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diff --git a/1814-h/1814-h.htm b/1814-h/1814-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f3eec4d --- /dev/null +++ b/1814-h/1814-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4000 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Agony Column, by Earl Derr Biggers + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Agony Column, by Earl Derr Biggers + +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 Agony Column + +Author: Earl Derr Biggers + +Release Date: October 5, 2008 [EBook #1814] +Last Updated: November 1, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AGONY COLUMN *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE AGONY COLUMN + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Earl Derr Biggers + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Two years ago, in July that historic summer was almost unbearably hot. It seems, looking + back, as though the big baking city in those days was meant to serve as an + anteroom of torture—an inadequate bit of preparation for the hell + that was soon to break in the guise of the Great War. About the soda-water + bar in the drug store near the Hotel Cecil many American tourists found + solace in the sirups and creams of home. Through the open windows of the + Piccadilly tea shops you might catch glimpses of the English consuming + quarts of hot tea in order to become cool. It is a paradox they swear by. + </p> + <p> + About nine o’clock on the morning of Friday, July twenty-fourth, in that + memorable year nineteen hundred and fourteen, Geoffrey West left his + apartments in Adelphi Terrace and set out for breakfast at the Carlton. He + had found the breakfast room of that dignified hotel the coolest in + London, and through some miracle, for the season had passed, strawberries + might still be had there. As he took his way through the crowded Strand, + surrounded on all sides by honest British faces wet with honest British + perspiration he thought longingly of his rooms in Washington Square, New + York. For West, despite the English sound of that Geoffrey, was as + American as Kansas, his native state, and only pressing business was at + that moment holding him in England, far from the country that glowed + unusually rosy because of its remoteness. + </p> + <p> + At the Carlton news stand West bought two morning papers—the Times + for study and the Mail for entertainment and then passed on into the + restaurant. His waiter—a tall soldierly Prussian, more blond than + West himself—saw him coming and, with a nod and a mechanical German + smile, set out for the plate of strawberries which he knew would be the + first thing desired by the American. West seated himself at his usual + table and, spreading out the Daily Mail, sought his favorite column. The + first item in that column brought a delighted smile to his face: + </p> + <p> + “The one who calls me Dearest is not genuine or they would write to me.” + </p> + <p> + Any one at all familiar with English journalism will recognize at once + what department it was that appealed most to West. During his three weeks + in London he had been following, with the keenest joy, the daily grist of + Personal Notices in the Mail. This string of intimate messages, popularly + known as the Agony Column, has long been an honored institution in the + English press. In the days of Sherlock Holmes it was in the Times that it + flourished, and many a criminal was tracked to earth after he had inserted + some alluring mysterious message in it. Later the Telegraph gave it room; + but, with the advent of halfpenny journalism, the simple souls moved en + masse to the Mail. + </p> + <p> + Tragedy and comedy mingle in the Agony Column. Erring ones are urged to + return for forgiveness; unwelcome suitors are warned that “Father has + warrant prepared; fly, Dearest One!” Loves that would shame by their ardor + Abelard and Heloise are frankly published—at ten cents a word—for + all the town to smile at. The gentleman in the brown derby states with + fervor that the blonde governess who got off the tram at Shepherd’s Bush + has quite won his heart. Will she permit his addresses? Answer; this + department. For three weeks West had found this sort of thing delicious + reading. Best of all, he could detect in these messages nothing that was + not open and innocent. At their worst they were merely an effort to + side-step old Lady Convention; this inclination was so rare in the + British, he felt it should be encouraged. Besides, he was inordinately + fond of mystery and romance, and these engaging twins hovered always about + that column. + </p> + <p> + So, while waiting for his strawberries, he smiled over the ungrammatical + outburst of the young lady who had come to doubt the genuineness of him + who called her Dearest. He passed on to the second item of the morning. + Spoke one whose heart had been completely conquered: + </p> + <p> + MY LADY sleeps. She of raven tresses. Corner seat from Victoria, Wednesday + night. Carried program. Gentleman answering inquiry desires acquaintance. + Reply here. —LE ROI. + </p> + <p> + West made a mental note to watch for the reply of raven tresses. The next + message proved to be one of Aye’s lyrics—now almost a daily feature + of the column: + </p> + <p> + DEAREST: Tender loving wishes to my dear one. Only to be with you now and + always. None “fairer in my eyes.” Your name is music to me. I love you + more than life itself, my own beautiful darling, my proud sweetheart, my + joy, my all! Jealous of everybody. Kiss your dear hands for me. Love you + only. Thine ever. —AYE. + </p> + <p> + Which, reflected West, was generous of Aye—at ten cents a word—and + in striking contrast to the penurious lover who wrote, farther along in + the column: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + —loveu dearly; wantocu; longing; missu— +</pre> + <p> + But those extremely personal notices ran not alone to love. Mystery, too, + was present, especially in the aquatic utterance: + </p> + <p> + DEFIANT MERMAID: Not mine. Alligators bitingu now. ‘Tis well; delighted. + —FIRST FISH. + </p> + <p> + And the rather sanguinary suggestion: + </p> + <p> + DE Box: First round; tooth gone. Finale. You will FORGET ME NOT. + </p> + <p> + At this point West’s strawberries arrived and even the Agony Column could + not hold his interest. When the last red berry was eaten he turned back to + read: + </p> + <p> + WATERLOO: Wed. 11:53 train. Lady who left in taxi and waved, care to know + gent, gray coat? —SINCERE. + </p> + <p> + Also the more dignified request put forward in: + </p> + <p> + GREAT CENTRAL: Gentleman who saw lady in bonnet 9 Monday morning in Great + Central Hotel lift would greatly value opportunity of obtaining + introduction. + </p> + <p> + This exhausted the joys of the Agony Column for the day, and West, like + the solid citizen he really was, took up the Times to discover what might + be the morning’s news. A great deal of space was given to the appointment + of a new principal for Dulwich College. The affairs of the heart, in which + that charming creature, Gabrielle Ray, was at the moment involved, + likewise claimed attention. And in a quite unimportant corner, in a most + unimportant manner, it was related that Austria had sent an ultimatum to + Serbia. West had read part way through this stupid little piece of news, + when suddenly the Thunderer and all its works became an uninteresting + blur. + </p> + <p> + A girl stood just inside the door of the Carlton breakfast room. + </p> + <p> + Yes; he should have pondered that despatch from Vienna. But such a girl! + It adds nothing at all to say that her hair was a dull sort of gold; her + eyes violet. Many girls have been similarly blessed. It was her manner; + the sweet way she looked with those violet eyes through a battalion of + head waiters and resplendent managers; her air of being at home here in + the Carlton or anywhere else that fate might drop her down. Unquestionably + she came from oversea—from the States. + </p> + <p> + She stepped forward into the restaurant. And now slipped also into view, + as part of the background for her, a middle-aged man, who wore the + conventional black of the statesman. He, too, bore the American label + unmistakably. Nearer and nearer to West she drew, and he saw that in her + hand she carried a copy of the Daily Mail. + </p> + <p> + West’s waiter was a master of the art of suggesting that no table in the + room was worth sitting at save that at which he held ready a chair. Thus + he lured the girl and her companion to repose not five feet from where + West sat. This accomplished, he whipped out his order book, and stood with + pencil poised, like a reporter in an American play. + </p> + <p> + “The strawberries are delicious,” he said in honeyed tones. + </p> + <p> + The man looked at the girl, a question in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Not for me, dad,” she said. “I hate them! Grapefruit, please.” + </p> + <p> + As the waiter hurried past, West hailed him. He spoke in loud defiant + tones. + </p> + <p> + “Another plate of the strawberries!” he commanded. “They are better than + ever to-day.” + </p> + <p> + For a second, as though he were part of the scenery, those violet eyes met + his with a casual impersonal glance. Then their owner slowly spread out + her own copy of the Mail. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the news?” asked the statesman, drinking deep from his glass of + water. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t ask me,” the girl answered, without looking up. “I’ve found + something more entertaining than news. Do you know—the English + papers run humorous columns! Only they aren’t called that. They’re called + Personal Notices. And such notices!” She leaned across the table. “Listen + to this: ‘Dearest: Tender loving wishes to my dear one. Only to be with + you now and always. None “fairer in my eyes.”— + </p> + <p> + The man looked uncomfortably about him. “Hush!” he pleaded. “It doesn’t + sound very nice to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nice!” cried the girl. “Oh, but it is—quite nice. And so + deliciously open and aboveboard. ‘Your name is music to me. I love you + more—‘” + </p> + <p> + “What do we see to-day?” put in her father hastily. + </p> + <p> + “We’re going down to the City and have a look at the Temple. Thackeray + lived there once—and Oliver Goldsmith—” + </p> + <p> + “All right—the Temple it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the Tower of London. It’s full of the most romantic associations. + Especially the Bloody Tower, where those poor little princes were + murdered. Aren’t you thrilled?” + </p> + <p> + “I am if you say so.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a dear! I promise not to tell the people back in Texas that you + showed any interest in kings and such—if you will show just a + little. Otherwise I’ll spread the awful news that you took off your hat + when King George went by.” + </p> + <p> + The statesman smiled. West felt that he, who had no business to, was + smiling with him. + </p> + <p> + The waiter returned, bringing grapefruit, and the strawberries West had + ordered. Without another look toward West, the girl put down her paper and + began her breakfasting. As often as he dared, however, West looked at her. + With patriotic pride he told himself: “Six months in Europe, and the most + beautiful thing I’ve seen comes from back home!” + </p> + <p> + When he rose reluctantly twenty minutes later his two compatriots were + still at table, discussing their plans for the day. As is usual in such + cases, the girl arranged, the man agreed. + </p> + <p> + With one last glance in her direction, West went out on the parched + pavement of Haymarket. + </p> + <p> + Slowly he walked back to his rooms. Work was waiting there for him; but + instead of getting down to it, he sat on the balcony of his study, gazing + out on the courtyard that had been his chief reason for selecting those + apartments. Here, in the heart of the city, was a bit of the countryside + transported—the green, trim, neatly tailored countryside that is the + most satisfying thing in England. There were walls on which the ivy + climbed high, narrow paths that ran between blooming beds of flowers, and + opposite his windows a seldom-opened, most romantic gate. As he sat + looking down he seemed to see there below him the girl of the Carlton. Now + she sat on the rustic bench; now she bent above the envious flowers; now + she stood at the gate that opened out to a hot sudden bit of the city. + </p> + <p> + And as he watched her there in the garden she would never enter, as he + reflected unhappily that probably he would see her no more—the idea + came to him. + </p> + <p> + At first he put it from him as absurd, impossible. She was, to apply a + fine word much abused, a lady; he supposedly a gentleman. Their sort did + not do such things. If he yielded to this temptation she would be shocked, + angry, and from him would slip that one chance in a thousand he had—the + chance of meeting her somewhere, some day. + </p> + <p> + And yet—and yet—She, too, had found the Agony Column + entertaining and—quite nice. There was a twinkle in her eyes that + bespoke a fondness for romance. She was human, fun-loving—and, above + all, the joy of youth was in her heart. + </p> + <p> + Nonsense! West went inside and walked the floor. The idea was + preposterous. Still—he smiled—it was filled with amusing + possibilities. Too bad he must put it forever away and settle down to this + stupid work! + </p> + <p> + Forever away? Well— + </p> + <p> + On the next morning, which was Saturday, West did not breakfast at the + Carlton. The girl, however, did. As she and her father sat down the old + man said: “I see you’ve got your Daily Mail.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” she answered. “I couldn’t do without it. Grapefruit—yes.” + </p> + <p> + She began to read. Presently her cheeks flushed and she put the paper + down. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked the Texas statesman. + </p> + <p> + “To-day,” she answered sternly, “you do the British Museum. You’ve put it + off long enough.” + </p> + <p> + The old man sighed. Fortunately he did not ask to see the Mail. If he had, + a quarter way down the column of personal notices he would have been + enraged—or perhaps only puzzled—to read: + </p> + <p> + CARLTON RESTAURANT: Nine A.M. Friday morning. Will the young woman who + preferred grapefruit to strawberries permit the young man who had two + plates of the latter to say he will not rest until he discovers some + mutual friend, that they may meet and laugh over this column together? + </p> + <p> + Lucky for the young man who liked strawberries that his nerve had failed + him and he was not present at the Carlton that morning! He would have been + quite overcome to see the stern uncompromising look on the beautiful face + of a lady at her grapefruit. So overcome, in fact, that he would probably + have left the room at once, and thus not seen the mischievous smile that + came in time to the lady’s face—not seen that she soon picked up the + paper again and read, with that smile, to the end of the column. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The next day was Sunday; hence it brought no Mail. Slowly it dragged + along. At a ridiculously early hour Monday morning Geoffrey West was on + the street, seeking his favorite newspaper. He found it, found the Agony + Column—and nothing else. Tuesday morning again he rose early, still + hopeful. Then and there hope died. The lady at the Carlton deigned no + reply. + </p> + <p> + Well, he had lost, he told himself. He had staked all on this one bold + throw; no use. Probably if she thought of him at all it was to label him a + cheap joker, a mountebank of the halfpenny press. Richly he deserved her + scorn. + </p> + <p> + On Wednesday he slept late. He was in no haste to look into the Daily + Mail; his disappointments of the previous days had been too keen. At last, + while he was shaving, he summoned Walters, the caretaker of the building, + and sent him out to procure a certain morning paper. + </p> + <p> + Walters came back bearing rich treasure, for in the Agony Column of that + day West, his face white with lather, read joyously: + </p> + <p> + STRAWBERRY MAN: Only the grapefruit lady’s kind heart and her great + fondness for mystery and romance move her to answer. The strawberry-mad + one may write one letter a day for seven days—to prove that he is an + interesting person, worth knowing. Then—we shall see. Address: M. A. + L., care Sadie Haight, Carlton Hotel. + </p> + <p> + All day West walked on air, but with the evening came the problem of those + letters, on which depended, he felt, his entire future happiness. + Returning from dinner, he sat down at his desk near the windows that + looked out on his wonderful courtyard. The weather was still torrid, but + with the night had come a breeze to fan the hot cheek of London. It gently + stirred his curtains; rustled the papers on his desk. + </p> + <p> + He considered. Should he at once make known the eminently respectable + person he was, the hopelessly respectable people he knew? Hardly! For + then, on the instant, like a bubble bursting, would go for good all + mystery and romance, and the lady of the grapefruit would lose all + interest and listen to him no more. He spoke solemnly to his rustling + curtains. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “We must have mystery and romance. But where—where + shall we find them?” + </p> + <p> + On the floor above he heard the solid tramp of military boots belonging to + his neighbor, Captain Stephen Fraser-Freer, of the Twelfth Cavalry, Indian + Army, home on furlough from that colony beyond the seas. It was from that + room overhead that romance and mystery were to come in mighty store; but + Geoffrey West little suspected it at the moment. Hardly knowing what to + say, but gaining inspiration as he went along, he wrote the first of seven + letters to the lady at the Carlton. And the epistle he dropped in the post + box at midnight follows here: + </p> + <p> + DEAR LADY OF THE GRAPEFRUIT: You are very kind. Also, you are wise. Wise, + because into my clumsy little Personal you read nothing that was not + there. You knew it immediately for what it was—the timid tentative + clutch of a shy man at the skirts of Romance in passing. Believe me, old + Conservatism was with me when I wrote that message. He was fighting hard. + He followed me, struggling, shrieking, protesting, to the post box itself. + But I whipped him. Glory be! I did for him. + </p> + <p> + We are young but once, I told him. After that, what use to signal to + Romance? The lady at least, I said, will understand. He sneered at that. + He shook his silly gray head. I will admit he had me worried. But now you + have justified my faith in you. Thank you a million times for that! + </p> + <p> + Three weeks I have been in this huge, ungainly, indifferent city, longing + for the States. Three weeks the Agony Column has been my sole diversion. + And then—through the doorway of the Carlton restaurant—you + came— + </p> + <p> + It is of myself that I must write, I know. I will not, then, tell you what + is in my mind—the picture of you I carry. It would mean little to + you. Many Texan gallants, no doubt, have told you the same while the moon + was bright above you and the breeze was softly whispering through the + branches of—the branches of the—of the— + </p> + <p> + Confound it, I don’t know! I have never been in Texas. It is a vice in me + I hope soon to correct. All day I intended to look up Texas in the + encyclopedia. But all day I have dwelt in the clouds. And there are no + reference books in the clouds. + </p> + <p> + Now I am down to earth in my quiet study. Pens, ink and paper are before + me. I must prove myself a person worth knowing. + </p> + <p> + From his rooms, they say, you can tell much about a man. But, alas! these + peaceful rooms in Adelphi Terrace—I shall not tell the number—were + sublet furnished. So if you could see me now you would be judging me by + the possessions left behind by one Anthony Bartholomew. There is much dust + on them. Judge neither Anthony nor me by that. Judge rather Walters, the + caretaker, who lives in the basement with his gray-haired wife. Walters + was a gardener once, and his whole life is wrapped up in the courtyard on + which my balcony looks down. There he spends his time, while up above the + dust gathers in the corners— + </p> + <p> + Does this picture distress you, my lady? You should see the courtyard! You + would not blame Walters then. It is a sample of Paradise left at our door—that + courtyard. As English as a hedge, as neat, as beautiful. London is a roar + somewhere beyond; between our court and the great city is a magic gate, + forever closed. It was the court that led me to take these rooms. + </p> + <p> + And, since you are one who loves mystery, I am going to relate to you the + odd chain of circumstances that brought me here. + </p> + <p> + For the first link in that chain we must go back to Interlaken. Have you + been there yet? A quiet little town, lying beautiful between two + shimmering lakes, with the great Jungfrau itself for scenery. From the + dining-room of one lucky hotel you may look up at dinner and watch the + old-rose afterglow light the snow-capped mountain. You would not say then + of strawberries: “I hate them.” Or of anything else in all the world. + </p> + <p> + A month ago I was in Interlaken. One evening after dinner I strolled along + the main street, where all the hotels and shops are drawn up at attention + before the lovely mountain. In front of one of the shops I saw a + collection of walking sticks and, since I needed one for climbing, I + paused to look them over. I had been at this only a moment when a young + Englishman stepped up and also began examining the sticks. + </p> + <p> + I had made a selection from the lot and was turning away to find the + shopkeeper, when the Englishman spoke. He was lean, distinguished-looking, + though quite young, and had that well-tubbed appearance which I am + convinced is the great factor that has enabled the English to assert their + authority over colonies like Egypt and India, where men are not so + thoroughly bathed. + </p> + <p> + “Er—if you’ll pardon me, old chap,” he said. “Not that stick—if + you don’t mind my saying so. It’s not tough enough for mountain work. I + would suggest—” + </p> + <p> + To say that I was astonished is putting it mildly. If you know the English + at all, you know it is not their habit to address strangers, even under + the most pressing circumstances. Yet here was one of that haughty race + actually interfering in my selection of a stick. I ended by buying the one + he preferred, and he strolled along with me in the direction of my hotel, + chatting meantime in a fashion far from British. + </p> + <p> + We stopped at the Kursaal, where we listened to the music, had a drink and + threw away a few francs on the little horses. He came with me to the + veranda of my hotel. I was surprised, when he took his leave, to find that + he regarded me in the light of an old friend. He said he would call on me + the next morning. + </p> + <p> + I made up my mind that Archibald Enwright—for that, he told me, was + his name—was an adventurer down on his luck, who chose to forget his + British exclusiveness under the stern necessity of getting money somehow, + somewhere. The next day, I decided, I should be the victim of a touch. + </p> + <p> + But my prediction failed; Enwright seemed to have plenty of money. On that + first evening I had mentioned to him that I expected shortly to be in + London, and he often referred to the fact. As the time approached for me + to leave Interlaken he began to throw out the suggestion that he should + like to have me meet some of his people in England. This, also, was + unheard of—against all precedent. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, when I said good-by to him he pressed into my hand a letter + of introduction to his cousin, Captain Stephen Fraser-Freer, of the + Twelfth Cavalry, Indian Army, who, he said, would be glad to make me at + home in London, where he was on furlough at the time—or would be + when I reached there. + </p> + <p> + “Stephen’s a good sort,” said Enwright. “He’ll be jolly pleased to show + you the ropes. Give him my best, old boy!” + </p> + <p> + Of course I took the letter. But I puzzled greatly over the affair. What + could be the meaning of this sudden warm attachment that Archie had formed + for me? Why should he want to pass me along to his cousin at a time when + that gentleman, back home after two years in India, would be, no doubt, + extremely busy? I made up my mind I would not present the letter, despite + the fact that Archie had with great persistence wrung from me a promise to + do so. I had met many English gentlemen, and I felt they were not the sort—despite + the example of Archie—to take a wandering American to their bosoms + when he came with a mere letter. By easy stages I came on to London. Here + I met a friend, just sailing for home, who told me of some sad experiences + he had had with letters of introduction—of the cold, fishy, + “My-dear-fellow-why-trouble-me-with-it?” stares that had greeted their + presentation. Good-hearted men all, he said, but averse to strangers; an + ever-present trait in the English—always excepting Archie. + </p> + <p> + So I put the letter to Captain Fraser-Freer out of my mind. I had business + acquaintances here and a few English friends, and I found these, as + always, courteous and charming. But it is to my advantage to meet as many + people as may be, and after drifting about for a week I set out one + afternoon to call on my captain. I told myself that here was an Englishman + who had perhaps thawed a bit in the great oven of India. If not, no harm + would be done. + </p> + <p> + It was then that I came for the first time to this house on Adelphi + Terrace, for it was the address Archie had given me. Walters let me in, + and I learned from him that Captain Fraser-Freer had not yet arrived from + India. His rooms were ready—he had kept them during his absence, as + seems to be the custom over here—and he was expected soon. Perhaps—said + Walters—his wife remembered the date. He left me in the lower hall + while he went to ask her. + </p> + <p> + Waiting, I strolled to the rear of the hall. And then, through an open + window that let in the summer, I saw for the first time that courtyard + which is my great love in London—the old ivy-covered walls of brick; + the neat paths between the blooming beds; the rustic seat; the magic gate. + It was incredible that just outside lay the world’s biggest city, with all + its poverty and wealth, its sorrows and joys, its roar and rattle. Here + was a garden for Jane Austen to people with fine ladies and courtly + gentlemen—here was a garden to dream in, to adore and to cherish. + </p> + <p> + When Walters came back to tell me that his wife was uncertain as to the + exact date when the captain would return, I began to rave about that + courtyard. At once he was my friend. I had been looking for quiet lodgings + away from the hotel, and I was delighted to find that on the second floor, + directly under the captain’s rooms, there was a suite to be sublet. + </p> + <p> + Walters gave me the address of the agents; and, after submitting to an + examination that could not have been more severe if I had asked for the + hand of the senior partner’s daughter, they let me come here to live. The + garden was mine! + </p> + <p> + And the captain? Three days after I arrived I heard above me, for the + first time, the tread of his military boots. Now again my courage began to + fail. I should have preferred to leave Archie’s letter lying in my desk + and know my neighbor only by his tread above me. I felt that perhaps I had + been presumptuous in coming to live in the same house with him. But I had + represented myself to Walters as an acquaintance of the captain’s and the + caretaker had lost no time in telling me that “my friend” was safely home. + </p> + <p> + So one night, a week ago, I got up my nerve and went to the captain’s + rooms. I knocked. He called to me to enter and I stood in his study, + facing him. He was a tall handsome man, fair-haired, mustached—the + very figure that you, my lady, in your boarding-school days, would have + wished him to be. His manner, I am bound to admit, was not cordial. + </p> + <p> + “Captain,” I began, “I am very sorry to intrude—” It wasn’t the + thing to say, of course, but I was fussed. “However, I happen to be a + neighbor of yours, and I have here a letter of introduction from your + cousin, Archibald Enwright. I met him in Interlaken and we became very + good friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said the captain. + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand for the letter, as though it were evidence at a + court-martial. I passed it over, wishing I hadn’t come. He read it + through. It was a long letter, considering its nature. While I waited, + standing by his desk—he hadn’t asked me to sit down—I looked + about the room. It was much like my own study, only I think a little + dustier. Being on the third floor it was farther from the garden, + consequently Walters reached there seldom. + </p> + <p> + The captain turned back and began to read the letter again. This was + decidedly embarrassing. Glancing down, I happened to see on his desk an + odd knife, which I fancy he had brought from India. The blade was of + steel, dangerously sharp, the hilt of gold, carved to represent some + heathen figure. + </p> + <p> + Then the captain looked up from Archie’s letter and his cold gaze fell + full upon me. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” he said, “to the best of my knowledge, I have no cousin + named Archibald Enwright.” + </p> + <p> + A pleasant situation, you must admit! It’s bad enough when you come to + them with a letter from their mother, but here was I in this Englishman’s + rooms, boldly flaunting in his face a warm note of commendation from a + cousin who did not exist! + </p> + <p> + “I owe you an apology,” I said. I tried to be as haughty as he, and fell + short by about two miles. “I brought the letter in good faith.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt of that,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Evidently it was given me by some adventurer for purposes of his own,” I + went on; “though I am at a loss to guess what they could have been.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m frightfully sorry—really,” said he. But he said it with the + London inflection, which plainly implies: “I’m nothing of the sort.” + </p> + <p> + A painful pause. I felt that he ought to give me back the letter; but he + made no move to do so. And, of course, I didn’t ask for it. + </p> + <p> + “Ah—er—good night,” said I and hurried toward the door. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” he answered, and I left him standing there with Archie’s + accursed letter in his hand. + </p> + <p> + That is the story of how I came to this house in Adelphi Terrace. There is + mystery in it, you must admit, my lady. Once or twice since that + uncomfortable call I have passed the captain on the stairs; but the halls + are very dark, and for that I am grateful. I hear him often above me; in + fact, I hear him as I write this. + </p> + <p> + Who was Archie? What was the idea? I wonder. + </p> + <p> + Ah, well, I have my garden, and for that I am indebted to Archie the + garrulous. It is nearly midnight now. The roar of London has died away to + a fretful murmur, and somehow across this baking town a breeze has found + its way. It whispers over the green grass, in the ivy that climbs my wall, + in the soft murky folds of my curtains. Whispers—what? + </p> + <p> + Whispers, perhaps, the dreams that go with this, the first of my letters + to you. They are dreams that even I dare not whisper yet. + </p> + <p> + And so—good night. + </p> + <p> + THE STRAWBERRY MAN. <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + With a smile that betrayed unusual interest, the daughter of the Texas + statesman read that letter on Thursday morning in her room at the Carlton. + There was no question about it—the first epistle from the + strawberry-mad one had caught and held her attention. All day, as she + dragged her father through picture galleries, she found herself looking + forward to another morning, wondering, eager. + </p> + <p> + But on the following morning Sadie Haight, the maid through whom this odd + correspondence was passing, had no letter to deliver. The news rather + disappointed the daughter of Texas. At noon she insisted on returning to + the hotel for luncheon, though, as her father pointed out, they were far + from the Carlton at the time. Her journey was rewarded. Letter number two + was waiting; and as she read she gasped. + </p> + <p> + DEAR LADY AT THE CARLTON: I am writing this at three in the morning, with + London silent as the grave, beyond our garden. That I am so late in + getting to it is not because I did not think of you all day yesterday; not + because I did not sit down at my desk at seven last evening to address + you. Believe me, only the most startling, the most appalling accident + could have held me up. + </p> + <p> + That most startling, most appalling accident has happened. + </p> + <p> + I am tempted to give you the news at once in one striking and terrible + sentence. And I could write that sentence. A tragedy, wrapped in mystery + as impenetrable as a London fog, has befallen our quiet little house in + Adelphi Terrace. In their basement room the Walters family, sleepless, + overwhelmed, sit silent; on the dark stairs outside my door I hear at + intervals the tramp of men on unhappy missions—But no; I must go + back to the very start of it all: + </p> + <p> + Last night I had an early dinner at Simpson’s, in the Strand—so + early that I was practically alone in the restaurant. The letter I was + about to write to you was uppermost in my mind and, having quickly dined, + I hurried back to my rooms. I remember clearly that, as I stood in the + street before our house fumbling for my keys, Big Ben on the Parliament + Buildings struck the hour of seven. The chime of the great bell rang out + in our peaceful thoroughfare like a loud and friendly greeting. + </p> + <p> + Gaining my study, I sat down at once to write. Over my head I could hear + Captain Fraser-Freer moving about—attiring himself, probably, for + dinner. I was thinking, with an amused smile, how horrified he would be if + he knew that the crude American below him had dined at the impossible hour + of six, when suddenly I heard, in that room above me, some stranger + talking in a harsh determined tone. Then came the captain’s answering + voice, calmer, more dignified. This conversation went along for some time, + growing each moment more excited. Though I could not distinguish a word of + it, I had the uncomfortable feeling that there was a controversy on; and I + remember feeling annoyed that any one should thus interfere with my + composition of your letter, which I regarded as most important, you may be + sure. + </p> + <p> + At the end of five minutes of argument there came the heavy thump-thump of + men struggling above me. It recalled my college days, when we used to hear + the fellows in the room above us throwing each other about in an excess of + youth and high spirits. But this seemed more grim, more determined, and I + did not like it.—However, I reflected that it was none of my + business. I tried to think about my letter. + </p> + <p> + The struggle ended with a particularly heavy thud that shook our ancient + house to its foundations. I sat listening, somehow very much depressed. + There was no sound. It was not entirely dark outside—the long + twilight—and the frugal Walters had not lighted the hall lamps. + Somebody was coming down the stairs very quietly—but their creaking + betrayed him. I waited for him to pass through the shaft of light that + poured from the door open at my back. At that moment Fate intervened in + the shape of a breeze through my windows, the door banged shut, and a + heavy man rushed by me in the darkness and ran down the stairs. I knew he + was heavy, because the passageway was narrow and he had to push me aside + to get by. I heard him swear beneath his breath. + </p> + <p> + Quickly I went to a hall window at the far end that looked out on the + street. But the front door did not open; no one came out. I was puzzled + for a second; then I reentered my room and hurried to my balcony. I could + make out the dim figure of a man running through the garden at the rear—that + garden of which I have so often spoken. He did not try to open the gate; + he climbed it, and so disappeared from sight into the alley. + </p> + <p> + For a moment I considered. These were odd actions, surely; but was it my + place to interfere? I remembered the cold stare in the eyes of Captain + Fraser-Freer when I presented that letter. I saw him standing motionless + in his murky study, as amiable as a statue. Would he welcome an intrusion + from me now? + </p> + <p> + Finally I made up my mind to forget these things and went down to find + Walters. He and his wife were eating their dinner in the basement. I told + him what had happened. He said he had let no visitor in to see the + captain, and was inclined to view my misgivings with a cold British eye. + However, I persuaded him to go with me to the captain’s rooms. + </p> + <p> + The captain’s door was open. Remembering that in England the way of the + intruder is hard, I ordered Walters to go first. He stepped into the room, + where the gas flickered feebly in an aged chandelier. + </p> + <p> + “My God, sir!” said Walters, a servant even now. + </p> + <p> + And at last I write that sentence: Captain Fraser-Freer of the Indian Army + lay dead on the floor, a smile that was almost a sneer on his handsome + English face! + </p> + <p> + The horror of it is strong with me now as I sit in the silent morning in + this room of mine which is so like the one in which the captain died. He + had been stabbed just over the heart, and my first thought was of that odd + Indian knife which I had seen lying on his study table. I turned quickly + to seek it, but it was gone. And as I looked at the table it came to me + that here in this dusty room there must be finger prints—many finger + prints. + </p> + <p> + The room was quite in order, despite those sounds of struggle. One or two + odd matters met my eye. On the table stood a box from a florist in Bond + Street. The lid had been removed and I saw that the box contained a number + of white asters. Beside the box lay a scarf-pin—an emerald scarab. + And not far from the captain’s body lay what is known—owing to the + German city where it is made—as a Homburg hat. + </p> + <p> + I recalled that it is most important at such times that nothing be + disturbed, and I turned to old Walters. His face was like this paper on + which I write; his knees trembled beneath him. + </p> + <p> + “Walters,” said I, “we must leave things just as they are until the police + arrive. Come with me while I notify Scotland Yard.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, sir,” said Walters. + </p> + <p> + We went down then to the telephone in the lower hall, and I called up the + Yard. I was told that an inspector would come at once and I went back to + my room to wait for him. + </p> + <p> + You can well imagine the feelings that were mine as I waited. Before this + mystery should be solved, I foresaw that I might be involved to a degree + that was unpleasant if not dangerous. Walters would remember that I first + came here as one acquainted with the captain. He had noted, I felt sure, + the lack of intimacy between the captain and myself, once the former + arrived from India. He would no doubt testify that I had been most anxious + to obtain lodgings in the same house with Fraser-Freer. Then there was the + matter of my letter from Archie. I must keep that secret, I felt sure. + Lastly, there was not a living soul to back me up in my story of the + quarrel that preceded the captain’s death, of the man who escaped by way + of the garden. + </p> + <p> + Alas, thought I, even the most stupid policeman can not fail to look upon + me with the eye of suspicion! + </p> + <p> + In about twenty minutes three men arrived from Scotland Yard. By that time + I had worked myself up into a state of absurd nervousness. I heard Walters + let them in; heard them climb the stairs and walk about in the room + overhead. In a short time Walters knocked at my door and told me that + Chief Inspector Bray desired to speak to me. As I preceded the servant up + the stairs I felt toward him as an accused murderer must feel toward the + witness who has it in his power to swear his life away. + </p> + <p> + He was a big active man—Bray; blond as are so many Englishmen. His + every move spoke efficiency. Trying to act as unconcerned as an innocent + man should—but failing miserably, I fear—I related to him my + story of the voices, the struggle, and the heavy man who had got by me in + the hall and later climbed our gate. He listened without comment. At the + end he said: + </p> + <p> + “You were acquainted with the captain?” + </p> + <p> + “Slightly,” I told him. Archie’s letter kept popping into my mind, + frightening me. “I had just met him—that is all; through a friend of + his—Archibald Enwright was the name.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Enwright in London to vouch for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid not. I last heard of him in Interlaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? How did you happen to take rooms in this house?” + </p> + <p> + “The first time I called to see the captain he had not yet arrived from + India. I was looking for lodgings and I took a great fancy to the garden + here.” + </p> + <p> + It sounded silly, put like that. I wasn’t surprised that the inspector + eyed me with scorn. But I rather wished he hadn’t. + </p> + <p> + Bray began to walk about the room, ignoring me. + </p> + <p> + “White asters; scarab pin; Homburg hat,” he detailed, pausing before the + table where those strange exhibits lay. + </p> + <p> + A constable came forward carrying newspapers in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” Bray asked. + </p> + <p> + “The Daily Mail, sir,” said the constable. “The issues of July + twenty-seventh, twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth and thirtieth.” + </p> + <p> + Bray took the papers in his hand, glanced at them and tossed them + contemptuously into a waste-basket. He turned to Walters. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, sir,” said Walters; “but I was so taken aback! Nothing like this + has ever happened to me before. I’ll go at once—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Bray sharply. “Never mind. I’ll attend to it—” + </p> + <p> + There was a knock at the door. Bray called “Come!” and a slender boy, + frail but with a military bearing, entered. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Walters!” he said, smiling. “What’s up? I-” + </p> + <p> + He stopped suddenly as his eyes fell upon the divan where Fraser-Freer + lay. In an instant he was at the dead man’s side. + </p> + <p> + “Stephen!” he cried in anguish. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” demanded the inspector—rather rudely, I thought. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the captain’s brother, sir,” put in Walters. “Lieutenant Norman + Fraser-Freer, of the Royal Fusiliers.” + </p> + <p> + There fell a silence. + </p> + <p> + “A great calamity, sir—” began Walters to the boy. + </p> + <p> + I have rarely seen any one so overcome as young Fraser-Freer. Watching + him, it seemed to me that the affection existing between him and the man + on the divan must have been a beautiful thing. He turned away from his + brother at last, and Walters sought to give him some idea of what had + happened. + </p> + <p> + “You will pardon me, gentlemen,” said the lieutenant. “This has been a + terrible shock! I didn’t dream, of course—I just dropped in for a + word with—with him. And now—” + </p> + <p> + We said nothing. We let him apologize, as a true Englishman must, for his + public display of emotion. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry,” Bray remarked in a moment, his eyes still shifting about the + room—“especially as England may soon have great need of men like the + captain. Now, gentlemen, I want to say this: I am the Chief of the Special + Branch at the Yard. This is no ordinary murder. For reasons I can not + disclose—and, I may add, for the best interests of the empire—news + of the captain’s tragic death must be kept for the present out of the + newspapers. I mean, of course, the manner of his going. A mere death + notice, you understand—the inference being that it was a natural + taking off.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said the lieutenant, as one who knows more than he tells. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Bray. “I shall leave you to attend to the matter, as far + as your family is concerned. You will take charge of the body. As for the + rest of you, I forbid you to mention this matter outside.” + </p> + <p> + And now Bray stood looking, with a puzzled air, at me. + </p> + <p> + “You are an American?” he said, and I judged he did not care for + Americans. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” I told him. + </p> + <p> + “Know any one at your consulate?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Thank heaven, I did! There is an under-secretary there named Watson—I + went to college with him. I mentioned him to Bray. + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” said the inspector. “You are free to go. But you must + understand that you are an important witness in this case, and if you + attempt to leave London you will be locked up.” + </p> + <p> + So I came back to my rooms, horribly entangled in a mystery that is little + to my liking. I have been sitting here in my study for some time, going + over it again and again. There have been many footsteps on the stairs, + many voices in the hall. + </p> + <p> + Waiting here for the dawn, I have come to be very sorry for the cold + handsome captain. After all, he was a man; his very tread on the floor + above, which it shall never hear again, told me that. + </p> + <p> + What does it all mean? Who was the man in the hall, the man who had argued + so loudly, who had struck so surely with that queer Indian knife? Where is + the knife now? + </p> + <p> + And, above all, what do the white asters signify? And the scarab + scarf-pin? And that absurd Homburg hat? + </p> + <p> + Lady of the Carlton, you wanted mystery. When I wrote that first letter to + you, little did I dream that I should soon have it to give you in + overwhelming measure. + </p> + <p> + And—believe me when I say it—through all this your face has + been constantly before me—your face as I saw it that bright morning + in the hotel breakfast room. You have forgiven me, I know, for the manner + in which I addressed you. I had seen your eyes and the temptation was + great—very great. + </p> + <p> + It is dawn in the garden now and London is beginning to stir. So this time + it is—good morning, my lady. + </p> + <p> + THE STRAWBERRY MAN. <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + It is hardly necessary to intimate that this letter came as something of a + shock to the young woman who received it. For the rest of that day the + many sights of London held little interest for her—so little, + indeed, that her perspiring father began to see visions of his beloved + Texas; and once hopefully suggested an early return home. The coolness + with which this idea was received plainly showed him that he was on the + wrong track; so he sighed and sought solace at the bar. + </p> + <p> + That night the two from Texas attended His Majesty’s Theater, where + Bernard Shaw’s latest play was being performed; and the witty Irishman + would have been annoyed to see the scant attention one lovely young + American in the audience gave his lines. The American in question retired + at midnight, with eager thoughts turned toward the morning. + </p> + <p> + And she was not disappointed. When her maid, a stolid Englishwoman, + appeared at her bedside early Saturday she carried a letter, which she + handed over, with the turned-up nose of one who aids but does not approve. + Quickly the girl tore it open. + </p> + <p> + DEAR Texas LADY: I am writing this late in the afternoon. The sun is + casting long black shadows on the garden lawn, and the whole world is so + bright and matter-of-fact I have to argue with myself to be convinced that + the events of that tragic night through which I passed really happened. + </p> + <p> + The newspapers this morning helped to make it all seem a dream; not a line—not + a word, that I can find. When I think of America, and how by this time the + reporters would be swarming through our house if this thing had happened + over there, I am the more astonished. But then, I know these English + papers. The great Joe Chamberlain died the other night at ten, and it was + noon the next day when the first paper to carry the story appeared—screaming + loudly that it had scored a beat. It had. Other lands, other methods. + </p> + <p> + It was probably not difficult for Bray to keep journalists such as these + in the dark. So their great ungainly sheets come out in total ignorance of + a remarkable story in Adelphi Terrace. Famished for real news, they begin + to hint at a huge war cloud on the horizon. Because tottering Austria has + declared war on tiny Serbia, because the Kaiser is to-day hurrying, with + his best dramatic effect, home to Berlin, they see all Europe shortly + bathed in blood. A nightmare born of torrid days and tossing nights! + </p> + <p> + But it is of the affair in Adelphi Terrace that you no doubt want to hear. + One sequel of the tragedy, which adds immeasurably to the mystery of it + all, has occurred, and I alone am responsible for its discovery. But to go + back: + </p> + <p> + I returned from mailing your letter at dawn this morning, very tired from + the tension of the night. I went to bed, but could not sleep. More and + more it was preying on my mind that I was in a most unhappy position. I + had not liked the looks cast at me by Inspector Bray, or his voice when he + asked how I came to live in this house. I told myself I should not be safe + until the real murderer of the poor captain was found; and so I began to + puzzle over the few clues in the case—especially over the asters, + the scarab pin and the Homburg hat. + </p> + <p> + It was then I remembered the four copies of the Daily Mail that Bray had + casually thrown into the waste-basket as of no interest. I had glanced + over his shoulder as he examined these papers, and had seen that each of + them was folded so that our favorite department—the Agony Column—was + uppermost. It happened I had in my desk copies of the Mail for the past + week. You will understand why. + </p> + <p> + I rose, found those papers, and began to read. It was then that I made the + astounding discovery to which I have alluded. + </p> + <p> + For a time after making it I was dumb with amazement, so that no course of + action came readily to mind. In the end I decided that the thing for me to + do was to wait for Bray’s return in the morning and then point out to him + the error he had made in ignoring the Mail. + </p> + <p> + Bray came in about eight o’clock and a few minutes later I heard another + man ascend the stairs. I was shaving at the time, but I quickly completed + the operation and, slipping on a bathrobe, hurried up to the captain’s + rooms. The younger brother had seen to the removal of the unfortunate + man’s body in the night, and, aside from Bray and the stranger who had + arrived almost simultaneously with him, there was no one but a sleepy-eyed + constable there. + </p> + <p> + Bray’s greeting was decidedly grouchy. The stranger, however—a tall + bronzed man—made himself known to me in the most cordial manner. He + told me he was Colonel Hughes, a close friend of the dead man; and that, + unutterably shocked and grieved, he had come to inquire whether there was + anything he might do. “Inspector,” said I, “last night in this room you + held in your hand four copies of the Daily Mail. You tossed them into that + basket as of no account. May I suggest that you rescue those copies, as I + have a rather startling matter to make clear to you?” Too grand an + official to stoop to a waste-basket, he nodded to the constable. The + latter brought the papers; and, selecting one from the lot, I spread it + out on the table. “The issue of July twenty-seventh,” I said. + </p> + <p> + I pointed to an item half-way down the column of Personal Notices. You + yourself, my lady, may read it there if you happen to have saved a copy. + It ran as follows: + </p> + <p> + “RANGOON: The asters are in full bloom in the garden at Canterbury. They + are very beautiful—especially the white ones.” + </p> + <p> + Bray grunted, and opened his little eyes. I took up the issue of the + following day—the twenty-eighth: + </p> + <p> + “RANGOON: We have been forced to sell father’s stick-pin—the emerald + scarab he brought home from Cairo.” + </p> + <p> + I had Bray’s interest now. He leaned heavily toward me, puffing. Greatly + excited, I held before his eyes the issue of the twenty-ninth: + </p> + <p> + “RANGOON: Homburg hat gone forever—caught by a breeze—into the + river.” + </p> + <p> + “And finally,” said I to the inspector, “the last message of all, in the + issue of the thirtieth of July—on sale in the streets some twelve + hours before Fraser-Freer was murdered. See!” + </p> + <p> + “RANGOON: To-night at ten. Regent Street. —Y.O.G.” + </p> + <p> + Bray was silent. + </p> + <p> + “I take it you are aware, Inspector,” I said, “that for the past two years + Captain Fraser-Freer was stationed at Rangoon.” + </p> + <p> + Still he said nothing; just looked at me with those foxy little eyes that + I was coming to detest. At last he spoke sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Just how,” he demanded, “did you happen to discover those messages? You + were not in this room last night after I left?” He turned angrily to the + constable. “I gave orders—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I put in; “I was not in this room. I happened to have on file in my + rooms copies of the Mail, and by the merest chance—” + </p> + <p> + I saw that I had blundered. Undoubtedly my discovery of those messages was + too pat. Once again suspicion looked my way. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much,” said Bray. “I’ll keep this in mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you communicated with my friend at the consulate?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That’s all. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + So I went. + </p> + <p> + I had been back in my room some twenty minutes when there came a knock on + the door, and Colonel Hughes entered. He was a genial man, in the early + forties I should say, tanned by some sun not English, and gray at the + temples. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” he said without preamble, “this is a most appalling + business!” + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly,” I answered. “Will you sit down?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” He sat and gazed frankly into my eyes. “Policemen,” he added + meaningly, “are a most suspicious tribe—often without reason. I am + sorry you happen to be involved in this affair, for I may say that I fancy + you to be exactly what you seem. May I add that, if you should ever need a + friend, I am at your service?” + </p> + <p> + I was touched; I thanked him as best I could. His tone was so sympathetic + and before I realized it I was telling him the whole story—of Archie + and his letter; of my falling in love with a garden; of the startling + discovery that the captain had never heard of his cousin; and of my + subsequent unpleasant position. He leaned back in his chair and closed his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” he said, “that no man ever carries an unsealed letter of + introduction without opening it to read just what praises have been + lavished upon him. It is human nature—I have done it often. May I + make so bold as to inquire—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I. “It was unsealed and I did read it. Considering its + purpose, it struck me as rather long. There were many warm words for me—words + beyond all reason in view of my brief acquaintance with Enwright. I also + recall that he mentioned how long he had been in Interlaken, and that he + said he expected to reach London about the first of August.” + </p> + <p> + “The first of August,” repeated the colonel. “That is to-morrow. Now—if + you’ll be so kind—just what happened last night?” + </p> + <p> + Again I ran over the events of that tragic evening—the quarrel; the + heavy figure in the hall; the escape by way of the seldom-used gate. + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” said Colonel Hughes as he rose to go, “the threads of this + tragedy stretch far—some of them to India; some to a country I will + not name. I may say frankly that I have other and greater interest in the + matter than that of the captain’s friend. For the present that is in + strict confidence between us; the police are well-meaning, but they + sometimes blunder. Did I understand you to say that you have copies of the + Mail containing those odd messages?” + </p> + <p> + “Right here in my desk,” said I. I got them for him. + </p> + <p> + “I think I shall take them—if I may,” he said. “You will, of course, + not mention this little visit of mine. We shall meet again. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + And he went away, carrying those papers with their strange signals to + Rangoon. + </p> + <p> + Somehow I feel wonderfully cheered by his call. For the first time since + seven last evening I begin to breathe freely again. + </p> + <p> + And so, lady who likes mystery, the matter stands on the afternoon of the + last day of July, nineteen hundred and fourteen. + </p> + <p> + I shall mail you this letter to-night. It is my third to you, and it + carries with it three times the dreams that went with the first; for they + are dreams that live not only at night, when the moon is on the courtyard, + but also in the bright light of day. + </p> + <p> + Yes—I am remarkably cheered. I realize that I have not eaten at all—save + a cup of coffee from the trembling hand of Walters—since last night, + at Simpson’s. I am going now to dine. I shall begin with grapefruit. I + realize that I am suddenly very fond of grapefruit. + </p> + <p> + How bromidic to note it—we have many tastes in common! + </p> + <p> + EX-STRAWBERRY MAN. + </p> + <p> + The third letter from her correspondent of the Agony Column increased in + the mind of the lovely young woman at the Carlton the excitement and + tension the second had created. For a long time, on the Saturday morning + of its receipt, she sat in her room puzzling over the mystery of the house + in Adelphi Terrace. When first she had heard that Captain Fraser-Freer, of + the Indian Army, was dead of a knife wound over the heart, the news had + shocked her like that of the loss of some old and dear friend. She had + desired passionately the apprehension of his murderer, and had turned over + and over in her mind the possibilities of white asters, a scarab pin and a + Homburg hat. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the girl longed for the arrest of the guilty man thus keenly + because this jaunty young friend of hers—a friend whose name she did + not know—to whom, indeed, she had never spoken—was so + dangerously entangled in the affair. For, from what she knew of Geoffrey + West, from her casual glance in the restaurant and, far more, from his + letters, she liked him extremely. + </p> + <p> + And now came his third letter, in which he related the connection of that + hat, that pin and those asters with the column in the Mail which had first + brought them together. As it happened, she, too, had copies of the paper + for the first four days of the week. She went to her sitting-room, + unearthed these copies, and—gasped! For from the column in Monday’s + paper stared up at her the cryptic words to Rangoon concerning asters in a + garden at Canterbury. In the other three issues as well, she found the + identical messages her strawberry man had quoted. She sat for a moment in + deep thought; sat, in fact, until at her door came the enraged knocking of + a hungry parent who had been waiting a full hour in the lobby below for + her to join him at breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come!” boomed her father, entering at her invitation. “Don’t sit + here all day mooning. I’m hungry if you’re not.” + </p> + <p> + With quick apologies she made ready to accompany him down-stairs. Firmly, + as she planned their campaign for the day, she resolved to put from her + mind all thought of Adelphi Terrace. How well she succeeded may be judged + from a speech made by her father that night just before dinner: + </p> + <p> + “Have you lost your tongue, Marian? You’re as uncommunicative as a + newly-elected office-holder. If you can’t get a little more life into + these expeditions of ours we’ll pack up and head for home.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, patted his shoulder and promised to improve. But he appeared + to be in a gloomy mood. + </p> + <p> + “I believe we ought to go, anyhow,” he went on. “In my opinion this war is + going to spread like a prairie fire. The Kaiser got back to Berlin + yesterday. He’ll sign the mobilization orders to-day as sure as fate. For + the past week, on the Berlin Bourse, Canadian Pacific stock has been + dropping. That means they expect England to come in.” + </p> + <p> + He gazed darkly into the future. It may seem that, for an American + statesman, he had an unusual grasp of European politics. This is easily + explained by the fact that he had been talking with the bootblack at the + Carlton Hotel. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said with sudden decision, “I’ll go down to the steamship + offices early Monday morning.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + His daughter heard these words with a sinking heart. She had a most + unhappy picture of herself boarding a ship and sailing out of Liverpool or + Southampton, leaving the mystery that so engrossed her thoughts forever + unsolved. Wisely she diverted her father’s thoughts toward the question of + food. She had heard, she said, that Simpson’s, in the Strand, was an + excellent place to dine. They would go there, and walk. She suggested a + short detour that would carry them through Adelphi Terrace. It seemed she + had always wanted to see Adelphi Terrace. + </p> + <p> + As they passed through that silent Street she sought to guess, from an + inspection of the grim forbidding house fronts, back of which lay the + lovely garden, the romantic mystery. But the houses were so very much like + one another. Before one of them, she noted, a taxi waited. + </p> + <p> + After dinner her father pleaded for a music-hall as against what he called + “some highfaluting, teacup English play.” He won. Late that night, as they + rode back to the Carlton, special editions were being proclaimed in the + streets. Germany was mobilizing! + </p> + <p> + The girl from Texas retired, wondering what epistolary surprise the + morning would bring forth. It brought forth this: + </p> + <p> + DEAR DAUGHTER OF THE SENATE: Or is it Congress? I could not quite decide. + But surely in one or the other of those august bodies your father sits + when he is not at home in Texas or viewing Europe through his daughter’s + eyes. One look at him and I had gathered that. + </p> + <p> + But Washington is far from London, isn’t it? And it is London that + interests us most—though father’s constituents must not know that. + It is really a wonderful, an astounding city, once you have got the feel + of the tourist out of your soul. I have been reading the most enthralling + essays on it, written by a newspaper man who first fell desperately in + love with it at seven—an age when the whole glittering town was + symbolized for him by the fried-fish shop at the corner of the High + Street. With him I have been going through its gray and furtive + thoroughfares in the dead of night, and sometimes we have kicked an + ash-barrel and sometimes a romance. Some day I might show that London to + you—guarding you, of course, from the ash-barrels, if you are that + kind. On second thoughts, you aren’t. But I know that it is of Adelphi + Terrace and a late captain in the Indian Army that you want to hear now. + Yesterday, after my discovery of those messages in the Mail and the call + of Captain Hughes, passed without incident. Last night I mailed you my + third letter, and after wandering for a time amid the alternate glare and + gloom of the city, I went back to my rooms and smoked on my balcony while + about me the inmates of six million homes sweltered in the heat. Nothing + happened. I felt a bit disappointed, a bit cheated, as one might feel on + the first night spent at home after many successive visits to exciting + plays. To-day, the first of August dawned, and still all was quiet. + Indeed, it was not until this evening that further developments in the + sudden death of Captain Fraser-Freer arrived to disturb me. These + developments are strange ones surely, and I shall hasten to relate them. + </p> + <p> + I dined to-night at a little place in Soho. My waiter was Italian, and on + him I amused myself with the Italian in Ten Lessons of which I am + foolishly proud. We talked of Fiesole, where he had lived. Once I rode + from Fiesole down the hill to Florence in the moonlight. I remember + endless walls on which hung roses, fresh and blooming. I remember a gaunt + nunnery and two-gray-robed sisters clanging shut the gates. I remember the + searchlight from the military encampment, playing constantly over the Arno + and the roofs—the eye of Mars that, here in Europe, never closes. + And always the flowers nodding above me, stooping now and then to brush my + face. I came to think that at the end Paradise, and not a second-rate + hotel, was waiting. One may still take that ride, I fancy. Some day—some + day— + </p> + <p> + I dined in Soho. I came back to Adelphi Terrace in the hot, reeking August + dusk, reflecting that the mystery in which I was involved was, after a + fashion, standing still. In front of our house I noticed a taxi waiting. I + thought nothing of it as I entered the murky hallway and climbed the + familiar stairs. + </p> + <p> + My door stood open. It was dark in my study, save for the reflection of + the lights of London outside. As I crossed the threshold there came to my + nostrils the faint sweet perfume of lilacs. There are no lilacs in our + garden, and if there were it is not the season. No, this perfume had been + brought there by a woman—a woman who sat at my desk and raised her + head as I entered. + </p> + <p> + “You will pardon this intrusion,” she said in the correct careful English + of one who has learned the speech from a book. “I have come for a brief + word with you—then I shall go.” + </p> + <p> + I could think of nothing to say. I stood gaping like a schoolboy. + </p> + <p> + “My word,” the woman went on, “is in the nature of advice. We do not + always like those who give us advice. None the less, I trust that you will + listen.” + </p> + <p> + I found my tongue then. + </p> + <p> + “I am listening,” I said stupidly. “But first—a light—” And I + moved toward the matches on the mantelpiece. + </p> + <p> + Quickly the woman rose and faced me. I saw then that she wore a veil—not + a heavy veil, but a fluffy, attractive thing that was yet sufficient to + screen her features from me. + </p> + <p> + “I beg of you,” she cried, “no light!” And as I paused, undecided, she + added, in a tone which suggested lips that pout: “It is such a little + thing to ask—surely you will not refuse.” + </p> + <p> + I suppose I should have insisted. But her voice was charming, her manner + perfect, and that odor of lilacs reminiscent of a garden I knew long ago, + at home. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—I am grateful to you,” she answered. Her tone changed. “I + understand that, shortly after seven o’clock last Thursday evening, you + heard in the room above you the sounds of a struggle. Such has been your + testimony to the police?” + </p> + <p> + “It has,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite certain as to the hour?” I felt that she was smiling at me. + “Might it not have been later—or earlier?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure it was just after seven,” I replied. “I’ll tell you why: I had + just returned from dinner and while I was unlocking the door Big Ben on + the House of Parliament struck—” + </p> + <p> + She raised her hand. + </p> + <p> + “No matter,” she said, and there was a touch of iron in her voice. “You + are no longer sure of that. Thinking it over, you have come to the + conclusion that it may have been barely six-thirty when you heard the + noise of a struggle.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” said I. I tried to sound sarcastic, but I was really too + astonished by her tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—indeed!” she replied. “That is what you will tell Inspector + Bray when next you see him. ‘It may have been six-thirty,’ you will tell + him. ‘I have thought it over and I am not certain.’” + </p> + <p> + “Even for a very charming lady,” I said “I can not misrepresent the facts + in a matter so important. It was after seven—” + </p> + <p> + “I am not asking you to do a favor for a lady,” she replied. “I am asking + you to do a favor for yourself. If you refuse the consequences may be most + unpleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m rather at a loss—” I began. + </p> + <p> + She was silent for a moment. Then she turned and I felt her looking at me + through the veil. + </p> + <p> + “Who was Archibald Enwright?” she demanded. My heart sank. I recognized + the weapon in her hands. “The police,” she went on, “do not yet know that + the letter of introduction you brought to the captain was signed by a man + who addressed Fraser-Freer as Dear Cousin, but who is completely unknown + to the family. Once that information reaches Scotland Yard, your chance of + escaping arrest is slim. + </p> + <p> + “They may not be able to fasten this crime upon you, but there will be + complications most distasteful. One’s liberty is well worth keeping—and + then, too, before the case ends, there will be wide publicity—” + </p> + <p> + “‘Well?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “That is why you are going to suffer a lapse of memory in the matter of + the hour at which you heard that struggle. As you think it over, it is + going to occur to you that it may have been six-thirty, not seven. + Otherwise—” + </p> + <p> + “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Otherwise the letter of introduction you gave to the captain will be sent + anonymously to Inspector Bray.” + </p> + <p> + “You have that letter!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “Not I,” she answered. “But it will be sent to Bray. It will be pointed + out to him that you were posing under false colors. You could not escape!” + </p> + <p> + I was most uncomfortable. The net of suspicion seemed closing in about me. + But I was resentful, too, of the confidence in this woman’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “None the less,” said I, “I refuse to change my testimony. The truth is + the truth—” + </p> + <p> + The woman had moved to the door. She turned. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” she replied, “it is not unlikely you will see Inspector Bray. + As I said, I came here to give you advice. You had better take it. What + does it matter—a half-hour this way or that? And the difference is + prison for you. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + She was gone. I followed into the hall. Below, in the street, I heard the + rattle of her taxi. + </p> + <p> + I went back into my room and sat down. I was upset, and no mistake. + Outside my windows the continuous symphony of the city played on—the + busses, the trains, the never-silent voices. I gazed out. What a + tremendous acreage of dank brick houses and dank British souls! I felt + horribly alone. I may add that I felt a bit frightened, as though that + great city were slowly closing in on me. + </p> + <p> + Who was this woman of mystery? What place had she held in the life—and + perhaps in the death—of Captain Fraser-Freer? Why should she come + boldly to my rooms to make her impossible demand? + </p> + <p> + I resolved that, even at the risk of my own comfort, I would stick to the + truth. And to that resolve I would have clung had I not shortly received + another visit—this one far more inexplicable, far more surprising, + than the first. + </p> + <p> + It was about nine o’clock when Walters tapped at my door and told me two + gentlemen wished to see me. A moment later into my study walked Lieutenant + Norman Fraser-Freer and a fine old gentleman with a face that suggested + some faded portrait hanging on an aristocrat’s wall. I had never seen him + before. + </p> + <p> + “I hope it is quite convenient for you to see us,” said young + Fraser-Freer. + </p> + <p> + I assured him that it was. The boy’s face was drawn and haggard; there was + terrible suffering in his eyes, yet about him hung, like a halo, the glory + of a great resolution. + </p> + <p> + “May I present my father?” he said. “General Fraser-Freer, retired. We + have come on a matter of supreme importance—” + </p> + <p> + The old man muttered something I could not catch. I could see that he had + been hard hit by the loss of his elder son. I asked them to be seated; the + general complied, but the boy walked the floor in a manner most + distressing. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not be long,” he remarked. “Nor at a time like this is one in the + mood to be diplomatic. I will only say, sir, that we have come to ask of + you a great—a very great favor indeed. You may not see fit to grant + it. If that is the case we can not well reproach you. But if you can—” + </p> + <p> + “It is a great favor, sir!” broke in the general. “And I am in the odd + position where I do not know whether you will serve me best by granting it + or by refusing to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “Father—please—if you don’t mind—” The boy’s voice was + kindly but determined. He turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “Sir—you have testified to the police that it was a bit past seven + when you heard in the room above the sounds of the struggle which—which—You + understand.” + </p> + <p> + In view of the mission of the caller who had departed a scant hour + previously, the boy’s question startled me. + </p> + <p> + “Such was my testimony,” I answered. “It was the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally,” said Lieutenant Fraser-Freer. “But—er—as a matter + of fact, we are here to ask that you alter your testimony. Could you, as a + favor to us who have suffered so cruel a loss—a favor we should + never forget—could you not make the hour of that struggle half after + six?” + </p> + <p> + I was quite overwhelmed. + </p> + <p> + “Your—reasons?” I managed at last to ask. + </p> + <p> + “I am not able to give them to you in full,” the boy answered. “I can only + say this: It happens that at seven o’clock last Thursday night I was + dining with friends at the Savoy—friends who would not be likely to + forget the occasion.” + </p> + <p> + The old general leaped to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Norman,” he cried, “I can not let you do this thing! I simply will not—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, father,” said the boy wearily. “We have threshed it all out. You + have promised—” + </p> + <p> + The old man sank back into the chair and buried his face in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “If you are willing to change your testimony,” young Fraser-Freer went on + to me, “I shall at once confess to the police that it was I who—who + murdered my brother. They suspect me. They know that late last Thursday + afternoon I purchased a revolver, for which, they believe, at the last + moment I substituted the knife. They know that I was in debt to him; that + we had quarreled about money matters; that by his death I, and I alone, + could profit.” + </p> + <p> + He broke off suddenly and came toward me, holding out his arms with a + pleading gesture I can never forget. + </p> + <p> + “Do this for me!” he cried. “Let me confess! Let me end this whole + horrible business here and now.” + </p> + <p> + Surely no man had ever to answer such an appeal before. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I found myself saying, and over and over I repeated it—“Why? + Why?” + </p> + <p> + The lieutenant faced me, and I hope never again to see such a look in a + man’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I loved him!” he cried. “That is why. For his honor, for the honor of our + family, I am making this request of you. Believe me, it is not easy. I can + tell you no more than that. You knew my brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Slightly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, for his sake—do this thing I ask.” + </p> + <p> + “But—murder—” + </p> + <p> + “You heard the sounds of a struggle. I shall say that we quarreled—that + I struck in self-defense.” He turned to his father. “It will mean only a + few years in prison—I can bear that!” he cried. “For the honor of + our name!” + </p> + <p> + The old man groaned, but did not raise his head. The boy walked back and + forth over my faded carpet like a lion caged. I stood wondering what + answer I should make. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you are thinking,” said the lieutenant. “You can not credit + your ears. But you have heard correctly. And now—as you might put it—it + is up to you. I have been in your country.” He smiled pitifully. “I think + I know you Americans. You are not the sort to refuse a man when he is sore + beset—as I am.” + </p> + <p> + I looked from him to the general and back again. + </p> + <p> + “I must think this over,” I answered, my mind going at once to Colonel + Hughes. “Later—say to-morrow—you shall have my decision.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” said the boy, “we shall both be called before Inspector Bray. + I shall know your answer then—and I hope with all my heart it will + be yes.” + </p> + <p> + There were a few mumbled words of farewell and he and the broken old man + went out. As soon as the street door closed behind them I hurried to the + telephone and called a number Colonel Hughes had given me. It was with a + feeling of relief that I heard his voice come back over the wire. I told + him I must see him at once. He replied that by a singular chance he had + been on the point of starting for my rooms. + </p> + <p> + In the half-hour that elapsed before the coming of the colonel I walked + about like a man in a trance. He was barely inside my door when I began + pouring out to him the story of those two remarkable visits. He made + little comment on the woman’s call beyond asking me whether I could + describe her; and he smiled when I mentioned lilac perfume. At mention of + young Fraser-Freer’s preposterous request he whistled. + </p> + <p> + “By gad!” he said. “Interesting—most interesting! I am not + surprised, however. That boy has the stuff in him.” + </p> + <p> + “But what shall I do?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Hughes smiled. + </p> + <p> + “It makes little difference what you do,” he said. “Norman Fraser-Freer + did not kill his brother, and that will be proved in due time.” He + considered for a moment. “Bray no doubt would be glad to have you alter + your testimony, since he is trying to fasten the crime on the young + lieutenant. On the whole, if I were you, I think that when the opportunity + comes to-morrow I should humor the inspector.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—tell him I am no longer certain as to the hour of that + struggle?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. I give you my word that young Fraser-Freer will not be + permanently incriminated by such an act on your part. And incidentally you + will be aiding me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said I. “But I don’t understand this at all.” + </p> + <p> + “No—of course not. I wish I could explain to you; but I can not. I + will say this—the death of Captain Fraser-Freer is regarded as a + most significant thing by the War Office. Thus it happens that two + distinct hunts for his assassin are under way—one conducted by Bray, + the other by me. Bray does not suspect that I am working on the case and I + want to keep him in the dark as long as possible. You may choose which of + these investigations you wish to be identified with.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said I, “that I prefer you to Bray.” + </p> + <p> + “Good boy!” he answered. “You have not gone wrong. And you can do me a + service this evening, which is why I was on the point of coming here, even + before you telephoned me. I take it that you remember and could identify + the chap who called himself Archibald Enwright—the man who gave you + that letter to the captain?” + </p> + <p> + “I surely could,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Then, if you can spare me an hour, get your hat.” + </p> + <p> + And so it happens, lady of the Carlton, that I have just been to + Limehouse. You do not know where Limehouse is and I trust you never will. + It is picturesque; it is revolting; it is colorful and wicked. The weird + odors of it still fill my nostrils; the sinister portrait of it is still + before my eyes. It is the Chinatown of London—Limehouse. Down in the + dregs of the town—with West India Dock Road for its spinal column—it + lies, redolent of ways that are dark and tricks that are vain. Not only + the heathen Chinee so peculiar shuffles through its dim-lit alleys, but + the scum of the earth, of many colors and of many climes. The Arab and the + Hindu, the Malayan and the Jap, black men from the Congo and fair men from + Scandinavia—these you may meet there—the outpourings of all + the ships that sail the Seven Seas. There many drunken beasts, with their + pay in their pockets, seek each his favorite sin; and for those who love + most the opium, there is, at all too regular intervals, the Sign of the + Open Lamp. + </p> + <p> + We went there, Colonel Hughes and I. Up and down the narrow Causeway, + yellow at intervals with the light from gloomy shops, dark mostly because + of tightly closed shutters through which only thin jets found their way, + we walked until we came and stood at last in shadow outside the black + doorway of Harry San Li’s so-called restaurant. We waited ten, fifteen + minutes; then a man came down the Causeway and paused before that door. + There was something familiar in his jaunty walk. Then the faint glow of + the lamp that was the indication of Harry San’s real business lit his pale + face, and I knew that I had seen him last in the cool evening at + Interlaken, where Limehouse could not have lived a moment, with the + Jungfrau frowning down upon it. + </p> + <p> + “Enwright?” whispered Hughes. + </p> + <p> + “Not a doubt of it!” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” he replied with fervor. + </p> + <p> + And now another man shuffled down the street and stood suddenly straight + and waiting before the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Stay with him,” said Hughes softly. “Don’t let him get out of your + sight.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, sir,” said the man; and, saluting, he passed on up the stairs + and whistled softly at that black depressing door. + </p> + <p> + The clock above the Millwall Docks was striking eleven as the colonel and + I caught a bus that should carry us back to a brighter, happier London. + Hughes spoke but seldom on that ride; and, repeating his advice that I + humor Inspector Bray on the morrow, he left me in the Strand. + </p> + <p> + So, my lady, here I sit in my study, waiting for that most important day + that is shortly to dawn. A full evening, you must admit. A woman with the + perfume of lilacs about her has threatened that unless I lie I shall + encounter consequences most unpleasant. A handsome young lieutenant has + begged me to tell that same lie for the honor of his family, and thus + condemn him to certain arrest and imprisonment. And I have been down into + hell, to-night and seen Archibald Enwright, of Interlaken, conniving with + the devil. + </p> + <p> + I presume I should go to bed; but I know I can not sleep. To-morrow is to + be, beyond all question, a red-letter day in the matter of the captain’s + murder. And once again, against my will, I am down to play a leading part. + </p> + <p> + The symphony of this great, gray, sad city is a mere hum in the distance + now, for it is nearly midnight. I shall mail this letter to you—post + it, I should say, since I am in London—and then I shall wait in my + dim rooms for the dawn. And as I wait I shall be thinking not always of + the captain, or his brother, or Hughes, or Limehouse and Enwright, but + often—oh, very often—of you. + </p> + <p> + In my last letter I scoffed at the idea of a great war. But when we came + back from Limehouse to-night the papers told us that the Kaiser had signed + the order to mobilize. Austria in; Serbia in; Germany, Russia and France + in. Hughes tells me that England is shortly to follow, and I suppose there + is no doubt of it. It is a frightful thing—this future that looms + before us; and I pray that for you at least it may hold only happiness. + </p> + <p> + For, my lady, when I write good night, I speak it aloud as I write; and + there is in my voice more than I dare tell you of now. + </p> + <p> + THE AGONY COLUMN MAN. + </p> + <p> + Not unwelcome to the violet eyes of the girl from Texas were the last + words of this letter, read in her room that Sunday morning. But the lines + predicting England’s early entrance into the war recalled to her mind a + most undesirable contingency. On the previous night, when the war extras + came out confirming the forecast of his favorite bootblack, her usually + calm father had shown signs of panic. He was not a man slow to act. And + she knew that, putty though he was in her hands in matters which he did + not regard as important, he could also be firm where he thought firmness + necessary. America looked even better to him than usual, and he had made + up his mind to go there immediately. There was no use in arguing with him. + </p> + <p> + At this point came a knock at her door and her father entered. One look at + his face—red, perspiring and decidedly unhappy—served to cheer + his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Been down to the steamship offices,” he panted, mopping his bald head. + “They’re open to-day, just like it was a week day—but they might as + well be closed. There’s nothing doing. Every boat’s booked up to the + rails; we can’t get out of here for two weeks—maybe more.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry,” said his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “No, you ain’t! You’re delighted! You think it’s romantic to get caught + like this. Wish I had the enthusiasm of youth.” He fanned himself with a + newspaper. “Lucky I went over to the express office yesterday and loaded + up on gold. I reckon when the blow falls it’ll be tolerable hard to cash + checks in this man’s town.” + </p> + <p> + “That was a good idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Ready for breakfast?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Quite ready,” she smiled. + </p> + <p> + They went below, she humming a song from a revue, while he glared at her. + She was very glad they were to be in London a little longer. She felt she + could not go, with that mystery still unsolved. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + The last peace Sunday London was to know in many weary months went by, a + tense and anxious day. Early on Monday the fifth letter from the young man + of the Agony Column arrived, and when the girl from Texas read it she knew + that under no circumstances could she leave London now. + </p> + <p> + It ran: + </p> + <p> + DEAR LADY FROM HOME: I call you that because the word home has for me, + this hot afternoon in London, about the sweetest sound word ever had. I + can see, when I close my eyes, Broadway at midday; Fifth Avenue, gay and + colorful, even with all the best people away; Washington Square, cool + under the trees, lovely and desirable despite the presence everywhere of + alien neighbors from the district to the South. I long for home with an + ardent longing; never was London so cruel, so hopeless, so drab, in my + eyes. For, as I write this, a constable sits at my elbow, and he and I are + shortly to start for Scotland Yard. I have been arrested as a suspect in + the case of Captain Fraser-Freer’s murder! + </p> + <p> + I predicted last night that this was to be a red-letter day in the history + of that case, and I also saw myself an unwilling actor in the drama. But + little did I suspect the series of astonishing events that was to come + with the morning; little did I dream that the net I have been dreading + would to-day engulf me. I can scarcely blame Inspector Bray for holding + me; what I can not understand is why Colonel Hughes— + </p> + <p> + But you want, of course, the whole story from the beginning; and I shall + give it to you. At eleven o’clock this morning a constable called on me at + my rooms and informed me that I was wanted at once by the Chief Inspector + at the Yard. + </p> + <p> + We climbed—the constable and I—a narrow stone stairway + somewhere at the back of New Scotland Yard, and so came to the inspector’s + room. Bray was waiting for us, smiling and confident. I remember—silly + as the detail is—that he wore in his buttonhole a white rose. His + manner of greeting me was more genial than usual. He began by informing me + that the police had apprehended the man who, they believed, was guilty of + the captain’s murder. + </p> + <p> + “There is one detail to be cleared up,” he said. “You told me the other + night that it was shortly after seven o’clock when you heard the sounds of + struggle in the room above you. You were somewhat excited at the time, and + under similar circumstances men have been known to make mistakes. Have you + considered the matter since? Is it not possible that you were in error in + regard to the hour?” + </p> + <p> + I recalled Hughes’ advice to humor the inspector; and I said that, having + thought it over, I was not quite sure. It might have been earlier than + seven—say six-thirty. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Bray. He seemed rather pleased. “The natural stress of the + moment—I understand. Wilkinson, bring in your prisoner. The + constable addressed turned and left the room, coming back a moment later + with Lieutenant Norman Fraser-Freer. The boy was pale; I could see at a + glance that he had not slept for several nights. + </p> + <p> + “Lieutenant,” said Bray very sharply, “will you tell me—is it true + that your brother, the late captain, had loaned you a large sum of money a + year or so ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true,” answered the lieutenant in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “You and he had quarreled about the amount of money you spent?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “By his death you became the sole heir of your father, the general. Your + position with the money-lenders was quite altered. Am I right?” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy so.” + </p> + <p> + “Last Thursday afternoon you went to the Army and Navy Stores and + purchased a revolver. You already had your service weapon, but to shoot a + man with a bullet from that would be to make the hunt of the police for + the murderer absurdly simple.” + </p> + <p> + The boy made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Let us suppose,” Bray went on, “that last Thursday evening at half after + six you called on your brother in his rooms at Adelphi Terrace. There was + an argument about money. You became enraged. You saw him and him alone + between you and the fortune you needed so badly. Then—I am only + supposing—you noticed on his table an odd knife he had brought from + India—safer—more silent—than a gun. You seized it—” + </p> + <p> + “Why suppose?” the boy broke in. “I’m not trying to conceal anything. + You’re right—I did it! I killed my brother! Now let us get the whole + business over as soon as may be.” + </p> + <p> + Into the face of Inspector Bray there came at that moment a look that has + puzzling me ever since—a look that has recurred to my mind again and + again,—in the stress and storm of this eventful day. It was only too + evident that this confession came to him as a shock. I presume so easy a + victory seemed hollow to him; he was wishing the boy had put up a fight. + Policemen are probably like that. + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” he said, “I am sorry for you. My course is clear. If you will go + with one of my men—” + </p> + <p> + It was at this point that the door of the inspector’s room opened and + Colonel Hughes, cool and smiling, walked in. Bray chuckled at sight of the + military man. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Colonel,” he cried, “you make a good entrance! This morning, when I + discovered that I had the honor of having you associated with me in the + search for the captain’s murderer, you were foolish enough to make a + little wager—” + </p> + <p> + “I remember,” Hughes answered. “A scarab pin against—a Homburg hat.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said Bray. “You wagered that you, and not I, would discover + the guilty man. Well, Colonel, you owe me a scarab. Lieutenant Norman + Fraser-Freer has just told me that he killed his brother, and I was on the + point of taking down his full confession.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” replied Hughes calmly. “Interesting—most interesting! But + before we consider the wager lost—before you force the lieutenant to + confess in full—I should like the floor.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” smiled Bray. + </p> + <p> + “When you were kind enough to let me have two of your men this morning,” + said Hughes, “I told you I contemplated the arrest of a lady. I have + brought that lady to Scotland Yard with me.” He stepped to the door, + opened it and beckoned. A tall, blonde handsome woman of about thirty-five + entered; and instantly to my nostrils came the pronounced odor of lilacs. + “Allow me, Inspector,” went on the colonel, “to introduce to you the + Countess Sophie de Graf, late of Berlin, late of Delhi and Rangoon, now of + 17 Leitrim Grove, Battersea Park Road.” + </p> + <p> + The woman faced Bray; and there was a terrified, hunted look in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You are the inspector?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” said Bray. + </p> + <p> + “And a man—I can see that,” she went on, her flashing angrily at + Hughes. “I appeal to you to protect me from the brutal questioning of this—this + fiend.” + </p> + <p> + “You are hardly complimentary, Countess,” Hughes smiled. “But I am willing + to forgive you if you will tell the inspector the story that you have + recently related to me.” + </p> + <p> + The woman shut her lips tightly and for a long moment gazed into the eyes + of Inspector Bray. + </p> + <p> + “He”—she said at last, nodding in the direction of Colonel Hughes—“he + got it out of me—how, I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “Got what out of you?” Bray’s little eyes were blinking. + </p> + <p> + “At six-thirty o’clock last Thursday evening,” said the woman, “I went to + the rooms of Captain Fraser-Freer, in Adelphi Terrace. An argument arose. + I seized from his table an Indian dagger that was lying there—I + stabbed him just above the heart!” + </p> + <p> + In that room in Scotland Yard a tense silence fell. For the first time we + were all conscious of a tiny clock on the inspector’s desk, for it ticked + now with a loudness sudden and startling. I gazed at the faces about me. + Bray’s showed a momentary surprise—then the mask fell again. + Lieutenant Fraser-Freer was plainly amazed. On the face of Colonel Hughes + I saw what struck me as an open sneer. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Countess,” he smiled. + </p> + <p> + She shrugged her shoulders and turned toward him a disdainful back. Her + eyes were all for Bray. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very brief, the story,” she said hastily—I thought almost + apologetically. “I had known the captain in Rangoon. My husband was in + business there—an exporter of rice—and Captain Fraser-Freer + came often to our house. We—he was a charming man, the captain—” + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” ordered Hughes. + </p> + <p> + “We fell desperately in love,” said the countess. “When he returned to + England, though supposedly on a furlough, he told me he would never return + to Rangoon. He expected a transfer to Egypt. So it was arranged that I + should desert my husband and follow on the next boat. I did so—believing + in the captain—thinking he really cared for me—I gave up + everything for him. And then—” + </p> + <p> + Her voice broke and she took out a handkerchief. Again that odor of lilacs + in the room. + </p> + <p> + “For a time I saw the captain often in London; and then I began to notice + a change. Back among his own kind, with the lonely days in India a mere + memory—he seemed no longer to—to care for me. Then—last + Thursday morning—he called on me to tell me that he was through; + that he would never see me again—in fact, that he was to marry a + girl of his own people who had been waiting—” + </p> + <p> + The woman looked piteously about at us. + </p> + <p> + “I was desperate,” she pleaded. “I had given up all that life held for me—given + it up for a man who now looked at me coldly and spoke of marrying another. + Can you wonder that I went in the evening to his rooms—went to plead + with him—to beg, almost on my knees? It was no use. He was done with + me—he said that over and over. Overwhelmed with blind rage and + despair, I snatched up that knife from the table and plunged it into his + heart. At once I was filled with remorse. I—” + </p> + <p> + “One moment,” broke in Hughes. “You may keep the details of your + subsequent actions until later. I should like to compliment you, Countess. + You tell it better each time.” + </p> + <p> + He came over and faced Bray. I thought there was a distinct note of + hostility in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Checkmate, Inspector!” he said. Bray made no reply. He sat there staring + up at the colonel, his face turned to stone. + </p> + <p> + “The scarab pin,” went on Hughes, “is not yet forthcoming. We are tied for + honors, my friend. You have your confession, but I have one to match it.” + </p> + <p> + “All this is beyond me,” snapped Bray. + </p> + <p> + “A bit beyond me, too,” the colonel answered. “Here are two people who + wish us to believe that on the evening of Thursday last, at half after six + of the clock, each sought out Captain Fraser-Freer in his rooms and + murdered him.” + </p> + <p> + He walked to the window and then wheeled dramatically. + </p> + <p> + “The strangest part of it all is,” he added, “that at six-thirty o’clock + last Thursday evening, at an obscure restaurant in Soho—Frigacci’s—these + two people were having tea together!” + </p> + <p> + I must admit that, as the colonel calmly offered this information, I + suddenly went limp all over at a realization of the endless maze of + mystery in which we were involved. The woman gave a little cry and + Lieutenant Fraser-Freer leaped to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “How the devil do you know that?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” said Colonel Hughes, “because one of my men happened to be + having tea at a table near by. He happened to be having tea there for the + reason that ever since the arrival of this lady in London, at the request + of—er—friends in India, I have been keeping track of her every + move; just as I kept watch over your late brother, the captain.” + </p> + <p> + Without a word Lieutenant Fraser-Freer dropped into a chair and buried his + face in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry, my son,” said Hughes. “Really, I am. You made a heroic effort + to keep the facts from coming out—a man’s-size effort it was. But + the War Office knew long before you did that your brother had succumbed to + this woman’s lure—that he was serving her and Berlin, and not his + own country, England.” + </p> + <p> + Fraser-Freer raised his head. When he spoke there was in his voice an + emotion vastly more sincere than that which had moved him when he made his + absurd confession. + </p> + <p> + “The game’s up,” he said. “I have done all I could. This will kill my + father, I am afraid. Ours has been an honorable name, Colonel; you know + that—a long line of military men whose loyalty to their country has + never before been in question. I thought my confession would end the whole + nasty business, that the investigations would stop, and that I might be + able to keep forever unknown this horrible thing about him—about my + brother.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Hughes laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder, and the latter went + on: “They reached me—those frightful insinuations about Stephen—in + a round about way; and when he came home from India I resolved to watch + him. I saw him go often to the house of this woman. I satisfied myself + that she was the same one involved in the stories coming from Rangoon; + then, under another name, I managed to meet her. I hinted to her that I + myself was none too loyal; not completely, but to a limited extent, I won + her confidence. Gradually I became convinced that my brother was indeed + disloyal to his country, to his name, to us all. It was at that tea time + you have mentioned when I finally made up my mind. I had already bought a + revolver; and, with it in my pocket, I went to the Savoy for dinner.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and paced the floor. + </p> + <p> + “I left the Savoy early and went to Stephen’s rooms. I was resolved to + have it out with him, to put the matter to him bluntly; and if he had no + explanation to give me I intended to kill him then and there. So, you see, + I was guilty in intention if not in reality. I entered his study. It was + filled with strangers. On his sofa I saw my brother Stephen lying—stabbed + above the heart—dead!” There was a moment’s silence. “That is all,” + said Lieutenant Fraser-Freer. + </p> + <p> + “I take it,” said Hughes kindly, “that we have finished with the + lieutenant. Eh, Inspector?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bray shortly. “You may go.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” the boy answered. As he went out he said brokenly to Hughes: + “I must find him—my father.” + </p> + <p> + Bray sat in his chair, staring hard ahead, his jaw thrust out angrily. + Suddenly he turned on Hughes. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t play fair,” he said. “I wasn’t told anything of the status of + the captain at the War Office. This is all news to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” smiled Hughes. “The bet is off if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “No, by heaven!” Bray cried. “It’s still on, and I’ll win it yet. A fine + morning’s work I suppose you think you’ve done. But are we any nearer to + finding the murderer? Tell me that.” + </p> + <p> + “Only a bit nearer, at any rate,” replied Hughes suavely. “This lady, of + course, remains in custody.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” answered the inspector. “Take her away!” he ordered. + </p> + <p> + A constable came forward for the countess and Colonel Hughes gallantly + held open the door. + </p> + <p> + “You will have an opportunity, Sophie,” he said, “to think up another + story. You are clever—it will not be hard.” + </p> + <p> + She gave him a black look and went out. Bray got up from his desk. He and + Colonel Hughes stood facing each other across a table, and to me there was + something in the manner of each that suggested eternal conflict. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” sneered Bray. + </p> + <p> + “There is one possibility we have overlooked,” Hughes answered. He turned + toward me and I was startled by the coldness in his eyes. “Do you know, + Inspector,” he went on, “that this American came to London with a letter + of introduction to the captain—a letter from the captain’s cousin, + one Archibald Enwright? And do you know that Fraser-Freer had no cousin of + that name?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Bray. + </p> + <p> + “It happens to be the truth,” said Hughes. “The American has confessed as + much to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Bray to me, and his little blinking eyes were on me with a + narrow calculating glance that sent the shivers up and down my spine, “you + are under arrest. I have exempted you so far because of your friend at the + United States Consulate. That exemption ends now.” + </p> + <p> + I was thunderstruck. I turned to the colonel, the man who had suggested + that I seek him out if I needed a friend—the man I had looked to to + save me from just such a contingency as this. But his eyes were quite + fishy and unsympathetic. + </p> + <p> + “Quite correct, Inspector,” he said. “Lock him up!” And as I began to + protest he passed very close to me and spoke in a low voice: “Say nothing. + Wait!” + </p> + <p> + I pleaded to be allowed to go back to my rooms, to communicate with my + friends, and pay a visit to our consulate and to the Embassy; and at the + colonel’s suggestion Bray agreed to this somewhat irregular course. So + this afternoon I have been abroad with a constable, and while I wrote this + long letter to you he has been fidgeting in my easy chair. Now he informs + me that his patience is exhausted and that I must go at once. So there is + no time to wonder; no time to speculate as to the future, as to the + colonel’s sudden turn against me or the promise of his whisper in my ear. + I shall, no doubt, spend the night behind those hideous, forbidding walls + that your guide has pointed out to you as New Scotland Yard. And when I + shall write again, when I shall end this series of letters so filled with— + </p> + <p> + The constable will not wait. He is as impatient as a child. Surely he is + lying when he says I have kept him here an hour. + </p> + <p> + Wherever I am, dear lady, whatever be the end of this amazing tangle, you + may be sure the thought of you—Confound the man! + </p> + <p> + YOURS, IN DURANCE VILE. + </p> + <p> + This fifth letter from the young man of the Agony Column arrived at the + Carlton Hotel, as the reader may recall, on Monday morning, August the + third. And it represented to the girl from Texas the climax of the + excitement she had experienced in the matter of the murder in Adelphi + Terrace. The news that her pleasant young friend—whom she did not + know—had been arrested as a suspect in the case, inevitable as it + had seemed for days, came none the less as an unhappy shock. She wondered + whether there was anything she could do to help. She even considered going + to Scotland Yard and, on the ground that her father was a Congressman from + Texas, demanding the immediate release of her strawberry man. Sensibly, + however, she decided that Congressmen from Texas meant little in the life + of the London police. Besides, she night have difficulty in explaining to + that same Congressman how she happened to know all about a crime that was + as yet unmentioned in the newspapers. + </p> + <p> + So she reread the latter portion of the fifth letter, which pictured her + hero marched off ingloriously to Scotland Yard and with a worried little + sigh, went below to join her father. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + In the course of the morning she made several mysterious inquiries of her + parent regarding nice points of international law as it concerned murder, + and it is probable that he would have been struck by the odd nature of + these questions had he not been unduly excited about another matter. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, we’ve got to get home!” he announced gloomily. “The German + troops are ready at Aix-la-Chapelle for an assault on Liege. Yes, sir—they’re + going to strike through Belgium! Know what that means? England in the war! + Labor troubles; suffragette troubles; civil war in Ireland—these + things will melt away as quickly as that snow we had last winter in Texas. + They’ll go in. It would be national suicide if they didn’t.” + </p> + <p> + His daughter stared at him. She was unaware that it was the bootblack at + the Carlton he was now quoting. She began to think he knew more about + foreign affairs than she had given him credit for. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he went on; “we’ve got to travel—fast. This won’t be a + healthy neighborhood for non-combatants when the ruction starts. I’m going + if I have to buy a liner!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said the girl. “This is the chance of a lifetime. I won’t be + cheated out of it by a silly old dad. Why, here we are, face to face with + history!” + </p> + <p> + “American history is good enough for me,” he spread-eagled. “What are you + looking at?” + </p> + <p> + “Provincial to the death!” she said thoughtfully. “You old dear—I + love you so! Some of our statesmen over home are going to look pretty + foolish now in the face of things they can’t understand, I hope you’re not + going to be one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Twaddle!” he cried. “I’m going to the steamship offices to-day and argue + as I never argued for a vote.” + </p> + <p> + His daughter saw that he was determined; and, wise from long experience, + she did not try to dissuade him. + </p> + <p> + London that hot Monday was a city on the alert, a city of hearts heavy + with dread. The rumors in one special edition of the papers were denied in + the next and reaffirmed in the next. Men who could look into the future + walked the streets with faces far from happy. Unrest ruled the town. And + it found its echo in the heart of the girl from Texas as she thought of + her young friend of the Agony Column “in durance vile” behind the frowning + walls of Scotland Yard. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon her father appeared, with the beaming mien of the victor, + and announced that for a stupendous sum he had bought the tickets of a man + who was to have sailed on the steamship Saronia three days hence. + </p> + <p> + “The boat train leaves at ten Thursday morning,” he said. “Take your last + look at Europe and be ready.” + </p> + <p> + Three days! His daughter listened with sinking heart. Could she in three + days’ time learn the end of that strange mystery, know the final fate of + the man who had first addressed her so unconventionally in a public print? + Why, at the end of three days he might still be in Scotland Yard, a + prisoner! She could not leave if that were true—she simply could + not. Almost she was on the point of telling her father the story of the + whole affair, confident that she could soothe his anger and enlist his + aid. She decided to wait until the next morning; and, if no letter came + then— + </p> + <p> + But on Tuesday morning a letter did come and the beginning of it brought + pleasant news. The beginning—yes. But the end! This was the letter: + </p> + <p> + DEAR ANXIOUS LADY: Is it too much for me to assume that you have been just + that, knowing as you did that I was locked up for the murder of a captain + in the Indian Army, with the evidence all against me and hope a very still + small voice indeed? + </p> + <p> + Well, dear lady, be anxious no longer. I have just lived through the most + astounding day of all the astounding days that have been my portion since + last Thursday. And now, in the dusk, I sit again in my rooms, a free man, + and write to you in what peace and quiet I can command after the startling + adventure through which I have recently passed. + </p> + <p> + Suspicion no longer points to me; constables no longer eye me; Scotland + Yard is not even slightly interested in me. For the murderer of Captain + Fraser-Freer has been caught at last! + </p> + <p> + Sunday night I spent ingloriously in a cell in Scotland Yard. I could not + sleep. I had so much to think of—you, for example, and at intervals + how I might escape from the folds of the net that had closed so tightly + about me. My friend at the consulate, Watson, called on me late in the + evening; and he was very kind. But there was a note lacking in his voice, + and after he was gone the terrible certainty came into my mind—he + believed that I was guilty after all. + </p> + <p> + The night passed, and a goodly portion of to-day went by—as the + poets say—with lagging feet. I thought of London, yellow in the sun. + I thought of the Carlton—I suppose there are no more strawberries by + this time. And my waiter—that stiff-backed Prussian—is home in + Deutschland now, I presume, marching with his regiment. I thought of you. + </p> + <p> + At three o’clock this afternoon they came for me and I was led back to the + room belonging to Inspector Bray. When I entered, however, the inspector + was not there—only Colonel Hughes, immaculate and self-possessed, as + usual, gazing out the window into the cheerless stone court. He turned + when I entered. I suppose I must have had a most woebegone appearance, for + a look of regret crossed his face. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” he cried, “my most humble apologies! I intended to have + you released last night. But, believe me, I have been frightfully busy.” + </p> + <p> + I said nothing. What could I say? The fact that he had been busy struck me + as an extremely silly excuse. But the inference that my escape from the + toils of the law was imminent set my heart to thumping. + </p> + <p> + “I fear you can never forgive me for throwing you over as I did + yesterday,” he went on. “I can only say that it was absolutely necessary—as + you shall shortly understand.” + </p> + <p> + I thawed a bit. After all, there was an unmistakable sincerity in his + voice and manner. + </p> + <p> + “We are waiting for Inspector Bray,” continued the colonel. “I take it you + wish to see this thing through?” + </p> + <p> + “To the end,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally. The inspector was called away yesterday immediately after our + interview with him. He had business on the Continent, I understand. But + fortunately I managed to reach him at Dover and he has come back to + London. I wanted him, you see, because I have found the murderer of + Captain Fraser-Freer.” + </p> + <p> + I thrilled to hear that, for from my point of view it was certainly a + consummation devoutly to be wished. The colonel did not speak again. In a + few minutes the door opened and Bray came in. His clothes looked as though + he had slept in them; his little eyes were bloodshot. But in those eyes + there was a fire I shall never forget. Hughes bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Good afternoon, Inspector,” he said. “I’m really sorry I had to interrupt + you as I did; but I most awfully wanted you to know that you owe me a + Homburg hat.” He went closer to the detective. “You see, I have won that + wager. I have found the man who murdered Captain Fraser-Freer.” + </p> + <p> + Curiously enough, Bray said nothing. He sat down at his desk and idly + glanced through the pile of mail that lay upon it. Finally he looked up + and said in a weary tone: + </p> + <p> + “You’re very clever, I’m sure, Colonel Hughes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—I wouldn’t say that,” replied Hughes. “Luck was with me—from + the first. I am really very glad to have been of service in the matter, + for I am convinced that if I had not taken part in the search it would + have gone hard with some innocent man.” + </p> + <p> + Bray’s big pudgy hands still played idly with the mail on his desk. Hughes + went on: “Perhaps, as a clever detective, you will be interested in the + series of events which enabled me to win that Homburg hat? You have heard, + no doubt, that the man I have caught is Von der Herts—ten years ago + the best secret-service man in the employ of the Berlin government, but + for the past few years mysteriously missing from our line of vision. We’ve + been wondering about him—at the War Office.” + </p> + <p> + The colonel dropped into a chair, facing Bray. + </p> + <p> + “You know Von der Herts, of course?” he remarked casually. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Bray, still in that dead tired voice. + </p> + <p> + “He is the head of that crowd in England,” went on Hughes. “Rather a + feather in my cap to get him—but I mustn’t boast. Poor Fraser-Freer + would have got him if I hadn’t—only Von der Herts had the luck to + get the captain first.” + </p> + <p> + Bray raised his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You said you were going to tell me—” he began. + </p> + <p> + “And so I am,” said Hughes. “Captain Fraser-Freer got in rather a mess in + India and failed of promotion. It was suspected that he was discontented, + soured on the Service; and the Countess Sophie de Graf was set to beguile + him with her charms, to kill his loyalty and win him over to her crowd. + </p> + <p> + “It was thought she had succeeded—the Wilhelmstrasse thought so—we + at the War Office thought so, as long as he stayed in India. + </p> + <p> + “But when the captain and the woman came on to London we discovered that + we had done him a great injustice. He let us know, when the first chance + offered, that he was trying to redeem himself, to round up a dangerous + band of spies by pretending to be one of them. He said that it was his + mission in London to meet Von der Herts, the greatest of them all; and + that, once he had located this man, we would hear from him again. In the + weeks that followed I continued to keep a watch on the countess; and I + kept track of the captain, too, in a general way, for I’m ashamed to say I + was not quite sure of him.” + </p> + <p> + The colonel got up and walked to the window; then turned and continued: + “Captain Fraser-Freer and Von der Herts were completely unknown to each + other. The mails were barred as a means of communication; but Fraser-Freer + knew that in some way word from the master would reach him, and he had had + a tip to watch the personal column of the Daily Mail. Now we have the + explanation of those four odd messages. From that column the man from + Rangoon learned that he was to wear a white aster in his button-hole, a + scarab pin in his tie, a Homburg hat on his head, and meet Von der Herts + at Ye Old Gambrinus Restaurant in Regent Street, last Thursday night at + ten o’clock. As we know, he made all arrangements to comply with those + directions. He made other arrangements as well. Since it was out of the + question for him to come to Scotland Yard, by skillful maneuvering he + managed to interview an inspector of police at the Hotel Cecil. It was + agreed that on Thursday night Von der Herts would be placed under arrest + the moment he made himself known to the captain.” + </p> + <p> + Hughes paused. Bray still idled with his pile of letters, while the + colonel regarded him gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Fraser-Freer!” Hughes went on. “Unfortunately for him, Von der Herts + knew almost as soon as did the inspector that a plan was afoot to trap + him. There was but one course open to him: He located the captain’s + lodgings, went there at seven that night, and killed a loyal and brave + Englishman where he stood.” + </p> + <p> + A tense silence filled the room. I sat on the edge of my chair, wondering + just where all this unwinding of the tangle was leading us. + </p> + <p> + “I had little, indeed, to work on,” went on Hughes. “But I had this + advantage: the spy thought the police, and the police alone, were seeking + the murderer. He was at no pains to throw me off his track, because he did + not suspect that I was on it. For weeks my men had been watching the + countess. I had them continue to do so. I figured that sooner or later Von + der Herts would get in touch with her. I was right. And when at last I saw + with my own eyes the man who must, beyond all question, be Von der Herts, + I was astounded, my dear Inspector, I was overwhelmed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Bray. + </p> + <p> + “I set to work then in earnest to connect him with that night in Adelphi + Terrace. All the finger marks in the captain’s study were for some reason + destroyed, but I found others outside, in the dust on that seldom-used + gate which leads from the garden. Without his knowing, I secured from the + man I suspected the imprint of his right thumb. A comparison was + startling. Next I went down into Fleet Street and luckily managed to get + hold of the typewritten copy sent to the Mail bearing those four messages. + I noticed that in these the letter a was out of alignment. I maneuvered to + get a letter written on a typewriter belonging to my man. The a was out of + alignment. Then Archibald Enwright, a renegade and waster well known to us + as serving other countries, came to England. My man and he met—at Ye + Old Gambrinus, in Regent Street. And finally, on a visit to the lodgings + of this man who, I was now certain, was Von der Herts, under the mattress + of his bed I found this knife.” + </p> + <p> + And Colonel Hughes threw down upon the inspector’s desk the knife from + India that I had last seen in the study of Captain Fraser-Freer. + </p> + <p> + “All these points of evidence were in my hands yesterday morning in this + room,” Hughes went on. “Still, the answer they gave me was so + unbelievable, so astounding, I was not satisfied; I wanted even stronger + proof. That is why I directed suspicion to my American friend here. I was + waiting. I knew that at last Von der Herts realized the danger he was in. + I felt that if opportunity were offered he would attempt to escape from + England; and then our proofs of his guilt would be unanswerable, despite + his cleverness. True enough, in the afternoon he secured the release of + the countess, and together they started for the Continent. I was lucky + enough to get him at Dover—and glad to let the lady go on.” + </p> + <p> + And now, for the first time, the startling truth struck me full in the + face as Hughes smiled down at his victim. + </p> + <p> + “Inspector Bray,” he said, “or Von der Herts, as you choose, I arrest you + on two counts: First, as the head of the Wilhelmstrasse spy system in + England; second, as the murderer of Captain Fraser-Freer. And, if you will + allow me, I wish to compliment you on your efficiency.” + </p> + <p> + Bray did not reply for a moment. I sat numb in my chair. Finally the + inspector looked up. He actually tried to smile. + </p> + <p> + “You win the hat,” he said, “but you must go to Homburg for it. I will + gladly pay all expenses.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” answered Hughes. “I hope to visit your country before long; + but I shall not be occupied with hats. Again I congratulate you. You were + a bit careless, but your position justified that. As head of the + department at Scotland Yard given over to the hunt for spies, precaution + doubtless struck you as unnecessary. How unlucky for poor Fraser-Freer + that it was to you he went to arrange for your own arrest! I got that + information from a clerk at the Cecil. You were quite right, from your + point of view, to kill him. And, as I say, you could afford to be rather + reckless. You had arranged that when the news of his murder came to + Scotland Yard you yourself would be on hand to conduct the search for the + guilty man. A happy situation, was it not?” + </p> + <p> + “It seemed so at the time,” admitted Bray; and at last I thought I + detected a note of bitterness in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “I’m very sorry—really,” said Hughes. “To-day, or to-morrow at the + latest, England will enter the war. You know what that means, Von der + Herts. The Tower of London—and a firing squad!” + </p> + <p> + Deliberately he walked away from the inspector, and stood facing the + window. Von der Herts was fingering idly that Indian knife which lay on + his desk. With a quick hunted look about the room, he raised his hand; and + before I could leap forward to stop him he had plunged the knife into his + heart. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Hughes turned round at my cry, but even at what met his eyes now + that Englishman was imperturbable. + </p> + <p> + “Too bad!” he said. “Really too bad! The man had courage and, beyond all + doubt, brains. But—this is most considerate of him. He has saved me + such a lot of trouble.” + </p> + <p> + The colonel effected my release at once; and he and I walked down + Whitehall together in the bright sun that seemed so good to me after the + bleak walls of the Yard. Again he apologized for turning suspicion my way + the previous day; but I assured him I held no grudge for that. + </p> + <p> + “One or two things I do not understand,” I said. “That letter I brought + from Interlaken—” + </p> + <p> + “Simple enough,” he replied. “Enwright—who, by the way, is now in + the Tower—wanted to communicate with Fraser-Freer, who he supposed + was a loyal member of the band. Letters sent by post seemed dangerous. + With your kind assistance he informed the captain of his whereabouts and + the date of his imminent arrival in London. Fraser-Freer, not wanting you + entangled in his plans, eliminated you by denying the existence of this + cousin—the truth, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” I asked, “did the countess call on me to demand that I alter my + testimony?” + </p> + <p> + “Bray sent her. He had rifled Fraser-Freer’s desk and he held that letter + from Enwright. He was most anxious to fix the guilt upon the young + lieutenant’s head. You and your testimony as to the hour of the crime + stood in the way. He sought to intimidate you with threats—” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “I know—you are wondering why the countess confessed to me next day. + I had the woman in rather a funk. In the meshes of my rapid-fire + questioning she became hopelessly involved. This was because she was + suddenly terrified she realized I must have been watching her for weeks, + and that perhaps Von der Herts was not so immune from suspicion as he + supposed. At the proper moment I suggested that I might have to take her + to Inspector Bray. This gave her an idea. She made her fake confession to + reach his side; once there, she warned him of his danger and they fled + together.” + </p> + <p> + We walked along a moment in silence. All about us the lurid special + editions of the afternoon were flaunting their predictions of the horror + to come. The face of the colonel was grave. + </p> + <p> + “How long had Von der Herts held his position at the Yard?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “For nearly five years,” Hughes answered. + </p> + <p> + “It seems incredible,” I murmured. + </p> + <p> + “So it does,” he answered; “but it is only the first of many incredible + things that this war will reveal. Two months from now we shall all have + forgotten it in the face of new revelations far more unbelievable.” He + sighed. “If these men about us realized the terrible ordeal that lies + ahead! Misgoverned; unprepared—I shudder at the thought of the + sacrifices we must make, many of them in vain. But I suppose that somehow, + some day, we shall muddle through.” + </p> + <p> + He bade me good-by in Trafalgar Square, saying that he must at once seek + out the father and brother of the late captain, and tell them the news—that + their kinsman was really loyal to his country. + </p> + <p> + “It will come to them as a ray of light in the dark—my news,” he + said. “And now, thank you once again.” + </p> + <p> + We parted and I came back here to my lodgings. The mystery is finally + solved, though in such a way it is difficult to believe that it was + anything but a nightmare at any time. But solved none the less; and I + should be at peace, except for one great black fact that haunts me, will + not let me rest. I must tell you, dear lady—And yet I fear it means + the end of everything. If only I can make you understand! + </p> + <p> + I have walked my floor, deep in thought, in puzzlement, in indecision. Now + I have made up my mind. There is no other way—I must tell you the + truth. + </p> + <p> + Despite the fact that Bray was Von der Herts; despite the fact that he + killed himself at the discovery—despite this and that, and + everything—Bray did not kill Captain Fraser-Freer! + </p> + <p> + On last Thursday evening, at a little after seven o’clock, I myself + climbed the stairs, entered the captain’s rooms, picked up that knife from + his desk, and stabbed him just above the heart! + </p> + <p> + What provocation I was under, what stern necessity moved me—all this + you must wait until to-morrow to know. I shall spend another anxious day + preparing my defense, hoping that through some miracle of mercy you may + forgive me—understand that there was nothing else I could do. + </p> + <p> + Do not judge, dear lady, until you know everything—until all my + evidence is in your lovely hands. + </p> + <p> + YOURS, IN ALL HUMILITY. + </p> + <p> + The first few paragraphs of this the sixth and next to the last letter + from the Agony Column man had brought a smile of relief to the face of the + girl who read. She was decidedly glad to learn that her friend no longer + languished back of those gray walls on Victoria Embankment. With + excitement that increased as she went along, she followed Colonel Hughes + as—in the letter—he moved nearer and nearer his denouement, + until finally his finger pointed to Inspector Bray sitting guilty in his + chair. This was an eminently satisfactory solution, and it served the + inspector right for locking up her friend. Then, with the suddenness of a + bomb from a Zeppelin, came, at the end, her strawberry man’s confession of + guilt. He was the murderer, after all! He admitted it! She could scarcely + believe her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Yet there it was, in ink as violet as those eyes, on the note paper that + had become so familiar to her during the thrilling week just past. She + read it a second time, and yet a third. Her amazement gave way to anger; + her cheeks flamed. Still—he had asked her not to judge until all his + evidence was in. This was a reasonable request surely, and she could not + in fairness refuse to grant it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + So began an anxious day, not only for the girl from Texas but for all + London as well. Her father was bursting with new diplomatic secrets + recently extracted from his bootblack adviser. Later, in Washington, he + was destined to be a marked man because of his grasp of the situation + abroad. No one suspected the bootblack, the power behind the throne; but + the gentleman from Texas was destined to think of that able diplomat many + times, and to wish that he still had him at his feet to advise him. + </p> + <p> + “War by midnight, sure!” he proclaimed on the morning of this fateful + Tuesday. “I tell you, Marian, we’re lucky to have our tickets on the + Saronia. Five thousand dollars wouldn’t buy them from me to-day! I’ll be a + happy man when we go aboard that liner day after to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Day after to-morrow! The girl wondered. At any rate, she would have that + last letter then—the letter that was to contain whatever defense her + young friend could offer to explain his dastardly act. She waited eagerly + for that final epistle. + </p> + <p> + The day dragged on, bringing at its close England’s entrance into the war; + and the Carlton bootblack was a prophet not without honor in a certain + Texas heart. And on the following morning there arrived a letter which was + torn open by eager trembling fingers. The letter spoke: + </p> + <p> + DEAR LADY JUDGE: This is by far the hardest to write of all the letters + you have had from me. For twenty-four hours I have been planning it. Last + night I walked on the Embankment while the hansoms jogged by and the + lights of the tramcars danced on Westminster Bridge just as the fireflies + used to in the garden back of our house in Kansas. While I walked I + planned. To-day, shut up in my rooms, I was also planning. And yet now, + when I sit down to write, I am still confused; still at a loss where to + begin and what to say, once I have begun. + </p> + <p> + At the close of my last letter I confessed to you that it was I who + murdered Captain Fraser-Freer. That is the truth. Soften the blow as I + may, it all comes down to that. The bitter truth! + </p> + <p> + Not a week ago—last Thursday night at seven—I climbed our dark + stairs and plunged a knife into the heart of that defenseless gentleman. + If only I could point out to you that he had offended me in some way; if I + could prove to you that his death was necessary to me, as it really was to + Inspector Bray—then there might be some hope of your ultimate + pardon. But, alas! he had been most kind to me—kinder than I have + allowed you to guess from my letters. There was no actual need to do away + with him. Where shall I look for a defense? + </p> + <p> + At the moment the only defense I can think of is simply this—the + captain knows I killed him! + </p> + <p> + Even as I write this, I hear his footsteps above me, as I heard them when + I sat here composing my first letter to you. He is dressing for dinner. We + are to dine together at Romano’s. + </p> + <p> + And there, my lady, you have finally the answer to the mystery that has—I + hope—puzzled you. I killed my friend the captain in my second letter + to you, and all the odd developments that followed lived only in my + imagination as I sat here beside the green-shaded lamp in my study, + plotting how I should write seven letters to you that would, as the novel + advertisements say, grip your attention to the very end. Oh, I am guilty—there + is no denying that. And, though I do not wish to ape old Adam and imply + that I was tempted by a lovely woman, a strict regard for the truth forces + me to add that there is also guilt upon your head. How so? Go back to that + message you inserted in the Daily Mail: “The grapefruit lady’s great + fondness for mystery and romance—” + </p> + <p> + You did not know it, of course; but in those words you passed me a + challenge I could not resist; for making plots is the business of life—more, + the breath of life—to me. I have made many; and perhaps you have + followed some of them, on Broadway. Perhaps you have seen a play of mine + announced for early production in London. There was mention of it in the + program at the Palace. That was the business which kept me in England. The + project has been abandoned now and I am free to go back home. + </p> + <p> + Thus you see that when you granted me the privilege of those seven letters + you played into my hands. So, said I, she longs for mystery and romance. + Then, by the Lord Harry, she shall have them! + </p> + <p> + And it was the tramp of Captain Fraser-Freer’s boots above my head that + showed me the way. A fine, stalwart, cordial fellow—the captain—who + has been very kind to me since I presented my letter of introduction from + his cousin, Archibald Enwright. Poor Archie! A meek, correct little soul, + who would be horrified beyond expression if he knew that of him I had made + a spy and a frequenter of Limehouse! + </p> + <p> + The dim beginnings of the plot were in my mind when I wrote that first + letter, suggesting that all was not regular in the matter of Archie’s note + of introduction. Before I wrote my second, I knew that nothing but the + death of Fraser-Freer would do me. I recalled that Indian knife I had seen + upon his desk, and from that moment he was doomed. At that time I had no + idea how I should solve the mystery. But I had read and wondered at those + four strange messages in the Mail, and I resolved that they must figure in + the scheme of things. + </p> + <p> + The fourth letter presented difficulties until I returned from dinner that + night and saw a taxi waiting before our quiet house. Hence the visit of + the woman with the lilac perfume. I am afraid the Wilhelmstrasse would + have little use for a lady spy who advertised herself in so foolish a + manner. Time for writing the fifth letter arrived. I felt that I should + now be placed under arrest. I had a faint little hope that you would be + sorry about that. Oh, I’m a brute, I know! + </p> + <p> + Early in the game I had told the captain of the cruel way in which I had + disposed of him. He was much amused; but he insisted, absolutely, that he + must be vindicated before the close of the series, and I was with him + there. He had been so bully about it all. A chance remark of his gave me + my solution. He said he had it on good authority that the chief of the + Czar’s bureau for capturing spies in Russia was himself a spy. And so—why + not a spy in Scotland Yard? + </p> + <p> + I assure you, I am most contrite as I set all this down here. You must + remember that when I began my story there was no idea of war. Now all + Europe is aflame; and in the face of the great conflict, the awful + suffering to come, I and my little plot begin to look—well, I fancy + you know just how we look. + </p> + <p> + Forgive me. I am afraid I can never find the words to tell you how + important it seemed to interest you in my letters—to make you feel + that I am an entertaining person worthy of your notice. That morning when + you entered the Carlton breakfast room was really the biggest in my life. + I felt as though you had brought with you through that doorway—But I + have no right to say it. I have the right to say nothing save that now—it + is all left to you. If I have offended, then I shall never hear from you + again. + </p> + <p> + The captain will be here in a moment. It is near the hour set and he is + never late. He is not to return to India, but expects to be drafted for + the Expeditionary Force that will be sent to the Continent. I hope the + German Army will be kinder to him than I was! + </p> + <p> + My name is Geoffrey West. I live at nineteen Adelphi Terrace—in + rooms that look down on the most wonderful garden in London. That, at + least, is real. It is very quiet there to-night, with the city and its + continuous hum of war and terror seemingly a million miles away. + </p> + <p> + Shall we meet at last? The answer rests entirely with you. But, believe + me, I shall be anxiously waiting to know; and if you decide to give me a + chance to explain—to denounce myself to you in person—then a + happy man will say good-by to this garden and these dim dusty rooms and + follow you to the ends of the earth—aye, to Texas itself! + </p> + <p> + Captain Fraser-Freer is coming down the stairs. Is this good-by forever, + my lady? With all my soul, I hope not. + </p> + <p> + YOUR CONTRITE STRAWBERRY MAN. <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Words are futile things with which to attempt a description of the + feelings of the girl at the Carlton as she read this, the last letter of + seven written to her through the medium of her maid, Sadie Haight. Turning + the pages of the dictionary casually, one might enlist a few—for + example, amazement, anger, unbelief, wonder. Perhaps, to go back to the + letter a, even amusement. We may leave her with the solution to the puzzle + in her hand, the Saronia a little more than a day away, and a weirdly + mixed company of emotions struggling in her soul. + </p> + <p> + And leaving her thus, let us go back to Adelphi Terrace and a young man + exceedingly worried. + </p> + <p> + Once he knew that his letter was delivered, Mr. Geoffrey West took his + place most humbly on the anxious seat. There he writhed through the long + hours of Wednesday morning. Not to prolong this painful picture, let us + hasten to add that at three o’clock that same afternoon came a telegram + that was to end suspense. He tore it open and read: + </p> + <p> + STRAWBERRY MAN: I shall never, never forgive, you. But we are sailing + tomorrow on the Saronia. Were you thinking of going home soon? MARIAN A. + LARNED. + </p> + <p> + Thus it happened that, a few minutes later, to the crowd of troubled + Americans in a certain steamship booking office there was added a + wild-eyed young man who further upset all who saw him. To weary clerks he + proclaimed in fiery tones that he must sail on the Saronia. There seemed + to be no way of appeasing him. The offer of a private liner would not have + interested him. + </p> + <p> + He raved and tore his hair. He ranted. All to no avail. There was, in + plain American, “nothing doing!” + </p> + <p> + Damp but determined, he sought among the crowd for one who had bookings on + the Saronia. He could find, at first, no one so lucky; but finally he ran + across Tommy Gray. Gray, an old friend, admitted when pressed that he had + a passage on that most desirable boat. But the offer of all the king’s + horses and all the king’s gold left him unmoved. Much, he said, as he + would have liked to oblige, he and his wife were determined. They would + sail. + </p> + <p> + It was then that Geoffrey West made a compact with his friend. He secured + from him the necessary steamer labels and it was arranged that his baggage + was to go aboard the Saronia as the property of Gray. + </p> + <p> + “But,” protested Gray, “even suppose you do put this through; suppose you + do manage to sail without a ticket—where will you sleep? In chains + somewhere below, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter!” bubbled West. “I’ll sleep in the dining saloon, in a + lifeboat, on the lee scuppers—whatever they are. I’ll sleep in the + air, without any visible support! I’ll sleep anywhere—nowhere—but + I’ll sail! And as for irons—they don’t make ‘em strong enough to + hold me.” + </p> + <p> + At five o’clock on Thursday afternoon the Saronia slipped smoothly away + from a Liverpool dock. Twenty-five hundred Americans—about twice the + number the boat could comfortably carry—stood on her decks and + cheered. Some of those in that crowd who had millions of money were booked + for the steerage. All of them were destined to experience during that + crossing hunger, annoyance, discomfort. They were to be stepped on, sat + on, crowded and jostled. They suspected as much when the boat left the + dock. Yet they cheered! + </p> + <p> + Gayest among them was Geoffrey West, triumphant amid the confusion. He was + safely aboard; the boat was on its way! Little did it trouble him that he + went as a stowaway, since he had no ticket; nothing but an overwhelming + determination to be on the good ship Saronia. + </p> + <p> + That night as the Saronia stole along with all deck lights out and every + porthole curtained, West saw on the dim deck the slight figure of a girl + who meant much to him. She was standing staring out over the black waters; + and, with wildly beating heart, he approached her, not knowing what to + say, but feeling that a start must be made somehow. + </p> + <p> + “Please pardon me for addressing—” he began. “But I want to tell you—” + </p> + <p> + She turned, startled; and then smiled an odd little smile, which he could + not see in the dark. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” she said. “I haven’t met you, that I recall—” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he answered. “That’s going to be arranged to-morrow. Mrs. Tommy + Gray says you crossed with them—” + </p> + <p> + “Mere steamer acquaintances,” the girl replied coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course! But Mrs. Gray is a darling—she’ll fix that all right. I + just want to say, before to-morrow comes—” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t it be better to wait?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t! I’m on this ship without a ticket. I’ve got to go down in a + minute and tell the purser that. Maybe he’ll throw me overboard; maybe + he’ll lock me up. I don’t know what they do with people like me. Maybe + they’ll make a stoker of me. And then I shall have to stoke, with no + chance of seeing you again. So that’s why I want to say now—I’m + sorry I have such a keen imagination. It carried me away—really it + did! I didn’t mean to deceive you with those letters; but, once I got + started—You know, don’t you, that I love you with all my heart? From + the moment you came into the Carlton that morning I—” + </p> + <p> + “Really—Mr.—Mr.—” + </p> + <p> + “West—Geoffrey West. I adore you! What can I do to prove it? I’m + going to prove it—before this ship docks in the North River. Perhaps + I’d better talk to your father, and tell him about the Agony Column and + those seven letters—” + </p> + <p> + “You’d better not! He’s in a terribly bad humor. The dinner was awful, and + the steward said we’d be looking back to it and calling it a banquet + before the voyage ends. Then, too, poor dad says he simply can not sleep + in the stateroom they’ve given him—” + </p> + <p> + “All the better! I’ll see him at once. If he stands for me now he’ll stand + for me any time! And, before I go down and beard a harsh-looking purser in + his den, won’t you believe me when I say I’m deeply in love—” + </p> + <p> + “In love with mystery and romance! In love with your own remarkable powers + of invention! Really, I can’t take you seriously—” + </p> + <p> + “Before this voyage is ended you’ll have to. I’ll prove to you that I + care. If the purser lets me go free—” + </p> + <p> + “You have much to prove,” the girl smiled. “To-morrow—when Mrs. + Tommy Gray introduces us—I may accept you—as a builder of + plots. I happen to know you are good. But—as—It’s too silly! + Better go and have it out with that purser.” + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly he went. In five minutes he was back. The girl was still + standing by the rail. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right!” West said. “I thought I was doing something original, + but there were eleven other people in the same fix. One of them is a + billionaire from Wall Street. The purser collected some money from us and + told us to sleep on the deck—if we could find room.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry,” said the girl. “I rather fancied you in the role of stoker.” + She glanced about her at the dim deck. “Isn’t this exciting? I’m sure this + voyage is going to be filled with mystery and romance.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it will be full of romance,” West answered. “And the mystery will + be—can I convince you—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” broke in the girl. “Here comes father! I shall be very happy to + meet you—to-morrow. Poor dad! he’s looking for a place to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Five days later poor dad, having slept each night on deck in his clothes + while the ship plowed through a cold drizzle, and having starved in a + sadly depleted dining saloon, was a sight to move the heart of a political + opponent. Immediately after a dinner that had scarcely satisfied a healthy + Texas appetite he lounged gloomily in the deck chair which was now his + stateroom. Jauntily Geoffrey West came and sat at his side. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Larned,” he said, “I’ve got something for you.” + </p> + <p> + And, with a kindly smile, he took from his pocket and handed over a large, + warm baked potato. The Texan eagerly accepted the gift. + </p> + <p> + “Where’d you get it?” he demanded, breaking open his treasure. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a secret,” West answered. “But I can get as many as I want. Mr. + Larned, I can say this—you will not go hungry any longer. And + there’s something else I ought to speak of. I am sort of aiming to marry + your daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Deep in his potato the Congressman spoke: + </p> + <p> + “What does she say about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she says there isn’t a chance. But—” + </p> + <p> + “Then look out, my boy! She’s made up her mind to have you.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad to hear you say that. I really ought to tell you who I am. Also, + I want you to know that, before your daughter and I met, I wrote her seven + letters—” + </p> + <p> + “One minute,” broke in the Texan. “Before you go into all that, won’t you + be a good fellow and tell me where you got this potato?” + </p> + <p> + West nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Sure!” he said; and, leaning over, he whispered. + </p> + <p> + For the first time in days a smile appeared on the face of the older man. + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” he said, “I feel I’m going to like you. Never mind the rest. I + heard all about you from your friend Gray; and as for those letters—they + were the only thing that made the first part of this trip bearable. Marian + gave them to me to read the night we came on board.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly from out of the clouds a long-lost moon appeared, and bathed that + over-crowded ocean liner in a flood of silver. West left the old man to + his potato and went to find the daughter. + </p> + <p> + She was standing in the moonlight by the rail of the forward deck, her + eyes staring dreamily ahead toward the great country that had sent her + forth light-heartedly for to adventure and to see. She turned as West came + up. + </p> + <p> + “I have just been talking with your father,” he said. “He tells me he + thinks you mean to take me, after all.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “To-morrow night,” she answered, “will be our last on board. + I shall give you my final decision then.” + </p> + <p> + “But that is twenty-four hours away! Must I wait so long as that?” + </p> + <p> + “A little suspense won’t hurt you. I can’t forget those long days when I + waited for your letters—” + </p> + <p> + “I know! But can’t you give me—just a little hint—here—to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I am without mercy—absolutely without mercy!” + </p> + <p> + And then, as West’s fingers closed over her hand, she added softly: “Not + even the suspicion of a hint, my dear—except to tell you that—my + answer will be—yes.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Agony Column, by Earl Derr Biggers + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AGONY COLUMN *** + +***** This file should be named 1814-h.htm or 1814-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/1/1814/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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