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diff --git a/old/66051-0.txt b/old/66051-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a9b1291..0000000 --- a/old/66051-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7282 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Millbank Case, by George Dyre -Eldridge - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Millbank Case - A Maine Mystery of To-day - -Author: George Dyre Eldridge - -Illustrator: Eliot Keen - -Release Date: August 12, 2021 [eBook #66051] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Sue Clark and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images - made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILLBANK CASE *** - - - - - - The Millbank Case - _A MAINE MYSTERY OF TO-DAY_ - - BY - GEORGE DYRE ELDRIDGE - - - _With a Frontispiece in Colour_ - BY ELIOT KEEN - - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK - HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY - 1905 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1905 - BY - HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY - - _Published May, 1905_ - - THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS - RAHWAY, N. J. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. A STATEMENT OF THE CASE 1 - - II. MRS. PARLIN TESTIFIES 14 - - III. ALIVE AT MIDNIGHT 33 - - IV. TRAFFORD GETS AN ASSURANCE 51 - - V. THE WEAPON IS PRODUCED 67 - - VI. MRS. MATTHEWSON AND TRAFFORD 85 - - VII. HUNTING BROKEN BONES 101 - - VIII. A MAN DISAPPEARS 119 - - IX. “YOU ARE MY MOTHER” 133 - - X. A SECOND MURDER? 153 - - XI. ALREADY ONE ATTEMPT 167 - - XII. AT THE DRIVERS’ CAMP 185 - - XIII. THE PRIEST’S STORY 199 - - XIV. A DUEL 212 - - XV. IN MATTHEWSON’S CHAMBERS 227 - - XVI. THE RANGE 16 SCANDAL 243 - - XVII. THE STORY OF THE PAPERS 259 - - XVIII. THE MAN IS FOUND 275 - - XIX. THE LAST OF THE PAPERS 290 - - - - -THE MILLBANK CASE - -CHAPTER I - -A Statement of the Case - - -Theodore Wing had no known enemy in the world. He was a man of forty; -“well-to-do,” as they say in New England; a lawyer by profession, and -already “mentioned” for a county judgeship. He was unmarried, but there -were those who had hopes, and there was scarce a spinster in Millbank -who hadn’t a kindly word and smile for him--at times. He was not a -church member, but it was whispered that his clergyman was disposed to -look leniently on this shortcoming, for Wing was a regular attendant -at service and liberal with money for church purposes, which, shrewd -guessers said, some of the church members were not. - -Wing lived in the River Road, just at the top of Parlin’s Hill. He -was from “over East, somewheres,” and had come to Millbank as a law -student, when old Judge Parlin was at the head of the Maine bar. He -became in turn chief clerk, junior partner, and finally full partner -to the judge, and when the latter died--of disappointment, it was -said, due to failure to secure the chief justiceship--Wing became the -head of the firm, and finally the firm itself; for he had a dislike -for partnerships, and at forty his office associates were employés -associated in particular cases, not partners in the general business. - -Judge Parlin was less than sixty years of age when he died and left -a widow, the Parlin homestead, and an estate of private debts, that -seemed to breed as Wing attempted to untangle affairs. For years his -income had been large and his expenses small. His townsmen had rated -him as their richest man who was not of the great Millbank logging -firms. There was not a man but would have considered it an insult -to the town to hint that Judge Parlin was worth less than a hundred -thousand dollars. His investments turned out the veriest cats and dogs; -and even in cases where the security might have been ample, the papers -were often executed with such carelessness that collection rested -on the honesty of the borrower and not on sufficiency of documentary -evidence. In fact, the debts outvalued the resources two to one--that -is, they seemed to, until it was announced that the Parlin homestead -had been sold for a sum sufficient to pay all obligations and leave the -widow a life income of five hundred dollars a year. People understood -when it was learned that Wing himself was the purchaser. - -Mrs. Parlin was fifty years of age at the time of her husband’s -death--a woman to whom stateliness had come with white hairs and the -growth of ambition. From the hour of the judge’s death, the devotion -she had given him living turned to the protection of his good name. -In a distant, cold way she had always shown a regard for Wing, which -changed to more marked affection, when his interposition provided -the means to meet the last of her husband’s debts. She harboured no -suspicion that the price paid for the homestead was beyond value. Not -only had it been her home throughout her married life, but the judge -had always spoken of its value in the large terms that were habitual -with him in dealing with personal matters, and, from the moment -when Wing discovered the condition of the estate, he held before her -constantly the idea that the homestead would bring a price sufficient -to cover the indebtedness. Indeed, she felt that she was making a -sacrifice, when she consented to waive her dower rights, and chiefly -she rejoiced that the purchaser was Wing and not a stranger. - -It is possible that some suspicion attached in her mind to the purchase -of the annuity, and this may have been confirmed by Wing’s insistence -that he would consent to occupy the homestead only on condition that -she should make it her home for her lifetime. If, however, this was -so, she proved herself large-minded enough to understand that her -happiness--so far as this was possible to her now dwarfed life--was the -best acknowledgment she could make to such a man, and during the five -years since the judge’s death, she had been the mistress of Wing’s home. - -The house stands at the crown of Parlin’s Hill. The estate embraces -twenty acres, divided nearly equally between farm land, meadow, and -woodland. The portion lying west of River Road is an apple orchard, -covering the slope of the hill from the road to the river. The roll of -the land is to the southwest, where all through the summer days the -sun lies in warm splendour, that seems to live in the heart and juices -of the red and yellow fruit, which is the pride of Millbank. To have -apples from the Parlin orchard, is to have the best that Millbank can -give. - -The house is near the road on the easterly side. The winter snows are -too deep to warrant building far from the travelled roads, and for -the same reason the buildings are connected one with another, under a -continuous roof, so that the breaking of roads and paths is unnecessary -for access to stock. The house is large and square, with a long wing -stretching to the ample woodshed, through which one passes to the -barns. The body of the buildings is white, and the shutters green. A -drive runs to the south of the house, leading from the road to the -doors of the great barn. It passes the side door of the main house, the -door to the wing and the woodshed, and the buildings shelter it from -the fierce northern winds. In the flower-beds that border this drive, -under the shelter of the house, the earliest flowers bloom in spring -and the latest in autumn. - -Between the road and the front of the house is an enclosure of about -half an acre--the “front yard,” as Millbank names it. A footpath -runs from the front gate to the main door of the house, dividing the -enclosure into two nearly equal parts. This enclosure is crowded with -flower-beds and shrubbery; the paths are bordered with box hedges, -while a few great evergreens tower above the roof, and make the place -somewhat gloomy on dull days. In midsummer, however, when the sun turns -the corner and thrusts strongly into the enclosure, the deep shadows of -the great trees are cool and inviting. - -From the principal door, the main hall, broad and unencumbered, makes -back until it is cut by the narrower hall from the south-side door. -This side hall carries the stairs, and east of it are the dining room, -kitchens, and pantries. The main hall goes on, in narrowed estate, -between the dining room on the south and kitchens on the north, to the -woodsheds. To the left, as one enters the house, is the great parlour, -seldom used, and a sitting room, the gloomiest room on the floor, for -it has a northern outlook only. - -In the angle of the two halls is the great room which Wing used as -his library. It is some twenty-four by thirty-six feet, high-posted, -and has a warm, sunny outlook to the south and west. It is lined with -books and pictures; a great desk stands in the centre front, and -lounges and easy chairs are scattered about in inviting confusion. -The room above was his bedchamber, adjoining which is a bathroom, in -its day the wonder and challenge of Millbank. An iron spiral stairway -leads from the lower to the upper room, so that the occupant has the -two rooms at his command independent of the remainder of the house. -This was Wing’s special domain. Outside these two rooms, Mrs. Parlin -ruled as undisputed as during her thirty years of wifehood. Within, -Wing held control, and while no small share of his personal work was -done here, the great room saw much of his private life of which his -everyday acquaintances had little suspicion. The cases contained many a -volume that belongs to literature rather than law, and here he found -that best of rest from the onerous demands of a constantly growing -practice--complete change in matter and manner of thought. - -On the night of the 10th of May, 1880, the light burned late in Lawyer -Wing’s library. It was the scandal of Millbank that this occurred -often. The village was given to regarding the night as a time when no -man should work. “Early to bed and early to rise” was its motto, and -though an opposite practice had left Theodore Wing with more of health, -wealth, and wisdom than most Millbankians possessed, he had never -succeeded in reconciling his townsmen to his methods. But to-night -conditions were more outrageous than usual. Mrs. Merrick, from the -bed of an ailing grandchild, glanced up the hill at midnight and saw -the light still burning. Old Doctor Portus, coming villageward from a -confinement case, an hour later, saw the light as he passed the house -and shook his head with dire prognostications. If Wing should be sick, -old Doctor Portus would certainly not be called in attendance, and -therefore he could measure this outrage of nature’s laws with a mind -uninfluenced by personal bias. - -At four o’clock, however, a farmer’s son, who had yielded the night to -Millbank’s temptations, hurrying farmward to his morning chores, saw no -light growing dim in the first flush of the spring morning to attract -his attention to a scene that later knowledge revealed. At six, the -hired man came down the back stairs and went through the woodshed to -the barns. Turning the heavy wooden bar that held the great doors fast, -he swung them open and let in the soft morning air. - -Then, his eye travelled along the stretch of house and he saw something -that startled him. The side door was standing ajar--half open--and on -the stone step was a huddled mass that looked strangely like a man, -half lying and half crouching. Before the hired man had passed half the -distance to the door, he knew that the huddled mass was Theodore Wing. -His head and right arm rested on the threshold and held the door from -closing; his body was on the stone step. There was blood spattered on -the white of the westerly door-post, and the left temple of the man, -which was upward as he lay, showed a spot around which the flesh was -blackened as if powder-burnt, while between the head and the threshold -a thin stream of blood still flowed and fell drop by drop on the stone -below. The eyes were wide open and the look in them seemed to say that, -suddenly as death had come, it had not come too suddenly for the man to -realise that here had fallen the end of his hopes and ambitions, his -strivings and accomplishments, in a form that left him powerless to -strike a blow in his own behalf. - -This murder was the most tragic event that had ever happened in the -history of Millbank. It caused the more terror in that, so far as -any one could understand, it was absolutely without motive. It was -not known that Theodore Wing had an enemy in the world. Millbank was -proud of him with a wholesome, kindly pride, which found much of -self-gratulation in having such a citizen. Yet this man had been struck -down by a murderer’s hand, so silently that no sound had been heard, -and the murderer had gone as he had come, without leaving trace of his -coming or going. - -Contrary to expectation aroused by the first news, the house seemed -not to have been entered. The whole of the crime was evidenced in the -dead man on the stone step. Apparently, there had been a ring at the -bell and a shot from a pistol, held close to the head of the man, as -he stood in the doorway, by some one who had stationed himself at -the easterly end of the doorstep, and who, his purpose accomplished, -slipped into the darkness which had opened to give him way for this -deed. It was uncanny in the extreme and gave a sense of insecurity -to life that an ordinary murder, due to traceable causes, would have -failed utterly to give. - -The closest inspection furnished no clue. There was no footprint on -the drive, and the grass at the end of the step, where the murderer -must have stood, gave no token. And yet--here was another fearsome -fact--the deed had been done by some one who knew the house and its -peculiarities. The door had two bell-pulls, one on either door-post. -Originally there had been only the one on the right or easterly -post, and this was the general bell. When Wing took the library as -his special room, he had a change made and the bell transferred to -that room, so that his personal visitors could come and go without -disturbing the house. In a little time, however, this proved very -annoying, because most visitors came to this door, and he gave an order -for a general bell to be put in. This he intended should also have a -pull on the right-hand post, but the workman, who seemed to have no -conception that one post could carry two pulls, put it on the left. -Thus the post nearest Wing’s room carried the general bell, and the -further post his own, and neither of the bells could be heard on the -premises devoted to the other. At first, this condition gave rise to -troublesome mistakes, and Wing talked often of a change, but gradually -the visitors to the house became accustomed to the condition and the -need of a change disappeared. - -It was clear, therefore, that whoever the murderer was, he had rung -the bell which alone could be heard by the lawyer at his desk, and -therefore must have been acquainted with the peculiarity of the -bell-pulls. Had the lawyer had any cause to fear? Apparently not, for -the shade to the window nearest his desk was raised and he evidently -had answered the bell as a matter of course, not even taking with him -a light. But, if he was seated at his desk, as seemed clearly the case, -the man must have seen him as he came up the drive and might easily -have shot him through the window. Why, then, had he called him to the -door? The body had not been disturbed after it fell; the watch was in -the fob, and money in the pocket. Murder was evidently the murderer’s -purpose; yet he had summoned his victim, when clearly he had him in his -power without so doing. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -Mrs. Parlin Testifies - - -In addition to the ill-fated lawyer, there were but three people in the -Parlin household--the widow; a general house girl, Mary Mullin; and the -hired man, Jonathan Oldbeg, a nephew of the Mullin woman. Oldbeg was -about thirty, and his aunt forty. The widow’s room was in the northwest -corner of the second floor, while that of the Mullin woman was over the -kitchen. The hired man slept over the woodshed. All the windows of the -three rooms gave to the north, excepting two in Mrs. Parlin’s room, -which opened to the west, overlooking the orchard and the river. - -Mrs. Parlin was a tall, striking woman who carried her head, crowned -with waves of white hair, with an air that some named queenly, and -others by that terrible New England word “conceited.” The death of -her husband had been a terrible blow to her soaring ambitions; but -this she had outlived, at least to outward seeming. Childless, as -well as husbandless, the dormant maternal instinct, which is a part -of every true woman, had stirred to life under the care lavished upon -her by Wing, whose years were sufficiently less than her own to give a -natural tone to the pseudo relation of mother and son. Nevertheless, -there had been something of the maternal in her relationship to the -judge--of that phase of the maternal which gives to natural weakness -courage for defence. It was not in personal finance alone that the -judge was a grown-up boy. The sense of fear was so little developed as -to amount scarce to caution. Scrupulous in duty, he gave no thought to -the enemies or enmities he created, while she saw in these not alone -threats to his professional career, but as well danger of a personal -nature. Even she, standing guard as she did, had not been able to save -him from enemies who defeated his noble ambition and would, as she -believed, as readily have destroyed him. As the intensity of her grief -softened with time, the solicitude with which she had followed her -husband’s career, was transferred to Wing, but with less of the factor -of self than it possessed of old, with the result that she grew more -lovable and companionable, and gained a friendly interest from the -village which had not been hers during the judge’s lifetime. - -To this recovered peace of mind the tragic death of Wing came as a -crushing blow, the full weight of which few realised until the broken, -haggard woman was seen of the public for the first time at the inquest. -Years seemed to have left their impress upon her, and there were many -who noted that the immediate physical effect was as much more marked -than that following the judge’s death, as Wing’s death had been the -more tragic. Her husband’s death left to her the responsibility of -protecting his name, in co-operation with his partner and friend. -Wing’s death snatched away the last prop and stay of her years. -Husbandless and childless, to her life had no further meaning, and -while the community was whispering that she was again rich--for it was -known that she was the principal legatee of the dead lawyer’s will--she -was looking down the years with a dread that made hope impossible. - -Her testimony was of the briefest. She had said “good-night” to Wing -at half-past nine. She had gone to the library for that purpose, as was -her custom evenings when he did not sit with her in her own sitting -room till her early bedtime. - -“Was it his custom to spend the evening in your sitting room or the -library?” the coroner asked. - -“Two or three evenings a week he spent in my sitting room. The other -evenings in the library, when he was at home.” - -“Was he away much, evenings?” - -“Only when he was at court in Augusta or Portland. When he had cases at -Norridgewock he always drove home at night.” - -“At what time did you have supper?” - -“At six.” - -“On the night of the murder?” - -The witness nodded, too much affected to speak her answer. - -“Who was present at supper?” - -“Theodore and myself.” - -“Mary Mullin and Oldbeg did not eat with you?” - -This was a sore spot in Millbank’s estimate of the widow Parlin. The -town still held it a Christian duty for “help” to eat at the same -table with their employers. Every departure from this primitive rule -was occasion for heart-burnings and recriminations. - -“They ate by themselves in the kitchen.” - -There was a slight raising of the head, a shadow, as it were, of the -old self-assertive pride, which in other days would have made itself -manifest in answering this question. So deep was Millbank in the -tragedy that the audience almost lost the weight of the heinous fact -confessed in this answer. - -“Did you go directly to your sitting room after supper?” - -“No, we went out into the front yard, to look at the flower-beds, and -then crossed the road to the orchard and walked through that to the -river-bank.” - -“From there you returned to the house?” - -“Yes.” - -“Where did you go on your return?” - -“To my sitting room. He lighted my lamp and then excused himself, -because of some work he had to do.” - -“When did you see him again?” - -“At half-past nine, when I went to bid him good-night.” - -“Are you certain of the time?” - -“Yes; for I stopped to wind the clock as I went through the hall, and -noticed that it was exactly half-past nine.” - -“There are two doors to the library, are there not--one from the main -hall and one from the side?” - -“Yes.” - -“By which one did you enter the library?” - -“By the one from the side hall.” - -“Which is near the side door of the house?” - -Again she had to nod assent. This was the door through which Wing had -passed to his death. - -“Did you knock at the door before entering?” - -“Always.” - -Again that slight suggestive raising of the head. - -“Did he open the door for you?” - -“Yes. He knew my knock, and always came to open the door.” - -“Did you notice anything peculiar about him or the room?” - -“I did not.” - -“Was there anything to indicate whether he was writing or reading when -you knocked?” - -“He had a book in his left hand and the light was on a small table by -his reading chair.” - -“This reading chair and table, where were they in the room?” - -“Before the fireplace, about the centre of the north side.” - -“Was there a fire in the fireplace?” - -“Yes; there were a few wood coals.” - -“Was it a cold night?” - -“No; but he was very fond of a wood fire and when the evening was not -too warm had one, even if he had to have a window open.” - -“Was the window open that night?” - -“Yes; the one nearest the River Road, overlooking the driveway.” - -“That was the nearest window to the desk?” - -“The nearest of the south windows. The desk stood between the two west -windows.” - -“Did you notice whether the shades were drawn?” - -“They were drawn to the west windows, but were raised to all four of -the south windows.” - -“Were you long in the room?” - -“Only long enough to say ‘good-night’ and ask him not to read too late.” - -“What did he say to this?” - -“Laughed, as he always did, when I spoke of his sitting up late, and,” -in a voice that was almost a sob; “said, ‘You know, mother, I can’t -get over my bad habits, but really to-night I’m only going to read a -chapter or two more, for I must write a letter and then go to bed. I’ve -got a busy day to-morrow.’” - -“Was that all he said?” - -“Excepting ‘good-night.’” - -“Do you recall anything in his manner, tone, or words that indicated -trouble or apprehension of any kind?” - -“Nothing. He was, as always, cheerful and, seemingly, happy, and -laughed quite carelessly when he spoke of his bad habit.” - -“When did you next see him?” - -The question came with a suddenness that startled every one who heard -it, including the witness. She grew white and for a moment swayed as -if she would fall. Dr. Rogers, her physician, stepped towards her, but -before he could reach her side, she recovered by what seemed a supreme -effort of the will, and, raising her head, answered: - -“In the morning, a little after six, lying dead on the threshold of the -south door.” - -Then her head dropped on the table in front of her, and her face was -hidden from the gaze of her curious neighbours, but not a sob was -heard. She had spent her tears long before. - -At an adjourned session, she testified that she had heard no unusual -noise during the night. She was a sound sleeper and did not wake -easily. She had fallen asleep soon after hearing the clock strike ten. -She did not recall awaking until aroused by the noise made by Mary -Mullin knocking at her door, soon after six o’clock, to tell her of the -discovery of the murder. - -“Do you believe that a pistol shot could have been fired at your -side door and you not hear it?” the coroner asked, with that sudden -sharpness he had at times. - -“I am compelled to believe that it did occur;” and there was to more -than one onlooker an air of defiance in the answer. - -“In advance of this, would you believe it possible?” he demanded. - -She looked at him as if weighing the question and its purpose, and then -said deliberately: - -“No.” - -The answer manifestly accorded with the sense of the spectators, among -whom there were sundry exchanges of glances not all friendly to the -witness. But the coroner was speaking again: - -“Mrs. Parlin, what do you know of the parentage of the late Theodore -Wing?” - -Every head was bent towards the witness to catch the answer to what -the veriest dullard suspected was the most important question thus far -asked. The witness grew pale--paler than she had been at any time, and -there came into her bearing a touch of defiance rather felt than seen. -She was apparently arming herself against coroner and spectators. - -“He was the son of Judge Parlin.” - -If she had aimed at sensation, she could not have hoped for greater -success. A murmur of surprise ran about the room, and the confusion -rose to a height that for a time defied the efforts of the coroner to -preserve order. Curiosity to hear further questions and answers came to -his aid, and silence was restored. - -“By a former marriage?” - -“No. He was born out of wedlock.” - -“When did you first learn of this?” - -“On the eleventh of this month.” - -“The day succeeding the murder?” - -“Yes.” - -“How did you learn of it?” - -“From a paper in the judge’s handwriting, found in Theodore’s desk, and -enclosed in an envelope addressed ‘Mrs. Amelia Parlin; Mr. Theodore -Wing; to be opened and read by the survivor, in event of the death of -either, and until such death to remain unopened.’” - -“Was this inscription also in the handwriting of your late husband?” - -Now many noted that she had said “Judge Parlin,” and not “my late -husband,” as if she would remind them from the start of the public’s -share in his acts, rather than of her own. - -“It was.” - -“Please produce that paper.” - -The witness drew forth a large square envelope and handed it to the -coroner, who said to the jury: - -“I regret that I am compelled to read to you a paper which was -evidently intended for one person’s reading only, and that Mrs. -Parlin or Mr. Wing, according as the one or the other should be the -longest-lived. The circumstances of the death which placed this in the -hands of the other for perusal, leaves no alternative. Before reading, -let me say, I was a townsman of Judge Parlin: I had the honour to know -him intimately, and notwithstanding what I am about to read you, I -still hold it an honour. He was an able lawyer, an upright judge, a -good citizen, and, I may add, a noble man. If he sinned, who of us is -there that is without sin? If there be such, let him cast the first -stone. I am not entitled to do so.” - -The widow sat with head held high, as if there had come to her again -the old strength that so many felt was gone forever. When her husband -was in question, her courage had no limit. She flinched from no eye -that was turned towards her, but there was that in her own which seemed -to resent even the kindly words of the coroner, as if in protest that -they implied wrong in her husband’s past which she would not for one -instant admit. It was not for them to accuse, still less to excuse. -What he had done was a thing that concerned him and his God alone, and -her look said more plainly than words, “neither do I accuse him!” The -instinct of defence covered her as a shield. - -Meantime the coroner read: - -“‘There were three persons who had the right to know what I am about to -write. One died many years ago. Until another dies, these words are not -to be read. In the course of nature, it is probable that the reading -will fall to Theodore, not to my wife. If so, I believe that when -Theodore reads them, I will already have been reunited to my wife and -will have told her all that I write here, and so told it that she will -feel my sincerity more clearly than I can make it felt by any written -words. - -“‘Although born and raised in Millbank, I read law in the office of -Judge Murdock in Bangor. My father had a great admiration for the judge -and, dying early, before he had seen me admitted to the bar, asked his -friend to take me into his office. If I have attained anything of note -in my profession, I owe it largely to the fidelity with which Judge -Murdock discharged his trust. - -“‘While in his office and shortly before I returned to Millbank, -I became involved with a young woman of Bangor, who became by me -the mother of the man now known as Theodore Wing--he will find his -name legally established by action of the Legislature in 1841. -Unfortunately, I can say little that is good of her; I will say nothing -otherwise, if I can avoid it. I shirk no part of the responsibility for -the wrong done. God alone knows that if she failed in true womanhood, -then or after, it was not I who was wholly to blame. Thus much I can -say, she was and is a woman of brilliant mind and shrewd resources, -which have carried her far socially. - -“‘Fortunately I did not lack money, and so was able to provide -comfortably for the woman and her child. As a matter of justice, I -offered marriage, but she made it a condition that her child should be -placed in some institution, urging that it would otherwise always be a -stigma upon us. To this I would not consent, and her election to forego -the vindication of marriage put me on my guard, for I could not believe -that a woman of her temperament would deliberately elect to go through -life encumbered with an unfathered child. The event proved me right, -for within three months she had placed the infant in an institution for -orphans, and returned to Bangor with a plausible tale accounting for -her absence. - -“‘She, of course, counted safely on my silence, but I did not hesitate -to make it a condition that I should take possession of the child for -whom I provided, rearing him in such a way that he has taken a place -in the world equal to that of his parents, and as untrammelled by his -unsuspected birth as it is possible for one to be. My marriage has -never been blessed with children, and thus to him and my wife of -thirty years, the two on earth whose claim upon me is most sacred, I am -able to leave all that I have accumulated. - -“‘He has been to me all that a son could be. Let this narrative be to -him, if he ever reads it, an explanation of anything in which I have -been less than a father to him. - -“‘I see no necessity for continuing this narrative further, save that -it may be to my son a relief to know something more of his mother, -and to my wife a joy to know that my wrong did not bring a woman to -misery and worldly ruin. Within a year of her desertion of my son, -I attended her wedding to a man of equal social rank, who has since -risen to wealth and political power. She has been a notable aid to -him, and her name is well-nigh as often pronounced in connection with -his fortunes as is his own. She is the mother of children who have -taken good social positions, and some of whom seem to have inherited -their mother’s brilliance of mind and unflinching purpose and their -father’s ability in money and power getting. To say more than this, -even to the two dear ones, of whom one alone is to read these lines, -would be an injustice to the woman herself and to her children. To her -influence, exerted against me, I attribute my failure to secure the -chief justiceship. As great as was the disappointment, I can write the -fact to-day without bitterness toward her and without purpose to accuse -her of injustice. If by meeting the penalty of my sin, I can avert it -from others, I am content.’” - -Unless one knew the unbending spirit of the man in matters of right -and wrong, he must fail to understand the keenness of feeling covered -by the apparently cold, formal statement of fact to which Judge Parlin -had confined his written words. To the witness on the witness rack, -however, those words were as if the living man spoke again and laid -bare a heart torn with the humiliation of self-condemnation, more -terrible to him than the judgment of any human tribunal. Realising the -bitterness of spirit in which he had spoken, she was stirred anew by -that long-dead instinct of protection, which had made her weakness a -shield in the past to his strength, and held high her head, too proud -of her dead to allow any one to find in her the faintest blame for -this strong spirit whose words she, and she alone, read to their last -meaning. - -The hush that followed the reading was that strong suspension of every -function which betokens deep emotion. Before the mass had recovered, -the coroner’s voice broke harshly upon them: - -“When did you first know of the existence of this paper?” - -“The paper itself on the eleventh. I saw the envelope and its address -by accident a week or ten days before.” - -“Can you fix the exact date?” - -“I cannot. I saw it by accident, as I have said, and I assumed it -related to something Judge Parlin had desired done in the event named -on the envelope. I asked no questions regarding it.” - -“Will you state on oath that you knew nothing of the contents of this -paper until after the death of Mr. Theodore Wing?” - -The white head went up, and there was a sting of rebuke in the tone in -which the answer came: - -“I was under oath when I gave my testimony. I stated then that I first -learned of this paper and its contents on May eleventh. I can add -nothing to that.” - -“Did you ever suspect the relationship of your husband to Mr. Wing -prior to the eleventh of this month, when you saw this paper?” - -“I did not.” - -“Would a knowledge of that relationship, if you had known it while he -was living, have changed in any way your feeling towards Mr. Wing?” - -The witness paused as if she would question her own heart before -answering, and the coroner waited patiently, with apparent -understanding of the need. A hush fell on the room, like that which had -followed the reading of the remarkable paper. Then Mrs. Parlin looked -directly at the coroner and answered distinctly and without a tremor in -her voice: - -“I think it would.” - -“Thank you,” said the coroner. “I am sorry if I have in any way -disturbed you unnecessarily in this examination. I know that you -believe I have aimed simply at my duty.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -Alive at Midnight - - -An hour after the close of the day’s session, Mrs. Parlin was in her -sitting room, with the door closed and the shades lowered. On the -opposite side of the small light-stand sat a rather undersized man, -plainly dressed, and of somewhat insignificant aspect. Distinctly, the -woman in her was disappointed. - -“I have sent for you, Mr. Trafford,” she said, slowly and apparently -reluctantly, “because both my husband and Theodore--Mr. Wing--had -the utmost confidence in your ability. I want you to find Mr. Wing’s -murderer. It’s not a matter of cost--I simply want him found.” - -As she spoke, she gathered confidence, and the tone of her final words -almost evidenced a belief that he could do what she asked. She stopped -speaking, and the insignificance of the man’s appearance was again more -real to her and sent a chill over her earnestness. - -“If you entrust the case to me,” he said, in a tone singularly winning -for a man in his station and of his personal appearance, “I shall do -my best to sustain the confidence Judge Parlin and Mr. Wing gave me; -but let me warn you, in my profession there is no royal road. I have no -instinct that enables me to scent a murderer or other criminal. I reach -results by hard work, close attention to details, and perseverance. -I make it a condition of undertaking any case that nothing shall be -concealed from me. I must start with at least the knowledge that my -principal possesses.” - -“I’ve told everything to the coroner. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve heard -the testimony.” She spoke with dignity, almost with hostility, in her -voice. - -“I heard the testimony,” he said, “but are you sure you’ve told -everything? There’s sometimes things that we know which aren’t -facts--that is, not facts as the term is understood when one is giving -testimony.” - -“For instance?” - -“You have impressions of what led up to this tragedy.” There was -nothing of question in his tone. It was as if he stated what was -indisputable. - -The statement seemed to strike her and to arouse a new train of -thought. She was silent for some time, and he sat watching anxiously, -but without a sign of impatience. At last she looked up and answered: - -“You are mistaken; I’m absolutely in the dark. There’s nothing to point -in any direction.” - -He accepted the disappointment, but accepted it as absolute. He -evidently had striven by the assertion so positively made to surprise -her into new thought, with the hope that it might hit on something that -in his skilled hands would have meaning. He saw not only that he had -not succeeded, but that there was no ground for success. - -“That, in itself,” he said, “is significant. It shows that we must -dig deeper in his life than we have yet done. The motive; we want the -motive!” - -“There was no motive,” she said. “It was motiveless. There are men who -do murder for murder’s sake.” Under sting of her life experience, she -spoke with keen bitterness. - -He leaned across the table, and for the instant she saw something in -the man she had not seen before; something that flashed like a gleam of -new intelligence and was gone with its very birth. - -“There are no motiveless crimes,” he said. “In this case, of all -others, you may be sure a motive existed, and that when we put our -hands on it, we shall find it a tremendous one--that is, tremendous in -its imperative force.” - -“But what could be the motive--against a man like him?” - -“Because he was such a man, we may be the more certain of motive,” -he said. “Under other conditions it might have been Judge Parlin.” -He spoke at hazard--perhaps; but the effect was something startling. -She grew pale as at the inquest before she answered as to the first -knowledge of Wing’s death, and her companion expected for the moment -that she would faint. But she was a woman equal to noteworthy sudden -efforts, and even as he watched she overcame the momentary weakness. -Yet it was with pale lips she stammered: - -“I understand. It might have been the judge.” - -Trafford waited, seemingly expecting something more, but when the pause -grew awkward, he continued, “He told you he had a letter to write -before he went to bed. Had he written it?” - -“I don’t know. It’s a thing we never shall know.” - -“It’s a thing that we will know, and that in a very short time. Who -entered the room first that morning?” and there was a sense of action -in his tone that caused her to look up with sudden interest. - -“I did. Mary told me expressly that she hadn’t dared open the door -until I came, and Jonathan was by the body, outside.” - -“Was the door closed?” - -“Yes.” - -“Who closed it?” - -“I have never asked. I supposed it hadn’t been open.” - -“It was open,” he said. “He came to the door without a light when the -bell rang. Naturally, he left the door open so that the light from the -room would shine through. He would leave it wide open, to get the full -light. Somebody shut that door!” - -Mary and Jonathan were called and questioned. The latter set the matter -at rest. When he discovered the body he stooped over it to make certain -that Mr. Wing was dead. Then, remembering to have heard that you must -not touch a murdered man until the coroner comes, he arose without -touching him and as he did so saw through the outer door that the door -to the library was closed. - -“The outer door was wide open?” Trafford said. - -“No, sir, ’twant neither. ’Twas against Mr. Wing’s head and arm. If it -hadn’t been fur them, it would ’a’ shut too.” - -After the two had gone, Trafford declared he would see the room, but -proposed first to do so alone. He entered from the main hall, set -his light on the lamp-mat on the writing-desk, and took his station -in front of the door from the side hall. Here he stood for at least -ten minutes studying the room. Then he walked to a medium-sized safe -that stood to the right of the fire-jamb and was partially hidden by -book-shelves near the door from the side hall. - -Having studied this for some time, he made a minute examination -of every part of the room, including the blotting paper in the -writing-pad on the desk, which he finally lifted carefully and held -before the mirror to examine the few ink-marks it showed. Of these he -took note in a small memorandum book. They seemed to be the only things -that struck his attention particularly. Then he rang and told Mary to -ask Mrs. Parlin to come to the library. - -“Is that the blotting-pad that was here that night?” he asked. “And you -were the first one who came to this desk in the morning?” when she had -answered him as to the identity of the pad. “And there was no letter on -the desk?” - -“None.” - -“Then, evidently he had not written the letter he told you of?” - -“Evidently not,” she assented. - -“Then he must have been killed before he had time to write?” - -“It would seem so.” - -“And, therefore, probably very soon after you left him?” - -“I can see no other conclusion, unless he changed his mind and didn’t -write,” she assented. - -“Now we come to one of the impressions which you could not testify to -as a fact, but which may be of far more value. Did he say he had a -letter to write in a way that makes you think he may have changed his -mind?” - -“No,” she said. “I understood, from the way in which he said it, that -it was the important thing he had to do before going to bed. I went -away satisfied that he would write the letter early and then get to -bed. He certainly meant that the next day was to be a busy one.” - -“Then he probably was killed, very soon, since he had not written the -letter.” - -“I think so.” - -“Now, if you please, let me send for Jonathan again.” - -When the hired man came, he glanced over his shoulder in an uneasy way, -as if he did not more than half like the room. Trafford motioned him to -a chair and without any preliminaries suddenly demanded: - -“At what hour are you going to testify that you went to bed that -night?” - -Thus far Oldbeg had simply been called upon to testify to the finding -of the body. The remainder of his testimony was to be given later. - -“About nine o’clock; not more’n five minutes one way or ’tother.” - -“What were you doing on Canaan Street at five minutes after midnight?” - -Oldbeg looked frightened, and Mrs. Parlin showed considerable anxiety -in the look she cast on the two men. - -“Come,” said Trafford sharply. “If I can find out you were there, I can -find out why you were there. I’d rather hear it from you.” - -“I was comin’ from the twelve-o’clock train. My cousin, Jim Shepard, -went to Portland to work an’ I saw him off.” - -“Be careful,” Trafford warned him. “If you were coming from the -station, you’d have come up Somerset Street, not Canaan.” - -“Why, ye see,” the man explained, placed at once at his ease in having -something to tell of which he had knowledge; “Jim, he was spendin’ -the evenin’ with his gal, Miss Flanders, in Canaan Street, an’ I -was to call fur him thar; an’ he was so late we couldn’t get round -to the station, an’ so we made a short cut through Gray’s Court an’ -jest catched the train, an’ that was all. We had to run, or he’d ’a’ -missed it any way. So I come back that way, instead o’ through Somerset -Street.” - -“Then you came through Canaan Street to River Road----” - -“No, I didn’t,” the other interrupted. “I cut across lots back o’ -Burgess, ’cause ’twas shorter, an’ struck River Road down in front of -Miller’s.” - -“Yes; and then came up to the driveway and so into the house?” - -“Yep!” - -“You must have got in about ten minutes after twelve.” - -“Jest to a dot!” he exclaimed in evident admiration of the other’s -shrewdness. “Jest to a dot. I looked to my watch an’ ’twas jest ten -minutes arter midnight.” - -“Then you must have passed close to the side-door step?” - -“Yess’r; fact, ye might say, I hit agin it, for I did knock my toe agin -it as I passed.” - -“Was Mr. Wing’s body there then?” The demand was quick and imperative. - -“No, siree! Do you s’pose I’d ’a’ waited till mornin’ to rout ’em out -ef it had ben? Mr. Wing was in this ere room.” - -“How do you know?” - -“I saw his shadder on the curtain. He was walkin’ up an’ down. I seed -him turn as I come up the drive.” - -“But why didn’t you see him? The shade was up to that window, when he -was found in the morning.” - -“Yep; but they was all down when I come up the drive, an’ I saw his -shadder agin ’em.” - -Further questioning elicited no added information from the man, -excepting the statement that as his cousin Jim swung on to the rear -end of the car, another man had swung on to the front end, suddenly -rushing out of the darkness. Jonathan did not know who it was; indeed, -had hardly given the matter a thought, so anxious had he been lest Jim -should be left. When he had gone, Trafford turned to Mrs. Parlin and -asked: - -“When do you think Mr. Wing intended writing that letter, if he hadn’t -written it at ten minutes after midnight?” - -“He must have changed his mind, after all,” she answered. - -“Evidently, he did,” he said. - -Then he took up the matter of Judge Parlin’s confession. - -“I do not wish to pain you,” he said, “but I would not be justified in -letting that drop without going into it further. Have you any suspicion -who Theodore’s mother was--or is, since she is still living, or was -between five and six years ago?” - -“I haven’t the faintest suspicion,” she said. “But surely this has been -raked open enough. You can let that wound heal.” - -“I can let nothing heal,” he said. “I don’t for the life of me see how -that can have anything to do with this murder, but that’s no reason I -may not find that it has lots to do with it. At any rate, I must find -her out.” - -“Can you do it on the feeble clue we have?” she asked. - -He smiled. - -“On such a clue, I’ll trace her in a week and not half try. Your -husband intended to shield her from discovery, and but for these -untoward circumstances, we would be bound to respect his wishes. As it -is, I must know the identity of the woman. I hope I’ll find nothing -to compel me to go farther. In the meantime, I’m going to take with -me this blotting-pad, and I want you to examine it so that you can -identify it beyond question, blotter and all. It’s too important for -any mistake.” - -Just then Mary Mullin brought word that Mr. McManus had come in -response to a message sent earlier in the evening by Mr. Trafford. Mr. -McManus had been with Mr. Wing for a number of years, and held the most -confidential relation to his principal of any in the office. Since the -murder he had naturally taken charge of his personal affairs. He was a -man of thirty, tall and lithe, with a nervous force about him that was -held well in control by strong will-power. - -“Do you know what special engagements Mr. Wing had for the eleventh, -that caused him to expect a particularly busy day?” the detective asked. - -“None connected with office matters. It must have been a personal -engagement.” - -“Did you open this safe the day after the murder?” - -“Yes.” - -“Was it properly closed and locked?” - -“So far as I could see.” - -“I’d have given a hundred dollars if I’d been here,” Trafford said -earnestly. - -McManus looked at him in surprise. - -“Certainly,” he said, “you don’t suspect robbery?” - -“I don’t suspect anything,” Trafford replied, somewhat brusquely. “Of -all things, I avoid suspicion and guesses. I’d like you to open the -safe again.” - -McManus knelt, drew from his pocket a paper with a series of figures -written on it, and following these with the turnings of the knob, threw -open the door. Within was revealed a small iron door surrounded by -pigeon-holes, the divisions of wood. Trafford dropped on his knees and -gave peculiar scrutiny to the door, and especially the lock. Then he -turned towards McManus: - -“These two empty pigeon-holes on the left; they were empty when you -first opened the safe?” - -“Every paper is in the exact place I found it,” McManus answered -sharply. “My profession has taught me some things!” - -“And this door?” - -“It was closed and locked. Here is the key.” - -Trafford opened the door, revealing packages of letters, filling about -half the space above the small drawer which was at the lowest portion. - -“You have examined these letters?” - -“Only sufficiently to be able to identify them. They relate to certain -logging interests of firms employing Mr. Wing.” - -“And the drawer?” - -“You have the key: there’s nothing there but trinkets and a little -personal jewelry.” There was a personal tone of resentment over the -failure to recognise the distance between a detective and an attorney. - -Trafford opened the drawer mechanically, then closed it and took out -indifferently one of the packages of letters. These he returned and -closed and locked the door, which he examined again with care. Then he -pushed to the heavy outer door, turning the knob slowly and as if he -was studying the fall of the wards. - -“If it had been planned to leave no trace,” he said, as if to himself, -“it would be a success. Have you a suspicion of the motive for this -murder, Mr. McManus?” - -“So far as I can see, it was motiveless,” McManus answered. “I can only -conclude that it was the work of a lunatic, or a mere murder fiend. It -was, in my opinion, merely an accident that it was Mr. Wing and not -some one else.” - -“I hadn’t thought of that aspect of the case,” Trafford said. “Is there -any unfortunate creature of that kind about here?” - -“No, not that I know of; but might it not be a stranger that has -wandered here?” - -“Did you ever hear of one of that class that was content with mere -killing? It’s mutilation that characterises all such crimes. Its -absence in this case is one of the most prominent features. By the bye: -was the night of the tenth windy?” - -“On the contrary, it was a very still night.” - -“Not wind enough to blow that door shut?” pointing to the door into the -side hall. - -“Certainly not.” - -Trafford walked around to the different windows and finally pulled -down the shades and placed the lamp on the writing-desk. Then he went -outside and studied the reflection on the shades. When he returned, he -said: - -“I shall be absent a few days. Will you see to it, Mr. McManus, that -the coroner doesn’t reconvene the inquest until I can be here? Until -we find a motive for this crime, we’re going to make slow headway in -finding the criminal.” - -“So long as you have charge of the case,” McManus answered, “I shall -follow your wishes; but you may as well understand that I’m not going -to be content with failure on any one’s part. You’re after the pay; -I’m after punishment for the murderer. As long as our wishes run in the -same line----” - -Trafford interrupted him: - -“When a case is placed in your hands, you expect to manage it, I -assume. This case has been placed in my hands, and as long as it -remains there, I shall conduct it in my own way. That doesn’t mean I -won’t take advice; it simply means, I’ll be the one to decide what I’ll -do with it.” - -The two men faced each other for the moment almost with hostility. Then -McManus’s face lightened and he held out his hand without a word of -apology: - -“You’ll do, I guess. If the fellow escapes you, he’d deserve to--if -he’d killed anybody but Theodore Wing. Whatever I can do to aid, call -on me day or night. At the least, keep me posted.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -Trafford Gets an Assurance - - -Trafford sat in his room in the hotel at Bangor the next evening and -studied the copy of Judge Parlin’s statement. - -“Her brilliancy of mind has carried her far,” he said; “has aided her -husband politically; and it was this influence that defeated him for -the chief justiceship. It’s so easy that I can’t believe the solution. -By George! I wonder if the old judge ever wrote that paper? I wish I’d -examined the original more critically. If I’d been one of your inspired -detectives, such as you find in novels, I’d probably have caught a -forgery the first thing!” - -None the less, he put himself to the task of untangling the threads -of the statement, with a result that set him to deep thinking. Bangor -was not the direction from which had come opposition to the judge’s -nomination. On the contrary, Judge Parlin had been rather a favourite -than otherwise in Bangor, and his cause had received substantial aid. -But the statement did not assert that Wing’s mother had remained in -Bangor, or that it was there that she aided her husband politically. -The most hostile influence that Judge Parlin had encountered was -popularly credited to an ex-Governor, Matthewson, an Eastern Maine man, -who at present held no office, but without whose countenance few men -ventured even to aspire to office. - -“If it should prove that Matthewson’s wife is a Bangor woman, ’twould -be so easy as to be absurd,” Trafford mused. “The old judge wasn’t -silly enough to believe that what he wrote could conceal her identity. -Either he meant it should be known to Wing or Mrs. Parlin, or--but what -possible object could there be in forging such a paper?” - -Suddenly he sat bolt upright and stared at the document in blank -amazement. Then, with a low whistle, he folded it into his pocketbook. - -“I’ll find Mrs. Matthewson Bangor-born, I’ll bet ten cents to a leather -button!” he declared. - -Whatever had brought Trafford to this sudden conclusion, it proved -absolutely correct, and the details given of her brilliance and her -aid to her husband fitted exactly to the character of the woman. This -fact naturally raised the question, was it safe to go farther and, if -so, how much farther? Mrs. Matthewson at least had been put on her -guard by the published statement, and she was not a woman to remain in -ignorance of any steps taken in consequence of that statement, or of -the man who took them. The family was powerful and not credited with -scrupulosity as to means employed to ends. On the other hand, it was -manifest that if there was such an episode in her past, her husband was -ignorant of it and she would stop at nothing to keep him so. The secret -might be dangerous, but it might be valuable as well. - -Beyond this, however, was the joy of the chase, which is absent from no -man and least of all from the trained detective. There was a problem to -solve, and, danger or no danger, it was as impossible for Trafford to -refuse to solve it as to refuse to breathe. Whatever use he was or was -not to make of it, he would know the truth. - -He was not, however, so intent upon this one feature of the case as to -neglect Jim Shepard. The second day, he slipped over to Portland and -found that young countryman at work and exceedingly homesick in what -was, to his narrow experience, a great city. Finding that Trafford knew -Millbank, he threw his heart open to him and talked as freely as he -would to Oldbeg himself. Trafford let him talk. There was a flood of -irrelevant matter, but the detective’s experience was too broad for him -to decide in advance what might and what might not be valuable. On the -whole, however, it was a dreary waste, until he touched on the night he -left Millbank. - -“I wasn’t the only feller,” he said; “that nigh missed that train. Jest -as ’twas startin’, a feller rushed out from behind Pettingill’s ’tater -storehouse and caught the front end of the car. I thought he was goin’ -to miss an’ I swung back to see him drop off; but he clung like a good -one an’ finally got his foot on the step. I tell you, he was nigh clean -tuckered out when he came into the car, fur he was a swell an’ warn’t -used to using his arms that-a-way.” - -“Queer place for him to come from,” said the other. - -“Wall, ye see, if he’d come from Somerset Street way an’ out through -’tween Neil’s store and the post-office, he’d ’a’ come out jest thar; -but he’d ’a’ had to know the lay o’ the land to done it. Ef he’d ben a -stranger, he couldn’t help missing it an’ not half try.” - -“But you say he was a stranger and a swell,” Trafford suggested. - -“He was a swell, fast enough. City rig; kid gloves--one on ’em bust, -hangin’ on to the rail, and got up in go-to-meetin’ style; but he must -’a’ knowed the way. He’d ben thar before, you bet!” - -“You seem to have got a pretty good look at him.” - -“Wall, ye see he took the seat two in front o’ me, and every time I -woke up--say, them air seats hain’t made to sleep comfortable in, be -they--thar he was, till all of a sudden I woke up an’ he warn’t thar.” - -“Then you don’t know where he got off,” Trafford said, keeping the -disappointment out of his voice. - -“No. Ye see, when we pulled out of ’Gusta, he was thar, an’ I didn’t -wake up ag’in till we got to Brunswick, an’ he warn’t thar. I meant -to see whar he went to, but arter ’Gusta, I guessed he must be from -Portland and that’s whar I got left.” - -“I suppose you hear from Millbank--from Oldbeg, for instance.” - -“Wall,” he said, blushing a fiery red, “Jonathan hain’t no great hand -to write: but I du hear sometimes. Say, du you s’pose a body could ’a’ -heerd that thar shot from Parlin’s house down onto Canaan Street?” - -“I don’t know,” said the detective carelessly, hiding his eagerness. “A -still night, it might be; why?” - -“’Cause, a letter I got says that thar night she’d jest got to sleep -when she woke up sudden, as if she’d heerd so’thing like a shot. She -got up, but didn’t hear nothin’ more an’ so went back to bed. But the -next mornin’ she guessed ’twas the shot she heerd from Parlin’s.” - -“Did she say what time it was?” - -“Nope: only she’d ben asleep about half a hour, an’ thet night she -didn’t get to bed ’fore twelve o’clock. Fact, I guess she didn’t go -till she heerd the train leave.” - -“But about this swell,” Trafford interposed. “Would you know him again -if you saw him?” - -“I guess I would; leastwise ef I could see the top of his head. He took -his hat off, an’ thar was the funniest little bald spot, jest the shape -of a heart. ’Twas funny, an’ he warn’t more’n thirty years old. Say, -when he gets to be fifty, he won’t hev no more hair’n I’ve got on the -back o’ my hand.” - -The next afternoon, a card was brought to Charles Matthewson, Esq., in -his inner office in Augusta, and on the card he read, printed in small -square letters: - - “ISAAC TRAFFORD.” - -“What in thunder does Trafford want of me?” he asked himself. “He can’t -possibly know!” - -He sat and looked at the card, while the boy waited and finally coughed -to remind him he was still there. Matthewson looked up with a puzzled -air. Evidently he did not care to see the man whose name was on the -card, and as evidently he did not dare refuse him. Finally he said: - -“Show him in in five minutes.” - -When Trafford entered, in the very act of bowing, he cast a quick -glance at the top of Matthewson’s head. There was the odd bald spot, -shaped, as Jim Shepard had said, “Jest like a heart.” - -“What can I do for you, Mr. Trafford?” Matthewson asked, with the air -of a busy man. - -“I want about ten minutes’ talk with you,” the detective answered, -drawing a chair close to the desk. - -“Professional?” - -“Yes;--my profession.” - -The lawyer started. He was provoked with himself for doing so, but -it was beyond his control. Trafford was not a man with whom it was -comfortable to talk professionally--that is, from the standpoint of his -profession. - -“Well, be quick about it, then. I’m busy, and it’ll be a favour to cut -it as short as you can.” - -“You were in Millbank the evening of the tenth.” - -“Well, you are short and to the point. Suppose I was?” - -“What were you there for?” - -“None of your business.” - -Trafford chuckled. He was getting on. It was just the answer he -expected. - -“Now let’s stick right to the point, as you wanted me to. If I have to -whip round to get to it again, you mustn’t blame me.” - -“Come, Mr. Trafford; you can’t deal with every one the same way. If you -want to find out anything from me, you mustn’t go at it as if I was a -country bumpkin whom your very name would scare.” - -“Bless you, I don’t,” said Trafford. “Now if you were a country -bumpkin, as you are pleased to put it, I’d lead up to the matter gently -and so have it all out of you before you knew what I was at. Not being -a country bumpkin, I come at you fair and square to save your time and -mine too. What were you doing in Millbank on the evening of the tenth? -You weren’t at any of the hotels. You weren’t seen by any of the men -who were likely to see you.” - -“So you’ve peddled it all over Millbank that I was there that night, -have you?” demanded the other, angrily. - -Trafford looked at him with a mixture of amusement and spleen. At last -he answered: - -“That isn’t the way I do my work. I don’t need to give away what I know -to find out what other folks know. There’s nobody in Millbank any the -wiser for the enquiries I’ve made.” - -“Well, if you know so much and are so cunning, you know that I got -there at eight o’clock and left at midnight----” - -“Dropping off at the Bridge stop before the train crossed the river, -and swinging on to the front end of the second car as the train was -pulling out of the station, coming out of the shadow of Pettingill’s -potato warehouse to do so, so as not to be seen and recognized,” -Trafford continued. - -The first part was a shrewd guess, but evidently it hit the mark, for -the lawyer wheeled about and faced him before saying: - -“The devil! To what am I indebted for such close surveillance?” - -“Well,” drawled Trafford, with an irritating air of indifference, that -he could at times assume, “perhaps you don’t know that a matter of some -importance happened in Millbank that night and has led to our looking -up all the strangers that were in town, especially those who did not -seem to want to be seen.” - -“You refer, of course, to the Wing murder.” - -“I refer, of course, to the Wing murder.” - -“I regret Mr. Wing’s tragic death,” said the lawyer coldly; “and -especially deplore the commission of such a crime. At the same time, -I don’t think it as important as Millbank naturally thinks it, and I -imagine the State will manage to wag along in spite of the great loss -it has sustained.” - -It was not so much the words, ill-timed and out-of-taste as they -were, as the air with which they were uttered, that constituted their -significance. It was as if in the mind that originated them there was -a lurking bitterness, that the speaker would willingly conceal, which -yet was so intense that it must find vent. There was a cruel hardness -in the tone that made the words themselves all but meaningless. -Was it possible, Trafford asked himself, that the man was able to -read the meaning of Judge Parlin’s story and knew that Wing was his -half-brother? He dismissed the question with the asking, satisfied that -something of which he was still ignorant was at the foundation of this -outbreak. It was to be a question of the comparative shrewdness of the -two men, whether he still remained ignorant when the interview closed. - -“You certainly don’t suppose that I shot Millbank’s leading citizen, -do you?” the lawyer demanded, after a moment’s pause. It was, perhaps, -an effort to recover what the lawyer could not fail to see that he had -lost. - -“On the contrary, I’ve every reason to believe that he was still alive -when you left town, and I still further believe that your visit had -nothing to do, remotely or directly, with his death.” - -What was that odd flash that passed over the other’s face as Trafford -said these last words? Seemingly, Trafford was not looking at the -other’s face at the moment and it might have escaped him. Still, he -would have been interested if he had seen it. - -“Thanks: but, in that event, what are you here for?” - -“I can’t let my beliefs or disbeliefs interfere with my investigation -of facts. Here is something most unusual occurring, almost at the -moment of the murder. It don’t make any difference whether I believe it -has anything to do with it or not. It’s my business to know, and that’s -what I’m here to do.” - -“And if I say I’ve nothing to tell you?” - -“The coroner’s enquiry will be public, while mine may remain private.” - -“What do you want to know?” - -“I simply want your assurance that your visit to Millbank had nothing -to do, directly or remotely, with Theodore Wing.” - -“I can’t see what value such an assurance can have. If I went there to -hire somebody to shoot him, I should, of course, not hesitate to give -you the assurance--and probably you wouldn’t fail to find out the truth -of the matter inside a week.” - -“That’s my business,” said Trafford. “If I’m content with your -assurance, I don’t see why you should object to my being.” - -“Because there’s no certainty you’ll remain content with it. It’s -one of those things where you could come back to-morrow with ‘newly -discovered testimony’ that would upset the whole agreement.” - -“Oh, as for that,” said Trafford, “I propose to agree to nothing. -As matters stand, the inquest ’ll go on within a day or two. I know -you were in Millbank the night of the murder, and with no assurance -from any one that your visit had nothing to do with the murder, I’m -compelled, absolutely compelled, to ask the coroner to summons you. -On the other hand, if I’m satisfied, there’s no reason for me to tell -any one that I know you were there, and nothing to induce the coroner -to summons you. At the same time, I don’t agree to anything as to the -future. That must depend upon facts, and you know better than I do now -whether there are any that would call for you.” - -“Humph!” grunted Matthewson; “then it’s this: I assure you what you ask -and I’m not to be summoned until you see fit to summon me, and if I -don’t, you see fit to summon me at once.” - -“That’s about it,” assented Trafford. - -Matthewson sat for a few minutes thinking, and Trafford sat -watching him. He was tall and slim, with a rather prepossessing -face--well-dressed, in fact, a “swell,” as Jim Shepard had said. His -face was far from a dull one. His mother had evidently given him -something of her personality. Yet, a man less on his guard against -impressions than the detective might find something in his face that -he did not like,--a look of cunning lurking in the half-closed eyes, a -want of feeling in the lines of the mouth. He was a man who would go -far to accomplish his ends, but would not be willingly cruel, perhaps -because he could not understand that to be cruel which was for his own -interest. Yet, what of a fight that involved life and honour? Trafford -at least knew that it is only then that the hidden forces come to -the surface and the man himself stands complete. Suddenly Matthewson -turned, and with a side glance at the waiting detective said: - -“I assure you that my visit to Millbank had nothing to do directly or -indirectly with Mr. Wing’s death.” - -“That’s all I want,” the detective said. - -“I gave him credit for being sharper than that,” Matthewson said to -himself, as the door closed behind his visitor. - -“Now I’ve got to find out,” Trafford noted, “how that visit did concern -Wing. I’ll test Matthewson’s conclusion before I accept it.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -The Weapon is Produced - - -The inquest reconvened with an increase rather than a decrease of -interest on the part of the public. This was due in part to the -renewed attention aroused by the funeral, which had been one of the -most imposing ever had in Millbank; and in part to the rewards for the -detection of the murderer offered by Mrs. Parlin and the selectmen of -the town. - -In addition, the County Court had instructed the county attorney to be -present at further sittings, to assist the coroner, and the town had -employed its own counsel for the same purpose. - -Mary Mullin was the first witness. - -“You are the help at Mrs. Parlin’s?” the coroner asked. - -“I be.” - -“How long have you been so employed?” - -“Twenty-five year this coming July.” - -“You were at the house the evening and night of the tenth of May?” - -“Yep!” - -“Did you wait on the table at supper that evening?” - -“I passed the victuals, ef that’s what ye mean by wait;” with an air of -defiance. - -“Who were at supper?” - -“Mis Parlin an’ Mr. Wing.” - -“Did either of them seem to you depressed or preoccupied?” - -“Nope.” - -“The meal was pleasant as usual, and both seemed in good spirits?” - -“Yep.” - -“Were you in the dining room when they left it?” - -“Nope; I left ’em thar an’ went back arter they were through an’ -cleaned up the table.” - -“When did you next see Mr. Wing?” - -“As he and Mis Parlin come back from the orchard.” - -“Did everything seem pleasant between them then?” - -“Why shouldn’t it?” - -“I asked you if it did?” - -“I’d scorn to answer sech a question, ef I warn’t under oath to answer -what you axed. Yep!” - -“When did you see him next?” - -“Lyin’ a dead corpse on the doorstep at ten minutes arter six the next -mornin’!” - -“You are certain you did not see him from the time he returned from the -orchard, until you saw him dead?” - -“Didn’t I swear it?” - -“I asked you if you are certain?” - -“Yep!” indignantly. - -“Did you eat your supper before or after your mistress ate hers?” - -“What may ye mean by mistress?” - -“I mean, did you eat your supper before or after Mrs. Parlin ate hers?” - -“Arter.” - -She testified that she and Jonathan ate together; that she went to her -room at nine o’clock, after shutting up the house “all but the front -part,” and that she went at once to bed. - -“Did you at any time during the night hear a pistol or gun shot or any -sound resembling one?” - -“I did not.” - -“Are you a sound sleeper?” - -“After I git to sleep, ye might carry me off an’ I’d never know it till -mornin’.” - -“Then you think a pistol might have been fired at the south door of the -house in the middle of the night without your hearing it, although that -door was open?” - -“I think that one was.” - -“But do you believe, aside from what you think regarding what happened -that night, that a pistol so fired would wake you?” - -“No, nor a cannon, ef ’twan’t too big.” - -Jonathan Oldbeg testified practically to what he had told Trafford, the -detective, though with some amplification of details. On the question -of the absolute recognition of the shadow on the window shades as that -of Mr. Wing, he grew very positive, affirming that he knew the stoop -of the shoulders and the movement of his head. The county attorney -and the town counsel were quite strong at this point and suggested -questions which finally confused the witness, though in the end he -clung to his positive identification. - -The coroner seemed disposed to pass to the next witness, when Trafford -handed up a paper, after reading which the coroner turned again to the -witness and asked: - -“On the shades of which windows did you see the shadow?” - -“On all three of ’em.” - -“On which was it the highest and largest?” - -The witness paused as he began his answer and seemed in deep thought. -Once he raised his head with a blank expression and then dropped it -again. Finally he looked up and said: - -“On the curtain nighest the door.” - -“And the smallest?” - -“On the curtain nighest the road.” - -“The witness will step down a moment and Mr. Isaac Trafford will take -the stand.” - -All necks were craned to see the detective, and every ear intent for -his testimony. It was most disappointing. - -“Have you made any experiments,” the coroner asked; “as to the shadow -thrown on the shades of Mr. Wing’s library, with relation to the -position of the light?” - -“I have.” - -“With what results?” - -“If the light is on the writing-desk, the highest and largest shadow is -thrown on the shade nearest the street and none is thrown on the shade -nearest the door. If the light is on the reading-table in front of -the fireplace, or in the centre of the mantel over the fireplace, the -highest and largest shadow is on the shade of the centre window. If the -light is on the mantel near the safe, the largest and highest shadow is -on the shade nearest the door, and the smallest and lowest on the shade -nearest the road. If the light is on the safe itself, or on the stand -near the safe, no shadow is thrown on the shade nearest the street.” - -“You have heard the testimony of the last witness as to the shadows he -saw?” - -“I have.” - -“What is your conclusion from that testimony as to the position of the -light at the time the witness passed up the drive?” - -“That it was on the mantel nearly above the safe.” - -“Have you made any experiments to determine in what position any one -would place the light, if he had the safe open and desired the best -light on its contents?” - -“I have.” - -“With what result?” - -“That he would place it on the mantel about a foot or a foot and a half -west of the safe.” - -“Then the testimony of the witness and the result of your experiments -would lead you to conclude that at the time the witness passed up the -drive, the occupant of the room had the safe open and the light so -placed that he could best see into it?” - -“It is entirely compatible with that assumption.” - -Mr. Trafford was dismissed and Oldbeg recalled. There was a buzz in the -room. - -“What do you s’pose that was fur?” one man asked another. - -“For impression. It shows how mighty cute Trafford is, an’ lets folks -know that there’s somebody arter ’em as knows what’s what.” - -“Onless Trafford got it up hisself fur advertisin’,” suggested the -other, a hard-headed Yankee to whom shrewdness was a natural instinct. - -“Do you own a pistol?” demanded the coroner, as Oldbeg settled himself -to his examination. - -Every eye turned towards the witness, who fidgeted before answering, -as if he was in doubt what to say. At last, when attention was at its -keenest, he found his tongue and said: - -“Nope.” - -“Yet you bought a thirty-two calibre one on May eighth.” - -It had already been testified that the fatal shot was fired from a -thirty-two calibre revolver. Every person present was alive with the -thought that a critical moment in the inquest had come. - -“Yep; but I gave it away.” - -“When?” - -“The night o’ May tenth.” - -“To whom?” - -“To Jim Shepard. Jest as he was jumpin’ on the train, I took it out o’ -my pocket an’ put it in his’n.” - -“Do you call that giving it away?” - -“Yep! That’s what I bought it fur. I don’t need one here; leastwise, -I didn’t think so then; but he’s goin’ to a tarnel big place, an’ I -thought he ought to had one, so I bought it an’ took it to the train -with me that night an’ put it in his pocket.” - -“Did you say anything to him about it?” - -“I didn’t hev no time. I was goin’ to give it to him, but we hed to run -for the train, an’ I clean forgot it till, jest as he struck the bottom -step, I thought on it. All I could do was to chuck it into his pocket, -whar his coat swung back.” - -“Did you see it go in?” - -“Nope: ’twas too dark.” - -“Was it loaded?” - -“All but one bar’l. I fired that off up in the woods that day an’ -furgot to load it again.” - -“Call James Shepard.” - -Oldbeg started, and when his cousin came from a door back of the -coroner, stood as one struck dumb. It was difficult to say what emotion -was expressed in his face. Trafford watched him and acknowledged his -own uncertainty. - -“Do you desire to change your testimony last given?” asked the coroner. - -“I’ve told the truth; I hain’t got nothin’ to change,” he said sulkily. - -James Shepard gave his testimony regarding his leaving Millbank and -answered the questions put to him with reference to the stranger -who took the same train, which, of course, simply led up to his -disappearance somewhere between Augusta and Brunswick. Then came the -question which all were awaiting: - -“Did your cousin give you a pistol the night you left Millbank?” - -“Not that I knows on. It’s the fust time I ever heerd about it.” - -“Do you own a pistol?” - -“Nope. I hain’t got no use fur a pistol an’ never had.” - -“Call William Buckworth.” - -A stout, elderly man, head of the firm of Buckworth & Tompson, notion -dealers, came to the stand. After the preliminary questions, the -coroner took from a drawer a pistol and handed it to the witness. - -“What is that?” - -“A thirty-two calibre Woodruff revolver.” - -“Did you ever see it before?” - -“Yes. I sold it on the eighth of May to Jonathan Oldbeg.” - -“Are you certain of the identity?” - -The witness then proceeded to the identification, which was absolute. - -“Are the chambers charged?” - -“Four are. One is empty and has recently been fired.” - -“Isaac Trafford will take the stand. - -“Do you recognize this pistol, Mr. Trafford, as one you have before -seen?” - -“I do.” - -“State the circumstances.” - -“I found it on the morning of the twelfth of May hidden in the box -hedge in the front yard of the Parlin house. It was in the box nearest -the fence that separates the front yard from the driveway, and about -twelve feet from the house.” - -“Was it in the same condition then as now?” - -“It was wet with dew and the rust is deeper now than then; otherwise it -is in the same condition.” - -“Call Margaret Flanders.” - -At the name, Jim Shepard, who had taken a seat in the main room upon -concluding his testimony, turned the colour of a peony and a giggle was -started among a group of boys near him. - -Margaret Flanders, a buxom, healthy lass of about twenty, tripped into -the room as if in enjoyment of the sensation she was creating. In -answer to questions, her testimony ran: - -She lived at home, with her parents, on Canaan Street; the left-hand -side as you went from River Road. Jim Shepard came sometimes to see her -and was with her the evening of May tenth. He was going to Portland to -work and he was to take the midnight train. He stayed till his cousin -Jonathan Oldbeg called for him. It was then so late that she was afraid -he would miss his train. Indeed, there was only five minutes to spare -when he left the house. She waited on the front stoop till she heard -the train go and then went to her room, which was on the second floor -in the northwest corner, the nearest River Road and the Parlin house. -She went right to bed, was in bed by quarter-past twelve, probably, and -went right to sleep. Had slept a few minutes when she was wakened by a -sound like a pistol shot. She jumped out of bed and went to the window, -which was open, for she always liked plenty of fresh air; but saw -nothing and heard nothing. There was a light in the Parlin house and -she thought it was in the library, but could not tell certainly. She -was at the window only a few minutes, when the clock struck one, but -whether it was half-past twelve or one o’clock she could not tell. Then -she went back to bed and fell asleep, and heard nothing more to disturb -her that night. - -The coroner announced that this closed his witnesses, but at the -request of the county attorney he recalled Mrs. Parlin. The county -attorney put his questions through the coroner. - -“Have you ever had any question as to the genuineness of the statement -which purports to be in the handwriting of your husband?” - -“None whatever.” - -“Was your husband accustomed to leave important papers without date or -signature?” - -“This paper is in Judge Parlin’s handwriting.” - -“I hand you a letter here with the signature turned down. Can you -identify the handwriting?” - -“I think it is the handwriting of Theodore Wing.” - -“Can you state positively?” - -“I cannot: but I have little doubt.” - -“I hand you another. Whose handwriting is that?” - -“Judge Parlin’s.” - -“Are you positive?” - -“Positive.” - -“Are you certain that the first letter is not in the handwriting of -your late husband?” - -“It may possibly be; but I think it is in Mr. Wing’s handwriting.” - -“There was then a very strong resemblance between the handwriting of -your late husband and that of Mr. Wing?” - -“A very strong resemblance. Theodore always admitted that he had tried -to write like the judge, and of late years the resemblance was very -close.” - -“Still you are confident as to the handwriting of the statement that -has been produced here?” - -“Absolutely confident.” - -“When you hold this statement up to the light, do you discover any -water-mark?” - -“Yes, a sheaf of something that looks like wheat with a circle around -it.” - -“I hand you a blank sheet of paper. Has that any water-mark?” - -“It has the same water-mark.” - -“That will do. Mr. Trafford will take the stand. - -“I hand you this blank sheet of paper, which Mrs. Parlin has just -stated contains the same water-mark as that on which the purported -statement of Judge Parlin is written. Have you ever seen this sheet -before?” - -“Yes. I took it from Mr. Theodore Wing’s writing-desk on the morning of -May twelfth. It was one of a number of similar sheets I found there.” - -“Call Mr. Marmaduke. - -“You are the head of the stationery firm of Marmaduke & Co.?” - -“I am.” - -“Did you supply the late Theodore Wing with writing paper?” - -“I did.” - -“Is this a sheet of the paper you furnished him?” - -“It is a sheet of the paper I furnished him for his home use. I never -furnished it to him for office use.” - -“How long have you sold paper with this water-mark?” - -“About four years.” - -“Never before that?” - -“Never. I do not think it was made with that water-mark until about -four years ago. At least, I never heard of it.” - -“Did you furnish paper to the late Judge Parlin, for home or office?” - -“For both.” - -“Did you ever furnish him, either for home or office, with paper -bearing this water-mark?” - -“Never. I didn’t have paper with that water-mark for sale until nearly -a year after Judge Parlin’s death. I got it at the special request of -Mr. Wing, and that was after Judge Parlin’s death.” - -After consultation, the inquest was again adjourned. There was a -general expectation that a warrant would issue for Oldbeg’s arrest, -but neither the coroner nor the county attorney felt justified in so -overt an act. The public might try, condemn, and all but execute a man -on mere suspicion, but larger responsibility rested on the officers of -the law. In consultation, Trafford was appealed to and agreed fully -with the decision reached. He was not wholly pleased with the coroner’s -haste in bringing out certain facts that in his opinion could have -been left with safety to the adjourned session. The strength of his -own work lay in minimising, rather than exaggerating, the importance of -unsupported facts, which were almost sure to lead to wrong conclusions. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -Mrs. Matthewson and Trafford - - -The wife of former Governor Matthewson was prominent--that is, -respectably prominent--in church matters, as in all good works, and the -booth over which she presided at the May Church Festival was one of the -most attractive and profitable, albeit there was many another that had -proved a centre for the younger men and larger boys. Mrs. Matthewson -sat in the curtained space behind the main booth, for she was really -tired. She was a tall woman, of commanding presence, who had just -touched her sixtieth year and upon whom the consciousness of power, and -ability to wield it, had left the impress of dignity and strength. - -The crowd was mainly in front of the booths, but occasionally some one -strayed away to the quieter nooks shut off by the booths themselves. Of -these were two men, one small and rather unimpressive in appearance, -the other larger and more commanding, but with a strange deference -towards his companion. The two passed where by accident, apparently, -the smaller man had a view of the resting woman, without being too -plainly seen himself. The larger man was speaking: - -“Public opinion is settling on the paper as a forgery.” - -“Has it discovered a motive?” There was almost a sneer in the tone. - -“No; nor for the crime; but it firmly believes that the woman never -existed.” - -“It would think me mad or a liar then if I should affirm that she did -exist; that she does exist; that in fact I could at a moment’s notice -put my hand on Theodore Wing’s mother.” - -The other smiled. - -“One might almost imagine you thought her in this room.” - -“Stranger things have happened;” and the two moved on. - -If the woman had taken note of the conversation, there was nothing in -her manner to indicate it. Had there been, Trafford would have felt -keen disappointment, for he had observed her somewhat carefully, and -had formed a higher opinion of her capabilities. At the same time, he -had not so poor a conception of his own powers of observation as to -doubt the correctness of his impression of a slight lifting of the -eyebrows and critical scanning of his own face by Mrs. Matthewson, as -he loitered slowly back towards the throng in front. He intended, if it -was her wish to be able to recognise him again, that she should have -the opportunity. - -After he had passed, she waited a sufficient time not to seem -precipitate, then rose and sauntered slowly into the front part of -the hall, whence came a constant babble of voices. She was a woman -who had seen too many things to be afraid; but as well she was a -woman too shrewd to neglect a warning and go on to punishment. She -knew she had her warning; she knew that the man who had given it was -prepared to deal with her, or he would not have given it; and she knew -that boldness would secure the best terms. She had no question that -blackmail was at the bottom of the affair. - -The public had generally accepted the statement as a forgery and was -laughing at its clumsiness; but there would come a waking time when it -realised that as a forgery it had no bearing upon the solution of the -murder mystery, and that would be the moment of danger. She found her -son, Charles Matthewson, and taking his arm went to the refreshment -room. - -“You’re dead tired, mother,” he said. “A man of iron couldn’t stand -these affairs.” - -“No,” she said. “It requires something finer than iron. Your man of -iron is a poor simile for strength. It’s got to be better than that.” - -“By George; I only hope when I’m sixty, I can stand as much as you!” - -“Is that your tact, Charles, to mention a woman’s age in public? I know -the people know my age, but I object to their knowing that I know.” - -“Much you care, mother. You can leave such stuff as that to the silly -herd.” - -A man passed by and took his seat at a table out of ear range. He did -not look in her direction as he passed, and she did not even glance -in his; but she felt his presence, and knew also that Charles had -seen him and recognised him. She ran on with her light chat, seemingly -taking no note of her son’s distraught manner and absent-minded -replies; but after she had let things go on for a safe space, she -suddenly looked up with: - -“Really, Charles, I might as well save my foolishness for somebody -who is less occupied than you seem to be. I should say you were more -interested in that man over there than in me.” - -“Was I really giving attention to him?” the son demanded. - -“Most really, and I’m simply wondering where you learned your -self-control, that you can do a thing so apparent to a whole roomful.” -She had not asked a word regarding the man, certain as she was that he -would tell her all he knew. - -“Do you know who that man is?” her son asked. - -“No; really,” she said, putting up her glasses, “I had simply noticed -him as a man from whom you did not seem able to keep your eyes. Now I -look at him, I don’t see anything particularly worth noticing.” - -“It’s Trafford, the detective. He’s said to be on this Wing murder -case.” - -“Oh, is that so?” she said, raising her glasses again. “In that case, I -suppose one’s permitted to look at him, since that’s largely his stock -in trade. He doesn’t look smart.” - -“That’s his stock in trade too,” said Charles, a trifle impatiently for -the son of such a woman. “If he looked half as smart as he is, he’d -look too smart for his work, and if he was really as dull as he looks, -he’d be too stupid.” - -“And they depend on him to unravel the Wing murder?” she asked. - -“Oh, the Wing murder,” echoed an acquaintance who was passing. “Why -didn’t that stupid coroner arrest that fellow Oldman--if that was his -name? My husband says if he takes the opportunity to run away, it may -be interesting for the coroner. Of course, nobody has a doubt that he’s -the murderer. You think so, Mr. Matthewson, don’t you?” - -“I think it will be a great wrong if such a wanton murder goes -unpunished,” he answered. - -“Yes,” said the mother carelessly; “but the motive? Did he murder him -because he was an illegitimate son of Judge Parlin?” - -“Oh, pshaw, Mrs. Matthewson, nobody believes that story. Why, they tell -me Judge Parlin was a real nice man. He wouldn’t have had anything to -do with such a woman as she would have been, if the story was true.” - -A crowd gathered and, in spite of Charles Matthewson’s efforts to -change the subject, persisted in discussing the murder, which was still -a live topic wherever Judge Parlin and Lawyer Wing had been known. To -Matthewson’s increased annoyance, he noted that Trafford had moved to a -nearer table, where he could catch the talk. - -“What kind of man would Judge Parlin have been, if the story were -true?” Mrs. Matthewson asked listlessly. - -“Oh, yes; but you know that’s not the same. He was a mere youngster, -and a designing woman you know can do anything with a man. Oh, no: -it would be bad enough in him, but the woman--why, she’d be simply -abominable; simply abominable.” - -“Well, if there was such a woman, she’s undoubtedly dead long ago,” -Mrs. Matthewson said. “We might at least not begrudge her a grave. We -came near making Judge Parlin chief justice.” - -Charles was uneasy. His mother was not accustomed to losing her head, -but he had his suspicions at this moment, and tried again to draw her -away; but she seemed not to notice his efforts, and showed herself not -loath to go on with the conversation. - -“If the thing isn’t true,” broke in a woman who was fearful she -might not make herself felt in the presence of the overbearing Mrs. -Matthewson, “my husband says it’s a forgery; but what could that -nice Mr. Wing have forged such a story as that for? Do you see, Mr. -Matthewson?” - -“You must excuse me from expressing any opinion one way or the other,” -he said, thus distinctly appealed to. “Murders and forgeries are not in -my line, and I don’t think my opinion would have the value it might if -I was a criminal lawyer or a detective.” - -“Oh, a detective!” some one interrupted. “What a dreadful nasty set of -men detectives must be! It makes me crawl to think of their having -anything to do with me.” - -“Then you mustn’t be a murderer or permit any one to murder you. It’s -the only way I know to steer clear of the gang.” - -“Come, Charles,” interposed his mother. “Aren’t you a little hard? As -long as we have criminals, we must have criminal catchers. We can’t -spare them.” - -“But we needn’t make them our heroes, as some people do,” he replied, -wondering in secret why his mother was chiming into his mood so -completely. “I object to having them dragged into my company--almost as -much as I’d object to being dragged into theirs.” - -It would have troubled Mrs. Matthewson to say why she felt a savage -pleasure in thus baiting the detective, but she did feel it, and was -too proud to deny the fact, even as she was too proud to deny that the -fact was unworthy her own measure of herself. - -An hour later Charles had handed her into her carriage and gone back -to the hall, as she bade him, to stand for the family during the -remainder of the evening. A carriage in front blocked the way and a -voice almost at her elbow, but on the side opposite that at which she -had entered, said: - -“May I have the honour of calling in the morning?” - -She did not even turn her head, as she flung back the answer: - -“If it’s necessary.” - -“I think it necessary.” - -“At half-past ten, then.” - -She did not look to see, but knew that the place was vacant. None the -less she yielded no whit, but held her upright position, as if she were -already on trial before the world and bade it defiance. - -It was the same in the morning. She entered the small parlour as if -it were she and not her visitor who was to ask explanations, and he, -with his quick adaptation of himself to moods and conditions, not alone -humoured her, but throughout bore himself with a courtesy and deference -that went as far as anything could to salve her wounded pride. - -“I assume it is not necessary for me to explain who I am and why I -have asked this interview,” he said, as an approach to a knowledge of -the footing on which they stood. - -“It is not necessary,” she returned. “You are Isaac Trafford, -detective: you are engaged in ferreting out the murder of Theodore -Wing, and you think I am able to give you information that may aid you. -I am sorry to say that I cannot. I am sorry for the crime: I’m always -sorry for crime; but it can have no particular sting for me, because of -the man who is its victim.” - -“I thought it might be otherwise,” he said quite simply. - -“You are mistaken.” - -“None the less,” he said, “you have read the statement left by Judge -Parlin.” - -“I have read the statement purporting to be left by Judge Parlin,” she -corrected him. - -“It is absolutely true from beginning to end. There can be no doubt -that Judge Parlin left it, for only he and one other person at that -time knew the facts.” - -“And that other person?” The question was without a tremor. Trafford -felt like rising and saluting the woman, as her words came clean-cut -and passionless. - -“Theodore Wing’s mother.” - -“She is, then, still alive?” - -“She is still alive,” he said; “and unless concerned in this recent -tragedy, as safe as if the knowledge of the facts had remained locked -in her breast, as they were at the time of Judge Parlin’s death. If she -was concerned in this tragedy, then it is that, and not the fact that -another has learned the truth, that destroys her safety.” - -Even at so serious a moment, she could not avoid playing with the -subject: - -“Do you think her concerned in the murder?” - -“It is what I am not certain of,” he said frankly. “It is the murder -that has revealed this--misfortune. I can find no motive that can -account for her connection with the affair.” - -“I am of the opinion she had nothing to do with it,” she said, quite -positively. “If all this is true, she would naturally have no love for -the child of her mistake; but you surely cannot think on that account -that she was guilty of murder--the cruelest murder one could imagine -under the circumstances! Certainly, if there was anything to tempt to -murder, anything that would have advantaged her, it passed long ago.” - -“I have thought of that,” he said, “but is it not possible that -something may have occurred recently that alarmed her--something that -made her feel it necessary to go to extremes to which, naturally, she -would be unwilling to resort, excepting under the direst necessity?” - -“I do not think,” she said, lifting her head with some imperiousness, -“that such a woman is likely to be alarmed. She would have lived that -down long since. More than that, she would have brains enough to see -that a crime, more than all else, would endanger her secret. This woman -could not have been brainless.” - -“Far from it,” he assured her. “I am inclined to rate her as the ablest -woman I have ever met.” - -She bowed as recognising a personal compliment. - -“You have met her, then?” - -“Yes,” he said. “I have met her.” - -“Would you mind telling me the impression she made on you--that is, -as regards her possible connection with this crime? My curiosity is -roused.” - -“I think she is now incapable of it,” he said. “That she might not have -been at one time, I am less certain; but if there was such a time, it -has passed. Success had mollified resentment and increased the feeling -of safety. Still, if she believed herself in danger, I do not think she -would hesitate at any extreme. It would, however, take much to arouse a -conviction of danger.” - -“I am inclined to think your judgment sound,” she said. “What can you -tell me of the man who now shares with her the knowledge of the facts -in the case?” - -“That he would not assert such knowledge unless he possessed every -detail and was absolutely able to identify every person connected -with the affair and verify every date and place. You may take his -assertion that he knows, as absolute evidence of this. His only object -in searching this matter out was the unravelling of the mystery of -a crime. If he thought for one instant that the revelation of the -facts would aid in unravelling that crime, he would not hesitate at -the revelation. Convinced that it would not aid, the secret is as safe -with him as if it did not exist. At present the secret, as far as he is -concerned, does not exist.” - -“Of course,” she said; “the woman would prefer, greatly prefer, that -the secret should have died with the man who shared it with her. -Failing that, she could not feel safer than to have it in the hands -of such a man as you describe. There is, however, I should think, one -further assurance that she might desire.” - -“I think if it were a possible thing to promise, the man as I know him -would be disposed to promise.” - -“It is that if at any time in the future it should seem to him that -the woman was concerned in the crime, if there arise any circumstances -that call for explanation, he will come to her and first submit them to -her. I think under these circumstances, he might largely rely upon her -telling him the truth--at least, upon her not telling him a falsehood.” - -“Of course,” he said, “I speak only of my impression, but that is that -she may rely absolutely upon his adopting this course.” - -“I trust this enables us to end this interview,” she said, with no -relaxation of her dignity. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -Hunting Broken Bones - - -Millbank cherished its tragedy as something that gave it pre-eminence -among its neighbours, and half the male population turned detectives on -the spot. To many members of the community, however, the affair bore -a most serious aspect, heightened by the conviction that no actual -progress had been made towards the solution of the mystery. Such men -as McManus, the county attorney, and the town counsel, looked upon -the testimony which tended to implicate Oldbeg as a concession to the -public demand that something should be done, and as covering rather -than revealing the serious business of the investigation. They were -inclined to be indignant at what they regarded as the direction of -unjust suspicion against an innocent person, and the more so when they -saw how public sentiment was roused against the unfortunate man. - -In fact, there were whispers among the least responsible that if the -law was to interpose delays, it might become the duty of the citizens -to take the execution of justice into their own hands. It was the -county judge who first called attention to the danger to the town and -county that lurked in such loose talk, indulged in at the start by idle -men and boys, but working as a leaven that might finally affect the -entire community. - -“There’s just the material down there to give your town a blacker -tragedy than it’s had yet,” he said to McManus one day after court. -“The guilty had better go unpunished than be punished through violation -of the law.” - -McManus turned sharply, with that nervous quickness that made him -forget the judge in the speaker: - -“The guilty! The guilty! No man is guilty till the law has found him -so! How long since suspicion was proof?” - -The judge, who appreciated the strain which the death of his partner -and friend had thrown upon McManus, let the brusqueness of the answer -pass, but still was insistent: - -“It’s no time for refinements or phrasings. It isn’t the idle alone who -expect impossibilities. Most of your people think Trafford’s failed -before he’s had time to begin. There’s got to be something done to -feed their impatience and gain time. A Yankee’s substitute for doing -something is to hold a public meeting.” - -McManus shook his head. - -“With the chances that it would end in a hanging-bee,” he said. - -When, however, McManus returned to Millbank from the county town, he -found affairs so far more menacing than he had anticipated as to lead -him to take counsel with the more prominent citizens. Naturally almost -the first man to whom he broached the matter was Charles Hunter, the -head of the leading logging firm. - -Hunter was a man who at the age of thirty-five was already recognised -as the first business man of the town. Succeeding to a business -built up by his father, he had doubled it and doubled it again. Its -operations extended over the entire northern part of the State, and -into Canada, and were closely interlocked with the immense logging -interests of the Penobscot and the Androscoggin. President of the -Millbank National Bank, he was also on the Board of leading banks -in Augusta, Bangor, and Portland, and as a member of the Governor’s -staff he had attained the rank of colonel--that warlike title which so -many exceedingly peaceful gentlemen parade with pride. In fact, his -operations had touched all interests save politics, for his title had -more of a social than a political significance. - -“Undoubtedly,” he said, “Trafford is entitled to make a show for -the money he’s getting, and we can understand his giving us some -horse-play; but it’s going too far when he endangers an innocent -man, to say nothing of the good name of the town. The episode of the -revolver found twenty-four hours after the murder is mere child’s play. -I shouldn’t have thought it would have taken for a moment.” - -“You think Trafford put it there?” - -“I think he knew when to look for it and when not to. He looked for it -at the right time, at any rate.” - -“I don’t think Trafford’s so much to blame for producing the pistol as -Coroner Burke,” McManus said. “I was watching him at the time, and I -thought him annoyed at the question.” - -“Whoever is to blame,” Hunter answered, with the positiveness of a man -accustomed to rely much on his own judgment and to have others do the -same, “the mischief’s done. Half the town is certain that Oldbeg is the -murderer. It’s being whispered that Mrs. Parlin hired him to do it, so -she could have the money, and the fact that she doesn’t discharge the -man is held to be proof of the fact. Then, with the logic of dolts, -they declare that she hired Trafford because she was afraid of him.” - -A look of horror showed in McManus’s face at this statement of the -public attitude. Surely, Mrs. Parlin had suffered enough without having -to bear this injustice. - -“But don’t they see,” he remonstrated, “if this was the case, Trafford -would have been the last to turn suspicion upon Oldbeg?” - -“They don’t see anything!” exclaimed Hunter impatiently. “They’re -simply hanging-mad. They believe Trafford too smart not to have -solved this thing in a fortnight, and at the same time they believe -him a big enough fool to have sold himself. They think Oldbeg guilty, -because there’s nobody else in sight, and because they think him -guilty, they must believe that Trafford and Mrs. Parlin are protecting -him. Therefore, Mrs. Parlin must be guilty too, and therefore, again, -Trafford must be trying to cover up the facts.” - -Hunter expressed in his somewhat querulous tone much of the feeling -that prevailed in the business community. Men felt it a disgrace that -an unprovoked murder could occur under their very eyes, as it were, and -remain without the slightest progress towards solution for more than -a fortnight. In a large community, the police would have come in for -sneers and ridicule. In this case, the detective had to bear the brunt -of the complaints. - -Hunter, intent for the good name of the town, suggested finally that a -subscription reward be offered in addition to that of the county and -town and that offered by Mrs. Parlin. He was willing to guarantee a -substantial sum. - -“I think also,” he said, “we should put another detective to work. I -can’t see any harm if Trafford is on the square, and it may do a lot of -good if he isn’t.” - -“It’s against all principle to put a case into two men’s hands,” -McManus objected. “We certainly ought to dismiss the one before we hire -a second.” - -“We haven’t hired the first yet,” Hunter answered roughly. “We can’t -object to Mrs. Parlin employing a detective, if she wants to; but she -as certainly can’t object to our doing the same thing. If, however, we -put a man to work, let him keep his hands off that statement of Judge -Parlin’s.” - -McManus started. - -“You think it genuine?” - -Hunter looked as if the question tired him. He was a tall dark man, -with an unusually expressive face, and was not accustomed to concealing -his feelings. - -“That’s more of your horse-play. Whether the paper’s genuine or not -can’t have any bearing on the murder. It isn’t to be imagined, if -it’s a forgery, that there was a purpose to make it public after the -principals in the affair were dead. It’s a false scent and meant to be -a false scent.” - -On the very evening on which Charles Hunter urged the employment of an -additional detective, Trafford was handed a telegram telling him that -Charles Matthewson had left Augusta on the late afternoon train up the -river. It had been an easy matter to ascertain that he had not left the -train either at the main station in Millbank or at the Bridge-stop, -but none the less the detective had an uneasy feeling that the man -might be in town. If so, whom did he come to see and why did he come -and go so mysteriously? He could see no possible connection between -the relationship of Wing with Matthewson and the murder, and yet he -could not divest his mind of the impression that there was some mystery -going on before his very eyes which he had not fathomed, but which, if -fathomed, would bear upon the discovery of the murderer. - -A half-hour or so before the down train was due to leave the Millbank -station, he left the hotel and walked down Canaan Street to its -junction with Somerset Street and the covered and enclosed bridge that -spans the river at that point. Here, upon the very brink of the river, -fifty feet above the water, stood the small brick building of the -Millbank National Bank. The bridge and the bank lay in shadow, for it -was a moonless night and the street lamp at the entrance of the bridge -was not lighted. Above the bridge was the dash and roar of the falls; -below, the steady murmur of the narrowed current, between its rocky -walls that rise more than fifty feet from the water’s edge. - -“Thunder!” he thought, “there are some creepy places around this town, -especially when they can’t sponge on the moon for light. If I was an -inspired detective, I’d know whether there was any danger in that -bridge. As I ain’t, I guess I’ll take the centre.” - -He advanced into the darkness of the drive, which was pitchy black, -solid plank walls dividing it from the footwalk on either hand. He was -half-way through, when he suddenly felt the presence of some one near -him, though he could see or hear nothing. He stopped, and absolute -stillness reigned, save the tumult of the water above and below. He -had walked close to the wall on the down-river side, so that his form -might not be outlined against the opening of the bridge, and he was -conscious that he was as completely concealed, since he had advanced -a rod into the darkness, as were his companions. It was a question of -endurance, and in that his training gave him the advantage. - -Softly there came out of the darkness a noise as of the moving of a -tired leg. Inch by inch Trafford crept close to the board wall, until -now it was at his back, with one of the heavy timbers protecting his -left arm. His right was free for defence. The sound indicated a man -within a few feet of him on his left. - -Suddenly there was the sharp swish of a club in the air, and the thud -of contact with a living body, followed by a loud cry of pain and - -“_Sacré; c’est moi, Pierre!_” - -“_Mon dieu! Où est le chien?_” - -Two men rushed past toward the Millbank end, with a jabber of Canadian -French, from which Trafford learned that the assailed feared that his -shoulder was broken. - -“One marked for identification,” he chuckled, as he slid along in the -deep shadow toward the farther end. - -He had satisfied himself of one thing he was anxious about, and with -another at hand had no time to waste on a man who could be found in the -morning for the mere asking. He was too keen on the question whether -Charles Matthewson was in Millbank, to allow a needless diversion. -If Matthewson was in town, it showed a terrible uneasiness at the -bottom of his wanderings--an uneasiness that forbade his trusting to -others for information and yet demanded information at first hands, so -imperatively that he was willing to take enormous risks to obtain it. - -“It would have been a coincidence, if I’d been murdered to-night,” -said Trafford, in his wonted confidential talk with himself; “with -Matthewson in town as he was the night of the other murder.” - -Trafford crossed the railroad bridge and so attained the Millbank -station without attracting attention. He saw every one of the -half-dozen passengers who boarded the train, but found no trace of the -man he was seeking. As the train slowed up for the Bridge stop, he -swung off into the dark in time to catch sight of a figure swinging on -from the same dark side. It was not Matthewson, and he was just turning -away, when suddenly he changed his purpose and as the train moved off -was again on the rear platform. He rode there to the next station, and -then changed his quarters to the baggage car. He had identified his -man; now he was after his destination. - -This proved to be Waterville. A private carriage was waiting, and into -it the man jumped, driving away rapidly. There was but one way to -follow and keep the carriage in sight, and Trafford made a half-mile -in quick time, clinging to the back-bar and resting his weight on his -hands and arms. He dropped to the ground and crept away as the carriage -turned into the driveway of an extensive country place, which the -detective recognised as that of Henry Matthewson, a younger brother of -Charles, and a man largely interested in the logging business. - -“Humph,” he said. “This time he comes part way and they bring him the -news. Well; it ain’t of my murder, though some folks may wish it was -before many hours have passed.” - -Before daylight, he had his operatives on hand while he himself took -the early train back to Millbank. The delicate work just now was to -be done there, and this he would trust to no one save himself. His -appreciation of the importance of the case and the sensation that would -be produced when it was finally unravelled, had increased immensely -since he crossed Millbank Bridge, and he had no purpose to see it -botched by clumsy handling. - -After breakfast he went directly to Mr. Wing’s office and sought an -interview with Mr. McManus. - -“I want,” he said, “to go through all the papers again in Wing’s safe -and, if you have any private papers of his, through those as well. So -far, we are absolutely adrift and we have a double task on our hands, -for we’ve got to clear Oldbeg of suspicion as well as discover the real -murderer.” - -“Then you dismiss all suspicion that Oldbeg had anything to do with the -murder?” - -“If you can dismiss an idea you never entertained. In a certain sense -every man in town was under suspicion--Oldbeg no more than another. -This job, however, was not the work of a clumsy man like Oldbeg. When -we find the murderer, you’ll find a man of quick motions, delicacy of -touch, strong purpose, assured position, and considerable refinement. -You’ll find a man to whom murder is repugnant and who resorted to it -only as a last desperate chance. You’ll find therefore a man who was -desperate, whose all was at stake, and who knew that Wing’s continued -living meant the loss of that all. Now, if you can tell me where there -is such a man, I’ll give you proof of his guilt so conclusive before -night that no one will hesitate to approve his arrest.” - -As he spoke, McManus grew pale. Something brought a terrible picture -before his eyes. As never before, he realised the desperate chase in -which they were involved. - -“It was, then, in your opinion no mere desire for sordid gain that -impelled to the crime?” - -“Who has gained by it? Some one that by it has been saved from loss, -and tremendous loss. Don’t fool yourself. Don’t look for any common -criminal, and above all don’t flatter yourself for one moment that -the criminal will stop at any additional crime to prevent detection. -If detected, he’s lost everything. He can’t lose any more with twenty -murders to his charge.” - -McManus glanced over his shoulder, as if he expected to see the -murderer rise out of vacancy in his own defence. - -“What connection then has Judge Parlin’s statement with the crime?” he -asked uneasily. - -“It’s a mere incident--an accident, as you might say, that holds its -place by its own sensational character and the tensity of nervous -interest aroused in the public mind by the crime itself. It had nothing -to do with the crime, or the cause that led up to it. I don’t believe -the murderer knew of its existence. At the same time it’s one of those -accidents that may lead to things to which it’s in no way related. It -may be the very thing that’ll ultimately set us on the right track. -Don’t lose sight of it for a moment.” - -McManus looked as if the caution were wholly uncalled for. There was -not much danger of his losing sight of anything that had to do with -the murder. One might have suspected from his looks that he wished he -could. - -After making an appointment for three in the afternoon to examine -papers, Trafford left the office and went to a little dingy room, in -Gray’s Inn Lane, where he was joined almost immediately by a tall, -seedy-looking man, evidently of Canadian stock, whose French was only -a trifle worse than his English. He was a man whom few men would have -trusted and whom Trafford had always found absolutely trustworthy. -The man shook his head, with many a gestured negative. Not a man was -missing from Little Canada; every man who was open to suspicion was -accounted for, and not one of them showed a broken collar-bone or a -shattered arm. - -“But there are other Canucks in town, outside Little Canada,” said -Trafford. - -The report included all. The man had determined the whereabouts of -every Canadian of sixteen years of age and upwards, and there was -not one who bore marks of the blow delivered on the bridge the night -before. - -“But he was a Canuck,” said Trafford, with positiveness that admits -no question; “and it’s a bigger miracle than any of their relics ever -performed before, if he don’t carry a broken bone to-day. There’s -somebody missing.” - -The man shook his head. He had accounted for the last of them. - -“Do you think it was a dream or a nightmare?” Trafford demanded, with -some asperity. - -The man shrugged and lifted his shoulders, in deprecation of the tone -of the demand. - -“All right,” said Trafford at last. “Take the afternoon train to -Augusta and resume your work there. I’ll give this personal attention.” - -The man hesitated a moment and then, coming close to him and lowering -his voice, spoke rapidly and anxiously. - -“You are taking risks, Mr. Trafford. This is no ordinary case. You -can’t tell what you’ve got against you. Two men can go safely where one -can’t.” - -“And one can go safely sometimes where two are a danger. I’ve taken -risks all my life--it’s my business to take ’em. You don’t suppose I -chose this business because of its freedom from danger, do you?” - -“A brave man doesn’t court danger; he simply meets it bravely when it -comes.” - -“Well, I’ll try to meet it that way if it comes. At present Millbank -looks like a fairly safe place. I don’t think I’ll get my throat cut -here.” - -“But you aren’t going to stay here,” the man urged. “You know you -aren’t. You’re going----” - -“We’ll dispense with information as to where I’m going,” Trafford -interrupted. “It’s probably safe to state, but it’s possibly not. We’ll -keep on the absolutely safe side as long as possible. Your train leaves -in fifteen minutes.” - -The gesticulating Canadian reappeared on the instant. Discipline -asserted itself, and the man prepared to obey without further -remonstrance. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -A Man Disappears - - -Trafford sent a hasty note to McManus, postponing the afternoon -appointment, and made ready to visit the logging drives at work along -the Kennebec. It was certain that no physician in Millbank had set a -broken shoulder or arm within the twenty-four hours; no man of the -character sought had left by any of the trains or stages, and the river -afforded the only unguarded means of escape. A canoe or river-driver’s -boat could easily come and go unnoticed, and it tallied with other -points in hand that the assailants were connected with the logging -interests. Another point in the case was that, in almost all the large -gangs of drivers, there was sure to be some one roughly skilled in -surgery, who could attend to minor accidents and even, temporarily, to -those of a severer nature, such as are apt to occur, often at points -far distant from skilled practitioners. Such a man could, under -emergency, even possibly have set the arm or shoulder, and could -certainly have cared for it until a surgeon at Norridgewock or farther -up the river was reached. As yet the logging drives were all above -Millbank Falls, so that Trafford’s search pointed entirely in that -direction. - -Every schoolboy or farmer’s lad is a walking directory to any logging -drive within five miles, and Trafford had no difficulty in learning -that the nearest drive was at the Bombazee Rips, above Norridgewock. -Here he found the ordinary gang of a dozen men, with boats and the -implements of their trade, at work on the logs which were beginning to -jam against those that had first grounded on the ledge at the head of -the rips. Full half of the gang were French Canadians, small, dark men -of wonderful litheness and agility, men with a tenacity of life that -seems to bid defiance to the wet and exposure of their trade. It was -hard work by day, hard sleep by night, often in clothes soaked with the -river water; yet cheerful, healthful good humour was evidenced in the -loud chatter that came with every lull in the work. It was here that -the grown lads of the Chaudière, Megantic, and St. François valleys -secured that schooling in the English tongue from which race jealousy -barred them at home. - -A roughly constructed shanty of pine slabs, the earth bountifully -spread with clean straw, served for sleeping; while in front was an -immense fire of logs, which served double purpose, for warmth in the -evening and cooking in the daytime. An old woodsman, whose driving -days were past, acted as cook and general camp care-taker. A group of -boys flittered about the fire, shanty, and boats. The older ones made -ventures upon the logs, and sometimes lent a hand to a driver, handling -a pick or cant-hook, a feat that made one a hero with his fellows for -the remainder of the day. - -It was entirely permissible for a countryman, such as Trafford -appeared, on curiosity bent, to enter the sleeping-place or seat -himself by the fire. Indeed, at mealtime he would scarcely fail, by -virtue of his age, of an invitation to share in the coarse food, -a privilege which the boys viewed with keen envy. These boys were -unconscious spies, upon the sharpness of whose eyes Trafford counted -much. They went everywhere and saw everything, and if there was an -injured man in camp, it would take skill to keep him concealed from -them. - -Trafford chatted pleasantly with the cook and joked the boys, before -he opened in a general way the subject of accidents--of which he -seemed to stand in apprehension, declaring that log-driving was in his -opinion the most dangerous of trades. At that the boys raised a shout -of derision and extolled the trade to the skies. There was not one of -them but was consumed with desire for a driver’s life, exactly as he -would be for any other life of freedom and activity whose claims for -the moment were pressed upon him. - -The old man, on the other hand, admitted the element of danger, and -thrilled his hearers with accounts of hairbreadth escapes which he had -witnessed in the long years that he had been on the river. There had -been deaths, too; deaths from drowning and from crushing in the log -jams. Still, the life was a grand one for the man who was not afraid -of hard work, and if he had his to live over, he would live it on the -river again. There had been no accidents as yet, the jams were light -and easily moved. It was only here and there with this water that any -serious troubles were had. Oh, yes; Millbank Falls; that, of course, -was different. There was a hard drive, and when they got there in the -course of the next week, they would have a lively tussle. - -From camp to camp, Trafford worked up to the Forks of the River and -then up the Dead River branch, and again across to the main river -and up into the Megantic woods. Nowhere was there any trace of an -injured man or a hint of knowledge of one. Wherever the camp was near -a village, so that boys gathered around, they were of material aid in -giving him information. In spite, however, of every device, he came -back down the river unsuccessful and depressed. He had a feeling of -defeat, as if in every camp some one were laughing at him as outwitted. -He knew the unreason of the feeling and yet could not escape it. - -Nor was there, when he reached Millbank, any information from the lower -part of the river or from any of the surgeons whom, within a radius of -thirty miles, he had caused to be interrogated. It was if the earth -had opened and swallowed up the man--or--and he stood above the falls -and looked at the water rushing over them, as if he would question -it and wrest an answer from it. It was certain that the man--a man, -whose personality he could merely guess at--had disappeared. It was -like ridding himself of a nightmare to throw off the uneasiness that -oppressed him. - -Immediately on his return, Trafford sought an interview with Mrs. -Parlin. The time was coming when the inquest must be reconvened, and as -yet there was nothing of advance since the hour when it had adjourned. -Even he was grown impatient and he could not marvel that a woman, under -the nervous strain of his employer, should be fast becoming irritably -so. - -“We have no right,” she said, “to leave an innocent man under suspicion -as Jonathan has been left. If we can’t find the murderer, we can at -least prove that it isn’t he.” - -“Unfortunately, until we find the man, the majority will believe him -guilty,” Trafford replied. - -“What right had you to throw suspicion on him?” she demanded. - -“The right of the coroner to know every fact that bears on the case. -It would have been as unjustifiable to conceal Oldbeg’s purchase of a -revolver, as it would to conceal the finding of the weapon.” - -“Why wasn’t it there the morning of the eleventh?” she asked. - -“My dear madam,” he said with a gentle smile, “if we knew that, we’d -know who the murderer is. We’d know it, that is: but possibly not in a -way that we could prove.” - -“Precious little good that would do us,” she answered. - -“So much good that the chances are ninety-nine in a hundred that the -proof would be forthcoming. There are few men who are shrewd enough to -cover every trace.” - -“But these seem to be of the few,” she said. - -“We are not through with them yet,” he replied; and then suddenly: “Has -the new detective, employed by Hunter and his friends, been here?” - -He had, and had made a critical examination of the house from cellar -to attic; had been through the papers in the desk and safe, and had -taken away a number of scraps from the former. - -“He didn’t get the writing-pad, though,” he said. - -“No; that disturbed him; especially when I told him you had it.” - -“The--deuce you did!” he exclaimed. “I wish--you hadn’t!” - -“I had no right to conceal so important a fact,” she said. - -Trafford bit his lip over this turn of his own argument, but made no -retort. He recognised in this second detective a graver impediment than -the cunning of the criminal--if, indeed, it was not the cunning of the -criminal that had interjected the second detective into the affair. -Working independently, it was scarcely possible that they could do -otherwise than thwart each other. He had the feeling that the case was -his and that no other had a professional right to throw himself into -it. If he had been on the verge of success, he would have withdrawn -from the case. As it was, the same professional pride that resented -intrusion, forbade his taking such a course. - -For the twentieth time he asked: - -“He certainly did a large amount of work at home and must have had -papers connected with the work here?” - -“Why, certainly,” she said. “He always had a lot of professional papers -here.” - -Trafford looked at her as if doubting whether he should ask the -question that hung on his lips. But he must have facts, and here if -anywhere was the information he needed. Could he trust the woman? -Finally he came and stood over her chair, as if he was afraid of the -walls even, and asked: - -“Was this always his habit?” - -“No,” she answered; “not while the judge was living, and never indeed -until about two years ago. Yes, it began about two years ago.” - -“It was not a habit learned from the judge, then?” - -“Oh, no! Of course, he brought papers home at times, and so did -Theodore; but he never kept them at home until within the last two -years.” - -“Did Cranston ask you about this?” Trafford demanded. - -“No,” she said, “no, he did not.” - -“If he does, avoid answering him, if possible.” Then he stopped as if -he had gone too far, and she, seeing his embarrassment, checked the -answer that came to her lips. - -He sat for some time silent, and then glanced up to intercept a look -that she bent upon him. - -“What is it?” he asked. - -“Have you talked with Mr. Hunter--the one who was in Theodore’s office, -I mean?” - -“Is he of the same family as Mr. Hunter who owns the great logging -interests?” - -“His brother.” - -“How long has he been in the office?” he asked carelessly--so -carelessly that she forgot he had not answered her question. - -“About two and a half years. I think Theodore thought him an -acquisition and had great confidence in his ability.” - -“A good stock,” he said, “for pushing.” Then he added after a short -pause: - -“Mrs. Parlin, at the inquest you expressed in the strongest terms your -confidence that the statement presented was actually written by your -husband. Have you had any cause since to change your mind?” - -“Not the slightest,” she said. “On the contrary, the facts there stated -account for many things that were strange to me before. There is no -question as to the facts, and none as to his having written them.” - -“That being the case, they can have nothing to do with the murder. -The only other person who knew these facts was directly interested in -keeping them concealed. Even admitting, as might be possible, that in -order effectually to prevent exposure, she had been capable of killing -or having her son killed, would she find any likelihood of this in a -murder that would centre on him the interest of the entire State? Of -course, she did not know of the existence of this paper, and she could -not know that the murder would make the case public, but she would know -that if he knew the facts, and had any interest in their publicity, he -would have acted long ago. She would also know that if you knew the -facts, your interest was that of secrecy, the chance of which would be -diminished in the excitement of a murder case. Now that’s my reasoning, -and through it I reach the conclusion that the facts revealed in that -statement have nothing to do with the murder. I have since confirmed -this by facts outside those from which I reasoned. I haven’t told a -soul this before, not even McManus. I don’t want a soul save you to -know it now; not even McManus. But now I’m going to ask you a question, -which I believe has some bearing upon the causes of the murder, and -that is: Why, if Mr. Wing had for two years been keeping many of his -business papers at home, was there not one of them in his desk or safe -the morning the murder was discovered?” - -“No papers in his desk or safe?” she said, while a look almost of -terror came over her face. “You must be mistaken! Why, there was a -package on his desk, lying right on the writing-pad, when I bade him -good-night.” - -“Would you recognise it again if you saw it?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then look through the safe and see if you can find it.” - -He opened the safe and she went through it package by package, while -he waited with that patience that comes of long training, until, the -search finished, she looked up and said: - -“It isn’t here!” - -“It was here at nine o’clock on the night of the tenth; it wasn’t here -at six on the morning of the eleventh. What do you make of that?” - -“It had been stolen!” she gasped, looking pale and perplexed. - -“There might be one other explanation,” he interposed; “and we are -bound to look at that carefully. Mr. Wing might have burned them. He -had a fire that evening.” - -“Yes,” she said, “he might.” - -“I made sure on that point,” he then explained, “the morning of the -murder. Not from any suspicion that papers were missing, but on the -principle of taking note of everything, even the most trivial. I can -assure you that there were no papers of any amount burned in the -fireplace the night before. We could scarcely expect it; but it would -have been a stroke of genius if the thief had burned some papers to -throw us off the track.” - -“The thief!” she repeated. - -“You must see,” he said, “that the theft of the papers presupposes a -thief. I have been certain from the start that some one was in the room -after the murder. What he was after I haven’t known until now. He was -at the safe, which he must have found open. Some one who wanted those -papers wanted them enough to induce him to commit this murder, and -then to enter the room and search the safe, while the dead man lay at -the door. It was a terrible risk--as terrible as that of the murder -itself. Suppose Oldbeg had been a half-hour later in coming home. He -would unquestionably have found the murdered man with the murderers in -the room. By just that narrow margin this perplexing mystery escaped -proving a mere blundering crime.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -“You are My Mother” - - -Three men sat in conference in the small library at Henry Matthewson’s -residence at Waterville, the morning after the bridge incident. These -were Henry Matthewson himself, three years younger than his brother -Charles, opposite whom was the man who had come from Millbank by the -midnight train, Frank Hunter, brother of Charles Hunter and himself an -attorney in the late Mr. Wing’s office. - -“The papers are not in the office,” Hunter was saying. “I was nearly -certain he did not keep them there, but I made the search carefully.” - -“How about his private safe at home?” Henry Matthewson asked. - -“Of course I’ve had no opportunity to examine that----” - -“You should have made one,” said Charles Matthewson sternly. - -The remark threw a chill over the talk, that made it a little difficult -to break the embarrassed silence that followed. At last, Hunter said: - -“It was too dangerous to risk turning any general question in that -direction. Besides, Trafford had the first shy at that.” - -“Mr. Hunter is right,” Henry Matthewson said, with that tone that men -described as “masterful,” and which generally prevailed with Charles, -in part because it so much resembled his mother’s. “It would have been -too much risk.” - -“What are you going to do?” demanded Charles; “let the papers fall -into Trafford’s hands, to be used against us, or sold back to us at an -enormous price? Wing’s death came at a strangely opportune time; are we -going to throw the chance away?” - -“If there were papers,” Henry affirmed, “McManus or Trafford had them -almost before we heard of the murder. We want to know whether there -were papers or not, but we don’t want to advertise their existence. If -we get a chance to buy, we may think ourselves lucky.” - -“Trafford!” said Hunter with a touch of scorn in his voice. “We owe -them thanks for putting him on to the job.” - -“Are you certain of your grounds for judgment, Mr. Hunter?” Charles -Matthewson asked. “I’m a little afraid you underrate his ability.” - -“Why, what’s he found out in his fortnight’s work?” demanded Hunter. - -“That’s just what I’d like to find out, but can’t,” said Matthewson. -“Whatever he’s after, he acts as if he’d get it first and do his -crowing afterwards.” - -“Trafford’s at the top, so far as ability is concerned,” said Henry; -“and the next best man’s Cranston. If you’re going to set a man at -work, you’d better take him. There are two things for him to do: First, -keep track of Trafford and let him give us notice quick if he hears -of the papers; second, work up the story of Wing’s birth. We’ve got -to keep that more in the public eye. I can’t for the life of me see -anything in it to lead to the murder, but the public think there’s some -connection between the two, and we mustn’t let them lose sight of it.” - -“But there must have been some motive in the murder,” Hunter affirmed. - -“If we can get hold of the papers, we’ll let the motive take care of -itself,” Charles interposed. “To think, I was in Millbank that very -night--almost at the very moment! If I’d known--I’d have found out what -was in that room before any detective had a chance!” - -He looked at Hunter with an implication of failure. He would gladly -have defended himself, but he remembered that he might have been on the -scene before McManus, and that he had dawdled over his breakfast and -let the opportunity slip. No one would have refused him admission any -more than McManus had been refused. How many anxious hours he might -have saved himself! - -As a result of the conference, Cranston was sent for and put on the -case. He listened to his instructions and then said: - -“I’ve got to know what you want, if I’m to work with any advantage to -you or myself. You want to find out who Wing’s mother was--but that’s -incidental. You want to know who murdered Wing--but that’s incidental. -What is it I’m to do really?” - -Again Henry Matthewson showed his superior masterfulness by deciding -and acting. - -“Mr. Wing had been for some time at work upon a matter that concerns -materially the logging interests of this State. We simply know the -fact, for he took no one into his confidence, and was so secretive as -to keep the papers about him or in his private safe in his library. -Without knowing what the papers contain, we believe if they should fall -into the hand of a less scrupulous man than Mr. Wing, they might become -dangerous--that is, a source of blackmail. We want to locate those -papers, and if possible get possession of them.” - -“How far am I warranted in going in order to get hold of them?” he -asked. - -“Only to locate them and report to me. We will decide then on the safe -course.” It was Henry Matthewson who spoke, as always when prompt -decision was demanded. - -“If they had not already been removed,” said Cranston, “Trafford and -McManus have had a chance long since to secure them. I’m like to find -them in their hands.” - -“Excepting that they might not know their value,” said Charles -Matthewson. - -Cranston looked at the speaker quizzically. - -“I don’t know about your Mr. McManus,” he said. “He’s a lawyer. But as -to Trafford, I can answer. If he’s had his hands on those papers, he -knows their value.” - -“I don’t think,” said Hunter, after the detective had received his -instructions and gone, “that my brother would quite approve time spent -in discovering Wing’s mother. He doesn’t believe that affair had -anything to do with the murder.” - -“How can any sensible man?” Henry Matthewson demanded impatiently; “but -we don’t know where the enquiry is going to land us nor what help we -may want before we’re through. If the judge’s statement is true, this -woman has a high position to lose and has great influence with her -husband, who holds a strong place politically. It can’t be a matter of -much trouble to unravel that part of the affair, and it may give us -some one whom we can use advantageously in case of an emergency. It -may bring to our aid a force that naturally would be glad to crush us. -I’ll take the risk at any rate!” - -“All right,” said Hunter. “I’m agreeable, though I thought it proper to -state my brother’s position.” - -Cranston entered upon his work at once and with zeal. His first visit -was to Millbank and the Parlin house, where, as has been said, he -searched from top to bottom. He plied Mrs. Parlin with questions that -finally got from her the story of the package of papers, which she was -not conscious of having seen until his questions stirred her memory to -recall a picture of the room the night before the murder. Then came -out clearly and distinctly the package of papers lying on the desk. -It was, however, equally certain that they were gone, and of this he -was able to satisfy himself without letting Mrs. Parlin understand -that he attached any importance to the matter. The task was left him -of ascertaining whether Trafford or McManus had them. The episode of -the writing-pad convinced him that Trafford was the man, and that the -pad was simply a cover to the removal of the papers that were resting -on it. It was this that caused the annoyance to which Mrs. Parlin had -referred. - -He went over the ground under the consciousness that eyes at least -as capable of seeing as his own had preceded him, and that there was -little chance that anything had escaped them and less chance that, if -there had, he would be able to discover it. It irritated him that men -who wanted real service should call him in at so late an hour, and then -seem to take it for granted that they had done all that was necessary. - -“Oldbeg has been here a good many years,” he said carelessly to Mrs. -Parlin, who insisted on attending him in his investigation. - -“He’s been with us about six years; one year before the judge died.” - -“You have always found him faithful?” - -“There has been nothing particular to complain of. He’s been steady and -has worked hard and usually shown good temper.” - -“Usually,” Cranston repeated. “Then sometimes he hasn’t.” - -“He has his off-days, the same as the rest of us; days when things -don’t go right and he gets surly. But those spells pass quickly -and he’s always sorry for them, seemingly. There aren’t any of us -smooth-feathered all the time.” - -“When did he have one of these ‘off-days,’ as you call them, last?” The -tone was careless, as if Cranston did not attach much importance to the -enquiry, and yet made it, as in duty bound. - -“On the Sunday before----” - -“May ninth,” interrupted Cranston. - -“Yes. In the afternoon he was dressed up to go visiting. Theodore sent -for him to put his driving horse into the light buggy, so he could -drive to Norridgewock. Jonathan didn’t like it and said if he couldn’t -have Sunday afternoons, he’d find some place where he could.” - -“Was that all there was to it?” Cranston asked, after waiting a moment -for Mrs. Parlin to continue. - -“Why, about all. It’s all too silly to repeat.” - -“I’d rather judge of that,” Cranston said, more shortly perhaps than he -intended. - -Mrs. Parlin grew cold and distant, with that poise of the head that, to -her friends, at least, told of offence taken. - -“It was only irritation and he didn’t even mean that Theodore should -hear him, but Theodore did and answered pretty sharply and----” - -“Please, what did he say?” - -“That he could go any time it suited him, and that, while he intended -to give a man all the privileges he could, he intended also to have his -services when he wanted them. Jonathan said if he wanted a man to work -like a nigger, he’d better get one; and Theodore told him if he heard -another word from him, he’d discharge him on the spot.” Mrs. Parlin had -spoken formally and distantly, as if to assert the compulsion under -which she complied with his demand. - -“Was that the end of it?” he asked. - -“Why, of course. Neither of them meant it, and the easiest way was to -let it pass. Theodore understood that and didn’t refer to it again. -It’s sometimes the best way to get along with hasty folks.” - -“But did Oldbeg forget it?” Cranston asked significantly. - -“Possibly not. He knew he was wrong and it made him uneasy, but of -course, it all went when the terrible murder was discovered.” - -Cranston looked at her with a puzzled expression, and then smiled as he -realised that she had not understood his question. He was glad that it -was so, and at once passed to other matters. - -To Frank Hunter, however, that night he reported his conviction that -the evidence pointed more strongly to Oldbeg as the murderer than he -had supposed. - -“In fact,” he said, “there’s enough to justify his arrest, and with -that I feel pretty certain he’ll break down and we’ll get the truth.” - -“But the papers,” said Hunter, impatiently. “Oldbeg could have had no -knowledge of them, but they’re what we’re first of all interested in.” - -“Oh, as for them, Trafford’s got them beyond doubt. They were last -seen on the writing-pad, and he made quite a show of taking that. It -was nothing but a cover for the papers, of course. You’ve got to open -negotiations with him for their purchase, but you can’t do that so long -as he thinks they may have something to do with the murder. When the -question of the murder’s out of the way, then the papers ’ll simply be -papers and you can make quick work of ’em: another reason why you ought -to arrest Oldbeg and get that settled.” - -“But my brother’s positive Oldbeg had nothing to do with the murder, -and whatever his interest may be, he’s not going to let an innocent -man suffer an unjust arrest. I’m confident, unless you can give him -positive proofs in the matter, he’ll not allow it to be done.” - -“Well,” said the man sulkily, “I’m in your employ and shall obey -orders, but if I was working on the case as a public matter, I’d have -the arrest made and made quick.” - -Mr. Charles Hunter was obdurate. He declared that enough injustice had -already been done in turning public suspicion against the man without a -shred to hang it on, and he was not going to be a party to keeping it -up. - -“It’ll take the man years to recover from it now,” he affirmed; -“and an arrest would down him forever. Oh, yes, I know you bring in -a motive in a petty fuss that occurred on Sunday--a thing that might -happen anywhere and to any one. A man going to see his girl gets -miffed because he has to harness a horse and is impertinent, and you -conclude that that’s reason for his shooting his employer. It’s against -all reason and common sense, and I won’t insult my intelligence by -considering it.” - -“Most murders are against reason and common sense,” said the detective; -“at least, that’s my experience, and more than that, nine murders out -of ten are for absolutely trivial causes. Before you get through with -this case, you’ll see Oldbeg arrested, or I’ll miss my guess.” - -“Well, I shan’t be responsible for it,” the other retorted. - -Thwarted in this part of his search, Cranston turned his attention -to tracing Wing’s mother, to which both Hunter and the Matthewsons -appeared to attach considerable importance--more, in fact, than he -could find in it. Confessedly, it was a cover or subterfuge and meant -the unearthing of a secret that might ruin a woman’s good name for a -mistake made forty years before. It seemed to him a strange twist of -conscience, which revolted at the arrest of a man for a crime of which -circumstances tended to show him guilty, while it gave willing assent -to bringing to light that which might have been lived down years before -and redeemed by a clean life during more years than any of these men -had lived. - -As soon, however, as he took up the matter, the spirit of the quest -possessed him, and this grew strong as the facts unearthed began to -point in a certain direction, while wonder and a low greed found seeds -in the case as it unfolded. At last, with the truth before him, he -was at the point where paths separated, with insistent necessity for -him to take one or the other. Should he go to the woman and demand -his price for silence; or should he give the sons the facts and make -them the purchasers? Whichever he decided on, he would deal honestly -as a man should, and he would not pit one against the other. Hence, -the importance of the decision, for once made it barred him from -negotiations with any one else. Preferably, he would keep the matter -a secret from the sons, save that he had a shrewd suspicion that they -were in a better position to pay the price than was the mother. On the -other hand, the mother might prove the more defiant, especially if she -credited his unwillingness to go to others. It was at best a delicate -question, but fortunately it would “keep” and be as valuable a month -hence as now. He could, therefore, wait and let development lead him in -his decision. - -Then came the thought of Trafford. Trafford had, of course, followed -up this clue and, equally of course, had unearthed the facts. He, -therefore, was in the market, with the danger that he might not prove -as “honourable” as Cranston purposed being, and, therefore, might -damage the price that the latter had expected to obtain. Indeed, it -was an awkward predicament for a man who had a valuable secret to sell -and natural purchasers at hand, yet wished at the same time to shape -his course to the demands of fair dealing and honour. Still, before he -moved, it was necessary that he should ascertain, if possible, whether -Trafford had approached either of the persons interested and if so, -what he had done. - -It was the day on which Trafford returned from his fruitless visit to -the logging drives. Charles Matthewson, uneasy and anxious, found his -office more conducive to nervousness than work, and finally, throwing -down his pen, had reached for his hat for a turn out of doors, when the -door opened and his mother entered. - -“Why, mother,” he said, rising to meet her, and striving to stifle the -apprehension her presence brought, “this is an unusual honour. It’s -a pleasure I would not deny myself, yet I would have spared you the -trouble if you had sent for me.” - -“I came to talk with you, Charles,” she said, as she took the proffered -chair by the window; “and it was better and easier to talk here than at -home.” - -“It is a matter of moment, mother?” he asked anxiously. - -Endowed though Charles Matthewson was with that relentless persistence, -that knows no conscience save success in the pursuit of a purpose, -which had carried the family so far, there was a gentler side to his -nature that was wanting in his younger brother. The development of -this was peculiarly in his relationship with his mother, who in turn -gave him a tenderness of affection of which few dreamed her capable. A -desire, born of all that was womanly in her masculine nature, had been -fed by this son’s love, which was in strong contrast to the awe and -deference accorded her by most of her relatives. It was no easy task -for her to turn for aid to any one, but if she was forced to do so, -it was naturally to Charles she would go. On the other hand, he knew -her well enough to know that an appeal struck its roots deep before it -could bring her to such a course. - -“Is it you, Charles, who are having this woman hunted down?” - -“What woman, mother?” he asked in surprise. - -She seemed to find difficulty in answering; but after a struggle, -raised her head almost defiantly, and said in a hard, cold voice: - -“The mother of Theodore Wing.” - -His face hardened in turn to a strange resemblance to her own. - -“You have nothing to do with such a woman as that, mother.” - -“Every woman has to do with another who is being oppressed and wronged. -Why is the dead past of that woman to be laid bare to the world? -Are the years since her wrongdoing to count for nothing? Is this -generation, that has grown up since all this happened, to be the judge -of what she did before it was born? Is my son to be the one to allow -the wrong?” - -This new phase of his mother’s character struck him strangely and not -pleasantly. She was not wont to show large sympathy with her sex, -though he would be far from accusing her of hardness or cruelty. -Still she had left with him the impression of sympathies and feelings -that were rather masculine than feminine; the impressions of one who, -accepting the task of fighting her own way in the world, felt it no -injustice or wrong to impose the same on others. - -“I have no wish, mother, to hunt down this or any other woman; but a -terrible murder has been committed, a murder the more terrible because -of its motiveless and mysterious character. I have been called in as -counsel to those who are seeking to unravel this mystery and punish the -murderer, and it’s my duty to use every means to accomplish this end.” - -“Then you are hunting this woman out and will expose her nakedness to -the world!” The words were a cry, that had its force even more in the -tone than in the words themselves. - -“I am certainly endeavouring to discover the woman. I could do no less -under the circumstances. I think I have a fair prospect of success.” - -She rose from her chair and looked at him strangely and despairingly. -Then she turned towards the door. - -“I will go,” she said. “This is no place for me. I will go.” - -He looked at her coldly, almost repellantly, as he said, checking her: - -“Mother, what does this mean?” - -No man who had once seen it, could forget the look she gave him. There -was heartbreak in it; there was more than that, there was the crushing -back of a life-long pride. - -“What can it mean?” she asked. - -His head fell on his breast. He had never guessed before the bitterness -that life can have, that a moment of time can bring. She never took her -eyes from his. Whatever the sentence, she would meet it as became her -past. Slowly his head came up; slowly the misery in his eyes rose to -hers. Then he came and laid his lips on her forehead and said: - -“You are my mother: I shall obey your wish.” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -A Second Murder? - - -“Mr. McManus,” said Trafford, after they had completed the -re-examination of Wing’s private papers at the office and in his safe -at home, “was Mr. Wing of a peculiarly secretive disposition?” - -“If he had a fault,” McManus answered, “and since he was human, he must -have had, it was his excessive frankness and openness.” - -“And yet we find him lugging papers on some affair, which he shared -with no one, back and forth from office to house, and when not so -doing, keeping them locked in a safe in his library to which only he -had access. How do you account for this?” - -McManus glanced over his shoulder before answering and then dropped -his voice almost to a whisper, although they were sitting in the very -centre of the great library at the Parlin house, with the door closed. - -“I think he was afraid.” - -“Afraid!” repeated Trafford, almost thrown off his guard, but -instinctively lowering his tone in sympathy with his companion. “Afraid -of what?” - -“Just about two years ago, he found one morning that his desk at the -office had been ransacked. Papers were turned topsy-turvy and packages -of papers had been opened and tied up again hastily. The thoroughness -with which the search was made showed that the person had a well-shaped -purpose, while the fact that a considerable amount of money, which was -loose in a drawer, was not touched, proved that it was not robbery. We -made every effort to find out the culprit, but without success. We had -at one time suspicion of an office-boy, but nothing positive, and Mr. -Wing wouldn’t let him be discharged under circumstances that would do -him a grave injustice if he were innocent. So we retained him.” - -“And he repeated the performance,” Trafford said in a tone of -conviction. - -McManus looked at him, questioning whether this assertion came from -knowledge of the affair or was merely a shrewd guess. Failing to -satisfy himself, he went on: - -“The performance was repeated, but under conditions that made it -impossible for the boy to be guilty. He was away on his vacation.” - -“Not shrewd of the culprit. You are certain it was some one in the -office?” - -“Yes; but we never discovered his identity.” - -“And from that time Mr. Wing began carrying these papers back and forth -and keeping them in this safe.” - -McManus nodded. - -“And the desk was never troubled again.” - -“How do you know?” - -“Was it?” - -“No.” - -Trafford nodded his satisfaction and proceeded to elucidate: - -“When the object was removed and the watcher knew it, he would repeat -the search only to cover his identity. Shrewd as he was, he either -wasn’t shrewd enough for that or was indifferent. He gave away the -fact that he was some one who knew of the removal of the papers.” - -“Then you think these papers were what he was after?” - -“Most assuredly.” - -“And that the removal of them----” - -“Became Wing’s death warrant,” Trafford completed the sentence. McManus -hesitated and grew pale. - -“My God, Trafford; do you see what that leads to?” - -“I see what you think it leads to. You think it leads to the conclusion -that Wing was murdered by somebody in your office, somebody who has -been there at least two years. I think that’s what you lawyers call a -_non sequitur_.” - -“At the office, the papers might be stolen; here they could be stolen -only after the murder of Wing. Why shouldn’t the thief be one and the -same in both cases?” - -“Because many a man will steal where only one will commit murder. It is -possible, of course, that the two may be the same. The probabilities, -however, are against it.” - -“What follows then?” demanded McManus. - -“That the actor in at least one case, and possibly in both, was not -the principal; and that the more there are engaged in the affair, the -better chance we have of discovery. It is the one-man affair that -baffles.” - -None the less, when McManus was gone, Trafford summed up the successes -of three weeks and found them mortifyingly few. A package of papers -missed and not found; an innocent man under suspicion; a woman of -prominence proved the mother of an illegitimate child; a thwarted -attempt upon his own life; a wounded Canadian apparently wiped off the -earth; and a respectable citizen traced on a midnight visit to another -respectable citizen at Waterville. It was not on such achievements as -these that he had built his reputation. - -With the thought of the missing Canadian, his anxiety returned. It -was impossible that he had been spirited away to Canada, yet it was -undeniable that he was gone. He went out and looked at the river. -After two weeks of dry weather the water was falling. On the edge of -the falls, rocks showed that a week before were under water. In eddies -and shallow places he could see, as with his physical eye, drift and -débris collecting, and sometimes in this drift and débris strange -matter was thrown up. He had hesitated to do it, but he felt that -he had no right to hesitate longer, and so he gave directions for a -careful search of the river banks and shallow places from Millbank to -Pishon’s Ferry. It was the last chance, and he had refused to consider -it until it would be criminal to refuse longer. - -That was the physical part of the task, which he could set others to -do; but there was another part, and that he took with him to his room -in the hotel and spent much of the night with it. All the evening he -turned and re-turned it, looking at every side and phase, and then -went to bed and to sleep, with the knowledge that more than once that -which the most earnest thought fails to unravel becomes by some strange -alchemy clear under the magic of sleep. Would it be so with this? - -To that query, which came involuntarily, he answered with a doubt. - -“I’m fighting my conviction,” he said, almost plaintively, “instead of -giving myself up to its free course. I can’t expect to be helped as -long as I do that; but I can’t, I won’t believe. A man in my mood can’t -solve anything!” - -So it came to pass that the night brought him no help, and he rose in -the morning without that sense of rest which a single hour’s sleep -brings under the stimulus of success. - -About noon, a country lad on horseback brought a message from a point -some six miles below the village. Obeying the message, he started at -once with the coroner and physician. - -On a tiny meadow that lay as a crescent of green along the border of -cove where the current of the river sweeps in as an eddy, something -was drawn up from the water and lay covered in an unrecognizable mass, -which none the less had a strange repulsiveness about it. Back of the -meadow great trees rose toward the early June sky; before it the river -flashed in the June sunshine, and across its waters, the brown earth, -dotted with the young corn, stretched away in the beauty of early -summer. A few men and boys stood about the covered thing in strange -silence, that seemed almost of fear; yet all pressed nearer when, by -order of the coroner, the covering cloth was removed. - -Trafford and the doctor stooped and made a close examination of the -hideous thing. No one spoke above his breath as they waited the report, -yet by some strange magic the story of the finding went from man to -man. At last the two men rose and went down to the river to wash their -soiled hands. The coroner followed them: - -“What do you make of it?” he asked. - -Trafford waited until the doctor was forced to speak: - -“Plainly a Canuck, and I should say a log-driver. Certainly a working -man. Been drowned a week and has come from above the Falls. You can -see that by the way he’s battered up. That’s when he was whirled round -under the Falls. Several bones broken, probably by the rocks, but that -smashing of the collar bone came from a blow from above and before he -was dead. It may have been that that knocked him into the water. Unless -you find some particular mark on him, you won’t be able to identify -him, he’s so smashed up. Better send up the river and see if any driver -has been missing about a week. Beg pardon, Mr. Trafford, I fear I’m -taking the words out of your mouth.” - -“Not at all,” the other answered. “I couldn’t have covered my findings -better myself, excepting I was less certain about the breaking of the -collar bone, whether it was before or after death. If he had gone over -the Falls, for instance, head first, might he not have struck a rock -and broken his collar bone, so as to give the appearance of its being -shattered by a blow dealt from above?” - -“It’s not simply that,” said the doctor. “There’s the swelling of the -living flesh that could not take place if the blow occurred after -death. The injury must have occurred long enough before death to -produce this effect.” - -“Then it could hardly have been the blow that knocked him into the -water?” - -The doctor started at the question and, without answering, walked -back to the body and re-examined the broken bone and some of the other -bruises. Then he came back to where Trafford and the coroner waited him. - -“There can’t be any question that the broken clavicle antedates death, -and antedates it some few hours. The man may have been injured at some -distance from any one and have taken a boat to go for assistance and -not been able to control it.” - -“He might have done any one of a dozen things,” Trafford interposed -impatiently; “but the thing is to find out which one he did do. How -did he get this injury, and how did he come to his drowning after the -injury; for I take it you’ll admit when death came, it did come through -drowning.” - -“I think we’ll have to admit that,” the doctor returned. - -“Then we have an injury, one, two, perhaps three hours before death; -and then death by drowning. If all this was the result of accident, -don’t you think he was having more than his fair share, crowded into a -pretty small space of time?” It was Trafford’s question. - -“You mean,” demanded the coroner, a trifle uneasily, “that we’ve got -another murder on our hands before the first one is cleared up?” - -“I mean,” said Trafford; “that if we have, it may prove easier to -unravel two murders than one.” - -They walked slowly back and looked at the face that was gashed beyond -human recognition. Was this he who had cried so piteously on Millbank -Bridge, “_Sacré; c’est moi, Pierre!_”? If so, what had been the history -of the few hours that elapsed before he plunged into the river to the -death meant for Trafford? How was that plunge made? Where was the -Pierre who had struck the blow on the bridge, and who must be able to -tell the story of the man’s drowning? These were the questions which -were dinning themselves in Trafford’s brain and imperiously demanding -an answer. - -The news of the finding of the body spread rapidly through Millbank, -but with comparatively trifling sensation. Men were drowned each year -in the river. The driving business was full of risks and men fell -victims to it each spring. It was not like a murder--a blow from no -one knew where, falling no one knew why. This drowning was a thing -people were accustomed to expect. They shrugged, wondered if he had a -family, and thought little more of an accident that left them “one less -Canuck.” A solitary priest, poor and hard-worked, spent the night in -prayers for the dead; for these men who come from the North to drive -the river are almost without exception faithful children of the Church, -which, through her ministry, mourns her bereavement and assails the -gates of heaven for admission of the departed soul. - -Trafford sat alone in his room at the hotel. He had no doubt that this -was the man on whom had fallen the blow which was intended for him. -Disabled, so that he could not be concealed or taken away without -discovery and recognition, it had been worth the while of those who had -failed in their attempt on his own life, to murder the poor wretch, -rather than take the chances of his being seen and questioned. Disabled -as he was, his condition should have appealed to the hardest heart. -He had tried to do faithfully the work given him and, failing, had -been done to death for his fidelity. What was this hideous thing that -played with murder, rather than let itself be discovered? - -As Trafford asked himself the question, he glanced uneasily at his -windows. It was here, in this very town, within a stone’s throw of the -very place where he sat, that murder stalked--murder that had once -sought him as a victim and then had destroyed its own instrument, not -trusting the man it had employed. It seemed like a lowering menace, -ready to fall without warning, and almost for the first time since he -had taken up this profession, he was conscious of the sense of personal -fear. This merciless, unseen something, impressed him as standing just -beyond the line of sight, watching with unseen eyes, to strike at him -again. If it could be uncovered, what would it prove itself, to justify -so desperate a chance? If it could not be uncovered, where was safety -for himself or for any one who stood as a menace to its purposes? - -That the men who had committed these two murders and had tried a -third--for he did not for one instant separate them--would stop at no -chance, was beyond dispute or question. They had watched and waited on -Wing for two years and, apparently, had not struck until every other -means of securing what they wanted had failed. When they did strike, -they had struck pitilessly and effectively. But they were still on -their guard, as the assault on the Bridge and this wanton murder of a -wounded man proved. They had gone so far; certainly they would not now -retire from the game, nor would they show a scrupulousness they had -failed to feel before they had so far committed themselves that retreat -was impossible. It was a struggle to the death, with an unseen foe, by -a man who at all times stood out as a plain mark. He had the sensation -of one who stands with a lamp in his hands and peers into the deeper -dark, to catch a glimpse of a foe that he simply knows lies in wait for -him unseen. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -Already One Attempt - - -“I won’t consent to any further chasing of this woman.” - -It was Charles Matthewson who spoke, standing in front of his brother -in the library at Waterville, where the original interview regarding -Cranston had taken place. It was a long time since Charles had spoken -so positively to Henry, and the latter looked up half amused and half -irritated, yet with an ugly expression on his face. - -“You have suddenly become very much concerned for this--woman. I’ll use -your polite term,” he said. - -“I’ve suddenly become concerned for myself,” the other replied hotly. -“I know, as you do, that she and her--misfortune have nothing to do -with this murder; and I know, as you do, if you’ll stop to think a -moment, that it’s a cowardly piece of business for men to engage in to -hunt down a woman, simply because they may do so with the approval of -the hunters.” - -Henry gave a low whistle. - -“Who’s been talking to you? You’ve got a sudden conversion as to this -woman’s--misfortune.” He gave an ugly slur to that last word. “Time was -when you’d call it by another name.” - -“Well, whether I would or not, Cranston’s got to be called off from -that line: and he’s got to be called off quick!” - -“But Frank Hunter has been very insistent on this point. He seems to -have some reason for thinking it important,” Henry answered. - -“Because he thinks that a sensation there will stop folks asking -questions nearer home. If he can raise a dust behind which he can -negotiate for those papers, he’s got all he’s looking for just now.” - -“Perhaps you don’t feel any interest in those papers,” Henry answered. - -“Interest or no interest, I’m not going to skulk any longer behind a -petticoat. I’m ashamed to have done it so long.” - -“Good boy,” Henry said, making a motion as if to pat him on the -shoulder. “I ask again, who’s been stirring up your conscience?” - -“Our mother,” said Charles simply. - -Henry stopped in his act, and a new look came over his face. - -“Does she think it unmanly?” he asked. - -“She thinks it cowardly and mean,” Charles said strongly. - -Not a sign of anger at these stinging words came into Henry’s face, but -instead the look of a child justly reproved. - -“I guess she’s right, Charles,” he said. “I guess she’s right. I hadn’t -thought of it before, but it is mean and cowardly. I’ll call Cranston -off at once.” - -“And Hunter?” Charles asked in his turn. - -“He can find something else to raise a dust, or he can come out into -the open and fight; but he shan’t fight longer behind this woman’s -petticoat. I wish we hadn’t done it at all!” - -“I’d give more than I can tell,” Charles answered, giving cry to that -bitterness of shame which, hidden in his heart, he dared not uncover. - -“Yes,” said Henry; “to think that mother should call our act mean and -cowardly! I’d rather the old papers----” Then he stopped short. - -“Has it ever occurred to you that the papers may have had something to -do with Wing’s death?” Charles asked. - -“Hush up!” exclaimed Henry roughly. “There are some things a man -shouldn’t even dare think, much less say.” - -“But--by God,” Charles answered, “there are some things a man can’t -help thinking and perhaps saying. I tell you, I’m not so certain I -wouldn’t have shot Wing myself for the sake of getting hold of those -papers!” - -“And if you’re going to keep on talking this way, you might as well -have done it,” Henry answered bitterly. “I wouldn’t trust myself to -think such things as you’re saying.” - -“But, Henry, think, just think----” - -“I won’t,” the other shouted in a wild passion. “I won’t think, and -I forbid you to ask me to! The man is dead and the Lord only knows -into whose hands those papers have fallen. There’s only one thing I -keep thinking--thinking all the time,” and his voice dropped, while he -looked anxiously over his shoulder, as if he feared the very walls of -his library: “and that is that it was safer to have those papers in his -hands, so long as we knew that they were there, than it is to have them -in the hands of somebody--we don’t know who, for a purpose, we don’t -know what.” - -Charles grew paler than Henry had ever seen him. There was a gasp in -his voice, as if he found breathing difficult, and he almost clutched -at his brother as he said: - -“That means that you are afraid, as I am, that the papers had some -connection with his death, and you are trying to persuade yourself to -the contrary. A month ago, you’d have jumped at the chance of somebody -else having them, no matter who that somebody else might be: yet to-day -you try to make me think that you believe it has increased the danger. -_You know better._ I don’t care whose hands they’re in, we’re safer -than we were when Wing had them. Now it’s only a question of money.” - -“Then why don’t we hear from them?” - -“It would be so safe, with matters as they are, for any one to offer to -sell Wing’s papers,” sneered Charles. - -“Suppose whoever’s got them makes copies of them?” Henry suggested. - -“And you tell me not to think of these things!” Charles cried. - -Henry Matthewson at once called Cranston off from the Bangor matter -and then sent for Frank Hunter. The latter came in the early evening, -uneasy, restless, and irritable. The mood was confirmed when he -discovered what had been done. - -“It’s that, or let him go to Millbank and keep excitement alive there,” -he said. “Trafford strikes me as entirely capable of doing enough of -that.” - -“As matters stand,” demanded Henry, regardless of the caution he had -given his brother, “do you know who were most likely to profit by -Wing’s death?” - -“We were,” answered Frank coldly. “Do you think I’ve ever failed to -recognise that fact? I don’t do business that way.” - -“Then you mean to say that you have seen from the first that if men -looked for motives, they’d fasten on us?” - -“I mean to say exactly that,” Frank Hunter answered; “and unless we can -dig up something that shows that somebody else was in as bad a position -as we, it will go hard with us, unless we can tire the detectives out -and make them give it up as a bad job.” - -It was Henry Matthewson’s turn to look and feel uneasy. Born to -affluence, raised in wealth, and encouraged to high ambition, he had -already gone far for a young man, and it seemed a piteous thing that -in his own house, with his wife and children almost within call of his -voice, he should be told that unless men could be made to forget and -so abandon their interest in the Wing murder, it might go hard with -him--that he might become an object of suspicion. - -“I don’t mean,” Hunter said, “that we are in any danger of being -convicted of Wing’s murder, or even of being arrested for it. That’s -way beyond reason. But how much better off would we be, if the -community should take up the suspicion that we were interested in -Wing’s death; that we procured it? The public is an unreasoning brute. -Look at poor Oldbeg!” - -“Poor Oldbeg!” repeated Matthewson. “What in the name of thunder makes -you so tender of Oldbeg?” - -“It is Charles more than I,” Hunter said, referring to his brother. -“He insists that the man is innocent; that there’s not a scintilla of -proof against him, and he won’t consent that the unreasoning whim of -the people shall do such injustice; and in fact, when I think that our -time may come at any moment, I can’t help feeling a good deal that way -myself.” - -In the shrubbery outside the window a man, who had followed Hunter -from Millbank, listened and watched. He could hear nothing and see as -little, but hour after hour he kept his post, with dogged patience, -using a night to catch a single hint. Had Hunter known how closely he -was followed and watched, he would have been still more uneasy and -disturbed. - -“What is it about this new corpse that’s been found at Millbank?” -Matthewson asked. - -“Oh, merely a drowned logger. Nobody knows him and he’s been -unceremoniously put under ground. Nobody’d have thought anything of it -at any other time, for there’s never a spring that one or more of them -don’t turn up; but just now we are living on sensations, and it added -to the interest that Trafford was on hand and almost the first on the -spot.” - -“Wasn’t it one of Trafford’s men who found it?” the other asked. - -“So it’s said.” - -“Was he looking for it, or for something else?” Matthewson persisted. - -“What do you mean?” - -“Why should Trafford have sent men to search the lower river, if he -didn’t expect to find something? Had some one disappeared? You say a -mere logger. What might Trafford say?” - -“I believe you see a bogy every time you turn round,” Hunter said -impatiently. - -“‘’Tis conscience doth make cowards of us all,’” Matthewson answered. -“I don’t like to be in this position. I don’t dare move to find the -papers, for fear in doing so I stir suspicions concerning Wing’s -death. I don’t dare leave the papers in the uncertain hands where they -are, lest they arouse the very same suspicions. It’s a nice position -for an innocent man to be in.” - -The curiosity of the public, no longer fed on rumours and inquests, -had begun to flag, giving place to the inevitable sneers at the police -and detective force, with renewed predictions daily made that the -murder would remain an unsolved mystery. But for the occasional sight -of Trafford, and the expectation that the inquest might be reconvened -at almost any time, the village would already have begun to forget the -murdered man, so easily does a sensation fade into the commonplace. - -But Trafford remained, or at least reappeared at unexpected moments, -like an uneasy spirit that found no rest. He was working now on two -murders, confident that if he found the perpetrator of the one, he -would solve both. It was an aid to him that the public accepted the -second as an accident, he alone having knowledge of the attempted -murder of himself which, unaccomplished, had brought this fate on the -unhappy wretch who was to be himself a murderer. - -About this time, however, he had proof that he had not ceased to -interest some one. On returning to his room at the hotel one evening, -he found that it had been entered during his absence and a thorough -search of all his papers and luggage made. At first, he was inclined -to complain to the landlord, but this purpose passed as quickly as it -came, resulting in his taking apparently no notice of the affair. - -It called to mind very forcibly, however, the tale that McManus had -told him of the rifling of Wing’s desk, and caused him to take a -professional view of the incident. He had said at the time that a pair -of trained eyes would have seen something of importance. He was thus -placed on his mettle to prove his boast. In fact, there was little to -see. It was evident that the intruder had come by a window opening on -to the roof of a long porch. A dusty footprint on the carpet under the -window, pointing inward, proved this, and Trafford was able to find -traces along the roof to a hall window, but the returning tracks were -not traceable. He was not so much offended at the liberty taken with -his property as by the implication on his sagacity, in the expectation -of finding anything he preferred should remain unfound. - -He had his suspicions as to the person who had ransacked Wing’s desk, -and it was a satisfaction to be given an opportunity to test that -suspicion by this later act. If he could bring it home to the possible -culprit in the former case, he felt that a very considerable advance -would be made. It was true that the method smacked a trifle of seeking -facts with which to sustain a preconceived opinion, rather than -permitting facts to lead up to judgment; but strict adherence to rule -was not always possible, and this appeared a case in which exception -was to be made. - -Because, however, of this yielding to temptation, possibly, it troubled -him more to discover that the assumed trespasser on Wing’s desk could -by no means be the culprit in the present case, for it was beyond -controversy that the suspected individual had not been within many -miles of the Millbank hostelry at the hour of the intrusion. It might -be a touch of cunning, but the alibi was not to be questioned. None the -less, here was the fact that Wing’s desk was broken open because he -was believed to be in possession of certain papers of a compromising -character, and that when it was believed that these papers had come -into the possession of the detective, his room and papers were in turn -ransacked. That there was connection of cause and effect between the -facts was scarcely to be doubted, even though it was not as simple as -he had at first supposed to establish it. - -Uncertainty as to the nature of the missing papers, and his inability -to secure any definite information, were the tantalising features of -the case. He questioned McManus only to find that his knowledge of the -matter was no less hazy. These papers had been seen by no one in the -office excepting in package. Whether they had been received by Wing -from Judge Parlin or not was unknown. There was a general understanding -that they had come from the judge, and that Wing had given a great deal -of attention to them, so that they had grown materially in his hands. -The scandal of the ransacking of the desk had caused a great deal of -excitement in the office and no little discussion, but this had brought -out no facts bearing on the subject-matter. That it involved some one -was guessed, but even this guess was wild and general, rather than -specific. - -“Unless something of certainty is arrived at,” Trafford said, “it -will be impossible to delay the re-opening of the inquest more than a -week longer, and in the present temper of the public mind a verdict -implicating Oldbeg would not be impossible.” - -He said it half musingly, as if rather talking to himself than -otherwise, and yet there was a look under the eyelids that would not -have been quite reassuring to a close observer. McManus did not seem to -note it, but took up the matter rather with Trafford’s own manner. - -“But there the papers stand as the insurmountable difficulty. Oldbeg -could have no object in stealing them. He could scarcely have known of -their existence--that is, as papers of value. If the connection could -be made, it would be serious for him.” - -“But it can’t be made,” Trafford said, as if he were waking from his -lethargic condition. “I’ve told you what kind of a man it was that did -this murder, and when the murderer is discovered, as discovered he will -be, you’ll find I’ve described him correctly. Those papers caused this -murder and caused it because they were a menace to some one. That some -one couldn’t have been Oldbeg----” - -“Yet the public mind is impressed with Oldbeg’s guilt and, if I mistake -not, the jury is as well.” - -“You overlook the fact that nothing regarding these papers has appeared -in the testimony.” - -McManus looked up suddenly as the fact was recalled to him. - -“That’s so,” he said. “We’ve discussed them so much that I had entirely -lost sight of the fact. Of course, that’ll free Oldbeg when it is -brought out in testimony.” - -“If it is brought out,” Trafford said. - -“But surely,” McManus urged; “you will not let so important a matter -pass--let alone the fact that it is the cause of injustice to Oldbeg, -who surely has suffered enough already.” - -“Mr. McManus,” said Trafford solemnly; “I’m at work to find the -murderer of Mr. Wing. That’s the one purpose I have before me, and it -is what the best interests of the public demand. If Oldbeg or another -suffers unjustly for the moment, it is that the guilty man may suffer -in the end. I’m sorry for Oldbeg, but I’m not responsible for the turn -matters have taken. At present, the parties who are interested in these -papers believe I have them, and the work I’m doing requires them to -continue so to believe. I don’t conceive it to be my duty to produce at -the inquest testimony that will undeceive them.” - -“Aren’t you taking a tremendous responsibility?” McManus asked. - -“It’s my business to take responsibility. I’ve taken it often to the -extent of risking my life--I may do so again; but when there’s a -murderer at large and I’m set to find him, I don’t stop because my -life is endangered or because another is put to inconvenience. If -Oldbeg’s held for the murder, it’ll be inconvenient for him, but not so -inconvenient as it would be for me to be murdered because I’m on the -track of the right man.” - -“And you are on the track of the right man?” McManus demanded. - -“I’ve been on his track from the moment I entered that library and knew -that it had been searched by the man who fired the fatal bullet. I’ve -been on his track from that day to this, and I shall keep on it until I -catch up with him or he kills me; but as surely as that last happens, -he’ll swing. It isn’t given to any man to commit murder twice and cover -his tracks. If I go down, it’ll end in his going up.” - -“But really, Mr. Trafford, you take this thing more seriously than I -imagined. You’re not in earnest in this talk of an attempt to murder -you!” - -“So much in earnest that I never go out without thinking I may not come -back.” - -“But why?” - -“Because already one attempt has been made.” - -“You astound me!” McManus exclaimed. “I agreed at the start to -co-operate with you so long as you had the case in hand, but, -certainly, I’m entitled to know something! Why do you say it’s because -you are supposed to have the papers? Might it not be simply to shield -the murderer? You leave the thing in a cloud that is”--he seemed -searching for a word--“disturbing.” - -Trafford, however, refused to say more; but after McManus left, he sat -for a few moments as if asking himself if he had done wisely, and then -rousing up muttered: - -“We’ll see how far that’ll carry!” - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -At the Drivers’ Camp - - -Two days later a message came which necessitated a trip up the Dead -River branch, traversing the ground over which Trafford had gone ten -days before. Already, however, the camps he had visited were deserted, -the drivers having followed the body of logs moving towards the river -itself. At the Forks, Trafford was joined by the assistant who had -warned him that morning in Millbank. They had a long conference, -in which there appeared no small amount of differing opinion. The -assistant had tracked from a camp on Moosehead, to a cabin beyond the -Madison Beeches above Millbank, two Canadians, who had left the lake -suddenly on May 12. He was certain he had located one of the men, a -great powerful fellow, in one of the Dead River driving gangs. - -“And the other?” - -“I can get no trace of him. They separated at Millbank--perhaps -forever.” - -“And this fellow’s name--here on Dead River?” - -“Pierre Duchesney.” - -“And the other?” - -“Victor Vignon.” - -“It can scarcely have any bearing,” Trafford asserted after some -thought. “Nothing definite in the way of plans could have been formed -so promptly. The murder was only twenty-four hours old then.” - -“But they went to Millbank; spent four days in the old Indian hut back -of Madison Beeches, and were not seen in Millbank during the entire -time. Then, no one knows how, the one appears at Parlin Pond, and works -from there over to Dead River. He’s a big, strapping fellow; the other -one was medium height and size--much the slighter made of the two.” - -“But I tell you,” Trafford affirmed; “if they were called to Millbank, -the call must have come before the murder was known--they came for -something else than to assault the man supposed to have those papers.” - -“And were at hand conveniently to assault the man who was supposedly -in possession of the papers, when it was found that they had -involuntarily changed hands.” - -This view struck Trafford and he gave it some little thought, while the -other waited as if for his final judgment. - -“As long as we’re here, we may as well have a look at your man,” said -Trafford. - -The next day found them guests of the drive at the camp above the -first rapids of Dead River, where use was being had of the last of -the spring flow to get the tail of the winter’s cut into the main -channel. Already the advance guard of the summer army was making its -appearance, adventurous souls who love to see the year at its birth, -and the presence of strangers excited no especial comment. They made it -so apparent that they sought an invitation for the night that it became -unavoidable, and so with the falling of dusk and the leap of the great -flames of the camp fire among the trees, they came on to the time for -the experiment agreed upon. - -Trafford had watched Pierre Duchesney at his work, a great, -strong-limbed giant whose blow, intentional or not, could well work -the crushing of lesser bones, and admitted that their purpose was -well-nigh foolhardy. To take such a man, surrounded as he was by -friends, was scarcely to be thought of, and in fact would not have been -thought of, but for a chance remark that he was not going below the -first rapids. When the jam was started here, he was to strike across -to the head waters of the Androscoggin, which Trafford’s companion, -intent in his belief that this was the man they wanted, interpreted as -a purpose to bury himself in the wilds of the Canadian wilderness about -Megantic. - -Trafford, himself, while yet in doubt as to the identity of the man, -admitted that even if they lost him, it would be much gained if they -could prove him, and so consented to the plan his assistant outlined, -determined to take his chances in the matter of an actual capture. - -The men were stretched about the blazing logs, smoking, sleeping, -chatting. Trafford among them watched the leap of the flames and the -gradual reddening of the great logs into coals. The other stranger had -left the circle some time before. Involuntarily Trafford kept his eye -on Pierre’s huge form, where it was stretched in the full blaze and -warmth of the logs, his eyes closed in a pleasant after-feeding doze. -Suddenly out of the dark came a sharp Canadian voice, calling: - -“_Sacré, c’est moi, Pierre!_” - -Every one glanced up enquiringly, but the effect on Pierre Duchesney -was startling in the extreme. His eyes stared wide from a face of ashy -grey; he leaped to his feet, shaking as one with the ague. Trafford -had sprung to his side at the instant of his leap from his recumbent -position, and in time to catch from his blanched lips the convicting -words: - -“_Mon dieu; Victor!_” - -Trafford’s hand was on his pistol, which he drew, with the sharp demand: - -“Quick, seize the man; he’s wanted for the murder of Victor Vignon!” - -At the word “murder,” the men drew back from the circle of light. They -lived free and easy lives in the woods, and had little of the fear -of the law before them in their fastnesses, but with murder and the -murderer they had no share. All the other laws of God and man, they -might violate, but to that one, “Thou shalt do no murder,” they bowed, -the very defencelessness of their lives making murder doubly terrible -to them. So, strong men as they were, they gazed wild-eyed on the -scene, and some of the bravest trembled. - -On Pierre, the word acted like magic. No less pale he was than before, -but it was a paleness in which the sense of self-preservation was -awake, looking from his eyes, as it looks from those of hunted wild -creatures brought suddenly to bay. He attempted no plea; he made no -denial; but his form grew compact with the compactness of one about to -spring. Trafford, wondering what course the others would take, brought -his pistol to a steady aim, and said clearly and sharply: - -“Surrender, or I’ll shoot! Throw up your arms!” - -He felt, rather than saw, that on the edge of the light stood his -assistant also covering the man with his revolver. The man moved as -if to obey the order to throw up his arms, and then, with a quickness -of which none guessed him capable, struck Trafford’s arm a blow that -caused it to drop numbly by his side, sending the pistol’s discharge -into the earth. With the same movement the man crouched half to -earth, and thus escaped the other’s shot. Without rising, he darted, -crouching, for the shelter of trees beyond the fire, but not so quickly -as to save his right arm from the second shot by the assistant. -Trafford, meantime, had changed his revolver into his left hand and was -firing at the fleeing shadow that the man became before disappearing. -With his second shot, he heard his assistant at his side. - -“You know now, but we’ve lost him.” - -“Into the woods; into the woods,” Trafford cried, seizing a blazing -pine knot. “Quick, we’ll get him yet.” - -Not a man stirred save Trafford, and he made only a step or two. -Glancing back, he saw the drivers huddled in an excited and -gesticulating group that looked startlingly like mischief. Ahead was -the heavy blackness of dense trees. Then he realised that the man had -escaped. - -Meantime the men were aroused from the stupor of their first surprise -and were in a dangerous mood, the active qualities of which were -quieted by the gleam of Trafford’s badge, which he felt was the best -introduction to the explanation to which they were clearly entitled. -They listened patiently, but simply tolerantly, and their coolness -was in marked contrast to their friendliness of a brief quarter of an -hour earlier. There was no denial to Trafford and his companion of the -hospitality of the camp, but they were made to feel that they were -unwelcome guests, and they waited anxiously and impatiently for the -first touch of morning to be on their way, as well from a desire to -leave their surly companions, as from impatience to be where they could -make use of their newly acquired information. - -They were not more than a mile from camp, after a hasty breakfast -eaten amid strange silence, when, from the woods lying between the -track they were following and the river, a lad of about sixteen years, -whom they had seen in camp the night before, overhauled them. He had -evidently run most of the way, and was anxious to get back before his -absence attracted attention, but he was also intent on information. The -conversation with him was carried on partly in the lad’s imperfect -English, and partly in the French of Canada with Trafford’s companion, -and by him translated to Trafford: - -“Victor Vignon: my cousin. You say, murdered--dead?” - -Trafford nodded. - -“_Non._ He go big lake. Go by Aten’s stage.” - -“Who told you so?” demanded Trafford. - -“Pierre--Pierre Duchesney. When he come, he say: Victor, he go big -lake: he go by Aten’s stage.” - -“Well, he killed him. Drowned him in the river at Millbank, where the -big Falls are.” - -“What for he kill him?” demanded the boy. - -“Who sent for your cousin at the big lake when he and Pierre went -away?” Trafford demanded, and then, it being evident that the lad -had not sufficient command of English to master this question, his -companion repeated it in French. - -The lad’s face brightened as he heard his native tongue, and from that -time he carried his part of the conversation mostly in that tongue. - -“The boss.” - -On questioning, it developed that the “boss” had said the “big man” -had sent for Pierre and Victor; had said that they were to go to the -Forks of the River and meet a gang, but when they got there the gang -was gone and they had word to go somewhere else, and it was when Pierre -came back and Victor had gone to the big lake, that the lad was told -this by Pierre. The lad did not know where it was that Victor had gone, -but he was to see him again when the drive was over and they were ready -to go back to Canada before the feast of St. John. - -Oh, yes; the “big man” was somebody who lived down where the water went -over the big Falls, and owned all the trees, and sent the boss money to -pay them. He didn’t know his name, but he was a great big man--as big -as the Seigneur at Rigaud-Vandreuil, the biggest man the lad had ever -seen. - -“A bigger man than the boss?” - -Oh, yes; for he sent the boss money to pay them and owned the trees, -while the boss wasn’t as big a man as Louis Blanchet, the notary, whom -he, the lad, had often seen and talked with, and once had thrown mud at -when he was drunk. - -No, he didn’t know the big man’s name; he had said that before, but -anybody could tell them; anybody who knew, for he owned the trees; and -the “boss” could tell them; his name was Kennett, Georges Kennett; not -the boss here, for his name was Jean Busque, he was Canadian; but the -other boss, the one who told Pierre and Victor to go to the Forks of -the River. - -But he must go back, because the boss, the one here, would be angry -and make him lose some of his money. He had heard them say something -about Victor being killed, and he wanted to ask them and tell them it -couldn’t be Victor, because he had gone to the big lake, as Pierre had -said. What would Victor’s wife do if he was dead? The good God--_le bon -Dieu_--and the good Saint Anne--_la bonne sainte Anne_--wouldn’t let -him be dead, when there was Victor’s wife and three little ones and -another coming in the summer, as Victor had told him. They must know -that Victor couldn’t be dead, and if they saw him, they were to tell -him that he--Étienne Vignon--had said this and would meet him at the -big Falls to go back to la Beauce before the feast of Saint John, as -Victor had promised Étienne’s mother when he took him away to go on -the drive. And with these words, the lad dashed into the woods for his -mile run back to camp. - -Trafford caught himself perilously near a sigh, as the lad disappeared -among the trees. - -“It’s as plain as the nose on your face--that part of it,” he said. -“Hunter sent for these men; had them go to the forks to join a -pretended gang, and word was left there for ’em to go on to the hut -back of the Madison Beeches.” - -“Hunter?” his companion asked. - -“Certainly. Isn’t he the man who owns the trees to such a simple lad as -that? He don’t know the name--but we do, Charles Hunter of Millbank.” - -“Then he’s concerned in the murder?” - -“If you knew the things that aren’t to be seen as well as you do the -things that you see, you’d beat us all,” Trafford answered. “If he -was in the murder, he’d know where those papers are and wouldn’t have -needed these men. His very desperation to get them shows he isn’t the -murderer.” - -“Then Charles Hunter’s the man who’s afraid of those papers,” the -other repeated, as if half dazed by the revelation. - -“One of ’em,” said Trafford. “I’ve known that much a long time.” - -“But if the men who are afraid of the papers aren’t the men who -murdered him haven’t you knocked out the motive for the murder? That’s -the thing that’s bothered all the time, and now that we’ve got hold of -one, it’s a pity to lose it again.” - -“Beware of clues,” half laughed Trafford. “That’s the lesson you -haven’t learned yet. I’ve said Hunter was one of the men who’s afraid -of the papers. I haven’t said there weren’t others. Then it doesn’t -follow that the only people who wanted to get the papers were those who -were afraid of ’em. Given the papers, there’s a dozen things that might -make ’em the motive of the murder besides being afraid of them.” - -After a silence that lasted some time, the other turned to Trafford and -demanded: - -“Did you know Hunter was in this thing when you set me to hunting -Canucks round Millbank?” - -“Certainly,” answered Trafford. “I’ve known it since a half-hour after -the attack was made on me at the bridge. Why?” - -“Thunder! Hunter was one of the men of whom I thought it safe to make -open enquiries about Canucks I was looking for.” - -“It’s never safe,” Trafford said, “to make enquiries of any one, unless -you are willing that everybody should know, or anxious that one man -should. In this case, ’twas just as well Hunter should know that we -were on the track. He’s a man who makes his false slips when he’s the -most anxious to escape.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -The Priest’s Story - - -They had their dinner that day at Nic’khal’s, at the Forks, eating in -the shed that later in the season becomes the “summer kitchen.” The -meal was primitive in material and cooking, but the sauce was hunger. -An elderly priest, weary-looking and sad, was their sole companion, -and he watched them through the meal, with a look that Trafford read -as expressive of a desire to have talk with him. So, after the eating -was over, Trafford put himself in the way of the clergyman, who quickly -availed himself of the chance: - -“You are from above?” he asked, and Trafford assented. - -“Did you pass the logging camp at the first rapids?” - -“I spent the night there,” Trafford answered. - -“Was the night disturbed?” - -“An attempt was made to arrest a murderer, who escaped into the woods, -but not without a severe wound, I think.” - -“I have a message for the man who attempted to make the arrest.” - -“You can deliver it to me,” said Trafford. - -“You say the man was a murderer. I have no wish to know his name; but -I am charged only to speak to one man, and I shall know him by a name. -You can give it me?” - -“If it’s my name you want, it’s Trafford. The murderer attempted first -to rob or murder me in the covered bridge at Millbank, before he -committed the actual murder,” answered the detective. - -“I did not doubt before,” the priest answered, with something of -stateliness; “only when a trust is given, one must be certain. The -message is that the man who was drowned was not murdered. It was an -accident, in which the one barely escaped and was unable to save the -other.” - -“Even so,” Trafford retorted, “the other might have had a chance to -escape, if it hadn’t been for a broken collar-bone, and for that the -man who denies the murder was responsible.” - -“But it was by mistake he inflicted it,” the priest answered. - -“By mistake, because he missed the man he intended to strike and hit -his associate in crime. He was in the bridge to rob and probably to -murder, and if the death of his companion was directly accidental, it -came through a violation of the law and that makes it murder.” - -“In the eyes of the law, possibly,” the priest said; “but we look to -the intent. The man did not intend to kill his associate. He died as -the result of an accident.” - -“Are you permitted to give me details?” Trafford asked, wisely avoiding -a discussion that might return again and again on itself without actual -progress. - -“A wounded man found me asleep in a hut where he sought shelter, guided -by the Blessed Virgin, I doubt not. I heard his confession. On that -is the seal of the Church. He begged me to find you and give you this -message, and what he said in that I will strive faithfully to repeat. -It is all that I can say. He was not in the bridge to murder the man -at whom he struck, but to seize him and take from his person certain -papers. He struck in the dark in the direction of a noise made, as he -supposed, by the man. He may have struck harder than he intended. At -the least, he struck his companion and not the man, and with force -sufficient to break the collar-bone. What they had been set to do, they -were to do and then return to the woods without being seen. He had now -the fear earned by failure, and the certainty that the man, having -escaped, would call on the authorities, and he and his companion would -be betrayed by the latter’s wound. He, therefore, persuaded him to bear -his pain until they could get to a place of safety, and not daring to -travel the roads, where they could be tracked, they struck to the river -banks above the Falls, and followed these until they found a boat into -which they got, turning its head upstream. - -“He had only an old and broken oar with which to paddle, but a driver -can paddle with a single pole, and they easily reached the middle of -the river. Here he turned at a groan from his companion and failed -to see a floating log which struck their boat, and, worse still, -knocked the oar out of his hand. Before he could recover himself, the -boat was in the rapid current above the Falls, and rushing downstream -with increasing force. His companion, roused at the growing roar of -the waters, seemed to think that it was with intention that this was -happening. He begged to be spared, and called loudly for help. The -other told him what had happened and that he was powerless to prevent -the boat going over the Falls, whereupon the wounded man sprang to -his feet, with a prayer to the Virgin and Saint Anne, and leaped -overboard, just as the boat touched the white water above the plunge. -The other ran to the bow, which was shooting straight out, and stood -there for a second of time until he felt it tremble for the dip, at -which instant he jumped for the deeper water below the Falls, and by a -miracle escaped the rocks at the very base of the plunge. As you know, -the water there is very deep, so that although he sank, he did not -touch bottom. He floated through the cañon and succeeded in landing -just above the railroad bridge. He knew there was no use in looking -for boat or companion, and so crept up the bank around the Falls, -secured another boat, and finally towards morning landed just below the -Bombazee Rips. He set the boat afloat and plunged into the woods. That -is all I am permitted to tell you.” - -“But it is not all you know,” Trafford said. - -“It is all I know. If I heard anything more, I heard it under the seal -of confession and know naught of it.” - -Trafford pondered on the story for some time, without speaking. The -habits born of his profession held him, warning him to avoid hasty -conclusion as well for the man as against him. It was his business to -get the truth, not to find a confirmation or refutation of a previously -formed opinion. - -The priest waited without a sign of impatience. At last Trafford raised -his head and said: - -“I do not think it could have been done.” - -“What?” asked the priest. - -“The leap from the boat over the falls.” - -“I have been told by eye-witnesses that it has been done,” declared the -priest. - -“I have seen it done,” Trafford said; “but it was in broad daylight, -when the man could see, and determine the exact instant for the leap. -The boat was a very long one, so that before it dipped, it had shot -far out; the man was extremely powerful, and it was, after all, a mere -matter of luck.” - -“We do not talk of luck,” the priest said, with a touch of sternness in -his tone. “We will leave that. You admit it possible, because it has -been done. Your man was extremely strong. This man seems to me such -also. Your man had daylight to show him the tossing of the waters about -him; the anxious faces peering at him; the vanishing shores, and the -coming danger. This man had all his senses active and single to the -work before him. The flash of white foam was enough to show him, even -in the night, where he was. To that his sight was turned, for there -was nothing to distract his full attention. He was leaping for life. -Instinct would come to his aid. It was possible for the man you saw. I -believe it was possible for this man.” - -Suddenly a thought struck Trafford. This priest could not reveal the -secrets of the confessional; but neither could he prevent what he had -heard in confession affecting his attitude towards this man and his -story. He looked the priest full in the face and asked, solemnly, -almost sternly: - -“Do you fully and absolutely credit this tale?” - -Without a shadow of hesitation or delay, the priest answered: - -“I do, absolutely and fully. In the story I bring you I have not a -doubt that you have heard the truth, so far as it goes. You know how -the death of the man you thought murdered actually occurred.” - -To Trafford’s mind there was left no ground for doubt. - -“I accept your story,” he said, “as the story of what actually -occurred. Where is the man who told it to you?” - -The priest smiled and raised his hand in a sweep of the northern -horizon: - -“I cannot track the wilderness. If you want him, you must ask the woods -to give him up.” - -“There is a lad in the gang at the first rapids,” Trafford said, “who -came with Victor Vignon from Beauce. Victor, who was his cousin, was -to take him back before the Feast of St. John. He relies absolutely on -this, and would not believe Victor dead. His name is Étienne Vignon and -he needs comfort and help.” - -“I will go to him,” said the priest. “The thought is a kind one.” - -If the priest dreamed that he was thus finished with the detective, it -was because he did not know the nature of the creature. - -“From Beauce I think you said the wounded man came,” said Trafford -carelessly. - -If Trafford thought to surprise the priest, it was proof that he too -was ignorant. - -“I do not recall having said so,” the priest answered. - -“But he was, wasn’t he?” demanded Trafford. - -“I did not ask him.” - -On the matter of the wound the priest talked freely. It was painful, -but not serious. The small bone of the lower right arm was broken, but -he had set it and was confident it would improve. - -“If the man has been unjustly accused, I hope it may prove so,” -Trafford said. “He goes directly home, of course.” - -The priest smiled. - -“I did not expect to see him again, so had no occasion to know.” - -Convinced that the other was absolutely on guard, and that even if -he knew anything beyond what he had told--of which Trafford felt -considerable doubt--it was not to be extracted from him, Trafford again -commended the lad Étienne to his care, and turned to the matter of a -conveyance to Carrytunk on the road to Millbank. At parting, he said: - -“If I accept your assurance as to the innocence of this man, it is none -the less true that some one employed him to rob me, and his companion -lost his life because of the attempt. He could not have told of this -without telling who that was.” - -The priest smiled, but not in a way that encouraged Trafford to hope -for information, and the event proved him wise not to do so. - -“If he told me aught that I have not repeated,” the other answered, “it -was to obtain God’s pardon, not to invoke man’s punishment on any. Its -object accomplished, the words passed as they came to the priest and -not to the man.” - -So Trafford was forced to let him go, none the wiser beyond what the -priest chose that he should be; but as they hurried towards Millbank, -he tried hard to look at all sides of the story and at last asked his -companion: - -“What do you think of it?” - -“A batch of lies, told to a gossiping priest to be peddled out to us -again,” was the curt judgment. - -Even this Trafford weighed carefully before commenting on it. - -“You evidently think the fellow a shrewd chap.” - -“No; any one can see he’s a stupid lout; just the kind of a thing to be -used for a dirty job.” - -“Yet he had a long enough head to cheat the priest.” - -“Then you think the priest believed him?” - -“I haven’t a doubt of it,” said Trafford. - -Trafford’s judgments had something of the weight of oracles with this -man, who was able to see things but not to form opinions; and this -curt declaration was to the point and not to be mistaken. For the time -being, and for present purposes, it was to be accepted, and having -accepted it, the other had nothing to say. But it was not so easy for -Trafford. He had, perhaps, to convince some budding doubt that had not -found expression either in tone or words. - -“To doubt the truth of the fellow’s story, is to believe that he -reasoned out the chance of the priest finding us and then deliberately -employed what he regards as a sacrament--that is confession--to put in -circulation a concocted story for the purpose of deceiving us. I don’t -believe he’s that smart; and I don’t believe, with his belief in the -Church, he’d dare do it.” - -“We seem to be in the business of acquitting everybody,” the other said -in a surly tone. - -“It’s certainly not our business to convict, but to find out the -truth,” Trafford answered. “We aren’t prosecuting attorneys.” - -“But our work lies in pointing out the guilty.” - -“Yes; but unless we do it as much for the sake of proving the innocence -of the innocent as the guilt of the guilty, we only do half the work -that we ought to do. I’d rather any time clear a man who is unjustly -charged than prove a man, thought innocent, guilty,” answered Trafford. - -“Maybe so, but that isn’t the kind of work the world gives you most -credit for. If you can hang a man, it thinks you’ve done something -big; but if you stop them from hanging a man, they think they’ve been -cheated.” - -“Well, I guess when all’s said and done, it’s more a question of what -we think about the kind of work we’re doing, than what the world thinks -of it, that counts. When I’m satisfied with myself--right down honestly -satisfied--I find I can let the world think what it’s a mind to.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -A Duel - - -Mrs. Matthewson entered the little parlour, where she had met Trafford, -for the purpose of keeping another appointment--one that she had not -wanted to make and which she had not yet dared refuse. When she visited -her son, she knew the name of the man who, under his direction, was -hunting down Theodore Wing’s mother, but she did not know the man. Now -she was to meet him face to face. She was afraid, and she bore herself -with the air of a queen about to grant a favour to her humblest subject. - -Cranston felt her imperiousness in the very air as he entered, and -rebel as he would, it daunted him and took a share of his bravado from -him. She returned his salutation, but with the evident purpose not to -aid him in the slightest in the delivery of his errand. - -“I regret the necessity,” he said, “of troubling you.” - -She bowed stiffly, but without other answer. He apparently had not -struck the line of least resistance. - -“I have been employed,” he began, “upon the Wing murder case.” Then, at -the look in her eyes, as if of all things on earth the Wing murder case -had the least possible interest to her, he added desperately: “Among -those who employed me were your sons.” - -“Then you should report to them.” These were the first words she had -spoken and the tone was beyond measure forbidding, but they were at -the least words and a recognition that she was taking part in the -interview. As such they helped the man who, in spite of his experience, -was floundering woefully. - -“I thought it in your interest that I should first report to you,” he -said. - -“There’s nothing in which any one can serve me in the Wing murder -case,” she said, not sparing herself even the word “murder.” - -He looked at her as if he would say that that was a very proper bluff -for her to put up, but that he knew the facts and was not to be fooled -thereby. - -“In doing thoroughly my work,” he floundered on; “it has been -impossible for me to overlook the remarkable paper left by Judge -Parlin.” - -Even as she caught the full import of his words, she had a -consciousness of the hopeless bungling of this man, in comparison with -the other man, Trafford. No less surely had Trafford told her that he -had learned the history of her early life; but he had, with a natural -instinct, taken from the telling every sting that was not ineffaceable. -This man was so intent upon the telling as not to have a thought for -her. - -She made no acknowledgment, save that frigid bend of the head that was -less acknowledgment than repulsion, and which he felt as disdain. It -stung him to more brutal speech than he had intended: - -“You would have me, perhaps, report my discoveries in that connection -to your sons.” - -If he had expected her to shrink or lose self-control, his was the -disappointment. She had lived too long with the possibility of meeting -thus her past, to allow it to come with the shock of the unexpected. -There had been no hour for forty years when these words might not be -spoken to her. She did not even make the mistake of showing irritation -in her answer: - -“I would know why you have sought this interview, that it may be ended. -As to the results of your employment, they concern your employers, not -me.” - -“I know who was the mother of Theodore Wing.” He spoke somewhat -insistently, and not without a touch of menace in his voice. He had -foreseen an easier task. He had a sense of personal wrong, in that she -was making it so hard for him. - -“It is her secret,” she said, with just enough force to betoken -impersonal indignation; “neither you nor the world have the right to -drag it to the surface.” - -“I am willing it should remain a secret,” he answered. - -“Then you should never have told any one you knew it.” - -“You are the only one I have told,” he said; “and that was necessary.” - -Clearly he expected her to ask, “Necessary to what?” but she did not -make the mistake. She remained silent and left him to reknit the broken -strand of discourse. - -“The moment of real danger to her will come,” he said, after waiting -vainly for her to speak, until waiting became a palpable embarrassment; -“when Wing’s murderer is put on trial.” Then, as with a sudden change -of his line of attack, he continued: “Have you ever thought why your -sons employed me in this case?” - -“No; nor cared,” she said. - -He had expected her to deny that she had known. - -“Because they know who the murderer is.” - -It was a relief to the tension upon her that she could show resentment -without personal defence. - -“Your remark is insulting,” she said. “I do not know the object of this -visit, but whatever it is, that remark must be withdrawn before it can -proceed.” - -“It is the last remark you should desire withdrawn, madam,” he said, -with a calm significance of utterance; “for it is true.” - -She rose to dismiss him--rose haughtily and uncompromisingly, as if -she had not the slightest suspicion of the drift of his purpose. There -was a dangerous gleam in her eye; one that should have been a warning -to the man, telling him to shield himself in some way and not carry -out the threatened purpose. To this woman, that purpose was a cause -of almost mastering terror, but this the will behind it controlled, -leaving her seemingly strong to master the situation. He was compelled -to decide quickly, yet with knowledge that anything that was tinctured -with apology was a weakening of his position. - -“I am not implying guilt on their part,” he said; “nor am I speaking -of knowledge that would be proof in court, but of that moral knowledge -which makes one certain in mind, without being able to give evidence -to justify such certainty. To make a public accusation based on such -knowledge, would be to do the greatest wrong.” - -She remained standing, seemingly weighing this remark. In reality -she was feeling the keen disappointment of having lost excuse for -terminating the interview which she had supposed was hers. - -“I am averse,” she said, “to discussing questions bearing on this -murder. I condemn the crime. Beyond that, it has no interest to me.” - -She knew that in thus speaking she was weakening the position she had -taken at first. It was the natural sequence of having the ground cut -from under her by Cranston’s half-apology. The other eagerly seized the -opening presented: - -“Until Mr. Wing’s murderer is discovered and punished, nothing and no -one in any way connected with his past will be spared. I have said that -I know who is his mother.” - -She had resumed her seat and again had herself under full control, but -with some loss of vantage. - -“What one man has discovered,” she said, “any other man may discover. -The mere fact that it can be discovered, is the end of secrecy.” - -“There are innumerable things that can be discovered,” he said, -“compared with the number of people who can discover them. There are -hundreds who would like to know this one matter, but among them not -more than one who knows how to find it out. If his mouth is closed, the -secret is as safe as if it did not exist.” - -“The mere knowledge that a secret exists is revelation,” she answered. -“A man who will sell himself once, simply waits a higher bidder to sell -himself again.” - -“Possibly, if in concealing the identity of this woman, one concealed a -fact bearing upon the discovery of the murderer. I can assure you that -her identity has no bearing whatever upon the other question.” - -“Then why not let it drop into the oblivion from which you have dragged -it?” - -She knew the danger of exchanging question and answer with him, -but human endurance has its limit, and even she could not carry -indifference beyond the breaking point. Still, she was not unconscious -of the gleam of satisfaction in his face. - -“Because,” he said, “this woman has grown strong, powerful, and rich. -Safety is doubly precious to her. There is no reason why she should -not pay for it.” - -“You mean,” she said, and her eyes snapped, “blackmail!” - -She had not been the active partner for thirty-five years of a -politician who had climbed from obscurity to the control of the State, -without knowing what this word meant, nor without knowing the infinite -deeps that yawn for the man or woman who shows the first sign of -weakness to the blackmailer. - -“You are mistaken,” he said. He was on ground now that he had gone over -in his mind again and again, in his preparation for this interview. -“The essence of blackmail is threat. I make no threat. I have not said -that I will expose you, if you do not pay me. I expressly disclaim any -such intention. But safety is worth something to you; you are rich and -have high social position. I offer you protection in your riches and -position, and, for giving it, I ought to have recompense--simply a fair -equivalent for what I do. Nothing more; but that much is fair; I think -you cannot deny its fairness.” - -He knew he was sliding off into inanity; that all had been said that -he purposed saying, and that he was simply repeating himself and -repeating himself weakly. He stopped and waited her answer. - -On her part she held herself under restraint, resolved not to interrupt -him until he had said all he had to say. His change from impersonal to -personal, which he thought she did not notice, simply impressed her as -unimportant. She felt fully the weakness and embarrassment of his final -words, and even with the stress under which she waited, his feeble -maudlinism affected her with a sense of pity. - -“Have you finished?” she asked, when he spoke no further. - -“I think there should be no need of saying more,” he answered. - -She did not even bend in assent to his proposition. She simply pointed -to the door, and said: - -“Then you may go!” - -The change in tone and manner startled him, trained as he was to -surprises. He had foreseen a storm and indignation, and was prepared -to treat that as simulated. This impressed him as genuine--so genuine -that he was forced to ask himself hastily if he could have made any -mistake, and this notwithstanding he was absolutely certain of all the -facts. - -“But----” he began, hesitatingly. - -“Go!” she said, permitting no further utterance, now that he had -said what he had come to say. A passionate joy in her ability to -deal harshly with him, regardless of the personal risk to herself -in so doing, seized her. She had not subjected her line of action -to the scrutiny of judgment. For once thoroughly a woman, in that -she discarded the masculine caution which she had cultivated as a -habit, she gave head to instinct, which carried her past all doubt, -all weighing of chances, to the least dangerous course that, in her -situation, was open to her. - -Almost an insane fury to send one final shaft that should sting in the -breast of this woman seized this man who, by all of his traditions, -should have held himself the better together, the farther his plans -miscarried. Moving toward the door, he cried: - -“Shall I report to my employers--your sons?” - -To this she had the single word, “Go!” - -When he was gone, she did not break under the relaxation of strain; but -rather held herself more proudly, as if to do otherwise would be to -admit to herself, the most important individual concerned, the danger -in which she stood. Under the calm surface, raged a storm of irritable -impatience, aroused by the thought that time must elapse before she -could be called upon to face publicly the charges this man would make. -She wanted to do it, at this moment. It seemed as if she must rush -forth and cry: - -“See; here am I--I, against whom this thing is charged! Look on me and -feast your eyes on me and roll the sweet morsel under your tongue! Of -course, you believe it; want to believe it; but I dare you to say other -than that it is a slander!” - -If she could have done this, it seemed to her that she would have -happiness again; but to wait; not to know when the blow would fall; to -hold herself ready to meet it at any instant and to have no power to -hasten it,--that was the madness of the situation, that the terror it -had for her. - -She rose and stood before a long mirror and looked at herself; as if -to see if this was a different manner of woman than she who had stood -there the day before. To her eyes, looking into the reflected depths of -the room, her own image was representative of the world, and in facing -it she seemed to taste something of that defiance of public knowledge -of the scandal for which she so longed. - -No thought disturbed her of her future relations to her husband or -sons. For more than a third of a century, the lives of her husband and -herself had flowed together, each relying on the other, each confident -in the other. Breakage was not possible or to be thought of. He would -not even ask her of this matter, and while that very fact would lay on -her the greater weight of responsibility to tell him, the necessity did -not put her under that fear which would have been the greatest burden -to an ordinary woman. By this she did not mean that he would not feel -the wound--feel it cruelly; but they had passed the crown of the road, -their way lay downward, and she had no more doubt of him than she -would have had of herself, if to him and not to her the parentage of -Theodore Wing were brought home. - -Her bulwark with the public would be the loyalty of her husband and -sons, and if it smacked of selfishness and unfeeling to rely on them -and not give a fair portion of thought to the suffering which would -be hidden by their calm exterior, it must be remembered that during -the entire period of her wife- and mother-hood she had lived with this -thing, which had grown dimmer and dimmer as the years receded, until it -had come to have for her, and it seemed to her necessarily for these -others, a different aspect than it would have borne in the days before -she had given to husband and children the pledge of her long devotion. - -Before these years she would have reasoned of her husband’s attitude -toward such a tale from the sense of outrage, not tempered by long -possession and intimate association. No, she had no fear there, save -of the inward sense of humiliation under which she had gone to her -son’s office, and for fighting which she now faced her own reflection, -as representative of the world of public opinion. She had become -accustomed to make demands of the world, not requests, and the world -had yielded. It should do so still. This thing had not destroyed the -years of loyalty and work that buttressed her present position. It -should not do so. She stood there to make her defiance, and the world -should heed. But oh, the waiting! The waiting! That was the cruelty of -the situation. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -In Matthewson’s Chambers - - -Charles Matthewson read with impatience the name on the card just -brought him--Isaac Trafford. It was a breach of the understanding -between them, that this man should trouble him further. He was on the -point of refusing to see him, when he recalled Trafford’s possession of -the papers taken from Theodore Wing’s desk after his murder. This he -had not known at the time of their previous interview. It was possible -that here was the opening of negotiations for their sale. He ordered -him admitted. Still he could not avoid resenting the intrusion. - -“I understood you were not to trouble me further.” - -“Until I became satisfied that your visit to Millbank had something to -do with Wing’s murder,” the detective answered. - -“Then I may take this visit as evidence that you are satisfied that it -had to do with the murder!” - -Trafford nodded. - -“Why don’t you arrest me then?” - -“Because I am satisfied you did not murder him, but can tell me who -did,” Trafford answered. - -“A sort of accessory after the fact?” Matthewson demanded. - -“No,” said Trafford. “I’m inclined to think you never suspected that -you knew anything about it or that you could tell me. At the same time, -I’m almost certain you saw the murderer and talked with him that night.” - -Matthewson started at this statement of the matter. He had not the -nerve of either his mother or brother, and his power of concealing his -emotions was greatly less than that of either. However, he quickly -recovered himself. - -“I refuse to be put in the position of laying accusations. I’ve no -objection to aid in convicting a criminal, but I don’t purpose holding -one end of a drag-net, for the mere sake of catching some one who may -or may not be guilty.” - -Trafford did not deem it best to answer this directly, but instead went -on, as if nothing had been said of objection: - -“You saw Charles Hunter and his brother Frank--but were they all?” - -Matthewson drummed on his desk and looked out of the window. What was -there, he asked himself, that was drawing him into this tragedy, of -which he really knew nothing? Did this man know also what Cranston -had discovered? Was there, after all, to grow out of this murder, of -which he knew nothing, a scandal that was to overwhelm his family, and -finally destroy the great influence they exercised in the State? - -While he asked these questions of himself Trafford waited, the model of -patience. If he had anything to disturb his mind, he did not show it. -Evidently, Matthewson could take his time and be sure that the other -would be there to receive his answer, when he was ready to give it. -Finally Matthewson turned to the detective and said: - -“I was in Millbank on my own private business. I saw the men whom that -business concerned and no others. The men whom I saw are one and all -as incapable of committing this murder as I am. I must decline to -subject any of them to the annoyance I am now subjected to.” - -“I don’t know whether you are incapable of committing murder or not. I -shouldn’t want to affirm it of any one--not even myself. I am convinced -that you saw and talked with Wing’s murderer that night. I must know -the name of every man you saw while in Millbank, and if I can’t find it -out in one way, I will in another.” - -“It pleases you to threaten,” Matthewson said, not wholly unconscious -of an uneasy feeling. - -“Not to threaten, but simply to show you that I am in earnest,” -Trafford assured him. “Still, I may appeal to you on another ground. I -have named two men whom you saw. If I am to suppose they were the only -ones, then I must regard one or the other as the real murderer, and -this because you persist in concealing from me the name of the man who -may be guilty. Have you a right to do this?” - -“As much right,” retorted Matthewson hotly, “as you have to throw -suspicion on these gentlemen, simply because of the coincidence of my -meeting them during a hasty visit to Millbank on the night that Wing -was murdered. It would be just as reasonable to suspect me of the -murder.” - -“It is possible that I do,” said Trafford. - -“Come,” exclaimed Matthewson, “this is going a trifle far. It’s not -five minutes since you said you were satisfied I did not murder him.” - -“But that was before you refused to tell me whom you met.” - -Just at that moment a loud voice was heard in the outer room, demanding -to see Mr. Matthewson. He rose and turned the key in the door, -notwithstanding a movement on Trafford’s part to stop him. As he turned -to his desk, Trafford asked: - -“Do you recognise the voice?” - -“No,” said the other, shortly and indignantly; “but I propose to finish -this matter here and now, so that there will be no need to reopen it.” - -“That’s Cranston, the detective whom you, your brother, and Charles -Hunter have hired,” said Trafford. “I advise you to see him, and let -me be in a cupboard or behind a screen while he is here.” - -“Superb!” said Matthewson, with a vicious sneer. “You’ll know all he’s -found out--steal his thunder! Excellent!” - -“Mr. Matthewson,” Trafford said, with a touch of dignity in his voice -that his companion could but note, “I would be justified in resenting -such a remark, and you are not justified in making it. Cranston has -discovered nothing that I haven’t known for weeks; but he’s been in -Bangor, and I know what he could find out there. You sent him there -and made a cruel mistake when you did it. I would have stopped it, if -I could. He’s here now to tell you and, if I mistake not, to demand a -price for his silence. If I’m wrong, no harm can come from my hearing. -If I’m right, you’re the man who wants me to hear; it’ll be the best -protection you can have in the future.” - -At the mention of Bangor, Matthewson turned pale and then flushed. That -it was made with the purpose of informing him that the detective knew -the secret of his mother’s early life, he could not doubt. There was -but one thing that he ought to do, and that was to pitch the man out -of his room. He would have done it, but for the man on the other side -of the door, to whose presence he was recalled by the turning of the -door-knob. In which of these men did he place the greater trust? He had -only to ask the question to let it answer itself. But this new menace? -He would know it at its worst. That was beyond question. - -“Pass through this door, into the next room,” he said. “There you will -find the door of a closet, which has a second door opening into this -alcove. After he has entered and looked into that alcove, as he may, -come out of the closet and--listen.” - -Cranston, on entering, did exactly what Matthewson had predicted; he -examined the alcove before taking the chair to which Matthewson pointed -him. - -“There’s no one in there,” Matthewson said. - -“I can’t take any chances,” said the other insolently. “What I’ve got -to say wants to be between us two--you’ll want it to be when you hear -it.” - -Matthewson flushed and an angry retort leaped to his lips. This, -however, he suppressed and made necessity to ask the cause of the visit. - -“I’ve come to report,” said Cranston. Then, as the other waited, he -added: - -“I’ve been at work in Bangor.” Then, after another pause: “I’ve learned -things in Bangor that you ought to know.” - -“It relates to the murder?” - -“No, not directly. It relates to Theodore Wing’s mother.” He said it -defiantly; as if he was throwing down the gage of battle. - -It required a mighty effort on Matthewson’s part to control himself, -and yet he knew that to fail meant that this terrible thing, which as -yet remained unspoken, would be uttered in words and that he must hear -it. - -“I have become satisfied,” he said slowly and with an effort to control -himself and appear dispassionate, “that the identity of Wing’s mother -has no bearing on the murder or on the discovery of the murderer. -You will, therefore, drop that part of the investigation and confine -yourself to the other features. In this all who were concerned in -employing you are agreed.” - -“How long since?” the man demanded insolently. - -“That is of no consequence,” Matthewson said. “You are now informed of -the fact, so that your new instructions date from this moment.” - -“It’s too late for you to accomplish anything by that dodge,” he said. -“I’ve found out who Wing’s mother is. The story’s worth money. I’ll -give you the first chance to buy. Do you want it?” - -Matthewson trembled, as he realised the full significance of this -demand. More than his mother possibly could, he knew how such a story -would be received; how impossible it would be, once set afloat, to stop -it or overcome it. Still, he put on a bold front. - -“Whatever you may have learned, it was while you were under our pay. -The information belongs to us and you can’t afford to make it a matter -of barter.” - -“What I’ve found out,” Cranston returned defiantly, “is worth so much -that I can afford to take some risks. If you want it, you can have it -for a price. If not, the highest bidder gets it, and in a State where -ex-Governor Matthewson’s got as many enemies as he’s got in Maine, -there won’t be any trouble about finding buyers.” - -“There’s no need to drag in my father’s name,” Matthewson replied. - -“How do you know there ain’t?” the other demanded. “Maybe you’ll be -surprised at the names that are dragged in before we’re through.” - -It was Matthewson’s impulse to throw the man out of doors, without -regard to consequences; but before him came a face that had watched -him lovingly and tenderly from his earliest memory--a face that he had -seen only a few days before pleading to him, as he had never dreamed -a woman’s face could plead. His hands clutched nervously; but for the -sake of that face and that love, he held himself in restraint. - -“Well, to end this matter,” he said, “what do you want for this -precious information?” - -“Hadn’t you better know first what it is?” demanded the other. “Oh,” -he said, as he saw on Matthewson’s face what he regarded as a protest; -“it won’t spoil the goods to show ’em. I’d just as lief tell you before -as after. It’s silence I’m selling; not facts.” - -“I don’t need you to repeat your talk; and what’s more, it won’t be -safe for you to,” Matthewson said. “I know perfectly well what it would -be; but I warn you not to dare speak it.” - -The man in the alcove almost betrayed himself as he heard this -astounding acknowledgment. After all, had he mistaken what he had seen, -and was this the real secret he had been trying to unravel? Cranston -was speaking again: - -“Threatened men live long. You’ll get just as much for as little money, -if you keep a civil tongue. I’ve got silence to sell; but I’m just -blamed fool enough, if you get me mad, to refuse to sell at any price.” - -“Then your proposition is that if I pay you your price, you’ll keep -silence regarding your discovery as to Theodore Wing’s mother; and that -if I do not, you’ll sell your information to any one who will pay you -for it, regardless of the injury it may do me or any one connected with -me?” - -“That’s about it, in plain English.” - -“It’s it, isn’t it?” - -“Yes, it’s it.” - -“And you think that this information, if made public, would do me and -those connected with me harm.” - -“I don’t know what you call harm, if it wouldn’t. ’Twould be the end of -the Matthewson family, socially and politically. They’d have to find -another boss for Maine after this thing got out.” - -“It’s just as well,” said the lawyer, “to keep within bounds in your -remarks; they’re as likely to accomplish your purpose.” - -But Cranston was smarting under his previous failure. He had tried to -deal squarely with Mrs. Matthewson and had met refusal and insult. -There was the possibility that, had he adopted a higher tone, he would -have succeeded. He was resolved not to fail from the same cause this -time. - -“I’m answering questions,” he said, “and I’ll answer ’em in my own -way. If you don’t like it, you don’t need to.” - -It required a terrible effort on Matthewson’s part to prevent his -openly resenting this insolence, and he was conscious of a distinctive -loss of self-respect that he did not at once pitch the fellow out of -the room. - -“Let’s get through with this thing and be done with it,” he said. “How -much will your silence cost me?” - -“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” answered Cranston. - -Mr. Matthewson was startled at the figure. - -“Why, man, you’re crazy!” he exclaimed. - -“I know it,” said Cranston. “I ought to have a hundred, but I ain’t -going to be hard. I’ve set my price at twenty-five.” - -“And you’ll take five,” retorted Matthewson. - -“I wouldn’t take twenty-four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine -dollars and ninety-nine cents,” answered Cranston. “I’ve fixed my -price, and it’s that or nothing.” - -“I guess that’s right,” sneered Matthewson. “And how do you want this -easy money?” - -“In good, crisp bank-notes that one can feel; and before I leave this -room.” - -“Of course you’ll give a receipt when it’s paid over, setting out the -terms of the bargain?” - -“Of course, I won’t!” retorted Cranston. “You’ll have to trust to my -honour; that’ll be your protection.” - -“Then the bargain is, if I give you twenty-five thousand dollars, -you’ll keep this story quiet. If I don’t, you’ll use it to my -injury----” - -“To your ruin,” interrupted Cranston. “I’ll drive you and your family -out of the State; I’ll destroy every shred of your influence, and I’ll -do it with this story!” - -“There are no other terms; no other means by which I can stop you?” - -“You bet there isn’t; and if this gabble goes on much longer, I’ll -double my price.” - -“Then we’ll stop it right here. I buy safety for twenty-five thousand -dollars, and here’s five dollars to bind the bargain. I’m to send out -and get the rest and pay to you before you leave. Are those the terms?” - -“Those are the terms, if you get the money quick enough.” - -“Then you can get out of this office, you skulking, blackmailing -scoundrel, or I’ll throw you out of the window. Go, and don’t be slow -about it, for my fingers are itching to get hold of you. I’m through -with you!” - -For an instant, Cranston was dumbfounded by the sudden revulsion of -position. He had believed the money practically in his grasp, and -instead he encountered this dismissal of contempt and abuse. But his -surprise was only for an instant. Then a flood of senseless anger, -verging on madness, seized him. He had but one impulse and that was to -punish the man who had led him on, only to throw him down. There was a -flash of a pistol in his hand as he said: - -“But I’m not through with you, by God!” - -“You don’t need that to send you to State’s prison,” said a voice -behind him, as a hand, seemingly of steel, grasped his and wrenched -away the pistol. He turned and saw Trafford standing behind him. - -“By God, this is a dirty, contemptible trick, Trafford,” he gasped. - -“I guess that’s so, too,” Trafford answered, coolly, as he drew the -charges from the revolver, before handing it back to Cranston; “but -unfortunately there are some situations in life that can’t be reached -by anything else, and this seems to be one of ’em.” - -“Now will you go?” demanded Matthewson, “while I’ve a notion to let -you?” - -“I’ll go,” the man muttered; “but you aren’t through with me yet!” - -“When you feel a particular desire for free quarters at Thomaston, just -meddle with my affairs again,” retorted Matthewson. “Until you do feel -that way, you’d better let them alone.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -The Range 16 Scandal - - -“I guess I didn’t make any mistake in staying,” said Trafford, more to -break the embarrassing silence which followed Cranston’s withdrawal, -than with any definite purpose. - -Matthewson glanced up with the air of a man who had half lost -consciousness of surrounding circumstances in a line of painful thought. - -“I am under deep obligation to you,” he said slowly; and then, -apparently tracking back to his thoughts before Trafford spoke, he -added, as it seemed, irrelevantly: - -“You said he could tell nothing you did not already know.” - -The pain which manifested itself in his face would have shown a far -less keen man what the speaker had in mind, yet was not willing more -directly to name. - -“He has not,” said Trafford quietly. “All that he hinted at I’ve known -for weeks.” - -“Did you know it when you saw me before?” - -Trafford nodded. - -“Why did you conceal it?” - -“It’s not concealment not to talk of a thing. There was no call to talk -of it so long as it had nothing to do with the murder.” - -“But are you certain,” the words came hard and with a painful ring, -“that it did have nothing to do with the murder?” - -The question showed Trafford how far pain and numbing anguish had -carried the man who, loyal even to the death of honour to the mother -who bore him, on that very account was the deeper sufferer. - -“Absolutely!” Trafford threw into the word an intense depth of -conviction. “On that point you may exclude every doubt.” - -Matthewson gave him a look of intense relief. He was reasonably certain -as to Cranston; but if there was a chain of circumstances, as there -well might be, between this story and the recent murder, what was to -save them? - -“I owe you more than I can say,” he went on. “I won’t waste my -gratitude in words. The only thing I can do now, that I see, is to -answer your question of a half-hour ago. You’re entitled to that.” - -He wrote some names on a slip of paper and passed it over to Trafford. -He watched him as he read, to detect, if possible, any movement of -surprise, for this question of the murder, from a matter of comparative -indifference, save as it touched the possession of certain papers, was -growing into a vital thing, that seemed to meet him at every turn, -filling him with alarm for the moment when it should uncover in all its -hideous nakedness. But there was nothing to indicate that he had told -anything which the other did not know already, until Trafford himself -spoke. Then, even, the tone was most commonplace: - -“You have saved me the time and trouble it would have taken to complete -the list.” He evidently had no question of his ability to do so. “I -hope you’ll add to the obligation by answering one or two questions. -Did you meet these men separately or together?” - -“I met the first two separately and the other alone.” - -“And discussed with the two the papers which were in Wing’s -possession.” While pursuing the matter in apparently the most -commonplace way, Trafford did not fail to note the quick air of sudden -interest on Matthewson’s part which followed this reference to the -mysterious papers. It was not a look that betokened fear, but rather -eagerness, if the detective could read aright. He went on: - -“Was it on the same matter you saw the third man?” - -“Certainly,” answered Matthewson, as if eager now to give the -information he had before withheld. “There was only one thing that took -me to Millbank, and that was the papers.” - -“Did you see him before or after you saw the others?” - -“Before and after, both.” - -“Did they know you had seen him or were to see him?” - -“No. Rightly or wrongly, I suspected cross-purposes between them and -was after a second string to my bow. They thought I took an earlier -train, but I met him by arrangement. I’d sent him to see Wing and met -him to get the report.” - -“Then he was with Wing during the evening?” - -“Did you not know it?” demanded Matthewson, turning cross-examiner. - -“A question does not always imply ignorance,” said Trafford, smiling, -“but sometimes the bolstering up of knowledge not yet in the form we -want it. I don’t hesitate to tell you that I knew Wing had a visitor -that evening. This man was with him till late?” - -“He left him at eleven o’clock and met me. I parted with him in the -shadow of Pettingill’s potato storehouse, when I ran to jump on the -train.” - -“You sent him to try to get those papers from Wing, and he failed.” - -“Miserably failed. It was a desperate chance I took, of course; but I -could do no less than take it. In fact it was a desperate thing to use -this man, but it was my last hope, and I had no choice.” - -“Yet he’s square--if I’m rightly informed. No danger from him.” - -“I don’t mean that. I mean he’s not the kind of man to use in such a -thing. He’s what you might call too high-toned--not given to that kind -of work--that is, in a successful way. He wouldn’t take chances that -another man might. I guess you know better than I can tell you what I -mean.” - -“I know. I understand the type of man. He gave you no hope of securing -the papers?” - -“None whatever. Wing positively refused every suggestion in regard to -them, and left the impression on his mind that further attempt was -useless. While I felt that another man might have done better, I was -certain that his effort had uncovered Wing’s exact position; that Wing -was determined to hold on to the papers and use them. He was convinced -of the same thing.” - -“Still you urged him to make another effort.” - -“No. I was so convinced that it didn’t seem worth while--at least -along those lines. While we were talking, I heard the warning bell and -we hurried, turning off Somerset Street between Neil’s store and the -post-office. As I left him, I remember saying that I’d give the man who -would put those papers in my hands a hundred thousand dollars.” - -“A hundred thousand dollars!” repeated Trafford, for once at least -showing his surprise. - -“Yes,” answered Matthewson, a strange hopefulness coming into his eyes; -“I’ll give you that sum for the papers this minute.” - -“I wish I had ’em,” said Trafford, in a tone half regretful and half as -if he was groping in his memory for something that bore on the matter. - -“Why, haven’t you got them?” demanded Matthewson, between incredulity -and fear. - -“I!” exclaimed Trafford. “I got them! I’ve never even seen them. The -man who fired the shot that killed Wing has got those papers. Find him, -and you’re on the track of the papers.” - -Matthewson grew pale with revulsion of feeling. That Trafford had the -papers, he had had no question. He believed that all this had been -merely leading up to an offer and he had shaped his course, as he -thought, shrewdly, to the naming of a sum which would make the man -eager to deal. Instead, he was told in a tone that carried conviction, -that not only had Trafford not got the papers, but that they were in -the possession of an unknown man for whom the law was hunting. If he -was found, the papers would pass into the possession of the State and -the public! - -“In other words, we don’t know where they are?” - -“We do know,” answered Trafford, with the solemnity of a man who feels -that he is approaching accomplished purpose, “that these papers were -the cause of Wing’s death. Tell me the man who was most concerned in -getting possession of these papers and I’ll give Wing’s murderer to the -hangman--or would, if you hadn’t abolished the hangman in Maine.” - -Never had the case stood so naked before Matthewson as these -words stripped it. For the murder itself he had felt comparative -indifference, his interest in the papers overtopping all else. Since -he was aware that the murdered man was his half-brother, he had been -conscious of an approach to a feeling of relief that he was dead. Now, -for the first time, he saw, as by lightning’s flash, the strife for -the papers and the murder as cause and effect. The one danger grew into -another, and each took fearfulness from the other. No effort of the -will could quite quiet the nervous tremor which the realisation of this -fact brought. His face was drawn with pain as he answered: - -“There can be no man more concerned than I to get these papers.” - -“Fortunately I know you were on the train when the shot was fired.” - -The answer implied that but for this Trafford would suspect him, and -Matthewson so understood it; but his anxiety was too great for him even -to resent the implication. His brother was no less interested than -himself in the papers. He must warn him, warn him instantly. This man -was pitiless when a task was set before him; Henry must not let himself -be drawn into a trap. - -“We have supposed,” Matthewson said, as much to ease the situation, -as from any particular bearing of the remark on the matter under -discussion, “that you had taken the papers under cover of taking the -blotter from the desk.” - -“I know,” nodded Trafford. “That was the reason you had me attacked in -the bridge at Millbank. I would have been robbed of the papers--thrown -into the river, perhaps. For the moment, I assumed that it was the same -men who committed the murder. I saw my mistake, however, very quickly.” - -He added the last words, as it were, as an apology for the mistake -itself. As a matter of fact, Matthewson had known nothing of the -assault until some days after it took place, but he scorned a denial -that must seem like an effort to escape responsibility, and so said -nothing to disabuse the other’s mind of the belief that he had helped -plan the assault. - -“The most serious aspect of that affair,” Trafford continued, “was the -death of the Canuck--Victor Vignon.” - -But Matthewson was not in a mood to feel keenly the death of a mere -logger, whom he had never seen and whose importance, in comparison -with the good name and continued power of the Matthewson family, was -as nothing. He did not care even to assume an interest for the sake of -appearance. He was thinking, thinking fast, and only half hearing what -Trafford was saying. Suddenly his attention was again aroused. - -“What is the nature of these papers?” the other was asking. “With -knowledge of that, I could narrow the circle of interest, so that I -would have to deal with only a few men.” - -“It can’t be the men who are interested in the papers by reason of -their contents who did the murder,” said Matthewson, speaking rapidly. -“I know them and can answer for every one of them--that is, so far as -they knew of the existence of the papers. It is some one who regards -them from the point of their saleability. It’s their money value.” - -Trafford had seen this possibility already, but it did not satisfy him. -He felt that he could form a sounder judgment than this man, but to do -it he must have the facts and this man must give them to him. - -“If you are correct,” he said, “you must see that you narrow the line -of enquiry to three men. I must know what the papers were to determine -which of these three is the man. I have asked you before, what is the -nature of the papers?” - -“Do not think me ungrateful, if I decline to answer. I would trust you -with everything, but the secret belongs to others no less than myself.” - -“Mr. Matthewson,” said Trafford seriously, “it is not pleasant to have -to play hide and seek with you. I’ve had to remind you once before that -the inquest is public. If I have this question asked there, you’ll have -to answer or----” - -“Go to jail,” Matthewson said, completing the sentence. “I know. I’ve -thought of that. I shouldn’t answer.” - -Matthewson drummed on the table and looked at his companion. Even his -political power could not shield him from the consequence of a refusal -to answer a question put to him at the inquest on such a murder as -this. Surely the cause must be a serious one that induced him even to -think of such an act. Trafford took up another line: - -“Have you thought that if you were summoned and refused to testify, it -would be necessary for the government to supply as best it could the -want of your testimony. Have you thought that in doing so, it could not -be dainty as to means, and that it would not be impossible in such an -event that it might stumble on the story that Cranston tried to sell -you to-day?” - -“In other words, you would become the pedlar of scandal,” sneered -Matthewson. - -“In other words, that justice might not fail, I’d get at the facts, -even if they involved my own--brother. Don’t you see, Mr. Matthewson, -I’m giving you a chance? If, with a knowledge of all the facts, I can -bring this crime home to the murderer without bringing you into it, -I’ll do so. If I can’t, I simply know in advance what all the world is -bound to know finally. You’ve your chance. You can take it or leave it.” - -“You’re pressing your advantage. I’m to tell, or you’ll find out. -Let me suggest you’ve been on the case some time and the sum of your -finding is not large.” - -“So large, Mr. Matthewson, that I can make my arrest within twenty-four -hours and, I’m certain, convict my man.” - -Matthewson started. There was no mistaking the tone. Still he would not -yield. - -“In that event, you don’t need my answer.” - -“I must have your answer to shape my proof. You’ll give it to me here -or on the witness stand. I’ll leave it to you to decide which.” - -Matthewson faced him like a man at bay; then, as he saw his unflinching -purpose, he yielded and answered: - -“The papers purport to impugn titles to a million dollars’ worth of -land and two millions’ worth of stumpage. They impugn too the honour of -the men who hold those titles.” - -It was Trafford’s turn for surprise. The words took him back to the -great scandal of the Public Lands Office, before and while Matthewson -was Governor--the one storm that it had seemed for a time even his -political resources could not weather. Then came the sudden collapse -of the attack and the disappearance of documents that were relied on -to support it. He recalled that Judge Parlin had been retained to -prosecute the case, and that it was said that papers had been stolen -from his office which it had never been possible to replace. - -“You mean,” he said, “the Range 16 scandal.” - -“I believe it was so called,” said Matthewson doggedly. - -“But it was said these papers had been stolen; it was supposed they had -been destroyed. How came they in Wing’s hands?” - -“It is said they were stolen; but if so, not all. Parlin never was -able to fill the place of those that were taken; but this man Wing, -with devilish ingenuity and persistence, had worked and dug and pieced -together until--well, until he had got enough to make us uneasy.” - -“And so you tried the old game a second time?” - -“We tried to get them out of his hands. The main thing we hope now is -that as the price paid for them this time was murder, the man who got -them has destroyed them, for fear their possession would betray him.” - -Trafford was silent for a few minutes, and then said: - -“Don’t hope. They’re not destroyed. The man who committed murder to get -them, will not part with its price so easily. The man who holds papers -that would ruin Governor Matthewson, his sons, Charles and Frank -Hunter, and the Lord knows who else, knows that those papers would -be his surest means of escape, if his identity was discovered. Those -papers are in existence;” and he added to himself, “if I can’t convict -without them, I won’t get out of the next assault so easy.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -The Story of the Papers - - -Trafford went back to Millbank more seriously alarmed than at any time -in his whole professional career. Matthewson would unquestionably -inform the others that he had not the papers; and as certainly warn -them he was after them, with the determination to secure them. It -was well within reason that they would regard it as safer that they -remained in the hands of a murderer whom they protected, than that they -should fall into those of a detective, who would use them to convict -and thus make them public. He felt that he must act promptly and -energetically and bring to his aid every influence possible. - -Now, however, there was another matter tugging at him. Few men in -Maine ever attained to the possession of a hundred thousand dollars. -The income on such a sum would equal his average yearly earnings. He -believed that if he could put his hands on the papers, they would -yield him that sum or more. If he was in danger, he had but to let it -be known in a certain quarter that on obtaining these papers, he would -deliver them intact, and the danger disappeared. He was satisfied that -the man who made public the facts relating to Range 16 scandal would -never live to see the result. He was satisfied that if the papers were -once located in any person’s possession, there would now be no further -time wasted in negotiation, as there had been with Wing; but that -effective steps would be taken to prevent their publicity. - -On arriving at Millbank, Trafford waited only to receive the report of -his assistant, who had been left on guard, and then went at once to -the Parlin homestead. He found Mrs. Parlin showing marks of the strain -upon her of the last few weeks. Life had brought her many sorrows, -and Wing’s tragic death had seemingly broken the last tie of joy. -Trafford’s feverish impatience, rather than the trained restraint of -his profession, spoke in the haste he showed to get at real issues. - -“Mrs. Parlin,” he began, as soon as formal greetings were over, “what -can you tell me of the Range 16 affair and the papers relating thereto?” - -To his surprise Mrs. Parlin grew suddenly white and seemed on the point -of fainting. He turned to her assistance, but by a strong effort she -recovered a part of her usual self-possession, though the colour did -not come back to her cheeks. - -“Nothing,” she said. “It is a matter on which I can’t talk. You must -not; you shall not torture me with it.” - -“I would not willingly distress you in any way, Mrs. Parlin,” he said, -with less abruptness; “but it is my duty to insist and I think it your -duty to comply. Our whole search for Mr. Wing’s murderer may turn upon -your answer.” - -“Oh, has that come up to curse us again! has that come up!” she cried, -wringing her hands. “I can’t bear it; I can’t bear it!” - -Trafford was astounded at her growing agitation, and was half disposed -to forego further questions, at least for the time; but behind him was -the impulsion of his dread of, he scarcely knew what, driving him on to -reckless impatience. - -“It has come up and we can’t rid ourselves of it. Those papers were the -cause of Mr. Wing’s death.” - -“Those papers!” she repeated, with open lips, which scarcely moved as -she spoke. “Those papers! But I hid them; no one knew where they were. -Theodore did not even know of their existence.” - -“You hid them!” exclaimed Trafford, thunderstruck at the statement. -“They were stolen, I understand. How could you hide them?” - -“Yes,” she said, like a bewildered child, admitting a fault; “they were -stolen. I stole them.” - -It was Trafford’s turn to sit dazed beyond the power of clear thought. -She had stolen the papers to which her husband had given long months of -work and thought, and on which he had hoped to build a reputation that -should overpass the bounds of the State and outlive his years. She was -the thief; and if report said truly, that theft had hastened his death -and added bitterness to his last days! - -“You can’t mean this, Mrs. Parlin,” he said gently. “I refer to the -papers that were stolen from your husband’s desk some five years before -he died; the papers that related to the Public Lands Office and the -timber land and stumpage in Range 16; the papers that involved some -men very high in the State and in the party--I won’t name them, if you -please.” - -She nodded assent to each of his propositions, and when he had finished -said: - -“Yes; those are the papers I mean. I stole them from his desk and hid -them. I was going to destroy them; but I thought sometime they might be -of use and not so dangerous, and so I hid them.” - -“Where did you hide them?” - -“First in the attic, then in the cellar, and finally under the bricks -of the hearth in the parlour.” - -“It’s easy, then, to find if they’re still there.” - -Ten minutes sufficed to raise the bricks and show the hiding-place--a -hollow cavity which had been devised in the early days for hiding -purposes--empty. - -“They are gone!” she cried as she glanced into the hole. - -“Yes,” said Trafford, replacing the bricks and leading her back to -Wing’s library, where they were less apt to be overheard, “they’re -gone. Mr. Wing found them and, realising the alarm it would be to you -to know that they were found, did not tell you. It was those papers -that brought about his death.” - -When Mrs. Parlin was sufficiently calm, Trafford set himself to the -task of extracting the details of the affair; letting her at first tell -it in her own way, and later asking questions that completed the story. -Condensed to the facts, it ran as follows: - -Nearly twelve years before, her husband, in the course of some -investigation of a land title in the Public Lands Office, came across -what appeared an error in an important entry. He was on the point -of calling attention to it, so that it could be corrected, when a -critical examination convinced him that it was not a mere error, but a -carefully made change that involved the title to timber-land that was -just becoming exceedingly valuable. Acting on the hint thus given, he -went to work cautiously, but determinately, and personally got together -a number of documents that revealed what seemed a systematic series -of forgeries, relating to immense tracts of land that were formerly -public. In some cases, the title to the land itself was involved; in -others, that to the stumpage only. - -It was impossible to carry on these investigations without attracting -attention, especially when they had gone so far as to show that in -every case where the title was suspicious, the benefit accrued to the -Matthewsons and to the Hunters at Millbank. Mr. Matthewson was then -Governor, but he had formerly been at the head of the Public Lands -Office, and his financial prosperity had appeared to date from about -the time he held that position. - -A prying reporter got an inkling that something was going on, and in -pursuing his enquiry revealed the hints he had discovered to Henry -Matthewson. A position of financial importance was suddenly offered -the reporter in a Western city and the story never was printed. But -the Matthewsons were, from that moment, on their guard. A few months -later, a fire broke out in the record room of the Public Lands Office -and valuable records were destroyed. This did not attract especial -attention, for the press had repeatedly called public attention to -the existence of this very danger, and merely contented itself with -shouting “I told you so,” with a great deal of strenuousness. - -What was not known, save to Judge Parlin and, probably, some of the -office force, was the extreme discrimination shown by the fire in -destroying the very books on which proof of the forgeries depended. -Certain remarks incautiously dropped by Judge Parlin let out facts from -which the scandal took shape, with charges freely made by political -opponents of the Matthewsons, which could now be proved only by papers -in Judge Parlin’s hands, since the destruction of the original books. -This was the Range 16 Scandal in its original form. - -Up to this time, Judge Parlin had not even taken his wife into his -confidence, but as the matter took more and more of public form, -he deemed it necessary that she should know, especially as he had -begun to suspect that the men who were against him would hesitate at -nothing--not even murder, to conceal the truth. It was an incautious -hint dropped by him to this effect that first alarmed her, and this -alarm was speedily increased to terror by threats that were conveyed to -the judge from time to time, though as to the source he was never able -to reach a solution. “He laughed at them,” she said, telling of these -threats; “but that is a man’s way. A woman sits and thinks and dreads, -because she cannot act. In the dead night, I heard footsteps prowling -about the place--or thought I did, and I lay in an agony of terror--not -for myself, but because it was not for me that the danger threatened. -When he was at Norridgewock at court and would drive home after dark, -I sat and trembled until I had him again in my arms and knew that once -more the chance had passed him by. If there came a ring at the bell -late at night, I would plead that he let me answer it, until I wrought -myself into a nervous terror that I cannot even now remember without -a shudder. It was the worse because he was so brave and never for a -moment felt afraid. When he laughed at the threats, I grew cold to my -very heart, for my fear for him told me that the danger he scorned was -so real that some day it would fall and crush him. A woman’s love knows -some things that a man’s brain can’t compass!” - -It seemed, however, that he attached importance of one kind to these -threats, such as to induce him to guard the papers carefully, pending -the time when he could duplicate them and place one set where they -could not possibly be reached. But before this was even undertaken, -Mrs. Parlin had become so alarmed that she urged her husband to abandon -the matter and destroy the papers and let this be known where it would -cause a cessation of the annoyance to which they were both subjected. -But here she found him inflexible, and at last her terror reached such -a pitch that she determined herself to steal and destroy the papers. - -It was some time before she was able to carry this resolve into -execution, and during the delay she reached a point of terror little -short of insanity. At last, under the impulse of fear intensified by a -particularly boldly expressed threat, she took desperate chances and, -as desperate chances will do at times, succeeded. She took the papers -from her husband’s desk almost under his very eyes, and ever after had -the cruel pain of knowing that the trust she had betrayed was so great -that no suspicion of the betrayal had ever crossed his mind. - -Once in possession of the papers, she had, as she told Trafford, failed -in the courage to destroy them, and had easily persuaded herself -that they might at some time be an actual means of protection to her -husband. Therefore she had hidden them, as stated, and thus finally -they had passed into Theodore Wing’s hands to prove his death warrant. - -The judge was much broken over the loss of the papers, the facts in -regard to which could not be kept from the public. For a time, the -scandal blazed up and the Matthewsons had to meet charges which could -be proved by no one and which, therefore, they were the more bold in -denying. Then public interest was turned to other issues, only to be -aroused again for a time by Judge Parlin’s candidacy for the highest -State court and his defeat, which he did not long survive. - -“But when,” she demanded, “could Theodore have found these papers?” - -“About two years ago, I should say; perhaps a little earlier,” said -Trafford. “At least, it was then known that he had found them, for on -no other theory can we explain the ransacking of his desk. He then -began to carry them about with him, and the interests involved, which -had rested quiet since your husband’s loss, and especially since his -death, became disturbed again and active.” - -“Then it must be the Matthewsons or Hunters who murdered him,” -exclaimed the woman, under a sudden breaking in of light. - -“It would seem a fair conclusion,” answered Trafford; “and yet I have -evidence that satisfies me that they did not murder him and do not -know who did. I don’t mean to say that they wouldn’t have done it -finally; but they didn’t this time, and are not only puzzled, but much -disturbed, over the mystery of the murder. We have gone so far on this -matter that I can tell you in a word why they are disturbed. Whoever -murdered him took the papers, and they are alarmed as to where they’ll -turn up next.” - -Mrs. Parlin had by the act of telling her story recovered her -self-control and power to think, and saw as clearly as Trafford the -meaning of this uncertainty. - -“But who,” she asked, “could have done it, if they did not?” - -“Some one who knew he had the papers. Some one who knew something of -their value, and some one who knows the safety there is in boldness, -and had the nerve to carry through an affair that might break down at -any point. I knew long since that some one was with Mr. Wing in the -evening after you left him, and that the visitor stayed very late. I -also know that, contrary to what was generally supposed, this room was -visited after the murder. Some one passed over his dead body, entered -the room, and took the papers. The question is, who was bold enough to -commit the theft under such conditions?” - -The picture that Trafford drew of the murder and the theft stirred Mrs. -Parlin, already wrought upon by the interview, to a state of nervous -excitement that was most distressing. Too late, the detective realised -that in such a state she was scarcely a safe custodian for the secret -he had given into her keeping. She walked the room, wringing her hands -and asking herself: - -“Why didn’t I burn them; why didn’t I burn them? I might at least have -saved Theodore! I am his murderer.” - -It was late when Trafford had quieted her so that he dared trust her -even with Mary Mullin. Even this he did not do, without first giving -her a stern warning as to the necessity of self-restraint. - -“We’re on the last stretch now,” he said. “What’s done must be done -quickly and silently. These men haven’t committed murder yet, but they -wouldn’t hesitate to, if they were once convinced that safety lay -in that direction. In forty-eight hours they’ll see that it’s safer -for this murder to remain a mystery, and then it’ll be dangerous to -move--it may mean death. Can you keep still on this subject two days?” - -“I kept still for eight years while I saw my husband crushed,” she said -reproachfully. - -As he was turning away, oppressed with the thought that he was pitted -against men who would hesitate at nothing and who, as soon as a -conference was had, must see that their interests lay in thwarting his -efforts, she caught him by the coat and drew him towards her. - -“There’s been blood enough shed,” she said. “These papers killed my -husband, though I stole them in the hope of saving his life. They’ve -killed Theodore. Don’t let them kill any more folks. Burn them, burn -them, when you get hold of them!” - -“But you want me to catch Mr. Wing’s murderer, don’t you? You want him -sent to Thomaston?” - -“Yes; yes!” Her eyes blazed with the desire of revenge. “Don’t let him -escape! But burn the papers!” - -He lingered still, though he felt that he was wasting precious time. He -seemed to be in the one place of safety, and a strange dread, which he -knew foreign to his nature and profession, assailed him. He had never -experienced it before and it seemed a premonition of coming evil. As he -turned finally to go, she said again: - -“Don’t move alone. You can’t do better than take Mr. McManus’s -advice. The judge had every confidence in him, and so, I think, had -Theodore. You’ll be safer if some one knows what you are doing. Tell -him everything and keep somebody by you all the time. Catch Theodore’s -murderer, and when you get him and the papers, burn the papers: don’t -let them cause any more bloodshed.” - -“I shan’t move without Mr. McManus,” he assured her. “He is cool-headed -and resourceful. I’ll catch Mr. Wing’s murderer and I’ll put an end to -the mischief those papers can do.” - -Nevertheless, there was the sense of oppression and danger hanging -over him. He was doubting himself--doubting himself, from the moment -Matthewson had assured him that he would give a hundred thousand -dollars for the papers. Suppose he should find them, would he have -strength to put that offer from him? As he asked this question, he -realised that the fear that weighed on him was rather the fear born -of a sense of moral degradation than fear of bodily harm. He knew as -absolutely as if the thing was done that, if once he was in possession -of the papers, he would sell them to Matthewson; and while he knew it -and hated himself for being capable of doing it, he went steadily on -the course which could have no other ending. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -The Man is Found - - -McManus was unmarried and lived at the Millbank Hotel, where he -indulged in the extravagance of two rooms, a sitting room and a -bedroom. Trafford saw him at supper and arranged for an evening -interview. - -“I’ll come to your room,” he said. “I’ve got nothing but a six by nine -closet on the highest floor.” - -Supper over, he went for a short walk, to pass the time until the hour -of appointment. He walked out on the river road where Charles Hunter’s -great house stood, and found himself running over items of expense in -maintaining such an establishment, all directed to the question whether -a man on the income derivable from one hundred thousand dollars could -afford a home like it. Disgusted with a train of thought he could not -control, he hastened on, until at the top of Parlin Hill he saw the -Parlin homestead and quite unexpectedly began asking himself if Mrs. -Parlin was not likely to sell it and move into a smaller house. - -Whipped with the lash of his now ungovernable thoughts, he returned -to the hotel and was confronted by Frank Hunter, whom he would dearly -have liked to arrest and bind over to keep the peace. He was in what -he called a “blue funk,” and did not regain his self-control until he -found himself in McManus’s room, where a sense of security seemed to -seize him. - -“I’ll put this window on to the porch down and draw the shades,” he -said, suiting the action to the word. “I’ve got some things to say that -mustn’t be overheard.” - -They were at the table with cigars lighted, before McManus responded -with reference to the affair in hand: - -“Have you made any progress?” - -“I’ve got the thing down to a dot,” he answered; “with the one -exception--you’ll say important--of the man. I can tell you how that -murder was committed, and when I have, I think you’ll agree with my -prediction of a fortnight ago as to the characteristics of the man who -committed it. What I want of you is that when the thing is told, you’ll -help me put my hands on the man.” - -“I’ll do my best,” replied McManus; “but don’t forget you are giving me -the point on which you confess yourself at a loss.” - -Trafford laughed. - -“Isn’t that where we all want help?” - -“Yes; but not always where we get it.” - -“On the evening of May 10, a man came from somewhere below on the -train due here at eight o’clock. He dropped off at the Bridge station, -instead of coming into Millbank, and met another man, apparently by -appointment, about half-way between the railroad and covered bridges. -They talked about ten minutes----” - -“Hold on,” interrupted McManus; “you go too fast. Was the man he met a -Millbank man?” - -“Oh, I forgot. It was Frank Hunter.” - -“Frank Hunter!” exclaimed McManus. “You’re still pointing to our -office, as I said before. It’s a grave responsibility you’re taking, -Mr. Trafford.” - -“I’m taking no responsibility. I’m simply giving you facts. Whoever -was the murderer, I’m certain it wasn’t Frank Hunter. I’ll give you -that for your comfort. As I was saying, they talked about ten minutes -and then separated. Hunter went to his brother’s house and the stranger -turned back, crossed the railroad bridge, and went down Somerset -Street, meeting a man about a quarter of a mile below the Catholic -church, where the street runs through the heavy maple grove. You know -the spot?” - -McManus nodded, attempting no other interruption. - -“It was now about quarter to nine, and the two were together full -half an hour. The stranger then came back up Somerset Street and went -directly to Charles Hunter’s house. Ten minutes after, a man, who -might have been the one whom the stranger met, crossed Eddy Street to -Bicknell, came up Bicknell to Canaan, crossed Canaan to River Road, -and went directly up River Road to the Parlin homestead. He reached -there between half-past nine and quarter before ten and went to the -side door, where he rang the right-hand bell, showing that he was -acquainted with the peculiar arrangement of the bells. Mr. Wing came to -the door and the two went into the library.” - -“Now,” continued Trafford after a pause, to enable McManus to grasp -all of the details, “as to the time; it was nine-thirty when Mrs. -Parlin left the room. Wing had not written his letter, so that we have -got the time pretty closely fixed. He stayed with Wing until nearly -eleven-thirty. The stranger seems to have left Hunter’s house under -pretence of catching the freight that leaves at eleven, but in reality -he went to Somerset Street and walked up and down that street until a -quarter to twelve, when he was joined by a man, presumably the one who -had come from Wing’s library. It was a pretty hazardous thing to do, -this loafing up and down Somerset Street, but up to now I haven’t found -a single person whose attention he particularly attracted and certainly -not one who pretends to have recognised him, though I feel certain he -has many acquaintances in this town.” - -“If the two Hunters saw him, why don’t you get his identity from them?” -McManus demanded. - -“That’ll come in time. I’ve not wanted to take too many into my -confidence, and there’s no danger of their running away. Of course, -if there’d been any possibility that this visitor was the murderer, -’twould be different, but as you’ll see, there isn’t.” - -“But he may have instigated the murder, without actually firing the -shot,” said McManus. “You must pardon me, Mr. Trafford; but I can’t -help feeling you’ve shown yourself somewhat derelict in this important -matter.” - -“I hope I’ll be able to exonerate myself before I finish,” said -Trafford. “At any rate, let me go on. The matters these men had to -discuss were of such interest that the visitor came near missing the -midnight train, which might have subjected me to the necessity of -having him arrested, since he would then have been in town when the -murder occurred. As it was, by hurrying through the alley between the -post-office and Neil’s store, they got the train, the stranger coming -from behind the potato warehouse, as has been testified. His companion -remained there, or he might have been recognised by Oldbeg.” - -Trafford seemed disposed to muse over the possible result of such an -event and as well over another matter to which he referred a moment -later: - -“It would be a curious thing to know just what was said behind the -storehouse, where they had their last words. It might throw a flood of -light on things.” - -“Yes,” answered McManus, showing a feverish desire for the continuance -of the narrative; “but you might as well try to guess where yesterday’s -winds have blown to. You seem to have facts enough, without speculating -on conversations.” - -“I suppose that’s true,” returned Trafford; “yet that last talk has -a fascination for me. Who knows that it wasn’t just that that sealed -Wing’s fate? You say this man may have instigated the murder. If so, -may not that have been the moment of instigation?” - -“Scarcely possible,” returned McManus, as it were drawn against his -will into the discussion. “If he did anything so important, he wouldn’t -leave it for the last word and last moment.” - -“There I don’t agree with you,” Trafford retorted, showing a -disposition to argue, which caused McManus a nervous irritation he -could not conceal. “From my experience, that’s just what he would do. -He’d hesitate to take the plunge; he’d wait to shape a phrase and then, -at the last moment, when it had to be done, he’d throw it off in any -form it presented itself. Actually, I’d give more to know what was said -in that two minutes, before the stranger jumped for the train, than for -all the talk of the whole evening.” - -“Well; have your own way,” said McManus brusquely; “but you can’t know. -Let it rest there, and let’s go on to what happened next--if you know.” - -Trafford watched him intently, as he was speaking, but when he had -finished seemed to find nothing in the speech, so he went on: - -“After the train pulled out, the man behind the storehouse waited some -few minutes, till the station was closed, and the men had left, and -then he stepped out and picked up something that he saw lying on the -ground and had watched from the moment it had caught his eye. It was a -revolver, one chamber of which had been discharged. We know now how -it came there, and don’t need to go over that part. He skulked back -through Gray’s Court, keeping in the shadows when he crossed Canaan -Street, and so came again into River Road. A feverish haste had now -taken control of him, and when he reached the driveway of the Parlin -homestead, the light was still burning in the library--in fact, Mr. -Wing was at his desk, just finishing the letter which he had intended -to write early in the evening, and which the visit of this unknown man -had prevented him from writing.” - -“There’s not the first thing,” interrupted McManus, who seemed now -watchful of every detail as the tale approached its climax, “to show -that he ever wrote that letter!” - -“There’s been no evidence yet produced,” replied Trafford; “but the -evidence exists, and I can prove that it was written and the person -to whom it was addressed. I can prove too that it never reached that -person.” - -“Go on,” said McManus. - -“The man felt that what he had to do must be done quickly. Perhaps he -knew that if he took time for thought, he wouldn’t have the courage or -resolution to do the work. He went to the door where he had rung early -in the evening, and rang the same bell. Then he stepped on to the grass -east of the doorstep and waited, with the pistol he had found ready in -his hand.” - -“Are you certain on that point?” demanded McManus. - -Trafford stopped and looked at McManus, as if pondering that question. -Finally he answered: - -“I think so. He probably had a pistol of his own, but I’m confident he -used the one he’d found. Everything points to his being a shrewd, keen -man, and naturally he would not use his own pistol when he had another -in his pocket.” - -McManus nodded, indicating that Trafford was to take up the story. - -“Wing came to the door, as before. He did not bring a lamp, but left -the doors open behind him. Seeing no one, he stepped out on to the -door-stone, when the man in hiding pressed the pistol against his -temple and drew the trigger at the same instant. Wing fell in a heap -on the step and threshold--his death was instantaneous.” - -McManus had listened to these last words as if fascinated by the -terrible details so briefly stated. When Trafford paused on the last -word, he seemed to catch his breath with the movement of one who in the -last minute had forgotten everything but the picture before him. - -“If your tale is true,” he said, breathing deeply, “your description of -the man is the man himself--a man of quick movements, strong purpose, -assured position, and absolute control of nerves. The man must have -been iron--at least while he was doing the job.” - -“And he needed to be adamant to complete it. There was nothing to him -in Wing’s death, as a mere death. It saved him from nothing, though it -might save others. It was positive, not negative, gain he was after. -Perhaps, on the whole, he would rather Wing had lived. He felt it -simply a necessity, and an unpleasant one at that, that he should die. -But he was after something, and Wing’s death was only the preliminary -to securing it. Having waited to make certain the shot had aroused no -one, he stepped over the dead body and entered the library. He closed -the door behind him, went to the safe, which was still open, and took -from the upper left-hand pigeon hole a package of papers. Then he -closed the safe and turned the knob, probably mechanically, showing -that he was a man accustomed to deal with keyless safes. He went to -the desk and took from it the letter which Wing had just sealed and -directed----” - -“To whom?” interrupted McManus. - -“To the Governor, asking for an appointment for the following Thursday, -the thirteenth.” - -McManus nodded and Trafford went on: - -“Then he put out the light, raised the shade of one window to make sure -the coast was clear, and returned the way he had come. In doing so, he -closed the library door behind him and drew the outer door to until -it was stopped by the body of the dead man. Thus, you see, with all -his shrewdness, he made four mistakes; he closed and locked the safe; -he put out the light; he closed the library door, and he attempted to -close the outer door.” - -“How mistakes?” asked McManus. - -“If he had left the safe open, it would have been supposed mere robbery -was the purpose. If he had left the lamp burning, and the library and -outer doors open, there would have been nothing to show that some one -had visited the room after the murder.” - -“There was the missing letter,” suggested McManus, who seemed to be -thinking with Trafford’s thoughts. - -“Yes,” replied Trafford; “that was mistake number five.” - -“But, of course,” went on McManus, “he had no means of knowing what was -in it. If it had been still unsealed, it would have been different. As -it was, he could not risk it; there was nothing else for him to do.” - -“Exactly,” replied Trafford; “still, I think we can count it a mistake. -The package of papers was what he really wanted. He should have been -content with that.” - -“But how did he know that he had got all in that single package? Would -he not be likely to examine the safe, especially the cupboard?” - -“How would he have got at it? It was locked.” - -“Unless Wing’s keys were in the lock. That might have been. He would -have taken them out when he closed the safe; it would not have closed -otherwise. I understand they were found on the mantel.” - -“Who testified to that?” asked Trafford, as if trying to recall the -fact. - -“I don’t remember,” said McManus. “Some one at the inquest, I think.” - -“I think it would have been natural for him to open the cupboard, -though he must have seen the package when he was there early in the -evening, and so knew what he was after. However, whether he examined -further or not, he did not remain long. The next day he cleaned the -chamber of the revolver and filled it, thus leaving only one empty, and -during the night found opportunity to throw it over on to the box hedge -in the front yard.” - -Trafford stopped as if he had finished his story, and McManus sat like -one in a deep reverie. Suddenly, he looked up and asked: - -“Where then are the papers which were the cause of this tragedy?” - -“The man has not dared use them; he keeps them concealed until it is -safe to sell them for the hundred thousand dollars which was offered -for them.” - -“My God! man, how do you know these things?” demanded McManus, his face -ghastly as that of a week-old corpse. - -“Do you dare deny one of them?” retorted Trafford. - -“What do you mean by that?” asked the other. - -“_That you are the man who murdered Wing!_” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -The Last of the Papers - - -McManus had sprung to his feet as the accusation came from Trafford’s -lips. His left hand was in the side pocket of his sack coat, and as -Trafford also rose, there rang out the report of a pistol, fired -without removing it from the pocket. The bullet just missed Trafford, -cutting the sleeve of his coat. - -“Throw up your hands, or I’ll shoot,” came from the window, and there -stood Trafford’s assistant, with pistol drawn and aimed at McManus. - -At the very beginning of the story, he had raised the window and had -since been listening to the conversation. McManus glanced at Trafford, -who was also covering him with a pistol. - -“I yield,” he said, “to force. You will find it all a hideous mistake -before you get through.” - -“Handcuff him.” Trafford gave the order. “I’ll keep my pistol on him.” - -McManus turned toward the man who approached from the window. He seemed -to have recovered his composure, and a puzzling smile was on his lips. -Then, suddenly, the hand came up, without leaving the pocket, which was -lifted with it; there was a slight turn of the hand seen through the -cloth and the muffled report of the pistol. McManus fell, shot through -the heart by his own hand. - -“A damned bungling piece of work, to let that be done,” said Trafford. -“There ’re steps on the stairs. Don’t open the door for a minute.” - -He rushed into the bedroom, and seizing a tin box that stood on a stand -by the bed, dropped it from the window into a dense mass of shrubbery -that grew beneath. He was back in the room to answer the first knock at -the door. - -Millbank slept but little that night. The streets were thronged with -people, and the story of the tragedy, the discovery of the murderer and -his suicide, was repeated and re-repeated, with new details at every -repetition. Before midnight it was surprising to know how many people -had all along suspected McManus and felt certain that he “was no -better than he should be.” - -Frank Hunter came among the very first and went back and forth from -the sitting room to the bedroom, with an uneasy air of searching for -something and yet striving to conceal the fact. Trafford watched him -with a curious expression on his face, as if he enjoyed the man’s -awkwardness and embarrassment. - -When Charles Matthewson arrived on the latest train and went directly -to the Hunter house, Trafford was instantly informed and at once made -up his mind to his line of action. McManus’s suicide was confession, -and the possession of the papers was no longer necessary to conviction. -Trafford determined to have them off his hands at the earliest possible -moment, and with Matthewson in town, that promised to be before -daylight. At the first opportunity he stole out, recovered possession -of the box, and hid it in a less exposed place. - -About midnight, matters had so quieted down that he was able to respond -to Mrs. Parlin’s message begging him to come to her and, if possible, -remain in the house the balance of the night. He took with him the -box, containing what he now regarded as his fortune and his reward for -work done in discovering the murderer. - -Mrs. Parlin was eager to hear the story, and it was some time after -midnight before she left him and he was at liberty to follow his -purpose. His judgment dictated waiting until morning, which would be -a matter of but a few hours, but the box and its papers had become a -growing burden, leaving him but one thought and that to be rid of them. -From the library window he could see that a light still burned in the -Hunter house. He was resolved to complete the matter before he slept. - -Leaving the house cautiously, with the box under his arm, he hurried -down the hill, at the foot of which lay the heavy shadows of the -great Lombardy poplars. It seemed to him that he had never seen the -shadows so black as they were to-night. As he entered the blackness, -he quickened his pace almost to a run, and was almost in the light -again when there came what seemed to him a flash of flame, then deeper -darkness and oblivion. - -How long he lay on the walk under the poplars he did not know, -excepting that his first sensation of returning consciousness was of -the soft white light that comes before the sun steals up from behind -the earth. The next was of a heaviness of the head and a numbness that -was giving way to pain. He put up his hand feebly, and brought it down -again wet with blood. - -Then came the thought of the box. He reached out his hand and, groping, -it fell upon it. He had barely strength enough yet to draw it to him, -but at last succeeded, though not without much pain. He lifted it -feebly and the lid fell back, showing the breakage where it had been -wrenched from its hinges. With a paroxysm of strength born of terror, -he sat upright and looked into the box. It was empty; not even a -shred of paper remaining. For one instant he gazed in uncomprehending -stupidity, and then, as the truth flashed on him, he fell again to the -earth, and lost in temporary unconsciousness alike the sense of pain -and the power to follow his interrupted quest. - -Almost at the very moment when Trafford discovered the loss of the -papers, Henry Matthewson slipped through the grounds of the Hunter -home, coming from the direction of the river, and entered by a side -door. He went directly to the library, where his brother and the two -Hunters had been in uneasy conference for some hours. As he entered, -the three men started to their feet, first in surprise at his presence, -and then in greater surprise at his appearance. His face was white -and set, like the face of a man who has passed through some terrible -struggle and has conquered or been conquered. One, looking at the -inscrutable face, could not have decided which. - -“You!” exclaimed Charles Matthewson. “I have been trying to reach you -all night.” - -“How could you reach here at this hour?” said Frank Hunter. “There’s no -train.” - -Charles Hunter said nothing, but his quick understanding of men, and, -perhaps, a quality in him that would have dared all that man could dare -in a desperate case, told him more than either of his companions saw. -For a moment he hesitated and then, seeing no denial in the face of the -newcomer, said: - -“You have found the papers.” - -The others started and looked at the two men whom, instinctively, they -knew to be stronger than themselves. - -“Yes,” said Henry Matthewson. - -“Where are they?” asked Charles Matthewson and Frank Hunter, in a -breath. - -The other did not answer. Then Charles repeated the question: - -“Where are they?” - -“Where would they be now, if they had come into your hands a half-hour -ago?” demanded Matthewson. - -“Destroyed!” said Charles Hunter unhesitatingly. - -“They are where they will never menace us or ours again,” said Henry -Matthewson, “unless the river gives them up. I dropped them from the -bridge into the pool below the Falls a half-hour ago.” - -“But where did you find them?” was Frank Hunter’s question. - -Charles Hunter looked again at the other’s face, and said: - -“How serious is the matter?” - -“The man is merely stunned,” said Henry. “I think some one should find -him, under the poplars at the foot of the hill----” - -“Henry! My God!” exclaimed Charles Matthewson, stepping hastily -forward. “You haven’t----” - -“I have done what was necessary to obtain the papers and save ourselves -and--our mother. I hope there is no one here who would have done less. -I accept full responsibility for acting where none but a coward could -hesitate.” - -“Pray God, Trafford’s not dead!” exclaimed Charles Matthewson. - -“Amen,” said Henry, and then added; “but be that as it may, the papers -are.” - - -THE END - - - - -Two Noteworthy Detective Stories by Burton E. Stevenson - - -The Marathon Mystery - -With five scenes in color by ELIOT KEEN - -4th printing. $1.50 - -This absorbing story of New York and Long Island to-day has been -republished in England. Its conclusion is most astonishing. - -_N. Y. Sun_: “Distinctly an interesting story--one of the sort that the -reader will not lay down before he goes to bed.” - -_N. Y. Post_: “By comparison with the work of Anna Katharine Green ... -it is exceptionally clever ... told interestingly and well.” - -_N. Y. Tribune_: “=The Holladay Case= was a capital story of crime and -mystery. 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The -final catastrophe is worked out in a highly dramatic manner.” - - -The Holladay Case - -With frontispiece by ELIOT KEEN - -7th printing. $1.25 - -A tale of a modern mystery of New York and Etretat that has been -republished in England and Germany. - -_N. Y. Tribune_: “Professor Dicey recently said, ‘If you like a -detective story take care you read a good detective story.’ This is -a good detective story, and it is the better because the part of the -hero is not filled by a member of the profession.... The reader will -not want to put the book down until he has reached the last page. =Most -ingeniously constructed and well written into the bargain.=” - - Henry Holt and Company - Publishers New York - - - - -Noteworthy Books by ARTHUR COLTON and what some authorities say of them. - -The Belted Seas - -A story of the wild voyages of the irrepressible Captain Buckingham in -Southern seas. 12mo, $1.50 - -_Evening Post_: “A whimsical Odyssey.... What Jacobs has done for the -British seaman, Colton has done for the Yankee sailor.” - -_Cincinnati Enquirer_: “Never has the peculiar brand of humor which -South America affords been more skilfully exploited than by Arthur -Colton in =The Belted Seas=.... It is a joyous book, and he were a -hardened reader indeed who would not chortle with satisfaction over Kid -Sadler’s adventures at Portate.... Many of the stories are uproariously -funny and recall Stockton at his best.” - - -Port Argent 12mo, $1.50 - -A romance of a few weeks in an Ohio city “with growing pains.” - -_Critic_: “A story of breathless events and of remarkable -concentration.” - -_Bookman_: “Mr. Colton’s work is particularly worthy of praise.” - -_Life_: “Arthur Colton is a writer with a remarkably individual -outlook. Port Argent is bright and full of characteristic Coltonisms.” - -_San Francisco Chronicle_: “A quiet story told with such restraint that -it is only after laying down the volume that one realizes the bigness -of the problems presented, in breadth and richness of thought, and the -power of its action.” - - -Tioba 12mo, $1.25 - -Mr. Colton here depicts a gallery of very varied Americans. Tioba was a -mountain which meant well but was mistaken. - -_Bookman_: “He is always the artist observer, adding stroke upon -stroke with the surest of sure pens, ... an author who recalls the old -traditions that there were once such things as good writing and good -story-telling.” - -_Critic_: “In each of these stories he has presented some -out-of-the-way fragment of life with faithfulness and power.... He has -the artist’s instinct.” - - Henry Holt and Company - Publishers New York - - - - -TWO ROMANCES OF TRAVEL - - -The Lightning Conductor - -_The Strange Adventures of a Motor Car_ - -By C. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON - -12mo. $1.50 - -The love story of a beautiful American and a gallant Englishman, who -stoops to conquer. Two almost human automobiles, the one German, -heavy and stubborn, and the other French, light and easy-going, play -prominent parts. There is much humor. Picturesque scenes in Provence, -Spain and Italy pass before the reader’s eyes in rapid succession. - -Twenty printings of this novel have been called for. - -_Nation_: “Such delightful people, and such delightful scenes.... It -should be a good, practical guide to those about to go over the same -course, while its charming descriptions of travel afford an ample new -fund of pleasure, tinged with envy here and there to the stay-at-homes.” - -_N. Y. Sun_: “A pleasant and felicitous romance.” - -_Springfield Republican_: “Wholly new and decidedly entertaining.” - -_Chicago Post_: “Sprightly humor ... the story moves.” - - -The Pursuit of Phyllis - -By J. HARWOOD BACON - -With two illustrations by H. LATIMER BROWN - -12mo. $1.25 - -A humorous love story with scenes in England, France, China and Ceylon. - -_Boston Transcript_: “A bright and entertaining story of up-to-date men -and women.” - -_N. Y. Tribune_: “Very enjoyable.... Its charm consists in its -naturalness and the sparkle of the dialogue and descriptions.” - -_N. Y. Evening Post_: “The story is brisk, buoyant and entertaining.” - -_Bookman_: “Sparkling in fun, clean-cut and straightforward in style as -the young hero himself.” - - Henry Holt and Company - New York Chicago - - - - -2d printing of “A novel in the better sense of a word much sinned -against.... It is decidedly a book worth while.” - -The Transgression of Andrew Vane - -By GUY WETMORE CARRYL - -12mo. $1.50. - - TIMES’ SATURDAY REVIEW:--“A strong and original story; ... the - descriptions of conditions in the American colony [in Paris] - are convincingly clever. The story from the prologue--one of - exceptional promise in point of interest--to the climax ... is - full of action and dramatic surprise.” - - N. Y. TRIBUNE:--“The surprising developments we must leave the - reader to find out for himself. He will find it a pleasant - task; ... the surprise is not brought forward until precisely - the right moment, and one is carried from the first chapter to - the last with curiosity, and concern for the hero’s fate kept - well alive.” - - N. Y. EVENING SUN:--“Everybody who likes clever fiction should - read it.” - - LITERARY WORLD:--“The prologue is as skilful a handling of - a repellent theme as has ever been presented. The book is - distinctly not one for the young person, but neither is it for - the seeker after the risqué or the erotic.... In this novel are - poured into a consistent and satisfying whole more of those - vivid phases of Paris at which the author has shown himself a - master hand.” - - CHICAGO EVENING POST:--“The reader stops with regret in his mind - that Guy Wetmore Carryl’s story-telling work is done.” - - CHICAGO TRIBUNE:--“A brilliant piece of work.” - - WASHINGTON STAR:--“A more engaging villain has seldom entered the - pages of modern fiction; ... sparkles with quotable epigrams.” - - BUFFALO EXPRESS:--“The sort of a story which one is very apt to - read with interest from beginning to end. And, moreover, ... - very bright and clever.” - - NEW HAVEN JOURNAL:--“By far the most ambitious work he undertook, - and likewise the most brilliant.” - - Henry Holt and Company - _29 W. 23d St._ _NEW YORK_ - - - - -“=From any point of view it is an unusual novel, as much better -than some of the ‘best sellers’ as a painting is better than a -chromo.=”--_World’s Work._ - -[Illustration] - -The Divine Fire - -BY MAY SINCLAIR - -$1.50 - - -6th printing of _The story of a London poet_. - -_Mary Moss in the Atlantic Monthly_: “Certain it is that in all our new -fiction I have found nothing worthy to compare with ‘The Divine Fire,’ -nothing even remotely approaching the same class.” - -_New York Globe_: “The biggest surprise of the whole season’s fiction -... you never once stop to question its style, or its realism, or the -art of its construction. You simply read right on, deaf to everything -and everybody outside of the compelling magic of its pages.” - -_Dial_: “A full-length study of the poetic temperament, framed in a -varied and curiously interesting environment, and drawn with a firmness -of hand that excites one’s admiration.... Moreover, a real distinction -of style, besides being of absorbing interest from cover to cover.” - -_Catholic Mirror_: “One of the noblest, most inspiring and absorbing -books we have read in years.” - -_Owen Seaman in Punch_ (London): “I find her book the most remarkable -that I have read for many years.” - - -The Diary of a Musician - -Edited by DOLORES M. BACON - -With decorations and illustrations by CHARLES EDWARD HOOPER and H. -LATIMER BROWN - -$1.50 - -Authorities agree that no particular musical celebrity is described or -satirized; all review the book with enthusiasm, though some damn while -others praise. - -_Times Review_: “Of extraordinary interest as a study from the inside -of the inwardness of a genius.” - -_Bookman_: “Much of that exquisite egotism, the huge, artistic Me and -the tiny universe, that gluttony of the emotions, of the whole peculiar -compound of hysteria, inspiration, vanity, insight and fidgets, which -goes to make up that delightful but somewhat rickety thing which -we call the artistic temperament is reproduced.... The ‘Diary of a -Musician’ does what most actual diaries fail to do--writes down a man -in full.” - - Henry Holt and Company - Publishers New York - - - - -TALES OF MYSTERY - -The House of the Black Ring - -By FRED. LEWIS PATTEE. $1.50 - -A story oddly combining humor and horror. It tells of the squire, a -sort of feudal lord, his enemies, his fate and of his daughter and how -she would have her way in love. The weird influence of =The House of -the Black Ring= dominates the little “pocket” in the Seven Mountains of -Pennsylvania. - -_The Washington Star_: “An unusual combination of the weird and the -humorous ... absorbing and often thrilling tale.... A forest fire ... -is a dramatic episode which does Mr. Pattee exceptional credit in the -restraint of his treatment and the effectiveness of his climaxes.” - -_N. Y. Evening Sun_: “An interesting story ... piques the reader’s -curiosity and keeps him reading till the mystery is solved.” - - -Red-Headed Gill - -By RYE OWEN. 4th printing. $1.50 - -Red-Headed Gill is a splendid young country gentlewoman of Cornwall. -Under a weird East Indian influence she is forced to live over again -part of the life of a beauty of the days of Queen Bess--the famous Gill -Red-Head. - -_New York Sun_: “A charming girl whom the reader will watch with -interest to the end. The author manages to transport her back into the -life of her Tudor ancestress over and again naturally, and with great -effect.” - -_New York Times Review_: “There is much originality in the plot. The -reader’s attention is at once enlisted, and is not allowed to flag.” - - -In the Dwellings of the Wilderness - -By C. BRYSON TAYLOR. $1.25 - -A ghost story so plausibly told that many may, like one of the chief -characters, think it might all be explained by natural causes after -all. 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A vividness that makes it difficult to banish the -picture from your memory for many a day.” - - Henry Holt and Company - Publishers New York - - - - -Transcriber’s Note: - -Punctuation has been standardised except spaces before ’ll and ’re -have been retained as they appear in the original publication. -Hyphenation and spelling have also been retained as published, -except as follows: - - Page 74 - an’ let’s folks _changed to_ - an’ lets folks - - Page 124 - must be re-convened _changed to_ - must be reconvened - - Page 139 - visit was to Milbank _changed to_ - visit was to Millbank - - Page 232 - man who want me _changed to_ - man who wants me - - Page 247 - shadow of Pettengill’s potato storehouse _changed to_ - shadow of Pettingill’s potato storehouse - - Second page of book promotions - Kid Saddler’s adventures at Portaic _changed to_ - Kid Sadler’s adventures at Portate - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILLBANK CASE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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