Initial commitHEADmain

9 files changed, 19857 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d7b82bc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,4 @@
+*.txt text eol=lf
+*.htm text eol=lf
+*.html text eol=lf
+*.md text eol=lf
diff --git a/75827-0.txt b/75827-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..295ca5b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75827-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,9554 @@
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75827 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+                      LUKUNDOO AND OTHER STORIES
+
+
+                          EDWARD LUCAS WHITE
+
+
+
+                               LUKUNDOO
+                          _AND OTHER STORIES_
+
+
+
+
+                                  BY
+                          EDWARD LUCAS WHITE
+
+
+                              _Author of_
+                   “EL SUPREMO,” “ANDIVIUS HEDULIO,”
+                             “HELEN,” ETC.
+
+
+
+
+                        GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
+                      ON MURRAY HILL : : NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+                     COPYRIGHT, 1906, 1925, 1927,
+                         BY EDWARD LUCAS WHITE
+
+
+
+                COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY THE BELLMAN COMPANY
+              COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY HENRY RIDDER, PUBLISHER
+
+
+
+
+                      LUKUNDOO AND OTHER STORIES
+                                 --A--
+                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+                               CONTENTS
+
+
+ I LUKUNDOO,                                                   9
+
+ II FLOKI’S BLADE,                                            31
+
+ III THE PICTURE PUZZLE,                                      75
+
+ IV THE SNOUT,                                                97
+
+ V ALFANDEGA 49A,                                            145
+
+ VI THE MESSAGE ON THE SLATE,                                171
+
+ VII AMINA,                                                  219
+
+ VIII THE PIG-SKIN BELT,                                     237
+
+ IX THE HOUSE OF THE NIGHTMARE,                              281
+
+ X SORCERY ISLAND,                                           297
+
+ AFTERWORD,                                                  327
+
+
+
+
+                               LUKUNDOO
+
+
+
+
+                               LUKUNDOO
+
+
+IT STANDS to reason,” said Twombly, “that a man must accept the
+evidence of his own eyes, and when eyes and ears agree, there can be no
+doubt. He has to believe what he has both seen and heard.”
+
+“Not always,” put in Singleton, softly.
+
+Every man turned toward Singleton. Twombly was standing on the
+hearth-rug, his back to the grate, his legs spread out, with his
+habitual air of dominating the room. Singleton, as usual, was as much
+as possible effaced in a corner. But when Singleton spoke he said
+something. We faced him in that flattering spontaneity of expectant
+silence which invites utterance.
+
+“I was thinking,” he said, after an interval, “of something I both saw
+and heard in Africa.”
+
+Now, if there was one thing we had found impossible it had been to
+elicit from Singleton anything definite about his African experiences.
+As with the Alpinist in the story, who could tell only that he went
+up and came down, the sum of Singleton’s revelations had been that he
+went there and came away. His words now riveted our attention at once.
+Twombly faded from the hearth-rug, but not one of us could ever recall
+having seen him go. The room readjusted itself, focused on Singleton,
+and there was some hasty and furtive lighting of fresh cigars.
+Singleton lit one also, but it went out immediately, and he never relit
+it.
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+We were in the Great Forest, exploring for pigmies. Van Rieten had
+a theory that the dwarfs found by Stanley and others were a mere
+cross-breed between ordinary negroes and the real pigmies. He hoped
+to discover a race of men three feet tall at most, or shorter. We had
+found no trace of any such beings.
+
+Natives were few; game scarce; food, except game, there was none; and
+the deepest, dankest, drippingest forest all about. We were the only
+novelty in the country, no native we met had even seen a white man
+before, most had never heard of white men. All of a sudden, late one
+afternoon, there came into our camp an Englishman, and pretty well used
+up he was, too. We had heard no rumor of him; he had not only heard
+of us but had made an amazing five-day march to reach us. His guide
+and two bearers were nearly as done up as he. Even though he was in
+tatters and had five days’ beard on, you could see he was naturally
+dapper and neat and the sort of man to shave daily. He was small, but
+wiry. His face was the sort of British face from which emotion has been
+so carefully banished that a foreigner is apt to think the wearer of
+the face incapable of any sort of feeling; the kind of face which, if
+it has any expression at all, expresses principally the resolution to
+go through the world decorously, without intruding upon or annoying
+anyone.
+
+His name was Etcham. He introduced himself modestly, and ate with us so
+deliberately that we should never have suspected, if our bearers had
+not had it from his bearers, that he had had but three meals in the
+five days, and those small. After we had lit up he told us why he had
+come.
+
+“My chief is ve’y seedy,” he said between puffs. “He is bound to go out
+if he keeps this way. I thought perhaps....”
+
+He spoke quietly in a soft, even tone, but I could see little beads of
+sweat oozing out on his upper lip under his stubby mustache, and there
+was a tingle of repressed emotion in his tone, a veiled eagerness in
+his eye, a palpitating inward solicitude in his demeanor that moved me
+at once. Van Rieten had no sentiment in him; if he was moved he did
+not show it. But he listened. I was surprised at that. He was just the
+man to refuse at once. But he listened to Etcham’s halting, diffident
+hints. He even asked questions.
+
+“Who is your chief?”
+
+“Stone,” Etcham lisped.
+
+That electrified both of us.
+
+“Ralph Stone?” we ejaculated together.
+
+Etcham nodded.
+
+For some minutes Van Rieten and I were silent. Van Rieten had never
+seen him, but I had been a classmate of Stone’s, and Van Rieten and I
+had discussed him over many a camp-fire. We had heard of him two years
+before, south of Luebo in the Balunda country, which had been ringing
+with his theatrical strife against a Balunda witch-doctor, ending in
+the sorcerer’s complete discomfiture and the abasement of his tribe
+before Stone. They had even broken the fetish-man’s whistle and given
+Stone the pieces. It had been like the triumph of Elijah over the
+prophets of Baal, only more real to the Balunda.
+
+We had thought of Stone as far off, if still in Africa at all, and here
+he turned up ahead of us and probably forestalling our quest.
+
+
+                                  II
+
+
+Etcham’s naming of Stone brought back to us all his tantalizing
+story, his fascinating parents, their tragic death; the brilliance
+of his college days; the dazzle of his millions; the promise of his
+young manhood; his wide notoriety, so nearly real fame; his romantic
+elopement with the meteoric authoress whose sudden cascade of fiction
+had made her so great a name so young, whose beauty and charm were so
+much heralded; the frightful scandal of the breach-of-promise suit
+that followed; his bride’s devotion through it all; their sudden
+quarrel after it was all over; their divorce; the too much advertised
+announcement of his approaching marriage to the plaintiff in the
+breach-of-promise suit; his precipitate remarriage to his divorced
+bride; their second quarrel and second divorce; his departure from his
+native land; his advent in the dark continent. The sense of all this
+rushed over me and I believe Van Rieten felt it, too, as he sat silent.
+
+Then he asked:
+
+“Where is Werner?”
+
+“Dead,” said Etcham. “He died before I joined Stone.”
+
+“You were not with Stone above Luebo?”
+
+“No,” said Etcham, “I joined him at Stanley Falls.”
+
+“Who is with him?” Van Rieten asked.
+
+“Only his Zanzibar servants and the bearers,” Etcham replied.
+
+“What sort of bearers?” Van Rieten demanded.
+
+“Mang-Battu men,” Etcham responded simply.
+
+Now that impressed both Van Rieten and myself greatly. It bore out
+Stone’s reputation as a notable leader of men. For up to that time no
+one had been able to use Mang-Battu as bearers outside of their own
+country, or to hold them for long or difficult expeditions.
+
+“Were you long among the Mang-Battu?” was Van Rieten’s next question.
+
+“Some weeks,” said Etcham. “Stone was interested in them and made up a
+fair-sized vocabulary of their words and phrases. He had a theory that
+they are an offshoot of the Balunda and he found much confirmation in
+their customs.”
+
+“What do you live on?” Van Rieten inquired.
+
+“Game, mostly,” Etcham lisped.
+
+“How long has Stone been laid up?” Van Rieten next asked.
+
+“More than a month,” Etcham answered.
+
+“And you have been hunting for the camp!” Van Rieten exclaimed.
+
+Etcham’s face, burnt and flayed as it was, showed a flush.
+
+“I missed some easy shots,” he admitted ruefully. “I’ve not felt ve’y
+fit myself.”
+
+“What’s the matter with your chief?” Van Rieten inquired.
+
+“Something like carbuncles,” Etcham replied.
+
+“He ought to get over a carbuncle or two,” Van Rieten declared.
+
+“They are not carbuncles,” Etcham explained. “Nor one or two. He has
+had dozens, sometimes five at once. If they had been carbuncles he
+would have been dead long ago. But in some ways they are not so bad,
+though in others they are worse.”
+
+“How do you mean?” Van Rieten queried.
+
+“Well,” Etcham hesitated, “they do not seem to inflame so deep nor so
+wide as carbuncles, nor to be so painful, nor to cause so much fever.
+But then they seem to be part of a disease that affects his mind. He
+let me help him dress the first, but the others he has hidden most
+carefully, from me and from the men. He keeps his tent when they puff
+up, and will not let me change the dressings or be with him at all.”
+
+“Have you plenty of dressings?” Van Rieten asked.
+
+“We have some,” said Etcham doubtfully. “But he won’t use them; he
+washes out the dressings and uses them over and over.”
+
+“How is he treating the swellings?” Van Rieten inquired.
+
+“He slices them off clear down to flesh level, with his razor.”
+
+“What?” Van Rieten shouted.
+
+Etcham made no answer but looked him steadily in the eyes.
+
+“I beg pardon,” Van Rieten hastened to say. “You startled me. They
+can’t be carbuncles. He’d have been dead long ago.”
+
+“I thought I had said they are not carbuncles,” Etcham lisped.
+
+“But the man must be crazy!” Van Rieten exclaimed.
+
+“Just so,” said Etcham. “He is beyond my advice or control.”
+
+“How many has he treated that way?” Van Rieten demanded.
+
+“Two, to my knowledge,” Etcham said.
+
+“Two?” Van Rieten queried.
+
+Etcham flushed again.
+
+“I saw him,” he confessed, “through a crack in the hut. I felt impelled
+to keep a watch on him, as if he was not responsible.”
+
+“I should think not,” Van Rieten agreed. “And you saw him do that
+twice?”
+
+“I conjecture,” said Etcham, “that he did the like with all the rest.”
+
+“How many has he had?” Van Rieten asked.
+
+“Dozens,” Etcham lisped.
+
+“Does he eat?” Van Rieten inquired.
+
+“Like a wolf,” said Etcham. “More than any two bearers.”
+
+“Can he walk?” Van Rieten asked.
+
+“He crawls a bit, groaning,” said Etcham simply.
+
+“Little fever, you say,” Van Rieten ruminated.
+
+“Enough and too much,” Etcham declared.
+
+“Has he been delirious?” Van Rieten asked.
+
+“Only twice,” Etcham replied; “once when the first swelling broke, and
+once later. He would not let anyone come near him then. But we could
+hear him talking, talking steadily, and it scared the natives.”
+
+“Was he talking their patter in delirium?” Van Rieten demanded.
+
+“No,” said Etcham, “but he was talking some similar lingo. Hamed
+Burghash said he was talking Balunda. I know too little Balunda. I do
+not learn languages readily. Stone learned more Mang-Battu in a week
+than I could have learned in a year. But I seemed to hear words like
+Mang-Battu words. Anyhow the Mang-Battu bearers were scared.”
+
+“Scared?” Van Rieten repeated, questioningly.
+
+“So were the Zanzibar men, even Hamed Burghash, and so was I,” said
+Etcham, “only for a different reason. He talked in two voices.”
+
+“In two voices,” Van Rieten reflected.
+
+“Yes,” said Etcham, more excitedly than he had yet spoken. “In two
+voices, like a conversation. One was his own, one a small, thin, bleaty
+voice like nothing I ever heard. I seemed to make out, among the
+sounds the deep voice made, something like Mang-Battu words I knew,
+as _nedru_, _metebaba_, and _nedo_, their terms for
+‘head,’ ‘shoulder,’ ‘thigh,’ and perhaps _kudra_ and _nekere_
+(‘speak’ and ‘whistle’); and among the noises of the shrill voice
+_matomipa_, _angunzi_, and _kamomami_ (‘kill,’ ‘death,’
+and ‘hate’). Hamed Burghash said he also heard those words. He knew
+Mang-Battu far better than I.”
+
+“What did the bearers say?” Van Rieten asked.
+
+“They said, ‘_Lukundoo, Lukundoo!_’” Etcham replied. “I did not
+know that word; Hamed Burghash said it was Mang-Battu for ‘leopard.’”
+
+“It’s Mang-Battu for ‘witchcraft,’” said Van Rieten.
+
+“I don’t wonder they thought so,” said Etcham. “It was enough to make
+one believe in sorcery to listen to those two voices.”
+
+“One voice answering the other?” Van Rieten asked perfunctorily.
+
+Etcham’s face went gray under his tan.
+
+“Sometimes both at once,” he answered huskily.
+
+“Both at once!” Van Rieten ejaculated.
+
+“It sounded that way to the men, too,” said Etcham. “And that was not
+all.”
+
+He stopped and looked helplessly at us for a moment.
+
+“Could a man talk and whistle at the same time?” he asked.
+
+“How do you mean?” Van Rieten queried.
+
+“We could hear Stone talking away, his big, deep-chested baritone
+rumbling along, and through it all we could hear a high, shrill
+whistle, the oddest, wheezy sound. You know, no matter how shrilly
+a grown man may whistle, the note has a different quality from the
+whistle of a boy or a woman or little girl. They sound more treble,
+somehow. Well, if you can imagine the smallest girl who could whistle
+keeping it up tunelessly right along, that whistle was like that, only
+even more piercing, and it sounded right through Stone’s bass tones.”
+
+“And you didn’t go to him?” Van Rieten cried.
+
+“He is not given to threats,” Etcham disclaimed. “But he had
+threatened, not volubly, nor like a sick man, but quietly and firmly,
+that if any man of us (he lumped me in with the men), came near him
+while he was in his trouble, that man should die. And it was not
+so much his words as his manner. It was like a monarch commanding
+respected privacy for a death-bed. One simply could not transgress.”
+
+“I see,” said Van Rieten shortly.
+
+“He’s ve’y seedy,” Etcham repeated helplessly. “I thought perhaps....”
+
+His absorbing affection for Stone, his real love for him, shone out
+through his envelope of conventional training. Worship of Stone was
+plainly his master passion.
+
+Like many competent men, Van Rieten had a streak of hard selfishness
+in him. It came to the surface then. He said we carried our lives in
+our hands from day to day just as genuinely as Stone; that he did
+not forget the ties of blood and calling between any two explorers,
+but that there was no sense in imperiling one party for a very
+problematical benefit to a man probably beyond any help; that it was
+enough of a task to hunt for one party; that if two were united,
+providing food would be more than doubly difficult; that the risk
+of starvation was too great. Deflecting our march seven full days’
+journey (he complimented Etcham on his marching powers) might ruin our
+expedition entirely.
+
+
+                                  III
+
+
+Van Rieten had logic on his side and he had a way with him. Etcham sat
+there apologetic and deferential, like a fourth-form schoolboy before a
+head master. Van Rieten wound up.
+
+“I am after pigmies, at the risk of my life. After pigmies I go.”
+
+“Perhaps, then, these will interest you,” said Etcham, very quietly.
+
+He took two objects out of the sidepocket of his blouse, and handed
+them to Van Rieten. They were round, bigger than big plums, and smaller
+than small peaches, about the right size to enclose in an average
+hand. They were black, and at first I did not see what they were.
+
+“Pigmies!” Van Rieten exclaimed. “Pigmies, indeed! Why, they wouldn’t
+be two feet high! Do you mean to claim that these are adult heads?”
+
+“I claim nothing,” Etcham answered evenly. “You can see for yourself.”
+
+Van Rieten passed one of the heads to me. The sun was just setting and
+I examined it closely. A dried head it was, perfectly preserved, and
+the flesh as hard as Argentine jerked beef. A bit of a vertebra stuck
+out where the muscles of the vanished neck had shriveled into folds.
+The puny chin was sharp on a projecting jaw, the minute teeth white and
+even between the retracted lips, the tiny nose was flat, the little
+forehead retreating, there were inconsiderable clumps of stunted wool
+on the Lilliputian cranium. There was nothing babyish, childish or
+youthful about the head, rather it was mature to senility.
+
+“Where did these come from?” Van Rieten inquired.
+
+“I do not know,” Etcham replied precisely. “I found them among Stone’s
+effects while rummaging for medicines or drugs or anything that could
+help me to help him. I do not know where he got them. But I’ll swear he
+did not have them when we entered this district.”
+
+“Are you sure?” Van Rieten queried, his eyes big and fixed on Etcham’s.
+
+“Ve’y sure,” lisped Etcham.
+
+“But how could he have come by them without your knowledge?” Van Rieten
+demurred.
+
+“Sometimes we were apart ten days at a time hunting,” said Etcham.
+“Stone is not a talking man. He gave me no account of his doings and
+Hamed Burghash keeps a still tongue and a tight hold on the men.”
+
+“You have examined these heads?” Van Rieten asked.
+
+“Minutely,” said Etcham.
+
+Van Rieten took out his notebook. He was a methodical chap. He tore out
+a leaf, folded it and divided it equally into three pieces. He gave one
+to me and one to Etcham.
+
+“Just for a test of my impressions,” he said, “I want each of us to
+write separately just what he is most reminded of by these heads. Then
+I want to compare the writings.”
+
+I handed Etcham a pencil and he wrote. Then he handed the pencil back
+to me and I wrote.
+
+“Read the three,” said Van Rieten, handing me his piece.
+
+Van Rieten had written:
+
+“An old Balunda witch-doctor.”
+
+Etcham had written:
+
+“An old Mang-Battu fetish-man.”
+
+I had written:
+
+“An old Katongo magician.”
+
+“There!” Van Rieten exclaimed. “Look at that! There is nothing Wagabi
+or Batwa or Wambuttu or Wabotu about these heads. Nor anything pigmy
+either.”
+
+“I thought as much,” said Etcham.
+
+“And you say he did not have them before?”
+
+“To a certainty he did not,” Etcham asserted.
+
+“It is worth following up,” said Van Rieten. “I’ll go with you. And
+first of all, I’ll do my best to save Stone.”
+
+He put out his hand and Etcham clasped it silently. He was grateful all
+over.
+
+
+                                  IV
+
+
+Nothing but Etcham’s fever of solicitude could have taken him in five
+days over the track. It took him eight days to retrace with full
+knowledge of it and our party to help. We could not have done it in
+seven, and Etcham urged us on, in a repressed fury of anxiety, no mere
+fever of duty to his chief, but a real ardor of devotion, a glow of
+personal adoration for Stone which blazed under his dry conventional
+exterior and showed in spite of him.
+
+We found Stone well cared for. Etcham had seen to a good, high thorn
+_zareeba_ round the camp, the huts were well built and thatched
+and Stone’s was as good as their resources would permit. Hamed Burghash
+was not named after two Seyyids for nothing. He had in him the making
+of a sultan. He had kept the Mang-Battu together, not a man had slipped
+off, and he had kept them in order. Also he was a deft nurse and a
+faithful servant.
+
+The two other Zanzabaris had done some creditable hunting. Though all
+were hungry, the camp was far from starvation.
+
+Stone was on a canvas cot and there was a sort of collapsible
+camp-stool-table, like a Turkish tabouret, by the cot. It had a
+water-bottle and some vials on it and Stone’s watch, also his razor in
+its case.
+
+Stone was clean and not emaciated, but he was far gone; not
+unconscious, but in a daze; past commanding or resisting anyone.
+He did not seem to see us enter or to know we were there. I should
+have recognized him anywhere. His boyish dash and grace had vanished
+utterly, of course. But his head was even more leonine; his hair was
+still abundant, yellow and wavy; the close, crisped blond beard he had
+grown during his illness did not alter him. He was big and big-chested
+yet. His eyes were dull and he mumbled and babbled mere meaningless
+syllables, not words.
+
+Etcham helped Van Rieten to uncover him and look him over. He was in
+good muscle for a man so long bedridden. There were no scars on him
+except about his knees, shoulders and chest. On each knee and above
+it he had a full score of roundish cicatrices, and a dozen or more on
+each shoulder, all in front. Two or three were open wounds and four or
+five barely healed. He had no fresh swellings except two, one on each
+side, on his pectoral muscles, the one on the left being higher up and
+farther out than the other. They did not look like boils or carbuncles,
+but as if something blunt and hard were being pushed up through the
+fairly healthy flesh and skin, not much inflamed.
+
+“I should not lance those,” said Van Rieten, and Etcham assented.
+
+They made Stone as comfortable as they could, and just before sunset we
+looked in at him again. He was lying on his back, and his chest showed
+big and massive yet, but he lay as if in a stupor. We left Etcham with
+him and went into the next hut, which Etcham had resigned to us. The
+jungle noises were no different there than anywhere else for months
+past, and I was soon fast asleep.
+
+
+                                   V
+
+
+Sometime in the pitch dark I found myself awake and listening. I could
+hear two voices, one Stone’s, the other sibilant and wheezy. I knew
+Stone’s voice after all the years that had passed since I heard it
+last. The other was like nothing I remembered. It had less volume than
+the wail of a new-born baby, yet there was an insistent carrying power
+to it, like the shrilling of an insect. As I listened I heard Van
+Rieten breathing near me in the dark, then he heard me and realized
+that I was listening, too. Like Etcham I knew little Balunda, but I
+could make out a word or two. The voices alternated with intervals of
+silence between.
+
+Then suddenly both sounded at once and fast, Stone’s baritone basso,
+full as if he were in perfect health, and that incredibly stridulous
+falsetto, both jabbering at once like the voices of two people
+quarreling and trying to talk each other down.
+
+“I can’t stand this,” said Van Rieten. “Let’s have a look at him.”
+
+He had one of those cylindrical electric night-candles. He fumbled
+about for it, touched the button and beckoned me to come with him.
+Outside of the hut he motioned me to stand still, and instinctively
+turned off the light, as if seeing made listening difficult.
+
+Except for a faint glow from the embers of the bearers’ fire we were in
+complete darkness, little starlight struggled through the trees, the
+river made but a faint murmur. We could hear the two voices together
+and then suddenly the creaking voice changed into a razor-edged,
+slicing whistle, indescribably cutting, continuing right through
+Stone’s grumbling torrent of croaking words.
+
+“Good God!” exclaimed Van Rieten.
+
+Abruptly he turned on the light.
+
+We found Etcham utterly asleep, exhausted by his long anxiety and the
+exertions of his phenomenal march and relaxed completely now that the
+load was in a sense shifted from his shoulders to Van Rieten’s. Even
+the light on his face did not wake him.
+
+The whistle had ceased and the two voices now sounded together. Both
+came from Stone’s cot, where the concentrated white ray showed him
+lying just as we had left him, except that he had tossed his arms above
+his head and had torn the coverings and bandages from his chest.
+
+The swelling on his right breast had broken. Van Rieten aimed the
+center line of the light at it and we saw it plainly. From his flesh,
+grown out of it, there protruded a head, such a head as the dried
+specimens Etcham had shown us, as if it were a miniature of the head
+of a Balunda fetish-man. It was black, shining black as the blackest
+African skin; it rolled the whites of its wicked, wee eyes and showed
+its microscopic teeth between lips repulsively negroid in their red
+fullness, even in so diminutive a face. It had crisp, fuzzy wool on its
+minikin skull, it turned malignantly from side to side and chittered
+incessantly in that inconceivable falsetto. Stone babbled brokenly
+against its patter.
+
+Van Rieten turned from Stone and waked Etcham, with some difficulty.
+When he was awake and saw it all, Etcham stared and said not one word.
+
+“You saw him slice off two swellings?” Van Rieten asked.
+
+Etcham nodded, chokingly.
+
+“Did he bleed much?” Van Rieten demanded.
+
+“Ve’y little,” Etcham replied.
+
+“You hold his arms,” said Van Rieten to Etcham.
+
+He took up Stone’s razor and handed me the light. Stone showed no sign
+of seeing the light or of knowing we were there. But the little head
+mewled and screeched at us.
+
+Van Rieten’s hand was steady, and the sweep of the razor even and true.
+Stone bled amazingly little and Van Rieten dressed the wound as if it
+had been a bruise or scrape.
+
+Stone had stopped talking the instant the excrescent head was severed.
+Van Rieten did all that could be done for Stone and then fairly grabbed
+the light from me. Snatching up a gun he scanned the ground by the cot
+and brought the butt down once and twice, viciously.
+
+We went back to our hut, but I doubt if I slept.
+
+
+                                  VI
+
+
+Next day, near noon, in broad daylight, we heard the two voices from
+Stone’s hut. We found Etcham dropped asleep by his charge. The swelling
+on the left had broken, and just such another head was there miauling
+and spluttering. Etcham woke up and the three of us stood there and
+glared. Stone interjected hoarse vocables into the tinkling gurgle of
+the portent’s utterance.
+
+Van Rieten stepped forward, took up Stone’s razor and knelt down by the
+cot. The atomy of a head squealed a wheezy snarl at him.
+
+Then suddenly Stone spoke English.
+
+“Who are you with my razor?”
+
+Van Rieten started back and stood up.
+
+Stone’s eyes were clear now and bright, they roved about the hut.
+
+“The end,” he said; “I recognize the end. I seem to see Etcham, as if
+in life. But Singleton! Ah, Singleton! Ghosts of my boyhood come to
+watch me pass! And you, strange specter with the black beard, and my
+razor! Aroint ye all!”
+
+“I’m no ghost, Stone,” I managed to say. “I’m alive. So are Etcham and
+Van Rieten. We are here to help you.”
+
+“Van Rieten!” he exclaimed. “My work passes on to a better man. Luck go
+with you, Van Rieten.”
+
+Van Rieten went nearer to him.
+
+“Just hold still a moment, old man,” he said soothingly. “It will be
+only one twinge.”
+
+“I’ve held still for many such twinges,” Stone answered quite
+distinctly. “Let me be. Let me die my own way. The hydra was nothing to
+this. You can cut off ten, a hundred, a thousand heads, but the curse
+you can not cut off, or take off. What’s soaked into the bone won’t
+come out of the flesh, any more than what’s bred there. Don’t hack me
+any more. Promise!”
+
+His voice had all the old commanding tone of his boyhood and it swayed
+Van Rieten as it always had swayed everybody.
+
+“I promise,” said Van Rieten.
+
+Almost as he said the word Stone’s eyes filmed again.
+
+Then we three sat about Stone and watched that hideous, gibbering
+prodigy grow up out of Stone’s flesh, till two horrid, spindling little
+black arms disengaged themselves. The infinitesimal nails were perfect
+to the barely perceptible moon at the quick, the pink spot on the palm
+was horridly natural. These arms gesticulated and the right plucked
+toward Stone’s blond beard.
+
+“I can’t stand this,” Van Rieten exclaimed and took up the razor again.
+
+Instantly Stone’s eyes opened, hard and glittering.
+
+“Van Rieten break his word?” he enunciated slowly. “Never!”
+
+“But we must help you,” Van Rieten gasped.
+
+“I am past all help and all hurting,” said Stone. “This is my hour.
+This curse is not put on me; it grew out of me, like this horror here.
+Even now I go.”
+
+His eyes closed and we stood helpless, the adherent figure spouting
+shrill sentences.
+
+In a moment Stone spoke again.
+
+“You speak all tongues?” he asked thickly.
+
+And the emergent minikin replied in sudden English:
+
+“Yea, verily, all that you speak,” putting out its microscopic tongue,
+writhing its lips and wagging its head from side to side. We could see
+the thready ribs on its exiguous flanks heave as if the thing breathed.
+
+“Has she forgiven me?” Stone asked in a muffled strangle.
+
+“Not while the moss hangs from the cypresses,” the head squeaked. “Not
+while the stars shine on Lake Pontchartrain will she forgive.”
+
+And then Stone, all with one motion, wrenched himself over on his side.
+The next instant he was dead.
+
+When Singleton’s voice ceased the room was hushed for a space. We could
+hear each other breathing. Twombly, the tactless, broke the silence.
+
+“I presume,” he said, “you cut off the little minikin and brought it
+home in alcohol.”
+
+Singleton turned on him a stern countenance.
+
+“We buried Stone,” he said, “unmutilated as he died.”
+
+“But,” said the unconscionable Twombly, “the whole thing is incredible.”
+
+Singleton stiffened.
+
+“I did not expect you to believe it,” he said; “I began by saying that
+although I heard and saw it, when I look back on it I cannot credit it
+myself.”
+
+                                                                   1907
+
+
+
+
+                             FLOKI’S BLADE
+
+
+
+
+                             FLOKI’S BLADE
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+THORKELL VILGERDSON was not only reputed the handsomest youth in all
+Norway, but was famous as a redoubtable champion, who had unfailingly
+killed his man in every combat, and who was so skillful with weapons
+that he had never been seriously wounded in any of the countless
+affrays in which he had taken part. Therefore, although every one of
+the thirty-nine other men on the Sea-Raven hated him venomously, not
+one challenged him, or provoked him, or affronted him in any way, but
+all were most scrupulously civil.
+
+They all hated him. The three chieftains, Halfdan Ingolfson, Kollgrim
+Erlendson, and Lodbrok Isleifson, who owned the ship and had planned
+the adventure, hated him because, to their incredulous amazement, they
+found themselves indubitably afraid of him. Their six thralls, Vifill,
+Ulf, Hundi, Kepp, Sokholf and Erp, hated him, even more than they hated
+their own masters, for his air of ineffable superiority. The twenty-six
+other Vikings hated him because they felt themselves his inferiors and
+were unwilling to acknowledge it, even in their thoughts. Most of all
+his four perfidious sham friends, Hrodmar Finngerdson, Sigurd Atlison,
+Gellir Kollskeggson and Bodvar Egilson, who had hatched the plot to
+lure him to his doom and put him out of the way, and had enticed him to
+join the expedition, hated him for his beauty, his grace, his jaunty
+demeanor and his vivacious wit. Attack him they dared not, and, sulking
+inwardly, they bided their time, outwardly suave and smiling, but with
+furtive winks at each other.
+
+Their opportunity came after a storm which drove them, they knew not
+where or whither, for, in those times, stars were the mariners’ only
+guides. Throughout three nights and three days they saw neither star
+nor sun; in fact, could see barely two ships’ lengths through the
+driving scud and sluicing rain; and all that time they dared not set so
+much as a rag of sail, but, taking turns, every man of them, thralls,
+warriors and chieftains alike, with but brief snatches of uneasy
+sleep, labored mightily at the oars, to keep the ship head to gale,
+or bailed furiously to keep her afloat. So terrific was the tempest
+that Kollgrim, their acknowledged leader, was unwilling to relinquish
+the helm and clung to it until exhaustion compelled him to rest. Even
+when he signalled for a relief neither Halfdan nor Lodbrok showed
+any alacrity for undertaking his momentous task. As they hesitated,
+although only for an instant, Thorkell seized the tiller just as
+Kollgrim’s grasp loosened. So well did he steer, so completely did
+he justify his reputation as a seaman, that thereafter it was rather
+Kollgrim who acted as relief to him than he to Kollgrim: every man of
+them all, Kollgrim included, felt safer with Thorkell at the helm.
+
+An hour or two before sunset of the long northern day the storm blew
+itself out, the sky cleared, and the wind slackened and shifted to a
+fair breeze. They stepped their mast, hoisted their yard, set a full
+sail, and, Halfdan at the tiller, and Lodbrok on lookout at the prow,
+the rest feasted. Champing and munching unhurriedly they despatched a
+vast quantity of food, washed down with copious drafts of mead. When no
+one could swallow another mouthful, Sigurd took the helm and Bodvar the
+lookout’s place, and, while Halfdan and Lodbrok ate, the rest disposed
+themselves to sleep, most of them to larboard, on the spare oars and
+coils of rope, under the rowing-benches.
+
+During the brief northern night Sigurd and Bodvar set the Sea-Raven
+on a true course by a whole skyful of brilliant constellations,
+but, before dawn, they saw the stars hidden all round the horizon
+and gradually higher up, until only a few showed blurredly directly
+overhead; so that, when the sleepers waked, they found themselves
+enveloped in dense fog, and, soon after dawn, the wind slackened until
+they had to man the oars to keep headway on the ship. The weary thralls
+and Kollgrim roused last. After Kollgrim waked Thorkell was the only
+sleeper and he slept heavily, exhausted by his overexertion at the
+tiller.
+
+Eyeing him as he lay on a coil of rope, Hrodmar and Gellir beckoned
+Sigurd and Bodvar. They resigned their posts to willing reliefs and
+picked their way amidships over and among the resting men and toiling
+rowers. Kollgrim, Lodbrok and Halfdan joined them and the seven
+conferred. All conned Thorkell and all agreed that he was fast asleep
+and far from rousing. Then the three chieftains beckoned their six
+thralls and instructed them. Erp and Ulf took convenient lengths of
+ratline and knotted in each a clean-running noose. Vifill paired with
+Hundi and Sokholf with Kepp, each pair choosing a length of light rope,
+thicker than a big man’s thumb. Cautiously the six crawled towards
+Thorkell, every man aboard, except a few sleepers and such oarsmen
+as were abaft of Thorkell’s position, watching their approach with
+malicious relish. Hundi and Vifill slipped their rope under Thorkell’s
+knees; Kepp and Sokholf took a turn with theirs round his ankles,
+Ulf and Erp each noosed a wrist: when all six were ready they looked
+towards Kollgrim, and, at his nod, the two nooses tightened and the
+ropes were knotted fast round Thorkell’s knees and ankles. Even that
+did not waken him and, as Erp and Ulf pulled their cords and dragged
+his arms wide, his four pretended friends sprang on him, turned him
+on his face, and, after a violent struggle, for, even with knees and
+ankles lashed, Thorkell fought like a wildcat, they pinioned his arms
+behind him and turned him once more face upward, trussed and helpless.
+
+Then they gloated over him, told him what they really thought of
+him, and insulted him to their hearts’ content. Halfdan, who was an
+acclaimed skald, composed and chanted over him an impromptu drapa of
+triumph. Even the thralls expressed their envious malignity. Gellir
+proposed to run him through and Bodvar to throw him overboard. But
+Kollgrim demurred. The thirty-four freemen had taken oath to a pledge
+of mutual fellowship, as was customary in all Viking voyages, and he
+pointed out that they were bound, all of them, by their oath and must
+keep its letter, if not its spirit.
+
+Lodbrok thereupon suggested that they set him adrift, bound as he was,
+in their smallest boat, which had been half stove during the storm
+and was presumably leaky; putting into it with him a small hide flask
+of water and one smoked fish. Then they could accuse him of wilful
+desertion.
+
+By then it was nearer noon than sunrise, but no sight of the sun had
+they had, nor could any man, in that fog, conjecture the sun’s place in
+the sky. Their outlook was all gray mist and smooth groundswell, for
+there was not a catspaw of breeze.
+
+From the boat they took its sail, mast and oars; but they did not
+search it carefully. In it they laid a leather flask of water and two
+little smoked fish. In it they laid Thorkell, trussed as he was, but,
+as they launched the boat, Kollgrim cut the ropes at his knees and
+ankles.
+
+As boat and ship drifted apart his enemies mocked him, their grinning
+faces peering between and over the shields which lined the low rail.
+
+“Hoist your sail!” Bodvar jeered at him, “and make for Norway or
+Iceland, as you prefer. You are about as far from the one as from the
+other. You have no worse or better chance, either way.”
+
+“Hope you relish your provender!” Gellir called.
+
+“You’ll need both oars soon,” Hrodmar shrilled, “and I don’t see
+either.”
+
+“Don’t you wish you had a bailer!” Sigurd shouted.
+
+Soon he saw only fog.
+
+He eyed the dirty water sloshing about in the dory’s bilge. The boat
+was not leaking rapidly, but it was leaking. No water had lapped
+over the gunwales and the big groundswells were long and smooth. Of
+air there was not a breath. For the time being he had only the leaks
+to fear. And, in the bow, jammed under the tiny fore-thwart in the
+triangular cubby-hole, he saw a small wooden scoop-bailer. It meant
+more to him than the two little fish and the leather water-bottle under
+the after thwart.
+
+He conned the edges of the gunwales and thwarts. He saw two sharp
+splinters. The larger and sharper was where he could not use it; but,
+painfully and with great exertion, he wriggled, hunched and wrenched
+himself until he brought the cords which bound his wrists against
+the other splinter. With efforts distressing at once, and not long
+afterwards agonizing, he sawed the rope against the splinter. Panting,
+a jelly of exhaustion, shivering and sweating, he all but fainted; but
+he found fresh energy every time he glanced at the bilge-water.
+
+At last, just as hope and strength together were failing him, the cord
+parted. A few jerks and twists of his arms and hands and they were
+free. He shook himself, beat his arms against his chest and sprang
+upon the bailer. To his great satisfaction it was not long before no
+deftness could scoop it up half full; the boat was not leaking too fast
+for him.
+
+As the dense fog and breathless calm continued to brood over the waters
+and the slow groundswell even abated, his cockleshell kept afloat not
+only all that day and night, but throughout the two following days
+and nights. But the third night after he had been set adrift found
+him near exhaustion. More than half his time was occupied in bailing
+and his muscles ached. He was afraid to sleep for fear of foundering
+before he woke. Once, in spite of himself, he fell deeply asleep and
+roused to find the gunwales almost awash, so that the most desperate
+fury of bailing barely sufficed to save him. In the flurry of effort
+his remaining fish went overboard in a scoopful of water, unheeded. His
+flask he had emptied by dusk of the second day, control himself all he
+could.
+
+As the slow dawn whitened the fog after the short arctic night he
+thought he was delirious, for he seemed to hear the roar of surf on
+rocks and not far off.
+
+Then, suddenly, all at once, the fog thinned, sunrays lanced the
+last wisps of it, the air cleared, he saw the sun plain, saw the sky
+cloudless, saw the horizon all round and beheld, close to him and
+opposite the just-risen sun, a rocky coast.
+
+Instantly he realized that his enemies had been vastly in error as to
+the position of the Sea-Raven and had set him adrift only a few leagues
+east of Iceland. In spite of his buzzing head, his parched mouth, his
+shivering and trembling limbs, his general faintness, he felt new vigor
+infused all through him. With his pitiful beechen scoop he alternately
+bailed and paddled. The current, he felt, was drawing him towards the
+cliffs. He saw a headland close. With his bailer he strove to guide the
+skiff towards it. The currents were kind and towards that headland he
+drifted. He saw no beach, but many flat-topped rocks just awash, some
+hardly wet by the lazy surges. Between them and him he saw no broken
+water. If his boat dashed into or scraped against a rock he might leap
+to it without a ducking.
+
+Actually he had the luck to achieve just that and saw his boat stove
+and smashed after he had firm footing on almost dry basalt.
+
+He stood in his doublet, hose and brogues, with only his inner girdle,
+without belt, mantle, sword, dagger, or even belt-knife. Everything on
+him was damp from the fog and the splashing of his long bailing; but,
+though his teeth chattered in the chilly morning air, doubly chilly to
+him after the milder temperature out at sea, he was not the half-frozen
+waif he would have been if he had had to swim ashore.
+
+To his left, to southwards, the cliffs seemed beaten by the surf.
+Before him, to westwards, he thought he espied a bit of beach not far
+ahead. To his right, northwards, he seemed to descry a headland afar
+across a fiord. He walked westwards, swaying, tottering, stumbling,
+even staggering, but keeping his feet. Gulls and other sea-fowl
+wheeled and screamed above and about him. Not a hundred paces from his
+landing-place he came upon a little rill trickling down a nook in the
+cliff. He knelt and scooped up a handful of icy water. Then he lay
+beside the rivulet and counted a slow hundred between each handful of
+the water and the next. Before his thirst was entirely quenched he
+stood up.
+
+Then he scanned the rocks for birds’ nests. He saw many; but, of the
+scores of eggs he broke, but one was eatable. This he sipped and slowly
+swallowed its contents. He felt new life all over him.
+
+Not stumbling now he stepped heedfully forward. He felt strangely large
+and light and whatever he gazed at looked dim and vague. But he felt
+really able to walk. He rounded a jutting elbow of the cliff.
+
+Before him, irradiated by the slant sunrays, he saw three handsome
+young noblewomen, walking arm in arm. All were bareheaded, each with
+a forehead-ribbon round her flowing hair. The middlemost was tall,
+full-contoured, with very black locks. She was enveloped in a crimson
+mantle. The girl on her right was of medium height, slender, with
+glossy brown tresses and wore a mantle of dark blue. The third was
+small and very lovely, her hair golden, her cheeks pink, her eyes blue,
+all set off by a mantle of bright grass-green.
+
+Thorkell thought them norns come to escort him to Valhalla. A cloud,
+gray and then inky black, swept between him and his outlook. He felt
+himself topple.
+
+
+                                  II
+
+
+When Thorkell came to himself he was in bed in the pitch dark. He felt
+about him and found that he was in a sort of bunk, a wall on his right
+hand and, on his left, a polished board. He ran his hand along its
+upper edge. He was rather deep down in his berth and under him was an
+infinity of yielding feather-bed. He was well covered with warm quilts.
+He tried to stretch, but the space was too short for him. He composed
+himself and slept again.
+
+When he woke the second time it was daylight and he saw by his bunk a
+tall, spare, elderly noblewoman, severe-looking, hatchet-faced, with a
+lean and stringy neck and gray hair. She was clad in garments of undyed
+wool of the usual rusty brown.
+
+“Son,” she warned him, “you must not try to speak. Drink this slowly.”
+
+And, as he weakly tried to raise himself in the wall-bed, she supported
+him with her right arm, at the same time holding to his lips with
+her left hand a silver goblet. Thorkell tasted a delicious posset,
+compounded of milk, mead, honey, barley-meal, and of other ingredients
+unknown to him. He swallowed most of it, fell back among his down
+pillows and slept again at once.
+
+His third waking was again in full daylight. He felt more like himself.
+He saw that his bed occupied most of one side of a fair-sized room,
+wainscoted in dark wood and with a low ceiling, similarly panelled.
+Opposite his bunk stood a high, narrow table. In the wall by the foot
+of his bunk was a low doorway, its door shut. In the opposite wall
+was a window, whose contracted casements had small panes of fish-gut
+membrane, stretched across wooden lattices. The panes were bright with
+the glare of brilliant sunshine full on them and much light filtered
+through, so that the room was well-lighted. By his bed, facing the
+window, in one of the two chairs, sat a tall, magnificently dignified,
+elderly man, gray-haired, ruddy of complexion, broad-shouldered,
+wrapped in a reddish-brown mantle of fine wool. He wore a gold
+neck-chain from which hung a large, flat, oval gold amulet-case.
+
+“Son,” he said, “you must not yet attempt to speak. Hearken and
+remember. You are housed at Hofstadir, on Revdarfiord, by Faskrudness,
+on the east coast of Iceland. I, Thorstein Vilgerdson, am master of
+Hofstadir. We know nothing of you except that my daughter and my two
+nieces found you early in the morning, day before yesterday, on the
+strand by Faskrudness. My wife has been caring for you and she now
+tells me that you will soon be able to be up and about. Only after you
+are well and strong will I permit you to tell your story. Meanwhile you
+are our guest. Do as I bid you. Be silent, compose your mind, repose
+yourself, and help my wife to restore you to strength and vigor. When
+you are yourself we shall talk again. Now sleep.”
+
+Thorkell was compliantly mute and his host rose and left him.
+
+Two mornings later Thorkell woke to find Thorstein again seated by his
+bed. And he saw, on the table opposite his bed, a tray with a goblet
+and a hunch of bread on it.
+
+“Son,” the old man queried, “are you entirely awake?”
+
+After Thorkell’s affirmation Thorstein said:
+
+“My wife judges that you are now sufficiently recovered to tell your
+story. But you had best first fortify yourself with some food.”
+
+And he himself rose and fetched the tray from the table. Thorkell
+acquiesced and swallowed a few mouthfuls. Then he settled himself back
+on his pillows, his host resumed his armchair, and Thorkell began his
+story by naming himself.
+
+“A Vilgerdson!” the old man exclaimed, “and from Rogaland! We must be
+cousins, however distant. In my long life I have never known or heard
+of any Norwegian Vilgerdsons; as far as my knowledge goes our family
+has long been wholly Icelandic. We are descended from Floki Vilgerdson,
+of Rogaland, the first voyager who ever wintered in Iceland. A hundred
+and thirty-six years ago he sailed past the headlands of Faxafloi and
+wintered in the Breidifiord. But he and his associates were so carried
+away by the abundance of fish and the ease of catching them that
+they neglected to cure enough hay and their live-stock all perished.
+Therefore he sailed home next spring. But, twenty and more years
+later, when past middle age, after most of the west and north of
+Iceland had already been settled, Floki returned and chose a home here
+in the east on this very spot. I am his great-great-great-grandson and
+heir to him and all his.”
+
+“I,” said Thorkell, “am great-great-great-great-grandson to Snorri
+Vilgerdson, younger brother to Floki the Viking and settler. For both
+were sons of Vilgerd Vilgerdson of Rogaland.”
+
+“Then,” said his host, “you are a fourth cousin to my children and they
+are your fourth cousins. You are one of us. And now tell me your story.”
+
+When Thorkell had said his say and had answered all his host’s
+questions the old man said:
+
+“My wife opines that it will now benefit you to be out of bed and in
+the open air. My younger sons, Thorgils and Thorbrand, will help you to
+dress and will assist you to walk about, for, although you may resent
+the suggestion, you are not yet strong enough for it to be well for you
+to attempt walking unassisted.”
+
+And he called his sons, handsome youths, who clasped hands with
+Thorkell, called him “cousin” after their father’s explanation, and,
+when the old man had gone out, assisted him to rise. He found he
+needed assistance. They helped him to don a shirt of the finest linen,
+knitted hose of soft wool, noblemen’s shoes, a doublet of the best
+woolen cloth, and a fine crimson mantle of wool delightful to feel and
+handle. They girded him with an outer belt, but there was no sign of
+sword-belt, sword, poniard or knife. Each of them wore a belt-knife
+with a staghorn heft, and a dagger and sword, with steel guards and
+hilts of walrus ivory, pommelled with gold.
+
+One on each side of him they supported him as he strove to stand and
+they guided him through the doorway into a spacious, plank-floored,
+high-raftered hall, lighted by many small windows placed high up in
+the tall gable-ends; low, narrow doors were all down both long sides,
+with an ample fireplace in a big chimney-piece midway of one side; at
+one end was the main doorway, at the other a door almost as large.
+His helpers conducted him out through the main doorway and to a bench
+in the sunlight where they seated him. Thorbrand sat by him, Thorgils
+walked away.
+
+Thorkell found the cool, soft breeze invigorating and yet mild, for
+it was near midsummer and as genial as it ever is in Iceland. The
+slant sunrays warmed him. He basked and gazed about him. He saw
+close by a strongly built storehouse of stone and great ash beams,
+high-gabled, though its roof was not as steep and tall as that of the
+mansion. Further away he made out a big sheepfold, with sheds, a large
+cattle-byre, an ample stable and two very large barns. In whatever
+direction he looked the extensive level space in which the buildings
+were grouped was bounded by a stone wall, breast-high, and not of
+boulders, but of roughly squared blocks.
+
+Some two hundred yards or more distant, topping a low hill, was
+a temple; for, with its great size, its high and steep roof, its
+scalloped shingles, its horse-head and fish-tail ornaments at the
+ridge-pole ends and eave-ends, its carven gable-ends, it could be
+nothing else.
+
+Some of the thralls were busy about the buildings and several
+maid-servants passed in and out. Thorkell saw no men-at-arms, nor any
+of the family except the two brothers. Thorbrand sat smiling, but
+mute. Thorkell kept mute and basked. After a time Thorgils came back
+and Thorbrand strolled away. When Thorbrand returned he said:
+
+“Mother thinks that you were best back in your bed.”
+
+Thorkell acquiesced and suffered himself to be escorted indoors. In bed
+he ate some food brought by a tow-headed serving-maid. Soon he slept.
+
+He woke near dusk of the long northern day and again ate what the same
+maid brought him and was again soon asleep.
+
+Next morning Thorstein was again sitting by him when he woke. As before
+he enquired how he felt and himself served him with food and drink.
+When he had reset the tray on the table and reseated himself he said:
+
+“Young man, I and my family have talked over you and your story. I and
+my daughter and my nieces believe you. But all five of my sons, my two
+daughters-in-law, my accountant, my seneschal, my skald and everyone
+of my men-at-arms are convinced that you are not a castaway from any
+ship, though likely enough a Norwegian and no Icelander. They are
+unanimously of the opinion that you are a spy craftily insinuated into
+our community by our enemies. They point out that your clothing was dry
+when you were carried in here: that neither it nor your hair showed any
+signs of your having been swimming; that such a marvel as your having
+leapt ashore from a ship’s-boat drifting without sail, oars or rudder
+is too improbable for them to believe it other than a clumsy invention.
+They all insist that I would imperil myself and all my household if
+I were to accept your story and keep you here as a guest. My word is
+law here, but I feel that it would be unwise for me to disregard so
+unanimous, so insistent and so clamorous a dissent from my views.
+
+“Now, young man, if you have in fact been sent here by the
+Miofifirthers or the Seydisfirthers you had best admit it at once and
+make a clean breast of the whole matter. You shall not be harmed in any
+way. I will have you fed and cared for until you are fit for a short
+journey, and then I will equip you with flint and steel, a belt-knife,
+a dagger, a sword and sword-belt, a horseman’s cloak, a good horse,
+well bitted, saddled and girthed, and a supply of food; and I will
+send a thrall to guide you round the head of Revdarfiord and to speed
+you on your way. But if you are what you assert you are and claim our
+protection and hospitality as the dues of a castaway, you must convince
+all my household of the truth of your tale.”
+
+“I am Thorkell Vilgerdson of Rogaland in Norway,” he replied. “I know
+nothing of any Miofifirthers or Seydisfirthers or of any foes of yours.
+I never set foot on Iceland until I leapt ashore from my drifting boat
+soon after sunrise of the morning on which I encountered your daughter
+and nieces. I have never, in Iceland, set eyes on any Icelanders except
+members of your household. What I have told you is true in every
+particular. But how may I convince you of its truth?”
+
+“As you must know from my name and my sons’ names,” Thorstein answered,
+“we are steadfast adherents of the old faith. Those who suspect you,
+and my wife, the most embittered of those against you, in particular,
+would be at once convinced if you take formal oath to the truth of
+your statements, an oath sworn upon your own blood and the sacred
+ring of our holy temple, calling Thor and Odin to witness. If you are
+willing to take oath, as I suggest, no one here will any longer doubt
+you.”
+
+“I am entirely willing,” Thorkell declared. “I am more than willing,
+I am eager. The suspicions of your household are natural, if you have
+crafty enemies near at hand and live under threat of being raided. I
+will swear as you suggest.”
+
+“I infer,” said Thorstein, “that you also, then, like all here at
+Hofstadir, are a firm believer in the gods of our fathers.”
+
+“I am indeed,” Thorkell affirmed.
+
+“Have you met Christians?” his host queried.
+
+“Too many,” said Thorkell, “too many by far.”
+
+“Have you talked with any about their beliefs?” the old man inquired.
+
+“With many,” Thorkell said.
+
+“And what do you think of them?” Thorstein pressed him.
+
+“It seems to me,” said Thorkell, “that they claim to have a system
+of sorcery and magic far more efficacious and far cheaper than ours.
+That is about all I can gather from their talk. Their religion costs
+far less than ours because they hold that no blood-sacrifices are
+necessary, stating that one man, hundreds of years ago, achieved one
+sacrifice by which all men may benefit forever, no other being required
+after that one. How this could be or can be I cannot conceive. But such
+appears to be their view. Then they seem to think that priests can be
+largely dispensed with: certainly they have far fewer than we and their
+priests are cheaper to maintain than ours, as they require less in
+the way of ornaments, raiment, food and servants. Then, though no one
+of them has conveyed to me what they mean, they all allege that their
+invocations win surer and more effective responses than those which
+we receive from our deities. That is all I can make out about their
+novelties.”
+
+“Your impressions,” Thorstein said, “tally with mine. Christians are
+utterly incomprehensible to me. In particular, they all rant about
+peace on earth and good-will to men. Yet, since they became Christians,
+the Miofifirthers and the Seydisfirthers are just as implacably hostile
+to us here as before. My father repeatedly made overtures to them
+proposing conferences to negotiate for a reconciliation, for mutual
+concessions, for laying our differences and the damage done to each
+side before the Althing for reference to the courts and for a decision
+and settlement, for a termination of the feud and the establishment of
+harmony and amity. I have made similar proffers. But they have been
+inexorably hostile. In fact, since they became Christians, they seem,
+if possible, even more ferocious, rancorous and blood-thirsty than
+before.”
+
+“That,” said Thorkell, “is just about the attitude towards us heathen
+of all the Christians I have ever met or heard of. Their idea of peace
+is unqualified submission or total extermination for us, and complete
+triumph and unquestioned domination for themselves. Not one will listen
+to proposals of compromise, accommodation or mutual forbearance. They
+seem to me opinionated, bigoted, fanatical, overbearing and arrogant.
+We must fight or perish, there appears to be no other way.”
+
+“You speak sensibly, my son, it seems to me,” the old man said. “You
+have convinced me that you are sincere. Your oath in the temple will
+convince all my household and all my retainers.”
+
+Then he rose and went out.
+
+
+                                  III
+
+
+Again Thorgils and Thorbrand entered the bedroom and helped Thorkill
+to dress. This time he needed little assistance. And this time they
+girt him with a sword-belt, and equipped him with a handy belt-knife,
+a fine dagger and a sword in a decorated scabbard. Out they escorted
+him, Thorkell now walking easily and unaided. In the open he found
+awaiting him Thorstein, his three elder sons, Thorfinn, Thorgeir and
+Thord; a handsome and very blond young giant who was presented to
+him as “Finnvard Sigurdson, of Faskrudsfiord, my future son-in-law,”
+Thorstein’s house-skald, Olmod Borkson; and his seneschal, Ari Gormson.
+There were a score of men-at-arms lounging about.
+
+After the presentations they set off towards the temple, Thorstein
+linking arms with Thorkell and leading the way.
+
+“I myself,” he said, “am Gothi of this temple, which my grandfather,
+Thorleif Vilgerdson, built with timber fetched from Norway.”
+
+The temple, Thorkell judged, was a full hundred feet long. Temple
+fashion the end under the gable which they approached was doorless. The
+side-wall had two ample doorways, each near an end. They passed in by
+that nearest them towards the right end of the side-wall, and turned
+to their left. In behind them straggled the men-at-arms, who had
+trooped after them. Thorkell could feel the reverential awe with which
+the great, hulking, burly, truculent spearmen entered the holy place.
+Midway of the opposite long-wall they passed the High-Seat, between the
+tall pillars, each with its three consecrated bolts of gilded bronze.
+They were visible even in the dim light afforded by the small latticed
+windows, gut-paned, high up in the gable ends. Towards the end of the
+temple they entered the oval, defined by a ring of thin slabs of stone
+set on edge. Inside the oval, near the end of it towards the further
+gable of the building, was an altar of the customary form, a great
+thick slab of dressed stone, full three ells square, supported by four
+stone posts, squared, carved with runes, and set deep in the beaten
+earth floor. The slab of the altar was also carved with runes. On it
+lay the great holy ring, of solid silver, weighing full thirty pounds.
+
+Thorstein lifted the great ring and slid it up his right arm to the
+shoulder. There Thorfinn tied it with a crimson wool ribbon, slipped
+under his father’s left arm-pit and crossed on his left shoulder;
+so that the ring would not slide down the arm. Then, standing on
+Thorstein’s right, Thorkell unsheathed his dagger and with its
+point lightly slashed the back of his left hand, tilting it till
+the dagger-blade ran with blood. Then, placing his left hand on the
+temple-ring and holding the dagger point down over the center of the
+altar, he swore:
+
+“As my blood drips upon this altar from the point of this dirk, so may
+my blood and the heart’s blood of all my kin, of any wife I may wed, of
+any children I may have, of all those dear to me, be spilt upon the
+earth, if my oath is not truthful. I swear by my own blood, by the holy
+ring which I grasp, by this altar, by the pillars of the High Seat, by
+their sacred bolts, before Thor and Odin, that I am Thorkell Vilgerdson
+of Rogaland in Norway, and that I am newly castaway on the coast of
+Iceland and have never, in Iceland, seen or spoken with any Icelander
+excepting dwellers here at Hofstadir.
+
+“If my oath is false may my heart’s blood and the blood of all those
+dear to me be spilt upon the earth as my blood now drips from the point
+of my dirk. Before Odin and Thor I have sworn.”
+
+Thereafter Thorfinn removed the Gothi’s ring from his father’s arm and
+he and Thorstein laid it in its place midway of the altar-slab.
+
+Outside the temple Thorgils dressed the slash on the back of Thorkell’s
+left hand. Then Thorstein first and after him his sons in the order of
+their ages, clasped hands with Thorkell, each uttering the formula:
+
+“You are our dear and trusted cousin.”
+
+Finnvard followed. Then Ari, Olmod and the men-at-arms saluted
+Thorkell, crying:
+
+“We are brothers in arms.”
+
+From the temple Thorstein led Thorkell into the storehouse and into
+that part of it which was used as an armory.
+
+“Look over these weapons,” he said, “and select a sword, poniard and
+belt-knife to your mind. Try first those you now have; if they suit
+you, keep them. But be sure that the balance of the sword is precisely
+what you prefer and that you are armed as you desire.”
+
+Outside, in the mild sunshine of a day unusually mellow for Iceland,
+they sat on the benches flanking the doorway and chatted until after
+midday. Then Thorstein cautioned Thorkell that a man who had been
+exposed and exhausted as he had had best lie down an hour or so before
+his first heavy meal after his privations.
+
+When Thorgils wakened and summoned him he found in the great hall
+a numerous assemblage. He was presented by Thorstein to Thorkatla
+his wife, to his daughter Thorgerd and his two nieces Thorarna and
+Thordis, whom he had encountered on the beach. Thorarna was the tall,
+full-contoured, black-tressed beauty, and Thordis the exquisite blonde
+whom he had thought the most beautiful of the three. Thorfinn’s wife
+Arnora and Thord’s wife Valdis were personable young women.
+
+Thorstein occupied the High Seat, facing the fireplace. To the left and
+right of him sat his family, on benches ranged along that side of the
+hall, but far enough from the wall to leave space for anyone to walk
+behind them and to pass in or out of any door. On the opposite side of
+the hall, flanking the chimney-piece, was a similar row of benches,
+occupied by the men-at-arms, more than forty together. Towards the ends
+of the hall sat such dependents and thralls as were not busy serving
+the feast. The servitors carried in more than eighty light, collapsible
+tables, each in three parts, a square top and two trestles. One was
+placed before each diner. The fare was varied and abundant, but notably
+characteristic of Iceland. There were unlimited supplies of fresh
+whey in jars, pitchers and bowls; bowls of curd; platters heaped with
+slices of cheese, both new and aged; there was even an overabundance
+of smoked and fresh fish, cooked in every known manner; plenty of
+tender fat mutton, beef and veal, and, each borne in by two brawny
+thralls, two great platters, one piled with convenient cuts of stewed
+horseflesh, the other with similar collops of horseflesh roasted. There
+was a moderate supply of manchets of excellent rye, barley and wheaten
+bread, handed along in smallish flat osier baskets or on similar trays.
+Maids continually passed and repassed proffering basins of warm water
+and towels; for, in those days, forks were unknown, and, besides plates
+and spoons of beechwood from Norway and belt knives, fingers were the
+only table implements, and frequent washing of the hands was necessary
+for comfort.
+
+Thorgils and Thorbrand, between whom Thorkell sat, plied him with
+offerings of every viand brought in and saw that his goblet was kept
+full of well-aged, fragrant mead. Even more than the large household
+and lavish fare Thorkill was impressed by the chimney-piece, which
+faced him on his left, and by its fireplace, not aglow with smouldering
+peat, but ablaze with a generous heap of crackling driftwood. He
+commented on this to Thorbrand.
+
+“I have never seen any other chimney or fireplace except ours,” was his
+reply. “It is said that two halls in the river-valleys about Faxafloi
+have chimney fireplaces, and that there is another in a mansion on
+Breidifiord. But none of us have seen any. My great grandfather had
+this built of native stone, for there is much fire-resisting rock on
+our island.”
+
+“This,” Thorkell said, “is the only chimney fireplace I have myself
+ever seen. My home, like every other hall I have ever entered till
+now, has only a fireplace midway of its floor, so that the smoke
+blackens the rafters before it finds the hole in the roof.”
+
+After the feast Thorstein called for silence.
+
+“We have with us,” he said, “what is almost as good as a visiting
+skald, a guest who has had marvellous adventures. All of us will now
+listen to Thorkell Vilgerdson of Rogaland in Norway, if he will be so
+good as to accede to my request that he tell us of his dangers and of
+his escape.”
+
+Thorkell blushed, but was encouraged by the smiling, eager faces turned
+towards him. He took courage, stood up, and told his tale, haltingly at
+first, later more fluently.
+
+After he had finished and sat down Olmod twanged his harp and recited
+a drapa describing and praising the exploits of Floki Vilgerdson the
+viking and settler. When he ceased the company dispersed to bed.
+
+During the ensuing days Thorkell became well acquainted with Hofstadir,
+its denizens and its neighborhood. As soon as he felt his full strength
+and vigor return he spent his mornings with Thorgir, Thorbrand,
+Thorgils and Finnvard at fencing, target practice with spears or
+arrows, wrestling, and other such manly exercises. At all of these
+he excelled, yet his genial demeanor was so winsome that his easy
+victories gave no offence to his companions.
+
+They also went swimming together, and fishing, both in the many nearby
+streams, and offshore in a very handy small boat, heavily built, blunt
+bowed, yet a good sailor. Thorkell was amazed at the numbers of fish
+and at the rapidity with which they could be caught. A hook thrown
+into the water was taken almost at once.
+
+They rode about the neighborhood on fine mounts, for, in those early
+days, Icelandic horses were still fully equal to Norwegian horses, as
+the breed was kept up by constant importations of tall, strong, speedy
+and spirited stallions.
+
+After not many days Thorkell learned the country further afield, for
+he was invited to accompany Thorstein on a tour of inspection of his
+district; for he was not only Gothi, that is, priest, of the temple at
+Hofstadir, but also Gothi, that is, magistrate, of a district called a
+gothorth, all Iceland being divided into gothorths. Thorstein made his
+tour attended by his five sons; by several cousins, among whom were
+Thorlak Vilgerdson of Thelmark and Thorvald Vilgerdson of Husavik;
+by many thingmen, dependents and yeomen; and by a strong guard of
+well-horsed spearmen.
+
+Thorkell was much edified by Thorstein’s promptness at settling
+controversies and redressing grievances. The old man displayed an
+uncanny intuition and seemed to know all his vassals’ thoughts,
+motives, wants, desires and needs without being told.
+
+After the tour was over, at a moment when Thorstein was at ease,
+Thorkell ventured to express his admiration.
+
+His host smiled.
+
+“A chieftain,” he said, “must possess the faculty of seeing into his
+vassals’ hearts and of knowing their thoughts without question asked
+and answer given; even without any uttered word. A man who cannot
+divine the unspoken thoughts of his dependents will not long retain
+the prestige vital for a Gothi, or for any sort of chieftainship.
+Necessarily, I know much without being told, with hardly even a glance.
+Mostly for instance, I can foresee months in advance, sometimes even
+years in advance, what girl each youth will woo for his wife, what
+maiden each lad desires, even what lad finds favor in each maiden’s
+eyes. Such must any chieftain divine.”
+
+At Hofstadir Thorkell was soon at home among the buildings. Not less
+than by the chimney, inset fireplace and lavish wood fire was he
+impressed by the fortifications of the homestead. It was protected all
+round with a dry moat, the earth from which, thrown up on the inner
+side, formed a considerable rampart, topped on all four sides of the
+enclosure by a solid wall of large, roughly squared blocks of stone.
+At the corners were jutting, bulging circular bastions well stockaded
+with birch logs, set deep in the earth, butt up and touching each
+other, everyone fully three spans broad at the upturned butt, for, in
+those early days, the primeval woods of Iceland furnished logs much
+larger than any now obtainable on the island. The stockades, like the
+walls, were breast-high. Thorkell had never seen a bastion before, nor
+heard of one, and was much impressed by the novelty, originality and
+manifest adequacy of the device. The idea of a bastion, that it affords
+defenders of a fortification an opportunity of shooting sideways at an
+assailant crossing the fosse or scaling the parapet, appears so obvious
+to us that we can scarcely realize that there ever was a time when
+it was unknown. Yet, hundreds, even thousands of years after it was
+common and a matter of course in the Mediterranean countries, it had
+not yet penetrated the ruder northern lands. In fact, in all parts of
+the world, men were not quick to conceive the idea, and, as with other
+devices, very slow to adopt it from foemen.
+
+Almost as much was Thorkell impressed by the bath-house, a small
+structure, one might say a hut, built of sod and stone, with a low
+door and only one very tiny window. Inside there was room for only one
+person and a pail of water beside a very small stone stove. This was
+heated almost red-hot and then the bather, with a dipper, poured on
+it water which at once filled the hut with steam, both cleansing and
+refreshing.
+
+On either side of the chimney-piece in the great hall was a sort of
+trophy of spears, shields and swords arranged in a pattern like a
+six-pointed star; six short pikes crossed and lashed to pegs, six small
+round shields set between the radiating spears, and twelve swords, two
+by each shield. Above the fireplace was another, of six long swords,
+their points together, their hilts apart, with shields between.
+
+Thorkell, inquiring about these, was told that they had been placed
+there by Thorstein’s grandfather, Thorleif Vilgerdson, who had built
+the hall and temple. The spears and swords forming the two flanking
+trophies were fine and valued weapons of former Vilgerdsons: the trophy
+over the fireplace was formed of the very sword worn all his life by
+Floki Vilgerdson the Viking and settler, and of five cunningly exact
+replicas of it, made at Thorleif Vilgerdson’s command by Hoskuld
+Vestarson, a famous smith.
+
+“I do not myself know,” said Thorstein, “which is Floki’s blade. My
+father told me that he did not know. No one knows. No man has used
+any one of those six swords since before I was born. It is told that
+Floki’s blade is enchanted, that no one except a Vilgerdson could
+wield it, that to anyone not a Vilgerdson it would be heavier than
+a thick bar of iron; but that, in time of peril to Floki’s heirs
+or kin, it is magical to infuse into its wielder superhuman valor,
+swiftness, dexterity and strength. It is also told of Floki’s blade
+that it knows friend from foe and will not smite a friend, no matter
+how frenziedly its wielder believes him a foe, nor yet will it fail to
+smite a treacherous foe, no matter how implicitly its wielder trusts
+the traitor. We have come to regard these swords as almost as holy as
+the bolts in the pillars by the High Seat in our temple, as almost as
+sacred as the temple ring itself. Their presence in our hall we regard
+as a protection and safeguard to us all, as a sort of talisman for
+Hofstadir. We all and all my men-at-arms and thingmen and retainers
+reverence and treasure them.”
+
+Thorkell could see that they were very handsome swords.
+
+He learned that Thorstein never had fewer than sixty men-at-arms on
+duty, but not all of them were ever at Hofstadir itself. Some were on
+watch along the cliffs, on the lookout for an attack from seaward.
+There were always two or more patrol-boats on the offing conning the
+sea northwards. The lookouts on the cliffs also watched the fiord for
+signs of an attempt to attack in boats from its northern shore. And
+some men-at-arms were always scattered about at the farmsteads of
+Thorstein’s thingmen and other dependents, especially towards the head
+of Revdarfiord, round which must come any attack in force by land.
+
+Thorkatla he found kind-hearted, but taciturn, sharp-tongued when
+she did speak, and of a very stern, harsh and austere disposition.
+Thorgerd, staid, astute and shrewd, was yet, by nature, trustful,
+unsuspicious, confiding, artless and unaffected. She gave Thorkell an
+experience entirely novel to him. For she displayed for him a warm
+sisterly interest, as to which she was entirely frank and open, while
+indubitably ardently in love with her handsome Finnvard.
+
+Thorarna and Thordis he greatly admired and liked. He could not make
+out at first which he liked better. That both were manifestly deeply
+in love with him he took as a matter of course. He had long become
+habituated to having attractive maidens fall in love with him on short
+acquaintance and show it.
+
+The immemorial usages of Scandinavian life made it absolutely
+unthinkable, in the Iceland of those days, that a young man and a young
+woman should ever be alone together, even for a moment. But, on the
+other hand, life in Iceland was so free, open, frank, spontaneous,
+unconventional and inartificial that not only were lads and lasses
+constantly encountering each other about the dwellings, but that not
+merely was chatting a matter of course and unremarked, but that such
+young folk as Thorkell, Thorarna and Thordis might and did walk about
+together out of doors, and sit together side by side conversing for
+hours in the hall, in full sight of those about them, unnoticed and
+left to themselves.
+
+In this way Thorkell became rapidly well-acquainted with both his
+host’s nieces and heard from each her story; stories very much alike
+and of a kind far too common in Iceland at that period, and for
+centuries later. The envenomed and unremitting enmity between the
+Revdarfirthers and their neighbors the Miofifirthers and Seydisfirthers
+had resulted in recurrent reprisals.
+
+Thorarna was the only survivor of an overwhelmingly successful assault
+upon her father’s homestead. Her father, Thorstein’s brother Thorleik,
+had been killed in the fighting, and, when the buildings were set on
+fire by the victorious assailants, all the family had perished in the
+flames except Thorarna, who, a child of three, had been saved by her
+faithful nurse.
+
+Thordis, the only daughter of Thorstein’s brother Thorgest, was the
+survivor of a similar massacre.
+
+Much of the evening leisure at Hofstadir was taken up with tales of
+such atrocities as these and of like assaults on homesteads, some by
+one side, some by the other; some craftily planned, artfully delivered
+and overwhelmingly successful; others resulting in drawn battles and
+leaving the homestead in mourning for some of its defenders, but
+unpillaged and unburnt; yet others unplanned, impulsive, foolhardy,
+undermanned or bungled in delivery and resulting in the utter
+discomfiture of the assailants. Thorkell sat in silence and listened
+to many long tales of this kind from Olmod the house-skald, from
+Thorstein himself and from his elder sons. From them also he listened
+to even longer tales of complaints against one or the other side before
+the Althing at Thingvellir, nearly every year at the two-weeks summer
+meeting of this national assembly. They told in great detail of the
+impassioned accusations of the plaintiffs, of the indignant rejoinders
+of the defendants, of the citations of the respondents before the
+high court of justice, of the evidence of the witnesses for each side,
+of the arguments of the lawmen, of the disagreements of the judges,
+of their occasional agreement, of their verdicts and judgments and of
+the indemnities they assessed upon the convicted aggressors. In almost
+every case Thorkell heard of the ignoring or flouting of the court’s
+decision and of yet further reprisals, duels, forays and outrages.
+What astonished him most was that, in all these tales of duels,
+murders, treacheries, ambushes, pillagings, outrages, butcheries,
+massacres and arson and of their consequences, the narrators talked
+as if the Althing were an efficient legislature with power to see to
+it that its enactments be observed as the law of the island; as if
+the courts had the authority they assumed to have and could enforce
+their judgments, verdicts, decrees and penalties; as if, in truth,
+law and justice did exist in Iceland: whereas, in fact, it appeared
+from every tale he listened to, from every detail of every narrative,
+that their vaunted Althing was merely a turbulent yearly social
+gathering, accomplishing nothing except the waste of time in futile
+wrangling, making a vain show of counterfeiting a sham legislature,
+which empty pretense all Icelanders kept up with a curious mingling of
+unconscious self-deception and shamefaced effrontery; that the courts,
+while generally spoken of with respect, were in fact derided by all
+malefactors, and unable to give effect to their decrees, judgments
+and verdicts, to enforce their penalties or to exact the indemnities
+they granted, so that they were, on the whole, a costly, time-wasting,
+exhausting and pitiable farce.
+
+It was plain to Thorkell that the Icelanders, if his host and his
+household were fair samples, had somehow duped themselves into fancying
+that they had courts which dispensed justice and a government which
+maintained law and order; whereas it was manifest that they lived in
+a condition of utter anarchy, where there was no protection for life
+or property except the fighting prowess of the men of a homestead as
+concerned themselves, their folk and their possessions; or of the
+men-at-arms of a chieftain for him and his. It was plain that beautiful
+Thordis, magnificent Thorarna, lovely Thorgerd, fair Arnora, dainty
+Valdis and stern Thorkatla were living in daily peril of a horrible
+death and were safe only in so far as their men could protect them. Yet
+they, like their men, boasted of the noble freedom of life in Iceland,
+pitied the servile condition of Norwegians under their tyrannical king,
+vaunted their island institutions, and lauded the system of local
+gothorths, yearly elections, yearly assemblies at Thingvellir of their
+unwieldy and ineffective Althing, and the complex, lengthy, laborious
+and fruitless procedure of their fatuous courts. Local pride seemed
+a passion which blinded them to the most glaring imperfections of
+anything Icelandic.
+
+
+                                  IV
+
+
+But it mattered very little what was the subject or the nature of the
+conversation, Thorkell found himself more than contented with any
+length of time which he might spend with either Thorarna or Thordis.
+Yet, after not many days, he was aware of a difference in his feelings
+for the two and of theirs for him. Thordis never avoided him, but
+never put herself in his way. If everything was favorable and they
+happened to be thrown together accidentally, she frankly enjoyed being
+with him, but never did anything to prolong a chat or to bring one
+about. Thorarna, on the contrary, was most ingenious in postponing the
+termination of a colloquy, and was most fertile in clever, adroit, and
+unobtrusive devices which resulted in their being together.
+
+Before many days life at Hofstadir, for Thorkell, consisted chiefly
+of endeavoring to be with Thordis. Once, when he was basking in her
+smiles, her face suddenly clouded and she said:
+
+“There! Thorarna has gone! Please, please try to spend more of your
+time with her and less with me. From childhood she and I have been
+happy together, and nothing has ever blurred our love for each other
+and our unreserved mutual confidence until she began to grow jealous
+of me. Since she fell in love with you we have become alienated; she
+is chilly to me, distant, reticent, even unfriendly. I grieve that we
+are estranged. I love her and I want her to love me. I do not want
+her to hate me. Please do all you can to placate her. She keeps her
+countenance and is always outwardly serene, sedate and stately. But she
+rages inwardly and is so infuriated when you talk to me that I dread
+her. Please avoid me and propitiate her all you can. Please promise me
+that you will do as I ask.”
+
+Thorkell promised, and, for some days, barely greeted Thordis and
+had no converse with her whatever, whereas he spent long hours with
+Thorarna, and, to his amazement, found that he enjoyed her society
+keenly; yet, even more to his amazement, felt that, when he was not
+with Thorarna, he longed for Thordis so acutely that he could hardly
+restrain himself from seeking her out and telling her how much he loved
+her.
+
+The long spell of clear, mild weather merged into weather decidedly
+warm, weather which would have been warm even for Scotland or England.
+Thorstein, with a large retinue of spearmen, rode out to visit and
+inspect the outlying fringe of farms tenanted by his dependents or
+thingmen. It was a very fair day and they had expected an easy jaunt
+and an early return to Hofstadir. So it turned out for Thorstein and
+most of his company. But, early in the day, they heard a report, hardly
+more than a rumor, of distress at a farmstead isolated among uplands
+at the extreme southwestern point of Thorstein’s gothorth, very much
+out of their way. Thorbrand offered to ride there and investigate
+and Thorkell volunteered to go with him. He demurred to his father’s
+suggestion that he take some of the men-at-arms, declaring that he and
+Thorkell could make better time alone. Off they set. Their errand was
+easily accomplished and the rumor found untrue and everyone safe and
+well at Mossfell. But, on their return, they encountered conditions
+peculiar to Iceland. There it frequently happens during a prolonged
+spell of warm weather that great quantities of snow are melted high up
+on the plateaus or in hollows among the upper foot-hills, and, very
+occasionally, that the waters are dammed back by ice accumulated in
+some valley, ravine, gorge or glen, and, if the hot weather lasts on,
+are suddenly released by the crumbling of the ice-dam. Such a sudden
+and terrific freshet roared across their homeward way and presented a
+torrent of deep water not only unfordable, but impossible to swim. They
+were, perforce, compelled to await the ebbing of the transitory flood
+and so did not reach Hofstadir until the gradual twilight, insensible
+gloaming and lingering dusk had melted into semi-darkness.
+
+Thorbrand, sedulously careful of their weary mounts, bade Thorkell go
+at once into the hall. Between the stable and the mansion, out of sight
+of either behind the storehouse, he encountered Thordis.
+
+She burst into tears; crying:
+
+“Oh! My Love! My Love! Ref and Karli rode in after sunset on lathered
+horses reporting that you and Thorbrand had been ambushed and killed.
+Oh! My Love! My Love!”
+
+Thorkell caught her in his arms and they clung together, she sobbing,
+her head on his breast, he with one arm about her, his other hand
+stroking her hair, whispering:
+
+“My Darling! My Darling!”
+
+Suddenly her arms relaxed, she pulled away from him, pushed him from
+her, and cried, in a strangled whisper:
+
+“Let me go! Thorarna might see us! Be careful! Thorarna must not see us
+together! Let me go! Avoid me! Keep away from me, hardly speak to me!
+She must not see us together! Let me go!”
+
+And she sprang away and vanished like a frightened hare.
+
+The weather, for two days afterwards, was not merely warm, but hot,
+weather which would have been hot anywhere; an occurrence very unusual
+for Iceland, but not unknown, especially on the east coast. On account
+of the heat the fire in the hall was allowed to go out entirely, and,
+at the evening meal, two of the benches of the men-at-arms were set
+across the fireplace, close against the stone work of the chimney-piece.
+
+During these two days Thorkell spent as much time with Thorarna as he
+could arrange, and found her fascinating, but moody, high-strung and
+capricious. He sedulously avoided Thordis. Only for one moment did they
+have an opportunity to exchange a few words. Then Thordis, on the verge
+of tears and gasping, said:
+
+“Oh! I am so afraid of Thorarna. I don’t know what I dread, but I am in
+the most fearful dread of her. She is very suspicious of you. I think
+she conjectures that you and I love each other. You are too distant
+with her for her peace of mind. Thorarna, like all her mother’s family,
+is petulant, choleric, touchy, irascible, hot-tempered, acrimonious,
+vindictive, impulsive, precipitate and hot-headed. Oh, I am so afraid
+of her!”
+
+Thorkell tried to calm her, but could not.
+
+Early the third morning, just after dawn had brightened into day, the
+lookouts gave the alarm.
+
+And too late!
+
+For, when the garrison of Hofstadir had barely armed and were not
+yet all at their posts, there fell upon them three simultaneous and
+perfectly coordinated assaults; from the west along the strand, from
+the south down the slope, and from the north, from across the fiord by
+a party which had made an unopposed landing on the shore.
+
+Thorkell was among the defenders of the western side of the enclosure,
+and, despite the hard fight he and his companions put up, their
+assailants succeeded in crossing the trench and scaling the wall. But
+thereupon they were beaten back by a desperate rally of the denizens,
+in which Thorkell played more than his part, for he, single-handed,
+successively slew five formidable antagonists. As their foemen wavered
+he sprang at a sixth, parried his thrust and got home a deadly stroke
+on his helmet.
+
+The sword snapped!
+
+As his adversary was half stunned and wholly dazed by the force of the
+blow Thorkell whirled about and made a dash for the hall. There he
+leapt upon one of the benches set across the fireplace, seized the hilt
+of one of the six identical swords, wrenched it from its fastenings,
+and, waving it, dashed out.
+
+As he cleared the doorway he heard elated shouts and an exultant cheer.
+Glancing to his right he saw men in chain-mail hauberks vaulting the
+eastern wall of the enclosure. He recognized, in the lead, Lodbrok
+and Halfdan, the chiefs, Gellir, Sigurd and Bodvar, his treacherous
+friends, and others from the crew of the Sea-Raven. He instantly
+divined that they had blundered into Miofifiord or Seydisfiord, had
+fraternized with the Seydisfirthers and Miofifirthers and had readily
+agreed, for their share in the prospective loot, to take part in
+capturing and sacking the richest homestead in eastern Iceland.
+
+On fire with his chance of revenge he flew at Lodbrok, and, as he
+charged, it seemed to him that never had he run so swiftly, never
+had he felt so strong, so capable, so eager for a fray, so sure of
+success. He beat back Lodbrok’s guard and swung a full-arm sweep of
+his blade at his head. The sword went up like a feather and came down
+like a battle-axe. As if through cheese it clove helm, skull, jaw and
+chin down into the breast-bone. Lodbrok fell like a pole-axed ox, and,
+as Thorkell saw him go down, almost in two halves, he realized that he
+was wielding Floki’s blade.
+
+He whirled on Gellir and the sweep of the sword cut clean through
+not only both forearms between wrist and elbow, but also through the
+stout ash shaft of the pike he wielded. Behind Gellir was Halfdan,
+no mean adversary, truculent, wary and skilled. He held his bright,
+round, arabesqued shield close against his left shoulder and lunged
+cunningly and viciously. Barely parrying his thrust Thorkell swung his
+great sword, and, lo! it shore clean through shield, gorget, hauberk,
+shoulder and arm, so that his left forequarter fell clear of Halfdan
+and he was dead before he crumpled on the earth.
+
+Similarly Thorkell slew Bodvar, Sigurd and Hrodmar. Two the sharp sword
+beheaded at a single sweep; one it cleft under the sword-arm, through
+his ribs, into his liver; of the fourth its point pierced his heart
+through shield and hauberk.
+
+Instinct made Thorkell spin round and he faced Kollgrim Erlendson,
+leader of the Vikings and most redoubtable of them all. Their swords
+clashed and Kollgrim’s failed, snapped before the hilt, so that
+Thorkell’s blade shore off his right shoulder, slicing through the
+rings of his chain-mail hauberk as if it had been of hemp, and he died
+as his fellow chieftain Halfdan Ingolfson had died.
+
+Although their chiefs were all dead the Vikings, descrying but one
+defender before them, were swarming over the wall. Among them Thorkell
+dashed and at each stroke of Floki’s blade a foeman died. Yet Thorkell
+must have been overwhelmed by mere numbers if some of the Vilgerdsons
+and their men-at-arms, now victorious to north and south, had not
+flocked to his aid, amazed to see that Hofstadir had been saved by his
+unaided valor and spurred on by admiration of him.
+
+Thorkell at their head they drove the survivors of the Sea-Raven’s crew
+in headlong flight across the wall and trench, and Thorkell beheld in
+the distance the thralls Erp, Ulf, Hundi, Kepp, Sokholf and Vifill,
+standing ready with spare shields, spears, bows and quivers, cast away
+their burdens and turn in flight before the foremost of the fleeing
+Vikings reached them.
+
+The fight was over. The assailants were everywhere beaten and routed.
+Thorstein forbade pursuit on foot, and only some twenty of the
+men-at-arms found horses ready, mounted and sped out of the main
+gateway of the enclosure to complete the rout of the assailants, who
+left more than forty corpses behind them.
+
+Of the victors twelve spearmen had fallen and with them seven of
+Thorstein’s dependent yeomen, four of his thingmen, and two cousins,
+Thorberg Vilgerdson of Snowfell and Thorod Vilgerdson of Gelsbank.
+Thorkell, Thorstein himself and Thorfinn were the only unwounded
+warriors among the defenders. All the rest of the family, all the
+cousins, thingmen, yeomen, and men-at-arms had suffered one or more
+wounds; but, of the family, only Thord was wounded seriously. His
+wounds were at once bound up and the blood staunched.
+
+Then, with one accord, every warrior of them all acclaimed Thorkell
+as their savior. They cheered him and saluted him as “hero.” Thorfinn
+and Thorgeir seized him by the elbows, and, following their father and
+followed by the cheering throng, marched him into the great hall and up
+to the High Seat. There Thorstein stood aside and motioned Thorkell to
+mount the dais and occupy the High Seat. Before his dazed astonishment
+could protest, Thorfinn and Thorgeir had gently forced him into it.
+There he sat, Floki’s blade, still red, point down between his knees,
+his hands crossed on the pommel of the upright hilt.
+
+Thorstein shouted:
+
+“Mead for the hero! Not a man of us shall touch horn or bowl to lip
+until the hero has had his fill of my best mead. Mead for the hero!”
+
+At the call Thorarna appeared from the kitchen through the rear
+doorway carrying with both hands a great bowl high before her. Down
+the hall she came, her face lit with a triumphant smile, magnificent
+and stately. Before the High Seat she knelt and offered the bowl to
+Thorkell. The fighters cheered again.
+
+As Thorarna held up the bowl, Thorkell, to his horror, felt his right
+hand grasp the sword-hilt with a grip he could not loosen, felt
+the sword raise itself and his arm till the blade swung high above
+Thorarna, felt the magic of the sword drag down his arm in a deadly
+sweep, felt and saw the blow descend, felt and saw the blade shear
+through Thorarna’s left shoulder, shoulder-blade, collar-bone and
+ribs, cleaving her to the very heart.
+
+She crumpled in a horrid welter of spilt mead, gushing blood,
+disordered raiment and huddled flesh.
+
+The onlookers stood, frozen mute.
+
+Into the hall rushed Thordis and Thorgerd, screaming:
+
+“Do not drink! The mead is poisoned! Do not drink! The mead is
+poisoned!”
+
+At sight of the High Seat, Thorkell on it and what lay before him,
+Thordis collapsed in a faint. Thorgerd was at once absorbed in tending
+her cousin.
+
+Thorstein shouted for his thralls.
+
+“Ref! Karli! Mar! Odd! Remove that carrion! Cleanse the dais!”
+
+And, when his orders had been obeyed and the dais and hall were again
+seemly, he called once more:
+
+“Mead for the hero!”
+
+Thordis, now restored, though tottering, her golden-haired,
+pink-cheeked, blue-eyed loveliness amazing even in her confusion,
+herself carried to Thorkell a horn.
+
+He took it, quaffed it as he sat and handed it back to her. Then
+Thorstein shouted:
+
+“Mead for all of us, and more mead for the hero!”
+
+Maid servants flocked in with bowls, horns and goblets and behind them
+thralls with pails of mead to replenish those drained. All drank,
+Thorkell too, a second horn offered him by Thordis. From her knees he
+raised her and made her stand beside the High Seat.
+
+Then Thorstein shouted:
+
+“Hail the hero!”
+
+Whereupon all the warriors cheered Thorkell until they were hoarse.
+
+Into the ensuing silence Thorstein spoke clearly and gravely:
+
+“To-morrow we shall revel in honor of our deliverance, victory and
+safety. And the banquet shall be the wedding feast of my niece Thordis
+and of her bridegroom, my cousin, Thorkell Vilgerdson of Rogaland in
+Norway, our hero!”
+
+                                                                   1924
+
+
+
+
+                          THE PICTURE PUZZLE
+
+
+
+
+                          THE PICTURE PUZZLE
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+OF course the instinct of the police and detectives was to run down
+their game. That was natural. They seemed astonished and contemptuous
+when I urged that all I wanted was my baby; whether the kidnappers
+were ever caught or not made no difference to me. They kept arguing
+that unless precautions were taken the criminals would escape and
+I kept arguing that if they became suspicious of a trap they would
+keep away and my only chance to recover our little girl would be gone
+forever. They finally agreed and I believe they kept their promise to
+me. Helen always felt the other way and maintained that their watchers
+frightened off whoever was to meet me. Anyhow I waited in vain, waited
+for hours, waited again the next day and the next and the next. We put
+advertisements in countless papers, offering rewards and immunity, but
+never heard anything more.
+
+I pulled myself together in a sort of a way and tried to do my work. My
+partner and clerks were very kind. I don’t believe I ever did anything
+properly in those days, but no one ever brought any blunder to my
+attention. If they came across any they set it right for me. And at the
+office it was not so bad. Trying to work was good for me. It was worse
+at home and worse at night. I slept hardly at all.
+
+Helen, if possible, slept less than I. And she had terrible spasms of
+sobs that shook the bed. She would try to choke them down, thinking I
+was asleep and she might wake me. But she never went through a night
+without at least one frightful paroxysm of tears.
+
+In the daylight she controlled herself better, made a heart-breaking
+and yet heart-warming effort at her normal cheeriness over the
+breakfast things, and greeted me beautifully when I came home. But the
+moment we were alone for the evening she would break down.
+
+I don’t know how many days that sort of thing kept up. I sympathized
+in silence. It was Helen herself who suggested that we must force
+ourselves to be diverted, somehow. The theater was out of the question.
+Not merely the sight of a four-year-old girl with yellow locks threw
+Helen into a passion of uncontrollable sobbing, but all sorts of
+unexpected trifles reminded her of Amy and affected her almost as much.
+Confined to our home we tried cards, chess and everything else we could
+think of. They helped her as little as they helped me.
+
+Then one afternoon Helen did not come to greet me. Instead as I came in
+I heard her call, quite in her natural voice.
+
+“Oh, I’m so glad that is you. Come and help me.”
+
+I found her seated at the library table, her back to the door. She had
+on a pink wrapper and her shoulders had no despondent droop, but a
+girlish alertness. She barely turned her head as I entered, but her
+profile showed no signs of recent weeping. Her face was its natural
+color.
+
+“Come and help me,” she repeated. “I can’t find the other piece of the
+boat.”
+
+She was absorbed, positively absorbed in a picture puzzle.
+
+In forty seconds I was absorbed too. It must have been six minutes
+before we identified the last piece of the boat. And then we went on
+with the sky and were still at it when the butler announced dinner.
+
+“Where did you get it?” I asked, over the soup, which Helen really ate.
+
+“Mrs. Allstone brought it,” Helen replied, “just before lunch.”
+
+I blessed Mrs. Allstone.
+
+Really it seems absurd, but those idiotic jig-saw puzzles were our
+salvation. They actually took our minds off everything else. At first
+I dreaded finishing one. No sooner was the last piece in place than I
+felt a sudden revulsion, a booming of blood in my ears, and the sense
+of loss and misery rushed over me like a wave of scalding water. And I
+knew it was worse for Helen.
+
+But after some days each seemed not merely a respite from pain, but
+a sedative as well. After a two hours’ struggle with a fascinating
+tangle of shapes and colors, we seemed numb to our bereavement and the
+bitterness of the smart seemed blunted.
+
+We grew fastidious as to manufacture and finish; learned to avoid crude
+and clumsy products as bores; developed a pronounced taste for pictures
+neither too soft nor too plain in color-masses; and became connoisseurs
+as to cutting, utterly above the obvious and entirely disenchanted
+with the painfully difficult. We evolved into adepts, quick to recoil
+from fragments barren of any clue of shape or markings and equally
+prompt to reject those whose meaning was too definite and insistent.
+We trod delicately the middle way among segments not one of which was
+without some clue of outline or tint, and not one of which imparted its
+message without interrogation, inference and reflection.
+
+Helen used to time herself and try the same puzzle over and over on
+successive days until she could do it in less than half an hour. She
+declared that a really good puzzle was interesting the fourth or fifth
+time and that an especially fine puzzle was diverting if turned face
+down and put together from the shapes merely, after it had been well
+learned the other way. I did not enter into the craze to that extent,
+but sometimes tried her methods for variety.
+
+We really slept, and Helen, though worn and thin, was not abject, not
+agonized. Her nights passed, if not wholly without tears, yet with only
+those soft and silent tears, which are more a relief than suffering.
+With me she was nearly her old self and very brave and patient. She
+greeted me naturally and we seemed able to go on living.
+
+Then one day she was not at the door to welcome me. I had hardly shut
+it before I heard her sobbing. I found her again at the library table
+and over a puzzle. But this time she had just finished it and was bowed
+over it on the table, shaken all over by her grief.
+
+She lifted her head from her crossed arms, pointed and buried her face
+in her hands. I understood. The picture I remembered from a magazine of
+the year before: a Christmas tree with a bevy of children about it and
+one (we had remarked it at the time) a perfect likeness of our Amy.
+
+As she rocked back and forth, her hands over her eyes, I swept the
+pieces into their box and put on the lid.
+
+Presently Helen dried her eyes and looked at the table.
+
+“Oh! why did you touch it,” she wailed. “It was such a comfort to me.”
+
+“You did not seem comforted,” I retorted. “I thought the contrast:...”
+I stopped.
+
+“You mean the contrast between the Christmas we expected and the
+Christmas we are going to have?” she queried. “You mean you thought
+that was too much for me?”
+
+I nodded.
+
+“It wasn’t that at all,” she averred. “I was crying for joy. That
+picture was a sign.”
+
+“A sign?” I repeated.
+
+“Yes,” she declared, “a sign that we shall get her back in time for
+Christmas. I’m going to start and get ready right away.”
+
+At first I was glad of the diversion. Helen had the nursery put in
+order as if she expected Amy the next day, hauled over all the child’s
+clothes and was in a bustling state of happy expectancy. She went
+vigorously about her preparation for a Christmas celebration, planned
+a Christmas Eve dinner for our brothers and sisters and their husbands
+and wives, and a children’s party afterwards with a big tree and a
+profusion of goodies and gifts.
+
+“You see,” she explained, “everyone will want their own Christmas at
+home. So shall we, for we’ll just want to gloat over Amy all day. We
+won’t want them on Christmas any more than they’ll want us. But this
+way we can all be together and celebrate and rejoice over our good
+luck.”
+
+She was as elated and convinced as if it was a certainty. For a while
+her occupation with preparations was good for her, but she was so
+forehanded that she was ready a week ahead of time and had not a detail
+left to arrange. I dreaded a reaction, but her artificial exaltation
+continued unabated. All the more I feared the inevitable disappointment
+and was genuinely concerned for her reason. The fixed idea that that
+accidental coincidence was a prophecy and a guarantee dominated her
+totally. I was really afraid that the shock of the reality might kill
+her. I did not want to dissipate her happy delusion, but I could not
+but try to prepare her for the certain blow. I talked cautiously in
+wide circles around what I wanted and I did not want to say.
+
+
+                                  II
+
+
+On December 22nd, I came home early, just after lunch, in fact. Helen
+met me, at the door, with such a demeanor of suppressed high spirits,
+happy secrecy and tingling anticipation that for one moment I was
+certain Amy had been found and was then in the house.
+
+“I’ve something wonderful to show you,” Helen declared, and led me to
+the library.
+
+There on the table was a picture-puzzle fitted together.
+
+She stood and pointed to it with the air of exhibiting a marvel.
+
+I looked at it but could not conjecture the cause of her excitement.
+The pieces seemed too large, too clumsy and too uniform in outline. It
+looked a crude and clumsy puzzle, beneath her notice.
+
+“Why did you buy it?” I asked.
+
+“I met a peddler on the street,” she answered, “and he was so
+wretched-looking, I was sorry for him. He was young and thin and looked
+haggard and consumptive. I looked at him and I suppose I showed my
+feelings. He said:
+
+“Lady, buy a puzzle. It will help you to your heart’s desire.”
+
+“His words were so odd I bought it, and now just look at what it is.”
+
+I was groping for some foothold upon which to rally my thoughts.
+
+“Let me see the box in which it came,” I asked.
+
+She produced it and I read on the top:
+
+                     “GUGGENHEIM’S DOUBLE PICTURE
+                                PUZZLE.
+                              TWO IN ONE.
+                          MOST FOR THE MONEY.
+                         ASK FOR GUGGENHEIM’S”
+
+And on the end--
+
+                               “ASTRAY.
+                           A BREATH OF AIR.
+                              50 CENTS.”
+
+“It’s queer,” Helen remarked. “But it is not a double puzzle at all,
+though the pieces have the same paper on both sides. One side is blank.
+I suppose this is ASTRAY. Don’t you think so?”
+
+“Astray?” I queried, puzzled.
+
+“Oh,” she cried, in a disappointed, disheartened, almost querulous
+tone. “I thought you would be so much struck with the resemblance. You
+don’t seem to notice it at all. Why even the dress is identical!”
+
+“The dress?” I repeated. “How many times have you done this?”
+
+“Only this once,” she said. “I had just finished it when I heard your
+key in the lock.”
+
+“I should have thought,” I commented, “that it would have been more
+interesting to do it face up first.”
+
+“Face up!” She cried. “It is face up.”
+
+Her air of scornful superiority completely shook me out of my sedulous
+consideration of a moment before.
+
+“Nonsense,” I said, “that’s the back of the puzzle. There are no colors
+there. It’s all pink.”
+
+“Pink!” she exclaimed pointing. “Do you call that pink!”
+
+“Certainly it’s pink,” I asserted.
+
+“Don’t you see there the white of the old man’s beard,” she queried,
+pointing again. “And there the black of his boots? And there the red of
+the little girl’s dress?”
+
+“No,” I declared. “I don’t see anything of the kind. It’s all pink.
+There isn’t any picture there at all.”
+
+“No picture!” she cried. “Don’t you see the old man leading the child
+by the hand?”
+
+“No,” I said harshly, “I don’t see any picture and you know I don’t.
+There isn’t any picture there. I can’t make out what you are driving
+at. It seems a senseless joke.”
+
+“Joke! I joke!” Helen half whispered. The tears came into her eyes.
+
+“You are cruel,” she said, “and I thought you would be struck by the
+resemblance.”
+
+I was overwhelmed by a pang of self-reproach, solicitude and terror.
+
+“Resemblance to what?” I asked gently.
+
+“Can’t you see it?” she insisted.
+
+“Tell me,” I pleaded. “Show me just what you want me to notice most.”
+
+“The child,” she said pointing, “is just exactly Amy and the dress is
+the very red suit she had on when----”
+
+“Dear,” I said, “try to collect yourself. Indeed you only imagine what
+you tell me. There is no picture on this side of the sections. The
+whole thing is pink. That is the back of the puzzle.”
+
+“I don’t see how you can say such a thing,” she raged at me. “I can’t
+make out why you should. What sort of a test are you putting me
+through? What does it all mean?”
+
+“Will you let me prove to you that this is the back of the puzzle?” I
+asked.
+
+“If you can,” she said shortly.
+
+I turned the pieces of the puzzle over, keeping them together as much
+as possible. I succeeded pretty well with the outer pieces and soon had
+the rectangle in place. The inner pieces were a good deal mixed up, but
+even before I had fitted them I exclaimed:
+
+“There look at that!”
+
+“Well,” she asked. “What do you expect me to see?”
+
+“What do you see?” I asked in turn.
+
+“I see the back of a puzzle,” she answered.
+
+“Don’t you see those front steps?” I demanded, pointing.
+
+“I don’t see anything,” she asserted, “except green.”
+
+“Do you call that green?” I queried pointing.
+
+“I do,” she declared.
+
+“Don’t you see the brick-work front of the house?” I insisted, “and the
+lower part of a window and part of a door. Yes and those front-steps in
+the corner?”
+
+“I don’t see anything of the kind,” she asseverated. “Any more than you
+do. What I see is just what you see. It’s the back of the puzzle, all
+pale green.”
+
+I had been feverishly putting together the last pieces as she spoke. I
+could not believe my eyes and, as the last piece fitted in, was struck
+with amazement.
+
+The picture showed an old red-brick house, with brown blinds, all
+open. The top of the front steps was included in the lower right hand
+corner, most of the front door above them, all of one window on its
+level, and the side of another. Above appeared all of one of the second
+floor windows, and parts of those to right and left of it. The other
+windows were closed, but the sash of the middle one was raised and from
+it leaned a little girl, a child with frowzy hair, a dirty face and
+wearing a blue and white check frock. The child was a perfect likeness
+of our lost Amy, supposing she had been starved and neglected. I was so
+affected that I was afraid I should faint. I was positively husky when
+I asked:
+
+“Don’t you see that?”
+
+“I see Nile green,” she maintained. “The same as you see.”
+
+I swept the pieces into the box.
+
+“We are neither of us well,” I said.
+
+“I should think you must be deranged to behave so,” she snapped, “and
+it is no wonder I am not well the way you treat me.”
+
+“How could I know what you wanted me to see?” I began.
+
+“Wanted you to see!” she cried. “You keep it up? You pretend you didn’t
+see it, after all? Oh! I have no patience with you.”
+
+She burst into tears, fled upstairs and I heard her slam and lock our
+bedroom door.
+
+I put that puzzle together again and the likeness of that hungry,
+filthy child in the picture to our Amy made my heart ache.
+
+I found a stout box, cut two pieces of straw-board just the shape of
+the puzzle and a trifle larger, laid one on top of it and slid the
+other under it. Then I tied it together with string and wrapped it in
+paper and tied the whole.
+
+I put the box in my overcoat pocket and went out carrying the flat
+parcel.
+
+I walked round to MacIntyre’s.
+
+I told him the whole story and showed him the puzzle.
+
+“Do you want the truth?” he asked.
+
+“Just that,” I said.
+
+“Well,” he reported. “You are as overstrung as she is and the same way.
+There is absolutely no picture on either side of this. One side is
+solid green and the other solid pink.”
+
+“How about the coincidence of the names on the box?” I interjected.
+“One suited what I saw, one what she said she saw.”
+
+“Let’s look at the box,” he suggested.
+
+He looked at it on all sides.
+
+“There’s not a letter on it,” he announced. “Except ‘picture puzzle’ on
+top and ‘50 cents’ on the end.”
+
+“I don’t feel insane,” I declared.
+
+“You aren’t,” he reassured me. “Nor in any danger of being insane. Let
+me look you over.”
+
+He felt my pulse, looked at my tongue, examined both eyes with his
+ophthalmoscope, and took a drop of my blood.
+
+“I’ll report further,” he said, “in confirmation to-morrow. You’re all
+right, or nearly so, and you’ll soon be really all right. All you need
+is a little rest. Don’t worry about this idea of your wife’s, humor
+her. There won’t be any terrible consequences. After Christmas go to
+Florida or somewhere for a week or so. And don’t exert yourself from
+now till after that change.”
+
+When I reached home, I went down into the cellar, threw that puzzle and
+its box into the furnace and stood and watched it burn to ashes.
+
+
+                                  III
+
+
+When I came upstairs from the furnace Helen met me as if nothing had
+happened. By one of her sudden revulsions of mood she was even more
+gracious than usual, and was at dinner altogether charming. She did not
+refer to our quarrel or to the puzzle.
+
+The next morning over our breakfast we were both opening our mail. I
+had told her that I should not go to the office until after Christmas
+and that I wanted her to arrange for a little tour that would please
+her. I had phoned to the office not to expect me until after New Year’s.
+
+My mail contained nothing of moment.
+
+Helen looked up from hers with an expression curiously mingled of
+disappointment, concern and a pleased smile.
+
+“It is so fortunate you have nothing to do,” she said. “I spent four
+whole days choosing toys and favors and found most of those I selected
+at Bleich’s. They were to have been delivered day before yesterday but
+they did not come. I telephoned yesterday and they said they would try
+to trace them. Here is a letter saying that the whole lot was missent
+out to Roundwood. You noticed that Roundwood station burned Monday
+night. They were all burnt up. Now I’ll have to go and find more like
+them. You can go with me.”
+
+I went.
+
+The two days were a strange mixture of sensations and emotions.
+
+Helen had picked over Bleich’s stock pretty carefully and could
+duplicate from it few of the burned articles, could find acceptable
+substitutes for fewer. There followed an exhausting pursuit of
+the unattainable through a bewildering series of toy-shops and
+department-stores. We spent most of our time at counters and much of
+the remainder in a taxicab.
+
+In a way it was very trying. I did not mind the smells and bad air and
+other mere physical discomforts. But the mental strain continually
+intensified. Helen’s confidence that Amy would be restored to us was
+steadily waning and her outward exhibition of it was becoming more
+and more artificial, and consciously sustained, and more and more
+of an effort. She was coming to foresee, in spite of herself, that
+our Christmas celebration would be a most terrible mockery of our
+bereavement. She was forcing herself not to confess it to herself and
+not to show it to me. The strain told on her. It told on me to watch
+it, to see the inevitable crash coming nearer and nearer and to try to
+put away from myself the pictures of her collapse, of her probable loss
+of reason, of her possible death, which my imagination kept thrusting
+before me.
+
+On the other hand Helen was to all appearance, if one had no prevision
+by which to read her, her most charming self. Her manner to shop-girls
+and other sales-people was a delight to watch. Her little speeches to
+me were full of her girlish whimsicality and unexpectedness. Her good
+will towards all the world, her resolution that everything must come
+right and would come right haloed her in a sort of aureole of romance.
+Our lunches were ideal hours, full of the atmosphere of courtship, of
+lovemaking, of exquisite companionship. In spite of my forebodings, I
+caught the contagion of the Christmas shopping crowds; in spite of her
+self-deception Helen revelled in it. The purpose to make as many people
+as possible as happy as might be irradiated Helen with the light of
+fairyland; her resolve to be happy herself in spite of everything made
+her a sort of fairy queen. I found myself less and less anxious and
+more and more almost expectant. I knew Helen was looking for Amy every
+instant. I found myself in the same state of mind.
+
+Our lunch on Christmas Eve was a strange blend of artificiality and
+genuine exhilaration. After it we had but one purchase to make.
+
+“We are in no hurry,” Helen said. “Let’s take a horse-hansom for old
+sake’s sake.”
+
+In it we were like boy and girl together until the jeweler’s was
+reached.
+
+There gloom, in spite of us, settled down over our hopes and feelings.
+Helen walked to the hansom like a gray ghost. Like the whisper of some
+far-off stranger I heard myself order the driver to take us home.
+
+In the hansom we sat silent, looking straight in front of us at
+nothing. I stole a glance at Helen and saw a tear in the corner of her
+eye. I sat choking.
+
+All at once she seized my hand.
+
+“Look!” she exclaimed, “Look!”
+
+I looked where she pointed, but discerned nothing to account for her
+excitement.
+
+“What is it?” I queried.
+
+“The old man!” she exclaimed.
+
+“What old man?” I asked bewildered.
+
+“The old man on the puzzle,” she told me. “The old man who was leading
+Amy.”
+
+Then I was sure she was demented. To humor her I asked:
+
+“The old man with the brown coat?”
+
+“Yes,” she said eagerly. “The old man with the long gray hair over his
+collar.”
+
+“With the walking stick?” I inquired.
+
+“Yes,” she answered. “With the crooked walking stick.”
+
+I saw him too! This was no figment of Helen’s imagination.
+
+It was absurd of course, but my eagerness caught fire from hers. I
+credited the absurdity. In what sort of vision it mattered not she had
+seen an old man like this leading our lost Amy.
+
+I spoke to the driver, pointed out to him the old man, told him to
+follow him without attracting his attention and offered him anything he
+asked to keep him in sight.
+
+Helen became possessed with the idea that we should lose sight of the
+old man in the crowds. Nothing would do but we must get out and follow
+him on foot. I remonstrated that we were much more likely to lose sight
+of him that way, and still more likely to attract his notice, which
+would be worse than losing him. She insisted and I told the man to keep
+us in view.
+
+A weary walk we had, though most of it was mere strolling after a
+tottering figure or loitering about shops he entered.
+
+It was near dusk and full time for us to be at home when he began to
+walk fast. So fast he drew away from us in spite of us. He turned a
+corner a half a square ahead of us. When we turned into that street he
+was nowhere to be seen.
+
+Helen was ready to faint with disappointment. With no hope of helping
+her, but some instinctive idea of postponing the evil moment I urged
+her to walk on, saying that perhaps we might see him. About the middle
+of the square I suddenly stood still.
+
+“What is the matter?” Helen asked.
+
+“The house!” I said.
+
+“What house?” she queried.
+
+“The house in the puzzle picture,” I explained. “The house where I saw
+Amy at the window.”
+
+Of course she had not seen any house on the puzzle, but she caught at
+the last straw of hope.
+
+It was a poor neighborhood of crowded tenements, not quite a slum, yet
+dirty and unkempt and full of poor folks.
+
+The house door was shut, I could find no sign of any bell. I knocked.
+No one answered. I tried the door. It was not fastened and we entered
+a dirty hallway, cold and damp and smelling repulsively. A fat woman
+stuck her head out of a door and jabbered at us in an unknown tongue.
+A man with a fez on his greasy black hair came from the back of the
+hallway and was equally unintelligible.
+
+“Does nobody here speak English?” I asked.
+
+The answer was as incomprehensible as before.
+
+I made to go up the stairs.
+
+The man, and the woman, who was now standing before her door, both
+chattered at once, but neither made any attempt to stop me. They waved
+vaguely explanatory, deprecating hands towards the blackness of the
+stairway. We went up.
+
+On the second floor landing we saw just the old man we had been
+following.
+
+He stared at us when I spoke to him.
+
+“Son-in-law,” he said, “son-in-law.”
+
+He called and a door opened. An oldish woman answered him in apparently
+the same jargon. Behind was a young woman holding a baby.
+
+“What is it?” she asked with a great deal of accent but intelligibly.
+
+Three or four children held on by her skirts.
+
+Behind her I saw a little girl in a blue-check dress.
+
+Helen screamed.
+
+
+                                  IV
+
+
+The people turned out to be refugees from the settlement about the
+sacked German Mission at Dehkhargan near Tabriz, Christianized
+Persians, such stupid villagers that they had never thought or had been
+incapable of reporting their find to the police, so ignorant that they
+knew nothing of rewards or advertisements, such simple-hearted folk
+that they had shared their narrow quarters and scanty fare with the
+unknown waif their grandfather had found wandering alone, after dark,
+months before.
+
+Amy, when we had leisure to ask questions and hear her experiences,
+declared they had treated her as they treated their own children. She
+could give no description of her kidnappers except that the woman had
+on a hat with roses in it and the man had a little yellow mustache. She
+could not tell how long they had kept her nor why they had left her to
+wander in the streets at night.
+
+It needed no common language, far less any legal proof, to convince
+Amy’s hosts that she belonged to us. I had a pocket full of Christmas
+money, new five and ten dollar gold pieces and bright silver quarters
+for the servants and children. I filled the old grandfather’s hands
+and plainly overwhelmed him. They all jabbered at us, blessings, if I
+judged the tone right. I tried to tell the young woman we should see
+them again in a day or two and I gave her a card to make sure.
+
+I told the cabman to stop the first taxicab he should see empty. In the
+hansom we hugged Amy alternately and hugged each other.
+
+Once in the taxicab we were home in half an hour; more, much more than
+half an hour late. Helen whisked Amy in by the servants’ door and flew
+upstairs with her by the back way. I faced a perturbed and anxious
+parlorful of interrogative relatives and in-laws.
+
+“You’ll know before many minutes,” I said, “why we were both out and
+are in late. Helen will want to surprise you and I’ll say nothing to
+spoil the effect.”
+
+Nothing I could have said would have spoiled the effect because they
+would not have believed me. As it was Helen came in sooner than I could
+have thought possible, looking her best and accurately playing the
+formal hostess with a feeble attempt at a surprise in store.
+
+The dinner was a great success, with much laughter and high spirits,
+everybody carried away by Helen’s sallies and everybody amazed that she
+could be so gay.
+
+“I cannot understand,” Paul’s wife whispered to me, “how she can ever
+get through the party. It would kill me in her place.”
+
+“It won’t kill her,” I said confidently. “You may be sure of that.”
+
+The children had arrived to the number of more than thirty and only the
+inevitably late Amstelhuysens had not come. Helen announced that she
+would not wait for them.
+
+“The tree is lighted,” she said. “We’ll have the doors thrown open and
+go in.”
+
+We were all gathered in the front parlor. The twins panted in at
+the last instant. The grown-ups were pulling motto-crackers and the
+children were throwing confetti. The doors opened, the tree filled all
+the back of the room. The candles blazed and twinkled. And in front of
+it, in a simple little white dress, with a fairy’s wand in her hand,
+tipped with a silver star, clean, healthy-looking and full of spirits
+was Amy, the fairy of the hour.
+
+                                                                   1909
+
+
+
+
+                               THE SNOUT
+
+
+
+
+                               THE SNOUT
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+I WAS not so much conning the specimens in the Zoölogical Garden as
+idly basking in the agreeable morning sunshine and relishing at leisure
+the perfect weather. So I saw him the instant he turned the corner of
+the building. At first, I thought I recognized him, then I hesitated.
+At first he seemed to know me and to be just about to greet me; then
+he saw past me into the cage. His eyes bulged; his mouth opened into
+a long egg-shaped oval, till you might almost have said that his jaw
+dropped; he made an inarticulate sound, partly a grunt, partly the
+ghost of a howl, and collapsed in a limp heap on the gravel. I had not
+seen a human being since I passed the gate, some distance away. No one
+came when I called. So I dragged him to the grass by a bench, untied
+his faded, shiny cravat, took off his frayed collar and unbuttoned his
+soiled neckband. Then I peeled his coat off him, rolled it up, and put
+it under his knees as he lay on his back. I tried to find some water,
+but could see none. So I sat down on the bench near him. There he lay,
+his legs and body on the grass, his head in the dry gutter, his arms on
+the pebbles of the path. I was sure I knew him, but I could not recall
+when or where we had encountered each other before. Presently he
+answered to my rough and ready treatment and opened his eyes, blinking
+at me heavily. He drew up his arms to his shoulders and sighed.
+
+“Queer,” he muttered, “I come here because of you and I meet you.”
+
+Still I could not remember him and he had revived enough to read my
+face. He sat up.
+
+“Don’t try to stand up!” I warned him.
+
+He did not need the admonition, but clung to the end of the bench, his
+head bowed wagglingly over his arms.
+
+“Don’t you remember,” he asked thickly. “You said I had a pretty good
+smattering of an education on everything except Natural History and
+Ancient History. I’m hoping for a job in a few days, and I thought I’d
+put in the time and keep out of mischief brushing up. So I started on
+Natural History first and----”
+
+He broke off and glared up at me. I remembered him now. I should have
+recognized him the moment I saw him, for he was daily in my mind.
+But his luxuriant hair, his tanned skin and above all his changed
+expression, a sort of look of acquired cosmopolitanism, had baffled me.
+
+“Natural History!” he repeated, in a hoarse whisper. His fingers
+digging in the slats of the bench he wrenched himself round to face the
+cage.
+
+“Hell!” he screamed. “There it is yet!”
+
+He held on by the end iron-arm of the bench, shaking, almost sobbing.
+
+“What’s wrong with you?” I queried. “What do think you see in that
+cage?”
+
+“Do you see anything in that cage?” he demanded in reply.
+
+“Certainly,” I told him.
+
+“Then for God’s sake,” he pleaded. “What do you see?”
+
+I told him briefly.
+
+“Good Lord,” he ejaculated. “Are we both crazy?”
+
+“Nothing crazy about either of us,” I assured him. “What we see in the
+cage is what is in the cage.”
+
+“Is there such a critter as that, honest?” he pressed me.
+
+I gave him a pretty full account of the animal, its habits and
+relationships.
+
+“Well,” he said, weakly, “I suppose you’re telling the truth. If there
+is such a critter let’s get where I can’t see it.”
+
+I helped him to his feet and assisted him to a bench altogether out of
+sight of that building. He put on his collar and knotted his cravat.
+While I had held it I had noticed that, through its greasy condition,
+it showed plainly having been a very expensive cravat. His clothes I
+remarked were seedy, but had been of the very best when new.
+
+“Let’s find a drinking fountain,” he suggested, “I can walk now.”
+
+We found one not far away and at no great distance from it a shaded
+bench facing an agreeable view. I offered him a cigarette and we
+smoked. I meant to let him do most of the talking.
+
+“Do you know,” he began presently. “Things you said to me run in my
+head more than anything anybody ever said to me. I suppose it’s because
+you’re a sort of philosopher and student of human nature and what you
+say is true. For instance, you said that criminals would get off clear
+three times out of four, if they just kept their mouths shut, but they
+have to confide in some one, even against all reason. That’s just the
+way with me now.”
+
+“You aren’t a criminal,” I interrupted him. “You lost your temper and
+made a fool of yourself just once. If you’d been a criminal and had
+done what you did, you’d have likely enough got off, because you’d have
+calculated how to do it. As it was you put yourself in a position where
+everything was against you and you had no chance. We were all sorry for
+you.”
+
+“You most of all,” he amplified. “You treated me bully.”
+
+“But we were all sorry for you,” I repeated, “and all the jury too, and
+the judge. You’re no criminal.”
+
+“How do you know,” he demanded defiantly, “what I have done since I got
+out?”
+
+“You’ve grown a pretty good head of hair,” I commented.
+
+“I’ve had time,” he said. “I’ve been all over the world and blown in
+ten thousand dollars.”
+
+“And never seen----” I began.
+
+He interrupted me at the third word.
+
+“Don’t say it,” he shuddered. “I never had, nor heard of one. But
+I wasn’t after caged animals while I had any money left. I didn’t
+remember your advice and your other talk till I was broke. Now, it’s
+just as you said, I’ve just got to tell you. That’s the criminal in me,
+I suppose.”
+
+“You’re no criminal,” I repeated soothingly.
+
+“Hell,” he snarled, “a year in the pen makes a man a criminal, if he
+never was before.”
+
+“Not necessarily,” I encouraged him.
+
+“It’s pretty sure to,” he sighed. “They treated me mighty well and put
+me to bookkeeping, and I got my full good-conduct allowance. But I met
+professionals, and they never forget a man.”
+
+“Now it don’t make any difference what I did when I got out, nor what I
+tried to do nor how I met Rivvin, nor how he put Thwaite after me. No,
+nor how Thwaite got hold of me, nor what he said to me, nor anything,
+right up to the very night, till after we had started.”
+
+He looked me in the eye. His attitude became alert. I could see him
+warming to his narrative. In fact, when after very little rumination
+he began it, his early self dropped from him with his boyhood dialect
+and the jargon of his late associates. He was all the easy cosmopolitan
+telling his tale with conscious zest.
+
+
+                                  II
+
+
+As if it had been broad day Thwaite drove the car at a terrific pace
+for nearly an hour. Then he stopped it while Rivvin put out every lamp.
+We had not met or overtaken anything, but when we started again through
+the moist, starless blackness it was too much for my nerves. Thwaite
+was as cool as if he could see. I could not so much as guess at him in
+front of me, but I could feel his self-confidence in every quiver of
+the car. It was one of those super-expensive makes which are, on any
+gear, at any speed, on any grade, as noiseless as a puma. Thwaite never
+hesitated in the gloom; he kept straight or swerved, crept or darted,
+whizzed or crawled for nearly an hour more. Then he turned sharp to
+the left and uphill. I could feel and smell the soaked, hanging boughs
+close above and about me, the wet foliage on them, and the deep sodden
+earth mold that squelched under the tires. We climbed steeply, came to
+a level and then backed and went forward a length or so a half dozen
+times, turning. Then we stopped dead. Thwaite moved things that clicked
+or thumped and presently said:
+
+“Now I’ll demonstrate how a man can fill his gasoline tank in the pitch
+dark if he knows the touch system.”
+
+After some more time he said:
+
+“Rivvin, go bury this.”
+
+Rivvin swore, but went. Thwaite climbed in beside me. When Rivvin
+returned he climbed in on the other side of me. He lit his pipe,
+Thwaite lit a cigar and looked at his watch. After I had lit too,
+Thwaite said:
+
+“We’ve plenty of time to talk here and all you have to do is to listen.
+I’ll begin at the beginning. When old Hiram Eversleigh died----”
+
+“You don’t mean----” I interrupted him.
+
+“Shut up!” he snapped, “and keep your mouth shut. You’ll have your say
+when I’ve done.”
+
+I shut up.
+
+“When old man Eversleigh died,” he resumed, “the income of the fortune
+was divided equally among his sons. You know what the others did with
+their shares: palaces in New York and London and Paris, chateaux on
+the Breton Coast, deer and grouse moors in Scotland, steam yachts and
+all the rest of it, the same as they have kept it up ever since. At
+first Vortigern Eversleigh went in for all that sort of thing harder
+than any one of his brothers. But when his wife died, more than forty
+years ago, he stopped all that at once. He sold everything else,
+bought this place, put the wall round it and built that infinity of
+structures inside. You’ve seen the pinnacles and roofs of them, and
+that’s all anybody I ever talked to has ever seen of them since they
+were finished about five years after his wife’s death. You’ve seen
+the two gate-houses and you know each is big even for a millionaire’s
+mansion. You can judge of the size and extent of the complication of
+buildings that make up the castle or mansion-house or whatever you
+choose to call it. There Vortigern Eversleigh lived. Not once did he
+ever leave it that I can learn of. There he died. Since his death, full
+twenty years ago, his share of the Eversleigh income has been paid
+to his heir. No one has ever seen that heir. From what I’ll tell you
+presently you’ll see as I have that the heir is probably not a woman.
+But nobody knows anything about him, he has never been outside these
+miles of wall. Yet not one of the greedy, selfish Eversleigh grandsons
+and grand-daughters, and sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, has ever
+objected to the payment to that heir of the full entire portion of
+Vortigern Eversleigh, and that portion has been two hundred thousand
+dollars a month, paid in gold on the first banking day of each month.
+I found that out for sure, for there have been disputes about the
+division of Wulfstan Eversleigh’s share and of Cedric Eversleigh’s
+share and I made certain from the papers in the suits. All that money,
+or the value of it, has been either reinvested or spent inside that
+park wall. Not much has been reinvested. I got on the track of the
+heir’s purchases. He buys musical instruments any quantity and at
+any price. Those were the first things I made sure of. And artists’
+materials, paints, brushes, canvas, tools, woods, clay, marble, tons
+of clay and great blocks of superfine-grained marble. He’s no magpie
+collecting expensive trash for a whim; he knows what he wants and why;
+he has taste. He buys horses and saddlery and carriages, furniture and
+carpets and tapestries, pictures, all landscapes, never any figure
+pictures, he buys photographs of pictures by the ten thousand, and he
+buys fine porcelains, rare vases, table silver, ornaments of Venetian
+glass, silver and gold filigree, jewelry, watches, chains, gems,
+pearls, rubies, emeralds and--diamonds; diamonds!”
+
+Thwaite’s voice shook with excitement, though he kept it soft and even.
+
+“Oh, I did two years investigating,” he went on, “I know. People
+blabbed. But not any of the servants or grooms or gardeners. Not a
+word could I get, at first or second or third hand, from them or any
+of their relatives or friends. They keep dumb. They know which side
+their bread is buttered on. But some of the discharged tradesmen’s
+assistants told all I wanted to know and I got it straight, though not
+direct. No one from outside ever gets into that place beyond the big
+paved courtyards of the gate-houses. Every bit of supplies for all that
+regiment of servants goes into the brownstone gate-house. The outer
+gates open and the wagon or whatever it is drives under the archway.
+There it halts. The outer gates shut and the inner gates open. It
+drives into the courtyard. Then the Major-domo (I suppose that wouldn’t
+be too big a name for him) makes his selections. The inner gates of the
+other gateway open and the wagon drives under the archway and halts.
+The inner gates close fast and the outer gates open. That’s the way
+with every wagon and only one enters at a time. Everything is carried
+through the gate-house to the smaller inner courtyard and loaded on the
+wagons of the estate to be driven up to the mansion.
+
+“Everything like furniture, for instance, comes into the courtyard
+of the green-stone gate-house. There a sort of auditor verifies the
+inventory and receipts for the goods before two witnesses from the
+dealers and two for the estate. The consignment may be kept a day or
+a month; it may be returned intact or kept entire; any difference is
+settled for at once upon return of what is rejected. So with jewelry.
+I had luck. I found out for certain that more than a million dollars
+worth of diamonds alone have gone into this place in the last ten years
+and stayed there.”
+
+Thwaite paused dramatically. I never said a word and we sat there in
+the rear seat of that stationary auto, the leather creaking as we
+breathed, Rivvin sucking at his pipe, and the leaves dripping above us;
+not another sound.
+
+“It’s all in there,” Thwaite began again. “The biggest stack of loot in
+North America. And this is going to be the biggest and most successful
+burglary ever perpetrated on this continent. And no one will ever be
+convicted for it or so much as suspected of it. Mark my words.”
+
+“I do,” I broke in, “and I don’t feel a bit better than when we
+started. You promised to explain and you said I’d be as eager and
+confident as you and Rivvin. I acknowledge the bait, admitting all
+you say is true, and it doesn’t seem likely. But do you suppose any
+recluse millionaire eccentric is going to live unguarded? If he is
+careless himself his household are the reverse. By what you tell of
+the gate-houses there are precautions enough. Diamonds are tempting if
+you like, but so is the bullion in the mint. By your account all this
+accumulation of treasure you imagine is as safe where it is as the gold
+reserve in the United States Treasury. You scare me, you don’t reassure
+me.”
+
+“Keep your head,” Thwaite interrupted. “I’m no fool. I’ve spent years
+on this scheme. After I was sure of the prize I made sure of the means.
+There are precautions a-many, but not enough. How simple to put a
+watchman’s cottage every hundred yards on the other side of the road
+across from the wall? They haven’t done it. How simple to light the
+road and the outside of the wall? They haven’t done that. Nor have they
+thought of any one of the twenty other simple outside precautions.
+The park’s big enough to be lonely. And outside the wall is all dark,
+lonely road and unfenced, empty woods like this. They’re overconfident.
+They think their wall and their gate-houses are enough. And they are
+not. They think their outside precautions are perfect. They are not. I
+know. I’ve been over that wall ten times, twenty times, fifty times.
+I’ve risked it and I have risked man-traps and spring guns and alarm
+wires. There aren’t any. There isn’t any night patrol, nor any regular
+day patrol, only casual gardeners and such. I know. I made sure of it
+by crawling all over the place on my belly like an Iroquois Indian in
+one of Cooper’s novels. They are so confident of the potency of their
+wall that they haven’t so much as a watch dog, nor any dog of any
+kind.”
+
+I was certainly startled.
+
+“No dog!” I exclaimed. “Are you sure?”
+
+“Dead sure!” Thwaite returned, triumphantly, “And sure there never has
+been a dog on the place.”
+
+“How could you be sure of that?” I cavilled.
+
+“I’m coming to that,” Thwaite went on, “I could not get anybody that
+ever belonged to the place to talk, but I managed to arrange to
+overhear two of them talking to each other; and more than once, too.
+Most of what they said was no use to me, but I overheard scraps I could
+piece together. There’s a cross-wall that divides the park. In the
+smaller division, into which the lodge gates lead, are the homes of all
+the caretakers and servants, of the overseers and manager and of the
+estate doctor; for there is an estate doctor. He has two assistants,
+young men, frequently changed. He is married like most of the retinue.
+There is a sort of village of them inside the outer wall, outside the
+inner cross-wall. Some of them have been there thirty-five years. When
+they get too old they are pensioned off and sent away, somewhere; far
+off, for I could not get a clue to any pensioner.
+
+“The valets or keepers, whichever they are, and there are many of them,
+to relieve each other, are all unmarried except two or three of the
+most trusted. The rest are all brought over from England and shipped
+back usually after four or five years of service. The men I overheard
+were two of these, an old hand soon to finish his enlistment, as he
+called it, and go home, and the lad he was training to take his place.
+All these specials have plenty of time off to spend outside. They’d
+sit over their beer for two or three hours at a time, chatting on,
+Appleshaw giving points to Kitworth or Kitworth asking questions. I
+learnt from them about the cross-wall.”
+
+“Never’s been a woman t’ other side of it since it was built,”
+Appleshaw said.
+
+“I shouldn’t have thought it,” Kitworth ruminated.
+
+“Can you imagine a woman,” Appleshaw asked, “standin’ him?”
+
+“No,” Kitworth admitted, “I hardly can. But some women’ll stand more’n
+a man.”
+
+“Anyhow,” Appleshaw added, “he can’t abide the sight of a woman.”
+
+“Odd,” said Kitworth, “I’ve heard his kind are all the other way.”
+
+“They are, as we know,” Appleshaw replied, “havin’ watched ’em; but he
+ain’t. He can’t endure ’em.”
+
+“I suppose it’s the same way about dogs,” Kitworth reflected.
+
+“No dog’d ever get used to him,” Appleshaw agreed, “and he’s that
+afraid of dogs, they’re not allowed inside the place anywhere. Never’s
+been one here since he was born, I’m told. No, nor any cat, either, not
+one even.”
+
+Another time I heard Appleshaw say:
+
+“He built the museums, and the pavilion and the towers, the rest was
+built before he grew up.”
+
+Generally I could not hear much of Kitworth’s utterances, he talked so
+low. I once heard Appleshaw reply:
+
+Sometimes nights and nights he’ll be quiet as anybody, lights out early
+and sleep sound for all we know. Again he’ll be up all night, every
+window blazin’, or up late, till after midnight. Whoever’s on duty
+sees the night out, nobody else’s business, unless they send an alarm
+for help, and that ain’t often; not twice a year. Mostly he’s as quiet
+as you or me, as long as he’s obeyed.
+
+“His temper’s short though. Now he’ll fly into a rage if he’s not
+answered quick; again he’ll storm if the watchers come near him
+uncalled.”
+
+Of long inaudible whispers I caught fragments.
+
+Once:
+
+“Oh, then he’ll have no one near. You can hear him sobbing like a
+child. When he’s worst you’ll hear him, still nights, howlin’ and
+screamin’ like a lost soul.”
+
+Again:
+
+“Clean-fleshed as a child and no more hairy than you or me.”
+
+Again:
+
+“Fiddle? No violinist can beat him. I’ve listened hours. It makes you
+think of your sins. An’ then it’ll change an’ you remember your first
+sweetheart, an’ spring rains and flowers, an’ when you was a child on
+your mother’s knee. It tears your heart out.”
+
+The two phrases that seemed to mean most were:
+
+“He won’t stan’ any interference.”
+
+And:
+
+“Never a lock touched till daylight after he’s once locked in.”
+
+“Now what do you think?” Thwaite asked me.
+
+“It sounds,” I said, “as if the place were a one-patient asylum for a
+lunatic with long lucid intervals.”
+
+“Something like that,” Thwaite answered, “but there seems to be more in
+it than that. I can’t make all the things I hear fit. Appleshaw said
+one thing that runs in my head:
+
+“Seein’ him in the suds give me a turn.”
+
+And Kitworth said once:
+
+“It was the bright colors alongside of it that made my blood run cold.”
+
+And Appleshaw said more than once, in varying words, but always with
+the same meaning tone:
+
+“You’ll never get over bein’ afraid of him. But you’ll respect him more
+and more, you’ll almost love him. You won’t fear him for his looks, but
+for his awful wisdom. He’s that wise, no man is more so.”
+
+Once Kitworth answered:
+
+“I don’t envy Sturry locked in there with him.”
+
+“Sturry nor none of us that’s his most trusted man for the time bein’
+is not to be envied,” Appleshaw agreed. “But you’ll come to it, as I
+have, if you’re the man I take you for.”
+
+“That’s about all I got from listening,” Thwaite went on, “the rest
+I got from watching and scouting. I made sure of the building they
+call the Pavilion, that’s his usual home. But sometimes he spends his
+nights in one or the other of the towers, they stand all by themselves.
+Sometimes the lights are all out after ten o’clock or even nine; then
+again they’re on till after midnight. Sometimes they come on late, two
+o’clock or three. I have heard music too, violin music, as Appleshaw
+described it, and organ music, too; but no howling. He is certainly a
+lunatic, judging by the statuary.”
+
+“Statuary?” I queried.
+
+“Yes,” Thwaite said, “statuary. Big figures and groups, all crazy
+men with heads like elephants or American eagles, perfectly crazy
+statuary. But all well-done. They stand all about the park. The little,
+square building between the Pavilion and the green tower is his
+sculpture studio.”
+
+“You seem to know the place mighty well,” I said.
+
+“I do,” Thwaite assented, “I’ve gotten to know it well. At first I
+tried nights like this. Then I dared starlight. Then I dared even
+moonlight. I’ve never had a scare. I’ve sat on the front steps of the
+Pavilion at one o’clock of starlight night and never been challenged.
+I even tried staying in all day, hiding in some bushes, hoping to see
+him.”
+
+“Ever see him?” I inquired.
+
+“Never,” Thwaite answered, “I’ve heard him though. He rides horseback
+after dark. I’ve watched the horse being led up and down in front of
+the Pavilion, till it got too dark to see it from where I was hid. I’ve
+heard it pass me in the dark. But I could never get the horse against
+the sky to see what was on it. Hiding and getting downhill of a road,
+close to it, don’t go together.”
+
+“You didn’t see him the day you spent there?” I insisted.
+
+“No,” Thwaite said, “I didn’t. I was disappointed too. For a big auto
+purred up to the Pavilion entrance and stood under the porte cochère.
+But when it spun round the park there was nobody in it, only the
+chauffeur in front and a pet monkey on the back seat.”
+
+“A pet monkey!” I exclaimed.
+
+“Yes,” he said. “You know how a dog, a Newfoundland, or a terrier, will
+sit up in an auto and look grand and superior and enjoy himself? Well,
+that monkey sat there just like that turning his head one way and the
+other taking in the view.”
+
+“What was he like?” I asked.
+
+“Sort of dog-faced ape,” Thwaite told me, “more like a mastiff.”
+
+Rivvin grunted.
+
+“This isn’t business,” Thwaite went on, “we’ve got to get down to
+business. The point is the wall is their only guard, there’s no dog,
+perhaps because of the pet monkey as much as anything else. They lock
+Mr. Eversleigh up every night with only one valet to take care of him.
+They never interfere whatever noise they hear or light they see, unless
+the alarm is sent out and I have located the alarm wires you are to
+cut. That’s all. Do you go?”
+
+Rivvin was sitting close to me, half on me. I could feel his great
+muscles and the butt of his pistol against my hip.
+
+“I come with you,” I said.
+
+“Of your own accord?” Thwaite insisted.
+
+The butt of that pistol moved as Rivvin breathed.
+
+“I come of my own accord,” I said.
+
+
+                                  III
+
+
+Afoot Thwaite led as confidently as he had driven the car. It was the
+stillest, pitchiest night I ever experienced, without light, air, sound
+or smell to guide anyone: through that fog Thwaite sped like a man
+moving about his own bedroom, never for a second at a loss.
+
+“Here’s the place,” he said at the wall, and guided my hand to feel the
+ring-bolt in the grass at its foot. Rivvin made a back for him and I
+scrambled up on the two. Tip-toe on Thwaite’s shoulders I could just
+finger the coping.
+
+“Stand on my head, you fool!” he whispered.
+
+I clutched the coping. Once astraddle of it I let down one end of the
+silk ladder.
+
+“Fast!” breathed Thwaite from below.
+
+I drew it taut and went down. The first sweep of my fingers in the
+grass found the other ring-bolt. I made the ladder fast and gave it the
+signal twitches. Rivvin came over first, then Thwaite. Through the park
+he led evenly. When he halted he caught me by the elbow and asked:
+
+“Can you see any lights?”
+
+“Not a light,” I told him.
+
+“Same here,” he said, “there are no lights. Every window is dark. We’re
+in luck.”
+
+He led again for a while. Stopping he said only:
+
+“Here’s where you shin up. Cut every wire, but don’t waste time cutting
+any twice.”
+
+The details of his directions were exact. I found every handhold and
+foothold as he had schooled me. But I needed all my nerve. I realized
+that no heavyweight like Rivvin or Thwaite could have done it. When I
+came down I was limp and tottery.
+
+“Just one swallow!” Thwaite said, putting a flask to my lips. Then we
+went on. The night was so black and the fog so thick that I saw no loom
+of the building till we were against its wall.
+
+“Here’s where you go in,” Thwaite directed.
+
+Doubly I understood why I was with them. Neither could have squeezed
+through that aperture in the stone. I barely managed it. Inside,
+instead of the sliding crash I had dreaded, I landed with a mere
+crunch, the coal in that bin was not anthracite. Likewise the bin under
+the window was for soft-coal. I blessed my luck and felt encouraged.
+The window I got open without too much work. Rivvin and Thwaite slid
+in. We crunched downhill four or five steps and stood on a firm floor.
+Rivvin flashed his electric candle boldly round. We were between a
+suite of trim coal-bins and a battery of serried furnaces. There was
+no door at either end of the open space in which we stood. I had a
+momentary vision of the alternate windows and coal-chutes above the
+bins, of two big panels of shiny, colored tiling, of clear brick-work,
+fresh-painted, jetty iron and dazzling-white brass-ringed asbestos, of
+a black vacancy between two furnaces. Toward that I half heard, half
+felt Rivvin turn. During the rest of our adventure he led, Thwaite
+followed and I mostly tagged or groped after Thwaite, often judging
+of their position or movement by that combination of senses which is
+neither hearing nor touch, though partly both.
+
+Rivvin’s torch flashed again. We were in a cement-floored, brick-walled
+passage, with a door at each end and on the side facing us doors in a
+bewildering row. In the darkness that came after the flash I followed
+the others to the right. Well through the doorway we stood still,
+breathing and listening. When Rivvin illuminated our environment we
+saw about us thousands of bottles, all set aslant, neck down, in tiers
+of racks that reached to the ceiling. Edging between them we made the
+circuit of the cellar, but found no sign of any door save that by which
+we had entered. A whispered growl from Rivvin, a nudge from Thwaite and
+we went back the full length of the passage. Again we found ourselves
+in a wine vault, the duplicate of that we had left, and with the same
+peculiarity.
+
+Our curiosity overcame any prudence. Rivvin, instead of flashing his
+torch at intervals, kept the light steady, and we scrutinized, examined
+and whispered our astonishment. As in its fellow there was not in all
+this vault any spare space, the aisles were narrow, the racks reached
+the girders supporting the flat arches, every rack was so full that a
+holder empty of its bottle was scarcely findable. And there was not in
+all that great cellar, there was not among all those tens of thousands
+of bottles a magnum, or a quart or even a pint. They were all splits.
+We handled a number and all had the same label. I know now what the
+device was, from seeing it so often and so much larger afterwards, but
+there it seemed a picture of a skirt-dancer leading an alligator by a
+dog chain. There was no name of any wine or liquor on any bottle, but
+each label had a red number, 17, or 45 or 328, above the picture, and
+under it:
+
+“Bottled for Hengist Eversleigh.”
+
+“We know his name now,” Thwaite whispered.
+
+Back in the passage Rivvin took the first door to the left. It brought
+us to an easy stone stair between walls, which turned twice to the left
+at broad landings.
+
+When we trod a softer footing we stood a long time breathing cautiously
+and listening.
+
+Presently Rivvin flashed his light. It showed to our left a carpeted
+stair, the dull red carpet bulging up over thick pads and held down by
+brass stair-rods; the polished quartered oak of the molded door-jamb
+or end of wainscot beyond it; the floor-covering of brownish-yellow
+or yellowish brown linoleum or something similar, made to look like
+inlaid wood; and the feet, legs and thighs of a big stocky man. The
+light shone but the fraction of a second, yet it showed plain his
+knee-breeches, tight stockings on his big calves, and bright buckles at
+his knees and on his low shoes.
+
+There was no loud sound, but the blurred brushy noise of a mute
+struggle. I backed against a window-sill and could back no further.
+All I could hear was the shuffling, rasping sounds of the fight, and
+panting that became a sort of gurgle.
+
+Again the light flashed and stayed full bright. I saw that it was
+Thwaite struggling with the man, and that one of his big hands was
+on Thwaite’s throat. Thwaite had him round the neck and his face was
+against Thwaite’s chest. His hair was brownish. Rivvin’s slung-shot
+crunched horribly on his skull. Instantly the light went out.
+
+Thwaite, radiating heat like a stove, stood gasping close by me. I
+heard no other noise after the body thudded on the floor except that on
+the carpeted stair I seemed to hear light treads, as it were of a big
+dog or of a frightened child, padding away upward.
+
+“Did you hear anything?” I whispered.
+
+Rivvin punched me.
+
+After Thwaite was breathing naturally, he turned on his torch and
+Rivvin did the same.
+
+The dead man was oldish, over fifty I should judge, tall, large in all
+his dimensions, and spare, though heavy. His clothing was a gold-laced
+livery of green velvet, with green velvet knee breeches, green silk
+stockings and green leather pumps. The four buckles were gold.
+
+Thwaite startled me by speaking out loud.
+
+“I take it, Rivvin,” he said, “this is the trusted valet. He would
+have yelled if there had been anybody to call. Either we have this
+building to ourselves or we have no one to deal with except Mr. Hengist
+Eversleigh.”
+
+Rivvin grunted.
+
+“If he is here,” Thwaite went on, “he’s trying to send the alarm over
+the cut wires, or he’s frightened and hiding. Let’s find him and finish
+him, if he’s here, and then find his diamonds. Anyway let’s find those
+diamonds.”
+
+Rivvin grunted.
+
+Swiftly they led from room to room and floor to floor. Not a door
+resisted. We had been curious and astonished in the wine-vaults; above
+we were electrified and numb. We were in a palace of wonders, among
+such a profusion of valuables that even Rivvin, after the second or
+third opportunity, ceased any attempt to pocket or bag anything. We
+came upon nothing living, found no door locked and apparently made the
+tour of the entire building.
+
+When they halted, I halted. We were delirious with amazement, frantic
+with inquisitiveness, frenzied with curiosity, incredulous, hysterical,
+dazed and quivering.
+
+Thwaite spoke in the dark.
+
+“I’m going to see this place plain, all over it, if I die for it.”
+
+They flashed their torches. We were right beside the body of the
+murdered footman. Rivvin and Thwaite did not seem to mind the corpse.
+They waved their torches until one fell on an electric-light button.
+
+“Hope those wires are underground,” Thwaite remarked. He pushed the
+button and the electric lights came on full and strong. We were
+apparently at the foot of the back stairs, in a sort of lobby, an
+expanded passage-way out of which opened several doors.
+
+We all three regarded the knobs of those doors. As we had half seen
+by flash-light on every door everywhere each door had two knobs, one
+like any door-knob, the other about half way between it and the floor.
+Rivvin opened one which proved to lead into a broom closet. He tried
+the knobs, Thwaite and I watching too. The lock and latch were at the
+upper knob, but controlled by either knob indifferently. They tried
+another door, but my eyes would roam to the dead body.
+
+Rivvin and Thwaite paid no more attention to it than if it had not been
+there. I had never seen but one killed man before and neither wanted to
+be reminded of that one nor relished the sight of this one. I stared
+down the blackness of the stone stair up which we had come or glanced
+into the dimness of the padded stairway.
+
+Then Rivvin, feeling inside the open door, found the button and turned
+on the lights. It was a biggish dining-room, the four corners cut off
+by inset glass-framed shelved closets, full of china and glassware. The
+furniture was oak.
+
+“Servants dining-room,” Thwaite commented.
+
+Turning on the lights in each we went through a series of rooms; a
+sort of sitting-room, with card-tables and checker-boards; a library
+walled with bookcases and open book-shelves, its two stout oak tables
+littered with magazines and newspapers; a billiard room with three
+tables, a billiard-table, a pool-table and one for bagatelle; a sort of
+lounging room, all leather-covered sofas and deep armchairs; an entry
+with hat-hooks and umbrella-stands, the outer door dark oak with a
+great deal of stained glass set in and around it.
+
+“All servants’ rooms,” Thwaite commented. “Every bit of the furniture
+is natural man-size. Let’s go on.”
+
+Back we went along a passage and into a big kitchen beyond the
+dining-room.
+
+“Never mind the pantries till we come down again,” Thwaite commanded.
+“Let’s go upstairs. We’ll do the banqueting-hall after those bedrooms,
+and the writing rooms and study last. I want a real sight of those
+pictures.”
+
+They passed the dead flunkey as if he had not been there at all.
+
+On the floor above Thwaite touched Rivvins’ elbow.
+
+“I forgot these,” he said.
+
+We inspected a medium-sized sitting-room with a round center-table, an
+armchair drawn up by it, and in the armchair a magazine and a sort of
+wadded smoking-jacket. Next this room was a bedroom and a bathroom.
+
+“Mr. Footman’s quarters,” Thwaite remarked, staring unconcernedly at a
+photograph of a dumpy young woman and two small children, set on the
+bureau. “All man-size furniture here, too.”
+
+Rivvin nodded.
+
+Up the second flight of that back-stair we went again. It ended in a
+squarish hallway or lobby or room with nothing in it but two settees.
+It had two doors.
+
+Rivvin pushed one open, felt up and down for the electric button and
+found it.
+
+We all three gasped; we almost shouted. We had had glimpses of this
+gallery before, but the flood of light from a thousand bulbs under
+inverted trough-reflectors dazzled us; the pictures fairly petrified us.
+
+The glare terrified me.
+
+“Surely we are crazy,” I objected, “to make all this illumination. It’s
+certain to give the alarm.”
+
+“Alarm nothing,” Thwaite snapped. “Haven’t I watched these buildings
+night after night. I told you he is never disturbed at any hour, lights
+or no lights.”
+
+My feeble protest thus brushed away I became absorbed, like the others,
+in those incredible paintings. Rivvin was merely stupidly dazed in
+uncomprehending wonder, Thwaite keenly speculative, questing for a
+clue to the origin of their peculiarities, I totally bewildered at the
+perfection of their execution, shivering at their uncanniness.
+
+The gallery was all of ninety feet long, nearly thirty wide and high.
+Apparently it had a glass roof above the rectangle of reflectors. The
+pictures covered all four walls, except the little door at either end.
+None was very small and several were very large. A few were landscapes,
+but all had figures in them, most were crowded with figures.
+
+Those figures!
+
+They were human figures, but not one had a human head. The heads were
+invariably those of birds, animals or fishes, generally of animals,
+some of common animals, many of creatures I had seen pictures of or had
+heard of, some of imaginary creatures like dragons or griffons, more
+than half of the heads either of animals I knew nothing of or which had
+been invented by the painter.
+
+Close to me when the lights blazed out was a sea picture, blurred
+grayish foggy weather and a heavy groundswell; a strange other-world
+open boat with fish heaped in the bottom of it and standing among them
+four human figures in shining boots like rubber boots and wet, shiny,
+loose coats like oilskins, only the boots and skins were red as claret,
+and the four figures had hyenas’ heads. One was steering and the
+others were hauling at a net. Caught in the net was a sort of merman,
+but different from the pictures of mermaids. His shape was all human
+except the head and hands and feet; every bit of him was covered with
+fish-scales all rainbowy. He had flat broad fins in place of hands and
+feet and his head was the head of a fat hog. He was thrashing about in
+the net in an agony of impotent effort. Queer as the picture was it
+had a compelling impression of reality, as if the scene were actually
+happening before our eyes.
+
+Next it was a picnic in a little meadow by a pond between woods with
+mountains behind it higher up. Every one of the picnickers about the
+white tablecloth spread on the grass had the head of a different
+animal, one of a sheep, one of a camel, and the rest of animals like
+deer, not one of them known to me.
+
+Then next to that was a fight of two compound creatures shaped like
+centaurs, only they had bulls’ bodies, with human torsos growing out
+of them, where the necks ought to be, the arms scaly snakes with
+open-mouthed, biting heads in place of hands; and instead of human
+heads roosters’ heads, bills open and pecking. Under the creatures
+in place of bulls’ hoofs were yellow roosters’ legs, stouter than
+chickens’ legs and with short thick toes, and long sharp spurs like
+game roosters’. Yet these fantastic chimeras appeared altogether alive
+and their movements looked natural, yes that’s the word, natural.
+
+Every picture was as complete a staggerer as these first three. Every
+one was signed in the lower left hand corner in neat smallish letters
+of bright gold paint:
+
+ “Hengist Eversleigh”
+
+and a date.
+
+“Mr. Hengist Eversleigh is a lunatic that’s certain,” Thwaite
+commented, “but he unquestionably knows how to paint.”
+
+There must have been more than fifty pictures in that gallery, maybe as
+many as seventy-five, and every one a nightmare.
+
+Beyond was a shorter gallery of the same width, end on to the side of
+the first, and beyond that the duplicate of the first; the three taking
+up three sides of the building. The fourth side was a studio, the size
+of the second gallery; it had a great skylight of glass tilted sideways
+all along over one whole wall. It was white-washed, very plain and
+empty-looking, with two easels, a big one and a little one.
+
+On the little one was a picture of some vegetables and five or six
+little fairies, as it were, with children’s bodies and mice’s heads,
+nibbling at a carrot.
+
+On the big one was a canvas mostly blank. One side of it had a
+palm-tree in splashy, thick slaps of paint and under it three big crabs
+with cocoanuts in their claws. A man’s feet and legs showed beside them
+and the rest was unfinished.
+
+The three galleries had fully three hundred paintings, for the smaller
+gallery contained only small canvases. Besides being impressed with the
+grotesqueness of the subjects and the perfection of the drawing and
+coloring, two things struck me as to the pictures collectively.
+
+First, there was not represented in any one of all those paintings any
+figure of a woman or any female shape of any kind. The beast-headed
+figures were all, whether clothed or nude, figures of men. The animals,
+as far as I could see, were all males.
+
+Secondly, nearly half of the pictures were modifications, or parallels
+or emulations (I could hardly say travesties or imitations), of
+well-known pictures by great artists, paintings I had seen in public
+galleries or knew from engravings or photographs or reproductions in
+books or magazines.
+
+There was a picture like Washington crossing the Delaware and another
+like Washington saying farewell to his generals. There was a batch
+of Napoleon pictures; after the paintings of Napoleon at Austerlitz,
+at Friedland, giving the eagles to his regiments, on the morning of
+Waterloo, coming down the steps at Fontainebleau, and on the deck of
+the ship going to St. Helena. There were dozens of other pictures of
+generals or kings or emperors reviewing victorious armies; two or three
+of Lincoln. One that hit me hardest, obviously after some picture I
+had never seen or heard of, of the ghost of Lincoln, far larger than
+a life-size man, towering above the surviving notabilities of his
+time on the grandstand reviewing the homecoming Federal army marching
+through Washington.
+
+In every one of these pictures, the dominant figure, whether it stood
+for Lincoln, Napoleon, Washington, or some other general or ruler;
+whatever uniform or regalia clothed its human shape, had the same head.
+The heads of the fighting men in all these pictures were those of
+dogs, all alike in any one picture, but differing from one to another;
+terriers or wolf-hounds or mastiffs or what not. The heads of any men
+not soldiers were those of oxen or sheep or horses or some other mild
+sort of animal. The head of the dominant figure I then took to be
+invented, legendary, fabulous--oh, that’s not the word I want.
+
+“Mythological?” I suggested, the only interruption I interjected into
+his entire narrative.
+
+Yes, mythological, he returned. I thought it was a mythological
+creature. The long-jawed head, like a hound’s; the little pointed
+yellow beard under the chin; the black, naked ears, like a hairless
+dog’s ears and yet not doggy, either; the ridge of hair on top of
+the skull; the triangular shape of the whole head; the close-set,
+small, beady, terribly knowing eyes; the brilliant patches of color
+on either side of the muzzle; all these made a piercing impression of
+individuality and yet seemed not so much actual as mythological.
+
+It takes a great deal longer to tell what we saw on that third floor
+than it took to see it. All round the galleries under the pictures were
+cases of drawers, solidly built in one length like a counter and about
+as high. Thwaite went down one side of the gallery and Rivvin down the
+other, pulling them out and slamming them shut again. All I saw held
+photographs of pictures. But Rivvin and Thwaite were taking no chances
+and looked into every drawer. I had plenty of time to gaze about me
+and circulated at a sort of cantering trot around the green-velvet
+miniature sofas and settees placed back to back down the middle of the
+floor-space. It seemed to me that Mr. Hengist Eversleigh was a great
+master of figure and landscape drawing, color, light and perspective.
+
+As we went down the duplicate staircase at the other corner from where
+we came up Thwaite said:
+
+“Now for those bedrooms.”
+
+By the stair we found another valet’s or footman’s apartment,
+sitting-room, bedroom and bathroom, just like the one by the other
+stair. And there were four more between them, under the studio and over
+the lounging-rooms.
+
+On the east and west sides of the building were “the” bedrooms, twelve
+apartments, six on each side; each of the twelve made up of a bedroom,
+a dressing-room and a bathroom.
+
+The beds were about three feet long, and proportionately narrow and
+low. The furniture, bureaus, tables, chairs, chests-of-drawers and
+the rest, harmonized with the dimensions of the beds, except the
+cheval-glasses and wall-mirrors which reached the ceilings. The
+bathtubs were almost pools, about nine feet by six and all of three
+feet deep, each a single block of porcelain.
+
+The shapes and sizes and styles of the furniture were duplicated
+all through, but the colors varied, so that the twelve suites were
+in twelve colors; black, white, gray and brown, and light and dark
+yellow, red, green and blue; wall coverings, hangings, carpets and
+rugs all to match in each suite. The panels of the walls had the same
+picture, however, repeated over and over, two, four or six times to a
+room and in every suite alike.
+
+This picture was the design I had failed to make out on the labels of
+the bottles. It was set as a medallion in each panel of the blue or
+red walls, or whatever other color they were. The background of the
+picture was a vague sort of palish sky and blurred, hazy clouds above
+tropical-looking foliage. The chief figure was an angel, in flowing
+white robes, floating on silvery-plumed wings widespread. The angel’s
+face was a human face, the only human face in any picture in that
+palace, the face of a grave, gentle, rather girlish young man.
+
+The creature the angel was leading was a huge, bulky crocodile, with
+a gold collar about its neck, and a gold chain from that, not to the
+angel’s hand, but to a gold fetter about his wrist.
+
+Under each picture was a verse of four lines, always the same.
+
+    “Let not your baser nature drag you down.
+      Utter no whimper, not one sigh or moan,
+    Hopeless of respite, solace, palm or crown
+      Live out your life unflinching and alone.”
+
+I saw it so often I shall never forget it.
+
+The bathrooms were luxurious in the extreme, a needle-bath, a
+shower-bath, two basins of different sizes in each, besides the sunk
+pool-tub. The dressing-rooms has each a variety of wardrobes. One or
+two we opened, finding in each several suits of little clothes, as if
+for a boy under six years old. One closet had shelf above shelf of
+small shoes, not much over four inches long.
+
+“Evidently,” Thwaite remarked, “Hengist Eversleigh is a dwarf, whatever
+else he is.”
+
+Rivvin left the wardrobes and closets alone after the first few.
+
+Each bedroom had in it nothing but the bed and on each side of it a
+sort of wine-cooler, like a pail with a lid, but bigger, set on three
+short legs so that its top was level with the bed. We opened most of
+them; every one we opened was filled with ice, bedded in which were
+several half-pint bottles. Every one of the twelve beds had the covers
+carefully turned down. Not one showed any sign of having been occupied.
+The wine-coolers were solid silver but we left them where they were. As
+Thwaite remarked, it would have taken two full-sized freight cars to
+contain the silver we had seen.
+
+In the dressing-rooms the articles like brushes and combs on the
+bureaus were all of gold, and most set with jewels. Rivvin began to
+fill a bag with those entirely of metal, but even he made no attempt
+to tear the backs off the brushes or to waste energy on any other
+breakage. By the time we had scanned the twelve suites Rivvin could
+barely carry his bag.
+
+The front room on the south side of the building was a library full
+of small, showily-bound books in glass-fronted cases all the way to
+the ceiling, covering every wall except where the two doors and six
+windows opened. There were small, narrow tables, the height of those in
+the dressing-rooms. There were magazines on them and papers. Thwaite
+opened a bookcase and I another and we looked at three or four books.
+Each had in it a book-plate with the device of the angel and the
+crocodile.
+
+Rivvin did not find the electric button in the main hallway and we
+went down the great broad, curving stair by our electric candles.
+Rivvin turned to the left and we found ourselves in the banquet hall
+as Thwaite had called it, a room all of forty by thirty and gorgeous
+beyond any description.
+
+The diminutive table, not three feet square, was a slab of
+crystal-white glass set on silver-covered legs. The tiny armchair, the
+only chair in the big room, was solid silver, with a crimson cushion
+loose in it.
+
+The sideboards and glass-fronted closets paralyzed us. One had fine
+china and cut glass; wonderful china and glass. But four held a table
+service of gold, all of pure gold; forks, knives, spoons, plates,
+bowls, platters, cups, everything; all miniature, but a profusion
+of everything. We hefted the pieces. They were gold. All the pieces
+were normal in shape except that instead of wine-glasses, goblets and
+tumblers were things like broad gravy-boats on stems or short feet, all
+lopsided, with one projecting edge like the mouth of a pitcher, only
+broader and flatter. There were dozens of these. Rivvin filled two bags
+with what two bags would hold. The three bags were all we three could
+carry, must have been over a hundred and fifty pounds apiece.
+
+“We’ll have to make two trips to the wall,” Thwaite said. “You brought
+six bags, didn’t you, Rivvin?”
+
+Rivvin grunted.
+
+At the foot of the grand staircase Rivvin found the electric button and
+flooded the magnificent stairway with light.
+
+The stair itself was all white marble, the rails yellow marble, and the
+paneling of the dado malachite. But the main feature was the painting
+above the landing. This was the most amazing of all the paintings we
+had come upon.
+
+I remembered something like it, an advertisement of a root-beer or
+talcum powder, or some other proprietary article, representing all the
+nations of the earth and their rulers in the foreground congratulating
+the orator.
+
+This picture was about twenty feet wide and higher than its width.
+There was a throne, a carved and jeweled throne, set on an eminence.
+There was a wide view on either side of the throne, and all filled
+with human figures with animal heads, an infinite throng, all facing
+the throne. Nearest it were figures that seemed meant for all the
+presidents and kings and queens and emperors of the world. I recognized
+the robes or uniforms of some of them. Some had heads taken from their
+national coat of arms, like the heads of the Austrian and Russian
+eagles. All these figures were paying homage to the figure that stood
+before the throne; the same monster we had seen in place of Lincoln or
+Washington or Napoleon in the paintings upstairs.
+
+He stood proudly with one foot on a massive crocodile. He was dressed
+in a sort of revolutionary uniform, low shoes, with gold buckles, white
+stockings and knee-breeches, a red waistcoat, and a bright blue coat.
+His head was the same beast-head of the other pictures, triangular and
+strange, which I then thought mythological.
+
+Above and behind the throne floated on outspread silver wings the
+white-robed angel with the Sir Galahad face.
+
+Rivvin shut off the lights almost instantly, but even in the few
+breaths while I looked I saw it all.
+
+The three sacks of swag we put down by the front door.
+
+The room opposite the banquet-hall was a music room, with an organ and
+a piano, both with keys and keyboards far smaller than usual; great
+cases of music books; an array of brass instruments and cellos and more
+than a hundred violin cases. Thwaite opened one or two.
+
+“These’d be enough to make our fortune,” he said. “If we could get away
+with them.”
+
+Beyond the music-room was the study. It had in it four desks, miniature
+in size and the old-fashioned model with drawers below, a lid to turn
+down and form a writing surface, and a sort of bookcase above with a
+peaked top. All were carved and on the lids in the carving we read:
+
+                                JOURNAL
+                                 MUSIC
+                               CRITICISM
+                               BUSINESS
+
+Thwaite opened the desk marked BUSINESS and pulled open the drawers.
+
+In pigeon-holes of the desk were bundles of new, clean greenbacks and
+treasury notes of higher denominations; five each of fives, tens,
+twenties, fifties and hundreds. Thwaite tossed one bundle of each to
+me and Rivvin and pocketed the rest.
+
+He bulged.
+
+One drawer had a division down the middle. One half was full of
+ten-dollar gold pieces, the other half of twenties.
+
+“I’ve heard of misers,” said Thwaite, “but this beats hell. Think of
+that crazy dwarf, a prisoner in this palace, running his hands through
+this and gloating over the cash he can never use.”
+
+Rivvin loaded a bag with the coin and when he had them all he could
+barely lift the bag. Leaving it where it lay before the desk he strode
+the length of the room and tried the door at the end.
+
+It was fast.
+
+Instantly Rivvin and Thwaite were like two terriers after a rat.
+
+“This is where the diamonds are,” Thwaite declared, “and Mr. Hengist
+Eversleigh is in there with them.”
+
+He and Rivvin conferred a while together.
+
+“You kneel low,” Thwaite whispered. “Duck when you open it. He’ll fire
+over you. Then you’ve got him. See?”
+
+Rivvin tip-toed to the door, knelt and tried key after key in the lock.
+
+There were at least twenty bulbs in the chandelier of that room and the
+light beat down on him. His red neck dew-lapped over the low collar of
+his lavenderish shirt, his great broad back showed vast and powerful.
+
+On the other side of the doorway Thwaite stood, his finger at the
+electric button.
+
+Each had his slung-shot in his left hand. They had spun the cylinders
+of their revolvers and stuck them in their belts in front before Rivvin
+began work on the lock.
+
+I heard a click.
+
+Rivvin put up his hand.
+
+The lights went out.
+
+In the black dark we stood, stood until I could almost see the outlines
+of the windows; less black against the intenser blackness.
+
+Soon I heard another click, and the grate of an opened door.
+
+Then a kind of snarl, a thump like a blow, a sort of strangling gasp,
+and the cushiony sounds of a struggle.
+
+Thwaite turned on the lights.
+
+Rivvin was in the act of staggering up from his knees. I saw a pair
+of small, pink hands, the fingers intertwined, locked behind Rivvin’s
+neck. They slipped apart as I caught sight of them.
+
+I had a vision of small feet in little patent leather silver-buckled
+low-shoes, of green socks, of diminutive legs in white trousers
+flashing right and left in front of Rivvin, as if he held by the throat
+a struggling child.
+
+Next I saw that his arms were thrown up, wide apart.
+
+He collapsed and fell back his full length with a dull crash.
+
+Then I saw the snout!
+
+Saw the wolf-jaws vised on his throat!
+
+Saw the blood welling round the dazzling white fangs, and recognized
+the reality of the sinister head I had seen over and over in his
+pictures.
+
+Rivvin made the fish-out-of-water contortions of a man being killed.
+
+Thwaite brought his slung-shot down on the beast-head skull.
+
+The blow was enough to crush in a steel cylinder.
+
+The beast wrinkled its snout and shook its head from side to side,
+worrying like a bull-dog at Rivvin’s throat.
+
+Again Thwaite struck and again and again. At each blow the portentous
+head oscillated viciously. The awful thing about it to me was the two
+blue bosses on each side of the muzzle, like enamel, shiny and hard
+looking; and the hideous welt of red, like fresh sealing-wax, down
+between them and along the snout.
+
+Rivvin’s struggles grew weaker as the great teeth tore at his throat.
+He was dead before Thwaite’s repeated blows drove in the splintered
+skull and the clenched jaws relaxed, the snout crinkling and
+contracting as the dog-teeth slid from their hold.
+
+Thwaite gave the monster two or three more blows, touched Rivvin and
+fairly dashed out of the room, shouting.
+
+“You stay here!”
+
+I heard the sound of prying and sawing. There alone I looked but once
+at the dead cracksman.
+
+The thing that had killed him was the size of a four to six year old
+child, but more stockily built, looked entirely human up to the neck,
+and was dressed in a coat of bright dark blue, a vest of crimson
+velvet, and white duck trousers. As I looked the muzzle wriggled for
+the last time, the jaws fell apart and the carcass rolled sideways. It
+was the very duplicate in miniature of the figure in the big picture on
+the staircase landing.
+
+Thwaite came dashing back. Without any sign of any qualm he searched
+Rivvin and tossed me two or three bundles of greenbacks:
+
+He stood up.
+
+He laughed.
+
+“Curiosity,” he said, “will be the death of me.”
+
+Then he stripped the clothing from the dead monster, kneeling by it.
+
+The beast-hair stopped at the shirt collar. Below that the skin was
+human, as was the shape, the shape of a forty-year-old man, strong and
+vigorous and well-made, only dwarfed to the smallness of a child.
+
+Across the hairy breast was tattooed in blue,
+
+ “HENGIST EVERSLEIGH.”
+
+“Hell,” said Thwaite.
+
+He stood up and went to the fatal door. Inside he found the electric
+button.
+
+The room was small and lined with cases of little drawers, tier on
+tier, rows of brass knobs on mahogany.
+
+Thwaite opened one.
+
+It was velvet lined and grooved like a jeweler’s tray and contained
+rings, the settings apparently emeralds.
+
+Thwaite dumped them into one of the empty bags he had taken from
+Rivvin’s corpse.
+
+The next case was of similar drawers of rings set with rubies. The
+first of these Thwaite dumped in with the emeralds.
+
+But then he flew round the room pulling out drawers and slamming them
+shut, until he came upon trays of unset diamonds. These he emptied
+into his sack to the last of them, then diamond rings on them, other
+jewelry set with diamonds, then rubies and emeralds till the sack was
+full.
+
+He tied its neck, had me open a second sack and was dumping drawer
+after drawer into that when suddenly he stopped.
+
+His nose worked, worked horridly like that of the dead monster.
+
+I thought he was going crazy and was beginning to laugh nervously, was
+on the verge of hysterics when he said:
+
+“Smell! Try what you smell.”
+
+I sniffed.
+
+“I smell smoke,” I said.
+
+“So do I,” he agreed. “This place is afire.”
+
+“And we locked in!” I exclaimed.
+
+“Locked in?” he sneered. “Bosh. I broke open the front door the instant
+I was sure they were dead. Come! Drop that empty bag. This is no time
+for haggling.”
+
+We had to step between the two corpses. Rivvin was horridly dead. The
+colors had all faded from the snout. The muzzle was all mouse-color.
+
+When we had hold of the bag of coin, Thwaite turned off the electric
+lights and we struggled out with that and the bag of jewels, and went
+out into the hallway full of smoke.
+
+“We can carry only these,” Thwaite warned me. “We’ll have to leave the
+rest.”
+
+I shouldered the bag of coin, and followed him down the steps, across
+a gravel road, and, oh the relief of treading turf and feeling the fog
+all about me.
+
+At the wall Thwaite turned and looked back.
+
+“No chance to try for those other bags,” he said.
+
+In fact the red glow was visible at that distance and was fast becoming
+a glare.
+
+I heard shouts.
+
+We got the bags over the wall and reached the car. Thwaite cranked up
+at once and we were off.
+
+How we went I could not guess, nor in what directions, nor even how
+long. Ours was the only vehicle on the roads we darted along.
+
+When the dawn light was near enough for me to see Thwaite stopped the
+car.
+
+He turned to me.
+
+“Get out!” he said.
+
+“What?” I asked.
+
+He shoved his pistol muzzle in my face.
+
+“You’ve fifty thousand dollars in bank bills in your pockets,” he
+said. “It’s a half a mile down that road to a railway station. Do you
+understand English? Get out!”
+
+I got out.
+
+The car shot forward into the morning fog and was gone.
+
+
+                                  IV
+
+
+He was silent a long time.
+
+“What did you do then?” I asked.
+
+“Headed for New York,” he said, “and got on a drunk. When I came round
+I had barely eleven thousand dollars. I headed for Cook’s office and
+bargained for a ten thousand dollar tour of the world, the most places
+and the longest time they’d give for the money; the whole cost on them.
+I not to need a cent after I started.”
+
+“What date was that?” I asked.
+
+He meditated and gave me some approximate indications rather rambling
+and roundabout.
+
+“What did you do after you left Cook’s?” I asked.
+
+“I put a hundred dollars in a savings bank,” he said. “Bought a lot of
+clothes and things and started.
+
+“I kept pretty sober all round the world because the only way to get
+full was by being treated and I had no cash to treat back with.
+
+“When I landed in New York I thought I was all right for life. But no
+sooner did I have my hundred and odd dollars in my pockets than I got
+full again. I don’t seem able to keep sober.”
+
+“Are you sober now?” I asked.
+
+“Sure,” he asserted.
+
+He seemed to shed his cosmopolitan vocabulary the moment he came back
+to everyday matters.
+
+“Let’s see you write what I tell you on this,” I suggested, handing him
+a fountain-pen and a torn envelope, turned inside out.
+
+Word by word after my dictation he wrote.
+
+“Until you hear from me again
+Yours truly,
+No Name.”
+
+I took the paper from him and studied the handwriting.
+
+“How long were you on that spree?” I asked.
+
+“Which?” he twinkled.
+
+“Before you came to and had but eleven thousand dollars left,” I
+explained.
+
+“I don’t know,” he said, “I didn’t know anything I had been doing.”
+
+“I can tell you one thing you did,” I said.
+
+“What?” he queried.
+
+“You put four packets, each of one hundred hundred-dollar bills, in a
+thin manila clasp-envelope, directed it to a New York lawyer and mailed
+the envelope to him with no letter in it, only a half sheet of dirty
+paper with nothing on it except: ‘Keep this for me until I ask for it,’
+and the signature you have just written.”
+
+“Honest?” he enunciated incredulously.
+
+“Fact!” I said.
+
+“Then you believe what I’ve told you,” he exclaimed joyfully.
+
+“Not a bit I don’t,” I asseverated.
+
+“How’s that?” he asked.
+
+“If you were drunk enough,” I explained, “to risk forty thousand
+dollars in that crazy way, you were drunk enough to dream all the
+complicated nightmare you have spun out to me.”
+
+“If I did,” he argued, “how did I get the fifty thousand odd dollars?”
+
+“I’m willing to suppose you got it with no more dishonesty on your
+part,” I told him, “than if you had come by it as you described.”
+
+“It makes me mad you won’t believe me,” he said.
+
+“I don’t,” I finished.
+
+He gloomed in silence.
+
+Presently he said:
+
+“I can stand looking at him now,” and led the way to the cage where
+the big blue-nosed mandril chattered his inarticulate bestialities and
+scratched himself intermittently.
+
+He stared at the brute.
+
+“And you don’t believe me?” he regretted.
+
+“No, I don’t,” I repeated, “and I’m not going to. The thing’s
+incredible.”
+
+“Couldn’t there be a mongrel, a hybrid?” he suggested.
+
+“Put that out of your head,” I told him, “the whole thing’s incredible.”
+
+“Suppose she’d seen a critter like this,” he persisted, “just at the
+wrong time?”
+
+“Bosh!” I said. “Old wives’ tales! Superstition! Impossibility!”
+
+“His head,” he declared, “was just like that.” He shuddered.
+
+“Somebody put drops in some of your drink,” I suggested. “Anyhow, let’s
+talk about something else. Come and have lunch with me.”
+
+Over the lunch I asked him:
+
+“What city did you like best of all you saw?”
+
+“Paris for mine,” he grinned, “Paris forever.”
+
+“I tell you what I advise you to do,” I said.
+
+“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes bright on mine.
+
+“Let me buy you an annuity with your forty thousand,” I explained, “an
+annuity payable in Paris. There’s enough interest already to pay your
+way to Paris and leave you some cash till the first quarterly payment
+comes due.”
+
+“You wouldn’t feel yourself defrauding the Eversleighs?” he questioned.
+
+“If I’m defrauding any people,” I said, “I don’t know who they are.”
+
+“How about the fire?” he insisted. “I’ll bet you heard of it. Don’t the
+dates agree?”
+
+“The dates agree,” I admitted. “And the servants were all dismissed,
+the remaining buildings and walls torn down and the place cut up and
+sold in portions just about as it would have been if your story were
+true.”
+
+“There now!” he ejaculated. “You do believe me!”
+
+“I do not!” I insisted. “And the proof is that I’m ready to carry out
+my annuity plan for you.”
+
+“I agree,” he said, and stood up from the lunch table.
+
+“Where are we going now?” he inquired as we left the restaurant.
+
+“Just you come with me,” I told him, “and ask no questions.”
+
+I piloted him to the Museum of Archæology and led him circuitously to
+what I meant for an experiment on him. I dwelt on other subjects nearby
+and waited for him to see it himself.
+
+He saw.
+
+He grabbed me by the arm.
+
+“That’s him!” he whispered. “Not the size, but his very expression, in
+all his pictures.”
+
+He pointed to that magnificent, enigmatical black-diorite
+twelfth-dynasty statue which represents neither Anubis nor Seth, but
+some nameless cynocephalus god.
+
+“That’s him,” he repeated. “Look at the awful wisdom of him.”
+
+I said nothing.
+
+“And you brought me here!” he cried. “You meant me to see this! You do
+believe!”
+
+“No,” I maintained. “I do not believe.”
+
+
+                                   V
+
+
+After I waved a farewell to him from the pier I never saw him again.
+
+We had an extensive correspondence six months later when he wanted his
+annuity exchanged for a joint-life annuity for himself and his bride.
+I arranged it for him with less difficulty than I had anticipated. His
+letter of thanks, explaining that a French wife was so great an economy
+that the shrinkage in his income was more than made up for, was the
+last I heard from him.
+
+As he died more than a year ago and his widow is already married, this
+story can do him no harm. If the Eversleighs were defrauded they will
+never feel it and my conscience, at least, gives me no twinges.
+
+                                                                   1909
+
+
+
+
+                             ALFANDEGA 49A
+
+
+
+
+                             ALFANDEGA 49A
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+THE Alders was the last place on earth where anyone would have expected
+to encounter an atmosphere of tragedy and gloom. The very air of the
+farm seemed charged with the essence of cheerfulness and friendliness.
+There appeared to be diffused about the homestead some subtle influence
+promoting sociability and cordiality.
+
+Perhaps it was merely that the Hibbards had miraculous luck in
+attracting only the right kind of boarders; possibly, they possessed
+an almost superhuman intuition which enabled them to avoid accepting
+any applicant likely to be uncongenial to the others, to themselves or
+to the place; maybe it was merely the personal effect of the Hibbards
+and of their welcome which seemed, in some magical fashion, to make
+all newcomers as much at home as if they had lived at the Alders from
+childhood. Certainly all their boarders were mutually congenial.
+
+Never was summer-boarding-house so free from cliques, coteries,
+jealousies, enmities, bickerings and squabbles. The children played
+all day long apparently, but never seemed noisy or quarrelsome. The
+old ladies knitted or crocheted, teetering everlastingly in their
+rocking-chairs on the veranda, beaming at each other and at the
+landscape. The almost daily games of cards gave rise to scarcely
+any disputes. The folks at the Alders were very unlike an accidental
+gathering of summer boarders and much more resembled an unusually large
+and harmonious family.
+
+This, I suppose, was due to the Hibbards’ positive genius for managing
+a boarding-house and to their genial disposition. Naturally, from their
+temperament, they enjoyed it, they showed that they enjoyed it and they
+made everybody feel that they enjoyed it, so that each boarder felt
+like an invited guest.
+
+The girls never seemed to have anything to do except to make everybody
+have a good time. Yet they had a great deal to do. In the heydey of the
+Alders the four girls divided their duties systematically.
+
+Susie, the eldest, and the head of the house, rose early, oversaw
+the getting of the breakfast, and superintended everything. After
+dinner she always took a long rest and nap. Then, after supper, she
+stayed up until the last boarder had come indoors and said goodnight,
+chiefly occupying herself with seeing to it that all together were
+enjoying themselves, and each separately. She did it very well too.
+It was a sight to see her, the moment she was free from presiding at
+the supper table, appear out on the lawn or on the piazza, or in the
+parlor, according to the weather. She was tall, plump and handsome,
+held herself erect and had the art of making herself look well in
+very inexpensive dresses, mostly of her own devising. She was always
+smiling, her light brown hair haloing her face, her blue eyes shining.
+As she came she swept one comprehensive glance over her guests,
+unerringly picked out that one, man or woman, lad or girl, child or
+baby, which seemed enjoying life least, made for that particular
+individual and wholeheartedly devoted herself to affording enjoyment.
+She could afford it, too. She was jolly and had an infectious gaiety
+that was irresistible. She talked well. She was a fair pianist and
+a really splendid singer. She played, if need be, and sang, too,
+indefatigably. Never did a party of boarders have a more conscientious,
+more solicitous or more tactful hostess.
+
+Mattie, who was taller and stouter than Susie, with brown eyes looking
+out of a face generally expressionless, but sometimes lit by a
+sympathetic smile, habitually slept late and was abed early. But she
+bore valiantly the brunt of the long middle of the summer days, took
+upon herself all that pertained to personal dealings with the servants,
+engaged them, dismissed them if unsatisfactory, controlled them when
+restive or cajoled them if dissatisfied, oversaw the getting of the
+dinner and supper, and made the desserts and ices. Among the boarders
+her chief activity was the foreseeing of incipient coolnesses and
+the tactful dissipation of any small cloud on the social atmosphere.
+It was chiefly due to her that no germ of antipathy ever developed,
+at the Alders, into dislike, that no seed of aversion, ever, in that
+atmosphere, ripened into enmity. She did her part so cleverly that
+few of the boarders realized that she ever did anything at all, or
+suspected that she had any social influence.
+
+The two younger sisters superintended the sweeping, dusting,
+bed-making, lamp-cleaning and all the other details contributing to the
+comfort of the boarders outside of the dining-room. Also Anna made the
+always abundant and miraculously appetizing cakes in great variety.
+
+The Alders was always full to its capacity, which meant thirty in the
+house and any number of boys up to nine in one of the outbuildings, a
+one-story stone cottage which had once been part of the slave quarters.
+In it were two double-beds, three canvas cots and at least seven boys;
+increased to eleven, sometimes, by casual transient guests of the
+boyboarders.
+
+The three boys of the family lived out there in summer with the
+boarders and visitors and kept them in a perpetual good humor.
+
+The Hibbards had learnt this not by precept, but by example. They had
+grown up to it with their growth. For Susie had been a small girl, Buck
+a small boy and the rest little children when their widowed mother had
+begun to take boarders. They had learned much of her art, unconsciously
+and without knowing that they were learning it.
+
+She was dead and gone before I first knew the Alders. But her spirit
+still informed the life of the place. She must have been a real lady,
+every fiber and breath of her, and she must have been a level-headed,
+practical woman. They quoted some of her aphorisms.
+
+“You cannot make money on twenty-one really good meals a week when you
+only charge six dollars board,” she was reputed to have said. “See
+that everything is eatable and every meal abundant and give them fried
+chicken and ice-cream, all they can eat, on Sundays and Thursdays, and
+they’ll always be enthusiastic about the table.”
+
+“People can have a good time only in their own way. Find out what they
+like to do and encourage them to do it, if it is not wrong. That is the
+only way to please anybody.”
+
+“Either don’t take boarders at all or make them feel as welcome as
+cousins.”
+
+“Leave out what you can’t afford altogether. People never miss what no
+one has and no one can see. But never skimp anything you have. It is
+economy to offer everyone a third helping of everything.”
+
+“Season the food with good nature.”
+
+“Be easy-going about everything.”
+
+They were easy-going about everything. I’ve seen Susie tired to death,
+but gaily hiding it under an exterior of spontaneous vivacity, come
+back into the big parlor at eleven o’clock Saturday night with two
+handfuls of cornmeal to scatter on the floor to make it more slippery
+for dancing. And she did it graciously. They all did such things, and
+did them instinctively.
+
+They had the faculty of foreseeing when any amusement was palling on
+the participants and of starting something else before the boarders had
+time to find out that they were getting tired of what they were doing.
+They could always lead their guests into anything they began. On Sunday
+nights Susie sat at the piano and the rest stood around her and they
+all sang hymns in which all the singers on the farm invariably joined.
+Two or three nights a week they gathered similarly and sang college
+songs or popular tunes. Nearly every weekday evening they danced and of
+course the guests danced too. Then there was Jack Palton, who foraged
+among Uncle Hibbard’s guitars, found one with four strings left, tuned
+it like a banjo, and accompanied himself and a bevy of girls in singing
+glees. Mostly the boarders were too lazy to play tennis and most of the
+Hibbards were too easy-going to see that the court was kept in order,
+but nobody missed it. If they played tennis they suited themselves to
+the court as it was.
+
+The Alders was an easy-going place, full of merriment, of gaiety, of
+diversion, of singing and dancing, of lovemaking and flirtations.
+
+Especially of flirtations.
+
+That was where the three boys came in strong.
+
+Inevitably the boarders at the Alders were mostly women and young
+women. Before they were half grown the three boys learned to act as
+beaux for little girls, misses, hoydens, old-maids and grass-widows.
+They had learned how without knowing it, without knowing it they made
+an art of it. They did their best, quite spontaneously, to see to it
+that every unmated feminine creature at the Alders had a good time.
+
+Incidentally they had a good time, for attractive girls were always
+present in abundance.
+
+The result was as good as a comedy to watch.
+
+Whenever a pretty girl, without a gallant in attendance, came to the
+Alders, she was promptly annexed by the second brother, who had been
+christened Ernest Paca Hibbard and was always known, spoken of and
+addressed as “Pake.”
+
+Pake was neither tall nor short. He was broad and thick. Also he was
+fat, not too fat, but pleasantly fat. He had a bullet head, a short
+neck and a round ruddy face. Withal he was good looking. He affected
+bright hat-bands on his new stylish straw hats; bright effective
+neck-ties, tan shoes, white duck trousers and blue coats. He looked
+attractive, felt attractive and was attractive. Nearly every newcomer
+liked Pake and, if he liked her, she was within three days spoken of as
+“Pake’s girl.”
+
+He was a born flirt, could have flirted if he had been walking in his
+sleep, and he flirted well. Few girls could resist the charm of his
+frank and ingenuous overtures or the sparkle of his brown eyes.
+
+Then after Pake had annexed the girl, Buck would look her over. He
+was in no hurry. He was tall, heavily built though spare, had a
+good-natured countenance, in which blue eyes looked out of a tanned
+face, and wore clothes which neither he nor anyone else ever noticed.
+
+If Buck liked a girl well enough he took her away from Pake. Nobody
+could ever describe or specify how he did it; but he did it. Buck’s
+advances threw Pake completely into the shade.
+
+Buck was the head of the family, ran the farm, gave orders to the
+tenant-farmer, directed the selection of the calf that was to be
+slaughtered every two weeks and of the two lambs killed each week,
+talked fascinatingly of pigs and crops, had to ask no one but himself
+when he wanted a horse hitched up to take a girl out driving, and was
+generally jovial and delightful.
+
+The girls he liked always liked him better than Pake. He had more
+conversation and never bored anybody.
+
+Then after Pake had transferred his attentions to some newcomer and
+Buck and his girl were together during all Buck’s leisure as naturally
+as cup and saucer, Rex would look her over deliberately. He was even
+less in a hurry than Buck.
+
+Rex was slight and silent, with a melancholy air and melting
+yellow-brown eyes. He was, to the few girls he fancied, altogether
+irresistible. Therein lay his fault. Rex took flirtation too
+seriously. It was likely to slip into love making, which is not sound
+boarding-house ethics.
+
+But Rex never caused any trouble or got into any trouble. If things
+looked serious to the gossips or the family, they never felt serious to
+Rex or the girl.
+
+Such was the Alders in its prime, which lasted some few years, during
+which I was a resident there, first in the “Club,” as the boys called
+their white-washed stone cottage, later in the house itself. I was
+happy those four summers, and became almost an honorary member of the
+family. The honorary members of the Hibbard family were numerous. The
+Alders had entertained nearly two hundred individual boarders a year
+for fifteen years. At least one in ten of them felt like an honorary
+member of the family. Many of those who came there for a second summer
+were treated as honorary members of the family, and I had spent four
+summers at the Alders.
+
+So I was treated quite as an honorary member of the family and enjoyed
+it.
+
+The family, in fact, was the best feature of life at the Alders. Seldom
+could one encounter seven brothers and sisters so loving to each other,
+so devoted. They had no motto, but they behaved as if their motto
+were “all for one, one for all.” A pleasant feature of each day was
+the sight of their habitual morning gathering, all to themselves, on
+the small side porch. There they would sit for half an hour or more,
+holding a sort of family council on the problems of that day. They
+were a most united family, solicitous about each other, perpetually
+interested in each other’s welfare.
+
+
+                                  II
+
+
+The Alders changed like everything else. Susie married and lived
+in Baltimore, Anna married and lived in Washington. Pake went to
+Pittsburgh. Rex married a widow with two children and settled in
+Chicago. Buck was away from home a good deal. Mattie married a man who
+did not make the family feel enthusiastic. The Alders continued full of
+boarders, all in the care of Leslie, the youngest sister, whom I had
+last seen as a shy girl.
+
+For I had not visited the Alders for a dozen years, and in that time
+had scarcely seen any of the family except Pake, jolly old Pake, a
+prosperous bachelor, as much of a flirt as ever, even more of a flirt
+than in his youth; a short, florid, jovial man, young-looking and
+handsome, who made love to every new girl he met as naturally as he
+breathed.
+
+Then, one afternoon early in July, I encountered Rex on the platform
+of a railroad station, just as we were about to take trains leaving in
+opposite directions. He glowed over conditions at the Alders, averred
+that Leslie ran the place as well as ever all four sisters together
+had, that it was always full, that it was as delightful as ever.
+
+Within a week I encountered Susie and her two tall girls in the waiting
+room of Union Station. They were off to the Alders for the summer and
+Susie invited me up over any Sunday I chose.
+
+As with Rex, so also the time I had with Susie was too short for me to
+ask a tenth of the questions I wanted to ask or for her to tell me a
+tenth of what she had to tell.
+
+The first Saturday I could get off early I ran up to the Alders. Buck
+met me at Jonesville station, a little more bronzed than I had last
+seen him, otherwise the same youthful-looking giant.
+
+The house, of course, was the same tile-roofed brick house, big and
+plain, neat under a new coat of bright lemon-yellow paint. The barns
+were the same weathered gray, unpainted, ramshackle barns I remembered,
+not a bit more decayed nor less dilapidated than a dozen years before.
+The grove behind the barn was unaltered, not a tree gone as far as I
+could judge, and all its big oaks, tulip-poplars and hickories rustling
+delightfully. The outbuildings near the house were as of old and the
+brook, just as of yore, not fifty feet from the front porch, rippled
+across the lawn between its rows of alders. The ailanthus trees west of
+the house and the locust tree by the well seemed exactly as formerly.
+They were so big they did not show their growth. But the catalpa by
+the bridge over the brook had taken on a new lease of life and was
+flourishing, whereas the lombardy poplars across the brook were gone.
+The chief change was in the maples. In my time they had been young
+trees, with trunks too slender to support a hammock rope without
+bending when anyone sat in the hammock. Now they were large trees,
+shading the entire front yard from the brook to the porch with an
+almost continuous canopy of green.
+
+The place was full of boarders and their children, though the family
+themselves took up a larger part of the house than of old. Susie was
+there with her two girls, Anna with her two manly boys and Rex and
+his wife and his two step-children. Leslie had grown into an entirely
+adequate housekeeper and hostess and presided admirably. As of yore,
+the homestead tinkled with banjo music and rang with laughter.
+
+Mattie, of course, was not at the house, as she and her husband lived
+a quarter of a mile down the road on the farm that had been Aunt
+Cynthia’s. Everything and everybody was as I expected except that I
+missed Pake.
+
+“Where’s Pake?” I queried.
+
+“Pake!” Susie exclaimed. “Didn’t you know Pake was in Rio de Janeiro?”
+
+“No!” I answered; “why, I saw Pake on Washington’s birthday and he said
+nothing about going abroad.”
+
+“He went in March,” Susie rejoined; “late in March, I think. He likes
+it down there.”
+
+Somebody interrupted and we did not mention Pake again until after
+supper. Then we were all out on the long front porch, grouped about
+Susie. Buck and Tom Brundige and I, scattered among the ladies, had our
+cigars drawing well. Rex, as always, was smoking one cigarette after
+another. A V. M. I. cadet, a crony of one of Anna’s boys, was seated on
+one rail of the rustic bridge over the brook, twanging a banjo at three
+girls who sat on the other rail facing him. In the lulls of our talk
+and of the banjo, the chuckle of the brook over its pebbles emphasized
+the silence, into which broke the undertones of a pair of lovers,
+swinging in a hammock off to the right. The stars twinkled through the
+tree-tops, the cigar ends glowed red in the darkness, which was cloven
+by shafts of lamplight from the windows and mitigated afar to the left
+where, over the long black outline of the Blue Ridge a paling sky
+prophesied moonrise.
+
+Somebody had been expecting a letter and had been disappointed and was
+mourning over it.
+
+“I don’t understand about letters from Pake,” Susie remarked.
+“Sometimes we don’t get any letters for weeks, and then we get two or
+three, all at once. When we compare dates and postmarks we find that he
+writes every Wednesday and Saturday and mails the letters the very day
+they are written. How do you explain that, Billy?”
+
+“I suppose,” I said, “that the letters come different ways, perhaps
+some by Lisbon, some by London, others perhaps other ways. That might
+explain it. What do you think, Tom?”
+
+“I fancy,” said Brundige, “that you are probably right.”
+
+“I had a letter from Pake to-day,” Susie went on. “I had not heard from
+him for a month. He says he don’t like his business quarters. He has an
+expensive office and he says it is dark and hot and stuffy and he is
+going to change just as soon as he can find something to suit him. He
+says he is looking round. But he says he is most comfortably located
+otherwise. He is boarding, as he expresses it, ‘up on Santa Teresa’;
+what does that mean, Billy?”
+
+“Big, long hill,” I replied. “Four hundred feet high. Splendid view
+over the city and harbor. Fine air all night. Lots of places to board
+up there, and all good. How’s that now, Tom?”
+
+“All correct,” Brundige corroborated me.
+
+“I should think,” Rex put in, “that Pake would get into trouble down
+there.”
+
+“What sort of trouble?” Anna demanded. “Pake never gets into trouble
+anywhere. What sort of trouble do you mean?”
+
+Rex lit another cigarette.
+
+“Oh,” he said, “I meant that down there those Dago Portuguese won’t
+stand any nonsense. They’re a revengeful lot, by what I hear. Pake
+might cut somebody out with a girl and get a knife stuck in him.”
+
+“You’re teasing!” cried Anna, indignantly. “You’re always up to some
+teasing! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
+
+And Susie rebuked him:
+
+“You oughtn’t to suggest such awful things, Rex.”
+
+“But I wasn’t suggesting anything awful,” Rex persisted, “and I wasn’t
+teasing. I only meant Pake would be likely to cause some heartburnings
+down there. Pake’s bound to be the same old Pake. He can’t change all
+of a sudden. He’s certain to have half a dozen girls thinking they have
+him on a string before he was there a week. Before he was there a month
+he had more than one girl on a string. Somebody’s bound to be jealous.
+Those Dagoes are a hot-blooded lot.”
+
+“Pooh!” Buck cut in, “Pake don’t know enough Portuguese to flirt
+with any natives and all the Americans and English down there will
+understand flirting.”
+
+“What’s the matter with some Dago being in love with an English girl or
+an American girl?” Rex persevered; “Pake might cut one out with a girl
+that speaks English.”
+
+I saw that both Susie, who was naturally nervous, and Anna, who had
+been inseparable from Pake all through their childhood, were wrought
+up. I tried to intervene.
+
+“Nonsense,” I said, “Pake might cut out any number of gallants and
+never get into any trouble. Rio is as peaceable as Baltimore. To begin
+with, he can’t flirt with any Brazilian girls, for no Brazilian girl is
+ever permitted to talk to a young man. Anybody going along the streets
+can see the fashionable Brazilians making love according to their
+custom. Toward sunset, when the heat is less fierce, the girls, all
+dressed up, lean out of the windows of the second floor drawing rooms.
+Their lovers stand on the other side of the street and look at them. A
+young man will stand that way two hours or more every afternoon for a
+year before he asks her father for a girl. That’s the fashion. How is
+it now, Tom?”
+
+“Same way now.” Brundige corroborated me. “Lots of flirtation among
+the foreign set, though. But no danger of daggers or revenge. Rio is
+as peaceable as Washington. I never heard of any case of revenge or of
+jealousy leading to bloodshed. Never heard of a supposed case, except
+once.”
+
+His tone told us all there was a story coming. He was sitting next to
+Susie and we all hitched our chairs nearer.
+
+“What was that, Tom?” Buck asked.
+
+The women all looked towards Brundige. Rex lit another cigarette. The
+rest of us lit fresh cigars.
+
+“It was a fellow named Orodoff Guimaraes,” Brundige began. “Guimaraes,
+in Portuguese, is like Smith in English, only more so. It seems
+as if half the Fluminenses, as they call the people of Rio, are
+named Guimaraes. This Orodoff Guimaraes was a cousin and namesake
+of a wealthy and respected wine-merchant and rather traded on the
+relationship and identity of the name. He was one of those dandies who
+swarm in all South American cities, young men with little or no income,
+a great sense of their own importance, a taste for expensive pleasures,
+a love of ease and comfort, ungovernable passions, and an insane
+devotion to the latest fashion in clothes.
+
+“Most of such idlers have no income and are too proud to have any
+business. This Orodoff Guimaraes was better off in both respects. He
+inherited a small property in real estate, and he made some money in
+life insurance. He had a desk in a third floor office in a building he
+owned, 49A Rua de Alfandega, one of the principal business streets of
+the old down-town part of Rio. He rented the first and second floors
+of the building at good rentals, and he rented desk-room on the third
+floor; all the back office and all the front office except his own
+small desk.
+
+“He used to spend the most of his mornings at that desk, idling. He
+sometimes had business that took him out, sometimes he pretended he
+had. But mostly he just sat at his desk, reading papers, smoking
+cigarettes or doing nothing at all. It was a pleasant place to do
+nothing in, a big room, nearly thirty feet wide, more than thirty feet
+long, with a high ceiling and three tall French windows down to the
+floor, all three always open. They faced south, so that they needed no
+awnings and they let in no glare and plenty of breeze. The office was
+light, but not too light, cool and airy, an ideal loafing place.
+
+“When he was not loafing in his office Guimaraes was always making love
+to some girl or going through the motions of making love. No girl would
+have him, for no girl’s father would let her marry him; he was not well
+enough off to marry, though he managed to dress well as a bachelor.
+So girl after girl whom he made love to married some one else, or got
+engaged to some one else. Three of them got engaged, but never got
+married. Their bridegrooms died before the wedding day.
+
+“In each case Guimaraes made friends with his rival, got quite chummy
+with him, and induced him to rent a desk in his office. In each case
+the rival was killed by falling out of one of the French windows of
+the office, forty odd feet to the pavement of the Rue de Alfandega.
+In each case it was an accident. In each case Orodoff Guimaraes was
+out of his office when the accident happened. But while no one could
+say a word against Guimaraes, after the third accident no Fluminense
+who had been exposed in any way to Orodoff Guimaraes’ real or apparent
+rivalry for any girl could be induced to rent desk room in his office.
+The deaths could not be imputed to him, but the coincidence of the
+rivalry, the friendship, the renting of a desk and the fall from the
+window, in three different cases, was more than even the slow-thinking
+fashionable Fluminenses could stand. It got on their nerves. If he
+hadn’t committed three murders out of revenge, it seemed as if he had.
+Of course, he couldn’t have hypnotized the victims when he was half a
+mile away and made them throw themselves out of the window or caused
+them to walk out of the window, but somehow everybody felt as if that
+was just about what he had done.
+
+“And each case was spooky, too. In each case the victim’s desk was
+close to one of the windows; in each case Orodoff Guimaraes was out,
+but there were two other men, renters of desk-room, at desks further
+back in the office; in each case the other men, seated at their desks
+twenty feet and more away, had been talking across the room to the
+victim; in each case the other men, different men each time, had turned
+round to look at something on their desks, had heard no sound, no
+movement, no cry, but when they looked round again found themselves
+alone in the room, and, going to the window, saw the victim crushed on
+the pavement below.”
+
+He stopped.
+
+“Why don’t they have a railing or a balustrade across the open window?”
+Rex inquired.
+
+“Custom,” Brundige rejoined. “Custom rules everything down there;
+custom rules everything all over South America. In Rio all upstairs
+offices have French windows down to the floor. It’s a hot climate and
+no window has a rail or even a bar across it. To have unobstructed
+windows is the custom.”
+
+“Fool custom!” said Buck.
+
+Just then Leslie came out and joined us. She had been attending to her
+household duties, or giving orders about breakfast, or entertaining a
+boarder or something like that.
+
+After she was settled next to Rex she said:
+
+“I had a letter from Pake this morning. He says there are some fine
+girls down there in Rio. Says he has had no end of fun with them. He
+must have been in a good humor when he wrote that letter. It’s a long
+letter and very funny. He tells how he pretended to make love to a
+girl, just to annoy a fool of a dude who was always making eyes at her,
+how at first the dude was mad, how he saw the joke and behaved real
+sensibly. Pake says they got to be real good friends. He tells it all
+very well. I’ll read it to you to-morrow.”
+
+Leslie was bubbling with merriment, as unconscious as possible and very
+girlish. But about the rest of us the atmosphere seemed to tingle. I
+could feel, as it were, the spiritual tension. Buck asked, thickly:
+
+“Did he tell you the fellow’s name?”
+
+“No,” said Leslie cheerfully. “He never mentioned his name. But he says
+they are real good friends.”
+
+Just then the banjo party on the little bridge stood up. We heard
+cheerful greetings and recognized Mattie’s voice. She had strolled over
+on foot, her home being a very short distance down the road.
+
+She came up on the porch, a big, solid matronly young woman. I caught
+a glimpse of her plump face as the lamplight through the open doorway
+struck on her, her brown eyes smiling merrily.
+
+Buck sat down on the porch floor, his feet on the steps, his back
+against a pillar. Mattie took his chair. She also took charge and
+control of the conversation.
+
+“Alf drove to Hagerstown right after supper,” she said. “He ought to be
+back soon. I told him I was coming over here and he’ll come right here
+when he comes out.”
+
+This was in answer to my query.
+
+“I had a letter from Pake this morning,” she went on. “He says he’s
+got a new office that suits him perfectly. He says he didn’t need as
+much room as he had, so he’s taken desk room only in the office of a
+friend of his, some kind of Brazilian name, I couldn’t spell and can’t
+pronounce it. He says it’s a dandy place on the third floor, big, high
+room, plenty of floor space to move about in and nice fellows at the
+other desks. It’s bright and cool and airy, three big French windows
+open down to the floor.”
+
+Then, quite suddenly, as she paused, I felt the Alders enveloped in an
+atmosphere of tragedy and gloom. The Hibbards excelled in self-control;
+not one of them uttered a sound. There was a long silence. I could hear
+the ripple of the brook. The first rays of the late moon, just clearing
+the top of the Blue Ridge, struck through the maples.
+
+Anna spoke first:
+
+“Have you that letter with you, Mattie?”
+
+“Yes,” Mattie replied cheerfully. “I brought it along.”
+
+“Give it to me,” Anna said; “Billy and I will try to make out that
+name.”
+
+“Billy can do it, I’ll bet,” spoke Mattie brightly.
+
+Anna, the letter in her hand, stood up.
+
+“Come on, Billy,” she said.
+
+I went.
+
+I was surprised at her asking me instead of Brundige. I had never been
+intimate with Anna. Susie I had known well and Mattie better, but
+Leslie, in the old days, had merely smiled and seldom spoken, so that
+I could not tell whether she liked me or not, while Anna had seemed to
+avoid me.
+
+I should have expected her to call Brundige, for Tom had been in Rio
+longer than I, and much more recently.
+
+She stood by the refrigerator in the back hall by the side door and
+leaned against it, her brown hair almost golden against the lamp that
+stood on the refrigerator.
+
+“I daren’t look at the letter,” she said. “You read it, Billy.”
+
+I found the name and it was Orodoff Guimaraes. Also, at the end of the
+letter he told Mattie to write to him at his office address, Rua de
+Alfandega, 49A.
+
+“Come!” said Anna, in a fierce whisper.
+
+I followed her through the side door and out into the tepid windless
+moonlight.
+
+She made for the barn.
+
+The atmosphere of gloom and tragedy deepened about us. The moonlight
+seemed weird and ghastly, the shadows of the trees grim and menacing,
+the silence like that of a graveyard.
+
+Anna leaned against the barnyard gate.
+
+“Could I send a cablegram to Rio de Janeiro for thirty dollars?” she
+queried.
+
+“A long one for less,” I said. “When I was down there the rates were
+sixty-five cents a word. That’s many years ago. The rates can’t be
+over half that now. You could cable a letter for thirty dollars.”
+
+“I have three ten-dollar bills,” she said. “Barton gave them to me for
+emergencies just before I left Washington.”
+
+“I have more than that in my pocket,” I said. “Between us we are sure
+to have more than enough.”
+
+“Do you suppose,” she asked, “that I could send a cable from Jonesville
+this late Saturday night?”
+
+“We might try,” I said.
+
+“If we can’t,” she pressed me, “will you drive into Hagerstown with me?”
+
+“Yes,” I promised.
+
+“Oh,” she said, “I can’t bear it. I can see him lying dead on those
+cruel paving stones. I can’t bear it.”
+
+I remembered that, just as Rex and Leslie had been inseparable all
+through their childhood, so Anna and Pake had been comrades from the
+cradle on. I said nothing.
+
+“Can you hitch up without the lantern?” she demanded.
+
+“Has the stable been altered?” I asked.
+
+“Not a bit,” she said.
+
+In fact my hand in the dark found in the same places what might have
+been the same hickory harness-pegs and on them what seemed like the
+same old sets of harness.
+
+“Which stall?” I asked.
+
+“Laddie’s old stall,” she directed me; “call her Nell.”
+
+I harnessed the mare and led her out to the carriage shed. Anna climbed
+into the buggy. I opened the gate into the grove and closed it after
+she had driven through. At the far end of the grove I got out of the
+buggy again and let down the bars. After I had put them up and was at
+last in the buggy she handed the reins to me.
+
+“Nell can trot,” she said.
+
+Nell trotted, the snaky black shadows lay inky dark across the road.
+We tore past Grotto station. We neared Jonesville. I had no sense of
+ineptitude or futility in what we were trying to do. I did not feel I
+was on a wild goose chase. I did not feel absurd. I took our errand
+most seriously. We were on our way to warn Pake against the devilish
+machinations of a fiend who had contrived and compassed three ingenious
+murders. We were racing against time to warn him before it was too
+late. I was wrought up to the highest pitch of excitement over the
+gravity and urgency of our mission.
+
+We found the telegraph operator still awake. We persuaded him to do as
+we asked. Anna wrote and I amended till we agreed on:
+
+ “Change your office immediately. Do not enter it again on any account.
+ Get another office at once. Act instantly; this is a matter of life
+ and death. Explanations by letter.
+
+                                                                “ANNA.”
+
+When the cablegram was sent off we drove homeward, at Nell’s natural
+pace, which was not slow.
+
+We felt only partly relieved.
+
+A dozen times Anna sighed:
+
+“I hope we were in time; oh, I hope we were in time!”
+
+The atmosphere of gloom and tragedy pursued us as we returned,
+enveloped the Alders when again we were seated on the porch.
+
+Hardly were we seated when Mattie’s husband came. I had heard he had
+been consumptive, but had recovered completely. He looked to me like a
+dying man; haggard, gray-cheeked, sunken-eyed, trembling. He greeted
+people like a sleep-walker.
+
+As soon as greetings were over he said:
+
+“Buck, I want to talk business to you a moment.”
+
+Buck stood up. He had the Hibbard faculty of intuition and
+unexpectedness. I was used to both, of old. But I was very much
+astonished when he pinched me as he passed and indicated that I was to
+come, too.
+
+In the back hall by the refrigerator Alf looked up at Buck like a
+hunted animal at bay.
+
+“My God, Buck,” he said. “How’ll we ever break it to the girls?”
+
+“Break what?” Buck queried, his voice dry and thin.
+
+“There was a cablegram for you at Hagerstown,” Alf replied. “Beesore
+had sense enough not to telephone it out here. He saw me and gave it to
+me. Pake’s dead.”
+
+“Let’s look at the cablegram,” Buck said thickly.
+
+He looked, holding it closely to the kerosene lamp on the refrigerator.
+
+Then he handed it to me.
+
+I read:
+
+ “E. P. Hibbard instantly killed by a fall from a window.
+
+                                                         “G. SWANWICK.”
+
+                                                                   1913
+
+
+
+
+                       THE MESSAGE ON THE SLATE
+
+
+
+
+                       THE MESSAGE ON THE SLATE
+
+
+MRS. LLEWELLYN had always held--in so far as she ever thought about
+the subject at all--that to consult a clairvoyant was not merely an
+imbecile folly, but a degrading action, nearly akin to crime. Now that
+she felt herself over-masteringly driven to such an unconscionable
+unworthiness she could not bring herself to do it openly. Anything
+underhand or secretive was utterly alien to her nature. She was a
+tall woman, notably well shaped, with unusual dignity of demeanor.
+The poise of her head would have appeared haughty but for the winning
+kindliness of her frequent smile. Her dark hair, dark eyes and very
+white skin accorded well with that abiding calm of her bearing
+which never seemed mere placidity in a face habitually lighted with
+interested comprehension. Like a cloudless springtime sunrise over
+limitless expanses of dewy prairies, she was enveloped in an atmosphere
+of spacious serenity of soul, and her appearance was entirely in
+consonance with her character. She was still a very beautiful woman,
+high-souled as she was beautiful and exceedingly straight-forward.
+Yet to drive in open day to a house bearing the displayed sign of a
+spirit-medium was more than she could do. Bidding her footman call for
+her later, much later, at her hairdresser’s, she dismissed her carriage
+at the main entrance of a department store. Leaving it by another
+entrance, she took a street car for the neighborhood she sought. The
+neighborhood was altogether different from what she had anticipated;
+the houses, by no means small, were even handsome; not least handsome
+that of the clairvoyant. And it was very well kept, the pavement and
+the steps clean, the plate glass window panes bright, the shades and
+curtains new and tasteful, the silver doorknobs and door-bell fresh
+polished. There was a sign, indeed, but not the flaming horror her
+imagination had constructed from memories of signs seen in passing.
+This was a bit of glass set inside the big, bright pane of one of
+the parlor windows. It bore in small gold letters only the name,
+SALATHIEL VARGAS, and the word, CLAIRVOYANT.
+
+A neat maid opened the door. Yes, Mr. Vargas was in; would she walk
+into the waiting room? The untenanted waiting room was a dignified
+parlor, furnished in the costliest way, but with a restraint as far as
+possible from ostentation. The rug was Persian, each piece of furniture
+different in design from any other, yet all harmonizing, while the ten
+pictures were paintings by well-known artists. Before Mrs. Llewellyn
+had time for more than one comprehensive and surprised glance about,
+when she had barely seated herself, the retreating maid struck two
+sharp notes on a silvery gong. Almost immediately the door leading to
+the rear room was opened. In it appeared a man under five feet tall,
+not dwarfish, but deformed. His patent-leather shoes were boyish, his
+trousers hung limp about legs shriveled to mere skeletal stems, and his
+left knee was bent and fixed at an unchanging angle, so that his step
+was a painful hobble. Above the waist he was well made; a deep chest;
+broad, square shoulders; a huge head with a vast shock of black, curly
+hair. He had the look of a musician or artist; with a wide forehead;
+delicately curved eyebrows; nose hooked, sharp and assertive; eyes,
+wide apart, large, dark brown with sparkles of red and green; and a
+mouth whose curled upper lip was almost too short. The mouth and eyes
+held Mrs. Llewellyn at first glance, and the instant change in them
+startled her. He had appeared with a suave mechanical smile, with a
+look of easy expectancy. As his gaze met hers his lips set and their
+redness dulled; his eyes were full of so poignant a dismay that she
+would not have been surprised had he abruptly retreated and slammed the
+door between them. Without a word he clung to the knob, staring at her.
+Then he drew the door to after him and leaned against it, still holding
+to the knob with one hand behind his back. When he spoke it was in a
+dry whisper.
+
+“You here, of all women!”
+
+“You know me!” she exclaimed; “I have never seen you.”
+
+“You are seen of many thousands you never note,” he replied. “Everyone
+knows Mrs. David Llewellyn. Everyone knew Constance Palgrave.”
+
+“You flatter me,” she said coldly, with the air of one resenting an
+unwelcome familiarity.
+
+“Flattery is part of my trade,” he replied. “But I do not flatter you.
+So little that I have forgotten my manners. I should have asked you to
+step into my consulting room. Pray, enter it.”
+
+She passed him as he held the door open for her. The inner room was
+not less seemly than the outer. Except for three doors and one
+broad window looking out on an area, it was walled with bookcases
+some eight feet high, broken only where there were set into them two
+small cabinets with drawers below. The glass doors of the bookcases
+were of small panes, and the books within were in exquisite bindings.
+Topping the cases were several splendid bronze busts. The furniture
+was completed by a round mahogany center-table, several small chairs
+and three tapestried armchairs. When Mrs. Llewellyn had seated herself
+in one the clairvoyant took another. His agitation was so extreme that
+had she been capable of fear it would almost have frightened her; her
+curiosity it greatly piqued. He was as pale as a swarthy man can be,
+his lips bloodless and twitching, dry and moistening themselves one
+against the other as he mechanically swallowed in his nervousness. She
+herself was perturbed in soul, but an eye less practised than his would
+have discerned no signs of emotion beneath her easy exterior. They
+faced each other in silence for some breaths; then he spoke:
+
+“For what purpose have you come here?”
+
+“To consult you,” she answered. “Is it astonishing? Do not all sorts of
+persons come to consult you?”
+
+“All sorts,” he replied. “But none such as you. Never any such as you.”
+
+“I have come, it seems,” she said simply, “and to consult you.”
+
+“In what way do you mean to consult me?” he queried. “People consult me
+in various ways.”
+
+“I had in mind,” she said, “the answers you give by writing on the
+inside of a shut slate.”
+
+“You have come to the wrong man,” he said harshly, with an obvious
+effort that made his voice unnatural. “Go elsewhere,” and he rose.
+
+She gazed at him in astonishment without moving.
+
+“Why do you say that?” she demanded.
+
+He opened each of the three doors, looked outside and then made sure
+that each was latched. He looked out of the window, glancing at each of
+the other windows visible from it. He hobbled once or twice up and down
+the room, mopping his forehead and face with his handkerchief; then he
+seated himself again.
+
+“Mrs. Llewellyn,” he said, “I must request your promise of entire and
+permanent secrecy for what I am about to tell you.”
+
+“Anyone would suppose,” she said, “that you were the client and I the
+clairvoyant.”
+
+“Acknowledging that,” he replied. “Let it pass, I beg of you. I have
+told you that you have come to the wrong man. I bade you go elsewhere.
+You ask for an explanation. I have fortified myself to give it to you.
+But I must have your pledge of silence if you desire an explanation.”
+
+“I do desire it and you have my promise.”
+
+He looked around the room with the movement of a rat in a cage. His
+eyes met hers, but shifted uneasily, and his shamefaced gaze fell to
+the floor. His hands clutched each other upon his lame knee.
+
+“Madame,” he said, “I tell you to go elsewhere because I am a
+charlatan, an impostor. My trances are mere pretense, the method of my
+replies a farcical mummery, the answers transparent concoctions from
+the hints I extract from my dupes.”
+
+“You say this to try me,” she cried; “you are subjecting me to some
+sort of test.”
+
+“Madame,” he said, “look at me. Am I like a man playing a part? Do I
+not look in earnest?”
+
+She regarded him, convinced.
+
+“But,” she wondered. “Why do you thrust this confession upon me?”
+
+“I fear,” he hesitated, “that a truthful answer to that question would
+displease you.”
+
+“Your behavior,” she said, “and your utterances are so unexpected
+and amazing to me, coming here as I have, that I must request an
+explanation.”
+
+Vargas straightened himself in his chair and looked her in the eyes,
+not aggressively, but timidly. He spoke in a low voice.
+
+“Madame,” he said solemnly, “I have told you the truth about myself
+because you are the one human being whom I am unwilling to harm, wrong
+or cheat.”
+
+“You mean,”----she broke off, bridling.
+
+“Ah, Madame,” he cried, “I mean nothing that has in it any tinge of
+anything that might offend you. What does the north star know or care
+how many frail, storm-tossed barks struggle to steer by it? Is it any
+the less radiant, pure, high because so many to whom it is and shall
+remain forever unattainable strive to win from its rays guidance
+towards havens of safety? A woman such as you cannot guess, much less
+know, to how many she is the one abiding heavenly beacon. How could
+you, who need no such help from without, realize what the mere sight
+of you afar off must mean to natures not blest with such a heritage
+of goodness? How many have been strengthened at sight of your face,
+wherein they could not but see the visible outward expression of that
+inward peace and serenity that comes from right instincts unswervingly
+adhering to noble ideals? You have been to me the incarnate token of
+the existence of that righteousness to which I might not attain.”
+
+Mrs. Llewellyn had borne his torrent of verbiage with a look of
+intolerant toleration, of haughty displeasure curbed by astonishment.
+When he paused for breath she said, in a voice half angry, half
+repressed:
+
+“I quite understand you, I have heard enough, I have heard altogether
+too much of this; we will change the subject, if you please.”
+
+“I spoke at your command,” Vargas apologized, abashed, “and only to
+convince you of my sincerity in telling you that I am not worthy of
+being consulted by you.”
+
+“But,” she protested, carried away by her surprise, “you are called the
+greatest clairvoyant on earth.”
+
+“And I have schemed, advertised lavishly, spent money like water,
+bribed reporters, bought editors, cajoled managers, hoodwinked owners
+and won over their wives and daughters through laborious years to
+produce that impression. It is no growth of accident, no spontaneous
+recognition of self-evident merit.”
+
+“But,” she argued, “are you a fiend doing all this for the delight of
+deceiving for deception’s sake? Are you a man wealthy by inheritance
+and choosing this form of activity for the pleasure it gives you?”
+
+“By no means Madame,” he denied, “I live by my wits.”
+
+“Your surroundings tell me that you live well,” she suggested.
+
+“Better than my surroundings reveal,” he rejoined.
+
+“Then your wits are good wits,” she ventured.
+
+“None better of their kind on earth,” he naïvely admitted, wholly off
+his guard.
+
+“And they are not overtaxed?” she asked.
+
+“Deception is not hard,” he told her, “the world is full of fools and
+even the sensible are easy to deceive.”
+
+“From what I have read,” she continued, “you do not deceive. Your
+advice is good. Your precepts guide your clients right. Your
+suggestions lead to success. Your predictions come to pass, your
+conjectures are verified.”
+
+“All that is true enough,” he allowed.
+
+“Then how can you call your clients dupes, your methods mummeries, your
+answers lies?” She wound up triumphantly.
+
+“I did not call my answers lies,” he disclaimed. “Mummeries I deal
+in and to dupes. Dupes they are all. They pour gold into my lap
+to tell them what they already knew if they but reasoned it out
+calmly with themselves. They babble to me all they need to know and
+pay me insensately for it when I fling back to them a patchwork of
+the fragments I have extracted from their stories of expectations,
+apprehensions and memories.”
+
+“But if you do all that you must be a real judge of human nature, a
+genuine reader of hearts, a keen-brained counsellor.”
+
+“I am all that and more,” he bragged. He had lost every trace of
+agitation and bore himself with a dashing self-confidence of manner,
+extremely engaging. “I cannot minister to a mind diseased; but I am
+called on to prescribe for all sorts of delusions, follies, blunders,
+miseries and griefs. I could count by thousands the men and women
+I have saved, the lives I have made happy, the difficulties I have
+annihilated, the aspirations I have guided aright.”
+
+“Then you must have an immense experience of human frailties and human
+needs.”
+
+“Vast, enormous, incalculable,” he declared.
+
+“Your advice then should be valuable.”
+
+“It is valuable,” he boasted.
+
+“Then advise me, I am in extreme distress. I have felt that no one
+could help me. The belief that you might has given me a ray of hope.
+You have expressed a regard for me altogether extraordinary. Will it
+not lead you to help me?”
+
+“Any advice and help, any service in my power you may be sure shall be
+yours,” he said earnestly. “But let me ask you first, how was it that
+you did not seek the advice of some business-man, lawyer or clergyman?
+You are not at all of the light-headed type of those frivolous
+women who flock to me and to others like me. You have common sense,
+unalterable principles, rational instincts and personal fastidiousness,
+why did you not go to one of the recognized, established, honored
+advisers of humanity? Tell me that if you please?”
+
+“It was because of the dream,” she faltered.
+
+“The dream!” he exclaimed. “A dream sent you to me? What sort of a
+dream?”
+
+“I had come to feel that there could be no hope for me,” she said.
+“But about a month ago I had a dream in which I was told ‘The seventh
+advertisement in the seventh column of the seventh newspaper in the
+seventh drawer of the linen room will point for you the way to escape
+from your miseries and win what you desire.’ There should have been
+no papers in my linen-room and it made me feel foolish to want to go
+and look. Also the servants knew I never went there, so I had to watch
+until the housekeeper was out and no maids were on that floor. Sure
+enough I found seven old newspapers in the seventh drawer, and on the
+seventh page of the lowermost paper, on the seventh column, the seventh
+advertisement was yours.”
+
+“And you came to me because of that dream?”
+
+“Yes:--and;--” she hesitated.
+
+“Well,” he interrupted, “the reasons why you came are not so important.
+What I want to be sure of is this. Even if you were led to come by
+a mere coincidence acting on your feelings, are you now, from cool,
+deliberate reflection, determined to consult me? Would it not be better
+to take my advice at this point and go to one of the world’s regular,
+accredited dispensers of wisdom?”
+
+“I have made up my mind to consult you,” she said. “It is not a passing
+whim, but a settled resolve.”
+
+“Then madame,” he said, his manner wholly changing, “you must tell me
+all your troubles without any reservation of any kind. If I am to help
+you I must know your case as completely as a physician would have to
+know your symptoms in an illness. Tell me plainly what your trouble is.”
+
+She began to pluck at her veil with her gloved hands.
+
+“Oh,” she gasped, “let me moisten my lips. Just a swallow of water.”
+
+For all his lameness he was surprisingly agile, as he wrenched himself
+up, tore open the rear door and almost instantly hobbled back with a
+glass and silver pitcher on a small silver tray.
+
+She took off her veil and one glove. Several swallows were required to
+compose her. When she was calm again he sat looking at her with a face
+full of inquiry, but without uttering any questions.
+
+“You do not know,” she said, “how hard it is to begin.”
+
+“For the third time, Madame,” he said, “I advise you not to consult me,
+to go elsewhere.”
+
+“Are you not willing to help me?” she asked, softly.
+
+“Utterly willing,” he said, “but timid, timid as a doctor would be
+about prescribing for his own child. Yours is the first case ever
+brought to me in which I feared the effect of personal bias dimming my
+insight or deflecting my judgment. I have a second confession to make
+to you. Before you married, a man desperately in love with you came to
+me for help. Among other things he gave me the day, hour and minute of
+your birth and of his and asked me to cast both horoscopes and infer
+his chances of success. I had and have no faith in astrology, yet I
+had cast my own horoscope long before from mere curiosity. When I cast
+yours I was amazed at the clear indications of a connection between
+your fate and mine. I did not believe anything of the Babylonian
+absurdities, yet the coincidence struck me. Perhaps I am influenced
+by it yet. Under such an influence, even more than under that of my
+feeling for yourself, my acumen is likely to be impaired. I again
+advise you to go elsewhere.”
+
+“I am all the more determined to consult you and you only.”
+
+He bowed without any word and waited in silence for her to go on.
+
+She stared at him with big melting eyes, her face very pale.
+
+“My husband does not love me,” she said.
+
+“Not love you?” Vargas exclaimed, startled. “Do you mean seriously
+to tell me that, you who have been loved by hundreds, been adored,
+worshipped, courted by so many, for despair of gaining whom men have
+gone mad, who have had your choice of so many lovers, are not prized by
+the man who succeeded in winning you?”
+
+“Yes,” she barely breathed. “He does not prize me, nor love me at all.”
+
+“Does he love any one else?”
+
+Out of her total paleness she flushed rose pink from throat to hair.
+
+“Yes,” she admitted.
+
+“Who is she?” Vargas demanded.
+
+“His first wife.”
+
+Vargas staggered to his feet. “I did not so much as know that your
+husband had been married before,” he gasped, “let alone that he was
+divorced.”
+
+“He was not divorced,” she stated.
+
+“Not divorced,” he quavered.
+
+“No, he was a widower when I married him.”
+
+Vargas collapsed back into his chair.
+
+“I do not understand,” he told her. “Does he love a dead woman?”
+
+“Just that,” she asseverated.
+
+“This will not do,” the clairvoyant told her, “I cannot come nearer
+to helping you at this rate. Try to give me the information you think
+necessary, not by splinters and fragments, but as a whole. Make a
+connected exposition of the circumstances. Begin at the beginning!”
+
+“That is harder,” she mused, “I always want to begin anything at the
+last chapter.”
+
+“Woman fashion,” he commented. “You are above that in most things, I
+know. Try a straight story from the beginning.”
+
+She reflected:
+
+“The beginning,” she said, “was before I began to remember. David and
+I were playmates before we could talk. Boy and girl, lad and lass, we
+always belonged to each other, there was no lovemaking between us, I
+think, for it was all love-living. I do not believe he ever asked me
+to marry him or promised to marry me, or so much as talked marriage.
+But we had a clear understanding that we were to marry as soon as we
+could, at the earliest possible day. He did not merely seem wrapped
+up in me, he was. God knows he was all my life. Then he had no more
+than seen Marian Conway when he fell in love with her. There is no use
+in dwelling on what I suffered. He married almost at once and I gave
+myself up to that empty life of frivolity which made me a reigning
+beauty and brought me scores of suitors for none of whom I cared
+anything and which gave me not a particle of satisfaction. Then after
+they had lost both their children Marian died. David was frightfully
+overcome by his loss. He had loved her inconceivably and he showed his
+grief in the most heart-rending ways. He had the coffin opened over
+and over after it had been closed. He had it even lifted out of the
+grave and opened yet once more for one more look at her face. He spent
+every moment from her death to her burial in a sort of adoration of her
+corpse, and he did stranger things. I do not know whether it was Mr.
+Llewellyn’s valet who told, but at any rate the story got out among the
+servants. The night before she was buried he had her laid out in her
+coffin and a second coffin exactly like it set beside hers. He stayed
+locked in the room all night. They believed he lay in the other coffin.
+At any rate in the morning it was closed, and he did not allow it to be
+opened. What he had placed in it no one knew. They said it was as heavy
+as the other. Two hearses, one behind the other, carried the coffins to
+the graveyard. Her grave is not under the monument--you have seen the
+monument?”
+
+“No,” he said, “only a picture of it.”
+
+“Well, she is not buried under it, and the second coffin was placed on
+hers.”
+
+She stopped.
+
+“Go on,” he said.
+
+“Oh,” she cried, “it is so hard to go on. But it is true. As soon as
+David was free I felt I had an object in life. I--I followed him, I
+might almost say pursued him all over the world, and when we met I
+courted him, and it seems strange, but I asked him to marry me. And--”
+she hesitated--“he refused twice.”
+
+“He did not want to marry you?” Vargas asked incredulously.
+
+“He refused. It was at Cairo, that first time. He said he could not
+love anyone any more, all his love, his very self, was buried in
+Marian’s grave. The second time was at Hongkong. Then he said he always
+had cared for me and still cared for me, but that affection was as
+nothing compared to his passion for Marian, that he would never marry,
+and especially he would not marry me because of his regard for me, that
+I would not be contented or happy with him, that I was thinking of the
+lad he had been and that boy was buried in his wife’s grave, that he
+was nothing more than a walking ghost, a wraith of what he had been, a
+spirit condemned to wander its allotted time on earth until his hour
+should come and he be called to join Marian.
+
+“The third time was in Paris. He said he was indifferent to everything,
+to anything, to love or hate or death or life; that he cared nothing
+whether he married me or not. If I cared as much as I seemed to he
+would marry me to please me. I told him that what I had always wanted
+was to be with him, that what I most wanted was to spend with him as
+much as possible of my time until death parted us. He said if that was
+what I wanted I could have it, but he was nothing more than a shadow
+of his old self and I was sure to be unhappy. And I am unhappy. He is
+generosity, gentleness, kindness and consideration itself, but he does
+not care. I hoped, of course, that his grief for Marian would soften,
+fade away and vanish, that he would cease to mourn for her, that his
+interest in life would reawaken, that I could win his love and that we
+would both be happy. But I am not. His utter indifference to me, to
+anything, to everything is preying on my feelings, I must do something.
+I shall lose my mind.”
+
+“Is that all?” Vargas asked.
+
+“It is enough,” she asserted, “and more than enough. Do you think it a
+small matter?”
+
+“Not in the least,” he declared, “I comprehend your disappointment in
+respect to your hopes, your chagrin at your baffled efforts to win him
+back to be his old self, your pain at his inertness. But by your own
+showing you have no grievance against your husband.”
+
+“That I have not,” she maintained. “Not a shadow of a grievance against
+him. My grievance is for him as much as for myself and against--against
+the way the world is made.”
+
+Vargas looked at her for some little time.
+
+“You do not say what you are thinking,” she interrupted.
+
+“I am considering how to express it,” he said. “However I express it I
+am sure to offend you.”
+
+“Not a bit,” she replied. “Say it at once.”
+
+“You must realize that if I am to advise you truly I must speak
+plainly,” he hesitated.
+
+“I do realize it,” she told him.
+
+“You will then pardon what I have to say?” he ventured.
+
+“I will pardon anything except beating about the bush,” she rapped out.
+
+“Well,” he said slowly, “it seems to me that your coming to me, your
+state of mind, your trouble, as you have related it all turns upon a
+piece of femininity to which you should be altogether superior, to
+which I should have imagined you were altogether superior. You look,
+and I have always imagined you, free from any trace of the eternal
+feminine. Here it crops out. Men in general find that women in general
+have no feeling for the mutuality of a contract. Some women may be
+exceptions, but women habitually ignore the other side of a contract
+and see only their own side. Here you display the same defect. Mr.
+Llewellyn practically proposed a contract to you: on his side he to
+marry you, on your side, you to put up with his complete indifference
+to you, to everything, and be content with his actual companionship
+such as he is. He has fulfilled and is fulfilling his part of the
+contract, you seek escape from yours.”
+
+“I think,” she snapped. “You are insufferably brutal.”
+
+“The eternal feminine again,” he retorted. “Worse and more of it. I
+told you I should offend you.”
+
+“You do offend me. I have confidence in you, but I did not come here
+to be scolded or to be preached at. I do not want criticism, I want
+advice. Don’t tell me my shortcomings, real or imaginary, think over my
+troubles and my needs and tell me what to do.”
+
+“That is plain enough,” he asserted. “Do your obvious duty. Keep your
+part of your contract with your husband. Give no sign that you suffer
+from the absence of feeling of which he warned you. Make the most of
+your life with him. Hope for a change in him but do not try to force
+it, do not rebel if it does not come.”
+
+“I know I ought to endure,” she wailed. “But I cannot, I must do
+something. I must act. I must.”
+
+“You have asked for my advice,” he said, “and you have it.”
+
+“And what good is it to me?” she objected, “I ask for help and
+you string out platitudinous precepts like a snuffy, detestable
+old-fashioned evangelical dominie. Is this all the help you can give
+me?”
+
+“All,” said Vargas humbly. “If I knew of any other it should be at your
+service.”
+
+“You could consult your slate for me, as I proposed,” she suggested.
+
+“Great heavens above!” he cried, “I have told you that all that is
+imposture.”
+
+“It might turn out genuine for once,” she persisted. “Don’t people have
+real trances? Don’t many people believe in the answers from slates and
+planchettes and ouija boards?”
+
+“Perhaps they do,” Vargas admitted. “But I never had a real trance,
+never saw one, never knew of one. And to my knowledge no slate or other
+such device ever gave any answer or wrote anything unless I or some
+other shuffler made it write or answer.”
+
+“But could you not try just once for my sake,” she implored.
+
+“Why on earth,” he demanded, “are you, so sane and sensible in
+appearance, so set on this mummery?”
+
+“Because of the other dream,” she faltered.
+
+“The other dream!” he exclaimed. “You had another dream?”
+
+“Yes,” she said, “I was going to tell you but you interrupted me. The
+dream about the advertisement did not convince me. I felt it might be
+coincidence after all. That was more than a month ago and I disregarded
+it. But night before last I dreamed I was told, ‘The message on the
+slate will be true.’ I fought against it all day yesterday, all last
+night. To-day I gave up and came. I want you to consult your slate for
+me.”
+
+“Madame,” he said, “this is dreadful. Can nothing make you see the
+truth. There is not anything supernatural about this trade of mine. It
+is as simple as a Punch and Judy show. There the puppets do nothing
+save as the showman controls them; so of my slate and of my trances.”
+
+“But it might surprise you,” she persisted. “It might come true once.
+Won’t you try for me?”
+
+“I know,” he mused, “that there is such a thing as auto-hypnotism. To
+humor you I might try to put myself into a genuine trance. But there
+would be nothing about it to help you, just a mere natural sleep,
+artificially induced. If I babbled in it the words would have no
+significance, and no writing would appear on the slate unless I put it
+there.”
+
+“Just try,” she pleaded, “for my sake, to quiet me. If there is
+nothing, then I shall believe you.”
+
+“There will be nothing on the slate,” he maintained. “But suppose I
+should mumble some fragments of words. You might take those accidental
+vocables for a revelation, they might become an obsession upon you,
+they might warp your judgment and do you great harm. I feel we should
+be running a foolish risk. Give up this idea of the trance and the
+slate, I beg of you.”
+
+“And I beg of you to try it. You said you would do anything for me.
+That is what I want and nothing else.”
+
+He shook his head, his expression crestfallen, baffled, puzzled, even
+alarmed.
+
+“If you insist--” he faltered.
+
+“I do insist,” she said.
+
+“You wish,” he inquired, “to proceed exactly as I usually do with my
+simulated trance and pretended spirit replies?”
+
+“Precisely,” she affirmed.
+
+He opened a drawer below one of the cabinets and took out a hinged
+double slate. It was made like a child’s school-slate, but the rims
+instead of being wood, were of silver, the edges beaded and the flat of
+each rim chased in a pattern of pentacles, swastikas and pentagrams; a
+pentacle, a right-hand swastika, a pentagram, a left-hand swastika and
+so on all round. In the drawer was a box of fresh slate-pencils. This
+he held out to her and told her to choose one. At his bidding she broke
+off a short fragment and put it between the two leaves of the slate,
+the four faces of which were entirely blank.
+
+“Settle yourself in your chair,” he instructed her, “hold the slate
+in your lap. Hold it fast with both hands. First take off your other
+glove.”
+
+As she did this he settled himself into the armchair opposite her, took
+a silver paper-knife from the table and held it upright, gazing at its
+point.
+
+“You are not to move or speak until I tell you,” he directed her.
+
+So they sat, she holding in her lap the slate shut fast upon the pencil
+within, her fingers enforcing its closure; he gazing intently at the
+point of the scimitar-shaped paper-knife. She became aware of the slow,
+pompous tick of a tall clock in the hallway; of faint noises, as of
+activity in a pantry, proceeding from somewhere in the rear of the
+house and barely audible through the closed window. She had expected to
+see him stiffen, his eyes roll up or some such manifestation appear.
+Nothing of the kind happened. For a long time, a very long time, she
+watched him staring fixedly at the sharp end of the paper-cutter. Then
+she saw it waver, saw his eyes close and his head, propped against the
+back of the armchair, move ever so little sideways, as the neck-muscles
+relaxed. His hands opened, the knife dropped on his knee and he was
+to all appearances peacefully asleep. Presently his even, regular
+breathing was a sound more apparent than the tick of the clock outside.
+
+All of a sudden Mrs. Llewellyn felt herself ridiculous. Here she
+was, holding a childish toy, facing a strange man with whom she was
+entirely alone and who was apparently enjoying a needed snooze. She had
+an impulse to laugh and was on the point of rising, disembarrassing
+herself of her burden and leaving the house.
+
+At that instant she felt a movement between the fast-shut slates.
+They lay level upon her lap, firmly set. She had not jarred or tilted
+them, yet she felt the pencil move. Felt it move and heard it too. Her
+mood of impatient self-contempt and irritated derision was instantly
+obliterated under a wave of terrified awe. She controlled a spasm of
+panic, an impulse to let go her hold upon her frightful charge, to
+scream, to run away. Rigid, trembling, breathing quick, her heart
+hammering her ribs, she sat, her fingers gripping the slates, listening
+for another movement. It came. Faintly at first, she felt and heard
+it, then more distinctly. Slowly, very slowly, with intervals of
+silence, the bit of pencil crawled, tapped and scratched about. While
+listening to it, and still more while listening for it, she was under
+so terrific a tension that she felt if nothing happened to relieve
+her, she must faint or shriek. When she continued listening for a long,
+an interminable, an unbearable time and heard nothing but the clock in
+the hall and Vargas’ breathing in the room, she felt she was about to
+do both.
+
+Then the clairvoyant uttered a choked sound, the incipience of that
+feeble wailing groan or groaning wail of a sleeper in a nightmare.
+His feet moved, his undeformed leg stiffened, his hands clenched, his
+head rolled from side to side, he writhed, the effort expended at each
+successive groan was more and more excessive, each sound feebler and
+more pitiful.
+
+Then Mrs. Llewellyn did scream.
+
+Instantly Vargas struggled into a sitting posture, his face contorted,
+his eyes bulging, staring at her.
+
+“Did I speak, did I speak?” he gasped.
+
+Mrs. Llewellyn was past articulation, but she shook her head.
+
+“I passed into a real trance, a real trance,” he babbled.
+
+She could only cling to the slate and gaze.
+
+“I had a frightful dream,” Vargas panted, “I dreamed there was a
+message on the plate. It frightened me, but what it was has escaped me.”
+
+“There is a message on the slate,” she managed to utter, “I heard the
+pencil writing.”
+
+Vargas, holding to the back of his chair, assisted himself to his feet.
+From her fingers, mechanically clenched on it, he gently disengaged the
+slate and put it on the table. Opening one of the cabinets he took out
+a decanter and two glasses, half filling one he placed it in her numb
+grasp.
+
+“Drink that,” he dictated, draining the other full glass as he spoke.
+
+Half dazed she obeyed him. Her face flushed angrily and the glass broke
+as she set it down.
+
+“You have given me brandy!” she cried in indignation.
+
+“You needed it,” he asserted. “It will steady you, but you will not
+feel it. Compose yourself and we will look at the slate.”
+
+She stood up beside him and he laid the slate open. There was writing
+on each leaf of it, on one side legible, on the other reversed.
+
+“Oh,” she said and sat down heavily. He brought a small chair, set it
+beside hers and seated himself upon it, the slates open in his hands,
+before them both. Fine-lined, legible, plainly made by the point of
+the pencil, was the writing, on one leaf of the slates; on the other
+reversed writing with coarse strokes, plainly made by the splintered
+end, which was worn slightly at one place. All the writing was in the
+same individual script.
+
+“This is not my handwriting,” said Vargas.
+
+“It is my husband’s,” she gasped.
+
+The words on the slate were:
+
+“That which is buried in that coffin is alive. If disinterred it will
+die.”
+
+Vargas opened the other cabinet. The inside of its door was a mirror.
+Before this he held the slates. On the other leaf the broad-stroked
+script showed the same words.
+
+“What does it mean?” she pleaded, “oh! what does it mean?”
+
+“It doesn’t mean anything,” said Vargas, roughly.
+
+“How can that be,” she moaned. “It must mean something. It does mean
+something. I feel it does.”
+
+“That is just the point,” he said, “that is what I feared before, and
+warned you of. Here are some chance words. They mean nothing, except
+that you or I or both of us have been intensely strung up with emotion.
+But if you cannot see that or be made to see that, you are lost. If you
+feel that they mean something, then they do mean that something to you,
+that that is your danger. Do not yield to it.”
+
+“Do you mean to tell me, to try to convince me that those words, twice
+written, in the same handwriting, in my husband’s hand of all hands,
+formed upon those slates while I held them myself, came there by
+accident?”
+
+“Not by accident,” he argued. “By some operation of unguessed forces
+set in motion by your excitement or mine or both; but blind forces,
+meaningless as the voices in dreams.”
+
+“Am I to believe meaningless,” she demanded, “the voices in my dreams
+that sent me to that advertisement and to you and told me expect an
+answer from the slates, a true answer?”
+
+“Madame,” he reasoned, “the series of coincidences is startling, but it
+is nothing but a series of coincidences. Try to rise superior to it.”
+
+“And you won’t help me,” she wailed. “You won’t tell me what this
+message means?”
+
+“I have told you my belief as to how it originated,” he said, “I have
+told you that I do not attach any other significance to it.”
+
+“Oh,” she groaned, “I must go home.”
+
+“Your carriage is at the door,” he said.
+
+“My carriage!” she exclaimed. “How did it get there?”
+
+“Not your own carriage,” he explained, “but one for you. I telephoned
+for it.”
+
+“You have not left me an instant,” she asserted incredulously.
+
+“When I brought you a glass of water I told the maid to telephone for a
+carriage and tell it to wait. It will be there.”
+
+“I thank you,” she said, “and now, what do I owe you? What is your fee?”
+
+Vargas flushed all over his face and neck, a deep brownish-red.
+
+“Mrs. Llewellyn,” he said with great dignity, “I take pay from my
+dupes for my fripperies of deception. But no money, not all the money
+on earth could pay me to do what I have done for you to-day, no sum
+could induce me to go through it again for anyone else. For you I
+would do anything. But what I have done was not done for payment, nor
+will anything I may do be done except for you, for whom I would do any
+service in my power.”
+
+“I ask your pardon,” she said. “Where is the carriage? I shall faint if
+I stay here.”
+
+
+Some weeks later, in the same room, the clairvoyant and the lady again
+faced each other.
+
+“I had hoped never to see you again,” he said.
+
+“Did you imagine that I could escape from the compulsion of all that
+series of manifestations?” she asked.
+
+“I tried to believe that you might,” he answered.
+
+“Have you been able to shake off its hold on you?” she demanded.
+
+“Not entirely,” he confessed. “But dazing as the coincidences were,
+the effect on my emotions will wear off, like the smart of a burn;
+and, as one forgets the fury of past sufferings, I shall forget the
+turmoil of my feelings. There was no clear intelligibility, no definite
+significance in it at all.”
+
+“Not in that message!” she exclaimed.
+
+“Certainly not,” he asseverated.
+
+“Yes there was,” she contradicted.
+
+“Madame,” he said earnestly, “if you fancy you perceive any genuine
+coherence in those fortuitous words you have put the meaning there
+yourself, your imagination is riveting upon your soul fetters of your
+own forging.”
+
+“My imagination and my soul have nothing to do with my insight into
+the spirit of that message,” she said calmly. “My heart cries out
+for help and my intellect has pondered at leisure upon what you call
+a fortuitous series of coincidences, a chance string of meaningless
+words. I see no incoherence, rather convincing coherence, in the
+sequence of your reading of horoscopes, my dreaming of dreams, leading
+up to the imperative behest given me from your slate.”
+
+“Madame,” he cried, “this is heart-rending. I told you I dreaded the
+effect upon you of any sort of mummery. You forced me to it. I should
+have had strength to refuse you. I yielded. Now my cowardice will ruin
+you.”
+
+“Was not your trance genuine?” she queried.
+
+“Entirely genuine, entirely too genuine.”
+
+“Did not the writing appear upon the slate independent of your will or
+of mine?” she demanded.
+
+“It did,” he admitted.
+
+“Can you explain how it came there?” she wound up.
+
+“Alas, no,” he confessed, shaking his head.
+
+“You can scarcely reproach me for accepting it as a message,” she
+concluded triumphantly.
+
+“I do not reproach you,” he said, “I reproach myself as culpable.”
+
+“I rather thank you for what you have done for me,” she almost smiled
+at him. “It gives me hope. I have meditated carefully upon the message
+and I am convinced that I comprehend its meaning.”
+
+“That is the worst possible state of mind you could get into,” he
+groaned. “Can I not make you realize the truth? It is not as you think
+you see it.”
+
+“I do not think,” she said. “I know. I am convinced, and I mean to act
+on my convictions.”
+
+“This is terrible,” he muttered. Then he controlled himself, shifted
+his position in his chair and asked: “And what are your convictions?
+What do you mean to do?”
+
+“My conviction,” she said, “is that David’s love for Marian is in some
+way bound up with whatever he had buried in that coffin. I mean to have
+the coffin disinterred.”
+
+“Madame,” he said, “this thing gets worse the more you tell me of it.
+You are in danger of coming under the domination of a fixed idea, even
+if you are not already under its sway. Fight against it. Shake it off.”
+
+“There is no use in your talking that way to me,” she said. “I mean to
+do it. I shall do it.”
+
+“Has your husband consented?” Vargas asked.
+
+“He has,” she replied.
+
+“Do you mean to tell me that he has agreed to your opening his wife’s
+grave?”
+
+“He has agreed,” she asserted.
+
+“But did he make no demur?” the clairvoyant inquired.
+
+“He said he did not care what I did, I could do anything I pleased.”
+
+“Was that all he said?” Vargas persisted.
+
+“Not all,” she admitted. “He asked me if I had not told him that what
+I wanted in this life was to spend as much as possible of my time on
+earth with him, for us two to be together as much as circumstances
+would allow, and as long as death would permit. I told him of course I
+had said it, not once but over and over. He asked me if I still felt
+that way. I told him I did. He said it made no difference to him, he
+was past any feelings, but if that was what I really wanted he advised
+me to let that grave alone.”
+
+“Take his advice, by all means,” Vargas exclaimed. “It is good advice.
+You let that grave alone.”
+
+“I am determined,” she told him.
+
+“Madame,” he said, “will you listen to me?”
+
+“Certainly,” she replied. “If you have anything to say to the purpose.
+But not to fault-findings or to scoldings.”
+
+“Mrs. Llewellyn,” Vargas began, “what happened during your former visit
+to me has demolished the entire structure of my spiritual existence.
+I had the sincerest disbelief in astrology, in prophecy, in ghosts,
+in apparitions, in superstitions, each and all, in supernaturalism in
+general, in religions, individually and collectively, in the idea of
+future life. Upon the most materialistic convictions my intellectual
+life was placid and unruffled, and my soul-life, if I had any,
+undisturbed by anything save occasional and very evanescent twinges of
+conscience over the contemptible duplicity of my way of livelihood.
+Intermittently only I despised myself. Mostly I only despised my dupes
+and generally not even that. Rather I merely smiled tolerantly at
+the childishness of their profitable credulity. Never did I have the
+remotest approach to any shadow of belief that there could be anything
+occult beneath or behind any such jugglery as I continually made use
+of. The matter of your horoscope and mine I took as mere coincidence.
+It might affect my feelings, never my reason; my heart, never my head.
+My head is involved now, my reason at fault. In the writing on that
+slate I am face to face with something, if not supernatural, at least
+preternatural. The thing is beyond our ordinary experience of the
+ordinary operation of those forces which make the world go. It depends
+upon something not yet understood, not necessarily inexplicable, but
+unexplained. It is uncanny. I don’t like it. Yet I do not yield to its
+influence. I am not swept away. If I dwell upon it, I know it will
+unsettle my reason. I do not mean to dwell upon it, I mean to get away
+from it, to ignore it, to forget it, and I counsel you to do likewise.”
+
+“Your counsel,” she said, “has a long-winded preamble, but is entirely
+unacceptable.”
+
+“I have more to say,” he went on. “Mere bewilderment of mind is not
+an adequate ground for action. There is a fine old proverb that says,
+‘When in doubt, do nothing.’ Take its advice and your husband’s; do
+nothing.”
+
+“But I am not in doubt,” she protested. “I am convinced that I was
+meant to come to you, that the message was meant for me, and that I
+know what it means. I am determined to act upon it.”
+
+He shook his head with a gesture of despair, but continued:
+
+“I have more yet to say and on another point. I advise you to go away
+from all this. You should and you can. You have your own wealth and
+your husband’s opulence at your disposal. You have one of the finest
+steam-yachts on the seas awaiting your pleasure. Much as you have
+traveled, the globe has many fascinating regions still new to you.
+Your husband and you have practically not traveled at all since your
+marriage. You should still hope for your husband’s recovery of his
+spirits by natural means. Travel is the most obvious prescription.
+Try that. Because your husband had not emerged from his brooding upon
+his loss and grief during two years of wandering alone with a valet;
+because he has not recovered his spirits after two years of matrimony
+spent in the neighborhood of his first wife’s grave, in mansions full
+of memories of her, is no reason for not hoping that his elasticity
+will revive during months or years spent with you among delightful
+scenes of novelty, far from anything to recall his mind to old
+associations.”
+
+“I have no hope in any such attempt,” she said wearily. “When I cannot
+bear my life here with a mate who is no more than a likeness of the man
+I loved, why drag this soulless semblance about the oceans of the earth
+in the hope of seeing it awake to love me? Shall I expect a miracle
+from salt air or the rays of the Southern cross?”
+
+“Mrs. Llewellyn,” Vargas said, “I have taken the liberty of making
+inquiries, quite unobtrusively, concerning your husband’s treatment
+of you. I find that it is the general impression that he is a very
+uxorious, a very loverly husband. Except the barest minimum required
+for his affairs, he spends his entire time with you. His best friends,
+his boyhood’s chums, his life-long cronies he never converses with,
+never chats with, hardly talks to, and for all his genial cordiality
+and courtesy, barely more than greets in passing. He is seldom seen at
+his clubs and very briefly. To all appearances he devotes himself to
+you wholly. You have all the external trappings of happiness: health,
+beauty, a devoted husband, the most desirable intimates, countless
+friends, luxurious surroundings, and unlimited affluence. It is for you
+to put life into all this, it is your duty to recall to it what you
+miss. You should leave no natural means untried turning to what you
+propose.”
+
+“My determination is irrevocably taken,” she said.
+
+“But what do you expect to find in the coffin?” he queried.
+
+“I have no expectations, not even any anticipations,” she said. “We may
+find keepsakes of some kind; there cannot be love-letters, for they
+scarcely separated a day after they met, or an hour after they married.
+There may be nothing in the coffin. But I am convinced that whatever
+it does or does not contain, David’s love for Marian is bound up with
+the closure of that coffin. I believe that if it is opened he will be
+released from his passion of grief and be free to love me.”
+
+“You mean practically to resort to an incantation, a sort of
+witchcraft. The notion is altogether unworthy of you, especially while
+so natural a device as travel remains untried.”
+
+“You do not understand,” she said, “that I feel compelled to do
+something.”
+
+“Is not going for a cruise doing something?” he asked.
+
+“Practically doing nothing,” she replied. “Just being with David and
+watching for the change that never comes. You don’t know how that makes
+me feel forced to take some action.”
+
+“I do not know,” he said, “because you have not told me.”
+
+“I cannot tell you,” she said, “because I cannot find any words to
+express what I feel. I could not convey it to you, the loneliness that
+overwhelms me when I am alone with David. It is worse than being alone;
+I cannot imagine feeling so lonely lost in a wilderness, solitary in
+the desert, adrift on a raft in mid-ocean. Being with David, as he is,
+makes me feel--” (her voice sank to a whisper and her face grew pale,
+her lips gray) “oh, it makes me feel as if I were worse than with
+nobody. It makes me feel as if I were with nothing, with nothing at
+all.”
+
+“I sympathize with you deeply,” said Vargas. “But all you say only
+deepens my conviction that your one road to safety lies in striving to
+overcome these feelings; your best hope is change of scene and travel.
+Above all let that grave alone.”
+
+“My determination is irrevocably taken,” she repeated.
+
+“Mrs. Llewellyn,” Vargas asked, “how, in your belief, did the writing
+you saw upon the slate come there?”
+
+“I have no conception at all as to how it came there,” she replied.
+
+“None at all?” he probed.
+
+“None definitely,” she said. “Vaguely I suppose I conceive it came
+there by the power of some consciousness and will beyond our ken.”
+
+“Do you mean,” he queried, “by the intervention of a ghost, or spirit
+or some such disembodied entity?”
+
+“Perhaps,” she admitted, “but I have not thought it out at all.”
+
+“Granted a spirit,” he suggested, “might it not be a malignant sprite,
+an imp bent on doing you harm, upon entrapping you to your destruction?”
+
+“I don’t credit such an idea for a moment,” she said. “The message has
+given me hope. Your innuendoes seek to rob me of my hope.”
+
+“I seek to save you,” Vargas said, “to dislodge you from your fortalice
+of resolve.”
+
+“For the third time,” she said, “I tell you that my determination is
+irrevocably taken.”
+
+Vargas awkwardly stood up. He clung to the back of a chair and gazed
+at her steadily. His face, from a far-off solemn look of resigned
+desperation gradually took on an expression of prophetic resolve.
+
+“Pardon me,” he said, “if I must shock you. I wish to put to you a
+question.”
+
+“Put it,” she said coldly.
+
+“Mrs. Llewellyn,” the clairvoyant asked in a deep, slow voice. “Have
+you kept your marriage vows?”
+
+“Sir,” she said angrily, rising. “You are insulting me.”
+
+“Not a particle,” he persisted. “You have not answered my question.”
+
+“To answer it is superfluous,” she said, facing him in trembling wrath.
+“Of course I have kept them. You know how utterly I love my husband.”
+
+“You regard your vows as sacred?” he asked relentlessly.
+
+“Of course,” she said wearily.
+
+“Why then,” he demanded, “do you attach less sanctity to your verbal
+compact with your husband? Your duty as a wife is to keep one compact
+as well as the other. Keep both. Do not be recalcitrant against the
+terms of your agreement. Endure his indifference and strive patiently
+to win his love. It is your duty, as much as it is your duty to keep
+your marriage vows.”
+
+“You assume a rôle,” she said, “very unsuitable for you. Preaching
+misfits you, and it has no effect on me. I know and feel all this. But
+there is the plain meaning of that message. I shall open that grave.”
+
+“I have done all I can,” he said dispiritedly. “I cannot dissuade you.”
+
+“You cannot,” she said.
+
+“How then can I serve you?” he asked. “I have not yet discovered to
+what I owe the honor of this second visit. Why are you here?”
+
+“I wish you to be present at the opening of the coffin,” she said.
+
+“Are you sure,” he demanded, “that that would not be most unseemly? The
+first Mrs. Llewellyn, I believe, left no near relatives. But would not
+even her cousins resent such an intrusion as my presence there? Would
+not your husband still more resent it? Would it not be in very bad
+taste?”
+
+“I do not make requests,” she said, “that are in bad taste. As for my
+husband, he resents and will resent nothing, as he approves and will
+approve of nothing. My brother will be there and he will not find
+anything unseemly in your presence.”
+
+“Nevertheless I hesitate to agree,” said Vargas.
+
+“You have expressed,” said she, “a very deep regard for me, will you
+not do this since I ask it?”
+
+“I will,” he said with an effort.
+
+“Then whenever I write you and send a carriage for you, you will be
+there at the time named?”
+
+“I promise,” he said.
+
+
+Sometime before the appointed hour, at that spot where a driveway
+approached nearest to the Llewellyn monument, Vargas painfully emerged
+from a closed carriage, the blue shades of which were drawn down.
+He spoke to some one inside and shut the door. He had taken but two
+or three hobbling steps, when another carriage closely followed his
+stopped where his had stopped. Its shades were also drawn down. When
+its door opened a well dressed man got out. As Vargas had done he spoke
+to some one inside and closed the door. When he turned Vargas saw a
+man of usual, very conventional appearance, the sort of man visible
+by scores in fashionable clubs. His build and carriage were those of
+a man naturally jaunty in his movements. His well-fleshed, healthy
+face, smooth shaven except for a thick brown mustache, was such a
+face as lends itself naturally to expressions of good fellowship and
+joviality. His brown eyes were prone to merriment. But there was
+no sparkle in them, no geniality in his air, no springiness in his
+movements. He wore his brown derby a trifle, the merest trifle, to
+one side, but his expression was careworn, he looked haggard. He had
+the air of a man used to having his own way, but he held himself now
+without any elasticity. He looked the deformed clairvoyant up and down
+with one quick glance, fixed him with a direct gaze as he approached
+and greeted him with an engaging air of easy politeness, neither stiff
+nor familiar.
+
+“My name is Palgrave,” he said, “I presume you are Mr. Vargas.”
+
+“The same,” said the clairvoyant, with not a little constraint.
+
+“Pleased to meet you,” said the other holding out his hand and
+diminishing Vargas’ embarrassment by the heartiness of his handshake.
+“Glad to have a chance for a talk with you. My sister has told me of
+her visits to you.”
+
+Vargas controlled his expression, but shot one lightning glance at the
+other’s face, reading there instantly how much Mrs. Llewellyn had told
+her brother and how much she had not told him.
+
+There was something very taking about Mr. Palgrave’s manner, which put
+Vargas completely at his ease. It was more than conciliatory, it was
+almost friendly, almost sympathetic. It not so much expressed readiness
+to admit to a confidential understanding, as gave the impression of
+continuing a well-established natural attitude of entire trust and
+complete comprehension. It had an unmistakable tinge, as unexpected as
+gratifying, of level esteem and unspoken gratitude.
+
+There was a rustic seat by the path and by a common impulse both moved
+toward it. At the clubman’s courteous gesture, the cripple, with his
+unavoidable wrenching jolt, lowered himself painfully to the level of
+the bench. Mr. Palgrave seated himself beside him, crossed his knees
+and half turned toward him. He rested his left elbow on the back of the
+bench. His other hand held his cane, which he tapped against the side
+of his foot. The waiting carriages, one behind the other, were under a
+big elm some distance off; their drivers lay on the grass beside them.
+No one else was in sight except where, rather farther off in another
+direction, six laborers, their coats off, sat with a superintendent
+near them, in the shade of a Norway maple, near the Llewellyn monument;
+which dominated the neighborhood from its low, broad knoll.
+
+The brief silence Mr. Palgrave broke.
+
+“If you will pardon my saying it, you don’t look at all like my idea of
+a clairvoyant.”
+
+Vargas smiled a wan smile. The tone of the words was totally disarming.
+
+“I don’t feel like my idea of a clairvoyant,” he said, “I am usually
+clear-sighted in any matter I take up; usually so clear-sighted in
+respect to any personality that my advice, as it often is, seems to
+my clients a mere echo of their own thoughts, a mere confirmation of
+their own judgments, a mere additional reason for what they would have
+done anyhow. I am used to touching unerringly the strongest springs
+of action. So far I have utterly failed to gain that clue to Mrs.
+Llewellyn’s character necessary to make my advice acceptable.”
+
+“In every other respect you seem to have been as clear-sighted as
+possible,” Mr. Palgrave told him. “No advice could have been better nor
+more judiciously urged, nor more entirely disinterested.”
+
+“Rather utterly interested,” said Vargas.
+
+“In an altogether different sense,” said the other. “She told me. Until
+I saw you I was astonished that she had not resented it.”
+
+“She did resent it, and of course,” said the cripple.
+
+“Not as she would from any other man,” said Mr. Palgrave.
+
+“There are some things--” Vargas began. His voice thinned out and he
+broke off.
+
+“Yes, I understand,” said her brother, “and I want to say that I feel
+under much obligation to you for the way you behaved and for the
+manliness and the straightforwardness of your whole attitude.”
+
+“I am greatly complimented,” Vargas replied.
+
+“You deserve complimenting,” said Mr. Palgrave. “You acted admirably.
+Your consideration, I might say your gentleness shows that you really
+have her best interests at heart.”
+
+“I truly have,” said Vargas fervently, “and I am more disturbed in mind
+than I can express.”
+
+“That must be a great deal,” said the clubman, a momentary gleam of his
+usual self, fading instantly from his eyes. “I certainly cannot express
+how much I am upset. I hate worry or anxiety and always put such
+troubles away and forget them. I can’t forget this. I have idolized my
+sister since we were babies. I have hardly slept since she talked to
+me. She won’t hear of a doctor. She don’t admit that there could be any
+pretext for her consulting a doctor, and I can’t talk to any one about
+her. I can talk to you. You seem a very sensible man. I should like to
+hear your opinion of her condition. Do you think her mind is unsettled?”
+
+“Not as bad as that,” Vargas told him.
+
+“This grave-opening idea seems to me out and out lunacy,” said the
+other.
+
+“Not as bad as that,” Vargas repeated. “It shows a trend of thought
+which may develop into something worse, but in itself it is only a
+foolish whim. The worst of it is that it produces a situation of great
+delicacy and high tension which may have almost any sort of bad result.”
+
+“I can’t imagine,” said Palgrave, “any rational or half rational basis
+for her whim. I can’t conceive what she thinks she will accomplish
+by opening that coffin or why she wants it opened. I was at Marian’s
+funeral and the two coffins made a precious lot of talk, I can tell
+you. I assumed that Llewellyn had some wild, sentimental notion of the
+second coffin waiting there for him. Constance declares it was not
+empty, but she won’t say what she expects to find in it and I believe
+she don’t say because she has no idea at all.”
+
+“You are right,” said the clairvoyant, “she hasn’t.”
+
+“Well,” said the other, “what do _you_ think she will find in it?”
+
+“I have no opinions whatever,” said Vargas, “as to whether it is empty
+or not or as to what may be in it. I have no basis of conjecture. But
+whether empty or not or whatever may be in it, I dread the effect
+on her. She is sure to be baffled in her hopes. Her present state
+of mind is a sort of reawakening in a civilized, educated, cultured
+woman of the primitive, childish, savage faith in sorcery, almost
+in rudimentary fetishism. She would not acknowledge it, but her
+attitude is very like that of a fetish-worshipper. Her mind does not
+reason. She is possessed of a blind, vague feeling that her welfare
+is implicated with whatever is in that coffin, and a compelling hope
+in the efficiency of the mere act of opening it, as a sort of magic
+rite. She is buoyed up with uncertainty. Whether she finds something
+or nothing she will be brought face to face with final unmistakable
+disappointment. I dread the moment of that realization.”
+
+“I felt something like that,” said her brother. “Anyhow I brought a
+doctor with me, but she must not suspect that as long as we don’t need
+him.”
+
+“That is why your carriage has the shades down,” Vargas hazarded.
+
+“Is that the reason yours has its shades down?” the other inquired.
+
+“That is it,” Vargas confessed. “I brought a doctor too.”
+
+“Two doctors,” commented Palgrave. “Like a French duel. Hope it will
+end as harmlessly as the average French duel.”
+
+“That is almost too much to hope for,” said Vargas. “She may pass the
+critical instant safely. But even if she does she will be thrown back
+into brooding over her troubles.”
+
+“Her troubles seem to me largely imaginary,” said the clubman.
+
+“All the more danger in that,” said Vargas. “If merely subjective.”
+
+“In this case they ought to evaporate,” said her brother, “if she
+acted sensibly, and yet they are not wholly imaginary. I don’t wonder
+that she is troubled. David Llewellyn is not himself at all. His
+dead-and-alive demeanor is enough to prey on anybody’s mind. Moping
+about here with him makes it worse. But going for a cruise might cure
+both of them and would be likely to wake him up and certain to clear
+her head. She ought to take your advice.”
+
+“She will not,” said Vargas dejectedly, “and I scarcely wonder at
+her determination. Her dreams were enough to affect anybody. And the
+message on that slate was enough to influence anyone. Believing it
+addressed directly to her she is irresistibly urged to act upon it.
+I myself, merely a spectator, have been thrown by it into a terrible
+confusion of my whole mentality. I have believed in no real mystery
+in the universe. I am confronted by an unblinkable, an insoluble
+puzzle. My reliance upon the laws of space and time, as we think we
+know them, is, for the time being, wrenched from its foundations.
+My faith in the indestructibility of matter, in the continuity of
+force, in the fundamental laws of motion, is shaken and tottering. My
+belief in the necessary sequence of cause and effect, in causation and
+causality in general, is totally shattered. I could credit any marvel,
+could accept any monstrous portent as altogether to be expected. The
+universe no longer seems to me a scene, at least in front of the great,
+blank curtain of the unknowable, filled by an orderly progress of
+more or less cognizable and predictable occurrences, depending upon
+interrelated causes; it seems the playground of the irresponsible,
+prankish, malevolent somethings, productive of incalculabilities. I am
+in a delirium of dread, in a daze of panic.”
+
+“I hardly follow your meaning,” said the other, “but I feel we can do
+nothing.”
+
+“No,” said Vargas, “we can only hope for the best and fear the worst.”
+
+“And what will be the worst?” her brother demanded.
+
+“I conceive,” said Vargas, “that upon the opening of the coffin she
+will suffer some sort of shock, whether it be from disappointment,
+surprise, or whatever else. At the worst she might scream and drop dead
+before our eyes or shriek and hopelessly lose her reason.”
+
+“Yes,” said Mr. Palgrave, “that would be the worst, I suppose.”
+
+“And yet,” said Vargas, “I cannot escape from the feeling that the
+worst, in some incalculable, unpredictable, inconceivable way, will
+be something a great deal worse than that; something unimaginably,
+unutterably, ineffably worse than anything I can definitely put into
+words or even vaguely think.”
+
+“I cannot express myself as fluently as you can,” her brother
+responded, “but I have had much the same sort of feeling. I have it
+now. I feel as if I were not now in a cemetery for the purpose of being
+present at the opening of a grave; but far away, or long ago, about to
+participate in some uncanny occurrence fit to make Saul’s experience at
+Endor or Macbeth’s with the witches seem humdrum and commonplace.”
+
+“I feel all that,” said Vargas, “and more; as if we were not
+ourselves at all, but the actors in some vast drama of wretchedness,
+apocalyptically ignorant of an enormous shadow of unescapable doom
+steadily darkening over our impotence. We cannot modify, we cannot
+alter, we cannot change, we cannot ward off, we cannot even postpone
+what is about to happen.”
+
+“What is about to happen,” said his companion, “is going to happen now.
+Here they come.”
+
+The two men rose and watched the Llewellyn carriage draw up where
+theirs had stopped. Its door opened and a large man stepped down.
+
+Vargas had previously seen David Llewellyn only momentarily at a
+distance, and now scrutinized him with much attention. He was a tall
+man, taller than his brother-in-law and was solidly and very compactly
+made. His manner, as he turned to the carriage, was solicitous, and
+deferential as he helped his wife out. As they approached, walking side
+by side, Vargas eyed the man. He was powerfully built and showed an
+immense girth of chest. His close-cut beard did not disguise the type
+of his countenance, the face belonged to an athletic college-bred man,
+firm chin, set lips, straight nose and clear gray eyes. He was very
+handsome and reminders of what had been downright beauty in his boyhood
+were manifest not only in the face but in the general effect of his
+presence.
+
+Without any word, barely nodding to the two men, he halted some steps
+away, leaving his wife to advance alone. She greeted Vargas and,
+slipping her hand through the bend of her brother’s arm, passed on
+along the path with him. Vargas remained where he was, waiting for
+Mr. Llewellyn to go first. He seemed, by a subtle and intangible
+something in his look and attitude, to signify that he disclaimed any
+participation in what was to take place. By an almost imperceptible
+nod of negation and a barely discernible gesture of affirmation he
+indicated that the clairvoyant was to precede him. Vargas complied and
+hobbled after the brother and sister. The superintendent came forward
+to meet them, and walked beside Mrs. Llewellyn, listening to her
+instructions, and then going toward his assistants.
+
+The space around their monument which was occupied by the Llewellyn
+graves was encircled by a low hedge, not more than knee-high. It had
+an opening facing the monument and through this Mrs. Llewellyn and her
+brother passed, Vargas some steps behind them. They stopped a pace or
+two from the foot of the grave, and turned about. Vargas, keeping his
+distance, stopped likewise and likewise turned. Mr. Llewellyn, treading
+noiselessly, had stepped aside from the path and took his stand just
+inside the hedge. The workmen straggled past him, the superintendent
+convoying them. When they had begun to dig, Vargas, like the rest,
+watched them. Presently he began to look about him and survey the
+cemetery, of which the knoll afforded an extensive view. The weather
+gave the prospect an unusual quality, the late spring or early summer
+warmth was unrelieved by any positive breeze, the light air stirred
+aimlessly, the cloudiness which completely overcast the sky was too
+thin to cut off the heat of the sunrays, the foliage was dusty and the
+landscape a sickly yellowish green in the weak tepid sunshine. This
+eery quality of the scene Vargas felt rather than saw. While the time
+taken up with digging postponed the all-important moment, his attention
+was divided between the monument and Mr. Llewellyn. He stood with his
+weight nearly all on one foot, leaning on the cane his left hand held,
+the other gloved hand, holding his hat, hanging at his side. Gazing
+straight in front of him toward the monument, rather than at it, there
+was about him the look of something inanimate, of something made,
+not grown, of an object immovably planted in carven, expressionless
+impassivity. The monument, which Vargas saw for the first time, gave
+from the perfectly coördinated harmonies of its architectural design,
+its delicate reliefs, and its exquisite statuary, an impression of
+individuality striking enough to any one at any time and all the more
+now by contrast. Any one of its figures seemed instinct with more life
+than the man facing it. That member of the little gathering who should
+have been most moved, showed no emotion and Vargas himself felt much.
+As the digging proceeded, he mostly gazed into the deepening pit, or
+watched Mrs. Llewellyn’s back as she stood clinging to her brother’s
+arm, leaning against him. When the workmen began to raise the coffin,
+he found the emotions of his strained forebodings overmastering him.
+His breath quickened and came hard, his heart thumped at his ribs,
+his eyes were unexpectedly, inexplicably moist. Glancing back at the
+immobile man behind him, through the iridescent film upon his lashes,
+he saw but a blurred, vague shape. He strove to regain his composure,
+conning the outline of his own barely discernible shadow.
+
+The outer box containing the raised coffin was now supported upon two
+pieces of wood thrust under it across the grave. The men unscrewed the
+lid and laid it aside. The coffin was of ebony and as fresh as if just
+made.
+
+The men, at the superintendent’s bidding, shambled away round the
+monument and through the opening in the hedge behind it to the tree
+they had left.
+
+The superintendent began to take out the silver screws which held down
+the lid over the glass front of the coffin-head. As they were removed
+one by one, Vargas again glanced behind him. He saw worse than ever.
+The outline of the big figure was almost indefinite, its bulk almost
+hazy.
+
+As he turned his gaze again to the coffin his sight seemed to clear
+entirely. He saw even the silver rims round the screw-holes and the
+head of the last screw. As the superintendent lifted the lid, Mrs.
+Llewellyn, now at the foot of the coffin, leaned forward, and her
+brother and Vargas, now just behind her, leaned even more. Through the
+glass they saw a face, David Llewellyn’s face. Mrs. Llewellyn screamed.
+All three turned round. Save themselves and the superintendent and the
+distant workmen there was no human shape in sight anywhere. The big,
+solid presence had vanished.
+
+Again screaming Mrs. Llewellyn threw herself on the coffin, the
+two men, scarcely less frantic than she, close by her. Through the
+glass they could see the face working, the eyelids fluttering. The
+superintendent toiled furiously at the catches of the glass front.
+When he lifted it away the eyes opened, gazing straight into Mrs.
+Llewellyn’s. Almost at once they glazed, and a moment later the jaw
+dropped.
+
+                                                                   1906
+
+
+
+
+                                 AMINA
+
+
+
+
+                                 AMINA
+
+
+WALDO, brought face to face with the actuality of the unbelievable--as
+he himself would have worded it--was completely dazed. In silence he
+suffered the consul to lead him from the tepid gloom of the interior,
+through the ruinous doorway, out into the hot, stunning brilliance of
+the desert landscape. Hassan followed, with never a look behind him.
+Without any word he had taken Waldo’s gun from his nerveless hand and
+carried it, with his own and the consul’s.
+
+The consul strode across the gravelly sand, some fifty paces from the
+southwest corner of the tomb, to a bit of not wholly ruined wall from
+which there was a clear view of the doorway side of the tomb and of the
+side with the larger crevice.
+
+“Hassan,” he commanded, “watch here.”
+
+Hassan said something in Persian.
+
+“How many cubs were there?” the consul asked Waldo.
+
+Waldo stared mute.
+
+“How many young ones did you see?” the consul asked again.
+
+“Twenty or more,” Waldo made answer.
+
+“That’s impossible,” snapped the consul.
+
+“There seemed to be sixteen or eighteen,” Waldo asserted. Hassan smiled
+and grunted. The consul took from him two guns, handed Waldo his, and
+they walked around the tomb to a point about equally distant from the
+opposite corner. There was another bit of ruin, and in front of it, on
+the side toward the tomb, was a block of stone mostly in the shadow of
+the wall.
+
+“Convenient,” said the consul. “Sit on that stone and lean against the
+wall, make yourself comfortable. You are a bit shaken, but you will be
+all right in a moment. You should have something to eat, but we have
+nothing. Anyhow, take a good swallow of this.”
+
+He stood by him as Waldo gasped over the raw brandy.
+
+“Hassan will bring you his water-bottle before he goes,” the consul
+went on; “drink plenty, for you must stay here for some time. And now,
+pay attention to me. We must extirpate these vermin. The male, I judge,
+is absent. If he had been anywhere about, you would not now be alive.
+The young cannot be as many as you say, but, I take it, we have to deal
+with ten, a full litter. We must smoke them out. Hassan will go back to
+camp after fuel and the guard. Meanwhile, you and I must see that none
+escape.”
+
+He took Waldo’s gun, opened the breech, shut it, examined the magazine
+and handed it back to him.
+
+“Now watch me closely,” he said. He paced off, looking to his left past
+the tomb. Presently he stopped and gathered several stones together.
+
+“You see these?” he called.
+
+Waldo shouted an affirmation.
+
+The consul came back, passed on in the same line, looking to his right
+past the tomb, and presently, at a similar distance, put up another
+tiny cairn, shouted again and was again answered. Again he returned.
+
+“Now you are sure you cannot mistake those two marks I have made?”
+
+“Very sure indeed,” said Waldo.
+
+“It is important,” warned the consul. “I am going back to where I left
+Hassan, to watch there while he is gone. You will watch here. You may
+pace as often as you like to either of those stone heaps. From either
+you can see me on my beat. Do not diverge from the line from one to the
+other. For as soon as Hassan is out of sight I shall shoot any moving
+thing I see nearer. Sit here till you see me set up similar limits for
+my sentry-go on the farther side, then shoot any moving thing not on
+my line of patrol. Keep a lookout all around you. There is one chance
+in a million that the male might return in daylight--mostly they are
+nocturnal, but this lair is evidently exceptional. Keep a bright
+lookout.
+
+“And now listen to me. You must not feel any foolish sentimentalism
+about any fancied resemblance of these vermin to human beings. Shoot,
+and shoot to kill. Not only is it our duty, in general, to abolish
+them, but it will be very dangerous for us if we do not. There
+is little or no solidarity in Mohammedan communities, but on the
+comparatively few points upon which public opinion exists it acts
+with amazing promptitude and vigor. One matter as to which there is
+no disagreement is that it is incumbent upon every man to assist in
+eradicating these creatures. The good old Biblical custom of stoning
+to death is the mode of lynching indigenous hereabouts. These modern
+Asiatics are quite capable of applying it to anyone believed derelict
+against any of these inimical monsters. If we let one escape and the
+rumor of it gets about, we may precipitate an outburst of racial
+prejudice difficult to cope with. Shoot, I say, without hesitation or
+mercy.”
+
+“I understand,” said Waldo.
+
+“I don’t care whether you understand or not,” said the consul, “I want
+you to act. Shoot if needful, and shoot straight.” And he tramped off.
+
+Hassan presently appeared, and Waldo drank from his water-bottle as
+nearly all of its contents as Hassan would permit. After his departure
+Waldo’s first alertness soon gave place to mere endurance of the
+monotony of watching and the intensity of the heat. His discomfort
+became suffering, and what with the fury of the dry glare, the pangs of
+thirst and his bewilderment of mind, Waldo was moving in a waking dream
+by the time Hassan returned with two donkeys and a mule laden with
+brushwood. Behind the beasts straggled the guard.
+
+Waldo’s trance became a nightmare when the smoke took effect and the
+battle began. He was, however, not only not required to join in the
+killing, but was enjoined to keep back. He did keep very much in the
+background, seeing only so much of the slaughter as his curiosity
+would not let him refrain from viewing. Yet he felt all a murderer
+as he gazed at the ten small carcasses laid out arow, and the memory
+of his vigil and its end, indeed of the whole day, though it was the
+day of his most marvelous adventure, remains to him as the broken
+recollections of a phantasmagoria.
+
+On the morning of his memorable peril Waldo had waked early. The
+experiences of his sea-voyage, the sights at Gibraltar, at Port Said,
+in the canal, at Suez, at Aden, at Muscat, and at Basrah had formed an
+altogether inadequate transition from the decorous regularity of house
+and school life in New England to the breathless wonder of the desert
+immensities.
+
+Everything seemed unreal, and yet the reality of its strangeness so
+besieged him that he could not feel at home in it, he could not sleep
+heavily in a tent. After composing himself to sleep, he lay long
+conscious and awakened early, as on this morning, just at the beginning
+of the false-dawn.
+
+The consul was fast asleep, snoring loudly. Waldo dressed quietly and
+went out; mechanically, without any purpose or forethought, taking his
+gun. Outside he found Hassan, seated, his gun across his knees, his
+head sunk forward, as fast asleep as the consul. Ali and Ibrahim had
+left the camp the day before for supplies. Waldo was the only waking
+creature about; for the guards, camped some little distance off, were
+but logs about the ashes of their fire. Meaning merely to enjoy, under
+the white glow of the false-dawn, the magical reappearance of the
+constellations and the short last glory of the starladen firmament,
+that brief coolness which compensated a trifle for the hot morning,
+the fiery day and the warmish night, he seated himself on a rock, some
+paces from the tent and twice as far from the guards. Turning his
+gun in his hands he felt an irresistible temptation to wander off by
+himself, to stroll alone through the fascinating emptiness of the arid
+landscape.
+
+When he had begun camp life he had expected to find the consul, that
+combination of sportsman, explorer and archæologist, a particularly
+easy-going guardian. He had looked forward to absolutely untramelled
+liberty in the spacious expanse of the limitless wastes. The reality he
+had found exactly the reverse of his preconceptions. The consul’s first
+injunction was:
+
+“Never let yourself get out of sight of me or of Hassan unless he or I
+send you off with Ali or Ibrahim. Let nothing tempt you to roam about
+alone. Even a ramble is dangerous. You might lose sight of the camp
+before you knew it.”
+
+At first Waldo acquiesced, later he protested. “I have a good
+pocket-compass. I know how to use it. I never lost my way in the Maine
+woods.”
+
+“No Kourds in the Maine woods,” said the consul.
+
+Yet before long Waldo noticed that the few Kourds they encountered
+seemed simple-hearted, peaceful folk. No semblance of danger or
+even of adventure had appeared. Their armed guard of a dozen greasy
+tatterdemalions had passed their time in uneasy loafing.
+
+Likewise Waldo noticed that the consul seemed indifferent to the ruins
+they passed by or encamped among, that his feeling for sites and
+topography was cooler than lukewarm, that he showed no ardor in the
+pursuit of the scanty and uninteresting game. He had picked up enough
+of several dialects to hear repeated conversations about “them.” “Have
+you heard of any about here?” “Has one been killed?” “Any traces of
+them in this district?” And such queries he could make out in the
+various talks with the natives they met; as to what “they” were he
+received no enlightenment.
+
+Then he had questioned Hassan as to why he was so restricted in his
+movements. Hassan spoke some English and regaled him with tales of
+Afrits, ghouls, specters and other uncanny legendary presences; of the
+jinn of the waste, appearing in human shape, talking all languages,
+ever on the alert to ensnare infidels; of the woman whose feet turned
+the wrong way at the ankles, luring the unwary to a pool and there
+drowning her victims; of the malignant ghosts of dead brigands, more
+terrible than their living fellows; of the spirit in the shape of a
+wild-ass, or of a gazelle, enticing its pursuers to the brink of a
+precipice and itself seeming to run ahead upon an expanse of sand, a
+mere mirage, dissolving as the victim passed the brink and fell to
+death; of the sprite in the semblance of a hare feigning a limp, or of
+a ground-bird feigning a broken wing, drawing its pursuer after it till
+he met death in an unseen pit or well-shaft.
+
+Ali and Ibrahim spoke no English. As far as Waldo could understand
+their long harangues, they told similar stories or hinted at dangers
+equally vague and imaginary. These childish bogy-tales merely whetted
+Waldo’s craving for independence.
+
+Now, as he sat on a rock, longing to enjoy the perfect sky, the clear,
+early air, the wide, lonely landscape, along with the sense of having
+it to himself, it seemed to him that the consul was merely innately
+cautious, over-cautious. There was no danger. He would have a fine
+leisurely stroll, kill something perhaps and certainly be back in camp
+before the sun grew hot. He stood up.
+
+Some hours later he was seated on a fallen coping-stone in the shadow
+of a ruined tomb. All the country they had been traversing is full
+of tombs and remains of tombs, prehistoric, Bactrian, old Persian,
+Parthian, Sassanian, or Mohammedan, scattered everywhere in groups
+or solitary. Vanished utterly are the faintest traces of the cities,
+towns, and villages, ephemeral houses or temporary huts, in which had
+lived the countless generations of mourners who had reared these tombs.
+
+The tombs, built more durably than mere dwellings of the living,
+remained. Complete or ruinous, or reduced to mere fragments, they were
+everywhere. In that district they were all of one type. Each was domed
+and below was square, its one door facing eastward and opening into a
+large empty room, behind which were the mortuary chambers.
+
+In the shadow of such a tomb Waldo sat. He had shot nothing, had lost
+his way, had no idea of the direction of the camp, was tired, warm and
+thirsty. He had forgotten his water-bottle.
+
+He swept his gaze over the vast, desolate prospect, the unvaried
+turquoise of the sky arched above the rolling desert. Far reddish hills
+along the skyline hooped in the less distant brown hillocks which,
+without diversifying it, hummocked the yellow landscape. Sand and rocks
+with a lean, starved bush or two made up the nearer view, broken here
+and there by dazzling white or streaked, grayish, crumbling ruins. The
+sun had not been long above the horizon, yet the whole surface of the
+desert was quivering with heat.
+
+As Waldo sat viewing the outlook a woman came round the corner of the
+tomb. All the village women Waldo had seen had worn yashmaks or some
+other form of face-covering or veil. This woman was bareheaded and
+unveiled. She wore some sort of yellowish-brown garment which enveloped
+her from neck to ankles, showing no waist line. Her feet, in defiance
+of the blistering sands, were bare.
+
+At sight of Waldo she stopped and stared at him as he at her. He
+remarked the un-European posture of her feet, not at all turned out,
+but with the inner lines parallel. She wore no anklets, he observed,
+no bracelets, no necklace or earrings. Her bare arms he thought the
+most muscular he had ever seen on a human being. Her nails were pointed
+and long, both on her hands and feet. Her hair was black, short and
+tousled, yet she did not look wild or uncomely. Her eyes smiled and
+her lips had the effect of smiling, though they did not part ever so
+little, not showing at all the teeth behind them.
+
+“What a pity,” said Waldo aloud, “that she does not speak English.”
+
+“I do speak English,” said the woman, and Waldo noticed that as she
+spoke, her lips did not perceptibly open. “What does the gentleman
+want?”
+
+“You speak English!” Waldo exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “What luck!
+Where did you learn it?”
+
+“At the mission school,” she replied, an amused smile playing about
+the corners of her rather wide, unopening mouth. “What can be done for
+you?” She spoke with scarcely any foreign accent, but very slowly and
+with a sort of growl running along from syllable to syllable.
+
+“I am thirsty,” said Waldo, “and I have lost my way.”
+
+“Is the gentleman living in a brown tent, shaped like half a melon?”
+she inquired, the queer, rumbling note drawling from one word to the
+next, her lips barely separated.
+
+“Yes, that is our camp,” said Waldo.
+
+“I could guide the gentleman that way,” she droned; “but it is far, and
+there is no water on that side.”
+
+“I want water first,” said Waldo, “or milk.”
+
+“If you mean cow’s milk, we have none. But we have goat’s milk. There
+is to drink where I dwell,” she said, sing-songing the words. “It is
+not far. It is the other way.”
+
+“Show me,” said he.
+
+She began to walk, Waldo, his gun under his arm, beside her. She
+trod noiselessly and fast. Waldo could scarcely keep up with her. As
+they walked he often fell behind and noted how her swathing garments
+clung to a lithe, shapely back, neat waist and firm hips. Each time
+he hurried and caught up with her, he scanned her with intermittent
+glances, puzzled that her waist, so well-marked at the spine, showed
+no particular definition in front; that the outline of her from neck
+to knees, perfectly shapeless under her wrappings, was without any
+waistline or suggestion of firmness or undulation. Likewise he remarked
+the amused flicker in her eyes and the compressed line of her red, her
+too red lips.
+
+“How long were you in the mission school?” he inquired.
+
+“Four years,” she replied.
+
+“Are you a Christian?” he asked.
+
+“The Free-folk do not submit to baptism,” she stated simply, but with
+rather more of the droning growl between her words.
+
+He felt a queer shiver as he watched the scarcely moved lips through
+which the syllables edged their way.
+
+“But you are not veiled,” he could not resist saying.
+
+“The Free-folk,” she rejoined, “are never veiled.”
+
+“Then you are not a Mohammedan?” he ventured.
+
+“The Free-folk are not Moslems.”
+
+“Who are the Free-folk?” he blurted out incautiously.
+
+She shot one baleful glance at him. Waldo remembered that he had to do
+with an Asiatic. He recalled the three permitted questions.
+
+“What is your name?” he inquired.
+
+“Amina,” she told him.
+
+“That is a name from the ‘Arabian Nights’,” he hazarded.
+
+“From the foolish tales of the believers,” she sneered. “The Free-folk
+know nothing of such follies.” The unvarying shutness of her speaking
+lips, the drawly burr between the syllables, struck him all the more as
+her lips curled but did not open.
+
+“You utter your words in a strange way,” he said.
+
+“Your language is not mine,” she replied.
+
+“How is it that you learned my language at the mission school and are
+not a Christian?”
+
+“They teach all at the mission school,” she said, “and the maidens
+of the Free-folk are like the other maidens they teach, though the
+Free-folk when grown are not as town-dwellers are. Therefore they
+taught me as any townbred girl, not knowing me for what I am.”
+
+“They taught you well,” he commented.
+
+“I have the gift of tongues,” she uttered enigmatically, with an odd
+note of triumph burring the words through her unmoving lips.
+
+Waldo felt a horrid shudder all over him, not only at her uncanny
+words, but also from mere faintness.
+
+“Is it far to your home?” he breathed.
+
+“It is there,” she said, pointing to the doorway of a large tomb just
+before them.
+
+The wholly open arch admitted them into a fairly spacious interior,
+cool with the abiding temperature of thick masonry. There was no
+rubbish on the floor. Waldo, relieved to escape the blistering glare
+outside, seated himself on a block of stone midway between the door and
+the inner partition-wall, resting his gun-butt on the floor. For the
+moment he was blinded by the change from the insistent brilliance of
+the desert morning to the blurred gray light of the interior.
+
+When his sight cleared he looked about and remarked, opposite the door,
+the ragged hole which laid open the desecrated mausoleum. As his eyes
+grew accustomed to the dimness he was so startled that he stood up. It
+seemed to him that from its four corners the room swarmed with naked
+children. To his inexperienced conjecture they seemed about two years
+old, but they moved with the assurance of boys of eight or ten.
+
+“Whose are these children?” he exclaimed.
+
+“Mine,” she said.
+
+“All yours?” he protested.
+
+“All mine,” she replied, a curious suppressed boisterousness in her
+demeanor.
+
+“But there are twenty of them,” he cried.
+
+“You count badly in the dark,” she told him. “There are fewer.”
+
+“There certainly are a dozen,” he maintained, spinning round as they
+danced and scampered about.
+
+“The Free-people have large families,” she said.
+
+“But they are all of one age,” Waldo exclaimed, his tongue dry against
+the roof of his mouth.
+
+She laughed, an unpleasant, mocking laugh, clapping her hands. She was
+between him and the doorway, and as most of the light came from it he
+could not see her lips.
+
+“Is not that like a man! No woman would have made that mistake.”
+
+Waldo was confuted and sat down again. The children circulated around
+him, chattering, laughing, giggling, snickering, making noises
+indicative of glee.
+
+“Please get me something cool to drink,” said Waldo, and his tongue was
+not only dry but big in his mouth.
+
+“We shall have to drink shortly,” she said, “but it will be warm.”
+
+Waldo began to feel uneasy. The children pranced around him, jabbering
+strange, guttural noises, licking their lips, pointing at him, their
+eyes fixed on him, with now and then a glance at their mother.
+
+“Where is the water?”
+
+The woman stood silent, her arms hanging at her sides, and it seemed to
+Waldo she was shorter than she had been.
+
+“Where is the water?” he repeated.
+
+“Patience, patience,” she growled, and came a step near to him.
+
+The sunlight struck upon her back and made a sort of halo about her
+hips. She seemed still shorter than before. There was a something
+furtive in her bearing, and the little ones sniggered evilly.
+
+At that instant two rifle shots rang out almost as one. The woman
+fell face downward on the floor. The babies shrieked in a shrill
+chorus. Then she leapt up from all fours with an explosive suddenness,
+staggered in a hurled, lurching rush toward the hole in the wall, and,
+with a frightful yell, threw up her arms and whirled backward to the
+ground, doubled and contorted like a dying fish, stiffened, shuddered
+and was still. Waldo, his horrified eyes fixed on her face, even in his
+amazement noted that her lips did not open.
+
+The children, squealing faint cries of dismay, scrambled through the
+hole in the inner wall, vanishing into the inky void beyond. The last
+had hardly gone when the consul appeared in the doorway, his smoking
+gun in his hand.
+
+“Not a second too soon, my boy,” he ejaculated. “She was just going to
+spring.”
+
+He cocked his gun and prodded the body with the muzzle.
+
+“Good and dead,” he commented. “What luck! Generally it takes three or
+four bullets to finish one. I’ve known one with two bullets through her
+lungs to kill a man.”
+
+“Did you murder this woman?” Waldo demanded fiercely.
+
+“Murder?” the consul snorted. “Murder! Look at that.”
+
+He knelt down and pulled open the full, close lips, disclosing not
+human teeth, but small incisors, cusped grinders, wide-spaced; and
+long, keen, overlapping canines, like those of a greyhound: a fierce,
+deadly, carnivorous dentition, menacing and combative.
+
+Waldo felt a qualm, yet the face and form still swayed his horrified
+sympathy for their humanness.
+
+“Do you shoot women because they have long teeth?” Waldo insisted,
+revolted at the horrid death he had watched.
+
+“You are hard to convince,” said the consul sternly. “Do you call that
+a woman?”
+
+He stripped the clothing from the carcass.
+
+Waldo sickened all over. What he saw was not the front of a woman,
+but more like the underside of an old fox-terrier with puppies, or of
+a white sow, with her second litter; from collar-bone to groin ten
+lolloping udders, two rows, mauled, stringy and flaccid.
+
+“What kind of a creature is it?” he asked faintly.
+
+“A Ghoul, my boy,” the consul answered solemnly, almost in a whisper.
+
+“I thought they did not exist,” Waldo babbled. “I thought they were
+mythical; I thought there were none.”
+
+“I can very well believe that there are none in Rhode Island,” the
+consul said gravely. “This is in Persia, and Persia is in Asia.”
+
+                                                                   1906
+
+
+
+
+                           THE PIG-SKIN BELT
+
+
+
+
+                           THE PIG-SKIN BELT
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+BE it noted that I, John Radford, always of sound mind and
+matter-of-fact disposition, being entirely in my senses, here set down
+what I saw, heard and knew. As to my inferences from what occurred I
+say nothing, my theory might be regarded as more improbable than the
+facts themselves. From the facts anyone can draw conclusions as well as
+I.
+
+The first letter read:
+
+                         “San Antonio, Texas,
+                                                     January 1st, 1892.
+
+MY DEAR RADFORD:
+
+ You have forgotten me, likely enough, but I have not forgotten you nor
+ anyone (nor anything) in Brexington. I saw your advertisement in the
+ New York _Herald_ and am glad to learn from it that you are alive
+ and to infer that you are well and prosperous.
+
+ I need a lawyer’s help. I want to buy real estate and I mean to return
+ home, so you are exactly the man I am looking for. I am writing this
+ to ask that you take charge of any and all of my affairs falling
+ within your province, and to learn whether you are willing to do so.
+
+ I am a rich man now, and without any near ties of kin or kind. I want
+ to come home to Brexington, to live there if I can, to die there if I
+ must. Along with other matters which I will explain if you accept I
+ want to buy a house in the town and a farm nearby, if not the Shelby
+ house and estate then some others like them.
+
+ If willing to act for me please reply at once care of the Hotel
+ Menger. Remember me to any cousins of mine you may see.
+
+                           Faithfully yours,
+                                                      CASSIUS M. CASE.”
+
+The name I knew well enough, of course, but my efforts to recall the
+individual resulted only in a somewhat hazy recollection of a tall,
+thin, red-cheeked lad of seventeen or so. It was almost exactly
+twenty-eight years since Colonel Shelby Case had left Brexington
+taking with him his son. Colonel Shelby had died some six years later.
+I remembered hearing of his death, in Egypt, I thought. Since his
+departure from Brexington I had never heard of or from Cassius.
+
+My reply I wrote at once, professing my readiness to do anything in my
+power to serve him.
+
+As soon as the mails made it possible, I had a second letter from him.
+
+“MY DEAR RADFORD:
+
+ “Your kind letter has taken a load off my mind. I am particular about
+ any sort of arrangements I make, exacting as to the accurate carrying
+ out of small details and I feared I might have difficulty in finding a
+ painstaking man in a community so easy-going as Brexington. I remember
+ your precise ways as a boy and am basking in a sense of total relief
+ and complete reliance on you.
+
+ “I should buy the Shelby house and estate on your representations, but
+ I must see for myself first. If they are the best I can get I shall
+ take them anyhow. But please be ready to show me over every estate
+ of five hundred acres or more, lying within ten miles of the Court
+ House. I wish to examine every one which is now for sale or which you
+ can induce the owners to consider selling. I want the best which is
+ to be had. Also I want a small place of fifty acres or so, two miles
+ or more from the larger place I buy. Money is no object to me and the
+ condition of the buildings on the places will not weigh with me at all.
+
+ “So with the town house: I may tear it down entirely and rebuild from
+ the cellar up. What I want in the town is a place of half an acre
+ to two acres carrying fine, tall trees, with well-developed trunks.
+ I want shade and plenty of it, but no limbs or branches growing or
+ hanging within eight feet of the ground. I do not desire shrubbery,
+ but if there is any I can have it removed, while I cannot create stout
+ trees. Those I must have on the place when I buy it, for I will have
+ the shade and I will have a clear sweep for air and an unobstructed
+ view all round.
+
+ “I am not at the Menger as you naturally suppose. I merely have my
+ mail sent there. I am living in a tent half a mile or more from the
+ town. At Los Angeles I had the luck to fall in with a Brexington
+ nigger, Jeff Twibill. He knew of another, Cato Johnson, who was in
+ Frisco. I have the two of them with me now, Jeff takes care of the
+ horses and Cato of me and I am very comfortable.
+
+ “That brings me to the arrangements I want you to make for me. Buy or
+ lease or rent or borrow a piece of a field, say four acres, free of
+ trees or bushes and sloping enough to shed the rain. Be sure there is
+ good water handy. Have four tents; one for me, one for the two niggers
+ (and make it big enough for three or four); one to cook in and one
+ for my four horses, they are luxurious beasts and live as well as I
+ do. Have the tents pitched in the middle of the field so I shall have
+ a clear view all around. The field must be clear of bushes or trees,
+ must be at least four acres and may be any size larger than that:
+ forty would be none too big for me. I want no houses too close to me.
+
+ “You see I am at present averse to houses, hotels and public
+ conveyances. I mean to ride across the continent camping as I go. And
+ in Brexington I mean to tent it until I have my own house ready to
+ live in. I am resolute to be no man’s guest nor any man’s lodger, nor
+ any company’s passenger.
+
+ “I am coming home, Radford, coming home to be a Colonel with the rest
+ of them. And I shall be no mere colonel-by-courtesy: I have won my
+ right to the title, I won it twice over, years ago in Egypt and later
+ in Asia.
+
+ “Thank you for all the news of the many cousins, I did not realize
+ they were so very numerous. I am sorry that Mary Mattingly is dead, of
+ all the many dear people in Brexington I loved her best.
+
+ “I shall keep you advised of my progress across the continent. And
+ as questions come up about the details of the tent-equipment you can
+ confer with me by letter.
+
+                          “Gratefully yours,
+                                                     “CASSIUS M. CASE.”
+
+I showed the letters to one and another of my elder acquaintances, who
+remembered Cassius.
+
+Dr. Boone said:
+
+“I presume it is a case of advanced tuberculosis. He should have
+remained in that climate. Of course, he may live a long time here,
+tenting in the open or living with the completest fresh air treatment.
+His punctiliousness in respect to self isolation does him credit,
+though he carries it further than is necessary. We must do all we can
+for him.”
+
+Beverly said:
+
+“Poor devil. ‘Live if he can, die if he must.’ He’ll die all right.
+They’d call him a ‘lunger’ out there and he had better stay there.”
+
+The minister said:
+
+“The lode-star of old sweet memories draws him homeward. ‘Mary
+Mattingly,’ yes we all remember how wildly he loved Mary Mattingly.
+While full of youth he could find forgetfulness fighting in strange
+lands. Now he must be near her although she lies in her grave. The
+proximity even of her tomb will be a solace to his last days.”
+
+We were prepared to do all that sympathy could suggest. Mr. Hall and
+Dr. Boone gravely discussed together the prolongation of Case’s life
+and the affording of spiritual support. Beverly I found helpful on my
+line of finances and creature comforts. As Case’s leisurely progress
+brought him nearer and nearer our interest deepened. When the day came
+on which he was to arrive Beverly and I rode put out to meet him.
+
+
+                                  II
+
+
+Language has no words to picture our dumbfounded amazement. And we were
+astonished in more ways than one. Chiefly, instead of the lank invalid
+we expected to see, we beheld a burly giant every characteristic of
+whom, save one, bespoke rugged health. He was all of six foot three,
+big boned, overlaid with a surplus of brawn, a Samsonian musculature
+that showed plain through his negligent, loose clothing; and withal
+he was plump and would have been sleek but for the roughness of his
+weather-beaten skin.
+
+He wore gray; a broad-brimmed felt hat, almost a sombrero; a flannel
+shirt, a sort of jacket, and corduroy trousers tucked into his boots.
+It was before the days of khaki.
+
+His head was large and round, but not at all a bullet head, rather
+handsome and well set. His face was round too, and good-natured,
+but not a particle as is the usual round face, vacuous and like a
+full-moon. His was agreeable, but lit with character and determination.
+His neck was fat but showed great cords through its rotundity. He had a
+big barrel of a chest and his voice rumbled out of it. He dominated the
+landscape the moment he entered it.
+
+Even in our astonishment three things about him struck me, and, as I
+afterwards found out, the same three similarly struck Beverly.
+
+One was his complexion. He had that build which leads one to expect
+floridity of face, a rubicund countenance or, at least, ruddy cheeks.
+But he was dead pale, with a peculiar tint I never had seen before. His
+face showed an abundance of solid muscle and over it a skin roughened
+by exposure, toughened, even hardened by wind and sun. Yet its color
+was not in agreement with its texture. It had the hue which belongs to
+waxy skin over suety, tallowy flesh, an opaque whiteness, a pallidity
+almost corpse-like.
+
+The second was his glance: keen, glittering, hard, blue-gray eyes he
+had, gallant and far younger than himself. But it was not the handsome
+eyes so much as their way of looking that whetted our attention. They
+pierced us through and through, they darted incessantly here and there,
+they peered to right and left, they kept us generally in view, indeed,
+and never let us feel that his attention wandered from us, yet they
+incessantly swept the world about him. You should say they saw all they
+looked at, looked at everything seeable.
+
+The third was his belt, a mellowed old belt of pig-skin, with two
+capacious holsters, from each of which protruded the butt of a
+large-calibre revolver.
+
+He greeted us in the spirit of old comradeship renewed. Behind him Jeff
+and Cato grinned from their tired mounts. He sat his big horse with no
+sign of fatigue and surveyed the landscape from the cross-roads’ knoll
+where we had met him.
+
+“I seem to recall the landmarks here,” he said, “the left hand road by
+which you came, would take me through to Brexington.”
+
+Beverly confirmed his recollection.
+
+“The one straight ahead,” he went on, “goes past the big new distillery
+you wrote me about.”
+
+“Right again,” I said.
+
+“The road to the right,” he continued, “will take us by the old mill,
+and I can swing round to my camp without nearing town.”
+
+“You could,” Beverly told. “But it is a long way round.”
+
+“Not too far for me,” he announced positively. “No towns or
+distilleries for me. I go round. Will you ride with me, gentlemen?”
+
+We rode with him.
+
+On the way I told him I expected him to supper that evening.
+
+“With all my writing, Radford,” he said. “You don’t seem to get the
+idea. I flock by myself for the present and eat alone. If you insist
+I’ll explain to-morrow.”
+
+Beverly and I left him to his camp supper.
+
+Dr. Boone and Mr. Hall were a good deal taken aback upon learning that
+their imagined invalid had no existence and that the real Colonel Case
+needed neither medical assistance nor spiritual solace. We four sat for
+some time expressing our bewilderment.
+
+
+Next morning I drove out to Case’s Camp. I found him sitting in his
+tent, the flaps of which were looped up all around. He was as pale
+as the day before. As I approached I saw him scrutinize me with a
+searching gaze, a gaze I found it difficult to analyze.
+
+He wore his belt with the holsters and the revolver-butts showed from
+those same holsters. I was astonished at this. When I saw it on him
+the day before I had thought the belt a piece of bad taste. It might
+have been advisable in portions of his long ride, might have been
+imperatively necessary in some districts; but it seemed a pose or a
+stupidity to wear it so far east. Pistols were by no means unknown in
+our part of the world, but they were carried in the seclusion of the
+hip-pocket or inside the breast of one’s coat, not flaunted in the face
+of the populace in low-hung pig-skin holsters.
+
+Case greeted me cheerily.
+
+“I got up too early,” he stated. “I’ve had my breakfast and done my
+target practice twice over. Apparently you expect me to go with you in
+that buggy?”
+
+I told him that I did.
+
+“Come in and sit down a moment,” he said in a somewhat embarrassed way.
+“This suggestion of our driving together is in line with your kind
+invitation for last night. I see I must explain somehow.”
+
+He offered me a cigar and though I seldom smoke in the morning, I took
+it, for, I thought smoking would fill up the silences I anticipated.
+
+He puffed a while, in fact.
+
+“Have you ever been among feudists in the mountains?” he queried.
+
+“More than a little,” I told him.
+
+“Likely enough then,” he went on, “you know more about their ways
+than I do. But I saw something of them myself, before I left America.
+Did you ever notice how a man at either focus of a feud, the king-pin
+of his end of it so to speak, manifests the greatest care to avoid
+permitting others to expose themselves to any degree of the danger
+always menacing him; how such men, in the black shadow of doom, as
+it were, are solicitous to prevent outsiders from straying into the
+penumbra of the eclipse which threatens themselves?”
+
+“I have observed that,” I replied.
+
+“Have you noticed on the other hand,” he continued, “that they never
+show any concern for acquaintances who comprehend the situation, but
+pay them the compliment of assuming that they have sense enough to know
+what they are doing and to take care of themselves?”
+
+“I have observed that same too,” I affirmed.
+
+He puffed again for a while.
+
+“My father,” he returned presently, “used to say that there are two
+ends to a quarrel, the right end and the wrong end, but that either end
+of a feud is the wrong end. I am one end of a feud. Wherever I am is
+one focus of that feud. The other focus is local, and I have removed
+myself as far as may be from it. But I am not safe here, should not
+be safe anywhere on earth; doubt if I should be safe on the moon, or
+Mars, on a planet of some other sun, or the least conspicuous satellite
+of the farthest star. I am obnoxious to the hate of a power as
+far-reaching” ... he took off his broad felt hat and looked up at the
+canvas of the tent-roof ... “as far-reaching as the displeasure of God.”
+
+“And as implacable,” he almost whispered. “As the malice of Satan.”
+
+He looked sane, healthy and self-possessed.
+
+“I am nowhere safe,” he recommenced in his natural voice, “while my
+chief adversary is alive. My enemies are many and malignant enough,
+but their power is negligible, and their malignancy vicarious. Without
+fomenting their hostility would evaporate. Could I but know that my
+chief enemy were no more I should be free from all alarm. But while
+that arch-foe survives I am liable to attack at any moment, to attacks
+so subtle that I am at a loss to make you comprehend their possible
+nature, so crude that I could not make you realize the danger you are
+in at this instant.”
+
+I looked at him, unmoved.
+
+“I shall say no more to you,” he said. “You must do as you please. If
+you regard my warnings as vapors, I have at least warned you. If you
+are willing to share my danger, in such degree as my very neighborhood
+is always full of danger, you do so at your own risk. If you consider
+it advisable to have no more to do with me, say so now.”
+
+“I see no reason,” I told him without even a preliminary puff, “why
+your utterances should make any difference in my treatment of you.”
+
+“I thought you would say that,” he said. “But my conscience is clear.”
+
+“Shall we proceed to business?” I asked.
+
+“There is one point more,” he replied. “Have you ever been in mining
+camps or amid other frontier conditions?”
+
+“Several times,” I answered, “and for some time at that.”
+
+“Have you ever noticed that when two men have been mutually threatening
+to shoot each other at sight, pending the final settlement, neither
+will expose women or children to danger by being in their neighborhood
+or permitting them in his, if he can prevent their nearing them?”
+
+“Such scrupulosity can be observed,” I told him dryly, “nearer home
+than mining camps or frontier towns.”
+
+“So I have heard,” he replied stiffly. “When I left America the
+personal encounter had not yet taken the place of the formal duel in
+these regions.”
+
+He puffed a bit.
+
+“However,” he continued, “it makes no difference from what part of the
+world you draw the illustration; it is equally in point. The danger of
+being near me is a hundred times, a thousand times greater than that of
+running the risk of stopping a wild or random bullet. I cannot bring
+myself to expose innocent beings to such danger.”
+
+“How about Jeff and Cato?” I asked.
+
+“A nigger,” declared Colonel Case (and he looked all the colonel as he
+spoke it) “is like a dog or a horse, he shares his master’s dangers
+as a matter of course. I speak of women and children and unsuspecting
+men. I am resolute to sit at no man’s table, to enter no man’s house,
+uninvited or invited. All who come to me knowingly I shall welcome.
+When you bring any one with you I shall assume that he has been
+forewarned. But I shall intrude upon no one.”
+
+“How then are you to inspect,” I queried, “the properties I expected to
+show you?”
+
+“Business,” said Colonel Case, “is different. When people propose to do
+business they assume any and all risks. Are you afraid to assume the
+risk of driving me about in that buggy of yours?”
+
+“Not a particle,” I disclaimed. “Are you willing to expose the people
+of Brexington to these dangers on which you descant so eloquently and
+which I fail to comprehend?”
+
+Colonel Case fixed me with a cold stare. He looked every inch a
+warrior, accustomed to dominate his environment, to command and be
+obeyed, impatient of any opposition, ready to flare up if disbelieved
+in the smallest trifle.
+
+“Radford,” he said, slowly and sternly, “I am willing to take any pains
+to avoid wronging anyone, I am unwilling to make myself ridiculous by
+attempting impossibilities.”
+
+“I see,” I concluded. “Let us go.”
+
+
+                                  III
+
+
+As we drove through the town he said:
+
+“This is like coming back to earth from another world. It is like a
+dream too. Some streets are just as they were, only the faces are
+unfamiliar. I almost expect to see the ghosts of thirty years ago.”
+
+I made some vague comment and as we jogged along talked of the
+unchanged or new owners of the houses. Then I felt him make a sudden
+movement beside me, and I looked round at him. He could not turn any
+paler than he was, yet there had been a change in his face.
+
+“I do see ghosts,” he said slowly and softly.
+
+I followed his glance as he gazed past me. We were approaching the
+Kenton homestead and nearly opposite it. It had an old-fashioned
+classic portico with four big white columns. At the top of the steps,
+between the two middle columns, stood Mary Kenton, all in pink with a
+rose in her jetty hair. She was looking intently at us, but not at me.
+Case stared at her fixedly.
+
+“Mary Kenton is the picture of her mother,” I told him.
+
+“Her very image,” he breathed, his eyes steadily on her.
+
+She continued gazing at us. Of course she knew whom I was driving. My
+horses were trotting slowly and when we were opposite her, she waved
+her hand.
+
+“Welcome home, Cousin Cassius,” she called cheerily.
+
+Colonel Case waved his hat to her and bowed, but said nothing.
+
+
+The Shelby mansion did not suit Colonel Case. What he wanted, he said,
+was a house at the edge of the town. When he had made his selection
+he bought it promptly. He had the outbuildings razed, the shrubbery
+torn up and the trees trimmed so that no limb hung within ten feet of
+the ground; above they were left untouched, tall and spreading as they
+were and almost interlacing with each other. The house he practically
+rebuilt. Its all-round veranda he had torn down and replaced by one
+even broader, but at the front only, facing the entrance, the only
+entrance he left. For he entirely closed the back-way to the kitchen
+and side-gate to the stable, cutting instead a loop-drive around the
+house from the one front entrance.
+
+Except for this stone-posted carriage-gate with the little footpath
+gate beside it, he had the whole place surrounded with a fence the
+like of which Brexington had never seen. The posts were T-beams, of
+rolled steel, eight feet tall above ground, reaching six feet below it
+and bedded down in rammed concrete. To these was bolted a four-foot
+continuous, square-mesh wire fencing, the meshes not over six inches
+at its top and as small as two inches at the bottom, which was sunk a
+hand’s breadth below the surface and there held by close-set clamps
+upon sections of gas-pipe, extending from post to post and bolted to
+them. Inside this mesh-fencing, as high as it reached, and above it to
+the top of the posts, were strung twenty strands of heavy barbed wire,
+the upper wires six inches apart, the lower strands closer. Inside the
+fence he had set a close hedge. As the plants composing it were large
+and vigorous when they arrived from the nurseryman, this was soon
+thick and strong. It was kept clipped to about three feet high. The
+flower-beds he abolished and from house to drive and drive to hedge
+soon had the whole place in well-kept turf.
+
+Behind the house he had two outbuildings erected; at one corner a small
+carriage-house and stable, capable of holding two vehicles and three
+horses; at the other a structure of about the same size as the stable,
+half wood-shed and half hen-house.
+
+Watching the carpenters at work on this and regarding the
+nine-days-wonder of a fence, several negroes stood in talk one day as I
+passed. They were laughing and I overheard one say:
+
+“Mahs’r Case shuah ain’ gwine tuh lose no hains awf he roos’. Mus be
+gwine tuh be powerful fine hains he gwine raise. He sutt’nly mus’ sot
+stoah by he hains. He sutt’nly dun tuk en’ spain’ cunnsdd’ble money awn
+he faince.”
+
+The interior of the house was finished plainly and furnished sparingly.
+The very day it was ready for occupancy he moved into it and ceased his
+camp life. Besides Cato, an old negro named Samson acted as cook, and
+another named Pompey as butler. These three made up all his household.
+Jeff was quartered in a room over the carriage-house.
+
+Before his residence was prepared and while he was still camping he
+bought Shelby Manor.
+
+“Nothing like obliging one’s cousins,” he said. He also bought two
+adjoining farms, forming a property of over a thousand acres. This
+he proceeded to equip as a stud farm, engaging a competent manager;
+refitting the house for him and the two smaller houses for his
+assistants, the overseer and farmer; abolishing the old outbuildings;
+putting up barns and stables in the most lavish fashion. He bought many
+blooded mares and created an establishment on a large scale.
+
+
+About two miles out of town on the road past his house, nearly half
+way to Shelby Manor, he bought a worthless little farm of some forty
+acres. This he had fenced and put in grass, except a small garden-patch
+by the house, which he had made snug and where he had installed an
+elderly negro couple as caretakers. The old man had formerly belonged
+to the Colonel’s father, and was named Erastus Everett. All the other
+buildings he had removed, except a fair-sized hay barrack standing on
+a knoll near the middle of the largest field. This he had new roofed
+and repaired and given two coats of shingle stain, moss green on the
+roof and weather gray on the sides. In it he had ranked up some forty
+cords of fat pine wood. Near the house was built a small stable, which
+harbored the two mules Case allowed uncle Rastus.
+
+Besides this he had built a number of low sheds, opening on spaces
+enclosed with wire netting. Soon the enclosures swarmed with dogs, not
+blooded dogs, but mere mongrel curs. Not a small dog among them, all
+were big or fairly large. Uncle Rastus drove about the country in his
+big close-covered wagon, behind his two mules. Wherever he found an
+utterly worthless dog of some size he bought it, if it could be had
+cheap, and turned it in with the rest. Before a year had passed uncle
+Rastus had more than a hundred no-account brutes to feed and care for.
+
+Colonel Case was not a man to whom anyone, least of all a stranger,
+would put a direct unsolicited question. Uncle Rastus was more
+approachable. But the curious gained little information from him.
+
+“Mahs’r Cash ain’ tole muh wuff’r he keepin’ awl dees yeah houns. He
+ain’ spoke nuffin. He done tole muh tur buy ’um, he done tole muh to
+feed ’um. Ahze buyed ’um en’ Ah feeds ’um.”
+
+Once he had established himself Case lived an extremely regular life.
+He rose early, breakfasted simply, and whatever the weather, drove
+out to Shelby Manor. He never rode in the forenoon. At his estate he
+had a pistol-range and a rifle-range. He spent nearly an hour each
+morning in pistol and rifle practice. He never used a shot-gun, but
+shot at targets, running marks, and trap-sprung clay-pigeons with both
+repeating rifle and revolver. He always carried his two repeating
+rifles with him, and brought them back with him. Several times, when I
+happened to accompany him, I watched him shoot.
+
+The first time I was rather surprised. He emptied the chambers of one
+revolver, made some fifty shots with it, cleaned it, replaced the six
+cartridges which had been in it, and put it in its holster. Then he
+did the like with the other. Then he similarly emptied the magazines
+of one of his rifles, made some fifty shots with that, cleaned it and
+reloaded it with the original cartridges. So with the second rifle.
+
+I asked him why he did so.
+
+“The cartridges I go about with,” he said, “are loaded with silver
+bullets. I can’t afford to fire away two or three pounds of silver
+every day. Lead keeps my hand in just as well as silver, and the silver
+bullets are always ready for an emergency.”
+
+Against such an imaginary emergency, I conceived he wore his belt and
+kept his two rifles always at hand.
+
+After his target practice he talked with his manager, looked over the
+place, discussed his stock or watched his jockeys exercising their
+mounts, for an hour or two. Once a week or so on his way back to town
+he stopped to inspect uncle Rastus’ charges, and investigate his
+doings. His early lunch was almost as simple as his breakfast. After
+his lunch he slept an hour or more. Later he took a long ride, seldom
+toward Shelby Manor. Always, both in going and in returning, he rode
+past Judge Kenton’s mansion. At first his hour of starting on his ride
+varied. Before many days he so timed his setting forth as to pass the
+Kenton house when Mary was likely to be at her window, and his riding
+homeward when she was likely to be on the portico. After a time she
+was sure to be at her window when he passed and on the portico when
+he repassed, and his departure and return occurred with clock-work
+regularity. When she was at her window, they never gave any sign of
+mutual recognition, but when she was on the portico she waved her hand
+to him and he his hat to her.
+
+Towards dusk in summer, after lamplight in winter, he ate a deliberate
+dinner. It never seemed to make a particle of difference to him how
+early he went to bed or how late, or whether he went to bed at all.
+He was quite capable of sitting all night at cards if the game was
+especially interesting. Yet he never made a habit of late hours. He
+was an inveterate card-player, but play at his house generally ceased
+before midnight and often much earlier. He could drink all night long,
+four fingers deep and often, and never seem the worse for it. Yet it
+was very seldom he did so. Habitually he drank freely after dinner, but
+no effects of liquor were ever visible on him. His liquors were the
+best and always set out in abundance. His cigars were as good as his
+liquors and spread out in similar profusion. His wines at dinner were
+unsurpassable and numerous. The dinners themselves could not have been
+beaten. Uncle Samson was an adept at marketing and a superlative cook.
+Pompey was an ideal butler. They seemed always ready to serve dinner
+for their master alone without waste or for a dozen more also without
+any sign of effort or dismay. As Case made welcome to his dinner table
+as to his card table anyone who happened to drop in, he had no lack
+of guests. All the bachelors of Brexington flocked to him as a matter
+of course. The heads of families were puzzled. One after another they
+invited him to their houses. His refusals were courteous but firm: for
+explanations he referred them to me. Most of them accepted my dilution
+of his utterances and acquiesced in his lopsided hospitality. One or
+two demurred and laid special siege to him. Particularly Judge Kenton
+would not be denied. When he was finally convinced that Colonel Case
+would not respond to any invitation, he declared his resolution not
+to cross Case’s threshold until his several visits there were properly
+acknowledged by a return call at his house. Intercourse between him
+and Case thereupon ceased. Judge Kenton, however, was alone in his
+punctilious attitude. Everybody else frequented Case’s house and table.
+His house indeed became a sort of informal club for all the most
+agreeable men of the town and neighborhood. It was not mere creature
+comforts or material attractions which drew them there, but the very
+real charm of the host. Even while he was tenting, before the house was
+ready for occupancy, he had made friends, according to their degree,
+with every man in and about Brexington, white or black. Everybody knew
+him, everybody liked him, everybody wondered at him.
+
+
+                                  IV
+
+
+Case was in fact the most discussed man in our region of the world.
+Some called him a lunatic, dwelling especially on his dog-ranch, as
+he called it, and his everlasting pig-skin belt with the holstered
+revolvers, without which he was never seen at any hour of the day, by
+any one. It was difficult for his most enthusiastic partisans to assign
+any colorable reason why he should maintain a farm for the support of
+some two hundred totally worthless dogs. Their worthlessness was the
+main point which uncle Rastus made in buying them. Often he rejected a
+dog proffered for little or almost nothing.
+
+“No seh,” he would say. “Dat ar dawg ain’ no ’count enuff. Mah’sr Cash
+he dun awdah muh dat Ah ain’ buy no dawg wut ain’ pintedly no ’count.
+Dey gotter be no ’count. Ah ain’ buyin’ um lessen dey’s wuffless en’
+onery.”
+
+Scarcely less easy was it to defend his wearing his twin revolvers
+even with dinner-dress, for he put on evening-dress for dinner, with
+the punctiliousness of an Englishman in the wilderness, put it on as
+often as he dined and yet wore it so naturally and unobtrusively,
+that no more than the incongruous belt did it embarrass the guests he
+made at home in any kind of clothes they happened to be wearing. His
+admirers pointed to this as a kind of exploit, as something of which
+only a perfectly sane and exceptionally fine man could be capable.
+They adduced his clear-headed business sense, his excellent judgment
+on matters pertaining to real estate, his knowledge of horseflesh,
+his horsemanship, his coolness, skill and exceptional good temper at
+cards, as cumulative proofs of his perfect sanity. They admitted he
+was peculiar on one or two points but minimized these as negligible
+eccentricities. They were ready to descant to any extent on his
+personal charm, and this indeed all were agreed upon. To attract
+visitors by good dinners, good liquors, good cigars and endless card
+playing was easy. To keep his visitors at their ease and entertained
+for hours with mere conversations while seated on his veranda, was
+no small feat in itself and a hundred times a feat when their host
+obtruded upon them the ever visible butts of his big revolvers and kept
+a repeating rifle standing against each jamb of his front door. This
+tension of perpetual preparedness for an imminent attack might well
+have scared away everybody and left Case a hermit. It did nothing of
+the kind. It was acquiesced in at first, later tacitly accepted and
+finally ignored altogether. With it was ignored his strange complexion.
+I had myself puzzled over this: after long groping about in my mind I
+had realized what it reminded me of, and I found others who agreed with
+me in respect to it. It was like the paleness one sees for the half of
+a breath on the face of a strong, healthy man when in sudden alarm,
+astonishment or horror his blood flows momently back to his heart.
+Under such stress of unforeseen agitation a normal countenance might
+exhibit that hue for a fraction of a second, on Case’s visage it was
+abiding, like the war paint on an armor-clad, drab-gray and dreary. Yet
+it produced no effect of gloom in his associates. He not only did not
+put a damper upon high spirits but diffused an atmosphere of gaiety and
+good fellowship.
+
+And he did so not only in spite of his ever-visible weapons and of
+his uncanny, somber complexion, but also in spite of the strange and
+daunting habit of his eyes. I had seen something like it once and again
+in a frontiersman who knew that his one chance of surviving his enemy
+was to shoot first and who expected the crucial instant at any moment.
+I had watched in more than one town the eyes of such an individual
+scan each man who approached with one swift glance of inquiry, of keen
+uncertainty dying instantly into temporary relief. Such was the look
+with which Case invariably met me. It had in it hesitation, doubt, and,
+as it were, an element of half-conscious approach to alarm. It was as
+if he said to himself:
+
+“Is that Radford? It looks like him. If it is Radford, all right. But
+is it really Radford after all?”
+
+I grew used in time to this lightning scrutiny of me every time he
+caught sight of me. His other friends grew used to it. But it was the
+subject of endless talk among us. His eyes had an inexplicable effect
+on every one. And not the least factor in their mystery was that he
+bestowed this glance not only upon all men, but upon women, children,
+animals, birds, even insects. He regarded a robin or a butterfly with
+the same flash of transient interest which he bestowed upon a horse or
+a man. And his eyes seemed to keep him cognizant of every moving thing
+before, behind and above him. Nothing living which entered his horizon
+seemed to escape his notice.
+
+Beverly remarked:
+
+“Case is afraid of something, is always looking for something. But what
+the devil is it he is looking for? He acts as if he did not know what
+to expect and suspected everything.”
+
+Dr. Boone said:
+
+“Case behaves somewhat as if he were suffering from a delusion of
+persecution. But most of the symptoms are conspicuously absent. I am
+puzzled like the rest of you.”
+
+The effect upon strangers of this eerie quality of Case’s vision was
+by no means pleasant. Yet his merest acquaintances soon became used to
+it and his intimates ceased to notice it at all. His personal charm
+made it seem a trifle. Night after night his card room was the scene of
+jollity. His table gathered the most desirable comrades the countryside
+afforded. Evening after evening his cronies sat in the comfortable
+wicker chairs on his broad veranda, little Turkish tables bearing
+decanters and cigars set among them, Colonel Case the center and life
+of the group.
+
+He talked easily and he talked well. To start him talking of the
+countries he had seen was not easy, but, once he began, his stories
+of Egypt and Abyssinia, of Persia and Burmah, of Siam and China were
+always entertaining. Very seldom, almost never did he tell of his own
+experiences. Generally he told of having heard from others the tales he
+repeated, even when he spoke so that we suspected him of telling events
+in which he had taken part.
+
+It was impossible to pin him down to a date, almost as hard to elicit
+the definite name of a locality. He gave minute particulars of
+incidents and customs, but dealt in generalities as to place and time.
+Especially he was strong in local superstitions and beliefs.
+
+He told countless tales, all good, of crocodiles and ichneumons in
+Egypt, gazelles and ghouls in Persia, elephants and tigers in Burmah,
+deer and monkeys in Siam, badgers and foxes in China and sorcerers and
+enchanters anywhere. He spoke of the last two in as matter-of-fact a
+tone as of any of the others.
+
+He told legends of the contests of various Chinese sages and saints,
+with magicians and wizards; of the malice and wiles of these wicked
+practitioners of somber arts; of the sort of super-sense developed
+by the adepts, their foes, enabling them to tell of the approach or
+presence of a sorcerer whatever disguise he assumed, even if he had the
+power of making himself invisible.
+
+Several legendary anecdotes turned on this point of the invisibility of
+the wicked enemy and the prescience of his intended victim.
+
+One was of a holy man said to have lived in Singan Fu about the time
+of the crusades. Knowing that he was threatened with the vengeance of
+a wizard, he provided himself with a sword entirely of silver, since
+the flesh of a wizard was considered proof against all baser metals. He
+likewise had at hand a quantity of the ashes of a sacred tree.
+
+While seated in his study he felt an inimical presence. He snatched
+up his silver blade, stood upon the defensive and shouted a signal
+previously agreed upon. Hearing it his servants locked the doors of
+the house and rushed in with boxes of the sacred ashes. Scattering it
+on the floor, they could see on the fresh ashes the footsteps of the
+wizard. One of the servants, according to his master’s instructions,
+had brought a live fowl. Slicing off its head he waved the spouting
+neck towards the air over the footprints. According to Chinese belief
+fowls’ blood has the magical property of disclosing anyone invisible
+through incantation. In fact where the blood drops fell upon the
+wizard, they remained visible, there appeared a gory eye and cheek.
+Slashing at his revealed enemy the sage slew him with the silver sword,
+after which his body was with all speed burned to ashes. This was the
+invariable ending of all his similar tales.
+
+Stories like this Case delighted in, but beyond this penchant for
+the weird and occult, for even childish tales of distant lands, his
+conversation in general showed no sign of peculiarity or eccentricity.
+Only once or twice did he startle us. Some visitors to town were
+among the gathering on his veranda and fell into a discussion of the
+contrasting qualities of Northerners and Southerners. Inevitably
+the discussion degenerated into a rather acrimonious and petty
+citation of all the weak points of each section and a rehash of all
+the stale sneers at either. The wordy Alabamian who led one side of
+the altercation descanted on the necessary and inherited vileness
+of the descendants of the men who burnt the Salem witches. Case had
+been listening silently. Then he cut in with an emphatic, trenchant
+directness unusual to him.
+
+“Witches,” he announced, “ought to be burnt always and everywhere.”
+
+We sat a moment startled and mute.
+
+The Alabamian spoke first.
+
+“Do you believe in witches, Sir?” he asked.
+
+“I do,” Case affirmed.
+
+“Ever been bewitched?” the Alabamian queried. He was rather young and
+dogmatically assertive.
+
+“Do you believe in Asiatic cholera?” Case queried in his turn.
+
+“Certainly, Sir,” the Alabamian asserted.
+
+“Ever had it?” Case inquired meaningly.
+
+“No,” the Alabamian admitted. “No, Sir, never.”
+
+“Ever had yellow fever?” Case questioned him.
+
+“Never, Sir, thank God,” the Alabamian replied fervently.
+
+“Yet I’ll bet,” Case hammered at him, “that you would be among the
+first to join a shot-gun quarantine if an epidemic broke out within a
+hundred miles of you. You have never had it, but you believe in it with
+every fiber of your being.
+
+“That’s just the way with me. I’ve never been bewitched, but I believe
+in witchcraft. Belief in witchcraft is like faith in any one of a dozen
+fashionable religions, not a subject for argument or proof, but a
+habit of mind. That’s my habit of mind. I won’t discuss it, but I’ve no
+hesitation about asserting it.
+
+“Witchcraft is like leprosy, both spread among nations indifferent to
+them, both disappear before unflinching severity. The horror of both
+among our ancestors abolished both in Europe and kept them from gaining
+a foothold in this country. Both exist and flourish in other corners
+of the world, along with other things undreamed of in some complacent
+philosophies. Leprosy can be repressed only by isolation, the only
+thing that will abolish witchcraft is fire, fire Sir.”
+
+That finished that discussion. No one said another word on the subject.
+But it started a round of debates on Case’s mental condition, which
+ran on for days, everywhere except at Case’s house, and which brought
+up all that could be said about personal aloofness, pensioned dogs,
+exposed revolvers and pig-skin belts.
+
+
+                                   V
+
+
+The mellow fall merged into Indian Summer. The days were short and the
+afternoons chill. The weather did not permit the evening gatherings on
+Case’s veranda. No more did it allow Mary Kenton to sit in her rocker
+between the two left-hand columns of the big white portico. Yet it was
+both noticeable and noticed that she never failed to step out upon
+that portico, no matter what the weather, each afternoon; that in the
+twilight or in the late dusk the wave of her hand and the sweep of the
+horseman’s big, broad-brimmed felt hat answered each other unfailingly.
+
+The coterie of Case’s chums, friends and hangers-on gathered then
+mostly around the generous log-fire in his ample drawing-room, when
+they were not in the card-room, the billiard-room or at table. I
+made one of that coterie frequently and enjoyed my hours there with
+undiminished zest. When I dined there I habitually occupied the foot
+of the long table, facing Case at the head. The hall door of the
+dining-room was just at my right hand.
+
+One evening in early December I was so seated at the foot of the table.
+The weather had been barely coolish for some days, the skies had been
+clear and everything was dry. That night was particularly mild. We had
+sat down rather early and it was not yet seven o’clock when Pompey
+began to pass the cigars. No one had yet lit up. Some one had asked
+Case a question and the table was still listening for his answer. I,
+like the rest, was looking at him. Then it all happened in a tenth, in
+a hundredth of the time necessary to tell it; so quickly that, except
+Case, no one had time to move a muscle.
+
+Case’s eyes were on his questioner. I did not see the door open, but
+I saw his gaze shift to the door, saw his habitual glance of startled
+uncertainty. But instead of the lightning query of his eyes softening
+into relief and indifference, it hardened instantaneously into
+decision. I saw his hand go to his holster, saw the revolver leap out,
+saw the aim, saw his face change, heard his explosive exclamation:
+
+“Good God, it is!” saw the muzzle kick up as the report crushed our ear
+drums and through the smoke saw him push back his chair and spring up.
+
+The rest of us were all too dazed to try to stand. Like me they all
+looked toward the door.
+
+There stood Mary Kenton, all in pink, a pink silk opera cloak half off
+her white shoulders, a single strand of pale coral round her slender
+throat, a pink pompom in her glossy hair. She was standing as calmly as
+if nothing had happened, her arms hidden in the cloak, her right hand
+holding it together in front. Her rings sparkled on her fingers as her
+breast-pin sparkled on her low corsage.
+
+“Cousin Cassius,” she said, “you have a theatrical way of receiving
+unexpected visitors.”
+
+“Good God, Mary,” he said. “It is really you. I saw it was really you
+just in time.”
+
+“Of course it is really I,” she retorted. “Whom or what did you think
+it really was?”
+
+“Not you,” he answered thickly. “Not you.”
+
+His voice died away.
+
+“Now you know it is really I,” she said crisply, “you might at least
+offer me a chair.”
+
+At that the spell of our amazement left us and we all sprang to our
+feet.
+
+She seated herself placidly to the right of the fireplace.
+
+“I hear your port is excellent,” she said laughingly.
+
+Before Case could hand her the glass she wavered a little in the chair,
+but a mere swallow revived her.
+
+“I had not anticipated,” she said, “so startling a reception.”
+
+We stood about in awkward silence.
+
+“Pray ask your guests to be seated, Cousin Cassius,” she begged. “I did
+not mean to disturb your gaiety.”
+
+We took our chairs, but those on her side of the table were turned
+outward toward the fireplace, where Case stood facing her.
+
+“I owe you an explanation,” she said easily. “Milly Wilberforce is
+staying with me and she bet me a box of Maillard’s that I would not
+pay you a call. As I never take a dare, as the weather is fine, and as
+we have all your guests for chaperons, I thought a brief call between
+cousins could do no harm.”
+
+“It has not,” said Case fervently; “but it very nearly did. And now
+will you let me escort you home? The Judge will be anxious about you.”
+
+“Papa doesn’t know I am here, of course,” she said. “When he finds out,
+I’ll quiet him. If you won’t come to see me, at least I have once come
+to see you.”
+
+Case held the door wide for her, shut it behind him, and left us
+staring at the bullet hole in the door frame.
+
+
+One morning of the following spring Case was driving me townward from
+Shelby Manor, when, not a hundred feet in front of us, Mary Kenton’s
+buggy entered the pike from a cross-road. As it turned, mare, vehicle
+and all went over sideways with a terrific crash. Mary must have fallen
+clear for the next instant she was at the mare’s head.
+
+Case did succeed in holding his fiery colts and in pulling them to a
+stand-still alongside the wreck, but it was all even he could do. I
+jumped out, meaning to take the colts’ bits and let Case help Mary. But
+she greeted me imperiously.
+
+“Cousin Jack, please come sit on Bonnie’s head.”
+
+I took charge of Bonnie in my own fashion and she stood up entirely
+unhurt.
+
+“How on earth did you come to do it, Mary?” Colonel Case wondered, for
+she was a perfect horsewoman.
+
+“Accidents will happen,” she answered lightly, “and I am glad of this
+one. You have really spoken to me, and that is worth a hundred smashes.”
+
+“But I wrote to you,” he protested. “I wrote to you and explained.”
+
+“One letter,” she sniffed contemptuously. “You should have kept on, you
+silly man, I might have answered the fifth or sixth or even the second.”
+
+He stared at her and no wonder for she was fascinatingly coquettish.
+
+“I don’t mind Jack a bit, you know,” she went on. “Jack is my loyal
+knight and unfailing partisan. He keeps my secrets and does everything
+I ask of him. For instance, he will not demur an atom now when I ask
+him to throw Bonnie’s harness into the buggy and ride her to town for
+me.
+
+“You see,” she smiled at him dazzlingly, “another advantage of my upset
+is that the buggy is so smashed that you cannot decently refuse to
+drive me home.”
+
+“But Mary,” he protested, “I explained fully to you.”
+
+“You didn’t really expect me to believe all that fol-de-rol?” she
+cried. “Suppose I did, I don’t see any dwergs around, and if all
+Malebolge were in plain sight I’d make you take me anyhow.”
+
+Inevitably he did, but that afternoon their daily ceremony of hand-wave
+from the portico and hat-wave from horseback was resumed and was
+continued as their sole intercourse.
+
+
+                                  VI
+
+
+It was full midsummer when a circus came to Brexington. Case and I
+started for a ride together on the afternoon of its arrival, passed the
+tents already raised and met the procession on its way through town
+from the freight yard of the railroad. We pulled our horses to one side
+of the street and sat watching the show.
+
+There were Cossacks and cowboys, Mexican vaqueros and Indians on
+mustangs. There were two elephants, a giraffe, and then some camels
+which set our mounts snorting and swerving about. Then came the cages,
+one of monkeys, another of parrots, cockatoos and macaws, others with
+wolves, bears, hyenas, a lion, a lioness, a tiger, and a beautiful
+leopard.
+
+Case made a movement and I heard a click. I looked round and beheld him
+with his revolver cocked and pointed at the leopard’s cage. He did not
+fire but kept the pistol aimed at the cage until it was out of range.
+Then he thrust it back into its holster and watched the fag-end of the
+procession go by. All he said was:
+
+“You will have to excuse me, Radford, I have urgent business at home.”
+
+
+Towards dusk Cato came to me in great agitation.
+
+“Mahs’r Cash done gone off’n he haid,” he declared. “He shuah done loss
+he sainsus.” I told him to return home and I would stroll up there
+casually.
+
+I found Case in the wood-shed, uncle Rastus with him. Hung by the hind
+legs like new-slaughtered hogs were a dozen of the biggest dogs of
+which Rastus had had charge. Their throats were cut and each dripped
+into a tin pail. Rastus, his ebony face paled to a sort of mud-gray,
+held a large tin pail and a new white-washer’s brush.
+
+Case greeted me as usual, as if my presence there were a matter of
+course and he were engaged upon nothing out of the common.
+
+“Uncle,” he said, “I judge those are about dripped out. Pour it all
+into the big pail.”
+
+He took the brush from Rastus, who followed him to the gate.
+
+There Case dipped the brush into the blood and painted a broad band
+across the gravel of the drive and the flagstones of the footpath. He
+proceeded as if he were using lime white-wash to mark off a lawn-tennis
+court in the early days of the game, when wet markers were not yet
+invented and dry markers were still undreamed of. He continued the
+stripe of blood all round his place, just inside the hedge. He made it
+about three inches wide and took great pains to make it plain and heavy.
+
+When he had come round to the entrance again he went over the stripe on
+the path and drive a second time. Then he straightened up and handed
+the brush to Rastus.
+
+“Just enough,” he remarked. “I calculated nicely.”
+
+I had so far held my tongue. But his air of self-approval, as if in
+some feat of logic led me to blurt out:
+
+“What is it for?”
+
+“The Chinese,” said Case, “esteem dogs’ blood a defense against
+sorcery. I doubt its efficacy, but I know of no better fortification.”
+
+No reply seemed expected and I made none.
+
+That evening I was at Case’s, with some six or seven others. We sat
+indoors, for the cloudy day had led up to a rainy evening. Nothing
+unusual occurred.
+
+
+Next day the town was plastered with posters of the circus company
+offering five hundred dollars reward for the capture of an escaped
+leopard.
+
+Cato came to my office just as I was going out to lunch.
+
+“Mahs’r Cash done gone cunjuhin’ agin,” he announced.
+
+I found out that a second batch of dogs had been brought in by uncle
+Rastus in his covered wagon behind his unfailing mules, had been
+butchered like the former convoy and the band of blood gone over a
+second time. Case had not gone outside that line since he first made
+it, no drive to Shelby Manor that morning.
+
+
+The day was perfect after the rain of the day before, and the bright
+sunlight dried everything. The evening was clear and windless with a
+nearly full moon intensely bright and very high. Practically the whole
+population went to the circus.
+
+Beverly and I dined at Case’s. He had no other guests, but such was his
+skill as a host that our dinner was delightfully genial. After dinner
+the three of us sat on the veranda.
+
+The brilliance of the moonlight on and through the unstirred trees
+made a glorious spectacle and the mild, cool atmosphere put us in
+just the humor to enjoy it and each other. Case talked quietly, mostly
+of art galleries in Europe, and his talk was quite as charming and
+entertaining as usual. He seemed a man entirely sane and altogether at
+his ease.
+
+We had been on the veranda about half an hour and in that time neither
+team nor pedestrian had passed. Then we saw the figure of a woman
+approaching down the middle of the roadway from the direction of the
+country. Beverly and I caught sight of her at about the same instant
+and I saw him watching her as I did, for she had the carriage and
+bearing of a lady and it seemed strange that she should be walking,
+stranger that she should be alone, and strangest that she should choose
+the road instead of the footpath which was broad and good for half a
+mile.
+
+Case, who had been describing a carved set of ivory chessmen he had
+seen in Egypt, stopped speaking and stared as we did. I began to feel
+as if I ought to recognize the advancing figure, it seemed unfamiliar
+and yet familiar too in outline and carriage, when Beverly exclaimed:
+
+“By Jove, that is Mary Kenton.”
+
+“No,” said Colonel Case in a combative, resonant tone like the slow
+boom of a big bell. “No, it is not Mary Kenton.”
+
+I was astonished at the animus of his contradiction and we intensified
+our scrutiny. The nearing girl really suggested Mary Kenton and yet, I
+felt sure, was not she. Her bearing made me certain that she was young,
+and she had that indefinable something about her which leads a man to
+expect that a woman will turn out to be good looking. She walked with
+a sort of insolent, high-stepping swing.
+
+When she was nearly opposite us Case exclaimed in a sort of
+chopped-off, guttural bark:
+
+“Nay, not even in that shape, foul fiend, not even in that.”
+
+The tall, shapely young woman turned just in front of the gateway and
+walked towards us.
+
+“I think,” said Beverly, “the lady is coming in.”
+
+“No,” said Colonel Case, again with that deep, baying reverberation
+behind his voice. “No, not coming in.”
+
+The young woman laid her hand on the pathway gate and pushed it open.
+She stepped inside and then stopped, stopped suddenly, abruptly, with
+an awkward half-stride, as if she had run into an obstacle in the path,
+a low obstruction like a wheelbarrow. She stood an instant, looked
+irresolutely right and left, and then stepped back and shut the gate.
+She turned and started across the street, fairly striding in a sort of
+incensed, wrathful haste.
+
+My eyes, like Beverly’s, were on the figure in the road. It was only
+with a sort of sidelong vision that I felt rather than saw Case whip a
+rifle from the door jamb to his shoulder and fire. Almost before the
+explosion rent my ear drums I saw the figure in the roadway crumple
+and collapse vertically. Petrified with amazement I was frozen with my
+stare upon the huddle on the macadam. Beverly had not moved and was as
+dazed as I. My gaze still fixed as Case threw up a second cartridge
+from the magazine and fired again, I saw the wretched heap on the
+piking leap under the impact of the bullet with the yielding quiver
+of totally dead flesh and bone. A third time he fired and we saw the
+like. Then the spell of our horror broke and we leapt up, roaring at
+the murderer.
+
+With a single incredibly rapid movement the madman disembarrassed
+himself of his rifle and held us off, a revolver at each of our heads.
+
+“Do you know what you have done?” we yelled together.
+
+“I am quite sure of what I have done,” Case replied in a big calm
+voice, the barrels of his pistols steady as the pillars of the veranda.
+“But I am not quite so clear whether I have earned five hundred dollars
+reward. Will you gentlemen be kind enough to step out into the street
+and examine that carcass?”
+
+Woodenly, at the muzzles of those unwavering revolvers, we went down
+the flagged walk side by side, moving in a nightmare dream.
+
+I had never seen a woman killed before and this woman was presumably
+a lady, young and handsome. I felt the piking of the roadway under my
+feet, and looked everywhere, except downward in front of me.
+
+I heard Beverly give a coughing exclamation:
+
+“The leopard!”
+
+Then I looked, and I too shouted:
+
+“The leopard!”
+
+She lay tangible, unquestionable, in plain sight under the silver
+moonrays with the clear black shadows of the maple leaves sharp on her
+sleek hide.
+
+Gabbling our excited astonishment we pulled at her and turned her over.
+She had six wounds, three where the bullets entered and three where
+they came out, one through spine and breast-bone and two through the
+ribs.
+
+We dropped the carcass and stood up.
+
+“But I thought....” I exclaimed.
+
+“But I saw....” Beverly cried.
+
+“You gentlemen,” thundered Colonel Case, “had best not say what you saw
+or what you thought you saw.”
+
+We stood mute, looking at him, at each other, and up and down the
+street. No one was in sight. Apparently the circus had so completely
+drained the neighborhood that no one had heard the shots.
+
+Case addressed me in his natural voice:
+
+“If you will be so good Radford, would you oblige me by stepping into
+my house and telling Jeff to fetch the wheelbarrow. I must keep watch
+over this carrion.”
+
+There I left him, the two crooked revolvers pointed at the dead animal.
+
+Jeff, and Cato with him, brought the wheelbarrow. Upon it the two
+negroes loaded the warm, inert mass of spotted hide and what it
+contained. Then Jeff lifted the handles and taking turns they wheeled
+their burden all the way to uncle Rastus’, Case walking on one side
+of the barrow with his cocked revolvers, we on the other, quite as a
+matter of course.
+
+Jeff trundled the barrow out to the hay barrack on the knoll. He and
+Cato and uncle Rastus carried out cord-wood until they had an enormous
+pile well out in the field. Then they dug up a barrel of kerosene from
+near one corner of the barrack. When the leopard had been placed on the
+top of the firewood they broached the barrel and poured its contents
+over the carcass and its pyre. When it was set on fire Case gave an
+order to Jeff, who went off. We stood and watched the pyre burn down
+to red coals. By that time Jeff had returned from Shelby Manor with a
+double team.
+
+Case let down the hammers of his revolvers, holstered them, unbuckled
+his belt and threw it into the dayton.
+
+Never had we suspected he could sing a note. Now he started “Dixie” in
+a fine, deep baritone and we sang that and other rousing songs all the
+way home. When we got out of the dayton he walked loungingly up the
+veranda steps, his belt hanging over his arm. He took the rifles from
+the door jamb.
+
+“I have no further use for these trusty friends,” he said. “If you
+like, you may each have one as a souvenir of the occasion. My defunct
+pistols and otiose belt I’ll even keep myself.”
+
+
+Next morning as I was about to pass Judge Kenton’s house I heard
+heavy footsteps rapidly overtaking me. Turning I saw Case, not in his
+habitual gray clothes and broad-brimmed semi-sombrero, but wearing a
+soft brown felt hat, a blue serge suit, set off by a red necktie and
+tan shoes. He was conspicuously beltless.
+
+“You might as well come with me, Radford,” he said. “You will probably
+be best man later anyhow.”
+
+We found Judge Kenton on his porch, and Mary, all in pink, with a pink
+rose in her hair, seated between her father and her pretty step-mother.
+
+“I sent Jeff with a note,” Case explained as we approached the steps,
+“to make sure of finding them.”
+
+After the greetings were over Case said:
+
+“Judge, I am a man of few words. I love your daughter and I ask your
+permission to win her if I can.”
+
+“You have my permission, Suh,” the Judge answered.
+
+Case rose.
+
+“Mary,” he said, “would you walk with me in the garden, say to the
+grape arbor?”
+
+When they returned Mary wore a big ruby ring set round with diamonds.
+Her color was no bad match for the ruby. And, beyond a doubt, Case’s
+cheeks showed a trace of color too.
+
+“Father,” Mary said as she seated herself, “I am going to marry Cousin
+Cassius.”
+
+“You have my blessing, my dear,” the Judge responded. “I am glad of it.”
+
+“Everybody will be glad, I believe,” said Mary. “Cassius is glad, of
+course, and he is glad of two other things. One is that he feels free
+to dine with us to-night, he has just told me so.
+
+“The other” (a roguish light sparkled in her eyes) “he has not
+confessed. But I just know that, next to marrying me, the one thing in
+all this world that makes him gladdest is that now at last he feels at
+liberty to see a horse race and go to the races every chance he gets.”
+
+In fact, when they returned from their six-months’ wedding tour, they
+were conspicuous at every race meeting. Case’s eyes had lost their
+restlessness and his cheeks showed as healthy a coloring as I ever saw
+on any human being.
+
+
+It might be suggested that there should be an explanation to this tale.
+But I myself decline to expound my own theory. Mary never told what
+she knew, and her husband, in whose after life there has been nothing
+remarkable as far as I know, has never uttered a syllable.
+
+                                                                   1907
+
+
+
+
+                      THE HOUSE OF THE NIGHTMARE
+
+
+
+
+                      THE HOUSE OF THE NIGHTMARE
+
+
+I FIRST caught sight of the house from the brow of the mountain as I
+cleared the woods and looked across the broad valley several hundred
+feet below me, to the low sun sinking toward the far blue hills. From
+that momentary viewpoint I had an exaggerated sense of looking almost
+vertically down. I seemed to be hanging over the checkerboard of roads
+and fields, dotted with farm buildings, and felt the familiar deception
+that I could almost throw a stone upon the house. I barely glimpsed its
+slate roof.
+
+What caught my eyes was the bit of road in front of it, between
+the mass of dark-green shade trees about the house and the orchard
+opposite. Perfectly straight it was, bordered by an even row of trees,
+through which I made out a cinder side path and a low stone wall.
+
+Conspicuous on the orchard side between two of the flanking trees was a
+white object, which I took to be a tall stone, a vertical splinter of
+one of the tilted lime-stone reefs with which the fields of the region
+are scarred.
+
+The road itself I saw plain as a box-wood ruler on a green baize table.
+It gave me a pleasurable anticipation of a chance for a burst of speed.
+I had been painfully traversing closely forested, semi-mountainous
+hills. Not a farmhouse had I passed, only wretched cabins by the road,
+more than twenty miles of which I had found very bad and hindering.
+Now, when I was not many miles from my expected stopping-place, I
+looked forward to better going, and to that straight, level bit in
+particular.
+
+As I sped cautiously down the sharp beginning of the long descent the
+trees engulfed me again, and I lost sight of the valley. I dipped into
+a hollow, rose on the crest of the next hill, and again saw the house,
+nearer, and not so far below.
+
+The tall stone caught my eye with a shock of surprise. Had I not
+thought it was opposite the house next the orchard? Clearly it was on
+the left-hand side of the road toward the house. My self-questioning
+lasted only the moment as I passed the crest. Then the outlook was
+cut off again; but I found myself gazing ahead, watching for the next
+chance at the same view.
+
+At the end of the second hill I only saw the bit of road obliquely and
+could not be sure, but, as at first, the tall stone seemed on the right
+of the road.
+
+At the top of the third and last hill I looked down the stretch of road
+under the overarching trees, almost as one would look through a tube.
+There was a line of whiteness which I took for the tall stone. It was
+on the right.
+
+I dipped into the last hollow. As I mounted the farther slope I kept
+my eyes on the top of the road ahead of me. When my line of sight
+surmounted the rise I marked the tall stone on my right hand among the
+serried maples. I leaned over, first on one side, then on the other, to
+inspect my tires, then I threw the lever.
+
+As I flew forward I looked ahead. There was the tall stone--on the
+left of the road! I was really scared and almost dazed. I meant to
+stop dead, take a good look at the stone, and make up my mind beyond
+peradventure whether it was on the right or the left--if not, indeed,
+in the middle of the road.
+
+In my bewilderment I put on the highest speed. The machine leaped
+forward; everything I touched went wrong; I steered wildly, slewed to
+the left, and crashed into a big maple.
+
+When I came to my senses I was flat on my back in the dry ditch.
+The last rays of the sun sent shafts of golden green light through
+the maple boughs overhead. My first thought was an odd mixture of
+appreciation of the beauties of nature and disapproval of my own
+conduct in touring without a companion--a fad I had regretted more than
+once. Then my mind cleared and I sat up. I felt myself from the head
+down. I was not bleeding; no bones were broken; and, while much shaken,
+I had suffered no serious bruises.
+
+Then I saw the boy. He was standing at the edge of the cinder-path,
+near the ditch. He was stocky and solidly built; barefoot, with his
+trousers rolled up to his knees; wore a sort of butternut shirt, open
+at the throat; and was coatless and hatless. He was tow-headed, with a
+shock of tousled hair; was much freckled, and had a hideous harelip. He
+shifted from one foot to the other, twiddled his toes, and said nothing
+whatever, though he stared at me intently.
+
+I scrambled to my feet and proceeded to survey the wreck. It seemed
+distressingly complete. It had not blown up, nor even caught fire; but
+otherwise the ruin appeared hopelessly thorough. Everything I examined
+seemed worse smashed than the rest. My two hampers alone, by one of
+those cynical jokes of chance, had escaped--both had pitched clear of
+the wreckage and were unhurt, not even a bottle broken.
+
+During my investigations the boy’s faded eyes followed me continuously,
+but he uttered no word. When I had convinced myself of my helplessness
+I straightened up and addressed him:
+
+“How far is it to a blacksmith shop?”
+
+“Eight mile,” he answered. He had a distressing case of cleft palate
+and was scarcely intelligible.
+
+“Can you drive me there?” I inquired.
+
+“Nary team on the place,” he replied; “nary horse, nary cow.”
+
+“How far to the next house?” I continued.
+
+“Six mile,” he responded.
+
+I glanced at the sky. The sun had set already. I looked at my watch: it
+was going--seven thirty-six.
+
+“May I sleep in your house to-night?” I asked.
+
+“You can come in if you want to,” he said, “and sleep if you can. House
+all messy; ma’s been dead three year, and dad’s away. Nothin’ to eat
+but buckwheat flour and rusty bacon.”
+
+“I’ve plenty to eat,” I answered, picking up a hamper. “Just take that
+hamper, will you?”
+
+“You can come in if you’re a mind to,” he said, “but you got to carry
+your own stuff.” He did not speak gruffly or rudely, but appeared
+mildly stating an inoffensive fact.
+
+“All right,” I said, picking up the other hamper; “lead the way.”
+
+The yard in front of the house was dark under a dozen or more immense
+ailanthus trees. Below them many smaller trees had grown up, and
+beneath these a dank underwood of tall, rank suckers out of the deep,
+shaggy, matted grass. What had once been, apparently, a carriage-drive
+left a narrow, curved track, disused and grass-grown, leading to
+the house. Even here were some shoots of the ailanthus, and the air
+was unpleasant with the vile smell of the roots and suckers and the
+insistent odor of their flowers.
+
+The house was of gray stone, with green shutters faded almost as gray
+as the stone. Along its front was a veranda, not much raised from the
+ground, and with no balustrade or railing. On it were several hickory
+splint rockers. There were eight shuttered windows toward the porch,
+and midway of them a wide door, with small violet panes on either side
+of it and a fanlight above.
+
+“Open the door,” I said to the boy.
+
+“Open it yourself,” he replied, not unpleasantly nor disagreeably, but
+in such a tone that one could not but take the suggestion as a matter
+of course.
+
+I put down the two hampers and tried the door. It was latched, but not
+locked, and opened with a rusty grind of its hinges, on which it sagged
+crazily, scraping the floor as it turned. The passage smelt moldy and
+damp. There were several doors on either side; the boy pointed to the
+first on the right.
+
+“You can have that room,” he said.
+
+I opened the door. What with the dusk, the interlacing trees outside,
+the piazza roof, and the closed shutters, I could make out little.
+
+“Better get a lamp,” I said to the boy.
+
+“Nary lamp,” he declared cheerfully. “Nary candle. Mostly I get abed
+before dark.”
+
+I returned to the remains of my conveyance. All four of my lamps were
+merely scrap metal and splintered glass. My lantern was mashed flat. I
+always, however, carried candles in my valise. This I found split and
+crushed, but still holding together. I carried it to the porch, opened
+it, and took out three candles.
+
+Entering the room, where I found the boy standing just where I had left
+him, I lit the candle. The walls were white-washed, the floor bare.
+There was a mildewed, chilly smell, but the bed looked freshly made up
+and clean, although it felt clammy.
+
+With a few drops of its own grease I stuck the candle on the corner of
+a mean, rickety little bureau. There was nothing else in the room save
+two rush-bottomed chairs and a small table. I went out on the porch,
+brought in my valise, and put it on the bed. I raised the sash of each
+window and pushed open the shutters. Then I asked the boy, who had not
+moved or spoken, to show me the way to the kitchen. He led me straight
+through the hall to the back of the house. The kitchen was large, and
+had no furniture save some pine chairs, a pine bench, and a pine table.
+
+I stuck two candles on opposite corners of the table. There was no
+stove or range in the kitchen, only a big hearth, the ashes in which
+smelt and looked a month old. The wood in the wood-shed was dry enough,
+but even it had a cellary, stale smell. The ax and hatchet were both
+rusty and dull, but usable, and I quickly made a big fire. To my
+amazement, for the mid-June evening was hot and still, the boy, a wry
+smile on his ugly face, almost leaned over the flame, hands and arms
+spread out, and fairly roasted himself.
+
+“Are you cold?” I inquired.
+
+“I’m allus cold,” he replied, hugging the fire closer than ever, till I
+thought he must scorch.
+
+I left him toasting himself while I went in search of water. I
+discovered the pump, which was in working order and not dry on the
+valves; but I had a furious struggle to fill the two leaky pails I had
+found. When I had put water to boil I fetched my hampers from the porch.
+
+I brushed the table and set out my meal--cold fowl, cold ham, white and
+brown bread, olives, jam, and cake. When the can of soup was hot and
+the coffee made I drew up two chairs to the table and invited the boy
+to join me.
+
+“I ain’t hungry,” he said; “I’ve had supper.”
+
+He was a new sort of boy to me; all the boys I knew were hearty eaters
+and always ready. I had felt hungry myself, but somehow when I came to
+eat I had little appetite and hardly relished the food. I soon made an
+end of my meal, covered the fire, blew out the candles, and returned to
+the porch, where I dropped into one of the hickory rockers to smoke.
+The boy followed me silently and seated himself on the porch floor,
+leaning against a pillar, his feet on the grass outside.
+
+“What do you do,” I asked, “when your father is away?”
+
+“Just loaf ’round,” he said. “Just fool ’round.”
+
+“How far off are your nearest neighbors?” I asked.
+
+“Don’t no neighbors never come here,” he stated. “Say they’re afeared
+of the ghosts.”
+
+I was not at all startled; the place had all those aspects which lead
+to a house being called haunted. I was struck by his odd matter-of-fact
+way of speaking--it was as if he had said they were afraid of a cross
+dog.
+
+“Do you ever see any ghosts around here?” I continued.
+
+“Never see ’em,” he answered, as if I had mentioned tramps or
+partridges. “Never hear ’em. Sort o’ feel ’em ’round sometimes.”
+
+“Are you afraid of them?” I asked.
+
+“Nope,” he declared. “I ain’t skeered o’ ghosts; I’m skeered o’
+nightmares. Ever have nightmares?”
+
+“Very seldom,” I replied.
+
+“I do,” he returned. “Allus have the same nightmare--big sow, big as a
+steer, trying to eat me up. Wake up so skeered I could run to never.
+Nowheres to run to. Go to sleep, and have it again. Wake up worse
+skeered than ever. Dad says it’s buckwheat cakes in summer.”
+
+“You must have teased a sow some time,” I said.
+
+“Yep,” he answered. “Teased a big sow wunst, holding up one of her pigs
+by the hind leg. Teased her too long. Fell in the pen and got bit up
+some. Wisht I hadn’t ’a’ teased her. Have that nightmare three times a
+week sometimes. Worse’n being burnt out. Worse’n ghosts. Say, I sorter
+feel ghosts around now.”
+
+He was not trying to frighten me. He was as simply stating an opinion
+as if he had spoken of bats or mosquitoes. I made no reply, and found
+myself listening involuntarily. My pipe went out. I did not really
+want another, but felt disinclined for bed as yet, and was comfortable
+where I was, while the smell of the ailanthus blossoms was very
+disagreeable. I filled my pipe again, lit it, and then, as I puffed,
+somehow dozed off for a moment.
+
+I awoke with a sensation of some light fabric trailed across my face.
+The boy’s position was unchanged.
+
+“Did you do that?” I asked sharply.
+
+“Ain’t done nary thing,” he rejoined. “What was it?”
+
+“It was like a piece of mosquito-netting brushed over my face.”
+
+“That ain’t netting,” he asserted; “that’s a veil. That’s one of the
+ghosts. Some blow on you; some touch you with their long, cold fingers.
+That one with the veil she drags acrosst your face--well, mostly I
+think it’s ma.”
+
+He spoke with the unassailable conviction of the child in “We Are
+Seven.” I found no words to reply, and rose to go to bed.
+
+“Good night,” I said.
+
+“Good night,” he echoed. “I’ll set out here a spell yet.”
+
+I lit a match, found the candle I had stuck on the corner of the shabby
+little bureau, and undressed. The bed had a comfortable husk mattress,
+and I was soon asleep.
+
+I had the sensation of having slept some time when I had a
+nightmare--the very nightmare the boy had described. A huge sow, big
+as a dray horse, was reared up on her forelegs over the foot-board of
+the bed, trying to scramble over to me. She grunted and puffed, and I
+felt I was the food she craved. I knew in the dream that it was only a
+dream, and strove to wake up.
+
+Then the gigantic dream-beast floundered over the foot-board, fell
+across my shins, and I awoke.
+
+I was in darkness as absolute as if I were sealed in a jet vault, yet
+the shudder of the nightmare instantly subsided, my nerves quieted;
+I realized where I was, and felt not the least panic. I turned over
+and was asleep again almost at once. Then I had a real nightmare, not
+recognizable as a dream, but appallingly real--an unutterable agony of
+reasonless horror.
+
+There was a Thing in the room; not a sow, nor any other namable
+creature, but a Thing. It was as big as an elephant, filled the room to
+the ceiling, was shaped like a wild boar, seated on its haunches, with
+its forelegs braced stiffly in front of it. It had a hot, slobbering,
+red mouth, full of big tusks, and its jaws worked hungrily. It shuffled
+and hunched itself forward, inch by inch, till its vast forelegs
+straddled the bed.
+
+The bed crushed up like wet blotting-paper, and I felt the weight of
+the Thing on my feet, on my legs, on my body, on my chest. It was
+hungry, and I was what it was hungry for, and it meant to begin on my
+face. Its dripping mouth was nearer and nearer.
+
+Then the dream-helplessness that made me unable to call or move
+suddenly gave way, and I yelled and awoke. This time my terror was
+positive and not to be shaken off.
+
+It was near dawn: I could descry dimly the cracked, dirty window-panes.
+I got up, lit the stump of my candle and two fresh ones, dressed
+hastily, strapped my ruined valise, and put it on the porch against the
+wall near the door. Then I called the boy. I realized quite suddenly
+that I had not told him my name or asked his.
+
+I shouted “Hello!” a few times, but won no answer. I had had enough of
+that house. I was still permeated with the panic of the nightmare. I
+desisted from shouting, made no search, but with two candles went out
+to the kitchen. I took a swallow of cold coffee and munched a biscuit
+as I hustled my belongings into my hampers. Then, leaving a silver
+dollar on the table, I carried the hampers out on the porch and dumped
+them by my valise.
+
+It was now light enough to see to walk, and I went out to the road.
+Already the night-dew had rusted much of the wreck, making it look more
+hopeless than before. It was, however, entirely undisturbed. There was
+not so much as a wheel-track or a hoof-print on the road. The tall,
+white stone, uncertainty about which had caused my disaster, stood like
+a sentinel opposite where I had upset.
+
+I set out to find that blacksmith shop. Before I had gone far the sun
+rose clear from the horizon, and almost at once scorching. As I footed
+it along I grew very much heated, and it seemed more like ten miles
+than six before I reached the first house. It was a new frame house,
+neatly painted and close to the road, with a white-washed fence along
+its garden front.
+
+I was about to open the gate when a big black dog with a curly tail
+bounded out of the bushes. He did not bark, but stood inside the gate
+wagging his tail and regarding me with a friendly eye; yet I hesitated
+with my hand on the latch, and considered. The dog might not be as
+friendly as he looked, and the sight of him made me realize that
+except for the boy I had seen no creature about the house where I had
+spent the night; no dog or cat; not even a toad or bird. While I was
+ruminating upon this a man came from behind the house.
+
+“Will your dog bite?” I asked.
+
+“Naw,” he answered; “he don’t bite. Come in.”
+
+I told him I had had an accident to my automobile, and asked if he
+could drive me to the blacksmith shop and back to my wreckage.
+
+“Cert,” he said. “Happy to help you. I’ll hitch up foreshortly. Wher’d
+you smash?”
+
+“In front of the gray house about six miles back,” I answered.
+
+“That big stone-built house?” he queried.
+
+“The same,” I assented.
+
+“Did you go a-past here?” he inquired astonished. “I didn’t hear ye.”
+
+“No,” I said; “I came from the other direction.”
+
+“Why,” he meditated, “you must ’a’ smashed ’bout sunup. Did you come
+over them mountains in the dark?”
+
+“No,” I replied; “I came over them yesterday evening. I smashed up
+about sunset.”
+
+“Sundown!” he exclaimed. “Where in thunder’ve ye been all night?”
+
+“I slept in the house where I broke down.”
+
+“In that there big stone-built house in the trees?” he demanded.
+
+“Yes,” I agreed.
+
+“Why,” he quavered excitedly, “that there house is haunted! They say if
+you have to drive past it after dark, you can’t tell which side of the
+road the big white stone is on.”
+
+“I couldn’t tell even before sunset,” I said.
+
+“There!” he exclaimed. “Look at that, now! And you slep’ in that house!
+Did you sleep, honest?”
+
+“I slept pretty well,” I said. “Except for a nightmare, I slept all
+night.”
+
+“Well,” he commented, “I wouldn’t go in that there house for a farm,
+nor sleep in it for my salvation. And you slep’! How in thunder did you
+get in?”
+
+“The boy took me in,” I said.
+
+“What sort of a boy?” he queried, his eyes fixed on me with a queer,
+countrified look of absorbed interest.
+
+“A thick-set, freckle-faced boy with a harelip,” I said.
+
+“Talk like his mouth was full of mush?” he demanded.
+
+“Yes,” I said; “bad case of cleft palate.”
+
+“Well!” he exclaimed. “I never did believe in ghosts, and I never did
+half believe that house was haunted, but I know it now. And you slep’!”
+
+“I didn’t see any ghosts,” I retorted irritably.
+
+“You seen a ghost for sure,” he rejoined solemnly. “That there harelip
+boy’s been dead six months.”
+
+                                                                   1905
+
+
+
+
+                            SORCERY ISLAND
+
+
+
+
+                            SORCERY ISLAND
+
+
+WHEN I regained consciousness I was on my feet, standing erect, near
+enough to my burning aeroplane to feel the warmth radiated by the
+crackling flames with which every part of it was ablaze; far enough
+from it to be, despite the strong breeze, much more aware of the fierce
+heat of the late forenoon sunrays beating down on me from almost
+overhead out of the cloudless sky. My shadow, much shorter than I, was
+sharply outlined before me on the intensely white sand of the beach;
+which dazzling expanse, but a few paces to my right, ended abruptly
+in an almost straight line, at a little bank of about eight inches
+of exposed blackish loam, beyond which was dense tropical vegetation
+gleaming in the brilliant sunshine. Not much farther away on my left
+were great patches, almost heaps, fathoms long, yards wide and one or
+even two or three feet high, of unwholesome looking grayish white slimy
+foam, like persistent dirty soap-bubbles, strung along the margin of
+the sparkling dry sand, between it and the swishes of hissing froth
+that lashed lazily up from the sluggish breakers in which ended the
+long, broad-backed, sleepy swells of the endlessly recurrent ocean
+surges. As there was no cloud in the dark blue firmament, so there
+was no sail, no funnel-smoke in sight on the deep blue sea. Overhead,
+against the intense blue sky, whirled uncountable flocks of garishly
+pink flamingoes, some higher, some lower, crossing and recrossing each
+other, grotesque, flashing, and amazing in their myriads.
+
+To my scrutinizing gaze, as to my first glance, it was manifest that
+there was no indication of wreckage, breakage or injury to any part of
+my aeroplane visible through the flames now fast consuming it. No bone
+of me was broken, no ligament strained. I had not a bruise on me, not a
+scratch. I did not feel shaken or jarred, my garments were untorn and
+not even rumpled or mussed. I conjectured at once, what is my settled
+opinion after long reflection, that I, in my stupor or trance or daze
+or whatever it was, had made some sort of a landing, had unstrapped
+myself, had clambered out of the fuselage, had staggered away from it,
+and had fainted; and that, while I was unconscious, some one had set
+fire to my aeroplane.
+
+As I stood there on the beach I was flogging my memory to make it
+bridge over my interval of unconsciousness and I recollected vividly
+what had preceded my lapse and every detail of my sensations. I had
+been flying my aeroplane between the wide blue sky, unvaried by any
+cloud, and the wide blue sea, unbroken by any sign of sail, steamer or
+island. Then I descried a difference of appearance at one point of the
+horizon forward and on my right and steered towards it. Soon I made
+sure of a low island ahead of me.
+
+Up to that instant I had never, in all my life, had anything resembling
+a delusion or even any thoughts that could be called queer. But, just
+as I made certain that I was approaching an island, there popped into
+my head, for no assignable reason, the recollection of the flock of
+white geese on my grandmother’s farm and of how I, when seven years old
+or so, or maybe only six or perhaps even younger, used to make a pet
+of an unusually large and most uncommonly docile and friendly white
+gander, used to fondle him, and, in particular, used to straddle him
+and fairly ride about on him, he flapping his wings and squawking.
+
+While I was wondering what in the world had made me think of that
+gander, all of a sudden, as I neared the island and would soon be over
+it, I had an indubitable delusion. Instead of seeing before me and
+about me the familiar parts of my aeroplane, I seemed to see nothing
+but sky and sea and myself astraddle of an enormous white gander,
+longer than a canoe, and bigger than a dray-horse; I seemed to see
+his immense, dazzlingly white wings, ten yards or more in spread,
+rhythmically beating the air on either side of me; I seemed to see,
+straight out in front of me, his long white neck, the flattened,
+rounded top of his big head, and the tip of his great yellow bill
+against the sky; what was more, instead of seeing my knees clad in
+khaki, my calves swathed in puttees and my feet in brown boots, I
+seemed to see my knees in blue corduroy knickerbockers, my legs in blue
+ribbed woolen stockings, against the white feathers of that gigantic
+dream-gander’s back, and my feet sticking out on either side of him
+encased in low, square-toed shoes of black leather, of the cut one sees
+in pictures of Continental soldiers or of Benjamin Franklin as a lad,
+their big silver buckles plain to me against the blueness of the ocean
+far below me.
+
+After being swallowed up in this astounding hallucination, which I
+vividly recalled, I remembered nothing until I came to myself, standing
+on the beach by what was left of my blazing aeroplane.
+
+While struggling to recollect what I could remember and trying to
+surmise what had happened during my unconsciousness, I had been
+surveying my surroundings. On one hand I saw only the limitless and
+unvaried ocean from which came the cool sea-breeze that fanned my
+left cheek and stirred my hair under the visor of my cap; on the
+other opened a wide, flat-floored valley, bounded by low hills,
+the highest, at the head of the valley, not over ninety feet above
+sea-level, crowned by a huge palatial building of pinkish stone, its
+two lofty stories topped by an ornate carved balustrade above which
+no roof showed, so that I inferred that the roof was flat. The hills
+shutting in my view on either side, lower and lower towards the
+sea, were rounded and covered with a dense growth of scrubby trees,
+not quite tall enough to be called forest. Close to the beach and
+hills, on each side of the valley, was what looked like a sort of
+model garden village. That on my right, as I faced inland, was of
+closely-set one-story cottages, bowered in flowering vines, under
+a grove of handsome, exotic-looking trees. The other, which I saw
+beyond the slackening flames above the embers of my aeroplane, was of
+roomy, broad-verandahed, two-story villas, generously spaced, beneath
+magnificent young shade-trees, mostly loaded with brilliant flowers.
+
+As I was looking at the valley, the villages, the palace on the
+hill-top and from one to the other, with now and then a glance
+overhead at the hosts of wheeling flamingoes, I thought I had a second
+hallucination. I seemed to see, along a path through the riotous
+greenery, a human figure approaching me, but, when it drew near and I
+seemed to see it more clearly, I felt that it must be a figment of my
+imagination.
+
+It was that of a tall, perfectly formed and gracefully moving young
+man. But, under the scorching rays of that caustic sunshine he was
+bareheaded and his shock of abundant, wavy and brilliantly yellow
+golden hair was bobbed off short below his ears like the hair of
+Italian page-boys in early Florentine and Venetian paintings. His
+eyes were very bright and a very light blue, his cheeks rosy, his
+bare neck pinkish. He was clad only in a tight-fitting stockinet
+garment of green silk, something like the patent underwear shown in
+advertising pictures. It looked very new, very silky and very green,
+and as unsuitable as possible for the climate, for its long, clinging
+sleeves reached to his wrists and the tight legs of it sheathed him
+to his ankles. His feet were encased in high laced shoes of a very
+bright, and apparently very soft, yellow leather, with (I was sure he
+was an hallucination) _every one of the five toes of each formed
+separately_.
+
+Just as I was about to rub my eyes to banish this disconcerting
+apparition, I recognized him and saw him recognize me.
+
+It was Pembroke!
+
+His face, as he recognized me, did not express pleasure; what mine
+expressed, besides amazement, I could not conjecture. All in a
+flash my mind ran over what I knew of him and had heard. We had
+first met as freshmen and had seen little of each other during
+our life as classmates. Pembroke, at college, had been noted as
+the handsomest student of his day; as the youngest student of his
+class; as surrounding himself with the most luxurious furnishings,
+the most beautiful and costly pictures, bronzes, porcelains and art
+objects ever known in the quarters of any student at our college;
+as very self-indulgent, yet so brilliantly gifted that he stood
+fifth or sixth in a large class with an unusual proportion of bright
+students; as daft about languages, music and birds, and, frequently
+descanting on the wickedness and folly of allowing wild bird-life to
+be all-but exterminated; as so capricious and erratic that most of his
+acquaintances thought him odd and his enemies said he was cracked.
+
+I had not seen him since our class dispersed after its graduation and
+the attendant ceremonies and festivities. I had heard that, besides
+having a very rich father, he had inherited, on his twenty-first
+birthday, an income of over four hundred thousand dollars a year and a
+huge accumulation of ready cash; that he had at once interested himself
+in the creation of refuges for migratory, rare and picturesque birds;
+that his fantastic whimsicalities and eccentricities had intensified so
+as to cause a series of quarrels and a complete estrangement between
+himself and his father; that he had bought an island somewhere and
+had absorbed himself in the fostering of wild bird-life and in the
+companionship of very questionable associates.
+
+He held out his hand and we shook hands.
+
+“You don’t seem injured or hurt at all, Denbigh,” he said. “How did you
+manage to get out of that blazing thing alive, let alone without any
+sign of scratch or scorch?”
+
+“I must have gotten out of it before it caught fire,” I replied. “I
+must have gone daffy or lost my wits as I drew over your island. I have
+no idea how I landed or why. The whole thing is a blank to me.”
+
+“You are lucky,” he said, matter-of-factly, “to have landed at all.
+If your mind wandered, it is a miracle you did not smash on the coral
+rocks on the other side of the island or on one of the outlying keys,
+or fall into the ocean and drown.
+
+“However, all’s well that ends well. Nothing can be salvaged from the
+wreckage of your conveyance, that is clear. What you need is a bracer,
+food, rest, a bath, sleep, fresh clothes and whatever else will soothe
+you. Come along. I’ll do all I can for you.”
+
+I followed him past the remnants of my aeroplane, along the beach, to
+the group of villas. Close to them and to the beach was a sort of park
+or open garden, with fountains playing and carved marble seats set here
+and there along concrete walks between beds of flowers, shrubberies,
+and trim lawns, all canopied by astonishingly vigorous and well-grown
+ornamental trees.
+
+As we approached the nearest villa I saw a family group on its veranda,
+obviously parents and children; also I heard some one whistling
+“Annie Laurie” so exquisitely as to evidence superlative artistry.
+As we passed the entrance to the villa I was amazed to recognize
+Radnor, another classmate. But, as he ran down the steps to greet me,
+I reflected that there was nothing really astonishing in a man as
+opulent as Pembroke having as dependable a physician as he could engage
+resident on his island nor anything unnatural in his choosing an
+acquaintance.
+
+“Denbigh,” said Pembroke, “has dropped on us out of the wide blue sky.
+His aeroplane has been demolished, so he’ll sojourn with us a while.”
+
+“You don’t seem to need me,” Radnor commented, conning me. “I see no
+blood and no indications of any broken bones. Can I patch you up,
+anywhere?”
+
+“Not a bruise on me, as far as I know,” I replied.
+
+“Then,” he laughed, “my prescription is two hours abed. Get undressed
+and horizontal and stay so till you really feel like getting up. And
+not more than one nip of Pembroke’s guest-brandy, either. Get flat with
+no unnecessary delay and sleep if you can.”
+
+As we went on I noted that neither Radnor close by nor Mrs. Radnor on
+the veranda seemed aware of anything remarkable in Pembroke’s attire;
+they must be habituated by him to it or to similar or even more
+fantastic raiment.
+
+We appeared to walk the length or width of the village, to the villa
+farthest from the beach. As we entered I had a glimpse on one hand
+of a parlor with an ample round center-table, inviting armchairs and
+walls lined with bookcases, through whose doors I espied some handsome
+bindings; on the other hand of a cozy dining-room with a polished
+table and beyond it a sideboard loaded with silverware and decorated
+porcelain.
+
+By the newel-post of the broad, easy stair stood a paragon of a Chinese
+butler.
+
+“Wu,” said Pembroke, “Mr. Denbigh is to occupy this house. Show him
+to his bedroom and call Fong. Mr. Denbigh needs him at once. And tell
+Fong that Mr. Denbigh has lost all his baggage and needs a change of
+clothes promptly.”
+
+Without any sudden movement or appearance of haste, without a word, he
+turned and was out of the villa and away before I could speak.
+
+I found myself domiciled in an abode delightfully situated, each
+outlook a charming picture, and inside admirably designed and lavishly
+provided with every imaginable comfort and luxury. The servants were
+all Chinese. One took care of the lawn, flowers and shrubberies,
+another swept the rooms; there was an unsurpassable Chinese cook,
+whom I never saw, and something I heard made me infer that he had a
+helper. I had at my beck a Chinese valet, a Chinese errand-boy and the
+deferential butler, who managed the house and anticipated my every want.
+
+Except for frequent baths I think I slept most of the ensuing
+forty-eight hours. What I swallowed I took in bed. My second
+breakfast on the island I ate in the dainty, exquisitely appointed
+dining-room. After that I had energy enough to loll in one of the
+rattan lounging-chairs on the veranda, comfortably clad in neat, cool,
+well-cut, well-fitting garments chosen from the amazing abundance which
+Fong had ready for me, how so exactly suitable for me I could not
+conjecture. I had not been long on the veranda when Radnor strolled by,
+whistling “The Carnival of Venice.” He came up and joined me. Early in
+our chat he said:
+
+“Probably you will be unable to refrain from asking questions; but I
+fancy that I shall feel at liberty to answer very few of your queries.
+Nearly everything I know about this island and about happenings on it
+I have learned not as a mere man or as a mere dweller here, but as
+Pembroke’s resident physician; it is all confidential. Most of what you
+learn here you’ll have to absorb by observation and inference. And I
+don’t mind telling you that the less you learn the better will Pembroke
+be pleased, and I likewise.”
+
+He did tell me that the villas were tenanted chiefly by the members of
+Pembroke’s private orchestra and band, mostly Hungarians, Bohemians,
+Poles and Italians, with such other satellites as a sculptor, an
+architect, an engineer, a machinist, a head carpenter, a tailor and
+an accountant. The other village was populated entirely by Asiatics,
+Chinese, Japanese, Hindoos, and others; who performed all the labor of
+the island.
+
+The next morning, about the same time, as I was similarly lounging on
+my veranda, Pembroke appeared, in the same bizarre attire, or lack of
+attire, in which I had previously seen him. He sat with me a half hour
+or so, asked courteously after my health and comfort and remarked:
+
+“I am glad you feel contented: you’ll probably abide here some time.”
+
+I said nothing. He glanced away from me, up under the edge of the
+veranda roof through the overarching boughs. My eyes followed his. I
+caught glints of pink from far-off flamingoes.
+
+“Glorious birds!” Pembroke exclaimed, rapturously. “They nest on
+several of the low outlying keys, which, with the coral-reefs scattered
+between them, make it impossible for any craft bigger than a cat-boat
+to approach this side of the island. They have multiplied amazingly
+since I began shepherding them. I love them! I glory in them!”
+
+At the word he left me, as abruptly and swiftly as after our first
+encounter.
+
+Thereafter, for some weeks of what I can describe only as luxuriously
+comfortable and very pleasant captivity, I diverted myself by reading
+the very well-chosen and varied books of the villa’s fairly large
+library, by getting acquainted with the inhabitants of the other
+villas, and by roaming about the lower part of the valley. The very
+evening of our chat Radnor had invited me to dinner, for which Fong
+fitted me out irreproachably, and at which I found Mrs. Radnor charming
+and the other guests, Conway the architect, and his wife and sister,
+very agreeable companions. After that I was a guest at dinner at one or
+another of the villas each evening, so that I lunched and breakfasted
+alone at my abode, but never dined there.
+
+Once only I inspected the other village and found its neatness and
+the apparent contentment of its inhabitants, especially the women and
+children, very charming. But I seemed to divine that they felt the
+presence of a European or American as an intrusion: I avoided the
+village thereafter.
+
+Some of the men of that village tended the trees, shrubberies, vines
+and gardens of the valley, and kept it a paradise, luxuriant with every
+sort of fruit and vegetable which could be grown in that soil and
+climate.
+
+I saw nothing more of Pembroke and found that I could not approach
+his palace on the hill-top, for there was an extremely adequate steel
+fence of tall L-irons, sharp at the top, across the valley and down
+to the beach beyond either village, which barrier was patrolled by
+heavily-built, muscular guards, seemingly Scotch and not visibly
+armed, who respectfully intimated that no one passed any of its gates,
+or along either beach, without Mr. Pembroke’s express permit. Very
+seldom did I so much as catch a glimpse of Pembroke on the terraces
+of his palace, but I did see on them knots, even bevies, of women
+whose outlines, even at that distance, suggested that they were young
+and personable, certainly that they were gayly clad in bright-colored
+silks. Near or with them I saw no man, excepting Asiatic servitors, and
+Pembroke himself, who powerfully suggested an oriental despot among his
+sultanas.
+
+By the inadvertent utterance of some one, I forget whom, I learned that
+the guards had a cantonment or barrack on the other side of the island.
+
+I enjoyed rambling about the valley, as far as I was permitted, for
+both the variety and the beauty of its products were amazing.
+
+Still more amazing to me was the number of ever-flowing ornamental
+fountains. The Bahamas are proverbially hampered by scanty water
+supply. But here I found, apparently, a superabundance of clear, pure,
+drinkable water. There was a fountain near the village, where a seated
+bronze figure, seemingly of some Asiatic god or saint unknown to me,
+held in each hand a great serpent grasped by its throat, and from the
+open mouth of each snake poured a spout of water into the basin before
+the statue. There were other fountains, each with a figure or group of
+figures of bronze, in the formal garden by the village of villas. And
+beyond it, set against the scooped-out flank of one of the range of
+enclosing hills, was a huge concrete edifice of basins and outstanding
+groups of statuary and statues and groups in niches, more or less
+reminiscent of the Fountain of Trevi. I was dumbfounded at the flow of
+water from this extravagantly ornate and overloaded structure. There
+were many jets squirting so as to cross each other in the air, even to
+interlace, as it were. But midway of the whole construction, behind the
+middle basin, was a sort of grotto with, centrally, an open entrance
+like a low doorway or manhole, on either side of which were two larger
+apertures like low latticed windows, filled in with elaborately
+patterned bronze gratings, through the lower part of which flowed two
+streams of water as copious as brooks, which cascaded into the main
+basin.
+
+Beyond this rococco fountain was a plot of ground enclosed by a hedge,
+serving as garden for a tiny cottage of one low story. In it lived an
+old Welsh woman, spoken of by the inhabitants of the village as “Mother
+Bevan.” She always wore the hideous Welsh national costume and hobbled
+about leaning on a stout malacca walking-stick with an ivory crosshead
+tipped with gold bosses. She cared for and delighted in a numerous
+flock of snow-white geese which somehow seemed thriving in this, one
+would suppose, for them far too tropical climate. Among them was a
+large and very handsome gander, which reminded me of my childhood’s
+pet. The flock spent much of its time swimming and splashing in the
+basins of the enormous grotto-fountain.
+
+When I asked Radnor about the abundance of water and its apparent
+waste, he said:
+
+“No mystery there nor any secrets. Pembroke could spend anything he
+pleased on wildcat artesian drilling and had the perverse luck to
+strike a generous flow just as his drillers were about to tell him
+that no humanly constructed implements could drill any deeper. It’s
+no spouting well, though, and a less opulent proprietor than Pembroke
+could not afford to pump it as he does. The power-station is on the
+other side of the island, near the harbor. It uses oil fuel of some
+kind. There is never any stint of water for any use and the surplus is
+made to do ornamental duty, as you see.”
+
+I was interested in the old Welsh woman and in her tiny cottage, so
+oddly discordant with the Italianate concrete fountain near it and the
+spacious villas not far off. Except the Asiatics of the village and the
+barrier-guards I had found affable every dweller on the island; most of
+them sociable. I accosted the grotesque old crone, as she leaned over
+her gate and discovered in her the unexpected peculiarity that all her
+answers were in rhyming lines, rather cleverly versified, which she
+uttered, indeed, slowly, in a measured voice, but without the slightest
+symptom of hesitation. Her demeanor was distinctly forbidding and her
+words by no means conciliatory. I recall only one of her doggerels,
+which ended our first interview:
+
+    “Man fallen out of the sky.
+    “God never intended us to fly.
+    “It’s impious to ascend so high.
+    “’Twas wicked of you ever to try.
+    “No lover of reprobates am I.”
+
+Except for this queer old creature I encountered no unfriendly word
+or look from any of my neighbors. I enjoyed the dinners to which I
+was invited and liked my fellow-guests at them; indeed I disliked no
+one with whom I talked; but, on the other hand, I was attracted to no
+one, and, while I felt entirely welcome wherever I was invited and
+altogether at my ease, and pleased to be invited again later, at no
+household did I feel free to drop in at odd times for casual chat. I
+found many congenial fellow-diners, but no one increasingly congenial,
+no one who impressed me as likely to be glad to have me call uninvited.
+
+Therefore, as I always loved the open air, as I somehow felt lonely
+on my own veranda and nowhere intimate enough to lounge on any other,
+I took to spending many hours of the mornings, before the heat of the
+midday grew intense, out in the shade of the little park, to which I
+was attracted by many of its charming features, especially by the pink
+masses of flowering bougainvillea here and there through it. I always
+carried a book, sometimes I read, oftener I merely gazed about at the
+enchanting vistas, overhead at the uncountable flamingoes, or between
+the trees out to seaward at the dazzling white heaps of billowy cumulus
+clouds, like titanic snow-clad mountains, bulging and growing on the
+towering thunder-heads forming against the vivid blue sky out over the
+ocean.
+
+I think it was on my second morning in the park that I caught a glimpse
+of Mother Bevan crossing a path at some distance. Later I caught other
+glimpses of her crossing other paths. Each morning I caught similar
+glimpses of her. On the fifth or sixth morning I suddenly became
+conscious of an inward impression that she was, again and again, making
+the circuit of the park, circling about me as it were, like a witch
+weaving a spell about an intended victim.
+
+Next morning I affected an absorption in my book and kept an alert, and
+I was certain, an imperceptible watch in all directions. I made sure
+that Mother Bevan was indeed perambulating the outer portions of the
+park, stumping along, leaning heavily on her cross-headed cane, and I
+made sure also that after she had completed one circuit about me she
+kept on her way and completed another and another.
+
+I was curious, puzzled, incensed; derisive of myself for so much as
+entertaining the idea of any one, in 1921, attempting witchcraft;
+concerned for fear that my wits were addled; and, while unable to rid
+myself of the notion, yet completely skeptical of any effect on me and
+unconscious of any.
+
+But, the very next day, seated on the same marble bench, by the same
+fountain, among the same pink masses of bougainvillea in flower, I was
+aware not only of Mother Bevan circumambulating the outskirts of the
+park, but also of her numerous flock of noisy, self-important, white
+geese waddling about, not far from me, and indubitably walking round
+and round me in ever lessening circles, the big gander always nearest
+me. At first I felt incredulous, then silly, then resentful. And, as
+the gander, now and then honking, circled about me for the fifth or
+sixth time, I became conscious of an inner impulse, of an all but
+overmastering inner impulse, to seek out Pembroke and to tell him that
+I was willing to do anything he wanted me to do; to pledge myself to do
+anything he wanted me to do.
+
+I took alarm. I felt, shamefacedly, but vividly, that I was being made
+the subject of some sort of attempted necromancy. All of a sudden I
+found myself aflame with resentment, with hatred of that gander. I
+leapt to my feet, I hurled my book at him, I ran after him, I threw
+at him my bamboo walking-stick, barely missing him. I retrieved the
+walking-stick and pursued the retreating bird, and threw the cane at
+him a second time, almost hitting him.
+
+The geese half waddled, half flew towards the beetling atrocities of
+the ornate rococco hill-side fountain; I followed, still infuriated.
+There was, along the walk before the fountain, an edging of lumps of
+coral rock defining the border of the flower-beds. I picked up an
+armful of the smaller pieces of angular coral rock, chased the geese
+into the big main basin of the fountain and pelted that gander with
+jagged chunks of coral. He fled through the central manhole into the
+grotto and hissed at me through one of the gratings, behind which he
+was safe from my missiles.
+
+Suddenly overwhelmed by a revulsion of shame and a tendency to laugh
+at myself, I beat a retreat to my veranda. There I sat, pondering my
+situation and my experiences.
+
+I recalled that, at every dinner to which I had been invited, there
+had been, practically, but two subjects of conversation: the boredom
+of life on tropical islands in general and on Pembroke island in
+particular; and the worth, the fine qualities, the charm, the
+perfection of Pembroke himself.
+
+I watched a chance to find Radnor at leisure, to waylay him, to entice
+him to my veranda. When the atmosphere of our talk seemed auspicious, I
+said:
+
+“See here, Radnor! I know you said you meant to elude any queries I
+might put to you, but there is one question you’ll have to answer,
+somehow. Why are all these people here?”
+
+“That is easy,” Radnor laughed. “I have no objection to answering that
+question. They are here because Pembroke wants them here.”
+
+“I didn’t phrase my question well,” I said, “but you know what I mean.
+No one I have met really likes being here. Why do they stay?”
+
+“That’s easy, too,” Radnor smiled. “Almost anyone will stay almost
+anywhere if lodged comfortably and paid enough. Pembroke provides his
+hirelings with an overplus of luxuries and is more than liberal in
+payment.”
+
+“That does not explain what intrigues me,” I pursued. “I haven’t yet
+hit on the right words to express my idea. But you really understand
+me, I think, though you pretend you don’t. All the inhabitants of these
+villas are not merely uneasy, they are consciously homesick, acutely
+homesick, homesick to a degree which no luxurious surroundings, no
+prospective savings could alleviate. They are pining for home. What
+keeps them here?”
+
+“Put it down,” said Radnor, weightily, “to the unescapable charm of the
+island. That keeps them here.”
+
+“Did you say witchery or enchantment?” I queried, meaningly.
+
+Radnor was emphatic.
+
+“I said charm!” he uttered. “Let it go at that.”
+
+“I am not in the least inclined,” I retorted, “to let it go at that. I
+take it that this is no joke, certainly not anything to be dismissed by
+a clever play on words. I insist on knowing what makes all these people
+stay here. They all declare, at every opportunity, that they are dying
+of ennui, that the climate is uncongenial, that they long for temperate
+skies, for northern vegetation, for frosty nights. What keeps them
+here?”
+
+“I tell you,” said Radnor, “that, like me, most human beings will do
+anything, anything lawful and reasonable, if paid high enough.”
+
+“The rest aren’t like you,” I asserted. “You and Mrs. Radnor impress
+me as free agents, doing, for a consideration, what you have been
+asked to do, and what you both, after weighing the pros and cons, have
+agreed to do. All the others, Europeans, Americans and Asiatics, except
+Mother Bevan, appear like beings hypnotized and moving in a trance,
+mere living automatons, without any will of their own, actuated solely
+by Pembroke’s will; as much so as if they were mechanical dolls. They
+impress me as being mesmerized or bewitched. I seriously vow that
+I believe they have been subjected to some supernatural or magical
+influence. They are as totally dominated by Pembroke as if they were
+the ends of his fingers.”
+
+Radnor looked startled.
+
+“It will do no good,” I cried, “to contradict me or to deny it.”
+
+“I believe you,” Radnor said, as if thinking out loud. He went on:
+
+“You are right. Except Mother Bevan and me and Lucille every human
+being on this island is completely under Pembroke’s influence, gained
+largely through the help of Mother Bevan.”
+
+“Why not you and your wife?” I queried.
+
+“Lucille, because of me,” he replied. “Pembroke found out, by trying
+Melville here and Kennard, that, after being put under his influence,
+while retaining surgical skill, a physician loses all ability to
+diagnose and prescribe. He had to ship Kennard and Melville back home,
+and pension them till their faculties recovered their tone.”
+
+I looked him straight in the eyes. He forestalled my impending outburst
+by saying:
+
+“As far as I can discern, Pembroke’s influence over his retainers does
+them no harm, physical or mental. Kennard and Melville have as large
+incomes and as many patients and are as successful and prosperous, as
+popular and prominent among their fellow-physicians as if they had
+never sojourned here. Except in their enthusiasm for and admiration of
+Pembroke every human being on this island appears to me as healthy as
+if not under any influence of any kind.”
+
+“Even so,” I blurted out, “you ought not to abet any such deviltries.”
+
+“I don’t admit,” said Radnor, hotly, “that any deviltries exist on
+this island or that there is any approach to deviltry in what you have
+partly divined. Also I abet nothing, as I ought, but, as I also ought,
+I conceive that I am under obligations not to thwart Pembroke in any
+way. I am the island’s resident physician and his personal physician;
+I am here to treat injuries, cure maladies, relieve pain, and do all
+I can to keep healthy every dweller on this island. I live up to my
+conception of my duty. Don’t attempt to preach at me.”
+
+“I am impatient,” I said, “at my enforced stay here, and revolted at
+the idea of succumbing to Pembroke’s influence.”
+
+Radnor laughed.
+
+“You are,” he said, “the only human being who has reached the island,
+since Pembroke bought it, uninvited. You’ll get away by and by. And you
+are most unlikely to be affected by anything he or Mother Bevan may
+have in their power to do. Neither Kennard nor Melville ever suspected
+anything, or grew suspicious. You alone have half seen through the
+situation here. You are Mother Bevan’s most refractory subject, so far.
+Have no fear.”
+
+He went off, whistling Strauss’ Blue Danube Waltz.
+
+I had frequent and recurrent fears, but I dissembled them. I think,
+among all the terrors which haunted me during the remainder of my
+sojourn on the island, that I came nearest to panic and horror within
+an hour after Radnor had left me. Hardly was he gone when Pembroke,
+arrayed precisely as before and reminding me of a stage-frog in a
+goblin pantomime, sauntered up and seated himself by me.
+
+I sweated with tremors of dismay, I was ready to despair, when I found
+myself, however I tried, unable to utter a word to him concerning the
+gander, Mother Bevan, or my suspicions; unable even to allude to the
+subject in any way, although he asked me bluntly:
+
+“Have you anything to complain of?”
+
+“Only that I am here,” I replied.
+
+“I had nothing to do with your coming here,” he retorted. “You came
+uninvited, of your own accord, or by accident. I trust I have been a
+courteous host, but I have not tried to pretend that you are welcome.
+I am endeavoring to arrange that your departure shall not entail upon
+me any inconvenience or any danger of disadvantageous consequences.
+Believe me, I am doing all I can to expedite your return to your
+normal haunts. Meantime you’ll have to be patient.”
+
+I was most impatient and very nearly frantic at finding myself, no
+matter how I struggled inwardly, totally unable so much as to refer or
+allude to what lay heaviest on my mind.
+
+We exchanged vaguely generalized sentences for awhile and he left as
+abruptly as before, left me quivering with consternation, dreading that
+my inability to broach the subject on which I was eager to beard him
+was a premonition of my total enthrallment to Pembroke’s influence.
+
+As the days passed I became habituated to stoning that uncanny gander,
+chasing him into the basin of the fountain and having him hiss at me
+from behind one of the gratings; I became indifferent to the glimpses
+I caught of Mother Bevan hovering in the middle distance. I had a good
+appetite for my meals: in fact, the food set before me at my abode
+would have awakened the most finicky dyspeptic to zest and relish, even
+to voracity; while the dinners to which I was invited were delectable.
+
+But from night to night I slept less and less, until I was near
+insomnia. And, from day to day, I found it more and more difficult to
+absorb myself in reading, to keep my mind on what I read; even to read
+at all.
+
+Again I waylaid Radnor. I described to him my progressively worsening
+discomfort and distress.
+
+“I am now,” I said, “or soon shall be, not merely in need of your help,
+but beyond any help from you or anybody. If you don’t do something for
+me I’ll go crazy, I’ll do something desperate, I’ll commit suicide.”
+
+“I have been pondering,” he said, “how to help you, and I have almost
+hit upon a method. Your condition does not yet justify my giving you
+anything to make you sleep. As yet I do not want to give you any sort
+of drug, not even the simplest sedative. Honestly try to get to sleep
+to-night. Before to-morrow I think I’ll hit upon an entirely suitable
+prescription, salutary for you and yet avoiding any appearance, any
+hint, of my antagonizing Pembroke.”
+
+I did try to sleep that night, but I was still wide awake long after
+midnight. So tossing and turning on my comfortable bed, I heard outside
+in the moonless darkness some one whistling a tune. As the sound came
+nearer I made sure it was Radnor. Also I recognized the tune.
+
+It was that of “The Ballad of Nell Flaherty’s Drake.”
+
+The tune brought to my mind the words of the song’s refrain:
+
+                “The dear little fellow,
+                “His legs were so yellow,
+    “He could fly like a swallow and swim like a hake!
+                “Bad luck to the tober,
+                “The haythen cashlober,
+    “The monsther thot murthered Nell Flaherty’s drake!”
+
+All of a sudden I conceived that this was Radnor’s method of intimating
+to me by indirection what he did not dare to utter to me in plain
+words. I thought I knew what he meant as well as if it had been put
+into the plainest words. I rolled over, was asleep in three breaths,
+and slept till Fong ventured to waken me.
+
+After breakfast I went upstairs again and rummaged about in the closet
+where Fong had deposited what I had worn when I came under his care. I
+found there everything I remembered to have had about me. My automatic
+was well oiled and in good working order and its clip of cartridges was
+full. My belt, with the extra clips of cartridges, was as it had been
+when I last put it on. I put it on, over my feather-weight hot-weather
+habiliments; I strapped on my automatic; I strolled out, intent on
+somehow coming within speaking distance of Pembroke.
+
+Chance, or some unconscious whim, guided my footsteps to the beach and,
+in spite of the rapidly intensifying heat of the sun rays, along it
+to the remaining fragments of my wreck, barely visible under a great
+accumulation of beach foam, left by the breakers, hurled shorewards
+during the thunder storm which had raged while I slept.
+
+Not far beyond those vestiges of what had been an aeroplane,
+approaching me along the beach, I encountered Pembroke.
+
+I found I had now no difficulty in speaking out my mind.
+
+“Pembroke,” I said, “I’m outdone with confinement on this island of
+yours. I’m irritated past endurance. If you don’t promptly speed me on
+my way elsewhere the tension inside me is going to get too much for me.
+Something inside me is going to snap and I’ll do something desperate,
+something you’ll regret.”
+
+He looked me straight in the eyes, handsome in his fantastic toggery;
+calm and cool, to all appearance.
+
+“Are you, by any chance,” he drawled, “threatening to shoot me?”
+
+“I haven’t made any threats,” I retorted, hotly, “and I have no
+intentions of shooting you or anybody. I realize that this island of
+yours is part of the British Empire and that in no part of it are
+homicides or murderous assaults condoned or left unpunished. But,
+since you use the word ‘threat,’ I am ready to make a threat. If you
+don’t soon set me free of my present captivity, if you don’t soon put
+me in the way of getting home, I’ll not shoot you or any human being,
+but I will shoot that devilish gander; and, I promise you, if I shoot
+at him I’ll hit him and if I hit him I’ll kill him. I fancy those are
+plain words and I conjecture that you understand me fully, with all the
+implications of what I say.”
+
+Pembroke’s expression of face appeared to me to indicate not only
+amazement and surprise, but the emotions of a man at a loss and
+momentarily helpless in the face of wholly unexpected circumstances.
+
+“You come with me!” he snapped.
+
+I followed him along the beach to the village, and, as we went,
+wondered to see him apparently comfortable in his tight-fitting suit
+and bare headed beneath the fierce radiance of the merciless sun rays,
+while I rejoiced in my flimsy garments and at being sheltered under the
+very adequate Panama I had chosen from the headgear Fong had offered me.
+
+We passed the end of the steel picket fence, the two beach guards
+saluting Pembroke, and, I thought, suppressing a tendency to grin at
+me. Just around the point was a wide aviation field with a long row of
+hangars opposite the beach. I marveled, for I had caught no glimpse of
+any avion in the air over or about the island.
+
+A half dozen Asiatics, apparently Annamites, rose as we approached and
+stood respectfully, eyes on Pembroke. He uttered some sort of order in
+a tongue unknown to me and two of them set wide open the doors of one
+of the hangars. In it, to my amazement, I saw a Visconti biplane, one
+of the fastest and most powerful single-seaters ever built.
+
+“What do you think of that?” Pembroke queried.
+
+“I am astonished,” I answered. “I was certain that no specimen of this
+type of machine had ever been on this side of the Atlantic.”
+
+“This is the first and only Visconti to be set up on this side of the
+ocean,” he replied. “The point is; could you fly it?”
+
+“I think I could,” I said, “and I am sure I could try.”
+
+“Try then,” Pembroke snapped. “I make you a present of it. The sooner
+you’re off and away the better I’ll be pleased.”
+
+He spoke at some length, apparently in the same unknown tongue, and
+strode off towards his palace.
+
+I spent that day and most of the next going over that Visconti biplane,
+with the deft, quick assistance of the docile Annamites. If there was
+anything about it defective, untrustworthy or out of order I could not
+find it. On the third morning (I had dined at Radnor’s both evenings),
+equipped admirably by Fong, who instantly provided me with whatever I
+asked for, I rose in that Visconti biplane, and, contrary to my fears,
+reached Miami in safety. But I was so overstrained by anxiety that it
+required six weeks in a sanitarium to make me myself again. During
+those, apparently, endless hours in the air I had been expecting every
+moment that something cunningly arranged beforehand and undiscoverable
+to my scrutiny in my inspections and reinspections, was going to go
+wrong with my conveyance and instantaneously annihilate me. The strain
+all but finished me. However, all’s well that ends well.
+
+                                                                   1922
+
+
+
+
+                               AFTERWORD
+
+
+
+
+                               AFTERWORD
+
+
+EIGHT of the stories in this book I did not compose. I dreamed them,
+and in each the dream or nightmare needed little or no modification to
+make a story of it.
+
+The one exception is Floki’s Blade, which is based on an alleged
+nightmare narrated to me by an acquaintance, who, when I said that I
+should like to make a story of it, declared that he made me a present
+of the ideas in the dream. From what he told me I have taken the
+conception of the magic sword, conferring on its wielder superhuman
+strength and also potent to discern foe from friend; likewise the
+locality of the tale; all the rest is mine.
+
+The latter part of Alfandega 49A I dreamed, as now written, after I
+heard of the manner of the death of my acquaintance whom I have renamed
+Pake.
+
+Lukundoo was written after my nightmare without any manipulation of
+mine, just as I dreamed it. But I should never have dreamed it had I
+not previously read H. G. Wells’ very much better story, “Pollock and
+the Porroh Man.” Anyone interested in dreams might relish comparing the
+two tales. They have resemblant features, but are very unlike, and the
+differences are such as no waking intellect would invent, but such as
+come into a human mind only in a nightmare dream.
+
+The others are paragon nightmares.
+
+The House of the Nightmare is written just as I dreamed it, word for
+word, since I had the concurrent sensations of reading the tale in
+print and of it all happening to me in the archaic times when all
+motor-cars were right-hand-drive and with gear-shift-levers outside
+the tonneau. The dream had the unusual peculiarity that I woke after
+the second nightmare, so shaken that my wife had to quiet and soothe
+me as if I had been a scared child; and then I went to sleep again and
+_finished the dream_! Its denouement came as a complete surprise
+to me, as much of a shock as the climax of The Snout or of Amina.
+
+It will be easy to realize that anyone dreaming such narratives as The
+Picture Puzzle, The Message on the Slate and The Pig-skin Belt just had
+to write them into stories to get them out of his system.
+
+                                           EDWARD LUCAS WHITE.
+
+
+
+
+                        =TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES=
+
+Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced
+quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and
+otherwise left unbalanced.
+
+Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant
+preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not
+changed.
+
+Inconsistent hyphens left as printed.
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75827 ***
diff --git a/75827-h/75827-h.htm b/75827-h/75827-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5172be3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75827-h/75827-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,10286 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html lang="en">
+<head>
+    <meta charset="UTF-8">
+    <title>
+      Lukundoo and Other Stories | Project Gutenberg
+    </title>
+    <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
+    <style>
+
+body {
+    margin-left: 10%;
+    margin-right: 10%;
+}
+
+/* General headers */
+
+h1 {
+    text-align: center;
+    clear: both;
+}
+
+h2 {
+    text-align: center;
+    font-weight: bold;
+    margin-top: 1em;
+    margin-bottom: 1em;
+    }
+
+p {
+    margin-top: .51em;
+    text-align: justify;
+    margin-bottom: .49em;
+    text-indent: 1.5em;
+}
+
+.nind {text-indent:0;}
+
+.nindc {text-align:center; text-indent:0;}
+
+.large {font-size: 125%;}
+
+.space-above2 { margin-top: 2em; }
+.space-below2 { margin-bottom: 2em; }
+
+.spa1 {
+    margin-top: 1em
+    }
+
+hr {
+    width: 33%;
+    margin-top: 2em;
+    margin-bottom: 2em;
+    margin-left: 33.5%;
+    margin-right: 33.5%;
+    clear: both;
+}
+
+hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;}
+@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} }
+
+hr.r5  {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 47.5%; margin-right: 47.5%;}
+
+div.chapter {page-break-before: always;}
+h2.nobreak  {page-break-before: avoid;}
+
+table {
+    margin-left: auto;
+    margin-right: auto;
+}
+table.autotable    { border-collapse: collapse; }
+table.autotable td { padding: 0.25em; }
+
+.tdl      {text-align: left;}
+.tdr      {text-align: right;}
+
+.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
+    /*  visibility: hidden;  */
+    position: absolute;
+    left: 92%;
+    font-size: small;
+    text-align: right;
+    font-style: normal;
+    font-weight: normal;
+    font-variant: normal;
+    text-indent: 0;
+} /* page numbers */
+
+.blockquot {
+    margin-left: 5%;
+    margin-right: 10%;
+}
+
+.right    {text-align: right;}
+
+.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;}
+
+/* Dropcap */
+
+.dropcap {
+  float: left;
+  font-size: 250%;
+  margin-top:-.7%;
+}
+
+p.dropcap:first-letter
+{
+  color: transparent;
+  visibility: hidden;
+  margin-left: -0.9em;
+}
+
+/* Images */
+
+img {
+    max-width: 100%;
+    width: 100%;
+    height: auto
+    }
+
+.width500 {
+    max-width: 500px
+    }
+
+.x-ebookmaker img {
+    width: 80%
+    }
+
+.x-ebookmaker .width500 {
+    width: 100%
+    }
+
+
+.figcenter {
+    margin: auto;
+    text-align: center;
+    page-break-inside: avoid;
+    max-width: 100%;
+}
+
+/* Poetry */
+/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */
+.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;}
+.poetry-container {text-align: center;}
+.poetry           {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;}
+.poetry .stanza   {margin: 1em auto;}
+.poetry .verse    {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;}
+
+/* Transcriber's notes */
+.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA;
+    color: black;
+    font-size:small;
+    padding:0.5em;
+    margin-bottom:5em;
+    font-family:sans-serif, serif;
+}
+
+/* Poetry indents */
+.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;}
+.poetry .indent12 {text-indent: 3em;}
+.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;}
+
+
+    </style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75827 ***</div>
+
+
+<figure class="figcenter width500" id="cover" style="width: 1728px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="1728" height="2560" alt="This is the tale of an American explorer in a remote section of Africa who incurs the wrath of the local witch doctor, who casts a spell on him.">
+</figure>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="nindc space-below2">
+LUKUNDOO AND OTHER STORIES</p>
+
+<hr class="r5">
+
+<p class="nindc">EDWARD LUCAS WHITE
+</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i001" style="width: 1043px;">
+  <img src="images/i001.jpg" width="1043" height="1803" alt="Title page of Lukundoo and other stories.">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h1>LUKUNDOO<br>
+<i>AND OTHER STORIES</i></h1>
+
+
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="allsmcap">BY</span><br>
+<span class="large">EDWARD LUCAS WHITE</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-below2"><i>Author of</i><br>
+“EL SUPREMO,” “ANDIVIUS HEDULIO,”<br>
+“HELEN,” ETC.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i002" style="width: 150px;">
+  <img src="images/i002.jpg" width="150" height="150" alt="decorative">
+</figure>
+
+
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="allsmcap">GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</span><br>
+ON MURRAY HILL : : NEW YORK
+</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="nindc space-above2 space-below2">
+COPYRIGHT, 1906, 1925, 1927,<br>
+BY EDWARD LUCAS WHITE</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i003" style="width: 155px;">
+<img src="images/i003.jpg" width="155" height="120" alt="decorative">
+</figure>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2 space-below2">
+COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY THE BELLMAN COMPANY<br>
+COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY HENRY RIDDER, PUBLISHER</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2 space-below2">
+LUKUNDOO AND OTHER STORIES<br>
+—A—<br>
+PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2>
+</div>
+
+<table class="autotable" >
+<tbody><tr>
+<td class="tdr">I</td>
+<td class="tdl">LUKUNDOO,</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="tdr">II</td>
+<td class="tdl">FLOKI’S BLADE,</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="tdr">III</td>
+<td class="tdl">THE PICTURE PUZZLE,</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="tdr">IV</td>
+<td class="tdl">THE SNOUT,</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="tdr">V</td>
+<td class="tdl">ALFANDEGA 49A,</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="tdr">VI</td>
+<td class="tdl">THE MESSAGE ON THE SLATE,</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="tdr">VII</td>
+<td class="tdl">AMINA,</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="tdr">VIII</td>
+<td class="tdl">THE PIG-SKIN BELT,</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="tdr">IX</td>
+<td class="tdl">THE HOUSE OF THE NIGHTMARE,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="tdr">X</td>
+<td class="tdl">SORCERY ISLAND,</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td class="tdr"></td>
+<td class="tdl">AFTERWORD,</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_327">327</a></td>
+</tr>
+</tbody>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="LUKUNDOO">LUKUNDOO</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="LUKUNDOO_2">LUKUNDOO</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">I</span>T STANDS to reason,” said Twombly, “that a man must accept the
+evidence of his own eyes, and when eyes and ears agree, there can be no
+doubt. He has to believe what he has both seen and heard.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not always,” put in Singleton, softly.</p>
+
+<p>Every man turned toward Singleton. Twombly was standing on the
+hearth-rug, his back to the grate, his legs spread out, with his
+habitual air of dominating the room. Singleton, as usual, was as much
+as possible effaced in a corner. But when Singleton spoke he said
+something. We faced him in that flattering spontaneity of expectant
+silence which invites utterance.</p>
+
+<p>“I was thinking,” he said, after an interval, “of something I both saw
+and heard in Africa.”</p>
+
+<p>Now, if there was one thing we had found impossible it had been to
+elicit from Singleton anything definite about his African experiences.
+As with the Alpinist in the story, who could tell only that he went
+up and came down, the sum of Singleton’s revelations had been that he
+went there and came away. His words now riveted our attention at once.
+Twombly faded from the hearth-rug, but not one of us could ever recall
+having seen him go. The room readjusted itself, focused on Singleton,
+and there was some hasty and furtive lighting of fresh cigars.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>
+Singleton lit one also, but it went out immediately, and he never relit
+it.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">I</p>
+
+
+<p>We were in the Great Forest, exploring for pigmies. Van Rieten had
+a theory that the dwarfs found by Stanley and others were a mere
+cross-breed between ordinary negroes and the real pigmies. He hoped
+to discover a race of men three feet tall at most, or shorter. We had
+found no trace of any such beings.</p>
+
+<p>Natives were few; game scarce; food, except game, there was none; and
+the deepest, dankest, drippingest forest all about. We were the only
+novelty in the country, no native we met had even seen a white man
+before, most had never heard of white men. All of a sudden, late one
+afternoon, there came into our camp an Englishman, and pretty well used
+up he was, too. We had heard no rumor of him; he had not only heard
+of us but had made an amazing five-day march to reach us. His guide
+and two bearers were nearly as done up as he. Even though he was in
+tatters and had five days’ beard on, you could see he was naturally
+dapper and neat and the sort of man to shave daily. He was small, but
+wiry. His face was the sort of British face from which emotion has been
+so carefully banished that a foreigner is apt to think the wearer of
+the face incapable of any sort of feeling; the kind of face which, if
+it has any expression at all, expresses principally the resolution to
+go through the world decorously, without intruding upon or annoying
+anyone.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p>
+
+<p>His name was Etcham. He introduced himself modestly, and ate with us so
+deliberately that we should never have suspected, if our bearers had
+not had it from his bearers, that he had had but three meals in the
+five days, and those small. After we had lit up he told us why he had
+come.</p>
+
+<p>“My chief is ve’y seedy,” he said between puffs. “He is bound to go out
+if he keeps this way. I thought perhaps....”</p>
+
+<p>He spoke quietly in a soft, even tone, but I could see little beads of
+sweat oozing out on his upper lip under his stubby mustache, and there
+was a tingle of repressed emotion in his tone, a veiled eagerness in
+his eye, a palpitating inward solicitude in his demeanor that moved me
+at once. Van Rieten had no sentiment in him; if he was moved he did
+not show it. But he listened. I was surprised at that. He was just the
+man to refuse at once. But he listened to Etcham’s halting, diffident
+hints. He even asked questions.</p>
+
+<p>“Who is your chief?”</p>
+
+<p>“Stone,” Etcham lisped.</p>
+
+<p>That electrified both of us.</p>
+
+<p>“Ralph Stone?” we ejaculated together.</p>
+
+<p>Etcham nodded.</p>
+
+<p>For some minutes Van Rieten and I were silent. Van Rieten had never
+seen him, but I had been a classmate of Stone’s, and Van Rieten and I
+had discussed him over many a camp-fire. We had heard of him two years
+before, south of Luebo in the Balunda country, which had been ringing
+with his theatrical strife against a Balunda witch-doctor, ending in
+the sorcerer’s complete discomfiture and the abasement of his tribe
+before Stone. They had even broken the fetish-man’s whistle and given
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>
+Stone the pieces. It had been like the triumph of Elijah over the
+prophets of Baal, only more real to the Balunda.</p>
+
+<p>We had thought of Stone as far off, if still in Africa at all, and here
+he turned up ahead of us and probably forestalling our quest.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">II</p>
+
+
+<p>Etcham’s naming of Stone brought back to us all his tantalizing
+story, his fascinating parents, their tragic death; the brilliance
+of his college days; the dazzle of his millions; the promise of his
+young manhood; his wide notoriety, so nearly real fame; his romantic
+elopement with the meteoric authoress whose sudden cascade of fiction
+had made her so great a name so young, whose beauty and charm were so
+much heralded; the frightful scandal of the breach-of-promise suit
+that followed; his bride’s devotion through it all; their sudden
+quarrel after it was all over; their divorce; the too much advertised
+announcement of his approaching marriage to the plaintiff in the
+breach-of-promise suit; his precipitate remarriage to his divorced
+bride; their second quarrel and second divorce; his departure from his
+native land; his advent in the dark continent. The sense of all this
+rushed over me and I believe Van Rieten felt it, too, as he sat silent.</p>
+
+<p>Then he asked:</p>
+
+<p>“Where is Werner?”</p>
+
+<p>“Dead,” said Etcham. “He died before I joined Stone.”</p>
+
+<p>“You were not with Stone above Luebo?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Etcham, “I joined him at Stanley Falls.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who is with him?” Van Rieten asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Only his Zanzibar servants and the bearers,” Etcham replied.</p>
+
+<p>“What sort of bearers?” Van Rieten demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Mang-Battu men,” Etcham responded simply.</p>
+
+<p>Now that impressed both Van Rieten and myself greatly. It bore out
+Stone’s reputation as a notable leader of men. For up to that time no
+one had been able to use Mang-Battu as bearers outside of their own
+country, or to hold them for long or difficult expeditions.</p>
+
+<p>“Were you long among the Mang-Battu?” was Van Rieten’s next question.</p>
+
+<p>“Some weeks,” said Etcham. “Stone was interested in them and made up a
+fair-sized vocabulary of their words and phrases. He had a theory that
+they are an offshoot of the Balunda and he found much confirmation in
+their customs.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you live on?” Van Rieten inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Game, mostly,” Etcham lisped.</p>
+
+<p>“How long has Stone been laid up?” Van Rieten next asked.</p>
+
+<p>“More than a month,” Etcham answered.</p>
+
+<p>“And you have been hunting for the camp!” Van Rieten exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>Etcham’s face, burnt and flayed as it was, showed a flush.</p>
+
+<p>“I missed some easy shots,” he admitted ruefully. “I’ve not felt ve’y
+fit myself.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter with your chief?” Van Rieten inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Something like carbuncles,” Etcham replied.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p>
+
+<p>“He ought to get over a carbuncle or two,” Van Rieten declared.</p>
+
+<p>“They are not carbuncles,” Etcham explained. “Nor one or two. He has
+had dozens, sometimes five at once. If they had been carbuncles he
+would have been dead long ago. But in some ways they are not so bad,
+though in others they are worse.”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you mean?” Van Rieten queried.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” Etcham hesitated, “they do not seem to inflame so deep nor so
+wide as carbuncles, nor to be so painful, nor to cause so much fever.
+But then they seem to be part of a disease that affects his mind. He
+let me help him dress the first, but the others he has hidden most
+carefully, from me and from the men. He keeps his tent when they puff
+up, and will not let me change the dressings or be with him at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you plenty of dressings?” Van Rieten asked.</p>
+
+<p>“We have some,” said Etcham doubtfully. “But he won’t use them; he
+washes out the dressings and uses them over and over.”</p>
+
+<p>“How is he treating the swellings?” Van Rieten inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“He slices them off clear down to flesh level, with his razor.”</p>
+
+<p>“What?” Van Rieten shouted.</p>
+
+<p>Etcham made no answer but looked him steadily in the eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“I beg pardon,” Van Rieten hastened to say. “You startled me. They
+can’t be carbuncles. He’d have been dead long ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought I had said they are not carbuncles,” Etcham lisped.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But the man must be crazy!” Van Rieten exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>“Just so,” said Etcham. “He is beyond my advice or control.”</p>
+
+<p>“How many has he treated that way?” Van Rieten demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Two, to my knowledge,” Etcham said.</p>
+
+<p>“Two?” Van Rieten queried.</p>
+
+<p>Etcham flushed again.</p>
+
+<p>“I saw him,” he confessed, “through a crack in the hut. I felt impelled
+to keep a watch on him, as if he was not responsible.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should think not,” Van Rieten agreed. “And you saw him do that
+twice?”</p>
+
+<p>“I conjecture,” said Etcham, “that he did the like with all the rest.”</p>
+
+<p>“How many has he had?” Van Rieten asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Dozens,” Etcham lisped.</p>
+
+<p>“Does he eat?” Van Rieten inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Like a wolf,” said Etcham. “More than any two bearers.”</p>
+
+<p>“Can he walk?” Van Rieten asked.</p>
+
+<p>“He crawls a bit, groaning,” said Etcham simply.</p>
+
+<p>“Little fever, you say,” Van Rieten ruminated.</p>
+
+<p>“Enough and too much,” Etcham declared.</p>
+
+<p>“Has he been delirious?” Van Rieten asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Only twice,” Etcham replied; “once when the first swelling broke, and
+once later. He would not let anyone come near him then. But we could
+hear him talking, talking steadily, and it scared the natives.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was he talking their patter in delirium?” Van Rieten demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Etcham, “but he was talking some similar lingo. Hamed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>
+Burghash said he was talking Balunda. I know too little Balunda. I do
+not learn languages readily. Stone learned more Mang-Battu in a week
+than I could have learned in a year. But I seemed to hear words like
+Mang-Battu words. Anyhow the Mang-Battu bearers were scared.”</p>
+
+<p>“Scared?” Van Rieten repeated, questioningly.</p>
+
+<p>“So were the Zanzibar men, even Hamed Burghash, and so was I,” said
+Etcham, “only for a different reason. He talked in two voices.”</p>
+
+<p>“In two voices,” Van Rieten reflected.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Etcham, more excitedly than he had yet spoken. “In two
+voices, like a conversation. One was his own, one a small, thin, bleaty
+voice like nothing I ever heard. I seemed to make out, among the
+sounds the deep voice made, something like Mang-Battu words I knew,
+as <i>nedru</i>, <i>metebaba</i>, and <i>nedo</i>, their terms for
+‘head,’ ‘shoulder,’ ‘thigh,’ and perhaps <i>kudra</i> and <i>nekere</i>
+(‘speak’ and ‘whistle’); and among the noises of the shrill voice
+<i>matomipa</i>, <i>angunzi</i>, and <i>kamomami</i> (‘kill,’ ‘death,’
+and ‘hate’). Hamed Burghash said he also heard those words. He knew
+Mang-Battu far better than I.”</p>
+
+<p>“What did the bearers say?” Van Rieten asked.</p>
+
+<p>“They said, ‘<i>Lukundoo, Lukundoo!</i>’” Etcham replied. “I did not
+know that word; Hamed Burghash said it was Mang-Battu for ‘leopard.’”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Mang-Battu for ‘witchcraft,’” said Van Rieten.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t wonder they thought so,” said Etcham. “It was enough to make
+one believe in sorcery to listen to those two voices.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p>
+
+<p>“One voice answering the other?” Van Rieten asked perfunctorily.</p>
+
+<p>Etcham’s face went gray under his tan.</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes both at once,” he answered huskily.</p>
+
+<p>“Both at once!” Van Rieten ejaculated.</p>
+
+<p>“It sounded that way to the men, too,” said Etcham. “And that was not
+all.”</p>
+
+<p>He stopped and looked helplessly at us for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“Could a man talk and whistle at the same time?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“How do you mean?” Van Rieten queried.</p>
+
+<p>“We could hear Stone talking away, his big, deep-chested baritone
+rumbling along, and through it all we could hear a high, shrill
+whistle, the oddest, wheezy sound. You know, no matter how shrilly
+a grown man may whistle, the note has a different quality from the
+whistle of a boy or a woman or little girl. They sound more treble,
+somehow. Well, if you can imagine the smallest girl who could whistle
+keeping it up tunelessly right along, that whistle was like that, only
+even more piercing, and it sounded right through Stone’s bass tones.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you didn’t go to him?” Van Rieten cried.</p>
+
+<p>“He is not given to threats,” Etcham disclaimed. “But he had
+threatened, not volubly, nor like a sick man, but quietly and firmly,
+that if any man of us (he lumped me in with the men), came near him
+while he was in his trouble, that man should die. And it was not
+so much his words as his manner. It was like a monarch commanding
+respected privacy for a death-bed. One simply could not transgress.”</p>
+
+<p>“I see,” said Van Rieten shortly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p>
+
+<p>“He’s ve’y seedy,” Etcham repeated helplessly. “I thought perhaps....”</p>
+
+<p>His absorbing affection for Stone, his real love for him, shone out
+through his envelope of conventional training. Worship of Stone was
+plainly his master passion.</p>
+
+<p>Like many competent men, Van Rieten had a streak of hard selfishness
+in him. It came to the surface then. He said we carried our lives in
+our hands from day to day just as genuinely as Stone; that he did
+not forget the ties of blood and calling between any two explorers,
+but that there was no sense in imperiling one party for a very
+problematical benefit to a man probably beyond any help; that it was
+enough of a task to hunt for one party; that if two were united,
+providing food would be more than doubly difficult; that the risk
+of starvation was too great. Deflecting our march seven full days’
+journey (he complimented Etcham on his marching powers) might ruin our
+expedition entirely.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">III</p>
+
+
+<p>Van Rieten had logic on his side and he had a way with him. Etcham sat
+there apologetic and deferential, like a fourth-form schoolboy before a
+head master. Van Rieten wound up.</p>
+
+<p>“I am after pigmies, at the risk of my life. After pigmies I go.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps, then, these will interest you,” said Etcham, very quietly.</p>
+
+<p>He took two objects out of the sidepocket of his blouse, and handed
+them to Van Rieten. They were round, bigger than big plums, and smaller
+than small peaches, about the right size to enclose in an average
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>
+hand. They were black, and at first I did not see what they were.</p>
+
+<p>“Pigmies!” Van Rieten exclaimed. “Pigmies, indeed! Why, they wouldn’t
+be two feet high! Do you mean to claim that these are adult heads?”</p>
+
+<p>“I claim nothing,” Etcham answered evenly. “You can see for yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>Van Rieten passed one of the heads to me. The sun was just setting and
+I examined it closely. A dried head it was, perfectly preserved, and
+the flesh as hard as Argentine jerked beef. A bit of a vertebra stuck
+out where the muscles of the vanished neck had shriveled into folds.
+The puny chin was sharp on a projecting jaw, the minute teeth white and
+even between the retracted lips, the tiny nose was flat, the little
+forehead retreating, there were inconsiderable clumps of stunted wool
+on the Lilliputian cranium. There was nothing babyish, childish or
+youthful about the head, rather it was mature to senility.</p>
+
+<p>“Where did these come from?” Van Rieten inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“I do not know,” Etcham replied precisely. “I found them among Stone’s
+effects while rummaging for medicines or drugs or anything that could
+help me to help him. I do not know where he got them. But I’ll swear he
+did not have them when we entered this district.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you sure?” Van Rieten queried, his eyes big and fixed on Etcham’s.</p>
+
+<p>“Ve’y sure,” lisped Etcham.</p>
+
+<p>“But how could he have come by them without your knowledge?” Van Rieten
+demurred.</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes we were apart ten days at a time hunting,” said Etcham.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>
+“Stone is not a talking man. He gave me no account of his doings and
+Hamed Burghash keeps a still tongue and a tight hold on the men.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have examined these heads?” Van Rieten asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Minutely,” said Etcham.</p>
+
+<p>Van Rieten took out his notebook. He was a methodical chap. He tore out
+a leaf, folded it and divided it equally into three pieces. He gave one
+to me and one to Etcham.</p>
+
+<p>“Just for a test of my impressions,” he said, “I want each of us to
+write separately just what he is most reminded of by these heads. Then
+I want to compare the writings.”</p>
+
+<p>I handed Etcham a pencil and he wrote. Then he handed the pencil back
+to me and I wrote.</p>
+
+<p>“Read the three,” said Van Rieten, handing me his piece.</p>
+
+<p>Van Rieten had written:</p>
+
+<p>“An old Balunda witch-doctor.”</p>
+
+<p>Etcham had written:</p>
+
+<p>“An old Mang-Battu fetish-man.”</p>
+
+<p>I had written:</p>
+
+<p>“An old Katongo magician.”</p>
+
+<p>“There!” Van Rieten exclaimed. “Look at that! There is nothing Wagabi
+or Batwa or Wambuttu or Wabotu about these heads. Nor anything pigmy
+either.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought as much,” said Etcham.</p>
+
+<p>“And you say he did not have them before?”</p>
+
+<p>“To a certainty he did not,” Etcham asserted.</p>
+
+<p>“It is worth following up,” said Van Rieten. “I’ll go with you. And
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>
+first of all, I’ll do my best to save Stone.”</p>
+
+<p>He put out his hand and Etcham clasped it silently. He was grateful all
+over.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">IV</p>
+
+
+<p>Nothing but Etcham’s fever of solicitude could have taken him in five
+days over the track. It took him eight days to retrace with full
+knowledge of it and our party to help. We could not have done it in
+seven, and Etcham urged us on, in a repressed fury of anxiety, no mere
+fever of duty to his chief, but a real ardor of devotion, a glow of
+personal adoration for Stone which blazed under his dry conventional
+exterior and showed in spite of him.</p>
+
+<p>We found Stone well cared for. Etcham had seen to a good, high thorn
+<i>zareeba</i> round the camp, the huts were well built and thatched
+and Stone’s was as good as their resources would permit. Hamed Burghash
+was not named after two Seyyids for nothing. He had in him the making
+of a sultan. He had kept the Mang-Battu together, not a man had slipped
+off, and he had kept them in order. Also he was a deft nurse and a
+faithful servant.</p>
+
+<p>The two other Zanzabaris had done some creditable hunting. Though all
+were hungry, the camp was far from starvation.</p>
+
+<p>Stone was on a canvas cot and there was a sort of collapsible
+camp-stool-table, like a Turkish tabouret, by the cot. It had a
+water-bottle and some vials on it and Stone’s watch, also his razor in
+its case.</p>
+
+<p>Stone was clean and not emaciated, but he was far gone; not
+unconscious, but in a daze; past commanding or resisting anyone.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>
+He did not seem to see us enter or to know we were there. I should
+have recognized him anywhere. His boyish dash and grace had vanished
+utterly, of course. But his head was even more leonine; his hair was
+still abundant, yellow and wavy; the close, crisped blond beard he had
+grown during his illness did not alter him. He was big and big-chested
+yet. His eyes were dull and he mumbled and babbled mere meaningless
+syllables, not words.</p>
+
+<p>Etcham helped Van Rieten to uncover him and look him over. He was in
+good muscle for a man so long bedridden. There were no scars on him
+except about his knees, shoulders and chest. On each knee and above
+it he had a full score of roundish cicatrices, and a dozen or more on
+each shoulder, all in front. Two or three were open wounds and four or
+five barely healed. He had no fresh swellings except two, one on each
+side, on his pectoral muscles, the one on the left being higher up and
+farther out than the other. They did not look like boils or carbuncles,
+but as if something blunt and hard were being pushed up through the
+fairly healthy flesh and skin, not much inflamed.</p>
+
+<p>“I should not lance those,” said Van Rieten, and Etcham assented.</p>
+
+<p>They made Stone as comfortable as they could, and just before sunset we
+looked in at him again. He was lying on his back, and his chest showed
+big and massive yet, but he lay as if in a stupor. We left Etcham with
+him and went into the next hut, which Etcham had resigned to us. The
+jungle noises were no different there than anywhere else for months
+past, and I was soon fast asleep.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">V</p>
+
+
+<p>Sometime in the pitch dark I found myself awake and listening. I could
+hear two voices, one Stone’s, the other sibilant and wheezy. I knew
+Stone’s voice after all the years that had passed since I heard it
+last. The other was like nothing I remembered. It had less volume than
+the wail of a new-born baby, yet there was an insistent carrying power
+to it, like the shrilling of an insect. As I listened I heard Van
+Rieten breathing near me in the dark, then he heard me and realized
+that I was listening, too. Like Etcham I knew little Balunda, but I
+could make out a word or two. The voices alternated with intervals of
+silence between.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly both sounded at once and fast, Stone’s baritone basso,
+full as if he were in perfect health, and that incredibly stridulous
+falsetto, both jabbering at once like the voices of two people
+quarreling and trying to talk each other down.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t stand this,” said Van Rieten. “Let’s have a look at him.”</p>
+
+<p>He had one of those cylindrical electric night-candles. He fumbled
+about for it, touched the button and beckoned me to come with him.
+Outside of the hut he motioned me to stand still, and instinctively
+turned off the light, as if seeing made listening difficult.</p>
+
+<p>Except for a faint glow from the embers of the bearers’ fire we were in
+complete darkness, little starlight struggled through the trees, the
+river made but a faint murmur. We could hear the two voices together
+and then suddenly the creaking voice changed into a razor-edged,
+slicing whistle, indescribably cutting, continuing right through
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>
+Stone’s grumbling torrent of croaking words.</p>
+
+<p>“Good God!” exclaimed Van Rieten.</p>
+
+<p>Abruptly he turned on the light.</p>
+
+<p>We found Etcham utterly asleep, exhausted by his long anxiety and the
+exertions of his phenomenal march and relaxed completely now that the
+load was in a sense shifted from his shoulders to Van Rieten’s. Even
+the light on his face did not wake him.</p>
+
+<p>The whistle had ceased and the two voices now sounded together. Both
+came from Stone’s cot, where the concentrated white ray showed him
+lying just as we had left him, except that he had tossed his arms above
+his head and had torn the coverings and bandages from his chest.</p>
+
+<p>The swelling on his right breast had broken. Van Rieten aimed the
+center line of the light at it and we saw it plainly. From his flesh,
+grown out of it, there protruded a head, such a head as the dried
+specimens Etcham had shown us, as if it were a miniature of the head
+of a Balunda fetish-man. It was black, shining black as the blackest
+African skin; it rolled the whites of its wicked, wee eyes and showed
+its microscopic teeth between lips repulsively negroid in their red
+fullness, even in so diminutive a face. It had crisp, fuzzy wool on its
+minikin skull, it turned malignantly from side to side and chittered
+incessantly in that inconceivable falsetto. Stone babbled brokenly
+against its patter.</p>
+
+<p>Van Rieten turned from Stone and waked Etcham, with some difficulty.
+When he was awake and saw it all, Etcham stared and said not one word.</p>
+
+<p>“You saw him slice off two swellings?” Van Rieten asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p>
+
+<p>Etcham nodded, chokingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Did he bleed much?” Van Rieten demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Ve’y little,” Etcham replied.</p>
+
+<p>“You hold his arms,” said Van Rieten to Etcham.</p>
+
+<p>He took up Stone’s razor and handed me the light. Stone showed no sign
+of seeing the light or of knowing we were there. But the little head
+mewled and screeched at us.</p>
+
+<p>Van Rieten’s hand was steady, and the sweep of the razor even and true.
+Stone bled amazingly little and Van Rieten dressed the wound as if it
+had been a bruise or scrape.</p>
+
+<p>Stone had stopped talking the instant the excrescent head was severed.
+Van Rieten did all that could be done for Stone and then fairly grabbed
+the light from me. Snatching up a gun he scanned the ground by the cot
+and brought the butt down once and twice, viciously.</p>
+
+<p>We went back to our hut, but I doubt if I slept.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">VI</p>
+
+
+<p>Next day, near noon, in broad daylight, we heard the two voices from
+Stone’s hut. We found Etcham dropped asleep by his charge. The swelling
+on the left had broken, and just such another head was there miauling
+and spluttering. Etcham woke up and the three of us stood there and
+glared. Stone interjected hoarse vocables into the tinkling gurgle of
+the portent’s utterance.</p>
+
+<p>Van Rieten stepped forward, took up Stone’s razor and knelt down by the
+cot. The atomy of a head squealed a wheezy snarl at him.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly Stone spoke English.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Who are you with my razor?”</p>
+
+<p>Van Rieten started back and stood up.</p>
+
+<p>Stone’s eyes were clear now and bright, they roved about the hut.</p>
+
+<p>“The end,” he said; “I recognize the end. I seem to see Etcham, as if
+in life. But Singleton! Ah, Singleton! Ghosts of my boyhood come to
+watch me pass! And you, strange specter with the black beard, and my
+razor! Aroint ye all!”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m no ghost, Stone,” I managed to say. “I’m alive. So are Etcham and
+Van Rieten. We are here to help you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Van Rieten!” he exclaimed. “My work passes on to a better man. Luck go
+with you, Van Rieten.”</p>
+
+<p>Van Rieten went nearer to him.</p>
+
+<p>“Just hold still a moment, old man,” he said soothingly. “It will be
+only one twinge.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve held still for many such twinges,” Stone answered quite
+distinctly. “Let me be. Let me die my own way. The hydra was nothing to
+this. You can cut off ten, a hundred, a thousand heads, but the curse
+you can not cut off, or take off. What’s soaked into the bone won’t
+come out of the flesh, any more than what’s bred there. Don’t hack me
+any more. Promise!”</p>
+
+<p>His voice had all the old commanding tone of his boyhood and it swayed
+Van Rieten as it always had swayed everybody.</p>
+
+<p>“I promise,” said Van Rieten.</p>
+
+<p>Almost as he said the word Stone’s eyes filmed again.</p>
+
+<p>Then we three sat about Stone and watched that hideous, gibbering
+prodigy grow up out of Stone’s flesh, till two horrid, spindling little
+black arms disengaged themselves. The infinitesimal nails were perfect
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>
+to the barely perceptible moon at the quick, the pink spot on the palm
+was horridly natural. These arms gesticulated and the right plucked
+toward Stone’s blond beard.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t stand this,” Van Rieten exclaimed and took up the razor again.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly Stone’s eyes opened, hard and glittering.</p>
+
+<p>“Van Rieten break his word?” he enunciated slowly. “Never!”</p>
+
+<p>“But we must help you,” Van Rieten gasped.</p>
+
+<p>“I am past all help and all hurting,” said Stone. “This is my hour.
+This curse is not put on me; it grew out of me, like this horror here.
+Even now I go.”</p>
+
+<p>His eyes closed and we stood helpless, the adherent figure spouting
+shrill sentences.</p>
+
+<p>In a moment Stone spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>“You speak all tongues?” he asked thickly.</p>
+
+<p>And the emergent minikin replied in sudden English:</p>
+
+<p>“Yea, verily, all that you speak,” putting out its microscopic tongue,
+writhing its lips and wagging its head from side to side. We could see
+the thready ribs on its exiguous flanks heave as if the thing breathed.</p>
+
+<p>“Has she forgiven me?” Stone asked in a muffled strangle.</p>
+
+<p>“Not while the moss hangs from the cypresses,” the head squeaked. “Not
+while the stars shine on Lake Pontchartrain will she forgive.”</p>
+
+<p>And then Stone, all with one motion, wrenched himself over on his side.
+The next instant he was dead.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span></p>
+
+<p>When Singleton’s voice ceased the room was hushed for a space. We could
+hear each other breathing. Twombly, the tactless, broke the silence.</p>
+
+<p>“I presume,” he said, “you cut off the little minikin and brought it
+home in alcohol.”</p>
+
+<p>Singleton turned on him a stern countenance.</p>
+
+<p>“We buried Stone,” he said, “unmutilated as he died.”</p>
+
+<p>“But,” said the unconscionable Twombly, “the whole thing is incredible.”</p>
+
+<p>Singleton stiffened.</p>
+
+<p>“I did not expect you to believe it,” he said; “I began by saying that
+although I heard and saw it, when I look back on it I cannot credit it
+myself.”</p>
+
+<p class="right">1907</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="FLOKIS_BLADE">FLOKI’S BLADE</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="FLOKIS_BLADE_2">FLOKI’S BLADE</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">I</p>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">T</span>HORKELL VILGERDSON was not only reputed the handsomest youth in all
+Norway, but was famous as a redoubtable champion, who had unfailingly
+killed his man in every combat, and who was so skillful with weapons
+that he had never been seriously wounded in any of the countless
+affrays in which he had taken part. Therefore, although every one of
+the thirty-nine other men on the Sea-Raven hated him venomously, not
+one challenged him, or provoked him, or affronted him in any way, but
+all were most scrupulously civil.</p>
+
+<p>They all hated him. The three chieftains, Halfdan Ingolfson, Kollgrim
+Erlendson, and Lodbrok Isleifson, who owned the ship and had planned
+the adventure, hated him because, to their incredulous amazement, they
+found themselves indubitably afraid of him. Their six thralls, Vifill,
+Ulf, Hundi, Kepp, Sokholf and Erp, hated him, even more than they hated
+their own masters, for his air of ineffable superiority. The twenty-six
+other Vikings hated him because they felt themselves his inferiors and
+were unwilling to acknowledge it, even in their thoughts. Most of all
+his four perfidious sham friends, Hrodmar Finngerdson, Sigurd Atlison,
+Gellir Kollskeggson and Bodvar Egilson, who had hatched the plot to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>
+lure him to his doom and put him out of the way, and had enticed him to
+join the expedition, hated him for his beauty, his grace, his jaunty
+demeanor and his vivacious wit. Attack him they dared not, and, sulking
+inwardly, they bided their time, outwardly suave and smiling, but with
+furtive winks at each other.</p>
+
+<p>Their opportunity came after a storm which drove them, they knew not
+where or whither, for, in those times, stars were the mariners’ only
+guides. Throughout three nights and three days they saw neither star
+nor sun; in fact, could see barely two ships’ lengths through the
+driving scud and sluicing rain; and all that time they dared not set so
+much as a rag of sail, but, taking turns, every man of them, thralls,
+warriors and chieftains alike, with but brief snatches of uneasy
+sleep, labored mightily at the oars, to keep the ship head to gale,
+or bailed furiously to keep her afloat. So terrific was the tempest
+that Kollgrim, their acknowledged leader, was unwilling to relinquish
+the helm and clung to it until exhaustion compelled him to rest. Even
+when he signalled for a relief neither Halfdan nor Lodbrok showed
+any alacrity for undertaking his momentous task. As they hesitated,
+although only for an instant, Thorkell seized the tiller just as
+Kollgrim’s grasp loosened. So well did he steer, so completely did
+he justify his reputation as a seaman, that thereafter it was rather
+Kollgrim who acted as relief to him than he to Kollgrim: every man of
+them all, Kollgrim included, felt safer with Thorkell at the helm.</p>
+
+<p>An hour or two before sunset of the long northern day the storm blew
+itself out, the sky cleared, and the wind slackened and shifted to a
+fair breeze. They stepped their mast, hoisted their yard, set a full
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>
+sail, and, Halfdan at the tiller, and Lodbrok on lookout at the prow,
+the rest feasted. Champing and munching unhurriedly they despatched a
+vast quantity of food, washed down with copious drafts of mead. When no
+one could swallow another mouthful, Sigurd took the helm and Bodvar the
+lookout’s place, and, while Halfdan and Lodbrok ate, the rest disposed
+themselves to sleep, most of them to larboard, on the spare oars and
+coils of rope, under the rowing-benches.</p>
+
+<p>During the brief northern night Sigurd and Bodvar set the Sea-Raven
+on a true course by a whole skyful of brilliant constellations,
+but, before dawn, they saw the stars hidden all round the horizon
+and gradually higher up, until only a few showed blurredly directly
+overhead; so that, when the sleepers waked, they found themselves
+enveloped in dense fog, and, soon after dawn, the wind slackened until
+they had to man the oars to keep headway on the ship. The weary thralls
+and Kollgrim roused last. After Kollgrim waked Thorkell was the only
+sleeper and he slept heavily, exhausted by his overexertion at the
+tiller.</p>
+
+<p>Eyeing him as he lay on a coil of rope, Hrodmar and Gellir beckoned
+Sigurd and Bodvar. They resigned their posts to willing reliefs and
+picked their way amidships over and among the resting men and toiling
+rowers. Kollgrim, Lodbrok and Halfdan joined them and the seven
+conferred. All conned Thorkell and all agreed that he was fast asleep
+and far from rousing. Then the three chieftains beckoned their six
+thralls and instructed them. Erp and Ulf took convenient lengths of
+ratline and knotted in each a clean-running noose. Vifill paired with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>
+Hundi and Sokholf with Kepp, each pair choosing a length of light rope,
+thicker than a big man’s thumb. Cautiously the six crawled towards
+Thorkell, every man aboard, except a few sleepers and such oarsmen
+as were abaft of Thorkell’s position, watching their approach with
+malicious relish. Hundi and Vifill slipped their rope under Thorkell’s
+knees; Kepp and Sokholf took a turn with theirs round his ankles,
+Ulf and Erp each noosed a wrist: when all six were ready they looked
+towards Kollgrim, and, at his nod, the two nooses tightened and the
+ropes were knotted fast round Thorkell’s knees and ankles. Even that
+did not waken him and, as Erp and Ulf pulled their cords and dragged
+his arms wide, his four pretended friends sprang on him, turned him
+on his face, and, after a violent struggle, for, even with knees and
+ankles lashed, Thorkell fought like a wildcat, they pinioned his arms
+behind him and turned him once more face upward, trussed and helpless.</p>
+
+<p>Then they gloated over him, told him what they really thought of
+him, and insulted him to their hearts’ content. Halfdan, who was an
+acclaimed skald, composed and chanted over him an impromptu drapa of
+triumph. Even the thralls expressed their envious malignity. Gellir
+proposed to run him through and Bodvar to throw him overboard. But
+Kollgrim demurred. The thirty-four freemen had taken oath to a pledge
+of mutual fellowship, as was customary in all Viking voyages, and he
+pointed out that they were bound, all of them, by their oath and must
+keep its letter, if not its spirit.</p>
+
+<p>Lodbrok thereupon suggested that they set him adrift, bound as he was,
+in their smallest boat, which had been half stove during the storm
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>
+and was presumably leaky; putting into it with him a small hide flask
+of water and one smoked fish. Then they could accuse him of wilful
+desertion.</p>
+
+<p>By then it was nearer noon than sunrise, but no sight of the sun had
+they had, nor could any man, in that fog, conjecture the sun’s place in
+the sky. Their outlook was all gray mist and smooth groundswell, for
+there was not a catspaw of breeze.</p>
+
+<p>From the boat they took its sail, mast and oars; but they did not
+search it carefully. In it they laid a leather flask of water and two
+little smoked fish. In it they laid Thorkell, trussed as he was, but,
+as they launched the boat, Kollgrim cut the ropes at his knees and
+ankles.</p>
+
+<p>As boat and ship drifted apart his enemies mocked him, their grinning
+faces peering between and over the shields which lined the low rail.</p>
+
+<p>“Hoist your sail!” Bodvar jeered at him, “and make for Norway or
+Iceland, as you prefer. You are about as far from the one as from the
+other. You have no worse or better chance, either way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hope you relish your provender!” Gellir called.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll need both oars soon,” Hrodmar shrilled, “and I don’t see
+either.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you wish you had a bailer!” Sigurd shouted.</p>
+
+<p>Soon he saw only fog.</p>
+
+<p>He eyed the dirty water sloshing about in the dory’s bilge. The boat
+was not leaking rapidly, but it was leaking. No water had lapped
+over the gunwales and the big groundswells were long and smooth. Of
+air there was not a breath. For the time being he had only the leaks
+to fear. And, in the bow, jammed under the tiny fore-thwart in the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>
+triangular cubby-hole, he saw a small wooden scoop-bailer. It meant
+more to him than the two little fish and the leather water-bottle under
+the after thwart.</p>
+
+<p>He conned the edges of the gunwales and thwarts. He saw two sharp
+splinters. The larger and sharper was where he could not use it; but,
+painfully and with great exertion, he wriggled, hunched and wrenched
+himself until he brought the cords which bound his wrists against
+the other splinter. With efforts distressing at once, and not long
+afterwards agonizing, he sawed the rope against the splinter. Panting,
+a jelly of exhaustion, shivering and sweating, he all but fainted; but
+he found fresh energy every time he glanced at the bilge-water.</p>
+
+<p>At last, just as hope and strength together were failing him, the cord
+parted. A few jerks and twists of his arms and hands and they were
+free. He shook himself, beat his arms against his chest and sprang
+upon the bailer. To his great satisfaction it was not long before no
+deftness could scoop it up half full; the boat was not leaking too fast
+for him.</p>
+
+<p>As the dense fog and breathless calm continued to brood over the waters
+and the slow groundswell even abated, his cockleshell kept afloat not
+only all that day and night, but throughout the two following days
+and nights. But the third night after he had been set adrift found
+him near exhaustion. More than half his time was occupied in bailing
+and his muscles ached. He was afraid to sleep for fear of foundering
+before he woke. Once, in spite of himself, he fell deeply asleep and
+roused to find the gunwales almost awash, so that the most desperate
+fury of bailing barely sufficed to save him. In the flurry of effort
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>
+his remaining fish went overboard in a scoopful of water, unheeded. His
+flask he had emptied by dusk of the second day, control himself all he
+could.</p>
+
+<p>As the slow dawn whitened the fog after the short arctic night he
+thought he was delirious, for he seemed to hear the roar of surf on
+rocks and not far off.</p>
+
+<p>Then, suddenly, all at once, the fog thinned, sunrays lanced the
+last wisps of it, the air cleared, he saw the sun plain, saw the sky
+cloudless, saw the horizon all round and beheld, close to him and
+opposite the just-risen sun, a rocky coast.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly he realized that his enemies had been vastly in error as to
+the position of the Sea-Raven and had set him adrift only a few leagues
+east of Iceland. In spite of his buzzing head, his parched mouth, his
+shivering and trembling limbs, his general faintness, he felt new vigor
+infused all through him. With his pitiful beechen scoop he alternately
+bailed and paddled. The current, he felt, was drawing him towards the
+cliffs. He saw a headland close. With his bailer he strove to guide the
+skiff towards it. The currents were kind and towards that headland he
+drifted. He saw no beach, but many flat-topped rocks just awash, some
+hardly wet by the lazy surges. Between them and him he saw no broken
+water. If his boat dashed into or scraped against a rock he might leap
+to it without a ducking.</p>
+
+<p>Actually he had the luck to achieve just that and saw his boat stove
+and smashed after he had firm footing on almost dry basalt.</p>
+
+<p>He stood in his doublet, hose and brogues, with only his inner girdle,
+without belt, mantle, sword, dagger, or even belt-knife. Everything on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>
+him was damp from the fog and the splashing of his long bailing; but,
+though his teeth chattered in the chilly morning air, doubly chilly to
+him after the milder temperature out at sea, he was not the half-frozen
+waif he would have been if he had had to swim ashore.</p>
+
+<p>To his left, to southwards, the cliffs seemed beaten by the surf.
+Before him, to westwards, he thought he espied a bit of beach not far
+ahead. To his right, northwards, he seemed to descry a headland afar
+across a fiord. He walked westwards, swaying, tottering, stumbling,
+even staggering, but keeping his feet. Gulls and other sea-fowl
+wheeled and screamed above and about him. Not a hundred paces from his
+landing-place he came upon a little rill trickling down a nook in the
+cliff. He knelt and scooped up a handful of icy water. Then he lay
+beside the rivulet and counted a slow hundred between each handful of
+the water and the next. Before his thirst was entirely quenched he
+stood up.</p>
+
+<p>Then he scanned the rocks for birds’ nests. He saw many; but, of the
+scores of eggs he broke, but one was eatable. This he sipped and slowly
+swallowed its contents. He felt new life all over him.</p>
+
+<p>Not stumbling now he stepped heedfully forward. He felt strangely large
+and light and whatever he gazed at looked dim and vague. But he felt
+really able to walk. He rounded a jutting elbow of the cliff.</p>
+
+<p>Before him, irradiated by the slant sunrays, he saw three handsome
+young noblewomen, walking arm in arm. All were bareheaded, each with
+a forehead-ribbon round her flowing hair. The middlemost was tall,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>
+full-contoured, with very black locks. She was enveloped in a crimson
+mantle. The girl on her right was of medium height, slender, with
+glossy brown tresses and wore a mantle of dark blue. The third was
+small and very lovely, her hair golden, her cheeks pink, her eyes blue,
+all set off by a mantle of bright grass-green.</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell thought them norns come to escort him to Valhalla. A cloud,
+gray and then inky black, swept between him and his outlook. He felt
+himself topple.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">II</p>
+
+
+<p>When Thorkell came to himself he was in bed in the pitch dark. He felt
+about him and found that he was in a sort of bunk, a wall on his right
+hand and, on his left, a polished board. He ran his hand along its
+upper edge. He was rather deep down in his berth and under him was an
+infinity of yielding feather-bed. He was well covered with warm quilts.
+He tried to stretch, but the space was too short for him. He composed
+himself and slept again.</p>
+
+<p>When he woke the second time it was daylight and he saw by his bunk a
+tall, spare, elderly noblewoman, severe-looking, hatchet-faced, with a
+lean and stringy neck and gray hair. She was clad in garments of undyed
+wool of the usual rusty brown.</p>
+
+<p>“Son,” she warned him, “you must not try to speak. Drink this slowly.”</p>
+
+<p>And, as he weakly tried to raise himself in the wall-bed, she supported
+him with her right arm, at the same time holding to his lips with
+her left hand a silver goblet. Thorkell tasted a delicious posset,
+compounded of milk, mead, honey, barley-meal, and of other ingredients
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>
+unknown to him. He swallowed most of it, fell back among his down
+pillows and slept again at once.</p>
+
+<p>His third waking was again in full daylight. He felt more like himself.
+He saw that his bed occupied most of one side of a fair-sized room,
+wainscoted in dark wood and with a low ceiling, similarly panelled.
+Opposite his bunk stood a high, narrow table. In the wall by the foot
+of his bunk was a low doorway, its door shut. In the opposite wall
+was a window, whose contracted casements had small panes of fish-gut
+membrane, stretched across wooden lattices. The panes were bright with
+the glare of brilliant sunshine full on them and much light filtered
+through, so that the room was well-lighted. By his bed, facing the
+window, in one of the two chairs, sat a tall, magnificently dignified,
+elderly man, gray-haired, ruddy of complexion, broad-shouldered,
+wrapped in a reddish-brown mantle of fine wool. He wore a gold
+neck-chain from which hung a large, flat, oval gold amulet-case.</p>
+
+<p>“Son,” he said, “you must not yet attempt to speak. Hearken and
+remember. You are housed at Hofstadir, on Revdarfiord, by Faskrudness,
+on the east coast of Iceland. I, Thorstein Vilgerdson, am master of
+Hofstadir. We know nothing of you except that my daughter and my two
+nieces found you early in the morning, day before yesterday, on the
+strand by Faskrudness. My wife has been caring for you and she now
+tells me that you will soon be able to be up and about. Only after you
+are well and strong will I permit you to tell your story. Meanwhile you
+are our guest. Do as I bid you. Be silent, compose your mind, repose
+yourself, and help my wife to restore you to strength and vigor. When
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>
+you are yourself we shall talk again. Now sleep.”</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell was compliantly mute and his host rose and left him.</p>
+
+<p>Two mornings later Thorkell woke to find Thorstein again seated by his
+bed. And he saw, on the table opposite his bed, a tray with a goblet
+and a hunch of bread on it.</p>
+
+<p>“Son,” the old man queried, “are you entirely awake?”</p>
+
+<p>After Thorkell’s affirmation Thorstein said:</p>
+
+<p>“My wife judges that you are now sufficiently recovered to tell your
+story. But you had best first fortify yourself with some food.”</p>
+
+<p>And he himself rose and fetched the tray from the table. Thorkell
+acquiesced and swallowed a few mouthfuls. Then he settled himself back
+on his pillows, his host resumed his armchair, and Thorkell began his
+story by naming himself.</p>
+
+<p>“A Vilgerdson!” the old man exclaimed, “and from Rogaland! We must be
+cousins, however distant. In my long life I have never known or heard
+of any Norwegian Vilgerdsons; as far as my knowledge goes our family
+has long been wholly Icelandic. We are descended from Floki Vilgerdson,
+of Rogaland, the first voyager who ever wintered in Iceland. A hundred
+and thirty-six years ago he sailed past the headlands of Faxafloi and
+wintered in the Breidifiord. But he and his associates were so carried
+away by the abundance of fish and the ease of catching them that
+they neglected to cure enough hay and their live-stock all perished.
+Therefore he sailed home next spring. But, twenty and more years
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>
+later, when past middle age, after most of the west and north of
+Iceland had already been settled, Floki returned and chose a home here
+in the east on this very spot. I am his great-great-great-grandson and
+heir to him and all his.”</p>
+
+<p>“I,” said Thorkell, “am great-great-great-great-grandson to Snorri
+Vilgerdson, younger brother to Floki the Viking and settler. For both
+were sons of Vilgerd Vilgerdson of Rogaland.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then,” said his host, “you are a fourth cousin to my children and they
+are your fourth cousins. You are one of us. And now tell me your story.”</p>
+
+<p>When Thorkell had said his say and had answered all his host’s
+questions the old man said:</p>
+
+<p>“My wife opines that it will now benefit you to be out of bed and in
+the open air. My younger sons, Thorgils and Thorbrand, will help you to
+dress and will assist you to walk about, for, although you may resent
+the suggestion, you are not yet strong enough for it to be well for you
+to attempt walking unassisted.”</p>
+
+<p>And he called his sons, handsome youths, who clasped hands with
+Thorkell, called him “cousin” after their father’s explanation, and,
+when the old man had gone out, assisted him to rise. He found he
+needed assistance. They helped him to don a shirt of the finest linen,
+knitted hose of soft wool, noblemen’s shoes, a doublet of the best
+woolen cloth, and a fine crimson mantle of wool delightful to feel and
+handle. They girded him with an outer belt, but there was no sign of
+sword-belt, sword, poniard or knife. Each of them wore a belt-knife
+with a staghorn heft, and a dagger and sword, with steel guards and
+hilts of walrus ivory, pommelled with gold.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></p>
+
+<p>One on each side of him they supported him as he strove to stand and
+they guided him through the doorway into a spacious, plank-floored,
+high-raftered hall, lighted by many small windows placed high up in
+the tall gable-ends; low, narrow doors were all down both long sides,
+with an ample fireplace in a big chimney-piece midway of one side; at
+one end was the main doorway, at the other a door almost as large.
+His helpers conducted him out through the main doorway and to a bench
+in the sunlight where they seated him. Thorbrand sat by him, Thorgils
+walked away.</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell found the cool, soft breeze invigorating and yet mild, for
+it was near midsummer and as genial as it ever is in Iceland. The
+slant sunrays warmed him. He basked and gazed about him. He saw
+close by a strongly built storehouse of stone and great ash beams,
+high-gabled, though its roof was not as steep and tall as that of the
+mansion. Further away he made out a big sheepfold, with sheds, a large
+cattle-byre, an ample stable and two very large barns. In whatever
+direction he looked the extensive level space in which the buildings
+were grouped was bounded by a stone wall, breast-high, and not of
+boulders, but of roughly squared blocks.</p>
+
+<p>Some two hundred yards or more distant, topping a low hill, was
+a temple; for, with its great size, its high and steep roof, its
+scalloped shingles, its horse-head and fish-tail ornaments at the
+ridge-pole ends and eave-ends, its carven gable-ends, it could be
+nothing else.</p>
+
+<p>Some of the thralls were busy about the buildings and several
+maid-servants passed in and out. Thorkell saw no men-at-arms, nor any
+of the family except the two brothers. Thorbrand sat smiling, but
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>
+mute. Thorkell kept mute and basked. After a time Thorgils came back
+and Thorbrand strolled away. When Thorbrand returned he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Mother thinks that you were best back in your bed.”</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell acquiesced and suffered himself to be escorted indoors. In bed
+he ate some food brought by a tow-headed serving-maid. Soon he slept.</p>
+
+<p>He woke near dusk of the long northern day and again ate what the same
+maid brought him and was again soon asleep.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning Thorstein was again sitting by him when he woke. As before
+he enquired how he felt and himself served him with food and drink.
+When he had reset the tray on the table and reseated himself he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Young man, I and my family have talked over you and your story. I and
+my daughter and my nieces believe you. But all five of my sons, my two
+daughters-in-law, my accountant, my seneschal, my skald and everyone
+of my men-at-arms are convinced that you are not a castaway from any
+ship, though likely enough a Norwegian and no Icelander. They are
+unanimously of the opinion that you are a spy craftily insinuated into
+our community by our enemies. They point out that your clothing was dry
+when you were carried in here: that neither it nor your hair showed any
+signs of your having been swimming; that such a marvel as your having
+leapt ashore from a ship’s-boat drifting without sail, oars or rudder
+is too improbable for them to believe it other than a clumsy invention.
+They all insist that I would imperil myself and all my household if
+I were to accept your story and keep you here as a guest. My word is
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>
+law here, but I feel that it would be unwise for me to disregard so
+unanimous, so insistent and so clamorous a dissent from my views.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, young man, if you have in fact been sent here by the
+Miofifirthers or the Seydisfirthers you had best admit it at once and
+make a clean breast of the whole matter. You shall not be harmed in any
+way. I will have you fed and cared for until you are fit for a short
+journey, and then I will equip you with flint and steel, a belt-knife,
+a dagger, a sword and sword-belt, a horseman’s cloak, a good horse,
+well bitted, saddled and girthed, and a supply of food; and I will
+send a thrall to guide you round the head of Revdarfiord and to speed
+you on your way. But if you are what you assert you are and claim our
+protection and hospitality as the dues of a castaway, you must convince
+all my household of the truth of your tale.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am Thorkell Vilgerdson of Rogaland in Norway,” he replied. “I know
+nothing of any Miofifirthers or Seydisfirthers or of any foes of yours.
+I never set foot on Iceland until I leapt ashore from my drifting boat
+soon after sunrise of the morning on which I encountered your daughter
+and nieces. I have never, in Iceland, set eyes on any Icelanders except
+members of your household. What I have told you is true in every
+particular. But how may I convince you of its truth?”</p>
+
+<p>“As you must know from my name and my sons’ names,” Thorstein answered,
+“we are steadfast adherents of the old faith. Those who suspect you,
+and my wife, the most embittered of those against you, in particular,
+would be at once convinced if you take formal oath to the truth of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>
+your statements, an oath sworn upon your own blood and the sacred
+ring of our holy temple, calling Thor and Odin to witness. If you are
+willing to take oath, as I suggest, no one here will any longer doubt
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am entirely willing,” Thorkell declared. “I am more than willing,
+I am eager. The suspicions of your household are natural, if you have
+crafty enemies near at hand and live under threat of being raided. I
+will swear as you suggest.”</p>
+
+<p>“I infer,” said Thorstein, “that you also, then, like all here at
+Hofstadir, are a firm believer in the gods of our fathers.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am indeed,” Thorkell affirmed.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you met Christians?” his host queried.</p>
+
+<p>“Too many,” said Thorkell, “too many by far.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you talked with any about their beliefs?” the old man inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“With many,” Thorkell said.</p>
+
+<p>“And what do you think of them?” Thorstein pressed him.</p>
+
+<p>“It seems to me,” said Thorkell, “that they claim to have a system
+of sorcery and magic far more efficacious and far cheaper than ours.
+That is about all I can gather from their talk. Their religion costs
+far less than ours because they hold that no blood-sacrifices are
+necessary, stating that one man, hundreds of years ago, achieved one
+sacrifice by which all men may benefit forever, no other being required
+after that one. How this could be or can be I cannot conceive. But such
+appears to be their view. Then they seem to think that priests can be
+largely dispensed with: certainly they have far fewer than we and their
+priests are cheaper to maintain than ours, as they require less in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>
+the way of ornaments, raiment, food and servants. Then, though no one
+of them has conveyed to me what they mean, they all allege that their
+invocations win surer and more effective responses than those which
+we receive from our deities. That is all I can make out about their
+novelties.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your impressions,” Thorstein said, “tally with mine. Christians are
+utterly incomprehensible to me. In particular, they all rant about
+peace on earth and good-will to men. Yet, since they became Christians,
+the Miofifirthers and the Seydisfirthers are just as implacably hostile
+to us here as before. My father repeatedly made overtures to them
+proposing conferences to negotiate for a reconciliation, for mutual
+concessions, for laying our differences and the damage done to each
+side before the Althing for reference to the courts and for a decision
+and settlement, for a termination of the feud and the establishment of
+harmony and amity. I have made similar proffers. But they have been
+inexorably hostile. In fact, since they became Christians, they seem,
+if possible, even more ferocious, rancorous and blood-thirsty than
+before.”</p>
+
+<p>“That,” said Thorkell, “is just about the attitude towards us heathen
+of all the Christians I have ever met or heard of. Their idea of peace
+is unqualified submission or total extermination for us, and complete
+triumph and unquestioned domination for themselves. Not one will listen
+to proposals of compromise, accommodation or mutual forbearance. They
+seem to me opinionated, bigoted, fanatical, overbearing and arrogant.
+We must fight or perish, there appears to be no other way.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You speak sensibly, my son, it seems to me,” the old man said. “You
+have convinced me that you are sincere. Your oath in the temple will
+convince all my household and all my retainers.”</p>
+
+<p>Then he rose and went out.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">III</p>
+
+
+<p>Again Thorgils and Thorbrand entered the bedroom and helped Thorkill
+to dress. This time he needed little assistance. And this time they
+girt him with a sword-belt, and equipped him with a handy belt-knife,
+a fine dagger and a sword in a decorated scabbard. Out they escorted
+him, Thorkell now walking easily and unaided. In the open he found
+awaiting him Thorstein, his three elder sons, Thorfinn, Thorgeir and
+Thord; a handsome and very blond young giant who was presented to
+him as “Finnvard Sigurdson, of Faskrudsfiord, my future son-in-law,”
+Thorstein’s house-skald, Olmod Borkson; and his seneschal, Ari Gormson.
+There were a score of men-at-arms lounging about.</p>
+
+<p>After the presentations they set off towards the temple, Thorstein
+linking arms with Thorkell and leading the way.</p>
+
+<p>“I myself,” he said, “am Gothi of this temple, which my grandfather,
+Thorleif Vilgerdson, built with timber fetched from Norway.”</p>
+
+<p>The temple, Thorkell judged, was a full hundred feet long. Temple
+fashion the end under the gable which they approached was doorless. The
+side-wall had two ample doorways, each near an end. They passed in by
+that nearest them towards the right end of the side-wall, and turned
+to their left. In behind them straggled the men-at-arms, who had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>
+trooped after them. Thorkell could feel the reverential awe with which
+the great, hulking, burly, truculent spearmen entered the holy place.
+Midway of the opposite long-wall they passed the High-Seat, between the
+tall pillars, each with its three consecrated bolts of gilded bronze.
+They were visible even in the dim light afforded by the small latticed
+windows, gut-paned, high up in the gable ends. Towards the end of the
+temple they entered the oval, defined by a ring of thin slabs of stone
+set on edge. Inside the oval, near the end of it towards the further
+gable of the building, was an altar of the customary form, a great
+thick slab of dressed stone, full three ells square, supported by four
+stone posts, squared, carved with runes, and set deep in the beaten
+earth floor. The slab of the altar was also carved with runes. On it
+lay the great holy ring, of solid silver, weighing full thirty pounds.</p>
+
+<p>Thorstein lifted the great ring and slid it up his right arm to the
+shoulder. There Thorfinn tied it with a crimson wool ribbon, slipped
+under his father’s left arm-pit and crossed on his left shoulder;
+so that the ring would not slide down the arm. Then, standing on
+Thorstein’s right, Thorkell unsheathed his dagger and with its
+point lightly slashed the back of his left hand, tilting it till
+the dagger-blade ran with blood. Then, placing his left hand on the
+temple-ring and holding the dagger point down over the center of the
+altar, he swore:</p>
+
+<p>“As my blood drips upon this altar from the point of this dirk, so may
+my blood and the heart’s blood of all my kin, of any wife I may wed, of
+any children I may have, of all those dear to me, be spilt upon the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>
+earth, if my oath is not truthful. I swear by my own blood, by the holy
+ring which I grasp, by this altar, by the pillars of the High Seat, by
+their sacred bolts, before Thor and Odin, that I am Thorkell Vilgerdson
+of Rogaland in Norway, and that I am newly castaway on the coast of
+Iceland and have never, in Iceland, seen or spoken with any Icelander
+excepting dwellers here at Hofstadir.</p>
+
+<p>“If my oath is false may my heart’s blood and the blood of all those
+dear to me be spilt upon the earth as my blood now drips from the point
+of my dirk. Before Odin and Thor I have sworn.”</p>
+
+<p>Thereafter Thorfinn removed the Gothi’s ring from his father’s arm and
+he and Thorstein laid it in its place midway of the altar-slab.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the temple Thorgils dressed the slash on the back of Thorkell’s
+left hand. Then Thorstein first and after him his sons in the order of
+their ages, clasped hands with Thorkell, each uttering the formula:</p>
+
+<p>“You are our dear and trusted cousin.”</p>
+
+<p>Finnvard followed. Then Ari, Olmod and the men-at-arms saluted
+Thorkell, crying:</p>
+
+<p>“We are brothers in arms.”</p>
+
+<p>From the temple Thorstein led Thorkell into the storehouse and into
+that part of it which was used as an armory.</p>
+
+<p>“Look over these weapons,” he said, “and select a sword, poniard and
+belt-knife to your mind. Try first those you now have; if they suit
+you, keep them. But be sure that the balance of the sword is precisely
+what you prefer and that you are armed as you desire.”</p>
+
+<p>Outside, in the mild sunshine of a day unusually mellow for Iceland,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>
+they sat on the benches flanking the doorway and chatted until after
+midday. Then Thorstein cautioned Thorkell that a man who had been
+exposed and exhausted as he had had best lie down an hour or so before
+his first heavy meal after his privations.</p>
+
+<p>When Thorgils wakened and summoned him he found in the great hall
+a numerous assemblage. He was presented by Thorstein to Thorkatla
+his wife, to his daughter Thorgerd and his two nieces Thorarna and
+Thordis, whom he had encountered on the beach. Thorarna was the tall,
+full-contoured, black-tressed beauty, and Thordis the exquisite blonde
+whom he had thought the most beautiful of the three. Thorfinn’s wife
+Arnora and Thord’s wife Valdis were personable young women.</p>
+
+<p>Thorstein occupied the High Seat, facing the fireplace. To the left and
+right of him sat his family, on benches ranged along that side of the
+hall, but far enough from the wall to leave space for anyone to walk
+behind them and to pass in or out of any door. On the opposite side of
+the hall, flanking the chimney-piece, was a similar row of benches,
+occupied by the men-at-arms, more than forty together. Towards the ends
+of the hall sat such dependents and thralls as were not busy serving
+the feast. The servitors carried in more than eighty light, collapsible
+tables, each in three parts, a square top and two trestles. One was
+placed before each diner. The fare was varied and abundant, but notably
+characteristic of Iceland. There were unlimited supplies of fresh
+whey in jars, pitchers and bowls; bowls of curd; platters heaped with
+slices of cheese, both new and aged; there was even an overabundance
+of smoked and fresh fish, cooked in every known manner; plenty of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>
+tender fat mutton, beef and veal, and, each borne in by two brawny
+thralls, two great platters, one piled with convenient cuts of stewed
+horseflesh, the other with similar collops of horseflesh roasted. There
+was a moderate supply of manchets of excellent rye, barley and wheaten
+bread, handed along in smallish flat osier baskets or on similar trays.
+Maids continually passed and repassed proffering basins of warm water
+and towels; for, in those days, forks were unknown, and, besides plates
+and spoons of beechwood from Norway and belt knives, fingers were the
+only table implements, and frequent washing of the hands was necessary
+for comfort.</p>
+
+<p>Thorgils and Thorbrand, between whom Thorkell sat, plied him with
+offerings of every viand brought in and saw that his goblet was kept
+full of well-aged, fragrant mead. Even more than the large household
+and lavish fare Thorkill was impressed by the chimney-piece, which
+faced him on his left, and by its fireplace, not aglow with smouldering
+peat, but ablaze with a generous heap of crackling driftwood. He
+commented on this to Thorbrand.</p>
+
+<p>“I have never seen any other chimney or fireplace except ours,” was his
+reply. “It is said that two halls in the river-valleys about Faxafloi
+have chimney fireplaces, and that there is another in a mansion on
+Breidifiord. But none of us have seen any. My great grandfather had
+this built of native stone, for there is much fire-resisting rock on
+our island.”</p>
+
+<p>“This,” Thorkell said, “is the only chimney fireplace I have myself
+ever seen. My home, like every other hall I have ever entered till
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>
+now, has only a fireplace midway of its floor, so that the smoke
+blackens the rafters before it finds the hole in the roof.”</p>
+
+<p>After the feast Thorstein called for silence.</p>
+
+<p>“We have with us,” he said, “what is almost as good as a visiting
+skald, a guest who has had marvellous adventures. All of us will now
+listen to Thorkell Vilgerdson of Rogaland in Norway, if he will be so
+good as to accede to my request that he tell us of his dangers and of
+his escape.”</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell blushed, but was encouraged by the smiling, eager faces turned
+towards him. He took courage, stood up, and told his tale, haltingly at
+first, later more fluently.</p>
+
+<p>After he had finished and sat down Olmod twanged his harp and recited
+a drapa describing and praising the exploits of Floki Vilgerdson the
+viking and settler. When he ceased the company dispersed to bed.</p>
+
+<p>During the ensuing days Thorkell became well acquainted with Hofstadir,
+its denizens and its neighborhood. As soon as he felt his full strength
+and vigor return he spent his mornings with Thorgir, Thorbrand,
+Thorgils and Finnvard at fencing, target practice with spears or
+arrows, wrestling, and other such manly exercises. At all of these
+he excelled, yet his genial demeanor was so winsome that his easy
+victories gave no offence to his companions.</p>
+
+<p>They also went swimming together, and fishing, both in the many nearby
+streams, and offshore in a very handy small boat, heavily built, blunt
+bowed, yet a good sailor. Thorkell was amazed at the numbers of fish
+and at the rapidity with which they could be caught. A hook thrown
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>
+into the water was taken almost at once.</p>
+
+<p>They rode about the neighborhood on fine mounts, for, in those early
+days, Icelandic horses were still fully equal to Norwegian horses, as
+the breed was kept up by constant importations of tall, strong, speedy
+and spirited stallions.</p>
+
+<p>After not many days Thorkell learned the country further afield, for
+he was invited to accompany Thorstein on a tour of inspection of his
+district; for he was not only Gothi, that is, priest, of the temple at
+Hofstadir, but also Gothi, that is, magistrate, of a district called a
+gothorth, all Iceland being divided into gothorths. Thorstein made his
+tour attended by his five sons; by several cousins, among whom were
+Thorlak Vilgerdson of Thelmark and Thorvald Vilgerdson of Husavik;
+by many thingmen, dependents and yeomen; and by a strong guard of
+well-horsed spearmen.</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell was much edified by Thorstein’s promptness at settling
+controversies and redressing grievances. The old man displayed an
+uncanny intuition and seemed to know all his vassals’ thoughts,
+motives, wants, desires and needs without being told.</p>
+
+<p>After the tour was over, at a moment when Thorstein was at ease,
+Thorkell ventured to express his admiration.</p>
+
+<p>His host smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“A chieftain,” he said, “must possess the faculty of seeing into his
+vassals’ hearts and of knowing their thoughts without question asked
+and answer given; even without any uttered word. A man who cannot
+divine the unspoken thoughts of his dependents will not long retain
+the prestige vital for a Gothi, or for any sort of chieftainship.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>
+Necessarily, I know much without being told, with hardly even a glance.
+Mostly for instance, I can foresee months in advance, sometimes even
+years in advance, what girl each youth will woo for his wife, what
+maiden each lad desires, even what lad finds favor in each maiden’s
+eyes. Such must any chieftain divine.”</p>
+
+<p>At Hofstadir Thorkell was soon at home among the buildings. Not less
+than by the chimney, inset fireplace and lavish wood fire was he
+impressed by the fortifications of the homestead. It was protected all
+round with a dry moat, the earth from which, thrown up on the inner
+side, formed a considerable rampart, topped on all four sides of the
+enclosure by a solid wall of large, roughly squared blocks of stone.
+At the corners were jutting, bulging circular bastions well stockaded
+with birch logs, set deep in the earth, butt up and touching each
+other, everyone fully three spans broad at the upturned butt, for, in
+those early days, the primeval woods of Iceland furnished logs much
+larger than any now obtainable on the island. The stockades, like the
+walls, were breast-high. Thorkell had never seen a bastion before, nor
+heard of one, and was much impressed by the novelty, originality and
+manifest adequacy of the device. The idea of a bastion, that it affords
+defenders of a fortification an opportunity of shooting sideways at an
+assailant crossing the fosse or scaling the parapet, appears so obvious
+to us that we can scarcely realize that there ever was a time when
+it was unknown. Yet, hundreds, even thousands of years after it was
+common and a matter of course in the Mediterranean countries, it had
+not yet penetrated the ruder northern lands. In fact, in all parts of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>
+the world, men were not quick to conceive the idea, and, as with other
+devices, very slow to adopt it from foemen.</p>
+
+<p>Almost as much was Thorkell impressed by the bath-house, a small
+structure, one might say a hut, built of sod and stone, with a low
+door and only one very tiny window. Inside there was room for only one
+person and a pail of water beside a very small stone stove. This was
+heated almost red-hot and then the bather, with a dipper, poured on
+it water which at once filled the hut with steam, both cleansing and
+refreshing.</p>
+
+<p>On either side of the chimney-piece in the great hall was a sort of
+trophy of spears, shields and swords arranged in a pattern like a
+six-pointed star; six short pikes crossed and lashed to pegs, six small
+round shields set between the radiating spears, and twelve swords, two
+by each shield. Above the fireplace was another, of six long swords,
+their points together, their hilts apart, with shields between.</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell, inquiring about these, was told that they had been placed
+there by Thorstein’s grandfather, Thorleif Vilgerdson, who had built
+the hall and temple. The spears and swords forming the two flanking
+trophies were fine and valued weapons of former Vilgerdsons: the trophy
+over the fireplace was formed of the very sword worn all his life by
+Floki Vilgerdson the Viking and settler, and of five cunningly exact
+replicas of it, made at Thorleif Vilgerdson’s command by Hoskuld
+Vestarson, a famous smith.</p>
+
+<p>“I do not myself know,” said Thorstein, “which is Floki’s blade. My
+father told me that he did not know. No one knows. No man has used
+any one of those six swords since before I was born. It is told that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>
+Floki’s blade is enchanted, that no one except a Vilgerdson could
+wield it, that to anyone not a Vilgerdson it would be heavier than
+a thick bar of iron; but that, in time of peril to Floki’s heirs
+or kin, it is magical to infuse into its wielder superhuman valor,
+swiftness, dexterity and strength. It is also told of Floki’s blade
+that it knows friend from foe and will not smite a friend, no matter
+how frenziedly its wielder believes him a foe, nor yet will it fail to
+smite a treacherous foe, no matter how implicitly its wielder trusts
+the traitor. We have come to regard these swords as almost as holy as
+the bolts in the pillars by the High Seat in our temple, as almost as
+sacred as the temple ring itself. Their presence in our hall we regard
+as a protection and safeguard to us all, as a sort of talisman for
+Hofstadir. We all and all my men-at-arms and thingmen and retainers
+reverence and treasure them.”</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell could see that they were very handsome swords.</p>
+
+<p>He learned that Thorstein never had fewer than sixty men-at-arms on
+duty, but not all of them were ever at Hofstadir itself. Some were on
+watch along the cliffs, on the lookout for an attack from seaward.
+There were always two or more patrol-boats on the offing conning the
+sea northwards. The lookouts on the cliffs also watched the fiord for
+signs of an attempt to attack in boats from its northern shore. And
+some men-at-arms were always scattered about at the farmsteads of
+Thorstein’s thingmen and other dependents, especially towards the head
+of Revdarfiord, round which must come any attack in force by land.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p>
+
+<p>Thorkatla he found kind-hearted, but taciturn, sharp-tongued when
+she did speak, and of a very stern, harsh and austere disposition.
+Thorgerd, staid, astute and shrewd, was yet, by nature, trustful,
+unsuspicious, confiding, artless and unaffected. She gave Thorkell an
+experience entirely novel to him. For she displayed for him a warm
+sisterly interest, as to which she was entirely frank and open, while
+indubitably ardently in love with her handsome Finnvard.</p>
+
+<p>Thorarna and Thordis he greatly admired and liked. He could not make
+out at first which he liked better. That both were manifestly deeply
+in love with him he took as a matter of course. He had long become
+habituated to having attractive maidens fall in love with him on short
+acquaintance and show it.</p>
+
+<p>The immemorial usages of Scandinavian life made it absolutely
+unthinkable, in the Iceland of those days, that a young man and a young
+woman should ever be alone together, even for a moment. But, on the
+other hand, life in Iceland was so free, open, frank, spontaneous,
+unconventional and inartificial that not only were lads and lasses
+constantly encountering each other about the dwellings, but that not
+merely was chatting a matter of course and unremarked, but that such
+young folk as Thorkell, Thorarna and Thordis might and did walk about
+together out of doors, and sit together side by side conversing for
+hours in the hall, in full sight of those about them, unnoticed and
+left to themselves.</p>
+
+<p>In this way Thorkell became rapidly well-acquainted with both his
+host’s nieces and heard from each her story; stories very much alike
+and of a kind far too common in Iceland at that period, and for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>
+centuries later. The envenomed and unremitting enmity between the
+Revdarfirthers and their neighbors the Miofifirthers and Seydisfirthers
+had resulted in recurrent reprisals.</p>
+
+<p>Thorarna was the only survivor of an overwhelmingly successful assault
+upon her father’s homestead. Her father, Thorstein’s brother Thorleik,
+had been killed in the fighting, and, when the buildings were set on
+fire by the victorious assailants, all the family had perished in the
+flames except Thorarna, who, a child of three, had been saved by her
+faithful nurse.</p>
+
+<p>Thordis, the only daughter of Thorstein’s brother Thorgest, was the
+survivor of a similar massacre.</p>
+
+<p>Much of the evening leisure at Hofstadir was taken up with tales of
+such atrocities as these and of like assaults on homesteads, some by
+one side, some by the other; some craftily planned, artfully delivered
+and overwhelmingly successful; others resulting in drawn battles and
+leaving the homestead in mourning for some of its defenders, but
+unpillaged and unburnt; yet others unplanned, impulsive, foolhardy,
+undermanned or bungled in delivery and resulting in the utter
+discomfiture of the assailants. Thorkell sat in silence and listened
+to many long tales of this kind from Olmod the house-skald, from
+Thorstein himself and from his elder sons. From them also he listened
+to even longer tales of complaints against one or the other side before
+the Althing at Thingvellir, nearly every year at the two-weeks summer
+meeting of this national assembly. They told in great detail of the
+impassioned accusations of the plaintiffs, of the indignant rejoinders
+of the defendants, of the citations of the respondents before the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>
+high court of justice, of the evidence of the witnesses for each side,
+of the arguments of the lawmen, of the disagreements of the judges,
+of their occasional agreement, of their verdicts and judgments and of
+the indemnities they assessed upon the convicted aggressors. In almost
+every case Thorkell heard of the ignoring or flouting of the court’s
+decision and of yet further reprisals, duels, forays and outrages.
+What astonished him most was that, in all these tales of duels,
+murders, treacheries, ambushes, pillagings, outrages, butcheries,
+massacres and arson and of their consequences, the narrators talked
+as if the Althing were an efficient legislature with power to see to
+it that its enactments be observed as the law of the island; as if
+the courts had the authority they assumed to have and could enforce
+their judgments, verdicts, decrees and penalties; as if, in truth,
+law and justice did exist in Iceland: whereas, in fact, it appeared
+from every tale he listened to, from every detail of every narrative,
+that their vaunted Althing was merely a turbulent yearly social
+gathering, accomplishing nothing except the waste of time in futile
+wrangling, making a vain show of counterfeiting a sham legislature,
+which empty pretense all Icelanders kept up with a curious mingling of
+unconscious self-deception and shamefaced effrontery; that the courts,
+while generally spoken of with respect, were in fact derided by all
+malefactors, and unable to give effect to their decrees, judgments
+and verdicts, to enforce their penalties or to exact the indemnities
+they granted, so that they were, on the whole, a costly, time-wasting,
+exhausting and pitiable farce.</p>
+
+<p>It was plain to Thorkell that the Icelanders, if his host and his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>
+household were fair samples, had somehow duped themselves into fancying
+that they had courts which dispensed justice and a government which
+maintained law and order; whereas it was manifest that they lived in
+a condition of utter anarchy, where there was no protection for life
+or property except the fighting prowess of the men of a homestead as
+concerned themselves, their folk and their possessions; or of the
+men-at-arms of a chieftain for him and his. It was plain that beautiful
+Thordis, magnificent Thorarna, lovely Thorgerd, fair Arnora, dainty
+Valdis and stern Thorkatla were living in daily peril of a horrible
+death and were safe only in so far as their men could protect them. Yet
+they, like their men, boasted of the noble freedom of life in Iceland,
+pitied the servile condition of Norwegians under their tyrannical king,
+vaunted their island institutions, and lauded the system of local
+gothorths, yearly elections, yearly assemblies at Thingvellir of their
+unwieldy and ineffective Althing, and the complex, lengthy, laborious
+and fruitless procedure of their fatuous courts. Local pride seemed
+a passion which blinded them to the most glaring imperfections of
+anything Icelandic.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">IV</p>
+
+
+<p>But it mattered very little what was the subject or the nature of the
+conversation, Thorkell found himself more than contented with any
+length of time which he might spend with either Thorarna or Thordis.
+Yet, after not many days, he was aware of a difference in his feelings
+for the two and of theirs for him. Thordis never avoided him, but
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>
+never put herself in his way. If everything was favorable and they
+happened to be thrown together accidentally, she frankly enjoyed being
+with him, but never did anything to prolong a chat or to bring one
+about. Thorarna, on the contrary, was most ingenious in postponing the
+termination of a colloquy, and was most fertile in clever, adroit, and
+unobtrusive devices which resulted in their being together.</p>
+
+<p>Before many days life at Hofstadir, for Thorkell, consisted chiefly
+of endeavoring to be with Thordis. Once, when he was basking in her
+smiles, her face suddenly clouded and she said:</p>
+
+<p>“There! Thorarna has gone! Please, please try to spend more of your
+time with her and less with me. From childhood she and I have been
+happy together, and nothing has ever blurred our love for each other
+and our unreserved mutual confidence until she began to grow jealous
+of me. Since she fell in love with you we have become alienated; she
+is chilly to me, distant, reticent, even unfriendly. I grieve that we
+are estranged. I love her and I want her to love me. I do not want
+her to hate me. Please do all you can to placate her. She keeps her
+countenance and is always outwardly serene, sedate and stately. But she
+rages inwardly and is so infuriated when you talk to me that I dread
+her. Please avoid me and propitiate her all you can. Please promise me
+that you will do as I ask.”</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell promised, and, for some days, barely greeted Thordis and
+had no converse with her whatever, whereas he spent long hours with
+Thorarna, and, to his amazement, found that he enjoyed her society
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>
+keenly; yet, even more to his amazement, felt that, when he was not
+with Thorarna, he longed for Thordis so acutely that he could hardly
+restrain himself from seeking her out and telling her how much he loved
+her.</p>
+
+<p>The long spell of clear, mild weather merged into weather decidedly
+warm, weather which would have been warm even for Scotland or England.
+Thorstein, with a large retinue of spearmen, rode out to visit and
+inspect the outlying fringe of farms tenanted by his dependents or
+thingmen. It was a very fair day and they had expected an easy jaunt
+and an early return to Hofstadir. So it turned out for Thorstein and
+most of his company. But, early in the day, they heard a report, hardly
+more than a rumor, of distress at a farmstead isolated among uplands
+at the extreme southwestern point of Thorstein’s gothorth, very much
+out of their way. Thorbrand offered to ride there and investigate
+and Thorkell volunteered to go with him. He demurred to his father’s
+suggestion that he take some of the men-at-arms, declaring that he and
+Thorkell could make better time alone. Off they set. Their errand was
+easily accomplished and the rumor found untrue and everyone safe and
+well at Mossfell. But, on their return, they encountered conditions
+peculiar to Iceland. There it frequently happens during a prolonged
+spell of warm weather that great quantities of snow are melted high up
+on the plateaus or in hollows among the upper foot-hills, and, very
+occasionally, that the waters are dammed back by ice accumulated in
+some valley, ravine, gorge or glen, and, if the hot weather lasts on,
+are suddenly released by the crumbling of the ice-dam. Such a sudden
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>
+and terrific freshet roared across their homeward way and presented a
+torrent of deep water not only unfordable, but impossible to swim. They
+were, perforce, compelled to await the ebbing of the transitory flood
+and so did not reach Hofstadir until the gradual twilight, insensible
+gloaming and lingering dusk had melted into semi-darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Thorbrand, sedulously careful of their weary mounts, bade Thorkell go
+at once into the hall. Between the stable and the mansion, out of sight
+of either behind the storehouse, he encountered Thordis.</p>
+
+<p>She burst into tears; crying:</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! My Love! My Love! Ref and Karli rode in after sunset on lathered
+horses reporting that you and Thorbrand had been ambushed and killed.
+Oh! My Love! My Love!”</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell caught her in his arms and they clung together, she sobbing,
+her head on his breast, he with one arm about her, his other hand
+stroking her hair, whispering:</p>
+
+<p>“My Darling! My Darling!”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly her arms relaxed, she pulled away from him, pushed him from
+her, and cried, in a strangled whisper:</p>
+
+<p>“Let me go! Thorarna might see us! Be careful! Thorarna must not see us
+together! Let me go! Avoid me! Keep away from me, hardly speak to me!
+She must not see us together! Let me go!”</p>
+
+<p>And she sprang away and vanished like a frightened hare.</p>
+
+<p>The weather, for two days afterwards, was not merely warm, but hot,
+weather which would have been hot anywhere; an occurrence very unusual
+for Iceland, but not unknown, especially on the east coast. On account
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>
+of the heat the fire in the hall was allowed to go out entirely, and,
+at the evening meal, two of the benches of the men-at-arms were set
+across the fireplace, close against the stone work of the chimney-piece.</p>
+
+<p>During these two days Thorkell spent as much time with Thorarna as he
+could arrange, and found her fascinating, but moody, high-strung and
+capricious. He sedulously avoided Thordis. Only for one moment did they
+have an opportunity to exchange a few words. Then Thordis, on the verge
+of tears and gasping, said:</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! I am so afraid of Thorarna. I don’t know what I dread, but I am in
+the most fearful dread of her. She is very suspicious of you. I think
+she conjectures that you and I love each other. You are too distant
+with her for her peace of mind. Thorarna, like all her mother’s family,
+is petulant, choleric, touchy, irascible, hot-tempered, acrimonious,
+vindictive, impulsive, precipitate and hot-headed. Oh, I am so afraid
+of her!”</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell tried to calm her, but could not.</p>
+
+<p>Early the third morning, just after dawn had brightened into day, the
+lookouts gave the alarm.</p>
+
+<p>And too late!</p>
+
+<p>For, when the garrison of Hofstadir had barely armed and were not
+yet all at their posts, there fell upon them three simultaneous and
+perfectly coordinated assaults; from the west along the strand, from
+the south down the slope, and from the north, from across the fiord by
+a party which had made an unopposed landing on the shore.</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell was among the defenders of the western side of the enclosure,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>
+and, despite the hard fight he and his companions put up, their
+assailants succeeded in crossing the trench and scaling the wall. But
+thereupon they were beaten back by a desperate rally of the denizens,
+in which Thorkell played more than his part, for he, single-handed,
+successively slew five formidable antagonists. As their foemen wavered
+he sprang at a sixth, parried his thrust and got home a deadly stroke
+on his helmet.</p>
+
+<p>The sword snapped!</p>
+
+<p>As his adversary was half stunned and wholly dazed by the force of the
+blow Thorkell whirled about and made a dash for the hall. There he
+leapt upon one of the benches set across the fireplace, seized the hilt
+of one of the six identical swords, wrenched it from its fastenings,
+and, waving it, dashed out.</p>
+
+<p>As he cleared the doorway he heard elated shouts and an exultant cheer.
+Glancing to his right he saw men in chain-mail hauberks vaulting the
+eastern wall of the enclosure. He recognized, in the lead, Lodbrok
+and Halfdan, the chiefs, Gellir, Sigurd and Bodvar, his treacherous
+friends, and others from the crew of the Sea-Raven. He instantly
+divined that they had blundered into Miofifiord or Seydisfiord, had
+fraternized with the Seydisfirthers and Miofifirthers and had readily
+agreed, for their share in the prospective loot, to take part in
+capturing and sacking the richest homestead in eastern Iceland.</p>
+
+<p>On fire with his chance of revenge he flew at Lodbrok, and, as he
+charged, it seemed to him that never had he run so swiftly, never
+had he felt so strong, so capable, so eager for a fray, so sure of
+success. He beat back Lodbrok’s guard and swung a full-arm sweep of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>
+his blade at his head. The sword went up like a feather and came down
+like a battle-axe. As if through cheese it clove helm, skull, jaw and
+chin down into the breast-bone. Lodbrok fell like a pole-axed ox, and,
+as Thorkell saw him go down, almost in two halves, he realized that he
+was wielding Floki’s blade.</p>
+
+<p>He whirled on Gellir and the sweep of the sword cut clean through
+not only both forearms between wrist and elbow, but also through the
+stout ash shaft of the pike he wielded. Behind Gellir was Halfdan,
+no mean adversary, truculent, wary and skilled. He held his bright,
+round, arabesqued shield close against his left shoulder and lunged
+cunningly and viciously. Barely parrying his thrust Thorkell swung his
+great sword, and, lo! it shore clean through shield, gorget, hauberk,
+shoulder and arm, so that his left forequarter fell clear of Halfdan
+and he was dead before he crumpled on the earth.</p>
+
+<p>Similarly Thorkell slew Bodvar, Sigurd and Hrodmar. Two the sharp sword
+beheaded at a single sweep; one it cleft under the sword-arm, through
+his ribs, into his liver; of the fourth its point pierced his heart
+through shield and hauberk.</p>
+
+<p>Instinct made Thorkell spin round and he faced Kollgrim Erlendson,
+leader of the Vikings and most redoubtable of them all. Their swords
+clashed and Kollgrim’s failed, snapped before the hilt, so that
+Thorkell’s blade shore off his right shoulder, slicing through the
+rings of his chain-mail hauberk as if it had been of hemp, and he died
+as his fellow chieftain Halfdan Ingolfson had died.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p>
+
+<p>Although their chiefs were all dead the Vikings, descrying but one
+defender before them, were swarming over the wall. Among them Thorkell
+dashed and at each stroke of Floki’s blade a foeman died. Yet Thorkell
+must have been overwhelmed by mere numbers if some of the Vilgerdsons
+and their men-at-arms, now victorious to north and south, had not
+flocked to his aid, amazed to see that Hofstadir had been saved by his
+unaided valor and spurred on by admiration of him.</p>
+
+<p>Thorkell at their head they drove the survivors of the Sea-Raven’s crew
+in headlong flight across the wall and trench, and Thorkell beheld in
+the distance the thralls Erp, Ulf, Hundi, Kepp, Sokholf and Vifill,
+standing ready with spare shields, spears, bows and quivers, cast away
+their burdens and turn in flight before the foremost of the fleeing
+Vikings reached them.</p>
+
+<p>The fight was over. The assailants were everywhere beaten and routed.
+Thorstein forbade pursuit on foot, and only some twenty of the
+men-at-arms found horses ready, mounted and sped out of the main
+gateway of the enclosure to complete the rout of the assailants, who
+left more than forty corpses behind them.</p>
+
+<p>Of the victors twelve spearmen had fallen and with them seven of
+Thorstein’s dependent yeomen, four of his thingmen, and two cousins,
+Thorberg Vilgerdson of Snowfell and Thorod Vilgerdson of Gelsbank.
+Thorkell, Thorstein himself and Thorfinn were the only unwounded
+warriors among the defenders. All the rest of the family, all the
+cousins, thingmen, yeomen, and men-at-arms had suffered one or more
+wounds; but, of the family, only Thord was wounded seriously. His
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>
+wounds were at once bound up and the blood staunched.</p>
+
+<p>Then, with one accord, every warrior of them all acclaimed Thorkell
+as their savior. They cheered him and saluted him as “hero.” Thorfinn
+and Thorgeir seized him by the elbows, and, following their father and
+followed by the cheering throng, marched him into the great hall and up
+to the High Seat. There Thorstein stood aside and motioned Thorkell to
+mount the dais and occupy the High Seat. Before his dazed astonishment
+could protest, Thorfinn and Thorgeir had gently forced him into it.
+There he sat, Floki’s blade, still red, point down between his knees,
+his hands crossed on the pommel of the upright hilt.</p>
+
+<p>Thorstein shouted:</p>
+
+<p>“Mead for the hero! Not a man of us shall touch horn or bowl to lip
+until the hero has had his fill of my best mead. Mead for the hero!”</p>
+
+<p>At the call Thorarna appeared from the kitchen through the rear
+doorway carrying with both hands a great bowl high before her. Down
+the hall she came, her face lit with a triumphant smile, magnificent
+and stately. Before the High Seat she knelt and offered the bowl to
+Thorkell. The fighters cheered again.</p>
+
+<p>As Thorarna held up the bowl, Thorkell, to his horror, felt his right
+hand grasp the sword-hilt with a grip he could not loosen, felt
+the sword raise itself and his arm till the blade swung high above
+Thorarna, felt the magic of the sword drag down his arm in a deadly
+sweep, felt and saw the blow descend, felt and saw the blade shear
+through Thorarna’s left shoulder, shoulder-blade, collar-bone and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span>
+ribs, cleaving her to the very heart.</p>
+
+<p>She crumpled in a horrid welter of spilt mead, gushing blood,
+disordered raiment and huddled flesh.</p>
+
+<p>The onlookers stood, frozen mute.</p>
+
+<p>Into the hall rushed Thordis and Thorgerd, screaming:</p>
+
+<p>“Do not drink! The mead is poisoned! Do not drink! The mead is
+poisoned!”</p>
+
+<p>At sight of the High Seat, Thorkell on it and what lay before him,
+Thordis collapsed in a faint. Thorgerd was at once absorbed in tending
+her cousin.</p>
+
+<p>Thorstein shouted for his thralls.</p>
+
+<p>“Ref! Karli! Mar! Odd! Remove that carrion! Cleanse the dais!”</p>
+
+<p>And, when his orders had been obeyed and the dais and hall were again
+seemly, he called once more:</p>
+
+<p>“Mead for the hero!”</p>
+
+<p>Thordis, now restored, though tottering, her golden-haired,
+pink-cheeked, blue-eyed loveliness amazing even in her confusion,
+herself carried to Thorkell a horn.</p>
+
+<p>He took it, quaffed it as he sat and handed it back to her. Then
+Thorstein shouted:</p>
+
+<p>“Mead for all of us, and more mead for the hero!”</p>
+
+<p>Maid servants flocked in with bowls, horns and goblets and behind them
+thralls with pails of mead to replenish those drained. All drank,
+Thorkell too, a second horn offered him by Thordis. From her knees he
+raised her and made her stand beside the High Seat.</p>
+
+<p>Then Thorstein shouted:</p>
+
+<p>“Hail the hero!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p>
+
+<p>Whereupon all the warriors cheered Thorkell until they were hoarse.</p>
+
+<p>Into the ensuing silence Thorstein spoke clearly and gravely:</p>
+
+<p>“To-morrow we shall revel in honor of our deliverance, victory and
+safety. And the banquet shall be the wedding feast of my niece Thordis
+and of her bridegroom, my cousin, Thorkell Vilgerdson of Rogaland in
+Norway, our hero!”</p>
+
+<p class="right">1924</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_PICTURE_PUZZLE">THE PICTURE PUZZLE</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_PICTURE_PUZZLE_2">THE PICTURE PUZZLE</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">I</p>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">O</span>F course the instinct of the police and detectives was to run down
+their game. That was natural. They seemed astonished and contemptuous
+when I urged that all I wanted was my baby; whether the kidnappers
+were ever caught or not made no difference to me. They kept arguing
+that unless precautions were taken the criminals would escape and
+I kept arguing that if they became suspicious of a trap they would
+keep away and my only chance to recover our little girl would be gone
+forever. They finally agreed and I believe they kept their promise to
+me. Helen always felt the other way and maintained that their watchers
+frightened off whoever was to meet me. Anyhow I waited in vain, waited
+for hours, waited again the next day and the next and the next. We put
+advertisements in countless papers, offering rewards and immunity, but
+never heard anything more.</p>
+
+<p>I pulled myself together in a sort of a way and tried to do my work. My
+partner and clerks were very kind. I don’t believe I ever did anything
+properly in those days, but no one ever brought any blunder to my
+attention. If they came across any they set it right for me. And at the
+office it was not so bad. Trying to work was good for me. It was worse
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>
+at home and worse at night. I slept hardly at all.</p>
+
+<p>Helen, if possible, slept less than I. And she had terrible spasms of
+sobs that shook the bed. She would try to choke them down, thinking I
+was asleep and she might wake me. But she never went through a night
+without at least one frightful paroxysm of tears.</p>
+
+<p>In the daylight she controlled herself better, made a heart-breaking
+and yet heart-warming effort at her normal cheeriness over the
+breakfast things, and greeted me beautifully when I came home. But the
+moment we were alone for the evening she would break down.</p>
+
+<p>I don’t know how many days that sort of thing kept up. I sympathized
+in silence. It was Helen herself who suggested that we must force
+ourselves to be diverted, somehow. The theater was out of the question.
+Not merely the sight of a four-year-old girl with yellow locks threw
+Helen into a passion of uncontrollable sobbing, but all sorts of
+unexpected trifles reminded her of Amy and affected her almost as much.
+Confined to our home we tried cards, chess and everything else we could
+think of. They helped her as little as they helped me.</p>
+
+<p>Then one afternoon Helen did not come to greet me. Instead as I came in
+I heard her call, quite in her natural voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I’m so glad that is you. Come and help me.”</p>
+
+<p>I found her seated at the library table, her back to the door. She had
+on a pink wrapper and her shoulders had no despondent droop, but a
+girlish alertness. She barely turned her head as I entered, but her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>
+profile showed no signs of recent weeping. Her face was its natural
+color.</p>
+
+<p>“Come and help me,” she repeated. “I can’t find the other piece of the
+boat.”</p>
+
+<p>She was absorbed, positively absorbed in a picture puzzle.</p>
+
+<p>In forty seconds I was absorbed too. It must have been six minutes
+before we identified the last piece of the boat. And then we went on
+with the sky and were still at it when the butler announced dinner.</p>
+
+<p>“Where did you get it?” I asked, over the soup, which Helen really ate.</p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Allstone brought it,” Helen replied, “just before lunch.”</p>
+
+<p>I blessed Mrs. Allstone.</p>
+
+<p>Really it seems absurd, but those idiotic jig-saw puzzles were our
+salvation. They actually took our minds off everything else. At first
+I dreaded finishing one. No sooner was the last piece in place than I
+felt a sudden revulsion, a booming of blood in my ears, and the sense
+of loss and misery rushed over me like a wave of scalding water. And I
+knew it was worse for Helen.</p>
+
+<p>But after some days each seemed not merely a respite from pain, but
+a sedative as well. After a two hours’ struggle with a fascinating
+tangle of shapes and colors, we seemed numb to our bereavement and the
+bitterness of the smart seemed blunted.</p>
+
+<p>We grew fastidious as to manufacture and finish; learned to avoid crude
+and clumsy products as bores; developed a pronounced taste for pictures
+neither too soft nor too plain in color-masses; and became connoisseurs
+as to cutting, utterly above the obvious and entirely disenchanted
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>
+with the painfully difficult. We evolved into adepts, quick to recoil
+from fragments barren of any clue of shape or markings and equally
+prompt to reject those whose meaning was too definite and insistent.
+We trod delicately the middle way among segments not one of which was
+without some clue of outline or tint, and not one of which imparted its
+message without interrogation, inference and reflection.</p>
+
+<p>Helen used to time herself and try the same puzzle over and over on
+successive days until she could do it in less than half an hour. She
+declared that a really good puzzle was interesting the fourth or fifth
+time and that an especially fine puzzle was diverting if turned face
+down and put together from the shapes merely, after it had been well
+learned the other way. I did not enter into the craze to that extent,
+but sometimes tried her methods for variety.</p>
+
+<p>We really slept, and Helen, though worn and thin, was not abject, not
+agonized. Her nights passed, if not wholly without tears, yet with only
+those soft and silent tears, which are more a relief than suffering.
+With me she was nearly her old self and very brave and patient. She
+greeted me naturally and we seemed able to go on living.</p>
+
+<p>Then one day she was not at the door to welcome me. I had hardly shut
+it before I heard her sobbing. I found her again at the library table
+and over a puzzle. But this time she had just finished it and was bowed
+over it on the table, shaken all over by her grief.</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her head from her crossed arms, pointed and buried her face
+in her hands. I understood. The picture I remembered from a magazine of
+the year before: a Christmas tree with a bevy of children about it and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>
+one (we had remarked it at the time) a perfect likeness of our Amy.</p>
+
+<p>As she rocked back and forth, her hands over her eyes, I swept the
+pieces into their box and put on the lid.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Helen dried her eyes and looked at the table.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! why did you touch it,” she wailed. “It was such a comfort to me.”</p>
+
+<p>“You did not seem comforted,” I retorted. “I thought the contrast:...”
+I stopped.</p>
+
+<p>“You mean the contrast between the Christmas we expected and the
+Christmas we are going to have?” she queried. “You mean you thought
+that was too much for me?”</p>
+
+<p>I nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“It wasn’t that at all,” she averred. “I was crying for joy. That
+picture was a sign.”</p>
+
+<p>“A sign?” I repeated.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she declared, “a sign that we shall get her back in time for
+Christmas. I’m going to start and get ready right away.”</p>
+
+<p>At first I was glad of the diversion. Helen had the nursery put in
+order as if she expected Amy the next day, hauled over all the child’s
+clothes and was in a bustling state of happy expectancy. She went
+vigorously about her preparation for a Christmas celebration, planned
+a Christmas Eve dinner for our brothers and sisters and their husbands
+and wives, and a children’s party afterwards with a big tree and a
+profusion of goodies and gifts.</p>
+
+<p>“You see,” she explained, “everyone will want their own Christmas at
+home. So shall we, for we’ll just want to gloat over Amy all day. We
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>
+won’t want them on Christmas any more than they’ll want us. But this
+way we can all be together and celebrate and rejoice over our good
+luck.”</p>
+
+<p>She was as elated and convinced as if it was a certainty. For a while
+her occupation with preparations was good for her, but she was so
+forehanded that she was ready a week ahead of time and had not a detail
+left to arrange. I dreaded a reaction, but her artificial exaltation
+continued unabated. All the more I feared the inevitable disappointment
+and was genuinely concerned for her reason. The fixed idea that that
+accidental coincidence was a prophecy and a guarantee dominated her
+totally. I was really afraid that the shock of the reality might kill
+her. I did not want to dissipate her happy delusion, but I could not
+but try to prepare her for the certain blow. I talked cautiously in
+wide circles around what I wanted and I did not want to say.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">II</p>
+
+
+<p>On December 22nd, I came home early, just after lunch, in fact. Helen
+met me, at the door, with such a demeanor of suppressed high spirits,
+happy secrecy and tingling anticipation that for one moment I was
+certain Amy had been found and was then in the house.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve something wonderful to show you,” Helen declared, and led me to
+the library.</p>
+
+<p>There on the table was a picture-puzzle fitted together.</p>
+
+<p>She stood and pointed to it with the air of exhibiting a marvel.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p>
+
+<p>I looked at it but could not conjecture the cause of her excitement.
+The pieces seemed too large, too clumsy and too uniform in outline. It
+looked a crude and clumsy puzzle, beneath her notice.</p>
+
+<p>“Why did you buy it?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“I met a peddler on the street,” she answered, “and he was so
+wretched-looking, I was sorry for him. He was young and thin and looked
+haggard and consumptive. I looked at him and I suppose I showed my
+feelings. He said:</p>
+
+<p>“Lady, buy a puzzle. It will help you to your heart’s desire.”</p>
+
+<p>“His words were so odd I bought it, and now just look at what it is.”</p>
+
+<p>I was groping for some foothold upon which to rally my thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>“Let me see the box in which it came,” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>She produced it and I read on the top:</p>
+
+<p class="nindc">
+“GUGGENHEIM’S DOUBLE PICTURE<br>
+PUZZLE.<br>
+TWO IN ONE.<br>
+MOST FOR THE MONEY.<br>
+ASK FOR GUGGENHEIM’S”</p>
+
+<p class="nind">And on the end—</p>
+
+<p class="nindc">
+“ASTRAY.<br>
+A BREATH OF AIR.<br>
+50 CENTS.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s queer,” Helen remarked. “But it is not a double puzzle at all,
+though the pieces have the same paper on both sides. One side is blank.
+I suppose this is <span class="allsmcap">ASTRAY</span>. Don’t you think so?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Astray?” I queried, puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” she cried, in a disappointed, disheartened, almost querulous
+tone. “I thought you would be so much struck with the resemblance. You
+don’t seem to notice it at all. Why even the dress is identical!”</p>
+
+<p>“The dress?” I repeated. “How many times have you done this?”</p>
+
+<p>“Only this once,” she said. “I had just finished it when I heard your
+key in the lock.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should have thought,” I commented, “that it would have been more
+interesting to do it face up first.”</p>
+
+<p>“Face up!” She cried. “It is face up.”</p>
+
+<p>Her air of scornful superiority completely shook me out of my sedulous
+consideration of a moment before.</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense,” I said, “that’s the back of the puzzle. There are no colors
+there. It’s all pink.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pink!” she exclaimed pointing. “Do you call that pink!”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly it’s pink,” I asserted.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you see there the white of the old man’s beard,” she queried,
+pointing again. “And there the black of his boots? And there the red of
+the little girl’s dress?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” I declared. “I don’t see anything of the kind. It’s all pink.
+There isn’t any picture there at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“No picture!” she cried. “Don’t you see the old man leading the child
+by the hand?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” I said harshly, “I don’t see any picture and you know I don’t.
+There isn’t any picture there. I can’t make out what you are driving
+at. It seems a senseless joke.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Joke! I joke!” Helen half whispered. The tears came into her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“You are cruel,” she said, “and I thought you would be struck by the
+resemblance.”</p>
+
+<p>I was overwhelmed by a pang of self-reproach, solicitude and terror.</p>
+
+<p>“Resemblance to what?” I asked gently.</p>
+
+<p>“Can’t you see it?” she insisted.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me,” I pleaded. “Show me just what you want me to notice most.”</p>
+
+<p>“The child,” she said pointing, “is just exactly Amy and the dress is
+the very red suit she had on when——”</p>
+
+<p>“Dear,” I said, “try to collect yourself. Indeed you only imagine what
+you tell me. There is no picture on this side of the sections. The
+whole thing is pink. That is the back of the puzzle.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t see how you can say such a thing,” she raged at me. “I can’t
+make out why you should. What sort of a test are you putting me
+through? What does it all mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“Will you let me prove to you that this is the back of the puzzle?” I
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>“If you can,” she said shortly.</p>
+
+<p>I turned the pieces of the puzzle over, keeping them together as much
+as possible. I succeeded pretty well with the outer pieces and soon had
+the rectangle in place. The inner pieces were a good deal mixed up, but
+even before I had fitted them I exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>“There look at that!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” she asked. “What do you expect me to see?”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you see?” I asked in turn.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I see the back of a puzzle,” she answered.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you see those front steps?” I demanded, pointing.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t see anything,” she asserted, “except green.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you call that green?” I queried pointing.</p>
+
+<p>“I do,” she declared.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you see the brick-work front of the house?” I insisted, “and the
+lower part of a window and part of a door. Yes and those front-steps in
+the corner?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t see anything of the kind,” she asseverated. “Any more than you
+do. What I see is just what you see. It’s the back of the puzzle, all
+pale green.”</p>
+
+<p>I had been feverishly putting together the last pieces as she spoke. I
+could not believe my eyes and, as the last piece fitted in, was struck
+with amazement.</p>
+
+<p>The picture showed an old red-brick house, with brown blinds, all
+open. The top of the front steps was included in the lower right hand
+corner, most of the front door above them, all of one window on its
+level, and the side of another. Above appeared all of one of the second
+floor windows, and parts of those to right and left of it. The other
+windows were closed, but the sash of the middle one was raised and from
+it leaned a little girl, a child with frowzy hair, a dirty face and
+wearing a blue and white check frock. The child was a perfect likeness
+of our lost Amy, supposing she had been starved and neglected. I was so
+affected that I was afraid I should faint. I was positively husky when
+I asked:</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you see that?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I see Nile green,” she maintained. “The same as you see.”</p>
+
+<p>I swept the pieces into the box.</p>
+
+<p>“We are neither of us well,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“I should think you must be deranged to behave so,” she snapped, “and
+it is no wonder I am not well the way you treat me.”</p>
+
+<p>“How could I know what you wanted me to see?” I began.</p>
+
+<p>“Wanted you to see!” she cried. “You keep it up? You pretend you didn’t
+see it, after all? Oh! I have no patience with you.”</p>
+
+<p>She burst into tears, fled upstairs and I heard her slam and lock our
+bedroom door.</p>
+
+<p>I put that puzzle together again and the likeness of that hungry,
+filthy child in the picture to our Amy made my heart ache.</p>
+
+<p>I found a stout box, cut two pieces of straw-board just the shape of
+the puzzle and a trifle larger, laid one on top of it and slid the
+other under it. Then I tied it together with string and wrapped it in
+paper and tied the whole.</p>
+
+<p>I put the box in my overcoat pocket and went out carrying the flat
+parcel.</p>
+
+<p>I walked round to MacIntyre’s.</p>
+
+<p>I told him the whole story and showed him the puzzle.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you want the truth?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Just that,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he reported. “You are as overstrung as she is and the same way.
+There is absolutely no picture on either side of this. One side is
+solid green and the other solid pink.”</p>
+
+<p>“How about the coincidence of the names on the box?” I interjected.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>
+“One suited what I saw, one what she said she saw.”</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s look at the box,” he suggested.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at it on all sides.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s not a letter on it,” he announced. “Except ‘picture puzzle’ on
+top and ‘50 cents’ on the end.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t feel insane,” I declared.</p>
+
+<p>“You aren’t,” he reassured me. “Nor in any danger of being insane. Let
+me look you over.”</p>
+
+<p>He felt my pulse, looked at my tongue, examined both eyes with his
+ophthalmoscope, and took a drop of my blood.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll report further,” he said, “in confirmation to-morrow. You’re all
+right, or nearly so, and you’ll soon be really all right. All you need
+is a little rest. Don’t worry about this idea of your wife’s, humor
+her. There won’t be any terrible consequences. After Christmas go to
+Florida or somewhere for a week or so. And don’t exert yourself from
+now till after that change.”</p>
+
+<p>When I reached home, I went down into the cellar, threw that puzzle and
+its box into the furnace and stood and watched it burn to ashes.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">III</p>
+
+
+<p>When I came upstairs from the furnace Helen met me as if nothing had
+happened. By one of her sudden revulsions of mood she was even more
+gracious than usual, and was at dinner altogether charming. She did not
+refer to our quarrel or to the puzzle.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning over our breakfast we were both opening our mail. I
+had told her that I should not go to the office until after Christmas
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>
+and that I wanted her to arrange for a little tour that would please
+her. I had phoned to the office not to expect me until after New Year’s.</p>
+
+<p>My mail contained nothing of moment.</p>
+
+<p>Helen looked up from hers with an expression curiously mingled of
+disappointment, concern and a pleased smile.</p>
+
+<p>“It is so fortunate you have nothing to do,” she said. “I spent four
+whole days choosing toys and favors and found most of those I selected
+at Bleich’s. They were to have been delivered day before yesterday but
+they did not come. I telephoned yesterday and they said they would try
+to trace them. Here is a letter saying that the whole lot was missent
+out to Roundwood. You noticed that Roundwood station burned Monday
+night. They were all burnt up. Now I’ll have to go and find more like
+them. You can go with me.”</p>
+
+<p>I went.</p>
+
+<p>The two days were a strange mixture of sensations and emotions.</p>
+
+<p>Helen had picked over Bleich’s stock pretty carefully and could
+duplicate from it few of the burned articles, could find acceptable
+substitutes for fewer. There followed an exhausting pursuit of
+the unattainable through a bewildering series of toy-shops and
+department-stores. We spent most of our time at counters and much of
+the remainder in a taxicab.</p>
+
+<p>In a way it was very trying. I did not mind the smells and bad air and
+other mere physical discomforts. But the mental strain continually
+intensified. Helen’s confidence that Amy would be restored to us was
+steadily waning and her outward exhibition of it was becoming more
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>
+and more artificial, and consciously sustained, and more and more
+of an effort. She was coming to foresee, in spite of herself, that
+our Christmas celebration would be a most terrible mockery of our
+bereavement. She was forcing herself not to confess it to herself and
+not to show it to me. The strain told on her. It told on me to watch
+it, to see the inevitable crash coming nearer and nearer and to try to
+put away from myself the pictures of her collapse, of her probable loss
+of reason, of her possible death, which my imagination kept thrusting
+before me.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand Helen was to all appearance, if one had no prevision
+by which to read her, her most charming self. Her manner to shop-girls
+and other sales-people was a delight to watch. Her little speeches to
+me were full of her girlish whimsicality and unexpectedness. Her good
+will towards all the world, her resolution that everything must come
+right and would come right haloed her in a sort of aureole of romance.
+Our lunches were ideal hours, full of the atmosphere of courtship, of
+lovemaking, of exquisite companionship. In spite of my forebodings, I
+caught the contagion of the Christmas shopping crowds; in spite of her
+self-deception Helen revelled in it. The purpose to make as many people
+as possible as happy as might be irradiated Helen with the light of
+fairyland; her resolve to be happy herself in spite of everything made
+her a sort of fairy queen. I found myself less and less anxious and
+more and more almost expectant. I knew Helen was looking for Amy every
+instant. I found myself in the same state of mind.</p>
+
+<p>Our lunch on Christmas Eve was a strange blend of artificiality and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>
+genuine exhilaration. After it we had but one purchase to make.</p>
+
+<p>“We are in no hurry,” Helen said. “Let’s take a horse-hansom for old
+sake’s sake.”</p>
+
+<p>In it we were like boy and girl together until the jeweler’s was
+reached.</p>
+
+<p>There gloom, in spite of us, settled down over our hopes and feelings.
+Helen walked to the hansom like a gray ghost. Like the whisper of some
+far-off stranger I heard myself order the driver to take us home.</p>
+
+<p>In the hansom we sat silent, looking straight in front of us at
+nothing. I stole a glance at Helen and saw a tear in the corner of her
+eye. I sat choking.</p>
+
+<p>All at once she seized my hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Look!” she exclaimed, “Look!”</p>
+
+<p>I looked where she pointed, but discerned nothing to account for her
+excitement.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” I queried.</p>
+
+<p>“The old man!” she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>“What old man?” I asked bewildered.</p>
+
+<p>“The old man on the puzzle,” she told me. “The old man who was leading
+Amy.”</p>
+
+<p>Then I was sure she was demented. To humor her I asked:</p>
+
+<p>“The old man with the brown coat?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she said eagerly. “The old man with the long gray hair over his
+collar.”</p>
+
+<p>“With the walking stick?” I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she answered. “With the crooked walking stick.”</p>
+
+<p>I saw him too! This was no figment of Helen’s imagination.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span></p>
+
+<p>It was absurd of course, but my eagerness caught fire from hers. I
+credited the absurdity. In what sort of vision it mattered not she had
+seen an old man like this leading our lost Amy.</p>
+
+<p>I spoke to the driver, pointed out to him the old man, told him to
+follow him without attracting his attention and offered him anything he
+asked to keep him in sight.</p>
+
+<p>Helen became possessed with the idea that we should lose sight of the
+old man in the crowds. Nothing would do but we must get out and follow
+him on foot. I remonstrated that we were much more likely to lose sight
+of him that way, and still more likely to attract his notice, which
+would be worse than losing him. She insisted and I told the man to keep
+us in view.</p>
+
+<p>A weary walk we had, though most of it was mere strolling after a
+tottering figure or loitering about shops he entered.</p>
+
+<p>It was near dusk and full time for us to be at home when he began to
+walk fast. So fast he drew away from us in spite of us. He turned a
+corner a half a square ahead of us. When we turned into that street he
+was nowhere to be seen.</p>
+
+<p>Helen was ready to faint with disappointment. With no hope of helping
+her, but some instinctive idea of postponing the evil moment I urged
+her to walk on, saying that perhaps we might see him. About the middle
+of the square I suddenly stood still.</p>
+
+<p>“What is the matter?” Helen asked.</p>
+
+<p>“The house!” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“What house?” she queried.</p>
+
+<p>“The house in the puzzle picture,” I explained. “The house where I saw
+Amy at the window.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p>
+
+<p>Of course she had not seen any house on the puzzle, but she caught at
+the last straw of hope.</p>
+
+<p>It was a poor neighborhood of crowded tenements, not quite a slum, yet
+dirty and unkempt and full of poor folks.</p>
+
+<p>The house door was shut, I could find no sign of any bell. I knocked.
+No one answered. I tried the door. It was not fastened and we entered
+a dirty hallway, cold and damp and smelling repulsively. A fat woman
+stuck her head out of a door and jabbered at us in an unknown tongue.
+A man with a fez on his greasy black hair came from the back of the
+hallway and was equally unintelligible.</p>
+
+<p>“Does nobody here speak English?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>The answer was as incomprehensible as before.</p>
+
+<p>I made to go up the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>The man, and the woman, who was now standing before her door, both
+chattered at once, but neither made any attempt to stop me. They waved
+vaguely explanatory, deprecating hands towards the blackness of the
+stairway. We went up.</p>
+
+<p>On the second floor landing we saw just the old man we had been
+following.</p>
+
+<p>He stared at us when I spoke to him.</p>
+
+<p>“Son-in-law,” he said, “son-in-law.”</p>
+
+<p>He called and a door opened. An oldish woman answered him in apparently
+the same jargon. Behind was a young woman holding a baby.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” she asked with a great deal of accent but intelligibly.</p>
+
+<p>Three or four children held on by her skirts.</p>
+
+<p>Behind her I saw a little girl in a blue-check dress.</p>
+
+<p>Helen screamed.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">IV</p>
+
+
+<p>The people turned out to be refugees from the settlement about the
+sacked German Mission at Dehkhargan near Tabriz, Christianized
+Persians, such stupid villagers that they had never thought or had been
+incapable of reporting their find to the police, so ignorant that they
+knew nothing of rewards or advertisements, such simple-hearted folk
+that they had shared their narrow quarters and scanty fare with the
+unknown waif their grandfather had found wandering alone, after dark,
+months before.</p>
+
+<p>Amy, when we had leisure to ask questions and hear her experiences,
+declared they had treated her as they treated their own children. She
+could give no description of her kidnappers except that the woman had
+on a hat with roses in it and the man had a little yellow mustache. She
+could not tell how long they had kept her nor why they had left her to
+wander in the streets at night.</p>
+
+<p>It needed no common language, far less any legal proof, to convince
+Amy’s hosts that she belonged to us. I had a pocket full of Christmas
+money, new five and ten dollar gold pieces and bright silver quarters
+for the servants and children. I filled the old grandfather’s hands
+and plainly overwhelmed him. They all jabbered at us, blessings, if I
+judged the tone right. I tried to tell the young woman we should see
+them again in a day or two and I gave her a card to make sure.</p>
+
+<p>I told the cabman to stop the first taxicab he should see empty. In the
+hansom we hugged Amy alternately and hugged each other.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p>
+
+<p>Once in the taxicab we were home in half an hour; more, much more than
+half an hour late. Helen whisked Amy in by the servants’ door and flew
+upstairs with her by the back way. I faced a perturbed and anxious
+parlorful of interrogative relatives and in-laws.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll know before many minutes,” I said, “why we were both out and
+are in late. Helen will want to surprise you and I’ll say nothing to
+spoil the effect.”</p>
+
+<p>Nothing I could have said would have spoiled the effect because they
+would not have believed me. As it was Helen came in sooner than I could
+have thought possible, looking her best and accurately playing the
+formal hostess with a feeble attempt at a surprise in store.</p>
+
+<p>The dinner was a great success, with much laughter and high spirits,
+everybody carried away by Helen’s sallies and everybody amazed that she
+could be so gay.</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot understand,” Paul’s wife whispered to me, “how she can ever
+get through the party. It would kill me in her place.”</p>
+
+<p>“It won’t kill her,” I said confidently. “You may be sure of that.”</p>
+
+<p>The children had arrived to the number of more than thirty and only the
+inevitably late Amstelhuysens had not come. Helen announced that she
+would not wait for them.</p>
+
+<p>“The tree is lighted,” she said. “We’ll have the doors thrown open and
+go in.”</p>
+
+<p>We were all gathered in the front parlor. The twins panted in at
+the last instant. The grown-ups were pulling motto-crackers and the
+children were throwing confetti. The doors opened, the tree filled all
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>
+the back of the room. The candles blazed and twinkled. And in front of
+it, in a simple little white dress, with a fairy’s wand in her hand,
+tipped with a silver star, clean, healthy-looking and full of spirits
+was Amy, the fairy of the hour.</p>
+
+<p class="right">1909</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SNOUT">THE SNOUT</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SNOUT_2">THE SNOUT</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">I</p>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">I</span> WAS not so much conning the specimens in the Zoölogical Garden as
+idly basking in the agreeable morning sunshine and relishing at leisure
+the perfect weather. So I saw him the instant he turned the corner of
+the building. At first, I thought I recognized him, then I hesitated.
+At first he seemed to know me and to be just about to greet me; then
+he saw past me into the cage. His eyes bulged; his mouth opened into
+a long egg-shaped oval, till you might almost have said that his jaw
+dropped; he made an inarticulate sound, partly a grunt, partly the
+ghost of a howl, and collapsed in a limp heap on the gravel. I had not
+seen a human being since I passed the gate, some distance away. No one
+came when I called. So I dragged him to the grass by a bench, untied
+his faded, shiny cravat, took off his frayed collar and unbuttoned his
+soiled neckband. Then I peeled his coat off him, rolled it up, and put
+it under his knees as he lay on his back. I tried to find some water,
+but could see none. So I sat down on the bench near him. There he lay,
+his legs and body on the grass, his head in the dry gutter, his arms on
+the pebbles of the path. I was sure I knew him, but I could not recall
+when or where we had encountered each other before. Presently he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>
+answered to my rough and ready treatment and opened his eyes, blinking
+at me heavily. He drew up his arms to his shoulders and sighed.</p>
+
+<p>“Queer,” he muttered, “I come here because of you and I meet you.”</p>
+
+<p>Still I could not remember him and he had revived enough to read my
+face. He sat up.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t try to stand up!” I warned him.</p>
+
+<p>He did not need the admonition, but clung to the end of the bench, his
+head bowed wagglingly over his arms.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you remember,” he asked thickly. “You said I had a pretty good
+smattering of an education on everything except Natural History and
+Ancient History. I’m hoping for a job in a few days, and I thought I’d
+put in the time and keep out of mischief brushing up. So I started on
+Natural History first and——”</p>
+
+<p>He broke off and glared up at me. I remembered him now. I should have
+recognized him the moment I saw him, for he was daily in my mind.
+But his luxuriant hair, his tanned skin and above all his changed
+expression, a sort of look of acquired cosmopolitanism, had baffled me.</p>
+
+<p>“Natural History!” he repeated, in a hoarse whisper. His fingers
+digging in the slats of the bench he wrenched himself round to face the
+cage.</p>
+
+<p>“Hell!” he screamed. “There it is yet!”</p>
+
+<p>He held on by the end iron-arm of the bench, shaking, almost sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s wrong with you?” I queried. “What do think you see in that
+cage?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you see anything in that cage?” he demanded in reply.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Certainly,” I told him.</p>
+
+<p>“Then for God’s sake,” he pleaded. “What do you see?”</p>
+
+<p>I told him briefly.</p>
+
+<p>“Good Lord,” he ejaculated. “Are we both crazy?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing crazy about either of us,” I assured him. “What we see in the
+cage is what is in the cage.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is there such a critter as that, honest?” he pressed me.</p>
+
+<p>I gave him a pretty full account of the animal, its habits and
+relationships.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he said, weakly, “I suppose you’re telling the truth. If there
+is such a critter let’s get where I can’t see it.”</p>
+
+<p>I helped him to his feet and assisted him to a bench altogether out of
+sight of that building. He put on his collar and knotted his cravat.
+While I had held it I had noticed that, through its greasy condition,
+it showed plainly having been a very expensive cravat. His clothes I
+remarked were seedy, but had been of the very best when new.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s find a drinking fountain,” he suggested, “I can walk now.”</p>
+
+<p>We found one not far away and at no great distance from it a shaded
+bench facing an agreeable view. I offered him a cigarette and we
+smoked. I meant to let him do most of the talking.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know,” he began presently. “Things you said to me run in my
+head more than anything anybody ever said to me. I suppose it’s because
+you’re a sort of philosopher and student of human nature and what you
+say is true. For instance, you said that criminals would get off clear
+three times out of four, if they just kept their mouths shut, but they
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>
+have to confide in some one, even against all reason. That’s just the
+way with me now.”</p>
+
+<p>“You aren’t a criminal,” I interrupted him. “You lost your temper and
+made a fool of yourself just once. If you’d been a criminal and had
+done what you did, you’d have likely enough got off, because you’d have
+calculated how to do it. As it was you put yourself in a position where
+everything was against you and you had no chance. We were all sorry for
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“You most of all,” he amplified. “You treated me bully.”</p>
+
+<p>“But we were all sorry for you,” I repeated, “and all the jury too, and
+the judge. You’re no criminal.”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you know,” he demanded defiantly, “what I have done since I got
+out?”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve grown a pretty good head of hair,” I commented.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve had time,” he said. “I’ve been all over the world and blown in
+ten thousand dollars.”</p>
+
+<p>“And never seen——” I began.</p>
+
+<p>He interrupted me at the third word.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t say it,” he shuddered. “I never had, nor heard of one. But
+I wasn’t after caged animals while I had any money left. I didn’t
+remember your advice and your other talk till I was broke. Now, it’s
+just as you said, I’ve just got to tell you. That’s the criminal in me,
+I suppose.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re no criminal,” I repeated soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Hell,” he snarled, “a year in the pen makes a man a criminal, if he
+never was before.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not necessarily,” I encouraged him.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s pretty sure to,” he sighed. “They treated me mighty well and put
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>
+me to bookkeeping, and I got my full good-conduct allowance. But I met
+professionals, and they never forget a man.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now it don’t make any difference what I did when I got out, nor what I
+tried to do nor how I met Rivvin, nor how he put Thwaite after me. No,
+nor how Thwaite got hold of me, nor what he said to me, nor anything,
+right up to the very night, till after we had started.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked me in the eye. His attitude became alert. I could see him
+warming to his narrative. In fact, when after very little rumination
+he began it, his early self dropped from him with his boyhood dialect
+and the jargon of his late associates. He was all the easy cosmopolitan
+telling his tale with conscious zest.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">II</p>
+
+
+<p>As if it had been broad day Thwaite drove the car at a terrific pace
+for nearly an hour. Then he stopped it while Rivvin put out every lamp.
+We had not met or overtaken anything, but when we started again through
+the moist, starless blackness it was too much for my nerves. Thwaite
+was as cool as if he could see. I could not so much as guess at him in
+front of me, but I could feel his self-confidence in every quiver of
+the car. It was one of those super-expensive makes which are, on any
+gear, at any speed, on any grade, as noiseless as a puma. Thwaite never
+hesitated in the gloom; he kept straight or swerved, crept or darted,
+whizzed or crawled for nearly an hour more. Then he turned sharp to
+the left and uphill. I could feel and smell the soaked, hanging boughs
+close above and about me, the wet foliage on them, and the deep sodden
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>
+earth mold that squelched under the tires. We climbed steeply, came to
+a level and then backed and went forward a length or so a half dozen
+times, turning. Then we stopped dead. Thwaite moved things that clicked
+or thumped and presently said:</p>
+
+<p>“Now I’ll demonstrate how a man can fill his gasoline tank in the pitch
+dark if he knows the touch system.”</p>
+
+<p>After some more time he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Rivvin, go bury this.”</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin swore, but went. Thwaite climbed in beside me. When Rivvin
+returned he climbed in on the other side of me. He lit his pipe,
+Thwaite lit a cigar and looked at his watch. After I had lit too,
+Thwaite said:</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve plenty of time to talk here and all you have to do is to listen.
+I’ll begin at the beginning. When old Hiram Eversleigh died——”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t mean——” I interrupted him.</p>
+
+<p>“Shut up!” he snapped, “and keep your mouth shut. You’ll have your say
+when I’ve done.”</p>
+
+<p>I shut up.</p>
+
+<p>“When old man Eversleigh died,” he resumed, “the income of the fortune
+was divided equally among his sons. You know what the others did with
+their shares: palaces in New York and London and Paris, chateaux on
+the Breton Coast, deer and grouse moors in Scotland, steam yachts and
+all the rest of it, the same as they have kept it up ever since. At
+first Vortigern Eversleigh went in for all that sort of thing harder
+than any one of his brothers. But when his wife died, more than forty
+years ago, he stopped all that at once. He sold everything else,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>
+bought this place, put the wall round it and built that infinity of
+structures inside. You’ve seen the pinnacles and roofs of them, and
+that’s all anybody I ever talked to has ever seen of them since they
+were finished about five years after his wife’s death. You’ve seen
+the two gate-houses and you know each is big even for a millionaire’s
+mansion. You can judge of the size and extent of the complication of
+buildings that make up the castle or mansion-house or whatever you
+choose to call it. There Vortigern Eversleigh lived. Not once did he
+ever leave it that I can learn of. There he died. Since his death, full
+twenty years ago, his share of the Eversleigh income has been paid
+to his heir. No one has ever seen that heir. From what I’ll tell you
+presently you’ll see as I have that the heir is probably not a woman.
+But nobody knows anything about him, he has never been outside these
+miles of wall. Yet not one of the greedy, selfish Eversleigh grandsons
+and grand-daughters, and sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, has ever
+objected to the payment to that heir of the full entire portion of
+Vortigern Eversleigh, and that portion has been two hundred thousand
+dollars a month, paid in gold on the first banking day of each month.
+I found that out for sure, for there have been disputes about the
+division of Wulfstan Eversleigh’s share and of Cedric Eversleigh’s
+share and I made certain from the papers in the suits. All that money,
+or the value of it, has been either reinvested or spent inside that
+park wall. Not much has been reinvested. I got on the track of the
+heir’s purchases. He buys musical instruments any quantity and at
+any price. Those were the first things I made sure of. And artists’
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>
+materials, paints, brushes, canvas, tools, woods, clay, marble, tons
+of clay and great blocks of superfine-grained marble. He’s no magpie
+collecting expensive trash for a whim; he knows what he wants and why;
+he has taste. He buys horses and saddlery and carriages, furniture and
+carpets and tapestries, pictures, all landscapes, never any figure
+pictures, he buys photographs of pictures by the ten thousand, and he
+buys fine porcelains, rare vases, table silver, ornaments of Venetian
+glass, silver and gold filigree, jewelry, watches, chains, gems,
+pearls, rubies, emeralds and—diamonds; diamonds!”</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite’s voice shook with excitement, though he kept it soft and even.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I did two years investigating,” he went on, “I know. People
+blabbed. But not any of the servants or grooms or gardeners. Not a
+word could I get, at first or second or third hand, from them or any
+of their relatives or friends. They keep dumb. They know which side
+their bread is buttered on. But some of the discharged tradesmen’s
+assistants told all I wanted to know and I got it straight, though not
+direct. No one from outside ever gets into that place beyond the big
+paved courtyards of the gate-houses. Every bit of supplies for all that
+regiment of servants goes into the brownstone gate-house. The outer
+gates open and the wagon or whatever it is drives under the archway.
+There it halts. The outer gates shut and the inner gates open. It
+drives into the courtyard. Then the Major-domo (I suppose that wouldn’t
+be too big a name for him) makes his selections. The inner gates of the
+other gateway open and the wagon drives under the archway and halts.
+The inner gates close fast and the outer gates open. That’s the way
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span>
+with every wagon and only one enters at a time. Everything is carried
+through the gate-house to the smaller inner courtyard and loaded on the
+wagons of the estate to be driven up to the mansion.</p>
+
+<p>“Everything like furniture, for instance, comes into the courtyard
+of the green-stone gate-house. There a sort of auditor verifies the
+inventory and receipts for the goods before two witnesses from the
+dealers and two for the estate. The consignment may be kept a day or
+a month; it may be returned intact or kept entire; any difference is
+settled for at once upon return of what is rejected. So with jewelry.
+I had luck. I found out for certain that more than a million dollars
+worth of diamonds alone have gone into this place in the last ten years
+and stayed there.”</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite paused dramatically. I never said a word and we sat there in
+the rear seat of that stationary auto, the leather creaking as we
+breathed, Rivvin sucking at his pipe, and the leaves dripping above us;
+not another sound.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s all in there,” Thwaite began again. “The biggest stack of loot in
+North America. And this is going to be the biggest and most successful
+burglary ever perpetrated on this continent. And no one will ever be
+convicted for it or so much as suspected of it. Mark my words.”</p>
+
+<p>“I do,” I broke in, “and I don’t feel a bit better than when we
+started. You promised to explain and you said I’d be as eager and
+confident as you and Rivvin. I acknowledge the bait, admitting all
+you say is true, and it doesn’t seem likely. But do you suppose any
+recluse millionaire eccentric is going to live unguarded? If he is
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>
+careless himself his household are the reverse. By what you tell of
+the gate-houses there are precautions enough. Diamonds are tempting if
+you like, but so is the bullion in the mint. By your account all this
+accumulation of treasure you imagine is as safe where it is as the gold
+reserve in the United States Treasury. You scare me, you don’t reassure
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Keep your head,” Thwaite interrupted. “I’m no fool. I’ve spent years
+on this scheme. After I was sure of the prize I made sure of the means.
+There are precautions a-many, but not enough. How simple to put a
+watchman’s cottage every hundred yards on the other side of the road
+across from the wall? They haven’t done it. How simple to light the
+road and the outside of the wall? They haven’t done that. Nor have they
+thought of any one of the twenty other simple outside precautions.
+The park’s big enough to be lonely. And outside the wall is all dark,
+lonely road and unfenced, empty woods like this. They’re overconfident.
+They think their wall and their gate-houses are enough. And they are
+not. They think their outside precautions are perfect. They are not. I
+know. I’ve been over that wall ten times, twenty times, fifty times.
+I’ve risked it and I have risked man-traps and spring guns and alarm
+wires. There aren’t any. There isn’t any night patrol, nor any regular
+day patrol, only casual gardeners and such. I know. I made sure of it
+by crawling all over the place on my belly like an Iroquois Indian in
+one of Cooper’s novels. They are so confident of the potency of their
+wall that they haven’t so much as a watch dog, nor any dog of any
+kind.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p>
+
+<p>I was certainly startled.</p>
+
+<p>“No dog!” I exclaimed. “Are you sure?”</p>
+
+<p>“Dead sure!” Thwaite returned, triumphantly, “And sure there never has
+been a dog on the place.”</p>
+
+<p>“How could you be sure of that?” I cavilled.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m coming to that,” Thwaite went on, “I could not get anybody that
+ever belonged to the place to talk, but I managed to arrange to
+overhear two of them talking to each other; and more than once, too.
+Most of what they said was no use to me, but I overheard scraps I could
+piece together. There’s a cross-wall that divides the park. In the
+smaller division, into which the lodge gates lead, are the homes of all
+the caretakers and servants, of the overseers and manager and of the
+estate doctor; for there is an estate doctor. He has two assistants,
+young men, frequently changed. He is married like most of the retinue.
+There is a sort of village of them inside the outer wall, outside the
+inner cross-wall. Some of them have been there thirty-five years. When
+they get too old they are pensioned off and sent away, somewhere; far
+off, for I could not get a clue to any pensioner.</p>
+
+<p>“The valets or keepers, whichever they are, and there are many of them,
+to relieve each other, are all unmarried except two or three of the
+most trusted. The rest are all brought over from England and shipped
+back usually after four or five years of service. The men I overheard
+were two of these, an old hand soon to finish his enlistment, as he
+called it, and go home, and the lad he was training to take his place.
+All these specials have plenty of time off to spend outside. They’d
+sit over their beer for two or three hours at a time, chatting on,
+Appleshaw giving points to Kitworth or Kitworth asking questions. I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>
+learnt from them about the cross-wall.”</p>
+
+<p>“Never’s been a woman t’ other side of it since it was built,”
+Appleshaw said.</p>
+
+<p>“I shouldn’t have thought it,” Kitworth ruminated.</p>
+
+<p>“Can you imagine a woman,” Appleshaw asked, “standin’ him?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” Kitworth admitted, “I hardly can. But some women’ll stand more’n
+a man.”</p>
+
+<p>“Anyhow,” Appleshaw added, “he can’t abide the sight of a woman.”</p>
+
+<p>“Odd,” said Kitworth, “I’ve heard his kind are all the other way.”</p>
+
+<p>“They are, as we know,” Appleshaw replied, “havin’ watched ’em; but he
+ain’t. He can’t endure ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose it’s the same way about dogs,” Kitworth reflected.</p>
+
+<p>“No dog’d ever get used to him,” Appleshaw agreed, “and he’s that
+afraid of dogs, they’re not allowed inside the place anywhere. Never’s
+been one here since he was born, I’m told. No, nor any cat, either, not
+one even.”</p>
+
+<p>Another time I heard Appleshaw say:</p>
+
+<p>“He built the museums, and the pavilion and the towers, the rest was
+built before he grew up.”</p>
+
+<p>Generally I could not hear much of Kitworth’s utterances, he talked so
+low. I once heard Appleshaw reply:</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes nights and nights he’ll be quiet as anybody, lights out early
+and sleep sound for all we know. Again he’ll be up all night, every
+window blazin’, or up late, till after midnight. Whoever’s on duty
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>
+sees the night out, nobody else’s business, unless they send an alarm
+for help, and that ain’t often; not twice a year. Mostly he’s as quiet
+as you or me, as long as he’s obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>“His temper’s short though. Now he’ll fly into a rage if he’s not
+answered quick; again he’ll storm if the watchers come near him
+uncalled.”</p>
+
+<p>Of long inaudible whispers I caught fragments.</p>
+
+<p>Once:</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, then he’ll have no one near. You can hear him sobbing like a
+child. When he’s worst you’ll hear him, still nights, howlin’ and
+screamin’ like a lost soul.”</p>
+
+<p>Again:</p>
+
+<p>“Clean-fleshed as a child and no more hairy than you or me.”</p>
+
+<p>Again:</p>
+
+<p>“Fiddle? No violinist can beat him. I’ve listened hours. It makes you
+think of your sins. An’ then it’ll change an’ you remember your first
+sweetheart, an’ spring rains and flowers, an’ when you was a child on
+your mother’s knee. It tears your heart out.”</p>
+
+<p>The two phrases that seemed to mean most were:</p>
+
+<p>“He won’t stan’ any interference.”</p>
+
+<p>And:</p>
+
+<p>“Never a lock touched till daylight after he’s once locked in.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now what do you think?” Thwaite asked me.</p>
+
+<p>“It sounds,” I said, “as if the place were a one-patient asylum for a
+lunatic with long lucid intervals.”</p>
+
+<p>“Something like that,” Thwaite answered, “but there seems to be more in
+it than that. I can’t make all the things I hear fit. Appleshaw said
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>
+one thing that runs in my head:</p>
+
+<p>“Seein’ him in the suds give me a turn.”</p>
+
+<p>And Kitworth said once:</p>
+
+<p>“It was the bright colors alongside of it that made my blood run cold.”</p>
+
+<p>And Appleshaw said more than once, in varying words, but always with
+the same meaning tone:</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll never get over bein’ afraid of him. But you’ll respect him more
+and more, you’ll almost love him. You won’t fear him for his looks, but
+for his awful wisdom. He’s that wise, no man is more so.”</p>
+
+<p>Once Kitworth answered:</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t envy Sturry locked in there with him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sturry nor none of us that’s his most trusted man for the time bein’
+is not to be envied,” Appleshaw agreed. “But you’ll come to it, as I
+have, if you’re the man I take you for.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s about all I got from listening,” Thwaite went on, “the rest
+I got from watching and scouting. I made sure of the building they
+call the Pavilion, that’s his usual home. But sometimes he spends his
+nights in one or the other of the towers, they stand all by themselves.
+Sometimes the lights are all out after ten o’clock or even nine; then
+again they’re on till after midnight. Sometimes they come on late, two
+o’clock or three. I have heard music too, violin music, as Appleshaw
+described it, and organ music, too; but no howling. He is certainly a
+lunatic, judging by the statuary.”</p>
+
+<p>“Statuary?” I queried.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” Thwaite said, “statuary. Big figures and groups, all crazy
+men with heads like elephants or American eagles, perfectly crazy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>
+statuary. But all well-done. They stand all about the park. The little,
+square building between the Pavilion and the green tower is his
+sculpture studio.”</p>
+
+<p>“You seem to know the place mighty well,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“I do,” Thwaite assented, “I’ve gotten to know it well. At first I
+tried nights like this. Then I dared starlight. Then I dared even
+moonlight. I’ve never had a scare. I’ve sat on the front steps of the
+Pavilion at one o’clock of starlight night and never been challenged.
+I even tried staying in all day, hiding in some bushes, hoping to see
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ever see him?” I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Never,” Thwaite answered, “I’ve heard him though. He rides horseback
+after dark. I’ve watched the horse being led up and down in front of
+the Pavilion, till it got too dark to see it from where I was hid. I’ve
+heard it pass me in the dark. But I could never get the horse against
+the sky to see what was on it. Hiding and getting downhill of a road,
+close to it, don’t go together.”</p>
+
+<p>“You didn’t see him the day you spent there?” I insisted.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” Thwaite said, “I didn’t. I was disappointed too. For a big auto
+purred up to the Pavilion entrance and stood under the porte cochère.
+But when it spun round the park there was nobody in it, only the
+chauffeur in front and a pet monkey on the back seat.”</p>
+
+<p>“A pet monkey!” I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” he said. “You know how a dog, a Newfoundland, or a terrier, will
+sit up in an auto and look grand and superior and enjoy himself? Well,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>
+that monkey sat there just like that turning his head one way and the
+other taking in the view.”</p>
+
+<p>“What was he like?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Sort of dog-faced ape,” Thwaite told me, “more like a mastiff.”</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin grunted.</p>
+
+<p>“This isn’t business,” Thwaite went on, “we’ve got to get down to
+business. The point is the wall is their only guard, there’s no dog,
+perhaps because of the pet monkey as much as anything else. They lock
+Mr. Eversleigh up every night with only one valet to take care of him.
+They never interfere whatever noise they hear or light they see, unless
+the alarm is sent out and I have located the alarm wires you are to
+cut. That’s all. Do you go?”</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin was sitting close to me, half on me. I could feel his great
+muscles and the butt of his pistol against my hip.</p>
+
+<p>“I come with you,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“Of your own accord?” Thwaite insisted.</p>
+
+<p>The butt of that pistol moved as Rivvin breathed.</p>
+
+<p>“I come of my own accord,” I said.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">III</p>
+
+
+<p>Afoot Thwaite led as confidently as he had driven the car. It was the
+stillest, pitchiest night I ever experienced, without light, air, sound
+or smell to guide anyone: through that fog Thwaite sped like a man
+moving about his own bedroom, never for a second at a loss.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s the place,” he said at the wall, and guided my hand to feel the
+ring-bolt in the grass at its foot. Rivvin made a back for him and I
+scrambled up on the two. Tip-toe on Thwaite’s shoulders I could just
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>
+finger the coping.</p>
+
+<p>“Stand on my head, you fool!” he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>I clutched the coping. Once astraddle of it I let down one end of the
+silk ladder.</p>
+
+<p>“Fast!” breathed Thwaite from below.</p>
+
+<p>I drew it taut and went down. The first sweep of my fingers in the
+grass found the other ring-bolt. I made the ladder fast and gave it the
+signal twitches. Rivvin came over first, then Thwaite. Through the park
+he led evenly. When he halted he caught me by the elbow and asked:</p>
+
+<p>“Can you see any lights?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a light,” I told him.</p>
+
+<p>“Same here,” he said, “there are no lights. Every window is dark. We’re
+in luck.”</p>
+
+<p>He led again for a while. Stopping he said only:</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s where you shin up. Cut every wire, but don’t waste time cutting
+any twice.”</p>
+
+<p>The details of his directions were exact. I found every handhold and
+foothold as he had schooled me. But I needed all my nerve. I realized
+that no heavyweight like Rivvin or Thwaite could have done it. When I
+came down I was limp and tottery.</p>
+
+<p>“Just one swallow!” Thwaite said, putting a flask to my lips. Then we
+went on. The night was so black and the fog so thick that I saw no loom
+of the building till we were against its wall.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s where you go in,” Thwaite directed.</p>
+
+<p>Doubly I understood why I was with them. Neither could have squeezed
+through that aperture in the stone. I barely managed it. Inside,
+instead of the sliding crash I had dreaded, I landed with a mere
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>
+crunch, the coal in that bin was not anthracite. Likewise the bin under
+the window was for soft-coal. I blessed my luck and felt encouraged.
+The window I got open without too much work. Rivvin and Thwaite slid
+in. We crunched downhill four or five steps and stood on a firm floor.
+Rivvin flashed his electric candle boldly round. We were between a
+suite of trim coal-bins and a battery of serried furnaces. There was
+no door at either end of the open space in which we stood. I had a
+momentary vision of the alternate windows and coal-chutes above the
+bins, of two big panels of shiny, colored tiling, of clear brick-work,
+fresh-painted, jetty iron and dazzling-white brass-ringed asbestos, of
+a black vacancy between two furnaces. Toward that I half heard, half
+felt Rivvin turn. During the rest of our adventure he led, Thwaite
+followed and I mostly tagged or groped after Thwaite, often judging
+of their position or movement by that combination of senses which is
+neither hearing nor touch, though partly both.</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin’s torch flashed again. We were in a cement-floored, brick-walled
+passage, with a door at each end and on the side facing us doors in a
+bewildering row. In the darkness that came after the flash I followed
+the others to the right. Well through the doorway we stood still,
+breathing and listening. When Rivvin illuminated our environment we
+saw about us thousands of bottles, all set aslant, neck down, in tiers
+of racks that reached to the ceiling. Edging between them we made the
+circuit of the cellar, but found no sign of any door save that by which
+we had entered. A whispered growl from Rivvin, a nudge from Thwaite and
+we went back the full length of the passage. Again we found ourselves
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>
+in a wine vault, the duplicate of that we had left, and with the same
+peculiarity.</p>
+
+<p>Our curiosity overcame any prudence. Rivvin, instead of flashing his
+torch at intervals, kept the light steady, and we scrutinized, examined
+and whispered our astonishment. As in its fellow there was not in all
+this vault any spare space, the aisles were narrow, the racks reached
+the girders supporting the flat arches, every rack was so full that a
+holder empty of its bottle was scarcely findable. And there was not in
+all that great cellar, there was not among all those tens of thousands
+of bottles a magnum, or a quart or even a pint. They were all splits.
+We handled a number and all had the same label. I know now what the
+device was, from seeing it so often and so much larger afterwards, but
+there it seemed a picture of a skirt-dancer leading an alligator by a
+dog chain. There was no name of any wine or liquor on any bottle, but
+each label had a red number, 17, or 45 or 328, above the picture, and
+under it:</p>
+
+<p>“Bottled for Hengist Eversleigh.”</p>
+
+<p>“We know his name now,” Thwaite whispered.</p>
+
+<p>Back in the passage Rivvin took the first door to the left. It brought
+us to an easy stone stair between walls, which turned twice to the left
+at broad landings.</p>
+
+<p>When we trod a softer footing we stood a long time breathing cautiously
+and listening.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Rivvin flashed his light. It showed to our left a carpeted
+stair, the dull red carpet bulging up over thick pads and held down by
+brass stair-rods; the polished quartered oak of the molded door-jamb
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>
+or end of wainscot beyond it; the floor-covering of brownish-yellow
+or yellowish brown linoleum or something similar, made to look like
+inlaid wood; and the feet, legs and thighs of a big stocky man. The
+light shone but the fraction of a second, yet it showed plain his
+knee-breeches, tight stockings on his big calves, and bright buckles at
+his knees and on his low shoes.</p>
+
+<p>There was no loud sound, but the blurred brushy noise of a mute
+struggle. I backed against a window-sill and could back no further.
+All I could hear was the shuffling, rasping sounds of the fight, and
+panting that became a sort of gurgle.</p>
+
+<p>Again the light flashed and stayed full bright. I saw that it was
+Thwaite struggling with the man, and that one of his big hands was
+on Thwaite’s throat. Thwaite had him round the neck and his face was
+against Thwaite’s chest. His hair was brownish. Rivvin’s slung-shot
+crunched horribly on his skull. Instantly the light went out.</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite, radiating heat like a stove, stood gasping close by me. I
+heard no other noise after the body thudded on the floor except that on
+the carpeted stair I seemed to hear light treads, as it were of a big
+dog or of a frightened child, padding away upward.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you hear anything?” I whispered.</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin punched me.</p>
+
+<p>After Thwaite was breathing naturally, he turned on his torch and
+Rivvin did the same.</p>
+
+<p>The dead man was oldish, over fifty I should judge, tall, large in all
+his dimensions, and spare, though heavy. His clothing was a gold-laced
+livery of green velvet, with green velvet knee breeches, green silk
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>
+stockings and green leather pumps. The four buckles were gold.</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite startled me by speaking out loud.</p>
+
+<p>“I take it, Rivvin,” he said, “this is the trusted valet. He would
+have yelled if there had been anybody to call. Either we have this
+building to ourselves or we have no one to deal with except Mr. Hengist
+Eversleigh.”</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin grunted.</p>
+
+<p>“If he is here,” Thwaite went on, “he’s trying to send the alarm over
+the cut wires, or he’s frightened and hiding. Let’s find him and finish
+him, if he’s here, and then find his diamonds. Anyway let’s find those
+diamonds.”</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin grunted.</p>
+
+<p>Swiftly they led from room to room and floor to floor. Not a door
+resisted. We had been curious and astonished in the wine-vaults; above
+we were electrified and numb. We were in a palace of wonders, among
+such a profusion of valuables that even Rivvin, after the second or
+third opportunity, ceased any attempt to pocket or bag anything. We
+came upon nothing living, found no door locked and apparently made the
+tour of the entire building.</p>
+
+<p>When they halted, I halted. We were delirious with amazement, frantic
+with inquisitiveness, frenzied with curiosity, incredulous, hysterical,
+dazed and quivering.</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite spoke in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to see this place plain, all over it, if I die for it.”</p>
+
+<p>They flashed their torches. We were right beside the body of
+the murdered footman. Rivvin and Thwaite did not seem to mind the
+corpse. They waved their torches until one fell on an electric-light
+button.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Hope those wires are underground,” Thwaite remarked. He pushed the
+button and the electric lights came on full and strong. We were
+apparently at the foot of the back stairs, in a sort of lobby, an
+expanded passage-way out of which opened several doors.</p>
+
+<p>We all three regarded the knobs of those doors. As we had half seen
+by flash-light on every door everywhere each door had two knobs, one
+like any door-knob, the other about half way between it and the floor.
+Rivvin opened one which proved to lead into a broom closet. He tried
+the knobs, Thwaite and I watching too. The lock and latch were at the
+upper knob, but controlled by either knob indifferently. They tried
+another door, but my eyes would roam to the dead body.</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin and Thwaite paid no more attention to it than if it had not been
+there. I had never seen but one killed man before and neither wanted to
+be reminded of that one nor relished the sight of this one. I stared
+down the blackness of the stone stair up which we had come or glanced
+into the dimness of the padded stairway.</p>
+
+<p>Then Rivvin, feeling inside the open door, found the button and turned
+on the lights. It was a biggish dining-room, the four corners cut off
+by inset glass-framed shelved closets, full of china and glassware. The
+furniture was oak.</p>
+
+<p>“Servants dining-room,” Thwaite commented.</p>
+
+<p>Turning on the lights in each we went through a series of rooms; a
+sort of sitting-room, with card-tables and checker-boards; a library
+walled with bookcases and open book-shelves, its two stout oak tables
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>
+littered with magazines and newspapers; a billiard room with three
+tables, a billiard-table, a pool-table and one for bagatelle; a sort of
+lounging room, all leather-covered sofas and deep armchairs; an entry
+with hat-hooks and umbrella-stands, the outer door dark oak with a
+great deal of stained glass set in and around it.</p>
+
+<p>“All servants’ rooms,” Thwaite commented. “Every bit of the furniture
+is natural man-size. Let’s go on.”</p>
+
+<p>Back we went along a passage and into a big kitchen beyond the
+dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind the pantries till we come down again,” Thwaite commanded.
+“Let’s go upstairs. We’ll do the banqueting-hall after those bedrooms,
+and the writing rooms and study last. I want a real sight of those
+pictures.”</p>
+
+<p>They passed the dead flunkey as if he had not been there at all.</p>
+
+<p>On the floor above Thwaite touched Rivvins’ elbow.</p>
+
+<p>“I forgot these,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>We inspected a medium-sized sitting-room with a round center-table, an
+armchair drawn up by it, and in the armchair a magazine and a sort of
+wadded smoking-jacket. Next this room was a bedroom and a bathroom.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Footman’s quarters,” Thwaite remarked, staring unconcernedly at a
+photograph of a dumpy young woman and two small children, set on the
+bureau. “All man-size furniture here, too.”</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin nodded.</p>
+
+<p>Up the second flight of that back-stair we went again. It ended in a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>
+squarish hallway or lobby or room with nothing in it but two settees.
+It had two doors.</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin pushed one open, felt up and down for the electric button and
+found it.</p>
+
+<p>We all three gasped; we almost shouted. We had had glimpses of this
+gallery before, but the flood of light from a thousand bulbs under
+inverted trough-reflectors dazzled us; the pictures fairly petrified us.</p>
+
+<p>The glare terrified me.</p>
+
+<p>“Surely we are crazy,” I objected, “to make all this illumination. It’s
+certain to give the alarm.”</p>
+
+<p>“Alarm nothing,” Thwaite snapped. “Haven’t I watched these buildings
+night after night. I told you he is never disturbed at any hour, lights
+or no lights.”</p>
+
+<p>My feeble protest thus brushed away I became absorbed, like the others,
+in those incredible paintings. Rivvin was merely stupidly dazed in
+uncomprehending wonder, Thwaite keenly speculative, questing for a
+clue to the origin of their peculiarities, I totally bewildered at the
+perfection of their execution, shivering at their uncanniness.</p>
+
+<p>The gallery was all of ninety feet long, nearly thirty wide and high.
+Apparently it had a glass roof above the rectangle of reflectors. The
+pictures covered all four walls, except the little door at either end.
+None was very small and several were very large. A few were landscapes,
+but all had figures in them, most were crowded with figures.</p>
+
+<p>Those figures!</p>
+
+<p>They were human figures, but not one had a human head. The heads were
+invariably those of birds, animals or fishes, generally of animals,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>
+some of common animals, many of creatures I had seen pictures of or had
+heard of, some of imaginary creatures like dragons or griffons, more
+than half of the heads either of animals I knew nothing of or which had
+been invented by the painter.</p>
+
+<p>Close to me when the lights blazed out was a sea picture, blurred
+grayish foggy weather and a heavy groundswell; a strange other-world
+open boat with fish heaped in the bottom of it and standing among them
+four human figures in shining boots like rubber boots and wet, shiny,
+loose coats like oilskins, only the boots and skins were red as claret,
+and the four figures had hyenas’ heads. One was steering and the
+others were hauling at a net. Caught in the net was a sort of merman,
+but different from the pictures of mermaids. His shape was all human
+except the head and hands and feet; every bit of him was covered with
+fish-scales all rainbowy. He had flat broad fins in place of hands and
+feet and his head was the head of a fat hog. He was thrashing about in
+the net in an agony of impotent effort. Queer as the picture was it
+had a compelling impression of reality, as if the scene were actually
+happening before our eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Next it was a picnic in a little meadow by a pond between woods with
+mountains behind it higher up. Every one of the picnickers about the
+white tablecloth spread on the grass had the head of a different
+animal, one of a sheep, one of a camel, and the rest of animals like
+deer, not one of them known to me.</p>
+
+<p>Then next to that was a fight of two compound creatures shaped like
+centaurs, only they had bulls’ bodies, with human torsos growing out
+of them, where the necks ought to be, the arms scaly snakes with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>
+open-mouthed, biting heads in place of hands; and instead of human
+heads roosters’ heads, bills open and pecking. Under the creatures
+in place of bulls’ hoofs were yellow roosters’ legs, stouter than
+chickens’ legs and with short thick toes, and long sharp spurs like
+game roosters’. Yet these fantastic chimeras appeared altogether alive
+and their movements looked natural, yes that’s the word, natural.</p>
+
+<p>Every picture was as complete a staggerer as these first three. Every
+one was signed in the lower left hand corner in neat smallish letters
+of bright gold paint:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="nindc">“Hengist Eversleigh”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="nind">and a date.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Hengist Eversleigh is a lunatic that’s certain,” Thwaite
+commented, “but he unquestionably knows how to paint.”</p>
+
+<p>There must have been more than fifty pictures in that gallery, maybe as
+many as seventy-five, and every one a nightmare.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond was a shorter gallery of the same width, end on to the side of
+the first, and beyond that the duplicate of the first; the three taking
+up three sides of the building. The fourth side was a studio, the size
+of the second gallery; it had a great skylight of glass tilted sideways
+all along over one whole wall. It was white-washed, very plain and
+empty-looking, with two easels, a big one and a little one.</p>
+
+<p>On the little one was a picture of some vegetables and five or six
+little fairies, as it were, with children’s bodies and mice’s heads,
+nibbling at a carrot.</p>
+
+<p>On the big one was a canvas mostly blank. One side of it had a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>
+palm-tree in splashy, thick slaps of paint and under it three big crabs
+with cocoanuts in their claws. A man’s feet and legs showed beside them
+and the rest was unfinished.</p>
+
+<p>The three galleries had fully three hundred paintings, for the smaller
+gallery contained only small canvases. Besides being impressed with the
+grotesqueness of the subjects and the perfection of the drawing and
+coloring, two things struck me as to the pictures collectively.</p>
+
+<p>First, there was not represented in any one of all those paintings any
+figure of a woman or any female shape of any kind. The beast-headed
+figures were all, whether clothed or nude, figures of men. The animals,
+as far as I could see, were all males.</p>
+
+<p>Secondly, nearly half of the pictures were modifications, or parallels
+or emulations (I could hardly say travesties or imitations), of
+well-known pictures by great artists, paintings I had seen in public
+galleries or knew from engravings or photographs or reproductions in
+books or magazines.</p>
+
+<p>There was a picture like Washington crossing the Delaware and another
+like Washington saying farewell to his generals. There was a batch
+of Napoleon pictures; after the paintings of Napoleon at Austerlitz,
+at Friedland, giving the eagles to his regiments, on the morning of
+Waterloo, coming down the steps at Fontainebleau, and on the deck of
+the ship going to St. Helena. There were dozens of other pictures of
+generals or kings or emperors reviewing victorious armies; two or three
+of Lincoln. One that hit me hardest, obviously after some picture I
+had never seen or heard of, of the ghost of Lincoln, far larger than
+a life-size man, towering above the surviving notabilities of his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>
+time on the grandstand reviewing the homecoming Federal army marching
+through Washington.</p>
+
+<p>In every one of these pictures, the dominant figure, whether it stood
+for Lincoln, Napoleon, Washington, or some other general or ruler;
+whatever uniform or regalia clothed its human shape, had the same head.
+The heads of the fighting men in all these pictures were those of
+dogs, all alike in any one picture, but differing from one to another;
+terriers or wolf-hounds or mastiffs or what not. The heads of any men
+not soldiers were those of oxen or sheep or horses or some other mild
+sort of animal. The head of the dominant figure I then took to be
+invented, legendary, fabulous—oh, that’s not the word I want.</p>
+
+<p>“Mythological?” I suggested, the only interruption I interjected into
+his entire narrative.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, mythological, he returned. I thought it was a mythological
+creature. The long-jawed head, like a hound’s; the little pointed
+yellow beard under the chin; the black, naked ears, like a hairless
+dog’s ears and yet not doggy, either; the ridge of hair on top of
+the skull; the triangular shape of the whole head; the close-set,
+small, beady, terribly knowing eyes; the brilliant patches of color
+on either side of the muzzle; all these made a piercing impression of
+individuality and yet seemed not so much actual as mythological.</p>
+
+<p>It takes a great deal longer to tell what we saw on that third floor
+than it took to see it. All round the galleries under the pictures were
+cases of drawers, solidly built in one length like a counter and about
+as high. Thwaite went down one side of the gallery and Rivvin down the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>
+other, pulling them out and slamming them shut again. All I saw held
+photographs of pictures. But Rivvin and Thwaite were taking no chances
+and looked into every drawer. I had plenty of time to gaze about me
+and circulated at a sort of cantering trot around the green-velvet
+miniature sofas and settees placed back to back down the middle of the
+floor-space. It seemed to me that Mr. Hengist Eversleigh was a great
+master of figure and landscape drawing, color, light and perspective.</p>
+
+<p>As we went down the duplicate staircase at the other corner from where
+we came up Thwaite said:</p>
+
+<p>“Now for those bedrooms.”</p>
+
+<p>By the stair we found another valet’s or footman’s apartment,
+sitting-room, bedroom and bathroom, just like the one by the other
+stair. And there were four more between them, under the studio and over
+the lounging-rooms.</p>
+
+<p>On the east and west sides of the building were “the” bedrooms, twelve
+apartments, six on each side; each of the twelve made up of a bedroom,
+a dressing-room and a bathroom.</p>
+
+<p>The beds were about three feet long, and proportionately narrow and
+low. The furniture, bureaus, tables, chairs, chests-of-drawers and
+the rest, harmonized with the dimensions of the beds, except the
+cheval-glasses and wall-mirrors which reached the ceilings. The
+bathtubs were almost pools, about nine feet by six and all of three
+feet deep, each a single block of porcelain.</p>
+
+<p>The shapes and sizes and styles of the furniture were duplicated
+all through, but the colors varied, so that the twelve suites were
+in twelve colors; black, white, gray and brown, and light and dark
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>
+yellow, red, green and blue; wall coverings, hangings, carpets and
+rugs all to match in each suite. The panels of the walls had the same
+picture, however, repeated over and over, two, four or six times to a
+room and in every suite alike.</p>
+
+<p>This picture was the design I had failed to make out on the labels of
+the bottles. It was set as a medallion in each panel of the blue or
+red walls, or whatever other color they were. The background of the
+picture was a vague sort of palish sky and blurred, hazy clouds above
+tropical-looking foliage. The chief figure was an angel, in flowing
+white robes, floating on silvery-plumed wings widespread. The angel’s
+face was a human face, the only human face in any picture in that
+palace, the face of a grave, gentle, rather girlish young man.</p>
+
+<p>The creature the angel was leading was a huge, bulky crocodile, with
+a gold collar about its neck, and a gold chain from that, not to the
+angel’s hand, but to a gold fetter about his wrist.</p>
+
+<p>Under each picture was a verse of four lines, always the same.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Let not your baser nature drag you down.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Utter no whimper, not one sigh or moan,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Hopeless of respite, solace, palm or crown</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Live out your life unflinching and alone.”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>I saw it so often I shall never forget it.</p>
+
+<p>The bathrooms were luxurious in the extreme, a needle-bath, a
+shower-bath, two basins of different sizes in each, besides the sunk
+pool-tub. The dressing-rooms has each a variety of wardrobes. One or
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>
+two we opened, finding in each several suits of little clothes, as if
+for a boy under six years old. One closet had shelf above shelf of
+small shoes, not much over four inches long.</p>
+
+<p>“Evidently,” Thwaite remarked, “Hengist Eversleigh is a dwarf, whatever
+else he is.”</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin left the wardrobes and closets alone after the first few.</p>
+
+<p>Each bedroom had in it nothing but the bed and on each side of it a
+sort of wine-cooler, like a pail with a lid, but bigger, set on three
+short legs so that its top was level with the bed. We opened most of
+them; every one we opened was filled with ice, bedded in which were
+several half-pint bottles. Every one of the twelve beds had the covers
+carefully turned down. Not one showed any sign of having been occupied.
+The wine-coolers were solid silver but we left them where they were. As
+Thwaite remarked, it would have taken two full-sized freight cars to
+contain the silver we had seen.</p>
+
+<p>In the dressing-rooms the articles like brushes and combs on the
+bureaus were all of gold, and most set with jewels. Rivvin began to
+fill a bag with those entirely of metal, but even he made no attempt
+to tear the backs off the brushes or to waste energy on any other
+breakage. By the time we had scanned the twelve suites Rivvin could
+barely carry his bag.</p>
+
+<p>The front room on the south side of the building was a library full
+of small, showily-bound books in glass-fronted cases all the way to
+the ceiling, covering every wall except where the two doors and six
+windows opened. There were small, narrow tables, the height of those in
+the dressing-rooms. There were magazines on them and papers. Thwaite
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>
+opened a bookcase and I another and we looked at three or four books.
+Each had in it a book-plate with the device of the angel and the
+crocodile.</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin did not find the electric button in the main hallway and we
+went down the great broad, curving stair by our electric candles.
+Rivvin turned to the left and we found ourselves in the banquet hall
+as Thwaite had called it, a room all of forty by thirty and gorgeous
+beyond any description.</p>
+
+<p>The diminutive table, not three feet square, was a slab of
+crystal-white glass set on silver-covered legs. The tiny armchair, the
+only chair in the big room, was solid silver, with a crimson cushion
+loose in it.</p>
+
+<p>The sideboards and glass-fronted closets paralyzed us. One had fine
+china and cut glass; wonderful china and glass. But four held a table
+service of gold, all of pure gold; forks, knives, spoons, plates,
+bowls, platters, cups, everything; all miniature, but a profusion
+of everything. We hefted the pieces. They were gold. All the pieces
+were normal in shape except that instead of wine-glasses, goblets and
+tumblers were things like broad gravy-boats on stems or short feet, all
+lopsided, with one projecting edge like the mouth of a pitcher, only
+broader and flatter. There were dozens of these. Rivvin filled two bags
+with what two bags would hold. The three bags were all we three could
+carry, must have been over a hundred and fifty pounds apiece.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll have to make two trips to the wall,” Thwaite said. “You brought
+six bags, didn’t you, Rivvin?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span></p>
+
+<p>Rivvin grunted.</p>
+
+<p>At the foot of the grand staircase Rivvin found the electric button and
+flooded the magnificent stairway with light.</p>
+
+<p>The stair itself was all white marble, the rails yellow marble, and the
+paneling of the dado malachite. But the main feature was the painting
+above the landing. This was the most amazing of all the paintings we
+had come upon.</p>
+
+<p>I remembered something like it, an advertisement of a root-beer or
+talcum powder, or some other proprietary article, representing all the
+nations of the earth and their rulers in the foreground congratulating
+the orator.</p>
+
+<p>This picture was about twenty feet wide and higher than its width.
+There was a throne, a carved and jeweled throne, set on an eminence.
+There was a wide view on either side of the throne, and all filled
+with human figures with animal heads, an infinite throng, all facing
+the throne. Nearest it were figures that seemed meant for all the
+presidents and kings and queens and emperors of the world. I recognized
+the robes or uniforms of some of them. Some had heads taken from their
+national coat of arms, like the heads of the Austrian and Russian
+eagles. All these figures were paying homage to the figure that stood
+before the throne; the same monster we had seen in place of Lincoln or
+Washington or Napoleon in the paintings upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>He stood proudly with one foot on a massive crocodile. He was dressed
+in a sort of revolutionary uniform, low shoes, with gold buckles, white
+stockings and knee-breeches, a red waistcoat, and a bright blue coat.
+His head was the same beast-head of the other pictures, triangular and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>
+strange, which I then thought mythological.</p>
+
+<p>Above and behind the throne floated on outspread silver wings the
+white-robed angel with the Sir Galahad face.</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin shut off the lights almost instantly, but even in the few
+breaths while I looked I saw it all.</p>
+
+<p>The three sacks of swag we put down by the front door.</p>
+
+<p>The room opposite the banquet-hall was a music room, with an organ and
+a piano, both with keys and keyboards far smaller than usual; great
+cases of music books; an array of brass instruments and cellos and more
+than a hundred violin cases. Thwaite opened one or two.</p>
+
+<p>“These’d be enough to make our fortune,” he said. “If we could get away
+with them.”</p>
+
+<p>Beyond the music-room was the study. It had in it four desks, miniature
+in size and the old-fashioned model with drawers below, a lid to turn
+down and form a writing surface, and a sort of bookcase above with a
+peaked top. All were carved and on the lids in the carving we read:</p>
+
+<p class="nindc">
+JOURNAL<br>
+MUSIC<br>
+CRITICISM<br>
+BUSINESS<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite opened the desk marked <span class="allsmcap">
+BUSINESS</span> and pulled open the drawers.</p>
+
+<p>In pigeon-holes of the desk were bundles of new, clean greenbacks and
+treasury notes of higher denominations; five each of fives, tens,
+twenties, fifties and hundreds. Thwaite tossed one bundle of each to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>
+me and Rivvin and pocketed the rest.</p>
+
+<p>He bulged.</p>
+
+<p>One drawer had a division down the middle. One half was full of
+ten-dollar gold pieces, the other half of twenties.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve heard of misers,” said Thwaite, “but this beats hell. Think of
+that crazy dwarf, a prisoner in this palace, running his hands through
+this and gloating over the cash he can never use.”</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin loaded a bag with the coin and when he had them all he could
+barely lift the bag. Leaving it where it lay before the desk he strode
+the length of the room and tried the door at the end.</p>
+
+<p>It was fast.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly Rivvin and Thwaite were like two terriers after a rat.</p>
+
+<p>“This is where the diamonds are,” Thwaite declared, “and Mr. Hengist
+Eversleigh is in there with them.”</p>
+
+<p>He and Rivvin conferred a while together.</p>
+
+<p>“You kneel low,” Thwaite whispered. “Duck when you open it. He’ll fire
+over you. Then you’ve got him. See?”</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin tip-toed to the door, knelt and tried key after key in the lock.</p>
+
+<p>There were at least twenty bulbs in the chandelier of that room and the
+light beat down on him. His red neck dew-lapped over the low collar of
+his lavenderish shirt, his great broad back showed vast and powerful.</p>
+
+<p>On the other side of the doorway Thwaite stood, his finger at the
+electric button.</p>
+
+<p>Each had his slung-shot in his left hand. They had spun the cylinders
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>
+of their revolvers and stuck them in their belts in front before Rivvin
+began work on the lock.</p>
+
+<p>I heard a click.</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin put up his hand.</p>
+
+<p>The lights went out.</p>
+
+<p>In the black dark we stood, stood until I could almost see the outlines
+of the windows; less black against the intenser blackness.</p>
+
+<p>Soon I heard another click, and the grate of an opened door.</p>
+
+<p>Then a kind of snarl, a thump like a blow, a sort of strangling gasp,
+and the cushiony sounds of a struggle.</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite turned on the lights.</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin was in the act of staggering up from his knees. I saw a pair
+of small, pink hands, the fingers intertwined, locked behind Rivvin’s
+neck. They slipped apart as I caught sight of them.</p>
+
+<p>I had a vision of small feet in little patent leather silver-buckled
+low-shoes, of green socks, of diminutive legs in white trousers
+flashing right and left in front of Rivvin, as if he held by the throat
+a struggling child.</p>
+
+<p>Next I saw that his arms were thrown up, wide apart.</p>
+
+<p>He collapsed and fell back his full length with a dull crash.</p>
+
+<p>Then I saw the snout!</p>
+
+<p>Saw the wolf-jaws vised on his throat!</p>
+
+<p>Saw the blood welling round the dazzling white fangs, and recognized
+the reality of the sinister head I had seen over and over in his
+pictures.</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin made the fish-out-of-water contortions of a man being killed.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p>
+
+<p>Thwaite brought his slung-shot down on the beast-head skull.</p>
+
+<p>The blow was enough to crush in a steel cylinder.</p>
+
+<p>The beast wrinkled its snout and shook its head from side to side,
+worrying like a bull-dog at Rivvin’s throat.</p>
+
+<p>Again Thwaite struck and again and again. At each blow the portentous
+head oscillated viciously. The awful thing about it to me was the two
+blue bosses on each side of the muzzle, like enamel, shiny and hard
+looking; and the hideous welt of red, like fresh sealing-wax, down
+between them and along the snout.</p>
+
+<p>Rivvin’s struggles grew weaker as the great teeth tore at his throat.
+He was dead before Thwaite’s repeated blows drove in the splintered
+skull and the clenched jaws relaxed, the snout crinkling and
+contracting as the dog-teeth slid from their hold.</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite gave the monster two or three more blows, touched Rivvin and
+fairly dashed out of the room, shouting.</p>
+
+<p>“You stay here!”</p>
+
+<p>I heard the sound of prying and sawing. There alone I looked but once
+at the dead cracksman.</p>
+
+<p>The thing that had killed him was the size of a four to six year old
+child, but more stockily built, looked entirely human up to the neck,
+and was dressed in a coat of bright dark blue, a vest of crimson
+velvet, and white duck trousers. As I looked the muzzle wriggled for
+the last time, the jaws fell apart and the carcass rolled sideways. It
+was the very duplicate in miniature of the figure in the big picture on
+the staircase landing.</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite came dashing back. Without any sign of any qualm he searched
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>
+Rivvin and tossed me two or three bundles of greenbacks:</p>
+
+<p>He stood up.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“Curiosity,” he said, “will be the death of me.”</p>
+
+<p>Then he stripped the clothing from the dead monster, kneeling by it.</p>
+
+<p>The beast-hair stopped at the shirt collar. Below that the skin was
+human, as was the shape, the shape of a forty-year-old man, strong and
+vigorous and well-made, only dwarfed to the smallness of a child.</p>
+
+<p>Across the hairy breast was tattooed in blue,</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="nindc">“HENGIST EVERSLEIGH.”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>“Hell,” said Thwaite.</p>
+
+<p>He stood up and went to the fatal door. Inside he found the electric
+button.</p>
+
+<p>The room was small and lined with cases of little drawers, tier on
+tier, rows of brass knobs on mahogany.</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite opened one.</p>
+
+<p>It was velvet lined and grooved like a jeweler’s tray and contained
+rings, the settings apparently emeralds.</p>
+
+<p>Thwaite dumped them into one of the empty bags he had taken from
+Rivvin’s corpse.</p>
+
+<p>The next case was of similar drawers of rings set with rubies. The
+first of these Thwaite dumped in with the emeralds.</p>
+
+<p>But then he flew round the room pulling out drawers and slamming them
+shut, until he came upon trays of unset diamonds. These he emptied
+into his sack to the last of them, then diamond rings on them, other
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>
+jewelry set with diamonds, then rubies and emeralds till the sack was
+full.</p>
+
+<p>He tied its neck, had me open a second sack and was dumping drawer
+after drawer into that when suddenly he stopped.</p>
+
+<p>His nose worked, worked horridly like that of the dead monster.</p>
+
+<p>I thought he was going crazy and was beginning to laugh nervously, was
+on the verge of hysterics when he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Smell! Try what you smell.”</p>
+
+<p>I sniffed.</p>
+
+<p>“I smell smoke,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“So do I,” he agreed. “This place is afire.”</p>
+
+<p>“And we locked in!” I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>“Locked in?” he sneered. “Bosh. I broke open the front door the instant
+I was sure they were dead. Come! Drop that empty bag. This is no time
+for haggling.”</p>
+
+<p>We had to step between the two corpses. Rivvin was horridly dead. The
+colors had all faded from the snout. The muzzle was all mouse-color.</p>
+
+<p>When we had hold of the bag of coin, Thwaite turned off the electric
+lights and we struggled out with that and the bag of jewels, and went
+out into the hallway full of smoke.</p>
+
+<p>“We can carry only these,” Thwaite warned me. “We’ll have to leave the
+rest.”</p>
+
+<p>I shouldered the bag of coin, and followed him down the steps, across
+a gravel road, and, oh the relief of treading turf and feeling the fog
+all about me.</p>
+
+<p>At the wall Thwaite turned and looked back.</p>
+
+<p>“No chance to try for those other bags,” he said.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span></p>
+
+<p>In fact the red glow was visible at that distance and was fast becoming
+a glare.</p>
+
+<p>I heard shouts.</p>
+
+<p>We got the bags over the wall and reached the car. Thwaite cranked up
+at once and we were off.</p>
+
+<p>How we went I could not guess, nor in what directions, nor even how
+long. Ours was the only vehicle on the roads we darted along.</p>
+
+<p>When the dawn light was near enough for me to see Thwaite stopped the
+car.</p>
+
+<p>He turned to me.</p>
+
+<p>“Get out!” he said.</p>
+
+<p>“What?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>He shoved his pistol muzzle in my face.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve fifty thousand dollars in bank bills in your pockets,” he
+said. “It’s a half a mile down that road to a railway station. Do you
+understand English? Get out!”</p>
+
+<p>I got out.</p>
+
+<p>The car shot forward into the morning fog and was gone.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">IV</p>
+
+
+<p>He was silent a long time.</p>
+
+<p>“What did you do then?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Headed for New York,” he said, “and got on a drunk. When I came round
+I had barely eleven thousand dollars. I headed for Cook’s office and
+bargained for a ten thousand dollar tour of the world, the most places
+and the longest time they’d give for the money; the whole cost on them.
+I not to need a cent after I started.”</p>
+
+<p>“What date was that?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p>
+
+<p>He meditated and gave me some approximate indications rather rambling
+and roundabout.</p>
+
+<p>“What did you do after you left Cook’s?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“I put a hundred dollars in a savings bank,” he said. “Bought a lot of
+clothes and things and started.</p>
+
+<p>“I kept pretty sober all round the world because the only way to get
+full was by being treated and I had no cash to treat back with.</p>
+
+<p>“When I landed in New York I thought I was all right for life. But no
+sooner did I have my hundred and odd dollars in my pockets than I got
+full again. I don’t seem able to keep sober.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you sober now?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” he asserted.</p>
+
+<p>He seemed to shed his cosmopolitan vocabulary the moment he came back
+to everyday matters.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s see you write what I tell you on this,” I suggested, handing him
+a fountain-pen and a torn envelope, turned inside out.</p>
+
+<p>Word by word after my dictation he wrote.</p>
+
+<p>“Until you hear from me again<br>
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Yours truly,</span><br>
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No Name.”</span></p>
+
+<p>I took the paper from him and studied the handwriting.</p>
+
+<p>“How long were you on that spree?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Which?” he twinkled.</p>
+
+<p>“Before you came to and had but eleven thousand dollars left,” I
+explained.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know,” he said, “I didn’t know anything I had been doing.”</p>
+
+<p>“I can tell you one thing you did,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“What?” he queried.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You put four packets, each of one hundred hundred-dollar bills, in a
+thin manila clasp-envelope, directed it to a New York lawyer and mailed
+the envelope to him with no letter in it, only a half sheet of dirty
+paper with nothing on it except: ‘Keep this for me until I ask for it,’
+and the signature you have just written.”</p>
+
+<p>“Honest?” he enunciated incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>“Fact!” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“Then you believe what I’ve told you,” he exclaimed joyfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bit I don’t,” I asseverated.</p>
+
+<p>“How’s that?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“If you were drunk enough,” I explained, “to risk forty thousand
+dollars in that crazy way, you were drunk enough to dream all the
+complicated nightmare you have spun out to me.”</p>
+
+<p>“If I did,” he argued, “how did I get the fifty thousand odd dollars?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m willing to suppose you got it with no more dishonesty on your
+part,” I told him, “than if you had come by it as you described.”</p>
+
+<p>“It makes me mad you won’t believe me,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t,” I finished.</p>
+
+<p>He gloomed in silence.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he said:</p>
+
+<p>“I can stand looking at him now,” and led the way to the cage where
+the big blue-nosed mandril chattered his inarticulate bestialities and
+scratched himself intermittently.</p>
+
+<p>He stared at the brute.</p>
+
+<p>“And you don’t believe me?” he regretted.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I don’t,” I repeated, “and I’m not going to. The thing’s
+incredible.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Couldn’t there be a mongrel, a hybrid?” he suggested.</p>
+
+<p>“Put that out of your head,” I told him, “the whole thing’s incredible.”</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose she’d seen a critter like this,” he persisted, “just at the
+wrong time?”</p>
+
+<p>“Bosh!” I said. “Old wives’ tales! Superstition! Impossibility!”</p>
+
+<p>“His head,” he declared, “was just like that.” He shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>“Somebody put drops in some of your drink,” I suggested. “Anyhow, let’s
+talk about something else. Come and have lunch with me.”</p>
+
+<p>Over the lunch I asked him:</p>
+
+<p>“What city did you like best of all you saw?”</p>
+
+<p>“Paris for mine,” he grinned, “Paris forever.”</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you what I advise you to do,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes bright on mine.</p>
+
+<p>“Let me buy you an annuity with your forty thousand,” I explained, “an
+annuity payable in Paris. There’s enough interest already to pay your
+way to Paris and leave you some cash till the first quarterly payment
+comes due.”</p>
+
+<p>“You wouldn’t feel yourself defrauding the Eversleighs?” he questioned.</p>
+
+<p>“If I’m defrauding any people,” I said, “I don’t know who they are.”</p>
+
+<p>“How about the fire?” he insisted. “I’ll bet you heard of it. Don’t the
+dates agree?”</p>
+
+<p>“The dates agree,” I admitted. “And the servants were all dismissed,
+the remaining buildings and walls torn down and the place cut up and
+sold in portions just about as it would have been if your story were
+true.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p>
+
+<p>“There now!” he ejaculated. “You do believe me!”</p>
+
+<p>“I do not!” I insisted. “And the proof is that I’m ready to carry out
+my annuity plan for you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I agree,” he said, and stood up from the lunch table.</p>
+
+<p>“Where are we going now?” he inquired as we left the restaurant.</p>
+
+<p>“Just you come with me,” I told him, “and ask no questions.”</p>
+
+<p>I piloted him to the Museum of Archæology and led him circuitously to
+what I meant for an experiment on him. I dwelt on other subjects nearby
+and waited for him to see it himself.</p>
+
+<p>He saw.</p>
+
+<p>He grabbed me by the arm.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s him!” he whispered. “Not the size, but his very expression, in
+all his pictures.”</p>
+
+<p>He pointed to that magnificent, enigmatical black-diorite
+twelfth-dynasty statue which represents neither Anubis nor Seth, but
+some nameless cynocephalus god.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s him,” he repeated. “Look at the awful wisdom of him.”</p>
+
+<p>I said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“And you brought me here!” he cried. “You meant me to see this! You do
+believe!”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” I maintained. “I do not believe.”</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">V</p>
+
+
+<p>After I waved a farewell to him from the pier I never saw him again.</p>
+
+<p>We had an extensive correspondence six months later when he wanted his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>
+annuity exchanged for a joint-life annuity for himself and his bride.
+I arranged it for him with less difficulty than I had anticipated. His
+letter of thanks, explaining that a French wife was so great an economy
+that the shrinkage in his income was more than made up for, was the
+last I heard from him.</p>
+
+<p>As he died more than a year ago and his widow is already married, this
+story can do him no harm. If the Eversleighs were defrauded they will
+never feel it and my conscience, at least, gives me no twinges.</p>
+
+<p class="right">1909</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="ALFANDEGA_49A">ALFANDEGA 49A</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="ALFANDEGA_49A_2">ALFANDEGA 49A</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">I</p>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">T</span>HE Alders was the last place on earth where anyone would have expected
+to encounter an atmosphere of tragedy and gloom. The very air of the
+farm seemed charged with the essence of cheerfulness and friendliness.
+There appeared to be diffused about the homestead some subtle influence
+promoting sociability and cordiality.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps it was merely that the Hibbards had miraculous luck in
+attracting only the right kind of boarders; possibly, they possessed
+an almost superhuman intuition which enabled them to avoid accepting
+any applicant likely to be uncongenial to the others, to themselves or
+to the place; maybe it was merely the personal effect of the Hibbards
+and of their welcome which seemed, in some magical fashion, to make
+all newcomers as much at home as if they had lived at the Alders from
+childhood. Certainly all their boarders were mutually congenial.</p>
+
+<p>Never was summer-boarding-house so free from cliques, coteries,
+jealousies, enmities, bickerings and squabbles. The children played
+all day long apparently, but never seemed noisy or quarrelsome. The
+old ladies knitted or crocheted, teetering everlastingly in their
+rocking-chairs on the veranda, beaming at each other and at the
+landscape. The almost daily games of cards gave rise to scarcely
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>
+any disputes. The folks at the Alders were very unlike an accidental
+gathering of summer boarders and much more resembled an unusually large
+and harmonious family.</p>
+
+<p>This, I suppose, was due to the Hibbards’ positive genius for managing
+a boarding-house and to their genial disposition. Naturally, from their
+temperament, they enjoyed it, they showed that they enjoyed it and they
+made everybody feel that they enjoyed it, so that each boarder felt
+like an invited guest.</p>
+
+<p>The girls never seemed to have anything to do except to make everybody
+have a good time. Yet they had a great deal to do. In the heydey of the
+Alders the four girls divided their duties systematically.</p>
+
+<p>Susie, the eldest, and the head of the house, rose early, oversaw
+the getting of the breakfast, and superintended everything. After
+dinner she always took a long rest and nap. Then, after supper, she
+stayed up until the last boarder had come indoors and said goodnight,
+chiefly occupying herself with seeing to it that all together were
+enjoying themselves, and each separately. She did it very well too.
+It was a sight to see her, the moment she was free from presiding at
+the supper table, appear out on the lawn or on the piazza, or in the
+parlor, according to the weather. She was tall, plump and handsome,
+held herself erect and had the art of making herself look well in
+very inexpensive dresses, mostly of her own devising. She was always
+smiling, her light brown hair haloing her face, her blue eyes shining.
+As she came she swept one comprehensive glance over her guests,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>
+unerringly picked out that one, man or woman, lad or girl, child or
+baby, which seemed enjoying life least, made for that particular
+individual and wholeheartedly devoted herself to affording enjoyment.
+She could afford it, too. She was jolly and had an infectious gaiety
+that was irresistible. She talked well. She was a fair pianist and
+a really splendid singer. She played, if need be, and sang, too,
+indefatigably. Never did a party of boarders have a more conscientious,
+more solicitous or more tactful hostess.</p>
+
+<p>Mattie, who was taller and stouter than Susie, with brown eyes looking
+out of a face generally expressionless, but sometimes lit by a
+sympathetic smile, habitually slept late and was abed early. But she
+bore valiantly the brunt of the long middle of the summer days, took
+upon herself all that pertained to personal dealings with the servants,
+engaged them, dismissed them if unsatisfactory, controlled them when
+restive or cajoled them if dissatisfied, oversaw the getting of the
+dinner and supper, and made the desserts and ices. Among the boarders
+her chief activity was the foreseeing of incipient coolnesses and
+the tactful dissipation of any small cloud on the social atmosphere.
+It was chiefly due to her that no germ of antipathy ever developed,
+at the Alders, into dislike, that no seed of aversion, ever, in that
+atmosphere, ripened into enmity. She did her part so cleverly that
+few of the boarders realized that she ever did anything at all, or
+suspected that she had any social influence.</p>
+
+<p>The two younger sisters superintended the sweeping, dusting,
+bed-making, lamp-cleaning and all the other details contributing to the
+comfort of the boarders outside of the dining-room. Also Anna made the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>
+always abundant and miraculously appetizing cakes in great variety.</p>
+
+<p>The Alders was always full to its capacity, which meant thirty in the
+house and any number of boys up to nine in one of the outbuildings, a
+one-story stone cottage which had once been part of the slave quarters.
+In it were two double-beds, three canvas cots and at least seven boys;
+increased to eleven, sometimes, by casual transient guests of the
+boyboarders.</p>
+
+<p>The three boys of the family lived out there in summer with the
+boarders and visitors and kept them in a perpetual good humor.</p>
+
+<p>The Hibbards had learnt this not by precept, but by example. They had
+grown up to it with their growth. For Susie had been a small girl, Buck
+a small boy and the rest little children when their widowed mother had
+begun to take boarders. They had learned much of her art, unconsciously
+and without knowing that they were learning it.</p>
+
+<p>She was dead and gone before I first knew the Alders. But her spirit
+still informed the life of the place. She must have been a real lady,
+every fiber and breath of her, and she must have been a level-headed,
+practical woman. They quoted some of her aphorisms.</p>
+
+<p>“You cannot make money on twenty-one really good meals a week when you
+only charge six dollars board,” she was reputed to have said. “See
+that everything is eatable and every meal abundant and give them fried
+chicken and ice-cream, all they can eat, on Sundays and Thursdays, and
+they’ll always be enthusiastic about the table.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p>
+
+<p>“People can have a good time only in their own way. Find out what they
+like to do and encourage them to do it, if it is not wrong. That is the
+only way to please anybody.”</p>
+
+<p>“Either don’t take boarders at all or make them feel as welcome as
+cousins.”</p>
+
+<p>“Leave out what you can’t afford altogether. People never miss what no
+one has and no one can see. But never skimp anything you have. It is
+economy to offer everyone a third helping of everything.”</p>
+
+<p>“Season the food with good nature.”</p>
+
+<p>“Be easy-going about everything.”</p>
+
+<p>They were easy-going about everything. I’ve seen Susie tired to death,
+but gaily hiding it under an exterior of spontaneous vivacity, come
+back into the big parlor at eleven o’clock Saturday night with two
+handfuls of cornmeal to scatter on the floor to make it more slippery
+for dancing. And she did it graciously. They all did such things, and
+did them instinctively.</p>
+
+<p>They had the faculty of foreseeing when any amusement was palling on
+the participants and of starting something else before the boarders had
+time to find out that they were getting tired of what they were doing.
+They could always lead their guests into anything they began. On Sunday
+nights Susie sat at the piano and the rest stood around her and they
+all sang hymns in which all the singers on the farm invariably joined.
+Two or three nights a week they gathered similarly and sang college
+songs or popular tunes. Nearly every weekday evening they danced and of
+course the guests danced too. Then there was Jack Palton, who foraged
+among Uncle Hibbard’s guitars, found one with four strings left, tuned
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span>
+it like a banjo, and accompanied himself and a bevy of girls in singing
+glees. Mostly the boarders were too lazy to play tennis and most of the
+Hibbards were too easy-going to see that the court was kept in order,
+but nobody missed it. If they played tennis they suited themselves to
+the court as it was.</p>
+
+<p>The Alders was an easy-going place, full of merriment, of gaiety, of
+diversion, of singing and dancing, of lovemaking and flirtations.</p>
+
+<p>Especially of flirtations.</p>
+
+<p>That was where the three boys came in strong.</p>
+
+<p>Inevitably the boarders at the Alders were mostly women and young
+women. Before they were half grown the three boys learned to act as
+beaux for little girls, misses, hoydens, old-maids and grass-widows.
+They had learned how without knowing it, without knowing it they made
+an art of it. They did their best, quite spontaneously, to see to it
+that every unmated feminine creature at the Alders had a good time.</p>
+
+<p>Incidentally they had a good time, for attractive girls were always
+present in abundance.</p>
+
+<p>The result was as good as a comedy to watch.</p>
+
+<p>Whenever a pretty girl, without a gallant in attendance, came to the
+Alders, she was promptly annexed by the second brother, who had been
+christened Ernest Paca Hibbard and was always known, spoken of and
+addressed as “Pake.”</p>
+
+<p>Pake was neither tall nor short. He was broad and thick. Also he was
+fat, not too fat, but pleasantly fat. He had a bullet head, a short
+neck and a round ruddy face. Withal he was good looking. He affected
+bright hat-bands on his new stylish straw hats; bright effective
+neck-ties, tan shoes, white duck trousers and blue coats. He looked
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>
+attractive, felt attractive and was attractive. Nearly every newcomer
+liked Pake and, if he liked her, she was within three days spoken of as
+“Pake’s girl.”</p>
+
+<p>He was a born flirt, could have flirted if he had been walking in his
+sleep, and he flirted well. Few girls could resist the charm of his
+frank and ingenuous overtures or the sparkle of his brown eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Then after Pake had annexed the girl, Buck would look her over. He
+was in no hurry. He was tall, heavily built though spare, had a
+good-natured countenance, in which blue eyes looked out of a tanned
+face, and wore clothes which neither he nor anyone else ever noticed.</p>
+
+<p>If Buck liked a girl well enough he took her away from Pake. Nobody
+could ever describe or specify how he did it; but he did it. Buck’s
+advances threw Pake completely into the shade.</p>
+
+<p>Buck was the head of the family, ran the farm, gave orders to the
+tenant-farmer, directed the selection of the calf that was to be
+slaughtered every two weeks and of the two lambs killed each week,
+talked fascinatingly of pigs and crops, had to ask no one but himself
+when he wanted a horse hitched up to take a girl out driving, and was
+generally jovial and delightful.</p>
+
+<p>The girls he liked always liked him better than Pake. He had more
+conversation and never bored anybody.</p>
+
+<p>Then after Pake had transferred his attentions to some newcomer and
+Buck and his girl were together during all Buck’s leisure as naturally
+as cup and saucer, Rex would look her over deliberately. He was even
+less in a hurry than Buck.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p>
+
+<p>Rex was slight and silent, with a melancholy air and melting
+yellow-brown eyes. He was, to the few girls he fancied, altogether
+irresistible. Therein lay his fault. Rex took flirtation too
+seriously. It was likely to slip into love making, which is not sound
+boarding-house ethics.</p>
+
+<p>But Rex never caused any trouble or got into any trouble. If things
+looked serious to the gossips or the family, they never felt serious to
+Rex or the girl.</p>
+
+<p>Such was the Alders in its prime, which lasted some few years, during
+which I was a resident there, first in the “Club,” as the boys called
+their white-washed stone cottage, later in the house itself. I was
+happy those four summers, and became almost an honorary member of the
+family. The honorary members of the Hibbard family were numerous. The
+Alders had entertained nearly two hundred individual boarders a year
+for fifteen years. At least one in ten of them felt like an honorary
+member of the family. Many of those who came there for a second summer
+were treated as honorary members of the family, and I had spent four
+summers at the Alders.</p>
+
+<p>So I was treated quite as an honorary member of the family and enjoyed
+it.</p>
+
+<p>The family, in fact, was the best feature of life at the Alders. Seldom
+could one encounter seven brothers and sisters so loving to each other,
+so devoted. They had no motto, but they behaved as if their motto
+were “all for one, one for all.” A pleasant feature of each day was
+the sight of their habitual morning gathering, all to themselves, on
+the small side porch. There they would sit for half an hour or more,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>
+holding a sort of family council on the problems of that day. They
+were a most united family, solicitous about each other, perpetually
+interested in each other’s welfare.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">II</p>
+
+
+<p>The Alders changed like everything else. Susie married and lived
+in Baltimore, Anna married and lived in Washington. Pake went to
+Pittsburgh. Rex married a widow with two children and settled in
+Chicago. Buck was away from home a good deal. Mattie married a man who
+did not make the family feel enthusiastic. The Alders continued full of
+boarders, all in the care of Leslie, the youngest sister, whom I had
+last seen as a shy girl.</p>
+
+<p>For I had not visited the Alders for a dozen years, and in that time
+had scarcely seen any of the family except Pake, jolly old Pake, a
+prosperous bachelor, as much of a flirt as ever, even more of a flirt
+than in his youth; a short, florid, jovial man, young-looking and
+handsome, who made love to every new girl he met as naturally as he
+breathed.</p>
+
+<p>Then, one afternoon early in July, I encountered Rex on the platform
+of a railroad station, just as we were about to take trains leaving in
+opposite directions. He glowed over conditions at the Alders, averred
+that Leslie ran the place as well as ever all four sisters together
+had, that it was always full, that it was as delightful as ever.</p>
+
+<p>Within a week I encountered Susie and her two tall girls in the waiting
+room of Union Station. They were off to the Alders for the summer and
+Susie invited me up over any Sunday I chose.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span></p>
+
+<p>As with Rex, so also the time I had with Susie was too short for me to
+ask a tenth of the questions I wanted to ask or for her to tell me a
+tenth of what she had to tell.</p>
+
+<p>The first Saturday I could get off early I ran up to the Alders. Buck
+met me at Jonesville station, a little more bronzed than I had last
+seen him, otherwise the same youthful-looking giant.</p>
+
+<p>The house, of course, was the same tile-roofed brick house, big and
+plain, neat under a new coat of bright lemon-yellow paint. The barns
+were the same weathered gray, unpainted, ramshackle barns I remembered,
+not a bit more decayed nor less dilapidated than a dozen years before.
+The grove behind the barn was unaltered, not a tree gone as far as I
+could judge, and all its big oaks, tulip-poplars and hickories rustling
+delightfully. The outbuildings near the house were as of old and the
+brook, just as of yore, not fifty feet from the front porch, rippled
+across the lawn between its rows of alders. The ailanthus trees west of
+the house and the locust tree by the well seemed exactly as formerly.
+They were so big they did not show their growth. But the catalpa by
+the bridge over the brook had taken on a new lease of life and was
+flourishing, whereas the lombardy poplars across the brook were gone.
+The chief change was in the maples. In my time they had been young
+trees, with trunks too slender to support a hammock rope without
+bending when anyone sat in the hammock. Now they were large trees,
+shading the entire front yard from the brook to the porch with an
+almost continuous canopy of green.</p>
+
+<p>The place was full of boarders and their children, though the family
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>
+themselves took up a larger part of the house than of old. Susie was
+there with her two girls, Anna with her two manly boys and Rex and
+his wife and his two step-children. Leslie had grown into an entirely
+adequate housekeeper and hostess and presided admirably. As of yore,
+the homestead tinkled with banjo music and rang with laughter.</p>
+
+<p>Mattie, of course, was not at the house, as she and her husband lived
+a quarter of a mile down the road on the farm that had been Aunt
+Cynthia’s. Everything and everybody was as I expected except that I
+missed Pake.</p>
+
+<p>“Where’s Pake?” I queried.</p>
+
+<p>“Pake!” Susie exclaimed. “Didn’t you know Pake was in Rio de Janeiro?”</p>
+
+<p>“No!” I answered; “why, I saw Pake on Washington’s birthday and he said
+nothing about going abroad.”</p>
+
+<p>“He went in March,” Susie rejoined; “late in March, I think. He likes
+it down there.”</p>
+
+<p>Somebody interrupted and we did not mention Pake again until after
+supper. Then we were all out on the long front porch, grouped about
+Susie. Buck and Tom Brundige and I, scattered among the ladies, had our
+cigars drawing well. Rex, as always, was smoking one cigarette after
+another. A V. M. I. cadet, a crony of one of Anna’s boys, was seated on
+one rail of the rustic bridge over the brook, twanging a banjo at three
+girls who sat on the other rail facing him. In the lulls of our talk
+and of the banjo, the chuckle of the brook over its pebbles emphasized
+the silence, into which broke the undertones of a pair of lovers,
+swinging in a hammock off to the right. The stars twinkled through the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>
+tree-tops, the cigar ends glowed red in the darkness, which was cloven
+by shafts of lamplight from the windows and mitigated afar to the left
+where, over the long black outline of the Blue Ridge a paling sky
+prophesied moonrise.</p>
+
+<p>Somebody had been expecting a letter and had been disappointed and was
+mourning over it.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t understand about letters from Pake,” Susie remarked.
+“Sometimes we don’t get any letters for weeks, and then we get two or
+three, all at once. When we compare dates and postmarks we find that he
+writes every Wednesday and Saturday and mails the letters the very day
+they are written. How do you explain that, Billy?”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose,” I said, “that the letters come different ways, perhaps
+some by Lisbon, some by London, others perhaps other ways. That might
+explain it. What do you think, Tom?”</p>
+
+<p>“I fancy,” said Brundige, “that you are probably right.”</p>
+
+<p>“I had a letter from Pake to-day,” Susie went on. “I had not heard from
+him for a month. He says he don’t like his business quarters. He has an
+expensive office and he says it is dark and hot and stuffy and he is
+going to change just as soon as he can find something to suit him. He
+says he is looking round. But he says he is most comfortably located
+otherwise. He is boarding, as he expresses it, ‘up on Santa Teresa’;
+what does that mean, Billy?”</p>
+
+<p>“Big, long hill,” I replied. “Four hundred feet high. Splendid view
+over the city and harbor. Fine air all night. Lots of places to board
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>
+up there, and all good. How’s that now, Tom?”</p>
+
+<p>“All correct,” Brundige corroborated me.</p>
+
+<p>“I should think,” Rex put in, “that Pake would get into trouble down
+there.”</p>
+
+<p>“What sort of trouble?” Anna demanded. “Pake never gets into trouble
+anywhere. What sort of trouble do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>Rex lit another cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” he said, “I meant that down there those Dago Portuguese won’t
+stand any nonsense. They’re a revengeful lot, by what I hear. Pake
+might cut somebody out with a girl and get a knife stuck in him.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re teasing!” cried Anna, indignantly. “You’re always up to some
+teasing! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>And Susie rebuked him:</p>
+
+<p>“You oughtn’t to suggest such awful things, Rex.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I wasn’t suggesting anything awful,” Rex persisted, “and I wasn’t
+teasing. I only meant Pake would be likely to cause some heartburnings
+down there. Pake’s bound to be the same old Pake. He can’t change all
+of a sudden. He’s certain to have half a dozen girls thinking they have
+him on a string before he was there a week. Before he was there a month
+he had more than one girl on a string. Somebody’s bound to be jealous.
+Those Dagoes are a hot-blooded lot.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pooh!” Buck cut in, “Pake don’t know enough Portuguese to flirt
+with any natives and all the Americans and English down there will
+understand flirting.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter with some Dago being in love with an English girl or
+an American girl?” Rex persevered; “Pake might cut one out with a girl
+that speaks English.”</p>
+
+<p>I saw that both Susie, who was naturally nervous, and Anna, who had
+been inseparable from Pake all through their childhood, were wrought
+up. I tried to intervene.</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense,” I said, “Pake might cut out any number of gallants and
+never get into any trouble. Rio is as peaceable as Baltimore. To begin
+with, he can’t flirt with any Brazilian girls, for no Brazilian girl is
+ever permitted to talk to a young man. Anybody going along the streets
+can see the fashionable Brazilians making love according to their
+custom. Toward sunset, when the heat is less fierce, the girls, all
+dressed up, lean out of the windows of the second floor drawing rooms.
+Their lovers stand on the other side of the street and look at them. A
+young man will stand that way two hours or more every afternoon for a
+year before he asks her father for a girl. That’s the fashion. How is
+it now, Tom?”</p>
+
+<p>“Same way now.” Brundige corroborated me. “Lots of flirtation among
+the foreign set, though. But no danger of daggers or revenge. Rio is
+as peaceable as Washington. I never heard of any case of revenge or of
+jealousy leading to bloodshed. Never heard of a supposed case, except
+once.”</p>
+
+<p>His tone told us all there was a story coming. He was sitting next to
+Susie and we all hitched our chairs nearer.</p>
+
+<p>“What was that, Tom?” Buck asked.</p>
+
+<p>The women all looked towards Brundige. Rex lit another cigarette. The
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>
+rest of us lit fresh cigars.</p>
+
+<p>“It was a fellow named Orodoff Guimaraes,” Brundige began. “Guimaraes,
+in Portuguese, is like Smith in English, only more so. It seems
+as if half the Fluminenses, as they call the people of Rio, are
+named Guimaraes. This Orodoff Guimaraes was a cousin and namesake
+of a wealthy and respected wine-merchant and rather traded on the
+relationship and identity of the name. He was one of those dandies who
+swarm in all South American cities, young men with little or no income,
+a great sense of their own importance, a taste for expensive pleasures,
+a love of ease and comfort, ungovernable passions, and an insane
+devotion to the latest fashion in clothes.</p>
+
+<p>“Most of such idlers have no income and are too proud to have any
+business. This Orodoff Guimaraes was better off in both respects. He
+inherited a small property in real estate, and he made some money in
+life insurance. He had a desk in a third floor office in a building he
+owned, 49A Rua de Alfandega, one of the principal business streets of
+the old down-town part of Rio. He rented the first and second floors
+of the building at good rentals, and he rented desk-room on the third
+floor; all the back office and all the front office except his own
+small desk.</p>
+
+<p>“He used to spend the most of his mornings at that desk, idling. He
+sometimes had business that took him out, sometimes he pretended he
+had. But mostly he just sat at his desk, reading papers, smoking
+cigarettes or doing nothing at all. It was a pleasant place to do
+nothing in, a big room, nearly thirty feet wide, more than thirty feet
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>
+long, with a high ceiling and three tall French windows down to the
+floor, all three always open. They faced south, so that they needed no
+awnings and they let in no glare and plenty of breeze. The office was
+light, but not too light, cool and airy, an ideal loafing place.</p>
+
+<p>“When he was not loafing in his office Guimaraes was always making love
+to some girl or going through the motions of making love. No girl would
+have him, for no girl’s father would let her marry him; he was not well
+enough off to marry, though he managed to dress well as a bachelor.
+So girl after girl whom he made love to married some one else, or got
+engaged to some one else. Three of them got engaged, but never got
+married. Their bridegrooms died before the wedding day.</p>
+
+<p>“In each case Guimaraes made friends with his rival, got quite chummy
+with him, and induced him to rent a desk in his office. In each case
+the rival was killed by falling out of one of the French windows of
+the office, forty odd feet to the pavement of the Rue de Alfandega.
+In each case it was an accident. In each case Orodoff Guimaraes was
+out of his office when the accident happened. But while no one could
+say a word against Guimaraes, after the third accident no Fluminense
+who had been exposed in any way to Orodoff Guimaraes’ real or apparent
+rivalry for any girl could be induced to rent desk room in his office.
+The deaths could not be imputed to him, but the coincidence of the
+rivalry, the friendship, the renting of a desk and the fall from the
+window, in three different cases, was more than even the slow-thinking
+fashionable Fluminenses could stand. It got on their nerves. If he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>
+hadn’t committed three murders out of revenge, it seemed as if he had.
+Of course, he couldn’t have hypnotized the victims when he was half a
+mile away and made them throw themselves out of the window or caused
+them to walk out of the window, but somehow everybody felt as if that
+was just about what he had done.</p>
+
+<p>“And each case was spooky, too. In each case the victim’s desk was
+close to one of the windows; in each case Orodoff Guimaraes was out,
+but there were two other men, renters of desk-room, at desks further
+back in the office; in each case the other men, seated at their desks
+twenty feet and more away, had been talking across the room to the
+victim; in each case the other men, different men each time, had turned
+round to look at something on their desks, had heard no sound, no
+movement, no cry, but when they looked round again found themselves
+alone in the room, and, going to the window, saw the victim crushed on
+the pavement below.”</p>
+
+<p>He stopped.</p>
+
+<p>“Why don’t they have a railing or a balustrade across the open window?”
+Rex inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Custom,” Brundige rejoined. “Custom rules everything down there;
+custom rules everything all over South America. In Rio all upstairs
+offices have French windows down to the floor. It’s a hot climate and
+no window has a rail or even a bar across it. To have unobstructed
+windows is the custom.”</p>
+
+<p>“Fool custom!” said Buck.</p>
+
+<p>Just then Leslie came out and joined us. She had been attending to her
+household duties, or giving orders about breakfast, or entertaining a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>
+boarder or something like that.</p>
+
+<p>After she was settled next to Rex she said:</p>
+
+<p>“I had a letter from Pake this morning. He says there are some fine
+girls down there in Rio. Says he has had no end of fun with them. He
+must have been in a good humor when he wrote that letter. It’s a long
+letter and very funny. He tells how he pretended to make love to a
+girl, just to annoy a fool of a dude who was always making eyes at her,
+how at first the dude was mad, how he saw the joke and behaved real
+sensibly. Pake says they got to be real good friends. He tells it all
+very well. I’ll read it to you to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>Leslie was bubbling with merriment, as unconscious as possible and very
+girlish. But about the rest of us the atmosphere seemed to tingle. I
+could feel, as it were, the spiritual tension. Buck asked, thickly:</p>
+
+<p>“Did he tell you the fellow’s name?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Leslie cheerfully. “He never mentioned his name. But he says
+they are real good friends.”</p>
+
+<p>Just then the banjo party on the little bridge stood up. We heard
+cheerful greetings and recognized Mattie’s voice. She had strolled over
+on foot, her home being a very short distance down the road.</p>
+
+<p>She came up on the porch, a big, solid matronly young woman. I caught
+a glimpse of her plump face as the lamplight through the open doorway
+struck on her, her brown eyes smiling merrily.</p>
+
+<p>Buck sat down on the porch floor, his feet on the steps, his back
+against a pillar. Mattie took his chair. She also took charge and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>
+control of the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>“Alf drove to Hagerstown right after supper,” she said. “He ought to be
+back soon. I told him I was coming over here and he’ll come right here
+when he comes out.”</p>
+
+<p>This was in answer to my query.</p>
+
+<p>“I had a letter from Pake this morning,” she went on. “He says he’s
+got a new office that suits him perfectly. He says he didn’t need as
+much room as he had, so he’s taken desk room only in the office of a
+friend of his, some kind of Brazilian name, I couldn’t spell and can’t
+pronounce it. He says it’s a dandy place on the third floor, big, high
+room, plenty of floor space to move about in and nice fellows at the
+other desks. It’s bright and cool and airy, three big French windows
+open down to the floor.”</p>
+
+<p>Then, quite suddenly, as she paused, I felt the Alders enveloped in an
+atmosphere of tragedy and gloom. The Hibbards excelled in self-control;
+not one of them uttered a sound. There was a long silence. I could hear
+the ripple of the brook. The first rays of the late moon, just clearing
+the top of the Blue Ridge, struck through the maples.</p>
+
+<p>Anna spoke first:</p>
+
+<p>“Have you that letter with you, Mattie?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” Mattie replied cheerfully. “I brought it along.”</p>
+
+<p>“Give it to me,” Anna said; “Billy and I will try to make out that
+name.”</p>
+
+<p>“Billy can do it, I’ll bet,” spoke Mattie brightly.</p>
+
+<p>Anna, the letter in her hand, stood up.</p>
+
+<p>“Come on, Billy,” she said.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p>
+
+<p>I went.</p>
+
+<p>I was surprised at her asking me instead of Brundige. I had never been
+intimate with Anna. Susie I had known well and Mattie better, but
+Leslie, in the old days, had merely smiled and seldom spoken, so that
+I could not tell whether she liked me or not, while Anna had seemed to
+avoid me.</p>
+
+<p>I should have expected her to call Brundige, for Tom had been in Rio
+longer than I, and much more recently.</p>
+
+<p>She stood by the refrigerator in the back hall by the side door and
+leaned against it, her brown hair almost golden against the lamp that
+stood on the refrigerator.</p>
+
+<p>“I daren’t look at the letter,” she said. “You read it, Billy.”</p>
+
+<p>I found the name and it was Orodoff Guimaraes. Also, at the end of the
+letter he told Mattie to write to him at his office address, Rua de
+Alfandega, 49A.</p>
+
+<p>“Come!” said Anna, in a fierce whisper.</p>
+
+<p>I followed her through the side door and out into the tepid windless
+moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>She made for the barn.</p>
+
+<p>The atmosphere of gloom and tragedy deepened about us. The moonlight
+seemed weird and ghastly, the shadows of the trees grim and menacing,
+the silence like that of a graveyard.</p>
+
+<p>Anna leaned against the barnyard gate.</p>
+
+<p>“Could I send a cablegram to Rio de Janeiro for thirty dollars?” she
+queried.</p>
+
+<p>“A long one for less,” I said. “When I was down there the rates were
+sixty-five cents a word. That’s many years ago. The rates can’t be
+over half that now. You could cable a letter for thirty dollars.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I have three ten-dollar bills,” she said. “Barton gave them to me for
+emergencies just before I left Washington.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have more than that in my pocket,” I said. “Between us we are sure
+to have more than enough.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you suppose,” she asked, “that I could send a cable from Jonesville
+this late Saturday night?”</p>
+
+<p>“We might try,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“If we can’t,” she pressed me, “will you drive into Hagerstown with me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” I promised.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” she said, “I can’t bear it. I can see him lying dead on those
+cruel paving stones. I can’t bear it.”</p>
+
+<p>I remembered that, just as Rex and Leslie had been inseparable all
+through their childhood, so Anna and Pake had been comrades from the
+cradle on. I said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“Can you hitch up without the lantern?” she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Has the stable been altered?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bit,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>In fact my hand in the dark found in the same places what might have
+been the same hickory harness-pegs and on them what seemed like the
+same old sets of harness.</p>
+
+<p>“Which stall?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Laddie’s old stall,” she directed me; “call her Nell.”</p>
+
+<p>I harnessed the mare and led her out to the carriage shed. Anna climbed
+into the buggy. I opened the gate into the grove and closed it after
+she had driven through. At the far end of the grove I got out of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>
+buggy again and let down the bars. After I had put them up and was at
+last in the buggy she handed the reins to me.</p>
+
+<p>“Nell can trot,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>Nell trotted, the snaky black shadows lay inky dark across the road.
+We tore past Grotto station. We neared Jonesville. I had no sense of
+ineptitude or futility in what we were trying to do. I did not feel I
+was on a wild goose chase. I did not feel absurd. I took our errand
+most seriously. We were on our way to warn Pake against the devilish
+machinations of a fiend who had contrived and compassed three ingenious
+murders. We were racing against time to warn him before it was too
+late. I was wrought up to the highest pitch of excitement over the
+gravity and urgency of our mission.</p>
+
+<p>We found the telegraph operator still awake. We persuaded him to do as
+we asked. Anna wrote and I amended till we agreed on:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>“Change your office immediately. Do not enter it again on any account.
+Get another office at once. Act instantly; this is a matter of life
+and death. Explanations by letter.</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+“<span class="allsmcap">ANNA.</span>”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the cablegram was sent off we drove homeward, at Nell’s natural
+pace, which was not slow.</p>
+
+<p>We felt only partly relieved.</p>
+
+<p>A dozen times Anna sighed:</p>
+
+<p>“I hope we were in time; oh, I hope we were in time!”</p>
+
+<p>The atmosphere of gloom and tragedy pursued us as we returned,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>
+enveloped the Alders when again we were seated on the porch.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly were we seated when Mattie’s husband came. I had heard he had
+been consumptive, but had recovered completely. He looked to me like a
+dying man; haggard, gray-cheeked, sunken-eyed, trembling. He greeted
+people like a sleep-walker.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as greetings were over he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Buck, I want to talk business to you a moment.”</p>
+
+<p>Buck stood up. He had the Hibbard faculty of intuition and
+unexpectedness. I was used to both, of old. But I was very much
+astonished when he pinched me as he passed and indicated that I was to
+come, too.</p>
+
+<p>In the back hall by the refrigerator Alf looked up at Buck like a
+hunted animal at bay.</p>
+
+<p>“My God, Buck,” he said. “How’ll we ever break it to the girls?”</p>
+
+<p>“Break what?” Buck queried, his voice dry and thin.</p>
+
+<p>“There was a cablegram for you at Hagerstown,” Alf replied. “Beesore
+had sense enough not to telephone it out here. He saw me and gave it to
+me. Pake’s dead.”</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s look at the cablegram,” Buck said thickly.</p>
+
+<p>He looked, holding it closely to the kerosene lamp on the refrigerator.</p>
+
+<p>Then he handed it to me.</p>
+
+<p>I read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>“E. P. Hibbard instantly killed by a fall from a window.</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+“<span class="allsmcap">G. SWANWICK.</span>”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="right">1913</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_MESSAGE_ON_THE_SLATE">THE MESSAGE ON THE SLATE</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_MESSAGE_ON_THE_SLATE_2">THE MESSAGE ON THE SLATE</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">M</span>RS. LLEWELLYN had always held—in so far as she ever thought about
+the subject at all—that to consult a clairvoyant was not merely an
+imbecile folly, but a degrading action, nearly akin to crime. Now that
+she felt herself over-masteringly driven to such an unconscionable
+unworthiness she could not bring herself to do it openly. Anything
+underhand or secretive was utterly alien to her nature. She was a
+tall woman, notably well shaped, with unusual dignity of demeanor.
+The poise of her head would have appeared haughty but for the winning
+kindliness of her frequent smile. Her dark hair, dark eyes and very
+white skin accorded well with that abiding calm of her bearing
+which never seemed mere placidity in a face habitually lighted with
+interested comprehension. Like a cloudless springtime sunrise over
+limitless expanses of dewy prairies, she was enveloped in an atmosphere
+of spacious serenity of soul, and her appearance was entirely in
+consonance with her character. She was still a very beautiful woman,
+high-souled as she was beautiful and exceedingly straight-forward.
+Yet to drive in open day to a house bearing the displayed sign of a
+spirit-medium was more than she could do. Bidding her footman call for
+her later, much later, at her hairdresser’s, she dismissed her carriage
+at the main entrance of a department store. Leaving it by another
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>
+entrance, she took a street car for the neighborhood she sought. The
+neighborhood was altogether different from what she had anticipated;
+the houses, by no means small, were even handsome; not least handsome
+that of the clairvoyant. And it was very well kept, the pavement and
+the steps clean, the plate glass window panes bright, the shades and
+curtains new and tasteful, the silver doorknobs and door-bell fresh
+polished. There was a sign, indeed, but not the flaming horror her
+imagination had constructed from memories of signs seen in passing.
+This was a bit of glass set inside the big, bright pane of one of
+the parlor windows. It bore in small gold letters only the name,
+<span class="allsmcap">SALATHIEL VARGAS</span>, and the word, <span class="allsmcap">CLAIRVOYANT</span>.</p>
+
+<p>A neat maid opened the door. Yes, Mr. Vargas was in; would she walk
+into the waiting room? The untenanted waiting room was a dignified
+parlor, furnished in the costliest way, but with a restraint as far as
+possible from ostentation. The rug was Persian, each piece of furniture
+different in design from any other, yet all harmonizing, while the ten
+pictures were paintings by well-known artists. Before Mrs. Llewellyn
+had time for more than one comprehensive and surprised glance about,
+when she had barely seated herself, the retreating maid struck two
+sharp notes on a silvery gong. Almost immediately the door leading to
+the rear room was opened. In it appeared a man under five feet tall,
+not dwarfish, but deformed. His patent-leather shoes were boyish, his
+trousers hung limp about legs shriveled to mere skeletal stems, and his
+left knee was bent and fixed at an unchanging angle, so that his step
+was a painful hobble. Above the waist he was well made; a deep chest;
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>
+broad, square shoulders; a huge head with a vast shock of black, curly
+hair. He had the look of a musician or artist; with a wide forehead;
+delicately curved eyebrows; nose hooked, sharp and assertive; eyes,
+wide apart, large, dark brown with sparkles of red and green; and a
+mouth whose curled upper lip was almost too short. The mouth and eyes
+held Mrs. Llewellyn at first glance, and the instant change in them
+startled her. He had appeared with a suave mechanical smile, with a
+look of easy expectancy. As his gaze met hers his lips set and their
+redness dulled; his eyes were full of so poignant a dismay that she
+would not have been surprised had he abruptly retreated and slammed the
+door between them. Without a word he clung to the knob, staring at her.
+Then he drew the door to after him and leaned against it, still holding
+to the knob with one hand behind his back. When he spoke it was in a
+dry whisper.</p>
+
+<p>“You here, of all women!”</p>
+
+<p>“You know me!” she exclaimed; “I have never seen you.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are seen of many thousands you never note,” he replied. “Everyone
+knows Mrs. David Llewellyn. Everyone knew Constance Palgrave.”</p>
+
+<p>“You flatter me,” she said coldly, with the air of one resenting an
+unwelcome familiarity.</p>
+
+<p>“Flattery is part of my trade,” he replied. “But I do not flatter you.
+So little that I have forgotten my manners. I should have asked you to
+step into my consulting room. Pray, enter it.”</p>
+
+<p>She passed him as he held the door open for her. The inner room was
+not less seemly than the outer. Except for three doors and one
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>
+broad window looking out on an area, it was walled with bookcases
+some eight feet high, broken only where there were set into them two
+small cabinets with drawers below. The glass doors of the bookcases
+were of small panes, and the books within were in exquisite bindings.
+Topping the cases were several splendid bronze busts. The furniture
+was completed by a round mahogany center-table, several small chairs
+and three tapestried armchairs. When Mrs. Llewellyn had seated herself
+in one the clairvoyant took another. His agitation was so extreme that
+had she been capable of fear it would almost have frightened her; her
+curiosity it greatly piqued. He was as pale as a swarthy man can be,
+his lips bloodless and twitching, dry and moistening themselves one
+against the other as he mechanically swallowed in his nervousness. She
+herself was perturbed in soul, but an eye less practised than his would
+have discerned no signs of emotion beneath her easy exterior. They
+faced each other in silence for some breaths; then he spoke:</p>
+
+<p>“For what purpose have you come here?”</p>
+
+<p>“To consult you,” she answered. “Is it astonishing? Do not all sorts of
+persons come to consult you?”</p>
+
+<p>“All sorts,” he replied. “But none such as you. Never any such as you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have come, it seems,” she said simply, “and to consult you.”</p>
+
+<p>“In what way do you mean to consult me?” he queried. “People consult me
+in various ways.”</p>
+
+<p>“I had in mind,” she said, “the answers you give by writing on the
+inside of a shut slate.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You have come to the wrong man,” he said harshly, with an obvious
+effort that made his voice unnatural. “Go elsewhere,” and he rose.</p>
+
+<p>She gazed at him in astonishment without moving.</p>
+
+<p>“Why do you say that?” she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>He opened each of the three doors, looked outside and then made sure
+that each was latched. He looked out of the window, glancing at each of
+the other windows visible from it. He hobbled once or twice up and down
+the room, mopping his forehead and face with his handkerchief; then he
+seated himself again.</p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Llewellyn,” he said, “I must request your promise of entire and
+permanent secrecy for what I am about to tell you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Anyone would suppose,” she said, “that you were the client and I the
+clairvoyant.”</p>
+
+<p>“Acknowledging that,” he replied. “Let it pass, I beg of you. I have
+told you that you have come to the wrong man. I bade you go elsewhere.
+You ask for an explanation. I have fortified myself to give it to you.
+But I must have your pledge of silence if you desire an explanation.”</p>
+
+<p>“I do desire it and you have my promise.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked around the room with the movement of a rat in a cage. His
+eyes met hers, but shifted uneasily, and his shamefaced gaze fell to
+the floor. His hands clutched each other upon his lame knee.</p>
+
+<p>“Madame,” he said, “I tell you to go elsewhere because I am a
+charlatan, an impostor. My trances are mere pretense, the method of my
+replies a farcical mummery, the answers transparent concoctions from
+the hints I extract from my dupes.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You say this to try me,” she cried; “you are subjecting me to some
+sort of test.”</p>
+
+<p>“Madame,” he said, “look at me. Am I like a man playing a part? Do I
+not look in earnest?”</p>
+
+<p>She regarded him, convinced.</p>
+
+<p>“But,” she wondered. “Why do you thrust this confession upon me?”</p>
+
+<p>“I fear,” he hesitated, “that a truthful answer to that question would
+displease you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your behavior,” she said, “and your utterances are so unexpected
+and amazing to me, coming here as I have, that I must request an
+explanation.”</p>
+
+<p>Vargas straightened himself in his chair and looked her in the eyes,
+not aggressively, but timidly. He spoke in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Madame,” he said solemnly, “I have told you the truth about myself
+because you are the one human being whom I am unwilling to harm, wrong
+or cheat.”</p>
+
+<p>“You mean,”——she broke off, bridling.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, Madame,” he cried, “I mean nothing that has in it any tinge of
+anything that might offend you. What does the north star know or care
+how many frail, storm-tossed barks struggle to steer by it? Is it any
+the less radiant, pure, high because so many to whom it is and shall
+remain forever unattainable strive to win from its rays guidance
+towards havens of safety? A woman such as you cannot guess, much less
+know, to how many she is the one abiding heavenly beacon. How could
+you, who need no such help from without, realize what the mere sight
+of you afar off must mean to natures not blest with such a heritage
+of goodness? How many have been strengthened at sight of your face,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>
+wherein they could not but see the visible outward expression of that
+inward peace and serenity that comes from right instincts unswervingly
+adhering to noble ideals? You have been to me the incarnate token of
+the existence of that righteousness to which I might not attain.”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Llewellyn had borne his torrent of verbiage with a look of
+intolerant toleration, of haughty displeasure curbed by astonishment.
+When he paused for breath she said, in a voice half angry, half
+repressed:</p>
+
+<p>“I quite understand you, I have heard enough, I have heard altogether
+too much of this; we will change the subject, if you please.”</p>
+
+<p>“I spoke at your command,” Vargas apologized, abashed, “and only to
+convince you of my sincerity in telling you that I am not worthy of
+being consulted by you.”</p>
+
+<p>“But,” she protested, carried away by her surprise, “you are called the
+greatest clairvoyant on earth.”</p>
+
+<p>“And I have schemed, advertised lavishly, spent money like water,
+bribed reporters, bought editors, cajoled managers, hoodwinked owners
+and won over their wives and daughters through laborious years to
+produce that impression. It is no growth of accident, no spontaneous
+recognition of self-evident merit.”</p>
+
+<p>“But,” she argued, “are you a fiend doing all this for the delight of
+deceiving for deception’s sake? Are you a man wealthy by inheritance
+and choosing this form of activity for the pleasure it gives you?”</p>
+
+<p>“By no means Madame,” he denied, “I live by my wits.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Your surroundings tell me that you live well,” she suggested.</p>
+
+<p>“Better than my surroundings reveal,” he rejoined.</p>
+
+<p>“Then your wits are good wits,” she ventured.</p>
+
+<p>“None better of their kind on earth,” he naïvely admitted, wholly off
+his guard.</p>
+
+<p>“And they are not overtaxed?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Deception is not hard,” he told her, “the world is full of fools and
+even the sensible are easy to deceive.”</p>
+
+<p>“From what I have read,” she continued, “you do not deceive. Your
+advice is good. Your precepts guide your clients right. Your
+suggestions lead to success. Your predictions come to pass, your
+conjectures are verified.”</p>
+
+<p>“All that is true enough,” he allowed.</p>
+
+<p>“Then how can you call your clients dupes, your methods mummeries, your
+answers lies?” She wound up triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>“I did not call my answers lies,” he disclaimed. “Mummeries I deal
+in and to dupes. Dupes they are all. They pour gold into my lap
+to tell them what they already knew if they but reasoned it out
+calmly with themselves. They babble to me all they need to know and
+pay me insensately for it when I fling back to them a patchwork of
+the fragments I have extracted from their stories of expectations,
+apprehensions and memories.”</p>
+
+<p>“But if you do all that you must be a real judge of human nature, a
+genuine reader of hearts, a keen-brained counsellor.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am all that and more,” he bragged. He had lost every trace of
+agitation and bore himself with a dashing self-confidence of manner,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>
+extremely engaging. “I cannot minister to a mind diseased; but I am
+called on to prescribe for all sorts of delusions, follies, blunders,
+miseries and griefs. I could count by thousands the men and women
+I have saved, the lives I have made happy, the difficulties I have
+annihilated, the aspirations I have guided aright.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you must have an immense experience of human frailties and human
+needs.”</p>
+
+<p>“Vast, enormous, incalculable,” he declared.</p>
+
+<p>“Your advice then should be valuable.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is valuable,” he boasted.</p>
+
+<p>“Then advise me, I am in extreme distress. I have felt that no one
+could help me. The belief that you might has given me a ray of hope.
+You have expressed a regard for me altogether extraordinary. Will it
+not lead you to help me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Any advice and help, any service in my power you may be sure shall be
+yours,” he said earnestly. “But let me ask you first, how was it that
+you did not seek the advice of some business-man, lawyer or clergyman?
+You are not at all of the light-headed type of those frivolous
+women who flock to me and to others like me. You have common sense,
+unalterable principles, rational instincts and personal fastidiousness,
+why did you not go to one of the recognized, established, honored
+advisers of humanity? Tell me that if you please?”</p>
+
+<p>“It was because of the dream,” she faltered.</p>
+
+<p>“The dream!” he exclaimed. “A dream sent you to me? What sort of a
+dream?”</p>
+
+<p>“I had come to feel that there could be no hope for me,” she said.
+“But about a month ago I had a dream in which I was told ‘The seventh
+advertisement in the seventh column of the seventh newspaper in the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span>
+seventh drawer of the linen room will point for you the way to escape
+from your miseries and win what you desire.’ There should have been
+no papers in my linen-room and it made me feel foolish to want to go
+and look. Also the servants knew I never went there, so I had to watch
+until the housekeeper was out and no maids were on that floor. Sure
+enough I found seven old newspapers in the seventh drawer, and on the
+seventh page of the lowermost paper, on the seventh column, the seventh
+advertisement was yours.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you came to me because of that dream?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes:—and;—” she hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he interrupted, “the reasons why you came are not so important.
+What I want to be sure of is this. Even if you were led to come by
+a mere coincidence acting on your feelings, are you now, from cool,
+deliberate reflection, determined to consult me? Would it not be better
+to take my advice at this point and go to one of the world’s regular,
+accredited dispensers of wisdom?”</p>
+
+<p>“I have made up my mind to consult you,” she said. “It is not a passing
+whim, but a settled resolve.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then madame,” he said, his manner wholly changing, “you must tell me
+all your troubles without any reservation of any kind. If I am to help
+you I must know your case as completely as a physician would have to
+know your symptoms in an illness. Tell me plainly what your trouble is.”</p>
+
+<p>She began to pluck at her veil with her gloved hands.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” she gasped, “let me moisten my lips. Just a swallow of water.”</p>
+
+<p>For all his lameness he was surprisingly agile, as he wrenched himself
+up, tore open the rear door and almost instantly hobbled back with a
+glass and silver pitcher on a small silver tray.</p>
+
+<p>She took off her veil and one glove. Several swallows were required to
+compose her. When she was calm again he sat looking at her with a face
+full of inquiry, but without uttering any questions.</p>
+
+<p>“You do not know,” she said, “how hard it is to begin.”</p>
+
+<p>“For the third time, Madame,” he said, “I advise you not to consult me,
+to go elsewhere.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you not willing to help me?” she asked, softly.</p>
+
+<p>“Utterly willing,” he said, “but timid, timid as a doctor would be
+about prescribing for his own child. Yours is the first case ever
+brought to me in which I feared the effect of personal bias dimming my
+insight or deflecting my judgment. I have a second confession to make
+to you. Before you married, a man desperately in love with you came to
+me for help. Among other things he gave me the day, hour and minute of
+your birth and of his and asked me to cast both horoscopes and infer
+his chances of success. I had and have no faith in astrology, yet I
+had cast my own horoscope long before from mere curiosity. When I cast
+yours I was amazed at the clear indications of a connection between
+your fate and mine. I did not believe anything of the Babylonian
+absurdities, yet the coincidence struck me. Perhaps I am influenced
+by it yet. Under such an influence, even more than under that of my
+feeling for yourself, my acumen is likely to be impaired. I again
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>
+advise you to go elsewhere.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am all the more determined to consult you and you only.”</p>
+
+<p>He bowed without any word and waited in silence for her to go on.</p>
+
+<p>She stared at him with big melting eyes, her face very pale.</p>
+
+<p>“My husband does not love me,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>“Not love you?” Vargas exclaimed, startled. “Do you mean seriously
+to tell me that, you who have been loved by hundreds, been adored,
+worshipped, courted by so many, for despair of gaining whom men have
+gone mad, who have had your choice of so many lovers, are not prized by
+the man who succeeded in winning you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she barely breathed. “He does not prize me, nor love me at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Does he love any one else?”</p>
+
+<p>Out of her total paleness she flushed rose pink from throat to hair.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she admitted.</p>
+
+<p>“Who is she?” Vargas demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“His first wife.”</p>
+
+<p>Vargas staggered to his feet. “I did not so much as know that your
+husband had been married before,” he gasped, “let alone that he was
+divorced.”</p>
+
+<p>“He was not divorced,” she stated.</p>
+
+<p>“Not divorced,” he quavered.</p>
+
+<p>“No, he was a widower when I married him.”</p>
+
+<p>Vargas collapsed back into his chair.</p>
+
+<p>“I do not understand,” he told her. “Does he love a dead woman?”</p>
+
+<p>“Just that,” she asseverated.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span></p>
+
+<p>“This will not do,” the clairvoyant told her, “I cannot come nearer
+to helping you at this rate. Try to give me the information you think
+necessary, not by splinters and fragments, but as a whole. Make a
+connected exposition of the circumstances. Begin at the beginning!”</p>
+
+<p>“That is harder,” she mused, “I always want to begin anything at the
+last chapter.”</p>
+
+<p>“Woman fashion,” he commented. “You are above that in most things, I
+know. Try a straight story from the beginning.”</p>
+
+<p>She reflected:</p>
+
+<p>“The beginning,” she said, “was before I began to remember. David and
+I were playmates before we could talk. Boy and girl, lad and lass, we
+always belonged to each other, there was no lovemaking between us, I
+think, for it was all love-living. I do not believe he ever asked me
+to marry him or promised to marry me, or so much as talked marriage.
+But we had a clear understanding that we were to marry as soon as we
+could, at the earliest possible day. He did not merely seem wrapped
+up in me, he was. God knows he was all my life. Then he had no more
+than seen Marian Conway when he fell in love with her. There is no use
+in dwelling on what I suffered. He married almost at once and I gave
+myself up to that empty life of frivolity which made me a reigning
+beauty and brought me scores of suitors for none of whom I cared
+anything and which gave me not a particle of satisfaction. Then after
+they had lost both their children Marian died. David was frightfully
+overcome by his loss. He had loved her inconceivably and he showed his
+grief in the most heart-rending ways. He had the coffin opened over
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>
+and over after it had been closed. He had it even lifted out of the
+grave and opened yet once more for one more look at her face. He spent
+every moment from her death to her burial in a sort of adoration of her
+corpse, and he did stranger things. I do not know whether it was Mr.
+Llewellyn’s valet who told, but at any rate the story got out among the
+servants. The night before she was buried he had her laid out in her
+coffin and a second coffin exactly like it set beside hers. He stayed
+locked in the room all night. They believed he lay in the other coffin.
+At any rate in the morning it was closed, and he did not allow it to be
+opened. What he had placed in it no one knew. They said it was as heavy
+as the other. Two hearses, one behind the other, carried the coffins to
+the graveyard. Her grave is not under the monument—you have seen the
+monument?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he said, “only a picture of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, she is not buried under it, and the second coffin was placed on
+hers.”</p>
+
+<p>She stopped.</p>
+
+<p>“Go on,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” she cried, “it is so hard to go on. But it is true. As soon as
+David was free I felt I had an object in life. I—I followed him, I
+might almost say pursued him all over the world, and when we met I
+courted him, and it seems strange, but I asked him to marry me. And—”
+she hesitated—“he refused twice.”</p>
+
+<p>“He did not want to marry you?” Vargas asked incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>“He refused. It was at Cairo, that first time. He said he could not
+love anyone any more, all his love, his very self, was buried in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>
+Marian’s grave. The second time was at Hongkong. Then he said he always
+had cared for me and still cared for me, but that affection was as
+nothing compared to his passion for Marian, that he would never marry,
+and especially he would not marry me because of his regard for me, that
+I would not be contented or happy with him, that I was thinking of the
+lad he had been and that boy was buried in his wife’s grave, that he
+was nothing more than a walking ghost, a wraith of what he had been, a
+spirit condemned to wander its allotted time on earth until his hour
+should come and he be called to join Marian.</p>
+
+<p>“The third time was in Paris. He said he was indifferent to everything,
+to anything, to love or hate or death or life; that he cared nothing
+whether he married me or not. If I cared as much as I seemed to he
+would marry me to please me. I told him that what I had always wanted
+was to be with him, that what I most wanted was to spend with him as
+much as possible of my time until death parted us. He said if that was
+what I wanted I could have it, but he was nothing more than a shadow
+of his old self and I was sure to be unhappy. And I am unhappy. He is
+generosity, gentleness, kindness and consideration itself, but he does
+not care. I hoped, of course, that his grief for Marian would soften,
+fade away and vanish, that he would cease to mourn for her, that his
+interest in life would reawaken, that I could win his love and that we
+would both be happy. But I am not. His utter indifference to me, to
+anything, to everything is preying on my feelings, I must do something.
+I shall lose my mind.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is that all?” Vargas asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p>
+
+<p>“It is enough,” she asserted, “and more than enough. Do you think it a
+small matter?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not in the least,” he declared, “I comprehend your disappointment in
+respect to your hopes, your chagrin at your baffled efforts to win him
+back to be his old self, your pain at his inertness. But by your own
+showing you have no grievance against your husband.”</p>
+
+<p>“That I have not,” she maintained. “Not a shadow of a grievance against
+him. My grievance is for him as much as for myself and against—against
+the way the world is made.”</p>
+
+<p>Vargas looked at her for some little time.</p>
+
+<p>“You do not say what you are thinking,” she interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>“I am considering how to express it,” he said. “However I express it I
+am sure to offend you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bit,” she replied. “Say it at once.”</p>
+
+<p>“You must realize that if I am to advise you truly I must speak
+plainly,” he hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>“I do realize it,” she told him.</p>
+
+<p>“You will then pardon what I have to say?” he ventured.</p>
+
+<p>“I will pardon anything except beating about the bush,” she rapped out.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he said slowly, “it seems to me that your coming to me, your
+state of mind, your trouble, as you have related it all turns upon a
+piece of femininity to which you should be altogether superior, to
+which I should have imagined you were altogether superior. You look,
+and I have always imagined you, free from any trace of the eternal
+feminine. Here it crops out. Men in general find that women in general
+have no feeling for the mutuality of a contract. Some women may be
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>
+exceptions, but women habitually ignore the other side of a contract
+and see only their own side. Here you display the same defect. Mr.
+Llewellyn practically proposed a contract to you: on his side he to
+marry you, on your side, you to put up with his complete indifference
+to you, to everything, and be content with his actual companionship
+such as he is. He has fulfilled and is fulfilling his part of the
+contract, you seek escape from yours.”</p>
+
+<p>“I think,” she snapped. “You are insufferably brutal.”</p>
+
+<p>“The eternal feminine again,” he retorted. “Worse and more of it. I
+told you I should offend you.”</p>
+
+<p>“You do offend me. I have confidence in you, but I did not come here
+to be scolded or to be preached at. I do not want criticism, I want
+advice. Don’t tell me my shortcomings, real or imaginary, think over my
+troubles and my needs and tell me what to do.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is plain enough,” he asserted. “Do your obvious duty. Keep your
+part of your contract with your husband. Give no sign that you suffer
+from the absence of feeling of which he warned you. Make the most of
+your life with him. Hope for a change in him but do not try to force
+it, do not rebel if it does not come.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know I ought to endure,” she wailed. “But I cannot, I must do
+something. I must act. I must.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have asked for my advice,” he said, “and you have it.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what good is it to me?” she objected, “I ask for help and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>
+you string out platitudinous precepts like a snuffy, detestable
+old-fashioned evangelical dominie. Is this all the help you can give
+me?”</p>
+
+<p>“All,” said Vargas humbly. “If I knew of any other it should be at your
+service.”</p>
+
+<p>“You could consult your slate for me, as I proposed,” she suggested.</p>
+
+<p>“Great heavens above!” he cried, “I have told you that all that is
+imposture.”</p>
+
+<p>“It might turn out genuine for once,” she persisted. “Don’t people have
+real trances? Don’t many people believe in the answers from slates and
+planchettes and ouija boards?”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps they do,” Vargas admitted. “But I never had a real trance,
+never saw one, never knew of one. And to my knowledge no slate or other
+such device ever gave any answer or wrote anything unless I or some
+other shuffler made it write or answer.”</p>
+
+<p>“But could you not try just once for my sake,” she implored.</p>
+
+<p>“Why on earth,” he demanded, “are you, so sane and sensible in
+appearance, so set on this mummery?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because of the other dream,” she faltered.</p>
+
+<p>“The other dream!” he exclaimed. “You had another dream?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she said, “I was going to tell you but you interrupted me. The
+dream about the advertisement did not convince me. I felt it might be
+coincidence after all. That was more than a month ago and I disregarded
+it. But night before last I dreamed I was told, ‘The message on the
+slate will be true.’ I fought against it all day yesterday, all last
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>
+night. To-day I gave up and came. I want you to consult your slate for
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Madame,” he said, “this is dreadful. Can nothing make you see the
+truth. There is not anything supernatural about this trade of mine. It
+is as simple as a Punch and Judy show. There the puppets do nothing
+save as the showman controls them; so of my slate and of my trances.”</p>
+
+<p>“But it might surprise you,” she persisted. “It might come true once.
+Won’t you try for me?”</p>
+
+<p>“I know,” he mused, “that there is such a thing as auto-hypnotism. To
+humor you I might try to put myself into a genuine trance. But there
+would be nothing about it to help you, just a mere natural sleep,
+artificially induced. If I babbled in it the words would have no
+significance, and no writing would appear on the slate unless I put it
+there.”</p>
+
+<p>“Just try,” she pleaded, “for my sake, to quiet me. If there is
+nothing, then I shall believe you.”</p>
+
+<p>“There will be nothing on the slate,” he maintained. “But suppose I
+should mumble some fragments of words. You might take those accidental
+vocables for a revelation, they might become an obsession upon you,
+they might warp your judgment and do you great harm. I feel we should
+be running a foolish risk. Give up this idea of the trance and the
+slate, I beg of you.”</p>
+
+<p>“And I beg of you to try it. You said you would do anything for me.
+That is what I want and nothing else.”</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head, his expression crestfallen, baffled, puzzled, even
+alarmed.</p>
+
+<p>“If you insist—” he faltered.</p>
+
+<p>“I do insist,” she said.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You wish,” he inquired, “to proceed exactly as I usually do with my
+simulated trance and pretended spirit replies?”</p>
+
+<p>“Precisely,” she affirmed.</p>
+
+<p>He opened a drawer below one of the cabinets and took out a hinged
+double slate. It was made like a child’s school-slate, but the rims
+instead of being wood, were of silver, the edges beaded and the flat of
+each rim chased in a pattern of pentacles, swastikas and pentagrams; a
+pentacle, a right-hand swastika, a pentagram, a left-hand swastika and
+so on all round. In the drawer was a box of fresh slate-pencils. This
+he held out to her and told her to choose one. At his bidding she broke
+off a short fragment and put it between the two leaves of the slate,
+the four faces of which were entirely blank.</p>
+
+<p>“Settle yourself in your chair,” he instructed her, “hold the slate
+in your lap. Hold it fast with both hands. First take off your other
+glove.”</p>
+
+<p>As she did this he settled himself into the armchair opposite her, took
+a silver paper-knife from the table and held it upright, gazing at its
+point.</p>
+
+<p>“You are not to move or speak until I tell you,” he directed her.</p>
+
+<p>So they sat, she holding in her lap the slate shut fast upon the pencil
+within, her fingers enforcing its closure; he gazing intently at the
+point of the scimitar-shaped paper-knife. She became aware of the slow,
+pompous tick of a tall clock in the hallway; of faint noises, as of
+activity in a pantry, proceeding from somewhere in the rear of the
+house and barely audible through the closed window. She had expected to
+see him stiffen, his eyes roll up or some such manifestation appear.
+Nothing of the kind happened. For a long time, a very long time, she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span>
+watched him staring fixedly at the sharp end of the paper-cutter. Then
+she saw it waver, saw his eyes close and his head, propped against the
+back of the armchair, move ever so little sideways, as the neck-muscles
+relaxed. His hands opened, the knife dropped on his knee and he was
+to all appearances peacefully asleep. Presently his even, regular
+breathing was a sound more apparent than the tick of the clock outside.</p>
+
+<p>All of a sudden Mrs. Llewellyn felt herself ridiculous. Here she
+was, holding a childish toy, facing a strange man with whom she was
+entirely alone and who was apparently enjoying a needed snooze. She had
+an impulse to laugh and was on the point of rising, disembarrassing
+herself of her burden and leaving the house.</p>
+
+<p>At that instant she felt a movement between the fast-shut slates.
+They lay level upon her lap, firmly set. She had not jarred or tilted
+them, yet she felt the pencil move. Felt it move and heard it too. Her
+mood of impatient self-contempt and irritated derision was instantly
+obliterated under a wave of terrified awe. She controlled a spasm of
+panic, an impulse to let go her hold upon her frightful charge, to
+scream, to run away. Rigid, trembling, breathing quick, her heart
+hammering her ribs, she sat, her fingers gripping the slates, listening
+for another movement. It came. Faintly at first, she felt and heard
+it, then more distinctly. Slowly, very slowly, with intervals of
+silence, the bit of pencil crawled, tapped and scratched about. While
+listening to it, and still more while listening for it, she was under
+so terrific a tension that she felt if nothing happened to relieve
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>
+her, she must faint or shriek. When she continued listening for a long,
+an interminable, an unbearable time and heard nothing but the clock in
+the hall and Vargas’ breathing in the room, she felt she was about to
+do both.</p>
+
+<p>Then the clairvoyant uttered a choked sound, the incipience of that
+feeble wailing groan or groaning wail of a sleeper in a nightmare.
+His feet moved, his undeformed leg stiffened, his hands clenched, his
+head rolled from side to side, he writhed, the effort expended at each
+successive groan was more and more excessive, each sound feebler and
+more pitiful.</p>
+
+<p>Then Mrs. Llewellyn did scream.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly Vargas struggled into a sitting posture, his face contorted,
+his eyes bulging, staring at her.</p>
+
+<p>“Did I speak, did I speak?” he gasped.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Llewellyn was past articulation, but she shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“I passed into a real trance, a real trance,” he babbled.</p>
+
+<p>She could only cling to the slate and gaze.</p>
+
+<p>“I had a frightful dream,” Vargas panted, “I dreamed there was a
+message on the plate. It frightened me, but what it was has escaped me.”</p>
+
+<p>“There is a message on the slate,” she managed to utter, “I heard the
+pencil writing.”</p>
+
+<p>Vargas, holding to the back of his chair, assisted himself to his feet.
+From her fingers, mechanically clenched on it, he gently disengaged the
+slate and put it on the table. Opening one of the cabinets he took out
+a decanter and two glasses, half filling one he placed it in her numb
+grasp.</p>
+
+<p>“Drink that,” he dictated, draining the other full glass as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></p>
+
+<p>Half dazed she obeyed him. Her face flushed angrily and the glass broke
+as she set it down.</p>
+
+<p>“You have given me brandy!” she cried in indignation.</p>
+
+<p>“You needed it,” he asserted. “It will steady you, but you will not
+feel it. Compose yourself and we will look at the slate.”</p>
+
+<p>She stood up beside him and he laid the slate open. There was writing
+on each leaf of it, on one side legible, on the other reversed.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” she said and sat down heavily. He brought a small chair, set it
+beside hers and seated himself upon it, the slates open in his hands,
+before them both. Fine-lined, legible, plainly made by the point of
+the pencil, was the writing, on one leaf of the slates; on the other
+reversed writing with coarse strokes, plainly made by the splintered
+end, which was worn slightly at one place. All the writing was in the
+same individual script.</p>
+
+<p>“This is not my handwriting,” said Vargas.</p>
+
+<p>“It is my husband’s,” she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>The words on the slate were:</p>
+
+<p>“That which is buried in that coffin is alive. If disinterred it will
+die.”</p>
+
+<p>Vargas opened the other cabinet. The inside of its door was a mirror.
+Before this he held the slates. On the other leaf the broad-stroked
+script showed the same words.</p>
+
+<p>“What does it mean?” she pleaded, “oh! what does it mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“It doesn’t mean anything,” said Vargas, roughly.</p>
+
+<p>“How can that be,” she moaned. “It must mean something. It does mean
+something. I feel it does.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p>
+
+<p>“That is just the point,” he said, “that is what I feared before, and
+warned you of. Here are some chance words. They mean nothing, except
+that you or I or both of us have been intensely strung up with emotion.
+But if you cannot see that or be made to see that, you are lost. If you
+feel that they mean something, then they do mean that something to you,
+that that is your danger. Do not yield to it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean to tell me, to try to convince me that those words, twice
+written, in the same handwriting, in my husband’s hand of all hands,
+formed upon those slates while I held them myself, came there by
+accident?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not by accident,” he argued. “By some operation of unguessed forces
+set in motion by your excitement or mine or both; but blind forces,
+meaningless as the voices in dreams.”</p>
+
+<p>“Am I to believe meaningless,” she demanded, “the voices in my dreams
+that sent me to that advertisement and to you and told me expect an
+answer from the slates, a true answer?”</p>
+
+<p>“Madame,” he reasoned, “the series of coincidences is startling, but it
+is nothing but a series of coincidences. Try to rise superior to it.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you won’t help me,” she wailed. “You won’t tell me what this
+message means?”</p>
+
+<p>“I have told you my belief as to how it originated,” he said, “I have
+told you that I do not attach any other significance to it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” she groaned, “I must go home.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your carriage is at the door,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>“My carriage!” she exclaimed. “How did it get there?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Not your own carriage,” he explained, “but one for you. I telephoned
+for it.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have not left me an instant,” she asserted incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>“When I brought you a glass of water I told the maid to telephone for a
+carriage and tell it to wait. It will be there.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thank you,” she said, “and now, what do I owe you? What is your fee?”</p>
+
+<p>Vargas flushed all over his face and neck, a deep brownish-red.</p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Llewellyn,” he said with great dignity, “I take pay from my
+dupes for my fripperies of deception. But no money, not all the money
+on earth could pay me to do what I have done for you to-day, no sum
+could induce me to go through it again for anyone else. For you I
+would do anything. But what I have done was not done for payment, nor
+will anything I may do be done except for you, for whom I would do any
+service in my power.”</p>
+
+<p>“I ask your pardon,” she said. “Where is the carriage? I shall faint if
+I stay here.”</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+Some weeks later, in the same room, the clairvoyant and the lady again
+faced each other.</p>
+
+<p>“I had hoped never to see you again,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you imagine that I could escape from the compulsion of all that
+series of manifestations?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“I tried to believe that you might,” he answered.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you been able to shake off its hold on you?” she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Not entirely,” he confessed. “But dazing as the coincidences were,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span>
+the effect on my emotions will wear off, like the smart of a burn;
+and, as one forgets the fury of past sufferings, I shall forget the
+turmoil of my feelings. There was no clear intelligibility, no definite
+significance in it at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not in that message!” she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly not,” he asseverated.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes there was,” she contradicted.</p>
+
+<p>“Madame,” he said earnestly, “if you fancy you perceive any genuine
+coherence in those fortuitous words you have put the meaning there
+yourself, your imagination is riveting upon your soul fetters of your
+own forging.”</p>
+
+<p>“My imagination and my soul have nothing to do with my insight into
+the spirit of that message,” she said calmly. “My heart cries out
+for help and my intellect has pondered at leisure upon what you call
+a fortuitous series of coincidences, a chance string of meaningless
+words. I see no incoherence, rather convincing coherence, in the
+sequence of your reading of horoscopes, my dreaming of dreams, leading
+up to the imperative behest given me from your slate.”</p>
+
+<p>“Madame,” he cried, “this is heart-rending. I told you I dreaded the
+effect upon you of any sort of mummery. You forced me to it. I should
+have had strength to refuse you. I yielded. Now my cowardice will ruin
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was not your trance genuine?” she queried.</p>
+
+<p>“Entirely genuine, entirely too genuine.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did not the writing appear upon the slate independent of your will or
+of mine?” she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“It did,” he admitted.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Can you explain how it came there?” she wound up.</p>
+
+<p>“Alas, no,” he confessed, shaking his head.</p>
+
+<p>“You can scarcely reproach me for accepting it as a message,” she
+concluded triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>“I do not reproach you,” he said, “I reproach myself as culpable.”</p>
+
+<p>“I rather thank you for what you have done for me,” she almost smiled
+at him. “It gives me hope. I have meditated carefully upon the message
+and I am convinced that I comprehend its meaning.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is the worst possible state of mind you could get into,” he
+groaned. “Can I not make you realize the truth? It is not as you think
+you see it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I do not think,” she said. “I know. I am convinced, and I mean to act
+on my convictions.”</p>
+
+<p>“This is terrible,” he muttered. Then he controlled himself, shifted
+his position in his chair and asked: “And what are your convictions?
+What do you mean to do?”</p>
+
+<p>“My conviction,” she said, “is that David’s love for Marian is in some
+way bound up with whatever he had buried in that coffin. I mean to have
+the coffin disinterred.”</p>
+
+<p>“Madame,” he said, “this thing gets worse the more you tell me of it.
+You are in danger of coming under the domination of a fixed idea, even
+if you are not already under its sway. Fight against it. Shake it off.”</p>
+
+<p>“There is no use in your talking that way to me,” she said. “I mean to
+do it. I shall do it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Has your husband consented?” Vargas asked.</p>
+
+<p>“He has,” she replied.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean to tell me that he has agreed to your opening his wife’s
+grave?”</p>
+
+<p>“He has agreed,” she asserted.</p>
+
+<p>“But did he make no demur?” the clairvoyant inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“He said he did not care what I did, I could do anything I pleased.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was that all he said?” Vargas persisted.</p>
+
+<p>“Not all,” she admitted. “He asked me if I had not told him that what
+I wanted in this life was to spend as much as possible of my time on
+earth with him, for us two to be together as much as circumstances
+would allow, and as long as death would permit. I told him of course I
+had said it, not once but over and over. He asked me if I still felt
+that way. I told him I did. He said it made no difference to him, he
+was past any feelings, but if that was what I really wanted he advised
+me to let that grave alone.”</p>
+
+<p>“Take his advice, by all means,” Vargas exclaimed. “It is good advice.
+You let that grave alone.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am determined,” she told him.</p>
+
+<p>“Madame,” he said, “will you listen to me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly,” she replied. “If you have anything to say to the purpose.
+But not to fault-findings or to scoldings.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Llewellyn,” Vargas began, “what happened during your former visit
+to me has demolished the entire structure of my spiritual existence.
+I had the sincerest disbelief in astrology, in prophecy, in ghosts,
+in apparitions, in superstitions, each and all, in supernaturalism in
+general, in religions, individually and collectively, in the idea of
+future life. Upon the most materialistic convictions my intellectual
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>
+life was placid and unruffled, and my soul-life, if I had any,
+undisturbed by anything save occasional and very evanescent twinges of
+conscience over the contemptible duplicity of my way of livelihood.
+Intermittently only I despised myself. Mostly I only despised my dupes
+and generally not even that. Rather I merely smiled tolerantly at
+the childishness of their profitable credulity. Never did I have the
+remotest approach to any shadow of belief that there could be anything
+occult beneath or behind any such jugglery as I continually made use
+of. The matter of your horoscope and mine I took as mere coincidence.
+It might affect my feelings, never my reason; my heart, never my head.
+My head is involved now, my reason at fault. In the writing on that
+slate I am face to face with something, if not supernatural, at least
+preternatural. The thing is beyond our ordinary experience of the
+ordinary operation of those forces which make the world go. It depends
+upon something not yet understood, not necessarily inexplicable, but
+unexplained. It is uncanny. I don’t like it. Yet I do not yield to its
+influence. I am not swept away. If I dwell upon it, I know it will
+unsettle my reason. I do not mean to dwell upon it, I mean to get away
+from it, to ignore it, to forget it, and I counsel you to do likewise.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your counsel,” she said, “has a long-winded preamble, but is entirely
+unacceptable.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have more to say,” he went on. “Mere bewilderment of mind is not
+an adequate ground for action. There is a fine old proverb that says,
+‘When in doubt, do nothing.’ Take its advice and your husband’s; do
+nothing.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But I am not in doubt,” she protested. “I am convinced that I was
+meant to come to you, that the message was meant for me, and that I
+know what it means. I am determined to act upon it.”</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head with a gesture of despair, but continued:</p>
+
+<p>“I have more yet to say and on another point. I advise you to go away
+from all this. You should and you can. You have your own wealth and
+your husband’s opulence at your disposal. You have one of the finest
+steam-yachts on the seas awaiting your pleasure. Much as you have
+traveled, the globe has many fascinating regions still new to you.
+Your husband and you have practically not traveled at all since your
+marriage. You should still hope for your husband’s recovery of his
+spirits by natural means. Travel is the most obvious prescription.
+Try that. Because your husband had not emerged from his brooding upon
+his loss and grief during two years of wandering alone with a valet;
+because he has not recovered his spirits after two years of matrimony
+spent in the neighborhood of his first wife’s grave, in mansions full
+of memories of her, is no reason for not hoping that his elasticity
+will revive during months or years spent with you among delightful
+scenes of novelty, far from anything to recall his mind to old
+associations.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have no hope in any such attempt,” she said wearily. “When I cannot
+bear my life here with a mate who is no more than a likeness of the man
+I loved, why drag this soulless semblance about the oceans of the earth
+in the hope of seeing it awake to love me? Shall I expect a miracle
+from salt air or the rays of the Southern cross?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Llewellyn,” Vargas said, “I have taken the liberty of making
+inquiries, quite unobtrusively, concerning your husband’s treatment
+of you. I find that it is the general impression that he is a very
+uxorious, a very loverly husband. Except the barest minimum required
+for his affairs, he spends his entire time with you. His best friends,
+his boyhood’s chums, his life-long cronies he never converses with,
+never chats with, hardly talks to, and for all his genial cordiality
+and courtesy, barely more than greets in passing. He is seldom seen at
+his clubs and very briefly. To all appearances he devotes himself to
+you wholly. You have all the external trappings of happiness: health,
+beauty, a devoted husband, the most desirable intimates, countless
+friends, luxurious surroundings, and unlimited affluence. It is for you
+to put life into all this, it is your duty to recall to it what you
+miss. You should leave no natural means untried turning to what you
+propose.”</p>
+
+<p>“My determination is irrevocably taken,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>“But what do you expect to find in the coffin?” he queried.</p>
+
+<p>“I have no expectations, not even any anticipations,” she said. “We may
+find keepsakes of some kind; there cannot be love-letters, for they
+scarcely separated a day after they met, or an hour after they married.
+There may be nothing in the coffin. But I am convinced that whatever
+it does or does not contain, David’s love for Marian is bound up with
+the closure of that coffin. I believe that if it is opened he will be
+released from his passion of grief and be free to love me.”</p>
+
+<p>“You mean practically to resort to an incantation, a sort of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>
+witchcraft. The notion is altogether unworthy of you, especially while
+so natural a device as travel remains untried.”</p>
+
+<p>“You do not understand,” she said, “that I feel compelled to do
+something.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is not going for a cruise doing something?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Practically doing nothing,” she replied. “Just being with David and
+watching for the change that never comes. You don’t know how that makes
+me feel forced to take some action.”</p>
+
+<p>“I do not know,” he said, “because you have not told me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot tell you,” she said, “because I cannot find any words to
+express what I feel. I could not convey it to you, the loneliness that
+overwhelms me when I am alone with David. It is worse than being alone;
+I cannot imagine feeling so lonely lost in a wilderness, solitary in
+the desert, adrift on a raft in mid-ocean. Being with David, as he is,
+makes me feel—” (her voice sank to a whisper and her face grew pale,
+her lips gray) “oh, it makes me feel as if I were worse than with
+nobody. It makes me feel as if I were with nothing, with nothing at
+all.”</p>
+
+<p>“I sympathize with you deeply,” said Vargas. “But all you say only
+deepens my conviction that your one road to safety lies in striving to
+overcome these feelings; your best hope is change of scene and travel.
+Above all let that grave alone.”</p>
+
+<p>“My determination is irrevocably taken,” she repeated.</p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Llewellyn,” Vargas asked, “how, in your belief, did the writing
+you saw upon the slate come there?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I have no conception at all as to how it came there,” she replied.</p>
+
+<p>“None at all?” he probed.</p>
+
+<p>“None definitely,” she said. “Vaguely I suppose I conceive it came
+there by the power of some consciousness and will beyond our ken.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean,” he queried, “by the intervention of a ghost, or spirit
+or some such disembodied entity?”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps,” she admitted, “but I have not thought it out at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Granted a spirit,” he suggested, “might it not be a malignant sprite,
+an imp bent on doing you harm, upon entrapping you to your destruction?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t credit such an idea for a moment,” she said. “The message has
+given me hope. Your innuendoes seek to rob me of my hope.”</p>
+
+<p>“I seek to save you,” Vargas said, “to dislodge you from your fortalice
+of resolve.”</p>
+
+<p>“For the third time,” she said, “I tell you that my determination is
+irrevocably taken.”</p>
+
+<p>Vargas awkwardly stood up. He clung to the back of a chair and gazed
+at her steadily. His face, from a far-off solemn look of resigned
+desperation gradually took on an expression of prophetic resolve.</p>
+
+<p>“Pardon me,” he said, “if I must shock you. I wish to put to you a
+question.”</p>
+
+<p>“Put it,” she said coldly.</p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Llewellyn,” the clairvoyant asked in a deep, slow voice. “Have
+you kept your marriage vows?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sir,” she said angrily, rising. “You are insulting me.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Not a particle,” he persisted. “You have not answered my question.”</p>
+
+<p>“To answer it is superfluous,” she said, facing him in trembling wrath.
+“Of course I have kept them. You know how utterly I love my husband.”</p>
+
+<p>“You regard your vows as sacred?” he asked relentlessly.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course,” she said wearily.</p>
+
+<p>“Why then,” he demanded, “do you attach less sanctity to your verbal
+compact with your husband? Your duty as a wife is to keep one compact
+as well as the other. Keep both. Do not be recalcitrant against the
+terms of your agreement. Endure his indifference and strive patiently
+to win his love. It is your duty, as much as it is your duty to keep
+your marriage vows.”</p>
+
+<p>“You assume a rôle,” she said, “very unsuitable for you. Preaching
+misfits you, and it has no effect on me. I know and feel all this. But
+there is the plain meaning of that message. I shall open that grave.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have done all I can,” he said dispiritedly. “I cannot dissuade you.”</p>
+
+<p>“You cannot,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>“How then can I serve you?” he asked. “I have not yet discovered to
+what I owe the honor of this second visit. Why are you here?”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you to be present at the opening of the coffin,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you sure,” he demanded, “that that would not be most unseemly? The
+first Mrs. Llewellyn, I believe, left no near relatives. But would not
+even her cousins resent such an intrusion as my presence there? Would
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>
+not your husband still more resent it? Would it not be in very bad
+taste?”</p>
+
+<p>“I do not make requests,” she said, “that are in bad taste. As for my
+husband, he resents and will resent nothing, as he approves and will
+approve of nothing. My brother will be there and he will not find
+anything unseemly in your presence.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nevertheless I hesitate to agree,” said Vargas.</p>
+
+<p>“You have expressed,” said she, “a very deep regard for me, will you
+not do this since I ask it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I will,” he said with an effort.</p>
+
+<p>“Then whenever I write you and send a carriage for you, you will be
+there at the time named?”</p>
+
+<p>“I promise,” he said.</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+Sometime before the appointed hour, at that spot where a driveway
+approached nearest to the Llewellyn monument, Vargas painfully emerged
+from a closed carriage, the blue shades of which were drawn down.
+He spoke to some one inside and shut the door. He had taken but two
+or three hobbling steps, when another carriage closely followed his
+stopped where his had stopped. Its shades were also drawn down. When
+its door opened a well dressed man got out. As Vargas had done he spoke
+to some one inside and closed the door. When he turned Vargas saw a
+man of usual, very conventional appearance, the sort of man visible
+by scores in fashionable clubs. His build and carriage were those of
+a man naturally jaunty in his movements. His well-fleshed, healthy
+face, smooth shaven except for a thick brown mustache, was such a
+face as lends itself naturally to expressions of good fellowship and
+joviality. His brown eyes were prone to merriment. But there was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span>
+no sparkle in them, no geniality in his air, no springiness in his
+movements. He wore his brown derby a trifle, the merest trifle, to
+one side, but his expression was careworn, he looked haggard. He had
+the air of a man used to having his own way, but he held himself now
+without any elasticity. He looked the deformed clairvoyant up and down
+with one quick glance, fixed him with a direct gaze as he approached
+and greeted him with an engaging air of easy politeness, neither stiff
+nor familiar.</p>
+
+<p>“My name is Palgrave,” he said, “I presume you are Mr. Vargas.”</p>
+
+<p>“The same,” said the clairvoyant, with not a little constraint.</p>
+
+<p>“Pleased to meet you,” said the other holding out his hand and
+diminishing Vargas’ embarrassment by the heartiness of his handshake.
+“Glad to have a chance for a talk with you. My sister has told me of
+her visits to you.”</p>
+
+<p>Vargas controlled his expression, but shot one lightning glance at the
+other’s face, reading there instantly how much Mrs. Llewellyn had told
+her brother and how much she had not told him.</p>
+
+<p>There was something very taking about Mr. Palgrave’s manner, which put
+Vargas completely at his ease. It was more than conciliatory, it was
+almost friendly, almost sympathetic. It not so much expressed readiness
+to admit to a confidential understanding, as gave the impression of
+continuing a well-established natural attitude of entire trust and
+complete comprehension. It had an unmistakable tinge, as unexpected as
+gratifying, of level esteem and unspoken gratitude.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p>
+
+<p>There was a rustic seat by the path and by a common impulse both moved
+toward it. At the clubman’s courteous gesture, the cripple, with his
+unavoidable wrenching jolt, lowered himself painfully to the level of
+the bench. Mr. Palgrave seated himself beside him, crossed his knees
+and half turned toward him. He rested his left elbow on the back of the
+bench. His other hand held his cane, which he tapped against the side
+of his foot. The waiting carriages, one behind the other, were under a
+big elm some distance off; their drivers lay on the grass beside them.
+No one else was in sight except where, rather farther off in another
+direction, six laborers, their coats off, sat with a superintendent
+near them, in the shade of a Norway maple, near the Llewellyn monument;
+which dominated the neighborhood from its low, broad knoll.</p>
+
+<p>The brief silence Mr. Palgrave broke.</p>
+
+<p>“If you will pardon my saying it, you don’t look at all like my idea of
+a clairvoyant.”</p>
+
+<p>Vargas smiled a wan smile. The tone of the words was totally disarming.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t feel like my idea of a clairvoyant,” he said, “I am usually
+clear-sighted in any matter I take up; usually so clear-sighted in
+respect to any personality that my advice, as it often is, seems to
+my clients a mere echo of their own thoughts, a mere confirmation of
+their own judgments, a mere additional reason for what they would have
+done anyhow. I am used to touching unerringly the strongest springs
+of action. So far I have utterly failed to gain that clue to Mrs.
+Llewellyn’s character necessary to make my advice acceptable.”</p>
+
+<p>“In every other respect you seem to have been as clear-sighted as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span>
+possible,” Mr. Palgrave told him. “No advice could have been better nor
+more judiciously urged, nor more entirely disinterested.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rather utterly interested,” said Vargas.</p>
+
+<p>“In an altogether different sense,” said the other. “She told me. Until
+I saw you I was astonished that she had not resented it.”</p>
+
+<p>“She did resent it, and of course,” said the cripple.</p>
+
+<p>“Not as she would from any other man,” said Mr. Palgrave.</p>
+
+<p>“There are some things—” Vargas began. His voice thinned out and he
+broke off.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I understand,” said her brother, “and I want to say that I feel
+under much obligation to you for the way you behaved and for the
+manliness and the straightforwardness of your whole attitude.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am greatly complimented,” Vargas replied.</p>
+
+<p>“You deserve complimenting,” said Mr. Palgrave. “You acted admirably.
+Your consideration, I might say your gentleness shows that you really
+have her best interests at heart.”</p>
+
+<p>“I truly have,” said Vargas fervently, “and I am more disturbed in mind
+than I can express.”</p>
+
+<p>“That must be a great deal,” said the clubman, a momentary gleam of his
+usual self, fading instantly from his eyes. “I certainly cannot express
+how much I am upset. I hate worry or anxiety and always put such
+troubles away and forget them. I can’t forget this. I have idolized my
+sister since we were babies. I have hardly slept since she talked to
+me. She won’t hear of a doctor. She don’t admit that there could be any
+pretext for her consulting a doctor, and I can’t talk to any one about
+her. I can talk to you. You seem a very sensible man. I should like to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span>
+hear your opinion of her condition. Do you think her mind is unsettled?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not as bad as that,” Vargas told him.</p>
+
+<p>“This grave-opening idea seems to me out and out lunacy,” said the
+other.</p>
+
+<p>“Not as bad as that,” Vargas repeated. “It shows a trend of thought
+which may develop into something worse, but in itself it is only a
+foolish whim. The worst of it is that it produces a situation of great
+delicacy and high tension which may have almost any sort of bad result.”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t imagine,” said Palgrave, “any rational or half rational basis
+for her whim. I can’t conceive what she thinks she will accomplish
+by opening that coffin or why she wants it opened. I was at Marian’s
+funeral and the two coffins made a precious lot of talk, I can tell
+you. I assumed that Llewellyn had some wild, sentimental notion of the
+second coffin waiting there for him. Constance declares it was not
+empty, but she won’t say what she expects to find in it and I believe
+she don’t say because she has no idea at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are right,” said the clairvoyant, “she hasn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said the other, “what do <i>you</i> think she will find in it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I have no opinions whatever,” said Vargas, “as to whether it is empty
+or not or as to what may be in it. I have no basis of conjecture. But
+whether empty or not or whatever may be in it, I dread the effect
+on her. She is sure to be baffled in her hopes. Her present state
+of mind is a sort of reawakening in a civilized, educated, cultured
+woman of the primitive, childish, savage faith in sorcery, almost
+in rudimentary fetishism. She would not acknowledge it, but her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>
+attitude is very like that of a fetish-worshipper. Her mind does not
+reason. She is possessed of a blind, vague feeling that her welfare
+is implicated with whatever is in that coffin, and a compelling hope
+in the efficiency of the mere act of opening it, as a sort of magic
+rite. She is buoyed up with uncertainty. Whether she finds something
+or nothing she will be brought face to face with final unmistakable
+disappointment. I dread the moment of that realization.”</p>
+
+<p>“I felt something like that,” said her brother. “Anyhow I brought a
+doctor with me, but she must not suspect that as long as we don’t need
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is why your carriage has the shades down,” Vargas hazarded.</p>
+
+<p>“Is that the reason yours has its shades down?” the other inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“That is it,” Vargas confessed. “I brought a doctor too.”</p>
+
+<p>“Two doctors,” commented Palgrave. “Like a French duel. Hope it will
+end as harmlessly as the average French duel.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is almost too much to hope for,” said Vargas. “She may pass the
+critical instant safely. But even if she does she will be thrown back
+into brooding over her troubles.”</p>
+
+<p>“Her troubles seem to me largely imaginary,” said the clubman.</p>
+
+<p>“All the more danger in that,” said Vargas. “If merely subjective.”</p>
+
+<p>“In this case they ought to evaporate,” said her brother, “if she
+acted sensibly, and yet they are not wholly imaginary. I don’t wonder
+that she is troubled. David Llewellyn is not himself at all. His
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>
+dead-and-alive demeanor is enough to prey on anybody’s mind. Moping
+about here with him makes it worse. But going for a cruise might cure
+both of them and would be likely to wake him up and certain to clear
+her head. She ought to take your advice.”</p>
+
+<p>“She will not,” said Vargas dejectedly, “and I scarcely wonder at
+her determination. Her dreams were enough to affect anybody. And the
+message on that slate was enough to influence anyone. Believing it
+addressed directly to her she is irresistibly urged to act upon it.
+I myself, merely a spectator, have been thrown by it into a terrible
+confusion of my whole mentality. I have believed in no real mystery
+in the universe. I am confronted by an unblinkable, an insoluble
+puzzle. My reliance upon the laws of space and time, as we think we
+know them, is, for the time being, wrenched from its foundations.
+My faith in the indestructibility of matter, in the continuity of
+force, in the fundamental laws of motion, is shaken and tottering. My
+belief in the necessary sequence of cause and effect, in causation and
+causality in general, is totally shattered. I could credit any marvel,
+could accept any monstrous portent as altogether to be expected. The
+universe no longer seems to me a scene, at least in front of the great,
+blank curtain of the unknowable, filled by an orderly progress of
+more or less cognizable and predictable occurrences, depending upon
+interrelated causes; it seems the playground of the irresponsible,
+prankish, malevolent somethings, productive of incalculabilities. I am
+in a delirium of dread, in a daze of panic.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I hardly follow your meaning,” said the other, “but I feel we can do
+nothing.”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Vargas, “we can only hope for the best and fear the worst.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what will be the worst?” her brother demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“I conceive,” said Vargas, “that upon the opening of the coffin she
+will suffer some sort of shock, whether it be from disappointment,
+surprise, or whatever else. At the worst she might scream and drop dead
+before our eyes or shriek and hopelessly lose her reason.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Palgrave, “that would be the worst, I suppose.”</p>
+
+<p>“And yet,” said Vargas, “I cannot escape from the feeling that the
+worst, in some incalculable, unpredictable, inconceivable way, will
+be something a great deal worse than that; something unimaginably,
+unutterably, ineffably worse than anything I can definitely put into
+words or even vaguely think.”</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot express myself as fluently as you can,” her brother
+responded, “but I have had much the same sort of feeling. I have it
+now. I feel as if I were not now in a cemetery for the purpose of being
+present at the opening of a grave; but far away, or long ago, about to
+participate in some uncanny occurrence fit to make Saul’s experience at
+Endor or Macbeth’s with the witches seem humdrum and commonplace.”</p>
+
+<p>“I feel all that,” said Vargas, “and more; as if we were not
+ourselves at all, but the actors in some vast drama of wretchedness,
+apocalyptically ignorant of an enormous shadow of unescapable doom
+steadily darkening over our impotence. We cannot modify, we cannot
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span>
+alter, we cannot change, we cannot ward off, we cannot even postpone
+what is about to happen.”</p>
+
+<p>“What is about to happen,” said his companion, “is going to happen now.
+Here they come.”</p>
+
+<p>The two men rose and watched the Llewellyn carriage draw up where
+theirs had stopped. Its door opened and a large man stepped down.</p>
+
+<p>Vargas had previously seen David Llewellyn only momentarily at a
+distance, and now scrutinized him with much attention. He was a tall
+man, taller than his brother-in-law and was solidly and very compactly
+made. His manner, as he turned to the carriage, was solicitous, and
+deferential as he helped his wife out. As they approached, walking side
+by side, Vargas eyed the man. He was powerfully built and showed an
+immense girth of chest. His close-cut beard did not disguise the type
+of his countenance, the face belonged to an athletic college-bred man,
+firm chin, set lips, straight nose and clear gray eyes. He was very
+handsome and reminders of what had been downright beauty in his boyhood
+were manifest not only in the face but in the general effect of his
+presence.</p>
+
+<p>Without any word, barely nodding to the two men, he halted some steps
+away, leaving his wife to advance alone. She greeted Vargas and,
+slipping her hand through the bend of her brother’s arm, passed on
+along the path with him. Vargas remained where he was, waiting for
+Mr. Llewellyn to go first. He seemed, by a subtle and intangible
+something in his look and attitude, to signify that he disclaimed any
+participation in what was to take place. By an almost imperceptible
+nod of negation and a barely discernible gesture of affirmation he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span>
+indicated that the clairvoyant was to precede him. Vargas complied and
+hobbled after the brother and sister. The superintendent came forward
+to meet them, and walked beside Mrs. Llewellyn, listening to her
+instructions, and then going toward his assistants.</p>
+
+<p>The space around their monument which was occupied by the Llewellyn
+graves was encircled by a low hedge, not more than knee-high. It had
+an opening facing the monument and through this Mrs. Llewellyn and her
+brother passed, Vargas some steps behind them. They stopped a pace or
+two from the foot of the grave, and turned about. Vargas, keeping his
+distance, stopped likewise and likewise turned. Mr. Llewellyn, treading
+noiselessly, had stepped aside from the path and took his stand just
+inside the hedge. The workmen straggled past him, the superintendent
+convoying them. When they had begun to dig, Vargas, like the rest,
+watched them. Presently he began to look about him and survey the
+cemetery, of which the knoll afforded an extensive view. The weather
+gave the prospect an unusual quality, the late spring or early summer
+warmth was unrelieved by any positive breeze, the light air stirred
+aimlessly, the cloudiness which completely overcast the sky was too
+thin to cut off the heat of the sunrays, the foliage was dusty and the
+landscape a sickly yellowish green in the weak tepid sunshine. This
+eery quality of the scene Vargas felt rather than saw. While the time
+taken up with digging postponed the all-important moment, his attention
+was divided between the monument and Mr. Llewellyn. He stood with his
+weight nearly all on one foot, leaning on the cane his left hand held,
+the other gloved hand, holding his hat, hanging at his side. Gazing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span>
+straight in front of him toward the monument, rather than at it, there
+was about him the look of something inanimate, of something made,
+not grown, of an object immovably planted in carven, expressionless
+impassivity. The monument, which Vargas saw for the first time, gave
+from the perfectly coördinated harmonies of its architectural design,
+its delicate reliefs, and its exquisite statuary, an impression of
+individuality striking enough to any one at any time and all the more
+now by contrast. Any one of its figures seemed instinct with more life
+than the man facing it. That member of the little gathering who should
+have been most moved, showed no emotion and Vargas himself felt much.
+As the digging proceeded, he mostly gazed into the deepening pit, or
+watched Mrs. Llewellyn’s back as she stood clinging to her brother’s
+arm, leaning against him. When the workmen began to raise the coffin,
+he found the emotions of his strained forebodings overmastering him.
+His breath quickened and came hard, his heart thumped at his ribs,
+his eyes were unexpectedly, inexplicably moist. Glancing back at the
+immobile man behind him, through the iridescent film upon his lashes,
+he saw but a blurred, vague shape. He strove to regain his composure,
+conning the outline of his own barely discernible shadow.</p>
+
+<p>The outer box containing the raised coffin was now supported upon two
+pieces of wood thrust under it across the grave. The men unscrewed the
+lid and laid it aside. The coffin was of ebony and as fresh as if just
+made.</p>
+
+<p>The men, at the superintendent’s bidding, shambled away round the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span>
+monument and through the opening in the hedge behind it to the tree
+they had left.</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent began to take out the silver screws which held down
+the lid over the glass front of the coffin-head. As they were removed
+one by one, Vargas again glanced behind him. He saw worse than ever.
+The outline of the big figure was almost indefinite, its bulk almost
+hazy.</p>
+
+<p>As he turned his gaze again to the coffin his sight seemed to clear
+entirely. He saw even the silver rims round the screw-holes and the
+head of the last screw. As the superintendent lifted the lid, Mrs.
+Llewellyn, now at the foot of the coffin, leaned forward, and her
+brother and Vargas, now just behind her, leaned even more. Through the
+glass they saw a face, David Llewellyn’s face. Mrs. Llewellyn screamed.
+All three turned round. Save themselves and the superintendent and the
+distant workmen there was no human shape in sight anywhere. The big,
+solid presence had vanished.</p>
+
+<p>Again screaming Mrs. Llewellyn threw herself on the coffin, the
+two men, scarcely less frantic than she, close by her. Through the
+glass they could see the face working, the eyelids fluttering. The
+superintendent toiled furiously at the catches of the glass front.
+When he lifted it away the eyes opened, gazing straight into Mrs.
+Llewellyn’s. Almost at once they glazed, and a moment later the jaw
+dropped.</p>
+
+<p class="right">1906</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="AMINA">AMINA</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="AMINA_2">AMINA</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">W</span>ALDO, brought face to face with the actuality of the unbelievable—as
+he himself would have worded it—was completely dazed. In silence he
+suffered the consul to lead him from the tepid gloom of the interior,
+through the ruinous doorway, out into the hot, stunning brilliance of
+the desert landscape. Hassan followed, with never a look behind him.
+Without any word he had taken Waldo’s gun from his nerveless hand and
+carried it, with his own and the consul’s.</p>
+
+<p>The consul strode across the gravelly sand, some fifty paces from the
+southwest corner of the tomb, to a bit of not wholly ruined wall from
+which there was a clear view of the doorway side of the tomb and of the
+side with the larger crevice.</p>
+
+<p>“Hassan,” he commanded, “watch here.”</p>
+
+<p>Hassan said something in Persian.</p>
+
+<p>“How many cubs were there?” the consul asked Waldo.</p>
+
+<p>Waldo stared mute.</p>
+
+<p>“How many young ones did you see?” the consul asked again.</p>
+
+<p>“Twenty or more,” Waldo made answer.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s impossible,” snapped the consul.</p>
+
+<p>“There seemed to be sixteen or eighteen,” Waldo asserted. Hassan smiled
+and grunted. The consul took from him two guns, handed Waldo his, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span>
+they walked around the tomb to a point about equally distant from the
+opposite corner. There was another bit of ruin, and in front of it, on
+the side toward the tomb, was a block of stone mostly in the shadow of
+the wall.</p>
+
+<p>“Convenient,” said the consul. “Sit on that stone and lean against the
+wall, make yourself comfortable. You are a bit shaken, but you will be
+all right in a moment. You should have something to eat, but we have
+nothing. Anyhow, take a good swallow of this.”</p>
+
+<p>He stood by him as Waldo gasped over the raw brandy.</p>
+
+<p>“Hassan will bring you his water-bottle before he goes,” the consul
+went on; “drink plenty, for you must stay here for some time. And now,
+pay attention to me. We must extirpate these vermin. The male, I judge,
+is absent. If he had been anywhere about, you would not now be alive.
+The young cannot be as many as you say, but, I take it, we have to deal
+with ten, a full litter. We must smoke them out. Hassan will go back to
+camp after fuel and the guard. Meanwhile, you and I must see that none
+escape.”</p>
+
+<p>He took Waldo’s gun, opened the breech, shut it, examined the magazine
+and handed it back to him.</p>
+
+<p>“Now watch me closely,” he said. He paced off, looking to his left past
+the tomb. Presently he stopped and gathered several stones together.</p>
+
+<p>“You see these?” he called.</p>
+
+<p>Waldo shouted an affirmation.</p>
+
+<p>The consul came back, passed on in the same line, looking to his
+right past the tomb, and presently, at a similar distance, put up
+another tiny cairn, shouted again and was again answered. Again he
+returned.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Now you are sure you cannot mistake those two marks I have made?”</p>
+
+<p>“Very sure indeed,” said Waldo.</p>
+
+<p>“It is important,” warned the consul. “I am going back to where I left
+Hassan, to watch there while he is gone. You will watch here. You may
+pace as often as you like to either of those stone heaps. From either
+you can see me on my beat. Do not diverge from the line from one to the
+other. For as soon as Hassan is out of sight I shall shoot any moving
+thing I see nearer. Sit here till you see me set up similar limits for
+my sentry-go on the farther side, then shoot any moving thing not on
+my line of patrol. Keep a lookout all around you. There is one chance
+in a million that the male might return in daylight—mostly they are
+nocturnal, but this lair is evidently exceptional. Keep a bright
+lookout.</p>
+
+<p>“And now listen to me. You must not feel any foolish sentimentalism
+about any fancied resemblance of these vermin to human beings. Shoot,
+and shoot to kill. Not only is it our duty, in general, to abolish
+them, but it will be very dangerous for us if we do not. There
+is little or no solidarity in Mohammedan communities, but on the
+comparatively few points upon which public opinion exists it acts
+with amazing promptitude and vigor. One matter as to which there is
+no disagreement is that it is incumbent upon every man to assist in
+eradicating these creatures. The good old Biblical custom of stoning
+to death is the mode of lynching indigenous hereabouts. These modern
+Asiatics are quite capable of applying it to anyone believed derelict
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>
+against any of these inimical monsters. If we let one escape and the
+rumor of it gets about, we may precipitate an outburst of racial
+prejudice difficult to cope with. Shoot, I say, without hesitation or
+mercy.”</p>
+
+<p>“I understand,” said Waldo.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t care whether you understand or not,” said the consul, “I want
+you to act. Shoot if needful, and shoot straight.” And he tramped off.</p>
+
+<p>Hassan presently appeared, and Waldo drank from his water-bottle as
+nearly all of its contents as Hassan would permit. After his departure
+Waldo’s first alertness soon gave place to mere endurance of the
+monotony of watching and the intensity of the heat. His discomfort
+became suffering, and what with the fury of the dry glare, the pangs of
+thirst and his bewilderment of mind, Waldo was moving in a waking dream
+by the time Hassan returned with two donkeys and a mule laden with
+brushwood. Behind the beasts straggled the guard.</p>
+
+<p>Waldo’s trance became a nightmare when the smoke took effect and the
+battle began. He was, however, not only not required to join in the
+killing, but was enjoined to keep back. He did keep very much in the
+background, seeing only so much of the slaughter as his curiosity
+would not let him refrain from viewing. Yet he felt all a murderer
+as he gazed at the ten small carcasses laid out arow, and the memory
+of his vigil and its end, indeed of the whole day, though it was the
+day of his most marvelous adventure, remains to him as the broken
+recollections of a phantasmagoria.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p>
+
+<p>On the morning of his memorable peril Waldo had waked early. The
+experiences of his sea-voyage, the sights at Gibraltar, at Port Said,
+in the canal, at Suez, at Aden, at Muscat, and at Basrah had formed an
+altogether inadequate transition from the decorous regularity of house
+and school life in New England to the breathless wonder of the desert
+immensities.</p>
+
+<p>Everything seemed unreal, and yet the reality of its strangeness so
+besieged him that he could not feel at home in it, he could not sleep
+heavily in a tent. After composing himself to sleep, he lay long
+conscious and awakened early, as on this morning, just at the beginning
+of the false-dawn.</p>
+
+<p>The consul was fast asleep, snoring loudly. Waldo dressed quietly and
+went out; mechanically, without any purpose or forethought, taking his
+gun. Outside he found Hassan, seated, his gun across his knees, his
+head sunk forward, as fast asleep as the consul. Ali and Ibrahim had
+left the camp the day before for supplies. Waldo was the only waking
+creature about; for the guards, camped some little distance off, were
+but logs about the ashes of their fire. Meaning merely to enjoy, under
+the white glow of the false-dawn, the magical reappearance of the
+constellations and the short last glory of the starladen firmament,
+that brief coolness which compensated a trifle for the hot morning,
+the fiery day and the warmish night, he seated himself on a rock, some
+paces from the tent and twice as far from the guards. Turning his
+gun in his hands he felt an irresistible temptation to wander off by
+himself, to stroll alone through the fascinating emptiness of the arid
+landscape.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span></p>
+
+<p>When he had begun camp life he had expected to find the consul, that
+combination of sportsman, explorer and archæologist, a particularly
+easy-going guardian. He had looked forward to absolutely untramelled
+liberty in the spacious expanse of the limitless wastes. The reality he
+had found exactly the reverse of his preconceptions. The consul’s first
+injunction was:</p>
+
+<p>“Never let yourself get out of sight of me or of Hassan unless he or I
+send you off with Ali or Ibrahim. Let nothing tempt you to roam about
+alone. Even a ramble is dangerous. You might lose sight of the camp
+before you knew it.”</p>
+
+<p>At first Waldo acquiesced, later he protested. “I have a good
+pocket-compass. I know how to use it. I never lost my way in the Maine
+woods.”</p>
+
+<p>“No Kourds in the Maine woods,” said the consul.</p>
+
+<p>Yet before long Waldo noticed that the few Kourds they encountered
+seemed simple-hearted, peaceful folk. No semblance of danger or
+even of adventure had appeared. Their armed guard of a dozen greasy
+tatterdemalions had passed their time in uneasy loafing.</p>
+
+<p>Likewise Waldo noticed that the consul seemed indifferent to the ruins
+they passed by or encamped among, that his feeling for sites and
+topography was cooler than lukewarm, that he showed no ardor in the
+pursuit of the scanty and uninteresting game. He had picked up enough
+of several dialects to hear repeated conversations about “them.” “Have
+you heard of any about here?” “Has one been killed?” “Any traces of
+them in this district?” And such queries he could make out in the
+various talks with the natives they met; as to what “they” were he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>
+received no enlightenment.</p>
+
+<p>Then he had questioned Hassan as to why he was so restricted in his
+movements. Hassan spoke some English and regaled him with tales of
+Afrits, ghouls, specters and other uncanny legendary presences; of the
+jinn of the waste, appearing in human shape, talking all languages,
+ever on the alert to ensnare infidels; of the woman whose feet turned
+the wrong way at the ankles, luring the unwary to a pool and there
+drowning her victims; of the malignant ghosts of dead brigands, more
+terrible than their living fellows; of the spirit in the shape of a
+wild-ass, or of a gazelle, enticing its pursuers to the brink of a
+precipice and itself seeming to run ahead upon an expanse of sand, a
+mere mirage, dissolving as the victim passed the brink and fell to
+death; of the sprite in the semblance of a hare feigning a limp, or of
+a ground-bird feigning a broken wing, drawing its pursuer after it till
+he met death in an unseen pit or well-shaft.</p>
+
+<p>Ali and Ibrahim spoke no English. As far as Waldo could understand
+their long harangues, they told similar stories or hinted at dangers
+equally vague and imaginary. These childish bogy-tales merely whetted
+Waldo’s craving for independence.</p>
+
+<p>Now, as he sat on a rock, longing to enjoy the perfect sky, the clear,
+early air, the wide, lonely landscape, along with the sense of having
+it to himself, it seemed to him that the consul was merely innately
+cautious, over-cautious. There was no danger. He would have a fine
+leisurely stroll, kill something perhaps and certainly be back in camp
+before the sun grew hot. He stood up.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span></p>
+
+<p>Some hours later he was seated on a fallen coping-stone in the shadow
+of a ruined tomb. All the country they had been traversing is full
+of tombs and remains of tombs, prehistoric, Bactrian, old Persian,
+Parthian, Sassanian, or Mohammedan, scattered everywhere in groups
+or solitary. Vanished utterly are the faintest traces of the cities,
+towns, and villages, ephemeral houses or temporary huts, in which had
+lived the countless generations of mourners who had reared these tombs.</p>
+
+<p>The tombs, built more durably than mere dwellings of the living,
+remained. Complete or ruinous, or reduced to mere fragments, they were
+everywhere. In that district they were all of one type. Each was domed
+and below was square, its one door facing eastward and opening into a
+large empty room, behind which were the mortuary chambers.</p>
+
+<p>In the shadow of such a tomb Waldo sat. He had shot nothing, had lost
+his way, had no idea of the direction of the camp, was tired, warm and
+thirsty. He had forgotten his water-bottle.</p>
+
+<p>He swept his gaze over the vast, desolate prospect, the unvaried
+turquoise of the sky arched above the rolling desert. Far reddish hills
+along the skyline hooped in the less distant brown hillocks which,
+without diversifying it, hummocked the yellow landscape. Sand and rocks
+with a lean, starved bush or two made up the nearer view, broken here
+and there by dazzling white or streaked, grayish, crumbling ruins. The
+sun had not been long above the horizon, yet the whole surface of the
+desert was quivering with heat.</p>
+
+<p>As Waldo sat viewing the outlook a woman came round the corner of the
+tomb. All the village women Waldo had seen had worn yashmaks or some
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span>
+other form of face-covering or veil. This woman was bareheaded and
+unveiled. She wore some sort of yellowish-brown garment which enveloped
+her from neck to ankles, showing no waist line. Her feet, in defiance
+of the blistering sands, were bare.</p>
+
+<p>At sight of Waldo she stopped and stared at him as he at her. He
+remarked the un-European posture of her feet, not at all turned out,
+but with the inner lines parallel. She wore no anklets, he observed,
+no bracelets, no necklace or earrings. Her bare arms he thought the
+most muscular he had ever seen on a human being. Her nails were pointed
+and long, both on her hands and feet. Her hair was black, short and
+tousled, yet she did not look wild or uncomely. Her eyes smiled and
+her lips had the effect of smiling, though they did not part ever so
+little, not showing at all the teeth behind them.</p>
+
+<p>“What a pity,” said Waldo aloud, “that she does not speak English.”</p>
+
+<p>“I do speak English,” said the woman, and Waldo noticed that as she
+spoke, her lips did not perceptibly open. “What does the gentleman
+want?”</p>
+
+<p>“You speak English!” Waldo exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “What luck!
+Where did you learn it?”</p>
+
+<p>“At the mission school,” she replied, an amused smile playing about
+the corners of her rather wide, unopening mouth. “What can be done for
+you?” She spoke with scarcely any foreign accent, but very slowly and
+with a sort of growl running along from syllable to syllable.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I am thirsty,” said Waldo, “and I have lost my way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is the gentleman living in a brown tent, shaped like half a melon?”
+she inquired, the queer, rumbling note drawling from one word to the
+next, her lips barely separated.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, that is our camp,” said Waldo.</p>
+
+<p>“I could guide the gentleman that way,” she droned; “but it is far, and
+there is no water on that side.”</p>
+
+<p>“I want water first,” said Waldo, “or milk.”</p>
+
+<p>“If you mean cow’s milk, we have none. But we have goat’s milk. There
+is to drink where I dwell,” she said, sing-songing the words. “It is
+not far. It is the other way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Show me,” said he.</p>
+
+<p>She began to walk, Waldo, his gun under his arm, beside her. She
+trod noiselessly and fast. Waldo could scarcely keep up with her. As
+they walked he often fell behind and noted how her swathing garments
+clung to a lithe, shapely back, neat waist and firm hips. Each time
+he hurried and caught up with her, he scanned her with intermittent
+glances, puzzled that her waist, so well-marked at the spine, showed
+no particular definition in front; that the outline of her from neck
+to knees, perfectly shapeless under her wrappings, was without any
+waistline or suggestion of firmness or undulation. Likewise he remarked
+the amused flicker in her eyes and the compressed line of her red, her
+too red lips.</p>
+
+<p>“How long were you in the mission school?” he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Four years,” she replied.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you a Christian?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span></p>
+
+<p>“The Free-folk do not submit to baptism,” she stated simply, but with
+rather more of the droning growl between her words.</p>
+
+<p>He felt a queer shiver as he watched the scarcely moved lips through
+which the syllables edged their way.</p>
+
+<p>“But you are not veiled,” he could not resist saying.</p>
+
+<p>“The Free-folk,” she rejoined, “are never veiled.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you are not a Mohammedan?” he ventured.</p>
+
+<p>“The Free-folk are not Moslems.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who are the Free-folk?” he blurted out incautiously.</p>
+
+<p>She shot one baleful glance at him. Waldo remembered that he had to do
+with an Asiatic. He recalled the three permitted questions.</p>
+
+<p>“What is your name?” he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Amina,” she told him.</p>
+
+<p>“That is a name from the ‘Arabian Nights’,” he hazarded.</p>
+
+<p>“From the foolish tales of the believers,” she sneered. “The Free-folk
+know nothing of such follies.” The unvarying shutness of her speaking
+lips, the drawly burr between the syllables, struck him all the more as
+her lips curled but did not open.</p>
+
+<p>“You utter your words in a strange way,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>“Your language is not mine,” she replied.</p>
+
+<p>“How is it that you learned my language at the mission school and are
+not a Christian?”</p>
+
+<p>“They teach all at the mission school,” she said, “and the maidens
+of the Free-folk are like the other maidens they teach, though the
+Free-folk when grown are not as town-dwellers are. Therefore they
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span>
+taught me as any townbred girl, not knowing me for what I am.”</p>
+
+<p>“They taught you well,” he commented.</p>
+
+<p>“I have the gift of tongues,” she uttered enigmatically, with an odd
+note of triumph burring the words through her unmoving lips.</p>
+
+<p>Waldo felt a horrid shudder all over him, not only at her uncanny
+words, but also from mere faintness.</p>
+
+<p>“Is it far to your home?” he breathed.</p>
+
+<p>“It is there,” she said, pointing to the doorway of a large tomb just
+before them.</p>
+
+<p>The wholly open arch admitted them into a fairly spacious interior,
+cool with the abiding temperature of thick masonry. There was no
+rubbish on the floor. Waldo, relieved to escape the blistering glare
+outside, seated himself on a block of stone midway between the door and
+the inner partition-wall, resting his gun-butt on the floor. For the
+moment he was blinded by the change from the insistent brilliance of
+the desert morning to the blurred gray light of the interior.</p>
+
+<p>When his sight cleared he looked about and remarked, opposite the door,
+the ragged hole which laid open the desecrated mausoleum. As his eyes
+grew accustomed to the dimness he was so startled that he stood up. It
+seemed to him that from its four corners the room swarmed with naked
+children. To his inexperienced conjecture they seemed about two years
+old, but they moved with the assurance of boys of eight or ten.</p>
+
+<p>“Whose are these children?” he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>“Mine,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>“All yours?” he protested.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p>
+
+<p>“All mine,” she replied, a curious suppressed boisterousness in her
+demeanor.</p>
+
+<p>“But there are twenty of them,” he cried.</p>
+
+<p>“You count badly in the dark,” she told him. “There are fewer.”</p>
+
+<p>“There certainly are a dozen,” he maintained, spinning round as they
+danced and scampered about.</p>
+
+<p>“The Free-people have large families,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>“But they are all of one age,” Waldo exclaimed, his tongue dry against
+the roof of his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed, an unpleasant, mocking laugh, clapping her hands. She was
+between him and the doorway, and as most of the light came from it he
+could not see her lips.</p>
+
+<p>“Is not that like a man! No woman would have made that mistake.”</p>
+
+<p>Waldo was confuted and sat down again. The children circulated around
+him, chattering, laughing, giggling, snickering, making noises
+indicative of glee.</p>
+
+<p>“Please get me something cool to drink,” said Waldo, and his tongue was
+not only dry but big in his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>“We shall have to drink shortly,” she said, “but it will be warm.”</p>
+
+<p>Waldo began to feel uneasy. The children pranced around him, jabbering
+strange, guttural noises, licking their lips, pointing at him, their
+eyes fixed on him, with now and then a glance at their mother.</p>
+
+<p>“Where is the water?”</p>
+
+<p>The woman stood silent, her arms hanging at her sides, and it seemed to
+Waldo she was shorter than she had been.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Where is the water?” he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>“Patience, patience,” she growled, and came a step near to him.</p>
+
+<p>The sunlight struck upon her back and made a sort of halo about her
+hips. She seemed still shorter than before. There was a something
+furtive in her bearing, and the little ones sniggered evilly.</p>
+
+<p>At that instant two rifle shots rang out almost as one. The woman
+fell face downward on the floor. The babies shrieked in a shrill
+chorus. Then she leapt up from all fours with an explosive suddenness,
+staggered in a hurled, lurching rush toward the hole in the wall, and,
+with a frightful yell, threw up her arms and whirled backward to the
+ground, doubled and contorted like a dying fish, stiffened, shuddered
+and was still. Waldo, his horrified eyes fixed on her face, even in his
+amazement noted that her lips did not open.</p>
+
+<p>The children, squealing faint cries of dismay, scrambled through the
+hole in the inner wall, vanishing into the inky void beyond. The last
+had hardly gone when the consul appeared in the doorway, his smoking
+gun in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Not a second too soon, my boy,” he ejaculated. “She was just going to
+spring.”</p>
+
+<p>He cocked his gun and prodded the body with the muzzle.</p>
+
+<p>“Good and dead,” he commented. “What luck! Generally it takes three or
+four bullets to finish one. I’ve known one with two bullets through her
+lungs to kill a man.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you murder this woman?” Waldo demanded fiercely.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Murder?” the consul snorted. “Murder! Look at that.”</p>
+
+<p>He knelt down and pulled open the full, close lips, disclosing not
+human teeth, but small incisors, cusped grinders, wide-spaced; and
+long, keen, overlapping canines, like those of a greyhound: a fierce,
+deadly, carnivorous dentition, menacing and combative.</p>
+
+<p>Waldo felt a qualm, yet the face and form still swayed his horrified
+sympathy for their humanness.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you shoot women because they have long teeth?” Waldo insisted,
+revolted at the horrid death he had watched.</p>
+
+<p>“You are hard to convince,” said the consul sternly. “Do you call that
+a woman?”</p>
+
+<p>He stripped the clothing from the carcass.</p>
+
+<p>Waldo sickened all over. What he saw was not the front of a woman,
+but more like the underside of an old fox-terrier with puppies, or of
+a white sow, with her second litter; from collar-bone to groin ten
+lolloping udders, two rows, mauled, stringy and flaccid.</p>
+
+<p>“What kind of a creature is it?” he asked faintly.</p>
+
+<p>“A Ghoul, my boy,” the consul answered solemnly, almost in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought they did not exist,” Waldo babbled. “I thought they were
+mythical; I thought there were none.”</p>
+
+<p>“I can very well believe that there are none in Rhode Island,” the
+consul said gravely. “This is in Persia, and Persia is in Asia.”</p>
+
+<p class="right">1906</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_PIG-SKIN_BELT">THE PIG-SKIN BELT</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_PIG-SKIN_BELT_2">THE PIG-SKIN BELT</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">I</p>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">B</span>E it noted that I, John Radford, always of sound mind and
+matter-of-fact disposition, being entirely in my senses, here set down
+what I saw, heard and knew. As to my inferences from what occurred I
+say nothing, my theory might be regarded as more improbable than the
+facts themselves. From the facts anyone can draw conclusions as well as
+I.</p>
+
+<p>The first letter read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">“San Antonio, Texas,</span></p>
+
+<p class="right">January 1st, 1892.</p>
+
+<p class="nind"><span class="allsmcap">MY DEAR RADFORD</span>:</p>
+
+<p>You have forgotten me, likely enough, but I have not forgotten you nor
+anyone (nor anything) in Brexington. I saw your advertisement in the
+New York <i>Herald</i> and am glad to learn from it that you are alive
+and to infer that you are well and prosperous.</p>
+
+<p>I need a lawyer’s help. I want to buy real estate and I mean to return
+home, so you are exactly the man I am looking for. I am writing this
+to ask that you take charge of any and all of my affairs falling
+within your province, and to learn whether you are willing to do so.</p>
+
+<p>I am a rich man now, and without any near ties of kin or kind. I want
+to come home to Brexington, to live there if I can, to die there if I
+must. Along<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> with other matters which I will explain if you accept I
+want to buy a house in the town and a farm nearby, if not the Shelby
+house and estate then some others like them.</p>
+
+<p>If willing to act for me please reply at once care of the Hotel
+Menger. Remember me to any cousins of mine you may see.</p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">Faithfully yours,</span></p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="allsmcap">CASSIUS M. CASE</span>.”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>The name I knew well enough, of course, but my efforts to recall the
+individual resulted only in a somewhat hazy recollection of a tall,
+thin, red-cheeked lad of seventeen or so. It was almost exactly
+twenty-eight years since Colonel Shelby Case had left Brexington
+taking with him his son. Colonel Shelby had died some six years later.
+I remembered hearing of his death, in Egypt, I thought. Since his
+departure from Brexington I had never heard of or from Cassius.</p>
+
+<p>My reply I wrote at once, professing my readiness to do anything in my
+power to serve him.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the mails made it possible, I had a second letter from him.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>
+“<span class="allsmcap">MY DEAR RADFORD</span>:<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>“Your kind letter has taken a load off my mind. I am particular about
+any sort of arrangements I make, exacting as to the accurate carrying
+out of small details and I feared I might have difficulty in finding a
+painstaking man in a community so easy-going as Brexington. I remember
+your precise ways as a boy and am basking in a sense of total relief
+and complete reliance on you.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I should buy the Shelby house and estate on your representations, but
+I must see for myself first. If they are the best I can get I shall
+take them anyhow. But please be ready to show me over every estate
+of five hundred acres or more, lying within ten miles of the Court
+House. I wish to examine every one which is now for sale or which you
+can induce the owners to consider selling. I want the best which is
+to be had. Also I want a small place of fifty acres or so, two miles
+or more from the larger place I buy. Money is no object to me and the
+condition of the buildings on the places will not weigh with me at all.</p>
+
+<p>“So with the town house: I may tear it down entirely and rebuild from
+the cellar up. What I want in the town is a place of half an acre
+to two acres carrying fine, tall trees, with well-developed trunks.
+I want shade and plenty of it, but no limbs or branches growing or
+hanging within eight feet of the ground. I do not desire shrubbery,
+but if there is any I can have it removed, while I cannot create stout
+trees. Those I must have on the place when I buy it, for I will have
+the shade and I will have a clear sweep for air and an unobstructed
+view all round.</p>
+
+<p>“I am not at the Menger as you naturally suppose. I merely have my
+mail sent there. I am living in a tent half a mile or more from the
+town. At Los Angeles I had the luck to fall in with a Brexington
+nigger, Jeff Twibill. He knew of another, Cato Johnson, who was in
+Frisco. I have the two of them with me now, Jeff takes care of the
+horses and Cato of me and I am very comfortable.</p>
+
+<p>“That brings me to the arrangements I want you to make for me. Buy or
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span>
+lease or rent or borrow a piece of a field, say four acres, free of
+trees or bushes and sloping enough to shed the rain. Be sure there is
+good water handy. Have four tents; one for me, one for the two niggers
+(and make it big enough for three or four); one to cook in and one
+for my four horses, they are luxurious beasts and live as well as I
+do. Have the tents pitched in the middle of the field so I shall have
+a clear view all around. The field must be clear of bushes or trees,
+must be at least four acres and may be any size larger than that:
+forty would be none too big for me. I want no houses too close to me.</p>
+
+<p>“You see I am at present averse to houses, hotels and public
+conveyances. I mean to ride across the continent camping as I go. And
+in Brexington I mean to tent it until I have my own house ready to
+live in. I am resolute to be no man’s guest nor any man’s lodger, nor
+any company’s passenger.</p>
+
+<p>“I am coming home, Radford, coming home to be a Colonel with the rest
+of them. And I shall be no mere colonel-by-courtesy: I have won my
+right to the title, I won it twice over, years ago in Egypt and later
+in Asia.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you for all the news of the many cousins, I did not realize
+they were so very numerous. I am sorry that Mary Mattingly is dead, of
+all the many dear people in Brexington I loved her best.</p>
+
+<p>“I shall keep you advised of my progress across the continent. And
+as questions come up about the details of the tent-equipment you can
+confer with me by letter.</p>
+
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">“Gratefully yours,</span></p>
+
+<p class="right">“<span class="allsmcap">CASSIUS M. CASE</span>.”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span></p>
+
+<p>I showed the letters to one and another of my elder acquaintances, who
+remembered Cassius.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Boone said:</p>
+
+<p>“I presume it is a case of advanced tuberculosis. He should have
+remained in that climate. Of course, he may live a long time here,
+tenting in the open or living with the completest fresh air treatment.
+His punctiliousness in respect to self isolation does him credit,
+though he carries it further than is necessary. We must do all we can
+for him.”</p>
+
+<p>Beverly said:</p>
+
+<p>“Poor devil. ‘Live if he can, die if he must.’ He’ll die all right.
+They’d call him a ‘lunger’ out there and he had better stay there.”</p>
+
+<p>The minister said:</p>
+
+<p>“The lode-star of old sweet memories draws him homeward. ‘Mary
+Mattingly,’ yes we all remember how wildly he loved Mary Mattingly.
+While full of youth he could find forgetfulness fighting in strange
+lands. Now he must be near her although she lies in her grave. The
+proximity even of her tomb will be a solace to his last days.”</p>
+
+<p>We were prepared to do all that sympathy could suggest. Mr. Hall and
+Dr. Boone gravely discussed together the prolongation of Case’s life
+and the affording of spiritual support. Beverly I found helpful on my
+line of finances and creature comforts. As Case’s leisurely progress
+brought him nearer and nearer our interest deepened. When the day came
+on which he was to arrive Beverly and I rode put out to meet him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">II</p>
+
+
+<p>Language has no words to picture our dumbfounded amazement. And we were
+astonished in more ways than one. Chiefly, instead of the lank invalid
+we expected to see, we beheld a burly giant every characteristic of
+whom, save one, bespoke rugged health. He was all of six foot three,
+big boned, overlaid with a surplus of brawn, a Samsonian musculature
+that showed plain through his negligent, loose clothing; and withal
+he was plump and would have been sleek but for the roughness of his
+weather-beaten skin.</p>
+
+<p>He wore gray; a broad-brimmed felt hat, almost a sombrero; a flannel
+shirt, a sort of jacket, and corduroy trousers tucked into his boots.
+It was before the days of khaki.</p>
+
+<p>His head was large and round, but not at all a bullet head, rather
+handsome and well set. His face was round too, and good-natured,
+but not a particle as is the usual round face, vacuous and like a
+full-moon. His was agreeable, but lit with character and determination.
+His neck was fat but showed great cords through its rotundity. He had a
+big barrel of a chest and his voice rumbled out of it. He dominated the
+landscape the moment he entered it.</p>
+
+<p>Even in our astonishment three things about him struck me, and, as I
+afterwards found out, the same three similarly struck Beverly.</p>
+
+<p>One was his complexion. He had that build which leads one to expect
+floridity of face, a rubicund countenance or, at least, ruddy cheeks.
+But he was dead pale, with a peculiar tint I never had seen before. His
+face showed an abundance of solid muscle and over it a skin roughened
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>
+by exposure, toughened, even hardened by wind and sun. Yet its color
+was not in agreement with its texture. It had the hue which belongs to
+waxy skin over suety, tallowy flesh, an opaque whiteness, a pallidity
+almost corpse-like.</p>
+
+<p>The second was his glance: keen, glittering, hard, blue-gray eyes he
+had, gallant and far younger than himself. But it was not the handsome
+eyes so much as their way of looking that whetted our attention. They
+pierced us through and through, they darted incessantly here and there,
+they peered to right and left, they kept us generally in view, indeed,
+and never let us feel that his attention wandered from us, yet they
+incessantly swept the world about him. You should say they saw all they
+looked at, looked at everything seeable.</p>
+
+<p>The third was his belt, a mellowed old belt of pig-skin, with two
+capacious holsters, from each of which protruded the butt of a
+large-calibre revolver.</p>
+
+<p>He greeted us in the spirit of old comradeship renewed. Behind him Jeff
+and Cato grinned from their tired mounts. He sat his big horse with no
+sign of fatigue and surveyed the landscape from the cross-roads’ knoll
+where we had met him.</p>
+
+<p>“I seem to recall the landmarks here,” he said, “the left hand road by
+which you came, would take me through to Brexington.”</p>
+
+<p>Beverly confirmed his recollection.</p>
+
+<p>“The one straight ahead,” he went on, “goes past the big new distillery
+you wrote me about.”</p>
+
+<p>“Right again,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“The road to the right,” he continued, “will take us by the old mill,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span>
+and I can swing round to my camp without nearing town.”</p>
+
+<p>“You could,” Beverly told. “But it is a long way round.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not too far for me,” he announced positively. “No towns or
+distilleries for me. I go round. Will you ride with me, gentlemen?”</p>
+
+<p>We rode with him.</p>
+
+<p>On the way I told him I expected him to supper that evening.</p>
+
+<p>“With all my writing, Radford,” he said. “You don’t seem to get the
+idea. I flock by myself for the present and eat alone. If you insist
+I’ll explain to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>Beverly and I left him to his camp supper.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Boone and Mr. Hall were a good deal taken aback upon learning that
+their imagined invalid had no existence and that the real Colonel Case
+needed neither medical assistance nor spiritual solace. We four sat for
+some time expressing our bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+Next morning I drove out to Case’s Camp. I found him sitting in his
+tent, the flaps of which were looped up all around. He was as pale
+as the day before. As I approached I saw him scrutinize me with a
+searching gaze, a gaze I found it difficult to analyze.</p>
+
+<p>He wore his belt with the holsters and the revolver-butts showed from
+those same holsters. I was astonished at this. When I saw it on him
+the day before I had thought the belt a piece of bad taste. It might
+have been advisable in portions of his long ride, might have been
+imperatively necessary in some districts; but it seemed a pose or a
+stupidity to wear it so far east. Pistols were by no means unknown in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span>
+our part of the world, but they were carried in the seclusion of the
+hip-pocket or inside the breast of one’s coat, not flaunted in the face
+of the populace in low-hung pig-skin holsters.</p>
+
+<p>Case greeted me cheerily.</p>
+
+<p>“I got up too early,” he stated. “I’ve had my breakfast and done my
+target practice twice over. Apparently you expect me to go with you in
+that buggy?”</p>
+
+<p>I told him that I did.</p>
+
+<p>“Come in and sit down a moment,” he said in a somewhat embarrassed way.
+“This suggestion of our driving together is in line with your kind
+invitation for last night. I see I must explain somehow.”</p>
+
+<p>He offered me a cigar and though I seldom smoke in the morning, I took
+it, for, I thought smoking would fill up the silences I anticipated.</p>
+
+<p>He puffed a while, in fact.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you ever been among feudists in the mountains?” he queried.</p>
+
+<p>“More than a little,” I told him.</p>
+
+<p>“Likely enough then,” he went on, “you know more about their ways
+than I do. But I saw something of them myself, before I left America.
+Did you ever notice how a man at either focus of a feud, the king-pin
+of his end of it so to speak, manifests the greatest care to avoid
+permitting others to expose themselves to any degree of the danger
+always menacing him; how such men, in the black shadow of doom, as
+it were, are solicitous to prevent outsiders from straying into the
+penumbra of the eclipse which threatens themselves?”</p>
+
+<p>“I have observed that,” I replied.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Have you noticed on the other hand,” he continued, “that they never
+show any concern for acquaintances who comprehend the situation, but
+pay them the compliment of assuming that they have sense enough to know
+what they are doing and to take care of themselves?”</p>
+
+<p>“I have observed that same too,” I affirmed.</p>
+
+<p>He puffed again for a while.</p>
+
+<p>“My father,” he returned presently, “used to say that there are two
+ends to a quarrel, the right end and the wrong end, but that either end
+of a feud is the wrong end. I am one end of a feud. Wherever I am is
+one focus of that feud. The other focus is local, and I have removed
+myself as far as may be from it. But I am not safe here, should not
+be safe anywhere on earth; doubt if I should be safe on the moon, or
+Mars, on a planet of some other sun, or the least conspicuous satellite
+of the farthest star. I am obnoxious to the hate of a power as
+far-reaching” ... he took off his broad felt hat and looked up at the
+canvas of the tent-roof ... “as far-reaching as the displeasure of God.”</p>
+
+<p>“And as implacable,” he almost whispered. “As the malice of Satan.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked sane, healthy and self-possessed.</p>
+
+<p>“I am nowhere safe,” he recommenced in his natural voice, “while my
+chief adversary is alive. My enemies are many and malignant enough,
+but their power is negligible, and their malignancy vicarious. Without
+fomenting their hostility would evaporate. Could I but know that my
+chief enemy were no more I should be free from all alarm. But while
+that arch-foe survives I am liable to attack at any moment, to attacks
+so subtle that I am at a loss to make you comprehend their possible
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>
+nature, so crude that I could not make you realize the danger you are
+in at this instant.”</p>
+
+<p>I looked at him, unmoved.</p>
+
+<p>“I shall say no more to you,” he said. “You must do as you please. If
+you regard my warnings as vapors, I have at least warned you. If you
+are willing to share my danger, in such degree as my very neighborhood
+is always full of danger, you do so at your own risk. If you consider
+it advisable to have no more to do with me, say so now.”</p>
+
+<p>“I see no reason,” I told him without even a preliminary puff, “why
+your utterances should make any difference in my treatment of you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought you would say that,” he said. “But my conscience is clear.”</p>
+
+<p>“Shall we proceed to business?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“There is one point more,” he replied. “Have you ever been in mining
+camps or amid other frontier conditions?”</p>
+
+<p>“Several times,” I answered, “and for some time at that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you ever noticed that when two men have been mutually threatening
+to shoot each other at sight, pending the final settlement, neither
+will expose women or children to danger by being in their neighborhood
+or permitting them in his, if he can prevent their nearing them?”</p>
+
+<p>“Such scrupulosity can be observed,” I told him dryly, “nearer home
+than mining camps or frontier towns.”</p>
+
+<p>“So I have heard,” he replied stiffly. “When I left America the
+personal encounter had not yet taken the place of the formal duel in
+these regions.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span></p>
+
+<p>He puffed a bit.</p>
+
+<p>“However,” he continued, “it makes no difference from what part of the
+world you draw the illustration; it is equally in point. The danger of
+being near me is a hundred times, a thousand times greater than that of
+running the risk of stopping a wild or random bullet. I cannot bring
+myself to expose innocent beings to such danger.”</p>
+
+<p>“How about Jeff and Cato?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“A nigger,” declared Colonel Case (and he looked all the colonel as he
+spoke it) “is like a dog or a horse, he shares his master’s dangers
+as a matter of course. I speak of women and children and unsuspecting
+men. I am resolute to sit at no man’s table, to enter no man’s house,
+uninvited or invited. All who come to me knowingly I shall welcome.
+When you bring any one with you I shall assume that he has been
+forewarned. But I shall intrude upon no one.”</p>
+
+<p>“How then are you to inspect,” I queried, “the properties I expected to
+show you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Business,” said Colonel Case, “is different. When people propose to do
+business they assume any and all risks. Are you afraid to assume the
+risk of driving me about in that buggy of yours?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a particle,” I disclaimed. “Are you willing to expose the people
+of Brexington to these dangers on which you descant so eloquently and
+which I fail to comprehend?”</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Case fixed me with a cold stare. He looked every inch a
+warrior, accustomed to dominate his environment, to command and be
+obeyed, impatient of any opposition, ready to flare up if disbelieved
+in the smallest trifle.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Radford,” he said, slowly and sternly, “I am willing to take any pains
+to avoid wronging anyone, I am unwilling to make myself ridiculous by
+attempting impossibilities.”</p>
+
+<p>“I see,” I concluded. “Let us go.”</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">III</p>
+
+
+<p>As we drove through the town he said:</p>
+
+<p>“This is like coming back to earth from another world. It is like a
+dream too. Some streets are just as they were, only the faces are
+unfamiliar. I almost expect to see the ghosts of thirty years ago.”</p>
+
+<p>I made some vague comment and as we jogged along talked of the
+unchanged or new owners of the houses. Then I felt him make a sudden
+movement beside me, and I looked round at him. He could not turn any
+paler than he was, yet there had been a change in his face.</p>
+
+<p>“I do see ghosts,” he said slowly and softly.</p>
+
+<p>I followed his glance as he gazed past me. We were approaching the
+Kenton homestead and nearly opposite it. It had an old-fashioned
+classic portico with four big white columns. At the top of the steps,
+between the two middle columns, stood Mary Kenton, all in pink with a
+rose in her jetty hair. She was looking intently at us, but not at me.
+Case stared at her fixedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Mary Kenton is the picture of her mother,” I told him.</p>
+
+<p>“Her very image,” he breathed, his eyes steadily on her.</p>
+
+<p>She continued gazing at us. Of course she knew whom I was driving. My
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>
+horses were trotting slowly and when we were opposite her, she waved
+her hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Welcome home, Cousin Cassius,” she called cheerily.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Case waved his hat to her and bowed, but said nothing.</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+The Shelby mansion did not suit Colonel Case. What he wanted, he said,
+was a house at the edge of the town. When he had made his selection
+he bought it promptly. He had the outbuildings razed, the shrubbery
+torn up and the trees trimmed so that no limb hung within ten feet of
+the ground; above they were left untouched, tall and spreading as they
+were and almost interlacing with each other. The house he practically
+rebuilt. Its all-round veranda he had torn down and replaced by one
+even broader, but at the front only, facing the entrance, the only
+entrance he left. For he entirely closed the back-way to the kitchen
+and side-gate to the stable, cutting instead a loop-drive around the
+house from the one front entrance.</p>
+
+<p>Except for this stone-posted carriage-gate with the little footpath
+gate beside it, he had the whole place surrounded with a fence the
+like of which Brexington had never seen. The posts were T-beams, of
+rolled steel, eight feet tall above ground, reaching six feet below it
+and bedded down in rammed concrete. To these was bolted a four-foot
+continuous, square-mesh wire fencing, the meshes not over six inches
+at its top and as small as two inches at the bottom, which was sunk a
+hand’s breadth below the surface and there held by close-set clamps
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span>
+upon sections of gas-pipe, extending from post to post and bolted to
+them. Inside this mesh-fencing, as high as it reached, and above it to
+the top of the posts, were strung twenty strands of heavy barbed wire,
+the upper wires six inches apart, the lower strands closer. Inside the
+fence he had set a close hedge. As the plants composing it were large
+and vigorous when they arrived from the nurseryman, this was soon
+thick and strong. It was kept clipped to about three feet high. The
+flower-beds he abolished and from house to drive and drive to hedge
+soon had the whole place in well-kept turf.</p>
+
+<p>Behind the house he had two outbuildings erected; at one corner a small
+carriage-house and stable, capable of holding two vehicles and three
+horses; at the other a structure of about the same size as the stable,
+half wood-shed and half hen-house.</p>
+
+<p>Watching the carpenters at work on this and regarding the
+nine-days-wonder of a fence, several negroes stood in talk one day as I
+passed. They were laughing and I overheard one say:</p>
+
+<p>“Mahs’r Case shuah ain’ gwine tuh lose no hains awf he roos’. Mus be
+gwine tuh be powerful fine hains he gwine raise. He sutt’nly mus’ sot
+stoah by he hains. He sutt’nly dun tuk en’ spain’ cunnsdd’ble money awn
+he faince.”</p>
+
+<p>The interior of the house was finished plainly and furnished sparingly.
+The very day it was ready for occupancy he moved into it and ceased his
+camp life. Besides Cato, an old negro named Samson acted as cook, and
+another named Pompey as butler. These three made up all his household.
+Jeff was quartered in a room over the carriage-house.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span></p>
+
+<p>Before his residence was prepared and while he was still camping he
+bought Shelby Manor.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing like obliging one’s cousins,” he said. He also bought two
+adjoining farms, forming a property of over a thousand acres. This
+he proceeded to equip as a stud farm, engaging a competent manager;
+refitting the house for him and the two smaller houses for his
+assistants, the overseer and farmer; abolishing the old outbuildings;
+putting up barns and stables in the most lavish fashion. He bought many
+blooded mares and created an establishment on a large scale.</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+About two miles out of town on the road past his house, nearly half
+way to Shelby Manor, he bought a worthless little farm of some forty
+acres. This he had fenced and put in grass, except a small garden-patch
+by the house, which he had made snug and where he had installed an
+elderly negro couple as caretakers. The old man had formerly belonged
+to the Colonel’s father, and was named Erastus Everett. All the other
+buildings he had removed, except a fair-sized hay barrack standing on
+a knoll near the middle of the largest field. This he had new roofed
+and repaired and given two coats of shingle stain, moss green on the
+roof and weather gray on the sides. In it he had ranked up some forty
+cords of fat pine wood. Near the house was built a small stable, which
+harbored the two mules Case allowed uncle Rastus.</p>
+
+<p>Besides this he had built a number of low sheds, opening on spaces
+enclosed with wire netting. Soon the enclosures swarmed with dogs, not
+blooded dogs, but mere mongrel curs. Not a small dog among them, all
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span>
+were big or fairly large. Uncle Rastus drove about the country in his
+big close-covered wagon, behind his two mules. Wherever he found an
+utterly worthless dog of some size he bought it, if it could be had
+cheap, and turned it in with the rest. Before a year had passed uncle
+Rastus had more than a hundred no-account brutes to feed and care for.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Case was not a man to whom anyone, least of all a stranger,
+would put a direct unsolicited question. Uncle Rastus was more
+approachable. But the curious gained little information from him.</p>
+
+<p>“Mahs’r Cash ain’ tole muh wuff’r he keepin’ awl dees yeah houns. He
+ain’ spoke nuffin. He done tole muh tur buy ’um, he done tole muh to
+feed ’um. Ahze buyed ’um en’ Ah feeds ’um.”</p>
+
+<p>Once he had established himself Case lived an extremely regular life.
+He rose early, breakfasted simply, and whatever the weather, drove
+out to Shelby Manor. He never rode in the forenoon. At his estate he
+had a pistol-range and a rifle-range. He spent nearly an hour each
+morning in pistol and rifle practice. He never used a shot-gun, but
+shot at targets, running marks, and trap-sprung clay-pigeons with both
+repeating rifle and revolver. He always carried his two repeating
+rifles with him, and brought them back with him. Several times, when I
+happened to accompany him, I watched him shoot.</p>
+
+<p>The first time I was rather surprised. He emptied the chambers of one
+revolver, made some fifty shots with it, cleaned it, replaced the six
+cartridges which had been in it, and put it in its holster. Then he
+did the like with the other. Then he similarly emptied the magazines
+of one of his rifles, made some fifty shots with that, cleaned it and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span>
+reloaded it with the original cartridges. So with the second rifle.</p>
+
+<p>I asked him why he did so.</p>
+
+<p>“The cartridges I go about with,” he said, “are loaded with silver
+bullets. I can’t afford to fire away two or three pounds of silver
+every day. Lead keeps my hand in just as well as silver, and the silver
+bullets are always ready for an emergency.”</p>
+
+<p>Against such an imaginary emergency, I conceived he wore his belt and
+kept his two rifles always at hand.</p>
+
+<p>After his target practice he talked with his manager, looked over the
+place, discussed his stock or watched his jockeys exercising their
+mounts, for an hour or two. Once a week or so on his way back to town
+he stopped to inspect uncle Rastus’ charges, and investigate his
+doings. His early lunch was almost as simple as his breakfast. After
+his lunch he slept an hour or more. Later he took a long ride, seldom
+toward Shelby Manor. Always, both in going and in returning, he rode
+past Judge Kenton’s mansion. At first his hour of starting on his ride
+varied. Before many days he so timed his setting forth as to pass the
+Kenton house when Mary was likely to be at her window, and his riding
+homeward when she was likely to be on the portico. After a time she
+was sure to be at her window when he passed and on the portico when
+he repassed, and his departure and return occurred with clock-work
+regularity. When she was at her window, they never gave any sign of
+mutual recognition, but when she was on the portico she waved her hand
+to him and he his hat to her.</p>
+
+<p>Towards dusk in summer, after lamplight in winter, he ate a deliberate
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span>
+dinner. It never seemed to make a particle of difference to him how
+early he went to bed or how late, or whether he went to bed at all.
+He was quite capable of sitting all night at cards if the game was
+especially interesting. Yet he never made a habit of late hours. He
+was an inveterate card-player, but play at his house generally ceased
+before midnight and often much earlier. He could drink all night long,
+four fingers deep and often, and never seem the worse for it. Yet it
+was very seldom he did so. Habitually he drank freely after dinner, but
+no effects of liquor were ever visible on him. His liquors were the
+best and always set out in abundance. His cigars were as good as his
+liquors and spread out in similar profusion. His wines at dinner were
+unsurpassable and numerous. The dinners themselves could not have been
+beaten. Uncle Samson was an adept at marketing and a superlative cook.
+Pompey was an ideal butler. They seemed always ready to serve dinner
+for their master alone without waste or for a dozen more also without
+any sign of effort or dismay. As Case made welcome to his dinner table
+as to his card table anyone who happened to drop in, he had no lack
+of guests. All the bachelors of Brexington flocked to him as a matter
+of course. The heads of families were puzzled. One after another they
+invited him to their houses. His refusals were courteous but firm: for
+explanations he referred them to me. Most of them accepted my dilution
+of his utterances and acquiesced in his lopsided hospitality. One or
+two demurred and laid special siege to him. Particularly Judge Kenton
+would not be denied. When he was finally convinced that Colonel Case
+would not respond to any invitation, he declared his resolution not
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span>
+to cross Case’s threshold until his several visits there were properly
+acknowledged by a return call at his house. Intercourse between him
+and Case thereupon ceased. Judge Kenton, however, was alone in his
+punctilious attitude. Everybody else frequented Case’s house and table.
+His house indeed became a sort of informal club for all the most
+agreeable men of the town and neighborhood. It was not mere creature
+comforts or material attractions which drew them there, but the very
+real charm of the host. Even while he was tenting, before the house was
+ready for occupancy, he had made friends, according to their degree,
+with every man in and about Brexington, white or black. Everybody knew
+him, everybody liked him, everybody wondered at him.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">IV</p>
+
+
+<p>Case was in fact the most discussed man in our region of the world.
+Some called him a lunatic, dwelling especially on his dog-ranch, as
+he called it, and his everlasting pig-skin belt with the holstered
+revolvers, without which he was never seen at any hour of the day, by
+any one. It was difficult for his most enthusiastic partisans to assign
+any colorable reason why he should maintain a farm for the support of
+some two hundred totally worthless dogs. Their worthlessness was the
+main point which uncle Rastus made in buying them. Often he rejected a
+dog proffered for little or almost nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“No seh,” he would say. “Dat ar dawg ain’ no ’count enuff. Mah’sr Cash
+he dun awdah muh dat Ah ain’ buy no dawg wut ain’ pintedly no ’count.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span>
+Dey gotter be no ’count. Ah ain’ buyin’ um lessen dey’s wuffless en’
+onery.”</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely less easy was it to defend his wearing his twin revolvers
+even with dinner-dress, for he put on evening-dress for dinner, with
+the punctiliousness of an Englishman in the wilderness, put it on as
+often as he dined and yet wore it so naturally and unobtrusively,
+that no more than the incongruous belt did it embarrass the guests he
+made at home in any kind of clothes they happened to be wearing. His
+admirers pointed to this as a kind of exploit, as something of which
+only a perfectly sane and exceptionally fine man could be capable.
+They adduced his clear-headed business sense, his excellent judgment
+on matters pertaining to real estate, his knowledge of horseflesh,
+his horsemanship, his coolness, skill and exceptional good temper at
+cards, as cumulative proofs of his perfect sanity. They admitted he
+was peculiar on one or two points but minimized these as negligible
+eccentricities. They were ready to descant to any extent on his
+personal charm, and this indeed all were agreed upon. To attract
+visitors by good dinners, good liquors, good cigars and endless card
+playing was easy. To keep his visitors at their ease and entertained
+for hours with mere conversations while seated on his veranda, was
+no small feat in itself and a hundred times a feat when their host
+obtruded upon them the ever visible butts of his big revolvers and kept
+a repeating rifle standing against each jamb of his front door. This
+tension of perpetual preparedness for an imminent attack might well
+have scared away everybody and left Case a hermit. It did nothing of
+the kind. It was acquiesced in at first, later tacitly accepted and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span>
+finally ignored altogether. With it was ignored his strange complexion.
+I had myself puzzled over this: after long groping about in my mind I
+had realized what it reminded me of, and I found others who agreed with
+me in respect to it. It was like the paleness one sees for the half of
+a breath on the face of a strong, healthy man when in sudden alarm,
+astonishment or horror his blood flows momently back to his heart.
+Under such stress of unforeseen agitation a normal countenance might
+exhibit that hue for a fraction of a second, on Case’s visage it was
+abiding, like the war paint on an armor-clad, drab-gray and dreary. Yet
+it produced no effect of gloom in his associates. He not only did not
+put a damper upon high spirits but diffused an atmosphere of gaiety and
+good fellowship.</p>
+
+<p>And he did so not only in spite of his ever-visible weapons and of
+his uncanny, somber complexion, but also in spite of the strange and
+daunting habit of his eyes. I had seen something like it once and again
+in a frontiersman who knew that his one chance of surviving his enemy
+was to shoot first and who expected the crucial instant at any moment.
+I had watched in more than one town the eyes of such an individual
+scan each man who approached with one swift glance of inquiry, of keen
+uncertainty dying instantly into temporary relief. Such was the look
+with which Case invariably met me. It had in it hesitation, doubt, and,
+as it were, an element of half-conscious approach to alarm. It was as
+if he said to himself:</p>
+
+<p>“Is that Radford? It looks like him. If it is Radford, all right. But
+is it really Radford after all?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span></p>
+
+<p>I grew used in time to this lightning scrutiny of me every time he
+caught sight of me. His other friends grew used to it. But it was the
+subject of endless talk among us. His eyes had an inexplicable effect
+on every one. And not the least factor in their mystery was that he
+bestowed this glance not only upon all men, but upon women, children,
+animals, birds, even insects. He regarded a robin or a butterfly with
+the same flash of transient interest which he bestowed upon a horse or
+a man. And his eyes seemed to keep him cognizant of every moving thing
+before, behind and above him. Nothing living which entered his horizon
+seemed to escape his notice.</p>
+
+<p>Beverly remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“Case is afraid of something, is always looking for something. But what
+the devil is it he is looking for? He acts as if he did not know what
+to expect and suspected everything.”</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Boone said:</p>
+
+<p>“Case behaves somewhat as if he were suffering from a delusion of
+persecution. But most of the symptoms are conspicuously absent. I am
+puzzled like the rest of you.”</p>
+
+<p>The effect upon strangers of this eerie quality of Case’s vision was
+by no means pleasant. Yet his merest acquaintances soon became used to
+it and his intimates ceased to notice it at all. His personal charm
+made it seem a trifle. Night after night his card room was the scene of
+jollity. His table gathered the most desirable comrades the countryside
+afforded. Evening after evening his cronies sat in the comfortable
+wicker chairs on his broad veranda, little Turkish tables bearing
+decanters and cigars set among them, Colonel Case the center and life
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span>
+of the group.</p>
+
+<p>He talked easily and he talked well. To start him talking of the
+countries he had seen was not easy, but, once he began, his stories
+of Egypt and Abyssinia, of Persia and Burmah, of Siam and China were
+always entertaining. Very seldom, almost never did he tell of his own
+experiences. Generally he told of having heard from others the tales he
+repeated, even when he spoke so that we suspected him of telling events
+in which he had taken part.</p>
+
+<p>It was impossible to pin him down to a date, almost as hard to elicit
+the definite name of a locality. He gave minute particulars of
+incidents and customs, but dealt in generalities as to place and time.
+Especially he was strong in local superstitions and beliefs.</p>
+
+<p>He told countless tales, all good, of crocodiles and ichneumons in
+Egypt, gazelles and ghouls in Persia, elephants and tigers in Burmah,
+deer and monkeys in Siam, badgers and foxes in China and sorcerers and
+enchanters anywhere. He spoke of the last two in as matter-of-fact a
+tone as of any of the others.</p>
+
+<p>He told legends of the contests of various Chinese sages and saints,
+with magicians and wizards; of the malice and wiles of these wicked
+practitioners of somber arts; of the sort of super-sense developed
+by the adepts, their foes, enabling them to tell of the approach or
+presence of a sorcerer whatever disguise he assumed, even if he had the
+power of making himself invisible.</p>
+
+<p>Several legendary anecdotes turned on this point of the invisibility of
+the wicked enemy and the prescience of his intended victim.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span></p>
+
+<p>One was of a holy man said to have lived in Singan Fu about the time
+of the crusades. Knowing that he was threatened with the vengeance of
+a wizard, he provided himself with a sword entirely of silver, since
+the flesh of a wizard was considered proof against all baser metals. He
+likewise had at hand a quantity of the ashes of a sacred tree.</p>
+
+<p>While seated in his study he felt an inimical presence. He snatched
+up his silver blade, stood upon the defensive and shouted a signal
+previously agreed upon. Hearing it his servants locked the doors of
+the house and rushed in with boxes of the sacred ashes. Scattering it
+on the floor, they could see on the fresh ashes the footsteps of the
+wizard. One of the servants, according to his master’s instructions,
+had brought a live fowl. Slicing off its head he waved the spouting
+neck towards the air over the footprints. According to Chinese belief
+fowls’ blood has the magical property of disclosing anyone invisible
+through incantation. In fact where the blood drops fell upon the
+wizard, they remained visible, there appeared a gory eye and cheek.
+Slashing at his revealed enemy the sage slew him with the silver sword,
+after which his body was with all speed burned to ashes. This was the
+invariable ending of all his similar tales.</p>
+
+<p>Stories like this Case delighted in, but beyond this penchant for
+the weird and occult, for even childish tales of distant lands, his
+conversation in general showed no sign of peculiarity or eccentricity.
+Only once or twice did he startle us. Some visitors to town were
+among the gathering on his veranda and fell into a discussion of the
+contrasting qualities of Northerners and Southerners. Inevitably
+the discussion degenerated into a rather acrimonious and petty
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span>
+citation of all the weak points of each section and a rehash of all
+the stale sneers at either. The wordy Alabamian who led one side of
+the altercation descanted on the necessary and inherited vileness
+of the descendants of the men who burnt the Salem witches. Case had
+been listening silently. Then he cut in with an emphatic, trenchant
+directness unusual to him.</p>
+
+<p>“Witches,” he announced, “ought to be burnt always and everywhere.”</p>
+
+<p>We sat a moment startled and mute.</p>
+
+<p>The Alabamian spoke first.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you believe in witches, Sir?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“I do,” Case affirmed.</p>
+
+<p>“Ever been bewitched?” the Alabamian queried. He was rather young and
+dogmatically assertive.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you believe in Asiatic cholera?” Case queried in his turn.</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly, Sir,” the Alabamian asserted.</p>
+
+<p>“Ever had it?” Case inquired meaningly.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” the Alabamian admitted. “No, Sir, never.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ever had yellow fever?” Case questioned him.</p>
+
+<p>“Never, Sir, thank God,” the Alabamian replied fervently.</p>
+
+<p>“Yet I’ll bet,” Case hammered at him, “that you would be among the
+first to join a shot-gun quarantine if an epidemic broke out within a
+hundred miles of you. You have never had it, but you believe in it with
+every fiber of your being.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s just the way with me. I’ve never been bewitched, but I believe
+in witchcraft. Belief in witchcraft is like faith in any one of a dozen
+fashionable religions, not a subject for argument or proof, but a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span>
+habit of mind. That’s my habit of mind. I won’t discuss it, but I’ve no
+hesitation about asserting it.</p>
+
+<p>“Witchcraft is like leprosy, both spread among nations indifferent to
+them, both disappear before unflinching severity. The horror of both
+among our ancestors abolished both in Europe and kept them from gaining
+a foothold in this country. Both exist and flourish in other corners
+of the world, along with other things undreamed of in some complacent
+philosophies. Leprosy can be repressed only by isolation, the only
+thing that will abolish witchcraft is fire, fire Sir.”</p>
+
+<p>That finished that discussion. No one said another word on the subject.
+But it started a round of debates on Case’s mental condition, which
+ran on for days, everywhere except at Case’s house, and which brought
+up all that could be said about personal aloofness, pensioned dogs,
+exposed revolvers and pig-skin belts.</p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">V</p>
+
+
+<p>The mellow fall merged into Indian Summer. The days were short and the
+afternoons chill. The weather did not permit the evening gatherings on
+Case’s veranda. No more did it allow Mary Kenton to sit in her rocker
+between the two left-hand columns of the big white portico. Yet it was
+both noticeable and noticed that she never failed to step out upon
+that portico, no matter what the weather, each afternoon; that in the
+twilight or in the late dusk the wave of her hand and the sweep of the
+horseman’s big, broad-brimmed felt hat answered each other unfailingly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span></p>
+
+<p>The coterie of Case’s chums, friends and hangers-on gathered then
+mostly around the generous log-fire in his ample drawing-room, when
+they were not in the card-room, the billiard-room or at table. I
+made one of that coterie frequently and enjoyed my hours there with
+undiminished zest. When I dined there I habitually occupied the foot
+of the long table, facing Case at the head. The hall door of the
+dining-room was just at my right hand.</p>
+
+<p>One evening in early December I was so seated at the foot of the table.
+The weather had been barely coolish for some days, the skies had been
+clear and everything was dry. That night was particularly mild. We had
+sat down rather early and it was not yet seven o’clock when Pompey
+began to pass the cigars. No one had yet lit up. Some one had asked
+Case a question and the table was still listening for his answer. I,
+like the rest, was looking at him. Then it all happened in a tenth, in
+a hundredth of the time necessary to tell it; so quickly that, except
+Case, no one had time to move a muscle.</p>
+
+<p>Case’s eyes were on his questioner. I did not see the door open, but
+I saw his gaze shift to the door, saw his habitual glance of startled
+uncertainty. But instead of the lightning query of his eyes softening
+into relief and indifference, it hardened instantaneously into
+decision. I saw his hand go to his holster, saw the revolver leap out,
+saw the aim, saw his face change, heard his explosive exclamation:</p>
+
+<p>“Good God, it is!” saw the muzzle kick up as the report crushed our ear
+drums and through the smoke saw him push back his chair and spring up.</p>
+
+<p>The rest of us were all too dazed to try to stand. Like me they all
+looked toward the door.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span></p>
+
+<p>There stood Mary Kenton, all in pink, a pink silk opera cloak half off
+her white shoulders, a single strand of pale coral round her slender
+throat, a pink pompom in her glossy hair. She was standing as calmly as
+if nothing had happened, her arms hidden in the cloak, her right hand
+holding it together in front. Her rings sparkled on her fingers as her
+breast-pin sparkled on her low corsage.</p>
+
+<p>“Cousin Cassius,” she said, “you have a theatrical way of receiving
+unexpected visitors.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good God, Mary,” he said. “It is really you. I saw it was really you
+just in time.”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course it is really I,” she retorted. “Whom or what did you think
+it really was?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not you,” he answered thickly. “Not you.”</p>
+
+<p>His voice died away.</p>
+
+<p>“Now you know it is really I,” she said crisply, “you might at least
+offer me a chair.”</p>
+
+<p>At that the spell of our amazement left us and we all sprang to our
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>She seated herself placidly to the right of the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>“I hear your port is excellent,” she said laughingly.</p>
+
+<p>Before Case could hand her the glass she wavered a little in the chair,
+but a mere swallow revived her.</p>
+
+<p>“I had not anticipated,” she said, “so startling a reception.”</p>
+
+<p>We stood about in awkward silence.</p>
+
+<p>“Pray ask your guests to be seated, Cousin Cassius,” she begged. “I did
+not mean to disturb your gaiety.”</p>
+
+<p>We took our chairs, but those on her side of the table were turned
+outward toward the fireplace, where Case stood facing her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I owe you an explanation,” she said easily. “Milly Wilberforce is
+staying with me and she bet me a box of Maillard’s that I would not
+pay you a call. As I never take a dare, as the weather is fine, and as
+we have all your guests for chaperons, I thought a brief call between
+cousins could do no harm.”</p>
+
+<p>“It has not,” said Case fervently; “but it very nearly did. And now
+will you let me escort you home? The Judge will be anxious about you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Papa doesn’t know I am here, of course,” she said. “When he finds out,
+I’ll quiet him. If you won’t come to see me, at least I have once come
+to see you.”</p>
+
+<p>Case held the door wide for her, shut it behind him, and left us
+staring at the bullet hole in the door frame.</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+One morning of the following spring Case was driving me townward from
+Shelby Manor, when, not a hundred feet in front of us, Mary Kenton’s
+buggy entered the pike from a cross-road. As it turned, mare, vehicle
+and all went over sideways with a terrific crash. Mary must have fallen
+clear for the next instant she was at the mare’s head.</p>
+
+<p>Case did succeed in holding his fiery colts and in pulling them to a
+stand-still alongside the wreck, but it was all even he could do. I
+jumped out, meaning to take the colts’ bits and let Case help Mary. But
+she greeted me imperiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Cousin Jack, please come sit on Bonnie’s head.”</p>
+
+<p>I took charge of Bonnie in my own fashion and she stood up entirely
+unhurt.</p>
+
+<p>“How on earth did you come to do it, Mary?” Colonel Case wondered, for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span>
+she was a perfect horsewoman.</p>
+
+<p>“Accidents will happen,” she answered lightly, “and I am glad of this
+one. You have really spoken to me, and that is worth a hundred smashes.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I wrote to you,” he protested. “I wrote to you and explained.”</p>
+
+<p>“One letter,” she sniffed contemptuously. “You should have kept on, you
+silly man, I might have answered the fifth or sixth or even the second.”</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her and no wonder for she was fascinatingly coquettish.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t mind Jack a bit, you know,” she went on. “Jack is my loyal
+knight and unfailing partisan. He keeps my secrets and does everything
+I ask of him. For instance, he will not demur an atom now when I ask
+him to throw Bonnie’s harness into the buggy and ride her to town for
+me.</p>
+
+<p>“You see,” she smiled at him dazzlingly, “another advantage of my upset
+is that the buggy is so smashed that you cannot decently refuse to
+drive me home.”</p>
+
+<p>“But Mary,” he protested, “I explained fully to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“You didn’t really expect me to believe all that fol-de-rol?” she
+cried. “Suppose I did, I don’t see any dwergs around, and if all
+Malebolge were in plain sight I’d make you take me anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>Inevitably he did, but that afternoon their daily ceremony of hand-wave
+from the portico and hat-wave from horseback was resumed and was
+continued as their sole intercourse.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="nindc space-above2">VI</p>
+
+
+<p>It was full midsummer when a circus came to Brexington. Case and I
+started for a ride together on the afternoon of its arrival, passed the
+tents already raised and met the procession on its way through town
+from the freight yard of the railroad. We pulled our horses to one side
+of the street and sat watching the show.</p>
+
+<p>There were Cossacks and cowboys, Mexican vaqueros and Indians on
+mustangs. There were two elephants, a giraffe, and then some camels
+which set our mounts snorting and swerving about. Then came the cages,
+one of monkeys, another of parrots, cockatoos and macaws, others with
+wolves, bears, hyenas, a lion, a lioness, a tiger, and a beautiful
+leopard.</p>
+
+<p>Case made a movement and I heard a click. I looked round and beheld him
+with his revolver cocked and pointed at the leopard’s cage. He did not
+fire but kept the pistol aimed at the cage until it was out of range.
+Then he thrust it back into its holster and watched the fag-end of the
+procession go by. All he said was:</p>
+
+<p>“You will have to excuse me, Radford, I have urgent business at home.”</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+Towards dusk Cato came to me in great agitation.</p>
+
+<p>“Mahs’r Cash done gone off’n he haid,” he declared. “He shuah done loss
+he sainsus.” I told him to return home and I would stroll up there
+casually.</p>
+
+<p>I found Case in the wood-shed, uncle Rastus with him. Hung by the hind
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span>
+legs like new-slaughtered hogs were a dozen of the biggest dogs of
+which Rastus had had charge. Their throats were cut and each dripped
+into a tin pail. Rastus, his ebony face paled to a sort of mud-gray,
+held a large tin pail and a new white-washer’s brush.</p>
+
+<p>Case greeted me as usual, as if my presence there were a matter of
+course and he were engaged upon nothing out of the common.</p>
+
+<p>“Uncle,” he said, “I judge those are about dripped out. Pour it all
+into the big pail.”</p>
+
+<p>He took the brush from Rastus, who followed him to the gate.</p>
+
+<p>There Case dipped the brush into the blood and painted a broad band
+across the gravel of the drive and the flagstones of the footpath. He
+proceeded as if he were using lime white-wash to mark off a lawn-tennis
+court in the early days of the game, when wet markers were not yet
+invented and dry markers were still undreamed of. He continued the
+stripe of blood all round his place, just inside the hedge. He made it
+about three inches wide and took great pains to make it plain and heavy.</p>
+
+<p>When he had come round to the entrance again he went over the stripe on
+the path and drive a second time. Then he straightened up and handed
+the brush to Rastus.</p>
+
+<p>“Just enough,” he remarked. “I calculated nicely.”</p>
+
+<p>I had so far held my tongue. But his air of self-approval, as if in
+some feat of logic led me to blurt out:</p>
+
+<p>“What is it for?”</p>
+
+<p>“The Chinese,” said Case, “esteem dogs’ blood a defense against
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span>
+sorcery. I doubt its efficacy, but I know of no better fortification.”</p>
+
+<p>No reply seemed expected and I made none.</p>
+
+<p>That evening I was at Case’s, with some six or seven others. We sat
+indoors, for the cloudy day had led up to a rainy evening. Nothing
+unusual occurred.</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+Next day the town was plastered with posters of the circus company
+offering five hundred dollars reward for the capture of an escaped
+leopard.</p>
+
+<p>Cato came to my office just as I was going out to lunch.</p>
+
+<p>“Mahs’r Cash done gone cunjuhin’ agin,” he announced.</p>
+
+<p>I found out that a second batch of dogs had been brought in by uncle
+Rastus in his covered wagon behind his unfailing mules, had been
+butchered like the former convoy and the band of blood gone over a
+second time. Case had not gone outside that line since he first made
+it, no drive to Shelby Manor that morning.</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+The day was perfect after the rain of the day before, and the bright
+sunlight dried everything. The evening was clear and windless with a
+nearly full moon intensely bright and very high. Practically the whole
+population went to the circus.</p>
+
+<p>Beverly and I dined at Case’s. He had no other guests, but such was his
+skill as a host that our dinner was delightfully genial. After dinner
+the three of us sat on the veranda.</p>
+
+<p>The brilliance of the moonlight on and through the unstirred trees
+made a glorious spectacle and the mild, cool atmosphere put us in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span>
+just the humor to enjoy it and each other. Case talked quietly, mostly
+of art galleries in Europe, and his talk was quite as charming and
+entertaining as usual. He seemed a man entirely sane and altogether at
+his ease.</p>
+
+<p>We had been on the veranda about half an hour and in that time neither
+team nor pedestrian had passed. Then we saw the figure of a woman
+approaching down the middle of the roadway from the direction of the
+country. Beverly and I caught sight of her at about the same instant
+and I saw him watching her as I did, for she had the carriage and
+bearing of a lady and it seemed strange that she should be walking,
+stranger that she should be alone, and strangest that she should choose
+the road instead of the footpath which was broad and good for half a
+mile.</p>
+
+<p>Case, who had been describing a carved set of ivory chessmen he had
+seen in Egypt, stopped speaking and stared as we did. I began to feel
+as if I ought to recognize the advancing figure, it seemed unfamiliar
+and yet familiar too in outline and carriage, when Beverly exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>“By Jove, that is Mary Kenton.”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Colonel Case in a combative, resonant tone like the slow
+boom of a big bell. “No, it is not Mary Kenton.”</p>
+
+<p>I was astonished at the animus of his contradiction and we intensified
+our scrutiny. The nearing girl really suggested Mary Kenton and yet, I
+felt sure, was not she. Her bearing made me certain that she was young,
+and she had that indefinable something about her which leads a man to
+expect that a woman will turn out to be good looking. She walked with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span>
+a sort of insolent, high-stepping swing.</p>
+
+<p>When she was nearly opposite us Case exclaimed in a sort of
+chopped-off, guttural bark:</p>
+
+<p>“Nay, not even in that shape, foul fiend, not even in that.”</p>
+
+<p>The tall, shapely young woman turned just in front of the gateway and
+walked towards us.</p>
+
+<p>“I think,” said Beverly, “the lady is coming in.”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Colonel Case, again with that deep, baying reverberation
+behind his voice. “No, not coming in.”</p>
+
+<p>The young woman laid her hand on the pathway gate and pushed it open.
+She stepped inside and then stopped, stopped suddenly, abruptly, with
+an awkward half-stride, as if she had run into an obstacle in the path,
+a low obstruction like a wheelbarrow. She stood an instant, looked
+irresolutely right and left, and then stepped back and shut the gate.
+She turned and started across the street, fairly striding in a sort of
+incensed, wrathful haste.</p>
+
+<p>My eyes, like Beverly’s, were on the figure in the road. It was only
+with a sort of sidelong vision that I felt rather than saw Case whip a
+rifle from the door jamb to his shoulder and fire. Almost before the
+explosion rent my ear drums I saw the figure in the roadway crumple
+and collapse vertically. Petrified with amazement I was frozen with my
+stare upon the huddle on the macadam. Beverly had not moved and was as
+dazed as I. My gaze still fixed as Case threw up a second cartridge
+from the magazine and fired again, I saw the wretched heap on the
+piking leap under the impact of the bullet with the yielding quiver
+of totally dead flesh and bone. A third time he fired and we saw the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span>
+like. Then the spell of our horror broke and we leapt up, roaring at
+the murderer.</p>
+
+<p>With a single incredibly rapid movement the madman disembarrassed
+himself of his rifle and held us off, a revolver at each of our heads.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know what you have done?” we yelled together.</p>
+
+<p>“I am quite sure of what I have done,” Case replied in a big calm
+voice, the barrels of his pistols steady as the pillars of the veranda.
+“But I am not quite so clear whether I have earned five hundred dollars
+reward. Will you gentlemen be kind enough to step out into the street
+and examine that carcass?”</p>
+
+<p>Woodenly, at the muzzles of those unwavering revolvers, we went down
+the flagged walk side by side, moving in a nightmare dream.</p>
+
+<p>I had never seen a woman killed before and this woman was presumably
+a lady, young and handsome. I felt the piking of the roadway under my
+feet, and looked everywhere, except downward in front of me.</p>
+
+<p>I heard Beverly give a coughing exclamation:</p>
+
+<p>“The leopard!”</p>
+
+<p>Then I looked, and I too shouted:</p>
+
+<p>“The leopard!”</p>
+
+<p>She lay tangible, unquestionable, in plain sight under the silver
+moonrays with the clear black shadows of the maple leaves sharp on her
+sleek hide.</p>
+
+<p>Gabbling our excited astonishment we pulled at her and turned her over.
+She had six wounds, three where the bullets entered and three where
+they came out, one through spine and breast-bone and two through the
+ribs.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span></p>
+
+<p>We dropped the carcass and stood up.</p>
+
+<p>“But I thought....” I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>“But I saw....” Beverly cried.</p>
+
+<p>“You gentlemen,” thundered Colonel Case, “had best not say what you saw
+or what you thought you saw.”</p>
+
+<p>We stood mute, looking at him, at each other, and up and down the
+street. No one was in sight. Apparently the circus had so completely
+drained the neighborhood that no one had heard the shots.</p>
+
+<p>Case addressed me in his natural voice:</p>
+
+<p>“If you will be so good Radford, would you oblige me by stepping into
+my house and telling Jeff to fetch the wheelbarrow. I must keep watch
+over this carrion.”</p>
+
+<p>There I left him, the two crooked revolvers pointed at the dead animal.</p>
+
+<p>Jeff, and Cato with him, brought the wheelbarrow. Upon it the two
+negroes loaded the warm, inert mass of spotted hide and what it
+contained. Then Jeff lifted the handles and taking turns they wheeled
+their burden all the way to uncle Rastus’, Case walking on one side
+of the barrow with his cocked revolvers, we on the other, quite as a
+matter of course.</p>
+
+<p>Jeff trundled the barrow out to the hay barrack on the knoll. He and
+Cato and uncle Rastus carried out cord-wood until they had an enormous
+pile well out in the field. Then they dug up a barrel of kerosene from
+near one corner of the barrack. When the leopard had been placed on the
+top of the firewood they broached the barrel and poured its contents
+over the carcass and its pyre. When it was set on fire Case gave an
+order to Jeff, who went off. We stood and watched the pyre burn down
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span>
+to red coals. By that time Jeff had returned from Shelby Manor with a
+double team.</p>
+
+<p>Case let down the hammers of his revolvers, holstered them, unbuckled
+his belt and threw it into the dayton.</p>
+
+<p>Never had we suspected he could sing a note. Now he started “Dixie” in
+a fine, deep baritone and we sang that and other rousing songs all the
+way home. When we got out of the dayton he walked loungingly up the
+veranda steps, his belt hanging over his arm. He took the rifles from
+the door jamb.</p>
+
+<p>“I have no further use for these trusty friends,” he said. “If you
+like, you may each have one as a souvenir of the occasion. My defunct
+pistols and otiose belt I’ll even keep myself.”</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+Next morning as I was about to pass Judge Kenton’s house I heard
+heavy footsteps rapidly overtaking me. Turning I saw Case, not in his
+habitual gray clothes and broad-brimmed semi-sombrero, but wearing a
+soft brown felt hat, a blue serge suit, set off by a red necktie and
+tan shoes. He was conspicuously beltless.</p>
+
+<p>“You might as well come with me, Radford,” he said. “You will probably
+be best man later anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>We found Judge Kenton on his porch, and Mary, all in pink, with a pink
+rose in her hair, seated between her father and her pretty step-mother.</p>
+
+<p>“I sent Jeff with a note,” Case explained as we approached the steps,
+“to make sure of finding them.”</p>
+
+<p>After the greetings were over Case said:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Judge, I am a man of few words. I love your daughter and I ask your
+permission to win her if I can.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have my permission, Suh,” the Judge answered.</p>
+
+<p>Case rose.</p>
+
+<p>“Mary,” he said, “would you walk with me in the garden, say to the
+grape arbor?”</p>
+
+<p>When they returned Mary wore a big ruby ring set round with diamonds.
+Her color was no bad match for the ruby. And, beyond a doubt, Case’s
+cheeks showed a trace of color too.</p>
+
+<p>“Father,” Mary said as she seated herself, “I am going to marry Cousin
+Cassius.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have my blessing, my dear,” the Judge responded. “I am glad of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Everybody will be glad, I believe,” said Mary. “Cassius is glad, of
+course, and he is glad of two other things. One is that he feels free
+to dine with us to-night, he has just told me so.</p>
+
+<p>“The other” (a roguish light sparkled in her eyes) “he has not
+confessed. But I just know that, next to marrying me, the one thing in
+all this world that makes him gladdest is that now at last he feels at
+liberty to see a horse race and go to the races every chance he gets.”</p>
+
+<p>In fact, when they returned from their six-months’ wedding tour, they
+were conspicuous at every race meeting. Case’s eyes had lost their
+restlessness and his cheeks showed as healthy a coloring as I ever saw
+on any human being.</p>
+
+<p class="space-above2">
+It might be suggested that there should be an explanation to this tale.
+But I myself decline to expound my own theory. Mary never told what
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span>
+she knew, and her husband, in whose after life there has been nothing
+remarkable as far as I know, has never uttered a syllable.</p>
+
+<p class="right">1907</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_HOUSE_OF_THE_NIGHTMARE">THE HOUSE OF THE NIGHTMARE</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_HOUSE_OF_THE_NIGHTMARE_2">THE HOUSE OF THE NIGHTMARE</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">I</span> FIRST caught sight of the house from the brow of the mountain as I
+cleared the woods and looked across the broad valley several hundred
+feet below me, to the low sun sinking toward the far blue hills. From
+that momentary viewpoint I had an exaggerated sense of looking almost
+vertically down. I seemed to be hanging over the checkerboard of roads
+and fields, dotted with farm buildings, and felt the familiar deception
+that I could almost throw a stone upon the house. I barely glimpsed its
+slate roof.</p>
+
+<p>What caught my eyes was the bit of road in front of it, between
+the mass of dark-green shade trees about the house and the orchard
+opposite. Perfectly straight it was, bordered by an even row of trees,
+through which I made out a cinder side path and a low stone wall.</p>
+
+<p>Conspicuous on the orchard side between two of the flanking trees was a
+white object, which I took to be a tall stone, a vertical splinter of
+one of the tilted lime-stone reefs with which the fields of the region
+are scarred.</p>
+
+<p>The road itself I saw plain as a box-wood ruler on a green baize table.
+It gave me a pleasurable anticipation of a chance for a burst of speed.
+I had been painfully traversing closely forested, semi-mountainous
+hills. Not a farmhouse had I passed, only wretched cabins by the road,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span>
+more than twenty miles of which I had found very bad and hindering.
+Now, when I was not many miles from my expected stopping-place, I
+looked forward to better going, and to that straight, level bit in
+particular.</p>
+
+<p>As I sped cautiously down the sharp beginning of the long descent the
+trees engulfed me again, and I lost sight of the valley. I dipped into
+a hollow, rose on the crest of the next hill, and again saw the house,
+nearer, and not so far below.</p>
+
+<p>The tall stone caught my eye with a shock of surprise. Had I not
+thought it was opposite the house next the orchard? Clearly it was on
+the left-hand side of the road toward the house. My self-questioning
+lasted only the moment as I passed the crest. Then the outlook was
+cut off again; but I found myself gazing ahead, watching for the next
+chance at the same view.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the second hill I only saw the bit of road obliquely and
+could not be sure, but, as at first, the tall stone seemed on the right
+of the road.</p>
+
+<p>At the top of the third and last hill I looked down the stretch of road
+under the overarching trees, almost as one would look through a tube.
+There was a line of whiteness which I took for the tall stone. It was
+on the right.</p>
+
+<p>I dipped into the last hollow. As I mounted the farther slope I kept
+my eyes on the top of the road ahead of me. When my line of sight
+surmounted the rise I marked the tall stone on my right hand among the
+serried maples. I leaned over, first on one side, then on the other, to
+inspect my tires, then I threw the lever.</p>
+
+<p>As I flew forward I looked ahead. There was the tall stone—on the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span>
+left of the road! I was really scared and almost dazed. I meant to
+stop dead, take a good look at the stone, and make up my mind beyond
+peradventure whether it was on the right or the left—if not, indeed,
+in the middle of the road.</p>
+
+<p>In my bewilderment I put on the highest speed. The machine leaped
+forward; everything I touched went wrong; I steered wildly, slewed to
+the left, and crashed into a big maple.</p>
+
+<p>When I came to my senses I was flat on my back in the dry ditch.
+The last rays of the sun sent shafts of golden green light through
+the maple boughs overhead. My first thought was an odd mixture of
+appreciation of the beauties of nature and disapproval of my own
+conduct in touring without a companion—a fad I had regretted more than
+once. Then my mind cleared and I sat up. I felt myself from the head
+down. I was not bleeding; no bones were broken; and, while much shaken,
+I had suffered no serious bruises.</p>
+
+<p>Then I saw the boy. He was standing at the edge of the cinder-path,
+near the ditch. He was stocky and solidly built; barefoot, with his
+trousers rolled up to his knees; wore a sort of butternut shirt, open
+at the throat; and was coatless and hatless. He was tow-headed, with a
+shock of tousled hair; was much freckled, and had a hideous harelip. He
+shifted from one foot to the other, twiddled his toes, and said nothing
+whatever, though he stared at me intently.</p>
+
+<p>I scrambled to my feet and proceeded to survey the wreck. It seemed
+distressingly complete. It had not blown up, nor even caught fire; but
+otherwise the ruin appeared hopelessly thorough. Everything I examined
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span>
+seemed worse smashed than the rest. My two hampers alone, by one of
+those cynical jokes of chance, had escaped—both had pitched clear of
+the wreckage and were unhurt, not even a bottle broken.</p>
+
+<p>During my investigations the boy’s faded eyes followed me continuously,
+but he uttered no word. When I had convinced myself of my helplessness
+I straightened up and addressed him:</p>
+
+<p>“How far is it to a blacksmith shop?”</p>
+
+<p>“Eight mile,” he answered. He had a distressing case of cleft palate
+and was scarcely intelligible.</p>
+
+<p>“Can you drive me there?” I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Nary team on the place,” he replied; “nary horse, nary cow.”</p>
+
+<p>“How far to the next house?” I continued.</p>
+
+<p>“Six mile,” he responded.</p>
+
+<p>I glanced at the sky. The sun had set already. I looked at my watch: it
+was going—seven thirty-six.</p>
+
+<p>“May I sleep in your house to-night?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“You can come in if you want to,” he said, “and sleep if you can. House
+all messy; ma’s been dead three year, and dad’s away. Nothin’ to eat
+but buckwheat flour and rusty bacon.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve plenty to eat,” I answered, picking up a hamper. “Just take that
+hamper, will you?”</p>
+
+<p>“You can come in if you’re a mind to,” he said, “but you got to carry
+your own stuff.” He did not speak gruffly or rudely, but appeared
+mildly stating an inoffensive fact.</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” I said, picking up the other hamper; “lead the way.”</p>
+
+<p>The yard in front of the house was dark under a dozen or more immense
+ailanthus trees. Below them many smaller trees had grown up, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span>
+beneath these a dank underwood of tall, rank suckers out of the deep,
+shaggy, matted grass. What had once been, apparently, a carriage-drive
+left a narrow, curved track, disused and grass-grown, leading to
+the house. Even here were some shoots of the ailanthus, and the air
+was unpleasant with the vile smell of the roots and suckers and the
+insistent odor of their flowers.</p>
+
+<p>The house was of gray stone, with green shutters faded almost as gray
+as the stone. Along its front was a veranda, not much raised from the
+ground, and with no balustrade or railing. On it were several hickory
+splint rockers. There were eight shuttered windows toward the porch,
+and midway of them a wide door, with small violet panes on either side
+of it and a fanlight above.</p>
+
+<p>“Open the door,” I said to the boy.</p>
+
+<p>“Open it yourself,” he replied, not unpleasantly nor disagreeably, but
+in such a tone that one could not but take the suggestion as a matter
+of course.</p>
+
+<p>I put down the two hampers and tried the door. It was latched, but not
+locked, and opened with a rusty grind of its hinges, on which it sagged
+crazily, scraping the floor as it turned. The passage smelt moldy and
+damp. There were several doors on either side; the boy pointed to the
+first on the right.</p>
+
+<p>“You can have that room,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>I opened the door. What with the dusk, the interlacing trees outside,
+the piazza roof, and the closed shutters, I could make out little.</p>
+
+<p>“Better get a lamp,” I said to the boy.</p>
+
+<p>“Nary lamp,” he declared cheerfully. “Nary candle. Mostly I get abed
+before dark.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span></p>
+
+<p>I returned to the remains of my conveyance. All four of my lamps were
+merely scrap metal and splintered glass. My lantern was mashed flat. I
+always, however, carried candles in my valise. This I found split and
+crushed, but still holding together. I carried it to the porch, opened
+it, and took out three candles.</p>
+
+<p>Entering the room, where I found the boy standing just where I had left
+him, I lit the candle. The walls were white-washed, the floor bare.
+There was a mildewed, chilly smell, but the bed looked freshly made up
+and clean, although it felt clammy.</p>
+
+<p>With a few drops of its own grease I stuck the candle on the corner of
+a mean, rickety little bureau. There was nothing else in the room save
+two rush-bottomed chairs and a small table. I went out on the porch,
+brought in my valise, and put it on the bed. I raised the sash of each
+window and pushed open the shutters. Then I asked the boy, who had not
+moved or spoken, to show me the way to the kitchen. He led me straight
+through the hall to the back of the house. The kitchen was large, and
+had no furniture save some pine chairs, a pine bench, and a pine table.</p>
+
+<p>I stuck two candles on opposite corners of the table. There was no
+stove or range in the kitchen, only a big hearth, the ashes in which
+smelt and looked a month old. The wood in the wood-shed was dry enough,
+but even it had a cellary, stale smell. The ax and hatchet were both
+rusty and dull, but usable, and I quickly made a big fire. To my
+amazement, for the mid-June evening was hot and still, the boy, a wry
+smile on his ugly face, almost leaned over the flame, hands and arms
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span>
+spread out, and fairly roasted himself.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you cold?” I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m allus cold,” he replied, hugging the fire closer than ever, till I
+thought he must scorch.</p>
+
+<p>I left him toasting himself while I went in search of water. I
+discovered the pump, which was in working order and not dry on the
+valves; but I had a furious struggle to fill the two leaky pails I had
+found. When I had put water to boil I fetched my hampers from the porch.</p>
+
+<p>I brushed the table and set out my meal—cold fowl, cold ham, white and
+brown bread, olives, jam, and cake. When the can of soup was hot and
+the coffee made I drew up two chairs to the table and invited the boy
+to join me.</p>
+
+<p>“I ain’t hungry,” he said; “I’ve had supper.”</p>
+
+<p>He was a new sort of boy to me; all the boys I knew were hearty eaters
+and always ready. I had felt hungry myself, but somehow when I came to
+eat I had little appetite and hardly relished the food. I soon made an
+end of my meal, covered the fire, blew out the candles, and returned to
+the porch, where I dropped into one of the hickory rockers to smoke.
+The boy followed me silently and seated himself on the porch floor,
+leaning against a pillar, his feet on the grass outside.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you do,” I asked, “when your father is away?”</p>
+
+<p>“Just loaf ’round,” he said. “Just fool ’round.”</p>
+
+<p>“How far off are your nearest neighbors?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t no neighbors never come here,” he stated. “Say they’re afeared
+of the ghosts.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span></p>
+
+<p>I was not at all startled; the place had all those aspects which lead
+to a house being called haunted. I was struck by his odd matter-of-fact
+way of speaking—it was as if he had said they were afraid of a cross
+dog.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you ever see any ghosts around here?” I continued.</p>
+
+<p>“Never see ’em,” he answered, as if I had mentioned tramps or
+partridges. “Never hear ’em. Sort o’ feel ’em ’round sometimes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you afraid of them?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Nope,” he declared. “I ain’t skeered o’ ghosts; I’m skeered o’
+nightmares. Ever have nightmares?”</p>
+
+<p>“Very seldom,” I replied.</p>
+
+<p>“I do,” he returned. “Allus have the same nightmare—big sow, big as a
+steer, trying to eat me up. Wake up so skeered I could run to never.
+Nowheres to run to. Go to sleep, and have it again. Wake up worse
+skeered than ever. Dad says it’s buckwheat cakes in summer.”</p>
+
+<p>“You must have teased a sow some time,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“Yep,” he answered. “Teased a big sow wunst, holding up one of her pigs
+by the hind leg. Teased her too long. Fell in the pen and got bit up
+some. Wisht I hadn’t ’a’ teased her. Have that nightmare three times a
+week sometimes. Worse’n being burnt out. Worse’n ghosts. Say, I sorter
+feel ghosts around now.”</p>
+
+<p>He was not trying to frighten me. He was as simply stating an opinion
+as if he had spoken of bats or mosquitoes. I made no reply, and found
+myself listening involuntarily. My pipe went out. I did not really
+want another, but felt disinclined for bed as yet, and was comfortable
+where I was, while the smell of the ailanthus blossoms was very
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span>
+disagreeable. I filled my pipe again, lit it, and then, as I puffed,
+somehow dozed off for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>I awoke with a sensation of some light fabric trailed across my face.
+The boy’s position was unchanged.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you do that?” I asked sharply.</p>
+
+<p>“Ain’t done nary thing,” he rejoined. “What was it?”</p>
+
+<p>“It was like a piece of mosquito-netting brushed over my face.”</p>
+
+<p>“That ain’t netting,” he asserted; “that’s a veil. That’s one of the
+ghosts. Some blow on you; some touch you with their long, cold fingers.
+That one with the veil she drags acrosst your face—well, mostly I
+think it’s ma.”</p>
+
+<p>He spoke with the unassailable conviction of the child in “We Are
+Seven.” I found no words to reply, and rose to go to bed.</p>
+
+<p>“Good night,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“Good night,” he echoed. “I’ll set out here a spell yet.”</p>
+
+<p>I lit a match, found the candle I had stuck on the corner of the shabby
+little bureau, and undressed. The bed had a comfortable husk mattress,
+and I was soon asleep.</p>
+
+<p>I had the sensation of having slept some time when I had a
+nightmare—the very nightmare the boy had described. A huge sow, big
+as a dray horse, was reared up on her forelegs over the foot-board of
+the bed, trying to scramble over to me. She grunted and puffed, and I
+felt I was the food she craved. I knew in the dream that it was only a
+dream, and strove to wake up.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span></p>
+
+<p>Then the gigantic dream-beast floundered over the foot-board, fell
+across my shins, and I awoke.</p>
+
+<p>I was in darkness as absolute as if I were sealed in a jet vault, yet
+the shudder of the nightmare instantly subsided, my nerves quieted;
+I realized where I was, and felt not the least panic. I turned over
+and was asleep again almost at once. Then I had a real nightmare, not
+recognizable as a dream, but appallingly real—an unutterable agony of
+reasonless horror.</p>
+
+<p>There was a Thing in the room; not a sow, nor any other namable
+creature, but a Thing. It was as big as an elephant, filled the room to
+the ceiling, was shaped like a wild boar, seated on its haunches, with
+its forelegs braced stiffly in front of it. It had a hot, slobbering,
+red mouth, full of big tusks, and its jaws worked hungrily. It shuffled
+and hunched itself forward, inch by inch, till its vast forelegs
+straddled the bed.</p>
+
+<p>The bed crushed up like wet blotting-paper, and I felt the weight of
+the Thing on my feet, on my legs, on my body, on my chest. It was
+hungry, and I was what it was hungry for, and it meant to begin on my
+face. Its dripping mouth was nearer and nearer.</p>
+
+<p>Then the dream-helplessness that made me unable to call or move
+suddenly gave way, and I yelled and awoke. This time my terror was
+positive and not to be shaken off.</p>
+
+<p>It was near dawn: I could descry dimly the cracked, dirty window-panes.
+I got up, lit the stump of my candle and two fresh ones, dressed
+hastily, strapped my ruined valise, and put it on the porch against the
+wall near the door. Then I called the boy. I realized quite suddenly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span>
+that I had not told him my name or asked his.</p>
+
+<p>I shouted “Hello!” a few times, but won no answer. I had had enough of
+that house. I was still permeated with the panic of the nightmare. I
+desisted from shouting, made no search, but with two candles went out
+to the kitchen. I took a swallow of cold coffee and munched a biscuit
+as I hustled my belongings into my hampers. Then, leaving a silver
+dollar on the table, I carried the hampers out on the porch and dumped
+them by my valise.</p>
+
+<p>It was now light enough to see to walk, and I went out to the road.
+Already the night-dew had rusted much of the wreck, making it look more
+hopeless than before. It was, however, entirely undisturbed. There was
+not so much as a wheel-track or a hoof-print on the road. The tall,
+white stone, uncertainty about which had caused my disaster, stood like
+a sentinel opposite where I had upset.</p>
+
+<p>I set out to find that blacksmith shop. Before I had gone far the sun
+rose clear from the horizon, and almost at once scorching. As I footed
+it along I grew very much heated, and it seemed more like ten miles
+than six before I reached the first house. It was a new frame house,
+neatly painted and close to the road, with a white-washed fence along
+its garden front.</p>
+
+<p>I was about to open the gate when a big black dog with a curly tail
+bounded out of the bushes. He did not bark, but stood inside the gate
+wagging his tail and regarding me with a friendly eye; yet I hesitated
+with my hand on the latch, and considered. The dog might not be as
+friendly as he looked, and the sight of him made me realize that
+except for the boy I had seen no creature about the house where I had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span>
+spent the night; no dog or cat; not even a toad or bird. While I was
+ruminating upon this a man came from behind the house.</p>
+
+<p>“Will your dog bite?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Naw,” he answered; “he don’t bite. Come in.”</p>
+
+<p>I told him I had had an accident to my automobile, and asked if he
+could drive me to the blacksmith shop and back to my wreckage.</p>
+
+<p>“Cert,” he said. “Happy to help you. I’ll hitch up foreshortly. Wher’d
+you smash?”</p>
+
+<p>“In front of the gray house about six miles back,” I answered.</p>
+
+<p>“That big stone-built house?” he queried.</p>
+
+<p>“The same,” I assented.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you go a-past here?” he inquired astonished. “I didn’t hear ye.”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” I said; “I came from the other direction.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why,” he meditated, “you must ’a’ smashed ’bout sunup. Did you come
+over them mountains in the dark?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” I replied; “I came over them yesterday evening. I smashed up
+about sunset.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sundown!” he exclaimed. “Where in thunder’ve ye been all night?”</p>
+
+<p>“I slept in the house where I broke down.”</p>
+
+<p>“In that there big stone-built house in the trees?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” I agreed.</p>
+
+<p>“Why,” he quavered excitedly, “that there house is haunted! They say if
+you have to drive past it after dark, you can’t tell which side of the
+road the big white stone is on.”</p>
+
+<p>“I couldn’t tell even before sunset,” I said.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span></p>
+
+<p>“There!” he exclaimed. “Look at that, now! And you slep’ in that house!
+Did you sleep, honest?”</p>
+
+<p>“I slept pretty well,” I said. “Except for a nightmare, I slept all
+night.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he commented, “I wouldn’t go in that there house for a farm,
+nor sleep in it for my salvation. And you slep’! How in thunder did you
+get in?”</p>
+
+<p>“The boy took me in,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“What sort of a boy?” he queried, his eyes fixed on me with a queer,
+countrified look of absorbed interest.</p>
+
+<p>“A thick-set, freckle-faced boy with a harelip,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“Talk like his mouth was full of mush?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” I said; “bad case of cleft palate.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well!” he exclaimed. “I never did believe in ghosts, and I never did
+half believe that house was haunted, but I know it now. And you slep’!”</p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t see any ghosts,” I retorted irritably.</p>
+
+<p>“You seen a ghost for sure,” he rejoined solemnly. “That there harelip
+boy’s been dead six months.”</p>
+
+<p class="right">1905</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="SORCERY_ISLAND">SORCERY ISLAND</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="SORCERY_ISLAND_2">SORCERY ISLAND</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">W</span>HEN I regained consciousness I was on my feet, standing erect, near
+enough to my burning aeroplane to feel the warmth radiated by the
+crackling flames with which every part of it was ablaze; far enough
+from it to be, despite the strong breeze, much more aware of the fierce
+heat of the late forenoon sunrays beating down on me from almost
+overhead out of the cloudless sky. My shadow, much shorter than I, was
+sharply outlined before me on the intensely white sand of the beach;
+which dazzling expanse, but a few paces to my right, ended abruptly
+in an almost straight line, at a little bank of about eight inches
+of exposed blackish loam, beyond which was dense tropical vegetation
+gleaming in the brilliant sunshine. Not much farther away on my left
+were great patches, almost heaps, fathoms long, yards wide and one or
+even two or three feet high, of unwholesome looking grayish white slimy
+foam, like persistent dirty soap-bubbles, strung along the margin of
+the sparkling dry sand, between it and the swishes of hissing froth
+that lashed lazily up from the sluggish breakers in which ended the
+long, broad-backed, sleepy swells of the endlessly recurrent ocean
+surges. As there was no cloud in the dark blue firmament, so there
+was no sail, no funnel-smoke in sight on the deep blue sea. Overhead,
+against the intense blue sky, whirled uncountable flocks of garishly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span>
+pink flamingoes, some higher, some lower, crossing and recrossing each
+other, grotesque, flashing, and amazing in their myriads.</p>
+
+<p>To my scrutinizing gaze, as to my first glance, it was manifest that
+there was no indication of wreckage, breakage or injury to any part of
+my aeroplane visible through the flames now fast consuming it. No bone
+of me was broken, no ligament strained. I had not a bruise on me, not a
+scratch. I did not feel shaken or jarred, my garments were untorn and
+not even rumpled or mussed. I conjectured at once, what is my settled
+opinion after long reflection, that I, in my stupor or trance or daze
+or whatever it was, had made some sort of a landing, had unstrapped
+myself, had clambered out of the fuselage, had staggered away from it,
+and had fainted; and that, while I was unconscious, some one had set
+fire to my aeroplane.</p>
+
+<p>As I stood there on the beach I was flogging my memory to make it
+bridge over my interval of unconsciousness and I recollected vividly
+what had preceded my lapse and every detail of my sensations. I had
+been flying my aeroplane between the wide blue sky, unvaried by any
+cloud, and the wide blue sea, unbroken by any sign of sail, steamer or
+island. Then I descried a difference of appearance at one point of the
+horizon forward and on my right and steered towards it. Soon I made
+sure of a low island ahead of me.</p>
+
+<p>Up to that instant I had never, in all my life, had anything resembling
+a delusion or even any thoughts that could be called queer. But, just
+as I made certain that I was approaching an island, there popped into
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span>
+my head, for no assignable reason, the recollection of the flock of
+white geese on my grandmother’s farm and of how I, when seven years old
+or so, or maybe only six or perhaps even younger, used to make a pet
+of an unusually large and most uncommonly docile and friendly white
+gander, used to fondle him, and, in particular, used to straddle him
+and fairly ride about on him, he flapping his wings and squawking.</p>
+
+<p>While I was wondering what in the world had made me think of that
+gander, all of a sudden, as I neared the island and would soon be over
+it, I had an indubitable delusion. Instead of seeing before me and
+about me the familiar parts of my aeroplane, I seemed to see nothing
+but sky and sea and myself astraddle of an enormous white gander,
+longer than a canoe, and bigger than a dray-horse; I seemed to see
+his immense, dazzlingly white wings, ten yards or more in spread,
+rhythmically beating the air on either side of me; I seemed to see,
+straight out in front of me, his long white neck, the flattened,
+rounded top of his big head, and the tip of his great yellow bill
+against the sky; what was more, instead of seeing my knees clad in
+khaki, my calves swathed in puttees and my feet in brown boots, I
+seemed to see my knees in blue corduroy knickerbockers, my legs in blue
+ribbed woolen stockings, against the white feathers of that gigantic
+dream-gander’s back, and my feet sticking out on either side of him
+encased in low, square-toed shoes of black leather, of the cut one sees
+in pictures of Continental soldiers or of Benjamin Franklin as a lad,
+their big silver buckles plain to me against the blueness of the ocean
+far below me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span></p>
+
+<p>After being swallowed up in this astounding hallucination, which I
+vividly recalled, I remembered nothing until I came to myself, standing
+on the beach by what was left of my blazing aeroplane.</p>
+
+<p>While struggling to recollect what I could remember and trying to
+surmise what had happened during my unconsciousness, I had been
+surveying my surroundings. On one hand I saw only the limitless and
+unvaried ocean from which came the cool sea-breeze that fanned my
+left cheek and stirred my hair under the visor of my cap; on the
+other opened a wide, flat-floored valley, bounded by low hills,
+the highest, at the head of the valley, not over ninety feet above
+sea-level, crowned by a huge palatial building of pinkish stone, its
+two lofty stories topped by an ornate carved balustrade above which
+no roof showed, so that I inferred that the roof was flat. The hills
+shutting in my view on either side, lower and lower towards the
+sea, were rounded and covered with a dense growth of scrubby trees,
+not quite tall enough to be called forest. Close to the beach and
+hills, on each side of the valley, was what looked like a sort of
+model garden village. That on my right, as I faced inland, was of
+closely-set one-story cottages, bowered in flowering vines, under
+a grove of handsome, exotic-looking trees. The other, which I saw
+beyond the slackening flames above the embers of my aeroplane, was of
+roomy, broad-verandahed, two-story villas, generously spaced, beneath
+magnificent young shade-trees, mostly loaded with brilliant flowers.</p>
+
+<p>As I was looking at the valley, the villages, the palace on the
+hill-top and from one to the other, with now and then a glance
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span>
+overhead at the hosts of wheeling flamingoes, I thought I had a second
+hallucination. I seemed to see, along a path through the riotous
+greenery, a human figure approaching me, but, when it drew near and I
+seemed to see it more clearly, I felt that it must be a figment of my
+imagination.</p>
+
+<p>It was that of a tall, perfectly formed and gracefully moving young
+man. But, under the scorching rays of that caustic sunshine he was
+bareheaded and his shock of abundant, wavy and brilliantly yellow
+golden hair was bobbed off short below his ears like the hair of
+Italian page-boys in early Florentine and Venetian paintings. His
+eyes were very bright and a very light blue, his cheeks rosy, his
+bare neck pinkish. He was clad only in a tight-fitting stockinet
+garment of green silk, something like the patent underwear shown in
+advertising pictures. It looked very new, very silky and very green,
+and as unsuitable as possible for the climate, for its long, clinging
+sleeves reached to his wrists and the tight legs of it sheathed him
+to his ankles. His feet were encased in high laced shoes of a very
+bright, and apparently very soft, yellow leather, with (I was sure he
+was an hallucination) <i>every one of the five toes of each formed
+separately</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Just as I was about to rub my eyes to banish this disconcerting
+apparition, I recognized him and saw him recognize me.</p>
+
+<p>It was Pembroke!</p>
+
+<p>His face, as he recognized me, did not express pleasure; what mine
+expressed, besides amazement, I could not conjecture. All in a
+flash my mind ran over what I knew of him and had heard. We had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span>
+first met as freshmen and had seen little of each other during
+our life as classmates. Pembroke, at college, had been noted as
+the handsomest student of his day; as the youngest student of his
+class; as surrounding himself with the most luxurious furnishings,
+the most beautiful and costly pictures, bronzes, porcelains and art
+objects ever known in the quarters of any student at our college;
+as very self-indulgent, yet so brilliantly gifted that he stood
+fifth or sixth in a large class with an unusual proportion of bright
+students; as daft about languages, music and birds, and, frequently
+descanting on the wickedness and folly of allowing wild bird-life to
+be all-but exterminated; as so capricious and erratic that most of his
+acquaintances thought him odd and his enemies said he was cracked.</p>
+
+<p>I had not seen him since our class dispersed after its graduation and
+the attendant ceremonies and festivities. I had heard that, besides
+having a very rich father, he had inherited, on his twenty-first
+birthday, an income of over four hundred thousand dollars a year and a
+huge accumulation of ready cash; that he had at once interested himself
+in the creation of refuges for migratory, rare and picturesque birds;
+that his fantastic whimsicalities and eccentricities had intensified so
+as to cause a series of quarrels and a complete estrangement between
+himself and his father; that he had bought an island somewhere and
+had absorbed himself in the fostering of wild bird-life and in the
+companionship of very questionable associates.</p>
+
+<p>He held out his hand and we shook hands.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t seem injured or hurt at all, Denbigh,” he said. “How did you
+manage to get out of that blazing thing alive, let alone without any
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span>
+sign of scratch or scorch?”</p>
+
+<p>“I must have gotten out of it before it caught fire,” I replied. “I
+must have gone daffy or lost my wits as I drew over your island. I have
+no idea how I landed or why. The whole thing is a blank to me.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are lucky,” he said, matter-of-factly, “to have landed at all.
+If your mind wandered, it is a miracle you did not smash on the coral
+rocks on the other side of the island or on one of the outlying keys,
+or fall into the ocean and drown.</p>
+
+<p>“However, all’s well that ends well. Nothing can be salvaged from the
+wreckage of your conveyance, that is clear. What you need is a bracer,
+food, rest, a bath, sleep, fresh clothes and whatever else will soothe
+you. Come along. I’ll do all I can for you.”</p>
+
+<p>I followed him past the remnants of my aeroplane, along the beach, to
+the group of villas. Close to them and to the beach was a sort of park
+or open garden, with fountains playing and carved marble seats set here
+and there along concrete walks between beds of flowers, shrubberies,
+and trim lawns, all canopied by astonishingly vigorous and well-grown
+ornamental trees.</p>
+
+<p>As we approached the nearest villa I saw a family group on its veranda,
+obviously parents and children; also I heard some one whistling
+“Annie Laurie” so exquisitely as to evidence superlative artistry.
+As we passed the entrance to the villa I was amazed to recognize
+Radnor, another classmate. But, as he ran down the steps to greet me,
+I reflected that there was nothing really astonishing in a man as
+opulent as Pembroke having as dependable a physician as he could engage
+resident on his island nor anything unnatural in his choosing an
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span>
+acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p>“Denbigh,” said Pembroke, “has dropped on us out of the wide blue sky.
+His aeroplane has been demolished, so he’ll sojourn with us a while.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t seem to need me,” Radnor commented, conning me. “I see no
+blood and no indications of any broken bones. Can I patch you up,
+anywhere?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bruise on me, as far as I know,” I replied.</p>
+
+<p>“Then,” he laughed, “my prescription is two hours abed. Get undressed
+and horizontal and stay so till you really feel like getting up. And
+not more than one nip of Pembroke’s guest-brandy, either. Get flat with
+no unnecessary delay and sleep if you can.”</p>
+
+<p>As we went on I noted that neither Radnor close by nor Mrs. Radnor on
+the veranda seemed aware of anything remarkable in Pembroke’s attire;
+they must be habituated by him to it or to similar or even more
+fantastic raiment.</p>
+
+<p>We appeared to walk the length or width of the village, to the villa
+farthest from the beach. As we entered I had a glimpse on one hand
+of a parlor with an ample round center-table, inviting armchairs and
+walls lined with bookcases, through whose doors I espied some handsome
+bindings; on the other hand of a cozy dining-room with a polished
+table and beyond it a sideboard loaded with silverware and decorated
+porcelain.</p>
+
+<p>By the newel-post of the broad, easy stair stood a paragon of a Chinese
+butler.</p>
+
+<p>“Wu,” said Pembroke, “Mr. Denbigh is to occupy this house. Show him
+to his bedroom and call Fong. Mr. Denbigh needs him at once. And tell
+Fong that Mr. Denbigh has lost all his baggage and needs a change of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span>
+clothes promptly.”</p>
+
+<p>Without any sudden movement or appearance of haste, without a word, he
+turned and was out of the villa and away before I could speak.</p>
+
+<p>I found myself domiciled in an abode delightfully situated, each
+outlook a charming picture, and inside admirably designed and lavishly
+provided with every imaginable comfort and luxury. The servants were
+all Chinese. One took care of the lawn, flowers and shrubberies,
+another swept the rooms; there was an unsurpassable Chinese cook,
+whom I never saw, and something I heard made me infer that he had a
+helper. I had at my beck a Chinese valet, a Chinese errand-boy and the
+deferential butler, who managed the house and anticipated my every want.</p>
+
+<p>Except for frequent baths I think I slept most of the ensuing
+forty-eight hours. What I swallowed I took in bed. My second
+breakfast on the island I ate in the dainty, exquisitely appointed
+dining-room. After that I had energy enough to loll in one of the
+rattan lounging-chairs on the veranda, comfortably clad in neat, cool,
+well-cut, well-fitting garments chosen from the amazing abundance which
+Fong had ready for me, how so exactly suitable for me I could not
+conjecture. I had not been long on the veranda when Radnor strolled by,
+whistling “The Carnival of Venice.” He came up and joined me. Early in
+our chat he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Probably you will be unable to refrain from asking questions; but I
+fancy that I shall feel at liberty to answer very few of your queries.
+Nearly everything I know about this island and about happenings on it
+I have learned not as a mere man or as a mere dweller here, but as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span>
+Pembroke’s resident physician; it is all confidential. Most of what you
+learn here you’ll have to absorb by observation and inference. And I
+don’t mind telling you that the less you learn the better will Pembroke
+be pleased, and I likewise.”</p>
+
+<p>He did tell me that the villas were tenanted chiefly by the members of
+Pembroke’s private orchestra and band, mostly Hungarians, Bohemians,
+Poles and Italians, with such other satellites as a sculptor, an
+architect, an engineer, a machinist, a head carpenter, a tailor and
+an accountant. The other village was populated entirely by Asiatics,
+Chinese, Japanese, Hindoos, and others; who performed all the labor of
+the island.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning, about the same time, as I was similarly lounging on
+my veranda, Pembroke appeared, in the same bizarre attire, or lack of
+attire, in which I had previously seen him. He sat with me a half hour
+or so, asked courteously after my health and comfort and remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“I am glad you feel contented: you’ll probably abide here some time.”</p>
+
+<p>I said nothing. He glanced away from me, up under the edge of the
+veranda roof through the overarching boughs. My eyes followed his. I
+caught glints of pink from far-off flamingoes.</p>
+
+<p>“Glorious birds!” Pembroke exclaimed, rapturously. “They nest on
+several of the low outlying keys, which, with the coral-reefs scattered
+between them, make it impossible for any craft bigger than a cat-boat
+to approach this side of the island. They have multiplied amazingly
+since I began shepherding them. I love them! I glory in them!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span></p>
+
+<p>At the word he left me, as abruptly and swiftly as after our first
+encounter.</p>
+
+<p>Thereafter, for some weeks of what I can describe only as luxuriously
+comfortable and very pleasant captivity, I diverted myself by reading
+the very well-chosen and varied books of the villa’s fairly large
+library, by getting acquainted with the inhabitants of the other
+villas, and by roaming about the lower part of the valley. The very
+evening of our chat Radnor had invited me to dinner, for which Fong
+fitted me out irreproachably, and at which I found Mrs. Radnor charming
+and the other guests, Conway the architect, and his wife and sister,
+very agreeable companions. After that I was a guest at dinner at one or
+another of the villas each evening, so that I lunched and breakfasted
+alone at my abode, but never dined there.</p>
+
+<p>Once only I inspected the other village and found its neatness and
+the apparent contentment of its inhabitants, especially the women and
+children, very charming. But I seemed to divine that they felt the
+presence of a European or American as an intrusion: I avoided the
+village thereafter.</p>
+
+<p>Some of the men of that village tended the trees, shrubberies, vines
+and gardens of the valley, and kept it a paradise, luxuriant with every
+sort of fruit and vegetable which could be grown in that soil and
+climate.</p>
+
+<p>I saw nothing more of Pembroke and found that I could not approach
+his palace on the hill-top, for there was an extremely adequate steel
+fence of tall L-irons, sharp at the top, across the valley and down
+to the beach beyond either village, which barrier was patrolled by
+heavily-built, muscular guards, seemingly Scotch and not visibly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span>
+armed, who respectfully intimated that no one passed any of its gates,
+or along either beach, without Mr. Pembroke’s express permit. Very
+seldom did I so much as catch a glimpse of Pembroke on the terraces
+of his palace, but I did see on them knots, even bevies, of women
+whose outlines, even at that distance, suggested that they were young
+and personable, certainly that they were gayly clad in bright-colored
+silks. Near or with them I saw no man, excepting Asiatic servitors, and
+Pembroke himself, who powerfully suggested an oriental despot among his
+sultanas.</p>
+
+<p>By the inadvertent utterance of some one, I forget whom, I learned that
+the guards had a cantonment or barrack on the other side of the island.</p>
+
+<p>I enjoyed rambling about the valley, as far as I was permitted, for
+both the variety and the beauty of its products were amazing.</p>
+
+<p>Still more amazing to me was the number of ever-flowing ornamental
+fountains. The Bahamas are proverbially hampered by scanty water
+supply. But here I found, apparently, a superabundance of clear, pure,
+drinkable water. There was a fountain near the village, where a seated
+bronze figure, seemingly of some Asiatic god or saint unknown to me,
+held in each hand a great serpent grasped by its throat, and from the
+open mouth of each snake poured a spout of water into the basin before
+the statue. There were other fountains, each with a figure or group of
+figures of bronze, in the formal garden by the village of villas. And
+beyond it, set against the scooped-out flank of one of the range of
+enclosing hills, was a huge concrete edifice of basins and outstanding
+groups of statuary and statues and groups in niches, more or less
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span>
+reminiscent of the Fountain of Trevi. I was dumbfounded at the flow of
+water from this extravagantly ornate and overloaded structure. There
+were many jets squirting so as to cross each other in the air, even to
+interlace, as it were. But midway of the whole construction, behind the
+middle basin, was a sort of grotto with, centrally, an open entrance
+like a low doorway or manhole, on either side of which were two larger
+apertures like low latticed windows, filled in with elaborately
+patterned bronze gratings, through the lower part of which flowed two
+streams of water as copious as brooks, which cascaded into the main
+basin.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond this rococco fountain was a plot of ground enclosed by a hedge,
+serving as garden for a tiny cottage of one low story. In it lived an
+old Welsh woman, spoken of by the inhabitants of the village as “Mother
+Bevan.” She always wore the hideous Welsh national costume and hobbled
+about leaning on a stout malacca walking-stick with an ivory crosshead
+tipped with gold bosses. She cared for and delighted in a numerous
+flock of snow-white geese which somehow seemed thriving in this, one
+would suppose, for them far too tropical climate. Among them was a
+large and very handsome gander, which reminded me of my childhood’s
+pet. The flock spent much of its time swimming and splashing in the
+basins of the enormous grotto-fountain.</p>
+
+<p>When I asked Radnor about the abundance of water and its apparent
+waste, he said:</p>
+
+<p>“No mystery there nor any secrets. Pembroke could spend anything he
+pleased on wildcat artesian drilling and had the perverse luck to
+strike a generous flow just as his drillers were about to tell him
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span>
+that no humanly constructed implements could drill any deeper. It’s
+no spouting well, though, and a less opulent proprietor than Pembroke
+could not afford to pump it as he does. The power-station is on the
+other side of the island, near the harbor. It uses oil fuel of some
+kind. There is never any stint of water for any use and the surplus is
+made to do ornamental duty, as you see.”</p>
+
+<p>I was interested in the old Welsh woman and in her tiny cottage, so
+oddly discordant with the Italianate concrete fountain near it and the
+spacious villas not far off. Except the Asiatics of the village and the
+barrier-guards I had found affable every dweller on the island; most of
+them sociable. I accosted the grotesque old crone, as she leaned over
+her gate and discovered in her the unexpected peculiarity that all her
+answers were in rhyming lines, rather cleverly versified, which she
+uttered, indeed, slowly, in a measured voice, but without the slightest
+symptom of hesitation. Her demeanor was distinctly forbidding and her
+words by no means conciliatory. I recall only one of her doggerels,
+which ended our first interview:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Man fallen out of the sky.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">“God never intended us to fly.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">“It’s impious to ascend so high.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">“’Twas wicked of you ever to try.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">“No lover of reprobates am I.”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="nind">
+Except for this queer old creature I encountered no unfriendly word
+or look from any of my neighbors. I enjoyed the dinners to which I
+was invited and liked my fellow-guests at them; indeed I disliked no
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span>
+one with whom I talked; but, on the other hand, I was attracted to no
+one, and, while I felt entirely welcome wherever I was invited and
+altogether at my ease, and pleased to be invited again later, at no
+household did I feel free to drop in at odd times for casual chat. I
+found many congenial fellow-diners, but no one increasingly congenial,
+no one who impressed me as likely to be glad to have me call uninvited.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore, as I always loved the open air, as I somehow felt lonely
+on my own veranda and nowhere intimate enough to lounge on any other,
+I took to spending many hours of the mornings, before the heat of the
+midday grew intense, out in the shade of the little park, to which I
+was attracted by many of its charming features, especially by the pink
+masses of flowering bougainvillea here and there through it. I always
+carried a book, sometimes I read, oftener I merely gazed about at the
+enchanting vistas, overhead at the uncountable flamingoes, or between
+the trees out to seaward at the dazzling white heaps of billowy cumulus
+clouds, like titanic snow-clad mountains, bulging and growing on the
+towering thunder-heads forming against the vivid blue sky out over the
+ocean.</p>
+
+<p>I think it was on my second morning in the park that I caught a glimpse
+of Mother Bevan crossing a path at some distance. Later I caught other
+glimpses of her crossing other paths. Each morning I caught similar
+glimpses of her. On the fifth or sixth morning I suddenly became
+conscious of an inward impression that she was, again and again, making
+the circuit of the park, circling about me as it were, like a witch
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span>
+weaving a spell about an intended victim.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning I affected an absorption in my book and kept an alert, and
+I was certain, an imperceptible watch in all directions. I made sure
+that Mother Bevan was indeed perambulating the outer portions of the
+park, stumping along, leaning heavily on her cross-headed cane, and I
+made sure also that after she had completed one circuit about me she
+kept on her way and completed another and another.</p>
+
+<p>I was curious, puzzled, incensed; derisive of myself for so much as
+entertaining the idea of any one, in 1921, attempting witchcraft;
+concerned for fear that my wits were addled; and, while unable to rid
+myself of the notion, yet completely skeptical of any effect on me and
+unconscious of any.</p>
+
+<p>But, the very next day, seated on the same marble bench, by the same
+fountain, among the same pink masses of bougainvillea in flower, I was
+aware not only of Mother Bevan circumambulating the outskirts of the
+park, but also of her numerous flock of noisy, self-important, white
+geese waddling about, not far from me, and indubitably walking round
+and round me in ever lessening circles, the big gander always nearest
+me. At first I felt incredulous, then silly, then resentful. And, as
+the gander, now and then honking, circled about me for the fifth or
+sixth time, I became conscious of an inner impulse, of an all but
+overmastering inner impulse, to seek out Pembroke and to tell him that
+I was willing to do anything he wanted me to do; to pledge myself to do
+anything he wanted me to do.</p>
+
+<p>I took alarm. I felt, shamefacedly, but vividly, that I was being made
+the subject of some sort of attempted necromancy. All of a sudden I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span>
+found myself aflame with resentment, with hatred of that gander. I
+leapt to my feet, I hurled my book at him, I ran after him, I threw
+at him my bamboo walking-stick, barely missing him. I retrieved the
+walking-stick and pursued the retreating bird, and threw the cane at
+him a second time, almost hitting him.</p>
+
+<p>The geese half waddled, half flew towards the beetling atrocities of
+the ornate rococco hill-side fountain; I followed, still infuriated.
+There was, along the walk before the fountain, an edging of lumps of
+coral rock defining the border of the flower-beds. I picked up an
+armful of the smaller pieces of angular coral rock, chased the geese
+into the big main basin of the fountain and pelted that gander with
+jagged chunks of coral. He fled through the central manhole into the
+grotto and hissed at me through one of the gratings, behind which he
+was safe from my missiles.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly overwhelmed by a revulsion of shame and a tendency to laugh
+at myself, I beat a retreat to my veranda. There I sat, pondering my
+situation and my experiences.</p>
+
+<p>I recalled that, at every dinner to which I had been invited, there
+had been, practically, but two subjects of conversation: the boredom
+of life on tropical islands in general and on Pembroke island in
+particular; and the worth, the fine qualities, the charm, the
+perfection of Pembroke himself.</p>
+
+<p>I watched a chance to find Radnor at leisure, to waylay him, to entice
+him to my veranda. When the atmosphere of our talk seemed auspicious, I
+said:</p>
+
+<p>“See here, Radnor! I know you said you meant to elude any queries I
+might put to you, but there is one question you’ll have to answer,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span>
+somehow. Why are all these people here?”</p>
+
+<p>“That is easy,” Radnor laughed. “I have no objection to answering that
+question. They are here because Pembroke wants them here.”</p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t phrase my question well,” I said, “but you know what I mean.
+No one I have met really likes being here. Why do they stay?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s easy, too,” Radnor smiled. “Almost anyone will stay almost
+anywhere if lodged comfortably and paid enough. Pembroke provides his
+hirelings with an overplus of luxuries and is more than liberal in
+payment.”</p>
+
+<p>“That does not explain what intrigues me,” I pursued. “I haven’t yet
+hit on the right words to express my idea. But you really understand
+me, I think, though you pretend you don’t. All the inhabitants of these
+villas are not merely uneasy, they are consciously homesick, acutely
+homesick, homesick to a degree which no luxurious surroundings, no
+prospective savings could alleviate. They are pining for home. What
+keeps them here?”</p>
+
+<p>“Put it down,” said Radnor, weightily, “to the unescapable charm of the
+island. That keeps them here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you say witchery or enchantment?” I queried, meaningly.</p>
+
+<p>Radnor was emphatic.</p>
+
+<p>“I said charm!” he uttered. “Let it go at that.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am not in the least inclined,” I retorted, “to let it go at that. I
+take it that this is no joke, certainly not anything to be dismissed by
+a clever play on words. I insist on knowing what makes all these people
+stay here. They all declare, at every opportunity, that they are dying
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span>
+of ennui, that the climate is uncongenial, that they long for temperate
+skies, for northern vegetation, for frosty nights. What keeps them
+here?”</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you,” said Radnor, “that, like me, most human beings will do
+anything, anything lawful and reasonable, if paid high enough.”</p>
+
+<p>“The rest aren’t like you,” I asserted. “You and Mrs. Radnor impress
+me as free agents, doing, for a consideration, what you have been
+asked to do, and what you both, after weighing the pros and cons, have
+agreed to do. All the others, Europeans, Americans and Asiatics, except
+Mother Bevan, appear like beings hypnotized and moving in a trance,
+mere living automatons, without any will of their own, actuated solely
+by Pembroke’s will; as much so as if they were mechanical dolls. They
+impress me as being mesmerized or bewitched. I seriously vow that
+I believe they have been subjected to some supernatural or magical
+influence. They are as totally dominated by Pembroke as if they were
+the ends of his fingers.”</p>
+
+<p>Radnor looked startled.</p>
+
+<p>“It will do no good,” I cried, “to contradict me or to deny it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I believe you,” Radnor said, as if thinking out loud. He went on:</p>
+
+<p>“You are right. Except Mother Bevan and me and Lucille every human
+being on this island is completely under Pembroke’s influence, gained
+largely through the help of Mother Bevan.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why not you and your wife?” I queried.</p>
+
+<p>“Lucille, because of me,” he replied. “Pembroke found out, by trying
+Melville here and Kennard, that, after being put under his influence,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span>
+while retaining surgical skill, a physician loses all ability to
+diagnose and prescribe. He had to ship Kennard and Melville back home,
+and pension them till their faculties recovered their tone.”</p>
+
+<p>I looked him straight in the eyes. He forestalled my impending outburst
+by saying:</p>
+
+<p>“As far as I can discern, Pembroke’s influence over his retainers does
+them no harm, physical or mental. Kennard and Melville have as large
+incomes and as many patients and are as successful and prosperous, as
+popular and prominent among their fellow-physicians as if they had
+never sojourned here. Except in their enthusiasm for and admiration of
+Pembroke every human being on this island appears to me as healthy as
+if not under any influence of any kind.”</p>
+
+<p>“Even so,” I blurted out, “you ought not to abet any such deviltries.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t admit,” said Radnor, hotly, “that any deviltries exist on
+this island or that there is any approach to deviltry in what you have
+partly divined. Also I abet nothing, as I ought, but, as I also ought,
+I conceive that I am under obligations not to thwart Pembroke in any
+way. I am the island’s resident physician and his personal physician;
+I am here to treat injuries, cure maladies, relieve pain, and do all
+I can to keep healthy every dweller on this island. I live up to my
+conception of my duty. Don’t attempt to preach at me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am impatient,” I said, “at my enforced stay here, and revolted at
+the idea of succumbing to Pembroke’s influence.”</p>
+
+<p>Radnor laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“You are,” he said, “the only human being who has reached the island,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span>
+since Pembroke bought it, uninvited. You’ll get away by and by. And you
+are most unlikely to be affected by anything he or Mother Bevan may
+have in their power to do. Neither Kennard nor Melville ever suspected
+anything, or grew suspicious. You alone have half seen through the
+situation here. You are Mother Bevan’s most refractory subject, so far.
+Have no fear.”</p>
+
+<p>He went off, whistling Strauss’ Blue Danube Waltz.</p>
+
+<p>I had frequent and recurrent fears, but I dissembled them. I think,
+among all the terrors which haunted me during the remainder of my
+sojourn on the island, that I came nearest to panic and horror within
+an hour after Radnor had left me. Hardly was he gone when Pembroke,
+arrayed precisely as before and reminding me of a stage-frog in a
+goblin pantomime, sauntered up and seated himself by me.</p>
+
+<p>I sweated with tremors of dismay, I was ready to despair, when I found
+myself, however I tried, unable to utter a word to him concerning the
+gander, Mother Bevan, or my suspicions; unable even to allude to the
+subject in any way, although he asked me bluntly:</p>
+
+<p>“Have you anything to complain of?”</p>
+
+<p>“Only that I am here,” I replied.</p>
+
+<p>“I had nothing to do with your coming here,” he retorted. “You came
+uninvited, of your own accord, or by accident. I trust I have been a
+courteous host, but I have not tried to pretend that you are welcome.
+I am endeavoring to arrange that your departure shall not entail upon
+me any inconvenience or any danger of disadvantageous consequences.
+Believe me, I am doing all I can to expedite your return to your
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span>
+normal haunts. Meantime you’ll have to be patient.”</p>
+
+<p>I was most impatient and very nearly frantic at finding myself, no
+matter how I struggled inwardly, totally unable so much as to refer or
+allude to what lay heaviest on my mind.</p>
+
+<p>We exchanged vaguely generalized sentences for awhile and he left as
+abruptly as before, left me quivering with consternation, dreading that
+my inability to broach the subject on which I was eager to beard him
+was a premonition of my total enthrallment to Pembroke’s influence.</p>
+
+<p>As the days passed I became habituated to stoning that uncanny gander,
+chasing him into the basin of the fountain and having him hiss at me
+from behind one of the gratings; I became indifferent to the glimpses
+I caught of Mother Bevan hovering in the middle distance. I had a good
+appetite for my meals: in fact, the food set before me at my abode
+would have awakened the most finicky dyspeptic to zest and relish, even
+to voracity; while the dinners to which I was invited were delectable.</p>
+
+<p>But from night to night I slept less and less, until I was near
+insomnia. And, from day to day, I found it more and more difficult to
+absorb myself in reading, to keep my mind on what I read; even to read
+at all.</p>
+
+<p>Again I waylaid Radnor. I described to him my progressively worsening
+discomfort and distress.</p>
+
+<p>“I am now,” I said, “or soon shall be, not merely in need of your help,
+but beyond any help from you or anybody. If you don’t do something for
+me I’ll go crazy, I’ll do something desperate, I’ll commit suicide.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I have been pondering,” he said, “how to help you, and I have almost
+hit upon a method. Your condition does not yet justify my giving you
+anything to make you sleep. As yet I do not want to give you any sort
+of drug, not even the simplest sedative. Honestly try to get to sleep
+to-night. Before to-morrow I think I’ll hit upon an entirely suitable
+prescription, salutary for you and yet avoiding any appearance, any
+hint, of my antagonizing Pembroke.”</p>
+
+<p>I did try to sleep that night, but I was still wide awake long after
+midnight. So tossing and turning on my comfortable bed, I heard outside
+in the moonless darkness some one whistling a tune. As the sound came
+nearer I made sure it was Radnor. Also I recognized the tune.</p>
+
+<p>It was that of “The Ballad of Nell Flaherty’s Drake.”</p>
+
+<p>The tune brought to my mind the words of the song’s refrain:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent12">“The dear little fellow,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent12">“His legs were so yellow,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">“He could fly like a swallow and swim like a hake!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent12">“Bad luck to the tober,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent12">“The haythen cashlober,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">“The monsther thot murthered Nell Flaherty’s drake!”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>All of a sudden I conceived that this was Radnor’s method of intimating
+to me by indirection what he did not dare to utter to me in plain
+words. I thought I knew what he meant as well as if it had been put
+into the plainest words. I rolled over, was asleep in three breaths,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span>
+and slept till Fong ventured to waken me.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast I went upstairs again and rummaged about in the closet
+where Fong had deposited what I had worn when I came under his care. I
+found there everything I remembered to have had about me. My automatic
+was well oiled and in good working order and its clip of cartridges was
+full. My belt, with the extra clips of cartridges, was as it had been
+when I last put it on. I put it on, over my feather-weight hot-weather
+habiliments; I strapped on my automatic; I strolled out, intent on
+somehow coming within speaking distance of Pembroke.</p>
+
+<p>Chance, or some unconscious whim, guided my footsteps to the beach and,
+in spite of the rapidly intensifying heat of the sun rays, along it
+to the remaining fragments of my wreck, barely visible under a great
+accumulation of beach foam, left by the breakers, hurled shorewards
+during the thunder storm which had raged while I slept.</p>
+
+<p>Not far beyond those vestiges of what had been an aeroplane,
+approaching me along the beach, I encountered Pembroke.</p>
+
+<p>I found I had now no difficulty in speaking out my mind.</p>
+
+<p>“Pembroke,” I said, “I’m outdone with confinement on this island of
+yours. I’m irritated past endurance. If you don’t promptly speed me on
+my way elsewhere the tension inside me is going to get too much for me.
+Something inside me is going to snap and I’ll do something desperate,
+something you’ll regret.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked me straight in the eyes, handsome in his fantastic toggery;
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span>
+calm and cool, to all appearance.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you, by any chance,” he drawled, “threatening to shoot me?”</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t made any threats,” I retorted, hotly, “and I have no
+intentions of shooting you or anybody. I realize that this island of
+yours is part of the British Empire and that in no part of it are
+homicides or murderous assaults condoned or left unpunished. But,
+since you use the word ‘threat,’ I am ready to make a threat. If you
+don’t soon set me free of my present captivity, if you don’t soon put
+me in the way of getting home, I’ll not shoot you or any human being,
+but I will shoot that devilish gander; and, I promise you, if I shoot
+at him I’ll hit him and if I hit him I’ll kill him. I fancy those are
+plain words and I conjecture that you understand me fully, with all the
+implications of what I say.”</p>
+
+<p>Pembroke’s expression of face appeared to me to indicate not only
+amazement and surprise, but the emotions of a man at a loss and
+momentarily helpless in the face of wholly unexpected circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>“You come with me!” he snapped.</p>
+
+<p>I followed him along the beach to the village, and, as we went,
+wondered to see him apparently comfortable in his tight-fitting suit
+and bare headed beneath the fierce radiance of the merciless sun rays,
+while I rejoiced in my flimsy garments and at being sheltered under the
+very adequate Panama I had chosen from the headgear Fong had offered me.</p>
+
+<p>We passed the end of the steel picket fence, the two beach guards
+saluting Pembroke, and, I thought, suppressing a tendency to grin at
+me. Just around the point was a wide aviation field with a long row of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span>
+hangars opposite the beach. I marveled, for I had caught no glimpse of
+any avion in the air over or about the island.</p>
+
+<p>A half dozen Asiatics, apparently Annamites, rose as we approached and
+stood respectfully, eyes on Pembroke. He uttered some sort of order in
+a tongue unknown to me and two of them set wide open the doors of one
+of the hangars. In it, to my amazement, I saw a Visconti biplane, one
+of the fastest and most powerful single-seaters ever built.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you think of that?” Pembroke queried.</p>
+
+<p>“I am astonished,” I answered. “I was certain that no specimen of this
+type of machine had ever been on this side of the Atlantic.”</p>
+
+<p>“This is the first and only Visconti to be set up on this side of the
+ocean,” he replied. “The point is; could you fly it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I think I could,” I said, “and I am sure I could try.”</p>
+
+<p>“Try then,” Pembroke snapped. “I make you a present of it. The sooner
+you’re off and away the better I’ll be pleased.”</p>
+
+<p>He spoke at some length, apparently in the same unknown tongue, and
+strode off towards his palace.</p>
+
+<p>I spent that day and most of the next going over that Visconti biplane,
+with the deft, quick assistance of the docile Annamites. If there was
+anything about it defective, untrustworthy or out of order I could not
+find it. On the third morning (I had dined at Radnor’s both evenings),
+equipped admirably by Fong, who instantly provided me with whatever I
+asked for, I rose in that Visconti biplane, and, contrary to my fears,
+reached Miami in safety. But I was so overstrained by anxiety that it
+required six weeks in a sanitarium to make me myself again. During
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span>
+those, apparently, endless hours in the air I had been expecting every
+moment that something cunningly arranged beforehand and undiscoverable
+to my scrutiny in my inspections and reinspections, was going to go
+wrong with my conveyance and instantaneously annihilate me. The strain
+all but finished me. However, all’s well that ends well.</p>
+
+<p class="right">1922</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="AFTERWORD">AFTERWORD</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="AFTERWORD_2">AFTERWORD</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="nind">
+<span class="dropcap">E</span>IGHT of the stories in this book I did not compose. I dreamed them,
+and in each the dream or nightmare needed little or no modification to
+make a story of it.</p>
+
+<p>The one exception is Floki’s Blade, which is based on an alleged
+nightmare narrated to me by an acquaintance, who, when I said that I
+should like to make a story of it, declared that he made me a present
+of the ideas in the dream. From what he told me I have taken the
+conception of the magic sword, conferring on its wielder superhuman
+strength and also potent to discern foe from friend; likewise the
+locality of the tale; all the rest is mine.</p>
+
+<p>The latter part of Alfandega 49A I dreamed, as now written, after I
+heard of the manner of the death of my acquaintance whom I have renamed
+Pake.</p>
+
+<p>Lukundoo was written after my nightmare without any manipulation of
+mine, just as I dreamed it. But I should never have dreamed it had I
+not previously read H. G. Wells’ very much better story, “Pollock and
+the Porroh Man.” Anyone interested in dreams might relish comparing the
+two tales. They have resemblant features, but are very unlike, and the
+differences are such as no waking intellect would invent, but such as
+come into a human mind only in a nightmare dream.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span></p>
+
+<p>The others are paragon nightmares.</p>
+
+<p>The House of the Nightmare is written just as I dreamed it, word for
+word, since I had the concurrent sensations of reading the tale in
+print and of it all happening to me in the archaic times when all
+motor-cars were right-hand-drive and with gear-shift-levers outside
+the tonneau. The dream had the unusual peculiarity that I woke after
+the second nightmare, so shaken that my wife had to quiet and soothe
+me as if I had been a scared child; and then I went to sleep again and
+<i>finished the dream</i>! Its denouement came as a complete surprise
+to me, as much of a shock as the climax of The Snout or of Amina.</p>
+
+<p>It will be easy to realize that anyone dreaming such narratives as The
+Picture Puzzle, The Message on the Slate and The Pig-skin Belt just had
+to write them into stories to get them out of his system.</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+<span class="allsmcap">EDWARD LUCAS WHITE.</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="transnote spa1">
+<p class="nindc"><b>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</b></p> 
+
+<p>Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced
+quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and
+otherwise left unbalanced.</p>
+
+<p>Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant
+preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not
+changed.</p>
+
+<p>Inconsistent hyphens left as printed.</p>
+
+</div></div>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75827 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
diff --git a/75827-h/images/cover.jpg b/75827-h/images/cover.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..450af7b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75827-h/images/cover.jpg
diff --git a/75827-h/images/i001.jpg b/75827-h/images/i001.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..62c804d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75827-h/images/i001.jpg
diff --git a/75827-h/images/i002.jpg b/75827-h/images/i002.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b7440b4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75827-h/images/i002.jpg
diff --git a/75827-h/images/i003.jpg b/75827-h/images/i003.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..111380a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75827-h/images/i003.jpg
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b5dba15
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this book outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5a4a844
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+book #75827 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75827)