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diff --git a/75646-0.txt b/75646-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b71a53 --- /dev/null +++ b/75646-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12676 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75646 *** + + + + + + Transcriber’s Note + Italic text displayed as: _italic_ + + + + + THE + ASTOUNDING + CRIME + ON + TORRINGTON + ROAD + + + + + THE + ASTOUNDING + CRIME + ON + TORRINGTON + ROAD + + BEING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT MIGHT BE + TERMED “THE PENTECOST EPISODE” IN + A MOST AUDACIOUS CRIMINAL CAREER + + BY + WILLIAM GILLETTE + + [Illustration: Decoration] + + HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS + New York and London, Mcmxxvii + + + + + THE ASTOUNDING CRIME ON TORRINGTON ROAD + COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY WILLIAM GILLETTE + PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. + + + E-B + + + + + THIS RECITAL + —AS TAKEN DOWN AND THEN SET + FORTH HEREIN—IS DIVIDED INTO + SEVEN PARTS OR SECTIONS WHICH + MAY BE ROUGHLY DESCRIBED AS + FOLLOWS: + + + PART I: Leading up to the arrangement that + Andrew Howard Barnes finally succeeded in + making with Horace McClintock for the + Reporting of the Facts in This Most Unusual + Series of Events. _Page 1_ + + PART II: Introducing Hugo Pentecost and his + Partner Stephen W. Harker, with a side + light thrown on the Business Methods employed + by this firm. Also defining the Steps + which led Mr. Pentecost to call at the House + on Torrington Road. _Page 20_ + + PART III: Dealing with old Michael Cripps and + his Synthetic Family—thus making it clear + how Charles Haworth came to be the Sole + Occupant of the old Cripps Mansion. _Page 44_ + + PART IV: Attempting to convey Some Idea of + the Overwhelming Passion that swept upon + Charles Haworth and Edith Findlay when + the Findlays came to live at the House on + Torrington Road. _Page 67_ + + PART V: Wherein is set forth the Painful Predicament + which soon involved the Young + Couple, and the Vast Relief which ensued + upon the Sale of the Haworth Machine to + Harker and Pentecost. _Page 112_ + + PART VI: Touching on the Amazing Preparations + for and the Hideous Details of the + Crime that took place in the Cripps Mansion + and Describing the Activities of the + Police in connection therewith as well as the + Behavior of Others Concerned in this Appalling + Affair. _Page 169_ + + PART VII: Giving an account of the Attempts + of Certain Persons no longer enjoying an + Earthly Existence to take part in the Investigation + of the Crime and the Final Result of + this Most Amazing Interference. _Page 259_ + + + + + THE + ASTOUNDING + CRIME + ON + TORRINGTON + ROAD + + + + +PART I + + _At the request of Mr. Andrew H. Barnes I make the following statement + in order to explain how it came about that I entered into the + arrangement for taking down from his dictation an Account of a Certain + Extraordinary Affair._ + + HORACE MCCLINTOCK + + +My name is signed above. I am a staff reporter on one of the town +papers. New York, I mean. Several times in the past three or four +years when some special work in my line—which has come to be mostly +interviewing—was required there, they have sent me over to Boston. + +This last time I went over—which is now, for I am there yet—I was +particularly glad to get the assignment, as my friend Dudley Knapp had +recently made a shift from a big Life Insurance Company in the West to +a very much bigger one in Boston, and it was a great pleasure to see +him. + +Duds (his schoolboy name still sticks with me and I forgot to state +that we were boys together in a small town in northern Ohio) has got to +be quite a “high up” in the Insurance line. I don’t know exactly what +they call him, but he’s an expert of some kind, and is a sharp one on +any fraud or tangle that has to be attended to. I don’t mean to say +he’s a detective or anything like that, but in nine cases out of ten +he saves them from having to get one. He has the gift of knowing a man +pretty well when he gets a good look at him—with a little conversation +thrown in—and they put him on cases that have the look of being a bit +off color. There’s plenty of that kind in the Life business. That’s how +he happened to be in Boston, and we got ahold of each other almost the +minute I arrived there. + +We’d been having dinner together in the men’s café at a specially good +hotel—one of the few cafés left where they hadn’t let women and dancing +in and changed the name to the Wild Rose Room or something like that, +and where—as Dudley put it—you could still get a feed without having +girls’ legs flashed in your face with every mouthful. + +It was down to coffee and cigars—that is, cigars for Duds and +cigarettes for me—and we were lolling back talking over our +experiences, when I happened to think of an odd thing that occurred +on my last trip over—which was before Duds had made the shift to the +Boston Company; and I started in to give him an idea of it by asking if +he knew anything about a suburb called Roxbury. + +“No,” he said, “but for God’s sake” (lowering his voice) “don’t let +anyone hear you call it a suburb—you’d be mobbed.” + +“Well it looked like that to me,” I returned. “I struck a place where I +thought I was out on a farm.” + +“When was this?” he asked. + +“About a year ago.” + +“What were you doing?” + +“Following a man.” + +“Who was it?” + +“Never found out.” + +Dudley looked at me a couple of seconds; then settling back in his +chair struck a match and began to light a cigar. + +“Anything—er—out of the way?” he mumbled between puffs. + +“No,” I told him, “just odd, that’s all. Peculiar way a couple of +people acted on the train coming over got me guessing to that degree +that when we arrived here about eleven o’clock at night I trailed the +man through the south station till he got into a taxi, and then jumped +into one myself and followed him out into that Roxbury region looking +for the answer—which I never got.” + +“Slipped you, did he?” + +“Amounted to that. Went into an old house out there—gloomy-looking +place—long way back from the road—no other houses near. I had him down +for some sort of a yegg, and when I saw him go into that murky old +mansion I called it a day and quit.” + +“What made you think he was crooked?” + +“One or two things I overheard on the train—and then he played a few +queer games when I was trailing him in the taxi.” + +“Get the address?” + +“There wasn’t any number at the gate, but I got the name of the +street on a lamp post. Not sure what it was, though. Something like +Torreytown—or Torringtown—or one of those——” I broke off suddenly. + +Duds gave me a quick look. + +“Table behind you!” I muttered. + +“What’s the matter with it?” he grunted, his voice down with mine. + +“Man got a shock when I mentioned that street.” + +“Maybe he lives on it.” + +I shook my head slightly. + +“Well, go on—what do you care?” + +I was just going to speak when Duds stopped me. + +“Wait a minute!” he said, his voice down several pegs more. “That +street you mentioned—I’ve read about it somewhere—in some paper.” + +“About the street?” + +“Yes—or—or something that happened on it. Remember there was a lot of +excitement—everybody guessing. What did we get from Boston along then?” + +“One of their murders most likely—if it was something you read about +outside.” + +“Hold on—I’m getting it! It was that case the police tried to hush +up—lot of queer stuff to it—everybody wondering what in God’s name it +was all about. Inventor in it somewhere—don’t you remember that? It was +first-page stuff all over the country.” + +“No—they had me down in Panama after that Boston trip, covering a +Senate Investigating Committee. Saw some headings but didn’t know what +it was all about.” + +“Peculiar case all right. What was it you overheard on the train?” + +“Began at the Grand Central. I was running for the five-eleven Boston +express—P.M. I needn’t say. Just as I got to the gate an excited old +woman—poorly dressed—queer hat on sideways—dangling gray hair and all +that—came hurrying across from somewhere and plunged in ahead of me +trying to pass the gateman. He held her up for a ticket of course, +and there was quite a time, she calling out that her son was on the +train—she’d got to speak to him—he had no business to be there, and +a flood of talk like that. It made a kind of a riot—for the gateman +put her down as crazy and didn’t like to pass her in among the rolling +stock; and in a minute there was a crowd of people about, and a +station policeman coming over on the run, and the assistant station +master arriving a second or two later: with the result that the two of +them—the station master and the policeman—took her through and down the +incline to the train, to see if she really had a son on board. + +“She was a queer old thing, this dame, and kept mumbling to herself +that she wasn’t going to let him (her son, I took it) go to _that +place_—not if she could help it. The officer tried two or three times +to fix her hat on straight as they walked along, one on each side of +her—but it wouldn’t stay. + +“Most of the passengers who came along while the old woman was blocking +the left-hand passage of the gate—where I was—were passed in on the +other side; there’s two ticket punchers, you know. But I hung back till +they took her through, and then followed them down to the train and +through the cars. Wanted to see if there was anything to it. Might be a +story if I followed it up. + +“After they’d gone through nearly the whole train, including the +Pullmans, she spotted the chap she was after in the first coach +forward, next behind the smoker, and commenced to call out to him to +get off and come home with her. He was a decent-appearing young chap, +but what struck me as peculiar was that his face didn’t show the least +surprise or anger or even annoyance when he saw his mother—in fact, it +didn’t show anything at all. He shook his head a little when the old +woman told him to get off, but he wouldn’t budge, and finally when the +station master told her she’d have to leave the coach or go along with +it, she plumped down in the seat with him and a few seconds later the +train was under way. + +“The nearest seat I could get was in with another man next behind. I’d +have preferred to be in front—you know how well you can hear people +sitting behind you in a car—but the whole seat was occupied. So I sat +down there behind them in the aisle seat (the other man was next the +window) and getting out a newspaper, leaned forward as far as I could +as though trying to get a good light on it, and keeping an ear turned +in the right direction to catch anything they might say. + +“We must have passed Stamford before a word was spoken by either of +them, but along near that place the old woman opened up suddenly and +began remonstrating—I judged by the tone (her voice was too low to +catch any words) with tremendous earnestness. She hadn’t been talking +long though, when something he muttered got her excited and she raised +her voice enough for me to hear, ‘Well you’re goin’ to get off this +train the next place they stop at an’ come home—yes ye be Jamie—I won’t +have you goin’ on with this—I won’t have it!’ + +“‘Listen here!’ Jamie said under his breath but with an earnestness +that carried it over the back of the seat to me: ‘I got an A-1 +situation as butler an’ general house man!’ + +“‘An’ don’t I know how you came by it? It’s them same people in that +agency! Look at the trouble they’ve got you into, Jamie! Wasn’t you +arrested twice an’ wasn’t it them who——’ + +“‘Aw, can that! Didn’t they push me into some o’ the finest houses +there was—an’ didn’t I get recommendations that takes me anywheres?’ + +“‘First off they did but sense then there’s nothin’ but trouble—an’ you +comin’ nigh to bein’ put in Sing Sing!’ + +“‘Well I wasn’t, was I?’ + +“‘—An’ one dreadful mess after another—an’ put with people you’d ought +ter know better’n to _be_ with! Don’t ye s’pose I know ’em, with your +father what he was! I tell you I ain’t goin’ to have it!’ (Her voice +rising into a loud wail.) ‘_You got to stop, Jamie. You got to git off +this train an’ come back home with me! You_ ——’ + +“‘Quiet down, can’t ye—people might get it!’ + +“There was silence between the two for a while, and I noticed, as the +train was running into the Bridgeport station—the first stop after One +Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street—that Jamie was watching for something +out of the window, his quick glance shifting up and down the west-bound +tracks. + +“The old woman got to her feet as the train came to a stop, and told +him he must come with her and get the next train back. But he pulled +her down into the seat again—not roughly but rather protectingly in a +way—saying as he did, ‘Not here, Jenny! We can get a better train out +of New Haven.’ + +“‘You’ll come then?’ the old woman asked. + +“‘Sure,’ said Jamie. + +“She seemed greatly relieved. + +“He had a time-table, and studied it for quite a while, and as we +neared New Haven (the next stop) he kept the same keen watch on the +west-bound tracks as he’d done at Bridgeport. But this time he saw what +he wanted, for there was a New York Express three or four tracks over, +roaring and sizzling to get away. It was No. 21 from Boston, and as +luck would have it, running nine minutes late. He had his mother up and +at the door before our train had come to a standstill, and they were +off the car in a jiffy and disappearing down the stairway—for he had to +cross to the New York tracks in a subway. It was an even bet whether he +made it or not, and I got off the train—keeping close to it, though, +in case it started—and ran along the platform trying to find a place +where I could see across into the windows of the other train—there were +roofs or something that cut off the view here and there. Just as I came +about opposite to the last coach of the New York Express I got a view +through, and saw them in that car, walking down the aisle looking for a +seat,—so I knew they’d made it. Jamie was carrying his heavy valise—the +old woman close herding on him as the cattle men say. + +“It was only a few seconds after they got aboard when No. 21, after +hissing contemptuously a few times as the brakes went on and off, got +under way for New York. + +“The train I was on—the Boston train—left the station about five +minutes later, and I was sitting down, nursing my balked curiosity +and the story that didn’t pan, when it dawned on me that I had a seat +reserved in one of the Pullmans, which, in the case of this train, were +trailing at the rear with the dining car. So I got my bag and started +back to find it. + +“I had to go through several coaches before reaching the parlor cars, +and as I was walking down the aisle of the last one I suddenly caught +sight of Jamie sitting quietly in a seat on my left.—Sat there as if +he’d never been off the train.” + +“Take it that’s the man you followed?” + +“The very one. Kept an eye on him through the station when we got +in—South Station, not Back Bay—and when he took a taxi and drove off I +skipped into another and slipped the driver a ten to keep his machine +in sight but not get up too close. When Jamie’s taxi had led us six or +eight blocks out Columbus or Huntington or one of those avenues, it +made a sudden turn and shot around a corner to the right. Then there +were more corners right and left until you couldn’t even tell where +the State House was, but my man was on the job and kept behind like a +shadow with a string to it. + +“All of a sudden he ran up to the curb and jumped off, coming to the +door. ‘If it’s the fare ye want out o’ that car, he’s payin’ off and +goin’ into the station.’ ‘What station?’ I asked. ‘North,’ says he, +‘down there where all them lights is. He’s on to us, an’ he’ll wait +long enough to make ye think he’s took a train, an’ then git a taxi +in there where they go in—out o’ sight. I got ye where ye can keep a +squint on ’em as they come out. He’s liable to stoop down or cover up +his face. Ye might know him by that.’ + +“And sure enough that’s just what happened. In, say, half an hour (he +waited inside that long) we were after him again, but this time keeping +so far away that he must have thought he’d thrown us off, for we got +out into a sort of country region—houses far back into grounds and that +sort of thing—most of ’em dark, too—people gone to bed. + +“At a corner out there, where Jamie’s taxi had made a turn to the +right, my driver stopped before rounding it and listened, as he’d been +doing since we’d got to where it was quiet. Rather suddenly he jumped +off and hurried on to the corner, and after one look came running back +and told me the other machine had pulled up near a street lamp some +distance down the road and the fare was paying off. I got out and told +him to wait for me—that I’d walk down a bit and look around. + +“I edged along at the side of the road and could see that Jamie had +gone in at a gate or entrance; and very soon the taxi that brought him +went plunging by on its way back to town. After some careful work to +keep in the shadow, I came to the old gate, or rather old posts—there +wasn’t any gate—and looking up the weedy and overgrown drive (I could +see it for a little way by the light of the street lamp) I made out +the black bulk of what must have been a large house back in among +trees, and gloomy as a prison. There was a pale yellowish light in one +window—that was all. + +“While I was trying to make out something in the dense gloom, a door of +the house opened, the dim light showing through it from inside, and the +form of a man—which must have been Jamie—could be seen passing in, the +door closing quickly after him. That’s all there was to it. I told you +the rest. Got the name of the street when I went back to the corner.” + +“Taxi there all right?” + +“Yes—but I didn’t see it at first. Chauffeur had backed up into some +private grounds so the other driver, rattling by toward the city, +wouldn’t see him. + +“‘I don’t know what your man that you’re trailin’ amounts to,’ he said +as I got in, ‘but that ain’t no amateur what run him out here!’” + +“Strikes me you picked a pretty good one yourself,” observed Dudley. + +“I sure did,” I agreed; “and his parting words put the flag on it. +When I’d paid him off at the hotel he stood looking at me with a queer +twist to his face and then gave a quick glance about. ‘Say, cap,’ he +said, moving quite close, ‘I don’t know as it’s any use to ye, but we +was shadowed too.’ And he was gone before I could——” + +I stopped in the midst of what I was saying. The man who’d been sitting +behind Duds—the one who’d started slightly when I mentioned the name +Torringtown—was standing beside our table. I hadn’t noticed him come up. + +“Pardon this intrusion, gentlemen,” the stranger said in a low voice +and with a most courteous inflection, “but it was impossible to avoid +overhearing what you were saying. I should hardly have thought it wise +to trouble you with an apology for this, but it occurred to me that the +very remarkable coincidence involved might possibly be of some slight +interest.” + +We’d both risen as he began to speak, and now assured him that the +apology was unnecessary and that the coincidence would interest us in +the extreme, and begged him to be seated. But he shook his head in a +manner to convey that what he had to say would only take a moment. + +On the first glance the man wasn’t remarkable in any way that I could +see: medium height—medium weight—medium age—no particular expression to +his face. But in an instant it was different, for he’d hardly begun to +speak before I felt—and so did Dudley as he told me afterward—that a +person of powerful or compelling character stood before us. Powerful in +some peculiar way. I never took much stock in hypnotism and don’t now; +at the same time I can see how things like that, carried a bit further, +might put a man where he couldn’t see straight. These things occurred +to me afterward—I couldn’t have got away, at the time, from what the +fellow was talking about. + +He went on at once, after declining our invitation to sit down: “A +few moments ago I heard, from the direction of your table, the name +of a street which is intimately associated with an affair I’ve been +investigating for nearly two years.” + +Something made me murmur, without the slightest intention of doing so, +“Torringtown Road.” + +“That was it—not quite the correct name, but so near that I shuddered +with the fear that other parties were looking up the same case—which +would, of course, head my work for the discard. With that fear in mind +I was unable to prevent myself from listening. I am sorry.” + +We both begged him not to speak of such a thing as no offense could +possibly be taken, and I asked him to tell me the right name of the +street. + +“Torrington Road,” he answered. “Of course I saw in a moment—or rather +heard—that although the case was the same that I’d been working on, you +gentlemen were making no special drive at it. But in addition to thus +dispelling my anxiety, the few words I overheard supplied me with the +answer to the only question that has completely baffled me up to the +present time. For two years I’ve been making fruitless efforts to find +out who shadowed Jamie Dreek from the South Station in Boston to the +old mansion in Roxbury on that August night, and what object he could +have had in view, seeing that nothing ever came of it; and this evening +I happen to drop in for dinner at a place I’ve never patronized before, +and the answer comes across to me from the next table!” + +We agreed that it was a strange coincidence, all right, and as he +seemed to be on the point of withdrawing I asked him—more to detain him +than anything else, for it seemed that he must be charged up to the +muzzle with interesting stuff—if he happened to know how it was the +Dreek chap was sitting in a coach on the Boston train after I’d seen +him go out of New Haven on the New York express. + +“Very simple,” Barnes answered. “He sat with his mother as the New York +train went down through the yards, and after it got headway enough for +the old woman to feel easy about him, he shoved a wad of bills into her +lap, saying, ‘Hold that for me, will ye—I want to go to the smoker,’ +walked back to the rear platform, and a second later let himself down +by the knuckle of the coupler, which projected a few inches, and +dropped off. His mother saw his valise in the rack and didn’t worry. It +was somewhere along under the Cedar Street bridge and they don’t get +into any speed by then, so he was up in a second or two and sprinting +back for the Boston train—the one you were on” (looking at me). +“Nothing much at stake you see, as he could have got No. 30 four hours +later if he’d missed it. But he didn’t. You must have noted the fact +that you can always make a train if there’s no special need of it.” + +He was getting out a pocketbook as he talked, and laying a card on the +table, murmured something about his name being Barnes and that he was +taking the liberty of introducing himself; whereupon we very informally +introduced each other. And the man, who appeared to be in a hurry, was +just turning away as Dudley mentioned the fact (having given my name) +that I was a staff reporter on a New York Daily. + +Upon this Mr. Barnes rather abruptly turned back and stood looking at +me. + +“May I accept your recent invitation to sit down?” he asked, after a +moment. + +We begged him to do so, and all three seated ourselves. + +“I was concerned in this West Roxbury affair,” he said in a lowered +voice, “in a way that gave me an insight into some of its unusual +features.” + +“Detective?” asked Dudley, also sinking his voice. + +“Not at all,” Mr. Barnes replied. “To be perfectly frank with you—as +it’s only right I should be in view of the favor I’m going to ask—I was +associated in a confidential way with the defense. Hard put to it for +evidence they were, and I was able to turn up some for them. But the +case was so extraordinary that after it was all over I began looking +into various points that came up, and one thing led to another until I +found I was in deep and moreover so interested that I couldn’t quit. +Besides that, it began to look to me like a gold mine if it was handled +right. Although the papers were full of it at the time, not only here +in Boston but throughout the States and Canada, the real facts at the +bottom of it never came to light—a case of ‘diplomatic suppression’ by +the police, if I may be allowed to use the expression.” + +“How gold mine?” asked Dudley. + +“Publication,” answered Barnes. “I now have virtually the whole thing; +and some of it is bound to stir up the animals a bit. I wouldn’t have +thought of troubling you with all this but for hearing you say that Mr. +McClintock is a reporter. I’m hoping you can give me a little advice, +Mr. McClintock, on getting the thing into book form. I have it all in +my mind, and notes and memoranda to keep it there. But I’ve got to get +some one to write it down for me, as that’s something entirely out of +my line.” + +“What you want, Mr. Barnes,” I said, “is a literary chap—some one in +the fiction line—a story writer.” + +“Pardon me, Mr. McClintock, but that’s the very thing I don’t want. +I’ve spent a considerable amount of time—not to speak of some money—in +digging up the truth about this affair; and after all this to have it +get into the hands of a story writer and be labeled on every page as +a cheap concoction of his brain would be a calamity. I don’t want any +‘our hero’ and ‘dear reader’ and that sort of throw-down in the account +of this Haworth case, nor any ‘Foreword’ or dedication to somebody +whose loving care has helped me through or sustained me in hours of +anguish. Everything that’s going into this book I saw, or heard, or got +first-hand from the parties concerned. And as you’re in that line Mr. +McClintock, I thought perhaps you could put me in the way of finding a +reporter of the kind I need, who’d take it down the way I give it to +him, the same as he would for a newspaper. I’m asking a great favor, +but if you haven’t anyone in mind don’t hesitate to say so.” + +I considered for a little, but finally had to tell him that at the +moment I couldn’t think of anyone available for such a piece of work. + +He rose apologetically, but hesitated an instant as he stood there. + +“I don’t suppose there’s a chance of its appealing to you?” he asked, +looking me full in the face; and went on before I could open my mouth +to answer: “It would net you three thousand, and as you don’t know me +I’m perfectly willing to pay for each quarter of the work in advance.” + +By this time I’d recovered speech, and after expressing appreciation of +his liberal offer, told him it would be impossible for me to accept as +I had a regular staff job and didn’t want to lose it. + +“Why lose it?” he asked, seating himself again as he spoke. “Your +work with me would scarcely take ten days, for you’d have the idea in +your notebooks as fast as I could talk it off. You can take your time +writing it out—not the least hurry about that. And if your managing +editor doesn’t want to give you the time off, I can follow you round +and manage it evenings or whenever you had an hour or so to spare.” + +I was in a most peculiar mental condition, with this glittering chance +to reach up and pull down three thousand dollars, and with Mr. Barnes’s +impelling personality seeming almost to force me into the arrangement +without any consideration whatever. I tried to pull myself together and +shake off something that seemed like a “spell,” and in doing so caught +sight of Dudley, whose chair was near but slightly back of mine. All +through this talk about my doing the work I’d felt a consciousness of +his sitting there quietly smoking, and wasn’t surprised, as I glanced +about, to hear him say: + +“Why rush this?” + +Mr. Barnes instantly disclaimed any idea of wishing to do so, +explaining that as I’d appeared to show some slight interest in the +matter, he’d been tremendously anxious to get before me whatever +advantages it might possess. + +“Let’s have a look at the disadvantages,” countered Dudley. “Suppose +Mr. McClintock, on taking up the work (if he does that) finds, for one +reason or another, that he’d rather not go on with it.” + +“He’ll be at perfect liberty to discontinue,” was Barnes’s quick +rejoinder. “I’ll say,” he added, “that at any time before the first +quarter of the work is finished he may abandon it without even +troubling to give a reason.” + +Shortly after this we adjourned the conference to Dudley’s +apartment—not far distant; and it was finally left that I’d have +a night to think it over and that Barnes was to meet us at the +Subtreasury the next day at four in the afternoon. + + * * * * * + +“Think he’s straight?” I asked Duds, after we’d heard the elevator door +clang to with Barnes going down in the car. + +“Put a question mark to that,” grunted Dudley as he lit his pipe. “But +I’ll say this,” he added a minute later, “if he isn’t, there’s nothing +he’d stop at.” He reflected awhile and then went on: “Uncommon specimen +I must say.... Strange sort of influence, too.... If he’d had you there +alone you’d be writing his book for him now.” + +We sat smoking for some little time before Duds made further +observations. I waited patiently, realizing the value of his advice +in such a matter. After a while he spoke up in the manner of having +arrived at conclusions. + +“On the first shot I don’t see where he could get you,” he said. +“Blackmail’s out of it. Robbery’s out of it. Playing this game to get +a hook in you for another is out of it. Of course he didn’t come into +that restaurant by any chance or accident.” + +“No?” + +“Not on the cat’s pajamas—or whatever it is they say. Wouldn’t be +surprised if he followed you over from New York.” + +“Why not talk to me there?” + +“Can’t say, but he had his reasons. Nothing accidental goes with +him.... All the same, what of it? If there’s anything criminal about +his stuff, you can quit.... If he’s cribbed it somewhere, that doesn’t +touch you. Another thing: if you do it I’m going to sit in with you. +If Barnes objects, he’s crooked and that ends it. Lot of things I +don’t like about the man, from his one-sided smile to something damned +peculiar back in his eyes. And I don’t take much stock in his book, or +whatever it is. Most likely a blind to cover a job he’s got on hand. +Rather interesting to know what it’s all about, eh?——If he talks all +right to-morrow, suppose we go ahead and see what he’s got!” + +Mr. Barnes certainly did talk all right the next day, and not only +raised no objections to the presence of Dudley while the dictating +was going on, but seemed quite enormously pleased at the proposal, +explaining that with two of us he’d be able to get his mind off the +dictation business—which, to tell the truth, had rather alarmed him—and +run it off on the idea of simply giving us an account of the affair. + +I phoned the office, and my managing editor gave me a week or ten days, +which Mr. Barnes said would do. The working time was arranged to suit +Dudley, as his affairs couldn’t be shifted. Always we had the evenings, +and frequently the afternoons as well. The place was the living room of +Dudley’s apartment. + +Mr. Barnes made it a part of the agreement that I should write out a +brief statement of the episode of my trailing of Jamie Dreek, and our +chance meeting with him (Barnes) in the restaurant,—this to serve as +an explanation of his dictating the account of the affair to me. He +suggested also that in this statement I make mention of the fact that +because of the incidents he proposed to relate being actual happenings +with actual people involved in them, he felt it necessary in some cases +to use fictitious names and addresses. + +This and the preceding pages constitute my effort to comply with Mr. +Barnes’s wishes. + + + + +PART II + + _The following Account of a Series of Occurrences in the Jamaica Plain + District of Boston during the year 1920, and Certain Facts Relating + Thereto, was dictated by Mr. Andrew H. Barnes, who claims to be one + of the Only Two Persons now living who have a knowledge of the True + Solution of the Affair. The Recital of these things as set forth by + him is in the main Correctly Reported. The Language Used is as close + an approach to his own as could be managed with the rapid stenography + required._ + + H. McC. + + +People who didn’t know—and let me tell you at the start that few +did—could hardly avoid the supposition, on being shown into the +offices of the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost, that they were entering +the headquarters of a long-established, prosperous firm, evidently of +high standing and doing a conservative and wisely managed business. +Conclusions such as these are by no means beyond what furniture, +fittings, and employees are able to convey, and Mr. Pentecost had +seen to it that all these things had done a part toward so conveying +it. Everything of the best quality, and more important still, not +new—nothing to suggest the flashily fine furnishings so often +associated with flashily conducted business. + +Three years and three months before this time at which I’m calling your +attention to the firm’s office, they didn’t have any, and Mr. Hugo +Pentecost had Mr. Stephen W. Harker in such a double-twisted strangle +grip that it was either hand over whatever price the former named or +the latter went to jail. There was only one answer to that, and when +Mr. Harker said, “Name the loot, you bastard,” expecting a response of, +“I’ll take the pot!” he was considerably surprised to get no answer at +all. + +Pentecost—bullet-headed—regarded him with glassy, half-closed eyes. + +Harker—slim, dapper, perfectly dressed, with a pleasant, attractive +face (which was a pearl without price in his business) finally broke +the silence. + +“What’s masticating you?” he said. “You’ve got me cold, haven’t you? Go +on an’ give it a name!” + +Pentecost spoke in a low, soft voice. “I’ll take the business,” he said. + +“One minute, George. I’m on to you from the send-off—see? You’re the +guy that drops down on the boys when they’ve been working hard for +it an’ rakes ’em for ninety per cent! Quite a name you’ve made for +yourself! Know what they call you in the Mercer Street joints? ‘The +Vulture’—that’s what they’ve put on you!” + +“Fitting, too,” was the quiet rejoinder. “Vultures prey on the dead +ones.” + +“I can cough twenty grand. Do you want it?” + +“You can cough forty-six, but I don’t want it. The business will do for +the present.” + +“Get to hell with it. My business is _my_ business. Where do you cop +the idea I can pass it around?” + +“No passing around—I declare myself in.” + +Harker—a man seldom surprised and never showing it—stood looking at +Pentecost, amazement concealed behind his “dead” face. + +“In on my game?” he finally asked. + +Pentecost nodded slightly. “But not as you play it, my friend,” he said. + + * * * * * + +Harker was a successful fake promoter. Anything was grist for his mill +that was slick enough in operation to catch the public fancy or timely +enough to ride on the crest of a craze. Cheap novelties in medicine, +food, housekeeping utensils, electric refrigerating and washing +machines, oil-burning heaters,—anything attractive enough to sell +stock on—that was the sole requirement. The organization of promoting +companies—vast newspaper advertisements for a few days—window displays +when it was an operating device of some kind; and after the crop from +stock sales had been skillfully gathered in, came the little matter of +the company paying for the patent or a factory site or whatever it was, +and of course it took all the money realized on stock sales to do this; +and as Harker was the man who happened to own the patent or factory +site, he was naturally the person who sold it to the company, and there +he was. + +But he wasn’t there for long. That was the chief inconvenience +connected with this simple method of relieving the +“one-born-every-minute” crowd of their superfluous capital. It +compelled the practitioner to travel for his health after every +operation. Often, too, he had to change his name as well as the +climate, and to make some drastic alteration in what might be referred +to as his identity. + +The reward, though, was frequently of large proportions, which it +happened to be in the case I’m speaking of. And the vulture Pentecost, +soaring above the vast and darkened stretches of crookdom, got the odor +of tainted money and began circling nearer and nearer and eventually +sunk his talons into Mr. Harker and found that he was good. Also that +his game was well enough—indeed might be quite a big one if properly +run—the effective method of playing it flashing instantly through his +mind. He observed, too, that Harker was a skillful operator; also a +good looker as a figurehead for an important and high-class concern. He +had planned for some time to have an office to work from. So it came to +be a partnership. No papers of course—just understood. Harker was to +run his line of work in the office of the firm—after that work had been +put on Pentecost’s basis. Pentecost would have the partnership and the +office to give him solidity and standing in his own line of nefarious +and frequently hazardous undertakings. He could, without trouble, pick +up many things in Harker’s way and turn them over to him; and Harker +could give him assistance in his own affairs, should he require it. +They would divide at fifty-fifty. + +Before he took to vulturizing again Pentecost gave his attention to +the rearrangement of the Harker game. An office that was “the thing” +was found in precisely the locality required, and in a modest but +high-class building. When it came to the matter of furnishings, not an +item escaped him. Being thoroughly aware that the various articles in a +room have voices and can cry out, he took good care to have only those +which would use the tones that he wanted. + +Having now an office which would eloquently lie for them, the next +thing in Mr. Pentecost’s scheme of operation was to secure a business +reputation that would do the same. With this in view he and Harker went +after inventions or devices for the firm to take hold of and exploit, +that had some degree of solid merit. At the end of a year they had been +able to get only two, in each case having to purchase from a company +that was running it at a profit. Expensive deals, but both men were +plungers. They found another during the second year, and that made +three, which was enough. Companies were organized for each and the +business carried on with success and profit, large dividends going out +to the stockholders; the firm, however, on account of the expenses +involved in buying out going concerns, made nothing. + +Harker was now in a position to engineer another class of enterprise +with entire safety. The firm was well-known, conservative, solid. Stock +of companies it organized was bought without question. Instead of +piking along he found he had in his hands swindles of great magnitude. +With the solid business they were doing an occasional failure cut no +figure. + +The most important members of the office force—the heads of +departments as you might say—were all in the family. Harker’s family, +I mean—Pentecost had none. Alfred Harker—son of the senior partner, +twenty-two and a sharp one for his age—had charge of the office. Chief +clerk, I suppose you might call him. The head stenographer, Miss Mary +Finch Dugas, was a sister of Mrs. Harker, and the head accountant Mrs. +Harker’s nephew. As for the others, it didn’t matter. Nothing could +get by young Harker or Miss Dugas or the head accountant that there +was any reason for keeping in the shade. So the rest of the force had +been picked—like the furniture and decorations—to express innocence and +respectability—and they did it. + + * * * * * + +When you realize that about two and a half years before this Mr. +Pentecost (under another name) had been practising law in Chicago—and +would most likely have been there still if he hadn’t been disbarred—and +that during the seven years he’d been at it he’d got to be one of the +most successful and sought-after defense attorneys they’d ever had out +there, you’ll have a pretty good basis to figure on him, especially +when I tell you the sort of business he drifted into and his amazing +methods of handling it. + +When he came to be notable in certain ways among the legal +practitioners of Chicago, and inquiries began to be made as to who he +was and where he came from, nobody could give the answer. A rumor went +the rounds during the proceedings of his disbarment, that he’d formerly +been a confidence operator of some kind and had gone listening in at +the trial of one of his pals. It was said that something about the +legal maneuvers and court proceedings so impressed him with the idea +that a lawyer was a pretty slick thing to be, that he started right in +studying and reading and got by in a couple of years. I don’t know what +there is to that story, but it’s as good as any. + +He was a solid, thick-set man of average height, with dark eyes that +bulged a little and occasionally went glassy—an odd trick you seldom +see. Made you think he’d gone off and left them for a moment while he +was attending to other matters. His eyelids a good part of the time +were at half mast, giving him a sleepy sort of look. It had a great +effect when, in a court proceeding, he suddenly came out of it with one +of his lightning strokes. + +His face, smooth-shaven, was heavy and hardly ever expressed anything, +but he had expressions he could use when it suited his purpose. +His forehead slanted back quite noticeably—not retreating in any +sense—rather gave you the idea of the possibility of sudden and +relentless advance, like some beast that springs or strikes. All these +things didn’t make him appear anything especially remarkable. You see +lots of bullet-headed men about, also men whose eyes are prominent and +may go glassy for all you know. And drooping eyelids aren’t uncommon. + + * * * * * + +I’ve been speaking of this man as Mr. Pentecost, but that wasn’t his +name at this time—in Chicago, I mean. On the door of his musty little +office in the North Western Building a bit of modest black lettering +announced the occupant as Max Spellman, Attorney at Law. + +This Spellman (later Pentecost) had been plugging along in the law game +out there for something like two years before he attracted attention. +Then it began to be noticed in what is referred to as the underworld, +that a young attorney in the Ashland Block seemed to be having +extraordinary success in the cases of a number of small-caliber crooks +for whose defense he’d been engaged or appointed. The court named him +the first time, in a petty-larceny case where the accused was unable +to get counsel. It was the ingenuity of this fellow’s tactics that +first made him talked about, and a couple of instances of his lightning +quickness and audacity went the rounds of crookdom. This underworld +comment was hardly more than beginning when one of the high-up +operators—a super-crook you might say—who’d been rounded up after a six +months’ hunt—got Spellman to defend him, and from that time he was in +the middle of the map. The upper world now began to take notice, and +inquiries regarding the man flew about, but found nothing to light on. + +More business than he could handle came in—and, with hardly an +exception, from below. Of course he didn’t get verdicts for his clients +every time, but his average was amazing. There was always a surprise in +some quick turn he’d make—some entirely unexpected stroke—the finding +of new and vital evidence and the throwing it at them just when it +would knock them silly. He’d get at them this way nearly every time, +and of course there was a rush to find a flaw, but there wasn’t a screw +or a bolt missing. + +Don’t get the idea that he was in the least spectacular. Nothing of +the kind. No oratory nor impassioned pleading, nor any of those fancy +things you read about. He’d sit hunched up like a toad in court, solid +and motionless, never speaking unless necessary, and then in a voice +so low that spectators, if there were any, found it difficult to hear. +But—again like a toad—he struck with lightning quickness when the time +came. + +To witnesses for the prosecution he was a scourge and a terror. His +gentle questioning, his weary manner and sleepily drooping eyelids, +nursed his victims into unguarded confidence, and then came the +lightning out of a clear sky, striking upon the least contradiction +or misstatement. His very appearance at such times—the backward slant +of his forehead, the sudden scorching fire of usually somnolent +eyes—confused and disconcerted. + +When underworld business came in on him with a rush he began to be +careful about what cases he took—not as to the guilt or innocence of +the applicant, but in order to pick out what he had a sporting chance +to win. The possibilities of what extraordinary and ingenious defense +he could accomplish—sometimes not only approaching the danger line, but +frequently going a considerable distance on the other side of it—would +flash through his mind almost automatically as he made his first hasty +examination of the case; upon the character and attractiveness (for he +greatly enjoyed this phase of the game) of these possibilities would +depend his going into the defense. + + * * * * * + +After Spellman really got going there wasn’t much of anything in +his line he wouldn’t do. All the tricks and political pulls were as +lower-case a-b-c to him, not to speak of the intimate personal records +of lawyers, judges, and police officials who were likely to come +within his sphere of action. Sphere doesn’t sound precisely right, +but you know what I mean. He had an extensive collection of the weak +spots—vulnerable regions, you might say—everywhere, and saw in an +instant how to play them in any given case. Through some sharp move or +threat in the right direction, or by dropping a bit of money where he +knew it would be picked up, or by whatever else he could use as a club, +he’d be about ninety per cent sure to get his man out of the mess. + +One day, to give you an instance, the assistant cashier of a Chicago +bank of fairly decent standing was shown into Spellman’s office, and +told him, after some beating about, that he was shy in his accounts by +some two hundred and fifty thousand. The man, whose name was Chatfield, +gave out the well-known tale about playing the stock market. + +“All gone?” Spellman inquired, without bothering to pull up his +drooping eyelids. + +“Why—I think—not quite.” + +“Damn _think_! You know to a nickel what you’ve got!” + +“Yes—yes, sixteen thousand odd. I was—you see I was keeping it to—to +get away on.” + +“They’ll be on to you soon, of course, or you wouldn’t be here.” + +“There’s—there’s barely two days! My God! Barely two!” Chatfield +glanced about in a kind of agony. “And the—” (he swallowed with +difficulty) “—the examiner might get here sooner. We can never be sure!” + +“You’ve got the remnant with you I see.” + +Chatfield nodded and his eyes moved painfully about in a way that made +you think they’d fill up with tears in a minute. + +“You want me to handle this affair I take it.” + +“Oh, I _hoped_ you would. That’s what I——” + +“Pass me the sixteen.” + +The terrified cashier handed Spellman a large fat envelope, which the +latter opened in a weary sort of way, and having pulled the bunch of +bills out a little way, flicked their ends as he might a pack of cards +before the shuffle. Then he looked glassily at the assistant cashier +for a full minute. + +“Can you steal another hundred thousand?” he finally asked. + +“Why—why—I—you don’t mean——” + +“Can you steal another hundred thousand?” with no change in inflection. + +“Why—why, yes—I _could_—but you——” + +“Take you long?” + +“Long?—Oh yes! Well—quite a while. I should say several hours.” + +“Two o’clock is several hours. Come here with it then.” + +“Mr. Spellman, I can _do_ it!—Yes—I _can_ you know—but they—they’re +bound to find it out inside of twenty-four hours the way I—the way I’ve +got to get it this time!” + +“I don’t care how you get it—I want it at two.” + +Of course it didn’t happen as quick as that. I’m only giving you the +high spots. + +When Chatfield came back at two with the money, Spellman put it in his +safe where the sixteen was already reposing. Then he phoned the bank +and got an appointment. Inside of half an hour he was seated in the +private office of the president, and was conveying to him alone (having +satisfied himself that no witnesses were within hearing distance) the +information that he had a client, Henry Parsons Chatfield by name, who +claimed to be the bank’s assistant cashier, and that—unless the man +was lying—they’d find his accounts a matter of three hundred and fifty +thousand short. He had strongly urged Mr. Chatfield, instead of trying +to escape with the hundred thousand or thereabout that he still had in +his possession after dumping the rest into Wall Street, to return it to +the bank and make a confession. This he found Chatfield willing to do +provided he could be safeguarded against arrest or legal action of any +description. He (Spellman) wasn’t presuming to advise the acceptance +of such a proposition. It seemed to be only a question of whether the +bank wished the money or preferred to prosecute—the latter in case +Chatfield could be apprehended. + +Every time the bank president broke out on him—which of course he did +with all the force at his command—the lawyer cut him short. + +“I must say, sir—this is a most extraordinary—a most _outrageous_——” + +“Do you want it?” + +“Are you aware, Mr. Spellman, of your own risk in——” + +“Do you want it?” + +“We shall certainly take steps to——” + +“Do you want it?” + +But of course Spellman knew they did—knew they’d have to have it—or he +wouldn’t have been there. Moreover, he noticed that the president made +no move to ring the bell and call in other officials of the bank. The +document he had ready was duly signed and executed. It wasn’t until +after that was done and the thing securely in his possession that he +paid over the hundred thousand to the bank. He returned six of the +sixteen in his safe to Chatfield, and with it a biting comment on the +assistant cashier’s consummate asininity. The remaining ten continued +to remain. + + * * * * * + +For some time he played it this way, in and out of court, his adroit +defenses of various kinds attracting more and more attention; and those +who had begun to have symptoms of suspicion were very soon looking for +questionable work back of the records. + +I’m going to tell you at once what I dare say you’ve suspected all +along, that Spellman was an amazingly successful manufacturer of +evidence. He couldn’t use it always, but when he did, the play was a +marvel. Everything came to that man in what is known as a flash. In the +matter of bogus evidence he not only saw instantly where it would come +in, but almost on the same ignition had the most elaborate defenses +figured out for it with every point protected. + +No matter where those sharps and detectives who were after him dug in +and followed back the lines, they couldn’t find a thing to get hold of. +Witnesses had actually seen what they testified to—the circumstances +and surroundings and objects spoken of and dates and time of day given, +etc., stood every test. + +Yet notwithstanding the outcome of these investigations, I have to tell +you that Mr. Spellman’s downfall resulted from a faulty piece of work +in one of his manufactured-evidence structures. He knew that it was +faulty and that they’d have it on him in the end, but the play did what +it was intended to do, which was to hold open a loophole for escape +just long enough so his client could dive through it. To save a comrade +who’d once saved him—that was what drove him to it. The outcome, which +he plainly saw, didn’t come within a thousand miles of making him +hesitate. What this man, whose name was Morrison, had done for him +or what he had saved him from, never came out; but it must have been +something worth while. + +Morrison was in bad. If the case should come to trial he’d stand no +chance. Even Spellman couldn’t see any way out. His only hope lay in +quick action. I give you an idea of Spellman’s play in this case to +show you how it came about that he was eliminated from Chicago’s fetid +life, and, as Hugo J. Pentecost, turned loose upon a more or less +helpless world. + +The quick action for the rescue of Bill Morrison from a more than +serious predicament involved the buying up of an obscure movie actor +named McArdle, doing small bits at the Essanay Studio on the North +Side, who looked enough like Morrison to be his twin. Pentecost had +used the movies in certain of his activities for a number of years, +having found that field of endeavor packed with evidence possibilities +that had never been worked; and in consequence he not only knew a +lot of people employed in it, but he had quite a few of his own men +scattered about in various studios. He remembered this McArdle on the +instant and must have paid him ten or twelve thousand to disappear +utterly for six weeks and turn over everything he owned, including his +name, clothing, diary, letters, photographs, accounts, contracts with +Essanay, and, in fact, everything there was, to him. + +His game was possible because Morrison was a West Coast man and had +never operated in Chicago before, and McArdle had only recently come +over from London. If these things hadn’t happened to be the case, +Spellman would have taken some other track. But he instantly saw the +possibilities of this game if he rushed it and planted money lavishly +in a few necessary places. + +The Essanay was an enormous concern in those days, frequently taking +fifteen or twenty pictures simultaneously, and naturally couldn’t keep +a close watch on their hundreds of small-part people—of whom McArdle +was one. Particularly was this so because these “artists” were hardly +ever seen at the studio except in make-up. + +The crime for which Morrison was arrested—a murderous assault on one +of the clerks in a jewelry store—was committed in the early afternoon, +and he was picked up by the police that same evening. At the time of +the assault McArdle was engaged in his work in one of the Essanay +studios. Spellman got at him in his room in a cheap apartment building +between six and seven o’clock the next morning. It was, of course, +vital to the game that McArdle should not go to the studio again, and, +indeed, should be seen by no one who knew him. Those who had seen and +recognized him after the time of Morrison’s arrest must be taken care +of. If they couldn’t be, the game was off. + +But the game wasn’t off on that account, for McArdle had been in his +rooms all the evening and no one had come there. He had dined at a +cheap restaurant near, but that was four hours before Morrison’s +arrest. Clear sailing so far. The money bargain was arranged after +Spellman had lifted the figure to the point where the temptation +wrestled successfully with McArdle’s fears. + +As soon as Spellman had this nailed down he let Morrison know by a +prearranged signal—for he didn’t want to go near him just then—and +Morrison began to cut up in his cell and cry and beg to see some one, +as he wanted to confess. In the inspector’s office it transpired that +what he was so anxious to tell them was not that he was guilty, but +that when arrested the night before he’d been so terrified for fear his +employers in Chicago would hear of it that he’d given them a fictitious +name; but now he realized that he’d got to send word to the Essanay +studios that he couldn’t get there for his scene. You had to notify +them. If you didn’t they’d never give you another job. And would they +please send word for him to the Essanay? Couldn’t they say he’d been +in an automobile accident?—for if they knew up there that he was in +jail it would be the end of him. + +He finally told them that his name was Walter McArdle, that he’d lately +come over from England, and that his occupation was acting for the +movies. He had no family and the only people he knew were the Essanay +managers who engaged him, and a few of the actors in the company—and +those not very well. Morrison was an artist and pushed it along the +line of one of his pet rôles. Everything tended to show that the man +was Walter McArdle. He later described without effort or hesitation +his lodgings on Rand Street and everything in them (I don’t need to +say that Spellman had been there first), where to find his accounts, +letters from home, how many shirts he had, and so forth and so on. + +He told them, in answer to questions, all about the picture he’d been +working in; you see Spellman had got everything possible out of McArdle +before he left. But his crook artistry led to his instructing Morrison +to make a slip or two in places where a person with an ordinary memory +might not have been quite sure. Remembering too much is often more +dangerous than remembering too little. + +McArdle, except in rare instances, was seen at the studio in North +Chicago only with his make-up on, and in these rare instances it would +be only for brief moments as he passed in or out of the building on his +way to and from his dressing room. As a consequence those associated +with him in the picture—directors, photographers, electricians, +property men, and his fellow actors in the cast—were misled by +Morrison’s close resemblance, and testified to his being McArdle, and +that he was at the studio occupied with his work in the picture on the +afternoon the robbery and assault was committed. His entire familiarity +with the piece they’d been filming and incidents that happened during +its progress—some, indeed, on the very afternoon of the arrest—had +great weight in the Essanay offices. + +There were three persons whose evidence cost money, owing to the fact +that they knew McArdle too well for Morrison to get by: the manager +of the cheap restaurant where the movie actor got his meals; the girl +waitress at the same place; and the actor who dressed in the same +room with him at the Essanay studios. Particularly the last. He was +a bit “fly” and saw that he had them. Also he wanted his in advance. +This mass of evidence, with much more—such as that of the janitor of +the building where McArdle roomed and many minor things that had been +attended to—accomplished its purpose. No doubt existed that the police +had arrested the wrong man. The police themselves were convinced of it. +And the necessary formalities for his release having been gone through, +Bill Morrison made his getaway. + +Not many days later Max Spellman did the same. + +The collapse of the jerry-built structure that Spellman had hastily +thrown together for a rush showing, with its apparently overwhelming +evidence of mistaken identity, was deferred several days longer than +he expected. He waited on the one-in-a-thousand chance that it might, +after all, escape destruction. But on the third day after Morrison +had gone, a strange car with a disguised Spellman in it disappeared +north of the Lake Boulevard, and Chicago saw him (as Spellman) no +more. The first weak point to give way was the flapper waitress, who +found it impossible to keep her mouth shut about the money she’d been +paid to do that very thing. That started the crash. Proceedings for +Spellman’s disbarment swiftly followed. In addition it began to be said +about that he was “wanted.” But wanting was a matter of some distance +from getting. How could it be otherwise when Spellman had ceased to +exist? It was a plain case of transmigration of souls. The spirit that +had tenanted the body of Max Spellman now moved into that of Hugo +Pentecost—quite another proposition; and not differing alone because of +a dark and well-trimmed beard, giving him something the appearance of +a prosperous and experienced physician, but owing as well to a number +of other changes in form, shape, expression, and more or less minor +characteristics. + +This metamorphosis, however, took time, and for months nothing was +known of the man undergoing it. Then something peculiar began to dawn +on the Crooks’ and Malefactors’ Guild. (You may as well call it that as +anything.) Two or three large operations engineered by some of the Big +Ones were mysteriously “tapped”—which is to say, the operators found +themselves caught in a situation where they had to give up a share or +quit—otherwise it was the cooler. It wasn’t a great while before word +passed along that a peg was playing them from the dark side. Whoever +this super crook might be, he continued to stay in the gloom. When he +got the hook in his victim, his agent called, and it was pay or get it +in the neck. And as this came to be played on them more and more they +began putting a name to him—“The Vulture.” + +It’s hardly necessary to call your attention to the fact that the +recently arrived Mr. Pentecost had a most extraordinary equipment +for the prosecution of such undertakings. Fully acquainted, even +before he took up the practice of law in Chicago, with every phase of +criminality, and familiar with the methods and characteristics of those +engaged in it, his Spellman career brought to his hand all the weapons +of sharp practice and chicanery that the crafty and hazardous defense +of his underworld clients compelled him to use. + + * * * * * + +More than two years after Mr. Spellman’s disappearance, Mr. Stephen +Harker (not operating under that name at the time) became suddenly +aware that the talons of the offensive bird recently spoken of had sunk +themselves into him. But a remarkable thing occurred. “The Vulture” +wanted to see him. A meeting was arranged by an agent. Pentecost had a +few tried and tested assistants in his business whom he liked to refer +to as “trusties,” and this man was one of them. A year later he had +fifteen or twenty mostly planted in the large cities throughout the +country. These men were occupied solely in assisting him about his own +operations—he had no idea of getting control of others and becoming a +big boss of criminality like those you read about. Nobody ever did that +anyway. + +At the time he saw Harker he was beginning to have schemes for some +of the most daring operations that had ever been conceived, and he’d +got the idea that it would be a great advantage to work from the sound +basis of a partnership and an office and a high-class rating. + +The thing was brought about, resulting in the firm of Harker & +Pentecost, with a perfectly satisfactory standing in the business +world. Harker was the senior partner, but Pentecost was the power +plant, and as soon as Harker got a gleam of the extraordinary sort of +person it was who’d picked him up, he didn’t want it any other way. The +running of the promoting schemes was left in his hands, while Pentecost +conducted operations that were sufficiently dangerous and unusual to +interest him. These affairs took him to all parts of the country, and +he quite frequently spotted something in the way of a novelty that was +more or less in Harker’s department. He couldn’t so much as glance at +a thing without having a complete and, more often than not, amazingly +ingenious method of operating it flash automatically through his mind. + +They pegged along with a sort of team work for some time, Pentecost +running to operations with a higher and higher percentage of danger +to them, and Harker running to a higher and higher degree of anxiety +on account of same, for owing to the partnership, he was in on them +too. Once in a while he’d try to hook Pentecost back from something, +but he never succeeded, and as one after another of these close-call +enterprises got by—always, it turned out, protected by the most +remarkable system of defensive lay-outs ever seen—he quit talking +about it. That big risk and protection game appeared to be Pentecost’s +delight. Often it would seem that he purposely played it as close as +he could just to see them come up against his extraordinarily laid-out +safety systems. + + * * * * * + +He was over in Boston one summer (it was the third year of the +partnership), and had been there some five or six weeks attending to a +little affair he had going in that town. Rather an ancient game it was, +but he’d taken advantage of conditions to rejuvenate it. “Fifty percent +in forty-five days and pull out whenever you like,” was the captivating +slogan set in circulation. All the boobs ask for is a new excuse. If +they can’t understand it, all the better—so long as it has the sound +of money. Pentecost had one for them right fresh off the bat of the +World War. “International Postal Reply Coupons” was his, and it did +the trick. After the prompt payment of the forty-five days’ interest +two or three times, there was a rush. People blocked the corridors +of the office building where the headquarters of this hoary but +brought-up-to-date swindle were situated, and fought for places in the +line so they could get the chance to pitch away their money. Over nine +million five hundred thousand was shaken out of socks and drawn out of +savings banks and pushed over to Pentecost—or rather to the dummy he’d +put in as manager, for of course he never appeared in it himself. This +dummy was an innocent, simple-minded Italian, or Italian-American, dug +up by one of Pentecost’s men and buzzed by two or three of them till +he really came to believe this “Postal Reply” business was a gorgeous +and legitimate undertaking. So enthusiastic about it did he become +that he set to work with something bordering on religious frenzy; +and so completely did his favorable opinion of the enterprise take +possession of him that when, some time later, the warning signal went +up and Pentecost notified him—through his trusties—to quit at once +and he’d find a high-powered car waiting for him at a certain place, +the fellow refused to budge. He was perfectly sure the Postal Reply +Coupons affair was a profitable and reputable undertaking, and if the +owners, whoever they were, were going to give it up, he’d go on with +it himself. He had clerks there who knew the way to run it. It was in +vain the two men who had charge of him—the same two who’d been making +a nightly clean-up of the day’s receipts, transferring the amounts to +various banks in the distant cities—argued with him. + +When Pentecost heard of the Italian’s crazy ideas he made every +possible effort to get him away. The simplicity and innocence of the +poor devil hit him in the one spot where he was soft. But in this +affair the time was too short. The police pounced on the Italian before +Pentecost’s men could kidnap him, as they had orders to do. + +The Sunday following, in his rooms at one of the hotels, Mr. Pentecost +had a stack of the morning papers and was lazily running through the +sensational accounts of the collapse of the Postal Reply Swindle, with +their graphic descriptions of the arrest of the Italian supposed to +have been at the head of it—of his wild insistence that everything was +all right—of the frantic mob of investors fighting and screaming for +their money—together with the statements and opinions of inspectors, +district attorneys, financiers, Post Office authorities and what not, +on the various aspects of the colossal fraud. It was a most amusing +mess—one he’d have enjoyed immensely if his crazy Italian hadn’t got +the hooks in him. He was sore as the devil about that. + +As he carelessly turned the pages in other parts of one of the huge +Sunday editions, his eye was suddenly caught and held by the heading of +a full-page write-up in one of them, which read: + + HERMIT INVENTOR OF WEST ROXBURY + + MECHANICAL GENIUS SOLE OCCUPANT OF OLD CRIPPS MANSION + + MARVELOUS MACHINES BUT NO SALES + +Pentecost had been lolling about in bathrobe and slippers, but now he +sat erect and read on rapidly. The article strongly reinforced the +notion he’d got from the headlines that he might find something out +there that would come in nicely for Harker. His plan had been to leave +for New York on the “Merchants’ Limited” (that is, the Sunday train +running at that time on the “Merchants’” schedule), but he decided to +take one of the night expresses instead, so he could get out to Roxbury +and see what the fellow had. + +The article spoke of the mansion as being on Torrington Road, but gave +no further indication of its locality, and even at so early a stage +of a barely possible chance, Pentecost would no more have thought of +making enquiries than of swallowing rat poison. There were two or +three pictures of the house, and several of the mechanical genius +himself, which might help some. He took a taxi, dismounting as soon +as they reached Torrington Road. After paying the fare and observing +that the vehicle had safely disappeared townward with no questionable +hesitation, he walked up the road. It was late in the afternoon and +warm—the date being precisely mid August. + +Mr. Pentecost, as he thought he could, recognized the old Cripps +mansion from the newspaper illustrations. As he walked up the +weed-grown and rutted driveway there was nothing he failed to take in: +the ruinous gateway at the entrance with its great square posts—once +painted white, but now a streaked and dirty brown, and one of them +considerably off plumb; the neglected lawns with their tangles of +overgrown grass and weeds and ancient misguided shrubbery that had long +since heeded the call of the wild; the old elm trees clustered about +the house and densely shading it; and the mansion itself, much needing +paint and repair, particularly as to the huge wooden columns supporting +the roof of a front portico two stories in height. + +He saw, too, that the walls of the house were covered with a heavy +growth of Virginia creeper and that this vigorous vine was massed +thickly about most of the windows. Another thing he noticed was that +several panes of glass were broken out of the second-story window on +the left under the portico roof, and that the opening had been boarded +up on the inside. + +He noted all these things without pause while approaching the house, +which was set at some distance back from the road; and after mounting +the wide stone steps of the portico and crossing it, he pressed the +push button at the right of the door. After waiting a little he gave +it a more forceful shove. Still getting no response, he was in the act +of raising his hand to the large and rusty knocker when the door was +quietly opened and a rather tall and exceedingly slender young man +stood before him in the dimness of the hall. + + + + +PART III + + +Most people who knew the house supposed that Michael Sutherland Cripps +was the builder as well as the owner and occupant of the Cripps +Mansion, as it was called, in the district of Boston popularly referred +to as West Roxbury, though in reality situated in the southwestern +extension of Jamaica Plain. But most people were mistaken. + +Mr. Cripps had, about middle life, made a pretty good “deal”—for those +days—when he suddenly got on to the way things were going in the +suburbs and made a few choice investments. As a result, he became what +was then called a millionaire. Of course he’d have been a mere piker +now, but as he couldn’t read the future, he was well satisfied. At last +he could do something. And the first thing was to get some sort of a +family about him. + +You see, this Cripps was naturally a lonely man—actually suffered +unless he had people in the house with him; and he hadn’t had anybody +since the death of his parents some years before. + +What I’ve said shows you that he had no family of his own—wife and all +that. He wasn’t at all a woman hater, but he was a merciless woman +critic. Odd thing, too, for he liked them first off, but every time he +got within striking distance of matrimony he saw what a tiresome thing +it was likely to be, and thereupon fled for his life. + +All the same, his ideal was to live in the midst of a family,—to have +about him those who would be company for him and yet not have “claims” +and things like that, that would make life a wretched bore. + +Now that he’d made his haul, his first thought was to advertise for +a family to come and live with him. But really nice people wouldn’t +answer such an ad, and that was the only kind he wanted. Along here the +thought of his own relatives occurred to him. That wasn’t a bad idea. +He’d get some of them to come. + +His only near relative was a widowed sister, Cynthia Findlay, living +with her two children in St. Louis. Mr. Cripps had been supporting +them for a number of years, both before and after her husband—a poor, +disreputable fish—died of drink. She inherited nothing of value from +Mr. Findlay except his absence, which was priceless but couldn’t be +turned into money. She wouldn’t have parted with it, anyway. + +He’d always liked Cynthia, and she’d had a tough life of it. He’d +have her as a starter for his adopted-family enterprise. Yes, and the +children would come in nicely, too. He’d always heard that children +kept things lively. Well, that was the way he wanted them. + +He had quite a lot of kin in the cousin line—mostly seconds. A male one +consented to accept his invitation—for a time at least, and brought +with him a sprightly wife and two quite charming grown-up daughters. + +Then there were two elderly ladies who might be called cousins-in-law, +one being the widow of a distant cousin and the other her sister. He +was delighted that they would come, for they were witty and cheerful +and level-headed. + +And there were several youngish chaps in the remote distances +of relationship. Cripps succeeded in getting two of them—one a +second-rate sort of thing, the other a decent young fellow who was +temporarily out of a job and was persuaded to try to find one in Boston. + +That seemed to be about the limit of what he wanted. The only children +he drew were his sister’s two youngsters, Dorothy and Augustus, nine +and five years old, respectively. + +After Mr. Cripps made sure he could get a decent lot to come and be a +family to him, he looked about for a satisfactory place in which to +establish it—and found it. One of the finest old places of the time +it was, out Roxbury way on Torrington Road, and he picked it up at an +extraordinary bargain. + +He had the house done over in various ways and everything up to date, +said date being back in the Nineties, but they had a few things even +in that benighted decade. Gas, electricity, telephones, half a dozen +bathrooms, a hot water heating system, and a few little things like +that, did him very well. For a couple of years or so he had to manage +as best he could with horses—but after that motor cars came in. Movies, +aeroplanes and radio he had to struggle along without. But not knowing +about them made the deprivation less severe. + +Michael Cripps was a good spender and was bound to have the best +of everything. A delightful host he was, too, reveling in the +consciousness that he was taking care of people—giving them a good +time. Besides his adopted family, he’d go out of his way to track down +some unfortunate boyhood friend, or some far distant relative who +hadn’t done well, and give him the time of his life. + +So there he was, no longer suffering the—to him—hideous nightmare of +having to live alone in a desolate house, but situated in a luxurious +mansion, virtually in the country, yet only a few miles from the +violently beating heart of the town, and surrounded by his own people, +who turned out to be very enjoyable company—some of them, indeed, quite +charming. + +All went well and pleasantly—if you leave out occasional minor discords +of small consequence—for quite some years. But owing to the inroads of +death, marriage, and desertion, the population of the mansion decreased +as time went on, and no way to recruit it to full strength occurred to +Mr. Cripps. His sister Cynthia died early in 1904 and was followed by +her daughter Dorothy a year and a half later. Others of the household +had crossed the line; then, too, a couple of marriages had snatched +their victims from the fold; and a few of the members of this synthetic +family had departed for reasons of their own. + +It had been quite a successful experiment as experiments go—more so +than you’d think; and there’s no denying that old Cripps had got a lot +of satisfaction out of it. But the thing had been falling away from him +piece by piece, and finally his sister’s son Augustus was the only one +left in the house with him. The old man had had a good pull at it, but +here he was down to the last dreg—as you’d be likely to call it if you +were acquainted with that precious nephew of his. + +Being the only near relative that old Mr. Cripps now had on hand—or, +indeed, had at all—it was generally supposed that Augustus Findlay +would inherit the mansion, together with whatever else the old +gentleman should die possessed of. But all did not go well between +the two and there were times when gossip had it that the sporty young +nephew would lose out on the “give and bequeath” proposition if he +didn’t shove down the emergency brake on his behavior. + +It was surely a trying thing for Michael Sutherland Cripps, with age +and rheumatism already beginning to frolic with him, and the most of +his once big pile melted away—or more truthfully pelted away, for +during these years of his family life he’d spent without limit—to have +to associate on intimate terms with a most objectionable brat of a +nephew, coming in nearly every night of his life fuddled with booze—a +cheap skate, and an unmitigated loafer in the real sense of the word, +for at the age of twenty-six never a thought of earning his living +had crossed his mind. Yet with all that he wasn’t a bad looker—almost +handsome in a dissipated sort of way. And he could be charming on +occasion. Women appeared fascinated by him—that is, some women. He had +a high-class one on the line once and came near landing her, but she +found out in time, tore out the hook, and swam away. + +People wondered that old Cripps, whose violent temper was known +throughout the West Roxbury and Jamaica Plains districts, was standing +for that sort of thing in the house with him day after day—night after +night. But the poor old boy had a reason for standing it—his absolute +terror of being left alone. Whatever else the presence of Augustus did +to him it saved him from that. + + * * * * * + +One afternoon late in October (it was 1910 by this time) Mr. Cripps +was in the attic of the mansion trying to find something, when his +glance happened to light on an old trunk in which he’d been accustomed +to put letters from people acknowledging his delightful hospitality—a +lazy way of keeping a visitors’ book. Up to now he’d only once had +occasion to refer to these letters, and then merely to get an address. +So long as the Present held out as an agreeable institution, Cripps +didn’t care a great deal about recollections of bygone episodes. But +of late the Present hadn’t been doing so well by him, and the Past was +beginning to exhibit symptoms of attractiveness. One of these symptoms +now manifested itself, drawing him so gently that he could hardly feel +its pull, toward the old trunk of letters. He found a crippled chair +in which he sat down before the thing and managed—with some little +difficulty—to raise the lid. + +He’d been there nearly an hour, glancing at letters which he picked up +at random here and there, when he came upon a little package of three +tied together and addressed in a hand he’d forgotten. But when he began +to read one of them he remembered. It was from a young girl who’d been +visiting there. + +More than eighteen years ago the first of the letters was written. +Pretty handwriting it was. Now he came to think of it, he’d always +liked her handwriting, whoever she was. Glancing at the end, he found +that she had signed herself Iris. Oh yes, now he began to remember! +Quite a—yes—quite a charming little thing she was, too! By Jove yes! +And he’d come very near to—to——His thoughts whirled a little here, +but they settled down again in a moment. What was all this—he hadn’t +married her, so why bother about it? He couldn’t quite recall how +she came to be visiting there. Oh yes, now he remembered! She was a +distant relative—almost indescribably distant. One of those things like +second cousin of your brother-in-law’s first wife. And that reminded +him that he used to call her his cousin a thousand times removed! +It had been quite a joke between them; and at one time he had come +breathlessly near to wiping out the entire bunch of removals by making +one little suggestion—which, however, he never made. No, he never +made it, worse luck! Or was it worse? A sweet little thing she was, +and her name was—her name——He’d forgotten it again and glanced at the +end of the letter. Oh, Iris—yes, of course! Iris Heminway. He got her +last name himself. His dear little cousin, a thousand times removed. +He couldn’t think what ever became of her! Nothing in the letter but +what a perfectly lovely visit she’d had. Perhaps the next one might +have something. Postmark made it four weeks later—no, five. He began +to read. That was it—just what he thought! Somebody has asked her to +marry him and she doesn’t know what to do. Wants to know what he thinks +of her marrying a machinist. Machinist! He couldn’t recall what he’d +answered. Most likely he’d told her to go on and marry the entire +machine shop if she felt drawn to it! By George—now he thought of it, +he did say just that! Rotten beastly pride! Huffed that she’d spoken of +some one else—and there she was giving him the chance, even though he’d +never written to her in all that time! Probably doesn’t give the chap’s +name. Yes—there it was—Haworth! (Reading to himself from the letter): +“His name is Charlie Haworth. He’s a special kind of a machinist and +draughtsman and his home is in Montreal. I’m sure he is a splendid +fellow, but I thought I would like to ask your advice about it.” + +That was all. She didn’t say when or where, but just wanted his advice. +Well, he’d given it to her! + +And here was the last letter—Canada stamp and Montreal postmark. Yes, +she’d married the machinist and gone up there. Two years later the +letter was, according to the postmark.—Oh! Baby! That was it! (Reading +again to himself): “... wanted you to know, so I’m writing you the +first one. Of course we want his name to be from his father—Charles—but +I thought you wouldn’t mind if we called his middle name after you, so +it will be Charles Michael Haworth.” + +The old man sat there for quite a while, staring before him. Then, +rather suddenly, the thought came to him that he might be able to find +these people, especially that boy—though of course he wouldn’t be a boy +any longer. He’d be along seventeen or eighteen, he should think. He +looked at the letter again. Montreal, and she gave the street address; +but that was years ago. He might try it though, just to see. Charles +Michael Haworth. He rather liked the name. + +That evening he wrote a letter to the address given and sent it out to +the nearest mailbox. + +But in the night he got to thinking the thing over so intensely that +sleep was impossible. It came to him then that the letter business was +a waste of time. He got nervous, too, about the matter of death, the +thought of which seldom bothered him. And on top of everything his +dissolute nephew came lurching into the house about four-thirty in the +morning, banging the heavy front door after him so that the building +shuddered, careening against furniture, and finally stumbling up the +stairway, all the while emitting a stream of disconnected profanity. + +This was the finishing touch for old man Cripps. He rolled himself +out of bed and made one bull rush—in his nightgown and bare feet—into +the upper hall, meeting the astonished inebriate near the head of +the stairs. Seizing him by the collar with both hands, he shook him +back and forth, then dragged him bumping and rolling down the stairs, +through the great entrance hall, out of the front door, across the +entrance portico, and from there heaved him sprawling into the roadway. + +For one instant the enraged old man stood looking at the dark mass +lying there at the bottom of the steps, then turning with a sudden +start he charged back into the house and up the stairs again and +through the upper hall to his nephew’s bedroom, where he seized with +frenzied clutchings all the clothing he could find in drawers, closets, +on chairs, and on the floor, which he forthwith pitched out through the +doorway into the hall, prancing back and forth across the room a dozen +times or more to do it. + +Where the old gentleman got his wind for all this would be a +serious problem in physics and chemistry, for he was heavily built, +underexercised, and with a tobacco heart. Anyway, he did it. + +As soon as he’d cleared out everything he could find he rushed out and +down the hall to his own room, and shoved in every bell push in the +place, and kept on shoving until the chauffeur came running up the +stairs, followed by both maids and the cook, and shortly after by the +head gardener and his ten-year-old son from their cottage near. All +were clutching together such garments as they’d hastily snatched up and +thrown on over their night clothes. + +Mr. Cripps had a fad for bells from his room to everyone concerned. But +it was the chauffeur he wanted this time, and he yelled to him to get +the car (it was 1910 by now, and of course he had one) and take the +blankety-blank carcass of putrid hogwash at the bottom of the front +steps an’ dump it in the road—anywhere—any street—any road! Just get +the blankety-blank-blank-blank out of this place and his clothes with +him—that was all he asked! + +“Here, you!” he shouted in a general way to the maids and cook, “pitch +those clothes out on top of him where Henry can find ’em—that pile in +front of his door! Take ’em all—every damn stitch—you understand? Throw +out everything he’s got! Don’t leave a damn thing he ever touched!” (To +the chauffeur) “And when you’ve dumped the dirty loafer, and his putrid +stuff on top of him, a couple of miles down the road, you come back +and take me to town! North Station is what I want! I’ll be gone two or +three days, and if any of you people allow that dirty, foul-mouthed, +booze-soaked bum to crawl back into this house while I’m away I’ll fire +the lot of you—take that from me!” + +As in many instances, I can give you, in this one, only an approximate +idea of the language used. I had the testimony of four persons who were +witnesses of the scene, and the only danger is that it lacks the proper +amount of intensity and force. If it isn’t clear what happened, just +take it that Augustus Findlay was thoroughly and effectually kicked out +of the house. + +The servants, without exception, liked old man Cripps. You could almost +say they were fond of him. Their opinion of Augustus I needn’t mention; +so there wasn’t the slightest danger that he’d get into the house again +even if they had to take turn and turn about in night watches to make +sure of it. + +The maids attended to the throwing out of the clothes with a spirit +that could only have been born of the great enjoyment they took in +the work, and the chauffeur did no less when it came to his part of +the job. After which he transported the old gentleman to the North +Station, getting him there in time for the morning train to Montreal. + + * * * * * + +Those three faded letters from Iris Heminway sent old Mr. Cripps +to Canada in the hope of finding her and her husband and boy, and +persuading them to come and live with him. But after an hour on the +train he began to realize what an extremely off chance he had of +succeeding in his quest, with the meager amount of information in his +possession. They might have moved to another town—they might even be +dead. Many things can happen in eighteen years. But now he’d started, +he was going on with it! Well, he should think so! + +The following morning he began the search, and had no difficulty in +finding the address. It was a modest frame cottage beginning to show +its age. A large middle-aged woman came to the door, and when Mr. +Cripps explained that he was trying to trace a family named Haworth +which had once occupied the house, she said at once, “Oh, I can tell +you that,” and asked him in. + +In the little front room she said: “Charlie lives here with me. Was it +’im you was askin’ about?” + +He was so dumfounded at coming upon the object of his search at the +very start that his “yes” was hardly audible. Then he added, “And—and +Mrs. Haworth and the boy?” + +“It’s the boy as is ’ere, sir; there ain’t none of ’em left but ’im.” + +They sat down in the small room. + +“You don’t—you don’t mean both of his parents are dead!” + +“Yes, sir! ’Is mother she died about three years ago, an’ ’is father +quite a spell before that.” + +“And the little boy’s been living here with you since?” + +“Yes, sir, ’e ’as. But you’d ’ardly call ’im _little_, sir; ’e’s comin’ +on to eighteen.” + +“Yes yes—of course. I knew he must be grown up, but in spite of that I +couldn’t help thinking of him as a youngster. Is he—is he a nice boy? +All right and—and straight—and good habits?” + +“Indeed ’e is—a dear boy—but ’e’s a bit strange; an’ I ’opes, sir, if +you ’ave any influence with ’im, you’ll try if you can’t do something +about it.” + +“Influence! But my God! I’ve never seen him, Mrs.——” + +“Towse, sir.” + +“Well, you see, Mrs. Towse, I don’t know the boy at all, and what’s +more I doubt if he ever heard of me. So what I might say would hardly +count with him, would it?” + +“Of course,” Mrs. Towse said, “if you don’t know ’im you couldn’t do +anything just yet, but after you get acquainted ’e might listen to you.” + +“What seems to be the matter?” Mr. Cripps inquired. The devastating +fear had come upon him that it might be another case of Augustus. + +“It’s the way ’e was born, I suppose. ’E’s got so many ideas of ’is own +that ’e can’t go along satisfactory with w’at you might call reg’lar +work. W’y, ’e’d be a first-class machinist drawin’ good pay, but ’e’s +so full o’ plans an’ ideas for this an’ that, ’e don’t seem to keep ’is +mind on anything they put ’im to.” + +Mr. Cripps inquired if the young man was doing anything just now. + +“Mercy on us! Why, we can’t ’ardly get ’im ’ome for ’is meals, ’e’s +that taken up with ’is invention work; but the thing ’e gets to workin’ +on don’t never seem to be w’at people want.” + +“What kind of things are they?” + +“W’y, there’s all sorts. ’E gets an idea an’ then nothin’ can stop +’im—no matter w’ether it’s somethin’ worth botherin’ with or not. Some +o’ the best men in Smith an’ Gaynor’s—that’s w’ere his father use to +work—they say ’e’s got a wonderful invention faculty an’ Mr. Gaynor +’imself said it just after ’e’d been lookin’ over a clock Charlie made. +It took ’im nigh to a year to finish it. Mr. Gaynor said the boy ’ad +some kind o’ new an’ un’eard-of escapin’ thing I b’lieve they called +it, that no one had ever seen or thought of before.” + +“Wouldn’t it sell?” + +“Not at first it wouldn’t, but w’en ’e’d ’most given it up a Mr. +Patterson ’appened to come along an’ offered ’im two ’undred dollars +for it an’ a patent on the new escapin’ thing, an’ Charlie took it. +That might sound good enough for a clock, but it ain’t no pay w’en +you comes to consider eleven months’ work, not to speak of what ’e’d +’ad to buy to make it of. But mercy! I didn’t ’ave any expectation it +would sell! I don’t see what anyone in their senses would want of such +a thing around the house, tickin’ that powerful you could hear it ’alf +a block, an’ strikin’ different sorts o’ bells an’ chimes, an’ cuckoos +singin’, an’ sun an’ moon risin’ an’ settin’, an’ ships rockin’, an’ +folks comin’ in an’ out with umbrellas, an’ all. I don’t see how +people can get any sleep with all them things goin’ on!” + +“Where is he, Mrs. Towse? Not here. I suppose?” + +“W’y, just now ’e’s workin’ over to Rawlingson’s Garage on Westover +Street. They took ’im in there to help on repair work, an’ as soon as +’e gets to dreamin’ they dock ’is time. You see, it was the on’y way +to manage. But o’ course in a big place like Smith an’ Gaynor’s they +couldn’t trouble with no such things.” + +Mr. Cripps learned that the elder Haworth had succumbed to an attack of +pneumonia some five years previously, and that his fragile little wife +had outlived him only a year and a half. The Smith & Gaynor people, +where the elder Haworth had been employed so long, were more than +generous, supporting Mrs. Haworth and the boy as long as she lived, +and after her death doing everything possible to give young Charlie a +good start as a machinist, which seemed to be the only line of work he +wanted to undertake. They apprenticed him through their shops, finding +that he was the master of every machine in the place—as well as the +drafting room and foundry—in an incredibly short time. But when it came +to regular employment, nothing could be done with him. His inability +to hold his mind to the work in hand after it had been swept by one of +his inventive brain storms was absolute. After many efforts to overcome +this difficulty they finally had to give it up and let the young man go. + +Following that he picked up stray jobs here and there, handing over +whatever he earned to Mrs. Towse, who mothered him along, even buying +his clothing for him when she judged that it was necessary. + +Mrs. Towse had gone to the garage to get him, and the old gentleman +waiting in the small front room felt his heart pounding most +unusually—he couldn’t imagine why. He’d never set eyes on the boy. How +could he be so disturbed over the question of the kind of boy he’d +prove to be? At last Mrs. Towse, breathing hard, came briskly into +the room, followed by a boyish-looking young man with a pale face and +steady brown eyes. + +“’Ere ’e is, sir! This is Charlie Haworth!” + +The two shook hands, Haworth with his serious, steady gaze on the older +man. + +“Come now, Mrs. Towse” (from Mr. Cripps, smiling), “you didn’t give him +his full name. You may not know it, Mr. Haworth, but your middle name +is Michael and you owe it, in a certain sense, to me.” + +The young fellow nodded slightly without taking his eyes off Mr. +Cripps. He was a trifle above medium height and rather slim, with +a delicate sort of face smooth shaven. His hair was dark but not +black. He wore “jumpers” over his regular clothes, and his hands, +notwithstanding that Mrs. Towse had made him wash them, were soiled +with what would not come off. The most noticeable thing about him was +a sort of innocent childlikeness in the steady, serious gaze of his +luminous brown eyes. When they were turned toward a person who spoke +or was spoken of, they rested on him for some little time, giving the +impression, not of staring, but of calmly reflecting on what he saw or +what the person was or had been saying. + +They talked a little, Haworth answering with quiet and simple +directness when asked about his work and what, in the way of +inventions, was particularly interesting him at the present moment. + +It proved to be what is known as a “time stamp”—a device for printing +the exact hour and minute of the day on workmen’s cards as they passed +in and out of factories, or on letters and such things in offices and +hotels. These machines must carry a movable printing mechanism that is +controlled by clockwork. + +“Is that a new idea?” Cripps asked. + +“No. I’m making one on a new principle, that’s all.” + +“I see—new principle. And it’ll be a better one than the old, of +course?” + +“Well, I’ll like it better, anyway,” Haworth answered, with a shadowy +smile, the first Mr. Cripps had seen on his serious face, and he was +struck by the way it lighted it up for the brief time it was there. A +moment of silence followed. Then Haworth, serious again, asked in a low +voice, “Is your name Michael?” + +“Yes—Michael Cripps.” + +“My mother told me. She spoke of you once in a while.” + +Mr. Cripps was silent a moment, quite moved. + +“I was looking over some letters,” he soon resumed, “and came across +the one she wrote telling me she’d given you the Michael out of my +name, and it—well, I had a sudden feeling that I—that I’d very much +like to see you—and—and her too if such a thing had been possible.” + +Another silence, then, “Did you bring the letter?” Haworth asked. + +“Why, yes. I’ve got it over at the hotel.” He read the eagerness in +the young man’s eyes and went on: “Perhaps you’ll drop in there this +evening. There’s that letter and two others. Do come. I’d like to have +a little chat.” + +After a few seconds, while his steady calm eyes rested on the old man, +Haworth spoke. + +“I will,” he said. + +“Good,” said Mr. Cripps. And not long after—for he knew the value of +brevity in such a case, he shook hands with both of them and told +Haworth where he was staying. He went on foot the entire distance to +the hotel, vastly enjoying a shadowy revisitation of the feeling known +as treading on air. + +The old fellow was captivated with the young one. So much so that +a painful dread took possession of him that he might not be able +to persuade him to leave Montreal, which was his home, and where, +undoubtedly, all the friends he had were living. Young Haworth, he was +certain, knew little about money and cared for it even less; for which +reason no pecuniary advantages he (Cripps) could hold out would be +likely to attract him. + +It was Mr. Ralph Gaynor of the Smith & Gaynor Machine Works, who gave +Mr. Cripps the most light on Haworth’s characteristics as to pecuniary +matters, his genius for invention, and his inability to do steady work. +This Mr. Gaynor, who was head of the works, thought young Haworth was +hopeless. He could _learn_ all right. Good God! The boy was a marvel +when it came to that! He’d know more about a machine inside of two days +than a man they’d had on it for years. But when it came to steady work +he just couldn’t do it. Not but what he tried his best, but his mind +would get off on something else and you can’t leave big lathes and +complicated drill presses with anybody like that. + +“O’ course I lit into him and gave it to him right from the shoulder,” +Mr. Gaynor said, “but it didn’t do any good. Then I fired him, and +he’d sure have starved if that Towse woman hadn’t gone on feeding him +for nothing—which she couldn’t afford to do. Then we took him back an’ +tried him with a helper to watch him, but even that wouldn’t work when +he got one of his real inventing fits on him. So we had to give him up. +Fond of the boy too, but there’s a limit.” + +“What do you think of his talent—his inventive faculty?” + +“Well, I’ll tell you. There isn’t any doubt but what he’s got a lot +in him for new mechanical methods, but he can’t get anywhere with it +because he hasn’t got the faintest conception of what people want. And +telling him’s no good. You might as well tell a rooster to lay eggs. Of +course he might hit on a winner by accident. That happens with these +dreamy chaps once in a while, but the big guns like Edison, Marconi, +and that lot know what they’re about every minute, an’ what’s more they +never forget it. Now you must excuse me. There’s a new man on that +third lathe down there I’ve got to keep an eye on. Glad to see you. +Welcome to look through the shop if you care for such things. Good +day.” And Mr. Gaynor hurried out of his office. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Cripps ran a carefully managed campaign to bring about the capture, +as you might put it, of Charles Michael Haworth, and he ran it well; +for there’s no denying that he was a man of judgment. And at once +appreciating the serious limitations on what would attract the young +man, he came down without delay to pushing one thing—the advantage of +having a shop of his own, with whatever machines and room he required. + +He played up to this with extreme caution, not speaking of it at all +when Haworth called upon him that first evening, and only hinting at +such a possibility during their next interview the day after. The third +time they met, which was at the garage where Haworth was employed, he +expressed curiosity as to whether young Haworth would care for a place +where he could experiment and do what he pleased. + +It appeared that young Haworth would; and soon thereafter Cripps +brought in casually that, now he came to think of it, he had rather a +good place for a shop where he lived—a large and airy sort of basement. +Wouldn’t Haworth like to come along and try it, just to see how it +would go? He needn’t stay if he didn’t like it. Just call it a visit +or something like that. He, Mr. Cripps, would be delighted to have him +there—that is, of course, if he’d care for such a thing. + +The young fellow sat thinking for quite a time. Finally he looked up, +and his eyes rested softly on old Cripps’s face as he asked in his +quiet and serious way, “What kind of power could we have?” And old +Cripps knew that the game was his. + +A small trunk held all of Haworth’s personal belongings, but two crates +were required for the shipping of his mechanical devices that he +couldn’t leave behind. + + * * * * * + +Old Cripps was on edge for the few days following their arrival, +fearing the boy would be disappointed or lonely, perhaps even homesick; +the mansion itself, now that he came to figure how it might affect +the young man, seemed hideously vast and hopelessly dismal—the huge +high-ceilinged rooms, the empty echoing halls, the whole place gloomy +and overcast from the great elms standing close about. + +But the young man appeared to notice nothing of all these things; on +the contrary, he fell in quietly and easily with the methods and habits +of the diminutive household. + +The large basement room he was to have for a shop was thoroughly +cleaned and double flooring laid. It was ceiled and painted white; +electric lights were installed, and an electric motor for power. Old +Cripps had a mechanical expert come out to go over with Haworth the +matter of the various machines and apparatus required, and insisted +that every one of them must be of the best and most modern type. A +lathe, a shaper, two drill presses, and an emery wheel were put in +at the time; some months later another lathe for larger work was +added. Also there was a bench with vises, and all the small tools and +accessories necessary to complete a machine shop. + +Opening off the main room was a smaller one with the fittings for a +drafting room, and a large rough-boarded-off space in the ell of the +basement was cleared out for the finished machines and inventions and +working models that Haworth desired to store there. These came from +Montreal (after infinite trouble with the customs) and were set up +in this place. Altogether the little plant was quite complete in all +important particulars, and thereafter it was always delightful to Mr. +Cripps to add to its equipment at the slightest hint from Haworth. For +the old man was more and more taken with the young one as the days went +by. Haworth’s gentle and charming personality, his quiet sincerity +and straightforwardness, were singularly appealing. But added to this +for old Cripps was the effect of the vast contrast between this clean, +simple-minded, almost childlike young fellow and the dissolute loafer +of a nephew he had so long endured. + +It was an odd little household, the two composing it differing so +greatly in their ages, tastes, and temperaments, yet living in that +vast and gloomy mansion in perfect harmony and content, neither of them +saying much, yet thoroughly enjoying each other’s company. + +Mr. Cripps became intensely interested in the young fellow’s work, +too, appreciating enthusiastically the extraordinary ingenuity of his +devices and altogether overlooking the drawback which they invariably +seemed to have of not being in the line of popular demand. He had +application made—in Haworth’s name of course—for patents on several of +the most important. And when notice came from Washington that patents +had been allowed, the old gentleman fell to dancing and prancing +about like a rheumatic schoolboy, Haworth standing silent but smiling +serenely at him as he careened ponderously about the room. + + * * * * * + +They had three years and four months of this life together, and then +the summons came for the old man. Some sort of stroke, I think; but no +matter—it did for him. Not at once, but the next thing to it. A couple +of days or thereabouts. He tried to tell Haworth something about the +property before he went, but couldn’t manage it. The young man sat +silent and looked at him wide-eyed like some timid animal distressed +and fearful. + +Everything was left to Haworth. This included the house and grounds—on +which there was a mortgage—and a few thousand dollars in the bank, +doubtless the remnant of the money so obtained. That was all, of value. +Quite an enormous lot of worthless stocks, mostly mining, were found in +his safe-deposit boxes. + +Henry P. Trescott, who had been old Cripps’s legal adviser, attended +to matters connected with the will, and if it hadn’t been for his +suggestions Haworth would never have thought of cutting down the +expenses of the establishment. He did what Trescott advised—discharged +all the servants except the cook and one maid, closed the entire +north side of the house, and had the telephones and more than half +the electric-light bulbs removed. It isn’t likely Haworth would have +consented to these economies but for Trescott’s assurance that if he +didn’t it would be but a brief time before he’d have to give up the +house and all that it contained. The lawyer at first advised selling +the place, but to that Haworth wouldn’t agree. The house itself didn’t +matter so much—it was the shop and all his things down there, and the +quiet surroundings. + +Trescott also looked over Haworth’s work and occasionally sent out +people who might be interested. But no one was. And after a time the +young inventor grew to dislike having people come, knowing so well that +they’d go away again with awkward regrets for having troubled him. +One day when a caller was announced, he sent word by the maid that he +was busy and couldn’t see anyone. The result was so gratifying that +soon he came to rely on this expedient altogether. Thereafter he led a +perfectly quiet and uninterrupted existence, devoting himself to the +work he loved, undisturbed by events of any kind. The loss of his +generous and sympathetic companion had affected him deeply, and often +he was beset with an aching loneliness. But always he could retreat +into the safe sanctuary of mechanics—the perfect absorption in his +inventive pursuits—where loneliness and grief were successfully held at +bay. + +His time was mostly spent in his shop or drafting room, but he liked to +walk when there were problems on his mind. He had certain places for +certain kinds of problems: along a nearby section of railroad track, +for one; a lonely little path in a patch of woods and weeds and bushes +about a mile down the road, for another, and so on. Franklin Park +wouldn’t do at all, for he was likely to meet people there; as to that, +so would he on the railroad, but there it would only be men, and the +sort he didn’t mind—working chaps, machinists, engineers, switchmen, +and trainmen on the way to work or home from it. + + + + +PART IV + + +One late April afternoon—a chilly dismal day it had been, with a +drizzle of rain—the maid knocked at his workroom door, and when he’d +shut down the power on the drill he was using, she told him a lady and +gentleman were at the door asking to see him, and they didn’t give any +name. + +“Busy,” he answered mechanically, and was turning back to his work. + +“Excuse me sir, but the gentleman said, though you wouldn’t know him, +he’s a near relative of old Mr. Cripps as used to live here.” + +“Oh!” (Long pause.) “Relative.” + +“Yes sir.” + +“Lady with him, you say?” + +“Yes sir, there is.” This maid, whose name was Hulda, had been there +only a few weeks. + +After a long consideration of the matter, turning it this way and that +in his mind, Haworth abandoned hope of finding some way out of it, and +told the maid to show them into the hall and say he’d come soon. He got +out of his jumpers, washed his hands, and went upstairs. + +Both the man and woman rose as he came toward them from the rear hall. +The man stepped forward a little. + +“Mr. Haworth?” + +“Yes.” + +“It’s very kind of you to see us, but perhaps you wouldn’t have done +it if I’d sent in my name. I thought it was only right to give me a +chance to explain.” + +Haworth’s calm brown-eyed gaze was upon the man. “Explain what?” he +asked, softly—almost timidly. + +“You’ll know well enough when I tell you that I’m Augustus Findlay.... +Yes, I’m Augustus Findlay,” he repeated, as the first announcement of +the fact appeared not to have produced the effect expected, “an’ I’m +not ashamed to own it!” + +“What did you want to see me about?” + +“That’s just what I expected! Just it, by God! It’s what I looked for, +to be treated as a stranger!” And turning to his companion who was +standing a little back of him, “Didn’t I tell you how it would be?” And +to Haworth: “Of course the old man poisoned your mind against me. What +else could you expect? He never had a kind word for me, Mr. Haworth—not +one! It was pure animosity and hatred—and he my uncle, too!” + +Haworth regarded him calmly for a moment. + +“Who is your uncle?” he finally asked. + +“Aw, what’s the good o’ pretending you don’t know who I mean! Pretty +rank that is, if you ask me!” + +And then, as Haworth said nothing in the pause allotted to him, he +went on in a loud and blatant tone: “It’s old man Cripps I’m talking +about—the one you’ve been living with for the last three or four years +until he died and left you all his money—an’ this place along with it, +I suppose!” + +“I’m sorry,” Haworth murmured. And then, after a pause, “Did he know +about you?” + +“Know about me!” Findlay turned back to the young woman with a bitter +laugh. “That’s pretty neat now, isn’t it?... Why,” (to Haworth) “I +lived here in the house with him all my life until just before you came +along! _All my life by God!_” + +“And—you went away then?” + +“Well, I didn’t exactly—I didn’t so much——You ain’t kiddin’ me, are +you? Didn’t he ever tell you about it?” + +Haworth shook his head slightly. + +“Well” (turning to his companion) “can you beat that? The old man +was——Oh, I beg your pardon! This is my wife, Edith. Mr. Haworth—Mr. +_Charles_ Haworth, I believe it is!” The girl—for she was only that—put +out her hand timidly and Haworth took it. + +“Now we haven’t come here as beggars, Mr. Haworth. I said to Edith we’d +never do a thing like that. Didn’t I say it?” turning to his girlish +wife. + +She shook her head almost imperceptibly and glanced down in evident +distress. + +“No, I should think not!” He, in a measure, answering for her. “Don’t +run away with the idea we’re that kind! Never more mistaken in your +life!” And Findlay went on, becoming rather loud about it. “Far from +it! We’re not that sort! But I’ll say this much, Mr. Haworth,—that +matters haven’t gone right with us for some little time. No, they +haven’t, and that’s a fact! We’ve certainly been up against it at every +turn of the cards and we’re pretty close to being up against it now.” + +Haworth’s eyes were steadily on Augustus as he talked. Only once did +they shift for an instant to the girl. + +“Now I wouldn’t go to any stranger,” Findlay went on; “no, not even +to an ordinary friend you know,—for—ah—for advice at such a time. +But I lived here all my life, an’ owing to blind prejudice an’ +slander—that’s what it was, Mr. Haworth—I lost out on the will. +Everything went to you. God knows I don’t complain of that! But in a +time of trouble like this it seems only proper and decent to come to +you for advice.” + +Haworth spoke after a little pause. “Advice?” (Almost in a whisper). + +“Yes, Mr. Haworth, that’s what I want! I need some one to tell me what +to do, for I don’t know which way to turn. Of course, if out of the +fullness of your heart you can—help us a little—just till I get on my +feet——” + +He broke off to give Haworth a chance to say something, but the young +inventor did not speak. + +“Why it’s as bad as this, Mr. Haworth, though I hate like hell to tell +you! We haven’t actually—we haven’t actually any idea where we’re going +to sleep to-night! That’s God’s truth!” + +“There’s plenty of room here,” Haworth murmured in a low voice. + +“Why, but you——I—I’d no idea of such a——Edith dear, do you hear that?” + +The girl smiled a little doubtfully, and looked at Haworth. + +Augustus went right along piling words on top of Haworth’s implied +offer as if hoping to bury it so deep it couldn’t be withdrawn. + +“My God! But that’s a great relief! You’ve no idea! It’s certainly +splendid of you, Mr. Haworth! You really mean we can put up here with +you for a bit? Wouldn’t make you trouble for the world or impose on +your kindness, but if—if you _can_ manage it—just till I get on my feet +again—I can’t tell how much—how——” + +“Come upstairs,” Haworth said, “and see which room you’d like.” He led +the way to the floor above. + +The large room at the front of the house on the south side (the north +side wasn’t in use, you’ll remember) was finally decided upon for the +Findlays. Haworth occupied a smaller one quite a distance back on the +same corridor. There were several rooms and two or three bathrooms +between. + +When they came down he took them into the living room—that is to say, +the room he used as such. It was a vast panelled apartment with a +marble mantel and fireplace, and had been the dining room back in the +old Cripps days. The chamber chosen by Augustus for the use of his wife +and himself was directly above the front part of it. + +Findlay now began a long recital of his misfortunes, telling with +acrimony how he’d lost this position and that, always through no fault +of his own. Now and then he managed to bring in references to his +uncle, all tending to impress one with the idea that he had been most +unjustly treated. + +Haworth’s steady gaze, not for an instant leaving his face as he talked +on, began to disturb Augustus. It gave him the feeling of being under +calm and critical observation—which, in fact, he was. So before he’d +gone far in his pathetic narrative he began to stumble about and lose +track of what he was saying, and finally he rose suddenly, announcing +that he’d completely forgotten about their trunks, which were at the +South Station—for it seemed they had come in from somewhere—and he’d go +and bring them out if Mr. Haworth didn’t mind. + +Mr. Haworth didn’t mind at all and said so, and Findlay got his coat +and hat and was just going out of the front door when he suddenly +stopped, remembering something. Then he called back into the room +asking Haworth if he could come out there just a moment—he’d like to +speak to him. + +“Awfully sorry, old chap,” he said in a carefully lowered voice when +they were at the door together, “but could you—ah——You see I—I’m +ashamed to say I haven’t got enough to pay an expressman. If I can once +get the trunks out here we’ll be all right—if you don’t mind giving me +a bit of a loan for that.” + +“I see,” said Haworth, and he turned and went upstairs. + +The moment he was out of sight Augustus stepped quickly to the door of +the living room, and putting his head in, spoke to his wife in a sharp +half whisper: “No monkey business now! If you give away anything you’ll +be sorry for it!” And hearing steps near the top of the stairs he was +instantly back at the front door again, waiting. + +Haworth came down with a ten-dollar bill which he handed to Findlay, +and the latter thanked him effusively and left the house. Haworth stood +for a moment in thought, then went back into the living room. Edith +Findlay looked up at him as he came in, and he stopped with his eyes on +her, seeing that she was going to speak. + +But it seemed hard for her to do so. + +“Oh, I’m sorry!” she finally said in a sort of breathless whisper. + +He thought it over and then said, “Why?” + +“I didn’t want to come—I tried to stop him.” Her voice had a soft +huskiness that was strangely appealing. Her glance flitted painfully +about the room, and she turned to him again. + +“It’ll be so terrible for you!” + +“You needn’t worry about me,” he said quietly, his eyes resting softly +on her face. + +“I can’t help it. I——No!” She suddenly stood up. + +“We mustn’t stay, Mr. Haworth. I’ll find him and tell him so!” + +“Don’t do that,” he said. + +“Oh, but I——Mr. Haworth you—you don’t understand!” + +“Not very well,—but you’ll tell me I hope.... No,—sit down first—this +chair.” And as he moved nearer she sank into the old upholstered chair +he indicated. + +“Where could you go?” he asked as he stood before her. + +“Oh——” She waved her hand as if such a matter was of no consequence. +“That’s—that’s nothing!” + +“Nothing for him perhaps, but——” He broke off, looking down into her +upturned eyes. + +A little spasmodic shiver passed over her. Haworth stepped quickly to +the fireplace where wood and kindlings were ready laid. He knelt there, +lighting a match and holding it to the shavings and small splinters. + +She seemed somehow like a child, sitting there so small and demure in +the big armchair. A child in distress, for from her face you’d hardly +think she’d had any sleep for a week, and her dress was pitifully worn +and shabby. + +As Haworth was kneeling at the fireplace he turned to ask her +something. The quick flaming of the shavings and small stuff threw a +bright light on her poor little run-over shoes. He stopped motionless +looking at them, then leaned over without getting to his feet and +touched one. At once he rose and walked around behind her chair, +which he pushed and turned until her feet were as near the fire as he +thought would do. Then he pushed an electric button near the door. + +“You may not know it,” he said as he stood waiting, “but you’re going +to drink some hot tea—something near two hundred and twelve in the +shade. Also, you’re going to have dry things for your feet, even if you +have to shuffle about in something of mine!” + +The maid came and he told her to make tea—the hottest kind she ever +heard of—and to bring things with it—toast or whatever it was—she +knew. Then he went on to ask what she could do about footwear for Mrs. +Findlay, who was cold and wet and also very tired; and wouldn’t Hulda +please take charge of her and arrange things satisfactorily? + +Hulda said she thought she could manage if the lady wouldn’t mind +wearing some of her things, and Haworth said he was sure she +wouldn’t—and over his shoulder toward Edith, “You wouldn’t, would you?” +And he saw the top of her little round hat above the back of the chair +shaking slightly for “no” and heard a very faint sniffle, and told +Hulda it would be all right. Upon which the maid departed to attend to +everything. + +Haworth stood uncertain a moment, for the first sniffle had alarmed +him, as he realized that he wouldn’t have an idea what to do if Mrs. +Findlay was actually crying. He earnestly hoped she wasn’t, yet had +a fairly trustworthy intuition that such a thing was at that moment +transpiring; and it occurred to him that if this was so, the correct +and possibly even the noble behavior might be to go away and leave +her. On the other hand, something might be seriously the matter, and +probably was, otherwise why should such a thing be going on? + +This latter seemed the most sensible view, and on arriving at it he +went over very quietly and stood by the marble mantel, which brought +him quite near and almost in front of her. + +She was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief every now and then, and +as the firelight flickered on the hand that was doing it, he couldn’t +help seeing that it was a perfect dear of a little hand. He didn’t +understand how he could be thinking of this at such a time, when she +was in evident distress; but for a moment he couldn’t think of anything +else. And the diminutive wad of crumpled handkerchief,—also the wet +and worn-out little shoes, appealed to him in some peculiar way that +brought on, deep down in his system, an almost unbearable ache. + +Suddenly she looked up at him. + +“Do you know what I ought to do?” + +He shook his head as he stood looking down at her. + +“I ought to run out of the house this—this very instant.” + +She glanced anxiously about as if meditating flight, which, in fact, +she was. + +“What for?” Haworth asked. + +“For you,” she said. + +The shadow of a smile passed over Haworth’s face. + +“That wouldn’t do _me_ any good.” + +“Oh, it would—it would!” she cried out. “Because our being here is +going to—to——” She was unable to go on. + +“What is it going to do?” he finally asked. + +She looked at him steadily for a moment, and then shook her head a +little, but did not speak. + +“Please tell me this: Is it true that your husband is Mr. Cripps’s +nephew?” + +“Yes, Mr. Haworth.” + +“Then, even though it’s going to be so terrible, I’d rather have him +stay. Mr. Cripps never said anything about having a nephew. I’m afraid +there was some injustice done.” + +Edith was looking up in his face, and there was something about it +that he simply couldn’t stand. The only alternative seemed to be to go +somewhere else as soon as he possibly could. Acting on this idea, he +made a considerable effort and got his eyes away from her, and spoke +quickly and mumblingly, addressing the floor. + +“You know Hulda, the one you saw just now—she was here——” + +“Yes, I saw her.” + +“That’s the one. Well, she’ll take care of everything—tea, you know—and +dry—and warm—and—your room—and—yes.” + +He turned and walked rapidly past Edith and out of the room by one +of the rear doors, thence through a back hall and down the basement +stairs, making thus an instinctive retreat to his machine shop, the +mechanical panacea for all his mental disturbances. At least he had +found it so up to now. + + * * * * * + +Leaving Edith Findlay entirely in Hulda’s hands was precisely the +effective way for getting results, though no thought of it as such +entered Haworth’s mind. The maid, a neat, blue-eyed young woman of +Scandinavian origin, was greatly pleased at being allowed to take +entire charge of Mrs. Findlay, and proceeded to do so with enthusiasm. +She brought the poor child (that’s what Edith Findlay seemed to her) +hot tea and hot toast and thin sandwiches, and had her in dry stockings +and warm slippers before anyone—provided only that he stammered +badly—could have said “Jack Robinson.” At once after that she had an +open fire burning in the room above and the covers of the furniture +off and thorough sweeping and dusting done. Then she returned to Edith, +and gave it as her opinion that the thing for her to do was to go to +bed and rest herself. So positive was Hulda of the benefits to be +derived from “just a few winks, Mrs. Findlay,” that Edith was swept to +the room on the wave of her enthusiasm on the subject, and put snugly +to bed. + +But weary as she was, the realization of what must surely happen when +Augustus returned, kept her in a condition of worried wakefulness. She +knew so well what the interview at the door meant. He had got money +from Mr. Haworth. There was no question in her mind as to what he would +do with it, and, as a result, in what condition he would return to +the house at two or three in the morning. If it could only be that he +could come in and get to bed and to sleep without creating a terrifying +disturbance, she would consider it serene and heavenly rest compared to +what was to be expected, for he had reached the condition where alcohol +came near to making a maniac of him. Shouts and curses and horrible +songs; the throwing about of whatever came to his hand; the threatening +of her, sometimes with a revolver—an enormous thing which he insisted +on keeping under his pillow—all this was to be expected if he had money +enough to buy drinks. And if Mr. Haworth had given him anything it was +enough, for there were no trunks to spend it on; all that was pure +fiction. Everything they owned had gone to the pawnshops long ago. + +As it happened, however, her anxiety as to the home-coming of Augustus +was misplaced. It should have been applied to future occasions. Findlay +came in at a quarter before seven, a trifle electrified, to be sure, +but not to a voltage that was shocking. + +The three sat down to dinner in what had once been the breakfast +room—opening off the present living room at its rear end, opposite the +swing door of the butler’s pantry. It was, for that house, a rather +small, cheerful place with a big bay window on the south side. + +At this meal Augustus conversed with himself brilliantly. Haworth +said little, but looked smilingly on in his detached way. Edith, +who said hardly anything, stole an occasional glance at him. Hulda +waited on them. A cat came in from somewhere and entered pleas for +refreshments,—not in vain. + +When dinner was over the three went back to the large room, Haworth +sitting there with his guests for half an hour or so; then, excusing +himself, and telling them that breakfast was whenever they asked for it +(he remembered old Cripps used to tell his visitors that), he went down +to his shop in the basement. + +He had an unusual experience there—something quite unexpected for him. +He found that, for some reason, he was utterly unable to keep his mind +on his work—work which had always so completely engrossed him that he +had often found it impossible, when he ought to have done so, to keep +his mind away from it. + +He had begun on the first rough draft of a problem that had been on his +mind for days, and only that morning he had got it. Consequently he was +more than eager to get it down on paper. But again and again after he +had started on the sketch, he would suddenly rouse himself to find that +he was sitting with pencil poised, doing nothing. He would seem to +wake up from something and find himself in this extraordinary situation. + +On making a startled inquiry of himself as to the cause of this unusual +phenomenon, he realized at once that the chief trouble—or at least +the chief diversion—was a pair of the most exquisite hands, though +sometimes two tired little feet in worn-out shoes would share the +guilt; and even an appealing face with dark troubled eyes looking up at +him was now and again responsible. But why shouldn’t he have his guests +on his mind? It was a most astonishing affair, this coming of Mr. +Cripps’s nephew and his wife. Probably this accounted for everything. + +Finally, after a couple of hours of useless effort, he gave up the +struggle and allowed his thoughts to dwell in peace on Edith Findlay. +He went over and over in his mind everything she had said or done and +looked. What a pathetic and helpless little figure! And there was her +husband—a most objectionable sort of thing. Most likely that was the +trouble—something wrong with him. Liquor—drugs—it might be anything. +Think of the fellow not bringing the trunks out with him, knowing his +wife had nothing! He would see to it himself in the morning. Yet how +wonderfully she had managed to transform herself in some way—her hair +so becomingly arranged. Really, it was extraordinary. Perhaps Hulda had +lent her some of the things. And now he thought of it, how nice it was +of Hulda to take such an interest. He hadn’t really appreciated her +before. + +After a time it occurred to him that he ought to go up and see if there +was anything he could do to make his guests, in the absence of their +trunks, more comfortable for the night. Yes, it certainly was his duty +as host to do what he could. + +On reaching the living room, however, he found that they’d gone +upstairs, so he stood awhile looking at the chair one of them had been +sitting in, and remembering how she had looked up at him when he rolled +that same chair, with her in it, close up to the fire. From that he +went on to recall other things and to run the pictures over and over +again in his mind. Finally, when he came to himself, it was very late +indeed. + + * * * * * + +Haworth was an early riser, and the next morning Hulda, hearing him +in his machine shop in the basement, took him down a pot of coffee +with toast and a cereal, as she always did when he went down there +before breakfast; for if he once got absorbed in his work the idea of +coming up would never occur to him. She found him at his drawing board, +apparently considering something very carefully before getting it down +on paper. Hearing her come in, he roused himself and looked up blankly. + +“Your coffee, sir,” she said; and placed the tray within his reach. + +He thanked her and at once poured out some, for he’d been sitting there +most of the night and felt the need of it, now the matter was brought +to his attention. + +As the maid was going out he stopped her with, “Oh, Hulda! It was—it +was good of you to take care of Mrs. Findlay so—so nicely.” + +“I was glad to, sir,” she responded after an instant of surprise, for +Mr. Haworth so seldom noticed anything. “Indeed I was, sir, for she’s +a sweet little body. If you’ll excuse me saying it, it must be awful +for ’er with that man.” + +Haworth turned, surprised, and looked at the maid. + +“What do you know about him?” he asked. + +“Well, I—I can see ’im, sir, an’ that’s something!” + +Haworth was silent. + +“And besides, cook tells me the cook before _her_ was saying things +about a terrible person used to live here, until one day in the middle +of the night ole Mr. Cripps threw ’im out o’ the house an’ kicked ’im +down the front steps; an’ when I was putting towels in their bathroom +yesterday I heard ’im telling ’er how different things was when ’e +lived here, so I can’t but think it’s ’im.” + +Haworth looked silently at her for a moment and then said: “Yes. Well, +tell me when they’ve finished breakfast. I want to see them about their +trunks.” + +Some two hours later the maid came down and told him. But when he went +upstairs Augustus had left the house and Mrs. Findlay had gone to her +room. Haworth went up and knocked at the door. She opened it. + +“Oh!” she said with a little gasp. “I was afraid you were angry!” + +“Angry?” + +“Yes.” She was looking down, but soon raised her eyes to his. Suddenly +she thought of the disordered room and stepped out into the hallway +beside him, closing the door after her. + +“What made you think so?” he asked, after his eyes had rested on her in +silence a moment. + +“You didn’t come to breakfast at all!” + +“Oh, _that_!” Haworth smiled. “I nearly always don’t.” + +“Don’t you have any?” + +“Yes, but when I’m down working Hulda brings it to me.” + +“Oh!” She seemed relieved. “I was afraid it was because you—because we +were here.” + +He shook his head a little and muttered, “No.” + +“It’ll be so some time,” she said, scarcely above a whisper. + +“You’re mistaken about that,” he told her gently. + +She looked at him with eyes showing gratitude, yet with it the painful +conviction that she was right. + +“Did Mr. Findlay take the checks with him?” he asked. + +She looked at him, not understanding. + +“The checks for the trunks,” he explained. + +“Oh! No, he—he didn’t!” + +“There’s a truckman over at Jamaica Plain,” Haworth said. “He often +hauls for me—that is, he used to. He’ll have the trunks here by noon. +So if you’ll give the checks——” + +“I—I don’t know where they——” She stopped for an instant, then turned +and looked him in the face. “There aren’t any checks,” she said in a +low voice. + +Haworth was silent, his calm gaze upon her. + +“There aren’t any checks—or trunks—or _anything_!” Having made this +sweeping confession, she stood guiltily before him as though she’d +acknowledged complicity in a bank robbery. + +“But you have some things—_somewhere_!” he finally asked in a gentle +voice, trying not to hurt her. + +She shook her head a little without looking up. “You see—you see, we +_did_ have some trunks. We _had_ them—but——” + +“Yes yes, I know,” he said softly, his hand touching her shoulder in +sympathy for an instant. “It’s a tough thing for you, losing everything +like that, but it’s simply wonderful for me! Yes, it is,” (seeing her +look of amazement) “for it gives me the chance to do something that +I—that I like doing so very much indeed!” + +“I’m afraid I don’t exactly——What is it?” + +“Why—why nothing at all, only to get you a few little things you’ll +need. Hulda can do it; we’ll leave it all to her.... And then you’ll be +wearing something that I——” + +He stopped, seeing that Edith had turned away and was fumbling with the +door knob. + +“But Mrs. Findlay,” he said, quickly, “I didn’t mean to—won’t you +please——” + +But she was shaking her head as she finally got the door open, and he +heard an indistinct, “No——I can’t!” as she fled blindly through it into +her room, closing it quickly after her. + +Haworth stood motionless before the door—which had almost been shut in +his face, and a great fear nearly stopped his heart from beating—the +fear that she was angry with him. + +After standing some time quite unable to figure it out, he suddenly +thought of Hulda, and hurrying down to the room on the left, rang the +bell; after which he waited in a state of near-panic till she came. + +“Hulda,” he said the instant she appeared, “I’ve offended Mrs. Findlay +seriously! Yes, I’m afraid I have! Do you know anything that could be +done?” + +“What makes you think it, sir? Did she say anything?” + +“No—not exactly; but while I was talking to her she turned and ran into +her room and shut the door.” + +“What were you saying to ’er, Mr. Haworth? That might be it.” + +“It couldn’t be! I was only telling her that I was going to have you +get her some things to—to wear you know—because all their trunks are +lost, you see.” + +“I don’t think she’s angry.” Hulda had a smile concealed somewhere. +“It’s most likely just feelings, sir.” + +“Feelings?” + +“Yes sir—about you being that kind to ’er, I’d say.” + +“Are you quite sure that was all?” + +“Indeed I am, sir, but when she’s had a little time I’ll go up and see +to the room—they got up so late it isn’t done yet—an’ then I’ll hear +what she says.” + +“Yes, do that! And if it _is_ so—as you think—and there’s no trouble of +any kind, I want you to go to town with her as soon as you can and help +about getting the things.” + +“Yes sir. An’ what was you thinking of getting?” + +“Oh yes. Well you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Things to wear, of +course—dresses and—and—and so on. She must have things to use, +too—brushes and combs and shaving soap—no, other soap, I mean—and hair +things—you know, to hold it up and all that. Get whatever there is, +Hulda; she hasn’t anything at all. That makes it quite simple, doesn’t +it?” + +“Yes sir; she wants to be fitted out.” + +“That’s it—fitted out! And oh, there’s one thing—yes, shoes. Be very +careful about that, Hulda! I want her to have some perfectly delightful +shoes—the nicest you can get, and quite a lot of them—all she can use. +And oh, another thing—gloves. Quite extraordinary gloves! Don’t forget +those two things, Hulda—shoes—gloves. They’re really the most important +of all!” + +“I’ll do my best, sir.” + +“And about the dresses—several different varieties—all of them the most +satisfactory in every respect. And then—get the—the—” (making motions +up and down his body to illustrate) “underthings, you know. Don’t +fail to have them the nicest that are made. I’m sure this is a very +important—er—phase of the matter.” + +“Yes sir, it is.” + +“And hats—of course she’ll need a few of those. And some fur +things—don’t fail to get some fur things. She was shivering yesterday.” + +“I’ll do the best I can, Mr. Haworth, but wouldn’t it be better to +buy easy at first? Say, to-day a ready-made dress or two an’ a pair +o’ shoes an’ a few things, an’ let the rest come gradual? I’m only +thinking of ’er feelings as not being equal to it if all the things was +to come at a jump, as one might say.” + +“That’s perfectly true. Her feelings must be treated with the greatest +care!” He glanced at the stairway through the open door. + +“I’ll go upstairs now, sir; but I’m sure you needn’t to feel uneasy +about it.” + +And Hulda went up the stairway and a moment later could be heard gently +knocking at Mrs. Findlay’s door. + +When he finally heard Hulda coming down again his heart pounded so +violently that he was sure it shook him. A mechanical notion flashed +in his mind that his pumping plant was too powerful for the frame. He +found himself, too, hardly able to turn and face the maid when she +came to the door. + +“It’s all right, sir,” she said. “An’ we’ll be going in as soon as I +finish the rooms. An’ if you please, sir, she’d like to speak to you +before we go.” + +The relief was unspeakable. She wasn’t angry or offended. And she’d +wear things that he gave her. + +So everything was arranged and Haworth gave Hulda enough money for the +first day, not noticing or thinking for an instant that he was making +an ugly excavation in what was supposed to carry him on for a year. +When the maid had gone for her hat and cloak, Haworth waited about in +the hall. At last he heard Edith coming down and went to meet her at +the foot of the stairs. + +Seeing him, she stopped before she was quite down. The thought came +to him that he wished she could stay there—on the stairs—a little +above him—instead of going to town. Couldn’t that, perhaps, be put off +until the next day? Her voice, slightly tremulous, interrupted his +meditations. + +“I’m awfully sorry I acted so,” was what she said. “Please forgive me.” + +He looked up in her face, drinking in with his eyes something +indescribable and inconceivable that came to him from hers. + +“I’ll be so glad,” she went on after the briefest pause, “to wear +anything that you——” suddenly putting out her hand, “oh, you’re so +kind!” + +It was incredible! At this time yesterday he had been unaware that +she existed; now he was unaware that anything else did. But there was +hardly time to realize it before the hand was gone and she was moving +toward the door; and very soon Hulda came and the two went off together. + +Haworth stood in the doorway and watched them go down the great stone +steps and along the curved drive to Torrington Road. Then he came +slowly in, closed the door, and stood thinking—or rather, remembering. +Not one word had he said to her since she came down. Going over every +smallest detail of what had occurred, he couldn’t find any place where +he had said anything. But why should he? There didn’t seem to be +anything to say. As a matter of fact he had no idea at all of what had +happened to him. + +From this you’ll understand why he had no slightest sense of guilt or +trespass. It didn’t disturb him when Findlay came back from the city +and borrowed twenty dollars—an amount, he told Haworth, that would +enable him to take advantage of an extraordinary business opportunity +which had presented itself. + + * * * * * + +Hulda brought Mrs. Findlay and a large number of packages home in a +taxi about a quarter before five. Haworth was down in his workshop, +where he managed, by the exertion of enormous will power, to do a few +little pieces of manual labor on one of the lathes. His being unable +to concentrate on his work had worried him quite a bit. But although +he was entirely aware that Edith was tremendously attractive to him +in many ways, it did not occur to him to connect that circumstance +with what seemed to him a failing intellect so far as mechanics was +concerned. + +Hulda descended to the basement to report to Haworth on the shopping +tour, which had resulted in not only what they had brought home, but +several articles that were to be fitted later. + +“Tell me what you did about the shoes?” he inquired, without the least +effort to conceal his eagerness for information on that subject. + +“Oh yes, sir! There’s lovely ones for the house an’ two kinds for the +street, that’s most beautiful on ’er. Wait till you see ’em, sir!” + +“I will,” said Haworth, and went on with his screw-cutting at the +lathe, though his mind had absented itself entirely from mechanical +pursuits. Fortunately the process was largely automatic, so no serious +damage was done. + +At half-past six he went to his room and got into a fairly good suit of +clothes. He’d never given anything that could be called “thought” to +what he wore, further than to have it clean, and so far as possible not +torn or otherwise mutilated. Old Mr. Cripps, during the time the two +were living together, had frequently taken him to his own tailor and +ordered clothing for him in a most generous way. Since the old man’s +death, however, Haworth had been to that place only once, on which +occasion he had asked them to make him two suits, one thin, the other +thick. But when they began to unroll the vast cylinders of “imported +goods” before him, he had started for the door, muttering quite audibly +that it was their business to find the stuff to make them of, not his. + +Edith came down in a charming slip of a dress they’d found. It had +needed no alteration, so she could have it for that evening. + +Haworth, waiting in the living room, fixed his eyes on her in calm +astonishment. He would hardly have known her. It wasn’t the dress +alone, but everything, including herself. + +She found herself standing still just inside the door, his steadfast +gaze of amazement and admiration acting like an automatic signal set +against her. + +“Please sit here,” he said, after a moment of regarding her in silence, +and indicating the big chair she’d been sitting in the day before when +he lighted the fire. + +She looked up at him from the depths of the chair with wide-eyed +questioning. + +After he’d stood looking at her a moment or two with a peculiar +expression, he said, suddenly: “Come along—let’s have dinner!” + +And she never got the answer—anyway not then—to her optical +interrogation points. Which was, that he wanted to see her feet in +their ravishing new slippers, just where he’d seen them the day before +in the poor little worn and downtrodden shoes. + +And there they were, these two by themselves, at dinner. Mr. Augustus +Findlay, running true to form (about the only thing to which he did), +failed to put in an appearance. He was otherwise engaged in low-lived +haunts, with a twenty-dollar bill. + +And there they were again, these two, sitting by the fire in the +evening, quietly talking and occasionally silent for a space; going +down to see his shop; then each apparently reading a book—though +neither of them read a single word. And so it went on for a number of +days. + +Everything seemed to be against them—pushing them toward the edge of +the precipice. Even the maid Hulda, who must have seen the danger, was +assisting their approach to it instead of trying to hold them back; +for which questionable behavior her opinion of Mr. Findlay was largely +responsible, her sympathetic attitude toward what is roughly referred +to as “romance” perhaps accounting for the rest. + + * * * * * + +But something shortly happened that not only showed them where they +were going, but flashed them an idea of the distance they’d gone. + +It was the night of the ninth day after the Findlays had arrived at +the mansion. Augustus during this time, had made what were, for him, +supreme efforts to control himself, knowing very well that a great +deal depended on it. He and his wife had been taken in and provided +with a home free of cost and containing among its other furniture a +soft-hearted boob out of whom he could apparently squeeze what money he +needed, if he was careful to handle it right. Haworth was certainly an +utter fool, but even at that he might be troublesome if once aroused. +Though by no means of powerful build, he was a bit too husky to take a +chance on. + +For a while Findlay managed to avoid displays of himself that would be +positively objectionable. But as these nine days wore on he seemed to +be losing his grip on himself, such as it was. He was coming home later +and later each night and making more and more of a disturbance each +time he did it. + +Haworth had several times been awakened in the small hours of the +morning by the slamming of doors and the shouting of oaths and lines +out of what are called, for want of a worse name, songs. However, as +the noise and uproar seemed to subside when Findlay finally got himself +upstairs, Haworth waited for that relief, though with a sharp agony +of pain at the thought of Edith having to endure the presence of the +intoxicated loafer. + +This had been going on for more than a week, and, as I say, growing +steadily worse, when a night came that the raucous clamor failed to +diminish on Findlay’s getting upstairs and into the room that he and +his wife occupied. It was somewhat muffled after the door closed, but +even then oaths and abuse could be heard, and violent demands for +something. + +Haworth’s room was farther back on the same corridor, and the +old-fashioned transom above the door was open. At first he couldn’t +make out what the half-crazy sot was trying to get from her, as he was +evidently making an effort to keep his voice down; but soon excitement +or anger made him raise it, and Haworth could hear his shouted demands +for a key to something. + +Edith was saying nothing. All that could be heard were the threats and +imprecations of her husband. Suddenly this stopped, then a quick and +frightened, “_Oh no!_” from Edith, followed at once by deeper threats +and in the midst of them a subdued scream and the sound of the door +flung open. + +Haworth had sprung from his bed at the very instant of Edith’s scream +and was through the door and out in the corridor just as she came +running out of her room, followed by her husband. He was flourishing a +big revolver and lurching this way and that as he came. + +Haworth started up the hall toward them, but Edith had seen him and ran +into his arms, terrified. He instantly swung her around behind him so +that he was between her and Findlay, and without taking his eyes off +the latter,—who had stopped not far from the door of his room and was +staring with alcoholic malevolence at his wife and the man she was +clinging to. The light that had been left on for him in the upper hall +shone directly across them. + +“Here!” he suddenly called out. “Thish has gone far enough!” And he +flourished his weapon about. “Far enough!” he repeated, and went on +mumbling threats and curses. + +Haworth began gently to free himself from Edith’s frightened clinging, +at the same time pushing her back toward the door of his room. + +“Don’t worry,” he told her as they moved back; “he isn’t going to hurt +anybody. I want to speak to him a minute.” + +“Oh no! You mustn’t! No—_please_! He’s crazy! He doesn’t know what he’s +doing.” + +“Yes—well, I thought I’d tell him.” + +They’d reached his door by now. + +“Could you wait here a minute—just in the doorway?... That’s it. And +please don’t come out in the hall.” + +She obeyed and stood just within the door, but her eyes were looking at +him with wide anxiety. He touched her shoulder soothingly, then turned +away and walked easily up the corridor toward the liquor-crazed brute +with the gun. + +“Now you wait juss precishly ware you are or I’ll plug you!” Findlay’s +speech was thick but his revolver was steady enough as he brought it +down, covering Haworth. + +There wasn’t the slightest hesitation, however, on the part of that +young man as he calmly walked up to Augustus. “I’ll take that gun,” he +said. + +“What!” + +“That gun—there in your hand.” + +Augustus stood blinking at him several seconds, then slowly lowered +his arm, and after another pause reached out the weapon toward Haworth. +The young man took it and turning toward the front of the house, sent +it crashing through the big east window of the upper hall. Then he +stepped to the open door of Findlay’s room, and taking the key out +of the inside keyhole, inserted it in the outside one. That done, he +turned to Findlay and made a slight motion to him to go in. Nothing +marked, no assumption of command, a mere side motion of the head with a +turn of the hand. + +Augustus did further vacant blinking. Then, seeming to comprehend +something, he turned and walked unsteadily through the door, upon which +Haworth closed it carefully and turned the key on the outside. After +trying it to make sure the lock was holding, he went back to Edith. + +She caught at him impulsively as he came to her in the doorway of his +room, and he could hear her breathing deep relief. Almost without +knowing it he had her in his arms, held close against him. He felt that +her whole body was trembling. He looked down and noticed for the first +time that she had on only a thin slip of a nightdress—one of the flimsy +things that Hulda had bought her. + +“You’re cold,” he said. + +“No,” she whispered. “It’s only he——How did I know but—how did I know——” + +“Tell me.” + +“He might have—killed you!” + +“There was no danger of that.—You’re shivering! Do you mind getting +in there—in my bed—till I get some of your things?” And he pushed her +gently back into the half-dark room. “You must get warm. You must, +my—my dear.” + +She still clung to him. + +“Don’t go there again,” she whispered. + +“But I want to get something warm for you—that fur thing.” + +“You can’t. It’s locked in a drawer.” + +“Where’s the key?” + +“I—I——” + +“Have you hidden it somewhere?” + +“It’s on this string—around my neck. I didn’t want him to get it.” + +“Get it! For what?” + +She wouldn’t say any more. But even as he asked the question he +knew—for the money he might raise on it. + +“Let me have the key,” he said. + +“No, please!” she remonstrated. “You mustn’t go—you mustn’t. When he +drinks he’s out of his mind—a maniac; you don’t know what terrible +things he might do.” + +“He can’t do much now—his gun’s out there in the grass.” + +She stared up at Haworth. + +“Was that it—when the glass broke?” + +He nodded. + +After a moment she undid the string and gave him the key. But her hands +were trembling. + +“Does he do this often?” Haworth inquired. + +“Not with—with one of those things.” + +“Gun, you mean?” + +He could feel her head nodding “yes” as it rested against him. + +“But last night,” she went on, “he—told me—if I didn’t give him the +key to-night he’d——” A slight shudder passed over her. + +“Nothing like that’ll happen here, so please don’t worry.” + +She looked up in his face, which she could just see—a whiteness in the +gloom. + +“I didn’t mind so much till he fired it once,—not—not _at_ me, but I +didn’t know that, and ever since I can’t—seem to——” She shuddered again +in his arms. + +“He won’t fire it again.... Your hands are like ice. Do please crawl in +there and pull the blankets over you.” + +And he urged her toward the disordered pillows. + +When she had turned and moved away in the dimness, Haworth went back to +the Findlay room and unlocked the door. Taking the key out of the lock, +he stepped inside, closed the door and locked it again, putting the key +in the pocket of his pajamas. + +Augustus was sitting on the bed. He appeared to be trying to figure out +what had happened to him. + +“You again!” he mumbled. + +Haworth didn’t take the trouble to glance in his direction but went +across to the bureau and unlocked the drawers with the key Edith had +given him, then piled the contents across his left arm, leaving his +right free for other purposes. On these things he tossed whatever +articles of feminine apparel he could find about the room, including +a pair of little fur-lined slippers which he handled with the utmost +consideration. He also made a clean sweep of the toilet articles on the +dressing table, managing to hold them on top of the other things with +his left hand backward over them. Then he returned to the door and was +taking the key out of his pocket with his free hand when Augustus spoke +again. + +“You wait!” he shouted, thickly. + +Haworth turned to him. + +“I shay wait—you there! Do I make myself plain?” + +“What is it? I’m waiting.” + +“Oh, you are, eh! You’re waitin’, eh! Well, I’m damn glad to know it! +Now you juss tell me—I demand you tell me where my wife is! _You tell +me that?_” + +“I’ll inform you of one thing—she’s safe from you!” And Haworth turned +back to the door. + +“Now, you!” Findlay had risen heavily and was lumbering toward him. +“Now juss one minute, my frien’—juss one minute! I’ll thank you to +leave those things where they b’long!” + +Haworth waited until Findlay had come blustering up to within a couple +of feet of him and stopped. The two regarded each other in silence for +a few seconds. Then the young inventor spoke in a low voice. “I’ve got +a few words to say to you in the morning,” he said, and unlocking the +door, went out, and closed and locked it again on the outside. + +“Getting warm all right?” he asked, standing by the bed in the dimness +of his room. + +“I think so,” came the voice of Edith, muffled by the pillows. + +He put down the clothing carefully on a chair. + +“I think I found everything,” he said. “You must stay here and keep +warm.” And he tried to pull the blankets closer round her neck. + +“But if he comes with that—that——” + +“He won’t. He’s locked in the room. And I’ll be just outside here in +the hall, not ten feet away—not ten feet. I’ll get the big chair down +the hall——” + +“But—oh no—I can’t drive you out of your room like that! _I’ll_ stay +out there.” She caught at his hand and clung to it. + +“But wait. Listen, darling—darling—darling——” (Now that he’d found +the word, he wanted to say it all the time.) “I’d so—so much—so +tremendously much like being there watching while you’re asleep. You +don’t know—it’s—it’s beyond words. So you must let me do that while +you’re attending to the sleeping part.” He was accustomed to the near +darkness now and could see her eyes wide open, fixed on him. “If you +want a light”—he spoke rather hurriedly—“the switch is there by the +door. Can you see it? And you’ll call me if you want anything, won’t +you?” + +He tried to disengage his hand, but as she wouldn’t let it go he lifted +it so her hand came to his lips, and held it pressed against them for +a little; then gently undid her fingers and tucked her arm under the +coverlet. + +“I’ll take these on the way,” he said, gathering up an armful of his +own clothes from a chair and moving toward the door. + +“I’m coming too!” she suddenly announced, throwing the bedclothes back +and sliding out till her little white feet touched the floor. “If +you’re going to sit out there I’m going to sit with you!” And she began +to fumble among the things he’d brought from her room. + +He stood in the doorway, considering. She surely ought to stay there +and keep warm and rest. The house was chilly. She’d be sure to—she’d +be——And at that point an idea came to him. + +“I’ll build a fire downstairs if you’ll come and sit by it,” he said. + +She straightened up from her search among the things on the chair and +looked at him for a second; then: + +“Are you coming too?” + +“Oh yes!” + +“Oh!—Then I’ll be down in just a minute!” + +He reached in and snapped the light on for her, closed the door, and +went downstairs. After putting on the clothes he had caught up while +leaving his room, he built a huge fire in the fireplace of the living +room. + +Edith came before he’d quite finished, and he pushed the big chair +around in front of the fire for her, and another for himself as near to +it as its bloated old upholstery would allow. There was only firelight +in the room, and the two were there in it without a thought of anything +but that they were there—together. Haworth had her dear, precious, +exquisite hands in his (I’m quoting from his thoughts) and when she +fell asleep her head rested on his shoulder. Never had he imagined that +such a miraculous night was within the reach of members of the human +race—nor, indeed, had she. + + * * * * * + +Of course, they knew now. Perhaps not the strength of the current that +was whirling them along, perhaps not precisely how far they’d already +been carried by it, but enough. And the first idea in the minds of both +Edith and Haworth when they came to think it over by daylight was to +resist, to attempt to get out of the rapids. + +With one accord and no words spoken they set to work on the following +morning with the brave idea of behaving as though they were merely +casual acquaintances, and not, as was the actual state of things, the +custodians of each other’s lives. And they succeeded fairly well in +acting this deceitful drama whenever they chanced to meet—which was +necessarily quite often—and gave their performance as relentlessly +when no audience was there to see, as they did in the presence of +spectators. Moreover, they really tried, both of them, to avoid +meeting. There was no attempted coldness; their relationship would have +seemed to an observer to be of agreeable friendliness, nothing more. + +And, as it happened, there _was_ an observer——and not only that, but a +close and eager one. + +When Haworth went in to say a few words to Findlay the morning after +the latter’s revolver had been taken from him and flung through the +window, he found the fellow silent and sullen. His ideas as to what +had occurred during the night were hazy in the extreme, but these few +quiet words from Haworth cleared his atmosphere in the space of a few +seconds, and put him in the way of distinct realization of where he +stood. He had threatened his wife with a gun (he remembered having +intended to do so) and the weapon had been taken from him. He had been +locked in his room (he was already aware of this from having made +efforts to get out) and as the Haworth fellow gave it to him, not only +was Mrs. Findlay to have a separate sleeping room, but she was to +occupy it without interference or disturbance from him. + +As for Haworth himself, he would sleep downstairs on a cot in his +drafting room, as he had often done before. This would give them the +entire floor to themselves. If, however, he started any of his rowdyism +again, or mistreated his wife, or threatened her with mistreatment, he +would be turned over to the police and locked up. That was all. Good +morning. + +It was the matter of his wife being given a room by herself that put +a knife in him. A dull but furious jealousy began to rage somewhere +in his interior. Though he had a horror of losing these comfortable +and cost-free quarters, that aversion was as nothing beside the rabid +fury generated by his suddenly aroused suspicion. The mere thought of +what might be—when he allowed himself to project his imaginings on the +subject as far as that—threw him into a fit of murderous passion. He’d +keep his eyes open! He’d get on to it pretty damned quick if any funny +business was going on. And if it was —— —— + +From that time and for more than a week it could have been noticed—and +probably was by Hulda—that Mr. Findlay went in to Boston with much +less frequency than formerly, and that when he did so he arrived back +at most unexpected times,—once coming in quite hurriedly by one of the +rear entrances fifteen minutes after he had left the house at the front +door, apparently departing for the day. + +It so happened, though, that neither of the two people Findlay was +endeavoring to surprise in some sort of misdemeanor, was in the +slightest degree aware of his violent spasm of watchfulness. They were +both fighting desperately to struggle out of the torrent that had +swept them off their feet, and couldn’t be expected to take notice of +other things. Naturally, under the circumstances, Augustus discovered +nothing. There _was_ nothing. Even when they met alone, only a few +commonplace words, if any, passed between them. He never once overheard +the least thing that was out of the way when it happened that they were +alone together and he could manage to listen, and when they both went +out, as they did nearly every afternoon—Haworth for long walks on the +railroad track, Edith to trudge about the suburban roads or sometimes +to go in to Boston—and he followed one or the other of them, he never +found that they met anywhere or came within miles of meeting. + +As he was unable to gather fuel for his jealousy, it began to burn +with diminished ferocity, and it wasn’t long before he revived his +briefly interrupted custom of returning late at night from his alleged +business trips to the city, bringing with him a heavy load of whatever +intoxicant he could buy with the money he borrowed from Haworth. For +a while, however, his subconscious department succeeded in keeping +uppermost in his mind the idea that it would be well to control himself +when he came in, and to get into bed as quietly as possible. + + * * * * * + +Something over a fortnight after the revolver episode and the night +together by the open fire, the two unfortunates, caught in the +merciless grip of a love trap and struggling with all the strength +they could command to extricate themselves from it, had come very +close to reaching the limit of what they could do. Was anything else +to be expected? Completely out of their normal minds—mad—even quietly +delirious—living there together in the same house—left to themselves +most of the time, and trying to carry on as if they were casual +acquaintances—wouldn’t that wear out the strength of anyone, or, to be +more accurate, any two? + +Haworth, one day along this time, came in from a tramp at dinner time +and learned from Hulda that Mr. Findlay hadn’t come in. He and Edith +would be alone together. It had happened several times lately, but +to-night he had the feeling that he couldn’t manage to behave as an +ordinary friend might; he didn’t think he could carry it through. + +“When Mrs. Findlay comes down, ask her please to have dinner without +me. I’ve got some important work to do—very important.” + +When Hulda went into the hall she saw Edith near the top of the stairs +and going up. She had come down and stopped near the door as she heard +Haworth speaking, and couldn’t help hearing what he said. Upon which +she fled up the stairs again, and a moment after the maid had caught +sight of her she was back in her room with the door closed. + +Hulda followed and knocked softly. + +“Can’t I bring you up something, Mrs. Findlay?” + +“No, nothing—_please_.” + +Hulda left a tray on Haworth’s drawing table, before which he was +sitting absently. But she knew, as soon as she saw him, that he +wouldn’t touch anything. + +It was a wicked evening for them both. Haworth sat in a corner of his +workroom and stared before him, seeing nothing. Edith lay on her bed +with her head pushed in among the pillows. + +With her it was simpler—just plain misery, and longing, and hunger and +thirst for him. But Haworth, while having all these feelings for her, +was at the same time feverishly hunting for some way out, all the while +knowing that nothing could be done without money, of which he was by +this time nearly destitute. If he had had the means at hand, there +isn’t the slightest doubt he’d have fled with her. But he hadn’t nearly +enough for that, nor had he anything on which he could raise it. The +amount that old Mr. Cripps had left to him (being probably the remains +of the money obtained on the mortgage) had virtually disappeared. + +Haworth wasn’t in the habit of thinking of these things; he’d always +let them go until something happened. For himself what did it matter? +But now ... Edith. And he went over the problem again and again, hoping +each time to arrive at a better result. + +It was very much later in the evening when Hulda came down and tapped +at his door. After she had knocked three times he heard her. + +“Come in,” he said, huskily. + +“Mrs. Findlay asked me to say could she speak to you for a minute.” + +“Yes—yes.” Haworth roused himself and cleared his throat. “Tell her +I’ll go up there and—and see what she wants.” + +“Yes sir.” + +A moment later he knocked at Edith’s door and she opened it. They stood +silent. Suddenly he snatched both her hands and held them pressed +against him. + +“Oh!” she breathed—a sort of whispered groan—and turned her head +away for God knows what—perhaps a last feeble effort to avert the +catastrophe she knew was coming. Soon she turned to him again and spoke +unsteadily, almost whispering. + +“This was what I—what I wanted to tell you,” she said. “I’ve been +thinking it over, and now—you see—you see the way things are—I +can’t——Don’t you see I’ll have to go?” + +“No!” + +“Yes!” + +“I couldn’t let you! How could I when I love you so!” + +She was looking up in his face and her lips moved. Though no sound came +from them, he could feel what she was trying to say—knew it almost +before she began—and had her close in his arms, kissing her madly, +blindly, impetuously; whispering brokenly the few words of endearment +he knew. + +It seemed hardly a moment, but it was in reality a large number of +them, before the violent closing of the front door recalled Edith +and Haworth to the surface of the earth. Not only were they made +acquainted by this with the circumstance of Findlay’s return, but the +demonstration following said closing gave a fairly reliable indication +of his condition, consisting as it did of a burst of song and a bit of +incoherent monologue. + +“I’m going to lock you in,” Haworth whispered in Edith’s ear. + +“Yes.” + +He locked the door from the outside and put the key in his pocket. Then +he went along the corridor to the rear of the house, down the servants’ +staircase, and through the passage into the main hall. + +Augustus was preparing to negotiate the stairs. + +“Well, how-dy-do!” he said, supporting himself by one of the newel +posts. “You see before you, Misser Haworth, a shinin’ ezample of the +pernishus influences of too mush happinish!” + +Haworth stood silently regarding him. + +“I’m shorry,” he went on. “Deeply an’ shincerely—e—sinsherely shorry. +But it was on account o’ shelibrashun! Yes, sir—shelibration! You’ll +be d’lighted to hear th’ glad tidings that I got a posishun. Yes, +sir—though I say it myself they took me on to-day at the Boshun Nalb’ny +freight yards. You know men are very scarce!” + +“They must be,” said Haworth; and turning away he went into the living +room. From there he could hear Augustus finally accomplish the (for +him) considerable feat of ascending the stairs, and from the summit +of the same negotiate the short distance to his room. In a moment he +heard him come out again and walk heavily down the corridor to the room +occupied by Mrs. Findlay. + +Haworth could hear his loud pounding on her door and boisterous demands +to be let in, together with the shouted information as to his having +been taken on by the railroad company and his urgent desire for further +celebration of that event. This he kept up interminably, varying it +with whining and begging that she open the door. But he eventually +became tired of it and went shambling back to his room. + +Haworth gave him about half an hour. At the expiration of that time +he went upstairs and listened at his door. Loud breathing and raucous +nasal reverberations were the only sounds that could be heard from +within. The key was at his hand on the outside. He grasped it firmly so +there should be as little rattling as possible, and slowly turned it in +the lock. After listening a moment to make sure the slight click hadn’t +disturbed the sleeper within, he turned and walked down the corridor, +taking the other key out of his pocket as he went. + + * * * * * + +It proved to be the truth that Augustus had got a job at the Exeter +Street freight yards. Whether to hustle boxes and barrels about or +sit on a high stool and work at bills of lading he never told. But +whatever it was, it obliged him to rise every morning at five-thirty +and have breakfast at six. + +After three mornings of this, Alma, the cook, appeared before Haworth +and made the solemn declaration that she wouldn’t be staying there to +get up and cook a special breakfast “for the likes o’ him.” Haworth, +much disturbed, inquired of Hulda what he’d better do, and she told +him that the only way to settle it was to turn that Findlay man out of +the house and get rid of him “for good an’ all.” But of course if he +did that Augustus would take Edith with him. No way to prevent it that +he could see. He puzzled quite distractedly over the matter for some +time, and then bethought him of an old woman who came in from somewhere +once a week to clean. Mrs. Temple was her name, and several times in +the past when she’d been working in the basement he had called her into +his shop and got her to help him about something that needed an extra +pair of hands; and twice since Michael Cripps’s death—there being no +one else to do it—she had gone in to Boston to manage the matter of +replacing servants for him. It now occurred to him to ask her what had +better be done about Mr. Findlay’s new breakfast requirements. + +Mrs. Temple was entirely equal to the occasion. She herself went to Mr. +Findlay and notified him in not the politest terms, that if he wanted +his breakfast before eight o’clock in the morning he’d have to get it +somewhere else. There was no more trouble; Findlay got his breakfast +somewhere else. And beginning about then Haworth came more and more to +rely on the old woman for advice and assistance. She was a wise one, +too, and had a perfectly clear idea of what she was about, which was +particularly fortunate just at this period, for the young inventor was +in a daze—a dream—an enchantment. + +About this time the market where they bought provisions notified +Haworth that it could not extend further credit because of unpaid +bills. Following shortly, a grocery establishment did the same thing. +And Haworth, having no idea what to do about it, as it appeared on +investigation that he had very little money left—certainly not enough +to pay what was owing—turned the matter over to the old woman, asking +her please to attend to it in whatever way she thought best. This she +forthwith did by opening accounts elsewhere. This would carry them +along for a time at least, and after that “we’ll see.” Put that in +quotes, because it was Mrs. Temple’s philosophy to do what she could at +the time, and as to the future, “we’ll see.” + +Where this old woman came from or when she came, no one seemed to +know. Haworth himself hadn’t the faintest idea. She spoke very seldom +and never about herself. Where she lived was also in the nature of a +mystery. Of course it could have been solved if anyone cared to follow +her, but no one did. And no one noticed it, either, when she began +coming in twice a week instead of once as formerly. Nobody had asked +her to, and she said nothing to anyone about an increase in wages. + + * * * * * + +Haworth and Edith Findlay were now making little or no effort to +conceal the fact from Augustus—or for that matter from anyone—that they +were together for the greater part of the time. They were in every way +so utterly and completely taken up with each other that nothing else +appeared to them of the slightest consequence. They talked and read +together, and took long tramps in woods and fields and along country +roads. + +Findlay usually got home from his work about half-past five or six, +often in plenty of time to see the two come in from an afternoon’s +tramp, or to find them working in the old flower garden together, or +something like that. And it was entirely open to observation—when +anyone was there to observe it—that in the evening they were by +themselves somewhere, reading together or engaged over chess or +cribbage. + +While all this, as I’ve said, could be seen without effort, Augustus +had all the appearance of being unaware of it. But he had seen and +heard enough in the course of a week or so, to rouse his most malignant +passions. Without appearing to do so, he was watching every move they +made. + +When he first began work at the yards, Findlay had felt too tired on +getting home at the end of the day, to go back to town again after +dinner—or even to nearer places—for alcoholic consolation. This +resulted in a much clearer mind than was normal with him. And once +his overpowering suspicion was awakened the thought of drinking never +crossed his mind. + +As he became more and more aroused, at the same time gaining a stronger +perception of the situation and harboring a more desperate desire to +trap them, a scheme by which he could do so came into his mind, and he +set to work to put it into practice. The first move was his failure to +appear for dinner, which had not occurred since he got the job at the +freight yards. Late that night he came in loaded—or apparently so. One +would have supposed, if not too close an investigator, that the fellow +was in a hopeless state of intoxication. And so, notwithstanding that +his imitation of himself as a roistering inebriate was far from being +a perfect one, it succeeded with the two people for whose benefit (and +ultimate undoing) he was giving the performance; for, unfortunately, +neither of them was in the mood to criticize it. He was enabled, +therefore, eventually to stagger into his room with the impression +successfully conveyed that he was drunk and disorderly to the furthest +limit. Once there, and from the moment of his violently slamming shut +the door, his vigil began. + +He had tools with which to open the door should anyone lock him in, and +the key was purposely left on the outside as a further blind. It was +the fourth time that he set this trap before it closed on its victims. + + * * * * * + +Shortly before nine o’clock of the morning following the springing of +the trap, Mr. Augustus Findlay drove up to the front portico of the +mansion in a taxi, and with two small and exceedingly moderate-priced +trunks set in front beside the driver. He’d gone out early and bought +them at a place in Roslindale where they kept almost everything. The +chauffeur lent a hand in taking them into the house, and about an hour +later renewed the loan in bringing them out again. + +Edith came slowly down the great stairway, pulling on her gloves. She +wore the long fur coat that Haworth had given her; indeed, everything +she had on came from him. She didn’t raise her eyes as she descended, +seeming to be occupied with her gloves. The veil which was pulled +down over her face failed to hide the paleness of it, which glimmered +through like a small white cloud. + +Haworth was standing back against the wall near the foot of the stairs, +with the look of death upon him. It wasn’t so much the mortuary pallor +of his countenance as the strained fixity of his staring yet unseeing +eyes. He had gone to her room while Augustus was getting the taxi, and +found it locked. + +“Open the door! Open it quick!” he’d called to her in a half whisper as +he knocked lightly, for to create a disturbance would defeat what he +had made up his mind to do. + +“Oh, I can’t!” she answered, coming as near to him as possible. “He’s +taken away the key!” + +Haworth turned and ran down the two flights of stairs to the basement, +and was back in a moment with a heavy iron bar. + +“Darling, are you there?” + +“Oh yes—I’m right here—as near as I can get!” + +“Well, stand away—stand away from the door. I’m going to break it in!” + +“No no!—Please don’t! Oh wait Michael!” + +“Get back by the window! You’re coming with me!” + +“Stop! Michael—stop! _You’ll hurt me!_ I’m close to the door—right +against it! Listen to me, dear—it’ll only make it worse! Yes, it +will—whatever you do! He could stop us. There’d be police and, oh! +reporters—and everything! I’m sure there would.” + +Her low voice reached him clearly as she stood close against the door. + +“What can we do?” he got out, hoarsely. + +“Nothing now—nothing, dear, just now! I must go with him and you +mustn’t do anything! Afterward, when it all quiets down, we’ll find +some way!” This poor child was the wise and cool one through it all. +Haworth was demented with the hurt of it and his helplessness. + +“Don’t let him find you here!” she went on. “Let him have his way. +Don’t say anything! Good-by, darling. I’ll be—I’ll be loving you +always—always—and oh, so much!” + +Haworth tried to speak, but couldn’t. After a time he moved slowly away. + +And now she was coming down the stairs, buttoning one of her gloves +and with her white face showing through the veil. He knew that she +passed close to him and felt the thrill of her nearness. Then came the +terrifying consciousness that she was going away from him. After that +she was gone. + +Findlay, waiting outside, saw her seated in the taxi; then he entered +the house. Seeing Haworth near the stairway, he walked down the hall +and got out between his teeth with a peculiar low-voiced malevolence: +“You dirty loafer! You —— —— ——! Sometime—yes, by God! I’m going to get +even with you.” Having delivered himself of which, he strode through +the front door. A moment later the taxicab could be heard driving away. + + + + +PART V + + +For interminable weeks Haworth had no idea where they were. Edith had +asked him not to try to find her, and he would do nothing against her +wishes. + +Most of the time he was sitting somewhere in the house—he didn’t notice +where—staring before him with wide open eyes that saw nothing. Hulda +brought him “just a taste” of this or that at meal times and he’d make +an attempt to eat a little so she wouldn’t feel hurt. Sometimes he +would start walking aimlessly about the house. + +For quite a time he couldn’t bring himself to enter the room Edith had +occupied—his own room. But the time came when, with a fearful sinking +of the heart, he opened the door. After a while he ventured in a little +way and stood looking at the dressing table with the chair before it. +He could picture her there so well. His eyes slowly moved to other +things—the bureau, the chairs, the bed with the soft rug at the side +where her small white feet so often touched before she could find her +bedroom slippers. + +Very soon—on his first visit—he had to turn away and hasten gropingly +out of the room. He was there again the next day, and on the floor of +the great wardrobe he found the worn little shoes that were on her feet +the day she came. + +It was more than a fortnight after she left when he got a note from +her. It had been mailed. For a while he was unable to open it, as he +had been at first to enter her room. When he did, life came back to +him. Sometime they could meet somewhere—but not now. And he must not +try to find her. Would he please write and tell her if he still loved +her? It would help her to stay alive if she could only be sure that he +truly did. The best address would be the General Delivery, Boston. She +would read the letter and destroy it there at the Post Office. + +After this he was able to look at all the things that spoke to him of +her, with painful delight instead of devastating despair. + +But now financial troubles began to bear down on him. The greatly +increased expenses from having the Findlays there, together with +Augustus’s borrowings and Edith’s wardrobe, had more than made an end +of the few thousands left him by old Mr. Cripps. He had adopted the +plan long ago advised by Mr. Trescott, the attorney, of cutting down +living expenses and apportioning so much and no more to each month. In +this way the money could have been made to last nearly four years, and +surely by that time, Mr. Trescott had said, he ought to be able to do +something with his patents and mechanical work. + +But this wise financial arrangement had been abandoned when the +Findlays came; and now the funds that were to have carried him for some +two years longer had entirely disappeared, and in addition to that a +number of people were clamoring for various amounts which he appeared +to owe them. Haworth turned in this emergency, as he had before, to +Mrs. Temple, who muttered something about “cormorants,” and then did +the best she could again, this time persuading some of the creditors +to wait a little on the ground that Mr. Haworth had valuable patents +and was on the point of selling one of them for thousands of dollars. +In cases where further credit was refused she made arrangements with +other (and more distant) firms. Of course there wasn’t the least use in +going to the electric-light company—nobody ever heard of their doing +anything except shut off the current—which they promptly did. + +So far as light was concerned, Haworth minded it very little. The oil +lamps and candles Mrs. Temple got hold of somewhere, answered well +enough. But he did very much mind—though not so much at this time as +later, when he tried to get back to his work again—losing the power +for his machinery. He had only the haziest ideas as to creditors or +electrical calamities or where his groceries were or were not coming +from. Mrs. Temple was attending to it, and he let it rest at that. He +could live in peace with his dreams and memories and imaginings—all +of Edith and the exquisite pain of his longing for her. He wrote +to her and had another precious letter in reply. She told of their +having moved into a small house on Cherry Street, but said he must not +come there. Perhaps sometime, but not then. If they could only meet +somewhere, perhaps in town, before long, just for a few minutes. She +loved him so! And if she could not see him soon it did not seem as if +she could go on living. + +It was a month after this before they finally met. He waited for +her on a quiet old street on the hill back of the State House. When +she finally came, neither could speak. They found a bench hidden by +shrubbery near the north end of the pond in the Public Garden. + +After a time, when they had whispered those first words of endearment +after the long separation, and he could begin to realize things, he was +greatly disturbed by her appearance, so worn and thin she was, with a +hunted look in the eyes he loved beyond all measure. After much effort +he discovered in a roundabout way, that for one thing she was half +starved. It appeared that when Augustus earned anything he spent nearly +the whole of it on himself or gambled it away. Very little came to her +for household uses. Sometimes none. And now he wasn’t working at all. +He’d lost his place at the freight yards. + +She wouldn’t mind so much about the food part of it, she said, but when +he came home late at night and there wasn’t anything to eat, he was so +violent! He seemed to think that she was to blame for it. The trouble +was he had a revolver again and flourished it about. He always seemed +to want to do that when he’d been drinking. And though she felt sure he +wouldn’t fire it, she couldn’t help being frightened. + +After that, although they talked of other things in their brief time +together, he never once escaped from the terrifying realization that +she was starving,—actually starving, and he could do nothing. Until now +he had never entertained a suspicion of the tremendous importance of +having money. Even while they were there, with only those few precious +moments to themselves after weeks of loneliness, he was desperately +catching at straws of possibilities for obtaining some—in sufficient +amount, that is, to relieve her distressing situation at home. By a +lucky chance he had brought with him what little he had in the house, +so he could at least keep her from starvation for to-day. It would +hardly do more than that. But how to get more? How? How? How? + +Then suddenly he thought of Mr. Trescott. He remembered one thing +the lawyer had recommended was the sale of the place. There was a +mortgage, but they could get a figure, he had said, that would cover it +and leave something over. Haworth couldn’t bring himself to do it then. +There was his shop and machinery and drafting room—all the things he +needed. But what did that amount to now? Edith had come into his life; +she _was_ his life. There was nothing else. He didn’t understand it, +but it was so—there was nothing else. + +He would go and see Mr. Trescott the next day and ask him to sell +the place. That was settled. And for the rest of the time they were +together he had no thought but of Edith, and of her presence close +beside him. Most of it was spent in a restaurant, for as soon as +it would do after discovering the state of things he claimed to be +exceedingly hungry, and they went to one together. She was entirely +frank and said she was hungry too, and he had the joy of seeing her +present famishment relieved. + +While they were there he told her, as a preparation for what would +come from selling the mansion (for she might not like that), that he +expected to dispose of one of his inventions and she was to go halves +with him on whatever he got. She said, “Oh!” and her eyes were alight +for a moment. But then she looked at him doubtfully. + +“What is it, darling?” he asked. + +“Oh—why, I’m thinking—I’m afraid you’ll not be taking care of +_yourself_—your machinery and patents and—and all that you need to do +about them.” + +“There’ll be plenty for those things too.” + +“Will there?” + +And so at last she was satisfied, and they began to consider the way of +getting her “share” to her—whether a little at a time or a lump sum. +They finally decided on small and more frequent remittances, for if +Findlay once got the idea that she had a considerable amount of money +in the house he would resort to any violence to get it. And mailing +seemed the best way of sending, for she could go to the Post Office +without danger of discovery, if she was careful about it. + +Soon after they had decided on this she left him, going out of the +restaurant by herself and getting a car in the subway which would take +her within a few blocks of Cherry Street. + + * * * * * + +On reaching the mansion Haworth found a letter waiting for him. The +envelope bore the name of a prominent savings bank in Boston from which +he vaguely remembered having heard before. Within was a formal notice +to the effect that if the interest on the mortgage note was not paid +by such and such a time (which was only five days away), foreclosure +proceedings would at once be instituted. This explained why the name +of the bank had seemed familiar, other communications on the same +subject having come in before, though none so definite and alarming. +These—as he had no idea what to do with them—he had turned over, with +other bills and requests for payment, to Mrs. Temple; and although +this estimable old woman quite well understood grocery and market +accounts, foreclosure notices were as Greek to her. She had therefore +done nothing about them, quite certain that this behavior would bring +further explanation if there was any. + +It looked serious to Haworth. If they foreclosed he wouldn’t be able +to sell the place. Naturally he wasn’t able to sleep that night. Next +morning he went to Mr. Trescott’s office. + +The old lawyer said at once that he doubted if anything could be done, +as the property was mortgaged to nearly the limit. A forced sale was +out of the question. When he had advised selling some years before, +prices were high; now they were normal again. A second mortgage would +hardly be possible under the circumstances. The only chance he saw +was the possibility that the holders of the first would be willing to +make a new one for an increased amount, or that a new one for a larger +amount could be negotiated elsewhere and the old one paid off with the +proceeds, leaving him something after the transaction. He would take +the matter up with the bank, and Mr. Haworth would hear from him in a +day or two. He inquired how the inventions were selling and was sorry +to hear that they hadn’t done better. He had sent a few people out +there to see them and would try to do so again. + + * * * * * + +Four days later—four terrible days for Haworth—the letter he was +waiting for came. Mr. Trescott requested him to call and attend to the +execution of a new mortgage. It seemed the bank was willing to increase +the amount of the loan to the extent of five thousand dollars—a +consideration being, however, not alone the payment out of this of +interest due, but interest on the new note for two years in advance. + +Haworth, enormously relieved, went to the Trescott & Chamberlain +offices and the business was transacted. Fifty dollars was at once +mailed to Edith, and he sent her that amount weekly thereafter. Mrs. +Temple was given what was necessary to pay current bills and, at +her suggestion, the expenses of the establishment were reduced still +further. + +All thought of attention to the needs of the house, in the way of +repairs, painting, and the like, was abandoned, as was also the keeping +up of the grounds and gardens surrounding it. Even the shattered +window in front on the second floor was still as Augustus’s hurtling +revolver had left it. These various economies and others wouldn’t have +occurred to Haworth, but his overwhelming desire to save enough out of +the additional mortgage money to enable him to take Edith away, caused +him to entreat Mrs. Temple to think of all possible ways to cut down +expenditures. This she did. + +In the course of the next few weeks Edith’s condition was much +improved, though it couldn’t be said that she looked entirely well. +The two met in town when they could—which wasn’t often, for Augustus, +being out of a job, was hanging about. They’d thought of Franklin Park +and other places nearer than the Public Garden, but Edith couldn’t lose +herself before going to them as she could in the crowds in the city +district. Besides this, she had managed to find a place where they’d +give her needlework to take home—one of the “sweating” industries you +read about—and this not only furnished her with an excuse for going to +town occasionally, but had so far blocked Findlay’s suspicions as to +where her housekeeping money came from. + +Several times they went out Cambridge way and beyond to some woodsy +place, and wandered among the trees. There were still warm Indian +summer days for them, though November was close at hand. + +It was on one of these trips, as they were sitting on soft green moss +with their backs to the trunk of a great oak, that Haworth told her +about going away—that he couldn’t live without her. They would take a +steamer to South America or anywhere she wished. There would be money +enough to pay the fares and keep them until he could find work. He +would dig in the streets or do anything, it made no difference what, if +he could only be with her. + +She looked at him in a half-frightened way and shook her head a little. + +“You—you don’t mean——I thought you’d come!” he said. + +“There’s a—there’s something——” She couldn’t go on and her face went +white. + +He looked at her silently, desolated by the thought that she didn’t +care enough for him to come. Finally he half whispered: + +“I suppose you——You don’t love me—_really_.” + +“There’s only you in the world, Michael—only you—_now_—but before +long....” + +He looked at her for the rest. + +“Before long there’ll be some one else.” + +It was a moment before he understood. + + * * * * * + +As weeks went by Haworth’s anxieties about Edith came to be +unbearable—the thought of her having to live in that comfortless +shanty and being subjected, at such a time, to the brutalities of her +liquor-crazed husband. Finally, in desperation, he went to Mr. Trescott +for advice, explaining that the Findlays were relatives of old Cripps +and that he (Haworth) had taken them in at the mansion for a while, +though they were now in a house of their own; that Mr. Findlay was +brutal and loathsome in every respect, often drinking to excess and at +such times abusing and browbeating his wife and frequently terrorizing +her with a revolver; so that, now she was to be confined, he feared +she’d not only have no care, but be seriously injured in some way. + +“I suppose it wouldn’t do for her to have the trouble and anxiety of +divorcing him—now?” + +“I—I’m afraid not.” + +“Can’t she go home to her mother or family?” + +“No.” (Shaking his head). “She hasn’t any.” + +“Alone in the world, eh?” + +“Not so good as that. She’s with him.” + +“I see.... Treats her badly, you say?” + +“I don’t think that’s quite the word for it.” + +“You said something about a revolver?” + +Haworth nodded in affirmation. + +“That he threatened her with it?” + +“Yes.” + +“Did anyone see him do that?” + +The young man hesitated for an instant; then, “I did—once.” + +“Then this threatening with a revolver took place in your presence?” + +“Yes.” + +“Did you interfere in any way?” + +“Yes; I took it away from him.” + +Mr. Trescott regarded Haworth with peculiar interest for an instant. +Finally he said: “If the fellow’s slamming around, threatening his wife +with firearms, we can get the patrolman on that beat to keep an eye on +him. Write the address for me.” + +“But it’s no place for her there, where he might come in crazy drunk +any minute. Isn’t there some way so she can be kept away from him—so he +can’t get to her?” + +“I’m afraid not, Mr. Haworth, unless he——” Mr. Trescott broke off as a +possibility occurred to him. “Has he any money?” he asked. “Enough, I +mean, to have her well taken care of—private hospital and all that?” + +“Yes.” + +“Oh, he _has_! Well, do you think there’s any way to make him do it? +It’s going to cost something, you know.” + +“He’ll do it.” + +“That’s the thing, then.” + +Trescott wrote an address on a desk pad and scribbled a few words +below. “See the doctor personally. Tell his secretary it’s from me.” He +handed the address to Haworth. “He’ll see that she’s sent to the right +place. And I rather think they can let her come along awhile before. +She’ll have nurses, doctors, everything, and nobody’ll be allowed to +see her that might have the least unfavorable effect—you understand. As +I say, it’s going to be rather expensive. You feel quite positive the +fellow can stand it?” He was watching the young man narrowly as he put +the question. + +“Yes.” + +“All right then—Now, Mr. Haworth, what about you? I suppose, from what +you’ve been telling me, that you’ve had some—er—interruptions and—and +anxieties that may have seriously interfered with your work?” + +“Yes, I have.” + +“Well, we’ve got one distraction out of the way,” Trescott said, +hopefully, indicating the note and address that Haworth was holding in +his hand. + +“Yes,” the young man said; and after thanking Mr. Trescott in his +laconic way, he went to the address of the doctor. + + * * * * * + +They kept Edith at the hospital for some weeks after she could have +gone home. For observation, it was said—but that didn’t get to Haworth. +He knew only that all had gone well, that there was a very minute +daughter in the world, and that the conditions might perhaps be better +than they had been so far as Findlay was concerned, for a warning from +the patrolman given before his wife was taken to the hospital had +apparently accomplished its purpose. Augustus entertained a serious +repugnance to jail from having once been compelled to sample it, and +the patrolman’s words were seed sown in specially fertilized soil. + +For some time he had kept on the safe side of the line which divided +bestial drunkenness from mere gentlemanly intoxication. And when Edith, +after an absence of some two months, returned to the cottage on Cherry +Street with the baby and a nurse, the comparative decency of his +conduct came near astounding her. Findlay, however, was controlling +himself with the utmost difficulty. To the fear of the police was now +added the presence of a nurse—and in a damned uniform, at that! How +did he know but that she was sent there to report him? His mania to +get even with Haworth increased till he was in a condition of chronic +fury. He’d found out that Haworth had been meeting his wife, that the +money she’d been using for household expenses came from him instead +of being earned by her, that he had sent her to the hospital for her +confinement and paid for it—though as to that, who should pay for it if +not he?—and he hadn’t a doubt that it was Haworth who’d set the police +on him. Haworth—Haworth—Haworth—whichever way he turned. And here she +was, still wearing the clothes this fellow had given her—brazenly +wearing them before his face! The getting of his money was nothing; it +was what it meant—what it showed was going on. + +He’d been told by some of his disreputable associates that he could +bring suit for alienation and get all the rotter’s property away +from him. He’d do it, too! He knew a lawyer who’d take it on spec. +Cost nothing. But that wasn’t enough. Money was all very well, but +satisfaction—that was what he wanted—satisfaction! + + * * * * * + +Haworth had been allowed to see Edith a few days after the child was +born. She was very white and beautiful. When the nurse brought the +little speck of humanity, sound asleep, and laid it beside her, he sat +gazing at it for a long time. Edith lay looking at him with a shadow of +a smile flitting about her face. Soon the nurse made a little sign and +turned away. Haworth bent over and pressed his lips to Edith’s hands +as they lay on the coverlet—first one and then the other, and then the +first again and then the other again. Then he looked once more at the +little one, and finally let his eyes meet Edith’s in a long embracing +look that told her everything. After that he rose and tiptoed out of +the room. Neither of them noticed that not a word had been said. They +had spoken in a language not crippled by words. + +I’ve always had the idea that those innocent and delightful people who +are born without a trace of what might be referred to as economics, and +who are unable to acquire enough of same for personal use, should have +financial guardians appointed to help them through. Charles Michael +Haworth, the inventor, should have had one. + +Everything that he could lay his hands on was expended in providing the +best possible care for Edith during the period of her maternity. No +still small voice—indeed, no voice of any description—was heard by him +in warning against overdoing in the matter of present expenditure, as +future needs were likely to be still greater. + +Haworth could not think of such things. He could think only of Edith. +And not Edith in the future, but Edith now. One day, upon roughly +figuring from his check-book stubs (which was the only figuring he ever +did) he was amazed to find that he had very nearly expended the entire +amount deposited from the new loan. Only a few hundred left, and he +needed that for the nurse who was taking care of Edith! The doctor had +advised keeping some one with her for a while, as she was still far +from well. + +After a tough night worrying about it, he got old Mrs. Temple in and +told her that he had come to the place where there was no more money +for his own use—none at all. All the servants must go—the cook and +Hulda, even herself, for he would be unable to pay any more wages. He +was sorry, but they must all go. + +“What will you do, sir?” the old woman asked. + +“Oh, that’s—that’s nothing. I’ll be all right.” + +“You won’t be all right without your food, Mr. Haworth.” + +“I can get it somewhere.” He had vague notions of things in tins and +oatmeal and baked beans, that he could live on for a few cents a day. +That money in the bank, every dollar of it, must go for the nurse—for +the nurse and their food, too. Augustus was doing nothing. + +Mrs. Temple went out in a blind sort of way. Soon Hulda appeared. + +“She told me, sir.” She came just within the door, embarrassed. + +“Oh yes—about going. I’m sorry.” + +“I—I’d rather stay, Mr. Haworth.” + +“You mustn’t.” + +“If you please, it’s nothing to me about the paying—not till you can.” + +“I don’t see how I ever can, Hulda. And there won’t be anything for you +to eat—nothing you’d like at all. It’s too bad, isn’t it? You’ve been +so good to me, Hulda.” + +A strange convulsion twitched the honest Swedish face and a couple of +large-sized tears went sliding down her cheeks, upon realizing which, +she bolted out of the room. + +Haworth went down into the shop. Not to work; that was +impossible—impossible even if the power current hadn’t been shut off. +He stood for half an hour gazing vacantly down the long room with the +lathes and heavier machines lined along one side, the dead power shaft +above them, and the bench with vises and tool racks and the lighter +machines along the other. + +Hulda and the cook left four days later, the former making spasmodic +swipes across the upper part of her face with a bunched-up handkerchief +as she stood near the taxi waiting for them to bring down her trunks. +Nothing, however, would induce old Mrs. Temple to budge. Haworth’s +earnest pleading (on her behalf) that not only would he have no money +for her wages, but nothing wherewith to buy food for her, made no +impression on the old woman. She announced that she was a-goin’ to come +in an’ see to him an’ he might just as well make up his mind to it. +Wages wasn’t no consequence; he could pay her later when he was doin’ +well with his inventions. A compromise was finally reached. She was to +come in once in a while to put things to rights, but you may as well +know now that the said “once in a while” eventually developed into +twice in a while and then to three times a week; later still, as you +will see, to the old woman remaining in the house night and day as long +as she was able to manage it. + + * * * * * + +Three months had passed since the baby was born, and Edith hadn’t +regained her strength. It was absolutely necessary that she should +have proper care and nourishment. The doctor continued to visit her at +intervals and insisted on the importance of having the nurse remain +with her. So far Haworth had been able to manage these things, but he +was now close upon the end of his resources, and as time went on his +anxiety became appalling. + +He had been to a number of machine shops and manufacturing +establishments and applied for work. At two places he got a chance to +try, but in neither did he last more than three days. It wasn’t the +trouble of earlier years—inability to hold his mind concentrated on +work that was deadly and meaningless repetition. With the tremendous +incentive he had and the absence of interfering inventive ideas, he +could have done it. But with his marvelous mechanical knowledge he +couldn’t compete in cheap rapidity with a boob they might pick up in +the street. What he did he must do carefully and well. That lifelong +habit was absolutely unbreakable, and it unfitted him for modern work. +It took time. That wouldn’t do. + +It came to be the day after to-morrow that he was expected to pay the +monthly expenses for Edith, and he realized that he couldn’t do it. +Mrs. Temple saw from the way he strode blindly about the house that he +was in distress. She’d been watching him (without seeming to do so) +for some hours. Finally she managed to get in his way so that he was +compelled to stop before her. He hesitated and looked at her blankly. + +“Oh, Mrs. Temple. Yes—yes.” + +“I was just thinkin’, Mr. Haworth, there’s furniture in this house that +you ain’t got any use fur that I c’n see.” + +“Take anything you want, Mrs. Temple.” He turned to resume his feverish +pacing. + +“No, Mr. Haworth, it wasn’t that!” She was so emphatic that he stopped +again and stood looking at her. + +“There’s good furniture here, Mr. Haworth. Now that sideboard—I don’t +see’s you really need it. Maybe I could find somebody that’d give a +good price for it——” + +“What?” + +She repeated what she’d said. + +“Could you find him now?” + +“I’ll have to go in to Boston. There’s a man there——” + +“Would—would it be enough to—to——” + +“I dunno exactly, but that sideboard’s wuth consid’rable; and that +walnut set in the East Room——” + +“Anything—anything, Mrs. Temple. Please hurry. You might lose a +chance!” And he almost pushed her out of the room. The enormous relief +made him feel really faint and he sank into the nearest chair. + + * * * * * + +It was more than two months after the sale of the sideboard—during +which interval many other articles of furniture and four paintings +had been disposed of in one way or another, together with the largest +of his two lathes and his shaper and drill press—that Edith heard +what was going on. The information reached her via Augustus, who kept +a close watch on Haworth, and observing the trucks of second-hand +dealers taking these various articles from the mansion, took delight in +taunting her with it. + +At once she insisted that the nurse should not remain another day—that +it was entirely unnecessary, as she was feeling very much better. She +seemed so determined about this that the doctor thought best to give +way, and told her the nurse could go at the end of the month. + +In a letter to Haworth, Edith told him that she was so much better that +the nurse was going, and that hereafter she could manage with very +little help—perhaps none at all—as Augustus had got a job again and she +was going to insist that he turn over half his pay to her for household +expenses. She would miss the nurse, of course, she said, especially +about getting his letters at the Post Office and taking hers there. But +she would find some way. + +This letter reached Haworth at a time when he was beginning again to be +frightfully anxious as to where he could obtain money to go on with, +for he had only a small amount left and everything they could find in +the house that would sell had been disposed of. He was cutting off +every possible expense, even to half starving himself, pretending to +Mrs. Temple, when she came in on one of her “on” days and wanted to +cook things for him, that he had just eaten a hearty meal and couldn’t +possibly get down any more. He had an empty baked-bean can that he +feloniously left where she would see it, in order to help with the +deception. + +Edith’s letter gave him relief. He sat on his bench in the workroom, +thinking it over, and before going to bed he wrote one to her asking if +he couldn’t call and see her before the nurse actually left as it was +better for him to come while she was there. And so it was arranged. + +And the nurse was discreet and left them to themselves. And he held the +minute bundle of recently arrived humanity in his arms a few moments +until it protested vigorously on account of his profound awkwardness. +An exquisite hour it was for both of them. But Augustus was informed +of what had occurred by the small boy he’d hired to keep a lookout, +and on reaching home that evening was so violent and abusive that the +nurse started out of the house to bring the police, but he called her +back, thereafter subsiding into a scowling silence, and not long after +leaving the house. + + * * * * * + +On the following day, along toward afternoon, a car came up the drive +and the front-door buzzer sounded. Haworth opened the door to the +physician in whose care Edith had been at the hospital and who’d been +keeping an eye on her since she came back to the Cherry Street cottage. + +“Mr. Haworth, good afternoon.” + +“Oh—the doctor, isn’t it?” + +“Yes, Markham. Met you two or three times at the hospital. Dropped +around to have a little talk.” + +Haworth stood, near to being paralyzed with a frightful dread—some +sort of premonition concerning Edith—that stopped his heart. + +He was aroused by the doctor’s gently turning him about and walking +with him into the house. There was no furniture left in the vast dim +hall, and Doctor Markham, seeing through the open door on the left that +the room beyond had at least chairs and a table in it, guided him in +there. Haworth managed to make a motion toward one of the chairs and +Doctor Markham seated himself. Then Haworth slowly sat down, without +once taking his eyes off the doctor. He heard a voice saying something +about there being no cause for alarm and wishing to assure somebody +that there was nothing that couldn’t be taken care of if the proper +steps were taken without delay. + +“We’ve had Mrs. Findlay under observation for some little time,” Doctor +Markham went on. “I needn’t tell you that the important thing in these +cases is to get them in time; and while there was no——” + +“What cases?” broke in Haworth, who was on the rack. + +“The situation is this, Mr. Haworth: During the time Mrs. Findlay +was at the hospital we deemed it inadvisable to make a thorough +examination, for she could hardly have failed to realize what we were +looking for, and the effect on her might have been unfortunate. But we +feared a tendency toward tubercular trouble. We could say nothing more +at the time.” + +The doctor paused. + +Haworth heard himself repeating huskily, “At that time.” + +“Yes.” + +“But you—you can now?” + +“We’ve made an examination, Mr. Haworth.” + +Doctor Markham waited a moment and then continued: “Fortunately the +infection is very slight—only a small tract at the top of the left +lung. We’re in plenty of time, you see, and by sending her to the +right locality and making sure that she has proper treatment and +surroundings, there’s no occasion for anxiety. I came to see you about +this because I don’t know of anyone else. Her husband is out of the +question. Perhaps you know of some relatives or—or——” + +Haworth shook his head a little and tried to say “no,” but accomplished +no more than a movement of his lips. + +“The only thing, then, is to leave it in your hands, Mr. +Haworth,” the doctor went on, “and I’m very much hoping you’ll +see your way—or—or find a way” (he could not help a glance about +the poverty-stricken room) “to send her to one of the best +high-altitude cures, where she’ll have a complete change in every +respect:—air—food—sunlight—surroundings—even language if possible, for +every little helps. Attitude of mind is an important element you know. +Of course there are State and other institutions here—all admirable in +their way. But I’m sure Mrs. Findlay needs something more than we can +find near at hand. Moreover, there’s a child to be considered. That +complicates matters a little.” + +Haworth sat rigid, his eyes fixed on the physician. + +“I’m going over the case carefully with Doctor Benjamin, our lung +specialist, and I’ll have you fully informed of the steps to be taken. +Mrs. Findlay is aware of her condition. Just as well, too. She’d have +to know very soon in order to understand why certain things in the way +of treatment are necessary.” Doctor Markham understood the situation +pretty well and felt no resentment nor, indeed, surprise that Haworth +failed to rise from his chair or even seemingly to be aware that he was +going. He left the young man sitting motionless, staring before him. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Temple came in next morning and found Haworth in the room on the +left, sitting motionless, staring before him. He had the appearance of +having been there for some time, though she had no idea it was so long +as since the day before. For that matter, neither had he. + +It wasn’t necessary to make an effort to rouse him; he looked up at +her as she came near and answered her “good morning” absently. Later +he took a cup of strong coffee she brought, and drank it in compliance +with her request. Afterward she heard him murmuring faintly and +mechanically, as from force of habit, that he had had all the breakfast +he wanted and really couldn’t eat any more, so would she please not get +it for him. She paid no attention to this, though, and cooked him an +egg with two little ribbons of bacon which she had brought over from +her own limited base of supplies. When she set the tray on a kitchen +chair by his side he looked up at her gratefully but shook his head a +little. But when she said, “Please eat it, Mr. Haworth,” he did so. +Afterward, when she had gone back to the kitchen and was washing the +dishes he came out and asked if she could take a note to Mrs. Findlay +for him and bring back an answer. He explained how to get there, and +she started at once, without waiting to finish the dishes. There was a +strange and disquieting look in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in them +before. + +He had scribbled in pencil, “I must see you—I must—I must.” And the +answer came back, “Darling—oh, my darling, please don’t be worried—it +will be all right. Come to-morrow—three is the best time.” + + * * * * * + +When he was with her once more and she with him, there wasn’t much +that could be said. It was mostly the two silent ones clinging to each +other, feeling even then that the dread specter was standing over them, +making ready to tear them eternally apart; yet each managed to find a +few words of encouragement, Edith stopping his eyes with kisses when +they turned that terrified look on her, and telling him there wasn’t +any danger at all—that she felt so perfectly well; he muttering about +a patent he might sell, and anyway there were other things he had in +mind, so that she’d have every care and be sent to a place where cure +was certain. + +And then there was the little one—Mildred they were going to name +her—sound asleep on the nearby couch! It was inconceivable that tragedy +could come to such an innocent! He sat for a long time looking down at +the child, with Edith’s hand, now so white and thin, pressed against +his lips. + +While he was there the maddening inability to do what would save her +seemed not to burn into him so mercilessly. It was when he left her +and was back in the vast and gloomy house with its shadowy candlelight +and bareness of furniture that these things returned upon him and +assaulted him with their full force. And something that made it still +more terrible was lying on the table in the living room, awaiting his +return—the large envelope from Doctor Markham’s office containing +the specialist’s report. An agonizing thing to read, yet he did not +hesitate. + +Mrs. Findlay was in a serious condition. Though much of the detail was +beyond his comprehension, he had no difficulty in understanding that. +No time must be lost in getting her to one of the high-altitude cures. +Switzerland was recommended as most desirable for one of her type. +There were several that were held to be as beneficial in the United +States, but for Mrs. Findlay they were not to be preferred if it were +possible to send her abroad. + +Haworth saw it all. To save her life she must be sent to one of those +places—and little Mildred taken care of. And there was no one but +himself to do it,—no one. + +Mrs. Temple, pretending to be busy with an unusual amount of cleaning, +managed to hover near, not annoying him as he sat distracted or moved +blindly about the house, but ready at any time to do what she could—for +she saw there was serious trouble. Along toward seven o’clock she +made tea and cooked a small chop she’d bought while he was away. When +she asked him to come and have his supper, he stared at her vacantly, +seeming not to know what she meant; but it came to him after a little, +and he seated himself at the table in the small breakfast room without +further urging, drinking and eating, but plainly without an idea of +what he was doing. + +Afterward he wandered back into the living room, behaving somewhat as +people probably do when they’re walking in their sleep—I never saw one. + +The old woman glanced in occasionally while doing the dishes, and saw +each time that he was sitting there staring into vacancy, the pallor of +his face emphasizing the darkness of his deep-set eyes. She was greatly +worried, and wasn’t going home _that_ night, no matter what! He might +be taken ill or something. She would lie down on the old lounge she’d +found in the loft of the barn and brought into the kitchen when all +the good furniture was taken away. The last thing before doing this +she stole quietly to the door and looked in again. Mr. Haworth hadn’t +moved from the chair nor changed his position in any way. She went back +to the kitchen and stretched herself on the ancient and moth-eaten +sofa. It was a warm evening and she needed no covering. It seemed only +a few moments after she fell asleep that she was suddenly awakened by +the sound of violent knocking or pounding that apparently came from +somewhere in the basement. She listened for a few seconds, alarmed, her +old heart doing a corresponding pounding of its own. Haworth hadn’t +worked down there for months, and it seemed incredible that he would +suddenly go at it again at such an hour, and with the terrible thing, +whatever it was, that seemed to be pressing on his mind. + +But Mrs. Temple was game, if ever a woman was. It was hardly two ticks +after the pounding began before she was feeling her way down the +basement stairs. + +It was Haworth at work, and not in his shop, but some distance beyond +it. She could see him by the light of the lamp he’d placed near. He +had a lot of weather-beaten boards or planks that had apparently been +dragged in through one of the basement windows. She couldn’t think +where he’d got them, unless it was from the old barn at the rear of +the house. Out of these he was building a partition, so far as the old +woman could make out, and he was evidently in a fever of haste about +it, knocking and clawing out old nails, sawing boards in lengths, and +then nailing them to upright timbers or studding set in a way so they +would wall off a small-sized room. + +Even Haworth’s furious activity which she now beheld, seemed better to +her than having him sit rigid, staring at nothing, with some hidden +anguish eating his heart out; and she thought best not to disturb him. +So, after watching him a few moments she turned away and went back up +the stairs, and as soon as she’d got herself quieted a little, lay down +again on the old lounge. But not to sleep. She didn’t expect that. How +could she while hearing this dearly beloved young man in his frenzied +fit of work, to which he was driven by some desperation the cause of +which she could not guess? + +It was still going on when the morning sunlight struck in through one +of the windows, and did not cease until she went down to him with +coffee and toast on a tray. He stopped when she spoke, and stood an +instant looking at her. Then he thanked her, but really he didn’t want +anything. This behavior she considered much nearer to what was normal +with him than the way he’d acted at supper the night before—eating +everything without a word. Indeed, Mrs. Temple was so much encouraged +by his refusal to take anything, that she went further and insisted. He +must take it now while it was hot, and she set the tray on the plank he +was just then sawing. On this the young fellow came to terms and drank +the coffee and ate the toast—very hurriedly to be sure, and with eyes +roving about the structure he was engaged upon; but he “got it down,” +as Mrs. Temple said to herself, “and that’s the main thing!” + +In three or four minutes he was working again, and with the same +feverish haste—the same madness to have it finished. + +It was late the previous night that the thing had occurred to him. +He’d been sitting where Mrs. Temple last saw him, all hope gone, +crushed, stunned, overcome. All at once, without warning, he found +himself standing erect and with a plan or conception in his mind +which promised, on its first occurring to him, to be something which +would certainly turn defeat into victory. The central idea of the +thing, with its most extraordinary possibilities for profit, came to +him as a whole, and from that he began rapidly to develop it. For +nearly an hour he stood there intensely occupied with this, feeling +positive that he had something which would enable him to save the +life of the one so dear to him. Toward the end of that time the vital +necessity for secrecy began to dawn on him and then to rise rapidly +into tremendous importance, until he suddenly came to the realization +that it was at the basis of everything—that without it the invention +would be valueless—so much junk. He decided at once to build a room +in the basement where the device could be constructed without the +slightest danger that knowledge of its purpose or mechanism would leak +out. Bars and padlocks. Timbers from the old barn back of the house. +Almost before he knew what he was doing he found himself out there with +hammer and chisel and cross-cut saw. He took the lamp that Mrs. Temple +had left lighted on the table, and drove at the business frantically. +Time—time—time! The doctors said delay might turn the scales against +her. + +In a couple of hours he had enough timber ripped off and dragged to the +basement to begin on, and at it he went, startling Mrs. Temple—of whose +presence in the house he was unaware—out of a sound sleep. + +Working with the same desperate drive all the next day and well into +the succeeding night, he had the small room entirely planked-up by two +in the morning, the partitions build up solid to the floor joists of +the room above. + +He was at it again the morning following, and Mrs. Temple knew from the +muffling of the sound, as she heard it in the kitchen, that he had now +closed himself into the new room and was working inside. + +There isn’t a doubt in the world that Charles Michael Haworth would +have starved himself to death at this time but for Mrs. Temple. Without +a word of remonstrance or fault-finding she simply took things as +they came and hustled about to do what she could. Sometimes she was +able to induce a grocer or market man to give a little more credit. +Failing that, she’d go home to her lodgings (a small room in a tenement +building of forbidding aspect) and pull a battered old trunk from under +the bed. After looking about to satisfy herself that no spectators were +present, she’d reach in under the clothing which partly filled it, and +bring up a cigar box, from which the old woman would surreptitiously +and with a snatching motion, take out a dollar or two, quite in the +manner of one engaged in a robbery of some kind. Very well she knew +that this little hoard had been put by for a rainy day, and nearly +always she’d mumble to herself, “Well if this ain’t one, what is it I’d +like to know!” as she pilfered it. The money was quickly exchanged for +groceries. + +She brought his food to him in the basement, putting the dishes on an +upturned barrel near the little room where he was working. Then she’d +call to him that it was there and at once hurry away upstairs again. +He wouldn’t open the door while she was in the basement. For sleep +he took what little he got like a Chinese laundryman, dropping down +where he was when exhausted and resuming his hectic labor the instant +consciousness returned. + +There was only one outside interruption during the time Haworth was +driving to finish the apparatus or device he was working on, and that +a brief one. Two young men came to the house one morning, and so +impressed old Mrs. Temple (who answered the bell) with the importance +of their errand—assuring her that instead of being after money they +wanted to pay Mr. Haworth some—that she went down and talked to him +through the partition about it. It resulted in his finally putting on +his coat and going up to see what they wanted. He found them on the +front portico. Although Mrs. Temple had asked them in, they seemed, for +some reason, to prefer waiting outside. + +Certainly the one who did the talking did it well. He was a reporter +from one of the Boston papers and had in view a story for the Sunday +supplement. This recluse inventor had become quite a subject of remark +in his near neighborhood, and something of general interest might +be got out of it. Realizing from what he’d heard that Haworth would +be a ticklish proposition to handle, he said nothing about the real +object of his visit, but pretended instead that he wanted to buy one +of his inventions. His talk was so earnest, so glib, so voluble, that +Haworth was led into answering quite a lot of questions about his +life, habits of work, etc., before he realized what he was doing, and +altogether failed to notice that during this time the other chap (who +was a photographer) was dodging about in different places, carrying a +peculiar box-like affair in his hands. It was this latter that brought +an abrupt end to the interview, for Haworth’s ear, trained to a hair +on mechanical sounds, suddenly caught the click of a camera, and +turning on the instant, he got a fleeting glimpse of the thing focused +on him before the young man had time to drop it down. After a second’s +pause he turned on his heel and went into the house, closing the +door firmly, though not violently, behind him. The reporter chap was +disappointed, as he had it laid out to see the inside and look over the +inventions after they had the photographs taken. But with the pictures +they had there was enough stuff to go on with, and he could do a bit of +imaginary work for the interior. + +Three weeks—even working under forced draft as he did—was quick time +in which to finish what Haworth had undertaken. He had one thing in +his favor, though, which counted for not a little: the parts he had +to get out were large and simple—heavy wooden shafts and levers, +smooth-running pulleys with cords and weights, a great heavy pendulum +with escapement device—parts like that, and all on a scale involving no +complicated adjustments. Whatever lathe-work was necessary he managed +on the small lathe—it was only the large one that had been sold. He had +to rig it for foot power, but that was a comparatively simple matter. + +On an evening which was near to the end of this period of drastic +toil, Haworth sent Mrs. Temple on an errand so that he could test his +mechanism out. He found that with some minor changes and readjustments +that took him, notwithstanding the furious drive he put into it, a day +and a half longer, the device operated with certainty and precision. +Mad to complete it as he was, he realized that it must be unerring in +its performance. The slightest thing amiss or out of adjustment would +not only have spelled disaster, but pronounced it. + + * * * * * + +It was late one afternoon when Haworth was finally able to say to +himself that the mechanism was complete and its operation satisfactory. +As early the next morning as he thought likely people would have +arrived in their offices or places of business, he started out to +find some one who would purchase the rights for the handling and +exploitation of his novel mechanical conception; and before evening +of that same day he had come home stunned and stricken with the +realization that all his work had been of no avail. For it had never +occurred to the young inventor that the absolute secrecy upon which +the value of his device depended, could at the same time prove an +insurmountable obstacle in the way of disposing of it. Not until he +went out and tried to make a sale did this unfortunate situation reveal +itself. Then, and at once, he made the terrifying discovery that he +couldn’t possibly describe his mechanism and its tremendous monetary +possibilities until he was perfectly certain that he was doing so +to the man who would buy it; for there could be no possibility of +anyone taking hold of it and agreeing to pay the large sum of money +that he (Haworth) must have, as well as assuming the heavy expense of +manufacture and general promoting, unless given a full description of +the invention and its operation, together with his plans connected with +its exploitation. If ever there was a vicious circle on earth, this was +one—and not much distance to go in circumnavigating it. + +The truth came to him with a shock; indeed, he got the shock before his +conscious mind was aware of the truth. He had gone to a man he used +occasionally to meet at the mansion while old Mr. Cripps was alive. +This gentleman and Mr. Cripps seemed quite friendly, and the latter +once mentioned that Mr. Hollister (the gentleman’s name) had just made +a big pile of money on some patent he owned. Haworth hadn’t seen him +since those days. His office was in a large building on Beacon Street +a little way up from Tremont, and Haworth was there before ten in the +morning. It was his first attempt to sell. + +Mr. Hollister received him graciously—an elderly gentleman with a sharp +Yankee face, though kindly at that. While he was quite disturbed by +Haworth’s appearance—his extreme emaciation and ghastly pale face with +the feverish fire burning in his eyes—he showed no sign of it, and +after making him sit down by his desk and remarking on the number of +years since they’d met, asked if there was anything he could do for him. + +Haworth began at once to explain that he’d just perfected a mechanical +novelty regarding which he would like to interest him. He had built, +in the basement of the house, a full-sized working model—in fact, the +machine itself—for in the exploitation, or you might say output, of +the thing, lay the large money-making possibilities. He was going on +glibly enough with this sort of talk—for he was feverishly excited and +spoke rapidly—when he suddenly and unexpectedly came up against the +insurmountable obstacle. At the time he did not know what it was;—he +was only aware that something had stopped him dead. There was a silence +for a full minute. Then, his mind a sickening blank, he began to +stammer out a few disconnected words, after which he was silent again +and sat staring. + +Mr. Hollister, who’d been more than eager to hear what Haworth had in +the way of an invention, supposed the young man had been taken suddenly +ill (he certainly looked it) and hastened to get him a drink. But it +was all over. The young fellow couldn’t go on. And finally, in a blind +sort of way, he got up from his chair and walked dizzily out of the +office. + +The elder man followed to the elevator, quite solicitous; asking if +there wasn’t something he could do, and making efforts to learn what +the trouble was. But Haworth shook his head weakly, the elevator door +clanged, and he dropped silently out of sight. + +As he came out at the street entrance of the building he moved along +the wall a short distance and stood there, his eyes strained wide open. +The blow was so sudden and smashing that he was dazed, not realizing +what had struck him. He’d been there for hardly more than a minute when +the traffic policeman from the Tremont corner came hurrying along. A +lady had reported that something was the matter with a man leaning +against a building a little way up Beacon. The moment he saw Haworth he +ran across the street to him and asked what was wrong. + +The young man shook his head a little, but was unable to speak. + +“Live here in Boston?” the officer inquired. + +“Out—Roxbury.” + +“What’s the street?” + +“Torrington.” + +“Some ways. I’ll send a taxi.” + +“No, please don’t!” Haworth was suddenly emphatic. “I can get home all +right!” Saying which, he turned and walked unsteadily up the street. + + * * * * * + +He found himself awhile later, without knowing how he got there, +seated on the bench in the Public Garden where he and Edith had +been—ages ago—ages ago. He was trying to remember what he’d said to +Mr. Hollister, with the vague idea of finding out what it was that had +stopped him in the midst of the interview. + +It’s an odd thing, isn’t it, what the human mind’ll do to you! While +he was talking in the office there, running as smooth as you like, the +brakes suddenly went on, the wheels creaked, and he came to a dead +stop, and all without the slightest volition on his part. Now, as he +sat there near the pond and the shouting children, he slowly came to +a realization of the reason why a certain safety device installed +somewhere in his mental machinery, had automatically brought him to +a standstill. It would be impossible to explain the device and its +operation to anyone without ruining every chance it had. That is, +_unless the people he explained it to took it_—and how could he be sure +they would? + +Suddenly, after a length of time of which he had no idea, he got to his +feet. There was hope yet! A ray of hope! + +He would think up some sort of _similar_ affair—a proposition involving +the same sort of risks yet in reality nothing like it. This he would +describe to a man he was trying to interest in the thing, speaking +of it casually, not as anything of his own, but as an odd thing he’d +heard of—a man he knew had gone into it, and so on. From the remarks +and behavior of a person to whom he described this similar proposition, +it was Haworth’s idea that he could gain a pretty clear indication as +to whether the man would go into such a thing himself if he got the +opportunity; and when he found one who would, he could safely let him +know exactly what it was. + +There was no time to waste. He walked rapidly away, trying mightily to +conceive of some scheme that would give hazards corresponding to his +own, yet bearing no dangerous similarity to it. + +Among the few men with whom he had had business dealings, he selected +the manager of a machine shop—one Mat Williams—as being the most +likely to be attracted. By the time he got to Williams’s place he had +something roughly thought out to test him with, and as soon as he +could get him aside he began telling about a friend of his who had +gone into a most unusual enterprise—which enterprise he described at +length. Williams was naturally astonished that Haworth should come +there to tell him an absurd and apparently pointless anecdote, and when +the young man began demanding avidly what he thought of it, Williams +decided that the fellow had gone completely off his nut. He was sorry, +but the only course seemed to be to get rid of him as soon as possible, +which he did, smoothing things over with pleasant talk and a hurried +handshake. + +Haworth was cut up a bit, though he had no idea how bad it really +was. But as he tried one after another with his singular method of +diagnosing their speculative propensities, and found that every one of +them, instead of talking business, tried to get away from him as soon +as he possibly could, his hope began to ebb. + +From one to another he went, despairingly yet without thought of +surrender, coming to expect their glances of surprise, followed +sometimes by alarm, and again by something akin to pity. He accepted +these various expressions as they came, entirely unable to account for +them, realizing only that one after another of those he approached on +the subject appeared to have a strange antipathy to hearing anything +about the hypothetical cases he hit on to try them with, and hurried +away from him at the first available opportunity. + + * * * * * + +It was impossible that the night, when it came, should be anything but +a distressing one for Haworth. Though approaching people about his +machine had come, in this short space of time, to be about as enjoyable +as so many executions for murder, the poor fellow would rather have +gone on with it than lie helpless while his mind grappled with his +monstrous predicament. + +After a time, when the torture of the thing passed the point of +endurance, he would stagger blindly to his feet and stride about at a +tremendous pace, having no realization of where he was. This happened +several times during the night. + +The morning saw him out again with his white, emaciated face and +threadbare clothing, going mechanically from one place to another in +his vain search for some one he could rely on as a purchaser—a most +doubtful enterprise at the best, but put in the perfectly hopeless +class by his eccentric management of it, together with his disturbing +appearance and behavior. + +He hunted up several speculators who had once been friendly with old +Mr. Cripps, and quite frequently, in those days, guests at the house; +he went to Mr. Trescott and even to the manager of the bank with which +he had had some modest dealings in time gone by. But there wasn’t one +of those he approached with his misguided efforts to test them out, who +was not quite convinced, after listening to him a moment, that the poor +fellow was mildly insane. Mr. Trescott was quite saddened by it, yet +hardly surprised. + +The day following was Sunday, and after a hideous night of despair he +had fallen into a sort of stupor that lasted until the middle of the +afternoon. When he finally roused himself from it (he had been sitting +in a chair since the night before) the realization of his dreadful +dilemma came upon him with appalling intensity, and he went to pacing +about the house in a manner that filled Mrs. Temple with a new alarm. +There was a frantic desperation about it that terrified the old woman, +and it was some time before she got her courage up to speak to him. +She finally succeeded in waylaying him in the narrow back hall, but he +strode past without appearing to see her, crowding her against the side +wall as he did so, but of course without any idea of what he was doing. + +She recovered herself as soon as she could and made another effort to +get his attention, this time calling out to him that he mustn’t go on +that way—he’d kill himself! But it seemed impossible to make him hear. + +For more than an hour she listened to his tramping about, sometimes on +the floor above, sometimes in the large entrance hall or other rooms on +the ground floor, but never in the basement. + +Suddenly, when it was getting on toward four o’clock, there was a +dull, muffled noise apparently coming from one of the rooms above, as +of something falling heavily on the floor, and with it the sound of +tramping ceased. Though she felt her legs weakening under her, she +toiled up the main stairway. Looking down the upper hall, she could +see from the light striking through it into the corridor that the door +of the room Mrs. Findlay had occupied was open—something unusual, for +he’d always kept it closed and locked. + +She hurried, limping, down the hall and went to the door. + +Haworth was lying face down on the floor, his head resting on his arms. + +Mrs. Temple hastened to him, possessed only of the terrifying thought +that he was dead, and sank down on the floor at his side.... No! He was +breathing! Gently shaking him by the shoulder, she called his name. + +At first there was no response, but after a little he spoke in a voice +that was half a whisper, and without raising his head asked her please +to go away—he didn’t want to be disturbed. Would she please go? + +The old woman struggled to her feet and brought a pillow from another +room, feeling he wouldn’t like her to disturb the pillows in this one. +Kneeling on the floor beside him, she gently raised his head and put +the pillow under it. Then, with all the haste she was able to make, she +set out for a drug store, half a mile away on Center Street. + +On reaching the place she had to wait a moment before she could +recover breath enough to ask the clerk if he could tell her where she +could find a good doctor for Mr. Haworth.... Yes, over at the Cripps +mansion.... Yes indeed, it was very serious and some one ought to see +him. + +The clerk had, that very morning, been reading a full-page write-up in +one of the Sunday supplements, in which the house on Torrington Road +and its singular occupant had been fully described and illustrated. +For this reason he was instantly interested, and volunteered himself +to telephone to Doctor Crimmin’s office. If the doctor wasn’t in he’d +leave word for him to go out there as soon as he came. + +Mrs. Temple thanked him and hurried away. When she got to her lodgings +she carefully closed the door, pulled out the old trunk, reached down +under the clothing in it, and brought up the cigar box, from which she +took three silver quarters, muttering to herself as she seized them: +“Rainy day! I should think so! It’s one o’ them cloudbursts!” + +With these coins gripped in her withered hands, she went to the nearest +grocery store and bought four eggs, a loaf of bread, ten cents’ worth +of tea, and a small glass jar of milk, and then made all possible haste +back to the mansion. + + * * * * * + +I never could find out—for certainly Haworth had no idea, and what +other witnesses were there?—how long it was after Mrs. Temple left +him face down on the floor of his room, that he became aware of the +sounding of the front-door “buzzer.” Few in his distracted state +of mind would have noticed it, nor would he had not his years of +mechanical training made him ultrasensitive to such sounds. Sensitive +also to the condition of such mechanisms and instruments, as shown by +his never failing to keep the electric bell system of the house in +perfect working order, no matter what dilapidations befell elsewhere. + +Again the buzzer sounded on the floor below, echoing through the bare +half-furnished rooms. Haworth found himself vaguely realizing that Mrs. +Temple wasn’t in the house or she’d have answered the first ring. + +Slowly he got to his feet, descended the stairs, and crossing the great +hall to the front door, opened it. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Pentecost,—who had that morning read a Sunday supplement write-up +with headings about the “Hermit Inventor of West Roxbury,” and had come +out there (instead of taking an afternoon express for New York as he +had planned) to see if possibly some one of the devices the “Hermit +Inventor” had on hand might not come in nicely for his partner’s (Mr. +Harker’s) activities,—had hardly a doubt that it was the inventor +himself standing before him in the doorway. And although, owing to the +overshadowing elms and the roof and pillars of the portico above and +behind him, he found it difficult to see with any distinctness, he got +an instant impression, from a certain paleness of face that was almost +luminous and a peculiarity in the young fellow’s attitude or manner, +that something was wrong with him. + +The two stood silent a moment, for something made the commonplace +salutation Pentecost had in mind seem quite inappropriate, and it was +the young man who finally spoke. + +“What is it?” he asked in a hollow voice, slightly tremulous. + +“I beg your pardon,” Pentecost hastened to say. “I called to see Mr. +Haworth.” + +“What about?” still with a quivering note of near-tragedy. + +“Are you Mr. Haworth?” + +“Yes——but I don’t want to see anybody. Please go away.” And he was +turning back into the house. + +“One moment! It’s business—entirely business—I’m sure you’ll be +interested.” + +“I don’t think so,” came the hollow voice out of the gloomy half +light, and it was evident the young man was about to close the door. + +“Mr. Haworth!” Pentecost spoke sharply. “Can’t you listen half a +minute? It concerns us both—and I can’t very well talk about it here.” + +Haworth stared at him an instant and then, opening the door a little +wider, made a slight motion of invitation. + +Pentecost stepped in with a muttered, “You’re very kind,” and glanced +quickly about the vast entrance hall in which he found himself—an +enormous place two stories in height and with a great stairway at the +further end rising to a landing and from that branching to each side. +The place was seemingly quite destitute of furniture or floor covering, +and he found himself wondering how the young man had managed to make no +sound when he crossed it to open the door. He would look at his feet +later, when there was more light; it was very dim in the hall. + +Closing the massive front door, Haworth moved to the large double +doorway on the left—on the left as you enter the house, I mean—and +stood waiting for his caller to enter before him. Pentecost did so and +found himself in a large and lofty room with high paneled wainscoting +of some dark wood, and a white marble mantel on the side opposite as +he came in. There were two large windows in that wall—one on either +side of the fireplace, though not near it; and another in the wall +at his left which faced off toward Torrington Road. At the further +end of the room—which was quite a distance, as it was an exceedingly +long one—were two doors, one of which (a swing door held partly open +by a chair shoved against it) revealed a butler’s pantry beyond. This +large apartment was evidently the dining room—or once had been. The +wainscoting, heavily built and with deeply set panels, was fully six +feet high and extended entirely around it. + +Though somewhat shadowed, this room was lighter than the great hall, +and he saw mechanical blueprints and drawings laid out on a cheap +kitchen table near the middle of it, with small tools and implements +scattered about. Books and papers were piled and balanced here and +there. The floor was covered with what had once been a handsome +carpet—now worn and threadbare. The windows, he noticed, had cheap +roller shades to them—but judging from the cornices and rich but faded +lambrequins above—had once evidently had the heavy draperies of an +earlier fashion. + +Pentecost was an instantaneous observer, requiring no time exposure, +so that there had hardly been a pause when he turned to speak to +Haworth. But Haworth wasn’t there. He had followed into the room after +Pentecost, but had slipped to one side and was now wandering back +and forth along the wall toward the further end. He appeared to have +forgotten the other’s presence, and his eyes shifted about, giving him +the look of one tortured by some harrowing thought or memory. In a few +moments his restless glance accidentally fell on Pentecost and he came +to a sudden stop and stood staring at him. + +“Oh—you!” he muttered, half to himself. + +“Quite right,” said Pentecost. + +“Well, what is it?” the young man asked, moving toward him. + +“Perhaps I ought not to have intruded like this.” + +“As you have,” came back the hollow voice out of the gloom, “why don’t +you tell me what you want?” + +“It’s a matter of some importance to us and I thought it might be to +you. I represent a firm——Great God! what’s the matter?” + +For as Haworth approached him out of the shadows at the far end of the +room and the light from the front window fell on his face, Pentecost +saw it distinctly for the first time, and the eyes that looked out at +him from the drawn and almost distorted features might have been those +of a drowning man. + +“Matter?” the young man repeated. + +“Why—yes. Are you—are you feeling all right Mr. Haworth?” + +“You said you came about something important.” + +“Yes—I did—but perhaps you——” + +“If it’s money I owe you take anything you want and go away—that’s +all—go away!” Saying which, Haworth turned and started walking +restlessly about the room as he was doing before. + +“Not at all—not at all! There’s nothing like that! It’s just the other +way—I’m going to put a few dollars in _your_ pocket if you’ve got +anything I can use.” + +Haworth, halfway down the room, swung round with a look of such +fearful and desperate avidity that Pentecost saw at once it was a case +of money. The young fellow was in some dire extremity—some feverish +need that mere destitution, even to the point of starvation, wouldn’t +explain. Couldn’t be a more favorable situation for business. Easy to +drive him to the wall and get one of his inventions for a block of +stock—in other words, for nothing. + +“I represent a firm of promoters—New York—Harker & Pentecost.” +He took a card from his pocketbook. “We’re always looking for +novelty—something different from anything that’s been on the market +before.” + +Mr. Pentecost paused, but the young man said nothing, and he went +on: “It came to us a short time ago that you had some extraordinary +inventions here and if——” + +“There’s nothing you’d want,” Haworth interrupted. + +“But perhaps—if you’d allow me to see what——” + +“There’s no use in that! They come—hundreds of them—just want me to let +them see. Then they’re sorry, but there’s nothing of practical use. +That’s it—always nothing practical—always—always!” He moved away. + +“It’s nothing to me whether the thing’s practical or not!” + +Haworth stopped and stood looking at him. + +“I’m not looking for carpet sweepers,” Pentecost went on, “or fireless +cookers or any of those things that people are tired of reading +advertisements about. The thing I’m after is novelty—something +absolutely new and unheard of—something impressive in its operation so +we can exploit it and give it a chance. Now it struck me from what I +heard, that your work would perhaps be just the kind——” + +He was halted in the midst of his talk by the way Haworth was staring +at him. It wouldn’t have surprised him to get an indication on the +fellow’s face that he’d just thought of one of his devices that would +be what was wanted. But that wasn’t it. For soon he saw that the young +inventor was studying _him_—figuring out what sort of a character he +really was. Those strange and troubled eyes were fixed on him with an +intense scrutiny that penetrated below the surface. + +To divert this rather too close attention to himself, Pentecost spoke +with more emphasis than before. + +“I see you’ve thought of something, Mr. Haworth.” + +There was no verbal response to this, but a barely perceptible motion +of his head while still gazing intently at Pentecost, might be taken to +mean that he had. + +“Anything near what we’re looking for, do you think?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“I hope it’s something unusual,” Pentecost said, cheerfully; “some +novelty that’ll make ’em talk.” + +“It will do that.” + +“What made you say just now that you hadn’t anything I’d want?” + +“This is something else.” + +Pentecost was inclined to think the fellow had illusions. Anyone could +see there was something wrong with him. + +“Well, bring it along,” he suggested. “Let’s have a look at it.” + +The answer was a slight negative head-shake. + +“Too heavy?” + +“It’s built in.” + +“Where?” + +“Under here—in the basement.” + +“I see. Something to operate in a home. What does it do?” + +“I want you to come down.” + +“Certainly, Mr. Haworth. Lead the way.” + +Notwithstanding that Pentecost felt convinced that the young man had +signals set for some sort of brain storm and that he himself knew a +thing or two about basements in relation to crime, the notion of not +going down there when the distracted inventor suggested the idea, +didn’t come within miles of occurring to him. He had a hunch there was +something here for him—something extraordinary, too—and he was going +after it. + +Haworth moved nearer. “Mr.——What did you say your——” + +“Pentecost.” + +“Mr. Pentecost, I’ve decided to tell you everything.” + +“The best thing you could do Mr. Haworth.” + +“I find you’re the person I’ve been looking for.” + +“You’re very kind to say so. Shall we go down and have a look at it?” + +From Haworth’s last remark, Pentecost feared that after all he was +hopeless. + +“I’ll get the key.” + +“Secret, eh?” + +“Yes.” + +“No patent?” + +Haworth shook his head. + +“What about the people you’ve shown it to?” + +“There are none.” + +“And you haven’t told anybody?” + +“No.” + +That sounded better. The chap had some sort of sense, anyway. But not +the sense to patent it. That was too bad. + +“The key’s upstairs.” And he started toward the entrance hall. + +“Could we switch on a light here, Mr. Haworth? It’s a trifle overcast.” + +“I’ll tell Mrs. Temple to light a lamp,” the young man answered from +the door, and he hurried out. + +So they’d cut off his current, Pentecost reflected—for he’d noticed +electric fixtures about. Although hardly late enough for twilight, +there was much the same thing in this vast and gloomy room with its +dark walls and tree-shaded and vine-overgrown windows. Pentecost wanted +to see what—if anything—was going on here. Something made him feel that +whatever it was might be turned to his advantage. + +Soon after Haworth left the room, Pentecost saw in the dimness the +frail figure of a woman coming toward the table from the further end. +Mrs. Temple, probably—the one he’d spoken of. He saw from her unsteady +gait and bent figure that she was old and somewhat decrepit, and the +momentary clicking of the lamp chimney against the glass shade as she +took it off told of her trembling hands. + +The old woman had reached home with her modest packages of food only +a few moments before, and was greatly relieved as she passed down the +flagged footpath to the kitchen, to catch a glimpse of Mr. Haworth +through a side window of the living room; for it was evidence that he +had recovered sufficiently to come downstairs. An instant later she +saw that he wasn’t alone. A strange man—at least a stranger to her—was +standing near the table and appeared to be watching the young fellow +intently as he moved about. Then it came to her that he must be the +doctor. Who else could it be? He certainly had the look of one with his +close trimmed beard—and watching Mr. Haworth like that. + +After getting the lamp shade and chimney off, Mrs. Temple groped +about and found a match somewhere; but instead of striking it she +straightened up—so far as she could—and after a glance at the door +spoke in a low voice. + +“You’re the doctor, ain’t ye?” + +“No, madam,” Pentecost answered. + +Mrs. Temple stared blankly at him, seeming for some reason to be +astonished. “You ain’t?” she finally said. + +“Certainly not. Are you feeling ill, madam?” + +“Me?” looking at him in a surprised sort of way. “No!” + +After an instant she again bent over the lamp and lighted it, +regulating the flame by the little brass disk at the side. Pentecost +saw her thin, withered old hands trembling under the light. + +“Perhaps it’s Mr. Haworth who isn’t well?” he ventured. + +The old woman looked at him. “You ain’t blind, be ye?” she asked. + +“Not exactly, madam,” with a trace of a smile. “I saw he wasn’t looking +quite right——” + +“It’s a great sight more’n not lookin’ _right_!” Then she turned to him +suddenly. “What’re you doin’ here?” she demanded sharply, yet keeping +her voice subdued. + +“I came on business.” + +“Well ef it’s money you’re after you can talk to me. He ain’t in no +condition to be pestered; you ain’t got much jedgment about ye ef ye +can’t see that.” + +“But my dear madam, I assure you——” + +“Sh!” She was fussing with the lamp as Haworth came in. + +“What’s the matter?” he asked, seeing her bending over it. “Won’t it +work?” + +“Yes,” she said, stooping and looking under the shade. + +“I guess it’s liable to go now.” + +“I want to take it downstairs, Mrs. Temple——This way, Mr. Pentecost.” +The latter followed him across the great bare hall, to a door under +the branching stairway on the left, and through this to a back hall at +the further end of which the basement stairway descended. + +Mrs. Temple stood motionless at the table where they’d left her. +Strange as it may seem when you realize the briefness of the time, +this decrepit old woman, bent and knotted with rheumatism, her hands +tremulous with the palsy of age, had conceived a deep and implacable +distrust of the man she had just heard addressed as Mr. Pentecost. She +didn’t reason about it or ask herself why—that wasn’t her method. She +simply accepted it and was determined to do what she could. + +Ever since Haworth had built the small room in the basement some weeks +before, he’d been working feverishly day and night on what she supposed +to be one of his inventions, seeming so desperately bent on completing +the thing, and for the last day or two plunged in such dreadful +despair, that the poor woman was beside herself with anxiety. She’d +often seen him through times of such absorption in his work that he +would have starved if she hadn’t kept after him with food, but there’d +never been anything so terrible as this and she couldn’t find out what +was the matter. + +And now had come this sinister-looking creature (though to save her +life she couldn’t have said what was sinister about him) enveloped, +it seemed to her, in an atmosphere of cunning and intrigue so dense +that she could feel it, and Mr. Haworth had taken him down into the +basement—most likely to that secret room he’d been working in so +desperately—where the fellow was undoubtedly arranging some infamous +plan or deviltry involving him. + +Haworth, as soon as the door of the roughly planked room was closed on +them, had stripped away the sheet that covered his mechanism from view +and had begun to describe to Pentecost what it was intended to do. He +was in the midst of this when Pentecost suddenly stopped him with a +quick motion of his hand. + +The lamp with its green shade stood on the top board of a stepladder, +throwing a weird light on the two men facing each other in silence. + +Haworth, recovering from his surprise (for he hadn’t heard anything) +started to speak, but Pentecost shook his head emphatically, and after +a moment’s pause whispered: “I hear someone!” + +There was another pause. “You think somebody’s listening?” Haworth +asked in a subdued voice. + +“What I _think_ cuts no figure. This is where we take no chances!” And +Pentecost suddenly threw open the door. + +The light struck on old Mrs. Temple as she was going in through the +door of Haworth’s workshop nearly opposite. She’d caught a word or two +about some one listening and noted the sudden lowering of their voices +just in time to turn back and get into the shop. + +“Oh, Mrs. Temple!” Pentecost called in the most ordinary tone. “I’m on +the hunt for a drink of water. Maybe you’d get me some, if it isn’t too +much trouble?” + +The old woman reappeared at the door with a bunch of chips and shavings +in her hands. “It ain’t no trouble,” she mumbled without the faintest +trace of embarrassment, and limped along to the stairway. Pentecost +watched her labor up the stairs, then turned to Haworth standing in the +door of the planked-up room. + +“That old dame of yours is right on the mark,” he said in an undertone. +“Came out of there with a bunch of shavings.” + +“Yes—my shop. She gets them for the stove.” + +“So I inferred,” said Pentecost. His admiration was because she’d +managed it so deftly and said nothing about it. An amateur would have +mentioned the stove. Just as well to keep an eye on that old lady. + +She soon came back with the water. Pentecost took it from her. “Awful +sorry to trouble you,” he said, “—and all those stairs to climb.” He +took a sip of water. “You won’t need anything more down here perhaps?” + +“Anything more?” she repeated in a puzzled way. + +“Kindlings, for instance?” + +“Not if the fire goes, I won’t.” + +“I’m trusting, then, that it’ll do that.” + +They stood looking at each other for an instant. Then the old woman +turned and went hobbling off into the shadows of the basement and could +be dimly seen toiling up the stairs. + +A moment before she disappeared Pentecost said to Haworth, speaking +distinctly but not raising his voice, “It’s a remarkable invention, +Mr. Haworth—one that, handled properly, would make money; and I’d like +to talk business with you.” Then, setting down the glass of water, he +asked if he could have something out of his workshop. + +“Of course,” Haworth said, hardly understanding. “What is it?” + +“A piece of board five or six feet long—a light one about the size of a +lath.” + +They found a piece of narrow half-inch stuff, and Pentecost stood it +against the wall, slanting across the path of anyone walking through +the passageway in the darkness. He balanced it so that a touch would +send it clattering down. + +“Mrs. Temple wouldn’t listen, if that’s what you think,” Haworth said +as they went back to the room. + +“Of course not,” agreed Pentecost as he carefully closed the door. “Go +ahead with it,” he whispered, “but keep the soft pedal on. Basement’s +safe enough, but there’s a room above.” + +“Yes, but Mrs. Temple would never——” + +“I know—I know. She’s all right. Hell of a pity you don’t know what +talent you’ve got in the house! Go on now. What the devil _is_ all +this?” + +And thereafter had anyone been at the rear end of the room on the +left (which was the one above) or even in the basement itself, only +the faint droning tones of conversation could have been heard, with +occasional clanking and grinding sounds suggesting the revolution of +geared wheels. No words could have been distinguished and the fact +that toward the end of the interview, after Pentecost’s voice had been +going on in a subdued but earnest murmur for quite a time, it was +suddenly stopped, as though something had shut him off in the midst +of a sentence, and that then, for several minutes following, there +was absolute silence, could only have mystified without in the least +enlightening anyone in a position to overhear. + +In reality there was no mystery whatever, and the whole discussion +between the two in that basement room was simple and straightforward. +It was only that while Mr. Pentecost was in the very act of telling Mr. +Haworth that there were various reasons why it was impossible for his +firm to take on this remarkable idea of his for exploitation, there +suddenly came to him—flashing through his mind in the characteristic +way he hit on such things—a most ingenious scheme or operation that +could be worked in connection with this device of Haworth’s—and in +fact with nothing else; a scheme that appealed to him by reason of its +extraordinary possibilities for shrewd maneuvering and complicated +trickery and strategy, and because it was dangerous, cold-blooded, and +terrible. + +It came crashing in on him in the very midst of his declining to have +anything to do with the Haworth invention—even while he was advising +Haworth himself to let it alone—and naturally brought him to a stop +that was near to being a jolt. The rest of his sentence remained +unspoken. He sat motionless, his mind flooded with his new idea, a +blank to everything else. And when Haworth, who had taken his refusal +as final, at last muttered something about going upstairs, he rose from +the wooden box on which he was sitting and followed. + +Haworth, in the room above, set the lamp down and stood staring into +vacancy. + +Pentecost hunched himself up in a chair where he sat with his dark +half-closed eyes fastened on the young inventor. He was figuring on +what the chap would be likely to do under certain circumstances—the +most effective method of taking care of him should he prove an +obstacle—the safeguards he could use. + +He was as certain that he’d purchase the rights for handling and +exploiting the Haworth machine—but doing so in his own way—as he +was that he saw the young fellow there before him. It was a chance +he’d been looking for ever since he left Chicago. He’d pay anything +necessary. But of course he knew how to manage so that the said +“necessary” would be an insignificant figure. + +Haworth began to walk up and down the room. Pentecost watched him for a +while. + +“What seems to be the matter?” he finally asked. + +The young man stopped in his tracks and looked at him. + +“I thought you said you wouldn’t take it.” + +“I’m not the only man on earth.” + +“It’s the time—the time!” + +Pentecost regarded him from under his drooping eyelids. + +“You’re looking for a bunch of money?” he asked. + +“Yes—oh yes!” And Haworth turned and began to move about. + +“Look here,” Pentecost called out to him after a while. “Just to +satisfy my curiosity, put an index to it!” + +“Index?” Haworth stopped and faced him. + +“What amount?” + +“I don’t know. A lot—thousands—I must have thousands.” + +“How many?” + +“All I can get—twenty. No, wait! More! Thirty—forty——” + +“The fool that would give you that isn’t born yet.” + +“How do you know? Wait! I’ve thought of something! I’ll go to the +moving-picture men. They’ll take an interest—they’re bound to—the +pictures are part of it—and they pay great prices—they pay thousands!” + +Moving-picture men! And the distracted young fellow was capable of +doing it. Might get something out of them, too, if he happened to +strike a crooked concern. + +“I don’t suppose you could wait a few days,” Pentecost mumbled in +an uninterested sort of way. “There’s a bare chance I’ve thought +of—though I doubt if it’s as good as the pictures at that.” (Of course +he couldn’t appear to block the picture game. The price would go up on +him—or would if the chap knew anything.) + +“For yourself?” Haworth asked, eagerly; for he’d got it firmly fixed in +his mind that this man was the one choice on earth for the carrying out +of his idea. + +Pentecost shook his head. “No,” he said, “but I’ve got a partner. I’ve +known him to take a fling at something on his own account—if he took a +fancy to it.” + +“Where is he?” + +“Pittsburgh—on business. He might be able to get here by Friday.” + +“Five days!” + +“Good man for you, too. Just his line. Done this sort of thing before.” + +“But you don’t know he’d take it! I can’t wait five days and then +have him say no! I’ll try the pictures. There was a man here last +week—wanted to take me working at the lathe—said he’d read about me in +a paper. I know where he is. I’ll find him to-night!” + +There could be no doubt that the fellow would do as he said. He hadn’t +the faintest idea in his system of what a “bluff” was. And the fear +of losing this rare chance for ingenious chicanery drove Pentecost +into the execution of what is popularly referred to as a “climb down.” +Although able to camouflage this performance so that it did not appear +in that unpleasant light, he had, before leaving the old Cripps mansion +that evening, virtually guaranteed that his firm would take over the +entire exploiting rights in the Haworth mechanism, and had agreed to +pay for the same in cash, upon the signing of the contract, an amount +which should be “satisfactory” to the young inventor. As to this +payment he asked for a delay of fourteen days so that he could sound +the market, the idea of the thing being so utterly unique that it was +impossible at this time to estimate the exact figure they could pay. +And as he needed every moment of the fourteen days option—as you might +call it, and this being Sunday and so late anyway that nothing could +be accomplished, he asked that the time allowed begin on the following +day—Monday—at noon, bringing its expiration on Monday the 30th of +August at the same hour. + +With talk like this—which, as you see, bound him to nothing—in +combination with the young man’s earnest desire that he should be the +one to undertake the exploitation, Haworth was persuaded into this +fourteen days delay, being made confident of receiving a large amount +of money at the end of that time. Pentecost said he would bring Harker +there to draw up the contract, on his return from Pittsburgh, and +then this promoter of hazardous and extraordinary villainies rose to +take his leave, slipping a bunch of bills on the table as he did so, +with the explanation that what he’d got—though not in legal form—was +really a fourteen-day option, and as option money he was leaving a +couple of hundred. There was nothing of kindliness or rescue work +involved in this; Pentecost had sized up Haworth well enough to know +that acceptance of money would make him feel in honor bound to wait +the fourteen days—bound firmer, indeed, than if he’d signed documents. +A wary move, certain to prevent the young fellow, in a possible fit +of desperation, from taking his astonishing idea to a motion picture +concern. + +The delay he’d asked for was absolutely necessary to Pentecost for the +carrying through of the complicated campaign mapped out in his mind. +Advance planting of a most unusual character and covering a great +extent of territory was required. In addition there was the matter of +Haworth himself—the chances—the safeguards—for he was a risk beyond +computation. He had insisted on the payment being made to him in cash +at the expiration of the fourteen days—if the firm decided to purchase +the rights. It looked like a big bunch of money dropped in his lap +and no anchor to it—an impossible situation. Of course the fellow +would have to be taken care of. The way to do it was the problem. But +Pentecost very well knew he’d have a solution—and an adroit one—before +morning. + +He boarded the midnight train for New York fifteen minutes before +leaving time, and at once went to work on his intricate scheme. + + + + +PART VI + + +When Stephen W. Harker of Harker & Pentecost returned from Pittsburgh, +where he’d been “planting” for a nice little Gasoline Substitute +Swindle (stock selling, of course—that was his department) and had sat +in for an hour with Pentecost, getting the details of the extraordinary +Haworth device and the elaborate scheme his partner had evolved for its +exploitation, he vehemently refused to have anything to do with it. Not +for by George and all hell was he going to put his head in a noose like +that when he had a nice safe little business that was raking it in as +fast as he wanted it. + +“You got me going once when you had the firm into that damned Folsam +affair—you know the one—came out his wife had hit him with something in +his tea. You’d got a grip some way so you could hold it back an’ play +it. I dipped in with you an’ no complaint at the time. But now I’ll +tell you _that_ was too close for me and this time you’re going to jump +plumb into the middle of the shake-off! You must be dippy! They’ll get +you sure! Anyways, you can count me good an’ out.” + +Pentecost sat toadlike, silent, regarding Harker with bulging, +half-closed eyes. + +“Now hook to this,” Harker went on; “if the turn is against you and +they’re fixing you for the clamps, I back your play to ooze out of +anything. But I get loose teeth if I mix in with those little sports +that look like raspberry tarts to you. Now this Haworth layout—it +looks to me like a frolic with the undertaker; but if you like it for +yourself, go to it!” + +“I’ve gone to it,” Pentecost murmured in a careless sort of way; “and I +play it under the firm name.” + +“But my God—wait! That gets _me_ in!” + +“Why, so it does!” + +“What are you doing, dragging me into a play whether I want it or not?” + +“Can that!” Pentecost flashed sudden fire for an instant. “Do you think +I planned this damned firm to keep you under glass?” + +There was a short pause and Pentecost’s blaze-out subsided. + +After a while Harker spoke in another tone, now petulant and pleading. +“You going to jam me up against that layout an’ nothing to say?” + +“You can make your getaway now.” + +“Jump the firm?” + +“Why not? In that case, jump while the jumping’s good.” + +Harker, on that, said no more. He’d go a long way before dropping the +partnership. It wasn’t alone losing the tidy and “classy” business +as it was now run through Pentecost’s putting it on a straight-play +basis, but even more than that he appreciated the association with this +marvelous operator. It gave him the feeling of trailing along with a +giant, a super-sharp, a past master of crookedness. He gave the matter +of the Haworth enterprise deep thought, and by noon of the following +day had decided to play in on it, saying to himself that he’d bar +worrying by putting his trust in Pentecost. + +On the afternoon of the same day that Mr. Harker declared himself in +on the West Roxbury undertaking, both members of the firm embarked on +a steamer of the Metropolitan Line for Boston. The boat was the _North +Land_ and this line was the “all-the-way-by-water” route, the steamers +after traversing Long Island and Block Island Sounds and Buzzards Bay, +passing through the Cape Cod Canal into Barnstable Bay, and thence +through Cape Cod and Massachusetts Bay into Boston Harbor. + +It was the fourth day after Pentecost’s visit to the Cripps mansion and +the firm was proceeding to Boston as agreed, in order to discuss with +Haworth various points of the contract—the amount to be paid down, the +delivery of the machine, and other matters connected with the sale—so +that the papers could be drawn up ready for signature on the day the +option expired. + +Mr. Pentecost had already accomplished a great deal, having got in +reports from his men (if it was ordinary business you’d call them +correspondents) in all the large cities, and also having come to the +determination to carry on the thing himself in such of those towns as +he finally selected, instead of selling to the central agency or bureau +handling this class of material,—a bureau which he found to be run by +“pikers,” mortally afraid to pay big money for big chances. In addition +to this, it was safer not to trust them in so ticklish a business. So +he had it all laid out, and his own men were already where he wanted +them or on the way. He’d sent a couple of his choicest “trusties” over +to Boston the day before. Of course the main work was going to be there. + +The taking of a steamer instead of going by rail, and also the +selection of this particular line, were both essential to Mr. +Pentecost’s scheme; and the same thing made it imperative that, +following their interview with Haworth, they return to New York by +the same boat on which they went over. So important was this latter, +indeed, that had they been unable to secure return accommodations +on the _North Land_, Pentecost would have postponed the trip until +both the going and returning could have been accomplished on the same +steamer—he did not care which of the two running on this route it was. + +Awhile after the _North Land_ left—they must have been about running +out into the Sound at Hell Gate—Mr. Pentecost went to the purser’s +window to make inquiries about the tickets for the return trip (he had +left the matter to be adjusted when he came on board, merely having +been informed by telephone that the reservations had been made), and +after finishing with the business remarked jovially to Mr. Lawson (the +purser) that that was a damn good picture of a locomotive he had on the +wall there behind him. It represented, lithographed in color, a giant +locomotive hauling a night express on the New York Central, and so +realistically coming toward you that your first impulse was to make one +grand hurdle for your life. The purser, pleased at the appreciation, +for he had a fad on locomotives (a fact which Pentecost had obtained +from the comprehensive report on the steamer and its officers turned in +by one of his men), said it was a pretty good one, but he thought the +one they got out the year before beat it. + +The conversation resulted in Mr. Pentecost’s being invited into the +office, and when business at the window permitted the purser showed him +other views of locomotives. + +Pentecost didn’t stay long. He knew enough not to drive an entering +wedge too far. + +By evening they had a slight acquaintance with several of the officers, +and Pentecost had made a most favorable impression on the head waiter +as well—this latter through the poignant influence of an extraordinary +tip; and along toward nine-thirty or ten o’clock the purser, with +whom he was chatting over cigars, introduced him to Captain Snow, who +happened along just then, and the three talked about the canal. + +Pentecost made many intelligent inquiries on the subject and Harker +came along and listened in with great interest. So that the total +result of the voyage was most satisfactory from Pentecost’s point of +view. With no hint of pushing or forcing themselves they had a fairly +good traveler’s acquaintance with the captain, the purser, and several +minor officers of the _North Land_, as well as the head waiter and +one or two of the deck hands of whom they’d asked questions. Also the +chief engineer, to whom they’d been turned over on expressing a wish +to have a look at the “power plant,” as they called it. Pentecost had +made this engine room move in order to bring it in casually that they +were especially interested in machinery—almost their business, you +might say. Indeed, that they were even then on their way to Boston to +negotiate for the purchase of the rights in a most ingenious mechanical +contrivance, though they weren’t positive of being able to get it. Held +at so high a figure. But an extraordinary thing in its way. + + * * * * * + +The _North Land_ backed into her berth at India Wharf, Boston, shortly +after 8 o’clock the next morning, and Messrs. Harker & Pentecost were +driven to the hotel they were in the habit of patronizing when there +(except at such times as they preferred to have their presence in that +town unobserved), and went to the room which had been reserved by wire. +Alfred Harker, son of the senior partner, who’d come over on the train +that left New York at midnight (there’s an “Owl” in each direction you +know), had been waiting for them there since about half-past six in the +morning. + +After breakfasting together and going over a few matters, the three +came down into the hotel office and sat there smoking and chatting. One +of the house managers came along. An assistant manager, I believe he +was. His name was Tate. + +He greeted Pentecost and Harker by name, and Alfred (who hadn’t been +there before) was introduced. + +“Boston on business?” Mr. Tate inquired, pleasantly. + +“That’s it,” said Pentecost; “rather an odd business, too.” + +“Not so much the _business_ that’s odd,” put in Harker, “but what it +brings us up against. Maybe you can give us a pointer or two. We’re +trying to buy a mechanical device—invention, you know—from the queerest +duck you ever saw, out Roxbury way.” + +“Queer, eh?” + +“Just bordering on the lunatic fringe,” Pentecost took it up, “but a +crackerjack on mechanics. Got a lot of strange devices in his shop out +there; most of ’em no earthly use but marvels of ingenuity, nearly +every one. Went out there to see ’em a few days ago—Sunday it was. In +fact, it was a Sunday paper put me on to it. Full-page write-up about +the chap—pictures of him and all that.” + +“Oh yes,” Tate put in. “I saw it—I mean the heading—that’s all I read. +Something about a hermit, wasn’t it?” + +“That’s right.” + +“Has some ingenious things, you say?” + +“Remarkable! No idea I’d find anything we wanted when I saw the +tumble-down place; but, if you’ll believe it, he had one of the most +novel inventions I ever laid eyes on; in fact, just the kind of thing +we’re after. Exploiting’s our business, you know. I got an option on it +and we’re over here to get the thing if we can.” + +“What’s the man’s name—I forget?” + +“Haworth—Charles Michael Haworth, if you want it all. I suppose you +can’t tell us anything about him?” + +But aside from having caught a glimpse of that heading Mr. Tate had +never heard of the man. He assured them, though, that he was going to +make inquiries, and if he got hold of anything he’d certainly let them +know. They thanked him, and not long after that the three went out and +took a carefully selected taxi for West Roxbury. + +I don’t want you to get the idea that there were any loose ends about +what these super-sharps were doing—not for one half of one per cent. +They figured the play to a hair. In this case they had Tate cribbed for +a witness. + + * * * * * + +Although the day set for the visit of Harker, Pentecost, and Alfred +to the mansion on Torrington Road was not one of Mrs. Temple’s days +_in_ according to custom, but was branded by the calendar as a Friday +(which was one of her days _out_) the old woman was there just the +same. Since the appearance of Mr. Pentecost at the house nearly a week +before she had been obsessed by the feeling that he was working up +some treacherous plot against the trusting young fellow in her charge, +and she was determined to be on hand to keep a watch on the vicious +brute if he came to the house again—as she had no doubt whatever that +he would. + +But Haworth had taken note of this tendency of Mrs. Temple’s to be +present irrespective of her days in and finding her there on this +particular morning he had sent the old woman on an errand which would +keep her away for some time. So when the party arrived at the house it +was he who opened the door. + +Mr. Pentecost greeted him and introduced his partner, Mr. Harker, and +Mr. Alfred Harker, after which Haworth ushered them into the room on +the left. It was all peculiarly quiet and subdued. Few words were +spoken, and those that were, in lowered voices. Pentecost took notice +of Haworth’s improved appearance—his quiet, steady voice and the +absence of the tortured look and the “drowning-man” stare. + +After the four were seated there was a brief pause. They seemed +weighed down by some sort of oppressive restraint that could almost be +described as funereal. + +It was Harker senior who finally began the conversation, endeavoring, +with an allusion to Boston’s climate, to establish a commonplace +atmosphere—though one hardly more cheerful; and Harker junior hastened +to his assistance with a reference to his surprise at so rural a +section being in the heart of the town. He supposed Roxbury—or was it +Jamaica Plain?—might be so considered. + +Pentecost turned them to business, remarking that there wasn’t any time +to throw away, and that the first thing was to go down and inspect +the machine under consideration, so that the Harkers could get a +clear understanding of it. Before they did this, however, he would +appreciate information as to the whereabouts of the talented old lady +he had seen there on his previous visit. Haworth explained that Mrs. +Temple had been dispatched on an errand to East Boston and would have +to wait there about three hours before the foundry people could get her +the article he’d ordered. Pentecost inquired how much time the journey +to East Boston and return would normally require. Haworth thought, with +the walk necessary when she got there, it might roughly be put at two +hours. + +“How long ago did she leave?” Pentecost inquired. + +“About twenty minutes.” + +“An hour and forty minutes left,” and he glanced at his watch. + +“Four hours and forty minutes, if she waits there three,” corrected +Alfred. + +“As you say—if she waits there three,” was Pentecost’s muttered +rejoinder. + +The four men spent over an hour in the planked-up room, various sounds +of clanking machinery and low-toned conversation issuing therefrom. +When they finally completed their investigations and were coming +out, Mr. Pentecost expressed the wish to see others of Mr. Haworth’s +inventions; so the young man, after lighting Mr. Harker and Alfred to +the stairway, took him to the large room where he kept his working +models. In this way Pentecost got the opportunity of speaking with +Haworth alone. + +There were a number of matters relative to the exploitation of the +invention in the planked-up room that he wished to arrange with the +young man personally. Nothing in all this was a secret from Harker, who +understood that it would be better for Pentecost to arrange matters +with Haworth personally, afterward turning over the results, as you +might say, to his partner. + +In the course of this interview in the model room Pentecost spoke +earnestly for some time. Haworth’s rejoinders were short and quiet, but +it was perfectly evident that what he said, he meant. + +After several matters had been gone over, Pentecost turned his +attention to the inventions he had come in there to see, for his wish +to look them over wasn’t altogether a blind. Eventually he came upon +one that suited the purpose he had in view. It showed great ingenuity, +and it was not patented—two most desirable points. + +When the two men came upstairs they found Mr. Harker and Alfred seated +at the table in the room on the left, working on the rough draft of the +proposed agreement. A sound and businesslike contract with Haworth was +of the utmost importance to the firm. + +They’d been discussing the matter for some time when Pentecost stopped +them with a quick motion of his hand and sat listening. After a moment +he glanced at his watch. The time was nineteen minutes after twelve. + +“Gave us four minutes longer than I figured,” he muttered in an +undertone. + +“Mrs. Temple?” from Alfred in a whisper. + +Haworth, amazed, incredulous, started up to investigate, but Pentecost +indicated that he’d like to attend to it himself. Tiptoeing to the +swing door of the butler’s pantry at the farther end of the room, he +stood close to it, listening for a second, then suddenly pushed it open +and went out, the door closing itself after him. Sounds like the moving +of furniture came from the kitchen, and Pentecost soon reëntered as +though nothing unusual had taken place. Instead, though, of sitting +where he’d been before, he pushed a chair close to the door into the +big entrance hall, which door he opened a few inches, and sat in such +a position that he could command a view of the main stairway at the +farther end of the hall. + +“Shall I go on?” Alfred inquired after a moment. + +“Why not?” said Pentecost. + +Alfred read the draft of the contract, and when he came to the blank +left for the amount that Haworth was to get when the agreement was +signed, he stopped and looked at Pentecost. The latter said that Mr. +Haworth had consented to allow the matter to stand over till the day +of signing—nine days from then. However, he would say before witnesses +that it would be a figure satisfactory to Mr. Haworth after considering +certain facts which he, Pentecost, would then be in a position to give +him. “He’s willing,” and Pentecost said it appreciatively, “to allow us +that much more time to feel out the market.” + +He then went on to tell them that, as a result of a discussion they’d +just had in the basement, Mr. Haworth had agreed to another matter to +be included in the contract. It was to the effect that, in case the +negotiations for the purchase of the invention were successful, Mr. +Haworth would sign for a term of five years, to work exclusively for +the firm of Harker & Pentecost, on such inventive undertakings as they +should designate, receiving as compensation a salary of six thousand a +year. + +Harker was struck with astonishment at this, but in an instant realized +the importance of the stipulation to the firm. Alfred, too, was +surprised—though he showed no sign of it. Neither need have troubled +to hide his feelings, as Haworth cared nothing about them one way or +another. + +Alfred was beginning to put away the papers in his document case, when +Pentecost spoke of wishing to suggest a method for safeguarding the +secrecy of this unpatented mechanism when they had occasion to refer +to it in any way, orally or in writing. His idea was that they allude +to it as “The Machine,” and in case some allusion to the mechanism was +necessary, they should use for that purpose, _as a blind_, some other +of Mr. Haworth’s inventions, preferably an apparatus on which a patent +_had_ been allowed. “Letters may fall into the hands of outsiders,” +Mr. Pentecost explained. “Telegrams and telephonic communications are +of necessity known to various persons, and personal conversations are +quite liable to be overheard. By using the name and description of some +other device these dangers may be eliminated and we will understand +what is meant.” He happened to come upon one of Mr. Haworth’s earlier +inventions that would very well answer the purpose—a combination gas +and compressed-air engine, really a most ingenious thing. They could +speak of this as “The Machine” or as “The Gas and Air Engine,” and +allude to its construction when necessary. He was very desirous of +having this blind used in the contract—for contracts frequently have to +be made public and this would make everything safe. + +This ended the discussion of the contract. But Pentecost, turning to +Haworth, said there was an important matter that he rather hated to +speak of, but with an extra-hazardous operation like this it was vital. + +“What is it?” Haworth asked, slightly apprehensive. + +“I’m going to ask you to give that admirable old lady of yours a +vacation.” + +Pentecost was taking care to turn away from the slightly open door to +the hall while speaking. “You must see, Mr. Haworth,” he went on in a +lowered voice, “that it won’t do to have her about for the next ten +days. The machine,—by that I mean the one we’re taking—is going to be +exposed at the time of its ‘delivery’—perhaps before. She knows it’s in +that room down there; you can’t touch _her_ with any decoy. She may not +understand machinery, but she’d give it away to others who did.” + +Haworth was silent for a moment. A great ache gripped his throat, and +he finally spoke in a voice that he couldn’t quite control: “You don’t +know how—how true she’s been—how kind! Why she—she’d do anything for +me!” + +“Yes, my friend, and there’s where she’d play particular hell with us! +That old dame’s no fool. And the trouble is, she’s got the idea there’s +something going on here and she’s all set to protect you from it.” + +“Yes, yes—she’d do that!” Haworth murmured, huskily. + +“Not _would_—is now!” + +The young man looked at him suddenly. + +Pentecost nodded. “In the butler’s pantry there a few minutes ago,” he +went on; “slid back into the kitchen as I was going to the door. When +I got out there she was hustling up the back stairway. I shut the door +at the bottom of the stairs and balanced a table against it. You’ll +hear it fall if she tries to push the door open. Only way she can get +down is by the main stairway out here. Don’t think she’d care to try a +window.” + +Haworth was so amazed he couldn’t speak. + +“You must see what this means to our end of it,” Pentecost went on. +“We’ve got to put up big money in advance and incur enormous expenses +before there’s any return, and here’s this old lady in a position to +wreck the whole damned layout if she can get her nose into it—and +that’s what she’s working for.” + +“What—what do you want me to do?” + +“Keep her out of the house until the machine’s delivered.” + +The young man was silent, staring uneasily before him. In a moment or +two Pentecost resumed: “I admire that old lady and I’ve got things laid +out for her later where she’ll come in delightfully. But for eleven +days she’ll have to disappear—or we must. It’s one or the other, Mr. +Haworth. We can’t risk money on a chance like that.” + +Haworth nodded. “I’ll attend to it!” he said, hoarsely. + +“Right. And there’s only one thing more to speak of—the butler.” + +“Butler——” Haworth repeated, surprised. + +“The old lady’s going. You ought to have some one here to attend to +you. Also, we’d like a man in the house to look out for our interests. +Why not combine the two? A butler—a general servant—who’ll take care +of you, and on our side see that no one tampers with the lock of that +small room in the basement, and a few little things like that.” + +“Will you send some one?” + +“Not quite that, Mr. Haworth. I know just the man for the job, but I’d +like you to get him yourself and leave us out of it.” + +“But I—I don’t know. I never had any experience in——” + +“Perfectly easy to manage. This young butler I speak of is booked with +a first-class employment agency on Forty-fifth Street.” + +“New York?” + +“Yes, West Forty-fifth. You can write them to send him over. Fellow’s +name is Dreek—James Dreek—and if he isn’t out on a job they’ll put him +on the next train.” (Pentecost very well knew “James Dreek” wasn’t out +on any job, though not from the employment agency, with which concern +he’d been more than careful never to have any dealings whatever.) +“Dreek can manage the whole place for you—see that our side of it is +protected at the same time.” He got out a pocketbook and took a card +from it. “Here we are; this is the agency.” + +“But I——What shall to say to this—this agency?” + +“Here, I’ll do it for you and you can sign it. Got a machine here? +Typewriter?” + +Haworth shook his head. + +“Oh well, wait. Sign your name at the bottom of a blank sheet and I’ll +type a letter in above it when I get back to the hotel.” + +For some reason Haworth trusted this man implicitly, and after writing +his name at the bottom of a blank sheet, held it out to him. But +Pentecost didn’t take it. + +“Haven’t you got a large envelope or something I can put it in?” he +asked. “Just to keep it clean till I get to the hotel?” + +“I’m afraid not,” said Haworth, looking about on the table. + +“Couldn’t you slip it into that large flat book there?” + +“Why no! that’s my——Oh!” He seemed to recollect something and opened +the book, which was an illustrated catalogue of machinists’ tools, and +placed the sheet of paper on which he’d written, between the leaves. + +“Shove an envelope with it, there’s a good fellow. The kind you use for +letters.” + +Haworth did this and passed the book to Pentecost, who thus got the +stationery he wanted without touching it himself or having anyone else +touch it after it left Haworth’s hands. + +Pentecost said, as he and the two Harkers were preparing to go: “Keep +it from the old lady that Dreek comes here on our recommendation.” + +“I will,” said Haworth. + +“We’re coming back in ten days—expiration of option you know—and can +take delivery at that time if the machine’s ready by then.” + +“It’s ready now.” + +Pentecost looked at him with a peculiar glint in his droop-lidded eyes. + +“Then you plan to make delivery on that date?” he asked. + +“My God, yes! if I’ve got to wait that long!” + +Pentecost regarded the young man absently for an instant, then, with +the Harkers, turned away, and the three went down the steps to the +waiting taxi. + + * * * * * + +The firm, with Alfred, had a late luncheon at the hotel, and then +Pentecost left the others and walked a few blocks—or what would have +been a few blocks in a rectangular city—to one of the largest dealers +in “rebuilt” typewriting machines. He asked to see some of the less +expensive models, and the salesman brought several, placing them on a +table along the side of the wall of the showroom. As it was a busy +hour, he left Pentecost to try the lot at his leisure, and went to the +customers who were waiting to be served. + +Pentecost sat down and began trying the machines in a manner indicating +to anyone who noticed that he was somewhat of a novice. But though he +was awkward and slow, it didn’t take him long to discover which of the +three instruments displayed the most irregularities in its output; and +thereupon he quietly gave it a few extra characteristics, slightly +bending a couple of the type bars and filing away a part of two or +three of the printing faces with the nail blade of his pocket knife. +After a sharp glance about the place to assure himself that he wasn’t +under observation, he took the signed sheet of paper and envelope from +the large thin book in which Haworth had placed them, handling these +things with small pieces of blotting-paper folded once and slipped over +the edges, so that for the second time that day he avoided contact with +them. + +The sheet of paper was thus inserted in the machine he had selected +(and doctored), and he proceeded to type a letter on it in the space +above Haworth’s signature. His inexperience with the typewriting +business was still in evidence, for he was constantly stopping to erase +or print over, or forgetting to shift for the next line. + +There’s only time to give you an example, here and there, of this man’s +extraordinary methods of constructing his defenses. He worked far +deeper than along the line of the obvious, for his highest satisfaction +was to put up barriers against what had never been thought of by police +departments, but which he conceived as possible. + +After finishing the letter, addressing the envelope, sealing it and +affixing a postage stamp by the same blotting-paper method of handling +(the moistening of stamp and envelope being his only “touchdowns”—but +no system of tongue-prints has as yet been devised), he bought the +machine he had been using for nineteen dollars, and took it with him. +The sealed letter he had slipped into a larger envelope, again making +use of the blotting-paper hold. + +Walking to the corner of Court and Sudbury Streets, which wasn’t far, +he stopped and, taking out his handkerchief, mopped at his left eye, +as if he’d got a cinder in it. At once a man who had been following +came and stood at the corner near, but without giving any sign of +recognition. It was a busy corner, so that a man more or less stopping +there wouldn’t attract attention. Even at that early stage a “trusty” +was on the job in case anyone was putting a shadow on him. + +The signal was “all clear,” and Pentecost turned west and strolled up +beyond the State House to Bullfinch Place. His man, following, joined +him in this quiet neighborhood. + +Pentecost put the large envelope in his hands. + +“Letter inside, stamped and addressed. Get it into the nearest letter +box to the house and before eight to-night,” he said, speaking rapidly. +“And _keep your hands off it_. Rip open the outside envelope, and let +the one inside slide into the box. Here’s a typewriter in this package; +take it out and polish it up. Clean all the marks off it. Wrap it up +again without touching it. Do you get that? If you put one finger on +it after you polish it off it’s you for the chair. The machine’s for +Haworth. Take it to him yourself. Tell him I thought he might like to +learn to use it. You stand by and get him to try it—tell him you’ve got +to change it if not satisfactory. I want his hands on it.” + +“I get you!” + +And the two sauntered carelessly away in different directions. + + * * * * * + +When the firm of Harker & Pentecost, together with the son of the +senior partner, boarded the _North Land_ late that afternoon for the +return trip to New York, they greeted their steamer acquaintances of +the previous night pleasantly, though in a manner indicating that +they’d had a rather strenuous day of it. Mr. Pentecost alluded to his +intention of turning in early. Alfred was introduced to the purser and +one or two others as occasion arose, and the three were about for a +while, chatting with one and another of the officers. + +Beside the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost and Alfred, there were two men +on board the _North Land_ who were closely associated with the firm, +although giving no evidence thereof. Their business on this trip was to +make close observation of certain points and circumstances connected +with the steamer and its crew, particularly in the passage through the +canal and the docking of the boat on reaching New York the following +morning; which business was faithfully attended to, as was also the +matter of their making the reservation of the two cabins they were +occupying on this voyage for the trip out of Boston ten days later, so +that the firm should have no appearance whatever in that transaction, +these rooms being 202 and 204 on the hurricane deck—the name of which +tends to foster the idea that it was high up among the clouds, whereas +there were two decks above it, the promenade and the boat. + +The firm members made not the slightest effort to push themselves; +they were seen here and there; and after an early dinner together, +Pentecost, passing the pilot house, greeted Captain Snow, and the two +exchanged a few words through the open window. He very soon left, +saying he was going to bed, but hoped to be on board a week later, as +he had further business in Boston about then. + +Instead, however, of turning in, he slipped down to the fantail, a +small deck at the stern just below the promenade. Passengers seldom +went there—and, indeed, weren’t allowed on that deck while the steamer +was docking or leaving, for the crew worked from there, and it was +cumbered with hawsers and chains, capstans, bitts, and other machinery +for handling the ship. When she was under way, however, the chains +across the passage were taken down. One of his men was on the fantail +when Pentecost got there, but no sign of recognition passed between +them. The other man was in the forward part of the boat, moving +unobtrusively about to see where officers and crew were stationed as +the steamer negotiated the canal, which she was about to do. Both men +on the fantail made the closest observations possible as she slid +quietly through, the passage occupying something like thirty-five +minutes, for they had her down to less than half speed. It was dusky +twilight when the _North Land_ entered the canal, and quite dark as she +emerged at the other end. And when she _did_ emerge and swung out into +the shimmering and light-dotted open of Buzzards Bay, Pentecost went at +once to his cabin, slipping forward by the outside starboard passage, +to the door of the saloon lobby, and from there up the stairway to the +promenade deck, thus keeping it nicely in the shade as to what part of +the ship he’d come from. + +The week that followed was one of hard work for Mr. Pentecost, +arranging for the execution of his extraordinary plan of +campaign—assembling the parts, as you might say, arranging for “the +market” in most of the large cities, instructing his men, and all the +while perfecting his defensive system to cover any possible contingency. + +For Haworth, after he had finished with the very painful task of asking +old Mrs. Temple to remain away from the house until the machine he’d +sold was crated and taken away, the waiting wasn’t so hard as it had +been, for now he was uplifted by the realization that at last he’d be +able to come to the rescue of the one who was dearer to him than his +life. + + * * * * * + +Early one evening, soon after the Harker & Pentecost visit I’ve just +been telling you about, he went to see her. He’d been keeping away for +weeks—months, it seemed to him—in order to spare her the trying ordeal +with Augustus—his drunken and bestial abuse, his threats of violence, +that were sure to follow his visits. But now he wanted her to have the +comfort of knowing that help was coming—that it would be here in a few +days. And it was something he wanted to say to her in person—say with +his mouth and lips and eyes and heart and entire being—not convey in +the form of a letter, a cold series of words which in themselves meant +next to nothing. Making as sure as possible of a time when Findlay +wasn’t there or likely to be, he went to the little cottage. + +It was a precious visit for them both, though her cough and emaciation +and strange pallor with the feverish scarlet flush made his heart stop +beating when he first saw her. But it was from that—from the terrible +thing it meant—that he could now be the one to save her. And he told +her about the invention he was going to sell for a great deal of money, +and how after that everything would be done for her—everything—the most +wonderful medical care and the most beneficial place in the world. He +was magnificently happy in telling her this, and she was quietly elated +with him, rejoicing to the utmost of her small strength. But before her +happiness could be completed she had to ask if he would be with her, +and be made confident that he would. He assured her that it was so, +that though he might not be able to go with her when she went, because +of the business he would have to finish up, he would come as soon as he +could possibly do it—the very minute he could get away. + + * * * * * + +The steamer _North Land_ upon which the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost +had already made two trips—one over and one back—made fast to the +India wharf in Boston on the tenth morning after their former visit to +Haworth, which brought it to the 30th day of August—the expiration date +of the option. The voyage had been quiet and uneventful, the partners +not pushing themselves in the least, though enjoying brief chats with +some of the officers and having cigars with Captain Snow and one or two +others in his cabin after dinner. + +When they were asked how it was coming out about the invention they +were trying to get hold of—the one they’d referred to on the last trip +over—Mr. Pentecost gave them some further particulars about young +Haworth and his extraordinary genius; and as there seemed to be quite +a little interest in the matter, he briefly described what it was they +were trying to get hold of—a combination gas and compressed-air engine. +He spoke, too, of an idea they had of trying to get the young inventor +on a contract to work under their direction for five years. + +Alfred was waiting for them at the hotel (the one at which they +stopped before), having, as he had on the former visit, come over +by a night train. A heavy mail awaited the firm at the office, with +several telegrams from various places and two or three large envelopes +registered, all of which had been attended to by Miss Dugas, their +office stenographer, who had notified the “correspondents” (as you +might call them) in various cities to send letters and telegrams to +Boston as per instructions; and because you know the letters and +telegrams so sent were bogus, the trick being one among many items +in Pentecost’s establishment of their “open work” presence in town, +it needn’t lead you to imagine that a single envelope of the lot +contained only blank paper. Each one had in it an apparently important +business communication relating to one of the three or four legitimate +promotions that the firm operated as decoys; and if traced to its +source a man or woman would be found who was trying to buy stock in one +of their straight companies, or wanting an agency, or with an invention +to sell, or that sort of thing. Pentecost left two or three of the best +of these letters lying about the room for the chambermaid to turn in +at the hotel office when he left. Also, he went to the hotel telegraph +desk and asked for a repeat on one of his wires. + +After breakfast in the restaurant the three men retired to their room +and went into a low-voiced conference for perhaps half an hour. + +Then Pentecost went down to the hotel desk, there making inquiry +as to a reliable trucking concern that could handle a heavy piece +of machinery he wanted hauled from West Roxbury to one of the +freight stations for Jersey City. Proceeding by taxi to one that the +information clerk looked up for him, he arranged for one of their heavy +trucks and a moving apparatus and plenty of men to call for the machine +on the following day, giving them an order on Haworth and full shipping +instructions. Having done this, he rejoined the Harkers. + +And about twenty minutes before eleven the three came out of the hotel +and, entering a large car which had been waiting for them, were driven +away. No slipping out on the quiet. All open and aboveboard. + +Harker rang the bell at the mansion, and James Dreek opened the door. +He was an ideal servant in both appearance and behavior. When Harker +inquired if Mr. Haworth was at home, Dreek asked what names he should +give, and upon being told—with the further information that they’d come +by appointment—he begged pardon and showed them in at once, saying Mr. +Haworth was expecting them. + +The great entrance hall showed a marked change since their visit of +ten days before. Several worn chairs stood about and a long table was +pushed up against the north wall—doubtless stuff that wouldn’t sell and +had been stored in other rooms or the attic. But the most noticeable +thing in the place was a huge edifice in the form of a crate, measuring +something like five feet in height. Between the slats and timbers of +this enormous cage could be seen machinery of heavy build, and such +parts as were discernible plainly indicated to a person of sufficient +mechanical enlightenment that it was an engine of some kind. + +Pentecost walked over to the great slatted box and glanced at what +was visible within, then followed the two others of his party, who +had gone into the room on the left,—the door of which James Dreek was +holding open for him. + +Haworth was shaking hands with Harker and Alfred as he entered, and he +did the same with Pentecost as he approached; and as the latter asked +him how he was feeling, the faint smile that meant so much lighted his +face for an instant as he answered in a low voice, “Rather worn-out +waiting, Mr. Pentecost.” + +“We had to take all the time the option allowed us, Mr. Haworth, but +we’re here within the limit and can go on whenever you say the word.” + +“Consider the word said,” was Haworth’s quiet answer. + +Upon which Mr. Harker took the papers from a document case and tossed +them on the table. + +The contract, though not long, took some little time to go through, +for Harker was at pains to explain each point; and you could see that +Haworth was growing restless and was eager to come to the clause +dealing with the amount of money which the firm was to pay him. + +When Harker—it was toward the end—read out that the amount to be paid +to the party of the first part upon the signing of this contract was +the sum of fifteen thousand dollars, and was going on with slight +acceleration of speed to the next clause, Haworth said, very quietly: +“Wait a minute, please. That’s a mistake.” + +“Mistake? How so?” from Harker—simulating surprise. + +“You said fifteen thousand. It should be forty-five.” + +What might be called a telling pause followed, the idea being that the +partners were struck dumb with astonishment. + +“Forty-five what?” Harker finally managed to inquire. + +“Thousand,” Haworth answered in his gentle voice. + +“Where in God’s name did you get the notion that we are going to give +you such a figure as that? Why you’re crazy! We never agreed to any +such ridiculous price—never in this world!” + +“Excuse me. Your partner”—indicating Pentecost—“said the amount would +be one that was satisfactory to me. That’s the one that is. I’ve found +I need it.” + +“Mr. Haworth”—Harker spoke with quiet and pleading earnestness—“let’s +be reasonable about this. The amount you name is far beyond what we’re +able to pay. We couldn’t touch it. If that’s the figure you’re going +to insist on, it’s only a dirty waste of time for us to go on talking. +We’re through—and the whole thing stops right here!” + +“No—it doesn’t stop! I know the idea’s good—you wouldn’t be here if it +wasn’t—and if you can’t give me as much as that, I can find someone who +will!” + +The two super-sharps of the firm, born gamblers both, were entirely +aware that Haworth meant precisely what he said, no thought of bluffing +having a place in his system. They argued about it for some little +time—which is to say, Harker did, for Haworth said nothing, merely +shaking his head a little now and then in refusal of some offer or +suggestion; and when Harker, driven to his last play, stated that all +the money they’d brought with them was twenty-five thousand, the young +man merely asked him how long it would take to get the rest. + +“Then you won’t accept this twenty-five?” Harker’s tone had now a +definite finality in it, carrying the idea that he was giving Haworth +his last chance. But the young man shook his head again. + +It was here that Pentecost, who hadn’t joined in the discussion, +came forward. He said he had one proposal to make. It was quite true +the firm had brought only twenty-five thousand, but he himself had +in his possession the sum of ten thousand, which he’d intended using +in the liquidation of a stock transaction. But he was so anxious to +have the deal go through that he would add this ten thousand to the +firm’s twenty-five, and they would then be able to offer Mr. Haworth +thirty-five thousand in cash, and in addition to that would agree to +pay him or whomsoever he might designate as his agent, an amount equal +to one-fifth of whatever profit they were able to make on the handling +of the enterprise. + +I’m giving you this little episode in some detail because it was +certainly odd to see such a simple, almost childlike person as +Charles Michael Haworth putting it all over a brace of about the most +consummate swindlers that ever adorned the criminal contingent, and +doing it without an idea that he was making any play at all. + +As to this new proposition of accepting one-fifth share of the profits +in place of ten thousand of the cash price which he had fixed upon, he +considered it a few moments and then turned to Pentecost. + +“Will you attend to this yourself?” he asked. + +“Yes—I will.” + +The young man sat looking steadily at Mr. Pentecost for some little +time, his calm penetrating gaze seeming to search for something. Then +he turned away and indicated that he would agree to the arrangement +proposed. + +Harker had been fuming to himself over his partner’s enormous offer, +but Pentecost, with a peculiar twist of his hand as he looked at his +wrist watch, put it across to him that the game was so fixed they +couldn’t lose. Harker’s experience with this same signal in former +operations led him to infer that it didn’t matter what they paid, as +they’d get it back. He took out his fountain pen and wrote into the +contract the thirty-five thousand and the one-fifth share of profits. + +After both parties to the agreement had duly written their names, James +Dreek was called in to sign as one witness, with Alfred Harker as the +other, thus making the thing complete and duly executed. It was in +duplicate—one copy for Haworth, the other for the firm. + +After the signing, with only a wait until Dreek had left the room, +Mr. Harker, with some difficulty, got out the bunch of money from the +document case and passed it over to Alfred. At the same time Pentecost +approached the table, and saying, “There’s mine,” tossed a roll of +bills on it. This payment in cash had been insisted on by Haworth from +the very beginning. + +Alfred counted out the thirty-five thousand, which was in century +notes, on the table. The separate piles of a thousand each were deftly +stacked in one, and this was pushed nonchalantly across the table to +Haworth. He fussed with it rather helplessly a moment. + +“Like to have ’em riffled again with the brakes on?” Alfred was an +expert bill shifter and had snapped ’em off like the flutter of a +humming bird’s wings. + +“Yes, please.” Haworth watched intently while the lightfingered youth +dealt each bill off the pack so slowly and carefully that it could be +seen and noted as it fell on the pile before him. + +When the recount was finished, Haworth muttered a “thank you,” and +signed the receipt which Harker, mumbling something about its being “a +cash transaction, you know,” pushed over to him. + +At that moment, Pentecost, turning from the money count, caught sight +of James Dreek going through the swing door into the butler’s pantry at +the farther end of the room. + +“How the hell did _he_ get here?” Pentecost demanded in a sharp, +rasping whisper the instant the door swung to. + +“Who?” Haworth asked with a glance about. + +“That young butler of yours. He had his lamps on that stack of yellows +on the table.” + +“You got him in yourself,” Haworth answered, “to sign as a witness.” + +“He went out again!” (Still in the guttural whisper.) “We waited for +that before we slid the boodle out on the table.” + +“You said he was all right, didn’t you?” + +“All the same, you want to be a little careful with that bunch of +money!” And he moved noiselessly to the door which had closed after +Dreek’s exit, and listened with his ear close against it. + +Appearing to be no more than half satisfied, he returned to the others +and for an hour they discussed various points such as Haworth’s wishes +regarding future payments, the taking of the machine the next day by +the trucking firm, and the actual time of what was referred to by them +as “delivery of the goods.” These things settled, Pentecost expressed +the wish to take a look around the basement. Haworth went with him to +the place where the planked-up room had been. Not only was it no longer +there, but no evidence existed of its having been there. The timbers +and flooring above the place where it had been built in showed no nail +marks or abrasions of any kind and were grimy and darkened by age. + +Having examined the place and its vicinity with the utmost care, using +for this the small electric torch he always carried, Pentecost led the +way into what had been the machine shop, and closed the door. There he +went over several important matters which he preferred to discuss with +Haworth alone. They conversed earnestly for a while, and then left the +basement together by the door opening to stone steps leading up to the +grounds at the rear of the house. + +Mr. Pentecost made a surreptitious examination of this door and the +route by which they reached it, while Haworth was setting the lamp on +the cellar stairs, after extinguishing it. The two then went out to the +old barn not far in the rear, and looked about there for a while. After +that they went toward the house again. + +Haworth had been carrying the big bunch of money in his clothes all +this while, part in one pocket and part in another, and Pentecost, +appearing to notice this for the first time, begged him to go in and +put it somewhere where it would be safe. He said he’d walk about a bit +for the air and would be with him in a few minutes. So Haworth left him +and went in. + +Pentecost now gave the house (outside) and its surroundings his full +attention, especially as to the windows of the room on the left with +their vine-covered shutters, and the character of the ground and +shrubbery beneath them. It took him but a few moments to get all the +information he needed as to the walls and foundation and roof overhang, +together with other details that might come in, and lastly he took a +look at the great elm trees in front and the “lay” of the ground in the +rear. + +He reëntered the house by the basement door through which he and +Haworth had come out, and James Dreek was waiting for him in a corner +of the cellar. + +“Old woman?” Pentecost asked in a whisper. + +“Outside,” was the answer. “Watches all day from a distance. Nights in +the bushes close under the side windows.” + +“We can use her!” And he gave Dreek whispered directions, after which +he rejoined the others in the room on the left. + +Harker and Alfred were ready to go—indeed eager to, for it hadn’t been +an easy quarter of an hour for them. They rose rather suddenly when +Pentecost came in, and the three moved toward the door murmuring the +ordinary phrases of leave-taking. + +Haworth had taken the bulky bunches of money out of his pockets and put +them together on the table, and as Pentecost and the two Harkers saw +him last he was standing there with one hand resting on them. He made +no move to go with them to the door. + + * * * * * + +Besides the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost and Alfred, there were on board +the steamer _North Land_ when she left the India wharf that same +afternoon, a number of persons who were more or less concerned in +the business of the firm, yet, as you need hardly be told, giving no +indication that such was the case. Not only were cabins 202 and 204 on +the hurricane deck occupied by Pentecost’s men as before, but 200, 201, +203, and 205 were also held, though only two of these were occupied. +Thus, if you should happen to examine a chart of the boat, you would +see that the firm commanded both port and starboard approaches to the +fantail. + +And also as on the return voyage eight days before, the partners +appeared to be pretty well fagged out, although it didn’t prevent their +being about for a while and chatting pleasantly with their steamer +acquaintances, letting it be known (but not until inquiry was made) +that they’d succeeded in purchasing the rights to the extraordinary +device of which they’d spoken, and what was more, had got a contract +with the young inventor himself giving them his services for five years. + +Again they had an early dinner together in the restaurant and sat on +the boat deck for a while, smoking cigars. Along toward half-past seven +or a quarter to eight they sauntered forward, pausing at the large +windows of the pilot house and greeting the captain. He asked them to +come in and have a look at the canal—which the steamer was even then +slowing down to enter. They accepted the invitation, and sat watching +the shores on each side until it grew so dark—for the night was +overcast—that only faint and blurred outlines could be distinguished. + +Some ten or twelve minutes before they reached the western end of the +canal, Pentecost rose lazily, made an effort to conceal a yawn, and +bade the captain good night. He was rather done up with the day in +Boston, he said, and really couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. +Having thus excused himself, he went below, leaving Harker there to +see the ship come out into the Bay, which he claimed to be desirous of +doing. + +Shortly after this the steamer slid silently by the village of Buzzards +Bay, its many lights twinkling about a mile to the north, for it +wasn’t situated directly on the canal; and a little later passed out +into the open waters of the Bay itself; and on that, in obedience to +the “full speed ahead” ring from the wheel-house, broke into her normal +stride again, heading out toward Block Island Sound. + +About this time, when the _North Land_ had been clear of the canal for +something like eight or ten minutes, Mr. Harker’s attention appeared to +be suddenly arrested by something below on the forward deck. + +“Well, doesn’t that beat the——” He broke off and stood staring down. + +“Anything wrong?” + +“Not exactly wrong—only he was telling us just now he was so completely +done up he’d got to go to bed!” + +“Your partner, you mean?” + +“Yes, Pentecost! And now he’s gone into conference with a young lady! +Over there on the left. See?” + +Harker was pointing to a man near the port rail, whose back was turned +to them and who was in animated conversation with a person who, in the +dim light, appeared to be an attractive young lady. + +Captain Snow laughed a little. + +“So he has,” he said. “Well, it’s never too late for that!” + +“There’s truth in what you say,” Harker admitted, and thereupon changed +the subject. “New Bedford light we see over there?” he asked. + +“No. That’s Bird Island. Five points starboard.” + +“What’s that one you’re aiming for?” + +“Dead ahead you mean?” + +“Yes.” + +“That’s a fairway buoy—Buzzards Bay Buoy they call it. We change the +course there for Nigger Ledge.” + +Most likely you picked it up when I mentioned that it was only the +back of the gentleman on the forward deck that could be seen from the +pilot house, and naturally it was the said back that resembled Mr. +Harker’s partner; and that was all that did. The man wasn’t Pentecost +at all, for the good and sufficient reason that that gentleman had +jumped off the steamer fifteen minutes before. It was one of his gang +of “trusties,” brought along for the purpose, with about the same build +as himself, entirely similar hat and clothing, and well matched hair +and back of head, so far as could be seen. The young woman with him was +Miss Mary Finch Dugas, their office stenographer, who was occasionally +sent out on an operation where the utmost precaution was necessary. + + * * * * * + +A short time before the _North Land_, gliding noiselessly at about +fifty-five turns (less than half speed) through the still waters of the +canal, reached the vicinity of Buzzards Bay village, (which is at the +farther end of it as you go from Boston) Mr. Pentecost had left the +pilot house in the manner described to you a moment ago, gone below to +the hurricane deck, and hurried aft on the starboard outside passageway +until he reached the fantail deck at the stern. Alfred was waiting for +him there in the dark. He had fixed a knotted rope so that it hung +over the stern rail nearly to the water, the upper end made fast to a +stanchion. + +The two waited silently in the gloom until they could hear the raucous +clanging of the warning bell on the drawbridge, which commenced its +clatter when the great draw swung up into the air, and kept it going +until it was down in place again. This was the Bourne highway bridge +and in a couple of minutes the steamer was passing through. A moment +after that, while the bell was still ringing and the passengers on the +decks above watching the draw slowly descend, Pentecost, who had hold +of the rope, clambered over the rail and lowered himself to the level +of the main deck, which was the next one below. This deck was closed in +at the stern, but he got a foothold on the ribbon piece and from there +let himself down into the water without the least noise. It was so +quiet, with the steamer slipping along at scarcely more than steerage +way, that a splash might have attracted attention if the bell on the +draw should stop ringing. The overhang of the counter made him safe +from the propellers, and the water kicked up by them amounted to very +little. He was whirled around two or three times, but it didn’t even +duck him. A few strokes brought him to shore. But he didn’t come up +on the banks till the _North Land_ was going through the draw of the +railroad bridge, a little further on, for there were lights along the +shore of the canal, and he wasn’t taking any chances. + +Coming up on the low flat that bordered the waterway at this place, +he quickly found the marks of an old road through it, and followed +this with the aid of his flashlight which he quickly undid from its +waterproof wrappings. He hardly needed it though, as of course he’d +been over every inch of the ground. Coming to the embankment of the +bridge approach, he still kept to the cart tracks which turned along +the side of the embankment and then climbed it, bringing him out on the +Bourne Road at a point nearly opposite the Soldier’s Monument. + +Pentecost stood there a moment, dripping with water, and looking +sharply down the road. It was hardly thirty seconds before a large +closed car hove in sight, coming rapidly up the slope toward the +bridge. A white handkerchief fluttered for an instant from the +right-hand rear window (behind the driver), and instantly Pentecost ran +out in the road and, waving his own handkerchief, signaled the car to +stop. As soon as the car came to a standstill Pentecost called out to +the driver, begging pardon for delaying him, etc., but stating that he +was in a desperate hurry to get to Boston and asking if he could tell +him where there was a garage. The chauffeur told him there was one on +the right as he went toward the village—some distance up the road. + +At this point the man in the car, who’d been listening to the talk and +also regarding Pentecost with what appeared to be astonishment (the +road was well lighted here), opened the door and asked if there’d been +an accident. + +“Not at all,” said Pentecost; “that is, I did take a tumble into the +water. But that’s of no consequence. My trouble is to get to Boston in +the shortest possible time—life and death matter—I’ll try the garage up +the road—and thank you very much.” + +“Why see here!” called out the stranger as he climbed out of the car. +“You take this machine—just came down in it from Boston—my place in +Bourne—across the bridge—walk it in six minutes!... You’ll take him +back won’t you?” addressing the man at the wheel. And then to Pentecost +as he passed close to him and put something in his hand while he +continued speaking, “It’s a hired car you know—he’s got to go back +anyway!” + +The matter was quickly arranged, and the driver stimulated toward +doing his best in the way of speed by the promise of a quite enormous +bonus if he made it inside of eighty minutes. + +You may as well know (perhaps you’ve already guessed it) that this +was one of Pentecost’s men who hired the car in Boston and came down +in it to Buzzards Bay, waiting in the village on some pretext until +the _North Land_ reached the railroad bridge over the canal, and then +starting for the highway bridge where Pentecost was to stop him. It +was a crumpled wad of paper he’d put into Pentecost’s hand, with the +number 2026 written on it—the same being the number of the chauffeur’s +operating license. + +The chauffeur, on the other hand, was a stranger. This for reasons +that’ll come in later. I can say this now,—that he earned the bonus +offered for speed; they were negotiating the streets of Jamaica Plain +in a trifle under the seventy-five minutes. Pentecost stopped him at +the corner of Centre and Greenough Streets, and after settling the bill +and the bonus, turned east and walked rapidly up Greenough. As soon, +however, as the sound of the car assured him that it was at a safe +distance, he retraced his steps and kept on to the west or southwest, +eventually coming to a little-used lane well beyond Torrington Road, +from which, by crossing a long-abandoned vegetable garden, he could +approach the Cripps mansion from the rear. + + * * * * * + +And now, just so you can keep the run of things as they come along, I’m +going back a few days in order to show you how it happened that old +Mrs. Temple was concealed in the bushes under one of the windows of the +room on the left, at the very moment that Hugo Pentecost, after his +plunge from the steamer into the Cape Cod Canal and the rapid drive in +an automobile to the Roxbury district of Boston, was cautiously making +his way toward the rear of the mansion. + +The old woman had been greatly relieved to notice a striking +improvement in Mr. Haworth’s condition almost immediately after the +first visit of Mr. Pentecost to the house, although she feared it was +due to trickery by which the scoundrel (which she was sure he was) +would in some way do him injury. The doctor she’d left word for at the +drug store called the same evening and said there was nothing seriously +wrong with him, and did no more than prescribe a tonic, nourishing +food, and a complete rest. + +As the days passed and nothing transpired, Mrs. Temple felt less and +less uneasiness, and it was nearly a week before things began to happen +that revived her anxiety. They began on the morning of the fifth day +after the Pentecost visit, and the first of them was the sending of her +by Mr. Haworth on a most unusual errand—one that took her to some sort +of foundry place in East Boston. And he told her if they didn’t have +the kind of pulley wheel described in his letter, she must wait until +they could get it for her. + +Her smoldering suspicions instantly burst into flame, yet she couldn’t +refuse to go. + +It was a long journey and her imaginings of what might befall Mr. +Haworth while she was away came near to making her turn back without +doing the errand at all. She finally reached the office of the foundry +and delivered the letter, but when they told her that they hadn’t the +pulley wheel there but would send to the warehouse for it, she answered +without an instant’s hesitation that she couldn’t wait, but would come +another time. The men in the office called her attention to the fact +that Mr. Haworth had said in the letter that she would wait for the +pulley. + +“Well, I ain’t a-goin’ to!” she muttered hurriedly as she disappeared +through the door. + +Arriving home something like an hour later, Mrs. Temple approached the +mansion from the rear. She had worked herself into a frenzy of fear +that Mr. Haworth was in danger, and she wanted to investigate without +being seen. Finding herself at last in one of the rear passages of the +house, she stood listening. Low voices could be heard from somewhere in +the front. + +With the utmost caution she made her way across the kitchen and through +the butler’s pantry to the swing door opening into the room on the +left. But the conversation within suddenly ceased and she began a hasty +retreat. Hearing the door she’d just left swing open again (it had a +very decided creak) she made for the servants’ stairway—which opened +off the kitchen. + +There was a door at the bottom of these stairs which Mrs. Temple +hastily closed after her as she fled, and when she paused at the +top she heard the thud of heavy objects being shoved against it and +realized that she was trapped; for the only other way down was the main +stairway to the entrance hall, which was in plain sight if anyone took +the trouble to look. And she very well knew that some one would take +that trouble. She’d heard his voice in the room on the left in the +brief second she was at the swing door. + +So she’d have to stay there until the gang of criminals and thugs, as +she classified the men in the front room with Haworth, was gone. She +brought a chair to the top of the main stairway and sat there, ready at +the first alarming sound to rush down and fight like a wildcat, or run +for the police, or do anything to rescue and protect the one to whom +she was so desperately devoted. But no cry of distress reached her—only +the low murmur of subdued voices. + +It was early afternoon (she’d been waiting somewhere near two hours) +when she saw the men come out into the entrance hall below her. There +were three of them—the Pentecost creature with two confederates. Of +course they were confederates. What else could they be? + +Haworth came out with them. She heard the taxi the men had waiting for +them drive away, and she saw Mr. Haworth return to the room on the +left. At this she crept noiselessly down the main stairway and back +through the rear hall. But she’d hardly more than reached the kitchen +when Haworth came in through the butler’s pantry and stopped at the +door. + +“Oh, you came back?” he said. + +“I hope ye ain’t a-goin’ ter take it hard, Mr. Haworth,” the old woman +begged, “but I couldn’t no more wait there an’ you left here alone with +them thugs or card sharps or whatever they be, than I could fly! I knew +they’d be comin’ the minute ye sent me away like that an’ told me to +wait—an’ how could I, Mr. Haworth—how could I stay settin’ there in +that factory place, not knowin’ what might be happenin’ to ye?” + +“No matter, Mrs. Temple.” + +“Yes, Mr. Haworth, that was all; an’ I was worryin’ the life clean out +o’ me. Terrible warn’t no name fur it! I couldn’t tell ye!” + +“You did it for me, Mrs. Temple, and you’ve always been doing things +for me. Please don’t think I haven’t noticed.” + +The old woman’s trembling hand made two or three fumbles for her apron +before she realized that she wasn’t wearing one, and a tear or two ran +unmolested down her withered cheek. + +“And—I—I’ve got to ask you,” he went on, hesitatingly (and then came +another of the frightful things that were to alarm her on this fearsome +day)—“I’ve got to ask you to do something more for me, Mrs. Temple.” + +She looked up, staring at him with apprehension in her tear-wet eyes. +And he went on to tell her how it seemed best that she should stay away +from the house for a few days—just until one of his inventions was +crated and out of the way—something very important that had to be kept +secret, as there was no patent—so just a few days—— + +“Mr. Haworth,” she interrupted, “do please listen to me! Ye mustn’t +have no more to do with them creatures. They ain’t right, Mr. Haworth; +they’re crooked an’ treach’rous, every one o’ ’em—awful men! That +Pentecost, he wouldn’t stop at nothin’—nothin’ in the world! Don’t let +’em in here again—don’t do it, Mr. Haworth! I beg ye won’t do it!” + +“But I must, Mrs. Temple. They’ve bought one of my machines.” + +The old woman was struck silent for an instant. + +“Be they goin’ to pay ye money for it?” + +“Yes.” + +“You mean money right down?” + +“Yes,—it’s got to be that way.” + +A pause. Then: “Mr. Haworth, there’s some trick! Ef them jailbirds pay +you money down they’ll rob it away from ye! They’re a-goin’ to git you +some way—they wouldn’t be here if they wasn’t. I’ve seen spellbinders +like them be—yes, an’ had to do with ’em too! Don’t turn me away now. +Wait till after I’ve got ’em out an’ then I’ll go! Not now—not now, Mr. +Haworth. You ain’t no person to cope with such as them.” + +The young man stood looking at Mrs. Temple’s face, unable to speak. +Suddenly he turned away and uttering a broken “I can’t—I can’t——You +must go!” he turned and fled from the room. + + * * * * * + +For the following few days Mrs. Temple’s anxiety concerning the +unknown danger she considered Haworth to be in overshadowed the +lacerated feelings that naturally followed the poor soul’s expulsion +from the house. No particle of blame could attach to him, for was he +not under the malign influence of a gang of criminals and in no way +responsible for what he did? This she felt, and her heart harbored no +bitterness—though it had been cruelly hurt. She must find out in some +way what villainy these human sharks were planning, though for the +present nothing was possible but to keep close watch on the house. + +The very next night after her dismissal by Mr. Haworth she saw a young +man who hadn’t been there before, emerge from the darkness into the +faint light that fell from a front window across the portico (she was +watching from behind bushes quite near), and after ringing the bell, +pass in at the front door. The roller shades—cheap affairs that the +second hand dealer had agreed to put in in place of the old velvet +curtains he was taking away—hadn’t been pulled down since she left, so +she could see in. The stranger was being shown about by Mr. Haworth, +who had evidently expected him, and seemed to be given charge of things +as though he was a servant. That was it! The scoundrels had got Mr. +Haworth to send her away and take a man in her place. So now they had a +confederate right there in the house with him! + +The old woman, desperate in her helplessness, made up her mind to get +assistance. She’d go to the police in the morning and they’d arrest +this man. Wasn’t it their business to protect people? If not, what +_was_ their business, she’d like to know! + +Early the next morning she hurried to the Jamaica Plain district, and +as soon as she saw a patrolman, plunged into an excited account of the +situation. But the old woman’s story seemed to border on the grotesque. +From what he could gather the officer figured that she’d lost her +job and they’d got a butler to take her place, with the result that +the poor creature had gone dotty about it, thinking the man was some +sort of a crook. He couldn’t find that she had any grounds for such a +suspicion, but to quiet her he took down the address and said he’d keep +an eye on the place. Mrs. Temple became almost hysterical, begging him +not to stop with just keepin’ an eye on it, but to come over an’ arrest +the man,—to please do _somethin’_ for mercy’s sake—if he didn’t there’d +be some terrible thing happenin’ to some one. But the patrolman told +her he couldn’t make an arrest until some crime or misdemeanor had been +committed. She finally realized that it was useless to waste further +time with him and hurried back to keep watch again from the outside, +and do what she could alone. That’s what she did from then on. + +During the day she hung about at some distance, keeping herself well +out of sight, but always at places where she could see who entered +the mansion and who left it. When darkness set in she stole to some +overgrown shrubbery close to the house on the south side, and was able +to see what was happening within, if the lights were on. + +For a week the old woman remained on watch until late at night and +returned to her vigil early in the morning, bringing with her in a +paper bag what little food she needed. During this time she saw Mr. +Haworth leave the place a number of times, which was a little unusual, +but he doubtless had business in town or elsewhere; also men having the +appearance of being mechanics drove up in a car one day and were in +the house until nearly five o’clock; and she discovered, on reaching +her nearer station in the evening, that a heavy piece of machinery was +standing crated in the great entrance hall, presumably having been +brought up from the basement. The butler fellow appeared to be taking +care of Mr. Haworth in a surprisingly competent manner. What a relief, +she thought, if the machine in the hall should be taken away and the +crooked gang that bought it never show up again! + + * * * * * + +But this growing hopefulness on the part of Mrs. Temple served only to +make the shock more violent when, on the morning of the tenth day after +their former visit, the very bunch of swindlers she dreaded drove up +to the mansion and were admitted to the house. She had known it would +happen! + +During the whole day, from the time they came, the old woman hardly +took her eyes off the mansion, not even for long enough to open the +little package of bread and cheese she’d brought. After they entered, +nothing more could be seen of them until early in the afternoon, when +Mr. Haworth appeared with Mr. Pentecost, walking around from the back +and going across to the old barn in the rear. After that she saw Mr. +Pentecost alone, making an examination of the windows, the grounds, +even the old elm trees near the house. He finally disappeared into the +mansion at one of the rear doors, and a short time after that the three +came out at the front portico and drove away in the big car which had +been waiting since their arrival in the morning. + +The moment it was dark enough for her to approach the house she made +haste to her place among the tangled shrubbery close under the side +windows. The room on the left was absolutely dark, but by listening +intently she could hear voices in a further room, and it was an +unspeakable relief when she recognized Mr. Haworth’s among them. He +seemed to be giving directions to the young accomplice (there wasn’t a +doubt in her mind as to his being one) that the gang of scoundrels had +got into the house as a butler. + +She’d been there but a short time, close under one of the side windows +of the room on the left, when the sound of carefully lightened +footsteps reached her ears. Soon the forms of two men could be made +out in the darkness coming along the flagged path from the rear and +passing quite near her as they went toward the front of the house. They +appeared to be carrying some heavy object and went around the corner +with it to the front. + +Mrs. Temple crawled cautiously through the high weeds and bushes to a +place where she could see them again and more distinctly, for the light +was on in the big entrance hall, and struck through the two narrow +windows—one at each side of the door—across the front portico. This +with its columns reflected enough light to enable her to make out what +they were doing. + +They had put a ladder (which must have been what they were carrying) +against the vine-covered wall at one side of the front window of the +room on the left, up which one of them had climbed, and were working +at something which seemed to be under the thick growth of creeper, +carefully disentangling the vines, unwinding, drawing out, and securing +them at one side, never cutting or breaking. The leaves in particular +they appeared to be handling with the utmost care, and it wasn’t until +they had slowly and with all possible precaution pulled one of the +window shutters out of the tangled mass that had covered it as it stood +opened back against the wall, that she suddenly realized what it all +meant. + +They were closing the blinds! Closing them! Such a thing hadn’t +been done in all the years she’d been there! It could mean but one +thing—something was going to happen in the house that no one must see! +She was horrified, aghast, unable to move. + +It took the men a long time to free both shutters and tie the vines +back so they’d be supported. But finally she saw they were coming down +and gathering up some cords and tools from the ground. It would be the +side windows next—the blinds there were open and overgrown in the same +way as the front one—and she’d be directly in their path as they came +around the corner. So she crawled out from among the bushes and hobbled +away a little distance in the darkness. Her rheumatism was bad from her +being out on the damp ground so much. + +But the men didn’t stop at the side windows. Instead they went back to +the rear of the house, passing along the flagged path by which they +came, carrying the ladder and what tools they’d brought with them. + +Shivering with dread, Mrs. Temple stood trying to think how she could +get word to Mr. Haworth—how warn him—put him on his guard? Though after +his telling her that she must not, she didn’t dare to go in, yet she +_would_ dare if there was no other way. + +Before the poor old soul could decide what to do she heard the front +door of the house close heavily and saw someone coming down the steps. +As he turned at the bottom, the illumination from the hall windows fell +upon him, and she saw it was Haworth. + +At once she determined to speak to him—to warn him of his danger—to beg +him to let her come into the house again so she could see that no harm +came to him. She said to herself that if he’d do that, she’d sleep in +front of his door at night—indeed, never let him out of her sight if +she could help it. + +All this came to her while she was hurrying with all her strength to +overtake the young man as he went toward the gate; but he was walking +fast, and, crippled by rheumatism as she was, she couldn’t come up with +him. She called as loud as she dared—which was in a very subdued voice +indeed, as it wouldn’t do for that butler scoundrel to know that she +was warning him. + +But Haworth either didn’t hear or wouldn’t stop; and finally, about +halfway down the drive, the old woman gave it up. + +Then she decided to wait in the drive until his return; she could speak +to him there without disobeying his orders. + + * * * * * + +A little time after Charles Haworth disappeared in the darkness, +leaving poor old Mrs. Temple standing in the driveway not far from +the gate, he and Edith were together in the small living room of +the Findlay cottage on Cherry Street. That afternoon about half-past +four, a stranger had called on Mrs. Findlay—a mild-looking middle-aged +man—and had told her that Mr. Haworth would be there that evening +between seven and eight. + +Edith had hesitated, whereupon the stranger muttered in a low voice, +“Mr. Findlay won’t be home till quite late.” + +“How—how do you know?” she asked. + +“Some one’ll be taking him to supper, an’ they’re liable to be engaged +in conversation for some little time.” + +Before she could make any reply the man was gone. + +And now Haworth was there—with her. + +For a long time they scarcely spoke. A few endearing words whispered as +they clung together—that was all. + +Finally he lowered her hands from his lips, though still holding them. +“Darling one—you know it already—that I’ve come with good news—don’t +you?” + +He could feel her head making little nods against his breast and heard +a muffled “Yes” from down there. + +“It happened—what I told you I was trying to do. Those people took the +machine—bought it you know—and to-day they paid the money—and there’ll +be other payments coming in later. So now all the trouble is over—there +won’t be any more at all!” + +She suddenly looked up in his face, but he gently drew her head down +again, so then she couldn’t see his face any more but lay there +resting, and hearing his voice saying how marvelous it was that this +sale had come just in time—for it _was_ in time. The doctors said it +would be all right and a certain cure if she could get away at once. +And now she could! They hadn’t definitely decided where she was to go, +but would in a day or two. It would be the most beneficial place in +the world for her—they’d make sure of that. And they’d send the best +nurse they could find to take care of her on the journey and when she +got there. And very soon—_very_ soon—she’d be entirely cured and strong +and well again. + +When he stopped speaking she twisted around a little so that she could +see his face. + +“What is it?” she whispered. Her heart was suddenly beating with a +vague alarm that she couldn’t understand. + +He looked down and met her anxious gaze. + +“But don’t you see, dear—it’s going to be so wonderful! We’ll have +enough for everything—more than enough. Plenty to take care of you and +plenty for me to go on with anything I want to do. I brought a little +over for you to get along on just for now—see, that package on the +chair there—where my hat is. Don’t mind what’s in it; remember there’s +a lot more—thousands. They paid all that down, you see, and I’m to have +so much a year to work for them—that is, after we’ve got _you_ all +right. That’s the first thing. I couldn’t do anything,—any work at all, +if I—if I was afraid about you. And you know what you have to do for +_your_ part, don’t you, dear one? Wherever the doctors say, you must +go, and whatever they tell you to do you’ll do, won’t you?” + +Edith didn’t answer. She was lying quite motionless against him. He +looked down at her. + +“But—but you——” she began in a faint voice, and stopped, hesitating. + +“Yes?” he encouraged her tenderly. + +“I mean you——” (Quite a pause.) “Aren’t you coming too—if I—if I have +to go a long way off?” + +“Yes dear—as soon as I can! But to make this sale I had to agree to +oversee the setting up of the machine—and the regulating and all that. +It’s bound to take a little time—it’s bound to, dear—and it won’t do +for you to wait—oh no!” + +“But—don’t you think you can come soon?” + +“Oh——I do!” + +“You see, I”—she clung against him—“I wouldn’t care much about getting +well if you weren’t there.” + +“My dear!” + +She seemed satisfied and nestled down. After a time she spoke again, a +little mournfully. “I hoped we could do what we always thought we would +as soon as you sold something. You know what we—what we planned.” + +“Yes, I know.” + +“Will there—will there be enough for that, too?” + +“More than enough.” + +“But I suppose this other”—with a little sighing breath—“I suppose it +must come first.” + +“It must, my precious one.” + +“Yes, I know.” + +She had referred to their plan of having her get a divorce as soon as +there was money enough to do it. + +After this they sat together, silent mostly. + +Suddenly Haworth realized he ought to go. He knew some arrangement had +been made for detaining Findlay, but had kept no track of the time. +Now a strong feeling that the hour was late took possession of him. +For Edith’s peace of mind the fellow mustn’t find him there. But he +couldn’t leave without going upstairs to little Mildred, asleep in her +crib. + +As they approached the door of the bedroom he stopped and caught Edith +to him, holding her close in his arms. + +“My dear,” he whispered, and her lips, as she looked up in his face, +moved in a soundless “Yes.” + +After a moment they went on; but in that moment her heart began +throbbing again with the same vague alarm she had felt before. + +Haworth had stopped when just within the door of the room and stood +there for a little, looking across at the sleeping child; then he +suddenly turned away and hurried down the stairs into the room below. +Edith, following, felt her hands caught, with a sort of desperation, in +his, and heard his whispered, “Good night ... good night, my dear!” + +He released her hands and was turning to leave her, when the front +door, opening and closing again with a violent bang, shook the flimsy +little house, and instantly thereafter Augustus Findlay plunged +into the room. He was out of breath from running, and frenzied with +precisely the right mixture of vindictive jealousy and vicious alcohol +to produce perfect ignition. + +“I thought so!” he shouted between his gasps for wind. “By God! I just +got on to it they were trying to hold me back!” He glared across at +Haworth. “What the hell you doing here in the house with my wife?” He +was pulling something like a glove on his right hand as he spoke. + +“I’m calling on Mrs. Findlay,” Haworth answered, quietly, and turned +toward Edith as if to say a final word. + +“Calling, were you?” Augustus was striding toward him. “Well if you’re +_calling_ I’ve got to show my hand—an’ here it is you —— —— ——!” Saying +which he struck Haworth a savage blow in the face with the brass +knuckles he’d been putting on his hand. + +Edith, uttering a subdued cry, tried to run in between the two, but +Haworth put out his hand and held her back. He was standing quite +unconcerned, though the blood was running down the left side of his +face from an ugly cut just under the eye. + +Turning to Edith as though nothing out of the way had occurred, Haworth +raised her hand to his lips, looked deeply into her eyes, and huskily +murmuring “Good-bye,” walked out of the room and out of the house +without so much as a glance at Findlay. + +For an instant the two left there stood silent; then Augustus +recovering himself made for the stairs, up which he rushed with +stumbling feet. When he came pounding down again a moment later +he found Edith blocking the way. “You shan’t go!” she called out, +breathlessly. “You shan’t go with that!” + +“What?” he demanded, stopping before her. + +“You’ve got it there under your coat!” + +“What if I have?” (Trying to pass her.) + +“You shan’t take it with you! No—no—no!” She was holding to his arm and +trying to reach the gun. + +He shoved her violently aside and strode toward the door. “You think +I’m going to stop for _you_, you —— ——! No, by God! an’ you’ll damned +well get it yourself when I come back!” And he was gone before she had +time to recover herself. + + * * * * * + +Augustus knew the streets Haworth would be likely to take to get home, +and started after him on a run—an unsteady one, owing to the load +of booze he was carrying, but he got over the ground. He had the gun +gripped in his hand and was muttering threats and foul names as he +plunged along. + +But Haworth, realizing that his appearance would attract attention—for, +though he continually wiped his face, it went on bleeding—turned off +the most direct route through the well-lighted business district of +Egleston Square and Jamaica Plain, into some of the quiet streets +to the south. Even at that he had to pass through one of the lesser +business neighborhoods where there were shops with lighted windows and +people about on the sidewalks. + +It was just along here that Findlay, not finding Haworth on the route +he’d expected him to take and turning off into side streets running +parallel thereto, came up with him. Shouting threats and menacing him +with his revolver, he strode along unsteadily by his side, attracting +the attention of everybody within hearing. Quite a few who happened to +be close at hand ran into shops or behind trees. Haworth’s bleeding +face added to the general alarm. + +The young man suddenly turned on Findlay with a low-voiced warning. + +“Keep away from me or you’ll get into trouble!” he said, and instantly +turned and walked as before. + +“Trouble!” Augustus screamed. “You talk to me about trouble do you, +you —— —— ——! What in hell d’ye suppose _you’re_ going to get? I’ve +been waiting for this chance for a year, by God! for more’n a year, +by God! an’ now we’ll see where you get off, you —— —— ——!” And on he +went, letting out the foulest language he could lay his tongue to, with +Haworth paying no further attention to him; and the two disappeared +down a poorly lighted road which took them in the direction of Franklin +Park. + +After this extraordinary and rather terrifying scene had shifted itself +well past the little area of shops and light, several of those who +had witnessed it came out from their places of refuge and a hurried +consultation was held, the result of which was a telephonic report of +the affair to police station 13 in Jamaica Plain, and assurance from +that quarter that a couple of men would be sent over. + +One man who’d been a spectator, had sufficient curiosity to follow +Haworth and Augustus at a safe distance, and was joined later by +another who saw them pass a couple of blocks further on. + +Haworth, dogged by the foul-mouthed nephew of old Michael Cripps, +turned in at the mansion gate and went up the dark and weed-grown drive +to the house. They mounted the steps of the front portico together, but +when Augustus made as if to follow him in, Haworth suddenly turned on +him. “You can’t come in here,” he said. + +“We’ll see whether I can or not!” Findlay shouted, and began to fight +his way past. + +“Very well, we will.” Saying which in his quiet way Haworth gripped +Augustus by the collar and gave him a shove that sent him back across +the portico nearly to the steps, and then turned and entered the house. +Findlay rushed back toward the door, which, as he reached it, was +slammed violently in his face and bolted inside. With an outburst of +the most malignant profanity he sprang against it like a maniac, making +frantic efforts to get it open, pounding and shouting and screaming +threats until exhausted and out of breath. After panting and fuming +there for a while the crazy idea took hold of him that he might get in +at a window—or at least get a look in, which was all he wanted. _One +look—that was all!_ And he stumbled and felt his way along the east +wall until he found himself under the large front window of the room on +the left. The shutters were closed, but at the bottom of one of them, +which was about on the level of his eyes as he stood on the ground, +there were two or three broken slats, and with the frenzied fit of rage +still shaking him like an ague he peered avidly in. + + * * * * * + +Although Mrs. Temple had waited nearly two hours in the darkness +about halfway down the drive, hoping to intercept Mr. Haworth on his +return, she wasn’t there—as you’ve already gathered—when he finally +did come. She’d been sitting for a long time in the grass at the side +of the drive, her poor old heart beating the very life out of her with +anxiety, when she suddenly became aware that a peculiar mechanical +sound was coming from the direction of the mansion. She’d heard it +before while Mr. Haworth had been working in the basement. He must have +got home by some other way than the drive, and she’d missed him. + +Limping back to the house, she got into the shrubbery near the side +windows and tried to see into the room on the left, but it was still +in darkness. She tried the other windows on that side with the same +result. The entrance hall seemed to be the only place in the house +where there was a light. The sounds in the house had now ceased. All +was quiet. + +Then she heard a strident voice down the Torrington Road. Faint it was +at first, but gradually growing louder as the man doing the shouting +approached. Quarreling with some one he seemed to be. Oaths were +screamed out, and a great quantity of blackguardly language along with +them. + +As the abusive and threatening clamor became more distinct Mrs. Temple +realized that the parties concerned were turning in at the gate and +coming up the drive. + +Intensely alarmed, she moved through the shrubbery to the front corner +of the house, where she could get a view of the dimly lighted portico. + +It was only a moment before Haworth, closely hounded by Augustus, +appeared out of the darkness of the drive, and the old woman caught +the metallic glint of something that Findlay had in his hand. Without +an instant’s hesitation she hobbled toward him; if she could have +got there she’d have torn the gun away from him or been shot in the +attempt. But before she’d gone halfway the two had mounted the steps, +and a second later Augustus was staggering back, with the door slammed +in his face. + +Owing to Findlay’s outcries and his fierce beating against the door, +Mrs. Temple could at first hear nothing else, but when his hammering +and shouting subsided a little she began to notice again those strange +noises from within. Upon this she hurried back along the side of +the house, still avoiding the footpath and keeping in the bushes. +Determined now to get in, even though against Mr. Haworth’s wishes, +she made for the kitchen door, but couldn’t open it, and another rear +door giving into the back hall was also locked. Then she remembered +the basement entrance at the bottom of the stone steps. She found the +door there fastened, as she’d expected, but there was a secret way to +slide the bolt back by reaching in through an aperture in the side and +finding a cord to pull. + +The cord was there, but she couldn’t make it work. It was tied in some +way, and after desperate attempts she had to give it up. + +She was utterly terrified, for that drunken beast might get into the +house with his knife or pistol and do Mr. Haworth some fearful injury. +In addition to this danger something alarming was going on inside. She +could hear hurried footsteps and what seemed to her strange menacing +sounds. + +She started back toward the front of the house, hobbling and stumbling +through the shrubbery, thinking she might find somebody down in +Torrington Road who’d come to her assistance. + +But as she came toward the side windows of the room on the left, she +was amazed to see that, instead of the darkness that had prevailed, an +unusually brilliant light was shining out in narrow beams below the +roller shades. At both windows these shades had now been pulled down, +but as is quite commonly the case, they weren’t quite long enough to +reach the bottom of the windows. She hurried to the one nearest to the +front of the house and looked in through the narrow slit. + +At once she saw Mr. Haworth seated by the large table, reading a book. +She watched him intently as he sat there occasionally turning the +pages. He seemed entirely at ease and untroubled. There was nothing +about him that gave the idea of anything being wrong or out of the way. +It amazed her that he could recover entire equanimity so soon after the +frightful time he’d been having with Augustus Findlay. + +As she watched him he began to feel in his pockets in the absent-minded +way she knew so well, bringing out his pipe and tobacco pouch; then +he stopped reading and began to fill the pipe. It looked so safe and +commonplace after her frightful imaginings and premonitions, that she +hesitated about calling out to him, as she’d fully intended to do. + +Now he rose and got a box of matches from the mantel, returning with +it to the table. She had a momentary impulse to speak to him through +the glass, but his singularly calm and reassuring behavior made her +hesitate. Could it be that she was mistaken after all? + +Quite suddenly something peculiar startled her—a moving shadow on the +floor it seemed to be, and she realized that the whole room couldn’t +be seen from where she was: the back part, where the doors to the +breakfast room and the butler’s pantry were, was out of sight. This was +behind Haworth as he stood at the table lighting his pipe, and a wave +of horror swept over her as she started for the window farther back +which would give her a view of it. + +The aperture below the shade at this window was very narrow, but she +twisted round, and looking sideways was able to see through into the +room. + +At last! The frightful thing had come! Standing there behind Mr. +Haworth and aiming a terrible black thing straight at his head, a man, +his face hidden by a cloth or bandage, his clothes clinging to him as +though soaking wet.... She didn’t stop to see any more, but screamed +out a frantic warning, at the same time starting back for the other +window where she could see Haworth. + +As she turned she saw dimly by the light sifting out under the shades, +that a man carrying a stepladder was hurrying down the walk toward the +front of the house, and she called to him as she ran, but didn’t stop +to see whether he heard or not. In an instant she was back at the +other window and looking in. Haworth was standing close to the table, +half leaning on it and holding a lighted match to his pipe, emitting +quick puffs of smoke as he drew on it. She shrieked out his name and +beat on the glass with her hands. But she’d no more than begun this +when two shots rang out—one close after the other and with reports so +deafening that they seemed to shake the house. + +The old woman was unable to move, frozen, paralyzed, seeing Haworth +spin round as he was hit, and after a weak attempt to hold to the +table for support, sink to the floor. Almost at the same time her own +trembling legs gave way and she sank down, lying half on the ground +and half against the low-growing bushes beneath the window. But only +for the briefest moment was she there, for she’d hardly more than gone +down when she was struggling to her feet again. And as she did so she +saw by the light still shining through under the roller shade, that the +man who’d been running along the path must have stopped and dropped the +ladder, for he was picking it up; and as she stumbled blindly through +the bushes toward the rear of the house he started running toward the +front, dragging the ladder after him along the walk. + +The doors of the kitchen and back hall were still locked, but she found +that some one had opened the basement entrance and she got in there. + +Two policemen arriving shortly after—smashing a side window to get in, +as there wasn’t time to fumble with the doors—found the old woman on +the floor holding Haworth’s limp body in her arms, his head fallen back +against her breast. + +The patrolmen who smashed their way into the house some twenty-six +minutes after the firing of the shots, were sent from Station 13. +The desk sergeant got the phone call from citizens in Jamaica Plain, +describing the terrifying progress through that district of the two +quarreling men with revolvers—blood streaming down the face of one of +them. He sent a man from the station, and also the patrolman on the +nearest beat as soon as his call came in. These two had no difficulty +in picking up the trail of consternation left along the route that +Haworth and Findlay had taken. But when they’d followed it a short +distance beyond Jamaica Plain the two citizens whose curiosity had led +them into trailing the quarreling men in order to see what happened, +came sprinting down the road in a frantic effort to get away, for +they’d been close to the mansion when the shooting took place and knew +that if someone was shot suspicion might light on them. + +The patrolmen took these men for the ones they were after and grabbed +them. But in a minute they saw there was something else to it; and +after a bit of time wasted in sharp questioning they got at the truth +and made a run for the Cripps mansion, bringing the two citizens along +with them. Material witnesses at least, and a good chance they’d had a +hand in it—whatever it was. After smashing one of the kitchen windows +these two citizen chaps were shoved in first and stood back against +the wall with orders not to move. Then the officers, working with +their electric torches (for all the lights were now off) ran through +the butler’s pantry, guided by the pungent smell of gunpowder, and an +instant later found what they were looking for. + +A quick glance at Haworth was all they needed. One took charge; the +other ran for the nearest patrol box and reported to his station. The +station notified headquarters, and down came a department automobile +with the chief inspector and three plain-clothes men and after that the +medical examiner (called coroner in most places) and two more uniformed +men. (They need a few uniforms in a case like this so people won’t +think it’s a hold-up.) + +The medical examiner came in his own car, bringing his stenographer +and a surveyor with him, as was his custom. I don’t think it’s the +usual thing to run a surveyor in, outside of Boston. Of course there +were photographers and all that, and it wasn’t any time at all before +newspapermen were swarming about. + +Mrs. Temple hardly noticed anything—excepting that the lights went +suddenly on—until she found herself being urged back by one of the +policemen—he was gentle enough with the old woman—toward the swing +door of the butler’s pantry. James Dreek was standing just within the +door, looking pale and frightened, with a sort of wild-eyed blankness +on his face. The officer told them they’d have to go back into the +kitchen, and Dreek disappeared in that direction, but Mrs. Temple tried +to resist, looking back to where men were bending over Haworth—the +surveyor making measurements of positions and distances, working by +compass; the medical examiner cutting away parts of his clothing. She +made an effort to push past the policeman and get back to the body, but +he prevented her, speaking with rough kindness: “Now, now, ma’am, you +won’t be allowed over there!” But as he looked at the old woman he saw +it wasn’t an ordinary case. + +“One o’ the family, ma’am?” he asked in a low voice. + +“Yes. Let me by!” + +“You can’t do anything, lady—he’s past help.” + +“I can be there with ’im, can’t I?” + +“Not now, ma’am—but if you’re one o’ the family they’ll let you in +afterwards.” + +She said no more, but went where he directed. There were a number of +persons waiting in the kitchen—all exits from which were guarded—but +she didn’t notice them, nor had she any idea of what was going on—that +the detectives were searching every part of the house and going +over the grounds outside with electric torches; that a couple of +plain-clothes men were out after the man who’d followed Haworth through +the streets, threatening him with a revolver; that the people waiting +there in the room with her were being taken into another room one by +one, to be questioned. + + * * * * * + +Some time later she found herself in the great entrance hall, standing +before a man at an improvised desk of rough boarding. There were police +about and a plain-clothes man was writing things on sheets of paper. +Two or three others not in uniform were standing near, apparently +uninterested, but in reality watching her like cats. The old woman +glanced at the various people in the room, hardly aware that they were +real. It might just as well have been a dream. After a time she thought +she heard some one speaking to her. + +“What?” she asked, looking about vaguely. + +An officer came to her and explained that she must answer the questions. + +“What questions?” she inquired. + +It appeared there was curiosity as to her name, age, and occupation. +She gave the information in a low mumbling voice, speaking absently. + +That out of the way, the inspector, noticing that she was inattentive, +began with sharp emphasis: + +“Mrs. Temple, you knew the deceased, did you not?” + +The old woman turned to him, startled, and stood looking at him a +moment. Then she looked away, glancing rather vaguely about the room. +She was beginning to realize where she was and what was going on. + +“Well, are we going to hear anything from you this evening?” + +“Are you the perlice?” she asked with a sharpness of her own. + +“You’re here to answer questions—not to ask them.” + +“I’d like to know if you’re the perlice, that’s all!” + +“This is a police investigation, if that’s what you mean. We’re taking +testimony throwing light on the crime just committed here. You may be +able to help us.” + +“No——” Mrs. Temple shook her old gray head. “I won’t be able to help ye +none.” + +“You mean you don’t know anything about it?” + +“I mean what I told ye—that I won’t be able to help ye none.” + +“You don’t seem to realize your position, madam. We can compel you +to answer questions here. But you ought to be willing to give us any +information you can without that, so we can find the guilty man and +bring him to the punishment he deserves.” + +“What good’ll punishment do, I’d like to know? What’s the good o’ that +to—to the poor dear man lyin’ there—shot down like a dog he was—doin’ +no harm to no one—juss standin’ there lightin’ his pipe—and shot down +like a dog!” She was unable to go on for a moment; but having caught +what she said about Haworth lighting his pipe, the inspector waited +for her. He would give her plenty of time and nurse her along, for it +looked very much as though she’d been a witness to the actual shooting. + +“A nice lot of folks _you_ be,” the old woman finally went on in a +broken voice but with deep indignation back of it. “What was ye doin’ +before, I’d like to know, asettin’ around offices an’ paradin’ up +and down the streets! When I went an’ warned ye more’n a week ago +that we was in danger over here, I was told there warn’t nothin’ you +could do—not till somebody done somethin’. Well, now some one’s done +somethin’ an’ ye come hurryin’ around askin’ us all about it! But ye +needn’t take no trouble askin’ me. I’ve told ye all I’ve got to tell. I +told it to one of yer perlice a-strollin’ up an’ down Centre Street in +a nice uniform with brass buttons on it!” + +The inspector made no attempt to interrupt or cut short Mrs. Temple’s +somewhat fervent remarks, and when she’d quite finished he spoke to her +in a carefully softened tone. + +“You’re certainly right, Mrs. Temple,” he said, “as to its being too +late to do anything now for the—the unfortunate victim in this case. +His murder was, as you indicate, a most cold-blooded crime. Every +additional particular that is brought out adds to its cruelty and +brutality. And was it really a fact, as I think you intimated, that the +poor fellow was lighting his pipe as the shots were fired?” He looked +sympathetically and inquiringly at the old woman. + +But Mrs. Temple’s mouth was shut and there were no signs visible that +she had any intention of opening it. + +“Rot in jail before she’d talk if she didn’t want to,” was the +inspector’s unspoken comment. Well, they’d have to make her want to, +that was all. So she was excused, almost with apologies, and allowed to +go where she pleased. But wherever that was a detective would be on the +job and not lose track of her for an instant. + + * * * * * + +All available information was in, but the plain-clothes men were still +working through the house and grounds. No weapon of any kind had yet +been found, and no bullet marks discovered in the room. The theory +regarding the latter was that the bullets (it was taken for granted +they’d been fired through the front window) struck against the masonry +of the fireplace or chimney and left no noticeable mark. In that case, +however, they should have been found where they dropped—and the search +for them was still going on. + +Notwithstanding there were any number of witnesses to the following +of Haworth home by an infuriated man using the most abusive language +and threatening him with a revolver, no one could be found who had +any idea who this person was. Nor had anyone seen him make an attack +on Haworth that would result in the cut and bruise which had been +found on his face. The two Jamaica Plains citizens who’d followed the +quarreling couple to the house gave as good a description of him as +could be expected. But their statement that the instant before the +shots were fired he was peering in through the large window at the left +of the entrance portico and had his revolver gripped in his hand, was +positive and unshaken. Also that he stayed there a few seconds after +the firing,—though they could not make out what he was doing,—and then +turned suddenly and dashed madly down the drive into Torrington Road. +Everything pointed to this person as the man they wanted, and the +inspector had detectives out after him when the taking of testimony +had hardly begun. + +The report of the medical inspector with the “survey” attached, showing +all distances, positions, heights, measurements of everything in the +room, as well as all particulars relating to the body of the murdered +man, had been turned in. Out of this technical mass of information a +few facts adapted to the limited intelligence of the layman could be +extracted. Charles Haworth’s tragic death resulted from whichever of +the two gunshot wounds found upon him was inflicted first. Either would +have caused it instantly. The shots were discharged from a distance +of from fifteen to twenty feet. No chance therefore existed of the +wounds being self-inflicted. The distance of the weapon or weapons at +the instant of discharge, the locality of the wounds and the course of +the projectiles through the body, made such a feat impossible. Both +missiles had come from behind the victim, one entering at the back of +the head and drilling the brain, the other striking near the middle of +the spine and passing through the heart. There were no burns or powder +marks on the clothing nor on the head or body, where the projectiles +went in. + +The upward course of the bullets demonstrated two things—and you can +see from both of them how nicely the services of a surveyor came in: +first, Haworth must have been standing when he was shot, for otherwise +the assailant couldn’t have got low enough down to fire at the angle +shown; second, even with Haworth standing, the weapon must have been +held well down to give the bullets their upward course; but as accurate +aim (which had evidently been taken) would have been difficult if not +impossible while holding the gun down within two or three inches of +the floor, the probability was that the assailant had been standing +outside of one of the windows and had fired into the room from near the +bottom of it. + +The detectives had a fresh filled pipe—the tobacco on top hardly more +than singed; a book fallen open on its face, crumpling the leaves; a +box of matches; one partly burned match—all from the floor close to the +body. The exact position of each article was given in the survey. + +Haworth had evidently been reading and had stopped to fill and light +his pipe as the first of the two bullets made an end of him. No +evidence of a struggle with anyone—none that he had an idea of what was +about to happen. + + * * * * * + +Two persons concerned in this tragic affair got away from the mansion +and its vicinity before the arrival of the police—Hugo Pentecost from +within, slipping out quietly through the basement entrance, proceeding +through the rear of the property and coming into town by way of +Brookline,—thus avoiding Torrington Road and Roxbury altogether; and +Augustus Findlay from the front, rushing blindly down the drive like a +wild man pursued by seven devils. + +After one fearful moment when he’d stood, stunned and paralyzed, +looking through the broken slats near the bottom of the shutters of +the front window—the booze suddenly swept from his system—the crashing +reports of the shots ringing in his ears and Haworth lying there in a +crumpled heap on the floor, Findlay was suddenly recalled to himself +by feeling the weight of something dragging down his right arm; and +raising it into a bar of light coming through the chinks in the +shutter, he saw his revolver gripped in his hand, his forefinger still +hooked to the trigger. He knew—hazily, but he knew it—that he’d been +following Haworth and threatening him with the gun.... And so at last +he’d done it! In a drunken frenzy he’d killed a man! Murder—murder—that +was it! The crime they hang people for or sizzle the life out of them, +strapped in an electric chair! They’d have _him_ for that if he stayed +there. Flight was his only chance, yet he couldn’t move. He saw the +lights suddenly go off in the house—somebody already there! A moment +later he heard a loud voice within calling out something, yet still his +feet were weighted with lead. Then came the sound of quick footsteps +from around the southeast corner. Some one was coming down the path at +the side of the house and dragging some heavy wooden thing—he heard it +grating along the stone flagging. Wheeling about with a desperate jerk, +he fled madly down the drive. + +Findlay had been running only a few minutes (he was out on the +Torrington Road by this time) when he suddenly thought of his gun. It +mustn’t be found on him! Looking frantically about, he saw a thick +clump of shrubbery on one of the front lawns and quite near the road. +No one would look for it there! But as he stopped to pitch the weapon +over the fence he discovered that he was being followed! He mustn’t be +seen throwing the thing away—that alone would convict him! There was +nothing to do but run with the gun in his hand. Perhaps he could see a +hole or drain where he could drop it without a noticeable motion as he +ran. + + * * * * * + +Somewhere about the time the homicide squad arrived at the Cripps +mansion an individual whose clothing set him down as a laboring man and +who was evidently carrying a load of something with more than one-half +of one percent alcoholic content, walked a trifle unsteadily into the +South Station by the Atlantic Avenue entrance, looked blankly about, +and then stopped a man who was hurrying past and asked where there was +a telephone. On having the booths pointed out to him, he mumbled a +thick “much obliged” and made his way to them, getting into No. 19 and +occupying it for some little time. Then he reappeared in the concourse, +and after further inquiries of various persons, found the gate for the +11:35 P.M. train for New York (“Advanced” time). With much fumbling in +his pockets and boozy mutterings as a running accompaniment thereto, he +produced a ticket, and after passing in at the gate tried to give it +up to the Pullman and train conductors seated at a table just inside; +they, however, refusing to take it—as only Pullman passengers gave +their tickets there—he went on toward the train, and eventually climbed +aboard one of the day coaches. + +Walking bravely down the aisle, finding not a little assistance from +the friendly arms and backs of the seats on each side, he half fell +into an unoccupied seat—the next to the last at the extreme forward +end. It might have been observed (but it wasn’t) that this seat gave a +person the advantage of having all the lights of the car at his back, +leaving his face in comparative obscurity. + +Not long after the train passed the Back Bay station this man was half +asleep, his head bobbing about; and the conductor took his ticket +from the band of his cap where he had stuck it, and passed on without +getting a view of his face. + +On arrival at the Grand Central a few minutes before six in the morning +(a few minutes before five, standard) he was left snoozing in his +seat after the rest of the passengers had filed out. A moment or two +later the head end trainman, running through the coaches to see that +all was clear, stopped and shook him, not altogether gently, into +consciousness, yelling as he did so, “All out—all out—Grand Central!... +You get out here!” + +The drowsy chap, coming to himself and doubtless being considerably +hazy, conceived that he was being attacked, and hit out in all +directions. The result was a scuffle of wrestling and pulling, all the +more eagerly entered into by the trainman because of having had a lot +of trouble during the night trying to keep the fellow’s muddy boots off +the seat in front of him, throwing them off by main force a number of +times. The present struggle ended in the enraged passenger falling in +the aisle and being dragged out by his feet to the station platform. + + * * * * * + +On this same morning the steamer _North Land_, from the stern of which +Mr. Pentecost had rather skillfully disembarked a few hours after she +left Boston, came down the Sound and through Hell Gate, emerging into +the East River at about eight o’clock, daylight-saving time. Half an +hour later she was rounding the Battery into the North River, and not +long after that was backing into her berth alongside Pier 18. + +By this time most of the passengers were massed in the saloon lobby of +the hurricane deck, their small luggage in their hands, ready to go +ashore through the starboard door of that lobby as soon as the steamer +was made fast and the gangplank run out from the wharf. Nearly every +officer and steward and deckhand was on duty on the starboard side, +which was the landing side in this instance, as the steamer slowly +backed in alongside her wharf. + +A small rowboat had been lying close up under the stringpieces at the +shore end of the pier. There were three men in it, apparently of the +deckhand order, and they had mops and pails in the bottom of the boat +and across the seats. They had rowed in there some time before the +arrival of the steamer, coming along the south side of the slip among +the barges and scows of the New York Central Railroad Company which, at +this time, occupied the pier on that side as a freight terminal. + +As the _North Land_ came slowly gliding in stern first, the men in +the rowboat pulled out into the middle of the slip and waited there. +A moment after she was made fast and the crew on the fantail had gone +forward, a man in the uniform of a ship’s officer stepped out of the +passageway near the stern on the port side (the passengers were to +disembark on the starboard) and motioned to the men in the rowboat, +upon which they pulled up close under the guard and began to make an +examination of the hull near the water line. Soon after this they had +mops out and appeared to be swabbing off something on the ship’s side, +the officer overlooking the job from the rail above them. A moment +later there were two others watching them, not in the ship’s uniform, +one from some distance forward on the port outside passageway, and the +other from near the stern end of it where it opens into the fantail. +These men each had a movie camera focused on the party in the rowboat, +and when one of the swabbers was trying to get at a place that was too +high to reach and the officer dropped him a rope ladder, the two men +kept their cameras trained on him as he clambered up and stepped over +the rail into the passage, and still followed him as he was reaching +down the ship’s side with his mop in one hand while clinging to the +rail with the other. + +This man—the deckhand or swabber who had come aboard by the rope +ladder—got somehow mixed with one or two others of his kind who came +out into the passage, but eventually he could be seen climbing down +the ladder again and into the boat; and very soon after that the three +rowed lazily away with their buckets and mops. The officer hauled the +rope ladder aboard and disappeared through the “emergency exit” into +the ship’s cabin, and the men with the cameras were already gone, +one walking forward along the port passageway, and the one who had +been near the stern passing round to the starboard side by way of the +fantail. Everything was smoothly and rapidly done, the whole thing +occupying scarcely four minutes from the time the rowboat came up to +the ship’s side. + +It’s hardly necessary to tell you that after this little performance +was over, the man who climbed the rope ladder with his mop was still on +board the steamer, and that the man with the same mop who went down the +ladder into the rowboat was another person altogether. Nor is it of the +least importance to mention names, for you gentlemen can hardly fail to +be aware that it was Mr. Pentecost who thus came aboard and that it was +one of his “trusties”—made up and dressed to appear in every way like +him—who slid down into the rowboat; so that it might be seen, if anyone +kept account of such things, that the number of men in it when it was +rowed away from the steamer was not less than when it came up under +the stern. And, as you can readily imagine—if you have not already +done so—the entire scene was played, as one might say, for outside +consumption only—that is, for whoever might be about in boats or barges +or on the railway pier opposite. No one connected with the steamer +could have any knowledge of it; a passenger approaching from either +direction on one of the passages would have been begged, by whichever +camera man blocked the way, to wait just a moment until the picture +was taken; an officer or seaman would receive quite the same request, +but with the added explanation that their film concern had obtained +permission from the Eastern Steamship Lines, Inc., to photograph a +bunch of seamen (which is to say, actors posing as such) swabbing blood +off the steamer’s side. + +No one would have recognized Pentecost in the confusion, even had he +been seen; and it was perfectly true that such permission had been +asked and granted. Indeed, the company had loaned an officer’s uniform +to help it along. There seemed to have been a little misunderstanding +as to dates, but that was a small matter. Back of it all, if it ever +got to it, they’d have found a company and a scenario, and a couple of +thousand feet of film already taken. + + * * * * * + +The passengers, herded in the saloon lobby of the hurricane deck, which +was the one they were to disembark from, were growing impatient. Those +nearest the open door on the starboard side had noticed a couple of +men on the dock in conversation with a policeman, and the moment the +gangplank was run out the latter had given a signal of some kind and +the ship’s officers held everybody back. The two men came aboard at +once and went with the Purser into his office, where they scanned the +passenger list. A little later the Captain came to the door and the +Purser asked him to step in a moment. Shortly after that the Steward +and head waiter were sent for. Then (the whole affair had hardly +taken five minutes) the two men went ashore with the Purser, and at +once the ship’s officers who were blocking the way stood aside, the +two ticket takers from the New York office took their places, and the +passengers began to leave the steamer. + +Near the foot of the gangplank in the vast dock building was a corner +partition where the passengers coming ashore made a turn to the right. +Back in this corner, which commanded a view of the people filing past +the two ticket takers and down the gangplank, stood the Purser with the +two men who had been looking over the passenger list in his office. + +It was toward the end of the stream of disembarking passengers that Mr. +Pentecost and the two Harkers, father and son, came into view at the +top of the gangway, with one of the stewards carrying their luggage. As +they came ashore and were approaching the right-hand turn, the Purser +stepped out and shook hands with them, trusting they’d had a restful +night after their strenuous day in Boston, and wishing them good luck +with their new invention. All was in the most jovial manner, and the +three passed on toward the street. But before they’d got there one of +the stewards came running after them and said that if they had time +the Purser would like to see them for just a minute. “Why, certainly,” +Pentecost said. “Tell him we’ll be right along!” + +Harker was alarmed and started to say something under his breath, but +Pentecost growled in a half whisper, without looking at him, “Can’t you +see everything they do stamps it!” + +Alfred went on toward the street to get a taxi, and the two partners +turned back. + +The Purser was still on the dock near the gangplank, but the two men +who’d been with him were gone—at least, not in sight. But don’t imagine +that fooled Pentecost any. + +“Didn’t mean to trouble you,” Mr. Lawson called out as the two came +near. + +“No trouble,” said Pentecost. + +“Not at all,” added Harker. “What’s going?” + +“Why, I’ve just heard something that might concern you gentlemen in a +business way. Man came aboard a minute ago and was telling about a hell +of a murder last night over in Boston.” + +“Murder, eh?” said Harker, with the interest such news might naturally +inspire—but no more. + +“What makes you think we’d be concerned?” Pentecost inquired. + +“Hardly a chance you are—only he said it was out in West Roxbury, and I +remembered you told us _your_ man——” + +“What was the name—did he say?” Pentecost asked quickly and with +awakening anxiety—just the right amount you know—not the merest trifle +overdone. + +“Why no, I don’t think he did.” + +Pentecost glanced at Harker and Harker at him. + +“A lot of things might happen in West Roxbury,” he said, turning back +to the Purser. + +“Sure they might,” assented that official; “but he said it was an +inventor chap living out there alone.” + +“Inventor!” exclaimed Pentecost. “Living out——By George! And all that +money we——” He broke off, and suddenly turning to go was heard to say, +“I’ve got to make a run for a train!” + +Harker emitted a “My God!” and followed his partner up the dock. But +Pentecost stopped suddenly a few yards away, where he could still be +seen and heard by the Purser (or anyone concealed in the vicinity), +and pulling out a N. Y., N. H. & H. Railroad folder, began looking for +express trains to Boston. + +“That’s right,” Harker said, coming up to him. “We’ll get the first +train out!” + +The Purser was approaching them. + +“You stay here,” said Pentecost. “There’s a lot of business at the +office. I can wire if I want you. Here”—looking at the folder—“‘New +York to Boston’—I ought to get the nine o’clock.” + +“No—” (from Harker) “half-past nine now!” + +“That’s Daylight—railroad’s on Standard.” + +“So it is—train’s ten our time—just make it!” + +Pentecost seized the Purser’s hand. “Thank you very much, Mr. Lawson. +You’ve done us a great favor.” And as he was turning to go: “We paid +that man something like thirty thousand yesterday. A yegg’s run up on +him—that’s what it is!” He hurried out to the street and jumped into +the taxi that Alfred was holding, pushed a five-dollar bill into the +driver’s hand with “Grand Central—make time!” and shouting out a few +parting directions to Harker as the taxi started with a great jerk (the +driver was earning his money) he was whirled away into the traffic. + + * * * * * + +The man who was following Augustus Findlay as he fled wildly away from +the Cripps mansion a few seconds after the sound of the two revolver +shots split the air, wasn’t by any means putting a shadow on him, but +was running him close, never less than thirty yards behind, and a flash +on him from his pocket torch whenever it was safe to throw a light. +His name was Graham and he knew his business. He kept so near that +Findlay didn’t get a chance to pitch his gun anywhere, and what’s more, +I doubt if he could have done it if he’d got the chance, for the minute +he realized he was being followed and the light flashed on him every +few seconds, he was virtually on the scrap heap—which is to say, out of +his head with terror. + +It was in a quiet block of Collamore Street over near the railroad +tracks that Graham ran up on him and bumped him against the iron post +or column of a street light. This nearly knocked Findlay over, but +Graham got him by the throat and shut off his wind before he had a +chance to fall, and in his wild struggles to loosen Graham’s grip so he +could get air, and Graham doing some extra thrashing about trying to +hold him, it gave the idea there was the liveliest kind of a fight on; +and a man in his shirt sleeves, who’d been sitting smoking a pipe at a +second-story window nearly above, commenced to yell at them to quit. + +From that minute you could see that Graham was trying to get Findlay’s +revolver away from him, twisting his arm, trying to bite his fingers +loose, and all the while shouting out, “You damn dirty sneak, gimme +that gun! Gimme the gun, I say! It’s the gun I want!” and things like +that. And Augustus, who was terrified, thinking they were after the +thing to prove murder on him, clung to it with the tenacity of an +octopus. + +The man at the second-story window, whose name it later appeared +was Rathbun, finding yelling to the two scrappers was no good, came +downstairs and out at the street door of the tenement building; but +seeing—or, to be more accurate, hearing what it was they were fighting +for, hesitated in the doorway, as he had an aversion to being shot up. +In this instant of Rathbun’s hesitation Graham gave Augustus a smash in +the face that made him loosen his hold, and then snatching the revolver +out of his hands turned and raced up Collamore Street, carrying it by +the muzzle; and Rathbun noticed, as the man swung into a street light, +that the hand he was holding it with had a glove on it. + +After Graham got safely away, Rathbun went out to Findlay, who was +lying in the road, and tried to find out what it was all about and +whether he was hurt. But he couldn’t get anything out of the fellow. + +After a few moments Findlay got to his feet unsteadily, stared blankly +at Rathbun for a second or two, then wheeled around and went limping +down the street toward the railroad. A sorry-looking object he was, +battered and torn and plastered with mud. But his mental condition was +sorrier. Maudlin and devastating fright possessed him. He’d done a +murder—murder—murder! Shot a man, killed a man, and they were hunting +for him—they’d get him! Drunkenness no defense. He’d looked that up +before, when he really thought of doing it! This time he didn’t think. +And he’d done it! + +He stopped. If he went home they’d get him there. But if he tried to +get away it would be the same as a confession of guilt. If he went home +he could deny everything—insist that he didn’t know what they were +talking about—that he hadn’t left the house all that evening. Edith +must back him up. That is, if anyone came for him. But after all, why +should they? No one could possibly have seen him at the Haworth place. +It was dark as pitch. And the shutters were closed, so no light shone +on him. Yet who could the man have been who got his revolver? Just +a plain hold-up, that’s what it was. Yet he thought he’d heard him +following from way back near Torrington Road. But if he was a detective +he’d have arrested him. And, anyway, a detective couldn’t have got on +the job thirty seconds after Haworth was k——. Great God! He couldn’t +say it even to himself. + +With his mind seething, he stumbled up the two steps to his front door +and stopped there with his hand on the knob and a quick glance up the +street, thinking he heard some one following. He turned with a sudden +terror and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He shook it and +pounded on it, and the instant he heard Edith turn the key in the lock +he burst in, closed the door frantically after him, and stood pushing +against it as if trying to keep some one out. + +Edith stood quiet, watching his feverish terror. When he finally ceased +his violent pushing against the door she spoke. + +“Tell me,” she said. + +“Tell you what? Whad’ ye mean? I ain’t got anything to tell!” + +“You have.” + +“I have not! I been in a fight, that’s all. A hell of a dirty footpad +jumped on me—just over the other side of the railroad—but he didn’t get +any money—he only took my gun!” + +“Your revolver?” + +“Can’t you hear what I say?” + +“What had you been doing with it?” + +“What had——I just had it along. How could I be doing anything when +he took it away from me!” The man was almost sobbing. “You ain’t got +any right to talk to me like that! You’d ought to help me—that’s what +you’d ought to do! I’m going to bed and you tell ’em I was here all +this evening! You can do that much for me, I should think. I was here +reading a book, that book over there on the stand—that’s all you got +to say. What’s the harm o’that? Just tell ’em I was here reading that +book?” + +Edith shook her head. + +Then followed begging and crying and protesting on his part, but with +no response on hers. She didn’t speak again. + +After Augustus had gone whining upstairs and locked himself in his +bedroom, Edith opened the front door and looked out into the dismal +night. She was hesitating. If it hadn’t been for leaving little Mildred +alone in the house with the crazed brute (who had often threatened +to kill the child) she’d have hurried through the dark streets to +Torrington Road. She knew from her husband’s behavior that something +fearful had happened, yet without an idea of how terrible it was. + +Finally she sat on a chair in the small living room and waited. There +was nothing else to do. + + * * * * * + +It was early morning when they came—still dark. Edith heard their feet +on the wooden steps and then the heavy knock on the front door. + +Two men stood there, dressed in ordinary clothes. And she could see a +uniformed policeman moving back at the side of the house. It was the +patrolman on the beat who’d been phoned from headquarters to keep an +eye on the place till the Inspectors got there. Now they’d come and +were sending him to cover the rear. + +The men at the door were roughly polite. They were sorry to disturb +her, but was Mr. Findlay at home? + +“Yes.” + +“We’d like to see him.” + +“He’s in his room upstairs. I’ll tell him you’re here.” + +But as she turned to go the man who’d been speaking called after her: + +“If it’s all the same to you we’ll go——Which room is it?” + +“The back one—farthest from the stairs.” + +“Thank you ma’am.” + +The men ran up, and she heard their loud knocking on the door and gruff +orders to Findlay to open it. + +Then came the crash of splintering wood (the door was a flimsy affair) +and their heavy tread as they rushed into the room. A moment later +there were more distant voices, and the men came hurrying down again. + +“They got him outside, ma’am,” one of them said. “Sorry to make you all +this trouble.” And the two passed out at the front door. Edith called: + +“Oh, wait! I want to——” + +One of the men turned in the doorway. + +“I want you to—I want you to tell me if—if——Oh, what is it?” + +“Some trouble in West Roxbury, ma’am. You can find out from +headquarters.” + +As the man passed into the street she could hear Augustus’s voice +through the open door. He was whining and crying that he didn’t know +anything about it—he was here at home all the evening reading a +book—that was what he was doing—he never once left the house—ask his +wife if they didn’t believe it—she was right there—just ask her; in the +midst of which came a rough caution from one of the inspectors that +he’d better keep his mouth shut—he could tell all that to the chief. +A moment later came the clatter of a car driven up from somewhere, +the slamming of its door, and the sound of its rapid departure up the +street. + + * * * * * + +A number of things were happening along here that I’m not going to try +to describe to you. My supposition is that I’m able to get away with +plain facts so they’ll be understood, which is all I aim at. But when +it comes to telling you about Edith Findlay through all this affair—her +going over to the mansion as soon as she could get a neighbor to take +care of little Mildred, and staying there with all that was left of +poor Haworth as long as they’d let her; and later her being at the +funeral; and after that sitting stunned and dry-eyed in her little +parlor at home while she slowly came to the realization of what it +meant—that the one person who was all there was in the world for her +had gone forever, and that somehow it was through her that the terrible +thing had come about—I’m out of it altogether. I can only briefly refer +to it as I’ve just been doing. + +Yet with all these fearful things coming down on her, the poor +child—frail and delicate and already in the grip of the demon of +disease—had it in her to stand up to it, quiet and brave. I made a +mistake, though, when I said all these fearful things coming down on +her, for she knew only one. Others had no place in her mind. They +didn’t even occur to her. + +And with old Mrs. Temple it was much the same, though in a different +way. Back of all the police investigations, and questionings of +witnesses, and photographing, and ransacking the mansion and grounds +surrounding it, and the sensational newspaper write-ups, and arrests, +and talk, and confusion, was this cruel blow for each of them—the loss +of the one who was dear to them. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Pentecost left the train at Back Bay Station on arrival in Boston, +thus saving about five minutes. And he saved some three minutes more +by not having to explain to the taxi man where Torrington Road could +be found, the morning and early afternoon papers having thoroughly +attended to that. + +It was a few minutes after four o’clock (Advanced time) when his +machine came tearing up the drive—that is, tearing up the lower +part of it, for it was stopped by a patrolman some distance from +the house. Two policemen and a plainclothesman were on watch there. +Pentecost hurriedly explained who he was, and that his firm had paid +a large amount of money the day before for one of the murdered man’s +inventions—which was still in the house, he supposed. They’d left it +crated in the front hall. + +The detective made no reply to that, but instead informed Mr. Pentecost +that the Chief would like to see him at headquarters. + +“Yes, but wait a minute!” remonstrated Pentecost. “I want to find out +if that machine——” + +“You can talk it over with the Inspector when you get there.” + +“Talk it over! But my God, man—it’s our property!” + +“The Inspector’ll attend to that. You don’t need to worry.” + +“Was there a truck out here after it?” + +“There sure was, but the truck didn’t get it. How do we know but it +might have something to do with the case?” + +“Have you got the idea that anybody’s going to shoot up a man for a +three-ton machine he couldn’t get out of the house?” + +“Ask the Inspector that.” + +Pentecost was allowed to go in and satisfy himself that his property +was still in the house and had not been tampered with. After a moment +of breathing easier (not overdone you know) upon finding that this was +the case, he apparently began to call to mind that a terrible crime had +been committed and finally asked if he could see the poor chap who’d +been shot. But the body’d been taken to the morgue some hours before. + +Half an hour later the detective and Mr. Pentecost arrived at Pemberton +Square and the Inspector didn’t keep them waiting long. Besides the +latter there were two plain-clothes men in the room—one at a table +ready to make notes, the other standing back near the window. The +Inspector, seated at his desk, greeted Pentecost pleasantly; and after +an informal question or two regarding his business and the methods of +running it, came down to the matter in hand. + +“Understand your firm’s been having some dealings with the man they +shot out in Roxbury—or rather Jamaica Plain—last night.” + +“Why yes, we just bought an invention of his—that is, rights to exploit +and so forth—and paid the money down for it. It was only yesterday, and +the machine’s still out there in the house. One of your men in charge +advised me to speak to you about it, and I certainly hope you’ll be so +good as to arrange it so we can——” + +“All in good time Mr. Pentecost. First I’d like to have you tell me +what you know about the affair or the people concerned in it.” + +“Yes, certainly, certainly—er——” Pentecost appeared to be slightly +flurried by having the subject shifted so suddenly away from what was +apparently uppermost in his mind. (It might be just as well to remember +I said “appeared to be” and “apparently.”) + +“Your firm specializes in novelties of a mechanical nature, you +say—organizes companies and that sort of thing?” + +“Yes—yes, we—that’s our business.” + +“What are some of the inventions you’ve handled?” + +“Well, there’s quite a number. The latest thing we took over was the +Crudex Oil Burning Device. We’re also behind the Polaris Refrigerating +Machine, the Acme Vacuum Cleaner and other successful things. Of course +we hit on a loser now and then, but our average stands up well.” +(Pentecost had naturally given out the straight deals that the firm had +undertaken—sometimes at considerable expense—for precisely this sort of +emergency.) + +“That being your business, I take it you were attracted to Haworth’s +inventions.” + +“Yes—I was.—That is, to one of them.” + +“How did you happen to hear of them?” + +“From reading a Sunday supplement write-up when I was over here a +couple of weeks ago—or thereabout.” And Pentecost went on to give +an account of how he went out there to see what sort of mechanical +novelties the inventor had, and to describe his visit to the ancient +mansion—the young man alone there with an old charwoman—the finding of +a device that greatly interested him—the bringing of his partner over +from New York to see it—and their ultimate purchase of the rights in +the machine and the payment of quite a large sum of money down. + +“Did you see much of the old woman you speak of,—the one who came in to +cook for him and so on?” + +“Not a great deal, but I had to admire her.” + +“Why? What did you admire?” + +“The game way she kept at it trying to protect Mr. Haworth from us,—for +she got the idea we were trying to rob him or something like that. She +bothered us some listening around, but it was no great matter, so I let +it go.—Though now I think of it I did drive her away once.” + +“What was the reason for that?” + +“The machine we were negotiating for depended on a secret process, +as you might say. That is, he managed his combustion to compress air +direct without the use of intervening machinery. Something they’d +hardly allow a patent on. That’s why I’m so nervous about it. I hope +nobody takes it out of that crate.” + +“Was the old woman trying to see it?” + +“Trying to see anything she could. We’d find her everywhere. I don’t +suppose she’d have understood the thing even if she’d got a good look +at it, but I always like to play safe when there’s no patent. So we +finally asked Haworth to keep her out of the house till we got the +machine away.” + +After questioning Pentecost on other points, the business transaction +between Haworth and the firm was taken up,—the fourteen-day option, the +payment of the thirty-five thousand dollars, the arrangement made with +him for coming on to New York and setting up and adjusting the machine, +and his agreement to work under their direction for five years. + +“It was a cash transaction I understand—this payment of thirty-five +thousand?” + +“Yes—he insisted on having it that way.” + +“Do you know his reasons for that?” + +“No.” + +“You actually paid him that amount—in bills?” + +“Yes. That is to say, he received it from the firm. Alfred Harker, our +secretary, was the one who handed it to him.” + +“But you saw—yourself—that that amount was paid over to him?” + +“Yes, I did. I watched Harker counting it out for him.” + +“Into his hands?” + +“Well, no, it was rather too bulky for that. He counted it out on the +table.” + +“And Haworth took it?” + +“Yes.” + +“What did he do with it—put it in his pocket?” + +“I’m not sure, but I should say not. It was rather too large for an +ordinary pocket.” + +“Mr. Pentecost, where, exactly, was that bunch of bills when you last +saw it?” + +“My recollection isn’t clear enough to admit of a positive statement. I +have the impression that Haworth held it in his hands a short time and +then put it down on the table and stood there with one hand resting on +it.” + +“What happened then?” + +“Soon after the money was paid we left the house.” + +“Did he bring it to the door with him when he went to see you out?” + +“He didn’t come to the door—we left him standing at the table.” + +“He said good night to you there?” + +“Yes. And it was then that he was standing—as I remember it—with one +hand resting on the stack of bills.” + +“You referred to an agreement you made with him for working under your +direction. Was he entirely willing to agree to this or did you have to +urge it to some extent?” + +“We had some discussion, but he finally saw it was to his advantage, +and signed the contract willingly.” + +“Have you that contract with you?” + +“My partner took charge of it. I can wire him and he’ll get it in the +mail to-night.” + +“Kindly do that.” + +The next inquiries were as to the machine the firm had bought, and +Pentecost described it as well as he could and offered to have the +blueprints sent over from New York—an offer which was accepted. He was +unable, when asked, to give any information concerning Augustus Findlay +as he’d never seen him nor even heard his name mentioned, nor could he +tell the Inspector anything about the butler, Dreek, as he’d only seen +him once or twice in the performance of his duties and once when he +was called in to sign as a witness.... Yes, he should say it was quite +possible this butler, Dreek, had seen the bunch of money.... No, he had +no idea how it happened that Mr. Haworth had sent to a New York agency +for a butler. + +Shortly after that he was excused, the Inspector intimating that he’d +like to have another chat with him in the near future. + +Pentecost said of course—anything he could do, and added that if the +Inspector wanted to see Mr. Harker and his son Alfred—the two who were +with him at the Haworth place—he could get them over that night; but +he was told that such a thing was hardly necessary, as their testimony +could be taken in New York if it came to that. + +“You got over here in quick time, Mr. Pentecost,” the Inspector was +moved to say as the interview was coming to a close. “We have to thank +you for that.” + +“It was my business that was worrying me—not yours,” Pentecost +returned. “And now that you speak of it,” he went on, beginning to show +eagerness again, “I was advised to consult you as to how I could get +that machine out of the house. We’ve got a good-sized stack of money +invested in it and I’d like to get it into a safe place.” + +“It’s perfectly safe where it is, Mr. Pentecost. We’ve got to hold it +till we can see what bearing—if any—it has on the case. Good afternoon.” + +A plain-clothes man opened the door for him and Mr. Pentecost passed +out. When the man turned back into the room the Inspector spoke quickly +in an undertone: “Run out after him, Charlie, and keep him in sight +till I get someone on the job. Keep your distance—don’t let him get +wise to it.” + +The detective addressed as Charlie disappeared through the door. + + * * * * * + +The Inspector sat thinking a moment and then got to his feet and +began pacing the room—a habit of his when hunting for the answer to +something. He suddenly stopped and spoke to the plain-clothes man at +the table who’d been taking down the conversation with Pentecost. + +“What did you think of that, Alec?” + +“Sounded nice an’ slick to me.” + +“Ever see him before?” + +“Not as I remember.” + +“Got an idea I have. Can’t place it. Going to put Loderer and Trench on +him.” + +“Cinch on Findlay, ain’t it?” + +“What you might call that, but there’s one or two curious things about +it—money gone—thirty-five thousand in bills—we can’t get that on +Findlay.” + +“Nor on this man, either, that I can see. You can’t crack an alibi like +that, with the Purser an’ all talking to ’im on the voyage. And on top +of it he comes ashore from the steamer in New York this morning.” + +The inspector muttered, “Yes, I know,” absently, and was silent a +moment, thinking. Finally he said with a slightly explosive effect: + +“God! I hope Bellinger gets the man that phoned in here last night!” + +“You mean about this Pentecost not being on board?” + +“Yes—and advising us to have the boat watched in New York.” + +“Nothing on it yet?” + +“Nothing to the good. We got the booth he phoned from and we picked +up a man who saw a chap go into that booth about that time, but he +couldn’t give a description except that he looked like a day laborer of +some kind—so we don’t land anywhere.” + +“What booth was it?” + +“Nineteen——South Station.” + + + + +PART VII + + +You can readily understand that the daily papers, both morning and +evening, were going strong on this murder, giving the public all the +sensational stuff they could rake out of the gory mess. Even wild rumor +was sufficiently tamed to occupy a place of honor on first pages, no +least item of the appalling affair being too inconsequent to be written +up until it fairly bristled with significance. + +Even at that, very little attention was given to a press dispatch from +Montreal which appeared in the Boston papers on the second morning +after the shooting. Only a few lines it amounted to, and tacked on at +the end of one of the columns devoted to the murder. + +This dispatch stated as rather a striking coincidence, that one of the +Montreal papers of the day before—that is, of the morning following +the West Roxbury shooting—had printed in a local news column a short +paragraph to the effect that at a spirit séance in a private house on +Sackville Street the night before—which was the evening of the murder, +a call had come from the spirit of some one (a man it seemed to be) +whose name, owing to his extreme agitation, couldn’t be obtained, but +who was so insistent on speaking that the control brought him in. + +The medium, who was in trance, suddenly taken by this spirit, began +crying out: “Stop them! Stop them! Can’t somebody stop them? Oh, it’s +terrible—terrible! They’re going right on—there’s no help for it! +Oh—can’t somebody telegraph?” + +Then there was a pause, and some of the sitters began asking this +spirit what the trouble was, and where he wanted them to telegraph, +and what his name was, and things like that. But there was no answer, +and for several minutes nothing more came through. Then suddenly +there was something like a shout for help repeated several times and +followed by wild exclamations about killing some one. “Down in the +States—down in the States! Roxbury—down in the States! They’re killing +a man in Roxbury—killing a man. No one can stop it now! There’s a gun +aimed at him—don’t you understand—aiming a gun—aiming a——Oh, They’ve +shot him!... Now they’ve shot him again!... He’s sinking—sinking +down—down.... Now he’s on the floor—all in a heap!... Now he’s dead!... +Dead!... Dead...!” The words seemed to trail off in the distance toward +the end, and nothing more was heard from the perturbed visitor. + +The Montreal paper carrying the account of this went on to say that its +information was obtained from a well-known person who had attended the +sitting. And one of the Boston papers, commenting on it briefly, as +one of those odd coincidences which come along and surprise us every +now and then, added: “This will be less astounding, however, when +we reflect that a medium in Canada or anywhere else can confidently +assert, at any hour of the day or night, that a murder is being +committed in one of the large cities of the United States, and not be +far out of the way in time or place.” + +The evidence tending to establish the guilt of Augustus Findlay in +the case of the shooting to death of Charles Michael Haworth was so +overwhelming from the point of view of newspaper readers, that it +threatened to make the case uninteresting—a threat, however, which +was soon swept into the discard. For a few days, though, it looked +unpromising in the extreme to those who revel in newspaper sewerage. +The facts were so plain and Findlay’s guilt so evident that no room was +left for enthralling suspicions as to others—for gossip and scandal, +for the laying bare of nauseous details concerning the habits and +lives of loathsome people, and all those choice morsels of offal that +newspaper addicts go after so ravenously. + +It was simply that this Findlay man, the murderer, had always been +threatening to put a bullet into the Haworth man, the murdered, and +had finally done so, being worked up to a sufficient frenzy in his +half-drunken condition, by finding the said Haworth calling upon +his—Findlay’s—wife. He had thereupon followed him home, flourishing a +revolver in his face most of the way and shouting the most murderous +threats and maledictions, and finally had shot him from outside the +Cripps mansion on Torrington Road (where Haworth lived) getting it +there through one of the front windows. Then he had run home and tried +to make his wife uphold him in his statement that he hadn’t left the +house all the evening. If that wasn’t enough to land him in the chair, +what was? + +To the authorities, however, it wasn’t quite so easy navigation. No one +had seen Findlay do the deed; no revolver had been found; no bullet +marks in the room had yet been discovered. It was true that everything +pointed to him as the murderer, but pointing wasn’t enough. It answers +very nicely for the general public, but doesn’t go with a Grand Jury. + +And there was that obstinate old woman who undoubtedly had intimate +knowledge of the entire episode from A to Z—knowing the persons +involved, the motives behind the murderous deed, and every circumstance +leading up to it;—for hadn’t she run out and warned a patrolman in +Jamaica Plain nearly a week before the event? Fully aware of this +and more, yet keeping her mouth as securely closed as if officially +padlocked. More important still if it was a fact—and a word or two +she’d dropped just after the shooting made it look that way—she’d been +an eyewitness of the murder. Yet so far nothing could be got out of her +on the subject. + +But no mistake was made about Amelia Temple. It was seen from the first +that the only chance was in giving it to her easy and waiting patiently +for results. No pressure. On a sign of that she’d have cheerfully gone +to prison for life or permitted herself to be hung by the neck until +dead, before she’d have let out a word. So they kept careful watch on +her without interfering in any way with her freedom or giving her the +least idea they were doing it. + +And the Inspector and she enjoyed a couple of pleasant conversations +during this time, in which, “as a matter of form” he gave her the +opportunity to enlighten them as to one or two little things, but +said himself she was perfectly justified in declining to do so if she +still felt that she must—indeed, he wasn’t sure but he’d do the same +in her place. And the patrolman who’d failed to respond to her request +for help had (under instructions, of course) made her a most abject +apology, to which her only response was, “That does a lot o’ good +_now_, don’t it?” + + * * * * * + +While proceedings in this quarter were at a standstill (for they +wanted to give the old woman time), those in other and unexpected +directions were not. Some rather unusual phenomena relating to the case +were beginning to attract attention. Although the first of these—the +communication that came through a Montreal medium—had hardly caused +a ripple, a manifestation on similar lines now broke out in Boston +itself, and people began to sit up and take notice. + +The séance in which this occurred was taking place in a small hall or +conference room, where a committee appointed by some sort of psychical +research society was investigating the spirit manifestations claimed +to be produced by a certain medium. It was a lady in this case—using +the term merely as indicative of sex (though for all I know it could be +applied in a broader sense as well)—and she was trying to cope with the +various tests to which this committee was subjecting her at a series +of meetings held for that purpose, hoping to win a prize that had been +offered; but sure, in any event, of valuable publicity. + +As you see, I am fairly well uninformed as to the interior workings of +this particular brand of religious endeavor—if it may be referred to as +such. Nevertheless, I am fully aware of the phenomena that touched on +the Haworth case, and can report them to you with a close approach to +accuracy, leaving you to draw your own conclusions as to their origin. + +It was certainly a great surprise to everyone interested in the +affair—with the possible exception of the firm of Harker & Pentecost, +neither member of which was ever surprised at anything—that an attempt +at interference should come from such a quarter. For a time it was +treated as an absurdity not worth serious attention. But that was only +for a time. + +It seems that mediums, being forbidden, in these enlightened days, to +give public séances for which admission fees are charged, are obliged +to employ other methods of attracting and doing business. The most +common is to appear before the congregations in the great Spiritist +temples—or whatever name they may go by—where meetings are held at +stated intervals in all the large cities and many of the smaller ones. +At these gatherings a limited number of “inspirational speakers” and +“test mediums” are allowed a certain time each in which to bring the +spirits of the departed into communication with friends or relatives +present, and sometimes with people who cannot be found in the assembly. + +The more striking and convincing the feats these inspirational +individuals perform, the greater will be their renown and ultimate +pecuniary reward. For upon the impression made at these meetings (where +no admission fee is charged) largely depends the amount and the value +of the private business they can do thereafter. It has been known that +one extraordinary “demonstration” in the way of spirit communication +or materialization, has come near to making the fortune of the artist +(using the term with entire respect) who brought it about. The field +is of vast extent. The highest aim is the convincing and consequent +conversion of persons of wealth who are undergoing the pangs of recent +bereavement; for the successful medium deals in that for which almost +anything will be paid—if the believing client has the price. + +While these appearances at the great Spiritist assemblies are the +most used of the publicity methods for commercial mediums, a greatly +superior one has recently been developed for the few who are fortunate +enough to be able to associate themselves with it. It is one of the +innumerable outcomes—all more or less revolting—of what a few nations +egotistically refer to as “the World War.” + +Owing to this absurd and ghastly occurrence, hundreds of +thousands—perhaps millions—of families were suddenly plunged into the +most heartrending grief known to man. Those who were beyond words dear +to them had been snatched away and violently put to death, and the +ones so taken were in the very part of life where death seems most +impossible, most unbelievable, and consequently most terrible. + +Resulting from this, the interest in that creed which assures people +that their lost ones are yet here with them in spirit form, trying +to speak to them and often succeeding (through the mediumship of +others), even on occasion appearing before them in person (again +through the interposition of others), was suddenly and tremendously +increased. One result was an enormous enlargement in the number of +believers, among which were included some with a high order of mental +equipment—something in which this “faith” had been painfully deficient +before. A result of the unprecedented interest which this accession to +the ranks of Spiritists inspired, was a stimulation of the efforts made +by the less credulous to learn whether or not there existed grounds for +confidence in the amazing claims set forth. Societies and associations +and investigating committees were organized for this purpose in +various parts of the country, rewards were offered and the claims and +accomplishments of various mediums were subjected to investigation. +As a by-product of these activities, and one, it must be admitted, +wholly unlooked for by those undertaking this enthusiastic search for +truth, the most effective machinery yet devised for the manufacture of +publicity for mediums was put in operation. + +The prize of a few thousand dollars offered by the organizations +behind the investigating committees, was as nothing to the enormously +increased business for the medium which was sure to follow the +newspaper accounts of the proceedings, no matter which way they went or +what decision was arrived at. Free newspaper publicity, and in the news +columns—that was the real prize. + + * * * * * + +It happened that an investigation of this kind was going on in Boston +at the time of the tragic occurrence on Torrington Road. The medium +who was undergoing tests was a Mrs. Belden—Henrietta E. Belden was the +entire name I believe—and she had heretofore revealed her unusual gifts +only in private—that is to say, in her own home out in Quincy. But +accounts of the extraordinary things that took place when she went into +trance, came to the notice of members of a research society, and after +a bit of wirepulling that was kept in the dark (as it certainly should +have been) the lady was invited to submit to a series of test sittings, +and, I need hardly say, accepted. + +The first test séance had already been held and with some +success—enough to get half-column reports of it on inside pages of +most of the next day’s papers. But this was only a beginning. + +On the evening of the day after the murder in Torrington Road, the +second sitting was scheduled to take place—which it did. Most of the +newspaper reports of this meeting spoke of it as being unsatisfactory +in the extreme, though one or two contended that it would be only fair +to the medium to suspend judgment until the next one, as there appeared +to be some unexplained obstacle in her way, and she should be given a +chance to overcome it. + +It seems that after Mrs. Belden had gone into trance, instead of being, +as on the first occasion, immediately controlled by energetic spirits +who spoke volubly (through her) and caused sounds of knockings and +chilly draughts and inexplicable moving of furniture, she was suddenly +plunged by some mysterious influence, into the most overpowering grief, +begging piteously that some one would help her. On questioning by +members of the committee, it developed that they were speaking to the +spirit of a woman named Cynthia. That is to say, the medium herself +had disappeared into trance, and the spirit of this Cynthia woman was +speaking through Mrs. Belden’s terrestrial machinery. + +“Cynthia—I’m Cynthia!” the medium kept calling out in a voice entirely +different from her own, and with tears running down her cheeks. +“Yes—Cynthia! Oh, won’t somebody help me! Though you don’t know me, for +God’s sake help me! Isn’t there somebody here who can do _something_?” +And the medium sobbed and moaned and rocked back and forth, and her +very face was changed. All the questions that were put to her by the +members of the committee seemed to get them no further. The Cynthia +spirit was apparently crazed with grief or anxiety, and held her place +for nearly an hour, begging for help, yet leaving those present without +information as to what the trouble was, further than the little that +could be gathered from her incoherent cries of: “Oh—they’ve made a +terrible mistake! Don’t you see—a terrible, frightful mistake!” + +“Mistake about what, madam?” would come in a sharp incisive voice from +an investigator. + +“About him—about him. He’s my son—my son—my son! Don’t you +understand?—and he’s in such trouble—oh, _such_ trouble! It’s all +wrong—all wrong! Can’t somebody go and tell them it’s all a mistake! +Oh, please somebody tell them!” And thus it went on, the grief-stricken +spirit of Cynthia hysterically begging for assistance and imploring +them to tell somebody that something wasn’t so, yet seemingly unable +to furnish information as to what persons she wished to have told, +or to let them know who she was herself. And although, after some +little time of this, the members of the committee urgently requested +Cynthia’s spirit to leave the medium so that the spirits of others who +were better able to communicate might take her place, she couldn’t be +persuaded to do so. + +Even Mrs. Belden’s assistant or director—or whatever it is those people +are called—joined in the efforts to persuade Cynthia to release the +medium, calling out several times to the usual spirit control: “Doctor +Coulter, can’t you relieve this situation? Tell us what this Cynthia +woman wants or take her away.” + +But nothing availed and the investigation was finally adjourned until +the evening after the next. + +When Mrs. Belden came out of the trance and began to take notice +of things, she discovered, from the behavior of those members of +the committee who had waited, that all was not well. Her director +whispered a few hurried words to her, and she could be heard +exclaiming, “Cynthia? Why—why, what does it mean? I don’t know anybody +named Cynthia—I never heard of such a person!” She appeared greatly +disturbed, evidently fearing her chances of winning the prize which +had been offered for a successful test were gone, or at least greatly +reduced in size. + +The condition in which she was left after being under the control of +this sorrowful spirit for more than an hour, was surely bad enough +without the added anxiety as to the failure of the test. One or two of +the gentlemen shook hands with her and said she mustn’t take it so much +to heart, as the next meeting would undoubtedly be a fine one and more +than make up for any shortcomings in this. But it was evident that Mrs. +Belden was disappointed and chagrined. + + * * * * * + +The next sitting was approached with feelings bordering on trepidation +of one sort or another by nearly everyone concerned. And when Mrs. +Belden had finally succeeded—with more difficulty than usual—in getting +herself into trance condition, and almost immediately thereafter +the tearful voice of Cynthia was heard, the depression among the +investigators became acute. + +But there was a surprise awaiting them, for not only was this spirit +calmer and more reasonable than she had been two nights before, but she +spoke in a way that aroused a sudden and peculiar interest. + +The Haworth case—barely three days old and still on the front pages—was +the subject of conversation everywhere. So that when the members +of the committee became aware—as they did from the first few words +spoken—that it was the spirit of Cynthia Findlay addressing them,—the +mother of the man arrested for the Haworth murder, and as to whose +guilt there wasn’t a remnant of doubt in the public mind—the deepest +interest was aroused. Her voice was still sad and occasionally +tremulous with emotion, but there was no more sobbing and hysteria. +She begged most piteously that somebody there would tell the Judge or +the Jury or the police or some one, that her son was innocent. It was +all a dreadful mistake. He——Oh no! Oh, believe her, no!—he wasn’t the +one who did it! All the things that looked so terribly incriminating +could be accounted for some other way. Every one of them could be +explained!—Every one!—Every one! + +She went on like that for quite a time, becoming more and more affected +until she could hardly speak. But on this occasion her repetitions—even +her paroxysms of emotion—were no longer wearisome to those present. + +As soon as it became necessary for her to pause for breath—for while +it’s more than unlikely that a spirit needs any, the same could hardly +be said of a medium—a flood of incisive questioning poured in, which +ran something like this: + +PROFESSOR ELBERTSON (_a psychologist_): “Mrs. Findlay, if you know your +son did not commit the crime he’s charged with, you must also know who +did.” + +MR. BLATCHFORD (_an attorney_): “Certainly. Your knowledge implies +that you are in a position where you have an insight of the case. This +insight should enable you to give us the name of the guilty one.” + +THE SPIRIT: “Oh, don’t ask me! I can’t—I can’t!” + +DOCTOR WINGATE (_a physician_): “Who prevents you? Who stops you when +so much depends on it? Let us know who this person—this spirit—is.” + +THE SPIRIT: “There’s no ‘who.’ Nothing can be said—no words—no—no—no +words!” + +MR. HALSTED (_a prestidigitator_): “Do you mean, Mrs. Findlay, that +there is no person or being or entity of any description who forbids +you or stands in the way of your telling us this?” + +THE SPIRIT: “No such thing as that! I am held by an influence from all +that is, of which I myself am an infinitesimal part.” + +MR. BLATCHFORD: “Then why does not this prohibitive influence prevent +you from informing us as to your son? You experience no difficulty in +declaring his innocence. Is it a law that operates either way according +to its fancy?” + +THE SPIRIT: “My own influence, though infinitesimal as a rule, becomes +of more consequence than all others when it concerns my son, and the +balance is turned. For him I can speak across to you and beg you to +save him.” + +MR. BLATCHFORD: “Then surely for him you can reveal the facts that will +accomplish that result.” + +THE SPIRIT: “Perhaps I can—oh, perhaps—perhaps! But it can’t be now! If +it can be—I’ll come again!” The voice trailed away in a despairing moan +and the spirit of Cynthia was gone. + +Mrs. Belden came out of the trance rather suddenly, rubbing her eyes +and glancing questioningly at her director and the members of the +committee. As before, she seemed greatly exhausted by the use to +which the spirit of Cynthia had put her, and found herself in a cold +perspiration. + +While no real test had yet been furnished by Mrs. Belden, a majority +of the committee had a feeling that the next visit of the spirit of +Cynthia would supply one, while a pessimistic minority openly stated +that there wouldn’t be any next visit,—that the questioning they had +given her would keep her occupied in other spheres, and that it was an +exceedingly good way to be rid of her. + +Mediumistic episodes such as this wouldn’t get a thing from the +papers under ordinary circumstances. But these investigations the +psychical research people put over, excited enough public interest to +be taken up by the Associated Press and run all over the country. And +this alleged appearance of the grief-stricken spirit of the mother +of Augustus Findlay, the man who was under arrest for the murder of +Charles Haworth, was featured in all the morning editions from Maine to +California and Montreal to New Orleans. + + * * * * * + +On the day following the publication of these reports, quite a pack +of editors got after it as a specimen of the gullibility of the human +race in general and the people who took part in such “goings-on” in +particular. You can see how the free advertising piles up for them in +cases like this. Even the high and mighty editors push it along! + +Of course there was nothing in it for the police—not even enough to +laugh at—and no attention was paid to the matter. It wasn’t even +recognized as having occurred. + +Mr. Forbes, the Defense Attorney, read the accounts of the séance with +a grimace. While entirely willing to catch at a straw in this case, he +failed to see anything in the alleged appearance of the spirit of his +client’s mother that could be dignified by such an appellation. + +But in the evening of the day following there happened something that +every one of these persons did pay attention to, not to speak of +millions of newspaper readers besides. + +It seems that a well-known medium named Dillingworth was having his +chance at one of the meetings of a Spiritist convention that was in +progress at Lilly Dale, a village not far from Chautauqua, in the +westernmost county of New York State, where gatherings of this nature +occur at intervals (no admission charged). Mr. Dillingworth was calling +out names and descriptions of spirit forms that appeared to him, and +asking if anyone in the audience recognized them as departed relatives +or friends. Some one, of course, nearly always did, and thereupon would +follow affectionate messages and disjointed conversations between +the living and the dead, carried on from the dead side through the +mediumship of Mr. Dillingworth. + +This sort of thing went on for something like half the medium’s +allotted time, when suddenly he seemed to be strangely affected, +and unable for a moment to proceed. He soon recovered, however, and +half apologizing, told the assembly that some one had come who had a +peculiar sort of influence—an oldish man, it was, who kept saying that +he didn’t know anyone there but couldn’t get control in other places, +and very much wanted a message sent to some one. + +“Yes, a—a—damnably important message,” went on the medium abstractedly, +as though trying to listen to something in the distance. “But I can’t +seem to get his name.... Oh—says he doesn’t care to give it.... But +we can hardly send a message unless we know who it’s from!” (Trying +to hear.) “How do you spell it? C—r—i—p—p—Crippen? ... Oh, Cripps. +His name is Cripps—quite an old gentleman—rather portly—medium +height—gray-blue eyes—smooth face—grizzled gray hair—bushy dark +eyebrows. Anyone here know such a person? Wait a minute!... Yes +yes, Mr. Cripps, I know you told me no one knew you, but I’m so +used to asking the question——What?... He’s using the most frightful +language!... All right—all right—there’s no need of getting huffy about +it! Give us the message.... He says it’s to the police somewhere—I +can’t get the place. Yes, go on, Mr. Cripps.... R-o-x-b-u-r—Oh, +Roxbury!... Man shot there, he says—murdered. ... _Boston_ police? Why +not the police where the man was shot?... Oh I see—a part of Boston. I +didn’t know that.... Yes, I guess you’re right, Mr. Cripps!... He says +my geography isn’t worth a God-forsaken damn!... Very well, the Boston +police. Now what’s the message?... Let me get that straight! We’re to +send word that both times—is that right?—both times their detectives +examined the inside of the rain-water conductor on the south side +of the front portico they didn’t reach high enough up. Is that all, +Mr. Cripps?... But you haven’t mentioned what it is they’re reaching +for.... What?... Oh, I see!... He says they’ll know damned well—and +don’t you forget it!... All right, Mr. Cripps. That’s pretty strong +language, but we’ll try not to forget it.... What’s that? Yes, we’ll +tell them.... He says they’d better be careful how they handle it if +the finger marks on the butt are any use to them.... But can’t you tell +us, Mr. Cripps, whether the—What?... Who’s this speaking?... Oh, some +one else! Just a minute.” Then, glancing toward the audience and in a +lower voice: “Will somebody remember that message? I don’t know what +it’s all about, but if it’s going to help the Boston police any, God +knows they ought to have it!” + +A roar of laughter, together with some vigorous hissing, followed this +last remark, which could hardly excite surprise when one reflected +on the derision and contempt which had been aroused by the peculiar +behavior of the organization referred to not a great while before. + +Though the medium, Mr. Dillingworth, didn’t know what it was all about, +the bunch of reporters sitting at a table down in front of him, did. In +forty-five minutes the Associated Press had the whole thing, and before +midnight newspaper men were dashing madly out to Jamaica Plain, having +obtained permission to look over the ground. + +The outcome of all this was that along about 1:30 in the morning half +a dozen chaps from the papers were gathered round the rain-water +conductor on the front of the Cripps mansion, pushing wires and small +rods up from the lower end. But nothing was found—which wasn’t so +very surprising when you take into consideration that headquarters +had received a rush dispatch fully an hour before the papers got it, +giving the spirit message from old Mr. Cripps in full. No one in the +Department had any confidence in it—unadulterated rot, all these spirit +stunts. Still, when it was wired over on a “rush” from Lilly Dale and +signed “H. Thompson, Sergeant State Police,” what was the good of +taking chances? So the Inspector hustled a couple of plain-clothes men +out to the mansion with orders to take another look up the water pipe. + +It was ten minutes after the detectives arrived at the mansion that +they pulled Augustus Findlay’s revolver down out of the large zinc +water conductor up which it had been shoved to a height of several +feet, and wedged in with a branch from a shrub to hold it there. They +got a grip on it with hooks and wires so that nobody’s hands came in +contact with it. Two chambers of the gun were empty. + +As the Boston papers had no knowledge of this, the dispatch from Lilly +Dale was used inconspicuously in most of them, followed by the brief +statement that reporters had been out and searched, but that nothing +was found in the locality mentioned. Papers elsewhere gave it more +prominence, as it was too late to hit them with the news that the +search made by the reporters had been in vain. + + * * * * * + +This new evidence—Findlay’s revolver found hidden near the place +where the crime was committed, with two of the chambers empty and his +fingerprints showing up nicely on the handle—was of the utmost value, +though they’d most likely have got an indictment without it. But while +it made the action of the Grand Jury a certainty, and would be damning +evidence when it came to trial, it must be confessed that the views of +the Chief Inspector and of the Assistant District Attorney who was to +prosecute, were a trifle unsettled by the source of the information +which had led to its discovery. It was certainly not an agreeable +position to be placed in, and every effort must be made to keep the +matter quiet. Luckily the presentation of the evidence before the Grand +Jury would be behind closed doors, and by the time it had come up at +the trial people would probably have forgotten what it was all about. + +On the following day Assistant District Attorney McVeigh went before +the Grand Jury and the indictment of Augustus Cripps Findlay for the +murder of Charles Michael Haworth was handed down without delay. + + * * * * * + +The date which had been set for Mrs. Henrietta E. Belden’s final +séance before the researching committee, fell on the third day after +the indictment of Findlay. Many persons not connected in any way with +this committee made strenuous efforts to gain admission, but without +success. Representatives of the press were present, but the public had +been excluded from the beginning. + +So when, upon the assembling of the committee on that evening, it was +discovered that a meek-looking person who was not a member, nor a +reporter from any of the papers, was seated near the door, inquiries +were at once made, and the whispered reply of the chairman was that the +stranger was from the office of the Chief of Police. For what purpose +he had been sent, he (the chairman) had not been informed. So far as he +was aware, they hadn’t been violating any police regulations. + +As on the two preceding occasions, the spirit of Cynthia took immediate +possession of the medium, but she appeared to be laboring under an +excitement so intense that it was with difficulty she could articulate, +and more than half an hour went by before anything came through that +could be understood. + +This incoherency and delay did not, however, have the discouraging +effect which it had on a former occasion, for everyone there was intent +to hear, held so by the feeling that she had something important to +tell if only she could get it across. She would start on something—it +seemed to be some number she was trying to give them—and then break +off with: “I will—I will—I WILL!” repeated again and again. + +The committee members were doing what they could to help her along, +and when one of them asked, “Is some one preventing you from telling +us?” the vehement answer came back: “Yes—yes! Such forces against +me!—I can hardly speak! Don’t go away—don’t go away!” And then all was +confusion again, in the midst of which she tried repeatedly to tell the +number. Finally, after many interruptions, she got it out—four hundred +ninety-one, four hundred ninety-one, and went on repeating it, but +still apparently unable to explain its present significance. But after +a long struggle to overcome the obstacle, whatever it was, something +seemed suddenly to release the spirit of Cynthia from what had the +effect of a strangle hold, and she almost screamed out: “West side of +the street! West! West! Four hundred ninety-one!” + +As soon as she stopped repeating this long enough for anyone to speak, +every effort was made to get from her the name of the street she was +talking about. She was asked what part of the town—what buildings were +on it—the first letter of its name—everything the committee members +could think of that might be a clue. + +The forces holding her back began to weaken from the time she managed +to shriek out about the west side of the street, and the whole thing +came through rather suddenly a few minutes later. + +“Don’t forget—don’t forget—four hundred ninety-one Collamore +Street—four hundred ninety-one Collamore Street—west side—west side—man +smoking a pipe—west side of Collamore Street—he saw them take it away +from him. Oh, get him—somebody go and get him—he saw it all!” + +Even while this was being repeated (as it was a number of times) there +was the beginning of a quiet and unobtrusive movement by some of the +newspaper men toward the door. But they found the meek and inoffensive +person from the office of the chief of police standing before it and +pulling his coat back the merest trifle so that the edge of his badge +could be seen. + +“Sorry but you’ll have to wait a minute, gentlemen,” he said in an +undertone, and before the reporters recovered from their astonishment +he slipped through the door. The indignant journalists started to +follow him, but they found a bulky patrolman just outside who declined +to let them pass. The only reply to their furious questions was, +“Orders.” + + * * * * * + +It was a great surprise to James Rathbun, who lived with his family on +the second floor of 491 Collamore Street, Roxbury district, and was +employed in a ladies’ boot and shoe factory near the railroad, to be +roused from bed when he’d scarcely more than gone to it, and questioned +by a couple of men who appeared to be ordinary citizens, but were +accompanied by the patrolman on that beat. + +No, he didn’t know anything at all about the murder over to Torrington +Road, excepting what he’d seen in the papers.... Sure he’d read about +it.... No, he didn’t know anyone concerned in it and hadn’t seen any +of them so far as he was aware of. They must have got the wrong place, +hadn’t they?... He couldn’t say as he remembered of anything special +happening around there on the night of the murder.... No, he hadn’t +noticed anyone taking anything away from anybody that night—unless +they—unless——Why hold on now! There _was_ a kind of a fight down in the +street, now he came to think of it, and he’d gone down and tried to +stop it, but it was about as good as over when he got there. But now +they were speaking about taking away something from somebody, maybe +that was what they meant.... No, not money or a watch, it wasn’t, but +the other feller’s gun.... No, he hadn’t any idea at all who they +was.... Sure, he’d go to the Inspector’s office if they wanted him to, +but there wasn’t much of anything to it so far as he could see. + +The Inspector, it seems, was at the Charles Street jail, and Mr. +Rathbun was taken there and questioned in one of the rooms. His +testimony, as brought out, was straight and simple. He had come home +rather late that night—about half-past ten or so he should say—and +was smoking a pipe at his window facing the street. All of a sudden +he heard a lot of scuffling and cursing outside, and looking out saw +two men down there near one of the street lamps wrestling around and +jabbing each other. There was something shining that they both had +hold of, and once when it got out into the light he could see one man +was holding on to it by the nozzle and trying to get it away from the +other. That one had gloves on.... No, the other chap didn’t have none. +He (Rathbun) yelled out to ’em from the window, but they was at it like +two dogs holding to a stick, so he went downstairs to the street door +and opened it, and just at that minute the man that had the gloves on +give the other fellow a paste in the face that made him loosen his grip +for a second so he could snatch the gun away from him and run up the +street with it.... Yes, he was sure it was the one with the gloves on +that got the gun.... How did he _know_? Well, for one thing he went out +and spoke to the other chap and he didn’t have none on.... No, there +wasn’t any talk between them, for the chap didn’t say anything, but in +a minute or so turned suddenly and beat it down the street toward the +railroad tracks.... _Know_ him? Did the Inspector mean the one he went +out and spoke to? Sure he’d know him if he ever saw him again! + +“Why, there he is now!” Rathbun exclaimed with genuine surprise, as he +pointed at a man among about a dozen prisoners who were filing into +the room. It was Augustus Findlay. The Inspector had given a signal a +moment before. + + * * * * * + +The digging up of James Rathbun of 491 Collamore Street on a tip from +the disembodied spirit of Cynthia Cripps Findlay shook things up a +bit in the Police Department. Of course everyone connected with said +Department was entirely aware that the spirit game was simply cheap +poppycock and that the two rather surprising messages bearing on the +Haworth case were merely instances of odd coincidence. Great God! There +were eleven thousand mediums in the United States, and these giving +out ten communications a day (a conservative estimate) made the output +from the spirits forty million one hundred and fifty thousand messages +a year; it would be a damned pity if one or two of them couldn’t strike +it right once in a while! As for the alleged Cripps message from Lilly +Dale, they had it pretty well covered up—at least for the present. The +papers, to be sure, had printed it, but they had also mentioned the +fact that nothing could be found in the place indicated. + +But holding back this Collamore Street message with its extraordinary +results was another matter. It must be done though, if possible. The +precaution of ordering the detention of everybody in the hall where the +séance was held, in case some “spirit” got a message through that might +cause trouble, was certainly well taken, and neither the reporters +nor any others who’d been present during Mrs. Belden’s trance were +permitted to leave the building until Mr. Rathbun had been returned to +his dwelling place and, with his wife (who’d come to the window the +night of the fight on hearing the shouting) sworn to keep the matter +entirely to themselves, and the fact strongly impressed upon them that +it would be a highly dangerous thing _for them_, to let out a word of +it. + +A search was quickly made for others in the tenements near who might +have been witnesses to the revolver fight, but none were found. All +this had transpired in not much above an hour, and the Rathbuns, as +requested, locked their door and went to bed. + +Some twenty minutes thereafter No. 491 Collamore Street was seething +with baffled newspaper men. They pounded on the door and rang the bell +of the tenement on the second floor, until Mr. Rathbun, apparently +roused from deep slumber, opened it to find out what all the racket was +about. + +The reporters surged about him, calling out questions, demanding +statements, jotting down descriptions of him, and making such a riotous +clamor, notwithstanding his assurances that he didn’t know anything +about it, that he finally (to all appearances) lost his temper, and +shoving those nearest to him back on to the landing, slammed the door +in their faces and turned the key in the lock. + +By this time there was quite a gathering in the street below, and +when the newspaper boys began to surge down the stairs with the idea +of trying to get in through a rear entrance, there was considerable +excitement; for the crowd hadn’t the least idea what it was all about +and looked for the capture of a desperate burglar or something equally +diverting. In the midst of all this, word was suddenly passed from +somewhere that some one had found a man up the street a ways, who’d +seen the whole thing, and in ten seconds No. 491 was left as quiet as a +church. + +The rumor of the man who knew it all turned out to be based on fact. A +solid, reliable-looking chap he was, and the reporters had him penned. +He seemed reluctant to say anything at first, but finally admitted +that he was walking through Collamore Street that night and came right +on it. Must have been half-past ten or eleven, he thought. Two men +fighting for a revolver—that’s all it was. He backed into a doorway on +the other side, about opposite 491, and took it all in. The reporters +got everything down to the minutest details, and you can imagine what +the papers looked like next morning. Not Boston alone, but everywhere. +Headlines you could read a block away. Here was the real thing, and the +newspaper chaps know one of those when they see it. + +The authorities laid the leakage to the Rathbuns, but of course +couldn’t hold them for anything. When they came to figure up the effect +of the revolver episode on the case, it didn’t alter matters to any +extent. While it had the look of some kind of framing of Findlay, +it was at the same time shown by this very episode that he had his +revolver in his hands after the shooting and was chasing himself +home with it at the time it was taken from him. The only real loss +sustained by the prosecution was the necessary abandonment of the +contention that Findlay’s revolver had been concealed by himself after +the shooting, for, as it now appeared, somebody else had shoved it up +in the water conductor. But without this, the evidence against the man +was amply sufficient. His violent threats—his frenzy at being shoved +back out of the house by Haworth with the door slammed in his face—his +position at the front window with his gun in his hand at the instant +of the shooting—his mad flight from the grounds of the Cripps mansion, +carrying (as it now appeared) his weapon with him—his incriminating +behavior at the time of his arrest next morning in attempting to escape +and then, when caught, endeavoring to get his wife to support him in +his statement that he hadn’t left the house the evening before—all +this, taken together with other evidence which had since been +collected, meant nothing but swift conviction. + +But while the Chief Inspector and the District Attorney entertained +no doubts as to the case against Findlay so far as the actual firing +of the shots that killed his victim was concerned, this extraordinary +seizure of the revolver in the public street and its concealment +near the place where the murder had been committed, were a plain +indication that others were involved in the crime, and now that it was +accomplished, were using every effort to frame it on him alone. It was +a strong hand that was working in the dark against Findlay, and Mrs. +Belden, the spirit medium, had shown that she knew a great deal about +it. She’d been held, after the release of the others, at the room where +the séance took place, notwithstanding the indignant protests of the +committee; and orders were later given to bring her to headquarters. +They’d soon make her tell where she got her information—a key, most +likely, to the whole thing. + +They’d have liked very well to get Mr. Dillingworth, too—the Lilly Dale +medium whose control, alleged to be old Mr. Cripps, told where the gun +was concealed. But that would be difficult. And then again a man wasn’t +so easy to handle in a case like this. They could frighten a woman. +She’d lose her head and tell them everything. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Belden was brought in by a couple of detectives. It was somewhere +about three in the morning. Notwithstanding what she’d been through +and her virtual arrest coming on top of it—for that’s what it was made +to appear—she showed no signs of disturbance; indeed one would have +thought she hardly noticed what was going on. She had, or assumed, a +detached air, giving the impression that her mind was occupied with +other and more important things than those in the immediate vicinity. A +pleasant but vacant smile had been arranged on her countenance before +her thoughts wandered abroad, as a friendly signal to those who might +notice it fluttering there. + +She was brought before the Inspector. Several plain-clothes men stood +about, watching her like hungry wolves. Uniformed police were stationed +at each door and a very large-sized one sat near the Inspector. She was +to be impressed with the importance of what was about to occur. + +A detective brought her a chair. + +All went smoothly enough as to preliminary questions—name, address, +occupation, etc.—although she replied absently, and several times +had to be recalled to herself and the question repeated before they +could get a response. After this was over and an effective pause had +followed, a police stenographer (plain-clothes) rose, and read in a +loud and impressive voice a report of what Mrs. Belden had said and +done during the séance of the evening just passed, while under the +alleged control of some one deceased. + +The moment this man announced what the report was about, that he +intended to read, Mrs. Belden’s manner underwent a drastic change. Her +detachment disappeared, and evidences of the most eager interest took +its place. She listened with rapt attention to every word that had come +through from Cynthia, and when the reading was finished breathed a sigh +of the deepest satisfaction. + +“Mrs. Belden, you have heard the report of what was given out and said +and uttered by you at the meeting held in the Board Room at Charnley’s +this evening?” + +“What sir?” she asked with a startled turn, aroused from her thoughts +of the séance. + +“I say” (in a louder voice) “you have _heard_ what has just been +read—the report of what you gave out at a Spiritualistic meeting this +past evening?” + +“Oh yes——yes indeed! How nice of you to put it all down!” + +“And do you acknowledge it to be a true and correct statement of your +words on that occasion?” + +“Mercy! I’m sure I don’t know!” + +“You don’t _know_?” + +“Why no,” (shaking her head). “How could I when I was in trance?” + +“In what?” + +“Trance.” + +“What in God’s name is that?” + +“I—I really couldn’t tell. Why don’t you ask some of the committee? +That’s what they’re trying to find out. I’m sure they’d be glad to——” + +“One moment! Just one moment, madam!” spoke up a large man in uniform +who was standing near the inspector. He wore a face and jowl something +like Von Hindenburg and his voice was as the bellowing of a bull. +“We’re here to ask _you_, Mrs. Belden! _You_ are the person who uttered +those words and we propose to hold you responsible!” + +“What the hell’s the committee got to do with it, anyway?” growled one +of the detectives, whose natural gifts for vicious snarling had made +him of value in a business like this. “It was you who said it—now you +answer for it—see?” + +Mrs. Belden blinked from one to another of them in cheerful +bewilderment. Her pleasant and comfortable smile still occupied her +face, though for a moment a trifle insecurely. + +“Now then,” went on the Inspector, “we’d like very much to hear from +you, Mrs. Belden!” + +When he spoke she turned to him as though to a pleasing conversation +with some new-found friend. + +“Be so good as to answer the question.” + +“The question?” + +“Yes, the question!” + +“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember what it was!” + +“Don’t remember! Don’t remember! Well, I’ll be damned!” (From the +snarling one.) + +“Perfectly plain and simple, madam,” continued the Inspector. “Is this +report which has just been read to you a true and correct statement +of the words spoken by you at the séance or meeting this evening just +passed?” + +“Oh dear me—but you see, I—I don’t know.” + +“You know what you _said_, don’t you?” + +“No sir.” + +“What’s the reason you don’t?” (Von Hindenburg speaking.) “Give us the +reason! Don’t try to put over any of that trance cackle on us! Don’t +you know what you say to people?” + +“Oh, no!” (shaking her head). “Not when I’m in—in——not when it’s like +that.” + +“Mrs. Belden, aren’t you perfectly well aware that you told those +present in the room to go to a certain street and number and get a man +who was living there, for a witness?” + +“Yes sir.” + +“A——h!” (A snarling roar.) “At last you’re beginning to remember, are +you?” + +“No sir, I don’t remember.” + +“You don’t!” + +“No sir.” + +“Then how do you know it?” + +“I heard that man over there read it.” + +“And did you remember then—when you heard him read it—that you’d said +it?” + +“Why, I’m sorry, but I didn’t really remember having done so. I hope +you—I hope you won’t mind.” + +“Whether you remember or not, Mrs. Belden, the fact that you did +actually tell them this, remains!” + +“Oh yes indeed, that remains of course!” She wanted to oblige these +shouting and excited men in any way she could. + +“Now then! You fully believe this to be the case—that you told them to +go to the address on Collamore Street, and find a man who was smoking a +pipe there, and bring him in for a witness?” + +“Oh yes, I _do_ believe it, really!” + +“Ah—you do! Well _that’s_ something!” + +“Why, I don’t see why that man” (looking at him) “should want to tell a +lie about it, do you? I’m sure he _looks_ honest!” + +“Never mind how he looks. You acknowledge in our presence that you said +those words, or words to that effect—you admit that you _did_ give that +street and number. Now what we want to know is, where you got that +information?” + +“Yes!” (From the snarling hyena man.) “Who told you? Where did you find +it out? _I say, where did you find it out?_” + +“Find what out?” + +“That a man living at four hundred ninety-one Collamore Street saw +something that made him a valuable witness. Where did you find that +out?” + +“Oh, but you don’t understand at all—I didn’t find it out!” + +“You _knew_ it, didn’t you?” + +“Oh no, I really had no idea of it at all!” + +“Here! Here!” from the Hindenburg man. + +“My God woman” (from the hyena man) “you _said_ it—you acknowledged +it—we’ve got half a dozen witnesses who’ll swear to that!” + +“Oh yes! Well, doesn’t that satisfy you?” + +“It does not! You’re going to tell us where you got that tip! It came +from somewhere—that somewhere is what we’ll get out of you—and don’t +you make any mistake about that!” + +Mrs. Belden, unable to comprehend, smiled vaguely at them as if hoping +to soothe and quiet them thereby. + +“Answer me this: How could you tell them all that about Collamore +Street if you didn’t know it yourself?” + +“I don’t know, but if you’ll ask one of the committee men——” + +“Be quiet!” “That’s enough of that!” “Committee be damned!” And general +protests from the men in the room. + +Mrs. Belden subsided pleasantly. Her smile flickered a little but +refused to go out. + +“I’m not here to ask committee men,” the Inspector went on. “I’m here +to ask YOU!” + +“That’s very nice of you, I’m sure!” (A little doubtfully.) + +“And what’s more, you’re going to tell me! You’re going to tell me +where you got your information about that witness in Collamore Street +before you leave this place!” + +“Oh, I hope I can—if you feel so about it!” + +“Go on with it then! How came you to know anything about that witness +at four hundred ninety-one Collamore Street? How was that? Explain +yourself!” + +“Why I thought I told you that I _didn’t_ know anything about him! What +funny questions you ask me!” + +“But you acknowledge that you _told_ them about him—you acknowledge +that! Don’t you acknowledge that?” + +“Oh yes indeed—I acknowledge that!” + +“Well if you _told_ them about him you must _know_ about him! You can’t +tell a thing unless you _know_ it, can you?” + +“Well, you see, when I’m in trance——” + +(A burst of yells and imprecations from the men in the room.) “Don’t +give us any more of that!” the Inspector went on as soon as it was +quiet. “Just the idea out of your head that you can put that kind of +birdseed over on us! From now on no more trances and rappings and +slates and the whole bag of tricks! We know these games—every one of +’em, an’ they don’t go here! _They don’t go here, Mrs. Belden!_ Now you +tell me straight, where did you get that information about the witness +on Collamore Street?” + +“I didn’t get it at all.” + +“You mean you told them all that—told them just where to find a man—the +very street—the very number—the very apartment—the very pipe he +smoked—and didn’t know any of those things yourself?” + +“Oh yes—it’s so strange, isn’t it! When I’m in a——” + +“None o’ that now!” (From the Inspector, speaking above a general +murmur of protest from the police and detectives.) + +Mrs. Belden smilingly held her peace. + +The Inspector, McCurran, paused a moment in order to increase the +impressiveness of his next question. + +“Mrs. Belden,” he began, in a lower voice and with overpowering +solemnity, “do you realize the position in which you are placing +yourself by your refusal to answer this question?” + +“Why, I’m afraid you don’t like it at all!” + +“Not _like_ it, madam! I can assure you that it’s a great deal worse +for you than NOT LIKING IT! We are compelled to conclude that for some +reason known only to yourself you are SHIELDING the person or persons +WHO ARE GUILTY OF THIS FIENDISH CRIME!” + +“Dear me! Why, who do you think it is?” + +“You apparently have no idea what such a thing may mean to you!” + +“No sir.” (She was so interested that she was leaving her smile alone +to get along the best it could without her.) “I’m almost sure I +haven’t!” + +“A person who shields one guilty of murder is an ACCESSORY AFTER THE +FACT!” + +“Mercy! Am I—am I one of those?” + +“It certainly begins to look like it, madam!” + +“Why how _perfectly_ dreadful!” + +“Now before you’re arrested and tried on that charge we’ll give you +one more chance to clear yourself! You understand—one more chance and +that’s the last!” + +“Well that’s—I’m sure you’re very kind! Is it something you want me to +do?” + +“That’s what it is, madam, and your only chance is to DO IT NOW! Tell +us where you got your information about the witness on Collamore +Street!” + +“But how can I when I didn’t get it anywhere? It was whoever was in +control that had it. That man there who read it said Cynthia was the +name.” + +“Well then, where did Cynthia get it?” + +“Oh, well,” (the smile spreading) “I’d like to know that myself!” + +And so it went on hour after hour, Mrs. Belden cheerful and unmoved, +her questioners more and more wearied; bored beyond words by her dense +and unshakable simplicity and maddened by her invulnerable smile; +until finally they had to give it up and tell her to go home. Smiling +pleasantly, she thanked them and said she’d enjoyed it very much. + +Though it seemed that some mysterious person or persons—dead or +alive—were framing Augustus Findlay, the Grand Jury had indicted him +for murder, and the evidence against him was seemingly overwhelming. + +As for Findlay himself, his state of mind was pitiable. He had no doubt +whatever that he had fired the shots that killed Charles Haworth, and +Mr. Forbes (of Houston, Forbes & McAllister), the Defense Attorney, had +all he could do to keep the frightened wretch from confessing in the +hope of having mercy shown him. A prospect of life imprisonment gave +him no uneasiness; what appalled him was the thought of death. And it +certainly looked black for him as the day set for his trial drew near. + +Then late one night the Associated Press took a hand—or rather let +us say extended a hand—from the wind-swept reaches of Chicago. Mr. +Harcourt Sidney was a well-established materializing medium doing +business in that city. Through his efforts and ministrations some +remarkable spirit phenomena had taken place, and he had a choice and +well-to-do clientele—the well-to-do feature being by far the more +important one to him. This man Sidney was not only clever in the line +of materialization, but he was a trumpet medium as well, and many of +his other-world communicants appeared to find this an assistance in +getting through. + +In the practice of his profession, as Mr. Sidney conducted it, there +would be specially arranged private meetings at the houses of those +belonging to the circle; and Mr. Sidney, securely tied into a plain +kitchen chair with stout ropes, and his thumbs and fingers wound +with easily breakable thread, would bring—or let us say persuade +to come—from the spirit world, many friends or relatives of those +present, so that they seemed to be actually there in the darkened +room, able to converse freely in their own voices, and often with other +characteristics of their earthly existence easily distinguishable. + +These sittings or séances were entirely private, and I don’t have to +tell you that no admission fee was charged. But if any of those who +attended felt that their enjoyment had been of quite unusual dimensions +either in the way of witnessing absorbingly interesting phenomena or in +having departed friends or relatives actually speak to them, sometimes +even allowing shadowy glimpses of themselves like faint half-luminous +clouds to be seen shimmering about in the darkness, they were at +liberty to send to Mr. Sidney any little token of esteem that they felt +like offering. + +Quiet and select little spiritistic gatherings like this were started +all over the country, when the extraordinary revival of interest in +such things came along carrying some very big names at the top of it. +And I want to tell you that there’s millions of dollars coming to the +people owning these names if a commission on the business they brought +in for the mediums could be collected. + +At these private sittings, with Mr. Sidney in the chair, so to speak, +not only the friends and relatives of those present, but also quite a +number of distant acquaintances, or even just fellow townspeople, would +occasionally drop in; a few came at nearly every meeting for a bit of a +chat. It was almost as if they enjoyed talking things over with their +mundane fellow citizens—and for all I know they did. + +One of these few who made an occasional spirit call, was a man well +known not only to everyone in that circle, but to nearly everybody in +the United States as well; he had been a renowned—you might almost +say world-famous—detective, a great part of whose life had been spent +in Chicago. A most entertaining talker he was, and seemed to enjoy +the opportunity of conversing with those he had left on earth when he +passed over, as the saying is. + +At one of these private séances on an evening along about the time I’ve +just been speaking of, they’d been having visits from various dead ones +(dead in an earthly sense I mean) for upwards of an hour, when the +medium announced the approach of this well-known man, and in a moment +the trumpet was seized in a strong grasp and a visit with him of more +than usual interest followed. Some one in the circle alluded to the +Haworth case in Boston, which had become, by this time, owing to the +unusual occurrences connected with it, quite the talk wherever you went. + +Then a man on the other side of the circle asked Mr. P. (which is +what we’ll call this spirit) if he’d be willing to say anything about +that singular affair. “Certainly singular,” he said, talking through +the trumpet, which made his voice loud and clear; “an’ I notice that +several people on this side have got excited about it.” + +“But can’t you give us anything about the case yourself?” was the next +question. And I’ll tell you beforehand that his answer was in the +morning edition of every newspaper in the country, as well as Canada. +It was about like this as I got it from the papers. + +“Well now,” Mr. P. objected at first, “I can’t say I like talking about +that. What would I do, butting in?” + +But many in the circle now began begging him to give them just a +hint of what his opinion was—what he said to be treated as strictly +confidential. + +“Well,” he finally said, “if you’ll just consider it a private matter +between ourselves an’ leave my name out of it, I’ll say this: While +I have every respect for those Boston boys, they’ve got it doped out +wrong. I didn’t see the thing done, but as soon as I heard about it I +went over there an’ took a look around. The trouble is they’ve got it +set in their minds the shots were fired from outside. Everything was +fixed to look that way, but, heavenly Jerusalem! that’s what’s the +matter with it—_it was fixed_! They’d ought to take a look at those +front window blinds no matter if the vines _are_ growing over ’em. +You can do a great deal with vines if you give your mind to it. Also +they’ll find a bullet struck one o’ the elms out in front. If they want +it they can get it about fifteen feet up. The feller was firing high, +whoever he was.” + +That was all Mr. P. would say on the subject, except that you couldn’t +expect any sort of good work in these days with a pack of yelping +newspaper hounds worrying the life out of you and giving away anything +they could get hold of so the man you were after could act accordingly. +After a few anecdotes about how they kept things quiet in his day, on +the principle that when your man was working in the dark against you +you ought to be let alone to do the same by him, he said good night and +was gone. Instantly the meeting broke up, and everybody was buzzing +about. Two or three jumped into a car and made for the Loop District +to talk it over with a couple of managing editors they knew, and the +conclusion quickly reached was to transmit the message to the Boston +police and also let the Associated Press have it—this without making +use of Mr. P.’s name. The result was that it went out to the press as +a Mediumistic Message from a Celebrated Detective. + +It’s hardly necessary to state that the reporters at headquarters +wanted to know this and that, and what you might call a press rush +was made for Torrington Road. But the police were already making an +investigation, and the newspaper men were kept out of the grounds until +it was finished. + + * * * * * + +The outside blinds to the front window of the room on the left—which +were flat against the wall on each side—had the appearance of having +been undisturbed for years. Tangled Virginia creeper grew so densely +over them that they could hardly be found. Yet when it came to the work +of clearing these vines away it was discovered that hardly any effort +was required. The blinds had evidently been opened as wide as possible +and the vines hung over them. + +When brought to view, these shutters told their gruesome tale. Two +smashing bullet holes far up near the top where no one standing on +the ground outside could have reached,—one splintering a slat of the +left-hand shutter, the other cutting a fairly clean hole through the +frame of the one on the right, and both giving unmistakable evidence of +having come through from the inside (of course when the shutters were +closed) submitted their silent evidence. + +The murderer, whoever he was, had evidently failed to think of the +blinds until it was too late, and they were shattered by the bullets +that had killed Charles Haworth. Then, with no time to otherwise +dispose of them, the mass of vines had been torn away from the wall on +each side until the shutters could be opened back against it, and the +vines then pulled over them. All this was a trick to make it appear +that the shots were fired from outside the front window—or at any rate +to avoid anything that conflicted with that idea. Again that mysterious +framing for the conviction of Findlay. + +In either event the shattered window blinds and one of the bullets +found embedded in the trunk of an elm tree a few feet away, plainly +indicated that Findlay could not have fired the shots, even though he +may have thought he did. + +Added to this was the significant fact that the detectives had been +unable to find any trace of a bullet on the walls at the inner end of +the room, where they should have been if fired from outside the front +window. The District Attorney was obliged to enter a _nolle prosse_, +and that was the end of it. + +Augustus Findlay was a free man. + + * * * * * + +His Attorney, Mr. Archibald Forbes, was waiting for him in the +corridor, and with a muttered “Come along, quick!” hurried him out to a +taxi. The windows of this vehicle were covered with newspapers pasted +to the inside, and a man with a heavy and obtrusive jaw was seated +within. + +When the door was opened and Augustus saw this man, he hesitated, but +Mr. Forbes shoved him aboard and got in after him. The instant the door +closed, the taxi dashed down the street. The three men were shaken and +tumbled about as they rattled on at what, to Findlay, appeared to be +breakneck speed. The papers pasted to the windows prevented his seeing +where they were going. + +It was something like half an hour before the machine stopped. + +“Be careful!” warned Mr. Forbes in a hoarse whisper. “We get out here +and you’ve got to keep between us! If they find out we’ve got you away, +they’ll nab you!” + +“What is it—what are you——” + +“Sh!” warned the lawyer, impressively. + +The two men ran across the walk, Augustus between them, and as they did +so the door of the house before which the taxi had stopped was opened +from the inside, and they dashed madly up the steps and plunged in, the +door being instantly closed after them. + +It was a vacant house and without furniture of any kind. Findlay was +taken to a dark room in the basement where coal had been kept. It +contained bins and piles of rubbish which could be sat upon in an +extremity. + +“You going to do something to me?” Findlay managed finally to stammer +out. + +“Shut your mouth!” from the man with the jaw. + +“Now listen to me,” began Mr. Forbes in a low voice. “I got you off by +a fluke, but they’ll be on to it in an hour or two. Mr. Sugden here’s +a Department detective and he’ll get you by the police to-night and +put you on a train. Also he’s got a wad of money for you—subscribed by +friends. Now I’m done with you! I said I’d get you off and by God! I’ve +done it! But if they ever get you again you’re finished—remember that!” +Having said which Mr. Forbes went up stairs and left the house. + +Augustus stood silent. After a time he roused himself and glanced +about. His eyes fell on Mr. Sugden and a pathetic look came into them. + +“Say,” (his voice trembling) “you look like a decent sport—that might +help a feller out.” + +“What the hell do ye want? Ain’t I get’n’ ye by the cops?” + +“Yes—yes—but I——You see, it’s this way. I’m feeling pretty sick—an’ if +you could manage to get me a drink somewheres——” + +“Listen here, Topsy!” Sugden spoke unfeelingly. “You’re going to +Canada—didn’t you know that? _Canada_, you fish bait, where you can +swim in it!” + +Shortly after this the detective left, reappearing again about nine +o’clock with a few things that Findlay had left at the Charles Street +jail, and in addition a heavy winter overcoat which he made the +frightened wretch put on. Somewhere about a quarter to eleven o’clock +they cautiously left the house, got into a taxi that was waiting, and +were driven to the Trinity Place Station of the Boston and Albany. +Sugden took Augustus down to the platform for the west-bound trains, +and arriving there, shoved him to one side where they were in the +shadow. + +“Listen here,” he growled in a low voice with warning in it. “You’re +goin’ to take the night train for St. Louis, due here in about one +minute. But ye don’t stay on that train—get me? There’ll be a bull +waitin’ fur ye at the Union Station out there if ye do. You’re goin’ +to side-step at Albany—see? It’ll be five in the morning. Keep to the +shadows an’ slouch on to the Montreal train at seven. Ye change at +Rouses Point, an’ that helps throw ’em off. When ye hit Montreal, lay +low! Get a bunk at some joint. Monkey with that mug o’ yours. Raise a +crop o’ hay on it; an’ whatever ye do, don’t be seen with a paper from +the States in yer han’s or they’ll cop you. After about two weeks +climb on a steamer for England. You’ll find a fake passport in with the +railroad ticket in that pocket” (touching Findlay’s overcoat on the +right breast). “There’s another name on it. You ain’t Findlay any more. +There’s a wad o’ money sewed in the linin’. Lose yerself over there. +An’ if yer life is worth anything to ye don’t cross back to this side +again. There’ll be a big reward out for ye an’ there’s sharp guys here +that makes a hell of a livin’ keepin’ tabs on boobs like you. I’m one +of ’em. An’ if ever ye _do_ take a fancy to come back I hope I’ll be +the guy that puts the nippers on ye. There’s yer train!” (With an ugly +jerk of his head toward it). “Now on with ye, an’ I’ll keep back any +cops that’s followin’.” + +Augustus hurried into the coach, and Sugden stood close to the steps +until the train moved on—which was in a few seconds, as the stop at +Trinity Place is brief in the extreme. + +Of course you’ll realize that all this elaborate framing was for the +purpose of getting Findlay permanently out of the Western Hemisphere. +After the _nolle prosse_ there was nothing in the world they could hold +him for. Who it was that had got Mr. Forbes and Mr. Sugden to carry out +this scheme did not at the time, appear. + + * * * * * + +Following at once on the collapse of the case against Augustus and his +discharge from custody, came the arrest of James Dreek, the butler, and +the holding of him for the murder. + +In his avid eagerness for every detail that can be found (or +manufactured) in murder cases, the newspaper addict skips with perfect +ease from one suspect to another, often seemingly glad of the +change. In this instance, however, the very unusual interest had been +aroused, not so much by the hunt for the person or persons guilty of +the crime (though that feature was rapidly becoming absorbing) as by +the extraordinary manner in which the evidence in the case was being +brought to light. Everybody knew of that celebrated detective in +Chicago not long deceased, and his brief and characteristic comments +on the Haworth case through the mediumistic services of Mr. Harcourt +Sidney, and his calling attention to the shattered window blind and +the bullet in the tree, made not only a sensation, but a strange and +alluring one. + +From the first intimation that somebody was framing Augustus +Findlay—which flashed upon them when Mr. Rathbun told of the fight for +the revolver under his window in Collamore Street—the detectives had +fastened their eyes on Dreek. There were already a few things that +didn’t look well for the young butler. They’d found a loaded revolver +under a lot of soiled linen on the floor of a cupboard in the butler’s +pantry. One or two letters they got out of his trunk had an ugly look. +Worst of all was the finding of his footprints on each side of the +front windows of the room on the left, these imprints overlapping those +of Augustus Findlay—thus showing that he’d been there after Findlay +had run away. These Dreek footprints had not meant so much before, as +Findlay was known to have been at the window when the shots were fired, +and therefore Dreek arrived afterward. But now that it was proved that +the firing was from within the house, it involved Dreek in several +ways, two of them being serious. Not only was he the only one in the +house with Haworth, according to all the evidence (excepting his +own), and therefore apparently the only one who could have fired from +the inside, but the footmarks showed unmistakably that he was the one +who went round after the murder and opened the shutters back against +the wall, replacing the vines over them in such a way that they would +give the appearance of not having been disturbed at all. He was now, +on account of this, definitely in the position of trying to throw the +guilt on an innocent man. This was corroborated by a number of small +items—the marks of a house stepladder outside under each shutter, the +finding of a house stepladder in the back entry which fitted into +these marks, and the fingerprint people reporting that Dreek had been +the last one who had handled it. He had insisted most emphatically in +his earlier testimony that he had gone out of the rear door several +minutes before the shooting and wasn’t in the house when it occurred. +But there was nothing to show that this was the case. On the contrary +there was every reason to suppose that he had not left the house with +the stepladder until after the shots were fired. + +Of course he was in for a fearful ordeal. I’m not going to describe it +to you, but only give you my word that they third-degreed Jamie Dreek +good and plenty. + +Precisely in the midst of these painful proceedings the Associated +Press again took a hand in the game—or to put it more accurately, +played a hand that had been dealt to it. + +It was the day following the second night of Dreek’s torment. The +police had kept him awake for twenty-nine hours with their shouted +questions and punching-up process and rough handling. The job was +nearly done. He was “ripe” (put that in quotes) to sign anything or +confess anything. And then came the noon editions with big front page +headlines on top of A. P. dispatches from San Francisco. + +It seems a well-known medium out there by the name of Waverley +Bentick was doing his turn—or whatever’s the right name for it—at +one of the specially high-class Spiritistic assemblies, held in a +large hall commonly alluded to as their “church,” and situated some +considerable way out Golden Gate Avenue. Mr. Bentick was passing out +messages to people in the auditorium, when, as he was in the midst of +a communication for a woman sitting in the second row, he suddenly +stopped and called out, “Wait a moment, please, and let this lady +finish!—Just a moment, I say!—You mustn’t break in like that!” + +There was a pause. Then the medium resumed in an altered tone, +speaking to the assemblage: “I’m sorry, but a man has pushed in, in +spite of everything my control can do!—Tall—heavily built—grizzled +gray hair—pointed beard—looks as if he might be a doctor.... No—says +he isn’t one. Only keep us a moment—been trying to get through in +Boston—too many in the way. It’s about some murder case over there—the +Howard case, is that it?... No—that isn’t it! He doesn’t speak very +distinctly.... What?... All right, go on.... H-a-w-o-r-t-h. Oh, the +Haworth case! Yes, we’ve heard of that! I should think so!” + +Instantly there was intense interest shown—people craning forward to +listen, and calls of, “Go on—go on!” For the extraordinary developments +in the case had by this time made it known everywhere,—especially among +those of the Spirit Sect—if that is a proper way to refer to them. + +“He says he wants to speak of something now—while they’re +third-degreeing a man—as it may apply to him. Something about +money—yes—some money—large amount—paid to victim a few hours before +he was shot. Thirty-five thousand dollars.... Is that right?... +Yes—thirty-five thousand. Police haven’t been able to trace it.... +If they want thirty-four thousand five hundred of it—old barn—old +barn.... Yes, we understand—old barn. What about it?... He says follow +butler’s footprints.... northwest corner in foundation wall under sill +timber.... Take out loose stone.... That’s all.... Good-by.” + +In this case the Boston police got a rush wire from San Francisco that +gave them nearly a forty-five minutes’ start. Inside of twenty after it +came in, a Department automobile was speeding through Centre Street, +Jamaica Plain, and four minutes later was turning in at the old Cripps +gate from Torrington Road. + +Perhaps you’ll have noticed that the attitude of the authorities toward +messages from the other world had undergone something of a change. Even +if the Inspector and others still entertained the notion that these +communications were founded on trickery of some kind, they were obliged +to admit that it was trickery with a hell of a kick to it, and that +made all the difference in the world. + +It wasn’t exactly child’s play—nor even adult’s recreation—to trace +out James Dreek’s footmarks between the flag paving at the rear of the +house and the old barn farther back. But the old weed-grown drive up +which he’d gone was fairly soft, and they finally succeeded, arriving +at the northwest corner of the barn and finding the loose stone in the +foundation wall just under the sill timber. The thirty-four thousand +five hundred was in the cavity behind it. + +This happened in the small hours. Close to four o’clock in the morning +it was—on account of the three-hour difference in time. The papers got +it for their afternoon editions. But the police treated it as an old +story. “Oh yes, we got the money some time ago!” “Yes, pretty good +guess from San Francisco, but a bit late!” “Of course it’s a bad thing +for Dreek!” That was about the gist of answers to the frantic inquiries +from the reporters at headquarters. + + * * * * * + +That same morning about eleven o’clock James Dreek was nearing the +point of breakdown that the police were working him for. The gang that +took him on at noon (they worked in shifts) had it in for him. Even +then the pitiable wretch was trying to answer as best he could, but he +found it difficult to remember anything at all or even to understand +what his persecutors were talking about. Furthermore, his voice was +nearly gone, and his tongue so swollen and dry that he couldn’t speak +with any sort of distinctness. + +“Ye say ye ran out o’ the house before the murder was committed—that’s +what ye say, is it? Answer! What’s the matter with ye! Answer the +question! Answer the question!” + +Dreek tried to say “Yes,” but could hardly more than move his lips. It +must have been the eight hundred and sixty-eighth time they’d asked him +that. + +“Now go on an’ tell us why ye run out? Why? Why? What was it started ye +out? Was ye sick? Whad did ye run out for?... Punch ’im up Lucas!... +Whad did ye run out for? Whad did ye run out for?” + +“I—I thought——” His dry mouth and swollen tongue made it almost +impossible to form words. + +“Go on—go on—go on! Whad did ye think?” + +“Something terrible—going—happen!” + +“_Goin’_ to happen! How in hell’s name could _you_ know something was +_goin’_ to happen unless you was goin’ to MAKE it happen! It _did_ +happen, by God, an’ it was you made it happen—an’ then ye ran out o’ +the house so’s you could FRAME SOMEBODY ELSE FOR IT!” + +“No! No!” (With much difficulty and shaking his head.) + +“What was it, then? What was it? What made ye run out?” + +“Nos—noises!” His tongue seemed to get in his way. + +“What kind o’ noises?... Punch ’im up Lucas!... What noises?” + +“Noises—cellar—lights out—scared—ran for police.” + +“Oh—police! Ye ran fur the police!” + +Dreek nodded, and his bloodshot eyes rolled heavily from one to another +of his burly questioners. + +“Did ye have to take a ladder with ye to find ’em?” + +“Laddle—laddle—ladder?” + +“Don’t try any funny business with us—we know what ye did! Now what +about that ladder, eh? WHAT ABOUT IT?” + +“Oh—ladder—yes! Misser Ha’orth ass me open blin’s—front winnow. So +I—I—I was——” He broke off as his head fell forward in sleep. + +“Punch him up Lucas! Keep ’im on the job, can’t ye!... Listen here, +Dreek—that ladder was to open the blinds, ye say. Now what did ye want +’em _open_ for—tell me that! TELL ME THAT!” + +“Yes——” (with a great effort to keep awake). “Always Misser Ha’orth +like blin’s open—always!” + +“Then what the hell was they SHUT for? What was they SHUT for?... Punch +’im up Lucas—put a dig in ’im!... Now answer the question! WHAT WAS +THEY SHUT FOR?” + +Dreek struggled to remember, but finally shook his head. + +“Now I will ask ye something. What about that money? Ye wouldn’t answer +lass night, but now we got it on ye! You saw that money! What?” + +“I—I——” + +“You saw it, I say! You saw that big pile o’ bills they had out on the +table? Why don’t ye answer? I’ll tell you why—YE’RE AFRAID TO TELL!” + +“No” (shaking his head) “not afraid! I saw—yes.” + +“What was ye do’n’ sneakin’ round spyin’ on ’em like that when they had +money in sight? Why didn’t ye stay in the kitchen where ye belong?” + +“I—I don’ know——Oh—now—yes! They rang—they ass me—sign paper—witness!” + +“A fine witness you was, all right, all right!” + +Every detective in the room roared with laughter. The man who’d been +questioning turned suddenly on Dreek. “When did ye crib that money?” he +demanded. + +“When did I——” + +“You got it! Don’t ye s’pose we know you got it? Now _when_? _When?_ +D’ye hear? WHEN DID YE CRIB THAT MONEY?” + +The muscles of Dreek’s throat went through the spasmodic motions of +swallowing. + +“I—promised not to——” + +“Not to what? Whad did ye promise—eh?” + +“Not to—say—anything——” + +“Who did ye promise that to?” + +“Miss’r Ha’orth.” + +“How did that happen?” + +“He handed—money—me.” + +“Oh, _handed_ it to ye, did he? Made a little present o’ thirty-five +thousand to ye, I s’pose!” + +Dreek tried to speak but couldn’t manage it. + +“Whad did ye do with it?” + +Again Dreek couldn’t get the words out—it would take so many to explain +it. + +“I’ll tell ye what ye did with it—_ye put it in the barn behind a loose +stone_! D’ye deny that?” + +“No.” + +“Oh, ye _don’t_ deny it! _Ye did it!_ Ye stole that money from Charles +Haworth an’ then, by God! ye hid it in the wall o’ that barn! D’ye +confess you hid it there?” + +“He ass me pu’ there—safe place!” + +“So! Now ye got it out! Now, by God, we got yer story an’ a pretty one +it is! What ye’ve told us is jus’ the same as a confession ye shot the +man yerself! Yes, by God! ye jus’ as good as said it! Now, the way it +stan’s, yer one chance is to spit out the truth in plain words! The +truth is ye shot Haworth yerself—ye hid the money yerself—an’ ye went +out an’ opened the shutters yerself so people ’u’d think a man outside +done the shootin’! Put that in plain words an’ sign it an’ ye got some +chance! Ye got a chance o’ mercy from the court if ye confess ye did +that! W’at about it—eh?” + +The “No” Dreek tried to say couldn’t be forced through his parched +mouth, so he shook his head. + +“The story ye’ve told’ll put ye in the chair—give ye the grand +burn—see?—shock the guts out o’ ye! YE HEAR w’at I say?” + +Dreek made no attempt to answer. + +“They’ll find ye guilty in ten minutes! That story ye told is the end +o’ ye! THAT’S YOUR FINISH, BY GOD!” + +Another persecutor started in on him—an enormous man with a rumbling, +bellowing voice: “Didn’t you open those shutters, Dreek? Didn’t you +open ’em back against the wall and put the vines over ’em? Didn’t you +take that ladder out there and do that thing? Aren’t you the one who +did it? Answer that! AREN’T YOU THE ONE?” + +“Yes——” Dreek got out in a whisper and nodded his head a little. + +“That convicts you! That convicts you!” + +“You’re fur the chair!” another detective joined in. “You’re fur the +chair! You’re done fur now, by God!” + +“That’s the end o’ you!” “You’re in for the dead house!” + +They’d all come up with a rush and were standing close about him. +Painfully he turned his eyes from one to another as they spoke, all +joining in with violent exclamations as to his finish. + +“There’s only one thing that’ll save you now!” roared the man with the +bellowing voice. “Only one thing to do now if you want mercy: sign a +confession an’ they’re bound to treat you fair! YOUR ONLY CHANCE ON +EARTH!” He snapped his fingers and a stenographer (plain-clothes man) +entered from the inner office and handed him a typewritten sheet. “Here +it is,” he went on. “He’s written it out—just what you told us—just +what you told us.” + +“Wha—wha—what I——” (A weak whisper.) + +“Just that. For Christ’s sake can’t you see we’re trying to get you off +the death sentence? It may be prison, but what’s that? A few years an’ +then some damn Governor that wants women’s votes pardons you out! Here +it is—put your name there. See that line?” + +Dreek was holding a pen clutched awkwardly in his hand, having no idea +where it came from. He managed to shake his head a little. + +“Not—not if it says I killed—— ... no—no ... not that—not——” + +“Here Lucas——” And all the detectives in the room turned as if to +leave. “Put the next watch on him. One more night of it’ll change his +mind!” + +“No!—Oh no!” Dreek made hoarse and breathless noises, “O my God!—not +another—not another! O my God!” + +The big detective swung round to him suddenly. + +“Sign here—right under here—see?” pushing the paper under his eyes, +while another man seized the pen and dipped it in nearby ink. “Sign +here—on that line! IT’S THE ONLY THING THAT’LL SAVE YOU!” + +Other detectives gathered close round, shouting to him to go on and +sign, and yelling threats in his ears of what would happen if he didn’t. + +James Dreek, gasping and mumbling incoherently and with shaking hand, +made marks with the pen which were as near his written name as he could +manage. + +The late editions that afternoon had a wealth of display headlines (the +Department had seen to it that the Associated Press got the news at the +earliest possible moment) which ran—in slightly varying forms to—this +effect: + + FULL CONFESSION IN THE HAWORTH CASE + + JAMES DREEK THE ASSASSIN + + THEFT THE MOTIVE + + STOLEN MONEY RECOVERED BY POLICE + + BRILLIANT WORK OF DETECTIVES + +At last the Department had things coming its way—for which reason much +relief was felt. + + * * * * * + +As James Dreek had made a confession and signed it, the tide of public +interest and curiosity began to ebb. There was no longer a mystery. +The young butler had done the deed. Robbery was the motive. He had got +hold of that thirty-five thousand dollars and hidden it. Some spirit in +California had told the police where to look for it. This in itself was +of course an odd occurrence, but the riddle of guessing who the guilty +man was and why he did the appalling deed no longer existed. This +being so, the bulk of the inhabitants of Boston and its environs began +looking eagerly in their daily papers for the next killing. As to the +sensation-guzzlers in other cities, they no longer had their attention +diverted from their enthralling local atrocities. The amazing behavior +of the spirits remained as something to be spoken of when the subject +of ghosts and haunted houses came up. + + * * * * * + +As the date set for the Dreek trial approached, it appeared to those +who kept in touch with spiritistic affairs, that extreme restlessness +regarding the Haworth case was prevalent in higher spheres—if what came +through via various mediums could be taken as a truthful indication. + +A wire from Providence, Rhode Island, stated that a private séance +in that town had been considerably upset by the insistent demands of +a disembodied soul claiming to be that of the father of young Dreek, +that something be done—and done damned quick—to rescue his son, who was +absolutely innocent, from the clutches of the blackguards and bullies +who posed in Boston as police, but who were simply low-lived thugs and +dirty bums. The press dispatch giving an account of the affair went on +to say that the language proceeding from his apparition had grown so +violent that two elderly ladies felt obliged to quit the room where +the séance was being held, although it must be conceded that they were +later seen to be listening just outside the door. It was really quite +thrilling while it lasted, this flow of expert profanity, and a few +knowing ones were aware that this spirit used expressions and dialect +prevalent among a certain class of crooks practising in what is known +as “The Gay Nineties.” + +The Press paid little attention to the Providence message and the +police none whatever, owing to the fact that nothing was included +in it which substantiated its claims that Dreek was innocent. This +communication, though, was followed by a disembodied statement—if I +may put it that way—which reached the earth via a New Orleans trance +medium, to the effect that the fools in Boston had third-degreed an +innocent man to his death, adding that no surprise could be felt by +those who remembered how the police had recently treated the entire +populace of that unfortunate town. + +Dubuque, Iowa, sent in something of the same kind, and others began to +crop up from places quite remote. All of which went far toward creating +the impression that the next world was considerably dissatisfied with +the proceedings of this one in the matter of the murder on Torrington +Road, and that the inhabitants thereof were not averse to letting their +feelings relating thereto become generally known. + +The members of the private circle in Chicago (recently alluded to, and +since then greatly increased in numbers) wished beyond anything else +that Mr. P., the famous detective not long deceased, would return and +let them have his views upon matters as they now stood in the Roxbury +case. But it was their third meeting after the one at which he had +advised the examination of the window shutters and the extraction of +bullets from trees, before he dropped in again; and when he did come he +gave the impression of trying his utmost to avoid the subject. Finally, +upon being asked point-blank if he wouldn’t please let them know just +his personal opinion as to the guilt or innocence of James Dreek, the +reply came back through the trumpet that he thought it would be just +as well to go easy on that young man. Those were his final words. +When another question was put to him it was found that he had quietly +slipped away; not even those very near heard the trumpet fall when he +released it. + + * * * * * + +In Boston there was displayed rather more of this spirit restlessness +than elsewhere, for a considerable number of mediums about the city and +its suburbs were getting communications from their controls protesting +Dreek’s innocence and begging that something be done about it. + +More than any of the others were Mrs. Belden’s sittings (she was giving +“private circles” now with great success) pervaded by this sort of +thing, and it was the spirit of the hysterical Cynthia which created +most of the disturbance. She took possession of the medium at every +opportunity and was more often than not incoherent from excitement—or +whatever it may be that appears so often to afflict the souls of people +who have successfully emancipated themselves from the thralldom of +their bodies. + +At several of Mrs. Belden’s séances (which were always held in +private houses), Cynthia had occupied much of the time and without +result—although owing to the great interest in the spiritistic features +of this case, none of the persons present made objections to the delay. +On the contrary, they all waited with eager interest, hoping that this +spirit, which was the one through whom the revelation as to Mr. Rathbun +and the fight for the revolver had come, would eventually disclose +something else of equally startling importance. + +At these appearances of Cynthia—or more correctly at these times when +she got the floor, as you might say—she occupied much of the time in +mourning over the plight of poor Dreek and begging people to help in +his rescue. Then, toward the end, the sitters could make out that she +was desperately anxious to see somebody—a woman, it appeared, but so +far she’d been unable to get the name across. “Bring her here! Oh, +bring her! She’s the only one—the only one who knows! The only one! The +only one!” And so on. + +On that, some one would ask the spirit for the name of the person she +wanted so much, and always the answer came back from Cynthia: “Oh, +I don’t know it! Not now—not now! It’s gone! I knew it before, but +they’ve taken it away from me! Don’t you know who I mean? Oh, you must +know! Can’t somebody tell?” And that sort of thing, trailing off into +moans and inarticulate sounds of pity. And soon after that she would +vacate the medium. + + * * * * * + +Dreek’s trial had been going on four days before Cynthia’s spirit was +able to overcome whatever influence was holding her back—much as it had +been on a former occasion—and then the whole thing poured out on them +like a flood released. + +Mrs. Amelia Temple was the woman she wanted. Mrs. Temple could save +him. Couldn’t they bring her at once? Oh, quickly! She wanted to talk +to her! When reminded by one of the circle that the old woman had, from +the beginning, refused to say anything, she said: “No matter—bring +her—bring her—bring her! Don’t waste time!” And went on that way till +she came near to hysterical shrieks. But even while she was carrying on +like that people had gone out to try and find the old woman. + +It was late in the evening—something after eleven—when Mrs. Temple was +brought to the house. There had been no difficulty in persuading her +to come. It appeared that she had once had an experience. Quite far +back in her life she had lost her mother, the only one dear to her at +that time, and her loneliness and yearning had drawn her to spiritist +gatherings where, she had heard, departed ones are able to come back +and speak to those they have left behind. To her unspeakable joy she +found that this was so, and became, forthwith, an intense devotee. +But after about two ecstatically happy months of it her faith was +rudely shaken, for, at a séance where materializations were being +accomplished, she suddenly saw something that looked to her like +evidence of fraud. At the next of these séances she became satisfied +that there was fraud. It was a cruel blow to her. Many times she wished +she hadn’t found out. From that time she never attended another séance +or spiritist meeting of any kind. + +That was long ago. And now, after reading the newspaper accounts of the +developments in the tragic affair which so deeply concerned her (she +read everything about it that she could find), the extraordinary spirit +communications that had been received in connection with it, all but +convinced her that, if there had been fraud in that long ago experience +of hers, it must have been only because of an untrustworthy medium and +did not in any way affect the system or belief itself. One had only +to see what marvels it was responsible for in this case, to be made +certain that the spirits of the dead are here with us and doing what +they can for our welfare. + +And so, upon being told that the spirit of Cynthia Cripps Findlay +(she very well knew who was meant by that) was begging, through the +mediumship of Mrs. Henrietta Belden, that she come and let her speak to +her, she dressed immediately—for she’d gone to bed—and went with the +two women who’d come from the séance to fetch her. + +The spirit of Cynthia began to talk the moment Mrs. Temple entered +the dimly lighted room, and continued while she was being silently +conducted to a chair near the medium. + +“Oh, you’re here! Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. Temple! Oh, +I _do_ thank you! And you _will_ help us—you _will_! You couldn’t +refuse—you’re so tender-hearted to anyone in distress! And some one +_is_ in distress! Oh, some one _is_—terribly! It’s the poor Dreek boy, +the butler who was with Mr. Haworth, and he’s being tried for murder +at this very moment—and perfectly innocent as you know—as you know +_so well_, Mrs. Temple. Why, the poor fellow never raised a finger to +hurt anyone or steal anything—but there’s no way to save him unless you +will tell them what you saw—just what you saw—that’s all we ask! It’s +for his mother, his poor old mother, ill in New York! And, oh, listen +to me—your mother is here—she’s here with me because she wants so much +to help us, but she can’t speak to you herself—she’s one of those who +can’t get through. She tried it long ago, as you may remember. So she +asks me to tell you that she’s sure you’ll help us save this innocent +boy—for her sake if nothing else. And oh, will you please wait a +moment, Mrs. Temple?” + +A short pause. Perfect stillness in the room. Then the spirit of +Cynthia spoke again. + +“Your mother—I was speaking to her—oh, you can’t have any _conception_ +of how dear she is—she’s just waiting till you come—and she wants me +to say that she loves you as always—it will never change—it couldn’t +change—oh, _it couldn’t_ Mrs. Temple! And she’s been with you almost +all the time—just staying near—that’s all she could do. And she’s so +happy that you’re still keeping the old bonnet she used to wear—she +sees it there in your trunk whenever she’s with you in the room—and +she knows you’ll think of this poor young man’s mother the same as she +does, and what a terrible thing it would be for her if her son—who +never did it—was found guilty of such a _fearful_, _awful_ crime. It +isn’t death (as you call it) that matters, but _such a death_! Oh, +Mrs. Temple, think what it would mean to his poor mother, and for her +sake and for your own mother’s sake, tell them what you saw—just tell +them—oh—tell them!—Oh!...” The voice of Cynthia, uttered through the +expert mediumship of Mrs. Belden, trailed rapidly away to nothing and +the spirit was gone. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Forbes (for the defense) was unable to bring in Mrs. Temple’s +testimony as a surprise. Though the séance was a strictly private +one and held in a private residence and with no reporters admitted, +the Inspector had insisted on having a representative at any +“spirit circle” in which Mrs. Belden officiated; and although the +representative in this case—a plain-clothes man—had seen to it that +there were no listeners behind doors or otherwise concealed, and had +afterward instructed the medium and all those present not to give away +anything that had been said or done, and furthermore had had every +one of them shadowed by detectives both in the house and after they +left it, the papers next morning had full accounts of the appeal of +the disembodied spirit of Cynthia to the still-embodied spirit of Mrs. +Temple, and the court room was packed with an eager multitude, rabidly +craving excitement. + +When her name was called, the crowd, as one person, held its breath, +and strained its eyes to see and its ears to hear. + +The old woman was given a chair in the witness box, and the usual form +of preliminary questioning gone through. After that, she was led by Mr. +Forbes to describe how she’d been at one of the side windows of the +room where the murder was done, a short time before it took place, and +was trying to see in, but owing to its being pitch-dark inside, she +was unable to make out anything, though she heard strange and alarming +noises; how she then hurried to the rear of the house and tried to get +in there, but every door—even the basement—was locked, and she had to +give it up; and how, more alarmed than ever about Mr. Haworth, she +then started, as fast as she was able to go, toward the front of the +house again. + +“When you were hastening in this way toward the front, Mrs. Temple, did +you pass near the window where you’d been trying to look in?” + +“Yes sir; the path warn’t more’n a few yards from the side winders, but +it was mos’ly growed up with bushes an’ things in between.” + +“Could a person among the bushes at one of the windows, see anyone +passing along that path?” + +“Ef there was any light, they could.” + +“What was your object in hurrying toward the front of the house again?” + +“I wanted to git down to the road.” + +“What did you intend to do there?” + +“I was goin’ to find some one to help me—ef I could.” + +“You mean the police?” + +“Mercy no! They ain’t no earthly use!” + +“I object!” shouted the District Attorney, springing to his feet. + +“Just answer the question, madam.” (From the Court.) + +“And I ask Your Honor that the remark of the witness be stricken from +the record.” + +This request was granted, and Mr. Forbes went on. + +“Where did you expect to find help, Mrs. Temple?” + +“If I didn’t find nobody in the road, I was goin’ to try the house +on the fur side a ways up. There was some men there.” She put a very +slight accent on the word “men.” + +“And _did_ you go down to the road?” + +“No sir. I was stopped sudden-like by a bright light flashin’ up +inside the room as I was goin’ by. It was so bright it lit up the +chinks o’ the winders, an’ thinkin’ I could see then if anyone was +there an’ what they was doin’, I pushed through the bushes an’ went up +clost to one of ’em.” + +“Which one did you go to?” + +“Why, the first one I come to I seen the roller shade was pulled down, +so I went on to the next.” + +“That would be the one nearest the front of the house?” + +“Yes sir, that was the one.” + +“And did you find that you could see anything inside?” + +“I found the shade was down there, too, but it warn’t pulled quite to +the bottom so’s it left a narrer crack.” + +“And could you see into the room through this narrow aperture below the +curtain?” + +“Not at first I couldn’t—the light dazzled me some—but in a minute I +got used to it an’ then I could.” + +“Tell the Court what you saw, Mrs. Temple.” + +“Mr. Haworth—it was him I seen first. He was settin’ by the table, +readin’ a book. After a minute or two he felt in his pocket an’ got his +pipe out an’ filled it an’ was huntin’ around fur a match.” + +“Was there anyone else in the room?” + +“Not as I could see from the winder I was at. But just as he was +lookin’ fur the match I commenced to think mebbe there might be +somebody behind him in the back part o’ the room, so I hurried through +the bushes to the other winder—the one further back. I knew the shade +was down, but I thought mebbe there was a crack at the bottom same as +the other, an’ I found there was—on’y not so much, but by twistin’ +around I could get a look through to the back part o’ the room, an’ +there was a man standin’ there, back against the door o’ the butler’s +pantry, an’ he had a black thing in his hand that he was pointin’ at +Mr. Haworth from behind.” + +A moment of tense stillness followed on this, as Mrs. Temple stopped +speaking. I don’t suppose there was one person among the spectators in +that packed court room who hadn’t stopped breathing. + +After letting the pause have its full effect, Mr. Forbes spoke with all +the solemnity he could command. + +“Mrs. Temple,” he said, “was the man you saw standing behind Mr. +Haworth and aiming a black object at him, the accused you now see on +trial in this court—James Dreek?” + +The old woman shook her head. “No sir, it warn’t him,” she said. + +“Are you sure of that?” + +“Yes sir.” + +“What makes you certain that it was not the accused?” + +“For one thing, he warn’t built no ways like him—he was heavy-set an’ +solid. This man” (pointing at Dreek) “ain’t that way.” + +“You say his different size and build, _for one thing_. Was there +something else that made you still more positive that this was not the +man?” + +“Yes sir.” + +“Kindly describe it.” + +“I was just turnin’ away from the winder to get to the other one an’ +warn Mr. Haworth, when I seen this man you’re tryin’——” + +“James Dreek?” interjected Mr. Forbes, to prevent any mistake as to the +person she meant. + +“Yes sir, James Dreek—I seen him come hurryin’ along the walk carryin’ +a ladder.” + +“Which way was he going?” + +“Toward the front o’ the house.” + +“What did you do then?” + +“I kep’ on as fast as I could to the other winder—the one near where +Mr. Haworth was—so’s I could call out an’ warn him. As soon as I got +there I begun screamin’ out his name an’ beatin’ on the winder glass, +but I hadn’t no more’n started doin’ that when there was a terrible +loud crash of a gun goin’ off, an’ right after it another, an’ Mr. +Haworth turnin’ round an’ tryin’ to ketch a holt o’ the table; but he +couldn’t do it, an’ there he was sinkin’ down on the floor—sinkin’ down +there right before my eyes!” + +It was some time before the old woman could go on, but the Court +waited. Finally Mr. Forbes, seeing that she was getting control of +herself, went on with the examination. + +“Tell us what you did then, Mrs. Temple.” + +“I—I kinder sunk down there under the winder—as if all my stren’th was +took away. But in a minute I was able to git up again, an’ the first +thing I see was this Dreek man on the path there where I’d seen ’im +afore.” + +“What was he doing?” + +“He’d stopped where he was an’ let the ladder fall on the ground. But +just as I looked at him he picked it up again an’ set off runnin’.” + +“In which direction did he run?” + +“The same as ’e was goin’ afore—toward the front o’ the house.” + +“And what did you then do, Mrs. Temple?” + +“I run as fast as I could toward the back—the kitchen.” + +“What was your idea in going there again?” + +“Why I—I wanted to get to ’im as quick as I could.” + +“To Mr. Haworth?” + +The old woman nodded, unable, for a moment, to speak. + +“What made you think you could get in? You’d tried it a few moments +before, hadn’t you?” + +“Yes sir, but this Dreek man had come out sense then, an’ I didn’t +think he was liable to ’uv locked the door, carryin’ the ladder like he +was.” + +“_Had_ he locked the door?” + +“No sir, he hadn’t.” + +“Which door was it?” + +“The basement.” + +“So you got in?” + +“Yes sir.” + +Mr. Forbes indicated that he was through with the witness, and the +district attorney took her, his manner conveying the impression that +he considered her testimony as almost too flimsy to waste time over. +He soon learned, however, that it wasn’t such an easy matter to punch +holes in it. As a sample, without going into it as a whole:— + +“I believe you made the statement, Mrs. Temple, as other witnesses have +done, that the night when all this occurred was a dark one. Did you so +testify?” + +“Yes sir.” + +“Was there a moon?” + +“I didn’t see none.” + +“But you admit the night was unusually dark?” + +“It was dark—I ain’t got no idea how unusual it was.” + +“Very well—that’s all I want to know—it was dark. Now Mrs. Temple, +on this very dark night—the blackness being almost impenetrable, as +has been shown by the testimony of others, although you yourself, for +some reason, don’t seem inclined to admit it—in this dense and inky +blackness you claim to have recognized the accused going by on a path +at some distance from you. How do you explain that?” + +“I s’pose you warn’t int’rested when I was speakin’ about them roller +shades to the two side winders not reachin’ down to the bottom so’st it +left a crack where the light could git through.” + +“You mean to say enough light could pass through a little slit like +that to enable you to recognize a person on a pitch-dark night twenty +feet away?” + +“Yes sir.” + +“Do you expect me to believe that?” + +“No sir.” + +“Oh! You _don’t_ expect me to believe it!” + +“I ain’t botherin’ one way or the other about what you believe. I’ve +got enough to think of besides that!” + +“Well then, let’s get a little light on what _you_ believe, Mrs. +Temple! We have information that you attended a séance last night, +a private séance given by a medium named Henrietta E. Belden, and +that you are here giving evidence in this court because disembodied +spirits—in other words people who have passed away—requested you to do +so. Do you deny that this is the fact?” + +“No sir, I don’t deny it.” + +“Then am I to understand that you are a believer in the +supernatural—that spirits are about us, speaking to us through mediums, +and that these dead people can be relied on to give assistance and +advice in a case like this? Do you believe that, madam?” + +“Well I ain’t certain sure of it, but I’m tendin’ that way, seein’ how +much more the dead ones seem to know about this case than you folks +that’s still walkin’ around.” + +A roar of laughter swept over the crowded room, broken by the court +crier’s loud rapping for silence. It might have been observed that the +Court itself bowed its head over as if making notes, so that its face +was hidden for a moment. + +And so it went on, every effort to undermine Mrs. Temple’s credibility +as a witness serving the more firmly to establish it. She could not be +confused nor rushed nor intimidated, though all three of these methods +were attempted. Over and above this it was very soon discovered that +she had no idea of going further with her testimony than giving what +related to the innocence of James Dreek. As to that, however, her +evidence was clear, straightforward, and unshakable. + +The confession signed by Dreek when he was out of his mind from the +torture of sleeplessness and constant bullying had been riddled by the +Defense, and cut no figure at all, so that when the case went to the +Jury a verdict of “Not guilty” was returned within fifteen minutes +and Jamie Dreek caught the next train home to his old mother, whose +devastating anxiety about him had brought her to within a stone’s throw +of the grave. + + * * * * * + +You mustn’t get the idea that the Dreek trial came to an end in the +brief time my way of telling about it would seem to indicate. I said +just now, that _when_ the case went to the Jury there was a verdict in +fifteen minutes; but that _when_ took quite some days. In fact there +was a most peculiar delay directly following Mrs. Temple’s testimony. + +You’d naturally think that when the entire bottom had dropped out of +the thing they’d have got the Jury out on it as quick as they could. +But they didn’t, for the State was holding it up in every possible +way—recalling witnesses without reason—wrangling over this and that, +and playing for time whenever a chance came up. The Defense was brief +enough, and the Judge occupied only a few minutes in charging, but the +prosecution managed to string it along for four days, and of course +the wise ones began to make remarks about the District Attorney having +something up his sleeve. The singular part of it is that for once “the +wise ones” were right. + +On the fifth morning following Mrs. Temple’s appearance on the witness +stand, the not guilty verdict was brought in, and that same afternoon +Hugo Pentecost was arrested for the murder. + +It came to pass at headquarters. Pentecost had been sent for by Chief +Inspector McCurran to give further information, and had been answering +such questions as he could—which is to say, as he could with safety. +There were others in the room—a couple of detectives (plain-clothes +men), two or three policemen in uniform, and a stenographer +(plain-clothes). + +“By the way,” the Inspector asked, carelessly, after a number of +commonplace questions had been answered, “did you ever happen to wear a +pair of boots that were very much too large for you?” + +“Why yes,” (after just enough surprise to go with so odd a question); +“I suppose I have—at one time or another.” + +“Ah—you have!... But your recollection doesn’t extend, I presume, to +your having worn such boots recently?” + +“Pardon me,” Pentecost returned, “but is this flattering curiosity +as to my wearing apparel merely personal, or are you still seeking +information in the case of Haworth?” + +The Inspector’s eyes glittered into Pentecost’s for a second or two. +When he spoke it was pointedly and with deliberation. “I’m still +seeking information in the case of Haworth.” + +“That being so,” Pentecost responded in a soft, pleasant voice, “you’ll +excuse me for going no further in the direction indicated.” + +The Inspector drew his mouth into a mechanical grin. + +“I’m inclined to think, Pentecost, that you’ll find yourself going some +distance further in that direction.” + +“It’s inspiring to meet a real optimist, Mr. McCurran—there are so few.” + +“Where were you between ten and eleven on the night Charles Haworth was +shot to death?” + +Mr. Pentecost appeared to be quite unaware that a question had been +asked. + +“We’ve got to hold you Pentecost.” The Inspector made a slight motion, +and one of the patrolmen stepped forward and stood at Pentecost’s side. + +“Want anything from the hotel—toilet articles—clothing—that sort of +thing?” + +“Many thanks—they’re outside in a grip.” + +“Ah!” the Inspector said, after an instant’s pause of surprise. “You +looked for it, did you?” + +“Great God!—what _would_ I look for with a couple of your teasers +running circles around me since the day I first came in here!” + +“Noticed it, did you?” + +The Inspector pulled his lips back into what you might take for a +grin. “But don’t go trying to pass that across,” he added, “as the +reason you brought your grip. There’s a better one than that.” + +“Sure there is,” said Pentecost. + +“You know damned well the game’s up and we’ve got it on you.” + +“I know damned well you _think_ you have.” + +“Ah! And would you care to tell the reason I think so?” + +“Why certainly ... Pittsburgh.” + +There was what you might call an instantaneous pause. The mention of +the name of the smoke-draped city apparently struck fire somewhere +inside of Mr. McCurran. + +“What do _you_ know about Pittsburgh?” he demanded in a lowered voice +with anger not entirely excluded from it. + +“Sorry to upset you,” murmured Pentecost. + +“What do _you_ know about Pittsburgh?” the Inspector repeated. + +“Much the same as you,” answered Pentecost. + +“Where were you between ten and eleven on the night that Charles +Michael Haworth was shot?” + +There was no answer, and almost at once the Inspector went on, his +voice more menacing: “If you’re not the guilty man, tell me your reason +for trying to put over that fake alibi on us—yes, an’ a damned foolish +fake at that, when we had you cold in Roxbury the same night?... So? +Nothing to say about _that_, eh?” + +There was a moment of silence, during which the Inspector managed +to subdue any evidences of the fury which the name of the western +Pennsylvania city had aroused. Soon he resumed in a voice cold and +hard: “We find it to be a rule that a man who is unjustly charged with +crime is more than anxious to answer questions and explain his true +position. I observe that you have no such desire.” + +“Accept my congratulations, Inspector, on having at last discovered the +missing exception to your rule.” + +“Then you have no explanation to make of that manufactured alibi?” + +“None—until the necessity arises.” + +“Am I to understand that it hasn’t yet arisen?” + +“Such an understanding would be according to fact.” + +“In that case we may be able to assist it to do so.” And the Inspector +rose and walked away to another part of the room, motioning, as he did +so, to have Pentecost taken away. + +The patrolman got the usual safety grip on Pentecost’s twisted coat +sleeves near the wrists, and took him out at a side door, one of the +plain-clothes men slipping out after him, and shortly thereafter he was +safely within the portals of the Charles Street jail. + + * * * * * + +Inspector McCurran stood at a window revolving a few things in his +mind—and their revolution failed to please him. This was not from any +doubt of their case against Pentecost, for anyone could see they had +the murder buckled to him in every conceivable way—including one that +hadn’t been put down by the Inspector as conceivable up to this time. +But back of the whole thing was some cursed mystery—every now and then +they turned up evidence of it. Could there be, after all, anything in +the spirit business? Seemed absurd, but, by God! they had some pretty +good names to it!—Not in this country—but look at those big ducks in +England who were pushing the game! + +And there was the man himself—Pentecost—something about him that made +one feel a shiver of apprehension. You’d put him down as slippery in +some peculiar, slimy sort of way, that would make any grip you could +get on him not worth a tinker’s dam. + +The Inspector’s mind came round to Pentecost’s careless reference to +the city of Pittsburgh. It had nearly lost him his self-control—an +unusual happening with Matt McCurran. For this simple geographical +allusion meant that the knowledge of certain spiritistic phenomena +which had occurred in that town a few nights before, and which the +authorities supposed to be successfully suppressed, was now—or soon +would be—public property. If this man Pentecost had knowledge of these +occurrences, others had as well, and without doubt the papers would get +hold of it and there’d be the very devil to pay. + +And you may as well know at once that the papers of the following day +_did_ get hold of it, and there _was_ the devil to pay—and he was paid, +too! Throughout the length, breadth, and thickness of the country, and +including as well our friend and near relation across the St. Lawrence, +the press dispatches did the Boston Police Department proud in one +place, and then, without knowing it, jabbed a knife through it in +another. + +In every paper the first thing striking the reader’s eye was a +sensational write-up of the arrest of Hugo Pentecost as the murderer, +in the strange and mysterious Haworth case, and the astonishing +detective work accomplished by the Police Department in tracing the +(alleged) guilty man by a pair of old boots left in a cabin of a +Metropolitan Line steamer, and in puncturing one of the most ingenious +fake alibis on record. The dispatches went on to say that Mr. Henry +Harker and his son Alfred, of the firm of Harker & Pentecost, had both +waived extradition and were on their way to Boston with detectives, +and upon arrival would be held as accomplices. The stenographer of the +firm, Miss Dugas, who was wanted as a witness, and who might also be +implicated in the crime, was voluntarily accompanying the Harkers. + +The foregoing, written up fully and triumphantly, was agreeable reading +for those connected with the Department; but in the same editions, +and nearly always in an adjoining column, was an A. P. dispatch from +Pittsburgh which simply tore the insides out of the first one. + +It was headed, in every case, with these disastrous lines—or something +similar—and in type that came out and smashed a reader right between +the eyes:— + + SPIRITS SPEAK AGAIN IN HAWORTH CASE + + ADVISE MICROSCOPE IN PENTECOST ALIBI + + ASTOUNDING CLUES GIVEN + + OPERATOR’S LICENSE 2026 + + BOOTS LEFT ON “NORTH LAND” + +Then it got down to plain reading matter, and described a message +that had come through at a séance held in Allegheny—now a section +of Pittsburgh and popularly referred to as the North Side—five days +before, and instantly telephoned to the Boston chief of police, but +which, for reasons stated below, had only now been given to the press. +The spirit who got “control” of the medium conducting this séance +declined to give his name—in fact allowed that he had too many, his +life while on earth having been not precisely what it should have been. +He merely saw a chance to get even with a cocky screw who’d once—before +he (the spirit speaking) had crossed to the higher realms—put the +low-down play on him good and plenty; and the only thing he asked was +that some one present at the sitting would send word to the Boston +police to go after a big pair of boots that was left in a cabin of the +steamer _North Land_ on arrival in New York the next morning after the +murder; also he’d suggest that they put a microscope on a few other +little items of that beautiful alibi. For instance, it wouldn’t do a +damn bit of harm to dig up Operator’s License 2026. “Tell the bulls,” +he gave out in conclusion, “to take it from me they’ll pull something +out of the fire if they go after it!” And with that he was gone. + +The A. P. dispatch on this Pittsburgh occurrence closed with a +paragraph in brackets explaining the five days’ delay in getting the +news. It stated that the spirit message had been telephoned to the +Boston police even while the séance was still in progress with the +medium under other controls. The Boston Department, for diplomatic +reasons, had withheld the news of this message from the Pemberton +Street reporters and had also asked the Pittsburgh police to hush the +matter up until the clues (if there was anything to it) could be worked +out and a clean-up of the guilty parties made before they got warning. +Pittsburgh headquarters found that only eleven persons had been present +at the séance, and got them all, together with the medium and her +assistant or director, before they left the place. These people, +appreciating the importance of keeping it quiet in order to bring the +criminals to justice, agreed to say nothing of the affair, and for five +days no leakage occurred. Then from somewhere (it could not be traced +to any of those concerned in the séance) a full account of the whole +proceeding had suddenly reached the Associated Press, and of course +could no longer be withheld from the public. + +“The account of this amazing occurrence in Pittsburgh,” as one of the +Boston papers put it in a bracketed “Ed.” note following the A. P. +dispatch, “which is quite in keeping with former developments in the +Haworth case, can now be published without disturbing the activities +of the police, the ‘clean-up’ referred to having been successfully +accomplished, as may be noted elsewhere in this issue.” + +This Allegheny episode might not have been so bad served up by itself, +but coming immediately under or on parallels with the triumphant +write-up of the Department’s detective work, showed that the whole +thing was done on a tip from the spirit world. You mustn’t understand +me as saying—or even intimating—that there wasn’t any good work done by +the police detectives. The trouble was that when they got anywhere they +were stood on their heads and everything they’d worked up dumped into +the discard by one of those ghostly manifestations or whatever they +might be. + +Anyway, it isn’t an account of marvelous detective work I’m trying to +give you, but something which, as I look at it, is vastly more unusual. +The papers will give you stuff about “sleuths”—as they call ’em—every +day in the week, including Sundays; and if you want to go into the +field of fiction you’ll find there’s one born there every minute. But +so far as my experience goes, this was the first time people in the +next world ever took a hand in the game. + + * * * * * + +The public interest in the Pentecost trial came near to being the +record for this class of diversion. You’d have thought the feeling +against him would have been so bitter that they’d have had to fight off +the lynchers. But it’s just as well to go easy on predicting how the +public is going to behave. Something about the man—it wasn’t beauty or +youth or romance—more like hypnotism, perhaps—in conjunction with his +ingenious methods of work so far as they had been made known, and also +his silence under fire (My God! how the public adores a man who keeps +his mouth shut!) got the people with him, notwithstanding the brutal +murder that they could now so plainly see was his doing. Much of the +sympathy may have resulted from the hopelessness of his case, for they +certainly had it all over him. He hadn’t said a word since his arrest, +excepting to state mildly—and even then, only when he was asked about +it—that he wasn’t guilty. And he sat in the cage quiet and unassuming, +never once dropping to the “cheerful act” nor the “bravado act” nor any +act whatever, but only sitting there quietly and hearing witness after +witness testify to things that were like so many nails in his coffin. + +He saw his marvelously laid-out defensive system crumble and melt away +before his eyes; his carefully constructed alibi split into a thousand +pieces. + +They had the chauffeur (Operator’s License 2026) who took him—dripping +with water—at about nine o’clock on the night of the murder, from a +place near the Soldier’s Monument just north of the Bourne Highway +Bridge over the Cape Cod Canal, and who left him, shortly before +half-past ten, at the corner of Centre and Greenough Streets, Jamaica +Plain. Even the fact of his having walked in a direction away from +Torrington Road when he left the car told against him. Of course he +did—that’s precisely what a man with criminal intent would do. + +The Captain, Purser, and other officers of the _North Land_ were called +and testified against him—at least negatively—although they had, up +to this time, been the most important bulwarks of the alibi;—Captain +Snow now recalling the fact that he hadn’t seen the face of the man +on the forward deck whom he took to be Mr. Pentecost, after his ship +passed out of the canal, but only his back; and the other officers +realizing, when they came to think of it, that they hadn’t seen him on +board after the steamer emerged into Buzzards Bay—that is, until he was +disembarking at New York the following morning. + +The conductor of the midnight express to New York, and the head end +trainman who’d had such difficulty in arousing him from apparent sleep +in the morning and getting him off at the Grand Central, were put on +the stand and told of his being on their train the night of the murder; +men from the New York Central’s railroad pier next south of the _North +Land’s_ berth, testified to having seen the rowboat come up under +the steamer’s stern as she docked in New York the morning after the +shooting, and put a man aboard her by a rope ladder; a man and his wife +from Buzzards Bay village, who’d been waiting on the highway bridge +over the canal for the “draw” to close at the time the _North Land_ +passed through, on the night of the crime, testified to seeing a man in +the semidarkness come up from the low flats at the west of the bridge +approach, and climb into a car near the Soldier’s Monument, though +they couldn’t swear, owing to the darkness, to its being the accused; +these things, and scores of others not less important, put Pentecost +in the position of having faked an alibi by boarding the steamer in +Boston, going overboard from her during her passage through the canal, +returning thence to Roxbury by hired automobile, proceeding to the +rear of the Cripps mansion a few minutes before the shots were fired, +and within half an hour after the murder, staggering, disguised as a +drunken laborer, into the North Station, and there taking the 11:50 +express for New York, finally getting aboard the steamer again from a +rowboat the moment she tied up to her dock. + +Although no witness to his actually entering the house or to his being +in it at the time the deed was done, could be found, there was surely +sufficient evidence to convict him without it. At the same time the +District Attorney would have given a great deal to be able to cover +those points. + +Pentecost’s senior counsel, Harvey Brookfield, had little to offer in +rebuttal, but he was a crack shot when the witnesses were turned over +to him, and many of them were raked raw by the cross fire. His request +that the head end trainman explain his remembering, for such a long +time, what kind of boots a stranger on his train had worn, brought +the reply: “Because every time I went through the car I had to shove +’em off the seat in front of him—they was muddy an’ I didn’t want him +fouling up the seat.” + +“Very thoughtful of you, too! But you testified a few minutes ago, that +this man whose boots you noticed, was seated at the extreme forward end +of the car. Didn’t you say that?” + +“Why, I said—I—I——” + +“Certainly you did! I can have the stenographer read it to you if +you’ve forgotten.—Now I ask you to explain to the Court and the Jury +how this man—if he was, as you stated that he was, sitting at the +extreme forward end of the car, could put his feet on the seat in front +of him? How could there _be_ a seat in front of him if he was in the +very first seat? Now just tell us that—in your own language.” + +“Well, he—he was up there at that end—it might ’a’ been one seat more +or less from the end—I didn’t notice. He was——” + +“_Ah_—you didn’t notice!” broke in Brookfield, springing on him like +a cat. “That explains it! You didn’t notice! You told us that he was +at the extreme end, but you didn’t notice. Now you tell us about his +boots—perhaps you didn’t notice in that case, either! A man’s life may +depend on it—but you didn’t notice! You’ve rendered your testimony +before this court ridiculous by making a man put his feet on a seat +that wasn’t there!” And so on. But while this sort of thing might +tear a witness to pieces, it couldn’t, to any extent, weaken the +prosecution’s case. + +In discussing the situation with Mr. Pentecost at the Charles Street +jail after one of the worst days in court, Mr. Brookfield declared that +there was nothing for it but to fall back on insanity as a plea. But +Pentecost wouldn’t hear of it. + +“What’s the idea, then? I don’t need to tell you they’re piling it up +on us pretty thick.” + +“They haven’t got me in the house yet. Keep jabbing on that till you +draw blood.” + +“It won’t acquit you!” + +“No matter—go to it.” + +And Brookfield went to it. + +It may surprise you to hear of an Attorney taking orders as to the +conduct of a case from his client—especially when said client was +so evidently a criminal of the most desperate character. But the +explanation is simple in the extreme. Pentecost owned Brookfield +through having bought and paid for him, and was virtually conducting +the case himself. + + * * * * * + +While the Pentecost trial, owing to its extraordinary developments, had +held the interest of the country at large and kept the eastern section +of Massachusetts in something like a ferment of astonishment and +curiosity, it was toward the latter part of it that things really began +to happen. + +When the testimony was all in and Mr. Brookfield was about to go on +with his summing up, a message was brought into the court room and +handed to the District Attorney. After a glance at it he was instantly +on his feet, asking to be allowed to bring in another witness whose +presence in court had hitherto been impossible, and whose testimony was +of the utmost importance in its bearing on the case. + +Brookfield, of course, objected, but was overruled, and an old woman, +bent and rheumatic, was brought into the court room and assisted +between the rows of spectators, past the jurors, and into the witness +box. As she turned and faced the onlookers, and it was seen that Mrs. +Temple had consented to take the stand for the prosecution, a composite +sound of gasps, subdued exclamations, and quick whisperings issued from +the audience. Many had seen her when she testified in the trial of +James Dreek, and there was hardly one who hadn’t read in the newspapers +that the old woman knew everything about the murder—had, indeed, +actually witnessed it—yet couldn’t be persuaded to say a word excepting +to testify to as much as would clear the young butler of guilt. That +was for the Defense in the case of James Dreek—now the Prosecution in +the case of Pentecost, had her! + +After the first surprise, all eyes shifted across to the prisoner’s +cage to see what effect this fearful menace—for that’s what it was—had +on Hugo Pentecost. But so far as could be seen it hadn’t any. The man +was sitting precisely as before, expressionless, waiting. + +While Mrs. Temple was being sworn and the formal questioning gone +through, a Court Messenger entered, and threading his way between the +tables, handed a written communication to Chief Inspector McCurran, +who was seated at the Attorneys’ table, and who arose at once and left +the court room, followed by the messenger. Few noticed this, for the +attention of the spectators appeared to be divided between the old +woman on the witness stand and the accused in the prisoners’ cage, +whose death sentence—or what amounted to that—the former was surely +about to pronounce. + +When the preliminaries were finished, District Attorney McVeigh in—for +him—an incredibly soft voice and gentle manner, led the old woman to +describe Mr. Pentecost’s behavior while on his several visits to the +Cripps mansion before the commission of the crime,—her suspicions +regarding his intentions; the attempts she made to warn Mr. Haworth +of the danger of dealing with such a man; and following that, her +exclusion from the house—and thereafter her efforts to keep watch from +the outside. From this she was tactfully brought to the events of +that last evening,—the closing of the blinds to the front window; the +coming home of Mr. Haworth followed by Augustus Findlay; her attempts +to see in at the side windows but the darkness within preventing; +her unsuccessful efforts to enter the house at the rear, and then +the sudden brilliant light in the room so that she was able to look +in through the narrow slits below the roller shades; her seeing Mr. +Haworth reading at the table and then filling and lighting his pipe; +her hurrying to the other window and seeing a man at the back of the +room whose face was covered (except for the eyes) with a cloth or +bandage and whose clothing was wet and draggled, pointing some dark +object at Mr. Haworth from behind; her turning to run back to the +window which was nearer to Mr. Haworth so that she could warn him, and +as she did so seeing James Dreek going along the path with a ladder; +her attempt to call out to Mr. Haworth; then the shots and his collapse +to the floor, and she herself so overcome that she sank down beside the +window; her recovering and trying again to get into the house at the +rear, and finally succeeding in doing so. + +“How did you get in, Mrs. Temple?” the District Attorney asked. + +“Through the basement door.” + +“But wasn’t that door locked when you tried it before?” + +“Yes—but it warn’t locked this time.” + +“How long do you suppose this was after you heard the shots and saw Mr. +Haworth sink to the floor?” + +“It must a’ been some few minutes, fur I wasn’t able to git up very +quick from where I’d sunk down.” + +“And when you got into the house what did you do?” + +“I hurried to him as quick as I could.” + +“Do you mean Mr. Haworth?” + +There was a pause before she spoke. “Yes,” she said in a lower voice, +with eyes seeking the floor. “You might ’a’ known that, I should think.” + +“I did know it Mrs. Temple, but it’s important to have others know +it too. Now tell me this—if you can: did it take you long to get to +him—after you succeeded in entering the house I mean? The time is +important. Very likely you were detained by the house being dark?” + +“No, I was used to it.” + +“It was very dark, was it?” + +“There warn’t no light at all—somebody must ’a’ shut it off while I was +hurryin’ back to get in. But I got to the stairs easy enough and up +into the kitchen; an’ then groped along through the butler’s pantry an’ +opened the door of the front room where—where he was.” + +“I see. And when you opened that door, Mrs. Temple, could you see +anything in the room?” + +“Yes, I could.” + +“But I understood you to say that the house was entirely dark?” + +“It was. But when I pushed open the swingin’ door o’ that room there +was a faint light shinin’ on Mr. Haworth’s face as he lay there on the +floor, an’ I could see from its not stayin’ still that somebody must +be holdin’ it. Then I could make out the figger of a man—the one that +had the light in his hand—an’ he was bendin’ over lookin’ at the body, +an’ he hadn’t taken no notice o’ my comin’ in. At first I didn’t know +anything at all, but the minute I come to my senses I started to run +an’ git a holt of him; but just then the light he had in his hand must +’a’ slipped some way so’st the beam of it struck right across his face, +an’ he didn’t have no cloth tied around it that time, so I could see +who it was.” + +The quiet in the room was intense. Every person there might have been a +wax figure. + +“Mrs. Temple, who was that man?” + +“It was him there—the one you’re tryin’.” + +“Can you give the Court his name?” + +“The one he went by was Pentecost.” + +“Was there light enough to see him distinctly?” + +“There was plenty for me.” + +“Did you have any other means of identification?” + +“What sir?” + +“Was there anything else you’d know him by—hair, clothes, shoes, hands, +teeth—anything at all?” + +“Oh!—Well, you see the second after the light struck across his face +it went out an’ I couldn’t see nothin’ at all. But I heered his voice +plain enough if that’s any good to ye.” + +“It certainly is, Mrs. Temple. What was he saying?” + +“He was shoutin’ out not to touch anythin’—that everythin’ had got to +be left like it was in the name o’ the law, or somethin’ like that.” + +“And the voice you heard shouting those things—did you recognize it?” + +“Yes sir.” + +“Whose voice was it?” + +“His—that man there.” (With a motion toward Pentecost.) + +“Do you mean the accused—in the prisoners’ cage?” + +“That’s who I mean.” + +“Had you heard his voice before?” + +“Yes—I had.” + +“When?” + +“He’d spoke to me a number o’ times, an’ then I heered him a-talkin’ to +Mr. Haworth quite frequent.” + +“What did you do then, Mrs. Temple?” + +“I run toward where I’d seen him an’ felt all around there—but +he’d gone. An’ then—I—I don’t know.... I must ’a’ sunk down there +where—where he was.” + +“You mean Mr. Haworth?” + +She nodded her head a little, as it slowly bowed down, hiding her face +from view. + +Mr. McVeigh waited a moment so that the Jury might get the full effect +of the old woman’s grief, and then indicated to Mr. Brookfield that he +could take the witness. + +But it so happened that Mr. Brookfield had caught a signal from +Pentecost, as previously arranged. + +“I don’t care to examine, Your Honor,” he said. + + * * * * * + +Shortly after this, Mr. Brookfield was seen to be addressing the Court, +but in so low a tone that few were able to hear him. For this reason a +sensation was created when the prison guards took Pentecost from the +cage and conducted him to the witness stand. + +After the preliminaries there was a pause—whether intentionally so or +not, a most dramatic one. Brookfield on his feet ready to question, +yet stopping silent before the accused. Pentecost standing motionless +as marble in the witness box—the court officer at his side. Reporters +at the press table, pencils poised, eyes fixed on Pentecost’s face, +ready to catch and record his slightest change of expression. Every man +on the Jury regarding him with strained attention. The Judge himself +unusually interested. Stillness of death in the court room. + +Brookfield began in a low voice, speaking slowly and distinctly. + +“Mr. Pentecost, you have heard the testimony given before this Court by +Mrs. Amelia Temple?” + +“Yes.” + +“Have you anything to say regarding it?” + +“Yes.” (A pause.) “It’s the truth.” + +“All of it?” + +“All that concerns me.” + +“What can you say as to the rest of the testimony submitted before this +Court?” + +“The same.” + +“By that do you mean that all of it is true as to fact?” + +“I do.” + +“Now as to this testimony that has been given here, and which you +have stated is the truth—can you say that the inferences which would +naturally be drawn from it are the correct ones?” + +“I cannot.” + +“Why?” + +“Because they make it appear that I have committed a murder.” + +“How does it happen, if they are statements of fact, that they are +misleading as to such a conclusion?” + +“They describe only a part of my movements and behavior, omitting what +would lead to the correct conclusion.” + +“Do you claim that these omissions were purposely made?” + +Mr. Pentecost shook his head slightly. + +“The witnesses,” he said in a low voice, “were doubtless unaware of +them.” + +“Will you—if it pleases the Court—make a brief statement outlining +these omitted facts.” + +Mr. Pentecost waited a moment, and then, as the Court made no objection +thereto, began to speak in a subdued voice, faintly suggestive of +hopelessness. + +“I have no witnesses,” he said, “except those who have testified +against me. But there are circumstances bearing on my actions which +none of these witnesses could have known; and while their consideration +by this Court is most vital to me, I have only my unsupported word +to offer, and feel that such consideration will almost certainly be +denied me. So I will refer to these things as briefly as possible and +with little hope. Let me speak first of my getting off the steamer at +Buzzards Bay, as that seems the most misleading thing against me. It is +true I did this, but not for the purpose of committing the crime with +which I am charged. Such an inference, indeed, is quite the reverse of +the correct one, for I came back to Boston that night hoping to save +Mr. Haworth from some calamity that I feared was about to overtake +him—and which, in fact, did so before I could prevent it. + +“My association with the young man during the time I was negotiating +the purchase of one of his inventions, had awakened in me a most +unusual interest. His quiet and almost childlike sincerity, his +trustfulness and simplicity, appealed to me in a way that I cannot +describe. I am alone, with no family of—of any kind, and the experience +of suddenly being deeply interested in a person was something new to +me. + +“The last day of the negotiations—which was at the end of a +fourteen-day option he’d given us—everything was concluded and we paid +over to Mr. Haworth a large sum of money. It was in bills—for he’d +asked to have it that way. As we were making this payment it suddenly +occurred to me that this trustful and helpless young fellow might get +into trouble with it, for in these days there are crackerjacks looking +for money who can smell it in a house, just passing by in the street. +It was a lonely place where he lived and didn’t look good to me, so I +cautioned him about it. But he smiled at me—one of his rare smiles that +seemed to sink right into you—and said he knew a safe place for it; and +anyway he’d have it there only till the next day. + +“The three of us—my partner, his son, and myself—took the steamer for +New York that same afternoon, and I tried to get my anxiety about +the young man off my mind. But instead of going off it increased, +and by the time we were well out in the Bay it was like one of these +premonitions you read about. I did everything to rid myself of this +feeling—talked with the officers, ordered dinner, walked in the wind on +the top deck—but it was no use, and by seven o’clock I realized that +something had to be done. + +“The steamer was due at the canal in about an hour, and I remembered +they had to slow down to half speed or less for the passage through. So +I got young Harker to make inquiries in a sort of casual way, as if it +was only from curiosity on his part, as to whether they’d stop at some +place along the canal if a person wanted to get off. If they said no, +I told him to throw out feelers to see if money would do it. But there +was no use—the thing was impossible. + +“By this time I was in a—a most trying nervous condition. Suddenly +I realized that, without even thinking about it, I’d made up my mind +to jump off the steamer while she was in the canal and in some way +get back to Roxbury. I did this as the boat was passing the village +of Buzzards Bay. It was quite dark at the time, and I waited till the +steamer had passed through the Bourne Highway Bridge, as I knew the +passengers would be watching the great draw come down into place, and +even if the lights along the canal hit me, no one would be looking. + +“After I got out of the swirl a few strokes brought me to shore. It +was a sort of low flat along there, and I got across it and up on to +the road embankment that is the north approach to the bridge. There +wasn’t any garage in sight and in a sort of desperation I stopped a car +coming up toward the bridge and asked where the nearest one was. The +man inside asked me what was wrong, for I was soaking wet, and I told +him it was a matter of life and death for me to get to Boston. He said +he’d just come down from there and was only a quarter of a mile from +his destination, so I could take the car he had (it was a hired one) if +the chauffeur wanted to do it, and he’d go on foot the rest of the way. +I suppose my dripping clothes made an impression. I fixed the chauffeur +all right with a couple of watersoaked ten-dollar bills, telling him +I’d double it if he did the trip under eighty minutes. And I want to +say that everything this man has testified to is the truth, for he +couldn’t possibly have known who I was, how I got to Buzzards Bay, or +where I was going in Boston. I’d be sorry indeed to get this innocent +man into trouble. + +“My reason for leaving the car at some distance from the house on +Torrington Road was not because I planned to commit a murder—as +the Prosecution would have it translated, but only that I wanted to +approach the place with the utmost caution. Robbers or safe smashers +would have their lookouts posted, and it was up to me to get at the +inside operators before they had warning. + +“I crawled in at the gate and worked along behind shrubbery. But I +hadn’t got halfway to the house when I made out the dim forms of two +men moving about. This was a tremendous relief, for I took them for the +lookouts, and their being there showed I was in time: if the job was +done they’d be gone. So I slid in among the bushes and crawled around +to the rear of the house. + +“The two doors at the back were locked, but I happened to think of the +basement door, and on trying, found it was open. + +“Luckily for me, my pocket flashlight still worked, and with it I was +able to run through the dark basement and up the stairs, across the +kitchen (which was also dark) and through the butler’s pantry. I bunted +open the swing door and ran into the long room where we’d been sitting +that same afternoon, but for a moment couldn’t see anything at all, +there was such a strong light on. It dazzled me, and I suppose I must +have stood with my electric torch pointing toward Mr. Haworth, as the +last witness testified. I really have no idea which way it was pointing +as I stood there blinded by the glare and trying to see. In a moment I +made out Mr. Haworth standing near the table in the middle of the room +lighting his pipe, and instantly started toward him, calling out his +name. But just as I did so two gunshots blazed out from somewhere quite +near—though I couldn’t say exactly where—and the poor fellow went down. +I got to him just as the lights went out, but as my pocket light was +still on I was able to see him, and I found he was dead. + +“While I was there on the floor by his side I heard a sound from the +butler’s pantry, and instantly got to my feet. My light was still +on, but I switched it off after some little difficulty with it, and +shouting out that nobody must touch anything—for I had the feeling +there were people about and I knew the police would want everything +left as it was—I hurried out of the house by the way I’d come in. As +I got out into the air it began to dawn on me what trouble I’d be in +if anyone saw me there and they couldn’t find the man who’d committed +the crime. My only safety lay in getting out of Boston without being +recognized, for if my presence there was known it would lead to their +finding out that I’d jumped off the steamer, and that would put me in a +terrible position—always supposing they couldn’t find the guilty man. + +“I got around into Boston by way of Brookline, and in a poorly lighted +side street I ran across a tough-looking bum wearing old and grimy +clothing and carrying a considerable load of alcohol. I struck a +bargain with him, and we exchanged clothes in an unlighted alley among +factories closed for the night. He understood in a bleary way, that I’d +fallen in the water and wanted a dry outfit, which, of course, was the +truth—so far as it went. + +“While I was hurriedly disguising myself in this way it suddenly came +to me that my absence, when the passengers disembarked from the steamer +_North Land_ in New York, could hardly fail to be noticed. They’d have +to file between the two ticket takers at the gangway, and pass down +the gangplank under the watchful eyes of the ship’s officers—several +of whom I’d come to know quite well. Harker and his son, leaving the +steamer without me, would be more than likely to cause comment. + +“It was then that I happened to think of the night expresses, which +hadn’t left Boston yet and were due in New York two hours or more +before the arrival time of the steamer. Why couldn’t I go back on one +of them and manage, without being seen, to slip aboard the _North Land_ +from a rowboat the minute she docked? If I was seen doing this it would +look bad, but no worse than if I wasn’t on the steamer at all. This way +I had a chance—and as the testimony given here has shown, I took it. + +“I appreciate the forbearance of the Court in permitting this extended +recital—made, I confess, in the face of a realization that it cannot +save me. But perhaps some time, long after this crowning error in the +rather extended series of police blunders has been committed, the fact +that it _was an error_ may come to light—and——” + +No more could be heard, for Mr. McVeigh was on his feet shouting +objections. “I object, Your Honor, and I ask that the reference made by +the accused to the police of this city be stricken from the record and +the Jury instructed to disregard it!” + +The Judge spoke in a voice that seemed especially low, coming after the +District Attorney’s vociferous demands. + +“That may be stricken out,” he said. + +“Will the Court permit me to apologize?” Pentecost asked almost in a +whisper and with evident contrition. + +“What’s the sense of that?” snapped McVeigh. “It’s off the +record—that’s all I want!” + +But a man face to face with a death sentence is usually permitted some +latitude, and the Judge indicated by a slight motion of the head that +he could do so. + +“Permit me then, Your Honor, to say that I regret having made use of +the expressions I did, and certainly would not have done so had I been +aware how sensitive the District Attorney is to the mere mention of +the little spiritistic frolics with the Police Department that have +recently taken place.” + +Pentecost had finally got in a reference to the mediumistic phenomena +which had played so amazing a part in the case—something he had +been playing for a chance to do since taking the stand. This man’s +statement before the court that was trying him was undoubtedly one +of the most adroit pieces of pure and unadulterated chicane that +he’d ever attempted—at any rate in that line. To fit an innocent and +sympathetic tale like that to the multitude of incriminating facts +established by the testimony against him;—to bring it out with just the +pathetic hopelessness, exactly the sincerity and precisely the manner +and inflection which would make every point tell and thus inspire +confidence and pity, was something near to marvelous. + +He knew well enough that it would do him no good in court, but he +knew, too, that it would do him enormous good where he wanted it. The +statement made little short of a sensation, and not alone with those +who heard it, but with the millions who read it in the newspapers. +To most people, of course, it seemed to explain everything. What if +Pentecost couldn’t prove it? Let the Prosecution _disprove_ it—that was +the thing! How noble of him to say that the State’s witnesses told the +truth—and then show exactly how it _was_! Etcetera,—etcetera. + +In court, as I’ve indicated, it was another matter. The only thing Mr. +Brookfield (for the Defense) could do, was to review the contradictions +in which he’d skillfully entangled many of the witnesses for the +prosecution, and end with an eloquent plea for the credibility of the +Pentecost statement which agreed with the testimony given before the +court at every point, and to challenge anyone, in court or out to find +a flaw in it. + +The District Attorney, of course, tore it all to pieces. He had +declined to cross-examine the accused “after such a ridiculous and +flimsy tale,” and took care of it in his summing up. The fact is—but no +one was aware of it at the time—he had a decided disinclination to give +the accused any further chances with the Jury. + +“Here, gentlemen,” he said in his final argument, “we have an +illustration—even in this extraordinary plan by a master mind in +criminality—of the well-known fact that there’ll always be a weak +spot somewhere—a little matter perhaps, but large enough to wreck the +whole structure. This tale of the accused is based on the claim that +the alibi was never planned beforehand, that it was developed on the +impulse of the moment, an innocent person suddenly finding at eleven +o’clock on the night of the murder that he might be brought under +suspicion if it were known he left the steamer—and so he jumped on +a train and managed to get back to it in time to come off with the +passengers. An inspiration of the moment! Remember that, gentlemen! And +now let us see if it’s the truth that he never thought of it before. +Let us consider the behavior of the accused on previous trips, which, +you will observe, were always made by the same steamer, although there +was another on that line, and although there were three other lines +of Boston boats—a choice of four steamers every day, not to speak of +fifteen or twenty express trains, all bound for the same destination! +But on this steamer _North Land_, which was chosen by the accused as +the theatre in which to perform his alibi, we find from the testimony +of eleven of its officers and crew, that he was sociable and talkative +to the last degree, making acquaintance with everybody who might +thereafter be able to testify that he was on board the vessel on +that fatal night. Contrast this with what four witnesses have sworn +to regarding the usual behavior of this same individual—that he was +naturally silent, taciturn, not easily making acquaintances, not a man +given to sociability, reserved, keeping his affairs to himself, never +discussing them with outsiders,—and there you have it, gentlemen. +He was a different being when on the steamer _North Land_ on those +previous trips, when he was planting his alibi; making himself and his +alleged business of buying inventions known to everybody, jollying over +cigars with the Captain and the Purser—and now telling us on the stand +that he never thought of the alibi until after the murder!” + +From this the District Attorney went back and recapitulated every point +made by the prosecution during the trial, showing that not one of them +had been disproved and that there wasn’t even a tremor in the finger of +Justice, now extended, and pointing to the accused, Hugo Pentecost, as +the guilty man. + +As McVeigh was nearing the latter part of his closing argument, the +Chief Inspector, followed by a messenger, returned to the court room +and resumed his place at the attorneys’ table. At once he took a sheet +of paper and began writing with evident haste. In a moment he bunched +some papers he had brought with him and put them in a large envelope +with the sheet on which he’d been writing. This packet he handed to the +Court Messenger, who delivered it to the Judge. + +Before closing his argument the District Attorney took up the +“impertinent reference” made by the accused before this court to a +series of blunders which he attributed to the Police Department of +Boston, and called the attention of the Jury, and of all who had heard +this slanderous implication, to the fact that there never yet was a +murder case where doubt existed as to the guilty party, which was +without false clues, and mistaken arrests. + +From this he proceeded to a violent denunciation of Hugo Pentecost. +“And if this insolent, swaggering fiend in human form” (I got the +wording from the newspaper reports) “who coolly, with careful planning +and infinite calculation, takes the life of an innocent—a gentle—a +defenseless man;—this cowardly assassin who sends two bullets into his +victim from behind, and for no other reason than to get a few thousand +dollars away from him;—if he is now looking for another of those +‘spiritistic frolics’ to stand between him and retribution, he will +look in vain; for even the so-called spirits—whatever they are—can’t +help him now! It’s in your hands, gentlemen, to see that the strong +right arm of the Law is stretched forth and this red-handed assassin is +brought to the punishment he so richly deserves.” + +At this point there came to pass one of those curious coincidences—a +real and _bona-fide_ one, for it couldn’t have been laid out beforehand +even by a master-criminal mind, though such a mind may have figured +there was an off chance on it. + +For a few moments during the latter part of the District Attorney’s +summing up, the faint but strident calls of an “extra” from far down +Washington Street could have been heard in the court room—a babel +of boyish voices coming through the open windows. This increased +in volume, and as the newsboys came running into Scollay Square +and up into Tremont and Court Streets, there was a sudden burst of +high-pitched shouting, so that following right on Mr. McVeigh’s +climactic outburst, “Even the so-called spirits—whatever they +are—can’t help him now!” came the screams of the newsboys below: +“E-x-t-r-e-e! Spirit message!”—“Spirit Message in the Haworth +Case!”—“E-x-t-r-e-e!”—“Haworth’s Spirit Speaks!”—“Message from +Haworth!”—“E-x-t-r-e-e!” and so on until the shouts grew fainter again +as the boys ran down Sudbury and Hanover Streets toward the North +Station, and West and South on Beacon and Tremont. + + * * * * * + +When the attention of the spectators was again directed to the court +proceedings, they realized that everything had stopped. A consultation +at the Bench was in progress. All the attorneys concerned and the Chief +Inspector were there, evidently having been called up by the Judge. + +A peculiar stillness had settled over the place. Charged with +electricity it seemed, the tension increasing every moment. Some +foolish ones wondered if the newsboys, shouting about another spirit +message, could have affected the Court. Once—and not such a time ago +at that—the calling of such a piece of news on the streets would have +excited only derision. None of that now! Even the pooh-poohers had +stopped their pooh-poohing. Too many astounding things! + +A sudden straining to see and hear as the Chief Inspector and the +attorneys went back to their places, the Inspector leaving the court +room immediately afterward. + +The Judge sat motionless a few moments, apparently in thought. After +that he examined again some of the papers that had been submitted. +Finally he rose and turned to the Jury and the twelve men composing it +came to their feet at the same instant and stood facing him. Then the +Judge, in a voice so subdued that it could scarcely be heard in the +further parts of the room, thanked them for the time and labor they +had contributed to the cause of justice, and proceeded to remind them +that the world we live in is a place of considerable uncertainty, and +that in Courts of Law the unexpected is a frequent—and sometimes a +welcome—visitor. + +Everyone could hear him now, which resulted not so much from the +raising of his voice a trifle as from the stillness prevailing. “In the +case before us, gentlemen,” he went on, “the arrival of this visitor, +the unexpected, must be regarded as most opportune, for it is the means +of removing all doubt as to the guilt, or freedom from guilt, of the +accused. Mr. Foreman and Gentlemen: Certain facts have just now been +called to the attention of myself and counsel, which indicate beyond +any question or doubt that this defendant is innocent of the crime with +which he is charged; and I therefore instruct you to bring in a verdict +of Not Guilty.” + +A moment later the Clerk of the Court was saying: “Hugo Pentecost, +look upon the Jury; Jurors, look upon the defendant.—Mr. Foreman and +Gentlemen: in the case of the Commonwealth against Hugo Pentecost have +you agreed upon a verdict?” + +“We have,” the Foreman answered. + +“What say you, Mr. Foreman: is the defendant, Hugo Pentecost, guilty or +not guilty?” + +“Not guilty,” answered the Foreman. And after the swearing of the Jury +in the usual form, Hugo Pentecost was informed that he was hereby +discharged and could go “without day” unless held on some other process. + + * * * * * + +On the evening before these final proceedings, and at a time +approaching the hour of midnight, a private “circle” in West +Philadelphia was about to adjourn. Mr. Ernest Everett Blatchford, well +known among the spiritists of that region as a talented and highly +successful materializationist and trance medium, had brought about +during the evening a number of visits from the other side, and in all +but two the spirit had become visible to human eyes—in a shadowy way. + +As the director or assistant (I’m not sure what they call those +people) turned to switch on the lights, there came strange muffled +cries issuing from the darkness in the further part of the room, and +a cold musty current of air breathed across the circle of “sitters.” +At the same instant a whitish cloud appeared, faintly wavering in the +darkness. It rapidly grew in size and seemed to be trying to shape +itself into something resembling the human form. Vague suggestions of +a man’s face began to appear in the misty cloudiness, the features +gradually forming themselves, like the fade-in of a picture; and +when, as it came to be more and more distinct, somebody whispered +the name of Charles Haworth, there were several involuntary gasps +of astonishment and a breathless “Oh!” or two could be heard. The +papers had used his picture so often (taken for that first write-up +in a Boston “Magazine Section”) that there was no difficulty about +the recognition after the whispered name had started it. (No one ever +traced that important whisper to its source.) + +In a few moments it was seen that the lips of the apparition were +moving—yet no sound came. The cloudlike human form with a face +resembling Haworth’s, was trying to speak. + +A voice from somewhere in the circle—a man’s voice—was heard +asking, “Isn’t this Mr. Haworth?” and the head resembling Haworth’s +nodded slowly in affirmation. Almost at once some sort of a sound +was heard—confused and broken, as though pushed through a barrier +that gave way, and after that the spirit began to speak in a low +voice and with what seemed like a sort of eager breathlessness. +“Machine!—Machine!—Machine!” repeated over and over many times more +than that, was what it said, and between two of them a loud whisper +came from somewhere in or near the circle, “It’s Haworth’s voice!” +and an answering whisper, forceful and penetrating, “Yes—oh yes!—_His +own voice!_” So that everybody knew, though they’d never seen the man +Haworth nor heard him speak, that it was he now appearing before them. + +For some time the apparition or spirit—if that’s what it was—seemed +unable to utter anything more than this repetition of the word +“Machine,” and the director and some others, although they asked +encouraging questions, proved unable to get anything further. + +But again some sort of obstruction was seemingly overcome, for after +many unsuccessful attempts, the voice suddenly broke out with: “In +the wall!—In the wall!—In the wall!—Why don’t they look? It’s there! +The Machine! Find it!—Find it!—Make the court wait!—That man—that +man—nothing—nothing—nothing to do with it—nothing—nothing! Nobody can +hear me in Boston—I can just reach this one—but not for long! Tell them +the wall—inside the wall—that same room—further end—the machine—papers +on the pendulum!—the pendulum!—Papers!—Oh——I’m going!—” (The voice +becoming faint and far away) “—I can’t hold out—and I want to speak to +someone else—oh, I do—I do——” and nothing more could be heard. + +The voice was growing weaker and the features were dissolving back +into mistiness even while he spoke; and in a moment there was only +the whitish floating haze which seemed rapidly drawing itself to a +point, at which it wavered for a moment and then flickered out in the +blackness. + +No reporters were present at this séance nor were the Philadelphia +police keeping an eye on mediumistic activities; and as it was already +after two in the morning, no one who’d been there took it upon +himself to communicate with anybody as to what had come through. It +was consequently nearly eleven o’clock the following morning before +news of it reached the Boston newspaper offices; and an effort made +later to find out who sent the news met with no success. Whoever it +was completely ignored the police. Not a word of this astounding +communication from the alleged spirit of Charles Haworth was wired or +telephoned to them. Their first intimation that anything of interest +had taken place in West Philadelphia came from the newspaper “extras” +on the streets. + + * * * * * + +The Department—as it had in another and similar instance—got +particulars without giving it away that this was the first they’d +heard of it. And so important did the matter seem that the Inspector +was called out of the court room. And so important did it seem to +the Inspector that he proceeded with the utmost speed and a bunch of +detectives to the Cripps mansion. Reporters were kept outside the line +that had been established. + +Within twenty minutes after the Inspector’s arrival with his gang, the +rear end of the wall of the room on the left was what you might call +a near ruin, and a most extraordinary mechanical arrangement that had +been constructed within it was exposed to view. + +The first, and it might be said the most striking, thing they had come +upon as they were ripping the lath and plaster away and prying off the +heavy paneling, was a 44 Colt revolver bolted to the studding (the +upright timbers within the wall) just behind one of the panels of the +wainscot, and down within eighteen inches of the floor. It was bolted +so securely as to be absolutely immovable, and was aimed straight out +into the room. The husky plain-clothes man who smashed away the panel +in front of it was seen to spring suddenly to one side. + +“Careful now!” the Inspector shouted, as he came running. “Keep away +from that!” he yelled to the other men who were coming over to see. And +they were ordered well to one side while the two working there reached +over and ripped away the panels above and on each side of the one that +had concealed the gun. + +It took but a few minutes to expose the whole thing: a simple but +ingenious device built in there for firing two revolvers at nearly the +same instant—discharging them about twelve minutes from the time the +mechanism was set in motion. The second gun, a matter of six inches +below the other, was behind the same panel, but hadn’t been noticed at +first as it was so close to the floor—just clearing the panel frame at +the bottom. + +They found that this panel—the one concealing the guns—had been made +to slide up and down, the guides holding it on the inside so there +was no evidence of them in sight; when pushed up, the muzzles of the +revolvers were exposed; when dropped down into place, they were hidden. +And so carefully had this sliding panel been handled that no scratch or +abrasion could be found on its surface, nor did it differ in any way, +so far as appearances went, from the other panels in the wainscoting; +neither did it display the slightest evidence of being movable—which, +indeed, it was not, after the discharge of the revolvers; for on +dropping down into place it automatically locked itself by the swinging +across the top of it, of a block of wood on a pivot—all within the +wall, of course. To get it open again it was necessary to push this +block away _from the inside_. + +Both guns were immovably aimed to throw bullets directly across the +middle of the room and out through the upper part of the window at the +front; and as they were set so low down, the course of the bullets +would be upward. A man of a certain height standing at a certain spot +near the center of the room would get the bullet from the upper +revolver through the head and from the lower one through the heart—if +he could stand there long enough after the shot from the first +one—hardly more, probably, than half a second. + +The mechanism which—twelve minutes from its starting—fired the +revolvers, and at the same time released the movable panel and allowed +it to slide down into place and automatically to lock itself there, was +an escapement device with a pendulum swinging to seconds. About halfway +of the fifteenth revolution of the escape-wheel (a very large one +carrying fifty teeth or jump-cogs) the powerful springs that connected +with the two rods—one to the trigger of each revolver—were released, +which discharged the guns nearly, but not quite, simultaneously, and +on the next jump of the escape-wheel a lever pulled back the catch +that held the sliding panel up, allowing it to drop down and close the +opening. It locked itself there automatically as I’ve explained. + +There were many minor arrangements to safeguard and insure the perfect +operation of the device, such as the weighting (on the inside) of the +sliding panel; the carrying of the rope that unwound from a drum on +the main shaft, up through a pulley at the top, so the heavy weight +attached to it would have room to descend in that space—for of course +it couldn’t go below the floor; the setting of the two revolvers at the +place where the wall of the breakfast room joined this rear wall of the +room on the left, so that, as they were too long for the normal wall +thickness, their butts might project back into the transverse wall. + +The whole device had been built in through a large aperture from the +basement below, and on completion of the job this opening was closed +up with the very same old grimy boarding, and even fastened in place +with the same ancient and rusted nails driven into their original +holes, that had been taken out of them. Even the rust on the nail +heads where the hammer would strike them was undisturbed; safeguarded +probably by the use of a cushion of leather or blotting-paper. + +It was evident that the machine couldn’t have been set going on its +final performance, _from the basement_, for by no possibility could the +opening down there have been closed with all the care required, within +the twelve minutes between the starting and the automatic discharge +of the guns. Undoubtedly the sliding panel was opened from below and +held open (that is, up) by its catch, and the block above adjusted to +swing in when it next slid down; and after that, at whatever time it +was desired to start the pendulum on its last gruesome swing, it would +only be necessary to reach in through the open panel in the room on the +left, and give it a shove. That was all. There would be twelve minutes +left for reading awhile and then lighting a pipe. + +Of course all these small details weren’t figured out by the police +until afterward. The Inspector was there to learn what there was, if +anything, to the latest alleged spirit message, and they found it of +such vital import, too, that it required instant action. No time to be +wasted on conjectures as to the method of starting. There it was——The +Machine! And secured to its great pendulum which, you might say, ticked +Charles Haworth to his death, was the envelope of papers. + +Quick investigation followed; the Inspector raced back to town; the +newly discovered evidence was brought to the Judge’s attention; his +conference with the attorneys and the Inspector followed, and after +that came the Court’s instructions to the Jury and the Jury’s verdict +in accordance therewith. + + * * * * * + +The large envelope which they found lashed securely to the great +pendulum contained three instruments or documents—the Last Will and +Testament of Charles Michael Haworth; a Statement made by Charles +Michael Haworth; and an Insurance Policy on the life of Charles Michael +Haworth. The Statement had been sworn to before a Notary Public (of +course without his learning anything of its purport) three days before +Haworth’s death, and was to the effect that he intended within a week +to take his own life and to do it by means of a mechanical contrivance +which he, and he alone, had devised and built for that purpose; that no +one but himself was in any way connected with, or responsible for, this +determination on his part, or involved in its carrying out, for he had +built the device with the utmost secrecy, locking himself into a room +in the basement of the house while at work on it, and allowing no one +to come near. His housekeeper, Mrs. Amelia Temple, had, he stated, been +aware of his labor in this room night and day for nearly two weeks, +though she could have had no knowledge of the character of the work he +was doing; and the butler, James Dreek, could not have been aware that +anything of the kind existed, as he arrived after the completion of the +machine and its sealing up inside the wall. + +He then went on to speak of the property he was leaving, mentioning +the eighteen-thousand-dollar Insurance Policy and the thirty-five +thousand dollars which was to be paid him by the firm of Harker & +Pentecost of New York, for one of his inventions which the said firm +had purchased—“a combination gas and compressed-air engine.” Following +that was only a brief paragraph to the effect that a little something +might be realized from the sale of a few pieces of machinery that were +still in his possession—but nothing worth writing down. + +The statement ended with that, but he had written a few lines on the +margin three days after it had been signed and sworn to. “This is to +say,” he wrote in a hand without sign of tremor (and it must have been +only a few hours before he reached in and set swinging that pendulum of +death), “that the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost have now paid what was due +me from them ($35,000) which amount (less the sum of $500 that I have +taken from it for a certain present requirement), as it is in bills, +and as Mr. Pentecost has cautioned me that there is danger of robbery, +I have had James Dreek conceal in the stone foundation at the northeast +corner of the barn in the rear of this house.” And to this marginal +memorandum he signed his initials. + +The will was simple and brief. After payment of debts, only two +bequests. “To my faithful and beloved friend Amelia Temple” was left +the sum of five thousand dollars—and the statement followed that all +the money in the world could not wipe out the debt he owed her. The +rest of his property went to Edith Carrington Findlay. + + * * * * * + +By this time you are likely to be aware that Mr. Hugo Pentecost of the +firm of Harker & Pentecost, Promoters, had something to do with the +unusual happenings in what might be a trifle incorrectly spoken of as +the Haworth Homicide Case. I’m inclined to doubt, though, whether you +quite appreciate the extent of his work. To say that he was behind +every move in the whole affair comes near to putting it mildly. + +When, on his first visit to the mansion, he went down into the basement +with Charles Haworth and got an idea of what the desperate and +half-crazed young man proposed to do, and the instrument with which +he intended to accomplish it, even he, a person never known to be +disturbed by danger, horror, or dilemma of any description, was near +to the experience of amazement. This, though, didn’t prevent him from +jumping in at once and making an earnest effort to dissuade the young +inventor from carrying out his gruesome enterprise. The realization +that Haworth couldn’t be persuaded out of it—indeed, that he was in a +mad frenzy to carry it through if only for the insurance money—struck +Pentecost at about the same time that there flashed into his mind a +most extraordinary “operation” that could be carried on in connection +with it. A born adventurer and intrepid explorer in the shady mazes of +criminality, keen for danger in unusual forms, to be baffled by unusual +and skillfully contrived defenses, with, of course, the chances of a +good haul to make it financially interesting, he was hardly the man to +throw down an unbelievably attractive proposition when he had it in his +hand. + +Mr. Harker added his own protests the first time he was at the house on +Torrington Road. He watched his opportunity and got Haworth aside—for +he didn’t want his partner to know what he was up to—and did his best +to induce the young fellow to abandon the grisly idea that seemed to +have taken possession of him. + +In the ordinary run of things, the only course left to the firm was +to turn a person having such unlawful designs on himself, over to the +police. But this happened not to be in the ordinary run of things. It +was distinctly extraordinary. Furthermore the firm alluded to wasn’t +in the business of turning unlawfully behaving citizens over to the +police. Quite and much otherwise. And the reason for this was because +it was composed of two conscienceless crime experts, one of them—the +controlling member—a consummate operator in strategic chicanery if +there ever was one on the earth. + + * * * * * + +Neither of the methods that Haworth had in mind for profiting by +the tragic act to which he was apparently driven by some desperate +need, had met the approval of Mr. Pentecost. One was based on a +life insurance policy which the young inventor had recently taken out, +having, by inquiry, found a company which was supposed to pay in such +cases; the other depended on the sale of a motion picture which should +be taken of the actual occurrence—showing not only the operation of the +machine, but, as well, depicting its frightful consequence. But this +master crook had declared himself willing to give both these things +a fair try-out and with every advantage he was able to command, if +the young man would consent, in return, to have his own (Pentecost’s) +extraordinary scheme go into operation. He would play Haworth’s ideas +to the limit, even though it involved the taking of the picture +himself—for he wasn’t going to let any of his men in for a job like +that. The ghastly situation might send any one of them up in the air. + +Mr. Pentecost’s scheme, which had struck him like a blow while Haworth +was explaining the working of the Machine, concerned and depended upon +the alleged spirits of the dead, as known through and represented by +persons who called themselves mediums; and it took him into a field +he’d long desired to negotiate—one where the hunting, he happened to +know, was exceedingly good. Furthermore, his astounding method of +handling the mediumistic output involved, was beyond anything dreamed +of before. + +You are doubtless acquainted with the fact that information concerning +the lives and the families of more or less prominent people who have +made the crossing to the other side—or who, for various undesirable +reasons, are expected soon to make it—is dealt in by a number of +bureaus or clearing houses for that class of goods. High prices are +paid by their customers (the mediums) for information of value, +and if the bureaus haven’t anything in stock as to the life and +characteristics of a person called for, they have facilities for +getting it without delay. + +But this thing of Pentecost’s, although of a decidedly spiritistic +nature, was by no means a matter of information about dead people; on +the contrary, it involved the sale to mediums of information which +dead people could get across—through them—about the living, and under +the most unusual circumstances. That’s where the great mercantile +possibilities came in, the operation of his scheme giving these spirit +communications such astonishing advertising value to mediums who passed +them through, that they’d pay almost any price to get them—if they +had it. In addition to this price down (on delivery as you might say) +he’d take—in each case and for a limited time—a slice of the increased +business which was sure to follow. + +It would have been entirely possible to sell out his “spirit +information” in a lump to one of the bureaus, but by handling it +personally he could take advantage of the immense increase in +advertising value as the Haworth case attracted more and more attention. + +To give these “messages” or “communications” an enormously high market +value was the object of the entire operation. What such value means +to professional mediums is realized by very few outside of spiritist +circles. I’m referring, of course, to those who practise the methods +alluded to. It has been said that there are others in the spirit game +who go perfectly straight and have a great time believing every word +they say; but if such is the case I don’t know where they live. + +A regular—or professional—medium will sometimes make a small +fortune on one skillful (and lucky) performance. To attract wealthy +clients, preferably those who have been hypnotized by the loss of +those who are dear to them—that’s the top of the game. And it’s the +unusual—the extraordinary—manifestations that do it. Taking this +into consideration, you will understand why the Pentecost messages, +before he got through with them, had run up into the twenty and thirty +thousands each. From asking three thousand in Montreal, and six of +Mrs. Belden in Boston, the price went up by jumps of five thousand. +This, together with the rake-off on increased business for two years +from every medium in the game, put Harker & Pentecost nicely to the +good—even though quite vast expenses, including the Haworth money, had +to come out of it. + +Using his gang of picked sharps (his correspondents you might call them +in the big cities) Pentecost could cull out the mediums who had the +money, and make his cash sales without difficulty; this same gang also +made prompt payment of percentages as near a certainty as such things +ever come. Extraordinary experiences in misfortune would overtake +anyone in any town or in any part of the country who tried to hold back +on him. And they knew it. It was made strikingly evident to them by the +“agents” who, under instructions, engineered the sales and delivered +the “spirit” messages at the precise time required. + +As to the vital matter of secrecy, no leakage could possibly occur, for +the very simple reason that there was nothing to leak. Not a medium in +the lot had the faintest idea where “the goods” came from nor what was +the manner of their origination. Even had one of them known, it would +hardly have been cause for alarm; this owing to the fact that the basic +principle in their guild is the keeping of things dark. + +Now you have the key to the whole affair. With it—if you haven’t been +picking the locks as we went along—you gentlemen can let yourselves +in on what the man was playing for at any stage of the game; and how +it came to pass that everybody concerned—public, police, witnesses +for the prosecution, reporters, editors, spiritists, jurors, lawyers, +even the District Attorney himself, and the Chief Inspector with his +choice assortment of plain-clothes men, were dancing for Hugo Pentecost +according as he pulled the strings. What was it if not that? Anyway, +you have the facts—call it what you like. And don’t imagine, when I +speak of this man’s scheme, that this consummate operator had a set +and rigid plan to be followed whether or no. On the contrary, his +arrangements were elastic to an extreme degree. If you’ll notice how it +went, he played each part of the thing _as far as it would safely go_, +and then pulled it back to the line with a voice from the tomb, as you +might say. Where one of several things might happen he had substitute +plays for each, every one carried back to the safety point in whatever +direction it went. Had old Mrs. Temple persisted in her refusal to +testify, notwithstanding the appealing spirit messages he’d carefully +planted, he was ready to work in another witness to the murder, to +Dreek’s being outside the house at the time, and to his own presence in +the room aiming the terrible black object (which was, of course, the +movie camera) at Haworth as the poor fellow stood lighting his pipe. If +the head end trainman hadn’t remembered getting him off the day coach +at the Grand Central Terminal in New York, and had failed to recognize +the boots he had shoved off the seat so many times, there was a waiter +at the lunch counter of the restaurant on the lower level who would +answer all purposes, owing to his (Pentecost’s) unusual behavior while +getting a cup of coffee at that place. + +The extreme importance of wrecking the alibi at the time required, +caused him to deal it two simultaneous smashes, either one of which +would have done the trick—barring accident. The boots might not have +been kept in the Lost Property Department of the Eastern Steamship +Lines, Inc. On the bare chance of their having been thrown away, +Operator’s License 2026 would bring the chauffeur into the case; up to +then he could have had no idea that his fare to Boston on that fateful +night was Hugo Pentecost. If Augustus Findlay had failed to take his +revolver with him as he plunged madly away from the house, the fight in +Collamore Street almost directly under Mr. Rathbun’s window would have +gone on just the same; the only readjustment being that Pentecost’s +man would have picked up the gun wherever Findlay dropped it—whether +at the mansion or on the road—and brought it along, making it appear +in the struggle that he got it away from the terrified boob; so there +it would be, finger marks and all, ready to shove up in the water +conductor. And if you imagine that it was any kind of an accident when +Mr. Pentecost tipped up his pocket flashlight and gave the old woman a +glimpse of his face as she came toward him in the pitch-dark room just +after the Machine had done its deadly work; or that the roller shades +being not quite down was a matter of chance; or a hundred and one +things like that, call it off and take a new start. + +I saw it troubled both you gentlemen when that carefully constructed +alibi began to crumble. The first thing that occurred to you must +have been an inquiry as to why all the trouble and ingenuity expended +on planting it, if an old pair of boots or an operator’s license was +going to throw it down. But your second thought was undoubtedly quite +different, for unless I’m mistaken, you soon realized that not only +was that fake alibi one of the most effective advertising nuts for +the spirits to crack, but vastly more important than that, it was the +veritable backbone that was to hold up the entire Pentecost operation. +Without it they’d have picked him up that same night or early the next +morning, and the mediums—with the possible exception of Mr. Ernest +Everett Blatchford of West Philadelphia—wouldn’t have had any play at +all. + +If you’re financially minded, it might seem unbelievable that +two such seasoned sharps as Harker and Pentecost would let a +thirty-five-thousand bundle of bills go out of their hands with the +chance against them that the Machine might not function or that +Haworth wouldn’t stand up to the grisly game he’d set himself to play. +It wouldn’t be at all surprising if the young fellow, when he got right +up against it, were to go mad; indeed, both partners had a notion he +was half there already. But do you notice that this money never did +go out of their hands—that, as the crucial time approached, Pentecost +had Dreek outside the house where he could instantly seize on it at a +signal from inside—and that he himself was inside? + +But neither this nor the taking of the motion picture accounted so +much for Pentecost’s presence in the room at the crucial moment +as the absolute necessity of his being seen there by a competent +witness in order to make the case against him have the look of being +incontestable. His trial for murder was the final play, and he’d begun +laying lines for it at his very first interview with the Inspector, +adroitly behaving, on that occasion, in a manner calculated to awaken +the suspicion that he’d been connected in some way with the crime, +even though the alibi—at that time unshaken and to all appearances +unshakable—blocked any idea of his having committed it himself. + +I won’t go any further with small details as to Pentecost’s methods +of operation. But I’ll ask you to take it from me that from the time +he staggered—to all appearances a semi-intoxicated coal heaver or +something like that—into telephone booth 19 at the South Station in +Boston, just before boarding the night train for New York, and calling +up Pemberton Square (that is to say, headquarters) told the official in +charge that a man named Pentecost who was supposed to have embarked for +New York that afternoon on the Steamer _North Land_ had been seen near +the Haworth house just before the murder that evening, and suggested +that it might be a good idea to have the New York police verify this +on arrival of the steamer there (thus, as you’ll see, making his alibi +official in a certain sense by bringing in the New York detectives +as witnesses to it), to the moment of his having himself put on the +witness stand and reciting his fake statement before the court, his +hand never for one instant left the throttle. + +Notwithstanding all this, he found time, during that stressful period, +without personally appearing in the matter or indeed ever meeting +her, to have everything possible attended to for Edith Findlay. All +things tending to her comfort and well-being were arranged for: a nurse +brought from the hospital to take care of her and manage everything +about the house; Augustus Findlay permanently eliminated by having such +a fright thrown into him that the entire continent of North America was +thenceforth relieved of his weight upon it, with South America standing +a good chance of equal immunity; and finally (it was some weeks before +the Pentecost trial came on) her departure, with little Mildred and two +nurses, to one of the most highly recommended places in the Austrian +Alps. + + * * * * * + +At once after his acquittal Mr. Pentecost did his best—as he’d promised +Haworth he would—with the $18,000 life insurance and the more than +gruesome “movie”—which he had himself taken. The former he succeeded +in collecting after a campaign of sharp practice devoted to it; the +latter—as he’d figured from the start—stood no chance with censors +and the inter-state people. He got a few thousand for it from the +“bootleggers” of padlocked films who smuggle them across state lines +and put them in the “private show” programs. These things, with the +$51,000, and odd which was Haworth’s share on his percentage of profits +on the game, more than doubled the total of deposits to the credit of +Edith Findlay in the bank which had been designated to take care of her +property. While no mention of this percentage was made in the contract +between Haworth and the firm, it was one of those things that Pentecost +would have paid though it reduced him to penury. + +When you say—as you’re more or less liable to if I give you the +chance—that this man was a surprising combination of characteristics, +you will have spoken the truth. Not quite so surprising, though, when +you come to reflect that every man is that—more or less—if he has any +characteristics worth considering. + +And while we’re speaking of it, it’s just as well for you to know that +the man was taking all this care of Edith Findlay’s interests—as well +as of Edith Findlay herself, solely and entirely because of Haworth. +Something about the fellow had appealed to him in a peculiar way. + +As the matter stood there was no possibility of Edith’s ever knowing +that the money coming to her—aside from the insurance—was other than +the amounts realized from the sale of one of Haworth’s mechanical +inventions. This was shown by Haworth’s contract with the firm and by +the receipt he gave for the cash payment, as well as implied in his +statement and will. The tragic truth of the matter, which might have +affected her disastrously both mentally and physically, as well as +undoubtedly preventing her from touching a penny of the inheritance, +was safely locked up with the firm of Harker & Pentecost. + +For several months all went well. According to the doctors there, +Edith’s condition was improving. Then a cable that was rather +disquieting. A slight turn for the worse. Probably only temporary. Must +expect ups and downs. + +This talk about temporary ups and downs was nothing to Pentecost. He +found, after some drastic searching, a high-up specialist who would +go over. He felt that an American patient ought to have an American +doctor. Whatever you say, races are different and need different +treatment. + +He met the doctor at the steamer on his return and they had a talk in +the latter’s cabin while the baggage was coming off. The gist of the +physician’s report was that while Mrs. Findlay was in a much better +condition as far as the disease itself was concerned, and ought to go +right on improving, her present mental activity was holding her back. +This had not been the case heretofore, as the shock of the affair had, +in a certain sense, stunned her. For several months she seemed hazy +about it all, but recently things were becoming clearer to her, which +was unfortunate. Everything was being done to divert her mind, but it +was an obstinate case—she didn’t want it diverted. + +“What does she want?” Pentecost inquired. + +“Well—it amounts to this: She’s made up her mind to die and so far +there’s no shaking her determination.” + +“I wish I had her here,” said Pentecost. + +Two weeks after that a cable reached him signed by Edith Findlay +herself, begging him to come over as soon as he possibly could—utmost +importance that she see him before the end, which was near. + +He was on the next steamer going out. + +Mr. Pentecost was sitting by the side of her bed. The nurse had told +her his name before he came in, but for quite a time she couldn’t +remember who he was or why he was there. Perceiving this, the nurse +came in from the adjoining room and explained that it was the gentleman +who’d been so kind in attending to everything for her, and that he’d +come all the way from New York because she’d asked to see him. + +“Oh, you—you came from America!” Her voice was faint and far away. + +He said “Yes” softly. + +The nurse had retired again to the next room. + +“Did——” Edith glanced about searching for some one—then her eyes came +back to him. “Did he come with you?” + +“No.” + +“Isn’t that strange!” She spoke hardly above a whisper. “Oh, it _is_ so +strange! But he’s coming! He’s coming just as soon as he sets up the +machine and regulates it—that was in the contract you know!” + +“Yes Mrs. Findlay, but it’ll take quite a while yet.” + +“Oh, will it? It seems so long! I can’t understand why they keep him so +long!” + +“You mustn’t worry yourself about it.” + +“Oh no—no, I mustn’t! But it does seem as if they’d be through by +this time!” She lay quiet for a little—her eyes closed. Then suddenly +turning her head on the pillow she looked at him again. + +“How long did it take to get here?” she asked. + +“Ten days, but I didn’t get a very fast steamer.” + +“Yes, I see. Maybe he took a slow one. But I’m expecting him very soon +now—very soon.” + +She went on for a little, asking questions about the detention of +the one she expected—the length of time it would take to regulate the +machine he’d sold—whether a fast steamer would be leaving when it +was finished, and other fancies like that, to all of which Pentecost +replied briefly and in a low voice. He was waiting his chance. + +She’d been lying back against the pillows, but rather suddenly in the +midst of her questioning she stopped and sat up erect in the bed, +staring at him. “Oh——” she finally breathed. “I thought you—I didn’t +know——Are you Mr. Pentecost?” + +“Yes, Mrs. Findlay.” + +“They—they said so, but I didn’t seem to——” She glanced about, +thinking; then her eyes were fixed on him again. “You were so good to +come,” she whispered painfully. + +He saw that the merciless memories were coming back to her. + +“You—you can be such a help to me—if you will—such a help! It’s +something that——” She broke off, and raising her head a little from the +pillow, glanced at the door into the nurse’s room. “Would you shut it, +please?” + +Pentecost carefully closed the door—then returned to his chair by her +side. + +“I want to ask you to do something for me, Mr. Pentecost—because—you +see—they think I’m going to get well—but it isn’t so—no,” (shaking her +head a little on the pillow) “it isn’t so.” + +Pentecost sat looking at her with a peculiar glint in his prominent +eyes, but said nothing. + +“I tell you,” she went on after a momentary pause, “because you—you’re +the only one I can trust.” + +“Where did you get that idea?” + +“_He_ told me. It was in a letter he left. He said you were his friend, +the only friend he had except the old woman who took care of him, and +that I must trust you in everything.” + +“In view of this, Mrs. Findlay, tell me in what way I can be of +service?” + +“Mr. Pentecost, what will become of my little Mildred?” + +“It strikes me” (in a suddenly sharp, penetrating voice) “you’re the +one to answer that.” + +She looked at him in amazement. + +“I?” she finally asked in a faint voice. + +“Who else?” he inquired. “Aren’t you the one who’s proposing to abandon +her?” + +“Abandon——!” (With a slight gasp.) “Why——How——You don’t mean——” + +“Well what would you call it?” + +“No—no—no! Oh, wait! Let me tell you!” (With all her earnestness she +could hardly do more than whisper.) “Oh, I couldn’t stay—I don’t want +to!” She shook her head a little on the pillow. “He’s gone—gone! The +thought of it is killing me. I want to go. I want to be where he is!” + +“How do you know where he is?” Pentecost’s voice cut in like a knife. + +She stared at him in astonishment. + +“My religion tells me that, Mr. Pentecost,” she whispered, reverently. + +“And does this religion of yours omit to tell you where your daughter +is?” + +“Oh yes—yes!—that’s why I wanted to see you. That’s why I——” She broke +off and glanced distressfully about the room. + +“You seem to have made up your mind to leave her,” Pentecost observed. + +Edith was silent. + +“Aren’t the living of some consequence,” he went on, “or is it only the +dead we have to consider?” + +“No no—that’s wrong! I hadn’t forgotten her! Oh, how can you _think_ +such a thing, when it was about her that I wanted to see you—just about +her—nothing else!” + +“What can _I_ do?” + +“I hope—I hope you’ll consent to take her—to take care of her! I don’t +know who else to ask—and he told me to trust in you—about everything. +If I can only know she’ll be with you I shall die happy!” + +Pentecost suddenly turned and blazed out upon her—something as he used +to do in the Chicago days when he leaped, tigerlike, on a victim in the +witness stand. + +“What is it to me whether you die happy or not! Whatever I can do in +this affair I’m doing on account of someone else—not for you Mrs. +Findlay! You cut no figure with me—why in God’s name should you? I’ve +never laid eyes on you before—and now I come to see you it looks to +me like a cursed low-down play you’re making, that while I’m doing +my best to carry out everything he wanted, you’re lying here doing +_your_ best to block his game! That’s just what you’re doing, Mrs. +Findlay,—pitching the fulfillment of his most vital wish into the +discard!” + +“Why I——Why you——” She couldn’t go on. + +“Look, then—look at this! The one thing in the world he wanted money +for—the reason he was mad and crazy and demented to sell his machine +and get it, was so he could send you here and do everything on earth to +save your life! He lived for that—nothing else—it was the one thought +that possessed him! He made a will to make it certain that—if anything +happened to him—the money would be used for that and nothing else. And +after all this—which you know as well as I do, I come over here and +find you deliberately throwing away all he worked for and hoped for +and—for all I know—prayed for. Of course if you’re bound to go against +it I’ll do what I can about the child—though God knows the little one +needs you. It all rests with you, Mrs. Findlay. The head medical sharp +that came over, tells me it isn’t the disease that’s killing you—it’s +yourself. He says you’ve made up your mind to die—you’re determined to +do it—and that play’s certainly going to take the trick if you sit in +the game long enough. It’s up to you to quit that if you want to do the +right thing by the dead——and by the living.” + +Pentecost rose and took her thin little hand in his. “I’ll say good-by, +Mrs. Findlay,” he said in an altered tone. “They’ll keep me informed” +(motioning toward the nurse’s room) “of which way the cards fall, and +I’ll act accordingly.” + +As he reached the door he thought he heard her call to him faintly, and +went back to see if it was so. She was looking up at him as he stood by +the bed, and tried to speak—but only her lips moved. He bent nearer to +catch what she said. + +“I’ll try,” she whispered. + +He took her hand again. + +“There’s some sense to that Mrs. Findlay,” he said; and after looking +down into her eyes a moment he laid her hand back on the coverlet +where he’d found it, and quietly left the room. + +It was still early enough to get the afternoon train out—which he did. + + * * * * * + +A few days short of a month after Mr. Pentecost’s brief visit to the +Austrian Alps, he walked, one wintry afternoon, into the office of the +firm, having come direct from a trans-Atlantic steamer—just docked. +Wasting no more time on salutations than he usually did—which was +precisely none at all, he quickly got Harker into the small inner +office—sometimes referred to by the staff as the dissecting room—and +after pushing him into a chair and drawing one for himself close to it, +began talking to him in tones that were subdued to the limit. + +“We’re moving the office to London,” he said, “—and inside of +twenty-one days. I’ve got something I want to put on over there. I’ll +need most of the office force—especially Finch Dugas—and I’m taking +eleven of the boys.” (By which he meant his “trusties.”) + +“What’s the matter,” Harker inquired; “can’t you play it with the +natives?” + +“You’re dippy! Hasn’t the Yard got their numbers?” + +“Sure—the Yard’s got everything. And take it from me if you’re going up +against that layout you’ve got to watch your step and then some!” + +“Now, Roxy—you’ve hit on the one thing that’s doing the pull on me. As +I was over on that side I thought I’d come home by way of London and +take a look around. While I was doing it a little something crossed my +mind that looked to me as if it might interest ’em. That being so, we +play it.” + +“Don’t say _we_. Maybe _you’ll_ play it, I don’t know; but if this +London scheme you’re pulling off is one of your favorite flirtations +with the undertaker, I declare myself out of it here and now. I can get +myself nicely hung in the U. S. A. without going abroad for it—and I’d +just as soon patronize home industries.” + +“Not a killing to it I give you my word,” Pentecost assured him. “We +play a corpse for two or three moves, but it’s handed to us—no chance +of a line across—they’ll have the guy that did it. Now every one of +us comes in from different places—I go round and get across from +Stockholm—you and Dugas make it from Rio—plenty of time as you don’t +play in till near the finish. Kennedy makes it from Holland—” and he +went on laying out the “game” with Harker to the uttermost detail. + +Three days later Pentecost (but not _as_ Pentecost) embarked on a +Swedish-American Line steamer. Harker was at the dock getting final +instructions (of course he was going in on it as Pentecost knew he +would), and there was a vast lot of things to do in a limited time. + +The two stood talking on the pier, hidden by piled-up crates and boxes, +yet only a short distance from the gangplank so that Pentecost could go +on board at the last moment. When they had about finished up matters +connected with the London “operation,” Harker happened to think of +something. + +“Oh—by the way,” he said; “how was that lady you went over to see?” + +“Not so well,” Pentecost muttered in a way that suggested aversion to +talking about it. + +But Harker, not affected by this, cheerfully pursued the subject. + +“Going to die?” he asked. + +“Had it all fixed to.” (Speaking very shortly.) + +“Who? Who do you mean had it fixed?” + +“She did.” + +“Oh—I see—she wanted to.” + +“Yes, and her wanting was _doing_ it. The doctors were hunting some way +to shake her up, and left it to me. So I went in and gave her a jolt or +two that might change her mind.” + +“What did you say?” + +“Anything I could grab off the line.” + +“Then she’s going to get well, is she?” + +“How the hell do I know?” + +Pentecost had put an end to the subject with that, but after a silence +of some little time, he went on,—and Harker took notice of a most +unusual softness in his voice. + +“D’you know what I’d do, Hark, if I had it to do again—that is, if I +knew what it was that was eating him?” + +Harker—surprised at his tone—kept his eyes on him for the answer. + +“I’d ’a’ framed that Findlay soak for a twenty-year jack in a nice cool +cell, and then staked those two out in the mountains—or wherever it was +she had to go.” + +“I thought you did know.” + +“Not till too late. It was in a letter he left for me with Jamie Dreek.” + +The two stood looking at one another. + +“Well,” said Harker after a brief silence; “what’s the good of post +mortems?” + +Pentecost nodded. “What’s the good?” he muttered. + +A moment later he was hurrying on board, and with that came the end of +this “Pentecost Episode.” + + * * * * * + + _I take the liberty of adding a brief statement._ + + H. McC. + +Dudley sat smoking heavily and abstractedly after Mr. Barnes had +finished a few business details with me, and after shaking hands with +both of us, had gone. I was to take a night express for New York, as my +time was up. We’d just got it in on the ten-day limit. + +I saw that Duds had something on his mind—puffing away at his pipe and +staring down at the floor—so, as there was plenty of time before my +train I let him alone. He looked up at me after a wink, in the manner +of rousing himself. + +“D’you know who that was that just went out?” he asked. + +“What?—Oh!—Why Barnes of course!” + +“No.” He shook his head. “Not Barnes of course, but some one else of +course. I’ve been keeping a few tabs on the man that’s been telling us +all this stuff, and there’s four things—with a possibility of five—that +no one on earth could know but Hugo Pentecost.” + +“Good Lord!... Why ... then you think——” + +“That’s it—I think.—But I’m going to make sure. He’s in town yet. I’ll +drop you a line to-morrow.” + +The “line” reached me a couple of days later. + +“It _was_ Pentecost,” was the statement it began with. And went on: +“That is, I mean it was the man that was—he’s something else now. He’s +in business abroad, and taking a steamer from here. His agent (or +‘trusty’ if you like) is going to get the manuscript from you when you +write it out. Take my advice and put in all this at the end of the +thing. It needs some sort of a finish, and this might do. If he doesn’t +like it he can cut it out when he gets the proof—and you can bet he’ll +get it. + +“Couldn’t make him tell the sort of an enterprise he’s on over +there—says maybe he will sometime. + +“It seems the girl—Edith Findlay—is making a slow recovery. I asked him +how the book would affect her if she got hold of it, and he said it +wouldn’t do her any harm by then. ‘And by God!’ he went on, ‘it’s just +as well for her to know—now she’s able to stand it—that such a man as +Charles Michael Haworth went happily and eagerly to his death, so that +she might live. You’d think she might run through her life on that, and +ask for nothing more. But probably not.’” + + +THE END + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + pg 358 Changed: faintly wavering in the darknenss + to: faintly wavering in the darkness + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75646 *** |