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diff --git a/5335-0.txt b/5335-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e72855 --- /dev/null +++ b/5335-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8492 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 5335 *** + + + + +RASPBERRY JAM + +By Carolyn Wells + + + +CONTENTS + + I. The Great Hanlon + II. A Trip To Newark + III. The Stunt + IV. The Emburys + V. The Explanation + VI. A Slammed Door + VII. A Vision + VIII. The Examiner + IX. Hamlet + X. A Confession + XI. Fifi + XII. In Hanlon’s Office + XIII. Fleming Stone + XIV. The Five Senses + XV. Marigny The Medium + XVI. Fibsy’s Busy Day + XVII. Hanlon’s Ambition + XVIII.The Guilty One + + + +Chapter I The Great Hanlon + +“You may contradict me as flat as a flounder, Eunice, but that won’t +alter the facts. There is something in telepathy--there is something in +mind-reading--” + +“If you could read my mind, Aunt Abby, you’d drop that subject. For +if you keep on, I may say what I think, and--” + +“Oh, that won’t bother me in the least. I know what you think, but +your thoughts are so chaotic--so ignorant of the whole matter--that they +are worthless. Now, listen to this from the paper: ‘Hanlon will walk +blindfolded--blindfolded, mind you--through the streets of Newark, and +will find an article hidden by a representative of The Free Press.’ Of +course, you know, Eunice, the newspaper people are on the square--why, +there’d be no sense to the whole thing otherwise! I saw an exhibition +once, you were a little girl then; I remember you flew into such a +rage because you couldn’t go. Well, where was I? Let me see--oh, +yes--’Hanlon--’ H’m--h’m--why, my goodness! it’s to-morrow! +How I do want to go! Do you suppose Sanford would take us?” + +“I do not, unless he loses his mind first. Aunt Abby, you’re crazy! +What is the thing, anyway? Some common street show?” + +“If you’d listen, Eunice, and pay a little attention, you might know +what I’m talking about. But as soon as I say telepathy you begin to +laugh and make fun of it all!” + +“I haven’t heard anything yet to make fun of. What’s it all +about?” + +But as she spoke, Eunice Embury was moving about the room, the big +living-room of their Park Avenue apartment, and in a preoccupied way +was patting her household gods on their shoulders. A readjustment of the +pink carnations in a tall glass vase, a turning round of a long-stemmed +rose in a silver holder, a punch here and there to the pillows of the +davenport and at last dropping down on her desk chair as a hovering +butterfly settles on a chosen flower. + +A moment more and she was engrossed in some letters, and Aunt Abby +sighed resignedly, quite hopeless now of interesting her niece in her +project. + +“All the same, I’m going,” she remarked, nodding her head at the +back of the graceful figure sitting at the desk. “Newark isn’t +so far away; I could go alone--or maybe take Maggie--she’d love +it--’Start from the Oberon Theatre--at 2 P.M.--’ ‘H’m, I +could have an early lunch and--’hidden in any part of the city--only +mentally directed--not a word spoken--’ Just think of that, Eunice! +It doesn’t seem credible that--oh, my goodness! tomorrow is Red Cross +day! Well, I can’t help it; such a chance as this doesn’t happen +twice. I wish I could coax Sanford--” + +“You can’t,” murmured Eunice, without looking up from her writing. + +“Then I’ll go alone!” Aunt Abby spoke with spirit, and her bright +black eyes snapped with determination as she nodded her white head. +“You can’t monopolize the willpower of the whole family, Eunice +Embury!” + +“I don’t want to! But I can have a voice in the matters of my own +house and family yes, and guests! I can’t spare Maggie to-morrow. You +well know Sanford won’t go on any such wild goose chase with you, and +I’m sure I won’t. You can’t go alone--and anyway, the whole thing +is bosh and nonsense. Let me hear no more of it!” + +Eunice picked up her pen, but she cast a sidelong glance at her aunt to +see if she accepted the situation. + +She did not. Miss Abby Ames was a lady of decision, and she had one +hobby, for the pursuit of which she would attempt to overcome any +obstacle. + +“You needn’t hear any more of it, Eunice,” she said, curtly. “I +am not a child to be allowed out or kept at home! I shall go to Newark +to-morrow to see this performance, and I shall go alone, and--” + +“You’ll do nothing of the sort! You’d look nice starting off alone +on a railroad trip! Why, I don’t believe you’ve ever been to Newark +in your life! Nobody has! It isn’t done!” + +Eunice was half whimsical, half angry, but her stormy eyes presaged +combat and her rising color indicated decided annoyance. + +“Done!” cried her aunt. “Conventions mean nothing to me! Abby Ames +makes social laws--she does not obey those made by others!” + +“You can’t do that in New York, Aunt Abby. In your old Boston, +perhaps you had a certain dictatorship, but it won’t do here. +Moreover, I have rights as your hostess, and I forbid you to go +skylarking about by yourself.” + +“You amuse me, Eunice!” + +“I had no intention of being funny, I assure you.” + +“While not distinctly humorous, the idea of your forbidding me is, +well--oh, my gracious, Eunice, listen to this: ‘The man chosen for +Hanlon’s “guide” is the Hon. James L. Mortimer--’--h’m--’High Street--’ +Why, Eunice, I’ve heard of Mortimer--he’s--” + +“I don’t care who he is, Aunt Abby, and I wish you’d drop the subject.” + +“I won’t drop it--it’s too interesting! Oh, my! I wish we could go out +there in the big car--then we could follow him round--” + +“Hush! Go out to Newark in the car! Trail round the streets and alleys +after a fool mountebank! With a horde of gamins and low, horrid men +crowding about--” + +“They won’t be allowed to crowd about!” + +“And yelling--” + +“I admit the yelling--” + +“Aunt Abby, you’re impossible!” Eunice rose, and scowled irately +at her aunt. Her temper, always quick, was at times ungovernable, and +was oftenest roused at the suggestion of any topic or proceeding that +jarred on her taste. Exclusive to the point of absurdity, fastidious in +all her ways, Mrs. Embury was, so far as possible, in the world but not +of it. + +Both she and her husband rejoiced in the smallness of their friendly +circle, and shrank from any unnecessary association with hoi polloi. + +And Aunt Abby Ames, their not entirely welcome guest, was of a different +nature, and possessed of another scale of standards. Secure in her New +England aristocracy, calmly conscious of her innate refinement, she +permitted herself any lapses from conventional laws that recommended +themselves to her inclination. + +And it cannot be denied that the investigation of her pet subject, the +satisfaction of her curiosity concerning occult matters and her diligent +inquiries into the mysteries of the supernatural did lead her into +places and scenes not at all in harmony with Eunice’s ideas of +propriety. + +“Not another word of that rubbish, Auntie; the subject is taboo,” +and Eunice waved her hand with the air of one who dismisses a matter +completely. + +“Don’t you think you can come any of your high and mighty airs on +me!” retorted the elder lady. “It doesn’t seem so very many years +ago that I spanked you and shut you in the closet for impudence. The +fact that you are now Mrs. Sanford Embury instead of little Eunice Ames +hasn’t changed my attitude toward you!” + +“Oh, Auntie, you are too ridiculous!” and Eunice laughed outright. +“But the tables are turned, and I am not only Mrs. Sanford Embury +but your hostess, and, as such, entitled to your polite regard for my +wishes.” + +“Tomfoolery talk, my dear; I’ll give you all the polite regard you +are entitled to, but I shall carry out my own wishes, even though they +run contrary to yours. And to-morrow I prance out to Newark, N.J., your +orders to the contrary notwithstanding!” + +The aristocratic old head went up and the aristocratic old nose sniffed +disdainfully, for though Eunice Embury was strong-willed, her aunt was +equally so, and in a clash of opinions Miss Ames not infrequently won +out. + +Eunice didn’t sulk, that was not her nature; she turned back to +her writing desk with an offended air, but with a smile as of one who +tolerates the vagaries of an inferior. This, she knew, would irritate +her aunt more than further words could do. + +And yet, Eunice Embury was neither mean nor spiteful of disposition. She +had a furious temper, but she tried hard to control it, and when it did +break loose, the spasm was but of short duration and she was sorry for +it afterward. Her husband declared he had tamed her, and that since her +marriage, about two years ago, his wise, calm influence had curbed her +tendency to fly into a rage and had made her far more equable and placid +of disposition. + +His methods had been drastic--somewhat like those of Petruchio toward +Katherine. When his wife grew angry, Sanford Embury grew more so and by +harder words and more scathing sarcasms he--as he expressed it--took the +wind out of her sails and rendered her helplessly vanquished. + +And yet they were a congenial pair. Their tastes were similar; they +liked the same people, the same books, the same plays. Eunice approved +of Sanford’s correct ways and perfect intuitions and he admired her +beauty and dainty grace. + +Neither of them loved Aunt Abby--the sister of Eunice’s father--but +her annual visit was customary and unavoidable. + +The city apartment of the Sanfords had no guestroom, and therefore the +visitor must needs occupy Eunice’s charming boudoir and dressing-room +as a bedroom. This inconvenienced the Emburys, but they put up with it +perforce. + +Nor would they have so disliked to entertain the old lady had it not +been for her predilection for occult matters. Her visit to their home +coincided with her course of Clairvoyant Sittings and her class of +Psychic Development. + +These took place at houses in undesirable, sometimes unsavory localities +and only Aunt Abby’s immovable determination made it possible for her +to attend. + +A large text-book, “The Voice of the Future,” was her inseparable +companion, and one of her chief, though, as yet, unfulfilled, desires +was to have a Reading given at the Embury home by the Swami Ramananda. + +Eunice, by dint of stern disapproval, and Sanford, by his good-natured +chaffing and ridicule had so far prevented this calamity, but both +feared that Aunt Abby might yet outwit them and have her coveted séance +after all. + +Outside of this phase of her character, Miss Ames was not an undesirable +guest. She had a good sense of humor, a kind and generous heart and was +both perceptive and responsive in matters of household interest. + +Owing to the early death of Eunice’s mother, Aunt Abby had brought up +the child, and had done her duty by her as she saw it. + +It was after Eunice had married that Miss Ames became interested in +mystics and with a few of her friends in Boston had formed a circle for +the pursuance of the cult. + +Her life had otherwise been empty, indeed, for the girl had given her +occupation a-plenty, and that removed, Miss Abby felt a vague want of +interest. + +Eunice Ames had not been easy to manage. Nor was Miss Abby Ames the best +one to be her manager. + +The girl was headstrong and wilful, yet possessed of such winsome, +persuasive wiles that she twisted her aunt round her finger. + +Then, too, her quick temper served as a rod and many times Miss Ames +indulged the girl against her better judgment lest an unpleasant +explosion of wrath should occur and shake her nervous system to its +foundation. So Eunice grew up, an uncurbed, untamed, self-willed and +self-reliant girl, making up her quarrels as fast as she picked them and +winning friends everywhere in spite of her sharp tongue. + +And so, on this occasion, neither of the combatants held rancor more +than a few minutes. Eunice went on writing letters and Miss Abby went on +reading her paper, until at five o’clock, Ferdinand the butler brought +in the tea-things. + +“Goody!” cried Eunice, jumping up. “I do want some tea, don’t +you, Aunty?” + +“Yes,” and Miss Ames crossed the room to sit beside her. “And +I’ve an idea, Eunice; I’ll take Ferdinand with me to-morrow!” + +The butler, who was also Embury’s valet and a general household +steward, looked up quickly. He had been in Miss Ames’ employ for many +years before Eunice’s marriage, and now, in the Embury’s city home +was the indispensable major-domo of the establishment. + +“Yes,” went on Aunt Abby, “that will make it all quite circumspect +and correct. Ferdinand, tomorrow you accompany me to Newark, New +Jersey.” + +“I think not,” said Eunice quietly, and dismissing Ferdinand with a +nod, she began serenely to make the tea. + +“Don’t be silly, Aunt Abby,” she said; “you can’t go that way. +It would be all right to go with Ferdinand, of course, but what could +you do when you reached Newark? Race about on foot, following up this +clown, or whoever is performing?” + +“We could take a taxicab--” + +“You might get one and you might not. Now, you will wait till San +comes home, and see if he’ll let you have the big car.” + +“Will you go then, Eunice?” + +“No; of course not. I don’t go to such fool shows! There’s the +door! Sanford’s coming.” + +A step was heard in the hall, a cheery voice spoke to Ferdinand as +he took his master’s coat and hat and then a big man entered the +living-room. + +“Hello, girls,” he said, gaily; “how’s things?” + +He kissed Eunice, shook Aunt Abby’s hand and dropped into an easy +chair. + +“Things are whizzing,” he said, as he took the cup Eunice poured for +him. “I’ve just come from the Club, and our outlook is rosy-posy. +Old Hendricks is going to get, badly left.” + +“It’s all safe for you, then, is it?” and Eunice smiled radiantly +at her husband. + +“Right as rain! The prize-fights did it! They upset old Hendrick’s +apple-cart and spilled his beans. Lots of them object to the fights +because of the expense--fighters are a high-priced bunch--but I’m down +on them because I think it bad form--” + +“I should say so!” put in Eunice, emphatically. + +“Bad form for an Athletic Club of gentlemen to have brutal exhibitions +for their entertainment.” + +“And what about the Motion-Picture Theatre?” + +“The same there! Frightful expense,--and also rotten taste! No, the +Metropolitan Athletic Club can’t stoop to such entertainments. If it +were a worth-while little playhouse, now, and if they had a high class +of performances, that would be another story. Hey, Aunt Abby? What do +you think?” + +“I don’t know, Sanford, you know I’m ignorant on such matters. But +I want to ask you something. Have you read the paper to-day?” + +“Why, yes, being a normal American citizen, I did run through the +Battle-Ax of Freedom. Why?” + +“Did you read about Hanlon--the great Hanlon?” + +“Musician, statesman or criminal? I can’t seem to place a really +great Hanlon. By the way, Eunice, if Hendricks blows in, ask him to stay +to dinner, will you? I want to talk to him, but I don’t want to seem +unduly anxious for his company.” + +“Very well,” and Eunice smiled; “if I can persuade him, I will.” + +“If you can!” exclaimed Miss Abby, her sarcasm entirely unveiled. +“Alvord Hendricks would walk the plank if you invited him to do so!” + +“Who wouldn’t?” laughed Embury. “I have the same confidence in +my wife’s powers of persuasion that you seem to have, Aunt Abby; and +though I may impose on her, I do want her to use them upon me deadly +r-rival!” + +“You mean rival in your club election,” returned Miss Ames, “but +he is also your rival in another way.” + +“Don’t speak so cryptically, Aunt, dear. We all know of his +infatuation for Eunice, but he’s only one of many. Think you he is +more dangerous than, say, friend Elliott?” + +“Mason Elliott? Oh, of course, he has been an admirer of Eunice since +they made mud-pies together.” + +“That’s two, then,” Embury laughed lightly. “And Jim Craft is +three and Halliwell James is four and Guy Little--” + +“Oh, don’t include him, I beg of you!” cried Eunice; “he flats +when he sings!” + +“Well, I could round up a round dozen, who would willingly cast +sheeps’ eyes at my wife, but--well, they don’t!” + +“They’d better not,” laughed Eunice, and Embury added, “Not if I +see them first!” + +“Isn’t it funny,” said Aunt Abby, reminiscently, “that Eunice +did choose you out of that Cambridge bunch.” + +“I chose her,” corrected Embury, “and don’t take that wrong! +I mean that I swooped down and carried her off under their very noses! +Didn’t I, Firebrand?” + +“The only way you could get me,” agreed Eunice, saucily. + +“Oh, I don’t know!” and Embury smiled. “You weren’t so desperately +opposed.” + +“No; but she was undecided,” said Aunt Abby; “why, for weeks before +your engagement was announced, Eunice couldn’t make up her mind for +certain. There was Mason Elliott and Al Hendricks, both as determined +as you were.” + +“I know it, Aunt. Good Lord, I guess I knew those boys all my life, and +I knew all their love affairs as well as they knew all mine.” + +“You had others, then?” and Eunice opened her brown eyes in mock +amazement. + +“Rather! How could I know you were the dearest girl in the world if I +had no one to compare you with?” + +“Well, then I had a right to have other beaux.” + +“Of course you did! I never objected. But now, you’re my wife, and +though all the men in Christendom may admire you, you are not to give +one of them a glance that belongs to me.” + +“No, sir; I won’t,” and Eunice’s long lashes dropped on her +cheeks as she assumed an absurdly overdone meekness. + +“I was surprised, though,” pursued Aunt Abby, still reminiscent, +“when Eunice married you, Sanford. Mr. Mason is so much more +intellectual and Mr. Hendricks so much better looking.” + +“Thank you, lady!” and Embury bowed gravely. “But you see, I have +that--er--indescribable charm--that nobody can resist.” + +“You have, you rascal!” and Miss Ames beamed on him. “And I think +this a favorable moment to ask a favor of your Royal Highness.” + +“Out with it. I’ll grant it, to the half of my kingdom, but don’t +dip into the other half.” + +“Well, it’s a simple little favor, after all. I want to go out to +Newark to-morrow in the big car--” + +“Newark, New Jersey?” + +“Is there any other?” + +“Yep; Ohio.” + +“Well, the New Jersey one will do me, this time. Oh, Sanford, do let +me go! A man is going to will another man--blindfolded, you know--to +find a thingumbob that he hid--nobody knows where--and he can’t see +a thing, and he doesn’t know anybody and the guide man is Mr. +Mortimer--don’t you remember, his mother used to live in Cambridge? +she was an Emmins--well, anyway, it’s the most marvelous exhibition of +thought transference, or mind-reading, that has ever been shown--and I +must go. Do let me?--please, Sanford!” + +“My Lord, Aunt Abby, you’ve got me all mixed up! I remember the +Mortimer boy, but what’s he doing blindfolded?” + +“No; it’s the Hanlon man who’s blindfolded, and I can go with +Ferdinand--and--” + +“Go with Ferdinand! Is it a servants’ ball--or what?” + +“No, no; oh, if you’d only listen, Sanford!” + +“Well, I will, in a minute, Aunt Abby. But wait till I tell Eunice +something. You see, dear, if Hendricks does show up, I can pump him +judiciously and find out where the Meredith brothers stand. Then--” + +“All right, San, I’ll see that he stays. Now do settle Aunt Abby +on this crazy scheme of hers. She doesn’t want to go to Newark at +all--” + +“I do, I do!” cried the old lady. + +“Between you and me, Eunice, I believe she does want to go,” and +Embury chuckled. “Where’s the paper, Aunt? Let me see what it’s +all about.” + +“‘A Fair Test,’“ he read aloud. “‘Positive evidence for or +against the theory of thought transference. The mysterious Hanlon to +perform a seeming miracle. Sponsored by the Editor of the Newark Free +Press, assisted by the prominent citizen, James L. Mortimer, done +in broad daylight in the sight of crowds of people, tomorrow’s +performance will be a revelation to doubters or a triumph indeed for +those who believe in telepathy.’ H’m--h’m--but what’s he going +to do?” + +“Read on, read on, Sanford,” cried Aunt Abby, excitedly. + +“‘Starting from the Oberon Theatre at two o’clock, Hanlon will +undertake to find a penknife, previously hidden in a distant part of the +city, its whereabouts known only to the Editor of the Free Press and to +Mr. Mortimer. Hanlon is to be blindfolded by a committee of citizens and +is to be followed, not preceded by Mr. Mortimer, who is to will +Hanlon in the right direction, and to “guide” him merely by mental +will-power. There is to be no word spoken between these two men, no +personal contact, and no possibility of a confederate or trickery of any +sort. + +“‘Mr. Mortimer is not a psychic; indeed, he is not a student of the +occult or even a believer in telepathy, but he has promised to obey the +conditions laid down for him. These are merely and only that he is to +follow Hanlon, keeping a few steps behind him, and mentally will +the blindfolded man to go in the right direction to find the hidden +knife.’” + +“Isn’t it wonderful, Sanford,” breathed Miss Abby, her eyes +shining with the delight of the mystery. + +“Poppycock!” and Embury smiled at her as a gullible child. “You +don’t mean to say, aunt, that you believe there is no trickery about +this!” + +“But how can there be? You know, Sanford, it’s easy enough to say +‘poppycock’ and ‘fiddle-dee-dee!’ and ‘gammon’ and ‘spinach!’ But just +tell me how it’s done--how it can be done by trickery? Suggest a means +however complicated or difficult--” + +“Oh, of course, I can’t. I’m no charlatan or prestidigitateur! But you +know as well as I do, that the thing is a trick--” + +“I don’t! And anyway, that isn’t the point. I want to go to see it. I’m +not asking your opinion of the performance, I’m asking you to let me +go. May I?” + +“No, indeed! Why, Aunt Abby, it will be a terrible crowd--a horde of +ragamuffins and ruffians. You’d be torn to pieces--” + +“But I want to, Sanford,” and the old lady was on the verge of tears. +“I want to see Hanlon--” + +“Hanlon! Who wants to see Hanlon?” + +The expected Hendricks came into the room, and shaking hands as he +talked, he repeated his question: “Who wants to see Hanlon? Because I +do, and I’ll take any one here who is interested.” + +“Oh, you angel man!” exclaimed Aunt Abby, her face beaming. “I +want to go! Will you really take me, Alvord?” + +“Sure I will! Anybody else? You want to see it, Eunice?” + +“Why, I didn’t, but as Sanford just read it, it sounded interesting. +How would we go?” + +“I’ll run you out in my touring car. It won’t take more’n the +afternoon, and it’ll be a jolly picnic. Go along, San?” + +“No, not on your life! When did you go foolish, Alvord?” + +“Oh, I always had a notion toward that sort of thing. I want to see +how he does it. Don’t think I fall for the telepathy gag, but I want +to see where the little joker is,--and then, too, I’m glad to please +the ladies.” + +“I’ll go,” said Eunice; “that is, if you’ll stay and dine +now--and we can talk it over and plan the trip.” + +“With all the pleasure in life,” returned Hendricks. + +Chapter II A Trip To Newark + +Perhaps no factor is more indicative of the type of a home life than its +breakfast atmosphere. For, in America, it is only a small proportion, +even among the wealthy who ‘breakfast in their rooms.’ And a +knowledge of the appointments and customs of the breakfast are often +data enough to stamp the status of the household. + +In the Embury home, breakfast was a pleasant send-off for the day. Both +Sanford and Eunice were of the sort who wake up wide-awake, and their +appearance in the dining-room was always an occasion of merry banter and +a leisurely enjoyment of the meal. Aunt Abby, too, was at her best in +the morning, and breakfast was served sufficiently early to do away with +any need for hurry on Sanford’s part. + +The morning paper, save for its headlines, was not a component part of +the routine, and it was an exceptionally interesting topic that caused +it to be unfolded. + +This morning, however, Miss Ames reached the dining-room before the +others and eagerly scanned the pages for some further notes of the +affair in Newark. + +But with the total depravity of inanimate things and with the invariable +disappointingness of a newspaper, the columns offered no other +information than a mere announcement of the coming event. + +“Hunting for details of your wild-goose chase?” asked Embury, as he +paused on the way to his own chair to lean over Aunt Abby’s shoulder. + +“Yes, and there’s almost nothing! Why do you take this paper?” + +“You’ll see it all to-day, so why do you want to read about it?” +laughed a gay voice, and Eunice came in, all fluttering chiffon and +ribbon ends. + +She took the chair Ferdinand placed for her, and picked up a spoon as +the attentive man set grapefruit at her plate. The waitress was allowed +to serve the others, but Ferdinand reserved to himself the privilege of +waiting on his beloved mistress. + +“Still of a mind to go?” she said, smiling at her aunt. + +“More than ever! It’s a perfectly heavenly day, and we’ll have a +good ride, if nothing more.” + +“Good ride!” chaffed Embury. “Don’t you fool yourself, Aunt +Abby! The ride from this burg to Newark, N.J., is just about the most +Godforsaken bit of scenery you ever passed through!” + +“I don’t mind that. Al Hendricks is good company, and, any way, +I’d go through fire and water to see that Hanlon show. Eunice, can’t +you and Mr. Hendricks pick me up? I want to go to my Psychic Class this +morning, and there’s no use coming way back here again.” + +“Yes, certainly; we’re going about noon, you know, and have lunch in +Newark.” + +“In Newark!” and Embury looked his amazement. + +“Yes; Alvord said so last night. He says that new hotel there is quite +all right. We’ll only have time for a bite, anyway.” + +“Well, bite where you like. By the way, my Tiger girl, you didn’t +get that information from our friend last evening.” + +“No, San, I couldn’t, without making it too pointed. I thought I +could bring it in more casually to-day--say, at luncheon.” + +“Yes; that’s good. But find out, Eunice, just where the Merediths +stand. They may swing the whole vote.” + +“What vote?” asked Aunt Abby, who was interested in everything. + +“Our club, Auntie,” and Embury explained. “You know Hendricks is +president--has been for years--and we’re trying to oust him in favor +of yours truly.” + +“You, Sanford! Do you mean you want to put him out and put yourself in +his place?” + +“Exactly that, my lady.” + +“But-how queer! Does he know it?” + +“Rather! Yes--even on calm second thought, I should say Hendricks +knows it!” + +“But I shouldn’t think you two would be friends in such circumstances.” + +“That’s the beauty of it, ma’am; we’re bosom friends, as you know; and +yet, we’re fighting for that presidency like two cats of Kilkenny.” + +“The New York Athletic Club, is it?” + +“Oh, no, ma’am! Not so, but far otherwise. The Metropolitan Athletic +Club if you please.” + +“Yes, I know--I’d forgotten the name.” + +“Don’t mix up the two--they’re deadly rivals.” + +“Why do you want to be president, Sanford?” + +“That’s a long tale, but in a nutshell, purely and solely for the good +of the club.” + +“And that’s the truth,” declared Eunice. “Sanford is getting himself +disliked in some quarters, influential ones, too, and he’s making +life-long enemies--not Alvord, but others--and it is all because he has +the real interests of the club at heart. Al Hendricks is running it +into--into a mud-puddle! Isn’t he, San?” + +“Well, yes, though I shouldn’t have thought of using that word. But, +he is bringing its gray hairs in sorrow to the grave--or will, if he +remains in office, instead of turning it over to a well-balanced man of +good judgment and unerring taste--say, like one Sanford Embury.” + +“You certainly are not afflicted with false pride, Sanford,” and +Aunt Abby bit into her crisp toast with a decided snap. + +“Why, thank you,” and Embury smiled as he purposely misinterpreted +her words. “I quite agree, Aunt, that my pride is by no means false. +It is a just and righteous pride in my own merits, both natural and +acquired.” + +He winked at Eunice across the table, and she smiled back +appreciatively. Aunt Abby gave him what was meant to be a scathing +glance, but which turned to a nod of admiration. + +“That’s so, Sanford,” she admitted. “Al Hendricks is a nice man, +but he falls down on some things. Hasn’t he been a good president?” + +“Until lately, Aunt Abby. Now, he’s all mixed up with a crowd of +intractables--sporty chaps, who want a lot of innovations that the more +conservative element won’t stand for.” + +“Why, they want prize-fights and a movie theatre-right in the club!” +informed Eunice. “And it means too much expense, besides being a +horrid, low-down--” + +“There, there, Tiger,” and Sanford shook his head at her. “Let us +say those things are unpalatable to a lot of us old fogies--” + +“Stop! I won’t have you call yourself old--or fogyish, either! +You’re the farthest possible removed from that! Why, you’re no older +than Al Hendricks.” + +“You were all children together,” said Aunt Abby, as if imparting a +bit of new information; “you three, and Mason Elliott. Why, when you +were ten or eleven, Eunice, those three boys were eternally camping out +in the front yard, waiting for you to get your hair curled and go out to +play. And later, they all hung around to take you to parties, and then, +later still--not so much later, either--they all wanted to marry you.” + +“Why, Auntie, you’re telling the ‘whole story of my life and +what’s my real name!’--Sanford knows all this, and knows that he cut +out the other two--though I’m not saying they wanted to marry me.” + +“It goes without saying,” and her husband gave her a gallant bow. +“But, great heavens, Eunice, if you’d married those other two--I +mean one of ‘em--either one--you’d have been decidedly out of your +element. Hendricks, though a bully chap, is a man of impossible tastes, +and Elliott is a prig--pure and simple! I, you see, strike a happy +medium. And, speaking of such things, are your mediums always happy, +Aunt Abby?” + +“How you do rattle on, Sanford! A true medium is so absorbed in +her endeavors, so wrapped up in her work, she is, of course, happy--I +suppose. I never thought about it.” + +“Well, don’t go out of your way to find out. It isn’t of vital +importance that I should know. May I be excused, Madam Wife? I’m +called to the busy marts--and all that sort of thing.” Embury rose +from the table, a big, tall man, graceful in his every motion, as only +a trained athlete can be. Devoted to athletics, he kept himself in the +pink of condition physically, and this was no small aid to his vigorous +mentality and splendid business acumen. + +“Wait a minute, San,” and for the first time that morning there was +a note of timidity in Eunice’s soft voice. “Please give me a little +money, won’t you?” + +“Money, you grasping young person! What do you want it for?” + +“Why--I’m going to Newark, you know--” + +“Going to Newark! Yes, but you’re going in Hendricks’ car--that +doesn’t require a ticket, does it?” + +“No--but I--I might want to give the chauffeur something when I get +out--” + +“Nonsense! Not Hendricks’ chauffeur. That’s all right when +you’re with formal friends or Comparative strangers--but it would be +ridiculous to tip Hendricks’ Gus!” + +Embury swung into the light topcoat held by the faithful Ferdinand. + +“But, dear,” and Eunice rose, and stood by her husband, “I do want +a little money,” she fingered nervously the breakfast napkin she was +still holding. + +“What for?” was the repeated inquiry. + +“Oh, you see--I might want to do a little shopping in Newark.” + +“Shop in Newark! That’s a good one! Why, girlie, you never want to +shop outside of little old New York, and you know it. Shop in Newark!” + +Embury laughed at the very idea. + +“But--I might see something in a window that’s just what I want.” + +“Then make a note of it, and buy it in New York. You have an account +at all the desirable shops here, and I never kick at the bills, do I, +now?” + +“No; but a woman does want a little cash with her--” + +“Oh, that, of course! I quite subscribe to that. But I gave you a +couple of dollars yesterday.” + +“Yes, but I gave one to a Red Cross collector, and the other I had to +pay out for a C.O.D. charge.” + +“Why buy things C.O.D. when you have accounts everywhere?” + +“Oh, this was something I saw advertised in the evening paper--” + +“And you bought it because it was cheap! Oh, you women! Now, Eunice, +that’s just a case in point. I want my wife to have everything she +wants--everything in reason, but there’s no sense in throwing money +away. Now, kiss me, sweetheart, for I’m due at a directors’ meeting +in two shakes--or thereabouts.” + +Embury snapped the fastening of his second glove, and, hat in hand, held +out his arms to his wife. + +She made one more appeal. + +“You’re quite right, San, maybe I didn’t need that C.O.D. thing. +But I do want a little chickenfeed in my purse when I go out to-day. +Maybe they’ll take up a collection.” + +“A silver offering for the Old Ladies’ Home,--eh? Well, tell ‘em +to come to me and I’ll sign their subscription paper! Now, good-by, +Dolly Gray! I’m off!” + +With a hearty kiss on Eunice’s red lips, and a gay wave of his hand to +Aunt Abby, Embury went away and Ferdinand closed the door behind him. + +“I can’t stand it, Aunt Abby,” Eunice exclaimed, as the butler +disappeared into the pantry; “if Sanford were a poor man it would be +different. But he’s made more money this year than ever before, and +yet, he won’t give me an allowance or even a little bit of ready +money.” + +“But you have accounts,” Aunt Abby said, absently, for she-was +scanning the paper now. + +“Accounts! Of course, I have! But there are a thousand things one +wants cash for! You know that perfectly well. Why, when our car was out +of commission last week and I had to use a taxicab, Sanford would give +me just enough for the fare and not a cent over to fee the driver. And +lots of times I need a few dollars for charities, or some odds and ends, +and I can’t have a cent to call my own! Al Hendricks may be of coarser +clay than Sanford Embury, but he wouldn’ treat a wife like that!” + +“It is annoying, Eunice, but Sanford is so good to you--” + +“Good to me! Why shouldn’t he be? It isn’t a question of goodness +or of generosity--it’s just a fool whim of his, that I mustn’t ask +for actual cash! I can have all the parties I want, buy all the clothes +I want, get expensive hats or knick-knacks of any sort, and have +them all charged. He’s never even questioned my bills--but has his +secretary pay them. And I must have some money in my purse! And I will! +I know ways to get it, without begging it from Sanford Embury!” + +Eunice’s dark eyes flashed fire, and her cheeks burned scarlet, for +she was furiously angry. + +“Now, now, my dear, don’t take it so to heart,” soothed Aunt Abby; +“I’ll give you some money. I was going to make you a present, but if +you’d rather have the money that it would cost, say so.” + +“I daren’t, Aunt Abby. Sanford would find it out and he’d be +terribly annoyed. It’s one of his idiosyncrasies, and I have to bear +it as long as I live with him!” + +The gleam in the beautiful eyes gave a hint of desperate remedies that +might be applied to the case, but Ferdinand returned to the room, and +the two women quickly spoke of other things. + +Hendricks’ perfectly appointed and smooth-running car made the trip to +Newark in minimum time. Though the road was not a picturesque one, the +party was in gay spirits and the host was indefatigable in his efforts +to be entertaining. + +“I’ve looked up this Hanlon person,” he said, “and his record +is astonishing. I mean, he does astonishing feats. He’s a juggler, +a sword swallower and a card sharp--that is, a card wizard. Of course, +he’s a faker, but he’s a clever one, and I’m anxious to see what +his game is this time. Of course, it’s, first of all, advertisement +for the paper that’s backing him, but it’s a new game. At least, +it’s new over here; they tell me it’s done to death in England.” + +“Oh, no, Alvord, it isn’t a game,” insisted Miss Ames; “if the +man is blindfolded, he can’t play any tricks on us. And he couldn’t +play tricks on newspaper men anyway--they’re too bright for that!” + +“I think they are, too; that’s why I’m interested. Warm enough, +Eunice?” + +“Yes, thank you,” and the beautiful face looked happily content as +Eunice Embury nestled her chin deeper into her fur collar. + +For, though late April, the day was crisply cool and there was a tang in +the bright sunshiny air. Aunt Abby was almost as warmly wrapped up as +in midwinter, and when, on reaching Newark, they encountered a raw East +wind, she shrugged into her coat like a shivering Esquimau. + +“Where do we go to see it?” asked Eunice, as later, after luncheon, +she eagerly looked about at the crowds massed everywhere. + +“We’ll have to reconnoiter,” Hendricks replied, smiling at her +animated face. “Drive on to the Oberon, Gus.” + +As they neared the theatre the surging waves of humanity barred their +progress, and the big car was forced to come to a standstill. + +“I’ll get out,” said Hendricks, “and make a few inquiries. The +Free Press office is near here, and I know some of the people there.” + +He strode off and was soon swallowed up in the crowd. + +“I think I see a good opening,” said Gus, after a moment. “I’ll +get out for a minute, Mrs. Embury. I must inquire where cars can be +parked.” + +“Go ahead, Gus,” said Eunice; “we’ll be all right here, but +don’t go far. I’ll be nervous if you do.” + +“No, ma’am; I won’t go a dozen steps.” + +“Extry! Extry! All about the Great Magic! Hanlon the Wonderful and his +Big Stunt! Extry!” + +“Oh, get a paper, Eunice, do,” urged Aunt Abby from the depths of +her fur coat. “Ask that boy for one! I must have it to read after I +get home--I can’t look at it now, but get it! Here, you--Boy--say, +Boy!” + +The newsboy came running to them and flung a paper into Eunice’s lap. + +“There y’are, lady,” he said, grinning; “there’s yer paper! +Gimme a nickel, can’t yer? I ain’t got time hangin’ on me +hands!” + +His big black eyes stared at Eunice, as she made no move toward a purse, +and he growled: “Hurry up lady; I gotta sell some papers yet. Think +nobuddy wants one but you?” + +Eunice flushed with annoyance. + +“Please pay him, Aunt Abby,” she said, in a low voice; “I--haven’t any +money.” + +“Goodness gracious me! Haven’t five cents! Why, Eunice, you must have!” + +“But I haven’t, I tell you! I can’t see Alvord, and Gus is too far to +call to. Go over there, boy, to that chauffeur with the leather +coat--he’ll pay you.” + +“No, thanky mum! I’ve had that dodge tried afore! Pity a grand dame +like you can’t scare up a nickel! Want to work a poor newsie! Shame for +ya, lady!” + +“Hush your impudence, you little wretch!” cried Aunt Abby. “Here, +Eunice, help me get my purse. It’s in my inside coat pocket--under the +rug--there, see if you can reach it now.” + +Aunt Abby tried to extricate herself from the motor rug that had been +tucked all too securely about her, and failing in that, endeavored to +reach into her pocket with her gloved hand, and became hopelessly +entangled in a mass of fur, chiffon scarf and eyeglass chain. + +“I can’t get at my purse, Eunice; there’s no use trying,” she wailed, +despairingly. “Let us have the paper, my boy, and come back here when +the owner of this car comes and he’ll give you a quarter.” + +“Yes--he will!” shouted the lad, “and he’ll give me a di’mon’ pin an’ a +gold watch! I’d come back, willin’ enough, but me root lays the other +way, an’ I must be scootin’ or I’ll miss the hull show. Sorry!” The +boy, who had no trouble in finding customers for his papers, picked up +the one he had laid on Eunice’s lap and made off. + +“Never mind, Auntie,” she said, “we’ll get another. It’s too +provoking--but I haven’t a cent, and I don’t blame the boy. Now, +find your purse--or, never mind; here comes Alvord.” + +“Just fell over Mortimer!” called out Hendricks as the two men came +to the side of the car. “I made him come and speak to you ladies, +though I believe its holding up the whole performance. Let me present +the god in the machine!” + +“Not that,” said Mr. Mortimer, smiling; “only a small mechanical +part of to-day’s doings. I’ve a few minutes to spare, though but a +few. How do you do, Miss Ames? Glad to see you again. And Mrs. Embury; +this brings back childhood days!” + +“Tell me about Hanlon,” begged Miss Ames. “Is he on the square?” + +“So far as I know, and I know all there is to know, I think. I was +present at a preliminary test this morning, and I’ll tell you what he +did.” Mortimer looked at his watch and proceeded quickly. “In at the +Free Press office one of the men took a piece of chalk and drew a line +from where we were to a distant room of the building. The line went +up and down stairs, in and out of various rooms, over chairs and under +desks, and finally wound up in a small closet in the city editor’s +office. Well--and I must jump away now--that wizard, Hanlon, being +securely blindfolded--I did it myself--followed that line, almost +without deviation, from start to finish. Through a building he had never +seen before, and groping along in complete darkness.” + +“How in the world could he do it?” Aunt Abby asked, breathlessly. + +“The chap who drew the line was behind him--behind, mind you--and he +willed him where to go. Of course, he did his best, kept his mind on +the job, and earnestly used his mentality to will Hanlon along. And did! +There, that’s all I know, until this afternoon’s stunt is pulled +off. But what I’ve told you, I do know--I saw it, and I, for one, am a +complete convert to telepathy!” + +The busy man, hastily shaking hands, bustled away, and Hendricks told +in glee how, through his acquaintance with Mortimer, he had secured a +permit to drive his car among the front ones that were following the +performance, which was to begin very soon now. + +Gus returned, and they were about to start when Aunt Abby set up a plea +for a copy of the paper that she wanted. + +Good-natured Gus tried his best, Hendricks himself made endeavors, but +all in vain. The papers were gone, the edition exhausted. Nor could +any one whom they asked be induced to part with his copy even at a +substantial premium. + +“Sorry, Miss Ames,” said Hendricks, “but we can’t seem to nail +one. Perhaps later we can get one. Now we must be starting or we’ll +soon lose our advantage.” + +The crowd was like a rolling sea by this time, and only the efficiency +of the fine police work kept anything like order. + +Cautiously the motor car edged along while the daring pedestrians seemed +to scramble from beneath the very wheels. + +And then a cheer arose which proclaimed the presence of Hanlon, the +mysterious possessor of second sight, or the marvelous reader of +another’s mind--nobody knew exactly which he was. + +Chapter III The Stunt + +Bowing in response to the mighty cheer that greeted his appearance, +Hanlon stood, smiling at the crowd. + +A young fellow he seemed to be, slender, well-knit and with a frank, +winning face. But he evidently meant business, for he turned at once to +Mr. Mortimer, and asked that the test be begun. + +A few words from one of the staff of the newspaper that was backing +the enterprise informed the audience that the day before there had been +hidden in a distant part of the city a penknife, and that only the hider +thereof and the Hon. Mr. Mortimer knew where the hiding place was. + +Hanlon would now undertake to go, blindfolded, to the spot and find the +knife, although the distance, as the speaker was willing to disclose, +was more than a mile. The blindfolding was to be done by a committee of +prominent citizens and was to be looked after so carefully that there +could be no possibility of Hanlon’s seeing anything. + +After that, Hanlon engaged to go to the hiding place and find the knife, +on condition that Mr. Mortimer would follow him, and concentrate all his +willpower on mentally guiding or rather directing Hanlon’s footsteps. + +The blindfolding, which was done in full view of the front ranks of +spectators, was an elaborate proceeding. A heavy silk handkerchief +had been prepared by folding it in eight thicknesses, which were then +stitched to prevent Clipping. This bandage was four inches wide and +completely covered the man’s eyes, but as an additional precaution +pads of cotton wool were first placed over his closed eyelids and the +bandage then tied over them. + +Thus, completely blindfolded, Hanlon spoke earnestly to Mr. Mortimer. + +“I must ask of you, sir, that you do your very best to guide me +aright. The success of this enterprise depends quite as much on you as +on myself. I am merely receptive, you are the acting agent. I strive to +keep my mind a blank, that your will may sway it in the right direction. +I trust you, and I beg that you will keep your whole mind on the quest. +Think of the hidden article, keep it in your mind, look toward it. +Follow me--not too closely--and mentally push me in the way I should +go. If I go wrong, will me back to the right path, but in no case get +near enough to touch me, and, of course, do not speak to me. This +test is entirely that of the influence of your will upon mine. Call it +telepathy, thought-transference, will-power--anything you choose, but +grant my request that you devote all your attention to the work in hand. +If your mind wanders, mine will; if your mind goes straight to the goal, +mine will also be impelled there.” + +With a slight bow, Hanlon stood motionless, ready to start. + +The preliminaries had taken place on a platform, hastily built for the +occasion, and now, with Mortimer behind him, Hanlon started down the +steps to the street. + +Reaching the pavement, he stood motionless for a few seconds and then, +turning, walked toward Broad Street. Reaching it, he turned South, +and walked along, at a fairly rapid gait. At the crossings he paused +momentarily, sometimes as if uncertain which way to go, and again +evidently assured of his direction. + +The crowd surged about him, now impeding his progress and now almost +pushing him along. He gave them no heed, but made his way here or there +as he chose and Mortimer followed, always a few steps behind, but near +enough to see that Hanlon was in no way interfered with by the throng. + +Indeed, so anxious were the onlookers that fair play should obtain, the +ones nearest to the performer served as a cordon of guards to keep his +immediate surroundings cleared. + +Hanlon’s actions, in all respects, were those that might be expected +from a blindfolded man. He groped, sometimes with outstretched hands, +again with arms folded or hands clasped and extended, but always with an +expression, so far as his face could be seen, of earnest, concentrated +endeavor to go the right way. Now and then he would half turn, as if +impelled in one direction, and then hesitate, turn and march off the +other way. One time, indeed, he went nearly half a block in a wrong +street. Then he paused, groped, stumbled a little, and gradually +returned to the vicinity of Mortimer, who had stood still at the corner. +Apparently, Hanlon had no idea of his detour, for he went on in the +right direction, and Mortimer, who was oblivious to all but his mission, +followed interestedly. + +One time Hanlon spoke to him. “You are a fine ‘guide,’ sir,” he +said. “I seem impelled steadily, not in sudden thought waves, and I +find my mind responds well to your will. If you will be so good as to +keep the crowd away from us a little more carefully. I don’t want +you any nearer me, but if too many people are between us, it interferes +somewhat with the transference of your guiding thought.” + +“Do you want to hear my footsteps?” asked Mortimer, thoughtfully. + +“That doesn’t matter,” Hanlon smiled. “You are to follow me, +sir, even if I go wrong. If I waited to hear you, that would be no test +at all. Simply will me, and then follow, whether I am on the right +track or not. But keep your mind on the goal, and look toward it--if +convenient. Of course, the looking toward it is no help to me, save as +it serves to fix your mind more firmly on the matter.” + +And then Hanlon seemed to go more carefully. He stepped slowly, +feeling with his foot for any curbstone, grating or irregularity in the +pavement. And yet he failed in one instance to feel the edge of an open +coalhole, and his right leg slipped down into it. + +Some of the nearby watchers grabbed him, and pulled him back without his +sustaining injury, for which he thanked them briefly and continued. + +Several times some sceptical bystanders put themselves deliberately in +front of the blindfolded man, to see if he would turn out for them. + +On the contrary, Hanlon bumped into them, so innocently, that they were +nearly thrown down. + +He smiled good-naturedly, and said, “All right, fellows; I don’t +mind, if you don’t. And I don’t blame you for wanting to make sure +that I’m not playing ‘possum!” + +Of course, Hanlon carried no light cane, such as blind men use, to +tap on the stones, so he helped himself by feeling the way along shop +windows and area gates, judging thus, when he was nearing a cross +street, and sometimes hesitating whether to cross or turn the corner. + +After a half-hour of this sort of progress he found himself in a vacant +lot near the edge of the city. There had been a building in the middle +of the plot of ground, but it had been burned down and only a pile of +blackened debris marked the place. + +Reaching the corner of the streets that bounded the lot, Hanlon made no +pause, but started on a straight diagonal toward the center of the lot. +He stepped into a tangle of charred logs and ashes, but forged ahead +unhesitatingly, though slowly, and picked his way by thrusting the toe +of his shoe tentatively forward. + +Mortimer, about three paces behind him, followed, unheeding the rubbish +he stalked through, and very evidently absorbed in doing his part to its +conclusion. + +For the knife was hidden in the very center of the burned-down house. A +bit of flooring was left, on which Hanlon climbed, Mortimer getting up +on it also. + +Hanlon walked slowly round in a circle, the floor being several +yards square. Mortimer stepped behind him, gravely looking toward the +hiding-place, and exerting all his mentality toward “guiding” Hanlon +to it. At no time was he nearer than two feet, though once, making a +quick turn, Hanlon nearly bumped into him. Finally, Hanlon, poking about +in the ashes with his right foot, kicked against something. He picked it +up and it proved to be only a bit of wire. But the next moment he +struck something else, and, stooping, brought up triumphantly the hidden +penknife, which he waved exultantly at the crowd. + +Loud and long they cheered him. Cordially Mr. Mortimer grasped the +hands of the hero, and it was with some difficulty that Alvord Hendricks +restrained Miss Abby Ames from getting out of his car and rushing to +congratulate the successful treasure-seeker. + +“Now,” she exclaimed; “no one can ever doubt the fact of telepathy +after this! How else could that young man have done what he has done. +Answer me that!” + +“It’s all a fake,” asserted Hendricks, “but I’m ready to +acknowledge I don’t know how it’s done. It’s the best game I ever +saw put up, and I’d like to know how he does it.” + +“Seems to me,” put in Eunice, a little dryly, “one oughtn’t to +insist that it is a fake unless one has some notion, at least, of how it +could be done. If the man could see--could even peep--there might be a +chance for trickery. But with those thick cotton pads on his eyes and +then covered with that big, thick, folded silk handkerchief--it’s +really a muffle-there’s no chance for his faking.” + +“And if he could see--if his eyes were wide open--how would he know +where to go?” demanded Aunt Abby. “That blindfolding is only so he +can’t see Mr. Mortimer’s face, if he turns round, and judge from its +expression. And also, I daresay, to help him concentrate his mind, and +not be diverted or distracted by the crowd and all.” + +“All the same, I don’t believe in it,” and Hendricks shook his +head obstinately. “There is no such thing as telepathy, and this +‘willing’ business has all been exposed years ago.” + +“I remember,” and Aunt Abby nodded; “you mean that Bishop man and +all that. But this affair it quite different. You don’t believe Mr. +Mortimer was a party to deceit, do you?” + +“No, I don’t. Mortimer is a judge and a most honest man, besides. +He wouldn’t stoop to trickery in a thing of this sort. But he has been +himself deceived.” + +“Then how was it done?” cried Eunice, triumphantly; “for no one +else knew where the knife was hidden, except that newspaper man who hid +it, and he was sincere, of course, or there’d be no sense in the whole +thing.” + +“I know that. Yes, the newspaper people were hoodwinked, too.” + +“Then what happened?” Eunice persisted. “There’s no possible +explanation but telepathy. Is there, now?” + +“I don’t know of any,” Hendricks was forced to admit. “After the +excitement blows over a little, I’ll try to speak with Mortimer again. +I’d like to know his opinion.” + +They sat in the car, looking at the hilarious crowds of people, most of +whom seemed imbued with a wild desire to get to the hero of the hour and +demand his secret. + +“There’s a man who looks like Tom Meredith,” said Eunice, +suddenly. “By the way, Alvord, where do the Merediths stand in the +matter of the club election?” + +“Which of them?” + +“Either--or both. I suppose they’re on your side--they never seemed +to like Sanford much.” + +“My dear Eunice, don’t be so narrow-minded. Club men don’t vote +one way or another because of a personal like or dislike--they consider +the good of the club--the welfare of the organization.” + +“Well, then, which side do they favor as being for the good of the +club?” + +“Ask Sanford.” + +“Oh--if you don’t want to tell me.” + +Eunice looked provokingly pretty and her piquant face showed a petulant +expression as she turned it to Hendricks. + +“Smile on me again and I’ll tell you anything you want to know: if I +know it myself.” + +A dazzling smile answered this speech, and Hendricks’ gaze softened as +he watched her. + +“But you’ll have to ask me something else, for, alas, the brothers +Meredith haven’t made a confidant of me.” + +“Story-teller” and Eunice’s dark eyes assumed the look of a +roguish little girl. “You can’t fool me, Alvord; now tell me, and +I’ll invite you in to tea when we get home.” + +“I’m going in, anyway.” + +“Not unless you tell me what I ask. Why won’t you? Is it a secret? +Pooh! I’d just as lief ask Mr. Tom Meredith myself, if I could see +him. Never mind, don’t tell me, if you don’t want to. You’re not +my only confidential friend; there are others.” + +“Who are they, Euny? I flattered myself I was your only really, truly +intimate friend--not even excepting your husband!” + +“Oh, what a naughty speech! If you weren’t Sanford’s very good +friend, I’d never speak to you again!” + +“I don’t see how you two men can be friends,” put in Aunt Abby, +“when you’re both after that same presidency.” + +“That’s the answer!” Eunice laughed. “Alvord is San’s greatest +friend, because it’s going to be an easy thing for Sanford to win the +election from him! If there were a more popular candidate in Alvord’s +place, or a less popular one in Sanford’s place, it wouldn’t be such +a walkover!” + +“You--you--” Hendricks looked at Eunice in speechless admiration. +The dancing eyes were impudent, the red lips curved scornfully, and she +made a daring little moue at him as she readjusted her black lace veil +so that a heavy bit of its pattern covered her mouth. + +“What do you do that for? Move that darned flower, so I can see you +talk!” + +She laughed then, and wrinkled her straight little nose until the veil +billowed mischievously. + +“I wish you’d take that thing off,” Hendricks said, irritatedly; +“it annoys me.” + +“And pray, sir, who are you, that I should shield you from annoyance? +My veil is a necessary part of my costume.” + +“Necessary nothing! Take it off, I tell you!” + +“Merry Christmas!” and Eunice gave him such a scornful shrug of her +furred shoulders that Hendricks laughed out, in sheer enjoyment of her +audacity. + +“Tell me about the Merediths, and I’ll take off the offending +veil,” she urged, looking at him very coaxingly. + +“All right; off with it.” + +Slowly, and with careful deliberation, Eunice unpinned her veil, took +it off and folded it in a small, compact parcel. This she put in her +handbag, and then, with an adorable smile, said: “Now!” + +“You beautiful idiot,” and Hendricks devoured her with his eyes. +“All I can tell you about the Merediths is, that I don’t know +anything about their stand on the election.” + +“What do you guess, assume, surmise, imagine or predict?” she +teased, still fascinating him with her magnetic charm. + +“Well, I think this: they’re a little too old-timey to take up +all my projects. But, on the other hand, they’re far from willing +to subscribe to your husband’s views. They do not approve of the +Sunday-school atmosphere he wants to bring about, nor do they shut their +eyes to the fact that the younger element must be considered.” + +“Younger element! Do you call Sanford old?” + +“No; he’s only twenty-eight this minute. But there are a lot of new +members even younger than that strange as it may seem! These boys +want gayety--yea, even unto the scorned movies and the hilarious +prize-fights--and as they are scions of the wealthy and aristocratic +families of our little old town, I think we should consider them. And, +since you insist on knowing, it is my firm belief, conviction and--I’m +willing to add--my hope that the great and influential Meredith brothers +agree with me! So there now, Madam Sanford Embury!” + +“Thank you, Alvord; you’re clear, at least. Do you think I could +persuade them to come over to Sanford’s side?” + +“I think you could persuade the statue of Jupiter Ammon to climb down +from his pedestal and take you to Coney Island, if you looked at him +like that! But I also think that friend husband will not consent to your +electioneering for him. It isn’t done, my dear Eunice.” + +“As if I cared what is ‘done’ and what isn’t, if I want to help +Sanford.” + +“Go ahead, then, fair lady; but remember that Sanford Embury stands +for the conservative element in our club, and anything you might try to +do by virtue of your blandishments or fascinations would be frowned +upon and would react against your cause instead of for it. If I might +suggest, my supporters, the younger set, the--well--the gayer set, would +more readily respond to such a plan. Why don’t you electioneer for +me?” + +Eunice disdained to reply, and Aunt Abby broke into the discussion +by exclaiming: “Oh, Alvord, here comes Mr. Mortimer, and he has Mr. +Hanlon with him!” + +Sure enough the two heroes of the day were walking toward the Hendricks +car, which, still standing near the scene of Hanlon’s triumph, awaited +a good chance for a getaway. + +“I wonder if you ladies wouldn’t like to meet this marvel,” +began Mr. Mortimer, genially, and Aunt Abby’s delight was convincing, +indeed. + +Eunice, too, greeted Mr. Hanlon cordially, and Hendricks held out a +welcoming hand. + +“Tell us how you did it,” he said, smiling into the intelligent face +of the mysterious “mind-reader.” + +“You saw,” he returned, simply, with a slight gesture of out-turned +palms, as if to disavow any secrets. + +“Yes, I saw,” said Hendricks, “but with me, seeing is not +believing.” + +“Don’t listen, Hanlon,” Mr. Mortimer said, smiling a little +resentfully. “That sort of talk would go before the test, but not +now. What do you mean, Hendricks, by not believing? Do you suspect me of +complicity?” + +“I do not, Mortimer. I believe you have been taken in with the rest, +by a very clever trick.” He looked sharply at Hanlon, who returned +his gaze serenely. “I believe this young man is unusually apt as a +trickster, and I believe he hoodwinked the whole community. The fact +that I cannot comprehend, or even guess how he did it, in no way +disturbs my conviction that he did do it by trickery. I will change this +opinion, however, if Mr. Hanlon will look me in the eye and assure me, +on his honor, that he found the penknife by no other means or with no +other influence to guide him than Mr. Mortimer’s will-power.” + +“I am not on trial,” he said. “I am not called upon to prove or +disprove anything. I promised to perform a feat and I have done so. +It was not nominated in the bond that I should defend my honor by +asseverations.” + +“Begging the question,” laughed Hendricks, but Mr. Mortimer said: +“Not at all. Hanlon is right. If he has any secret means of guidance, +it is up to us to discover it. But I hold that he cannot have, or +it would have been discovered by some of the eager observers. We had +thousands looking on to-day. There must have been some one clever enough +to suspect the deceit, if deceit there were.” + +“Thank you, Mr. Mortimer,” Hanlon spoke quietly. “I made no +mystery of my performance; I had no confederate, no paraphernalia. All +there was to see could be seen by all. You willed me; I followed your +will. That is all.” + +The simple manner and pleasant demeanor of the young man greatly +attracted Eunice, who smiled at him kindly. + +“I came here very sceptical,” she admitted; “and even now I +can’t feel entirely convinced--” + +“Well, I can!” declared Aunt Abby. “I am willing to own it, too. +These people who really believe in your sincerity, Mr. Hanlon, and +refuse to confess it, make me mad! I wish you’d give an exhibition in +New York.” + +“I’m sorry to disappoint you, madam, but this is my last +performance.” + +“Good gracious why?” Aunt Abby looked curiously at him. + +“I have good reasons,” Hanlon smiled. “You may learn them later, +if you care to.” + +“I do. How can I learn them?” + +“Read the Newark Free Press next Monday.” + +“Oh!” and Eunice had an inspiration--a premonition of the truth. +“May I speak to you alone a minute, Mr. Hanlon?” + +She got out of the car and walked a few steps with the young man, who +politely accompanied her. + +They paused a short distance away, and held a brief but animated +conversation. Eunice laughed gleefully, and it was plain to be seen her +charming smiles played havoc with Hanlon’s reserved demeanor. Soon he +was willingly agreeing to something she was proposing and finally they +shook hands on it. + +They returned to the car; he assisted Eunice in, and then he told Mr. +Mortimer they had stayed as long as was permissible and were being +eagerly called back to the committee in charge of the day’s programme. + +“That’s so,” said Mortimer. “I begged off for a few minutes. +Good-by, all.” He raised his hat and hurried away after Hanlon. + +“Well,” said Hendricks as they started homeward, “what did you +persuade him to do, Eunice? Give a parlor exhibition for you?” + +“The boy guessed nearly right the very first time!” cried Eunice, +gleefully; “it was all a fake, and he’s coming to our house Sunday +afternoon to tell how he did it. It’s all coming out in the paper on +Monday.” + +“My good land!” and Aunt Abby sank back in her seat, utterly +disgusted. + +Chapter IV The Emburys + +“And that’s my last word on the subject.” + +Embury lighted one cigarette from the stub of another, and deposited +the stub in the ash-tray at his elbow. It was Sunday afternoon, and the +peculiar relaxedness of that day of rest and gladness had somewhat worn +on the nerves of both Sanford and Eunice. + +Aunt Abby was napping, and it was too early yet to look for their +expected visitor, Hanlon. + +Eunice had been once again endeavoring to persuade her husband to give +her an allowance--a stated sum, however small, that she might depend +upon regularly. The Emburys fulfilled every requirement of the condition +known as “happily married” save for this one item. They were +congenial, affectionate, good-natured, and quite ready to make +allowances for each other’s idiosyncrasies or whims. + +With this one exception. Eunice found it intolerable to be cramped and +pinched for small amounts of ready cash, when her husband was a rich +man. Nor was Embury mean, or even economical of nature. He was more +than willing that his wife should have all the extravagant luxuries she +desired. He was entirely ready to pay any and all bills that she might +contract. Never had he chided her for buying expensive or unnecessary +finery--even more, he had always admired her taste and shown pleasure +at her purchases. He was proud of her beauty and willing it should +be adorned. He was proud of her grace and charm and willing that the +household appointments should provide an appropriate setting for her +hospitality. They were both fond of entertaining and never was there +a word of protest from him as to the amounts charged by florists and +caterers. + +And yet, by reason of some crank, crotchet or perverse notion, Embury +was unwilling to give his wife what is known as “pin money.” + +“Buy your pins at the best jewelers’,” he would laugh, “and send +the bills to me; buy your hats and gowns from the Frenchiest shops--you +can get credit anywhere on my name--Good Lord! Tiger, what more can a +woman want?” + +Nor would he agree to her oft-repeated explanations that there were a +thousand and one occasions when some money was an absolute necessity. +Or, if persuaded, he gave her a small amount and expected it to last +indefinitely. + +It is difficult to know just what was the reason for this attitude. +Sanford Embury was not a miser. He was not penurious or stingy. He +subscribed liberally to charities, many of them unknown to the public, +or even to his wife, but some trick of nature, some twist in his brain, +made this peculiarity of his persistent and ineradicable. + +Now, Eunice Embury was possessed of a quick, sometimes ungovernable +temper. It was because of this that her husband called her Tiger. And +also, as he declared, because her beautiful, lithe grace was suggestive +of “the fearful symmetry” of the forest tribe. + +She had tried honestly to control her quick anger, but it would now and +then assert itself in spite of her, and Embury delighted to liken her +to Katherine, and declared that he must tame her as Petruchio tamed his +shrew. + +This annoyed Eunice far more than she let him know, for she was well +aware that if he thought it teased her, he would more frequently try +Petruchio’s methods. + +So, when she flew into a rage, and he countered with a fiercer anger, +she knew he was assuming it purposely, and she usually quieted down, as +the better part of valor. + +On this particular occasion Eunice had taken advantage of a quiet, +pleasant tête-a-tête to bring up the subject. + +Embury had heard her pleading, not unkindly, but with a bored air, +and had finally remarked, as she paused in her arguments, “I refuse, +Eunice, to give you a stated allowance. If you haven’t sufficient +confidence in your husband’s generosity to trust him to give you all +you want or need, and even more than that, then you are ungrateful for +what I have given you. And that’s my last word on the subject.” + +The rank injustice of this was like iron entering her soul. She knew his +speech was illogical, unfair and even absurd, but she knew no words of +hers could make him see it so. + +And in utter exasperation at her own impotence, she flung her +self-control to the winds, and let go of her temper. + +“Well, it isn’t my last word on the subject!” she cried. “I have +something further to say!” + +“That is your woman’s privilege,” and Embury smiled irritatingly +at her. + +“Not only my privilege, but my duty! I owe it to my self-respect, to +my social position, to my standing as your wife--the wife of a prominent +man of affairs--to have at my command a sum of ready money when I need +it. You know perfectly well, I do not want it for anything wrong--or for +anything that I want to keep secret from you. You know I have never had +a secret from you nor do I wish to have! I simply want to do as other +women do--even the poorest, the meanest man, will give his wife an +allowance, a little something that is absolutely her own. Why, most of +the women of my set have a checking account at the bank--they all have a +personal allowance!” + +“So?” Embury took up another cigarette. “You may remember, Eunice, +I have spoken my last word on the subject.” + +“And you may remember that I have not! But I will--and right now. And +it is simply that since you refuse me the pleasure and convenience of +some money for everyday use, I shall get some from another source.” + +Embury’s eyes narrowed, and he surveyed his wife with a calm scrutiny. +Then he smiled. + +“Stenography and typewriting?” he said; “or shall you take +in plain sewing? Cut out the threats, Eunice; they won’t get you +anywhere!” + +“They’ll get me where I want to arrive! Don’t say I didn’t warn +you--I repeat, I shall get money for my personal use, and you will have +no right to criticize my methods, since you refuse me a paltry sum by +way of allowance.” + +Eunice was standing, her two hands tightly grasping a chair-back as +she looked angrily at Embury, who still seated lazily, blew smoke rings +toward her. She was magnificent in her anger, her cheeks burned +crimson, her dark eyes had an ominous gleam in them and her curved +lips straightened into a determined line of scarlet. Her muscles were +strained and tense, her breath came quickly, yet she had full control of +herself and her pose was that of a crouching, waiting tiger rather than +a furious ode. + +Embury was full of admiration at the beautiful picture she made, but +pursuant of his inexorable plan, he rose to “tame” her. + +“‘Tiger, tiger, burning bright,’“ he quoted, “you must take +back that speech--it is neither pretty nor tactful--” + +“I have no wish to be tactful! Why should I? I am not trying to +coax or cajole you! You refuse my request--you have repeatedly refused +me--now, I am at the end of my patience, and I shall take matters into +my own hands!” + +“Lovely hands!” he murmured, taking them in his own. “You have +unusually pretty hands, Eunice; it would be a pity to use them to earn +money.” + +“Yet that is my intention. I shall get money by the work of these +hands. It will be in a way that you will not approve, but you have +forfeited your right to approve or disapprove.” + +“That I have not! I am your husband--you have promised to obey me--” + +“A mere form of words--it meant nothing!” + +“Our marriage ceremony meant nothing?” + +“If it did, remember that you endowed me with all your worldly +goods--” + +“And I give them to you, too! Do you know that nine-tenths of my +yearly expenditures are for your pleasure and benefit! I enjoy our home, +too, but it would not be the elaborate, luxurious establishment that it +is, but that it suits your taste to have it so! And then, you whine and +fret for what you yourself call a paltry matter! Ingrate!” + +“Don’t you dare call me ingrate! I owe you no gratitude! Do you give +me this home as a charity? As a gift, even! It is my right! And it is +also my right to have a bank account of my own! It is my right to uphold +my head among other women who laugh at me, who ridicule me, because, +with all your wealth, I have no purse of my own! I will not stand it! +I rebel! And you may rest assured things are going to be different +hereafter. I will get money--” + +“You shall not!” Embury grasped the wrists of the hands he still +held, and his face was fiercely frowning. “You are my wife, and +whatever you may or may not owe to me, you owe it to our position, to +our standing in the community to do nothing beneath your dignity or +mine!” + +“You care nothing for my dignity, for my appearance before other +women, so why should I consider your dignity? You force me to it, and it +is therefore your fault if I--” + +“What is it you propose to do? How are you going to get this absurd +paltry sum you are making such a fuss about?” + +“That I decline to tell you--” + +“Don’t you dare to do needlework or anything that would make me look +foolish. I forbid it!” + +“And I scorn your forbidding! Make you look foolish, indeed! When you +make me look foolish every day of my life, because I can’t do as other +women do--can’t have what other wives have--” + +“Now, now, Tiger, don’t make such a row over nothing--let’s talk +it over seriously--” + +“There’s nothing to talk over. I’ve asked you time and again for +an allowance of money--real money, not charge accounts--and you always +refuse--” + +“And always shall, if you are so ugly about it! Why must you fly into +a rage over it? Your temper is--” + +“My temper is roused by your cruelty--” + +“Cruelty!” + +“Yes; it’s as much cruelty as if you struck me! You deny me my +heart’s dearest wish for no reason whatever--” + +“It’s enough that I don’t approve of an allowance--” + +“It ought to be enough that I do!” + +“No, no, my lady! I love you, I adore you, but I am not the sort of +man to lie down and let you walk over me! I give you everything you want +and if I reserve the privilege of paying for it myself, it does not seem +to me a crime!” + +“Oh, do hush up, Sanford! You drive me frantic! You prate the same +foolishness, over and over! I don’t want to hear any more about it. +You said you had spoken the last word on the subject, now stop it! I, +too, have said my final say. I shall do as I please, and I shall not +consider myself accountable to you for my actions.” + +“Confound it! Do what you please, then! I wash my hands of your +nonsense! But be careful how you carry the name I have given you!” + +“If you keep on, I may decide not to carry it at all--” + +Eunice was interrupted by the entrance of Ferdinand, announcing the +arrival of Mason Elliott. + +Trained in the school of convention, both the Emburys became at once the +courteous, cordial host and hostess. + +“Hello, Elliott,” sang out Sanford, “glad to see your bright and +happy face. Come right along and chum in.” + +Eunice offered her hand with a welcoming smile. + +“Just the boy I was looking for,” she said, “we’ve the jolliest +game on for the afternoon. Haven’t we, San?” + +“Fool trick, if you ask me! Howsumever, everything goes. Interested in +thought-transference bunk, Elliott?” + +“I know what you’re getting at.” Mason Elliott nodded his head +understandingly. “Hendricks put me wise. So, I says to myself, +s’posin’ I hop along and listen in. Yes, I am interested, +sufficiently so not to mind your jeers about bunk and that.” + +“Oh, do you believe in it, Mason?” said Eunice, animatedly; “for +this is a faked affair--or, rather, the explanation of one. It’s the +Hanlon boy, you know--” + +“Yes; I know. But what’s the racket with you two turtle-doves? I +come in, and find Eunice wearing the pet expression of a tragedy queen +and Sanford, here, doing the irate husband. Going into the movies?” + +“Yes, that’s it,” and Eunice smiled bravely, although her lips +still quivered from her recent turbulent quarrel, and a light, jaunty +air was forced to conceal her lingering nervousness. + +“Irate husband is good!” laughed Embury, “considering we are yet +honeymooners.” + +“Good dissemblers, both of you,” and Elliott settled himself in +an easy chair, “but you don’t fool your old friend. Talk about +thought-transference--it doesn’t take much of that commodity to read +that you two were interrupted by my entrance in the middle of a real, +honest-to-goodness, cats’-and-dogs’ quarrel.” + +“All right, have it your own way,” and Embury laughed shortly; +“but it wasn’t the middle of it, it was about over.” + +“All but the making up! Shall I fade away for fifteen minutes?” + +“No,” protested Eunice. “It was only one of the little tiffs that +happen in the best families! Now, listen, Mason--” + +“My dear lady, I live but on the chance of being permitted to listen +to you--only in the hope that I may listen early and often--” + +“Oh, hush! What a silly you are!” + +“Silly, is it? Remember I was your childhood playmate. Would you have +kept me on your string all these years if I were silly? And here’s +another of my childhood friends! How do you do, most gracious lady?” + +With courtly deference Elliott rose to greet Aunt Abby, who came into +the living-room from Eunice’s bedroom. + +Her black silk rustled and her old point lace fell yellowly round her +slender old hands, for on Sunday afternoon Miss Ames dressed the part. + +“How are you, Mason,” she said, but with a preoccupied air. “What +time is Mr. Hanlon coming, Eunice?” + +“Soon now, I think,” and Eunice spoke with entire composure, her +angry excitement all subdued. It was characteristic of her that after +a fit of temper, she was more than usually soft and gentle. More +considerate of others and even, more roguishly merry. + +“You know, Mason, that what we are to be told to-day is a most +inviolable secret--that is, it is a secret until tomorrow.” + +“Never put off till to-morrow what you can tell to-night,” returned +Elliott, but he listened attentively while Eunice and Aunt Abby +described the performance of the young man Hanlon. + +“Of course,” Elliott observed, a little disappointedly, “if he +says he hoaxed the crowd, of course he did; but in that case I’ve no +interest in the thing. I’d like it better if he were honest.” + +“Oh, he’s honest enough,” corrected Embury; “he owns right up +that it was a trick. Why, good heavens, man! if it hadn’t been, he +couldn’t have done it at all. I’m rather keen to know just how +he managed, though, for the yarn of Eunice and Aunt Abby is a bit +mystifying.” + +“Don’t depend too much on the tale of interested spectators. +They’re the worst possible witnesses! They see only what they wish to +see.” + +“Only what Hanlon wished us to see,” corrected Eunice, gaily. And +then Hanlon, himself, and Alvord Hendricks arrived together. + +“Met on the doorstep,” said Hendricks as he came in. “Mr. Hanlon +is a little stage-struck, so it’s lucky I happened along.” + +Willy Hanlon, as he was called in the papers, came shyly forward and +Eunice, with her ready tact, proceeded to put him at once at his ease. + +“You came just at the right minute to help me out,” she said, +smiling at him. “They are saying women are no good at describing +a scene! They say that we can’t be relied on for accuracy. So, now +you’re here and you can tell what really happened.” + +“Yes, ma’am,” and Hanlon swallowed, a little embarrassedly; +“that’s what I came for, ma’am. But first, are you all straight +goods? Will you all promise not to tell what I tell you before tomorrow +morning?” + +They all promised on their honor, and, satisfied, Hanlon began his tale. + +“You see, it’s a game that can’t be played too often or too close +together,” he said; “I mean, if I put it over around here, I can’t +risk it again nearer than some several states away. And even then it’s +likely to get caught on to.” + +“Have you put it over often?” asked Hendricks, interestedly. + +“Yes, sir--well, say, about a dozen times altogether. Now I’m going +to chuck it, for it’s too risky. And so, I’ve sold the story of how +I do it to the newspaper syndicate for more than I’d make out of it in +a dozen performances. You can read it all in to-morrow’s papers, +but Mrs. Embury, she asked me to tell it here and I said +yes--’cause--’cause--well, ’cause I wanted to!” + +The boyish outburst was so unmistakably one of admiration, of immediate +capitulation to Eunice’s charm, that she blushed adorably, and the +others laughed outright. + +“One more scalp, Euny,” said Elliott; “oh, you can’t help it, I +know.” + +“Go on, Mr. Hanlon,” said Eunice, and he went on. + +“You see, to make you understand it rightly, I must go back a ways. +I’ve done all sorts of magic stunts and I’m kinda fond of athletics. +I’ve given exhibitions along both those lines in athletic clubs and in +ladies’ parlors, too. Well, I had a natural talent for making my ears +move--lots of fellows do that, I know; but I got pretty spry at it.” + +“What for?” asked Embury. + +“Nothing particular, sir, only one thing led to another. One day I +read in an English magazine about somebody pulling off this trick--this +blindfold chase, and I said to myself I b’lieved I could do it first +rate and maybe make easy money. I don’t deny I’m out after the coin. +I’ve got to get my living, and if I’d rather do it by gulling the +public, why, it’s no more than many a better man does.” + +“Right you are,” said Elliott. + +“So, ‘s I say, I read this piece that told just how to do it, and I +set to work. You may think it’s funny, but the first step was working +my forehead muscles.” + +“Whatever for?” cried Aunt Abby, who was listening, perhaps most +intently of all. + +“I’ll tell you, in a jiffy, ma’am,” and Hanlon smiled +respectfully at the eager old face. + +“You see, if you’ll take notice, the muscles of your forehead, just +above your eyebrows, work whenever you shut or open your eyes. Yes, +try it, ma’am,” as Aunt Abby wrinkled her forehead spasmodically. +“Shut your eyes, ma’am. Now, cover them closely with the palm of +your left hand. Press it close--so. Now, with your hand there, open your +eyes slowly, and feel your forehead muscles go up. They have to, you +can’t help it. Now, that’s the keynote of the whole thing.” + +“Clear as Erebus!” remarked Hendricks. “I don’t get you, +Steve.” + +“Nor I,” and Eunice sat with her hand against her eyes, drawing her +lovely brows into contortions. + +“Well, never mind trying; I’ll just tell you about it.” Hanlon +laughed good-naturedly at the frantic attempts of all of them to open +their eyes in accordance with his directions. + +“Anyhow, you gentleman know, for I know you all belong to a big +athletic club, that if you exercise any set of muscles regularly and for +a long time, they will develop and expand and become greatly increased +in size and strength.” + +“Sure,” said Hendricks. “I once developed my biceps--” + +“Yes, that’s what I mean. Well, sir, I worked at my forehead muscles +some hours a day for months and I kept at it until I had those muscles +not only developed and in fine working condition but absolutely under my +control. Look!” + +They gazed, fascinated, while the strange visitor moved the skin of his +forehead up and down and sideways, and in strange circular movements. +He seemed distinctly proud of his accomplishment and paused for +approbation. + +“Marvelous, Holmes, marvelous!” exclaimed Hendricks, who had +discovered that Hanlon did not resent jocularity, “but--what for?” + +“Can’t you guess?” and the young man smiled mysteriously. +“Try.” + +“Give it up,” and Hendricks shook his head. “I think it’s more +wonderful to get thought-transference by wiggling your forehead than any +other way I ever heard of, but I can’t guess how it helps.” + +“Can’t any of you?” and Hanlon looked around the circle. + +“Wait a minute,” said Aunt Abby, who was thinking hard. “Let me +try. Is it because when the thought waves jump from the ‘guide’ to +you they strike your forehead first--” + +“And it acts as a wireless receiving station? No, ma’am, that +isn’t it. And, too, ma’am, I owned up, you know, that the +whole thing was a fake, a trick. You see, there was no +‘thought-transference,’--not any--none at all.” + +“Then what do you accomplish with your forehead muscles?” asked +Eunice, unable to restrain her impatience. + +Chapter V The Explanation + +“Just this, Mrs. Embury, the impossibility of my being blindfolded. +As a matter of fact, it is practically impossible to blindfold anybody, +anyway.” + +“Why, what do you mean?” interrupted Hendricks. “Why is it?” + +“Because the natural formation of most people’s noses allows them to +see straight down beneath an ordinary bandage. I doubt if one child out +of a hundred who plays ‘Blind Man’s Buff’ is really unable to see +at all.” + +“That’s so,” said Embury, “when I played it, as a kid, I could +always see straight down--though not, of course, laterally.” + +“And noses are different,” went on Hanlon. “Some prominent +beaks could never be blindfolded, but some small, flat noses might +be. However, this refers to ordinary blindfolding with an ordinary +handkerchief. When it comes to putting fat cotton pads in one’s eye +sockets, before the thick bandage is added, it necessitates previous +preparation. So, my powers of contracting and expanding my forehead +muscles allow me to push the pads out of the way, and enable me to see +straight down the sides of my nose from under the bandage. Of course, I +can see only the ground, and that but in a circumscribed area around my +feet, but it’s enough.” + +“How?” asked Eunice, her piquant face eagerly turned to the speaker. +“How did you know which way to turn?” + +“I don’t like it,” declared Aunt Abby. “I hate it--I’m +absolutely disgusted with the whole performance! I detest practical +jokes!” + +“Oh, come now, Miss Ames,” and Hendricks chuckled; “this isn’t +exactly a joke--it’s a hoax, and a new one, but it’s a legitimate +game. From the Davenport Brothers and Herrmann, on down through the line +of lesser lights in the conjuring business--even our own Houdini--we +know there is a trick somewhere; the fun is in finding it. Hanlon’s is +a new one and a gem--I don’t even begin to see through it yet.” + +“Neither do I,” agreed Mason Eliott. “I think to do what he did +by a trick is really more of a feat than to be led by real +thought-transference.” + +“Except that the real thing isn’t available--and trick-work +is.” Hanlon smiled genially as he said this, and Embury, a little +impatiently, urged him to go on, and begged the others to cease their +interruptions. + +“Well,” Hanlon resumed, “understand, then, that I cannot be really +blindfolded. No committee of citizens, however determined, can bandage +my eyes in such a manner that I can’t wiggle my forehead about +sufficiently to get the pads up or down or one side or the other until +I can see--all I want to.” Hanlon knotted up his frontal muscles to +prove that a bandage tied tightly would become loose when he relaxed the +strain. “Understand that I can see the ground only for a few inches +directly at the front of me or very close to my sides. That is all.” + +“O.K.,” said Hendricks. “Now, with your sight assured for that +very limited space, what is next?” + +“That, sir, is enough to explain the little game I put over in the +newspaper office, before trying the out-of-door test. You remember, +ladies, Mr. Mortimer told you how I followed a chalk line, drawn on the +floor, and which led me up and down stairs, over chairs, under desks, +and all that. Well, it was dead easy, because I could see the line +on the floor all the time. Their confidence in their ‘secure’ +blindfolding made them entirely unsuspicious of my ability to see. So, +that was easy.” + +“Clever, though,” and Embury looked at young Hanlon with admiration. +“Simple, but most perfectly convincing.” + +“Yes, sir, it was the very simplicity of it that gulled ‘em. And, of +course, I’m some actor. I groped around, and felt my way by chairs and +railings and door-frames, though I needn’t have touched one of ‘em. +My way was plainly marked, and I could see the chalk line and all I had +to do was to follow it. But it was that preliminary test that fixed +it in their minds about the ‘willing’ business. I kept asking the +‘guide’ to keep his mind firmly on his efforts to ‘will’ me. +I begged him to use all his mental powers to keep me in the right +direction--oh, I have that poppycock all down fine--just as the mediums +at the séances have.” + +Aunt Abby sniffed disdainfully, and Embury chuckled at her expression. +Though not a ‘spiritualist,’ Miss Ames was greatly interested in +telepathy and kindred subjects and like all the apostles of such cults +she disliked to hear of frauds committed in their names. + +“Go on,” said Eunice, her eyes dancing with anticipation. “I +love a hoax of this sort, but I can’t imagine yet how you did it! I +understand about the blindfolding, though, and of course that was half +the battle.” + +“It was, ma’am, and the other half was--boots!” + +“Boots!” + +“Yes, ma’am. Do you know that you seldom see two pairs of boots or +shoes alike on men?” + +“I thought they were all alike,” exclaimed Eunice. “I mean all +street shoes alike, and all pumps alike, and so forth.” + +“No, not that,” and Embury laughed; “but, I say, Hanlon, there are +thousands of duplicates!” + +“Not so you’d notice it! But let me explain. First, however, here +are four men present. Let’s compare our shoes.” + +Eight feet were extended, and it was surprising to note the difference +in the footgear. Naturally, Hanlon’s were of a cheaper grade than the +others, but whereas it might have been expected that the three society +men would wear almost identical boots, they were decidedly varied. Each +pair was correct in style, and the work of the best bootmakers, but the +difference in the design of tip, side cut, sole and fastening was quite +sufficient to prevent mistaking one for another. + +“You see,” said Hanlon. “Well, take a whole lot of your men +friends, even if they all go to the same bootmaker, and you’ll find +as much difference. I don’t mean that there are not thousands of shoes +turned out in the same factory, as alike as peas, but there is small +chance of striking two pairs alike in any group of men. Then, too, there +is the wear to be counted on. Suppose two of you men had bought shoes +exactly alike, you wear them differently; one may run over his heel +slightly, another may stub out the toe. But, these things are observable +only to a trained eye. So--I trained my eye. I made a study of it, and +now, if I see a shoe once, I never forget it, and never connect it with +the wrong man. On the street, in the cars, everywhere I go, I look at +shoes--or, rather, I did when I was training for this stunt. It was +fascinating, really. Why, sometimes the only identifying mark would be +the places worn or rubbed by the bones of the man’s foot--but it was +there, allee samee! I nailed ‘m, every one! Oh, I didn’t remember +them all--that was only practice. But here’s the application; when I +started on that trip in Newark, I was introduced to Mr. Mortimer. +Mind you, it was the first time I had ever laid eyes on the man. Well, +unnoticed by anybody, of course, I caught onto his shoes. They were, +probably, to other people, merely ordinary shoes, but to me they were +as a flaming beacon light! I stamped them on my memory, every detail of +them. They were not brand new, for, of course, anybody would choose an +easy old pair for that walk. So there were scratches, bumps, and +worn, rubbed places, that, with their general make-up, rendered +them unmistakable to yours truly! Then I was ready. The earnest but +easily-gulled committee carefully adjusted their useless pads of cotton +and their thick bandage over my eyes, and I was led forth to the fray. + +“Remember, I asked Mr. Mortimer not only to think of the hidden +penknife, and will me toward it, but also to look toward it himself. +Now, to look toward any object, a man usually turns his whole body in +that direction. So, groping about, clumsily, I managed to get sight +of the toes of those well-remembered boots. Seeing which way they were +pointed was all the information I needed just then. So, with all sorts +of hesitating movements and false starts, I finally trotted off in the +direction he had faced. The rest is easy. Of course, coming to a corner, +I was absolutely in the dark as to whether I was to turn or to keep +straight ahead. This necessitated my turning back to Mr. Mortimer to +catch a glimpse of which way his feet were pointing. I covered this +by speaking to him, begging him to will me aright--to will me more +earnestly--or some such bunk. I could invent many reasons for turning +round; pretend I had lost my feeling of ‘guidance,’ or pretend I +heard a sudden noise, as of danger, or even pretend I felt I was going +wrong. Well, I got a peek at those feet as often as was necessary, +and the rest was just play-acting to mislead the people’s minds. Of +course, when I stumbled over a stone or nearly fell into a coal hole or +grating, it was all pretense. I saw the pavements as well as anybody, +and my effort was to seem unaware of what was coming. Had I carefully +avoided obstacles, they would know I could see.” + +“And when you reached that vacant lot?” prompted Eunice. + +“I saw friend Mortimer’s feet were pointing toward the center of the +lot, and not in the direction of either street. So I turned in, and when +I got where I could see the burned-down house, I guessed that was the +hiding-place. So I circled around it, urging my ‘guide’ to look +toward the place, and then noting his feet. I had to do a bit of +scratching about; but remember, I could see perfectly, and I felt sure +the knife was in the charred and blackened rubbish, so I just hunted +till I found it. That’s all.” + +“Well, it does sound simple and easy as you tell it, but, believe me, +Hanlon, I appreciate the cleverness of the thing and the real work you +went through in preparation for it all,” Hendricks said, heartily, and +the other men added words of admiration and approval. + +But Miss Ames was distinctly displeased. + +“I wouldn’t mind, if you’d advertised it as a trick,” she +said, in an injured tone, “as, say, the conjurors do such tricks, but +everybody knows they’re fooling their audience. It is expected.” + +“Yes, lady,” Hanlon smiled, “but the fake mediums and +spirit-raisers, they don’t say they’re frauds--but they are.” + +“Sir, you don’t know what you’re talking about! Just because +there are some tricksters in that, as in all professions, you must not +denounce them all.” + +“They’re all fakes, lady,” and Hanlon’s air of sincerity carried +conviction to all but Aunt Abby. + +“How do you know?” she demanded angrily. + +“I’ve looked into it--I’ve looked into all sorts of stunts like +these. It’s in my nature, I guess. And all professional mediums are +frauds. You bank on that, ma’am! If you want to tip tables or run a +Ouija Board with some honest friends of yours, go ahead; but any man or +woman who takes your money for showing you spiritual revelations of any +sort, is a fraud and a charlatan.” + +“There’s no exception?” asked Embury, quite surprised. + +“Not among the professionals. They wouldn’t keep on in their +profession if they didn’t put up the goods. And to do that, they’ve +got to use the means.” + +“Why--why, young man--” cried Aunt Abby, explosively, “you just +read ‘The Voice of Isis’! You read--” + +“That’s all right, they are plenty of fake books, more, prob’ly, +than fake mediums, but you read some books that I’ll recommend. You +read ‘Behind the Scenes With the Mediums,’ or ‘The Spirit World +Unveiled,’ and see where you’re at then! No, ma’am, the only +good spook is a dead spook, and they don’t come joy-riding back to +earth.” + +“But,” and Eunice gazed earnestly at her guest, “is there +nothing--nothing at all in telepathy?” + +“Now you’ve asked a question, ma’am. I don’t say there isn’t, +but I do say there isn’t two per cent of what the fakers claim there +is. I’ll grant just about two per cent of real stuff in this talk of +telepathy and thought-transference, and even that is mostly getting a +letter the very day you were thinking about the writer!” + +Embury laughed. “That’s as close as I’ve ever come to it,” he +said. + +“Yep, that’s the commonest stunt. That and the ghostly good-by +appearance of a friend that’s dyin’ at the time in a distant +land.” + +“Aren’t those cases ever true?” Eunice asked. + +“‘Bout two per cent of ‘em. Most of those that have been traced +down to actual evidence have fizzled out. Well, I must be going. You +see, now, I’ve sold this whole spiel that I’ve just given you folks +to a big newspaper syndicate, and I got well paid. That puts me on Easy +Street, for the time bein’, and I’m going to practice up for a +new stunt. When you hear again of Willy Hanlon, it’ll be in a very +different line of goods!” + +“What?” asked Eunice, interestedly. + +“‘Scuse me, ma’am. I’d tell you, if I’d tell anybody. But, you +see, it ain’t good business. I just thought up a new line of work and +I’m going to take time to perfect myself in it, and then spring it on +a long-sufferin’ public.” + +“No, I won’t ask you to tell, of course,” Eunice agreed, “but +when you give an exhibition, if it’s near New York, let me know, +won’t you?” + +“Yes, ma’am, I sure will. And now I’ll move on.” + +“Oh, no, you must wait for a cup of tea; we’ll have it brought at +once.” + +Eunice left the room for a moment. Aunt Abby in dudgeon, refused to talk +to the disappointing visitor. But the three men quickly engaged him in +conversation and Hanlon told some anecdotes of his past experiences that +kept them interested. + +Ferdinand brought in the tea things, and Eunice, with her graceful +hospitality, saw to it that her guest was in no way embarrassed or +bothered by unaccustomed service. + +“I’ve had a right good time,” he said in his boyish way, as he +rose to go. “Thank you, ma’am, for the tea and things. I liked it +all.” + +His comprehensive glance that swept the room and its occupants was a +sincere compliment and after he had gone there was only kindly comment +on his personality. + +Except from Aunt Abby. + +“He’s an ignorant boor,” she announced. + +“Now, now,” objected Eunice, “you only say that because he upset +your favorite delusions. He punctured your bubbles and pulled down your +air-castles. Give it up, Aunt Abby, there’s nothing in your ‘Voice +of Isis’ racket!” + +“Permit me to be the judge of my own five senses, Eunice, if you +please.” + +“That’s just it, Miss Ames,” spoke up Hendricks. “Is your +psychic information, or whatever it is, discernible to your five senses, +or any of them?” + +“Of course, or how could I realize the presence of the psychic +forces?” + +“I don’t know just what those things are, but I supposed they were +available only to a sort of sixth sense--or seventh! Why, I have five +senses, but I don’t lay claim to any more than that.” + +“You’re a trifler, and I decline to discuss the subject seriously +with you. You’ve always been a trifler, Alvord--remember, I’ve known +you from boyhood, and though you’ve a brilliant brain, you have not +utilized it to the best advantage.” + +“Sorry, ma’am,” and the handsome face put on a mock penitence, +“but I’m too far advanced in years to pull up now.” + +“Nonsense! you’re barely thirty! That’s a young man.” + +“Not nowadays. They say, after thirty, a man begins to fall to pieces, +mentally.” + +“Oh, Al, what nonsense!” cried Eunice. “Why, thirty isn’t even +far enough along to be called the prime of life!” + +“Oh, yes, it is, Eunice, in this day and generation. Nobody thinks a +man can do any great creative work after thirty. Inventing, you know, +or art or literature--honestly, that’s the attitude now. Isn’t it, +Mason?” + +Elliott looked serious. “It is an opinion recently expressed by some +big man,” he admitted. “But I don’t subscribe to it. Why, I’d be +sorry to think I’m a down-and-outer! And I’m in the class with you +and Embury.” + +“You’re none of you in the sere and yellow,” declared Eunice, +laughing at the idea. “Why, even Aunt Abby, in spite of the family +record, is about as young as any of us.” + +“I know I am,” said the old lady, serenely. “And I know more about +my hobby of psychic lore in a minute than you young things ever heard of +in all your life! So, don’t attempt to tell me what’s what!” + +“That’s right, Miss Ames, you do!” and Mason Elliott looked +earnestly at her. “I’m half inclined to go over to your side myself. +Will you take me some time to one of your séances--but wait, I only +want to go to one where, as you said, the psychic manifestations are +perceptible to one or more of the five well-known senses. I don’t want +any of this talk of a mysterious sixth sense.” + +“Oh, Mason, I wish you would go with me! Madame Medora gives wonderful +readings!” + +“Mason! I’m ashamed of you!” cried Eunice, laughing. “Don’t +let him tease you, Aunt Abby; he doesn’t mean a word he says!” + +“Oh, but I do! I want to learn to read other people’s thoughts--not +like our friend Hanlon, but really, by means of my senses and brain.” + +“You prove you haven’t any brain, when you talk like that!” put in +Hendricks, contemptuously. + +“And you prove you haven’t any sense,” retorted Elliott “I say, +who’s for a walk? I’ve got to sweep the cobwebs out of the place +where my brain ought to be--even if it is empty, as my learned colleague +avers.” + +“I’ll go,” and Eunice jumped up. “I want a breath of fresh air. +Come along, San?” + +“Nixy I’ve got to look over some papers in connection with my coming +election as president of a big club.” + +“Your coming election may come when you’re really in the prime of +life,” Hendricks laughed, “or, perhaps, not till you strike the sere +and yellow, but if you refer to this year’s campaign of the Athletic +Club, please speak of my coming election.” + +“Oh, you two deadly rivals!” exclaimed Eunice. “I’m glad to be +out of it, if you’re going to talk about those eternal prize-fights +and club theatres! Come on, Mason, let’s go for a brisk walk in the +park.” + +Eunice went to her room, and came back, looking unusually beautiful in +a new spring habit. The soft fawn color suited her dark type and a sable +scarf round her throat left exposed an adorable triangle of creamy white +flesh. + +“Get through with your squabbling, little boys,” she said, gaily, +with a saucy smile at Hendricks and a swift, perfunctory kiss on +Embury’s cheek, and then she went away with Mason Elliott. + +They walked a few blocks in silence, and then Elliott said, abruptly: +“What were you and Sanford quarreling about?” + +“Aren’t you a little intrusive?” but a smile accompanied the +words. + +“No, Eunice; it isn’t intrusion. I have the right of an old +friend--more than a friend, from my point of view--and I ask only from +the best and kindest motives.” + +“Could you explain some those motives?” She tried to make her voice +cold and distant, but only succeeded in making it pathetic. + +“I could--but I think it better, wiser and more honorable not to. You +know, dear, why I want to know. Because I want you to be the happiest +woman in the whole world--and if Sanford Embury can’t make you so--” + +“Nobody can!” she interrupted him, quickly. “Don’t, Mason,” +she turned a pleading look toward him; “don’t say anything we may +both regret. You know how good Sanford is to me; you know how happy we +are together.” + +“Were,” he corrected, very gravely. + +“Were--and are,” she insisted. “And you know, too--no one +better--what a fiendish temper I have! Though I try my best to control +it, it breaks out now and then, and I am helpless. Sanford thinks he +can tame it by giving me as good as I send--by playing, as he calls it, +Petruchio to my Katherine--but, somehow, I don’t believe that’s the +treatment I need.” + +Her dark eyes were wistful, but she did not look at him. + +“Of course it isn’t!” Elliott returned, in a low voice. “I know +your nature, Eunice; I’ve known it all our lives. You need kindness +when you are in a tantrum. The outbursts of temper you cannot help--that +I know positively--they’re an integral part of your nature. But +they’re soon over--often the fiercer they are, the quicker they +pass,--and if you were gently managed, not brutally, at the time they +occur, it would go far to help you to overcome them entirely. But--and I +ask you again--what were you discussing to-day when I came?” + +“Why do you want to know?” + +“I think I do know--and forgive me, if I offend you--I think I can +help you.” + +“What do you mean?” Eunice looked up with a frightened stare. + +“Don’t look like that--oh, Eunice, don’t! I only meant--I know you +want money--ready money--let me give it to you--or lend it to you--do, +Eunice--darling!” + +“Thank you, Mason,” Eunice forced herself to say, “but I must +refuse your offer. I think--I think we--we’ll go home now.” + +Chapter VI A Slammed Door + +“Don’t you call her ‘that Desternay woman’!” + +“I’ll call her what I please! And without asking your permission, +either. And I won’t have my wife playing bridge at what is practically +a gambling house!” + +“Nothing of the sort! A party of invited guests, in a private house +is a social affair, and you shall not call it ridiculous names! You +play for far higher stakes at your club than we ever do at Fifi +Desternay’s.” + +“That name is enough! Fancy your associating with a woman who calls +herself Fifi!” + +“She can’t help her name! It was probably wished on her by her +parents in baptism--” + +“It probably was not! She was probably christened Mary Jane!” + +“You seem to know a lot about her.” + +“I know all I want to; and you have reached the end of your +acquaintance with her and her set. You are not to go there, Eunice, and +that’s all there is about it.” + +The Emburys were in Eunice’s bedroom. Sanford was in evening dress and +was about to leave for his club. Eunice, who had dined in a negligée, +was donning an elaborate evening costume. She had dismissed her maid +when Embury came into the room, and was herself adjusting the finishing +touches. Her gown of henna-colored chiffon, with touches of gold +embroidery, was most becoming to her dark beauty, and some fine +ornaments of ancient carved gold gave an Oriental touch to her +appearance. She stood before a long mirror, noting the details of her +gown, and showed an irritating lack of attention to Embury’s last +dictum. + +“You heard me, Eunice?” he said, caustically, his hand on the +doorknob. + +“Not being deaf, I did,” she returned, without looking toward him. + +“And you will obey me?” He turned back, and reaching her side, he +grasped her arm with no uncertain touch. “I demand your obedience!” + +“Demands are not always granted!” + +She gave him a dazzling smile, but it was defiant rather than friendly. + +“I make it a request, then. Will you grant me that?” + +“Why should I grant your requests, when you won’t grant mine?” + +“Good Lord, Eunice, are you going to harp on that allowance string +again?” + +“I am. Why shouldn’t I, when it warps my whole life--” + +“Oh, come, cut out the hifalutin’ talk!” + +“Well, then, to come down to plain facts, there isn’t a day that +I’m not humiliated and embarrassed by the lack of a little cash.” + +“Bad as that?” + +“Yes, quite as bad as that! Why, the day we went out to Newark I +didn’t have five cents to buy Aunt Abby a newspaper, and she had to +get along without one!” + +“She seemed to live through it.” + +“Sanford, you’re unbearable! And to-day, at Mrs. Garland’s, a +woman talked, and then they took up a collection for the ‘Belgian Home +Fires,’ and I didn’t have a cent to contribute.” + +“Who is she? I’ll send a check.” + +“A check! You answer everything by a check! Can’t you understand? +Oh, there’s no use explaining; you’re determined you won’t +understand! So, let us drop the subject. Is to-night the club +election?” + +“No, to-morrow night. But to-night will probably decide it in my +mind. It practically hinges on the Meredith set--if they can be talked +over--” + +“Oh, Sanford, I do hope they can!” Eunice’s eyes sparkled and +she smiled as she put her hands on her husband’s shoulders. “And, +listen, dear, if they are--if you do win the election, won’t you--oh, +San, won’t you give me an allowance?” + +“Eunice, you’re enough to drive a man crazy! Will you let up on that +everlasting whine? No, I won’t! Is that plain?” + +“Then I shall go and get it for myself!” + +“Go to the devil for all I care!” + +Sanford flung out of the room, banging the door behind him. Eunice heard +him speaking to Ferdinand, rather shortly, and as he left the apartment, +she knew that he had gone to the club in their motor car, and if she +went out, she would have to call a cab. + +She began to take off her gown, half deciding to stay at home. She had +never run counter to Embury’s expressed orders and she hesitated to do +so now. + +And yet--the question of money, so summarily dismissed by her husband, +was a very real trouble to her. In her social position, she actually +needed ready cash frequently, and she had determined to get it. Her last +hope of Sanford failed her, when he refused to grant her wish as a sort +of celebration of his election, and she persuaded herself that it was +her right to get some money somehow. + +Her proposed method was by no means a certain one, for it was the +hazardous plan of winning at bridge. + +Although a first-rate player, Eunice often had streaks of bad luck, +and, too, inexpert partners were a dangerous factor. But, though she +sometimes said that winnings and losings came out about even in the +long run, she had found by keeping careful account, her skill made it +probable for her to win more than she lost, and this reasoning prompted +her to risk high stakes in hope of winning something worth-while. + +Fifi Desternay was a recent acquaintance of hers, and not a member +of the set Eunice looked upon as her own. But the gatherings at the +Desternay house were gay and pleasant, a bit Bohemian, yet exclusive +too, and Eunice had already spent several enjoyable afternoons there. + +She had never been in the evening, for Embury wouldn’t go, and had +refused to let her go without him. Nor did she want to, for it was not +Eunice’s way to go out alone at night. + +But she was desperate and, moreover, she was exceedingly angry. Sanford +was unjust and unkind. Also, he had been cross and ugly, and had left +her in anger, a thing that had never happened before. + +And she wanted some money at once. A sale of laces was to be held next +day at a friend’s home, and she wanted to go there, properly prepared +to purchase some bits if she chose to. + +Her cheeks flushed as she remembered Mason Elliott’s offer to give +or lend her money, but she smiled gently, as she remembered the true +friendliness of the man, and his high-mindedness, which took all sting +from his offer. + +As she brooded, her anger became more fierce, and finally, with a toss +of her head, she rose from the chair, rang for the maid, and proceeded +to finish her toilette. + +“Lend me some money, will you, Aunt Abby?” she asked, as, all ready +to go, she stepped into the livingroom. + +She had no hesitancy in making this appeal. If she won, she would repay +on her return. If she lost, Aunt Abby was a good-natured waiter, and she +knew Eunice would pay later. + +“Bridge?” said the old lady, smiling at the lovely picture Eunice +made, in her low gown and her billowy satin wrap. “I thought Sanford +took the car.” + +“He did. I’m going in a taxi. What a duck you are to let me have +this,” as she spoke she stuffed the bills in her soft gold mesh-bag. +“Don’t sit up, dear, I’ll be out till all hours.” + +“Where are you going?” + +“To the end of the rainbow--where there’s a pot of gold! You +read your spook books, and then go to bed and dream of ghosts and +specters!” + +Eunice kissed her lightly, and gathering up her floating draperies, went +out of the room with the faithful and efficient Ferdinand. + +On his way to the club, Embury pursued that pleasing occupation known as +nursing his wrath. He was sorry he had left Eunice in anger--he realized +it was the first time that had ever happened--and he was tempted to go +back, or, at least to telephone back, that he was sorry. But that would +do little good, he knew, unless he also said he was willing to accede to +her request for an allowance, and that he was as sternly set against as +ever. + +He couldn’t quite have told himself why he was so positive in this +matter, but it was largely owing to an instinctive sense of the fitness +of having a wife dependent on her husband for all things. Moreover, +it seemed to him that unlimited charge accounts betokened a greater +generosity than an allowance, and he felt an aggrieved irritation at +Eunice’s seeming ingratitude. + +The matter of her wanting “chicken-feed” now and then seemed to him +too petty to be worthy of serious consideration. He really believed that +he gave her money whenever she asked for it, and was all unaware how +hard he made it for her to ask. + +The more he thought about it, the more he saw Eunice in the wrong, and +himself an injured, unappreciated benefactor. + +He adored his wife, but this peculiarity of hers must be put an end +to somehow. Her temper, too, was becoming worse instead of better; her +outbreaks were more frequent, more furious, and he had less power to +quell them than formerly. + +Clearly, he concluded, Eunice must be taught a lesson, and this occasion +must be made a test case. He had left her angrily, and it might turn out +that it was the best thing he could have done. Poor girl, she doubtless +was sorry enough by now; crying, probably. His heart softened as he +conjured up the picture of his wife alone, and in tears, but he reasoned +that it would do her good, and he would give her a new jewel to make up +for it, after the trouble was all over. + +So he went on to the club, and dove into the great business of the last +possible chance of electioneering. + +Though friendly through all this campaign, the strain was beginning to +tell on the two candidates, and both Embury and Hendricks found it a +little difficult to keep up their good feeling. + +“But,” they both reasoned, “as soon as the election is over, +we’ll be all right again. We’re both too good sports to hold rancor, +or to feel any jealousy.” + +And this was true. Men of the world, men of well-balanced minds, clever, +logical and just, they were fighting hard, each for his own side, but +once the matter was decided, they would be again the same old friends. + +However, Embury was just as well pleased to learn that Hendricks was +out of town. He had gone to Boston on an important business matter, and +though it was not so stated, Embury was pretty sure that the important +business was closely connected with the coming election. + +In his own endeavor to secure votes, Embury was not above playing the, +to him, unusual game of being all things to all men. + +And this brought him into cordial conversation with one of the younger +club members, who was of the type he generally went out of his way to +avoid. + +“Try to put yourself in our place, Mr. Embury,” the cub was saying. +“We want this club to be up-to-date and beyond. Conservatism is all +very well, and we all practiced it ‘for the duration,’ but now the +war’s over, let’s have some fun, say we!” + +“I know, Billy, but there is a certain standard to be maintained--” + +“We, the people of the United States--and tiddle tya--tya--tya! Why, +everybody’s doing it! The women--bless ‘em!--too. I just left your +wife at a table with my wife, and the pile of chips between ‘em would +make some men’s card-rooms hide their diminished walls!” + +“That so? You saw my wife this evening? Where?” + +“As if you didn’t know! But, good heavens! perhaps you didn’t! +Have I been indiscreet?” + +“Not at all. At Mrs. Desternay’s, wasn’t it?” + +“Yes, but you gave me a jolt. I was afraid I’d peached.” + +“Not at all. They’re friends.” + +“Well, between you and me, they oughtn’t to be. I let Gladys go, +under protest--I left her there myself--but it’s never again for her! +I shall tell her so to-night.” + +Embury changed the subject and by using all his self-control gave no +hint of his wrath. So Eunice had gone after all! After his expressly +forbidding it! It was almost unbelievable! + +And within an hour of his receiving information, Sanford Embury, in his +own car, stopped at the Desternay house. + +Smiling and debonair as he entered the drawingroom, he greeted the +hostess and asked for his wife. + +“Oh, don’t disturb her, dear Mr. Embury,” begged the vivacious +Fifi; “she’s out for blood! She’s in the den, with three of our +wizards and the sky’s their limit!” + +“Tut, tut! What naughtiness!” Embury’s manner was just the right +degree of playful reproach, and his fine poise and distinguished air +attracted attention from many of the players. + +The rooms were filled, without being crowded, and a swift mental +stock-taking of the appointments and atmosphere convinced the newcomer +that his preconception of the place was about right. + +“I must take her away before she cleans out the bunch,” he laughed, +and made progress toward the ‘den.’ + +“Here you are,” he said lightly, as he came upon Eunice, with +another woman and two men, all of whom were silently concentrating on +what was quite evidently a stiff game. + +“Yes, here I am,” she returned; “don’t speak please, until I +finish this hand.” + +Eunice was playing the hand, and though her face paled, and a spot of +bright color appeared on either cheek she did not lose her head, and +carried the hand through to a successful conclusion. + +“Game and rubber!” she cried, triumphantly, and the vanquished pair +nodded regretfully. + +“And the last game, please, for my wife,” Embury said, in calm, +courteous tones. “You can get a substitute, of course. Come, +Eunice!” + +There was something icy in his tones that made Eunice shiver, though it +was not noticeable to strangers, and she rose, smiling, with a few gay +words of apology. + +“Perfectly awful of me to leave, when I’m winning,” she said, +“but there are times, you know, when one remembers the ‘obey’ +plank in the matrimonial platform! Dear Fifi, forgive me--” + +She moved about gracefully, saying a word or two of farewell, and then +disappeared to get her wrap, with as little disturbance as possible of +the other players. + +“You naughty man!” and Mrs. Desternay shook her finger at Embury; +“if you weren’t so good-looking I should put you in my black +books!” + +“That would at least keep me in your memory,” he returned, but his +smile was now quite evidently a forced one. + +And his words of farewell were few, as he led Eunice from the house and +down to the car. + +He handed her in, and then sat beside her, as the chauffeur turned +homeward. + +Not a word was spoken by either of them during the whole ride. + +Several times Eunice decided to break the silence, but concluded not to. +She was both angry and frightened, but the anger predominated. + +Embury sat motionless, his face pale and stern, and when they arrived at +their own house, he assisted her from the car, quite as usual, dismissed +the chauffeur, with a word of orders for the next day, and then the pair +went into the house. + +Ferdinand met them at their door, and performed his efficient and +accustomed services. + +And then, after a glance at her husband, Eunice went into her own room +and closed the door. + +Embury smoked a cigarette or two, and at last went to his room. + +Ferdinand attended him, and the concerned expression on the old +servant’s face showed, though he tried to repress it, an anxiety as to +the very evident trouble that was brewing. + +But he made no intrusive remark or implication, though a furtive glance +at his master betokened a resentment of his treatment of Eunice, the +idol of Ferdinand’s heart. + +Dismissed, he left Embury’s room, and closed the door softly behind +him. + +The door between the rooms of Embury and his wife stood a little ajar, +and as his hand fell on it to shut it, he heard a stifled gasp of +“Sanford!” + +He looked in, and saw Eunice, in a very white heat of rage. In all their +married life he had never seen her so terribly angry as she looked then. +Speechless from very fury, she stood, with clenched hands, trying to +command her voice. + +She looked wonderfully beautiful like some statue of an avenging +angel--he almost fancied he could see a flaming sword! + +As he looked, she took a step toward him, her eyes burning with a glance +of hate. Judith might have looked so, or Jael. Not exactly frightened, +but alarmed, lest she might fly into a passion of rage that would +really injure her, Embury closed the door, practically in her very face. +Indeed, practically, he slammed it, with all the audible implication of +which a slammed door is capable. + +The next morning Ferdinand waited for the usual summons from Embury’s +bedroom. The tea tray was ready, the toast crisp and hot, but the +summons of the bell was unusually delayed. + +When the clock pointed to fifteen minutes past the hour Ferdinand tapped +on Embury’s door. A few moments later he tapped again, rapping louder. + +Several such attempts brought no response, and the valet tried the door. +It would not open, so Ferdinand went to Eunice’s door and knocked +there. + +Jumping from her bed, and throwing a kimono round her, Eunice opened her +own door. + +Ferdinand started at sight of her white face, but recovered himself, and +said, “Mr. Embury, ma’am. He doesn’t answer my knock. Can he be +ill?” + +“Oh, I guess not,” Eunice tried to speak casually, but miserably +failed. “Go through that way.” She pointed to the door between her +room and her husband’s. + +Ferdinand hesitated. “You open it, Mrs. Embury, please,” he said, +and his voice shook. + +“Why, Ferdinand, what do you mean? Open that door!” + +“Yes, ma’am,” and turning the knob, Ferdinand entered. + +“Why, he’s still asleep!” he exclaimed. “Shall I wake him?” + +“Yes--that is--yes, of course! Wake him up, Ferdinand.” + +The door on the other side of Eunice’s room opened, and Aunt Abby put +her head in. + +“What’s the matter? What’s Ferdinand doing in your room, Eunice? +Are you ill?” + +“No, Aunt Abby--” but Eunice got no further. She sank back on her +bed, and buried her face in the pillows. + +“Get up, Mr. Embury--it’s late,” Ferdinand was saying, and then he +lightly touched the arm of his master. + +“He--he--oh, Miss Eunice! Oh, my God! Why, ma’am--he--he looks to be +dead!” + +With a shriek, Eunice raised her head a moment and then flung it down +on the pillows again, crying, “I don’t believe it! You don’t know +what you’re saying! It can’t be so!” + +“Yes, I do, ma’am--he’s--why, he’s cold!” + +“Let me come in!” ordered Aunt Abby, as Ferdinand tried to bar her +entrance; “let me see, I tell you! Yes, he is dead! Oh, Eunice--now, +Ferdinand, don’t lose your head! Go quickly and telephone for +Doctor--what’s his name? I mean the one in this building--on the +ground floor--Harper--that’s it--Doctor Harper. Go, man, go!” + +Ferdinand went, and Aunt Abby leaned over the silent figure. + +“What do you suppose ailed him, Eunice? He was perfectly well, when he +went to bed, wasn’t he?” + +“Yes,” came a muffled reply. + +“Get up, Eunice; get up, dear. That doctor will be here in a minute. +Brush up your hair, and fasten your kimono. You won’t have time to +dress. I must put on a cap.” + +Aunt Abby flew to her bedroom, and returned quickly, wearing a lace cap +Eunice had given her, and talking as she adjusted it. + +“It must be a stroke--and yet, people don’t have strokes at his age. +It can’t be apoplexy--he isn’t that build--and, too, he’s such an +athlete; there’s nothing the matter with him. It can’t be--oh, mercy +gracious! it can’t be--Eunice! Sanford wouldn’t kill himself, would +he?” + +“No! no! of course not!” + +“Not just now before the election--no, of course he wouldn’t! But it +can’t be--oh, Lord, what can it be?” + +Chapter VII A Vision + +“I have never been so mystified in all my life!” Dr. Harper spoke in +a perplexed, worried way, and a puzzled frown drew his shaggy eyebrows +together. Though the family physician of most of the tenants of the +large, up-to-date apartment house, he was of the old school type and had +the kindly, sociable ways of a smalltown practitioner. + +“I know Sanford Embury, bone, blood and muscle,” he said; “I’ve +not only been his physician for two years, but I’ve examined him, +watched him and kept him in pink of condition for his athletic work. If +I hadn’t looked after him, he might have overdone his athletics--but +he didn’t--he used judgment, and was more than willing to follow my +advice. Result--he was in the most perfect possible physical shape in +every particular! He could no more have had a stroke of apoplexy or +paralysis than a young oak tree could! And there’s no indication of +such a thing, either. A man can’t die of a stroke of any sort without +showing certain symptoms. None of these are present--there’s nothing +present to hint the cause of his death. There’s no cut, scratch or +mark of any description; there’s no suggestion of strangulation or +heart failure--well, it’s the strangest thing I ever ran up against in +all my years of practice!” + +The doctor sat at the Embury breakfast table, heartily partaking of the +dishes Ferdinand offered. He had prescribed aromatic ammonia for Eunice, +and a cup of coffee for Miss Ames, and then he had made a careful +examination of Sanford Embury’s mortal body. + +Upon its conclusion he had insisted that the ladies join him at +breakfast and he saw to it that they made more than a pretense of +eating. + +“You’ve a hard day ahead of you,” he said, in his gentle, paternal +way, “and you must be fortified as far as possible. I may seem harsh, +Mrs. Embury, but I’m going to ask you to be as brave as you can, right +now--at first--as I may say--and then, indulge in the luxury of tears +later on. This sounds brutal, I daresay, but I’ve a reason, dear +madam. There’s a mystery here. I don’t go so far as to say there’s +anything wrong--but there’s a very mysterious death to be looked into, +and as your physician and your friend, I want to advise--to urge you +to keep up your strength for what may be a trying ordeal. In the first +place, I apprehend an autopsy will be advisable, and I trust you will +give your consent to that.” + +“Oh, no!” cried Eunice, her face drawn with dismay, “not that!” + +“Now, now, be reasonable, Mrs. Embury. I know you dislike the +idea--most people do--but I think I shall have to insist upon it.” + +“But you can’t do it, unless I agree, can you?” and Eunice looked +at him sharply. + +“No--but I’m sure you will agree.” + +“I won’t! I never will! You shan’t touch Sanford! I won’t allow +it.” + +“She’s right!” declared Aunt Abby. “I can’t see, doctor, why +it is necessary to have a postmortem. I don’t approve of such things. +Surely you can, somehow discover what Mr. Embury died of--and if not, +what matter? He’s dead, and nothing can change that! It doesn’t seem +to me that we have to know--” + +“Pardon me, Miss Ames, it is necessary that I should know the cause of +the death. I cannot make a report until--” + +“Well you can find out, I should think.” + +“I never heard of a doctor who couldn’t determine the cause of a +simple, natural death of one of his own patients!” Eunice’s glance +was scathing and her tones full of scorn. + +But the doctor realized the nervous tension she was under, and forbore +to take offense, or to answer her sharply. + +“Well, well, we’ll see about it,” he temporized. “I shall first +call in Marsden, a colleague of mine, in consultation. I admit I’m at +the end of my own knowledge. Tell me the details of last evening. Was +Mr. Embury just as usual, so far as you noticed?” + +“Of course he was,” said Eunice, biting the words off crisply. “He +went to the Athletic Club he’s a candidate for the presidency--” + +“I know--I know--” + +“And I--I was at a party. On his way from the club he called for me +and brought me home in our car. Then he went to bed almost at once--and +so did I. That’s all.” + +“You heard no sound from him whatever during the night?” + +“None.” + +“As nearly as I can judge, he died about daybreak. But it is +impossible to say positively as to that. Especially as I cannot find +the immediate cause of death. You heard nothing during the night, Miss +Ames?” + +“I did and I didn’t,” was the strange reply. + +“Just what does that mean?” and Doctor Harper looked at her +curiously. + +“Well,” and Aunt Abby spoke very solemnly, “Sanford appeared to me +in a vision, just as he died--” + +“Oh, Aunt Abby,” Eunice groaned, “don’t begin that sort of +talk! Miss Ames is a sort of a spiritualist, doctor, and she has +hallucinations.” + +“Not hallucinations--visions,” corrected the old, lady. “And it is +not an unheard of phenomenon to have a dying person appear to a friend +at the moment of death. It was the passing of Sanford, and I did see +him!” + +Eunice rose and left the table. Her shattered nerves couldn’t stand +this, to her mind, foolishness at the moment. + +She went from the dining-room into the livingroom, and stood, gazing out +of the window, but seeing nothing. + +Dr. Harper pushed back his chair from the table. + +“Just a word more about that, Miss Ames,” he said. “I’m rather +interested in those matters myself. You thought you saw Mr. Embury?” + +“I did see him. It was a vague, shadowy form, but I recognized him. +He came into my room from Eunice’s room. He paused at my bedside and +leaned over me, as if for a farewell. He said nothing--and in a moment +he disappeared. But I know it was Sanford’s spirit taking flight.” + +“This is interesting, but I can’t discuss it further now. I have +heard of such cases, but never so directly. But my duty now is to Mrs. +Embury. I fear she will have a nervous breakdown. May I ask you, Miss +Ames, not to talk about you--your vision to her? I think it disturbs +her.” + +“Don’t you tell me, doctor, what to talk to Eunice about, and +what not to! I brought up that girl from a baby, and I know her clear +through! If it upsets her nerves to hear about my experience last night, +of course, I shall not talk about it to her, but trust me, please, to +know what is best to do about that!” + +“Peppery women--both of them!” was Dr. Harper’s mental comment; +but he only nodded his head pleasantly and went to Eunice. + +“If you’ve no objections, I’ll call Marsden here at once,” he +said, already taking up the telephone. + +Eunice listlessly acquiesced, and then the doctor returned to Embury’s +bedroom. + +He looked carefully about. All the details of the room, the position +of clothing, the opened book, face down, on the night table, the +half-emptied water-glass, the penciled memorandum on the chiffonier--all +seemed to bear witness to the well, strong man, who expected to rise and +go about his day as usual. + +“Not a chance of suicide,” mused the doctor, hunting about the room +and scrutinizing its handsome appointments. He stepped into Embury’s +bathroom, and could find nothing that gave him the least hint of +anything unusual in the man’s life. A chart near the white, enameled +scale showed that Embury had recorded his weight the night before in +his regular, methodical way. The written figures were clear and firm, as +always. Positively the man had no premonition of his swiftly approaching +end. + +What could have caused it? What could have snapped short the life thread +of this strong, sound specimen of human vitality? Dr. Harper could find +no possible answer, and he was glad to hear Ferdinand’s voice as +he announced the arrival of Dr. Marsden. The two men held earnest +consultation. + +The newcomer was quite as much mystified as his colleague, and they +marveled together. + +“Autopsy, of course,” said Marsden, finally; “the widow must be +brought to consent. Why does she object so strongly?” + +“I don’t know of any reason except the usual dislike the members +of the family feel toward it. I’ve no doubt she will agree, when you +advise it.” + +Eunice Embury did agree, but it was only after the strenuous insistence +of Dr. Marsden. + +She flew into a rage at first, and the doctor, who was unacquainted with +her, wondered at her fiery exhibition of temper. + +And, but for the arrival of Mason Elliott on the scene, she might have +resisted longer. + +Elliott had telephoned, wishing to consult Embury on some matter, and +Ferdinand’s incoherent and emotional words had brought out the facts, +so of course Elliott had come right over to the house. + +“What is it, Eunice?” he asked, as he entered, seeing her fiercely +quarreling with the doctors. “Let me help you--advise you. Poor child, +you ought to be in bed.” + +His kindly, assertive voice calmed her, and turning her sad eyes to him, +she moaned, plaintively, “Don’t let them do it--they mustn’t do +it.” + +“Do what?” Elliott turned to the doctors, and soon was listening to +the whole strange story. + +“Certainly an autopsy!” he declared; “why, it’s the only thing +to do. Hush, Eunice, make no further objection. It’s absolutely +necessary. Give your consent at once.” + +Almost as if hypnotized, Eunice Embury gave her consent, and the two +doctors went away together. + +“Tell me all about it,” said Elliott; “all you know--” And then +he saw how weak and unnerved Eunice was, and he quickly added, “No, +not now. Go and lie down for a time--where’s Miss Ames?” + +“Here,” and Aunt Abby reappeared from her room. “Yes, go and lie +down, Eunice; Maggie has made up our rooms, and your bed is in order. +Go, dear child.” + +“I don’t want to,” and Eunice’s eyes looked unusually large +and bright. “I’m not the sort of woman who can cure everything by +‘lying down’! I’d rather talk. Mason, what happened to Sanford?” + +“I don’t know, Eunice. It’s the strangest thing I ever heard of. +If you want to talk, really, tell me what occurred last night. Did you +two have a quarrel?” + +“Yes, we did--” Eunice looked defiant rather than penitent. “But +that couldn’t have done it! I mean, we didn’t quarrel so violently +that San burst a blood-vessel--or that sort of thing!” + +“Of course not; in that case the doctors would know. That’s the +queerest thing to me. A man dies, and two first-class physicians can’t +say what killed him!” + +“But what difference does it make, Mason? I’m sure I don’t care +what he died of--I mean I don’t want him all cut up to satisfy the +curiosity of those inquisitive doctors!” + +“It isn’t that, Eunice; they have to know the cause, to make out a +death certificate.” + +“Why do they have to make it out? We all know he’s dead.” + +“The law requires it. The Bureau of Vital Statistics must be notified +and must be told the cause of death. Try to realize that these matters +are important--you cannot put your own personal preferences above +them. Leave it to me, Eunice; I’ll take charge and look after all the +details. Poor old San--I can’t realize it! He was so big and strong +and healthy. And so full of life and vitality. And, by Jove, Eunice, +think of the election!” + +Though a warm friend of Embury, it was characteristic of Elliott that +his thoughts should fly to the consequences of the tragic death outside +the family circle. He was silent as he realized that the removal of +the other candidate left Alvord Hendricks the winner in the race for +president of the club. + +That is, if the election should be held. It was highly probable that +it would be postponed--the club people ought to be notified at +once--Hendricks ought to be told. + +“I say, Eunice, there’s lots of things to do. I think I ought to +telephone the club, and several people. Do you mind?” + +“No; of course not. Do whatever is right, Mason. I’m so glad to have +you here, it takes a load of responsibility off of me. You’re a tower +of strength.” + +“Then do what you can to help me, Eunice. Try, won’t you, to be +quiet and calm. Don’t get so wrought up over these things that are +unpleasant but unavoidable. I don’t underrate your grief or your +peculiarly hard position. The nervous shock is enough to make you +ill--but try to control yourself--that’s a goody girl.” + +“I will, Mason. Honest I will.” + +Soon after noon Hendricks arrived. He had returned from Boston on an +early morning train, and hearing of the tragedy, came at once to the +Embury home. + +At sight of his grave, sympathetic face, Eunice burst into tears, the +first she had been able to shed, and they were a real relief to her +overburdened heart. + +“Oh, Alvord,” she cried, hysterically, “now you can be +president!” + +“Hush, hush, Eunice, dear,” he soothed her; “don’t let’s speak +of that now. I’m just in from Boston--I hurried over as soon as I +heard. Tell me, somebody--not you, Eunice--you tell me, Aunt Abby, how +it happened.” + +“That’s the strange part,” said Elliott, who was sitting at the +telephone, and was, at the moment, waiting for a response to a call, +“the doctors can’t tell what ailed Sanford!” + +“What! Can’t tell what made him die!” + +“No;” Aunt Abby took up the tale, as Elliott turned back to the +telephone; “and I think it’s very queer. Did you ever know a man to +die, Alvord, and nobody be able to tell what killed him?” + +“I certainly never did! What had he eaten?” + +“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” Eunice spoke up; “it must be that +something gave way--his heart, or lungs--” + +“Never! Sanford was a sound as a dollar!” + +“That’s what Dr. Harper says. They’re--they’re going to have an +autopsy.” + +“Of course. We’d never be satisfied without that. They’ll find the +cause that way, of course. Dear Eunice, I’m so sorry for you.” + +“It’s awful for Eunice,” said Aunt Abby “the excitement and the +mystery--oh, Alvord, do let me tell you what I saw!” + +“What?” he asked, with interest. + +“Why, it was almost dawn--just beginning to be daylight, and, you +know--Dr. Harper says Sanford died about daybreak--he thinks--and I was +sort of between asleep and awake--don’t you know how you are like that +sometimes--” + +“Yes.” + +“And I saw--” + +“Aunt Abby, if you’re going to tell that yarn over again, I’ll go +away! I can’t stand it!” + +“Go on, Eunice,” and Aunt Abby spoke gently. “I wish you would go +to your room and lie down for awhile. Even if you don’t want to, it +will rest your nerves.” + +To her surprise, Eunice rose and without a word went to her own room. + +Aunt Abby sent Maggie to look after her, and resumed her story. + +“I’m going to tell you, Alvord, for I must tell somebody, and Eunice +won’t listen, and Mason is busy telephoning--he’s been at it all +day--off and on--” + +“Fire away, Aunt Abby, dear,” Hendricks said. He had small desire to +hear her meandering tales, but he felt sorry for the pathetic face she +showed and listened out of sheer charity. + +“Yes, it was near dawn, and I was sort of dozing but yet, awake, +too--and I heard a step--no, not a step, just a sort of gliding +footfall, like a person shufing in slippers. + +“And then, I saw a vague shadowy shape--like Sanford’s--and it +passed slowly through the room--not stepping, more like floating--and it +stopped right at my bedside, and leaned over me--” + +“You saw this!” + +“Well, it was so dark, I can’t say I saw it--but I was--I don’t +know how to describe it--I was conscious of its presence, that’s +all!” + +“And you think it was Sanford’s ghost?” + +“Don’t put it that way, Al. It was Sanford’s spirit, leaving the +earth, and bidding me good-by as it wafted past.” + +“Why didn’t he bid his wife good-by?” Hendricks was blunt, but he +deemed it best to speak thus, rather than to encourage the ghost talk. + +“He probably tried to, but Eunice must have been asleep. I don’t +know as to that--but, you know, Alvord, it is not an uncommon thing for +such experiences to happen--why, there are thousands of authenticated +cases--” + +“Authenticated fiddlesticks!” + +“Your scorn doesn’t alter the truth. I saw him, I tell you, and it +was not a dream, or my imagination. I really saw him, though dimly.” + +“What did he have on?” + +“That’s the queer part. Not his usual clothes, but that sort of a +jersey he wears when he’s doing his exercise.” + +“Oh, his gym suit? You saw it plainly?” + +“Not so very plainly--but--I felt it!” + +“Felt it! What are you talking about?” + +“I did, I tell you. He leaned over me, and I put out my hand and +touched his arm, and I--I think I felt a tight woolen jersey sleeve.” + +“Oh, you think you did! Well, that’s all right, then, but you +mustn’t say you felt a ghost. They’re not material, you know.” + +“You’re making fun of me, Alvord, but you mustn’t. I know more +about these things than you do. Why shouldn’t I? I’ve made a study +of them--I’ve read lots of books, and been to lots of séances, and +lectures--oh, I know it was a manifestation of San himself!” + +“Well, Aunt Abby, if it gives you any comfort to think it was, +why, just keep right on thinking. I don’t say there aren’t such +happenings. I only say I don’t believe there are. I don’t doubt your +word, you understand, but I can’t make my hard common sense take it +in. My mind isn’t built that way. Did you hear anything?” + +“I heard--” Aunt Abby paused, and blushed a little--“you’ll +laugh, I know, but I heard--his watch ticking!” + +“Oh, come now, Aunt Abby, that’s a little too much! I can’t help +smiling at that! For I’m sure ghosts don’t carry watches, and anyway +not in a gymnasium suit!” + +“I knew you’d jeer at it, but I did hear the ticking, all the +same.” + +“Wasn’t your own watch under your pillow?” + +“Yes.” + +“Oh, all right. I haven’t a word to say.” + +“But it wasn’t any watch I heard--it was a different sort of +tick.” + +“Yes, of course it was. Ghosts’ watches have a peculiar tick of +their own--” + +“Alvord, stop! It’s mean of you to poke fun at me!” + +“Forgive me, do; I apologize. It was mean, and I’ll stop. What else +happened?” + +“Nothing,” Aunt Abby was clearly piqued. + +“Yes, tell me. What became of the--the figure?” + +“Why, it disappeared. Gradually you know--just seemed to float away +into nothingness.” + +“He gave you no message?” + +“Not in words, no. They rarely do. But the appearance, the visibility +is the usual way of manifestation. I’m glad it occurred. Oh, I’m +awfully sorry Sanford is dead--I didn’t mean that but, since he had to +go, I’m glad he bade me good-by, as he passed on.” + +“Well, I’m glad, too, if it is any comfort to you. Are you sure +Eunice had no such experience?” + +“Oh, no--if she had she’d have told me. She hates all such ideas. +I suppose if she had seen Sanford--as I did--she would have become a +believer--but I’m sure she didn’t.” + +“Poor Eunice. She is terribly broken up.” + +“Yes, of course. They were so devoted. They had a tiff now and then, +but that was because of Eunice’s quick temper. She flares up so +easily,” Aunt Abby sighed. “San couldn’t manage her at times.” + +“I know. Poor girl, I don’t blame her for those spasms of rage. She +can’t help it, you know. And she’s improving every day.” + +“That’s what Sanford said. He thought he helped her, and I dare say +he did. But sometimes he had to speak pretty sharply to her. Just as one +would to a naughty child.” + +“That’s what she is, bless her heart! Just a naughty child. We must +be very considerate of her now, Aunt Abby, mustn’t we?” + +“Yes, indeed. She is sorely to be pitied. She adored Sanford. I +don’t know what she will do.” + +Chapter VIII The Examiner + +When after the autopsy, Dr. Harper announced that it was necessary to +send for the Medical Chief Examiner, Eunice cried out, “Why, what do +you mean? He’s the same as a Coroner!” + +“He takes the place of the Coroner, nowadays,” rejoined Harper, +“and in Dr. Marsden’s opinion his attendance is necessary.” + +“Do you mean Sanford was murdered?” + +Eunice whispered, her face white and drawn. + +“We can’t tell, Mrs. Embury. It is a most unusual case. There is +absolutely no indication of foul play, but, on the other hand, there is +no symptom or condition that tells the reason of his death. That is your +finding, Dr. Marsden?” + +“Yes,” agreed the other. “Mr. Embury died because of a sudden and +complete paralysis of respiration and circulation. There is nothing we +can find to account for that and by elimination of all other possible +causes we are brought to the consideration of poison. Not any known or +evident poison, but a subtle, mysteriously administered toxic agent of +some sort--” + +“You must be crazy!” and Eunice faced him with scornful glance and +angry eyes. “Who would poison my husband? How could any one get at him +to do it? Why would they, anyway?” + +Dr. Marsden looked at her curiously. “Those questions are not for me, +madame,” he said, a little curtly. “I shall call Examiner Crowell, +and he will take charge of the case.” + +“He’s the same as a coroner! I won’t have him!” Eunice declared. + +“It isn’t for you to say,” Dr. Marsden was already at the +telephone. “The course of events makes it imperative that I should +call Dr. Crowell. He is not a coroner. He is, of course, a Civil +Service appointee, and as such, in authority. You will do whatever he +directs.” + +Eunice Embury was silent from sheer astonishment. Never before had she +been talked to like this. Accustomed to dictate, to give orders, to have +her lightest word obeyed, she was dumfounded at being overruled in this +fashion. + +The men took in the situation more clearly. + +“Medical Examiner!” exclaimed Hendricks. “Is it a case for him?” + +“Yes,” returned Marsden, gravely. “At least, it is a very +mysterious death. Mystery implies wrong--of some sort. Had Mr. Embury +been a man with a weak heart, or any affected organ, I should have been +able to make a satisfactory diagnosis. But his sound, perfect condition +precludes any reason for this sudden death. It must be looked into. It +may be the Examiner will find a simple, logical cause, but I admit I can +find none--and I am not inexperienced.” + +“But if he were poisoned,” began Hendricks, “as you have implied, +surely, you could find some trace.” + +“That’s just the point,” agreed Marsden. “I certainly think +I could. And, since I can’t, I feel it my duty to report it as a +mysterious and, to me, inexplicable death.” + +“You’re right,” said Elliott. “If you can’t find the cause, +for heaven’s sake get somebody who can! I don’t for a minute believe +it’s a murder, but the barest suspicion of such a thing must be set at +rest once and for all! Murder! Ridiculous! But get the Examiner, by all +means!” + +So Eunice’s continued objections were set aside and Dr. Crowell was +called in. + +A strange little man the Examiner proved to be. He had sharp, bird-like +eyes, that darted from one person to another, and seemed to read their +very thoughts. On his entrance, he went straight to Eunice, and took her +hand. + +“Mrs. Embury?” he said, positively, rather than interrogatively. +“Do not fear me, ma’am. I want to help you, not annoy you.” + +Impressed by his magnetic manner and his encouraging handclasp, Eunice +melted a little and her look of angry scorn changed to a half-pleased +expression of greeting. + +“Miss Ames--my aunt,” she volunteered, as Dr. Crowell paused before +Aunt Abby. + +And then the newcomer spoke to the two doctors already present, was +introduced to Elliott and Hendricks, who were still there, and in a very +decided manner took affairs into his own hands. + +“Yes, yes,” he chattered on; “I will help you, Mrs. Embury. Now, +Dr. Harper, this is your case, I understand? Dr. Marsden--yours, too? +Yes, yes--mysterious, you say? Maybe so--maybe so. Let us proceed at +once.” + +The little man stood, nervously teetering up and down on his toes, +almost like a schoolboy preparing to speak a piece. “Now--if you +please--now--” he looked eagerly toward the other doctors. + +They all went into Embury’s room and closed the door. + +Then Eunice’s temporary calm forsook her. + +“It’s awful!” she cried. “I don’t want them to bother poor +Sanford. Why can’t they let him alone? I don’t care what killed him! +He’s dead, and no doctors can help that! Oh, Alvord, can’t you make +them let San alone?” + +“No, Eunice; it has to be. Keep quiet, dear. It can do no good for you +to get all wrought up, and if you’d go and lie down--” + +“For heaven’s sake, stop telling me to go and lie down! If one more +person says that to me I shall just perfectly fly!” + +“Now, Eunice,” began Aunt Abby, “it’s only for your own good, +dear. You are all excited and nervous--” + +“Of course, I am! Who wouldn’t be? Mason,” she looked around at +the concerned faces, “I believe you understand me best. You know I +don’t want to go and lie down, don’t you?” + +“Stay where you are, child,” Elliott smiled kindly at her. “Of +course, you’re nervous and upset--all you can do is to try to hold +yourself together--and don’t try that too hard, either--for you may +defeat your own ends thereby. Just wait, Eunice; sit still and wait.” + +They all waited, and after what seemed an interminable time the Examiner +reappeared and the other two doctors with him. + +“Well, well,” Crowell began, his restless hands twisting themselves +round each other. “Now, be quiet, Mrs. Embury--I declare, I don’t +know how to say what I have to say, if you sit there like a chained +tiger--” + +“Go on!” Eunice now seemed to usurp something of Crowell’s own +dictatorship. “Go on, Dr. Crowell!” + +“Well, ma’am, I will. But there’s not much to tell. Our principal +evidence is lack of evidence--” + +“What do you mean?” cried Eunice. “Talk English, please!” + +“I am doing so. There is positively no evidence that Mr. Embury was +poisoned, yet owing to the absolute lack of any hint of any other means +of death, we are forced to the conclusion that he was poisoned.” + +“By his own hand?” asked Hendricks, his face grave. + +“Probably not. You see, sir, with no knowledge of how the poison +was administered--with no suspicion of any reason for its being +administered--we are working in the dark--” + +“I should say so!” exclaimed Elliott; “black darkness, I call it. +Are you within your rights in assuming poison?” + +“Entirely; it has to be the truth. No agent but a swift, subtle poison +could have cut off the victim’s life like that.” + +Crowell was now walking up and down the room. He was a restless, nervous +man, and under stress of anxiety he became almost hysterical. + +“I don’t know!” he cried out, as one in an extremity of +uncertainty. “It must be poison--it must have been--murder!” + +He pronounced the last word in a gasping way--as if afraid to suggest it +but forced to do so. + +Hendricks looked at him with a slight touch of contempt in his glance, +but seeing this, Dr. Harper interjected: + +“The Examiner is regretting the necessity of thrusting his convictions +upon you, but he knows it must be done.” + +“Yes,” said Crowell, more decidedly now, “I have had cases before +where murder was committed in such an almost undiscoverable way as this. +Never a case quite so mysterious, but nearly so.” + +“What is your theory of the method?” asked Elliott, who was +staggered by the rush of thoughts and conclusions made inevitable by the +Examiner’s report. + +“That’s the greatest mystery of all,” Crowell replied. He was +quite calm now--apparently it was concern for the family that had made +him so disturbed. + +“Poison was not taken by way of the stomach, that is certain. +Therefore, it must have been introduced through some other channel. But +we find no trace of a hypodermic needle--” + +“How utterly ridiculous!” Eunice exclaimed, her eyes blazing with +scorn. “How could any one get in to poison my husband? Why, we lock +all our doors at night--we always have.” + +“Yes’m--exactly, ma’am,” Crowell began, rubbing his hands again; +“and now, please tell me of the locking up last night. As usual, +ma’am, as usual?” + +“Precisely. Our sleeping rooms are those three,” she pointed to the +bedrooms. “When they are locked, they form a unit by themselves, quite +apart from the rest of the apartment.” + +Dr. Crowell looked interested. + +The apartment faced on Park Avenue, and being on the corner had also +windows on the side street. + +Front, enumerating from the corner and running south, were the +dining-room, the large living-room, and the good-sized reception hall. + +Directly back of these, and with windows on a large court, were the +three bedrooms, Eunice’s in the middle, Sanford’s back of the +hall, and Aunt Abby’s back of the dining-room. Aunt Abby’s room was +ordinarily Eunice’s boudoir and dressing-room, but was used as a guest +chamber on occasion. + +These three bedrooms, as was shown to Examiner Crowell, when locked +from the inside were shut off by themselves, although allowing free +communication from one to another of them. + +“Lock with keys?” he asked. + +“No,” Eunice replied. “There are big, strong, snap-locks on the +inside of the doors. I mean locks that fasten themselves when you shut +the door, unless you have previously put up the catch.” + +“Yes, I see,” and Crowell looked into the matter for himself. +“Spring catches, and mighty strong ones, too. And these were always +fastened at night?” + +“Always,” Eunice declared. “Mr. Embury was not afraid of burglars, +but it was his life-long habit to sleep with a locked door, and he +couldn’t get over it.” + +“Then,” and the bird-like little eyes darted from one to another of +his listeners and paused at Aunt Abby; “then, Miss Ames, you were +also locked in, each night with your niece and her husband, safe from +intruders.” + +“Yes,” and Aunt Abby looked a little startled at being addressed. +“I don’t sleep with my door locked at home, and it bothered me +at first. But, you see, my room has no outlet except through Mrs. +Embury’s bedroom, so as the door between her room and mine was never +locked, it really made little difference to me.” + +“Oh, is that the way of it?” and Dr. Crowell rose in his hasty +manner and dashed in at Eunice’s door. This, the middle room, opened +on the right to the boudoir, and on the left to Embury’s room. + +The latter door was closed, and Crowell turned toward the boudoir--now +Aunt Abby’s bedroom. A small bed had been put up for her there, and +the room was quite large enough to be comfortable. It was luxuriously +furnished and the appointments were quite in keeping with the dainty +tastes of the mistress of the house. + +Crowell darted here and there about the room. He looked out of the rear +windows, which faced on the court; out of a window that faced on +the side street, peeped into the bathroom, and then hurried back to +Eunice’s own room. Here he observed the one large window, which was a +triple bay, and which, of course, opened on the court. + +He glanced at Embury’s closed door, and then returned to the +living-room, and again faced his audience. + +“Nobody came in from the outside,” he announced. “The windows show +a sheer drop of ten stories to the ground. No balconies or fire-escapes. +So our problem resolves itself into two possibilities--Mr. Embury was +given the poison by someone already inside those locked doors--or, the +doors were not locked.” + +The restless hands were still now. The Examiner bore the aspect of a +bomb-thrower who had exploded his missile and calmly awaited the result. +His darting eyes flew from face to face, as if he were looking for a +criminal then and there. He sat motionless--save for his constantly +moving eyeballs--and for a moment no word was spoken by anyone. + +Then Eunice said, with no trace of anger or excitement, “You mean some +intruder was concealed in there when we went to bed?” + +Crowell turned on her a look of undisguised admiration. More, he +seemed struck with a sudden joy of finding a possible loophole from the +implication he had meant to convey. + +“I never thought of that,” he said, slowly, piercing her with his +intent gaze; “it may be. But Mrs. Embury--in that case, where is the +intruder now? How did he get out?” + +“Rubbish!” cried Miss Ames, caustically. “There never was any +intruder--I mean, not in our rooms. Ridiculous! Of course, the doors +were not locked--they were unintentionally left open--I don’t believe +they’re locked half the time!--and your intruder came in through these +other rooms.” + +“Yes,” agreed Hendricks; “that must have been the way of it. Dr. +Crowell, if you’re sure this is a--a--oh, it isn’t! Who would kill +Embury? Your theory presupposes a motive. What was it? Robbery? Is +anything missing?” + +Nobody could answer this question, and Ferdinand, as one familiar +with his master’s belongings was sent into the room of death to +investigate. + +Unwillingly, and only after a repeated order, the man went. + +“No, ma’am,” he said, on his return, addressing Eunice. “None of +Mr. Embury’s things are gone. All his pins and cuff-links are in their +boxes and his watch is on the chiffonier where he always leaves it. + +“Then,” resumed Hendricks, “what motive can you suggest, Dr. +Crowell?” + +“It’s not for me, sir, to go so far as that. I see it this way: +I’m positive that the man was killed by foul means. I’m sure he was +poisoned, though I can’t say how. I--you see, I haven’t been Medical +Examiner very long--and I never had such a hard duty to perform before. +But it is my duty and I must do it. I must report to headquarters.” + +“You shan’t!” Eunice flew across the room and stood before him, +her whole body quivering with intense rage. “I forbid it! I am Sanford +Embury’s wife, and as such I have rights that shall not be imposed +upon! I will have no police dragged into this matter. Were my husband +really murdered--which, of course, he was not--I would rather never have +the murderer discovered or punished, than to have the degradation, the +horrors of--a police case!” + +The infinite scorn with which she brought out the last phrase showed her +earnestness and her determination to have the matter pushed no further. + +But Examiner Crowell was by no means the inefficient little man he +looked. His eyes took on a new glitter, and narrowed as they looked at +the angry woman before him. + +“I am sorry, Mrs. Embury,” he said, gently, but with a strong +decision in his tone, “but your wishes cannot be considered. The law +is inexorable. The mystery of this case is deepened rather than lessened +by your extraordinary behavior and I must--” + +But his brave manner quailed before the lightning of Eunice’s eyes. + +“What!” she cried; “you defy me! You will call the police against +my desire--my command! You will not, sir! I forbid it!” + +Crowell looked at her with a new interest. It would seem he had +discovered a new species of humanity. Doubtless he had never seen a +woman like that in his previous experience. + +For Eunice was no shrew. She did not, for a moment, lose her poise or +her dignity. Indeed, she was rather more imperious and dominating in her +intense anger than when more serene. But she carried conviction. Both +Elliott and Hendricks hoped and believed she could sway the Examiner to +her will. + +Aunt Abby merely sat nodding her head, in corroboration of Eunice’s +speeches. “Yes--yes--that’s so!” she murmured, unheeding whether +she were heard or not. + +The Examiner, however, paid little attention to the decrees of the angry +woman. He looked at Eunice, curiously, even admiringly, and then went +across the room to the telephone. + +Eunice flew after him and snatched the instrument from his hand. + +“Stop!” she cried, fairly beside herself with fury. “You shall +not!” + +Both Elliott and Hendricks sprang from their chairs, and Dr. Harper rose +to take care of Eunice as an irresponsible patient, but Crowell waved +them all back. + +“Sit down, gentlemen,” he said; “Mrs. Embury, think a minute. +If you act like that you will--you inevitably will--draw suspicion on +yourself!” + +“I don’t care!” she screamed; “better that than the--the +publicity--the shame of a police investigation! Oh, Sanford--my +husband!” + +It was quite clear that uppermost in her disturbed mind was the dread of +the disgrace of the police inquiry. This had dulled her poignant grief, +her horror, her sadness--all had been lost in the immediate fear of the +impending unpleasantness. + +“And, too,” the Examiner went on, coldly, “It is useless for you +to rant around like that! I’ll simply go to another telephone.” + +Eunice stepped back and looked at him, more in surprise than submission. +To be told that she was “ranting around” was not the way in which +she was usually spoken to! Moreover, she realized it was true, that to +jerk the telephone away from Dr. Crowell could not permanently prevent +his sending his message. + +She tried another tack. + +“I beg your pardon, doctor,” she said, and her expression was that +of a sad and sorry child. “You’re right, I mustn’t lose my temper +so. But, you know, I am under a severe mental strain--and something +should be forgiven me--some allowance made for my dreadful position--” + +“Yes, ma’am--oh, certainly, ma’am--” Crowell was again nervous +and restless. He proved that he could withstand an angry woman far +better than a supplicating one. Eunice saw this and followed up her +advantage. + +“And, so, doctor, try to appreciate how I feel--a newlymade +widow--my husband dead, from some unknown cause, but which I know is +not--murder,” after a second’s hesitation she pronounced the awful +word clearly--“and you want to add to my terror and distress by +calling in the police--of all things, the police!” + +“Yes, ma’am, I know it’s too bad--but, my duty, ma’am--” + +“Your duty is first, to me!” Eunice’s smile was dazzling. It had +been a callous heart, indeed, that would not be touched by it! + +“To you, ma’am?” The Examiner’s tone was innocence itself. + +“Yes,” Eunice faltered, for she began to realize she was not gaining +ground. “You owe me the--don’t they call it the benefit of the +doubt?” + +“What doubt, ma’am?” + +“Why, doubt as to murder. If my husband died a natural death you know +there’s no reason to call the police. And as you’re not sure, I +claim that you must give me the benefit of your doubt and not call +them.” + +“Now, ma’am, you don’t put that just right. You see, the police +are the people who must settle that doubt. It’s that very doubt that +makes it necessary to call them. And, truly, Mrs. Ernbury, it won’t +be any such horrible ordeal as you seem to anticipate. They’re decent +men, and all they want to get at is the truth.” + +“That isn’t so!” Eunice was angry again. “They’re horrible +men! rude, unkempt, low-down, common men! I won’t have them in my +house! You have no right to insist on it. They’ll be all over the +rooms, prying into everything, looking here, there and all over! +They’ll ask impertinent questions; they’ll assume all sorts +of things that aren’t true, and they’ll wind up by coming to a +positively false conclusion! Alvord, Mason, you’re my friends--help me +out! Don’t, let this man do as he threatens!” + +“Listen, Eunice,” Elliott said, striving to quiet her; “we can’t +help the necessity Dr. Crowell sees of notifying the police. But we can +help you. Only, however, if you’ll be sensible, dear, and trust to our +word that it can’t be helped, and you must let it go on quietly.” + +“Oh, hush up, Mason; your talk drives me crazy! Alvord, are you a +broken reed, too? Is there nobody to stand by me?” + +“I’ll try,” and Hendricks went and spoke to Dr. Crowell in low +tones. A whispered colloquy followed, but it soon became clear that +Hendricks’ pleas, of whatever nature, were unsuccessful, and he +returned to Eunice’s side. + +“Nothing doing,” he said, with an attempt at lightness. “He +won’t listen to reason--nor to bribery and corruption--” this +last was said openly and with a smile that robbed the idea of any real +seriousness. + +And then Dr. Crowell again lifted the telephone and called up +Headquarters. + +Chapter IX Hamlet + +Of the two detectives who arrived in response to the Examiner’s call, +one almost literally fulfilled Eunice’s prophecy of a rude, unkempt, +common man. His name was Shane and he strode into the room with a +bumptious, self-important air, his burly frame looking especially +awkward and unwieldy in the gentle surroundings. + +His companion, however, a younger man named Driscoll, was of a finer +type, and showed at least an appreciation of the nature of the home +which he had entered. + +“We’re up from the homicide bureau,” Shane said to Dr. Crowell, +quite ignoring the others present. “Tell us all you know.” + +In the fewest possible words the Medical Examiner did this, and Shane +paid close attention. + +Driscoll listened, too, but his glance, instead of being fixed on the +speaker, darted from one to another of the people sitting round. + +He noted carefully Eunice’s beautiful, angry face, as she sat, looking +out of a window, disdaining any connection with the proceedings. He +watched Miss Ames, nervously rolling her handkerchief into a ball +and shaking it out again; Mason Elliott, calm, grave, and earnestly +attentive; Alvord Hendricks, alert, eager, sharply critical. + +And in the background, Ferdinand, the well-trained butler, hovering in +the doorway. + +All these things Driscoll studied, for his method was judging from the +manners of individuals, whereas, Shane gathered his conclusions from +their definite statements. + +And, having listened to Dr. Crowell’s account, Shane turned to Eunice +and said bluntly, “You and your husband good friends?” + +Eunice gasped. Then, after one scathing glance, she deliberately turned +back to the window, and neglected to answer. + +“That won’t do, ma’am,” said Shane, in his heavy voice, which +was coarse and uncultured but not intentionally rude. “I’m here to +ask questions and you people have got to answer ‘em. Mebbe I can put +it different. Was you and Mr. Embury on good terms?” + +“Certainly.” The word was forced from Eunice’s scornful lips, and +accompanied by an icy glance meant to freeze the detective, but which +utterly failed. + +“No rows or disagreements, eh?” Shane’s smile was unbearable, and +Eunice turned and faced him like an angry thing at bay. + +“I forbid you to speak to me,” she said, and looked at Shane as if +he were some miserable, crawling reptile. “Mason, will you answer this +man for me?” + +“No, no, lady,” Shane seemed to humor her. “I must get your own +word for it. Don’t you want me to find out who killed your husband? +Don’t you want the truth known? Are you afraid to have it told? +Hey?” + +Shane’s secret theory was that of a sort of third degree applied at +the very beginning often scared people into a quick confession of the +truth and saved time in the long run. + +Driscoll knew of this and did not approve. + +“Let up, Shane,” he muttered; “this is no time for such talk. You +don’t know anything yet.” + +“Go ahead, you,” returned Shane, not unwillingly, and Driscoll did. + +“Of course we must ask questions, Mrs. Embury,” he said, and his +politeness gained him a hearing from Eunice. + +She looked at him with, at least, toleration, as he began to question +her. + +“When did you last see Mr. Embury alive, ma’am?” + +“Last night,” replied Eunice, “about midnight, when we retired.” + +“He was in his usual health and spirits?” + +“Yes.” + +“You have two bedrooms?” + +“Yes.” + +“Door between?” + +“Yes.” + +“Open or shut--after you said good-night to Mr. Embury?” + +“Closed.” + +“Locked?” + +“No.” + +“Who shut it.” + +“Mr. Embury.” + +“Bang it?” + +“Sir?” + +“Did he bang it shut? Slam it?” + +“Mr. Embury was a gentleman.” + +“Yes, I know. Did he slam that door?” + +“N--, no.” + +“He did,” and Driscoll nodded his head, as if not minding Eunice’s +stammered denial, but not believing it, either. + +“Now, as he closed that door with a bang, ma’am, I gather that you +two had a--well, say, a little tiff--a quarrel. Might as well own up, +ma’am,--it’ll come out, and it’s better you should tell me the +truth.” + +“I am not accustomed to telling anything else!” Eunice declared, +holding herself together with a very evident effort. “Mr. Embury and I +had a slight difference of opinion, but not enough to call a quarrel.” + +“What about?” broke in Shane, who had been listening intently. + +Eunice did not speak until Elliott advised her. “Tell all Eunice--it +is the best way.” + +“We had a slight discussion,” Eunice said, “but it was earlier in +the evening. We had spent the evening out--Mr. Embury at his club, and +I at the house of a friend. We came home together--Mr. Embury called for +me in our own car. On reaching home, we had no angry words--and as it +was late, we retired at once. That is all. Mr. Embury closed the door +between our bedrooms, and that is the last I ever saw of him until--this +morning--” + +She did not break down, but she seemed to think she had told all and she +ceased speaking. + +“And then he was dead,” Shane mused. “What doctor did you call?” + +Dr. Crowell took up the narrative and told of Dr. Harper and Dr. +Marsden, who were not now present. He told further of the mysterious and +undiscoverable cause of the death. + +“Let me see him,” said Shane, rising suddenly. + +Most of this man’s movements were sudden--and as he was in every +respect awkward and uncouth, Eunice’s dislike of him grew momentarily. + +“Isn’t he dreadful!” she cried, as the two detectives and the +Medical Examiner disappeared into Embury’s room. + +“Yes,” agreed Hendricks, “but, Eunice, you must not antagonize +him. It can’t do any good--and it may do harm.” + +“Harm? How?” and Eunice turned her big, wondering eyes on Hendrick. + +“Oh, it isn’t wise to cross a man like that. He’s a common clod, +but he represents authority--he represents the law, and we must respect +that fact, however his personal manner offends us.” + +“All right, Alvord, I understand; but there’s no use in my seeing +him again. Can’t you and Mason settle up things and let Aunt Abby and +me go to our rooms?” + +“No, Eunice,” Hendricks’ voice was grave. “You must stay here. +And, too, they will go through your room, searching.” + +“My room! My bedroom! They shan’t! I won’t have it! Mason, must I +submit to such horrible things?” + +“Now, Eunice, dear,” Mason Elliott spoke very gently, “we can’t +blink matters. We must face this squarely. The police think Sanford was +murdered. They’re endeavoring to find out who killed him. To do their +duty in the matter they have to search everywhere. It’s the law, you +know, and we can’t get away from it. So, try to take it as quietly as +you can.” + +“Oh, my! oh, my!” wailed Aunt Abby; “that I should live to see +this day! A murder in my own family! No wonder poor Sanford’s troubled +spirit paused in its passing to bid me farewell.” + +Eunice shrieked. “Aunt Abby, if you start up that talk, I shall go +stark, staring mad! Hush! I won’t have it!” + +“Let up on the spook stuff, Miss Ames,” begged Hendricks. “Our +poor Eunice is just about at the end of her rope.” + +“So am I!” cried Aunt Abby. “I’m entitled to some consideration! +Here’s the whole house turned upside down with a murder and police and +all that, and nobody considers me! It’s all Eunice!” Then, with +a softened voice, she added, “And Lord knows, she’s got enough to +bear!” + +“Yes, I have!” Eunice was composed again, now. “But I can bear it. +I’m not going to collapse! Don’t be afraid for me. And I do consider +you, Aunt Abby. It’s dreadful for you--for both of us.” + +Eunice crossed the room and sat by the elder lady, and they comforted +one another. + +Shane came back to the living-room. + +“Here’s the way it is,” he said, gruffly. “Those three bedrooms +all open into each other; but when their doors that open out into these +here other rooms are locked they’re quite shut off by themselves, +and nobody can get into ‘em. Now that last room, the one the old lady +sleeps in, that don’t have a door except into Mrs. Embury’s room. +What I’m gettin’ at is, if Mr. and Mrs. Embury’s room doors is +locked--not meanin’ the door between--then those three people are +locked in there every night, and can’t get out or in, except through +those two locked doors. + +“Well, this morning--where’s that butler man?” + +“Here, sir,” and Ferdinand appeared promptly, and with his usual +correct demeanor. + +“Yes, you. Now, this morning, those two doors to the sleeping rooms +was locked, I understand?” + +“Yes, sir. They were.” + +“Usually--what happens?” + +“What--what happens, sir?” + +“Yes; what’s your first duty in the morning? Does Mr. Embury call +you--or ring for you?” + +“Oh, that, sir. Why, generally Mr. Embury unlocked his door about +eight o’clock--” + +“And you went to help him dress?” + +“No, sir. Mr. Embury didn’t require that. I valeted his clothes, +like, and kept them in order, but he dressed by himself. I took him some +tea and toast--he had that before the regular breakfast--” + +“And this morning--when he didn’t ring or make any sound, what did +you do?” + +“I waited a little while and then I rapped at Mrs. Embury’s door.” + +“Yes; and she--now, be careful, man--” Shane’s voice was +impressive. “How did she act? Unusual, or frightened in any way?” + +“Not a bit, sir. Mrs. Embury was surprised, and when I said Mr. Embury +didn’t answer my knock, she let me go through her room to his.” + +“Exactly. And then you found your master dead?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Now--what is your name?” + +“Ferdinand.” + +“Yes. Now, Ferdinand, you know Mr. and Mrs. Embury had a quarrel last +night.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +The trap had worked! Shane had brought about the admission from the +servant that Eunice had refused to make. A smile of satisfaction settled +on his ugly features, as he nodded his head and went on. + +“At what time was this?” + +“Ferdinand, be quiet,” said Eunice, her own voice low and even, but +her face was ablaze with wrath. “You know nothing of such things!” + +“That’s right, sir, I don’t.” + +Clearly, the butler, restored to his sense of the responsibilities of +his position, felt he had made a misstep and regretted it. + +“Be quiet, madam!” Shane hurled at Eunice, and turning to the +frightened Ferdinand, said: “You tell the truth, or you’ll go +to jail! At what time was this quarrel that you have admitted took +place?” + +Eunice stood, superbly indifferent, looking like a tragedy queen. +“Tell him, Ferdinand; tell all you know, but tell only the truth.” + +“Yes, ma’am. Yes, sir; why, it was just before they went out.” + +“Ah, before. Did they go out together?” + +“No, sir. Mrs. Embury went later--by herself.” + +“I told you that!” Eunice interposed. “I gave you a detailed +account of the evening.” + +“You omitted the quarrel. What was it about?” + +“It was scarcely important enough to call a quarrel. My husband and +I frequently disagreed on trifling matters. We were both a little +short-tempered, and often had altercations that were forgotten as soon +as they occurred.” + +“And that’s true,” put in Miss Ames. “For two people who loved +each other to distraction, I often thought the Emburys were the most +quarrelsome I ever saw.” + +Shane looked sharply at the old lady. “Is that so?” he said. “Did +you hear this particular quarrel, ma’am?” + +“Not that I remember. If I did, I didn’t take’ much notice of +it.” + +“What was it about?” + +“Oh, the same old subject. Mrs. Embury wanted--” + +“Aunt Abby, hush! What are you talking about! Leave me to tell my own +secrets, pray!” + +“Secrets, ma’am?” Shane’s cold blue eyes glistened. “Who’s +talking of secrets?” + +“Nobody,” offered Hendricks. “Seems to me, Shane, you’re trying +to frighten two nervous women into a confession--” + +“Who said anything about a confession? What’s to be confessed? +Who’s made any accusations?” + +Hendricks was silent. He didn’t like the man Shane at all, but he saw +plainly that he was a master of his craft, and depended on his sudden +and startling suggestions to rouse antagonism or fear and so gather the +facts he desired. + +“I’m asking nobody’s secrets,” he went on, “except in so +far as I’m obliged to, by reason of my duty. And in that connection, +ma’am, I ask you right here and now, what you meant by your reference +to secrets?” + +Eunice looked at him a moment in silence. Then she said, “You have, +I daresay, a right to ask that. And I’ve not the least objection to +answering. Mr. Embury was the kindest of husbands, but it did not suit +his ideas to give me what is known as an allowance. This in no way +reflects on his generosity, for he insisted that I should have a charge +account at any shops I wished. But, because of a whim, I often begged +that I be given a stated and periodical allowance. This, I have no +reason for not admitting, was the cause of most of our so-called +‘quarrels.’ This is what I should prefer to keep ‘secret’ but +not if it is for any reason a necessary admission.” + +Shane looked at her in undisguised admiration. + +“Fine!” he ejaculated, somewhat cryptically. “And you quarreled +about this last night?” + +“Last evening, before we went out.” + +“Not after you came home?” + +“No; the subject was not then mentioned.” + +“H’m. And you two were as friendly as ever? No coolness--sorta left +over, like?” + +“No!” Eunice spoke haughtily, but the crimson flood that rose to her +cheeks gave the lie to her words. + +Driscoll came in. + +“I’ve found out what killed Mr. Embury,” he said, in his quiet +fashion. + +“What?” cried the Examiner and Shane, at the same time. + +“Can’t tell you--just yet. I’ll have to go out on an errand. Stay +here--all of you--till I get back.” + +The dapper little figure disappeared through the hall door, and Shane +turned back to the group with a grunt of satisfaction. + +“That’s Driscoll, all over,” he said. “Put him on a case, and +he don’t say much, and he don’t look like he’s doing anything, and +then all in a minute he’ll bring in the goods.” + +“I’d be glad to hear the cause of that death,” said Dr. Crowell, +musingly. “I’m an old, experienced practitioner, and I’ve never +seen anything so mysterious. There’s absolutely no trace of any +poison, and yet it can be nothing else.” + +“Poison’s a mighty sly proposition,” observed Shane. “A clever +poisoner can put over a big thing.” + +“Perhaps your assumption of murder is premature,” said Hendricks, +and he gave Shane a sharp look. + +“Maybe,” and that worthy nodded his head. “But I’m still +standing pat. Now, here’s the proposition. Three people, locked into +a suite--you may say--of three rooms. No way of getting in from this +side--those locks are heavy brass snap-catches that can’t be worked +from outside. No way, either, of getting in at the windows. Tenth-story +apartment, and the windows look straight down to the ground, no +balconies or anything like that. Unless an aryoplane let off its +passengers, nobody could get in the windows. Well, then, we have those +three people shut up alone there all night. In the morning one of ‘em +is dead--poisoned. What’s the answer?” + +He stared at Eunice as he talked. It was quite evident he meant to +frighten her--almost to accuse her. + +But with her strange contradictoriness, she smiled at him. + +“You have stated a problem, Mr. Shane, to which there can be no +answer. Therefore, that is not the problem that confronts us.” + +“Fine talk--fine talk, lady, but it won’t get you anywhere. To the +unbiased, logical mind, the answer must be that it’s the work of the +other two people.” + +“Then yours is not a logical or unbiased mind,” Hendricks flared +out, “and I object to your making implications. If you are making +accusations, do so frankly, and let us know where we stand! If not, shut +up!” + +Shane merely looked at him, without resenting this speech. The detective +appeared to be marking time as he awaited the return of his partner. + +And Driscoll returned, shortly. His manner betokened success in his +quest, whatever it may have been, and yet he looked distressed, too. + +“It’s a queer thing,” he said, half to himself, as he fell into a +chair Shane pushed toward him. “Mrs. Embury, do you keep an engagement +book?” + +“Why, yes,” replied Eunice, amazed at the question put to her. + +“Let me see it, please.” + +Eunice went for it, and, returning, handed the detective a finely bound +volume. + +Hastily he ran over the dates, looking at notes of parties, concerts and +theatres she had attended recently. At last, he gave a start, read over +one entry carefully, and closed the book. + +Abruptly, then, he went back to Embury’s room, asking Dr. Crowell to +go with him. + +When they reappeared, it was plain to be seen the mystery was solved. + +“There is no doubt,” said the Medical Examiner, “that Sanford +Embury met his death by foul play. The means used was the administering +of poison--through the ear!” + +“Through the ear!” repeated Elliott, as one who failed to grasp the +sense of the words. + +“Yes; it is a most unusual, almost a unique case, but it is proved +beyond a doubt. The poison was inserted in Mr. Embury’s ear, by +means--” + +He paused, and Driscoll held up to view a small, ordinary glass medicine +dropper, with a rubber bulb top. In it still remained a portion of a +colorless liquid. + +“By means of this,” Driscoll declared. “This fluid is +henbane--that is the commercial name of it--known to the profession, +however, as hyoscyamus or hyoscyamine. This little implement, I found, +in the medicine chest in Miss Ames’ bathroom.” + +“No! no!” screamed Aunt Abby. “I never saw it before!” + +“I don’t think you did,” said Driscoll, quietly. “But here is a +side light on the subject. This henbane was used, in this very manner, +we are told, in Shakespeare’s works, by Hamlet’s uncle, when he +poisoned Hamlet’s father. He used, the play says, distilled hebenon, +supposed to be another form of the word henbane. And this is what is, +perhaps, important: Mrs. Embury’s engagement book shows that about +a week ago she attended the play of Hamlet. The suggestion there +received--the presence of this dropper, still containing the stuff, the +finding of traces of henbane in the ear of the dead man--seem to lead +to a conclusion--” + +“The only possible conclusion! It’s an open-and-shut case!” cried +Shane, rising, and striding toward Eunice. “Mrs. Embury, I arrest you +for the wilful murder of your husband!” + +Chapter X A Confession + +“Don’t you dare touch me!” Eunice Embury cried, stepping back +from the advancing figure of the burly detective. “Go out of my +house--Ferdinand, put this person out!” + +The butler appeared in the doorway, but Shane waved a dismissing hand at +him. + +“No use blustering, Mrs. Embury,” he said, gruffly, but not rudely. +“You’d better come along quietly, than to make such a fuss.” + +“I shall make whatever fuss I choose--and I shall not ‘come +along,’ quietly or any other way! I am not intimidated by your absurd +accusations, and I command you once more to leave my house, or I will +have you thrown out!” + +Eunice’s eyes blazed with anger, her voice was not loud, but was tense +with concentrated rage, and she stood, one hand clenching a chair-back +while with the other she pointed toward the door. + +“Be quiet, Eunice,” said Mason Elliott, coming toward her; “you +can’t dismiss an officer of the law like that. But you can demand +an explanation. I think, Shane, you are going too fast. You haven’t +evidence enough against Mrs. Embury to think of arrest! Explain +yourself!” + +“No explanation necessary. She killed her husband, and she’s my +prisoner.” + +“Hush up, Shane; let me talk,” interrupted Driscoll, whose calmer +tones carried more authority than those of his rough partner. + +“It’s this way, Mr. Elliott. I’m a detective, and I saw at once, +that if the doctors couldn’t find the cause of Mr. Embury’s death, +it must be a most unusual cause. So I hunted for some clue or some bit +of evidence pointing to the manner of his death. Well, when I spied that +little medicine dropper, half full of something, I didn’t know what, +but--” Here he paused impressively. “But there was no bottle or vial +of anything in the cupboard, from which it could have been taken. There +was no fluid in there that looked a bit like the stuff in the dropper. +So I thought that looked suspicious--as if some one had hidden it there. +I didn’t see the whole game then, but I went around to a druggist’s +and asked him what was in that dropper. And he said henbane. He further +explained that henbane is the common name for hyoscyamin, which is a +deadly poison. Now, the doctors were pretty sure that Mr. Embury had not +been killed by anything taken into the stomach, so I thought a minute, +and, like a flash, I remembered the play of ‘Hamlet’ that I saw last +week. + +“I guess everybody in New York went to see it--the house was crowded. +Anyway, I’ve proved by Mrs. Embury’s engagement book that she +went--one afternoon, to a matinee--and what closer or more indicative +hint do you want? In that play, the murder is fully described, and +though many people might think poison could not be introduced through +the intact ear in sufficient quantity to be fatal, yet it can be--and I +read an article lately in a prominent medical journal saying so. I was +interested, because of the Hamlet play. If I hadn’t seen that, I’d +never thought of this whole business. But, if I’m wrong, let Mrs. +Embury explain the presence of that dropper in her medicine chest.” + +“I don’t know anything about the thing! I never saw or heard of it +before! I don’t believe you found it where you say you did!” Eunice +faced him with an accusing look. “You put it there yourself--it’s +what you call a frame-up! I know nothing of your old dropper!” + +“There, there, lady,” Shane put in; “don’t get excited--it only +counts against you. Mr. Driscoll, here, wouldn’t have no reason to do +such a thing as you speak of! Why would he do that, now?” + +“But he must have done it,” broke in Miss Ames. “For I use that +bathroom of Eunice’s and that thing hasn’t been in it, since I’ve +been here.” + +“Of course not,” and Shane looked at her as at a foolish child; +“why should it be? The lady used it, and then put it away.” + +“Hold on, there, Shane,” Hendricks interrupted. “Why would any one +do such a positively incriminating thing as that?” + +“They always slip up somewhere,” said Driscoll, “after committing +a crime, your criminal is bound to do something careless, that gives it +all away. Mrs. Embury, how did that dropper get in that medicine chest +in your bathroom?” + +“I scorn to answer!” The cold tones showed no fear, no trepidation, +but Eunice’s white fingers interlaced themselves in a nervous fashion. + +“Do you know anything about it, Miss Ames?” + +“N--no,” stammered Aunt Abby, trembling, as she looked now at the +detectives and then at Eunice. + +“Well, it couldn’t have put itself there,” went on Driscoll. +“Who else has access to that place?” + +Eunice gave no heed to this speech. She gave no heed to the speaker, but +stared at him, unseeingly, her gaze seeming to go straight through him. + +“Why, the maid,” said Aunt Abby, with a helpless glance toward +Elliott and Hendricks, as if beseeching assistance. + +“The servants must be considered,” said Hendricks, catching at a +straw. “They may know something that will help.” + +“Call the maid,” said Shane, briefly, and, as neither of the women +obeyed, he turned to Ferdinand, who hovered in the background, and +thundered: “Bring her in--you!” + +Maggie appeared, shaken and frightened, but when questioned, she +answered calmly and positively. + +“I put that dropper in the medicine closet,” she said, and every one +looked toward her. + +“Where did you get it?” asked Shane. + +“I found it--on the floor.” + +“On the floor? Where?” + +“Beside Miss Ames’ bed.” The girl’s eyes were cast down; she +looked at nobody, but gave her answers in a dull, sing-song way, almost +as if she had rehearsed them before. + +“When?” + +“This morning--when I made up her room.” + +“Had you ever seen it before?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Why did you think it belonged to Miss Ames?” + +“I didn’t think anything about it. I found it there, and I supposed +it belonged to Miss Ames, and I put it away.” + +“Why did you put it in the medicine chest?” + +The girl looked up, surprised. + +“That seemed to me the proper place for it. Whenever I find a bottle +of camphor or a jar of cold cream--or anything like that--I always +put it in the medicine chest. That’s where such things belong. So +I thought it was the right place for the little dropper. Did I do +wrong?” + +“No, Maggie,” Driscoll said, kindly, “that was all right. Now tell +us exactly where you found it.” + +“I did tell you. On the floor, just beside Miss Ames’ bed. Near the +head of the bed.” + +“Well, Miss Ames--I guess it’s up to you. What were you doing with +this thing?” + +“I didn’t have it at all! I never saw it before!” + +“Come, come, that won’t do! How could it get there?” + +“I don’t know, but I didn’t put it there.” The old lady trembled +pitifully, and looked from one to another for help or guidance. + +“Of course, she didn’t!” cried Eunice. “You sha’n’t torment +my aunt! Cease questioning her! Talk to me if you choose--and as you +choose--but leave Miss Ames alone!” + +She faced her inquisitors defiantly, and even Shane quailed a little +before her scornful eyes. + +“Well, ma’am, as you see, I ain’t got much choice in the matter. +Here’s the case. You and your aunt and Mr. Embury was shut in those +three rooms. Nobody else could get in. Come morning, the gentleman +is dead--murdered. One of you two done it. It’s for us to find out +which--unless the guilty party sees fit to confess.” + +“I do! I confess!” cried Aunt Abby. “I did it, and I’m willing +to go to prison!” She was clearly hysterical, and though her words +were positive, they by no means carried conviction. + +“Now, that’s all bosh,” declared Shane. “You’re sayin’ that, +ma’am, to shield your niece. You know she’s the murderer and--” + +Eunice flew at Shane like a wild thing. She grasped his arm and whirled +him around toward her as she glared into his face, quivering with +indignation. + +“Coward!” she flung at him. “To attack two helpless women--to +accuse me--me, of crime! Why, I could kill you: where you stand--for +such an insinuation!” + +“Say, you’re some tiger!” Shane exclaimed, in a sort of grudging +admiration. “But better be careful of your words, ma’am! If you +could kill me--ah, there!” + +The last exclamation was brought forth by the sudden attack of Eunice, +as she shook the big man so violently that he nearly lost his balance. + +“Say, you wildcat! Be careful what you do! You are a tiger!” + +“Yes,” Aunt Abby giggled, nervously. “Mr. Embury always called her +‘Tiger’.” + +“I don’t wonder!” and Shane stared at Eunice, who had stepped back +but who still stood, like a wild animal at bay, her eyes darting angry +fire. + +“Now, Mrs. Embury, let’s get down to business. Who’s your lawyer? + +“I am,” declared Alvord Hendricks. “I am her counsel. I represent +Mrs. Embury. Eunice, say nothing more. Leave it to me. And, first, +Shane, you haven’t enough evidence to arrest this lady. That dropper +thing is no positive information against her. It might be the work +of the servants--or some intruder. The story of that housemaid is not +necessarily law and gospel. Remember, you’d get in pretty bad if you +were to arrest Mrs. Sanford Embury falsely! And my influence with your +superiors is not entirely negligible. You’re doing your duty, all +right, but don’t overstep your authority--or, rather, don’t let your +desire to make a sensational arrest cloud your judgment.” + +“That’s what I think, Mr. Hendricks,” said Driscoll, earnestly; +“we’ve found the method, but I’m by no means sure we’ve found +the criminal. Leastways, it don’t look sure to me. Eh, Shane?” + +“Clear enough to me,” the big man growled; but he was quite +evidently influenced by Hendricks’ words. “However, I’m willing to +wait--but we must put Mrs. Embury under surveillance--” + +“Under what!” demanded Eunice, her beautiful face again contorted by +uncontrollable anger. “I will not be watched or spied upon!” + +“Hush, Eunice,” begged Elliott. “Try to keep yourself calm. It +does no good to defy these men--they are not really acting on their +own initiative, but they are merely carrying out their duty as they see +it.” + +“Their duty is to find out who killed my husband!” and Eunice gave +Shane another stormy glare. “They cannot do that by accusing two +innocent women!” + +“If you two women can be proved innocent, nobody will be more glad +than me,” Shane announced, in a hearty way, that was really generous +after Eunice’s treatment of him. “But it beats me to see how it +can be proved. You admit, ma’am, nobody could get into Mr. Embury’s +room, except you and Miss Ames, don’t you?” + +“I don’t admit that at all, for the murderer did get in--and did +commit the murder--therefore, there must be some means of access!” + +“Oho! And just how can you suggest that an intruder got in, and got +out again, and left those doors fastened on the inside?” + +“That I don’t know--nor is it my business to find out.” + +“Maybe you think a flyin’ machine came at the window, ma’am! For +nothin’ else could negotiate a ten-story apartment.” + +“Don’t talk nonsense! But I have heard of keys that unlock doors +from the outside--skeleton keys, I think they are called.” + +“Yes, ma’am, there are such, sure! But they’re keys--and they +unlock doors. These doors of yours have strong brass catches that work +only on the inside, snap-bolts, they are. And when they’re fastened, +nothing from the other side of the door could undo ‘em. But, I +say--here you, Ferdinand!” + +The butler came forward, his face surprised rather than alarmed, and +stood at attention. + +“What do you know of events here last night?” Shane asked him. + +“Nothing, sir,” and Ferdinand’s face was blankly respectful. + +“You’d better tell all you know, or you’ll get into trouble.” + +“Could you--could you make your question a little more definite?” + +“I will. When Mr. and Mrs. Embury came home last night, were they in +good humor?” + +“I don’t know, sir.” + +“You do know! You know your employers well enough to judge by their +manner whether they were at odds or not. Answer me, man!” + +“Well, sir, they were, I should judge, a little at odds.” + +“Oh, they were! In what way did they show it? By quarreling?” + +“No, sir.” + +“How, then?” + +“By not saying anything. But it’s not uncommon for them to be at +odds, sir--” + +“Speak when you’re spoken to! After Mr. Embury went to his room, did +you attend him?” + +“I was in his room, yes.” + +“Mrs. Embury was in her own room then?” + +“Yes.” + +“Her outer door was closed?” + +“Yes.” + +“And, therefore, fastened by the snap-bolt?” + +“Yes, I suppose so.” + +“Don’t you know so? Don’t you know that it must have been?” + +“Yes.” + +“And then--then, when you left Mr. Embury’s room--when you left him +for the night--did you close his door?” + +“I did.” + +“And that, of itself, locked that door?” + +“Yes, I suppose so.” + +“Stop saying you suppose so. You know it did! You’ve lived in this +house two years; you know how those doors work--you know your closing +that door locked it? Didn’t it?” + +“Yes, it did. I turned the knob afterward to make sure. I always do +that.” + +Ferdinand now seemed to be as discursive as he was reticent before. +“And I know Miss Eunice’s--Mrs. Embury’s door was locked, because +she had to unbolt it before I could get in this morning.” + +“But look here,” Driscoll broke in, “are these doors on that +snap-bolt all day? Isn’t that rather an inconvenience?” + +“Not all day,” vouchsafed Ferdinand. “They can be turned so +the bolt doesn’t catch, and are turned that way in the daytime, +usually.” + +“But,” and Driscoll looked at him intently, “you can swear that +the bolts were on last night?” + +“Yes, sir--” + +“You can’t!” Hendricks shot at him. The lawyer had been listening +in silence, but he now refuted Ferdinand. “You don’t know that Mrs. +Embury put on the catch of her door when she closed it.” + +“I do, sir; I heard it click.” + +“You are very observant,” said Shane; “peculiarly so, it seems to +me.” + +“No, sir,” and Ferdinand looked thoughtful; “but, you see, it’s +this way. Every night I hear the click of those locks, and it sort of +seems natural to me to listen for it. If it should be forgotten, I’d +think it my duty to call attention to it.” + +“A most careful butler, on my word!” Shane’s tone was a little +sneering. + +“He is, indeed!” Eunice defended; “and I can assert that it is +because of his faithfulness and efficiency that we have always felt safe +at night from intrusion by marauders.” + +“And you did lock your door securely last night, Mrs. Embury?” + +“I most assuredly did! I do every night. But that does not prove that +I killed my husband. Nor that Miss Ames did.” + +“Then your theory--” + +“I have no theory. Mr. Embury was killed--it is for you detectives to +find out how. But do not dare to say--or imply--that it was by the hand +of his wife--or his relative!” + +She glanced fondly at Miss Ames, and then again assumed her look of +angry defiance toward the two men who were accusing her. + +“It is for you to find out how,” said Mason Elliott, gravely. “It +is incredible that Mrs. Embury is the guilty one, though I admit the +incriminating appearance of the henbane. But I’ve been thinking it +over, and while Mr. Driscoll’s surmise that the deed can possibly be +traced to one who recently saw the play of ‘Hamlet,’ yet he must +remember that thousands of people saw that play, and that therefore it +cannot point exclusively toward Mrs. Embury.” + +“That’s so,” agreed Driscoll. “Who went with you to the play, +Mrs. Embury?” + +“My aunt, Miss Ames; also a friend, Mrs. Desternay. And, I understand +you went yourself, Mr. Driscoll. Why single out me for a suspect?” + +The haughty face turned to him was quite severely critical. + +“True, Mrs. Embury, why should I? The answer is, motive. You must +admit that I had neither motive nor opportunity to kill your husband. +Mrs. Desternay, let us say, had neither opportunity nor motive. Miss +Ames had opportunity but no motive. And so you, we must all admit, are +the only human being who had both opportunity--and motive.” + +“I did not have motive!” Eunice flushed back. “You talk nonsense! +I have had slight differences of opinion with my husband hundreds of +time, but that is not a motive for murder! I have a high temper, and +at times I am unable to control it. But that does not mean I am a +murderess!” + +“Not necessarily, but it gives a reason for suspecting you, since you +are the only person who can reasonably be suspected.” + +“But hold on, Driscoll, don’t go too fast,” said Mason Elliott; +“there may be other people who had motives. Remember Sanford Embury +was a man of wide public interests outside of his family affairs. +Suppose you turn your attention to that sort of thing.” + +“Gladly, Mr. Elliott; but when we’ve proved no outsider could get +into Mr. Embury’s room, why look for outside motives?” + +“It seems only fair, to my mind, that such motives should be looked +into. Now, for instance, Embury was candidate in a hotly contested +coming election--” + +“That’s so,” cried Hendricks; “look for your murderer in some +such connection as that.” + +“Election to what?” growled Shane. + +“President of the Metropolitan Athletic Club--a big organization--” + +“H’m! Who’s the opposing candidate?” + +“I am,” replied Hendricks, quietly. + +“You! Well, Mr. Hendricks, where were you last night, when this man +was killed?” + +“In Boston.” Hendricks did not smile, but he looked as if the +question annoyed him. + +“You can prove that?” + +“Yes, of course. I stayed at the Touraine, was with friends till well +after midnight, and took the seven o’clock train this morning for New +York, in company with the same men. You can look up all that, at your +leisure; but there is a point in what Mr. Elliott says. I can’t think +that any of the club members would be so keen over the election as to +do away with one of the candidates, but there’s the situation. Go to +it.” + +“It leaves something to be looked into, at any rate,” mused Shane. + +“Why didn’t you think of it for yourself?” said Hendricks, rather +scathingly. “It seems to me a detective ought to look a little beyond +his nose!” + +“I can’t think we’ve got to, in this case,” Shane persisted; +“but I’m willing to try. Also, Mrs. Embury, I’ll ask you for the +address of the lady who went with you to see that play.” + +“Certainly,” said Eunice, in a cold voice, and gave the address +desired. + +“And, now, we’ll move on,” said Shane, rising. + +“You ain’t under arrest, Mrs. Embury--not yet--but I advise you not +to try to leave this house without permission--” + +“Indeed, I shall! Whenever and as often as I choose! The idea of your +forbidding me!” + +“Hush, Eunice,” said Hendricks. “She will not, Mr. Shane; I’m +her guaranty for that. Don’t apprehend any insubordination on the part +of Mrs. Embury.” + +“Not if she knows what’s good for herself!” was Shane’s parting +shot, and the two detectives went away. + +Chapter XI Fifi + +“Oh, yes, indeed, Mr. Shane, Mrs. Embury is a dear friend of mine--a +very, very dear friend--and I’d so gladly go to see her--and comfort +her--console with her--and try to cheer her up--but--well, I asked +her last night, over the telephone, to let me go to see her +to-day--and--she--she--” + +Mrs. Desternay’s pretty blue eyes filled with tears, and her pretty +lips quivered, and she dabbed a sheer little handkerchief here and there +on her countenance. Then she took up her babbling again. + +“Oh, I don’t mean she was unfriendly or--or cross, you know--but she +was a little--well, curt, almost--I might say, cool. And I’m one of +her dearest friends--and I can’t quite understand it.” + +“Perhaps you must make allowances for Mrs. Embury,” Shane suggested. +“Remember the sudden and mysterious death of her husband must have +been a fearful shock--” + +“Oh, terrible! Yes, indeed, I do appreciate all that! And of course +when I telephoned last evening, she had just had that long interview +with you--and your other detective, Mr. What’s-his-name--and--oh, yes, +Mr. Elliott answered my call and he told me just how things were--but +I did think dear Eunice would want to see me--but it’s all right--of +course, if she doesn’t want my sympathy. I’m the last one to intrude +on her grief! But she has no one--no one at all--except that old aunt, +who’s half foolish, I think--” + +“What do you mean, half foolish?” + +“Oh, she’s hipped over those psychic studies of hers, and she’s +all wrapped up in Spiritualism and occult thingamajigs--I don’t know +what you call ‘em.” + +“She seems to me a very sane and practical lady.” + +“In most ways--yes; but crazy on the subject of spooks, and mediums +and things like that! Oh, Mr. Shane, who do you suppose killed Mr. +Embury? How awful! To have a real murder right in one’s owns circle of +acquaintances--I had almost said friends--but dear Eunice doesn’t seem +to look on me as her friend--” + +The blue eyes made a bid for sympathy, and Shane, though not always at +ease in the presence of society ladies, met her half way. + +“Now, that’s a pity, Mrs. Desternay! I’m sure you’d be the +greatest help to her in her trouble.” + +Fifi Desternay raised her hands and let them fall with a pretty little +gesture of helplessness. She was a slip of a thing, and--it was the +morning of the day after the Embury tragedy--she was garbed in a scant +but becoming negligee, and had received the detective in her morning +room, where she sat, tucked into the corner of a great davenport sofa, +smoking cigarettes. + +Her little face was delicately made up, and her soft, fair hair was in +blobs over her ears. For the rest, the effect was mostly a rather low +V’d neck and somewhat evident silk stockings and beribboned mules. + +She continually pulled her narrow satin gown about her, and it as +continually slipped away from her lace petticoat, as she crossed and +recrossed her silken legs. + +She was entirely unself-conscious and yet, the detective felt +instinctively that she carefully measured every one of the words she so +carelessly uttered. + +“Well, Mr. Shane,” she said, suddenly, “we’re not getting +anywhere. Just exactly what did you come here for? What do you want of +me?” + +The detective was grateful for this assistance. + +“I came,” he stated, without hesitation, “to ask you about the +circumstances of the party which Mrs. Embury attended here night before +last, the night her husband--died.” + +“Oh, yes; let me see--there isn’t much to tell. Eunice Embury spent +the evening here--we had a game of cards--and, before supper was served, +Mr. Embury called for her and took her home--in their car. That’s all +I know about it.” + +“What was the card game?” + +“Bridge.” + +“For high stakes?” + +“Oh, mercy, no! We never really gamble!” The fluttering little hands +deprecated the very idea. “We have just a tiny stake--to--why, only to +make us play a better game. It does, you know.” + +“Yes’m. And what do you call a tiny stake? Opinions differ, you +know.” + +“And so do stakes!” The blue eyes flashed a warning. “Of course, +we don’t always play for the same. Indeed, the sum may differ at the +various tables. Are you prying into my private affairs?” + +“Only so far as I’m obliged to, ma’am. Never mind the bridge for +the moment. Was Mr. Embury annoyed with his wife--for any reason--when +he called to take her home?” + +“Now, how should I know that?” a pretty look of perplexity came into +the blue eyes. “I’m not a mind reader!” + +“You’re a woman! Was Mr. Embury put out?” + +Fifi laughed a ringing peal. “Was he?” she cried, as if suddenly +deciding to tell the truth. “I should say he was! Why, he was so mad I +was positively afraid of him!” + +“What did he say?” + +“That’s just it! He didn’t say anything! Oh, he spoke to me +pleasantly--he was polite, and all that, but I could see that he was +simply boiling underneath!” + +“You are a mind reader, then!” + +“I didn’t have to be, to see that!” The little figure rocked back +and forth on the sofa, as, with arms clasped round one knee, Fifi gave +way to a dramatic reconstruction of the scene. + +“‘Come, Eunice,’ he said, just like that! And you bet Eunice +went!” + +“Was she angry, too?” + +“Rather! Oh, you know her temper is something fierce! When she’s +roused, she’s like a roaring lion and a raging bear--as it says in the +Bible--or Shakespeare, or somewhere.”‘ + +“Speaking of Shakespeare, you and Mrs. Embury went to see ‘Hamlet’ +recently, I believe.” + +“Oh, yes; when the Avon Players put it on. Everybody went. Didn’t +you? You missed it, if you didn’t! Most marvelous performance. +‘Macbeth,’ too. That was perfectly darling! I went to that with--” + +“Excuse me. As to ‘Hamlet,’ now. Did you notice particularly the +speech about the poisoning of--” + +“Of Hamlet’s father! I should say I did! Why, that speech by Mr. +Postlewaite--he was ‘The Ghost,’ you know--was stunning, as much +applauded as the ‘Soliloquy’ itself! He fairly made you see that +poisoning scene!” + +“Was Mrs. Embury interested?” + +“Oh, we both were! We were at school together, and we both loved +Shakespeare--we took it ‘Special.’ And we were terribly interested +in the Avon Players’ ‘Hamlet’--it was unlike any representation we +had ever seen.” + +“Ah--yes; and did you--you and Mrs. Embury--discuss the poison used by +the wicked uncle?” + +“Not lately. But in class we discussed that--years ago--oh, that’s +one of the regulation Shakespearean puzzles. You can’t trip us up on +our Shakespeare--either of us! I doubt if you can find two frivolous +society women who know it better than we do!” + +“Did you know that Mr. Embury was killed in a manner identical with +the Hamlet murder?” + +“No! What do you mean? I’ve really not heard the details. As soon as +I heard of his death, I called up Eunice, but, as I said, she wasn’t +cordial at all. Then I was busy with my own guests after that--last +night and this morning--well, I’m really hardly awake yet!” + +Fifi rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand--a childish gesture, and +daintily smothered a slight yawn. + +“But I’m awfully interested,” she went on, “only--only I can’t +bear to hear about--a--murder! The details, I mean. I should think +Eunice would go crazy! I should think she’d be glad to come here--I +was going to ask her, when she called me down! But, what do you +mean--killed like Hamlet’s father?” + +“Yes; there was poison introduced into his ear as Mr. Embury +slept--” + +“Really! How tragic; How terrible! Who did it?” + +“That’s what we’re trying to discover. Could--do you think Mrs. +Embury could have had sufficient motive--” + +“Eunice!” Fifi screamed. “What an idea! Eunice Embury to kill her +own husband! Oh, no!” + +“But only she and that aunt of hers had opportunity. You know how +their bedrooms are?” + +“Oh, yes, I know. Miss Ames is using Eunice’s dressing-room--and a +nuisance it is, too.” + +“Then you know that at night those three bedrooms are shut off from +the rest of the house by strong bolts on the inside of the doors.” + +“Yes, I know.” + +“Then, don’t you see, as Mr. Embury was killed--the doctors say +about daybreak, or earlier--nobody could have done it except somebody +who was behind those locked doors.” + +“The windows?” + +“Tenth story, and no balconies. And, too, they all have flower-boxes, +except one, and the flowers were undisturbed. The one that hasn’t +a flower-box is on the side street, in Miss Ames’ room. And that--I +looked out myself--has no balcony, nor even a broad ledge. It couldn’t +be reached from the next apartment--if that’s what you’re thinking +of.” + +“I’m not thinking of anything,” returned Fifi. “I’m too dazed +to think! Eunice Embury! Do you mean she is really suspected?” + +“I mean that, very decidedly, ma’am. And I am here to ask you if you +can give any additional evidence, any--” + +“Any evidence! Evidence against my dear friend! Why, man, if I knew +anything, I wouldn’t tell it, if it would go against Eunice!” + +“Oh, yes, you would; the law would force you to. But do you know +anything definite?” + +“No, of course, I don’t! I know that Mr. and Mrs. Embury were not +always cooing like turtle-doves! She had the devil’s own temper--and +he wasn’t much better! I know he drove her frantic because he +wouldn’t give her some privileges she wanted--wouldn’t allow her +certain latitudes, and was generally pretty dictatorial. I know Eunice +resented this, and I know that lots of times she was pretty nearly at +the end of her rope, and she said all sorts of things--that, of course, +she didn’t mean--but she wouldn’t kill him! Oh, I don’t think she +would do that!” + +“H’m! So they lived like cats and dogs, did they?” + +“What an awful way to put it! But, well, Sanford didn’t make +Eunice’s life a bed of roses--nor did she go out of her way to please +him!” + +“Mr. Embury was often a guest here?” + +“He was not! Eunice came here, against his will--against his expressed +commands.” + +“Oho! She did! And her visit here night before last--that was an act +of insubordination?” + +“It was! I wouldn’t tell this--but it’s sure to come out. Yes, he +had especially and positively forbidden her to come to that party here, +and after he went to his club--Eunice ran away from home and came. +Naughty girl! She told us she had played hookey, when she first came +in! But, good gracious, Mr. Shane, that was no crime! In this day and +generation a wife may disobey her husband--and get away with it!” + +The arch little face smiled saucily, and Fifi cuddled into her corner, +and again fell a-thinking. + +“I can’t believe you really mean you think Eunice did it!” she +broke out. “Why, what are you going to do? Arrest her?” + +“Not quite. Although she is under strict surveillance at present.” + +“What! Can’t she go out, if she likes?” + +“No.” + +“How perfectly absurd! Oh, I’ve a notion to telephone and ask her to +go for a drive. What fun!” + +Shane looked at the mischievous face in astonishment. He was experienced +in human nature, but this shallow, frivolous attitude toward a tragedy +was new to him. + +“I thought you and Mrs. Embury were friends,” he said, reprovingly. + +“Oh, we are--Or rather, we were. I’m not sure I can know her--after +this! But, you see, I can’t take it seriously. I can’t really +believe you mean that you think Eunice--guilty! Why, I’d a thousand +times rather suspect the old aunt person!” + +“You would!” Shane spoke eagerly. “Could that be possible?” + +“It could be possible this way,” Fifi was serious now. “You see, +Miss Ames adores Eunice. She found it hard to forgive Sanford for his +tyrannical ways--and they were tyrannical. And Miss Ames might have, by +way of ridding Eunice from a cruel husband--might have--oh, I can’t +say it--it sounds too absurd! But, after all, it’s no more absurd than +to suspect Eunice. Why don’t you look for somebody else?” + +“How could anybody get in?” + +“I know,” impatiently; “but I’ve read detective stories, +and ‘most always, the murder is committed in what they call ‘a +hermetically sealed room,’ and yet somebody did get in!” + +“There’s no such thing as a hermetically sealed room! Don’t you +know what hermetically sealed means?” + +“Yes, of course I do, literally. But that phrase is used--in detective +stories, to mean an inaccessible room. Or a seemingly inaccessible one. +But always it comes out that it could be entered.” + +“That’s all very well in fiction, ma’am; but it won’t work in +this case. Why, I looked over those door locks myself. Nobody could get +in.” + +“Well, leaving aside the way they got in, let’s see whom we can +suspect. There’s two men that I know of who are dead in love with Mrs. +Embury--and I daresay there are a lot more, who can see a silver lining +in this cloud!” + +“What--what do you mean?” + +Shane was fascinated by the lovely personality of Mrs. Desternay, and +he began to think that she might be of some real help to him. Though a +skilled detective, he was of the plodding sort, and never had brilliant +or even original ideas. He had had a notion it would have been better to +send Driscoll on this errand he was himself attempting, but a touch of +jealousy of the younger and more quick-witted man made him determine to +attend to Mrs. Desternay himself. + +“Well, Mr. Stupid, if you were in the presence of Mrs. Embury and Mr. +Elliott and Mr. Hendricks,--as you said you were--and didn’t size +up how matters stand with those two men, you are a queer sort of +detective!” + +Her light laughter rippled pleasantly, and Shane forgave her reproof by +reason of her charm. + +“Both of them?” he said, helplessly. + +“Yes, sir, both of them!” She mimicked his tone. “You see, Mr. +Shane, it’s an old romance, all ‘round. When Eunice Ames was a girl, +three men fought for her hand, the two we’ve just mentioned, and Mr. +Embury, who was the successful suitor. And he succeeded only by sheer +force of will. He practically stole her from the other two and married +her out of hand.” + +“I suppose the lady agreed?” + +“Of course, but it was a marriage in haste, and--I imagine that it was +followed by the proverbial consequences.” + +“What do you mean?” asked the dull-witted Shane. + +“That they repented at leisure. At least, Eunice did--I don’t +believe Sanford ever regretted.” + +“But those two men are Embury’s friends.” + +“Sure they are! Oh, friend Shane, were you born yesterday? I thought +detectives were a little more up-to-date than that! Of course, they’re +all friends, always have been, since they made mud-pies together in +their Boston backyards.” + +“Did you belong to that childish group? + +“Me? Lord, no! I’m Simon Pure Middle West! And I glory in it! I’d +hate to be of New England descent--you have to live up to traditions and +things! I’m a law unto myself, when it comes to life and living!” + +“And you met Mrs. Embury?” + +“At boarding-school. We spent four years together--chums, and all +that. Then after we were both married, we drifted together again, here +in New York--and somehow Eunice’s husband didn’t take to poor +little Fifi one bit! I wonder why!” + +Her look of injured innocence was charming, and Shane had to make an +effort to keep to the subject in hand. + +“So those two men admire Mrs. Embury?” + +“Admire is a silly word! They adore her--they worship the ground she +walks on! They are, no doubt, decently decorous at the passing of their +old friend, but as soon as the funeral baked meats are cold enough, look +out for a marriage table on which to serve them!” + +“Did--did Mr. Embury realize that his friends so admired his wife?” + +“Probably. Yes, of course, he did. But he didn’t care. She was +his--she gave them no encouragement--such things aren’t done--” +Fifi’s eyes rolled upward--“and, I only tell you, to show you that +there are, at least, other directions in which to look!” + +“But--let me see--Mr. Hendricks was in Boston at the time of Mr. +Embury’s death.” + +“Then that lets him out. And Mr. Elliott? Where was he?” + +“I haven’t made definite inquiry. Probably he--” + +“Probably he has an alibi! Oh, yes, of course he has! And if he killed +Sanford Embury, he’s more likely than ever to have a fine alibi! Look +here, Mr. Shane, I believe I could give you cards and spades and beat +you at your little detective games!” + +“You mix me all up, with your ridiculous suggestions!” Shane tried +to speak sternly, but was forced to smile at the roguish, laughing face +that mocked him. + +“All right, play your own game. I tried to help, by suggesting more +suspects--in a multitude of suspects there is safety--for our dear +Eunice! And she never did it! If you can’t contrive a way for either +of those two men to get through those bolted doors, then turn your eagle +eyes toward Aunt Abby! She’s a queer Dick--if you ask me, and Eunice +Embury--well, I admit I resent her coolness last night, but I freely own +up that I think her incapable of such a crime.” + +“But you two discussed the poisoning business in the play--” + +“We did. But we discussed lots of other points about that play and +compared it with other presentations we have seen, and, oh, you’re too +absurd to hang a murder on that woman, just because she saw a murder on +the stage--or rather heard the description of one!” + +“But that’s the coincidence! She did hear that murder described +fully. She did talk it over with you. She did show a special interest in +it. Then, a week or so later, her husband is killed by identically +the same method. She, and she alone--except for a mild old lady--has +opportunity to do the deed; the instrument of death is found in her +cupboard; and she flies into a rage at the first hint of accusation, of +the crime! By the way, if as you hint, one of those men did it, would +they leave the medicine dropper that conveyed the poison, in Mrs. +Embury’s rooms. Would they want to bring suspicion against the woman +they love? Answer me that?” + +“There might be another solution,” Fifi nodded her wise little head +thoughtfully. “Perhaps whoever did it, tried to throw suspicion on +Miss Ames.” + +“That makes him a still more despicable villain. To implicate falsely +a harmless old lady--no, I can’t think that.” + +“Yet you think Mrs. Embury did!” + +“I don’t know. Perhaps the two women worked in collusion. Or Miss +Ames might have wakened and learned the truth, and agreed to keep the +secret. In fact, Miss Ames confessed that she did the murder, but we +know she was not telling the truth then. However, she knows who did do +it--I’ve no doubt of that. Well, Mrs. Desternay, I can’t subscribe +to your original, if rather impossible, suggestions, but I thank you for +this interview, and I may say you have helped me.” + +“I have? How? Not against Eunice?” + +“Never mind, ma’am, I must get off by myself, and straighten out my +notes, and see where I stand. Are you going to telephone to Mrs. Embury +again?” + +“No!” and the little head was tossed proudly. “If she wants me, +let her call me up. I did my part, now I’ll subside. And, too--if +she is--is--oh, I can’t say it! But I’ll wait further developments +before I decide just where I stand in regard to Eunice Embury!” + +Chapter XII In Hanlon’s Office + +In an office building, away downtown, a little old lady stood in the +lobby studying the great bulletin board of room numbers. + +“Can I help you, ma’am?” asked the elevator starter, seeing her +perplexity. + +“I want Sykes and Barton, Scenic Sign Painters,” she said, +positively enough; “but there are so many S’s, I can’t seem to +find them!” + +“All right, ma’am; here they are. Sixth floor, Room 614.” + +“Thank you,” the old lady said, and entered the elevator he +indicated. + +She seemed preoccupied, and made no move to leave the car, until the +elevator man spoke to her twice. + +“This is the floor you want, lady,” he said. “Room 614. That way, +just round that first corner.” + +Miss Ames started off in the way he pointed, and stood for a moment in +front of the door numbered 614. + +Then, with a determined shake of her thin shoulders, she opened the door +and walked in. + +“I want to see Mr. Hanlon,” she said to the girl at the first desk. + +“By appointment?” + +“No; but say it is Miss Ames--he’ll see me.” + +“Why, Miss Ames, how do you do?” and the man who had so interested +the beholders of his feat in Newark came forward to greet her. “Come +right into my office,” and he led her to an inner room. “Now, +what’s it all about?” + +The cheery reception set his visitor at ease, and she drew a long breath +of relief as she settled herself in the chair he offered. + +“Oh, Mr. Hanlon, I’m so frightened--or, at least, I was. It’s all +so noisy and confusing down here! Why, I haven’t been downtown in New +York for twenty years!” + +“That so? Then I must take you up on our roof and show you a few of +the skyscrapers--” + +“No, no, I’ve not time for anything like that. Oh, Mr. +Hanlon--you--have you read in the papers of our--our trouble?” + +“Yes,” and the young man spoke gravely, “I have, Miss Ames. Just a +week ago to-day, wasn’t it?” + +“Yes; and they’re no nearer a solution of the mystery than ever. +And, oh, Mr. Hanlon, they’re still suspecting Eunice--Mrs. Embury--and +I must save her! She didn’t do it--truly she didn’t, and--I think I +did.” + +“What!” + +“Yes, I truly think so. But I wasn’t myself, you know--I +was--hypnotized--” + +“Hypnotized! By whom?” + +“I don’t know--by some awful person who wanted Sanford dead, I +suppose.” + +“But that’s ridiculous, Miss Ames--” + +“No, it isn’t. I’m a very easy subject--” + +“Have you ever been hypnotized?” + +“Not very successfully. But no real hypnotizer ever tried it. I’m +sure, though, I’d be a perfect subject--I’m so--so psychic, you +know--” + +“Bosh and nonsense! You know, Miss Ames, what I think of that sort of +thing! You know how I played on people’s gullibility when I used to do +that fake ‘thought-transference’--” + +“I know, Mr. Hanlon,” and Miss Ames was very earnest, “but, +and this is why I’m here--you told me that in all the foolery +and hocus-pocus there was, you believed, two per cent of genuine +telepathy--two per cent of genuine communication with spirits of the +dead.” + +“But I said that merely in a general way, Miss Ames. I didn’t mean +to say it was a proven proposition--” + +“That isn’t the point--you told me there were a few--a very few +real, sincere mediums--now I’m here to get the address of the best one +you know of. I want to go to him--or her--and have a séance, and I want +to get into communication with Sanford--with Mr. Embury’s spirit, +and learn from him who killed him. It’s the only way we can ever find +out.” + +Miss Ames’ gray eyes took on a strange look; she seemed half +hypnotized at the moment, as she looked at Hanlon. He moved +uncomfortably under her gaze. + +“Well,” he said, at length, “I can give you the address of the +best--the only real medium I know. That I will do with pleasure, but +I cannot guarantee his bringing about a materialization of--of Mr. +Embury.” + +“Never mind about materialization, if he can get in touch and get +a message for me. You see--I haven’t said much about this--but Mr. +Embury’s spirit appeared to me as--as he died.” + +“What?” + +“Yes; just at the moment his soul passed from earth, his astral body +passed by me and paused at my bedside for a farewell.” + +“You amaze me! You are indeed psychic. Tell me about it.” + +“No; I won’t tell you the story--I’ll tell the medium. But I know +I saw him--why, he was discernible to all my five senses--” + +“To your senses! Then it was no spirit!” + +“Oh, yes, it was. Sanford’s body still lay on his own bed, but +his passing spirit materialized sufficiently for me to see it--to hear +it--to feel it.” + +“Miss Ames, you mustn’t go to a medium! You are too imaginative--too +easily swayed--don’t go, dear lady, it can do no good.” + +Young Hanlon looked, as he felt, very solicitous for the aged spinster, +and he cast an anxious glance at her disturbed face. + +“I must,” she insisted; “it is the only way. I had great trouble +to find you, Mr. Hanlon. I had to communicate with Mr. Mortimer, in +Newark--and at last we traced you here. Are you all through with your +fake tricks?” + +“Yes,” Hanlon laughed. “I wore them out. I’ve gone into a +legitimate business.” + +“Sign painting?” + +“Yes, as you see.” + +“But such big signs!” and the old lady’s eyes wandered to +photographs and sketches of enormous scenic signs, such as are painted +on high buildings or built on housetops. + +“That’s the specialty of this firm. I’m only learning, but it +strongly appeals to me. It’s really more of an art than a trade. Now, +as to this man you want to see, Miss Ames, I’ll give you his address, +but I beg of you to think it over before you visit him. Consult with +some one--not Mrs. Embury--some man, of good judgment and clear mind. +Who is advising you?” + +“Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Elliott--you saw them both the day you were at +our house--they advise my niece and myself in all matters. Shall I ask +them?” + +Miss Abby was pathetic in her simple inquiry, and Hanlon spoke gently as +he replied. + +“Yes, if you are determined to try the experiment. But I do not advise +you to see Mr. Marigny, the medium I spoke of. Here is the address, but +you talk it over with those two men you mentioned. I know they are both +practical, logical business men, and their advice on the subject will be +all right. I thank you, Miss Ames, for honoring me with a call. I hope +if you do go to see Marigny, it will prove a satisfactory séance, but I +also hope you will decide not to go. You are, as I said, too emotional, +too easily swayed by the supernatural to go very deeply into those +mysteries. Shall I take you to the elevator?” + +“If you please, Mr. Hanlon,” and still in that half oblivious mood, +Miss Ames allowed herself to be led through the halls. + +Hanlon went down with her, for he feared to leave her to her own +devices. He was relieved to find she had a taxicab in waiting, and as he +put her into it, he cautioned the driver to take his fare straight home. + +“But I want to go to Marigny’s now,” objected Miss Ames, as she +heard what Hanlon said. + +“Oh, you can’t. You must make an appointment with him--by mail or by +telephone. And, too, you promised me you’d put it up to Mr. Hendricks +or Mr. Elliott first.” + +“So I did,” and the old head nodded submissively, as the taxi drove +away. + +When Ferdinand admitted Aunt Abby to the Embury home, she heard voices +in the living-room that were unmistakably raised in anger. + +“You know perfectly well, Fifi,” Eunice was saying, “that your +little bridge games are quite big enough to be called a violation of the +law--you know that such stakes as you people play for--” + +“It isn’t the size of the stake that makes gambling!” Fifi +Desternay cried, shrilly; “I’ve had the advice of a lawyer, and +he says that as long as it’s my own home and the players are invited +guests, there’s no possibility of being--” + +“Raided!” said Eunice, scathingly. “Might as well call things by +their real name!” + +“Hush up! Some of the servants might hear you! How unkind you are to +me, Eunice. You used to love your little Fifi!” + +“Well, she doesn’t now!” said Miss Ames, tartly, as she came in. +“You see, Mrs. Desternay, you have been instrumental in bringing our +dear Eunice under a dreadful, and absolutely unfounded suspicion--” + +“Dreadful, but far from unfounded!” declared Mrs. Desternay, her +little hands uplifted, and her pretty face showing a scornful smile. +“You and I, Aunt Abby, know what our dear Eunice’s temper is--” + +“Don’t you ‘Aunt Abby’ me, you good-for-nothing little piece! I +am surprised Eunice allows you in this house!” + +“Now, now--if Eunice doesn’t want me, I’ll get out--and jolly well +glad to do so! How about it, Eunice? I came here to help, but if I’m +not wanted--out goes little Fifi!” + +She rose, shaking her fur stole into place about her dainty person, and, +whipping out a tiny mirror from her vanity case, she applied a rouge +stick to her already scarlet lips. + +“No--no--” and Eunice wailed despairingly. “Don’t go, Fifi, +I--oh, I don’t know how I feel toward you! You see--I will speak +plainly--you see, it was my acquaintance with you that caused the +trouble--mostly--between me and San.” + +“Thought it was money matters--his stinginess, you know.” + +“He wasn’t stingy! He wouldn’t give me an allowance, but he was +generous in every other way. And that’s why--” + +“Why you came to my ‘gambling house’ to try to pick up a little +ready cash! I know. But now looky here, Eunice, you’ve got to +decide--either you’re with me or agin me! I won’t have any blow +hot, blow cold! You’re friends with Fifi Desternay--or--she’s your +enemy!” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Just what I say! You like me, you’ve always liked me. Now, stand by +me, and I’ll stand by you.” + +“How?” + +“You think I can’t! Well, madame, you’re greatly mistaken! That +big blundering fool of a detective person has been to see me--” + +“Shane?” + +“The same. And--he grilled me pretty thoroughly as to our going to see +‘Hamlet’ and whether we talked the poison scene over--and so forth +and so on. In a word, Eunice Embury, I hold your life in my hands!” + +Fifi held out her pretty little hands, dramatically. She still stood, +her white fur scarf hanging from one shoulder, her small turban of red +breast feathers cocked at a jaunty angle above her straight brows, and +one tiny slippered foot tapping decidedly on the floor. + +“Yes, ma’am, in my two hands,--me--Fifi! If I tell all we said about +that poisoning of the old ‘Hamlet’ gentleman, through his ear--you +know what we said, Eunice Embury--you know how we discussed the +impossibility of such a murder ever being discovered--you know if I +should give Shane a full account of that talk of ours--the life of +Madame Embury wouldn’t be worth that!” + +A snap of a dainty thumb and finger gave a sharp click that went +straight through Eunice’s brain, and made her gasp out a frightened +“Oh!” + +“Yes, ma’am, oh! all you like to--you can’t deny it! Shane came +to see me three times. I almost told him all the last time, for you +steadily refused to see me--until to-day. And now, to-day, I put it to +you, Eunice Embury, do you want me for friend--or foe?” + +Fifi’s blue eyes glittered, her red lips closed in a tight line, +and her little pointed face was as the face of a wicked sprite. Eunice +stood, surveying her. Tall, stately, beautiful, she towered above her +guest, and looked down on her with a fine disdain. + +Eunice’s eyes were stormy, not glittering--desperate rather than +defiant--she seemed almost like a fierce, powerful tiger appraising a +small but very wily ferret. + +“Is this a bargain?” she cried scathingly. “Are you offering to +buy my friendship? I know you, Fifi Desternay! You are--a snake in the +grass!” + +Fifi clenched her little fists, drew her lips between her teeth, and +fairly hissed, “Serpent, yourself! Murderess! I know all--and I shall +tell all! You’ll regret the day you scorned the friendship--the help +of Fifi Desternay!” + +“I don’t want your help, at the price of friendship with you! I know +you for what you are! My husband told me--others have told me! I did go +to your house for the sake of winning money--yes, and I am ashamed of +it! And I am ready to face any accusation, brave any suspicion, rather +than be shielded from it, or helped out of it by you!” + +“Fine words! but they mean nothing! You know you’re justly accused! +You know you’re rightly suspected! But you are clever--you also +know that no jury, in this enlightened age, will ever convict a woman! +Especially a beautiful woman! You know you are safe from even the +lightest sentence--and that though you are guilty--yes, guilty of the +murder of your husband, you will get off scot free, because”--Fifi +paused to give her last shot telling effect--“because your counsel, +Alvord Hendricks, is in love with you! He will manage it, and what he +can’t accomplish, Mason Elliott can! With those two influential +men, both in love with you, you can’t be convicted--and probably you +won’t even be arrested!” + +“Go!” said Eunice, and she folded her arms as she gazed at her angry +antagonist. “Go! I scorn to refute or even answer your words.” + +“Because they’re true! Because there is no answer!” Fifi fairly +screamed. “You think you’re a power! Because you’re tall and +statuesque and stunning! You know if those men can’t keep you out of +the court-room at least you are safe in the hands of any judge or jury, +because they are men! You know if you smile at them--pathetically--if +you cast those wonderful eyes of yours at them, they’ll grovel at your +feet! I know you, Eunice Embury! You’re banking on your femininity to +save you from your just fate.” + +“You judge me by yourself, Fifi. You are a power among men, most women +are, but I do not bank on that--” + +“Not alone! You bank on the fact that either Hendricks or Elliott +would go through hell for you, and count it an easy journey. You rest +easy in the knowledge that those two men can do just about anything they +set their minds to--” + +“Will you go?” + +“Yes, I will go. And when Mr. Shane comes to see me again, I will tell +him the truth--all the truth about the’ Hamlet’ play--and--it will +be enough!” + +“Tell him!” Eunice’s eyes blazed now. “Tell him the truth--and +add to it whatever lies your clever brain can invent! Do your worst Fifi +Desternay; I am not afraid of you!” + +“I am going, Eunice.” Fifi moved slowly toward the door. “I shall +tell the truth, but I shall add no lies--that will not be necessary!” + +She disappeared, and Eunice stood, panting with excitement and +indignation. + +Aunt Abby came toward her. The old lady had been a witness of the whole +scene--had, indeed, tried several times to utter a word of pacification, +but neither of the women had so much as noticed her. + +“Go away, Auntie, please,” said Eunice. “I can’t talk to you. +I’m expecting Mason at any time now, and I want to get calmed down a +little.” + +Miss Ames went to her room, and Eunice sat down on the davenport. + +She sat upright, tensely quiet, and thought over all Fifi had said--all +she had threatened. + +“It would have been far better,” Eunice told herself, “for +my cause if I had held her friendship. And I could have done it, +easily--but--Fifi’s friendship would be worse than her enmity!” + +When Mason Elliott came, Detective Driscoll was with him. + +The net of the detectives was closing in around Eunice, and though both +Elliott and Hendricks--as Fifi had truly surmised--were doing all in +their power, the dénouement was not far off--Eunice was in imminent +danger of arrest at any moment. + +“We’ve been talking about the will--Sanford’s will,” Elliott +said, in a dreary tone, after the callers were seated, “and, Eunice, +Mr. Driscoll chooses to think that the fact that San left practically +everything to you, without any restraint in the way of trustees, or +restriction of any sort, is another count against you.” + +Eunice smiled bravely. “But that isn’t news,” she said; “we all +knew that my husband made me his sole--or rather principal--beneficiary. +I know the consensus of opinion is that I murdered my husband that I +might have his money--and full control of it. This is no new element.” + +“No;” said Driscoll, moved by the sight of the now patient, gentle +face; “no; but we’ve added a few more facts--and look here, Mrs. +Embury, it’s this way. I’ve doped it out that there are five +persons who could possibly have committed this--this crime. I’ll speak +plainly, for you have continually permitted me--even urged me to do so. +Well, let us say Sanford Embury could have been killed by anyone of a +certain five. And they size up like this: Mr. Elliott, here, and Mr. +Alvord Hendricks may be said to have had motive but no opportunity.” + +“Motive?” said Eunice, in a tone of deepest possible scorn. + +“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Elliott, now, is an admirer of yours--don’t +look offended, please; I’m speaking very seriously. It is among the +possibilities that he wanted your husband out of his way.” + +Mason Elliott listened to this without any expression of annoyance. +Indeed, he had heard this argument of Driscoll’s before, and it +affected him not at all. + +“But, Mrs. Embury, Mr. Elliott had no opportunity. We have learned +beyond all doubt that he was at his club or at his home all that night. +Next, Mr. Hendricks had a motive. The rival candidates were both eager +for election, and we must call that a motive for Mr. Hendricks to +be willing to remove his opponent. But again, Mr. Hendricks had no +opportunity. He was in Boston from the afternoon of the day before +Mr. Embury’s death until noon of the next day. That lets him out +positively. Therefore, there are two with motives but no opportunity. +Next, we must admit there were two who had opportunity, but no motive. +I refer to Ferdinand, your butler, and Miss Ames, your aunt. These two +could have managed to commit the deed, had they chosen, but we can find +no motive to attribute to either of them. It has been suggested that +Miss Ames might have had such a desire to rid you, Mrs. Embury, of a +tyrannical husband, that she was guilty. But it is so highly improbable +as to be almost unbelievable. + +“Therefore, as I sum it up, the two who had motive without +opportunity, and the two who had opportunity without motive, must all +be disregarded, because of the one who had motive and opportunity both. +Yourself, Mrs. Embury.” + +The arraignment was complete. Driscoll’s quiet, even tones carried a +sort of calm conviction. + +“And so, Eunice,” Mason Elliott spoke up, “I’m going to try one +more chance. I’ve persuaded Mr. Driscoll to wait a day or two before +progressing any further, and let me get Fleming Stone on this case.” + +“Very well,” said Eunice, listlessly. “Who is he?” + +“A celebrated detective. Mr. Driscoll makes no objection--which goes +to prove what a good detective he is himself. His partner, Mr. Shane, is +not so willing, but has grudgingly consented. In fact, they couldn’t +help themselves, for they are not quite sure that they have enough +evidence to arrest you. Shane thinks that Stone will find out more, and +so strengthen the case against you but Driscoll, bless him! thinks maybe +Stone can find another suspect.” + +“I didn’t exactly say I thought that, Mr. Elliott,” said Driscoll. +“I said I hoped it.” + +“We all hope it,” returned Elliott. + +“Hope while you may,” and Driscoll sighed. “Fleming Stone has +never failed to find the criminal yet. And if his findings verify mine, +I shall be glad to put the responsibility on his shoulders.” + +Chapter XIII Fleming Stone + +One of the handsomest types of American manhood is that rather +frequently seen combination of iron-gray hair and dark, deep-set eyes +that look out from under heavy brows with a keen, comprehensive glance. + +This type of man is always a thinker, usually a professional man, and +almost invariably a man of able brain. He is nearly always well-formed, +physically, and of good carriage and demeanor. + +At any rate, Fleming Stone was all of these things, and when he came +into the Embury living-room his appearance was in such contrast to +that of the other two detectives that Eunice greeted him with a pleased +smile. + +Neither Shane nor Driscoll was present, and Mason Elliott introduced +Stone to the two ladies, with a deep and fervent hope that the great +detective could free Eunice from the cloud of danger and disgrace that +hovered above her head. + +His magnetic smile was so attractive that Aunt Abby nodded her head in +complete approval of the newcomer. + +“And now tell me all about everything,” Stone said, as they seated +themselves in a cozy group. “I know the newspaper facts, but that’s +all. I must do my work quite apart from the beaten track, and I want any +sidelights or bits of information that your local detectives may have +overlooked and which may help us.” + +“You don’t think Eunice did it, do you, Mr. Stone?” Aunt Abby +broke out, impulsively, quite forgetting the man was a comparative +stranger. + +“I am going to work on the theory that she did not,” he declared. +“Then we will see what we can scare up in the way of evidence against +some one else. First, give me a good look at those doors that shut off +the bedrooms.” + +With a grave face, Fleming Stone studied the doors, which, as he saw, +when bolted on the inside left no means of access to the three rooms in +which the family had slept. + +“Except the windows,” Stone mused, and went to look at them. As they +all had window boxes, save one in Aunt Abby’s room, and as that was +about a hundred feet from the ground, he dismissed the possibility of an +intruder. + +“Nobody could climb over the plants without breaking them,” said +Eunice, with a sigh at the inevitable deduction. + +Stone looked closely at the plants, kept in perfect order by Aunt +Abby, who loved the work, and who tended them every day. Not a leaf +was crushed, not a stem broken, and the scarlet geranium blossoms +stood straight up like so many mute witnesses against any burglarious +entrance. + +Stone returned to Aunt Abby’s side window, and leaning over the sill +looked out and down to the street below. + +“Couldn’t be reached even by firemen’s ladders,” he said, +“and, anyway, the police would have spotted any ladder work.” + +“I tried to think some one came in at that window,” said Elliott, +“but even so, nobody could go through Miss Ames’ room, and then +Mrs. Embury’s room, and so on to Mr. Embury’s room--do his deadly +work--and return again, without waking the ladies--” + +“Not only that, but how could he get in the window?” said +Eunice. “There’s no possible way of climbing across from the next +apartment--oh, I’m honest with myself,” she added, as Stone +looked at her curiously. “I don’t deceive myself by thinking +impossibilities could happen. But somebody killed my husband, +and--according to the detectives--I am the only one who had both motive +and opportunity!” + +“Had you a motive, Mrs. Embury?” Stone asked, quietly. + +Eunice stared at him. “They say so,” she replied. “They say I was +unhappy with him.” + +“And were you?” The very directness of Stone’s pertinent questions +seemed to compel Eunice’s truthful answers, and she said: + +“Of course I was! But that--” + +“Eunice, hush!” broke in Elliott, with a pained look. “Don’t say +such things, dear, it can do no good, and may injure your case.” + +“Not with me,” Stone declared. “My work has led me rather +intimately into people’s lives, and I am willing to go on record +as saying that fifty per cent of marriages are unhappy--more or less. +Whether that is a motive for murder depends entirely on the temper and +temperament of the married ones themselves. But--it is very rarely that +a wife kills her husband.” + +“Why, there are lots of cases in the papers,” said Miss Ames. “And +never are the women convicted, either!” + +“Oh, not lots of cases,” objected Stone, “but the few that do +occur are usually tragic and dramatic and fill a front page for a few +days. Now, let’s sift down this remarkably definite statement of +‘motives and opportunities’ that your eminent detectives have +catalogued. I’m told that they’ve two people with motive and no +opportunity; two more with opportunity and no motive; and one--Mrs. +Embury--who fulfills both requirements! Quite an elaborate schedule, to +be sure!” + +Eunice looked at him with a glimmer of hope. Surely a man who talked +like that didn’t place implicit reliance on the schedule in question. + +“And yet,” Stone went on, “it is certainly true. A motive is a +queer thing--an elusive, uncertain thing. They say--I have this from the +detectives themselves-that Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Elliott both had the +motive of deep affection for Mrs. Embury. Please don’t be offended, I +am speaking quite impersonally, now. Mr. Hendricks, I am advised, also +had a strong motive in a desire to remove a rival candidate for an +important election. But--neither of these gentlemen had opportunity, +as each has proven a perfect and indubitable alibi. I admit the +alibis--I’ve looked into them, and they are unimpeachable--but I +don’t admit the motives. Granting a man’s affection for a married +woman, it is not at all a likely thing for him to kill her husband.” + +“Right, Mr. Stone!” and Mason Elliott’s voice rang out in honest +appreciation. + +“Again, it is absurd to suspect one election candidate of killing +another. It isn’t done--and one very good reason is, that if the +criminal should be discovered, he has small chance for the election he +coveted. And there is always a chance--and a strong one--that ‘murder +will out’! So, personally, I admit I don’t subscribe entirely to the +cut-and-dried program of my esteemed colleagues. Now, as to these two +people with opportunity but no motive. They are, I’m told, Miss Ames +and the butler. Very well, I grant their opportunity--but since they are +alleged to have no motive, why consider them at all? This brings us to +Mrs. Embury.” + +Eunice was watching the speaker, fascinated. She had never met a man +like this before. Though Stone’s manner was by no means flippant, he +seemed to take a light view of some aspects of the case. But now, he +looked at Eunice very earnestly. + +“I am informed,” he went on, slowly, “that you have an +ungovernable temper, Mrs. Embury.” + +“Nothing of the sort!” Eunice cried, tossing her head defiantly and +turning angry eyes on the bland detective. “I am supposed to be unable +to control myself, but it is not true! As a child I gave way to fits of +temper, I acknowledge, but I have overcome that tendency, and I am no +more hot-tempered now than other people!” + +As always, when roused, Eunice looked strikingly beautiful, her eyes +shone and her cheeks showed a crimson flush. She drew herself up +haughtily, and clenching her hands on the back of a chair, as she stood +facing Stone, she said, “If you have come here to browbeat me--to +discuss my personal characteristics, you may go! I’ve no intention of +being brought to book by a detective!” + +“Why, Eunice, don’t talk that way,” begged Aunt Abby. “I’m +sure Mr. Stone is trying to get you freed from the awful thing that is +hanging over you!” + +“There’s no awful thing hanging over me! I don’t know what you +mean, Aunt Abby! There can’t be anything worse than to have a stranger +come in here and remark on my unfortunate weakness in sometimes giving +way to my sense of righteous indignation! I resent it! I won’t have +it! Mason, you brought Mr. Stone here--now take him away!” + +“There, there, Eunice, you are not quite yourself, and I don’t +wonder. This scene is too much for you. I’m sure you will make +allowance, Mr. Stone, for Mrs. Embury’s overwrought nerves--” + +“Of course,” and Fleming Stone spoke coldly, without sympathy or +even apparent interest. “Let Mrs. Embury retire to her room, if she +wishes.” + +They had all returned to the big living-room, and Stone stood near a +front window, now and then glancing out to the trees in Park Avenue +below. + +“I don’t want to retire to my room!” Eunice cried. “I don’t +want to be set aside as if I were a child! I did want Mr. Stone to +investigate this whole matter, but I don’t now--I’ve changed my +mind! Mason, tell him to go away!” + +“No, dear,” and Elliott looked at her kindly, “you can’t change +your mind like that. Mr. Stone has the case, and he will go on with it +and when you come to yourself again, you will be glad, for he will free +you from suspicion by finding the real criminal.” + +“I don’t want him to! I don’t want the criminal found! I want it +to be an unsolved mystery, always and forever!” + +“No;” Elliott spoke more firmly. “No, Eunice, that is not what you +want.” + +“Stop! I know what I want--without your telling me! You overstep your +privileges, Mason! I’m not an imbecile, to be ignored, set aside, +overruled! I won’t stand it! Mr. Stone, you are discharged!” + +She stood, pointing to the door with a gesture that would have been +melodramatic, had she not been so desperately in earnest. The soft black +sleeve fell away from her soft white arm, and her out-stretched hand was +steady and unwavering as she stood silent, but quivering with suppressed +rage. + +“Eunice,” and going to her, Elliott took the cold white hand in his +own. “Eunice,” he said, and no more, but his eyes looked deeply into +hers. + +She gazed steadily for a moment, and then her face softened, and she +turned aside, and sank wearily into a chair. + +“Do as you like,” she said, in a low murmur. “I’ll leave it to +you, Mason. Let Mr. Stone go ahead.” + +“Yes, go ahead, Mr. Stone,” said Aunt Abby, eagerly. “I’ll show +you anywhere you want to go--anything you want to see I’ll tell you +all about it.” + +“Why, do you know anything I haven’t been told, Miss Ames? I thought +we had pretty well sized up the situation.” + +“Yes, but I can tell you something that nobody else will listen to, +and I think you will.” + +Eunice started up again. “Aunt Abby,” she said, “if you begin that +pack of fool nonsense about a vision, I’ll leave the room--I vow I +will!” + +“Leave, then!” retorted Aunt Abby, whose patience was also under a +strain. + +But Stone said, “Wait, please, I want a few more matters mentioned, +and then, Miss Ames, I will listen to your ‘fool nonsense!’ First, +what is this talk about money troubles between Mr. and Mrs. Embury?” + +“That,” Eunice seemed interested, “is utter folly. My husband +objected to giving me a definite allowance, but he gave me twice the +sum I would have asked for, and more, too, by letting me have charge +accounts everywhere I chose.” + +“Then you didn’t kill him for that reason?” and the dark eyes of +the detective rested on Eunice kindly. + +“No; I did not!” she said, curtly, and Stone returned, + +“I believe you, Mrs. Embury; if you were the criminal, that was not +the motive. Next,” he went on, “what about this quarrel you and Mr. +Embury had the night before his death?” + +“That was because I had disobeyed his express orders,” Eunice said, +frankly and bravely, “and I went to a bridge game at a house to which +he had forbidden me to go. I am sorry--and I wish I could tell him +so.” + +Fleming Stone looked at her closely. Was she sincere or was she merely a +clever actress? + +“A game for high stakes, I assume,” he said quietly. + +“Very high. Mr. Embury objected strongly to my playing there, but I +went, hoping to win some money that I wanted.” + +“That you wanted? For some particular purpose?” + +“No; only that I might have a few dollars in my purse, as other women +do. It all comes back to the same old quarrel, Mr. Stone. You don’t +know--I can’t make you understand--how humiliating, how galling it is +for a woman to have no money of her own! Nobody understands--but I have +been subjected to shame and embarrassment hundreds of times for the want +of a bit of ready money!” + +“I think I do understand, Mrs. Embury. I know how hard it must have +been for a proud woman to have that annoyance. Did Mr. Embury object to +the lady who was your hostess that evening?” + +“Yes, he did. Mrs. Desternay is an old school friend of mine, but Mr. +Embury never liked her, and he objected more strenuously because she had +the bridge games.” + +“And the lady’s attitude toward you?” + +“Fifi? Oh, I don’t know. We’ve always been friends, generally +speaking, but we’ve had quarrels now and then--sometimes we’d be +really intimate, and then again, we wouldn’t speak for six weeks at +a time. Just petty tiffs, you know, but they seemed serious at the +time.” + +“I see. Hello, here’s McGuire!” + +Ferdinand, with a half-apologetic look, ushered in a boy, with red hair, +and a very red face. He was a freckled youth, and his bright eyes showed +quick perception as they darted round the room, and came to rest on Miss +Ames, on whom he smiled broadly. “This is my assistant,” Stone said, +casually; “his name is Terence McGuire, and he is an invaluable help. +Anything doing, son?” + +“Not partickler. Kin I sit and listen?” + +Clearly the lad was embarrassed, probably at the unaccustomed luxury of +his surroundings and the presence of so many high-bred strangers. For +Terence, or Fibsy, as he was nicknamed, was a child of the streets, and +though a clever assistant to Fleming Stone in his career, the boy seldom +accompanied his employer to the homes of the aristocracy. When he did +do so, he was seized with a shyness that was by no means evident when he +was in his more congenial surroundings. + +He glanced bashfully at Eunice, attracted by her beauty, but afraid to +look at her attentively. He gazed at Mason Elliott with a more frank +curiosity; and then he cast a furtive look at Aunt Abby, who was herself +smiling at him. + +It was a genial, whole-souled smile, for the old lady had a soft spot in +her heart for boys, and was already longing to give him some fruit and +nuts from the sideboard. + +Fibsy seemed to divine her attitude, and he grinned affably, and was +more at his ease. + +But he sat quietly while the others went on discussing the details of +the case. + +Eunice was amazed at such a strange partner for the great man, but she +quickly thought that a street urchin like that could go to places and +learn of side issues in ways which the older man could not compass so +conveniently. + +Presently Fibsy slipped from his seat, and quietly went into the +bedrooms. + +Eunice raise her eyebrows slightly, but Fleming Stone, observing, said, +“Don’t mind, Mrs. Embury. The lad is all right. I’ll vouch for +him.” + +“A queer helper,” remarked Elliott. + +“Yes; but very worth-while. I rely on him in many ways, and he almost +never fails to help me. He’s now looking over the bedrooms, just as I +did, and he’ll disturb nothing.” + +“Mercy me!” exclaimed Aunt Abby; “maybe he won’t--but I don’t +like boys prowling among my things!” and she scurried after him. + +She found him in her room, and rather gruffly said, “What are you up +to, boy?” + +“Snuff, ma’am,” he replied, with a comical wink, which ought to +have shocked the old lady, but which, somehow, had a contrary effect. + +“Do you like candy?” she asked--unnecessarily, she knew--and offered +him a box from a drawer. + +Fibsy felt that a verbal answer was not called for, and, helping +himself, proceeded to munch the sweets, contentedly and continuously. + +“Say,” he burst out, after a thoughtful study of the room, “where +was that there dropper thing found, anyhow?” + +“In this medicine chest--” + +“Naw; I mean where’d the girl find it?--the housework girl.” + +“You seem to know a lot about the matter!” + +“Sure I do. Where’d you say?” + +“Right here,” and Aunt Abby pointed to a place on the rug near the +head of her bed. It was a narrow bed, which had been brought there for +her during her stay. + +“Huh! Now you could’a dropped it there?” + +“I know,” and Aunt Abby whispered, “Nobody’ll believe me, but I +know!” + +“You do! Say, you’re some wiz! Spill it to me, there’s a dear!” + +Fibsy was, in his way, a psychologist, and he knew by instinct that this +old lady would like him better if he retained his ignorant, untutored +ways, than if he used the more polished speech, which he had +painstakingly acquired for other kinds of occasions. + +“I wonder if you’d understand. For a boy, you’re a bright one--” + +“Oh, yes, ma’am. I am! They don’t make ‘em no brighter ‘n me! +Try me, do, Miss Ames! I’m right there with the goods.” + +“Well, child, it’s this: I saw a--a vision--” + +“Yes’m, I know--I mean I know what visions are, they’re fine, +too!” He fairly smacked his lips in gusto, and it encouraged Aunt Abby +to proceed. + +“Yes, and it was the ghost of--who do you suppose it was?” + +“Your grandmother, ma’am?” The boy’s attitude was eagerly +attentive and his freckled little face was drawn in a desperate +interest. + +“No!” Aunt Abby drew closer and just breathed the words, “Mr. +Embury!” + +“Oh!” Fibsy was really startled, and his eyes opened wide, as he +urged, “Go on, ma’am!” + +“Yes. Well, it was just at the moment that Mr. Embury was--that he +died--you know.” + +“Yes’m, they always comes then, ma’am!” + +“I know it, and oh, child, this is a true story!” + +“Oh, yes, ma’am--I know it is!” + +Indeed one could scarcely doubt it, for Aunt Abby, having found an +interested listener at last, poured forth her account of her strange +experience, not caring for comment or explanation, since she had found +some one who believed! + +“Yes, it was just at that time--I know, because it was almost +daylight--just before dawn--and I was asleep, but not entirely +asleep--” + +“Sort’a half dozing--” + +“Yes; and Sanford--Mr. Embury, you know, came gliding through my room, +and he stopped at my bedside to say good-by--” + +“Was he alive?” asked Fibsy, awe-struck at her hushed tones and +bright, glittering eyes. + +“Oh, no, it was his spirit, you see--his disembodied spirit” + +“How could you see it, then?” + +“When spirits appear like that, they are visible.” + +“Oh, ma’am--I didn’t know.” + +“Yes, and I not only saw him but he was evident to all my five +senses!” + +“What, ma’am? What do you mean?” + +Fibsy drew back, a little scared, as Aunt Abby clutched his sleeve in +her excitement. He felt uneasy, for it was growing dusk, and the old +lady was in such a state of nervous exhilaration that he shrank a little +from her proximity. + +But Fibsy was game. “Go on, ma’am,” he whispered. + +“Yes,” Aunt Abby declared, with an eerie smile of triumph, “I saw +him--I heard him--I felt him--I smelled him--and, I tasted him!” + +Fibsy nearly shrieked, for at each enumeration of her marvelous +experiences, Miss Ames grasped his arm tighter and emphasized her +statements by pounding on his shoulder. + +She seemed unaware of his personal presence--she talked more as if +recounting the matter to herself, but she used him as a general audience +and the boy had to make a desperate effort to preserve his poise. + +And then it struck him that the old lady was crazy, or else she really +had an important story to tell. In either case, it was his duty to let +Fleming Stone hear it, at first hand, if possible. But he felt sure that +to call in the rest of the household, or to take the narrator out to +them would--as he expressed it to himself “upset her applecart and +spill the beans!” + +Chapter XIV The Five Senses + +However he decided quickly, it must be done, so he said, diplomatically, +“This is awful int’restin’, Miss Ames, and I’m just dead sure +and certain Mr. Stone’d think so, too. Let’s go out and get it off +where he c’n hear it. What say?” + +The boy had risen and was edging toward the door. Rather than lose her +audience, Aunt Abby followed, and in a moment the pair appeared in the +living-room, where Fleming Stone was still talking to Eunice and Mr. +Elliott. + +“Miss Ames, now, she’s got somethin’ worth tellin’,” Fibsy +announced. “This yarn of hers is pure gold and a yard wide, Mr. Stone, +and you oughter hear it, sir.” + +“Gladly,” and Stone gave Aunt Abby a welcoming smile. + +Nothing loath to achieve the center of the stage, the old lady seated +herself in her favorite arm-chair, and began: + +“It was almost morning,” she said, “a faint dawn began to make +objects about the room visible, when I opened my eyes and saw a dim, +gliding figure--” + +Eunice gave an angry exclamation, and rising quickly from her chair, +walked into her own room, and closed the door with a slam that left no +doubt as to her state of mind. + +“Let her alone,” advised Elliott; “she’s better off in there. +What is this story, Aunt Abby? I’ve never heard it in full.” + +“No; Eunice never would let me tell it. But it will solve all mystery +of Sanford’s death.” + +“Then it is indeed important,” and Stone looked at the speaker +intently. + +“Yes, Mr. Stone, it will prove beyond all doubt that Mr. Embury was a +suicide.” + +“Go on, then,” said Elliott, briefly. + +“I will. In the half light, I saw this figure I just mentioned. It +wasn’t discernible clearly--it was merely a moving shadow--a vague +shape. It came toward me--” + +“From which direction?” asked Stone, with decided interest. + +“From Eunice’s room--that is, it had, of course, come from Mr. +Embury’s room, through Eunice’s room, and so on into my room. For it +was Sanford Embury’s spirit--get that firmly in your minds!” + +The old lady spoke with asperity, for she was afraid of contradiction, +and resented their quite apparent scepticism. + +“Go on, please,” urged Stone. + +“Well, the spirit came nearer my bed, and paused and looked down on me +where I lay.” + +“Did you see his face?” asked Elliott. + +“Dimly. I can’t seem to make you understand how vague the whole +thing was--and yet it was there! As he leaned over me, I saw him--saw +the indistinct shape--and I heard the sound of a watch ticking. It +was not my watch, it was a very faint ticking one, but all else was so +still, that I positively heard it.” + +“Gee!” said Fibsy, in an explosive whisper. + +“Then he seemed about to move away. Impulsively, I made a movement to +detain him. Almost without volition--acting on instinct--I put out +my hand and clutched his arm. I felt his sleeve--it wasn’t a coat +sleeve--nor a pajama sleeve--it seemed to have on his gymnasium +suit--the sleeve was like woolen jersey--” + +“And you felt this?” + +“Yes, Mr. Stone, I felt it distinctly--and not only with my hand as I +grasped at his arm but” Aunt Abby hesitated an instant, then went +on, “But I bit at him! Yes, I did! I don’t know why, only I was +possessed with an impulse to hold him--and he was slipping away. I +didn’t realize at the time--who--what it was, and I sort of thought +it was a burglar. But, anyway, I bit at him, and so I bit at the woolen +sleeve--it was unmistakable--and on it I tasted raspberry jam.” + +“What!” cried her hearers almost in concert. + +“Yes--you needn’t laugh--I guess I know the taste of raspberry jam, +and it was on that sleeve, as sure as I’m sitting here!” + +“Gee!” repeated Fibsy, his fists clenched on his knees and his +bright eyes fairly boring into the old lady’s countenance. “Gee +whiz!” + +“Go on,” said Stone, quietly. + +“And--I smelt gasoline,” concluded Miss Ames defiantly. “Now, sir, +there’s the story. Make what you will out of it, it’s every word +true. I’ve thought it over and over, since I realized what it all +meant, and had I known at the time it was Sanford’s spirit, I should +have spoken to him. But as it was, I was too stunned to speak, and +when I tried to hold him, he slipped away, and disappeared. But it was +positively a materialization of Sanford Embury’s flitting spirit--and +nothing else.” + +“The vision may argue a passing soul,” Stone said kindly, as if +humoring her, “but the effect on your other senses, seems to me to +indicate a living person.” + +“No,” and Aunt Abby spoke with deep solemnity, “a materialized +spirit is evident to our senses--one or another of them. In this case I +discerned it by all five senses, which is unusual--possibly unique; but +I am very psychic--very sensitive to spiritual manifestations.” + +“You have seen ghosts before, then?” + +“Oh, yes. I have visions often. But never such a strange one.” + +“And where did this spirit disappear to?” + +“It just faded. It seemed to waft on across the room. I closed my eyes +involuntarily, and when I opened them again it was gone.” + +“Leaving no trace behind?” + +“The faint odor of gasoline--and the taste of raspberry jam on my +tongue.” + +Fibsy snickered, but suppressed it at once, and said, “And he left the +little dropper-thing beside your bed?” + +“Yes, boy! You seem clairvoyant yourself! He did. It was Sanford, of +course; he had killed himself with the poison, and he tried to tell me +so--but he couldn’t make any communication--they rarely can--so he +left the tiny implement, that we might know and understand.” + +“H’m, yes;” and Stone sat thinking. “Now, Miss Ames, you must +not be offended at what I’m about to say. I don’t disbelieve your +story at all. You tell it too honestly for that. I fully believe you saw +what you call a ‘vision.’ But you have thought over it and brooded +over it, until you think you saw more than you did--or less! But, +leaving that aside for the moment, I want you to realize that your +theory of suicide, based on the ‘vision’ is not logical. Supposing +your niece were guilty--as the detectives think--might not Mr. +Embury’s spirit have pursued the same course?” + +Aunt Abby pondered. Then, her eyes flashing, she cried, “Do you mean +he put the dropper in my room to throw suspicion on me, instead of on +his wife?” + +“There is a chance for such a theory.” + +“Sanford wouldn’t do such a thing! He was truly fond of me!” + +“But to save his wife?” + +“I never thought of all that. Maybe he did--or, maybe he dropped the +thing accidentally--” + +“Maybe.” Stone spoke preoccupiedly. + +Mason Elliott, too, sat in deep thought. At last he said: + +“Aunt Abby, if I were you, I wouldn’t tell that yarn to anybody +else. Let’s all forget it, and call it merely a dream.” + +“What do you mean, Mason?” The old lady bridled, having no wish to +hear her marvelous experience belittled. “It wasn’t a dream--not an +ordinary dream--it was a true appearance of Sanford, after his death. +You know such things do happen--look at that son of Sir Oliver Lodge. +You don’t doubt that, do you?” + +“Never mind those things. But I earnestly beg of you, Aunt Abby, to +forget the episode--or, at least, to promise me you’ll not repeat it +to any one else.” + +“Why?” + +“I think it wiser for all concerned--for all concerned--that the tale +shall not become public property.” + +“But why?” + +“Oh, my land!” burst out Fibsy; “don’t you see? The ghost was +Mrs. Embury!” + +The boy had put into words what was in the thoughts of both Stone and +Elliott. They realized that, while Aunt Abby’s experience might have +been entirely a dream, it was so circumstantial as to indicate a real +occurrence, and in that case, what solution so plausible as that Eunice, +after committing the crime, wandered into her aunt’s room, and whether +purposely or accidentally, dropped the implement of death? + +Stone, bent on investigation, plied Miss Ames with questions. + +Elliott, sorely afraid for Eunice, begged the old lady not to answer. + +“You are inventing!” he cried. “You are drawing on your +imagination! Don’t believe all that, Mr. Stone. It isn’t fair to--to +Mrs. Embury!” + +“Then you see it as I do, Mr. Elliott?” and Stone turned to him +quickly. “But, even so, we must look into this story. Suppose, as an +experiment, we build up a case against Mrs. Embury, for the purpose of +knocking it down again. A man of straw--you know.” + +“Don’t,” pleaded Elliott. “Just forget the rigmarole of the +nocturnal vision--and devote your energies to finding the real murderer. +I have a theory--” + +“Wait, Mr. Elliott, I fear you are an interested investigator. Don’t +forget that you have been mentioned as one of those with ‘motive but +no opportunity.’“ + +“Since you have raised that issue, Mr. Stone, let me say right here +that my regard for Mrs. Embury is very great. It is also honorable and +lifelong. I make no secret of it, but I declare to you that its very +purity and intensity puts it far above and beyond any suspicion of being +‘motive’ for the murder of Mrs. Embury’s huband.” + +Mason Elliott looked Fleming Stone straight in the eye and the +speaker’s tone and expression carried a strong conviction of +sincerity. + +Fibsy, too, scrutinized Elliott. + +“Good egg!” he observed to himself; “trouble is--he’d give us +that same song and dance if he’d croaked the guy his own self!” + +“Furthermore,” Stone went on, “Mrs. Embury shows a peculiarly +strong repugnance to hearing this story of Miss Ames’ experience. That +looks--” + +“Oh, fiddlesticks!” cried Miss Ames, who had been listening in +amazement; “it wasn’t Eunice! Why would she rig up in Sanford’s +gym jersey?” + +“Why wouldn’t she?” countered Stone. “As I said, we’re +building up a supposititious case. Assume that it was Mrs. Embury, not +at all enacting a ghost, but merely wandering around after her impulsive +deed--for if she is the guilty party it must have been an impulsive +deed. You know her uncontrollable temper--her sudden spasms of rage--” + +“Mr. Stone, a ‘man of straw,’ as you call it, is much more easily +built up than knocked down.” Elliott spoke sternly. “I hold you +have no right to assume Mrs. Embury’s identity in this story Miss Ames +tells.” + +“Is there anything that points to her in your discernment by your five +senses, Miss Ames?” Stone asked, very gravely. “Has Mrs. Embury a +faintly ticking watch?” + +“Yes, her wrist-watch,” Aunt Abby answered, though speaking +evidently against her will. + +“And it is possible that she slipped on her husband’s jersey; and it +is possible there was raspberry jam on the sleeve of it. You see, I am +not doubting the evidence of your senses. Now, as to the gasoline. Had +Mrs. Embury, or her maid, by any chance, been cleaning any laces or +finery with gasoline?” + +“I won’t tell you!” and Aunt Abby shook her head so obstinately +that it was quite equivalent to an affirmative answer! + +“Now, you see, Aunt Abby,” protested Elliott, in an agonized voice, +“why I want you to shut up about that confounded ‘vision’! You +are responsible for this case Mr. Stone is so ingeniously building up +against Eunice! You are getting her into a desperate coil, from which +it will be difficult to extricate her! If Shane got hold of this absurd +yarn--” + +“It’s not entirely absurd,” broke in Stone, “but I agree with +you, Mr. Elliott; if Shane learns of it--he won’t investigate any +further!” + +“He shan’t know of it,” was the angry retort. “I got you here, +Mr. Stone--” + +“To discover the truth, or to free Mrs. Embury?” + +There was a pause, and the two men looked at each other. Then Mason +Elliott said, in a low voice, “To free Mrs. Embury.” + +“I can’t take the case that way,” Stone replied. “I will abandon +the whole affair, or--I will find out the truth.” + +“Abandon it!” cried a ringing voice, and the door of her bedroom was +flung open as Eunice again appeared. + +She was in a towering fury, her face was white and her lips compressed +to a straight scarlet line. + +“Give up the case! I will take my chances with any judge or jury +rather than with you!” She faced Stone like the “Tiger” her +husband had nicknamed her. “I have heard every word--Aunt Abby’s +story--and your conclusions! Your despicable ‘deductions,’ as +I suppose you call them! I’ve had enough of the ‘celebrated +detective’! Quite enough of Fleming Stone--and his work!” + +She stepped back and gazed at him with utter scorn beautiful as a +sculptured Medea, haughty as a tragedy queen. + +“Independent as a pig on ice!” Fibsy communicated with himself, and +he stared at her with undisguised admiration. + +“Eunice,” and the pain in Mason Elliott’s voice was noticeable; +“Eunice, dear, don’t do yourself such injustice.” + +“Why not? When everybody is unjust to me! You, Mason, you and +this--this infallible detective sit here and deliberately build up what +you call a ‘case’ against me--me, Eunice Embury! Oh--I hate you +all!” + +A veritable figure of hate incarnate, she stood, her white hands +clasping each other tightly, as they hung against her black gown. Her +head held high, her whole attitude fiercely defiant, she flung out her +words with a bitterness that betokened the end of her endurance--the +limit of her patience. + +Then her hands fell apart, her whole body drooped, and sinking down on +the wide sofa, she sat, hopelessly facing them, but with head erect and +the air of one vanquished but very much unsubdued. + +“Take that back, Eunice,” Elliott spoke passionately, and quite as +if there were no others present; “you do not hate me--I am here to +help you!” + +“You can’t, Mason; no one can help me. No one can protect me from +Fleming Stone!” + +The name was uttered with such scorn as to seem an invective of itself! + +Stone betrayed no annoyance at her attitude toward him, but rather +seemed impressed with her personality. He gave her a glance that was not +untinged with admiration, but he made no defence. + +“I can,” cried Fibsy, who was utterly routed by Eunice’s imperious +beauty. “You go ahead with Mr. F. Stone, ma’am, and I’ll see to it +that they ain’t no injustice done to you!” + +Stone looked at his excited young assistant with surprise, and then +good-naturedly contented himself with a shake of his head, and a + +“Careful, Terence.” + +“Yes, sir--but, oh, Mr. Stone--” and then, at a gesture from the +great detective the boy paused, abashed, and remained silent. + +“Now, Miss Ames,” Stone began, “in Mrs. Embury’s presence, +I’ll ask you--” + +“You won’t ask me anything, sir,” she returned crisply. “I’m +going out. I’ve a very important errand to do.” + +“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Elliott said; “it’s almost six +o’clock, Aunt Abby. Where are you going?” + +“I’ve got an errand--a very important errand--an appointment, in +fact. I must go--don’t you dare oppose me, Mason. You’ll be sorry if +you do!” + +Even as she spoke, the old lady was scurrying to her room, from which +she returned shortly, garbed for the street. + +“All right,” Stone said, in reply to a whisper from Fibsy, and the +boy offered, respectfully: + +“Let me go with you, Miss Ames. It ain’t fittin’ you should go +alone. It’s ‘most dark.” + +“Come on, boy,” Aunt Abby regarded him kindly; “I’d be glad of +your company.” + +At the street door, the old lady asked for a taxicab, and the strangely +assorted pair were soon on their way. + +“You’re a bright lad, Fibsy,” she said; “by the way, what’s +your real name--I forget.” + +“Terence, ma’am; Terence McGuire. I wish’t I was old enough to be +called McGuire! I’d like that.” + +“I’ll call you that, if you wish. You’re old for your age, I’m +sure. How old are you?” + +“Goin’ on about fifteen or sixteen--I think. I sort’a forget.” + +“Nonsense! You can’t forget your age! Why do they call you Fibsy?” + +“‘Cause I’m a born liar--’scuse me--a congenital prevaricator, +I meant to say. You see, ma’am, it’s necessary in my business not +always to employ the plain unvarnished. But don’t be alarmed, ma’am; +when I take a fancy to anybuddy, as I have to you, ma’am, I don’t +never lie to ‘em. Not that I s’pose you’d care, eh, ma’am?” + +Aunt Abby laughed. “You are a queer lad! Why, I’m not sure I’d +care, if it didn’t affect me in any way. I’m not responsible for +your truthfulness--though I don’t mind advising you that you ought to +be a truthful boy.” + +“Land, ma’am! Don’t you s’pose I know that? But, honest now, are +you always just exactly, abserlutely truthful, yourself?” + +“Certainly I am! What do you mean by speaking to me like that?” + +“Well, don’t you ever touch up a yarn a little jest sort’a to +make it more interestin’ like? Most ladies do--that is, most ladies of +intelligence and brains--which you sure have got in plenty!” + +“There, there, boy; I’m afraid I’ve humored you too much you’re +presuming.” + +“I presume I am. But one question more, while we’re on this +absorbin’ subject. Didn’t you, now, just add a jot or a tittle to +that ghost story you put over? Was it every bit on the dead level?” + +“Yes, child,” Aunt Abby took his question seriously; “it was every +word true. I didn’t make up the least word of it!” + +“I believe you, ma’am, and I congratulate you on your clarviant +powers. Now, about that raspberry jam, ma’am. That’s a mighty +unmistakable taste--ain’t it, now.” + +“It is, McGuire. It certainly is. And I tasted it, just as surely as +I’m here telling you about it.” + +“Have you had it for supper lately, ma’am?” + +“No; Eunice hasn’t had it on her table since I’ve been visiting +her.” + +“Is that so, ma’am?” + +Chapter XV Marigny The Medium + +The journey ended at the rooms of Marigny, the psychic recommended by +Willy Hanlon. + +As Fibsy, his bright eyes wide with wonder, found himself in the +unmistakable surroundings of dingy draperies, a curtained cabinet and an +odor of burning incense, he exclaimed to himself, “Gee! a clairviant! +Now for some fun!” + +Aunt Abby, apparently aware of the proprieties of the occasion, seated +herself, and waited patiently. + +At a gesture from her, Fibsy obediently took a seat near her, and waited +quietly, too. + +Soon the psychic entered. He was robed in a long, black garment, +and wore a heavy, white turban, swathed in folds. His face was +olive-colored--what was visible of it for his beard was white and +flowing, and a heavy drooping moustache fell over his lips. Locks +of white hair showed from the turban’s edge, and a pair of big, +rubber-rimmed glasses of an amber tint partially hid his eyes. + +The whole make-up was false, it was clear to be seen, but a psychic has +a right to disguise himself, if he choose. + +Fibsy gave Marigny one quick glance and then the boy assumed an +expression of face quite different from his usual one. He managed to +look positively vacant-minded. His eyes became lack-luster, his mouth, +slightly open, looked almost imbecile, and his roving glance betokened +no interest whatever in the proceedings. + +“Mr. Marigny?” said Miss Ames, eagerly anxious for the séance to +begin. + +“Yes, madam. You are three minutes late!” + +“I couldn’t help it--the traffic is very heavy at this hour.” + +“And you should have come alone. I cannot concentrate with an alien +influence in the room.” + +“Oh, the boy isn’t an alien influence. He’s a little friend of +mine--he’ll do no harm.” + +“I’ll go out, if you say, mister,” Fibsy turned his indifferent +gaze on the clairvoyant. + +“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” spoke up Miss Ames. “I’m +accustomed to séances, Mr. Marigny, and if you’re all right--as I was +told you were--a child’s presence won’t interfere.” + +Evidently the psychic saw he had no novice to deal with, and he accepted +the situation. + +“What do you want to know?” he asked his client. + +“Who killed Sanford Embury--or, did he kill himself. I want you to get +into communication with his spirit and find out from him. But I +don’t want any make-believe. If you can’t succeed, that’s all +right--I’ll pay your fee just the same. But no poppycock.” + +“That’s the way to look at it, madam. I will go into the silence, +and I will give you only such information as I get myself.” + +The man leaned back in his chair, and gradually seemed to enter a +hypnotic state. His muscles relaxed, his face became still and set, and +his breathing was slow and a little labored. + +Fibsy retained his vacuous look he even fidgeted a little, in a bored +way--and rarely glanced toward the man of “clear sight.” + +Miss Ames, though anxious for results, was alert and quite on her +guard against fraud. Experienced in fake mediums, she believed Willy +Hanlon’s assertion that this man was one of the few genuine mystics, +but she proposed to judge for herself. + +At last Marigny spoke. His voice was low, his tones monotonous and +uninflected. + +“Aunt Abby--Aunt Westminster Abbey” the words came slowly. + +Miss Ames gave a startled jump. Her face blanched and she trembled as +she clutched Fibsy’s arm. + +“That’s what Sanford used to call me!” she whispered. “Can it +really be his spirit talking to me through the medium!” + +“Don’t worry,” the voice went on, “don’t grieve for me--it’s +all right--let it go that I took my own life--” + +“But did you, Sanford--did you?” Miss Ames implored. + +“It would be better you should never know.” + +“I must know. I’ve got to know! Tell me, Sanford. It wasn’t +Eunice? + +“No--it wasn’t Eunice.” + +“Was it--oh, San--was it--I?” + +“Yes, Aunt Abby--it was. But you were entirely irresponsible--you were +asleep--hypnotized, perhaps--perhaps merely asleep.” + +“Where did I get the stuff?” + +“I think somebody hypnotized you and gave it to you--” + +“When? Where?” + +“I don’t know--it is vague--uncertain--But you put it in my +ear--remember, Aunt Abby, I don’t blame you at all. And you must not +tell this. You must let it go as suicide. That is the only way to save +yourself--” + +“But they suspect Eunice--” + +“They’ll never convict her--nor would they convict you. Tell them +you got into communication with my spirit and I said it was suicide.” + +“Ask him about the raspberry jam,” put in Fibsy, in a stage whisper. + +“What!” the medium came out of his trance suddenly and glared at the +boy. + +“I told you I could do nothing if the child stayed here,” Marigny +cried, evidently in a towering passion. “Put him out. Who is he? What +is he talking about?” + +“Nothing of importance. Keep still, McGuire. Can you get Mr. +Embury’s spirit back, sir?” + +“No, the communion is too greatly disturbed. Boy, what do you mean by +raspberry jam?” + +“Oh, nothin’,” and Fibsy wriggled bashfully. “You tell him, Miss +Ames.” + +It needed little encouragement to launch Aunt Abby on the story of her +“vision” and she told it in full detail. + +Marigny seemed interested, though a little impatient, and tried to hurry +the recital. + +“It was, without doubt, Embury’s spirit,” he said, as Aunt Abby +finished; “but your imagination has exaggerated and elaborated the +facts. For instance, I think the jam and the gasoline are added by your +fancy, in order to fill out the full tale of your five senses.” + +“That’s what I thought,” and Fibsy nodded his head. “Raspberry +jam! Oh, gee!” he exploded in a burst of silly laughter. + +Marigny looked at him with a new interest. The amber-colored glasses, +turned toward the boy seemed to frighten him, and he began to whimper. + +“I didn’t mean any harm,” he said, “but raspberry jam was so +funny for a ghost to have on him!” + +“It would have been,” assented Marigny, “but that, I feel sure, +existed only in Miss Ames’ fancy. Her mind, upset by the vision, had +strange hallucinations, and the jam was one--you know we often have +grotesque dreams.” + +“So we do,” agreed Fibsy; “why once I drempt that--” + +“Excuse me, young sir, but I’ve no time to listen to your dreams. +The séance is at an end, madam. Your companion probably cut it off +prematurely--but perhaps not. Perhaps the communication was about over, +anyway. Are you satisfied, Miss Ames?” + +“Yes, Mr. Marigny. I know the appearance of Mr. Embury was a genuine +visitation, for he called me by a peculiar name which no one else ever +used, and which you could not possibly know about.” + +“That is indeed a positive test. I am glad you received what you +wished for. The fee is ten dollars, madam.” + +Aunt Abby paid it willingly enough, and with Fibsy, took her departure. + +On reaching home they found Alvord Hendricks there. Mason Elliott had +tarried and Fleming Stone, too, was still there. Eunice was awaiting +Aunt Abby’s return to have dinner served. + +“I thought you’d never come, Auntie,” said Eunice, greeting her +warmly. Eunice was in a most pleasant mood, and seemed to have become +entirely reconciled to the presence of Stone. + +“You will dine here, too, Terence,” she said kindly to the boy, who +replied, “Yes, ma’am,” very respectfully. + +“Well, Eunice,” Aunt Abby announced, after they were seated at the +table, “I’m the criminal, after all.” + +“You seem pretty cheerful about it,” said Hendricks, looking at her +in astonishment. + +“Well, I wasn’t responsible. I did it under compulsory hypnotism.” + +“You owned up to it before, Aunt Abby,” said Eunice, humoring her; +“you said--” + +“I know, Eunice, but that time it was to shield you. Now, I know for +certain that I did do it, and how it came about.” + +“Dear Aunt Abby,” and Elliott spoke very gently, “don’t you talk +about it any more. Your vagaries are tolerated by us, who love you, but +Mr. Stone is bored by them--” + +“Not at all,” said Fleming Stone; “on the contrary, I’m deeply +interested. Tell me all about it, Miss Ames. Where have you been?” + +Thus encouraged, Aunt Abby told all. + +She described the séance truthfully, Fibsy’s bright eyes--not +lack-luster now--darting glances at her and at Stone as the tale +proceeded. + +“He was the real thing--wasn’t he, McGuire?” Miss Ames appealed to +him, at last. + +“You bet! Why, if the side wire of his beard hadn’t fetched loose +and if his walnut juice complexion hadn’t stopped a mite short of his +collar, I’d a took him for a sure-fire Oriental!” + +“Don’t be so impertinent, Terence,” reproved Stone; “Miss Ames +knows better than you do.” + +“It doesn’t matter that he was made up that way,” Aunt Abby +said, serenely; “they often do that. But he was genuine, I know, +because--why, Eunice, what did Sanford use to call me--for fun--Aunt +what?” + +“Aunt Westminter Abbey,” said Eunice, smiling at the recollection. + +“Yes!” triumphantly; “and that’s what Sanford called me to-day +when speaking to me through the medium. Isn’t that a proof? How could +that man know that?” + +“I can’t explain that,” declared Elliott, a little shortly, “but +it’s all rubbish, and I don’t think you ought to be allowed to go to +such places! It’s disgraceful--” + +“You hush up, Mason,” Miss Ames cried; “I’ll go where I like! +I’m not a child. And, too, I wasn’t alone--I had an escort--a very +nice one.” She looked kindly at Fibsy. + +“Thank you, ma’am,” he returned, bobbing his funny red head. “I +sure enjoyed myself.” + +“You didn’t look so; you looked half asleep.” + +“I always enjoy myself when I’m asleep--and half a loaf is +better’n no bed,” the boy grinned at her. + +“Well, it may all be rubbish,” Alvord Hendricks said, musingly; +“and it probably is--but there are people, Mason, who don’t think +so. Anyway, here’s my idea. If Aunt Abby thinks she poisoned Sanford, +under hypnotism--or any other way--for the love of heaven, let it go +at that! If you don’t--suspicion will turn back to Eunice again--and +that’s what we want to prevent. Now, no jury would ever convict an old +lady--” + +“Nor any woman,” said Elliott. “But that isn’t the whole thing. +I say, Alvord, since Mr. Stone is on the job, suppose we give him full +swing--and let him find the real murderer. It wasn’t Eunice!” + +His words rang out so vibrantly that Stone gave him a quick glance. +“You’re sure?” he asked, as it seemed, involuntarily. + +“I am,” responded Elliott, with a satisfied nod of his handsome +head. + +“But your being sure doesn’t help much, Mason,” Eunice said, a +despondent look coming into her eyes. “Are you sure, Mr. Stone?” + +“I can’t quite answer that question yet, Mrs. Embury,” the +courteous voice replied. “Remember, I’ve only just begun to look +into the matter.” + +“But you know all about it--from Mr. Shane and Mr. Driscoll.” + +“I know what they think about it--but that’s a different story.” + +“You don’t agree with their deductions, then?” asked Hendricks. + +“I don’t agree with their premises--therefore--” Stone smiled +cryptically, and left the sentence unfinished and ambiguous, which was +his deliberate intention. + +“We will have coffee in the living-room,” said Eunice, as she rose +from the table. Always a charming hostess, she was at her best to-night. +Her thin black gown was becoming and made her fair throat and arms seem +even whiter by contrast. + +She stood back, as the others left the room, and Hendricks, tarrying, +too, came close to her. + +“Brace up, dear,” he said; “it will all come out right. I’m +sorry Elliott dragged in this Stone, but--it will be all right, +somehow.” + +“But it’s all so mysterious, Alvord. I don’t know what to do--or +say--” + +“Don’t lose your temper, Eunice. Let me advise you strongly as to +that. It never does any good--it militates against you. And here’s +another thing--Are you afraid of the little Desternay?” + +“Afraid--how?” but Eunice paled. + +“Afraid--she knows something--oh, something injurious to--” + +“To me? She knows heaps!” The haughty head tossed, and Eunice looked +defiant. + +“You beauty!” and Hendricks took a step nearer. “Oh, you splendid +thing! How I adore you. Eunice--you are a goddess to-night! And you are +for me! Some day--oh, I’m not going to say it now---don’t look so +alarmed--but, you know--oh, Sweet, you know! And you yes, you, too, my +splendid Tiger--”‘ + +“Hush, Alvord! Never call me that!” + +“No, I beg pardon. And I don’t want to. That was San’s own name +for you. I shall call you my Queen! My glorious Queen-woman!” + +“Oh, stop! Don’t you dare make love to me! + +“And don’t you dare say ‘dare’ to me! I dare all--” + +Ferdinand’s entrance cut short this dialogue, and Eunice and Hendricks +went into the other room. + +Almost immediately a visitor was announced, and Hanlon came in. + +“Why, Mr. Hanlon,” Eunice said, greeting him cordially, “I’m +glad to see you again.” + +“So am I,” cried Aunt Abby, hastening to welcome the newcomer. +“Oh, Mr. Hanlon, I went to see your man--Mr. Marigny, you know--” + +“Yes? I called to see if you had found him all right.” + +The necessary introductions were made, and Hanlon took his place in the +group. + +He was a little ill at ease, for he was by no means a member of +“society,” and though he had been at the Embury house before, he +seemed a trifle in awe of his surroundings. + +“And I called, too,” Hanlon said, “to offer you my respectful +sympathy, Mrs. Embury, and ask if there’s anything I can do for +you.” + +“Why, you’re very kind,” said Eunice, touched by his +thoughtfulness, “but I’m afraid there’s nothing you--anybody can +do for me.” + +“F. Stone can,” declared Fibsy; “he can do a lot for you, Mrs. +Embury.” The red head nodded vigorously, as was the boy’s habit, +when much in earnest. + +Hanlon regarded him closely, and Fibsy returned the scrutiny. + +“Say,” the boy broke out, suddenly. “I’ve seen you before. +You’re the man who found the hidden jackknife, in Newark!” + +“The same,” and Hanlon smiled at him. “Were you present?” + +“I sure was! Gee! You’re a wonder!” + +“I was a wonder, but I don’t do wonderful things any more.” + +“What do you do now?” + +“Yes,” chimed in Eunice, “what are you doing, Mr. Hanlon? You told +me you were going to take up a different line of work.” + +“I did, Mrs. Embury; I’m a prosaic and uninteresting painter man +nowadays.” + +“An artist?” + +“In a way,” and Hanlon smiled; “I paint signs--and I try to do +them artistically.” + +“Signs! How dull for you--after your exciting performances!” + +“Not so very dull,” interrupted Aunt Abby. “I know about the +signs Mr. Hanlon paints! They’re bigger’n a house! They’re--why, +they’re scenery--don’t you know?--like you see along the railroad--I +mean along the meadows when you’re riding in the cars.” + +“Oh, scenic advertising,” observed Fleming Stone. “And signs on +the Palisades--” + +“Not on the natural scenery,” laughed Hanlon. “Though I’ve been +tempted by high rocks or smooth-sided crags.” + +“Are you a steeple-jack?” asked Fibsy, his eyes sparkling; “can +you paint spires and things?” + +“No;” and Hanlon looked at the boy, regretfully. “I can’t do +that. I’m no climber. I make the signs and then they’re put where +they belong by other workmen.” + +“Oh,” and Fibsy looked disappointed at not finding the daring hero +he sought for. + +“I must not presume further on your kindness, Mrs. Embury,” Hanlon +said, with an attempt at society jargon, “I merely called in for a +minute. Mr. Hendricks, are you going my way? I want to see you about +that sign-” + +“No, Hanlon--sorry, but I’m not going now,” and Hendricks shook +his head. “I’m here for the evening.” + +“All right see you later, then. Where can I find you? I’m something +of an owl, myself.” + +“I’ll call you up after I get home--if it isn’t too late,” +Hendricks suggested. + +“Never too late for me. See that you remember.” + +Hanlon looked at Hendricks with more seriousness than the subject +appeared to call for, then he went away. + +“You got the earache?” asked Fibsy suddenly, of Hendricks, as that +gentleman half absently rubbed his ear. + +“Bless my soul, no! What do you mean by such a question? Mr. Stone, +this boy of yours is too fresh!” + +“Be quiet, Terence,” said Stone, paying but slight attention to the +matter. + +“Oh, all right, no offense meant,” and the boy grinned at Hendricks. +“But didn’t you ever have an earache? If not, you don’t know what +real sufferin’ is!” + +“No, I never had it, that I remember. Perhaps as a child--” + +“Why, Alvord,” said Aunt Abby, “you had it fearfully about a month +ago. Don’t you recollect? You were afraid of mastoiditis.” + +“Oh, that. Well, that was a serious illness. I was thinking of an +ordinary earache, when I said I never had one. But I beg of you drop the +subject of my ailments! What a thing to discuss!” + +“True enough,” agreed Stone, “I propose we keep to the theme under +consideration. I’ve been engaged to look into this murder mystery. +I’m here for that purpose. I must insist that I conduct my +investigation in my own way.” + +“That’s the right talk,” approved Elliott. “Now, Mr. Stone, +let’s get right down to it.” + +“Very well, the case stands thus: Shane says--and it’s perfectly +true--there are five possible suspects. But only one of these had both +motive and opportunity. Now, the whole five are here present, and, +absurd though it my seem, I’m going to ask each one of you the +definite question. Ferdinand,” he raised his voice and the butler came +in from the dining-room, “did you kill your master?” + +“No, God hearing me--I didn’t, sir.” The man was quiet and +composed, though his face was agonized. + +“That will do, you may go,” said Stone. “Mr. Elliott, did you kill +your friend--your partner in business?” + +“I did not,” said Elliott, curtly. He was evidently ill-pleased at +the question. + +“Mr. Hendricks, did you?” + +“As I have repeatedly proved, I was in Boston that night. It would be +impossible for me to be the criminal--but I will answer your ridiculous +query--I did not.” + +“Mrs. Embury, did you?” + +“N--no--but I would rather be suspected, than to have--” + +“You said no, I believe,” Stone interrupted her. “Miss Ames, do +you really think you killed your niece’s husband?” + +“Oh, sir--I don’t know! I can’t think I did--” + +“Of course, you didn’t, Aunt Abby!” Mason Elliott rose from his +seat and paced up and down the room. “I must say, Mr. Stone, this is a +childish performance! What makes you think any of us would say so, if we +had killed Embury? It is utterly absurd!” + +“You’re absurd, Elliott,” cut in Hendricks. “Mr. Stone is a +psychologist. He learns what he wants to know not from what we say--but +the way we say it. Right, Mr. Stone?” + +“Right, Mr. Hendricks.” Stone looked grave. “Anything more to say, +Mr. Elliott?” + +“Yes, I have! And it’s this: I asked you to come here. I asked you +to take this case--as you’ve already surmised--to free Mrs. Embury +from wrongful suspicion. Wrongful, mind you! I do not want you to clear +her if she is guilty. But she isn’t. Therefore, I want you to find the +real criminal. That’s what I want!” + +“And that’s what I’m doing.” + +“Of course he is,” Eunice defended him. “I wish you’d keep +still, Mason! You talk too much--and you interfere with Mr. Stone’s +methods.” + +“Perhaps I’d better go home, Eunice.” Elliott was clearly +offended. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.” + +“Oh, no--” Eunice began, but Hendricks said, “Go on, Elliott, do. +There are too many of us here, and as Eunice’s counsel, I can look +after her interests.” + +Mason Elliott rose, and turned to Eunice. + +“Shall I go?” he said, and he gave her a look of entreaty--a look of +yearning, pleading love. + +“Go,” she said, coldly. “Alvord will take care of me.” + +And Elliott went. + +Chapter XVI Fibsy’s Busy Day + +“It’s this way, F. Stone,” said Fibsy, earnestly, “the crooks of +the situation--” + +“The what?” + +“The crooks--that’s what they call it--” + +“Oh, the crux.” Stone did not laugh. + +“Yessir--if that’s how you pronounce it. Guess I’ll stick to plain +English. Well, to my way of thinkin’, the little joker in the case is +that there raspberry jam. I’m a strong believer in raspberry jam on +general principles, but in pertikler, I should say in this present case, +raspberry jam will win the war! Don’t eat it!” + +“Thought you were going to talk plain English. You’re cryptic, my +son.” + +“All right--here goes. That jam business is straight goods. The old +lady says she tasted jam--and she did taste jam. That’s all there is +about that. And that sweet, pleasant, innercent raspberry jam will yet +send the moiderer of Mr. Embury to the chair!” + +“I think myself there’s something to be looked into there, but how +are you going about it?” + +“Dunno yet--but here’s another thing, Mr. Stone, that I ain’t had +time to tell you yet, that--” + +“Suppose you begin at the beginning and tell me your story in +order.” + +“Supposin’ I do!” Fibsy thought a moment before he began. It was +the morning after the two had dined at the Embury home, and they were +breakfasting together in Stone’s hotel apartment. + +“Well, Mr. Stone, as you know, I left Mrs. Embury’s last night +d’eckly after Mr. Hendricks took his deeparture. As I s’pected, +there was trouble a-waitin’ for him just outside the street doorway, +that Hanlon chap was standing and he met up with Mr. Hendricks--much to +the dismay of the latter!” + +“Your English is fine this morning--go ahead.” + +“Well--Hanlon fell into step like with Mr. Henricks, and they walked +along, Hanlon doing the talking. I didn’t dare get close enough to +overhear them, for they’re both live wires, and I don’t fool either +of ‘em into thinking meself a ninkypoop! So I trailed, but well +out’a sight--and, hold on, Mr. Stone, while I tell you this. The fake +mejum that Miss Ames went to see yesterday afternoon, was none other +than friend Hanlon himself!” + +“What? Fibs, are you sure?” + +“Sure as shootin’! I spotted him the minute he came up to Mrs. +Embury’s. I didn’t reckernize him at first as the whiskered Moses, +but I did later. You know, Mr. Stone, I saw him do stunts for newspapers +in two towns, and I wonder I didn’t tumble to him in the spookshop. +But I didn’t--I dessay because when I saw him doing his mind-readin’ +tricks outdoors he was blindfolded, which some concealed his +natural scenery. Well, he hadn’t more’n tripped over the Embury +‘Welcome’ mat, than I was onto him. Me thinker woiked light +lightnin’ and I had him ticketed and pigeonholed in no time.” + +“Is he mixed up in the Embury case?” + +“He’s mixed up with Mr. Hendricks in some way, and he learned from +Miss Ames that Hendricks was to be among those present, so he made up +foolish excuses and betook himself to the vicinity of said Hendricks.” + +“Why?” + +“Wanted to converse with him, and couldn’t get hold of him +otherwise. Hendricks, it would seem, didn’t hanker for said +conversation.” + +“I remember Hanlon asked Mr. Hendricks if he were going his way, and +Hendricks said he was going to spend the evening where he was.” + +“Egg-zackly. And did. But all the same, Hanlon waited. And a wait of +an hour and a half registers patience and perseverance--to my mind.” + +“Right you are! And you trailed the pair?” + +“Did I?” Fibsy fell back in his chair, as if exhausted. “I +followed them to Mr. Hendricks’ home, they chatterin’ glibly all +the way--and then after a few minutes’ further remarks on the doorstep +Hendricks, he went in--and Hanlon--! You know, Mr. Stone, Hanlon’s +nobody’s fool, and he knew I was follerin’ him as well as he knew +his name! I don’t know how he knew it--for I was most careful to keep +out’a sight, but all the same, he did know it--and what do you think +he did? He led me a chase of miles--and miles--and miles! That’s what +he did!” + +“On purpose?” + +“On purpose! Laughin’ in his silly sleeve! I was game. I trotted +along--but bullieve me! I was mad! And the galoot was so slick about it! +Why, he walked up Broadway first--as if he had a business appointment +in a desprit hurry. Then, having reached Hunderd an’ Twenty-fi’th +Street, he pauses a minute--to be sure I’m trailin’, the vilyun and +then, he swings East, and across town, and turns South again--oh, well, +Mr. Stone, he simpully makes me foller him till I’m that dog-tired, I +near drops in my tracks. And, to top the heap, he leads me straight to +this hotel, where we’re stayin’--yes, sir! right here--and makin’ +a sharp turn, he says, ‘Good-night!’ pleasant like, and scoots off. +Can you beat it?” + +“Poor old Fibs, that was an experience! Looks like the Hanlon person +is one to be reckoned with. But it doesn’t prove him mixed up in the +murder mystery in any way.” + +“No, sir, it don’t. It’s only made me sore on him--and sore on +my own account, too!” Fibsy grinned ruefully. “Me feet’s that +blistered--and I’m lame all over!” + +“Poor boy! You see, he’s a sprinter from ‘way back. His stunts +on that newspaper work prove he can take long walks without turning a +hair.” + +“Yes, but its croolty to animiles to drag a young feller like me +along, too. I’ve got his number. Just you wait, Cele! Remember, Mr. +Stone, he played spook-catcher to Miss Ames. That means something, +sir.” + +“It does, indeed. This is a great old case, Fibsy. Are you getting a +line on it?” + +“I think so, sir,” and the lad looked very earnest. “Are you?” + +“A strange one. But, yet, a line. To-day, Fibs, I want you to +interview that Mrs. Desternay. You can do it better than I, jolly her +along, and find out if she’s friend or foe of Mrs. Embury.” + +“Yessir. An’ kin I do a little sleuthin’ on my own?” + +“What sort?” + +“Legitermit--I do assure you, sir.” + +When Fibsy assumed this deeply earnest air, Stone knew some clever dodge +was in his mind, and he found it usually turned out well, so he said, +“Go ahead, my boy; I trust you.” + +“Thank yer,” and Fibsy devoted himself to the remainder of his +breakfast, while Stone read the morning paper. + +An hour later Terence McGuire presented himself at the Embury home and +asked for Miss Ames. + +“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, as he smiled brightly at her. +“Howlja like to join me in a bit of investergation that’ll proberly +end up in a s’lution of the mystery?” + +“I’d like it first rate,” replied Miss Ames, with enthusiasm. +“When do we begin?” + +“Immejitly. Where’s Mis’ Embury?” + +“In her room.” + +“No use a-disturbin’ her, but I want’a see the jersey--the +gymnasium jersey your ghost wore.” + +Aunt Abby looked disappointed. She had hoped for something more +exciting. + +But she said, “I’ll get it,” and went at once to Sanford +Embury’s room. + +“Thank you,” said Fibsy, as he took it. But his eager scrutiny +failed to disclose any trace of jam on its sleeves. + +“Which arm did you bite?” he asked, briefly. + +“I didn’t really bite at all,” Miss Ames returned. “I sort of +made a snap at him--it was more a nervous gesture than an intelligent +action. And I just caught a bit of the worsted sleeve between my lips +for an instant--it was, let me see--it must have been the left arm--” + +“Well, we’ll examine both sleeves--and I regret to state, ma’am, +there’s no sign of sticky stuff. This is a fine specimen of a +jersey--I never saw a handsomer one--but there’s no stain on it, and +never has been.” + +“Nor has it ever been cleaned with gasoline,” mused Miss Ames, +“and yet, McGuire, nothing, to my dying day, can ever convince me that +I am mistaken on those two subjects. I’m just as sure as I can be.” + +“I’m sure, too. Listen here, Miss Ames. There’s a great little old +revelation due in about a day or so, and I wish you’d lay low. Will +you?” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Why, don’t do or say much about the affair. Let it simmer. I’m on +the warpath, and so’s Mr. Stone, and we’re comin’ out on top, if +we don’t have no drawbacks. So, don’t trot round to clarviants or +harp on that there ‘vision’ of yours, will you?” + +“My boy, I’m only too glad to keep away from the subject. I’m +worried to death with it all. And if I can’t do any good by my +efforts, I’ll willingly ‘lay low’ as you ask.” + +“All right, ma’am. Now, I’m off, and I’ll be back here when I +come again. So long.” + +Fibsy went down in the service elevator and forthwith proceeded to +interview the rubbish man of the house and some other functionaries. + +By dint of much prodding of memory, assisted by judicious silver +offerings, he finally learned that there was an apartment occupied by a +couple with four children, who, it appeared, consumed large quantities +of jam of all flavors. At least, their rubbish was bristling with empty +jam pots, and the deduction was logical. + +Seemingly unimpressed, Fibsy declared it was pickle-fiends he was +searching for, and departed, outwardly crestfallen, but inwardly elated. + +Going out of doors, he walked to the corner of Park Avenue, and turned +into the side street. + +Crossing that street to get a better view, he looked up the side of +the big apartment house, and his gaze paused at the window in the tenth +story which was in Miss Ames’ sleeping-room. Two floors below this was +the apartment of the family who were reputed jam eaters. + +Fibsy looked intently at all the windows. The one next Miss Ames’ was, +he knew, in the Embury’s pantry. Hence, the one two stories below was +in the Patterson’s pantry the Patterson being the aforesaid family. + +And to the boy’s astonished and delighted eyes, there on the pantry +window-sill sat what was unmistakably a jam jar! + +So far, so good. But what did it mean? Fibsy had learned that Mr. +Patterson was a member of the Metropolitan Athletic Club and was greatly +interested in its presidential election--which election, owing to the +death of one of the candidates had been indefinitely postponed. + +But further investigation of Mr. Patterson was too serious a matter for +the boy to undertake. It must be referred to Fleming Stone. + +So Fibsy glued his eyes once more to that fascinating jam jar up on the +eighth-story window-sill, and slowly walked away. + +Under his breath he was singing, “Raz Berry Jam! Raz Berry +Jam!’--” to the tune of a certain march from Lohengrin, which +somehow represented to his idea the high note of triumph. + +He proceeded along the cross street, and at Fifth Avenue he entered a +bus. + +His next errand took him to the home of Fifi Desternay. + +By some ingenious method of wheedling, he persuaded the doorman to +acquaint the lady with the fact of his presence, and when she came into +the room where he awaited her he banked on his nerve to induce her to +grant him an interview. + +“You know me,” he said, with his most ingratiating smile, and he +even went so far as to take her beringed little hand in his own boyish +paw. + +“I do not!” she declared, staring at him, and then, his grin proving +infectious, she added, not unkindly, “Who are you, child?” + +“I wish I was a society reporter or a photographer, or anybody who +could do justice to your wonderful charms!” + +His gaze of admiration was so sincere that Fifi couldn’t resent it. + +She often looked her best in the morning, and her dainty negligee and +bewitching French cap made her a lovely picture. + +She tucked herself into a big, cushioned chair, and drawing a +smoking-stand nearer, fussed with its silver appointments. + +“Lemme, ma’am,” said Fibsy, eagerly, and, though it was his first +attempt, he held a lighted match to her cigarette with real grace. + +Then, drawing a long breath of relief at his success, he took a +cigarette himself, and sat near her. + +“Well,” she began, “what’s it all about? And, do tell me how +you got in! I’m glad you did, though it was against orders. I’ve not +seen anything so amusing as you for a long time!” + +“This is my amusin’ day,” returned the boy, imperturbably. “I +came to talk over things in general--” + +“And what in particular?” + +Fifi was enjoying herself. She felt almost sure the boy was a reporter +of a new sort, but she was frankly curious. + +“Well, ma’am,” and here Fibsy changed his demeanor to a stern, +scowling fierceness, “I’m a special investigator.” He rose now, +and strode about the room. “I’m engaged on the Embury murder case, +and I’m here to ask you a few pointed questions about it.” + +“My heavens!” cried Fifi, “what are you talking about?” + +“Don’t scoff at me, ma’am; I’m in authority.” + +“Oh, well, go ahead. Why are you questioning me?” + +“It’s this way, ma’am.” Fibsy sat down astride a chair, looking +over the back of it at his hostess. “You and Mrs. Embury are bosom +friends, I understand.” + +“From whom do you understand it?” was the tart response; “from +Mrs. Embury?” + +“In a manner o’ speakin’, yes; and then again, no. But aren’t +you?” + +“We were. We were school friends, and have been intimates for years. +But since her--trouble, Mrs. Embury has thrown me over--has discarded me +utterly--I’m so sorry!” + +Fifi daintily touched her eyes with a tiny square of monogrammed linen, +and Fibsy said, gravely, + +“Careful, there; don’t dab your eyelashes too hard!” + +“What!” Mrs. Desternay could scarcely believe her ears. + +“Honest, you’d better look out. It’s coming off now.” + +“Nothing of the sort,” and Fifi whipped out a vanity case, and +readjusted her cosmetic adornment. + +“Then I take it you two are not friends?” + +“We most certainly are not. I wouldn’t do anything in the world +to injure Eunice Embury--in fact, I’d help her, even now--though she +scorned my assistance--but we’re not friends--no!” + +“All right, I just wanted to know. Ask right out--that’s my +motto.” + +“It seems to be! Anything else you are thirsting to learn?” + +“Yes’m. You know that ‘Hamlet’ performance--you and Mis’ +Embury went to?” + +“Yes,” said Fifi, cautiously. + +“You know you accused her of talkin’ it over with you--” + +“She did!” + +“Yes’m--I know you say she did--I got that from Mr. Shane--but, +lemme tell you, ma’am, friendly like, you want to be careful how you +tell that yarn--’cause they’s chance fer a perfectly good slander +case against you!” + +“What nonsense!” but Fifi paled a little under her delicate rouge. + +“No nonsense whatsomever. But here’s the point. Was there a witness +to that conversation?” + +“Why, let me see. We talked it over at the matinee--we were alone +then--but, yes, of course--I recollect now--that same evening Eunice was +here and Mr. Hendricks was, too, and Mr. Patterson--he lives in their +apartment house--the Embury’s, I mean-and we all talked about it! +There! I guess that’s witnesses enough!” + +“I guess it is. But take it from me, lady, you’re too pretty to get +into a bothersome lawsuit--and I advise you to keep on the sunny side of +the street, and let these shady matters alone.” + +“I’ll gladly do so--honest, I don’t want to get Eunice in bad--” + +“Oh, no! we all know you don’t want to get her in bad--unless it +can be done with abserlute safety to your own precious self. Well--it +can’t, ma’am. You keep on like you’ve begun--and your middle +name’ll soon be trouble! Good morning, ma’am.” + +Fibsy rose, bowed and left the room so suddenly that Fifi hadn’t time +to stop him if she had wanted to. And he left behind him a decidedly +scared little woman. + +Fibsy then went straight to the offices of Mason Elliott. + +He was admitted and given an audience at once. + +“What is it, McGuire?” asked the broker. + +“A lot of things, Mr. Elliott. First of all--I suppose the police are +quite satisfied with the alibis of you and Mr. Hendricks?” + +“Yes,” and Elliott looked curiously into the grave, earnest little +face. He had resented, at first, the work of this boy, but after Fleming +Stone had explained his worth, Elliott soon began to see it for himself. + +“They are unimpeachable,” he went on; “I was at home, and Mr. +Hendricks was in Boston. This has been proved over and over by many +witnesses, both authentic and credible.” + +“Yes,” Fibsy nodded. “I’m sure of it, too. And, of course, that +lets you two out. Now, Mr. Elliott, the butler didn’t do it F. Stone +says that’s a self-evident fact. Bringin’ us back--as per usual to +the two ladies. But, Mr. Elliott, neither of those ladies did it.” + +“Bless you, my boy, that’s my own opinion, of course, but how can we +prove it?” + +Fibsy deeply appreciated the “we” and gave the speaker a grateful +smile. + +“There you are, Mr. Elliott, how can we? Mr. Stone, as you know, is +the cleverest detective in the world, but he’s no magician. He can’t +find the truth, if the truth is hidden in a place he can’t get at.” + +“Have you any idea, McGuire, who the murderer was?” + +“No, sir, I haven’t. But I’ve an idea where to get an idea. And I +want you to help me.” + +“Surely--that goes without saying.” + +“You’d do anything for Mrs. Embury, wouldn’t you?” + +“Anything.” The simple assertion told the whole story, and Fibsy +nodded with satisfaction. + +“Then tell me truly, sir, please, wasn’t Mr. Embury a--a--a--” + +“Careful there--he’s dead, you know.” + +“Yes, I know--but it’s necessary, sir. Wasn’t he a--I don’t know +the right term, but wasn’t he a money-grabber?” + +“In what way?” Elliott spoke very gravely. + +“You know best, sir. He was your partner--had been for some years. +But--on the side, now--didn’t he do this? Lend money-sorta personally, +you know--on security.” + +“And if he did?” + +“Didn’t he demand big security--didn’t he get men--his friends +even--in his power--and then come down on ‘em--oh, wasn’t he a sort +of a loan shark?” + +“Where did you get all this?” + +“I put together odds and ends of talk I’ve heard--and it must be so. +That Mr. Patterson, now--” + +“Patterson! What do you know of him?” + +“Nothing, but that he owed Mr. Embury a lot, and his household stuff +was the collateral--and--” + +“Were did you learn that? I insist on knowing!” + +“Servants’ gossip, sir. I picked it up in the apartment house. He +and the Emburys live in the same one, you know.” + +“McGuire, you are on a wrong trail. Mr. Embury may have lent money +to his friends--may have had collateral security from them--probably +did--but that’s nothing to do with his being killed. And as it is a +blot on his memory, I do not want the matter made public.” + +“I understand that, Mr. Elliott--neither do I. But sposin’ the +discovery of the murderer hinges on that very thing--that very branch of +Mr. Embury’s business--then mustn’t it be looked into?” + +“Perhaps it--must--but not by you.” + +“No, sir, By F. Stone.” + +Chapter XVII Hanlon’s Ambition + +An important feature of Fleming Stone’s efficiency was his ability to +make use of the services of others. In the present case, he skilfully +utilized both Shane and Driscoll’s energies, and received their +reports--diplomatically concealing the fact that he was making tools of +them, and letting them infer that he was merely their co-worker. + +Also, he depended greatly on Fibsy’s assistance. The boy was +indefatigable, and he did errands intelligently, and made investigations +with a minute attention to details, that delighted the heart of his +master. + +Young McGuire had all the natural attributes of a detective, and under +the tuition of Fleming Stone was advancing rapidly. + +When assisting Stone on a case, the two usually lived together at some +hotel, Stone going back and forth between there and his own home, which +was now in a Westchester suburb. + +It was part of the routine that the two should breakfast together and +plan the day’s work. These breakfasts were carefully arranged meals, +with correct appointments, for Stone had the boy’s good at heart, +and was glad to train him in deportment for his own sake; but also, he +desired that Fibsy should be presentable in any society, as the pursuit +of the detective calling made it often necessary that the boy should +visit in well-conducted homes. + +Fibsy was, therefore, eating his breakfast after the most approved +formula, when Stone said, “Well, Fibs, how about Sykes and Barton? Now +for the tale of your call on Willy Hanlon yesterday.” + +“I went down there, Mr. Stone, but I didn’t see Hanlon. He was out. +But I did a lot better. I saw Mr. Barton, of Sykes and Barton, and I got +an earful! It seems friend Willy has ambitions.” + +“In what line?” + +“Upward! Like the gentleman in the poetry-book, he wants to go higher, +higher, ever higher--” + +“Aeroplane?” + +“No, not that way--steeplejack.” + +“Painting spires?” + +“Not only spires, but signs in high places--dangerous places-and, +you know, Mr. Stone, he told us--that day at the Embury house--that he +didn’t climb--that he painted signs, and let other people put them +up.” + +“Yes; well? What of it?” + +“Only this: why did he try to deceive us? Why, Mr. Barton says he’s +a most daring climber--he’s practicing to be a human fly.” + +“A human fly? Is that a new circus stunt?” + +“You know what I mean. You’ve seen a human fly perform, haven’t +you?” + +“Oh, that chap who stood on his head on the coping of the Woolworth +Building to get contributions for the Red Cross work? Yes, I remember. +He wasn’t Hanlon, was he?” + +“No, sir; he was the original--or one of the first ones. There are +lots of human flies, now. They cut up tricks all over the country. And +Willy Hanlon is practicing for that but he doesn’t want it known.” + +“All right, I won’t tell. His guilty secret is safe with me!” + +“Now, you’re laughing at me, Mr. Stone! All right just you wait--and +Hanlon goes around on a motor-cycle, too!” + +“He does! Then we are undone! What a revelation! And, now, Fibs, if +you’ll explain to me the significance of Hanlon’s aspiring ambitions +and his weird taste for motor-cycles, I’ll be obliged.” + +Fibsy was extremely, even absurdly, sensitive to irony. Sometimes it +didn’t affect him seriously, and then, again, he would be so hurt and +embarrassed by it, that it fairly made him unable to talk. + +In this instance, it overcame him utterly, and his funny little freckled +face turned red, and his eyes lost their eagerness and showed only +chagrin. + +“Come, come,” said Stone, regretting his teasing, but determined to +help the boy overcome his sensitiveness to it, “brace up, Fibs; you +know I meant no harm. Forgive a chap, can’t you--and begin all +over again. I know you have something in your noddle--and doubtless, +something jolly well worth while.” + +“Well--I--oh, wait a minute, Mr. Stone--I’m a fool, but I can’t +help it. When you come at me like that, I lose all faith in my notions. +For it’s only a notion--and a crazy one at that, and--well, sir, +you wait till I’ve worked it up a little further--and if there’s +anything to it--I’ll expound. Now, what’s my orders for to-day?” + +Fibsy had an obstinate streak in his make-up, and Fleming Stone was too +wise to insist on the boy’s “expounding” just then. + +Instead, he said, pleasantly: “To-day, Fibs, I want you to make a +round of the drug stores. It’s not a hopeful job--indeed, I can’t +think it can amount to anything--but have a try at it. You remember, Mr. +Hendricks had the earache--” + +“I do, indeed! He had it a month ago--and what’s more, he denied +it--at first.” + +“Yes; well, use your discretion for all it’s worth--but get a line +on the doctor that prescribed for him--it was a bad case, you know--and +find out what he got to relieve him and where he got it.” + +“Yessir. Say, Mr. Stone, is Mr. Hendricks implicated, do you think?” + +“In the murder? Why, he was in Boston at the time--a man can’t be in +two places at once, can he?” + +“He cannot! He has a perfect alibi--hasn’t he, Mr. Stone?” + +“He sure has, Fibsy. And yet--he was in the party that discussed the +possibilities of killing people by the henbane route.” + +“Yessir--but so was Mr. Patterson--Mis’ Desternay said so.” + +“The Patterson business must be looked into. I’ll attend to that +to-day--I’ll also see Mr. Elliott about that matter of personal loans +that Mr. Embury seemed to be conducting as a side business.” + +“Yes, do, please. Mr. Stone, it would be a first-class motive, if +Mr. Embury had a strangle-hold on somebody who owed him a whole lot and +couldn’t pay, and--” + +“Fine motive, my boy--but how about opportunity? You forget those +bolted doors.” + +“And Mr. Patterson had borrowed money of Mr. Embury--” + +“How do you know that?” + +“I heard it--oh, well, I got it from one of the footmen of the +apartment house--” + +“Footmen! What do you mean?” + +“You know there’s a lot of employees--porters, rubbish men, doormen, +hallmen, pages and Lord knows what! I lump ‘em all under the title of +footmen. Anyway, one of those persons told me--for a consideration--a +lot about the private affairs of the tenants. You know, Mr. Stone, those +footmen pick up a lot of information--overhearing here and there--and +from the private servants kept by the tenants.” + +“That’s true, Fibs; there must be a mine of information available in +that way.” + +“There is, sir. And I caught onto a good deal--and specially, I +learned that Mr. Patterson is in the faction--or whatever you call +it--that didn’t want Mr. Embury to be president of that club.” + +“And so you think Mr. Patterson had a hand in the murder?” + +Stone’s face was grave, and there was no hint of banter in his tone, +so Fibsy replied, earnestly, “Well, he is the man who has lots of +empty jam jars go down in the garbage pails.” + +“But he has lots of children.” + +“Yes, sir--four. Oh, well, I suppose a good many people like raspberry +jam.” + +“Go on, Fibsy; don’t be discouraged. As I’ve often told you, +one scrap of evidence is worth considering. A second, against the same +man--is important--and a third, is decidedly valuable.” + +“Yessir, that’s what I’m bankin’ on. You see, Mr. Patterson, +now--he’s over head and ears in debt to Embury. He was against +Embury for club president. He was present at the henbane discussion. +And--he’s an habitual buyer of raspberry jam.” + +“Some counts,” and Fleming Stone looked thoughtful. “But not +entirely convincing. How’d he get in?” + +“You know his apartment is directly beneath the Embury apartment--but +two floors below.” + +“Might as well be ten floors below. How could he get in?” + +“Somebody got in, Mr. Stone. You know as well as I do, that neither +Mrs. Embury nor Miss Ames committed that murder. We must face that.” + +“Nor did Ferdinand do it. I’ll go you all those assumptions.” + +“All right, sir; then somebody got in from the outside.” + +“How?” + +“Mr. Stone, haven’t you ever read detective stories where a murder +was committed in a room that was locked and double-locked and yet +somebody did get in--and the fun of the story is guessing how he got +in.” + +“Fiction, my boy, is one thing--fact is another.” + +“No, sir; they’re one and the same thing!” + +“All right, son; have it your own way. Now, if you’re ready to get +ready, skittle off to your chain of drug stores, and run down a +henbane purchase by any citizen of this little old town, or adjacent +boroughs.” + +Fibsy went off. He had recovered from the sense of annoyance at being +chaffed by Stone, but it made him more resolved than ever to prove the +strange theory he had formed. He didn’t dignify his idea by the name +of theory, but he was doggedly sticking to a notion which, he hoped, +would bring forth some strange developments and speedily. + +Laying aside his own plans for the moment, he went about Stone’s +business, and had little difficulty in finding the nearby druggist whom +Hendricks frequently patronized. + +“Alvord Hendricks? Sure he trades here,” said the dapper young +clerk. “He buys mostly shaving-cream and tooth-paste, but here’s +where he buys it.” + +“Righto! And, say, a month or so ago, he bought some hyoscine--” + +“Oh, no, excuse me, he did not! That’s not sold hit or miss. But +maybe you mean hyoscyamine. That’s another thing.” + +“Why, maybe I do. Look up the sale, can’t you, and make sure.” + +“Why should I?” + +Fibsy explained that in the interests of a police investigation it might +be better to acquiesce than to question why, and the young man proved +obliging. + +So Terence McGuire learned that Alvord Hendricks bought some +hyoscyamine, on a doctor’s prescription, about a month ago--the same +to be used to relieve a serious case of earache. + +But there was no record of his having bought hyoscyarnus, which was +the deadly henbane used in the medicine dropper-nor was there any other +record of hyoscyamine against him. + +Satisfied that he had learned all he could, Fibsy continued his round of +drug-store visits, in an ever-widening circle, but got no information on +any henbane sales whatever. + +“Nothin’ doin’,” he told himself. “Whoever squirted that +henbane from that squirter into that ear--brought said henbane from +a distance, which, to my mind, indicates a far-seeing and intelligent +reasoning power.” + +His present duty done, he started forth on his own tour of +investigation. He went to a small boarding house, in an inconspicuous +street, the address of which had been given him by Mr. Barton, and asked +for Mr. Hanlon. + +“He ain’t home,” declared the frowning landlady who opened the +door. + +“I know it,” returned Fibsy, nonchalantly, “but I gotta go up to +his room a minute. He sent me.” + +“How do I know that?” + +“That’s so, how do you?” Fibsy’s grin was sociable. “Well, +look here, I guess this’ll fix it. I’m errand boy to--you know +who--” he winked mysteriously, “to the man he takes his acrobat +lessons off of.” + +“Oh,” the woman looked frightened. “Hush up--it’s all right. +Only don’t mention no names. Go on upstairs--third floor front.” + +“Yep,” and Fibsy went quietly up the stairs. + +Hanlon’s room was not locked, but a big wardrobe inside was--and +nothing else was of interest to the visitor. He picked at the lock with +his knife, but to no avail. + +As he stood looking wistfully at the wardrobe door, a cheerful voice +sounded behind him: + +“I’ll open it for you--what do you want out of it?” + +Fibsy looked up quickly, to see Hanlon himself, smiling at him. Quick to +take a cue, the boy didn’t show any embarrassment, but putting out his +hand said, “How do you do, Mr. Hanlon?” + +“Fine. How’s yourself? And why the sneak visit, my boy?” + +Fibsy looked his questioner square in the eye, and then said, “Oh, +well, I s’pose I may as well speak right out.” + +“You sure may. Either tell the truth, or put up such a convincing lie +that I’ll think it’s the truth. Go ahead.” + +“Here goes, then,” Fibsy made a quick decision, that Hanlon was +too keen to stand for any lie. “I’m engaged on the Embury murder +case.” + +“I know that’s true--though it’s hard to believe.” + +Fibsy chose to ignore this dig, and went on. “I’m here because I +want to see how you’re mixed up in it.” + +“Oh, you do! Why not ask me?” + +“All right, I ask you. How are you connected with the murder of +Sanford Embury?” + +“Will anything I say be used against me?” Hanlon’s tone was +jocular, but he was staring hard at Fibsy’s face. + +“If it’s usable,” was the nonchalant reply. + +“Well, use it if you can. I’m mixed up in the matter, as you put it, +because I’m trying to find the murderer on my own account.” + +“Why do you want the murderer on your own account?” + +“I didn’t agree to answer more than one question. But I will. I +don’t want the murderer particularly--but I’m interested in the +case. I’ve the detective instinct myself--and I thought if I could +track down the villain--I might get a reward--” + +“Is there one offered?” + +“Not that I know of--but I daresay either Mr. Elliott or Mr. Hendricks +would willingly pay to have the murderer found.” + +“Why those two? Why not Mrs. Embury?” + +“Innocent child! Those two are deeply, desperately, darkly in love +with the--the widow.” + +“Let’s leave her out of this!” + +“Ha, ha! a squire of dames, eh? and at your age! All right--leave the +lady’s name out. But I’ve confessed my hidden purpose. Now tell me +what brings you to my domicile, on false pretenses, and why do I find +you on the point of breaking into my wardrobe?” + +“Truth does it! I wanted to see if I could find a false beard and a +white turban.” + +“Oh, you did! And what good would that do you? You have cleverly +discerned that I assumed an innocent disguise, in order to give aid and +comfort to a most worthy dame of advanced years.” + +“You did but why?” + +“Are you Paul Pry? You’ll drive me crazy with your eternal +‘why?’“ + +“All right, go crazy, then--but, why?” + +“The same old reason,” and Hanlon spoke seriously. “I’m trying, +as I said, to find the Embury murderer, and I contrived that session +with the old lady in hopes of learning something to help me in finding +him.” + +“And did you?” + +“I learned that she is a harmless, but none the less, positively +demented woman. I learned that she deceives herself--in a way, +hypnotizes herself, and she believes she sees and hears things that she +does not see and hear.” + +“And tastes them? and smells them?” + +“There, too, she deceives herself. Surely, you don’t take in that +story of her ‘vision’?” + +“I believe she believes it.” + +“Yes, so do I. Now, look here, McGuire; I’m a good-natured sort, and +I’m willing to overlook this raid of yours, if you’ll join forces. I +can help you, but only if you’re frank and honest in whacking up with +whatever info you have. I know something--you know something--will you +go in cahoots?” + +“I would, Mr. Hanlon,” and Fibsy looked regretful, “if I was +my own boss. But, you see, I’m under orders. I’m F. Stone’s +helper--and I’ll tell you what he says I may--and that’s all.” + +“That goes. I don’t want any more than your boss lets you spill. And +now, honest, what did you come here for?” + +“To look in that wardrobe, as I said.” + +“Why, bless your heart, child, you’re welcome to do that.” + +Hanlon drew a key from his pocket, and flung the wardrobe door wide. + +“There you are--go to it!” + +Swiftly, but methodically, Fibsy took down every article of wearing +apparel the wardrobe contained, glanced at it and returned it, Hanlon +looking on with an amused expression on his face. + +“Any incriminating evidence?” he said at last, as Fibsy hung up the +final piece of clothing. + +“Not a scrap,” was the hearty reply. “If I don’t get more +evidence offen somebody else than I do from you, I’ll go home +empty-handed!” + +“Let me help you,” and Hanlon spoke kindly; “I’ll hunt evidence +with you.” + +“Some day, maybe. I’ve got to-day all dated up. And, say, why did +you tell me you wasn’t a steeplejack painter, when you are?” + +“You’re right, I am. But I don’t want it known, because I’m +going to branch out in a new field soon, and I don’t want that +advertised at present.” + +“I know, Mr. Barton told me. You’re going to be a human fly, and cut +up pranks on the edges of roofs of skyscrapers--” + +“Hush, not so loud. Yes, I am, but the goal is far distant. But I’m +going to have a whack at it--and I know I can succeed, in time.” + +Hanlon’s eyes had a faraway, hopeful look, as if gazing into a future +of marvelous achievement in his chosen field. “Oh, I say, boy, it’s +glorious, this becoming expert in something difficult. It pays for all +the work and training and practice!” + +The true artist ambition rang in his voice, and Fibsy gazed at him +fascinated, for the boy was a hero-worshipper, and adored proficiency in +any art. + +“When you going to exhibit?” he asked eagerly. + +“A little try at it next week. Want’a come?” + +“Don’t I. Where?” + +“Hush! I’ll whisper. Philadelphia.” + +“I’ll be there! Lemme ‘no the date and all.” + +“Yes, I will. Must you go? Here’s your hat.” + +Fibsy laughed, took the hint and departed. + +“What a feller!” he marveled to himself, as he went on his way. +“Oh, gee! what a feller!” + +Chapter XVIII The Guilty One + +“Alvord, you shock me--you amaze me! How dare you talk to me of love, +when my husband hasn’t been dead a fortnight?” + +“What matter, Eunice? You never really loved Sanford--” + +“I did--I did!” + +“Not lately, anyhow. Perhaps just at first--and then, not deeply. He +carried you originally by storm--it was an even toss-up whether he or +Elliott or I won out. He was the most forceful of the three, and he made +you marry him--didn’t he now?” + +“Don’t talk nonsense. I married Sanford of my own free will--” + +“Yes, and in haste, and repented at leisure. Now, don’t +be hypocritical, and pretend to grieve for him. His death was +shocking--fearful--but you’re really relieved that he is gone. Why not +admit it?” + +“Alvord, stop such talk! I command you! I won’t listen!” + +“Very well, dearest, I’ll stop it. I beg your pardon--I forgot +myself, I confess. Now, let me atone. I love you, Eunice, and I’ll +promise not to tell you so, or to talk about it now, if you’ll +just give me a ray of hope--a glimmer of anticipation. Will +you--sometime--darling, let me tell you of my love? After such an +interval as you judge proper? Will you, Eunice?” + +“No, I will not! I don’t love you--I never did and never can love +you! How did you ever get such an idea into your head?” + +The beautiful face expressed surprise and incredulity, rather than +anger, and Eunice’s voice was gentle. In such a mood, she was even +more attractive than in her more vivacious moments. + +Unable to control himself, Hendricks took a step toward her, and folded +her in his arms. + +She made no effort to disengage herself, but said, in a tone of utter +disdain, “Let me go, Alvord; you bore me.” + +As she had well known, this angered him far more than angry words would +have done. + +He released her instantly, but his face was blazing with indignation. + +“Oh, I do--do I? And who can make love to you, and not bore you? +Elliott?” + +“You are still forgetting yourself.” + +“I am not! I am thinking of myself only. Oh, Eunice--dear Eunice, +I have loved you so long and I have been good. All the time you were +Sanford’s wife, I never so much as called you ‘dear’--never gave +you even a look that wasn’t one of respect for my friend’s wife. +But now--now, that you are free--I have a right to woo you. It is too +soon--yes, I know that--but I will wait--wait as long as you command, if +you’ll only promise me that I may--sometime--” + +“Never! I told you that before--I do not want to be obliged to repeat +it! Please understand, once for all, I have no love to give you--” + +“Because it is another’s! Eunice--tell me you do not care for +Elliott--and I won’t say another word--now. I’ll wait patiently--for +a year--two years--as long as you wish--only give me the assurance that +you will not marry Mason Elliott.” + +“You are impossible! How dare you speak to me of my marriage with +anybody, when my husband is only just dead? One word more, Alvord, on +the subject, and I shall forbid you my house!” + +“All right, my lady! Put on your high and mighty air, if you +choose--but before you marry that man--make sure that he did not himself +prepare the way for the wedding!” + +“What do you mean? Are you accusing Mason of--” + +“I make no accusations. But--who did kill Sanford? I know you didn’t +do it--and Elliott has engaged Stone to prove that you didn’t. It is +absurd, we all know, to suspect Aunt Abby--I was out of town--who is +left but Mason?” + +“Hush! I won’t listen to, such a suggestion! Mason was at his home +that night.” + +“Are you sure?” + +“Of course, I’m sure! And I don’t have to have it proved by a +detective either! And now, Alvord Hendricks, you may go! I don’t care +to talk to anyone who can make such a contemptible accusation against a +lifelong friend!” + +But before Hendricks left, Elliott himself came in. + +He was grave and preoccupied. He bowed a little curtly to Hendricks, +and, as he took Eunice’s hand, he said, “May I see you alone? I want +to talk over some business matters--and I’m pressed for time.” + +“Oh, all right,” Hendricks said, “I can take a hint. I’m going. +How’s your sleuth progressing, Elliott? Has Mr. Stone unearthed the +murderer yet?” + +“Not yet--but soon,” and Elliott essayed to pass the subject off +lightly. + +“Very soon?” Hendricks looked at him in a curious manner. + +“Very soon, I think.” + +“That’s interesting. Would it be indiscreet to ask in what direction +one must look for the criminal?” + +“It would very.” Elliott smiled a little. “Now run along, +Hendricks, that’s a good chap. I’ve important business matters to +talk over with Eunice.” + +Hendricks went, and Elliott turned to Eunice, with a grave face, + +“I’ve been going over Sanford’s private papers,” he said, +“and, Eunice, there’s a lot that we want to keep quiet.” + +“Was Sanford a bad man?” she asked, her quiet, white face imploring +a negative answer. + +“Not so very, but, as you know, he had a love of money--a sort of +acquisitiveness, that led him into questionable dealings. He loaned +money to any one who would give him security--” + +“That isn’t wrong!” + +“Not in itself--but, oh, Eunice, I can’t explain it to you--or, +at least, I don’t want to--but Sanford lent money to men--to his +friends--who were in great exigency--who gave their choicest belongings, +their treasures as security--and then--he had no leniency--no compassion +for them--” + +“Why should he have?” + +“Because--well, there is a justice, that is almost criminal. Sanford +was a--a Shylock! There, can you understand now?” + +“Who were his debtors? Alvord?” + +“Yes; Hendricks was one who owed him enormous sums--and he was going +to make lots of trouble--I mean Sanford was--why, Eunice, in Sanford’s +private safe are practically all of Hendricks’ stocks and bonds, +put up as collateral. Sanford holds mortgages on all Hendricks’ +belongings--real estate, furniture--everything. Now, just at the time +Sanford died these notes were due--this indebtedness of Hendricks to +Sanford had to be paid, and merely the fact of San’s death occurring +just when it did saved Alvord from financial ruin.” + +“Do you mean Sanford would have insisted on the payment?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then--oh, Mason I can’t say it--I wouldn’t breathe it to any one +but you but could Alvord have killed Sanford?” + +“Of course not, Eunice. He was in Boston, you know.” + +“Yes, I know. But--Mason, he hinted to me just now, that that maybe +you killed San.” + +“Did he, dear? Then he was angry or--or crazy! He doesn’t think so. +Perhaps he was--very jealous.” + +“Yes, he was! How did you know?” + +“I have eyes. You don’t care for him--particularly--do +you--Eunice?” + +Their eyes met and in one long look, the truth was told. A great love +existed between these two, and both had been honest and honorable so +long as Eunice was Sanford’s wife. And even now, though Embury was +gone, Elliott made no protestation of love to his widow--said no +word that might not have been heard by the whole world, but they both +knew--no word was necessary. + +A beautiful expression came over Eunice’s face--she smiled a little +and the love-light in her eyes was unmistakable. + +“I shall never lose my temper again,” she said, softly, and Mason +Elliott believed her. + +“Another big debtor to Sanford is Mr. Patterson,” he went on, +forcing himself to calm his riotous pulses, and continue his business +talk. + +“How is that man mixed into our affars?” + +“He’s very much mixed up in San’s affairs. But, Eunice, I don’t +want to burden you with all these details. Only, you see, Alvord is your +lawyer, and--it’s confoundedly awkward--” + +“Look here, Mason, do this--can’t you? Forgive Alvord all +Sanford’s claims on him. I mean, wipe the slate clean, as far as he is +concerned. I don’t want his money--I mean I don’t want to keep his +stocks and things. Give them all back to him, and hush the matter +up. You know, we four, Sanford and Alvord and you and I, are the old +quartet--the ‘three boys and a girl’ who used to play together. Now +one of us is gone--don’t let’s make any trouble for another of the +group. I’ve enough money without realizing on Alvord’s securities. +Give them all back to him--and forget it. Can’t we?” + +“Why, yes, I suppose so--if you so decree. What about Patterson?” + +“Oh, those things you and Alvord must look after. I’ve no head for +business. And anyway--must it be attended to at once?” + +“Not immediately. Sanford’s estate is so large, and his debtors so +numerous, it will take months to get it adjusted.” + +“Very well, let anything unpleasant wait for a while, then.” + +Now, on this very day, and at this very hour, Fibsy was in Philadelphia, +watching the initial performance of a new “human fly.” + +A crowd was gathered about the tall skyscraper, where the event was +to take place, and when Hanlon appeared he was greeted by a roar, of +cheering that warmed his applause-loving heart. + +Bowing and smiling at his audience, he started on his perilous climb up +the side of the building. + +The sight was thrilling--nerve-racking. Breathlessly the people watched +as he climbed up the straight, sheer facade, catching now at a window +ledge--now at a bit of stone ornamentation--and again, seeming to hold +on by nothing at all--almost as a real fly does. + +When he negotiated a particularly difficult place, the crowd forebore to +cheer, instinctively feeling it might disturb him. + +He went on--higher and higher--now pausing to look down and smile at the +sea of upturned faces below--and, in a moment of bravado, even daring +to pause, and hanging on by one hand and one foot, “scissor out” his +other limbs and wave a tiny flag which he carried. + +On he went, and on, at last reaching the very top. Over the coping he +climbed, and gaily waved his flag as he bowed to the applauding crowds +below. + +Then, for Hanlon was a daring soul, the return journey was begun. + +Even more fascinating than the ascent was this hazardous task. + +Fibsy watched him, noted every step, every motion, and was fairly beside +himself with the excitement of the moment. + +And, then, when half a dozen stories from the ground--when success +was almost within his grasp--something happened. Nobody knew what--a +misstep--a miscalculation of distance--a slipping stone--whatever the +cause, Hanlon fell. Fell from the sixth story to the ground. + +Those nearest the catastrophe stepped back--others pushed forward--and +an ambulance, ready for such a possible occasion, hurried the wounded +man to the hospital. + +For Hanlon was not killed, but so crushed and broken that his life was +but a matter of hours--perhaps moments. + +“Let me in--I must see him!” Fibsy fought the doormen, the +attendants, the nurses. + +“I tell you I must! In the name of the law, let me in!” + +And then a more coherent insistence brought him permission, and he was +immediately admitted to Hanlon’s presence. + +A priest was there, administering extreme unction, and saying such words +of comfort as he could command, but at sight of Fibsy, Hanlon’s dull +eyes brightened and he partially revived. + +“Yes--him!” he cried out, with a sudden flicker of energy, “I must +talk to him!” + +The doctor fell back, and made way for the boy. “Let him talk, if he +likes,” he said; “nothing matters now. Poor chap, he can’t live +ten minutes.” + +Awed, but very determined, Fibsy approached the bedside. + +He looked at Hanlon--strangely still and white, yet his eyes burning +with a desperate desire to communicate something. + +“Come here,” he whispered, and Fibsy drew nearer to him. + +“You know?” he said. + +“Yes,” and Fibsy glanced around as if to be sure of his witnesses to +this strange confession, “you killed Sanford Embury.” + +“I did. I--I--oh, I can’t--talk. You talk--” + +“This is his confession,” Fibsy turned to the priest and the doctor; +“listen to it.” Then addressing himself again to Hanlon, he +resumed: “You climbed up the side of the apartment house--on the cross +street--not on Park Avenue--and you got in at Miss Ames’ window.” + +“Yes,” said Hanlon, his white lips barely moving, but his eyes +showing acquiescence. + +“You went straight through those two rooms--softly, not awakening +either of the ladies--and you killed Mr. Embury, and then--you returned +through the bedrooms--” Again the eyes said yes. + +“And, passing through Miss Ames’ room, she stirred, and thinking +she might be awake, you stopped and leaned over her to see. There you +accidentally let fall--perhaps from your breast pocket--the little glass +dropper you had used--and as you bent over the old lady, she grabbed at +you, and felt your jersey sleeve--even bit at it--and tasted +raspberry jam. That jam got on that sleeve as you climbed up past the +Patterson’s window, where a jar of it was on the window-sill--” + +“Yes--that’s right,” Hanlon breathed, and on his face was a +distinct look of admiration for the boy’s perception. + +“You wore a faintly-ticking wrist-watch--the same one you’re wearing +now--and the odor of gasoline about you was from your motor-cycle. You, +then, were the ‘vision’ Miss Ames has so often described, and you +glided silently away from her bedside, and out at the window by which +you entered. Gee! it was some stunt!” + +This tribute of praise was wrung from Fibsy by the sudden realization +that what he had for some time surmised was really true! + +“I guess it was that jam that did for you,” he went on, “but, say, +we ain’t got no time for talkin’.” + +Hanlon’s eyes were already glazing, his breath; came shorter and it +was plain to be seen the end was very near. + +“Who hired you?” Fibsy flung the question at him with such force +that it seemed to rouse a last effort of the ebbing life in the dying +man and he answered, faintly but clearly: + +“Alvord Hendricks--ten thousand dollars--” and then Hanlon was gone. + +Reminding the priest and the doctor that they were witnesses to this +dying confession, Fibsy rushed from the room and back to New York as +fast as he could get there. + +He learned by telephone that Fleming Stone was at Mrs. Embury’s, and, +pausing only to telephone for Shane to go at once to the same house, +Fibsy jumped into a taxicab and hurried up there himself. + +“It’s all over,” he burst forth, as he dashed into the room where +Stone sat, talking to Eunice. Mason Elliott was there, too--indeed, he +was a frequent visitor--and Aunt Abby sat by with her knitting. + +“What is?” asked Stone, looking at the boy in concern. For Fibsy was +greatly excited, his fingers worked nervously and his voice shook. + +“The whole thing, Mr. Stone! Hanlon’s dead--and he killed Mr. +Embury.” + +“Yes--I know--” Fleming Stone showed no surprise. “Did he fall?” + +“Yessir. Got up the climb all right, and ‘most down again, and +fell from the sixth floor. Killed him--but not instantly. I went to the +hospital, and he confessed.” + +“Who did?” said Shane, coming in at the door as the last words were +spoken. + +“Willy Hanlon--a human fly.” + +And then Fleming Stone told the whole story--Fibsy adding here and there +his bits of information. + +“But I don’t understand,” said Shane, at last, “why would that +chap kill Mr. Embury?” + +“Hired,” said Fibsy, as Stone hesitated to speak; “hired by a man +who paid him ten thousand dollars.” + +“Hanlon a gunman!” said Shane, amazed. + +“Not a professional one,” Fibsy said, “but he acted as one in +this case. The man who hired him knew he was privately learning to be +a ‘human fly,’ and he had the diabolical thought of hiring him to +climb up this house, and get in at the only available window, and kill +Mr. Embury with that henbane stuff.” + +“And the man’s name?” shouted Shane, “the name of the real +criminal?” + +Fibsy sat silent, looking at Stone. + +“His name is Alvord E. Hendricks,” was Stone’s quiet reply. + +An instant commotion arose. Eunice, her great eyes full of horror, ran +to Aunt Abby, who seemed about to collapse from sheer dismay. + +Mason Elliott started up with a sudden “Where is he?” and Shane +echoed, with a roar: “Yes, where is he? Can he get away?” + +“No,” said Stone; “he can’t. I have him covered day and night by +my men. At present, Mr. Shane, he is--I am quite sure--in his office--if +you want to go there--” + +“If I want to go there! I should say I do! He’ll get his!” + +And in less than half an hour, Shane had taken Alvord Hendricks into +custody, and in due time that arch criminal received the retribution of +justice. + +Shane gone, Fibsy went over the whole story once again. + +“You see, it was Mr. Stone’s keeping at it what did it. He connected +up Hanlon and the jam--he connected up Mr. Hendricks and the Hamlet +business--we connected up Hanlon and the gasoline--and Hanlon and the +jersey and the motor-cycle and all!” Fibsy grew excited; “then we +connected up Hendricks and his ‘perfect alibi.’ Always distrust the +perfect alibi--that’s one of Mr. Stone’s first maxims. Well, this +Hendricks--he had a pluperfect alibi--couldn’t be shaken--so Mr. +Stone, he says, the more perfect the alibi, the more we must distrust +it. So he went for that alibi--and he found that Mr. Hendricks was sure +in Boston that night, but he didn’t have any real reason, not +any imperative reason for going--it was a sorta trumped up trip. +Well--that’s the way it was. He had to get Mr. Embury out of the way +just then, or be shown up--a ruined man--and, too, he was afraid Mr. +Embury’d be president of the club--and, too--he wanted to--” + +Fibsy gave one eloquent glance at Eunice, and paused abruptly in +his speech. Every one knew--every one realized that love of Sanford +Embury’s wife was one reason, at least, for the fatal deed. Everybody +realized that Alvord Hendricks was a villain through and through--that +he had killed his friend--though not by his own hand. + +Eunice never saw Hendricks again. She and Aunt Abby went away for a +year’s stay. They traveled in lovely lands, where the scenery and +climate brought rest and peace to Eunice’s troubled heart, and where +she learned, by honest effort, to control her quick temper. + +And then, after two of the one-time friendly quartet had become only +a past memory, the remaining two, Eunice and Mason Elliott, found +happiness and joy. + +“One of our biggest cases, F. Stone,” said Fibsy, one day, +reminiscently. + +“It was, indeed, Fibs; and you did yourself proud.” + +“Great old scheme! Perfect alibi--unknown human fly--bolted doors--all +the elements of a successful crime--if he hadn’t slipped up on that +Raspberry jam!” + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 5335 ***
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