +"Yes; dead." + +"How do you know that she is dead?" + +"That is not the question. I knew that when I fell in love with her. It +is not that which appals me; I ask nothing more than to live my life out +loving the dead. I--I ask very little." + +He passed his unsteady hand across his dry lips, across his eyes and +forehead, then laid his clinched fist on the table. + +"Some men remain constant to a memory; some to a picture--sane, +wholesome, normal men. Some men, with a fixed ideal, never encounter its +facsimile, and so never love. There is nothing strange, after all, in +this; nothing abnormal, nothing unwholesome. Gruenwald loved the marble +head and shoulders of the lovely Amazon in the Munich Museum; he died +unmarried, leaving the charities and good deeds of a blameless life to +justify him. Sir Henry Guest, the great surgeon who worked among the +poor without recompense, loved Gainsborough's 'Lady Wilton.' The +portrait hangs above his tomb in St. Clement's Hundreds. D'Epernay loved +Mlle. Jeanne Vacaresco, who died before he was born. And I--I love in +my own fashion." + +His low voice rang with the repressed undertone of excitement; he opened +and closed his clinched hand as though controlling the lever of his +emotions. + +"What can you do for a man who loves the shadow of Life?" he asked. + +"If you love the shadow because the substance has passed away--if you +love the soul because the dust has returned to the earth as it was--" + +"It has _not_!" said the younger man. + +The Tracer said very gravely: "It is written that whenever 'the Silver +Cord' is loosed, 'then shall the dust return unto the earth as it was, +and the spirit shall return unto Him who gave it.'" + +"The spirit--yes; _that_ has taken its splendid flight--" + +His voice choked up, died out; he strove to speak again, but could not. +The Tracer let him alone, and bent again over his desk, drawing +imaginary circles on the stained blotter, while moment after moment +passed under the tension of that fiercest of all struggles, when a man +sits throttling his own soul into silence. + +And, after a long time, Burke lifted a haggard face from the cradle of +his crossed arms and shook his shoulders, drawing a deep, steady breath. + +"Listen to _me_!" he said in an altered voice. + +And the Tracer of Lost Persons nodded. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +"When I left the Point I was assigned to the colored cavalry. They are +good men; we went up Kettle Hill together. Then came the Philippine +troubles, then that Chinese affair. Then I did staff duty, and could not +stand the inactivity and resigned. They had no use for me in Manchuria; +I tired of waiting, and went to Venezuela. The prospects for service +there were absurd; I heard of the Moorish troubles and went to Morocco. +Others of my sort swarmed there; matters dragged and dragged, and the +Kaiser never meant business, anyway. + +"Being independent, and my means permitting me, I got some shooting in +the back country. This all degenerated into the merest nomadic +wandering--nothing but sand, camels, ruins, tents, white walls, and blue +skies. And at last I came to the town of Sa-el-Hagar." + +His voice died out; his restless, haunted eyes became fixed. + +"Sa-el-Hagar, once ancient Sais," repeated the Tracer quietly; and the +young man looked at him. + +"You know _that_?" + +"Yes," said the Tracer. + +For a while Burke remained silent, preoccupied, then, resting his chin +on his hand and speaking in a curiously monotonous voice, as though +repeating to himself by rote, he went on: + +"The town is on the heights--have you a pencil? Thank you. Here is the +town of Sa-el-Hagar, here are the ruins, here is the wall, and somewhere +hereabouts should be the buried temple of Neith, which nobody has +found." He shifted his pencil. "Here is the lake of Sais; here, standing +all alone on the plain, are those great monolithic pillars stretching +away into perspective--four hundred of them in all--a hundred and nine +still upright. There were one hundred and ten when I arrived at El Teb +Wells." + +He looked across at the Tracer, repeating: "One hundred and ten--when I +arrived. One fell the first night--a distant pillar far away on the +horizon. Four thousand years had it stood there. And it fell--the first +night of my arrival. I heard it; the nights are cold at El Teb Wells, +and I was lying awake, all a-shiver, counting the stars to make me +sleep. And very, very far away in the desert I heard and felt the shock +of its fall--the fall of forty centuries under the Egyptian stars." + +His eyes grew dreamy; a slight glow had stained his face. + +"Did you ever halt suddenly in the Northern forests, listening, as +though a distant voice had hailed you? Then you understand why that far, +dull sound from the dark horizon brought me to my feet, bewildered, +listening, as though my own name had been spoken. + +"I heard the wind in the tents and the stir of camels; I heard the reeds +whispering on Sais Lake and the yap-yap of a shivering jackal; and +always, always, the hushed echo in my ears of my own name called across +the star-lit waste. + +"At dawn I had forgotten. An Arab told me that a pillar had fallen; it +was all the same to me, to him, to the others, too. The sun came out +hot. I like heat. My men sprawled in the tents; some watered, some went +up to the town to gossip in the bazaar. I mounted and cast bridle on +neck--you see how much I cared where I went! In two hours we had +completed a circle--like a ruddy hawk above El Teb. And my horse halted +beside the fallen pillar." + +As he spoke his language had become very simple, very direct, almost +without accent, and he spoke slowly, picking his way with that lack of +inflection, of emotion characteristic of a child reading a new reader. + +"The column had fallen from its base, eastward, and with its base it had +upheaved another buried base, laying bare a sort of cellar and a flight +of stone steps descending into darkness. + +"Into this excavation the sand was still running in tiny rivulets. +Listening, I could hear it pattering far, far down into the shadows. + +"Sitting there in the saddle, the thing explained itself as I looked. +The fallen pillar had been built upon older ruins; all Egypt is that +way, ruin founded on the ruin of ruins--like human hopes. + +"The stone steps, descending into the shadow of remote ages, invited me. +I dismounted, walked to the edge of the excavation, and, kneeling, +peered downward. And I saw a wall and the lotus-carved rim of a vast +stone-framed pool; and as I looked I heard the tinkle of water. For the +pillar, falling, had unbottled the ancient spring, and now the +stone-framed lagoon was slowly filling after its drought of centuries. + +"There was light enough to see by, but, not knowing how far I might +penetrate, I returned to my horse, pocketed matches and candles from +the saddlebags, and, returning, started straight down the steps of +stone. + +"Fountain, wall, lagoon, steps, terraces half buried--all showed what +the place had been: a water garden of ancient Egypt--probably +royal--because, although I am not able to decipher hieroglyphics, I have +heard somewhere that these picture inscriptions, when inclosed in a +cartouch like this"--he drew rapidly-- + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"or this + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +indicate that the subject of the inscription was once a king. + +"And on every wall, every column, I saw the insignia of ancient royalty, +and I saw strange hawk-headed figures bearing symbols engraved on +stone--beasts, birds, fishes, unknown signs and symbols; and everywhere +the lotus carved in stone--the bud, the blossom half-inclosed, the +perfect flower." + +His dreamy eyes met the gaze of the Tracer, unseeing; he rested his +sunburned face between both palms, speaking in the same vague monotone: + +"Everywhere dust, ashes, decay, the death of life, the utter +annihilation of the living--save only the sparkle of reborn waters +slowly covering the baked bed of the stone-edged pool--strange, luminous +water, lacking the vital sky tint, enameled with a film of dust, yet, +for all that, quickening with imprisoned brilliancy like an opal. + +"The slow filling of the pool fascinated me; I stood I know not how long +watching the thin film of water spreading away into the dimness beyond. +At last I turned and passed curiously along the wall where, at its base, +mounds of dust marked what may have been trees. Into these I probed with +my riding crop, but discovered nothing except the depths of the dust. + +"When I had penetrated the ghost of this ancient garden for a thousand +yards the light from the opening was no longer of any service. I lighted +a candle; and its yellow rays fell upon a square portal into which led +another flight of steps. And I went down. + +"There were eighteen steps descending into a square stone room. Strange +gleams and glimmers from wall and ceiling flashed dimly in my eyes under +the wavering flame of the candle. Then the flame grew still--still as +death--and Death lay at my feet--there on the stone floor--a man, square +shouldered, hairless, the cobwebs of his tunic mantling him, lying face +downward, arms outflung. + +"After a moment I stooped and touched him, and the entire prostrate +figure dissolved into dust where it lay, leaving at my feet a shadow +shape in thin silhouette against the pavement--merely a gray layer of +finest dust shaped like a man, a tracery of impalpable powder on the +stones. + +"Upward and around me I passed the burning candle; vast figures in blue +and red and gold grew out of the darkness; the painted walls sparkled; +the shadows that had slept through all those centuries trembled and +shrank away into distant corners. + +"And then--and then I saw the gold edges of her sandals sparkle in the +darkness, and the clasped girdle of virgin gold around her slender waist +glimmered like purest flame!" + +Burke, leaning far across the table, interlocked hands tightening, +stared and stared into space. A smile edged his mouth; his voice grew +wonderfully gentle: + +"Why, she was scarcely eighteen--this child--there so motionless, so +lifelike, with the sandals edging her little upturned feet, and the +small hands of her folded between the breasts. It was as though she +had just stretched herself out there--scarcely sound asleep as yet, and +her thick, silky hair--cut as they cut children's hair in these days, +you know--cradled her head and cheeks. + +[Illustration: "'As though . . . scarcely sound asleep as yet.'"] + +"So marvelous the mimicry of life, so absolute the deception of +breathing sleep, that I scarce dared move, fearing to awaken her. + +"When I did move I forgot the dusty shape of the dead at my feet, and +left, full across his neck, the imprint of a spurred riding boot. It +gave me my first shudder; I turned, feeling beneath my foot the soft, +yielding powder, and stood aghast. Then--it is absurd!--but I felt as a +man feels who has trodden inadvertently upon another's foot--and in an +impulse of reparation I stooped hastily and attempted to smooth out the +mortal dust which bore the imprint of my heel. But the fine powder +flaked my glove, and, looking about for something to compose the ashes +with, I picked up a papyrus scroll. Perhaps he himself had written on +it; nobody can ever know, and I used it as a sort of hoe to scrape him +together and smooth him out on the stones." + +The young man drew a yellowish roll of paper-like substance from his +pocket and laid it on the table. + +"This is the same papyrus," he said. "I had forgotten that I carried it +away with me until I found it in my shooting coat while packing to sail +for New York." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons reached over and picked up the scroll. It was +flexible still, but brittle; he opened it with great care, considered +the strange figures upon it for a while, then turned almost sharply on +his visitor. + +"Go on," he said. + +And Burke went on: + +"The candle was burning low; I lighted two more, placing them at her +head and feet on the edges of the stone couch. Then, lighting a third +candle, I stood beside the couch and looked down at the dead girl under +her veil-like robe, set with golden stars." + +He passed his hand wearily over his hair and forehead. + +"I do not know what the accepted meaning of beauty may be if it was not +there under my eyes. Flawless as palest amber ivory and rose, the +smooth-flowing contours melted into exquisite symmetry; lashes like +darkest velvet rested on the pure curve of the cheeks; the closed lids, +the mouth still faintly stained with color, the delicate nose, the full, +childish lips, sensitive, sweet, resting softly upon each other--if +these were not all parts of but one lovely miracle, then there is no +beauty save in a dream of Paradise. . . . + +"A gold band of linked scarabs bound her short, thick hair straight +across the forehead; thin scales of gold fell from a necklace, clothing +her breasts in brilliant discolored metal, through which ivory-tinted +skin showed. A belt of pure, soft gold clasped her body at the waist; +gold-edged sandals clung to her little feet. + +"At first, when the stunned surprise had subsided, I thought that I was +looking upon some miracle of ancient embalming, hitherto unknown. Yet, +in the smooth skin there was no slit to prove it, no opening in any vein +or artery, no mutilation of this sculptured masterpiece of the Most +High, no cerements, no bandages, no gilded carven case with painted face +to stare open eyed through the wailing cycles. + +"This was the image of sleep--of life unconscious--not of death. Yet is +was death--death that had come upon her centuries and centuries ago; for +the gold had turned iridescent and magnificently discolored; the sandal +straps fell into dust as I bent above them, leaving the sandals clinging +to her feet only by the wired silver core of the thongs. And, as I +touched it fearfully, the veil-like garment covering her, vanished into +thin air, its metal stars twinkling in a shower around her on the stone +floor." + +The Tracer, motionless, intent, scarcely breathed; the younger man moved +restlessly in his chair, the dazed light in his eyes clearing to sullen +consciousness. + +"What more is there to tell?" he said. "And to what purpose? All this is +time wasted. I have my work cut out for me. What more is there to tell?" + +"What you have left untold," said the Tracer, with the slightest ring of +authority in his quiet voice. + +And, as though he had added "Obey!" the younger man sank back in his +chair, his hands contracting nervously. + +"I went back to El Teb," he said; "I walked like a dreaming man. My +sleep was haunted by her beauty; night after night, when at last I fell +asleep, instantly I saw her face, and her dark eyes opening into mine in +childish bewilderment; day after day I rode out to the fallen pillar and +descended to that dark chamber where she lay alone. Then there came a +time when I could not endure the thought of her lying there alone. I had +never dared to touch her. Horror of what might happen had held me aloof +lest she crumble at my touch to that awful powder which I had trodden +on. + +"I did not know what to do; my Arabs had begun to whisper among +themselves, suspicious of my absences, impatient to break camp, perhaps, +and roam on once more. Perhaps they believed I had discovered treasure +somewhere; I am not sure. At any rate, dread of their following me, +determination to take my dead away with me, drove me into action; and +that day when I reached her silent chamber I lighted my candle, and, +leaning above her for one last look, I touched her shoulder with my +finger tip. + +"It was a strange sensation. Prepared for a dreadful dissolution, +utterly unprepared for cool, yielding flesh, I almost dropped where I +stood. For her body was neither cold nor warm, neither dust-dry nor +moist; neither the skin of the living nor the dead. It was firm, almost +stiff, yet not absolutely without a certain hint of flexibility. + +"The appalling wonder of it consumed me; fear, incredulity, terror, +apathy succeeded each other; then slowly a fierce shrinking happiness +swept me in every fiber. + +"This marvelous death, this triumph of beauty over death, was mine. +Never again should she lie here alone through the solitudes of night and +day; never again should the dignity of Death lack the tribute demanded +of Life. Here was the appointed watcher--I, who had found her alone in +the wastes of the world--all alone on the outermost edges of the +world--a child, dead and unguarded. And standing there beside her I knew +that I should never love again." + +He straightened up, stretching out his arm: "I did not intend to carry +her away to what is known as Christian burial. How could I consign her +to darkness again, with all its dreadful mockery of marble, all its +awful emblems? + +"This lovely stranger was to be my guest forever. The living should be +near her while she slept so sweetly her slumber through the centuries; +she should have warmth, and soft hangings and sunlight and flowers; and +her unconscious ears should be filled with the pleasant stir of living +things. . . . I have a house in the country, a very old house among +meadows and young woodlands. And I--I had dreamed of giving this child a +home--" + +His voice broke; he buried his head in his hands a moment; but when he +lifted it again his features were hard as steel. + +"There was already talk in the bazaar about me. I was probably followed, +but I did not know it. Then one of my men disappeared. For a week I +hesitated to trust my Arabs; but there was no other way. I told them +there was a mummy which I desired to carry to some port and smuggle out +of the country without consulting the Government. I knew perfectly well +that the Government would never forego its claim to such a relic of +Egyptian antiquity. I offered my men too much, perhaps. I don't know. +They hesitated for a week, trying by every artifice to see the treasure, +but I never let them out of my sight. + +"Then one day two white men came into camp; and with them came a +government escort to arrest me for looting an Egyptian tomb. The white +men were Joram Smiles and that Eurasian, Emanuel Gandon, who was partly +white, I suppose. I didn't comprehend what they were up to at first. +They escorted me forty miles to confront the official at Shen-Bak. When, +after a stormy week, I was permitted to return to Sais, my Arabs and the +white men were gone. And the stone chamber under the water garden wall +was empty as the hand I hold out to you!" + +He opened his palm and rose, his narrowing eyes clear and dangerous. + +"At the bazaar I learned enough to know what had been done. I traced the +white men to the coast. They sailed on the _Scythian Queen_, taking +with them all that I care for on earth or in heaven! And you ask me why +I measure their distance from me by a bullet's flight!" + +The Tracer also rose, pale and grave. + +"Wait!" he said. "There are other things to be done before you prepare +to face a jury for double murder." + +"It is for them to choose," said Burke. "They shall have the choice of +returning to me my dead, or of going to hell full of lead." + +"_Ex_actly, my dear sir. That part is not difficult," said the Tracer +quietly. "There will be no occasion for violence, I assure you. Kindly +leave such details to me. I know what is to be done. You are outwardly +very calm, Mr. Burke--even dangerously placid; but though you maintain +an admirable command over yourself superficially, you are laboring under +terrible excitement. Therefore it is my duty to say to you at once that +there is no cause for your excitement, no cause for your apprehension as +to results. I feel exceedingly confident that you will, in due time, +regain possession of all that you care for most--quietly, quietly, my +dear sir! You are not yet ready to meet these men, nor am I ready to go +with you. I beg you to continue your habit of self-command for a +little while. There is no haste--that is to say, there is every reason +to make haste slowly. And the quickest method is to seat yourself. Thank +you. And I shall sit here beside you and spread out this papyrus scroll +for your inspection." + +[Illustration: Hieroglyphics] + +Burke stared at the Tracer, then at the scroll. + +"What has that inscription to do with the matter in hand?" he demanded +impatiently. + +"I leave you to judge," said the Tracer. A dull tint of excitement +flushed his lean cheeks; he twisted his gray mustache and bent over the +unrolled scroll which was now held flat by weights at the four corners. + +"Can you understand any of these symbols, Mr. Burke?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Curious," mused the Tracer. "Do you know it was fortunate that you put +this bit of papyrus in the pocket of your shooting coat--so fortunate +that, in a way, it approaches the miraculous?" + +"What do you mean? Is there anything in that scroll bearing on this +matter?" + +"Yes." + +"And you can read it? Are you versed in such learning, Mr. Keen?" + +"I am an Egyptologist--among other details," said the Tracer calmly. + +The young man gazed at him, astonished. The Tracer of Lost Persons +picked up a pencil, laid a sheet of paper on the table beside the +papyrus, and slowly began to copy the first symbol: + +[Illustration: Glyph] + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +"The ancient Egyptian word for the personal pronoun 'I' was _anuk_," +said the Tracer placidly. "The phonetic for _a_ was the hieroglyph + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a reed; for _n_ the water symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +for _u_ the symbols + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +for _k_ + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +Therefore this hieroglyphic inscription begins with the personal pronoun + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +or _I_. That is very easy, of course. + +"Now, the most ancient of Egyptian inscriptions read vertically in +columns; there are only two columns in this papyrus, so we'll try it +vertically and pass downward to the next symbol, which is inclosed in a +sort of frame or cartouch. That immediately signifies that royalty is +mentioned; therefore, we have already translated as much as 'I, the king +(or queen).' Do you see?" + +"Yes," said Burke, staring. + +"Very well. Now this symbol, number two, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +spells out the word '_Meris_,' in this way: M (pronounced _me_) is +phonetically symbolized by the characters + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +_r_ by + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +(a mouth) and the comma + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and the hieroglyph + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +_i_ by two reeds + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and two oblique strokes, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and _s_ by + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +This gives us Meris, the name of that deposed and fugitive king of +Egypt who, after a last raid on the summer palace of Mer-Shen, usurping +ruler of Egypt, was followed and tracked to Sais, where, with an arrow +through his back, he crawled to El Teb and finally died there of his +wound. All this Egyptologists are perfectly familiar with in the +translations of the boastful tablets and inscriptions erected near Sais +by Mer-Shen, the three hundred and twelfth sovereign after Queen +Nitocris." + +He looked up at Burke, smiling. "Therefore," he said, "this papyrus +scroll was written by Meris, ex-king, a speculative thousands of years +before Christ. And it begins: 'I, Meris the King.'" + +"How does all this bear upon what concerns me?" demanded Burke. + +"Wait!" + +Something in the quiet significance of the Tracer's brief command sent a +curious thrill through the younger man. He leaned stiffly forward, +studying the scroll, every faculty concentrated on the symbol which the +Tracer had now touched with the carefully sharpened point of his pencil: + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"That," said Mr. Keen, "is the ancient Egyptian word for 'little,' +'_Ket_.' The next, below, written in two lines, is 'Samaris,' a proper +name--the name of a woman. Under that, again, is the symbol for the +number 18; the decimal sign, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and eight vertical strokes, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +Under that, again, is a hieroglyph of another sort, an ideograph +representing a girl with a harp; and, beneath that, the symbol which +always represented a dancing girl + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +and also the royal symbol inclosed in a cartouch, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means literally 'the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that +is the significant symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +representing an arm and a hand holding a stick. This always means +_force_--to take forcibly or to use violence. Therefore, so far, we have +the following literal translation: 'I, Meris the King, little Samaris, +eighteen, a harpist, dancing girl, the Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt, +to take by violence--'" + +"What does that make?" broke in Burke impatiently. + +"_Wait!_ Wait until we have translated everything literally. And, Mr. +Burke, it might make it easier for us both if you would remember that I +have had the pleasure of deciphering many hundreds of papyri before you +had ever heard that there were such things." + +"I beg your pardon," said the young man in a low voice. + +"I beg yours for my impatience," said the Tracer pleasantly. "This +deciphering always did affect my nerves and shorten my temper. And, no +doubt, it is quite as hard on you. Shall we go on, Mr. Burke?" + +"If you please, Mr. Keen." + +So the Tracer laid his pencil point on the next symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"That is the symbol for night," he said; "and that + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +is the water symbol again, as you know; and that + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +is the ideograph, meaning a ship. The five reversed crescents + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +record the number of days voyage; the sign + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +means a house, and is also the letter H in the Egyptian alphabet. + +"Under it, again, we have a repetition of the first symbol meaning _I_, +and a repetition of the second symbol, meaning 'Meris, the King.' Then, +below that cartouch, comes a new symbol, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which is the feminine personal pronoun, _sentus_, meaning '_she_'; and +the first column is completed with the symbol for the ancient Egyptian +verb, _nehes_, 'to awake,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +"And now we take the second column, which begins with the jackal +ideograph expressing slyness or cleverness. Under it is the hieroglyph +meaning 'to run away,' 'to escape.' And under that, Mr. Burke, is one of +the rarest of all Egyptian symbols; a symbol seldom seen on stone or +papyrus, + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +except in rare references to the mysteries of Isis. The meaning of it, +so long in dispute, has finally been practically determined through a +new discovery in the cuneiform inscriptions. It is the symbol of two +hands holding two _closed_ eyes; and it signifies power." + +"You mean that those ancients understood hypnotism?" asked Burke, +astonished. + +"Evidently their priests did; evidently hypnotism was understood and +employed in certain mysteries. And there is the symbol of it; and under +it the hieroglyphs + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +meaning 'a day and a night,' with the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +as usual present to signify force or strength employed. Under that, +again, is a human figure stretched upon a typical Egyptian couch. And +now, Mr. Burke, _note carefully_ three modifying signs: first, that it +is a _couch_ or _bed_ on which the figure is stretched, not the funeral +couch, not the embalming slab; second, there is no mummy mask covering +the face, and no mummy case covering the body; third, that under the +recumbent figure is pictured an _open_ mouth, not a _closed_ one. + +"All these modify the ideograph, apparently representing death. But the +sleep symbol is not present. Therefore it is a sound inference that all +this simply confirms the symbol of hypnotism." + +Burke, intensely absorbed, stared steadily at the scroll. + +"Now," continued Mr. Keen, "we note the symbol of force again, always +present; and, continuing horizontally, a cartouch quite empty except for +the midday sun. That is simply translated; the midday sun illuminates +nothing. Meris, deposed, is king only in name; and the sun no longer +shines on him as 'Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.' Under that despairing +symbol, 'King of Nothing,' we have + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +the phonetics which spell _sha_, the word for garden. And, just beyond +this, horizontally, the modifying ideograph meaning 'a _water_ garden'; + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a design of lotus and tree alternating on a terrace. Under that is the +symbol for the word '_aneb_,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +a 'wall.' Beyond that, horizontally, is the symbol for 'house.' It +should be placed under the wall symbol, but the Egyptians were very apt +to fill up spaces instead of continuing their vertical columns. Now, +beneath, we find the imperative command + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +'arise!' And the Egyptian personal pronoun '_entuten_,' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means 'you' or 'thou.' + +"Under that is the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +which means 'priest,' or, literally, 'priest man.' Then comes the +imperative 'awake to life!' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +After that, our first symbol again, meaning '_I_,' followed horizontally +by the symbol + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +signifying 'to go.' + +"Then comes a very important drawing--you see?--the picture of a man +with a jackal's head, not a dog's head. It is not accompanied by the +phonetic in a cartouch, as it should be. Probably the writer was in +desperate haste at the end. But, nevertheless, it is easy to translate +that symbol of the man with a jackal's head. It is a picture of the +Egyptian god, Anubis, who was supposed to linger at the side of the +dying to conduct their souls. Anubis, the jackal-headed, is the courier, +the personal escort of departing souls. And this is he. + +"And now the screed ends with the cry 'Pray for me!' + +[Illustration: Glyph] + +the last symbol on this strange scroll--this missive written by a +deposed, wounded, and dying king to an unnamed priest. Here is the +literal translation in columns: + +I cunning +Meris the King escape +little hypnotize +Samaris King of Nothing +eighteen place forcibly +a harpist garden +a dancing girl--Ruler of water garden + Upper and Lower wall + Egypt house +took forcibly--night Arise. Do +by water Thou +five days Priest Man +ship Awake +house To life +I I go +Meris the King Anubis +she Pray +awake + +"And this is what that letter, thousands of years old, means in this +language of ours, hundreds of years young: 'I, Meris the King, seized +little Samaris, a harpist and a dancing girl, eighteen years of age, +belonging to the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, and carried her away at +night on shipboard--a voyage of five days--to my house. I, Meris the +King, lest she lie awake watching cunningly for a chance to escape, +hypnotized her (or had her hypnotized) so that she lay like one dead or +asleep, but breathing, and I, King no longer of Upper and Lower Egypt, +took her and placed her in my house under the wall of the water garden. +Arise! therefore, O thou priest; (go) and awaken her to life. I am dying +(I go with Anubis!). Pray for me!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +For a full minute the two men sat there without moving or speaking. Then +the Tracer laid aside his pencil. + +"To sum up," he said, opening the palm of his left hand and placing the +forefinger of his right across it, "the excavation made by the falling +pillar raised in triumph above the water garden of the deposed king, +Meris, by his rival, was the subterranean house of Meris. The prostrate +figure which crumbled to powder at your touch may have been the very +priest to whom this letter or papyrus was written. Perhaps the bearer of +the scroll was a traitor and stabbed the priest as he was reading the +missive. Who can tell how that priest died? He either died or betrayed +his trust, for he never aroused the little Samaris from her suspended +animation. And the water garden fell into ruins and she slept; and the +Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt raised his columns, lotus crowned, above +the ruins; and she slept on. Then--_you_ came." + +Burke stared like one stupefied. + +"I do not know," said the Tracer gravely, "what balm there may be in a +suspension of sensation, perhaps of vitality, to protect the human body +from corruption after death. I do not know how soon suspended animation +or the state of hypnotic coma, undisturbed, changes into death--whether +it comes gradually, imperceptibly freeing the soul; whether the soul +hides there, asleep, until suddenly the flame of vitality is +extinguished. I do not know how long she lay there with life in her." + +He leaned back and touched an electric bell, then, turning to Burke: + +"Speaking of pistol range," he said, "unstrap those weapons and pass +them over, if you please." + +And the young man obeyed as in a trance. + +"Thank you. There are four men coming into this room. You will keep your +seat, if you please, Mr. Burke." + +After a moment the door opened noiselessly. Two men handcuffed together +entered the room; two men, hands in their pockets, sauntered carelessly +behind the prisoners and leaned back against the closed door. + +"That short, red-haired, lame man with the cast in his eye--do you +recognize him?" asked the Tracer quietly. + +Burke, grasping the arms of his chair, had started to rise, fury fairly +blazing from his eyes; but, at the sound of the Tracer's calm, even +voice, he sank back into his chair. + +"That is Joram Smiles? You recognize him?" continued Mr. Keen. + +Burke nodded. + +"_Ex_actly--alias Limpy, alias Red Jo, alias Big Stick Joram, alias +Pinky; swindler, international confidence man, fence, burglar, gambler; +convicted in 1887, and sent to Sing Sing for forgery; convicted in 1898, +and sent to Auburn for swindling; arrested by my men on board the S. S. +_Scythian Queen_, at the cabled request of John T. Burke, Esquire, and +held to explain the nature of his luggage, which consisted of the +contents of an Egyptian vault or underground ruin, declared at the +customhouse as a mummy, and passed as such." + +The quiet, monotonous voice of the Tracer halted, then, as he glanced at +the second prisoner, grew harder: + +"Emanuel Gandon, general international criminal, with over half a +hundred aliases, arrested in company with Smiles and held until Mr. +Burke's arrival." + +Turning to Burke, the Tracer continued: "Fortunately, the _Scythian +Queen_ broke down off Brindisi. It gave us time to act on your cable; +we found these men aboard when she was signaled off the Hook. I went out +with the pilot myself, Mr. Burke." + +Smiles shot a wicked look at Burke; Gandon scowled at the floor. + +"Now," said the Tracer pleasantly, meeting the venomous glare of Smiles, +"I'll get you that warrant you have been demanding to have exhibited to +you. Here it is--charging you and your amiable friend Gandon with +breaking into and robbing the Metropolitan Museum of ancient Egyptian +gold ornaments, in March, 1903, and taking them to France, where they +were sold to collectors. It seems that you found the business good +enough to go prowling about Egypt on a hunt for something to sell here. +A great mistake, my friends--a very great mistake, because, after the +Museum has finished with you, the Egyptian Government desires to +extradite you. And I rather suspect you'll have to go." + +He nodded to the two quiet men leaning against the door. + +"Come, Joram," said one of them pleasantly. + +But Smiles turned furiously on the Tracer. "You lie, you old gray rat!" +he cried. "That ain't no mummy; that's a plain dead girl! And there +ain't no extrydition for body snatchin', so I guess them niggers at +Cairo won't get us, after all!" + +"Perhaps," said the Tracer, looking at Burke, who had risen, pale and +astounded. "Sit down, Mr. Burke! There is no need to question these men; +no need to demand what they robbed you of. For," he added slowly, "what +they took from the garden grotto of Sais, and from you, I have under my +own protection." + +The Tracer rose, locked the door through which the prisoners and their +escorts had departed; then, turning gravely on Burke, he continued: + +"That panel, there, is a door. There is a room beyond--a room facing to +the south, bright with sunshine, flowers, soft rugs, and draperies of +the East. _She_ is there--like a child asleep!" + +Burke reeled, steadying himself against the wall; the Tracer stared at +space, speaking very slowly: + +"Such death I have never before heard of. From the moment she came under +my protection I have dared to doubt--many things. And an hour ago you +brought me a papyrus scroll confirming my doubts. I doubt still--Heaven +knows what! Who can say how long the flame of life may flicker within +suspended animation? A week? A month? A year? Longer than that? Yes; +the Hindoos have proved it. How long? The span of a normal life? Or +longer? Can the life flame burn indefinitely when the functions are +absolutely suspended--generation after generation, century after +century?" + +Burke, ghastly white, straightened up, quivering in every limb; the +Tracer, as pale as he, laid his hand on the secret panel. + +"If--if you dare say it--the phrase is this: '_O Ket Samaris, +Nehes!_'--'O Little Samaris, awake!'" + +"I--dare. In Heaven's name, open that door!" + +Then, averting his head, the Tracer of Lost Persons swung open the +panel. + +A flood of sunshine flashed on Burke's face; he entered; and the paneled +door closed behind him without a sound. + +Minute after minute passed; the Tracer stood as though turned to stone, +gray head bent. + +Then he heard Burke's voice ring out unsteadily: + +"O Ket Samaris--Samaris! O Ket Samaris--_Nehes!_" + +And again: "Samaris! Samaris! O beloved, awake!" + +And once more: "_Nehes!_ O Samaris!" + +Silence, broken by a strange, sweet, drowsy plaint--like a child +awakened at midnight by a dazzling light. + +"Samaris!" + +Then, through the stillness, a little laugh, and a softly tremulous +voice: + +"_Ari un aha, O Entuk sen!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +"What we want to do," said Gatewood over the telephone, "is to give you +a corking little dinner at the Santa Regina. There'll be Mr. and Mrs. +Tommy Kerns, Captain and Mrs. Harren, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Burke, Mrs. +Gatewood, and myself. We want you to set the date for it, Mr. Keen, and +we also wish you to suggest one more deliriously happy couple whom you +have dragged out of misery and flung head-first into terrestrial +paradise." + +"Do you young people really care to do this for me?" asked the Tracer, +laughing. + +"Of course we do. We're crazy about it. We want one more couple, and you +to set the date." + +There was the slightest pause; then the Tracer's voice, with the same +undertone of amusement ringing through it: + +"How would your cousin, Victor Carden, do?" + +"He's all right, only he isn't married. We want two people whom you have +joined together after hazard has put them asunder and done stunts with +them." + +"Very well; Victor Carden and his very lovely wife will be just the +people." + +"Is Victor married?" demanded Gatewood, astonished. + +"No," said the Tracer demurely, "but he will be in time for that +dinner." And he set the date for the end of the week in an amused voice, +and rang off. + +Then he glanced at the clock, touched an electric bell, and again +unhooking the receiver of the telephone, called up the Sherwood Studios +and asked for Mr. Carden. + +"Is _this_ Mr. Carden? Oh, good morning, Mr. Carden! This is Mr. Keen, +Tracer of Lost Persons. Could you make it convenient to call--say in +course of half an hour? Thank you. . . . What? . . . Well, speaking with +that caution and reserve which we are obliged to employ in making any +preliminary statements to our clients, I think I may safely say that you +have every reason to feel moderately encouraged." + +"You mean," said Carden's voice, "that you have actually solved the +proposition?" + +"It has been a difficult proposition, Mr. Carden; I will not deny that +it has taxed our resources to the uttermost. Over a thousand people, +first and last, have been employed on this case. It has been a slow and +tedious affair, Mr. Carden--tedious for us all. We seldom have a case +continue as long as this has; it is a year ago to-day since you placed +the matter in our hands. . . . What? Well, without committing myself, I +think that I may venture to express a carefully qualified opinion that +the solution of the case is probably practically in the way of being +almost accomplished! . . . Yes, I shall expect you in half an hour. +Good-by!" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons' eyes were twinkling as he hung up the +receiver and turned in his revolving chair to meet the pretty young +woman who had entered in response to his ring. + +"The Carden case, if you please, Miss Smith," he said, smiling to +himself. + +The young woman also smiled; the Carden case had become a classic in the +office. Nobody except Mr. Keen had believed that the case could ever be +solved. + +"Safe-deposit box 108923!" said Miss Smith softly, pressing a speaking +tube to her red lips. In a few moments there came a hissing thud from +the pneumatic tube; Miss Smith unlocked it and extracted a smooth, steel +cylinder. + +"The combination for that cylinder is A-4-44-11-X," observed the Tracer, +consulting a cipher code, "which, translated," he added, "gives us the +setting combination, One, D, R-R,-J-'24." + +Miss Smith turned the movable disks at the end of the cylinder until +the required combination appeared. Then she unscrewed the cylinder head +and dumped out the documents in the famous Carden case. + +"As Mr. Carden will be here in half an hour or so I think we had better +run over the case briefly," nodded the Tracer, leaning back in his chair +and composing himself to listen. "Begin with my preliminary memorandum, +Miss Smith." + +"Case 108923," began the girl. Then she read the date, Carden's full +name, Victor Carden, a terse biography of the same gentleman, and added: +"Case accepted. Contingent fee, $5,000." + +"Quite so," said Mr. Keen; "now, run through the minutes of the first +interview." + +And Miss Smith unrolled a typewritten scroll and read: + +"Victor Carden, Esquire, the well-known artist, called this evening at +6.30. Tall, well-bred, good appearance, very handsome; very much +embarrassed. Questioned by Mr. Keen he turned pink, and looked timidly +at the stenographer (Miss Colt). Asked if he might not see Mr. Keen +alone, Miss Colt retired. Mr. Keen set the recording phonograph in +motion by dropping his elbow on his desk." + +A brief _resume_ of the cylinder records followed: + +"Mr. Carden asked Mr. Keen if he (Mr. Keen) knew who he (Mr. Carden) +was. Mr. Keen replied that everybody knew Mr. Carden, the celebrated +painter and illustrator who had created the popular type of beauty known +as the 'Carden Girl.' Mr. Carden blushed and fidgeted. (_Notes from. Mr. +Keen's Observation Book, pp. 291-297._) Admitted that he was the creator +of the 'Carden Girl.' Admitted he had drawn and painted that particular +type of feminine beauty many times. Fidgeted some more. (_Keen's O.B., +pp. 298-299._) Volunteered the statement that this type of beauty, known +as the 'Carden Girl,' was the cause of great unhappiness to himself. +Questioned, turned pinker and fidgeted. (_K.O.B., page 300._) Denied +that his present trouble was caused by the model who had posed for the +'Carden Girl.' Explained that a number of assorted models had posed for +that type of beauty. Further explained that none of them resembled the +type; that the type was his own creation; that he used models merely for +the anatomy, and that he always idealized form and features. + +"Questioned again, admitted that the features of the 'Carden Girl' were +his ideal of the highest and loveliest type of feminine beauty. Did not +deny that he had fallen in love with his own creation. Turned red and +tried to smoke. (_K.O.B., page 303._) Admitted he had been fascinated +himself with his own rendering of a type of beauty which he had never +seen anywhere except as rendered by his own pencil on paper or on +canvas. Fidgeted. (_K.O.B., page 304._) Admitted that he could easily +fall in love with a woman who resembled the 'Carden Girl.' Didn't +believe she ever really existed. Confessed he had hoped for years to +encounter her, but had begun to despair. Admitted that he had ventured +to think that Mr. Keen might trace such a girl for him. Doubted Mr. +Keen's success. Fidgeted (_K.O.B., page 306_), and asked Mr. Keen to +take the case. Promised to send to Mr. Keen a painting in oil which +embodied his loftiest ideal of the type known as the 'Carden Girl.' +(_Portrait received; lithographs made and distributed to our agents +according to routine, from Canada to Mexico and from the Atlantic to the +Pacific._) + +"Mr. Keen terminated the interview with characteristic tact, accepting +the case on the contingent fee of $5,000." + +"Very well," said the Tracer, as Miss Smith rolled up the scroll and +looked at him for further instructions. "Now, perhaps you had better run +over the short summary of proceedings to date. I mean the digest which +you will find attached to the completed records." + +Miss Smith found the paper, unrolled it, and read: + +"During the twelve months' investigation and search (_in re Carden_) +seven hundred and nine young women were discovered who resembled very +closely the type sought for. By process of elimination, owing to defects +in figure, features, speech, breeding, etc., etc., this list was cut +down to three. One of these occasionally chewed gum, but otherwise +resembled the type. The second married before the investigation of her +habits could be completed. The third is apparently a flawless replica of +Mr. Carden's original in face, figure, breeding, education, moral and +mental habits. (_See Document 23, A._)" + +"Read Document 23, A," nodded Mr. Keen. + +And Miss Smith read: + +ROSALIND HOLLIS, M.D. + +Age . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 + +Height . . . . . . 5 feet 9 inches + +Weight . . . . . . . . 160 pounds + + Thick, bright, ruddy +Hair . . . . . . golden, and inclined + to curl. + +Teeth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Eyes . . . . . . . Dark violet-blue + +Mouth . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Color . . . . Fair. An ivory-tinted + blonde. + +Figure . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Health . . . . . . . . . Perfect + +Temper . . . . . . . . . Feminine + + Austere, with a +Habits . . . . resolutely suppressed + capacity for romance. + +Business . . . . . . . . . None + +Profession . . . . . . . Physician + +Mania . . . . . . . . A Mission + +"NOTE.--Dr. Rosalind Hollis was presented to society in her eighteenth +year. At the end of her second season she withdrew from society with the +determination to devote her entire life to charity. Settlement work and +the study of medicine have occupied her constantly. Recently admitted to +practice, she spends her mornings in visiting the poor, whom she treats +free of all charge; her afternoons and evenings are devoted to what she +expects is to be her specialty: the study of the rare malady known as +Lamour's Disease. (_See note on second page._) + +"It is understood that Dr. Hollis has abjured the society of all men +other than her patients and such of her professional _confreres_ as she +is obliged to consult or work with. Her theory is that of the beehive: +drones for mates, workers for work. She adds, very decidedly, that she +belongs to the latter division, and means to remain there permanently. + +"NOTE (_Mr. Keen's O.B., pp. 916-18_).--Her eccentricity is probably the +result of a fine, wholesome, highly strung young girl taking life and +herself too seriously. The remedy will be the _Right Man_." + +"_Ex_actly," nodded Mr. Keen, joining the tips of his thin fingers and +partly closing his eyes. "Now, Miss Smith, the disease which Dr. Hollis +intends to make her specialty--have you any notes on that?" + +"Here they are," said Miss Smith; and she read: "Lamour's Disease; the +rarest of all known diseases; first discovered and described by Ero S. +Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H., in 1861. Only a single case has ever +been observed. This case is fully described in Dr. Lamour's superb and +monumental work in sixteen volumes. Briefly, the disease appears without +any known cause, and is ultimately supposed to result fatally. The first +symptom is the appearance of a faintly bluish circle under the eyes, as +though the patient was accustomed to using the eyes too steadily at +times. Sometimes a slight degree of fever accompanies this +manifestation; pulse and temperature vary. The patient is apparently in +excellent health, but liable to loss of appetite, restlessness, and a +sudden flushing of the face. These symptoms are followed by others +unmistakable: the patient becomes silent at times; at times evinces a +weakness for sentimental expressions; flushes easily; is easily +depressed; will sit for hours looking at one person; and, if not +checked, will exhibit impulsive symptoms of affection for the opposite +sex. The strangest symptom of all, however, is the physical change in +the patient, whose features and figure, under the trained eye of the +observer, gradually from day to day assume the symmetry and charm of a +beauty almost unearthly, sometimes accompanied by a spiritual pallor +which is unmistakable in confirming the diagnosis, and which, Dr. Lamour +believes, presages the inexorable approach of immortality. + +"There is no known remedy for Lamour's Disease. The only case on record +is the case of the young lady described by Dr. Lamour, who watched her +for years with unexampled patience and enthusiasm; finally, in the +interest of science, marrying his patient in order to devote his life +to a study of her symptoms. Unfortunately, some of these disappeared +early--within a week--but the curious manifestation of physical beauty +remained, and continued to increase daily to a dazzling radiance, with +no apparent injury to the patient. Dr. Lamour, unfortunately, died +before his investigations, covering over forty years, could be +completed; his widow survived him for a day or two only, leaving sixteen +children. + +"Here is a wide and unknown field for medical men to investigate. It is +safe to say that the physician who first discovers the bacillus of +Lamour's Disease and the proper remedy to combat it will reap as his +reward a glory and renown imperishable. Lamour's Disease is a disease +not yet understood--a disease whose termination is believed to be +fatal--a strange disease which seems to render radiant and beautiful the +features of the patient, brightening them with the forewarning of +impending death and the splendid resurrection of immortality." + +The Tracer of Lost Persons caressed his chin reflectively. "_Ex_actly, +Miss Smith. So this is the disease which Dr. Hollis has chosen for her +specialty. And only one case on record. _Ex_actly. Thank you." + +Miss Smith replaced the papers in the steel cylinder, slipped it into +the pneumatic tube, sent it whizzing below to the safe-deposit vaults, +and, saluting Mr. Keen with a pleasant inclination of her head, went out +of the room. + +The Tracer turned in his chair, picked up the daily detective report, +and scanned it until he came to the name Hollis. It appeared that the +daily routine of Rosalind Hollis had not varied during the past three +weeks. In the mornings she was good to the poor with bottles and pills; +in the afternoons she tucked one of Lamour's famous sixteen volumes +under her arm and walked to Central Park, where, with democratic +simplicity, she sat on a secluded bench and pored over the symptoms of +Lamour's Disease. About five she retired to her severely simple +apartments in the big brownstone office building devoted to physicians, +corner of Fifty-eighth Street and Madison Avenue. Here she took tea, +read a little, dined all alone, and retired about nine. This was the +guileless but determined existence of Rosalind Hollis, M.D., according +to McConnell, the detective assigned to observe her. + +The Tracer refolded the report of his chief of detectives and +pigeonholed it just as the door opened and a tall, well-built, +attractive young man entered. + +Shyness was written all over him; he offered his hand to Mr. Keen with +an embarrassed air and seated himself at that gentleman's invitation. + +"I'm almost sorry I ever began this sort of thing," he blurted out, like +a big schoolboy appalled at his own misdemeanors. "The truth is, Mr. +Keen, that the prospect of actually seeing a 'Carden Girl' alive has +scared me through and through. I've a notion that my business with that +sort of a girl ends when I've drawn her picture." + +"But surely," said the Tracer mildly, "you have some natural curiosity +to see the living copy of your charming but inanimate originals, haven't +you, Mr. Carden?" + +"Yes--oh, certainly. I'd like to see one of them alive--say out of a +window, or from a cab. I should not care to be too close to her." + +"But merely seeing her does not commit you," interposed Mr. Keen, +smiling. "She is far too busy, too much absorbed in her own affairs to +take any notice of you. I understand that she has something of an +aversion for men." + +"Aversion!" + +"Well, she excludes them as unnecessary to her existence." + +"Why?" asked Carden. + +"Because she has a mission in life," said Mr. Keen gravely. + +Carden looked out of the window. It was pleasant weather--June in all +its early loveliness--the fifth day of June. The sixth was his birthday. + +"I've simply got to marry somebody before the day after to-morrow," he +said aloud--"that is, if I want my legacy." + +"What!" demanded the Tracer sharply. + +Carden turned, pink and guilty. "I didn't tell you all the circumstances +of my case," he said. "I suppose I ought to have done so." + +"_Ex_actly," said the Tracer severely. "Why is it necessary that you +marry somebody before the day after to-morrow?" + +"Well, it's my twenty-fifth birthday--" + +"Somebody has left you money on condition that you marry before your +twenty-fifth birthday? Is that it, Mr. Carden? An uncle? An imbecile +grandfather? A sentimental aunt?" + +"My Aunt Tabby Van Beekman." + +"Where is she?" + +"In Trinity churchyard. It's too late to expostulate with her, you see. +Besides, it wouldn't have done any good when she was alive." + +The Tracer knitted his brows, musing, the points of his slim fingers +joined. + +"She was very proud, very autocratic," said Carden. "I am the last of +my race and my aunt was determined that the race should not die out with +me. I don't want to marry and increase, but she's trying to make me. At +all events, I am not going to marry any woman inferior to the type I +have created with my pencil--what the public calls the 'Carden Girl.' +And now you see that your discovery of this living type comes rather +late. In two days I must be legally married if I want my Aunt Tabby's +legacy; and to-day for the first time I hear of a girl who, you assure +me, compares favorably to my copyrighted type, but who has a mission and +an aversion to men. So you see, Mr. Keen, that the matter is perfectly +hopeless." + +"I don't see anything of the kind," said Mr. Keen firmly. + +"What?--do you believe there is any chance--" + +"Of your falling in love within the next hour or so? Yes, I do. I think +there is every chance of it. I am sure of it. But that is not the +difficulty. The problem is far more complicated." + +"You mean--" + +"_Ex_actly; how to marry that girl before day after to-morrow. That's +the problem, Mr. Carden!--not whether you are capable of falling in +love with her. I have seen her; I _know_ you can't avoid falling in +love with her. Nobody could. I myself am on the verge of it; and I am +fifty: you can't avoid loving her." + +"If that were so," said Carden gravely; "if I were really going to fall +in love with her--I would not care a rap about my Aunt Tabby and her +money--" + +"You ought to care about it for this young girl's sake. That legacy is +virtually hers, not yours. She has a right to it. No man can ever give +enough to the woman he loves; no man has ever done so. What _she_ gives +and what _he_ gives are never a fair exchange. If you can balance the +account in any measure, it is your duty to do it. Mr. Carden, if she +comes to love you she may think it very fine that you bring to her your +love, yourself, your fame, your talents, your success, your position, +your gratifying income. But I tell you it's not enough to balance the +account. It is never enough--no, not all your devotion to her included! +You can never balance the account on earth--all you can do is to try to +balance it materially and spiritually. Therefore I say, endow her with +_all_ your earthly goods. Give all you can in every way to lighten as +much as possible man's hopeless debt to all women who have ever loved." + +"You talk about it as though I were already committed," said Carden, +astonished. + +"You are, morally. For a month I have, without her knowledge, it is +true, invaded the privacy of a very lovely young girl--studied her +minutely, possessed myself of her history, informed myself of her +habits. What excuse had I for this unless I desired her happiness and +yours? Nobody could offer me any inducement to engage in such a practice +unless I believed that the means might justify a moral conclusion. And +the moral conclusion of this investigation is your marriage to her." + +"Certainly," said Carden uneasily, "but how are we going to accomplish +it by to-morrow? How is it going to be accomplished at all?" + +The Tracer of Lost Persons rose and began to pace the long rug, clasping +his hands behind his back. Minute after minute sped; Carden stared +alternately at Mr. Keen and at the blue sky through the open window. + +"It is seldom," said Mr. Keen with evident annoyance, "that I personally +take any spectacular part in the actual and concrete demonstrations +necessary to a successful conclusion of a client's case. But I've got to +do it this time." + +He went to a cupboard, picked out a gray wig and gray side whiskers and +deliberately waved them at Carden. + +"You see what these look like?" he demanded. + +"Y-yes." + +"Very well. It is now noon. Do you know the Park? Do you happen to +recollect a shady turn in the path after you cross the bridge over the +swan lake? Here; I'll draw it for you. Now, here is the lake; here's the +esplanade and fountain, you see. Here's the path. You follow +it--so!--around the lake, across the bridge, then following the lake to +the right--so!--then up the wooded slope to the left--so! Now, here is a +bench. I mark it Number One. _She_ sits there with her book--there she +is!" + +"If she looks like _that_--" began Carden. And they both laughed with +the slightest trace of excitement. + +"Here is Bench Number Two!" resumed the Tracer. "Here you sit--and there +you are!" + +[Illustration: MR. KEEN'S SKETCH OF THE RENDEZVOUS] + +"Thanks," said Carden, laughing again. + +"Now," continued the Tracer, "you must be there at one o'clock. She will +be there at one-thirty, or earlier perhaps. A little later I will become +benignly visible. Your part is merely a thinking part; you are to do +nothing, say nothing, unless spoken to. And when you are spoken to you +are to acquiesce in whatever anybody says to you, and you are to do +whatever anybody requests you to do. And, above all, don't be surprised +at _anything_ that may happen. You'll be nervous enough; I expect that. +You'll probably color up and flush and fidget; I expect that; I count on +that. But don't lose your nerve entirely; and don't think of attempting +to escape." + +"Escape! From what? From whom?" + +"From her." + +"_Her?_" + +"Are you going to follow my instructions?" demanded the Tracer of Lost +Persons. + +"I--y-yes, of course." + +"Very well, then, I am going to rub some of this under your eyes." And +Mr. Keen produced a make-up box and, walking over to Carden, calmly +darkened the skin under his eyes. + +"I look as though I had been on a bat!" exclaimed Carden, surveying +himself in a mirror. "Do you think any girl could find any attraction in +such a countenance?" + +"_She_ will," observed the Tracer meaningly. "Now, Mr. Carden, one last +word: The moment you find yourself in love with her, and the first +moment you have the chance to do so decently, make love to her. She +won't dismiss you; she will repulse you, of course, but she won't let +you go. I know what I am saying; all I ask of you is to promise on your +honor to carry out these instructions. Do you promise?" + +"I do." + +"Then here is the map of the rendezvous which I have drawn. Be there +promptly. Good morning." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +At one o'clock that afternoon a young man earnestly consulting a map +might have been seen pursuing his solitary way through Central Park. +Fresh green foliage arched above him, flecking the path with fretted +shadow and sunlight; the sweet odor of flowering shrubs saturated the +air; the waters of the lake sparkled where swans swept to and fro, snowy +wings spread like sails to the fitful June wind. + +"This," he murmured, pausing at a shaded bend in the path, "must be +Bench Number One. I am not to sit on that. This must be Bench Number +Two. I _am_ to sit on that. So here I am," he added nervously, seating +himself and looking about him with the caution of a cat in a strange +back yard. + +There was nobody in sight. Reassured, he ventured to drop one knee over +the other and lean upon his walking stick. For a few minutes he remained +in this noncommittal attitude, alert at every sound, anxious, +uncomfortable, dreading he knew not what. A big, fat, gray squirrel +racing noisily across the fallen leaves gave him a shock. A number of +birds came to look at him--or so it appeared to him, for in the +inquisitive scrutiny of a robin he fancied he divined sardonic meaning, +and in the blank yellow stare of a purple grackle, a sinister +significance out of all proportion to the size of the bird. + +"What an absurd position to be in!" he thought. And suddenly he was +seized with a desire to flee. + +He didn't because he had promised not to, but the desire persisted to +the point of mania. Oh, how he could run if he only hadn't promised not +to! His entire being tingled with the latent possibilities of a burst of +terrific speed. He wanted to scuttle away like a scared rabbit. The pace +of the kangaroo would be slow in comparison. What a record he could make +if he hadn't promised not to. + +He crossed his knees the other way and brooded. The gray squirrel +climbed the bench and nosed his pockets for possible peanuts, then +hopped off hopefully toward a distant nursemaid and two children. + +Growing more alarmed every time he consulted his watch Carden attempted +to stem his rising panic with logic and philosophy, repeating: "Steady! +my son! Don't act like this! You're not obliged to marry her if you +don't fall in love with her; and if you do, you won't mind marrying her. +That is philosophy. That is logic. Oh, I wonder what will have happened +to me by this time to-morrow! I wish it _were_ this time to-morrow! I +wish it were this time next month! Then it would be all over. Then it +would be--" + +His muttering speech froze on his lips. Rooted to his bench he sat +staring at a distant figure approaching--the figure of a young girl in a +summer gown. + +Nearer, nearer she came, walking with a free-limbed, graceful step, head +high, one arm clasping a book. + +That was the way the girls he drew would have walked had they ever +lived. Even in the midst of his fright his artist's eyes noted that: +noted the perfect figure, too, and the witchery of its grace and +contour, and the fascinating poise of her head, and the splendid color +of her hair; noted mechanically the flowing lines of her gown, and the +dainty modeling of arm and wrist and throat and ear. + +Then, as she reached her bench and seated herself, she raised her eyes +and looked at him. And for the first time in his life he realized that +ideal beauty was but the pale phantom of the real and founded on +something more than imagination and thought; on something of vaster +import than fancy and taste and technical skill; that it was founded on +Life itself--on breathing, living, palpitating, tremulous Life!--from +which all true inspiration must come. + +Over and over to himself he was repeating: "Of course, it is perfectly +impossible that I can be in love already. Love doesn't happen between +two ticks of a watch. I am merely amazed at that girl's beauty; that is +all. I am merely astounded in the presence of perfection; that is all. +There is nothing more serious the matter with me. It isn't necessary for +me to continue to look at her; it isn't vital to my happiness if I never +saw her again. . . . That is--of course, I should like to see her, +because I never did see living beauty such as hers in any woman. Not +even in my pictures. What superb eyes! What a fascinately delicate nose! +_What_ a nose! By Heaven, that nose _is_ a nose! I'll draw noses _that_ +way in future. My pictures are all out of drawing; I must fit arms into +their sockets the way hers fit! I must remember the modeling of her +eyelids, too--and that chin! and those enchanting hands--" + +She looked up leisurely from her book, surveyed him calmly, absent-eyed, +then bent her head again to the reading. + +"There _is_ something the matter with me," he thought with a suppressed +gulp. "I--if she looks at me again--with those iris-hued eyes of a +young goddess--I--I think I'm done for. I believe I'm done for anyway. +It seems rather mad to think it. But there _is_ something the matter--" + +She deliberately looked at him again. + +"It's all wrong for them to let loose a girl like that on people," he +thought to himself, "all wrong. Everybody is bound to go mad over her. +I'm going now. I'm mad already. I know I am, which proves I'm no +lunatic. It isn't her beauty; it's the way she wears it--every motion, +every breath of her. I know exactly what her voice is like. Anybody who +looks into her eyes can see what her soul is like. She isn't out of +drawing anywhere--physically or spiritually. And when a man sees a girl +like that, why--why there's only one thing that can happen to him as far +as I can see. And it doesn't take a year either. Heavens! How awfully +remote from me she seems to be." + +She looked up again, calmly, but not at him. A kindly, gray-whiskered +old gentleman came tottering and rocking into view, his rosy, wrinkled +face beaming benediction on the world as he passed through it--on the +sunshine dappling the undergrowth, on the furry squirrels sitting up on +their hind legs to watch him pass, on the stray dickybird that hopped +fearlessly in his path, at the young man sitting very rigid there on +his bench, at the fair, sweet-faced girl who met his aged eyes with the +gentlest of involuntary smiles. And Carden did not recognize him! + +Who could help smiling confidently into that benign face, with its gray +hair and gray whiskers? Goodness radiated from every wrinkle. + +"Dr. Atwood!" exclaimed the girl softly as she rose to meet this +marvelous imitation of Dr. Austin Atwood, the great specialist on +children's diseases. + +The old man beamed weakly at her, halted, still beaming, fumbled for his +eyeglasses, adjusted them, and peered closely into her face. + +"Bless my soul," he smiled, "our pretty Dr. Hollis!" + +"I--I did not suppose you would remember me," she said, rosy with +pleasure. + +"Remember you? Surely, surely." He made her a quaint, old-fashioned bow, +turned, and peeped across the walk at Carden. And Carden, looking +straight into his face, did not know the old man, who turned to Dr. +Hollis again with many mysterious nods of his doddering head. + +"You're watching him, too, are you?" he chuckled, leaning toward her. + +"Watching whom, Dr. Atwood?" she asked surprised. + +"Hush, child! I thought you had noticed that unfortunate and afflicted +young man opposite." + +Dr. Hollis looked curiously at Carden, then at the old gentleman with +gray whiskers. + +"Please sit down, Dr. Atwood, and tell me," she murmured. "I have +noticed nothing in particular about the young man on the bench there." +And she moved to give him room; and the young man opposite stared at +them both as though bereft of reason. + +"A heavy book for small hands, my child," said the old gentleman in his +quaintly garrulous fashion, peering with dimmed eyes at the volume in +her lap. + +She smiled, looking around at him. + +"My, my!" he said, tremblingly raising his eyeglasses to scan the title +on the page; "Dr. Lamour's famous works! Are _you_ studying Lamour, +child?" + +"Yes," she said with that charming inflection youth reserves for age. + +"Astonishing!" he murmured. "The coincidence is more than remarkable. A +physician! And studying Lamour's Disease! Incredible!" + +"Is there anything strange in that, Dr. Atwood?" she smiled. + +"Strange!" He lowered his voice, peering across at Carden. "Strange, +did you say? Look across the path at that poor young man sitting there!" + +"Yes," she said, perplexed, "I see him." + +"_What_ do you see?" whispered the old gentleman in a shakily portentous +voice. "Here you sit reading about what others have seen; now what do +_you_ see?" + +"Why, only a man--rather young--" + +"No _symptoms_?" + +"Symptoms? Of what?" + +The old gentleman folded his withered hands over his cane. "My child," +he said, "for a year I have had that unfortunate young man under secret +observation. He was not aware of it; it never entered his mind that I +could be observing _him_ with minutest attention. He may have supposed +there was nothing the matter with him. He was in error. I have studied +him carefully. Look closer! _Are_ there dark circles under his eyes--or +are there not?" he ended in senile triumph. + +"There are," she began, puzzled, "but I--but of what interest to me--" + +"Compare his symptoms with the symptoms in that book you are studying," +said the old gentleman hoarsely. + +"Do you mean--do you suppose--" she stammered, turning her eyes on +Carden, who promptly blushed to his ears and began to fidget. + +"_Every symptom_," muttered the old gentleman. "Poor, poor young man!" + +She had seen Carden turn a vivid pink; she now saw him fidget with his +walking stick; she discovered the blue circles under his eyes. Three +symptoms at once! + +"Do you believe it _possible_?" she whispered excitedly under her breath +to the old gentleman beside her. "It seems incredible! Such a rare +disease! Only one single case ever described and studied! It seems +impossible that I could be so fortunate as actually to see a case! Tell +me, Dr. Atwood, do you believe that young man is really afflicted with +Lamour's Disease?" + +"There is but one way to be absolutely certain," said the old gentleman +in a solemn voice, "and that is to study him; corroborate your +suspicions by observing his pulse and temperature, as did Dr. Lamour." + +"But--how can I?" she faltered. "I--he would probably object to becoming +a patient of mine--" + +"Ask him, child! Ask him." + +"I have not courage--" + +"Courage should be the badge of your profession," said the old +gentleman gravely. "When did a good physician ever show the white +feather in the cause of humanity?" + +"I--I know, but this requires a different sort of courage." + +"How," persisted the old gentleman, "can you confirm your very natural +suspicions concerning this unfortunate young man unless you corroborate +your observations by studying him at close range? Besides, already it +seems to me that certain unmistakable signs are visible; I mean that +strange physical phase which Dr. Lamour dwells on: the symmetry of +feature and limb, the curiously spiritual beauty. Do you not notice +these? Or is my sight so dim that I only imagine it?" + +"He is certainly symmetrical--and--in a certain way--almost handsome in +regard to features," she admitted, looking at Carden. + +"Poor, poor boy!" muttered the old gentleman, wagging his gray whiskers. +"I am too old to help him--too old to dream of finding a remedy for the +awful malady which I am now convinced has seized him. I shall study him +no more. It is useless. All I can do now is to mention his case to some +young, vigorous, ambitious physician--some specialist--" + +"Don't!" she whispered almost fiercely, "don't do that, Dr. Atwood! I +want him, please! I--you helped me to discover him, you see. And his +malady is to be my specialty. Please, do you mind if I keep him all to +myself and study him?" + +"But you refused, child." + +"I didn't mean to. I--I didn't exactly see how I was to study him. But I +must study him! Oh, I _must_! There will surely be some way. Please let +me. You discovered him, I admit, but I will promise you faithfully to +devote my entire life to studying him, as the great Lamour devoted his +life for forty years to his single patient." + +"But Dr. Lamour married his patient," said the Tracer mildly. + +"He--I--that need not be necessary--" + +"But if it should prove necessary?" + +"I--you--" + +"Answer me, child." + +She stared across at Carden, biting her red lips. He turned pink +promptly and fidgeted. + +"He _has_ got it!" she whispered excitedly. "Oh, _do_ you mind if I take +him for mine? I am perfectly wild to begin on him!" + +"You have not yet answered my question," said the old gentleman gravely. +"Do you lack the courage to marry him if it becomes necessary to do so +in order to devote your entire life to studying him?" + +"Oh--it _cannot_ be necessary--" + +"You lack the courage." + +She was silent. + +"Braver things have been done by those of your profession who have gone +among lepers," said the old gentleman sadly. + +She flushed up instantly; her eyes sparkled; her head proudly high, +delicate nostrils dilated. + +"I am not afraid!" she said. "If it ever becomes necessary, I _can_ show +courage and devotion, as well as those of my profession who minister to +the lepers of Molokai! Yes; I do promise you to marry him if I cannot +otherwise study him. And I promise you solemnly to devote my entire life +to observing his symptoms and searching for proper means to combat them. +My one ambition in life is personally to observe and study a case of +Lamour's Disease, and to give my entire life to investigating its +origin, its course, and its cure." + +The old gentleman rose, bowing with that quaintly obsolete courtesy +which was in vogue in his youth. + +"I am contented to leave him exclusively to you, Dr. Hollis. And I wish +you happiness in your life's work--and success in your cure of this +unhappy young man." + +Hat in hand, he bowed again as he tottered past her, muttering and +smiling to himself and shaking his trembling head as he went rocking on +unsteady legs out into the sunshine, where the nursemaids and children +flocked along the lake shore throwing peanuts to the waterfowl and +satiated goldfish. + +Dr. Hollis looked after him, her small hand buried among the pages of +her open book. Carden viewed his disappearing figure with guileless +emotions. He was vaguely aware that something important was about to +happen to him. And it did before he was prepared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +When Rosalind Hollis found herself on her feet again a slight sensation +of fright checked her for a moment. Then, resolutely suppressing such +unworthy weakness, the lofty inspiration of her mission in life +dominated her, and she stepped forward undaunted. And Carden, seeing her +advance toward him, arose in astonishment to meet her. + +For a second they stood facing each other, he astounded, she a trifle +pale but firm. Then in a low voice she asked his pardon for disturbing +him. + +"I am Rosalind Hollis, a physician," she said quietly, "and physicians +are sometimes obliged to do difficult things in the interest of their +profession. It is dreadfully difficult for me to speak to you in this +way. But"--she looked fearlessly at him--"I am confident you will not +misinterpret what I have done." + +He managed to assure her that he did not misinterpret it. + +She regarded him steadily; she examined the dark circles under his eyes; +she coolly observed his rising color under her calm inspection; she saw +him fidgeting with his walking stick. She _must_ try his pulse! + +"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions in the interest of +science?" she said earnestly. + +"As a m-m-matter of fact," he stammered, "I don't know much about +science. Awfully glad to do anything I can, you know." + +"Oh, I don't mean it that way," she reassured him. A hint of a smile +tinted her eyes with brilliant amethyst. "Would you mind if I sat here +for a few moments? _Could_ you overlook this horrid unconventionality +long enough for me to explain why I have spoken to you?" + +"I could indeed!" he said, so anxiously cordial that her lovely face +grew serious and she hesitated. But he was standing aside, hat off, +placing the bench at her disposal, and she seated herself, placing her +book on the bench beside her. + +"Would you mind sitting here for a few moments?" she asked him gravely. + +Dazed, scarcely crediting the evidence of his senses, he took possession +of the end of the bench with the silent obedience of a schoolboy. His +attitude was irreproachable. She was grateful for this, and her +satisfaction with herself for not having misjudged him renewed her +confidence in him, in herself, and in the difficult situation. + +She began, quietly, by again telling him her name and profession; where +she lived, and that she was studying to be a specialist, though she did +not intimate what that specialty was to be. + +Outwardly composed and attentively deferential, his astonishment at +times dominated a stronger sentiment that seemed to grow and expand with +her every word, seizing him in a fierce possession absolutely and +hopelessly complete. + +The bewildering fascination of her mastered him. No cool analysis of +what his senses were confirming could be necessary to convince him of +his condition. Every word of hers, every gesture, every inflection of +her sweet, clear voice, every lifting of her head, her eyes, her +perfectly gloved hands, only repeated to him what he knew was a +certainty. Never had he looked upon such physical loveliness; never had +he dreamed of such a voice. + +She had asked him a question, and, absorbed in the pure delight of +looking at her, he had not comprehended or answered. She flushed +sensitively, accepting his silence as refusal, and he came out of his +trance hastily. + +"I beg your pardon; I did not quite understand your question, Miss +Hollis--I mean, Dr. Hollis." + +"I asked you if you minded my noting your pulse," she said. + +He stretched out his right hand; she stripped off her glove, laid the +tip of her middle finger on his wrist, and glanced down at the gold +watch which she held. + +"I am wondering," he said, laughing uncertainly, "whether you believe me +to be ill. Of course it is easy to see that you have found something +unusual about me--something of particular interest to a physician. Is +there anything very dreadful going to happen to me, Dr. Hollis? I feel +perfectly well." + +"Are you sure you feel well?" she asked, so earnestly that the smile on +his lips faded out. + +"Absolutely. Is my pulse queer?" + +"It is not normal." + +He could easily account for that, but he said nothing. + +She questioned him for a few minutes, noted his pulse again, looked +closely at the bluish circles under his eyes. Naturally he flushed up +and grew restless under the calm, grave, beautiful eyes. + +"I--I have an absolutely new and carefully sterilized thermometer--" She +drew it from a tiny gold-initialed pocket case, and looked wistfully at +him. + +"You want to put that into my mouth?" he asked, astonished. + +"If you don't mind." + +She held it up, shook it once or twice, and deliberately inserted it +between his lips. And there he sat, round-eyed, silent, the end of the +thermometer protruding at a rakish angle from the corner of his mouth. +And he grew redder and redder. + +"I _don't_ wish to alarm you," she was saying, "but all this is so +deeply significant, so full of vital interest to me--to the world, to +science--" + +"_What_ have I got, in Heaven's name?" he said thickly, the thermometer +wiggling in his mouth. + +"Ah!" she exclaimed with soft enthusiasm, clasping her pretty ungloved +hands, "I cannot be sure yet--I dare not be too sanguine--" + +"Do you mean that you _want_ me to have something queer?" he blurted +out, while the thermometer wiggled with every word he uttered. + +"N-no, of course, I don't _want_ you to be ill," she said hastily. +"Only, if you _are_ ill it will be a wonderful thing for me. I +mean--a--that I am intensely interested in certain symptoms which--" + +She gently withdrew the glass tube from his lips and examined it +carefully. + +"_Is_ there anything the matter?" he insisted, looking at the instrument +over her shoulder. + +She did not reply; pure excitement rendered her speechless. + +"I seem to _feel_ all right," he added uneasily. "If you really believe +that there's anything wrong with me, I'll stop in to see my doctor." + +"Your doctor!" she repeated, appalled. + +"Yes, certainly. Why not?" + +"Don't do that! Please don't do that! I--why _I_ discovered this case. I +beg you most earnestly to let me observe it. You don't understand the +importance of it! You don't begin to dream of the rarity of this case! +How much it means to me!" + +He flushed up. "Do you intend to intimate that I am afflicted with some +sort of rare and s-s-trange d-d-disease?" he stammered. + +"I dare not pronounce upon it too confidently," she said with +enthusiasm; "I have not yet absolutely determined the nature of the +disease. But, oh, I am beginning to hope--" + +"Then I _am_ diseased!" he faltered. "I've got _something_ anyhow; is +that it? Only you are not yet perfectly sure what it is called! Is that +the truth, Miss Hollis?" + +"How can I answer positively until I have had time to observe these +symptoms? It requires time to be certain. I do not wish to alarm you, +but it is my duty to say to you that you should immediately place +yourself under medical observation." + +"You think that?" + +"I do; I am convinced of it. Please understand me; I do not pronounce +upon these visible symptoms; I do not express an unqualified opinion; +but I could be in a position to do so if you consent to place yourself +under my observations and care. For these suspicious symptoms are not +only very plainly apparent to me, but were even noted by that old +gentleman whom you may perhaps have observed conversing with me." + +"Yes, I saw him. Who is he?" + +"Dr. Austin Atwood," said the girl solemnly. + +"Oh! And you say he also observed something queer about me? What did he +see? Are there spots on me? Am I turning any remarkable color? Am I--" +And in the very midst of his genuine alarm he suddenly remembered the +make-up box and what the Tracer of Lost Persons had done to his eyes. +Was _that_ it? Where was the Tracer, anyway? He had promised to appear. +And then Carden recollected the gray wig and whiskers that the Tracer +had waved at him from the cupboard, bidding him note them well. _Could_ +that beaming, benignant, tottering old gentleman have been the Tracer of +Lost Persons himself? And the same instant Carden was sure of it, spite +of the miraculous change in the man. + +Then logic came to his aid; and, deducing with care and patience, an +earnest conviction grew within him that the dark circles under his eyes +and the tottering old gentleman resembling Dr. Austin Atwood had a great +deal to do with this dreadful disease which Dr. Hollis desired to study. + +He looked at the charming girl beside him, and she looked back at him +very sweetly, very earnestly, awaiting his decision. + +For a moment he realized that she had really scared him, and in the +reaction of relief an overwhelming desire to laugh seized him. He +managed to suppress it, to compose himself. Then he remembered the +Tracer's admonition to acquiesce in everything, do what he was told to +do, not to run away, and to pay his court at the first decent +opportunity. + +He had no longer any desire to escape; he was quite willing to do +anything she desired. + +"Do you really want to study me, Dr. Hollis?" he asked, feeling like a +hypocrite. + +"Indeed I do," she replied fervently. + +"You believe me worth studying?" + +"Oh, truly, truly, you are! You don't suspect--you cannot conceive how +important you have suddenly become to me." + +"Then I think you had better take my case, Dr. Hollis," he said +seriously. "I begin now to realize that you believe me to be a sort of +freak--an afflicted curiosity, and that, in the interest of medicine, I +ought to go to an asylum or submit myself to the ceaseless observation +of a competent private physician." + +"I--I think it best for you to place yourself in my care," she said. +"Will you?" + +"Yes," he said, "I will. I'll do anything in the world you ask." + +"That is very--very generous, very noble of you!" she exclaimed, +flushing with excitement and delight. "It means a great deal to me--it +means, perhaps, a fame that I scarcely dared dream of even in my most +enthusiastic years. I am too grateful to express my gratitude +coherently; I am trying to say to you that I thank you; that I recognize +in you those broad, liberal, generous qualities which, from your +appearance and bearing, I--I thought perhaps you must possess." + +She colored again very prettily; he bowed, and ventured to remind her +that she had not yet given him the privilege of naming himself. + +"That is true!" she said, surprised. "I had quite forgotten it." But +when he named himself she raised her head, startled. + +"Victor Carden!" she repeated. "You are the _artist_, Victor Carden!" + +"Yes," he said, watching her dilated eyes like two violet-tinted jewels. + +For a minute she sat looking at him; and imperceptibly a change came +into her face, and its bewildering beauty softened as the vivid tints +died out, leaving her cheeks almost pale. + +"It is--a pity," she said under her breath. All the excitement, all the +latent triumph, all the scarcely veiled eager enthusiasm had gone from +her now. + +"A pity?" he repeated, smiling. + +"Yes. I wish it had been only an ordinary man. I--why should this happen +to you? You have done so much for us all--made us forget ourselves in +the beauty of what you offer us. Why should this happen to _you_!" + +"But you have not told me yet what has happened to me, Miss Hollis." + +She looked up, almost frightened. + +"_Are_ you our Victor Carden? I do not wish to believe it! You have done +so much for the world--you have taught us to understand and desire all +that is noble and upright and clean and beautiful!--to desire it, to +aspire toward it, to venture to live the good, true, wholesome lives +that your penciled creations must lead--_must_ lead to wear such +beautiful bodies and such divine eyes!" + +"Do _you_ care for my work?" he asked, astonished and moved. + +"I? Yes, of course I do. Who does not?" + +"Many," he replied simply. + +"I am sorry for them," she said. + +They sat silent for a long while. + +At first his overwhelming desire was to tell her of the deception +practiced upon her; but he could not do that, because in exposing +himself he must fail in loyalty to the Tracer of Lost Persons. Besides, +she would not believe him. She would think him mad if he told her that +the old gentleman she had taken for Dr. Atwood was probably Mr. Keen, +the Tracer of Lost Persons. Also, he himself was not absolutely certain +about it. He had merely deduced as much. + +"Tell me," he said very gently, "what is the malady from which you +believe I am suffering?" + +For a moment she remained silent, then, face averted, laid her finger on +the book beside her. + +"That," she said unsteadily. + +He read aloud: "Lamour's Disease. A Treatise in sixteen volumes by Ero +S. Lamour, M.D., M.S., F.B.A., M.F.H." + +"All that?" he asked guiltily. + +"I don't know, Mr. Carden. Are you laughing at me? Do you not believe +me?" She had turned suddenly to confront him, surprising a humorous +glimmer in his eyes. + +"I really do not believe I am seriously ill," he said, laughing in spite +of her grave eyes. + +"Then perhaps you had better read a little about what Lamour describes +as the symptoms of this malady," she said sadly. + +"Is it fatal?" he inquired. + +"Ultimately. That is why I desire to spend my life in studying means to +combat it. That is why I desire you so earnestly to place yourself under +my observation and let me try." + +"Tell me one thing," he said; "is it contagious? Is it infectious? No? +Then I don't mind your studying me all you wish, Dr. Hollis. You may +take my temperature every ten minutes if you care to. You may observe my +pulse every five minutes if you desire. Only please tell me how this is +to be accomplished; because, you see, I live in the Sherwood Studio +Building, and you live on Madison Avenue." + +"I--I have a ward--a room--fitted up with every modern surgical +device--every improvement," she said. "It adjoins my office. _Would_ you +mind living there for a while--say for a week at first--until I can be +perfectly certain in my diagnosis?" + +"Do you intend to put me to bed?" he asked, appalled. + +"Oh, no! Only I wish to watch you carefully and note your symptoms from +moment to moment. I also desire to try the effects of certain medicines +on you--" + +"What kind of medicines?" he asked uneasily. + +"I cannot tell yet. Perhaps antitoxin; I don't know; perhaps formalin +later. Truly, Mr. Carden, this case has taken on a graver, a more +intimate significance since I have learned who you are. I would have +worked hard to save any life; I shall put my very heart and soul into my +work to save you, who have done so much for us all." + +The trace of innocent emotion in her voice moved him. + +"I am really not ill," he said unsteadily. "I cannot let you think I +am--" + +"Don't speak that way, Mr. Carden. I--I am perfectly miserable over it; +I don't feel any happiness in my discovery now--not the least bit. I had +rather live my entire life without seeing one case of Lamour's Disease +than to believe you are afflicted with it." + +"But I'm not, Miss Hollis!--really, I am not--" + +She looked at him compassionately for a moment, then rose. + +"It is best that you should be informed as to your probable condition," +she said. "In Lamour's works, volume nine, you had better read exactly +what Lamour says. Do you mind coming to the office with me, Mr. Carden?" + +"Now?" + +"Yes. The book is there. Do you mind coming?" + +"No--no, of course not." And, as they turned away together under the +trees: "You don't intend to begin observing me this afternoon, do you?" +he ventured. + +"I think it best if you can arrange your affairs. Can you, Mr. Carden?" + +"Why, yes, I suppose I can. Did you mean for me to begin to occupy that +surgical bedroom at once?" + +"Do you mind?" + +"N-no. I'll telephone my servants to pack a steamer trunk and send it +around to your apartment this evening. And--where am I to board?" + +"I have a dining room," she said simply. "My apartment consists of the +usual number of servants and rooms, including my office, and my +observation ward which you will occupy." + +He walked on, troubled. + +"I only w-want to ask one or two things, Dr. Hollis. Am I to be placed +on a diet? I hate diets!" + +"Not at once." + +"May I smoke?" + +"Certainly," she said, smiling. + +"And you won't p-put me--send me to bed too early?" + +"Oh, no! The later you sit up the better, because I shall wish to take +your temperature every ten minutes and I shall feel very sorry to arouse +you." + +"You mean you are coming in to wake me up every ten minutes and put that +tube in my mouth?" he asked, aghast. + +"Only every half-hour, Mr. Carden. Can't you stand it for a week?" + +"Well," he said, "I--I suppose I can if _you_ can. Only, upon my honor, +there is really nothing the matter with me, and I'll prove it to you out +of your own book." + +"I wish you could, Mr. Carden. I should be only too happy to give you +back to the world with a clear bill of health if you can convince me I +am wrong. Do you not believe me? Indeed, indeed I am not selfish and +wicked enough to wish you this illness, no matter how rare it is!" + +"The rarer a disease is the madder it makes people who contract it," he +said. "I should be the maddest man in Manhattan if I really did have +Lamour's malady. But I haven't. There is only one malady afflicting me, +and I am waiting for a suitable opportunity to tell you all about it, +but--" + +"Tell me now," she said, raising her eyes to his. + +"Not now." + +"To-night?" + +"I hope so. I will if I can, Miss Hollis." + +"But you must not fear to tell a physician about anything which troubles +you, Mr. Carden." + +"I'll remember that," he said thoughtfully, as they emerged from the +Park and crossed to Madison Avenue. + +A moment later he hailed a car and they both entered. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +No, there could be no longer any doubt in her mind as she went into her +bedroom, closed the door, and, unhooking the telephone receiver, called +up the great specialist in rare diseases, Dr. Austin Atwood, M.S., +F.B.A., M.F.H. + +"Dr. Atwood," she said with scarcely concealed emotion, "this is Dr. +Rosalind Hollis." + +"How-de-do?" squeaked the aged specialist amiably. + +"Oh, I am well enough, thank you, doctor--except in spirits. Dr. Atwood, +you were right! He _has_ got it, and I am perfectly wretched!" + +"_Who_ has got _what_?" retorted the voice of Atwood. + +"The unfortunate young gentleman we saw to-day in the Park." + +"What park?" + +"Why, Central Park, doctor." + +"Central Park! _I_ haven't been in Central Park for ten years, my +child." + +"Why, Dr. Atwood!--A--_is_ this Dr. Austin Atwood with whom I am +talking?" + +"Not the least doubt! And you are that pretty Dr. Hollis--Rosalind +Hollis, who consulted me in those charity cases, are you not?" + +"I certainly am. And I wanted to say to you that I have the unfortunate +patient now under closest observation here in my own apartment. I have +given him the room next to the office. And, doctor, you were perfectly +right. He shows every symptom of the disease--he is even inclined to +sentimentalism; he begins to blush and fidget and look at me--a--in that +unmistakable manner--not that he isn't well-bred and charming--indeed he +is most attractive, and it grieves me dreadfully to see that he already +is beginning to believe himself in love with the first person of the +opposite sex he encounters--I mean that he--that I cannot mistake his +attitude toward me--which is perfectly correct, only one cannot avoid +seeing the curious infatuation--" + +"_What_ the dickens is all this?" roared the great specialist, and Dr. +Hollis jumped. + +"I was only confirming your diagnosis, doctor," she explained meekly. + +"What diagnosis?" + +"Yours, doctor. I have confirmed it, I fear. And the certainty has made +me perfectly miserable, because his is such a valuable life to the +world, and he himself is such a splendid, wholesome, noble specimen of +youth and courage, that I cannot bear to believe him incurably +afflicted." + +"Good Heavens!" shouted the doctor, "_what_ has he got and _who_ is he?" + +"He is Victor Carden, the celebrated artist, and he has Lamour's +Disease!" she gasped. + +There was a dead silence; then: "Keep him there until I come! Chloroform +him if he attempts to escape!" + +And the great specialist rang off excitedly. + +So Rosalind Hollis went back to the lamp-lit office where, in a +luxurious armchair, Carden was sitting, contentedly poring over the +ninth volume of Lamour's great treatise and smoking his second cigar. + +"Dr. Atwood is coming here," she said in a discouraged voice, as he rose +with alacrity to place her chair. + +"Oh! What for?" + +"T-to see you, Mr. Carden." + +"Who? Me? Great Scott! I don't want to be slapped and pinched and polled +by a man! I didn't expect that, you know. I'm willing enough to have you +observe me in the interest of humanity--" + +"But, Mr. Carden, he is only called in for consultation. I--I have a +dreadful sort of desperate hope that perhaps I may have made a mistake; +that possibly I am in error." + +"No doubt you are," he said cheerfully. "Let me read a few more pages, +Dr. Hollis, and then I think I shall be all ready to dispute my +symptoms, one by one, and convince you what really is the trouble with +me. And, by the way, did Dr. Atwood seem a trifle astonished when you +told him about me?" + +"A trifle--yes," she said uncertainly. "He is a very, very old man; he +forgets. But he is coming." + +"Oh! And didn't he appear to recollect seeing me in the Park?" + +"N-not clearly. He is very old, you know. But he is coming here." + +"_Ex_actly--as a friend of mine puts it," smiled Carden. "May I be +permitted to use your telephone a moment?" + +"By all means, Mr. Carden. You will find it there in my bedroom." + +So he entered her pretty bedroom and, closing the door tightly, called +up the Tracer of Lost Persons. + +"Is that you, Mr. Keen? This is Mr. Carden. I'm head over heels in love. +I simply must win her, and I'm going to try. If I don't--if she will +not listen to me--I'll certainly go to smash. And what I want you to do +is to prevent Atwood from butting in. Do you understand? . . . Yes, Dr. +Austin Atwood. Keep him away somehow. . . . Yes, I'm here, at Dr. +Hollis's apartments, under anxious observation. . . . She is the _only_ +woman in the world! I'm mad about her--and getting madder every moment! +She is the most perfectly splendid specimen of womanhood--_what_? Oh, +yes; I rang you up to ask you whether it was _you_ in the Park +to-day?--that old gentleman--_What!_ Yes, in Central Park. Yes, this +afternoon! No, he didn't resemble you; and Dr. Hollis took him for Dr. +Atwood. . . . What are you laughing about? . . . I can _hear_ you +laughing. . . . _Was_ it you? . . . What do I think? Why, I don't know +exactly what to think, but I suppose it must have been you. Was it? +. . . Oh, I see. You don't wish me to know. Certainly, you are quite +right. Your clients have no business behind the scenes. I only asked out +of curiosity. . . . All right. Good-by." + +He came back to the lamp-lit office, which was more of a big, handsome, +comfortable living room than a physician's quarters, and for a moment or +two he stood on the threshold, looking around. + +In the pleasant, subdued light of the lamp Rosalind Hollis looked up +and around, smiling involuntarily to see him standing there; then, +serious, silent, she dropped her eyes to the pages of the volume he had +discarded--volume nine of Lamour's great works. + +Even with the evidence before her, corroborated in these inexorably +scientific pages which she sat so sadly turning, she found it almost +impossible to believe that this big, broad-shouldered, attractive young +man could be fatally stricken. + +Twice her violet eyes stole toward him; twice the thick lashes veiled +them, and the printed pages on her knee sprang into view, and the cold +precision of the type confirmed her fears remorselessly: + +"The trained scrutiny of the observer will detect in the victim of this +disease a peculiar and indefinable charm--a strange symmetry which, on +closer examination, reveals traces of physical beauty almost +superhuman--" + +Again her eyes were lifted to Carden; again she dropped her white lids. +Her worst fears were confirmed. + +Meanwhile he stood on the threshold looking at her, his pulses racing, +his very soul staring through his eyes; and, within him, every sense +clamoring out revolt at the deception, demanding confession and its +penalty. + +"I can't stand this!" he blurted out; and she looked up quickly, her +face blanched with foreboding. + +"Are you in pain?" she asked. + +"No--not that sort of pain! I--_won't_ you please believe that I am not +ill? I'm imposing on you. I'm an impostor! There's nothing whatever the +trouble with me except--something that I want to tell you--if you'll let +me--" + +"Why should you hesitate to confide in a physician, Mr. Carden?" + +He came forward slowly. She laid her small hand on the empty chair which +faced hers and he sank into it, clasping his restless hands under his +chin. + +"You are feeling depressed," she said gently. Depression was a +significant symptom. Three chapters were devoted to it. + +"I'm depressed, of course. I'm horribly depressed and ashamed of myself, +because there is nothing on earth the matter with me, and I've let you +think there is." + +She smiled mournfully; this was another symptom of a morbid state. She +turned, unconsciously, to page 379 to verify her observation. + +"See here, Miss Hollis," he broke out, "haven't I any chance to +convince you that I am not ill? I want to be honest without involving +a--a friend of mine. I can't endure this deception. Won't you let me +prove to you that these symptoms are--are only significant of something +else?" + +She looked straight at him, considering him in silence. + +"Let us begin with those dark circles under my eyes," he said +desperately. "I found some cold-cream in my room and--look! They are +practically gone! At any rate, if there is a sort of shadow left it's +because I use my eyes in my profession." + +"Dr. Lamour says that the dark circles disappear, anyway," said the +girl, unconvinced. "Cold-cream had nothing to do with it." + +"But it _did_! Really it did. And as for the other symptoms, I--well, I +can't help my pulses when y-you t-t-touch me." + +"Please, Mr. Carden." + +"I don't mean to be impertinent. I am trying my hardest to tell the +truth. And my pulses _do_ gallop when you test them; they're galloping +now! This very moment!" + +"Let me try them," she said coolly, laying her hand on his wrist. + +"Didn't I say so!" he insisted grimly. "And I'm turning red, too. But +those symptoms mean something else; they mean _you_!" + +"Mr. Carden!" + +"I can't help saying so--" + +"I know it," she said soothingly; "these sentimental outbursts are part +of the disease--" + +"Good Heavens! _Won't_ you try to believe me! There's nothing in the +world the matter with me except that I am--am--p-p-perfectly +f-f-fascinated--" + +"You must struggle against it, Mr. Carden. That is only part of the--" + +"It isn't! It isn't! It's you! It's your mere presence, your +personality, your charm, your beauty, your loveliness, your--" + +"Mr. Carden, I beg of you! I--it is part of my duty to observe symptoms, +but--but you are making it very hard for me--very difficult--" + +"I am only proving to you that it isn't Lamour's Disease which does +stunts with my pulses, my temperature, my color. I'm not morbid except +when I realize my deception. I'm not depressed except when I think how +far you are from me--how far above me--how far out of reach of such a +man as I am--how desperately I--I--" + +"D-don't you think I had better administer a s-s-sedative, Mr. Carden?" +she said, distressed. + +"I don't care. I'll take anything you give me--as long as _you_ give it +to me. I'll swallow pint after pint of pills! I'll fletcherize 'em! I'll +luxuriate in poison--anything--" + +She was hastily running through the pages of the ninth volume to see +whether the symptoms of sentimental excitement ever turned into frenzy. + +"What can you learn from that book?" he insisted, leaning forward to see +what she was reading. "Anyway, Dr. Lamour married his patient so early +in the game that all the symptoms disappeared. And I believe the trouble +with his patient was my trouble. She had every symptom of it until he +married her! She was in love with him, that is absolutely all!" + +Rosalind Hollis raised her beautiful, incredulous eyes. + +"What do you mean, Mr. Carden?" + +"I mean that, in my opinion, there's no such disease as Lamour's +Disease. That young girl was in love with him. Then he married her at +last, and--presto!--all the symptoms vanished--the pulse, the +temperature, the fidgets, the blushes, the moods, the whole business!" + +"W-what about the strangely curious manifestations of physical +beauty--superhuman symmetry, Mr. Carden?" + +"Do you notice them in _me_?" he gasped. + +"A--yes--in a m-modified measure--" + +"In _me_?" + +"Certainly!" she said firmly; but the slow glow suffusing her cheeks was +disconcerting her. Then his own face began to reflect the splendid color +in hers; their eyes met, dismayed. + +"There are sixteen volumes about this disease," she said. "There _must_ +be such a disease!" + +"There is," he said. "I have it badly. But I never had it before I first +saw you in the Park!" + +"Mr. Carden--this is the wildest absurdity--" + +"I know it. Wildness is a symptom. I'm mad as a hatter. I've got every +separate symptom, and I wish it was infectious and contagious and +catching and fatal!" + +She made an effort to turn the pages to the chapter entitled "Manias and +Illusions," but he laid his hand across the book and his clear eyes +defied her. + +"Mr. Carden--" + +Her smooth hand trembled under his, then, suddenly nerveless, relaxed. +With an effort she lifted her head; their eyes met, spellbound. + +"_You_ have _every_ symptom," he said unsteadily--"every one! What have +you to say?" + +Her fascinated eyes held his. + +"What have you to say?" he repeated under his breath--"you, with every +symptom, and your heavenly radiant beauty to confirm them--that splendid +youthful loveliness which blinds and stuns me as I look--as I speak--as +I tell you that I love you. That is my malady; that is the beginning and +the end of it; love!" + +She sat speechless, immovable, as one under enchantment. + +"All my life," he said, "I have spent in painting shadows. But the +shadows were those dim celestial shapes cast by your presence in the +world. You tell me that the world is better for my work; that I have +offered my people beauty and a sort of truth, which they had never +dreamed of until I revealed it? Yet what inspired me was the shadow +only, for I had never seen the substance; I had never believed I should +ever see the living source of the shadows which inspired me. And now I +see; now I have seen with my own eyes. Now the confession of faith is no +longer a blind creed, born of instinct. You live! You are you! What I +believed from necessity I find proved in fact. The occult no longer can +sway one who has seen. And you, who, without your knowledge or mine, +have always been the one and only source of any good in me or in my +work--why is it strange that I loved you at first sight?--that I +worshiped you at first breath?--I, who, like him who raises his altar to +'the unknown god,' raised my altar to truth and beauty? And a miracle +has answered me." + +She rose, the beautiful dazed eyes meeting his, both hands clasping the +ninth volume of Lamour's great monograph to her breast as though to +protect it from him--from him who was threatening her, enthralling her, +thrilling her with his magic voice, his enchanted youth, the masterful +mystery of his eyes. What was he saying to her? What was this mounting +intoxication sweeping her senses--this delicious menace threatening her +very will? What did he want with her? What was he asking? What was he +doing now--with both her hands in his, and her gaze deeply lost in +his--and the ninth volume of Lamour on the floor between them, sprawling +there, abandoned, waving its helpless, discredited leaves in +air--discredited, abandoned, obsolete as her own specialty--her life's +work! He had taken that, too--taken her life's work from her. And in +return she was holding nothing!--nothing except a young man's +hands--strong, muscular hands which, after all, were holding her own +imprisoned. So she had nothing in exchange for the ninth volume of +Lamour; and her life's work had been annihilated by a smile; and she was +very much alone in the world--very isolated and very youthful. + +After a while she emerged from the chaos of attempted reflection and +listened to what he was saying. He spoke very quietly, very distinctly, +not sparing himself, laying bare every deception without involving +anybody except himself. + +He told her the entire history of his case, excluding Mr. Keen in +person; he told her about his aunt, about his birthday, about his +determination to let the legacy go. Then in a very manly way he told her +that he had never before loved a woman; and fell silent, her hands a +dead weight in his. + +She was surprised that she could experience no resentment. A curious +inertia crept over her. She was tired of expectancy, tired of effort, +weary of the burden of decision. Life and its problems overweighted her. +Her eyes wandered to his broad young shoulders, then were raised to his +face. + +"What shall we do?" she asked innocently. + +Unresisting, she suffered him to explain. His explanation was not +elaborate; he only touched his lips to her hands and straightened up, a +trifle pale. + +After a moment they walked together to the door and he took his hat and +gloves from the rack. + +"Will you come to-morrow morning?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"Come early. I am quite certain of how matters are with me. Everything +has gone out of my life--everything I once cared for--all the familiar +things. So come early, for I am quite alone without you." + +"And I without you, Rosalind." + +"That is only right," she said simply. "I shall cast no more shadows for +you. . . . Are you going? . . . Oh, I know it is best that you should +go, but--" + +He halted. She laid both hands in his. + +"We both have it," she faltered--"every symptom. And--you will come +early, won't you?" + + + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Tracer of Lost Persons, by Robert W. 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