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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-01-29 10:21:48 -0800 |
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diff --git a/77812-h/77812-h.htm b/77812-h/77812-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d2819b --- /dev/null +++ b/77812-h/77812-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,25966 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + +<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Master Tales of Mystery, Volume II +</title> + +<style> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 1.5em } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 2em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.hanging {text-indent: -1.5em ; + margin-left: 1.5em ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.capcenter { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + font-weight: normal; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-indent: 0%; + text-align: center } + +img.imgcenter { margin-left: auto; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: auto; } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77812 ***</div> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="capcenter"> +<a id="img-front"></a> +<br> +<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-front.jpg" alt=""Will you tell how you did it or shall I?" <i>Jacques Futrelle The Scarlet Thread--p. 70</i>"> +<br> +"Will you tell how you did it or shall I?" <br> +<i>Jacques Futrelle The Scarlet Thread—<a href="#p70">p. 70</a></i> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h1> +<br><br> + MASTER TALES<br> +<br> + <i>of</i><br> +<br> + MYSTERY<br> +</h1> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + BY THE WORLD'S MOST FAMOUS<br> + AUTHORS OF TO-DAY<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + COLLECTED AND ARRANGED<br> + BY FRANCIS J. REYNOLDS<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + VOLUME II<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + P. F. COLLIER & SON COMPANY<br> + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + Copyright 1915<br> + BY P. F. COLLIER & SON<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + Copyright 1905, 1906<br> + BY AMERICAN-JOURNAL-EXAMINER<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + Copyright 1907<br> + BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY<br> + <i>By courtesy of William Randolph Hearst</i><br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + Copyright 1907<br> + BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + Copyright 1914<br> + BY SMART SET COMPANY, INC.<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + Copyright 1902<br> + BY C. ARTHUR PEARSON, LTD.<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + Copyright 1909<br> + BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + Copyright 1914<br> + BY ILLUSTRATED SUNDAY MAGAZINE<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + MANUFACTURED IN U. S. A.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> + Contents<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + JACQUES FUTRELLE<br> + <a href="#chap0101">The Problem of Cell 13</a><br> + <a href="#chap0102">The Scarlet Thread</a><br> + <a href="#chap0103">The Man Who Was Lost</a><br> + <a href="#chap0104">The Great Auto Mystery</a><br> + <a href="#chap0105">The Flaming Phantom</a><br> + <a href="#chap0106">The Mystery of a Studio</a><br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + OSWALD CRAWFURD, C. M. G.<br> + <a href="#chap0201">Gentleman Coggins: Alias Towers</a><br> + <a href="#chap0211">The Murder at Jex Farm</a><br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + HENRY C. ROWLAND<br> + <a href="#chap03">The Border</a><br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + BARONESS ORCZY<br> + <a href="#chap0401">The Fenchurch Street Mystery</a><br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE<br> + <a href="#chap05">The Mystery of Seven Minutes</a><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0101"></a></p> + +<h2> +The Problem of Cell 13 +</h2> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +I +</h3> + +<p> +Practically all those letters remaining in the +alphabet after Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen was +named were afterward acquired by that gentleman +in the course of a brilliant scientific career, and, being +honorably acquired, were tacked on to the other end. His +name, therefore, taken with all that belonged to it, was a +wonderfully imposing structure. He was a Ph.D., an LL.D., +an F.E.S., an M.D., and an M.D.S. He was also some +other things—just what he himself couldn't say—through +recognition of his ability by various foreign educational and +scientific institutions. +</p> + +<p> +In appearance he was no less striking than in nomenclature. +He was slender with the droop of the student in +his thin shoulders and the pallor of a close, sedentary life +on his clean-shaven face. His eyes wore a perpetual, +forbidding squint—of a man who studies little things—and when +they could be seen at all through his thick spectacles, were +mere slits of watery blue. But above his eyes was his most +striking feature. This was a tall, broad brow, almost +abnormal in height and width, crowned by a heavy shock of +bushy, yellow hair. All these things conspired to give him +a peculiar, almost grotesque, personality. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Van Dusen was remotely German. For generations +his ancestors had been noted in the sciences; he was the +logical result, the master mind. First and above all he was +a logician. At least thirty-five years of the half-century or +so of big existence had been devoted exclusively to proving +that two and two always equal four, except in unusual cases, +where they equal three or five, as the case may be. He stood +broadly on the general proposition that all things that start +must go somewhere, and was able to bring the concentrated +mental force of his forefathers to bear on a given problem. +Incidentally it may be remarked that Professor Van Dusen +wore a No. 8 hat. +</p> + +<p> +The world at large had heard vaguely of Professor Van +Dusen as The Thinking Machine. It was a newspaper catch-phrase +applied to him at the time of a remarkable exhibition +at chess; he had demonstrated then that a stranger to the +game might, by the force of inevitable logic, defeat a +champion who had devoted a lifetime to its study. The Thinking +Machine! Perhaps that more nearly described him than all +his honorary initials, for he spent week after week, month +after month, in the seclusion of his small laboratory from +which had gone forth thoughts that staggered scientific +associates and deeply stirred the world at large. +</p> + +<p> +It was only occasionally that The Thinking Machine had +visitors, and these were usually men who, themselves high in +the sciences, dropped in to argue a point and perhaps +convince themselves. Two of these men, Dr. Charles Ransome +and Alfred Fielding, called one evening to discuss some +theory which is not of consequence here. +</p> + +<p> +"Such a thing is impossible," declared Dr. Ransome +emphatically, in the course of the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing is impossible," declared The Thinking Machine +with equal emphasis. He always spoke petulantly. "The +mind is master of all things. When science fully recognizes +that fact a great advance will have been made." +</p> + +<p> +"How about the airship?" asked Dr. Ransome. +</p> + +<p> +"That's not impossible at all," asserted The Thinking +Machine. "It will be invented some time. I'd do it myself, +but I'm busy." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Ransome laughed tolerantly. +</p> + +<p> +"I've heard you say such things before," he said. "But +they mean nothing. Mind may be master of matter, but it +hasn't yet found a way to apply itself. There are some +things that can't be <i>thought</i> out of existence, or rather +which would not yield to any amount of thinking." +</p> + +<p> +"What, for instance?" demanded The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Ransome was thoughtful for a moment as he smoked. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, say prison walls," he replied. "No man can <i>think</i> +himself out of a cell. If he could, there would be no +prisoners." +</p> + +<p> +"A man can so apply his brain and ingenuity that he can +leave a cell, which is the same thing," snapped The +Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Ransome was slightly amused. +</p> + +<p> +"Let's suppose a case," he said, after a moment. "Take a +cell where prisoners under sentence of death are confined—men +who are desperate and, maddened by fear, would take +any chance to escape—suppose you were locked in such a +cell. Could you escape?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly," declared The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course," said Mr. Fielding, who entered the conversation +for the first time, "you might wreck the cell with an +explosive—but inside, a prisoner, you couldn't have that." +</p> + +<p> +"There would be nothing of that kind," said The Thinking +Machine. "You might treat me precisely as you treated +prisoners under sentence of death, and I would leave the +cell." +</p> + +<p> +"Not unless you entered it with tools prepared to get out," +said Dr. Ransome. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine was visibly annoyed and his blue +eyes snapped. +</p> + +<p> +"Lock me in any cell in any prison anywhere at any time, +wearing only what is necessary, and I'll escape in a week," +he declared, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Ransome sat up straight in the chair, interested. +Mr. Fielding lighted a new cigar. +</p> + +<p> +"You mean you could actually think yourself out?" asked +Dr. Ransome. +</p> + +<p> +"I would get out," was the response. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you serious?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly I am serious." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding were silent for a long time. +</p> + +<p> +"Would you be willing to try it?" asked Mr. Fielding, +finally. +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly," said Professor Van Dusen, and there was a +trace of irony in his voice. "I have done more asinine things +than that to convince other men of less important truths." +</p> + +<p> +The tone was offensive and there was an undercurrent +strongly resembling anger on both sides. Of course it was +an absurd thing, but Professor Van Dusen reiterated his +willingness to undertake the escape and it was decided upon. +</p> + +<p> +"To begin now," added Dr. Ransome. +</p> + +<p> +"I'd prefer that it begin to-morrow," said The Thinking +Machine, "because—" +</p> + +<p> +"No, now," said Mr. Fielding, flatly. "You are arrested, +figuratively, of course, without any warning locked in a cell +with no chance to communicate with friends, and left there +with identically the same care and attention that would be +given to a man under sentence of death. Are you willing?" +</p> + +<p> +"All right, now, then," said The Thinking Machine, and +he arose. +</p> + +<p> +"Say, the death-cell in Chisholm Prison." +</p> + +<p> +"The death-cell in Chisholm Prison." +</p> + +<p> +"And what will you wear?" +</p> + +<p> +"As little as possible," said The Thinking Machine. +"Shoes, stocking, trousers and a shirt." +</p> + +<p> +"You will permit yourself to be searched, of course?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am to be treated precisely as all prisoners are treated," +said The Thinking Machine. "No more attention and no +less." +</p> + +<p> +There were some preliminaries to be arranged in the matter +of obtaining permission for the test, but all three were +influential men and everything was done satisfactorily by +telephone, albeit the prison commissioners, to whom the +experiment was explained on purely scientific grounds, were +sadly bewildered. Professor Van Dusen would be the most +distinguished prisoner they had ever entertained. +</p> + +<p> +When The Thinking Machine had donned those things +which he was to wear during his incarceration he called the +little old woman who was his housekeeper, cook and maid +servant all in one. +</p> + +<p> +"Martha," he said, "it is now twenty-seven minutes past +nine o'clock. I am going away. One week from to-night, +at half-past nine, these gentlemen and one, possibly two, +others will take supper with me here. Remember Dr. Ransome +is very fond of artichokes." +</p> + +<p> +The three men were driven to Chisholm Prison, where the +warden was awaiting them, having been informed of the +matter by telephone. He understood merely that the eminent +Professor Van Dusen was to be his prisoner, if he could keep +him, for one week; that he had committed no crime, but that +he was to be treated as all other prisoners were treated. +</p> + +<p> +"Search him," instructed Dr. Ransome. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine was searched. Nothing was found +on him; the pockets of the trousers were empty; the white, +stiff-bosomed shirt had no pocket. The shoes and stockings +were removed, examined, then replaced. As he watched +all these preliminaries—the rigid search and noted the pitiful, +childlike physical weakness of the man, the colorless face, +and the thin, white hands—Dr. Ransome almost regretted +his part in the affair. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Would you be convinced if I did not?" inquired The +Thinking Machine in turn. +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"All right. I'll do it." +</p> + +<p> +What sympathy Dr. Ransome had was dissipated by the +tone. It nettled him, and he resolved to see the experiment +to the end; it would be a stinging reproof to egotism. +</p> + +<p> +"It will be impossible for him to communicate with anyone +outside?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Absolutely impossible," replied the warden. "He will not +be permitted writing materials of any sort." +</p> + +<p> +"And your jailers, would they deliver a message from him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not one word, directly or indirectly," said the warden. +"You may rest assured of that. They will report anything +he might say or turn over to me anything he might give +them." +</p> + +<p> +"That seems entirely satisfactory," said Mr. Fielding, who +was frankly interested in the problem. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, in the event he fails," said Dr. Ransome, "and +asks for his liberty, you understand you are to set him free?" +</p> + +<p> +"I understand," replied the warden. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine stood listening, but had nothing +to say until this was all ended, then: +</p> + +<p> +"I should like to make three small requests. You may +grant them or not, as you wish." +</p> + +<p> +"No special favors, now," warned Mr. Fielding. +</p> + +<p> +"I am asking none," was the stiff response. "I would like +to have some tooth powder—buy it yourself to see that it is +tooth powder—and I should like to have one five-dollar and +two ten-dollar bills." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Ransome, Mr. Fielding and the warden exchanged +astonished glances. They were not surprised at the request +for tooth powder, but were at the request for money. +</p> + +<p> +"Is there any man with whom our friend would come in +contact that he could bribe with twenty-five dollars?" asked +Dr. Ransome of the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"Not for twenty-five hundred dollars," was the positive +reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, let him have them," said Mr. Fielding. "I think +they are harmless enough." +</p> + +<p> +"And what is the third request?" asked Dr. Ransome. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like to have my shoes polished." +</p> + +<p> +Again the astonished glances were exchanged. This last +request was the height of absurdity, so they agreed to it. +These things all being attended to, The Thinking Machine +was led back into the prison from which he had undertaken +to escape. +</p> + +<p> +"Here is Cell 13," said the warden, stopping three doors +down the steel corridor. "This is where we keep condemned +murderers. No one can leave it without my permission; +and no one in it can communicate with the outside. I'll +stake my reputation on that. It's only three doors back of +my office and I can readily hear any unusual noise." +</p> + +<p> +"Will this cell do, gentlemen?" asked The Thinking +Machine. There was a touch of irony in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"Admirably," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +The heavy steel door was thrown open, there was a great +scurrying and scampering of tiny feet, and The Thinking +Machine passed into the gloom of the cell. Then the door +was closed and double locked by the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"What is that noise in there?" asked Dr. Ransome, through +the bars. +</p> + +<p> +"Rats—dozens of them," replied The Thinking Machine, +tersely. +</p> + +<p> +The three men, with final good-nights, were turning away +when The Thinking Machine called: +</p> + +<p> +"What time is it exactly, warden?" +</p> + +<p> +"Eleven seventeen," replied the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks. I will join you gentlemen in your office at +half-past eight o'clock one week from to-night," said The +Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"And if you do not?" +</p> + +<p> +"There is no 'if' about it." +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +II +</h3> + +<p> +Chisholm Prison was a great, spreading structure of +granite, four stories in all, which stood in the center of acres +of open space. It was surrounded by a wall of solid masonry +eighteen feet high, and so smoothly finished inside and out +as to offer no foothold to a climber, no matter how expert. +Atop of this fence, as a further precaution, was a five-foot +fence of steel rods, each terminating in a keen point. +This fence in itself marked an absolute deadline between +freedom and imprisonment, for, even if a man escaped +from his cell, it would seem impossible for him to pass the +wall. +</p> + +<p> +The yard, which on all sides of the prison building was +twenty-five feet wide, that being the distance from the +building to the wall, was by day an exercise ground for those +prisoners to whom was granted the boon of occasional +semi-liberty. But that was not for those in Cell 13. +</p> + +<p> +At all times of the day there were armed guards in the +yard, four of them, one patrolling each side of the prison +building. +</p> + +<p> +By night the yard was almost as brilliantly lighted as by +day. On each of the four sides was a great arc light which +rose above the prison wall and gave to the guards a clear +sight. The lights, too, brightly illuminated the spiked top of +the wall. The wires which fed the arc lights ran up the side +of the prison building on insulators and from the top story +led out to the poles supporting the arc lights. +</p> + +<p> +All these things were seen and comprehended by The +Thinking Machine, who was only enabled to see out his +closely barred cell window by standing on his bed. This was +on the morning following his incarceration. He gathered, +too, that the river lay over there beyond the wall somewhere, +because he heard faintly the pulsation of a motor boat and +high up in the air saw a river bird. From that same direction +came the shouts of boys at play and the occasional crack +of a batted ball. He knew then that between the prison wall +and the river was an open space, a playground. +</p> + +<p> +Chisholm Prison was regarded as absolutely safe. No man +had ever escaped from it. The Thinking Machine, from his +perch on the bed, seeing what he saw, could readily +understand why. The walls of the cell, though built he judged +twenty years before, were perfectly solid, and the window +bars of new iron had not a shadow of rust on them. The +window itself, even with the bars out, would be a difficult +mode of egress because it was small. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, seeing these things, The Thinking Machine was not +discouraged. Instead, he thoughtfully squinted at the great +arc light—there was bright sunlight now—and traced with +his eyes the wire which led from it to the building. That +electric wire, he reasoned, must come down the side of the +building not a great distance from his cell. That might be +worth knowing. +</p> + +<p> +Cell 13 was on the same floor with the offices of the +prison—that is, not in the basement, nor yet upstairs. There were +only four steps up to the office floor, therefore the level of +the floor must be only three or four feet above the ground. +He couldn't see the ground directly beneath his window, +but he could see it further out toward the wall. It would +be an easy drop from the window. Well and good. +</p> + +<p> +Then The Thinking Machine fell to remembering how he +had come to the cell. First, there was the outside guard's +booth, a part of the wall. There were two heavily barred +gates there, both of steel. At this gate was one man always +on guard. He admitted persons to the prison after much +clanking of keys and locks, and let them out when ordered +to do so. The warden's office was in the prison building, and +in order to reach that official from the prison yard one had to +pass a gate of solid steel with only a peep-hole in it. Then +coming from that inner office to Cell 13, where he was now, +one must pass a heavy wooden door and two steel doors into +the corridors of the prison; and always there was the +double-locked door of Cell 13 to reckon with. +</p> + +<p> +There were then, The Thinking Machine recalled, seven +doors to be overcome before one could pass from Cell 13 into +the outer world, a free man. But against this was the fact +that he was rarely interrupted. A jailer appeared at his cell +door at six in the morning with a breakfast of prison fare; +he would come again at noon, and again at six in the +afternoon. At nine o'clock at night would come the inspection +tour. That would be all. +</p> + +<p> +"It's admirably arranged, this prison system," was the +mental tribute paid by The Thinking Machine. "I'll have to +study it a little when I get out. I had no idea there was +such great care exercised in the prisons." +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing, positively nothing, in his cell, except +his iron bed, so firmly put together that no man could tear +it to pieces save with sledges or a file. He had neither of +these. There was not even a chair, or a small table, or a bit +of tin or crockery. Nothing! The jailer stood by when he +ate, then took away the wooden spoon and bowl which he +had used. +</p> + +<p> +One by one these things sank into the brain of The Thinking +Machine. When the last possibility had been considered +he began an examination of his cell. From the roof, down +the walls on all sides, he examined the stones and the cement +between them. He stamped over the floor carefully time +after time, but it was cement, perfectly solid. After the +examination he sat on the edge of the iron bed and was lost +in thought for a long time. For Professor Augustus S. F. X. Van +Dusen, The Thinking Machine, had something to think +about. +</p> + +<p> +He was disturbed by a rat, which ran across his foot, then +scampered away into a dark corner of the cell, frightened at +its own daring. After a while The Thinking Machine, squinting +steadily into the darkness of the corner where the rat had +gone, was able to make out in the gloom many little beady +eyes staring at him. He counted six pair, and there were +perhaps others; he didn't see very well. +</p> + +<p> +Then The Thinking Machine, from his seat on the bed, +noticed for the first time the bottom of his cell door. There +was an opening there of two inches between the steel bar +and the floor. Still looking steadily at this opening, The +Thinking Machine backed suddenly into the corner where +he had seen the beady eyes. There was a great scampering of +tiny feet, several squeaks of frightened rodents, and then +silence. +</p> + +<p> +None of the rats had gone out the door, yet there were none +in the cell. Therefore there must be another way out of the +cell, however small. The Thinking Machine, on hands and +knees, started a search for this spot, feeling in the darkness +with his long, slender fingers. +</p> + +<p> +At last his search was rewarded. He came upon a small +opening in the floor, level with the cement. It was perfectly +round and somewhat larger than a silver dollar. This was +the way the rats had gone. He put his fingers deep into the +opening; it seemed to be a disused drainage pipe and was +dry and dusty. +</p> + +<p> +Having satisfied himself on this point, he sat on the bed, +again for an hour, then made another inspection of his +surroundings through the small cell window. One of the +outside guards stood directly opposite, beside the wall, and +happened to be looking at the window of Cell 13 when the head +of The Thinking Machine appeared. But the scientist didn't +notice the guard. +</p> + +<p> +Noon came and the jailer appeared with the prison dinner +of repulsively plain food. At home The Thinking Machine +merely ate to live; here he took what was offered without +comment. Occasionally he spoke to the jailer who stood +outside the door watching him. +</p> + +<p> +"Any improvements made here in the last few years?" he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing particularly," replied the jailer. "New wall was +built four years ago." +</p> + +<p> +"Anything done to the prison proper?" +</p> + +<p> +"Painted the woodwork outside, and T believe about seven +years ago a new system of plumbing was put in." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" said the prisoner. "How far is the river over +there?" +</p> + +<p> +"About three hundred feet. The boys have a baseball +ground between the wall and the river." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine had nothing further to say just +then, but when the jailer was ready to go he asked for some +water. +</p> + +<p> +"I get very thirsty here," he explained. "Would it be +possible for you to leave a little water in a bowl for me?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll ask the warden," replied the jailer, and he went away. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later he returned with water in a small +earthen bowl. +</p> + +<p> +"The warden says you may keep this bowl," he informed +the prisoner. "But you must show it to me when I ask for it. +If it is broken, it will be the last." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you," said The Thinking Machine. "I shan't +break it." +</p> + +<p> +The jailer went on about his duties. For just the fraction +of a second it seemed that The Thinking Machine wanted to +ask a question, but he didn't. +</p> + +<p> +Two hours later this same jailer, in passing the door of +Cell No. 13, heard a noise inside and stopped. The +Thinking Machine was down on his hands and knees in a corner +of the cell, and from that same corner came several +frightened squeaks. The jailer looked on interestedly. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, I've got you," he heard the prisoner say. +</p> + +<p> +"Got what?" he asked, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +"One of these rats," was the reply. "See?" And between +the scientist's long fingers the jailer saw a small gray rat +struggling. The prisoner brought it over to the light and +looked at it closely. "It's a water rat," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Ain't you got anything better to do than to catch rats?" +asked the jailer. +</p> + +<p> +"It's disgraceful that they should be here at all," was the +irritated reply. "Take this one away and kill it. There are +dozens more where it came from." +</p> + +<p> +The jailer took the wriggling, squirmy rodent and flung +it down on the floor violently. It gave one squeak and lay +still. Later he reported the incident to the warden, who only +smiled. +</p> + +<p> +Still later that afternoon the outside armed guard on Cell +13 side of the prison looked up again at the window and saw +the prisoner looking out. He saw a hand raised to the barred +window and then something white fluttered to the ground, +directly under the window of Cell 13. It was a little roll of +linen, evidently of white shirting material, and tied around +it was a five-dollar bill. The guard looked up at the window +again, but the face had disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +With a grim smile he took the little linen roll and the +five-dollar bill to the warden's office. There together they +deciphered something which was written on it with a +queer sort of ink, frequently blurred. On the outside was +this: +</p> + +<p> +"Finder of this please deliver to Dr. Charles Ransome." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah," said the warden, with a chuckle. "Plan of escape +number one has gone wrong." Then, as an afterthought: +"But why did he address it to Dr. Ransome?" +</p> + +<p> +"And where did he get the pen and ink to write with?" +asked the guard. +</p> + +<p> +The warden looked at the guard and the guard looked at +the warden. There was no apparent solution of that mystery. +The warden studied the writing carefully, then shook his +head. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, let's see what he was going to say to Dr. Ransome," +he said at length, still puzzled, and he unrolled the inner +piece of linen. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if that—what—what do you think of that?" he +asked, dazed. +</p> + +<p> +The guard took the bit of linen and read this: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Epa cseot d'net niiy awe htto n'si sih</i>. "<i>T.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +III +</h3> + +<p> +The warden spent an hour wondering what sort of a cipher +it was, and half an hour wondering why his prisoner should +attempt to communicate with Dr. Ransome, who was the +cause of him being there. After this the warden devoted +some thought to the question of where the prisoner got +writing materials, and what sort of writing materials he had. +With the idea of illuminating this point, he examined the +linen again. It was a torn part of a white shirt and had +ragged edges. +</p> + +<p> +Now it was possible to account for the linen, but what the +prisoner had used to write with was another matter. The +warden knew it would have been impossible for him to have +either pen or pencil, and, besides, neither pen nor pencil had +been used in this writing. What, then? The warden decided +to personally investigate. The Thinking Machine was +his prisoner; he had orders to hold his prisoners; if this one +sought to escape by sending cipher messages to persons +outside, he would stop it, as he would have stopped it in the +case of any other prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +The warden went back to Cell 13 and found The Thinking +Machine on his hands and knees on the floor, engaged in +nothing more alarming than catching rats. The prisoner +heard the warden's step and turned to him quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"It's disgraceful," he snapped, "these rats. There are +scores of them." +</p> + +<p> +"Other men have been able to stand them," said the warden. +"Here is another shirt for you.—let me have the one +you have on." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" demanded The Thinking Machine, quickly. His +tone was hardly natural, his manner suggested actual +perturbation. +</p> + +<p> +"You have attempted to communicate with Dr. Ransome," +said the warden severely. "As my prisoner, it is my duty +to put a stop to it." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine was silent for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"All right," he said, finally. "Do your duty." +</p> + +<p> +The warden smiled grimly. The prisoner arose from the +floor and removed the white shirt, putting on instead a +striped convict shirt the warden had brought. The warden +took the white shirt eagerly, and then and there compared +the pieces of linen on which was written the cipher with +certain torn places in the shirt. The Thinking Machine looked +on curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"The guard brought you those, then?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"He certainly did," replied the warden triumphantly. +"And that ends your first attempt to escape." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine watched the warden as he, by comparison, +established to his own satisfaction that only two +pieces of linen had been torn from the white shirt. +</p> + +<p> +"What did you write this with?" demanded the warden, +"I should think it a part of your duty to find out," said +The Thinking Machine, irritably. +</p> + +<p> +The warden started to say some harsh things, then +restrained himself and made a minute search of the cell and +of the prisoner instead. He found absolutely nothing; not +even a match or toothpick which might have been used +for a pen. The same mystery surrounded the fluid with +which the cipher had been written. Although the warden +left Cell 13 visibly annoyed, he took the torn shirt in +triumph. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, writing notes on a shirt won't get him out, that's +certain," he told himself with some complacency. He put +the linen scraps into his desk to await developments. "If +that man escapes from that cell I'll—hang it—I'll resign." +</p> + +<p> +On the third day of his incarceration The Thinking Machine +openly attempted to bribe his way out. The jailer had +brought his dinner and was leaning against the barred door, +waiting, when The Thinking Machine began the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +"The drainage pipes of the prison lead to the river, don't +they?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said the jailer. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose they are very small?" +</p> + +<p> +"Too small to crawl through, if that's what you're +thinking about," was the grinning response. +</p> + +<p> +There was silence until The Thinking Machine finished his +meal. Then: +</p> + +<p> +"You know I'm not a criminal, don't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"And that I've a perfect right to be freed if I demand it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I came here believing that I could make my +escape," said the prisoner, and his squint eyes studied the +face of the jailer. "Would you consider a financial reward +for aiding me to escape?" +</p> + +<p> +The jailer, who happened to be an honest man, looked at +the slender, weak figure of the prisoner, at the large head +with its mass of yellow hair, and was almost sorry. +</p> + +<p> +"I guess prisons like these were not built for the likes of +you to get out of," he said, at last. +</p> + +<p> +"But would you consider a proposition to help me get out?" +the prisoner insisted, almost beseechingly. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said the jailer, shortly. +</p> + +<p> +"Five hundred dollars," urged The Thinking Machine. +"I am not a criminal." +</p> + +<p> +"No," said the jailer, +</p> + +<p> +"A thousand?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," again said the jailer, and he started away hurriedly +to escape further temptation. Then he turned back. "If +you should give me ten thousand dollars I couldn't get you +out. You'd have to pass through seven doors, and I only +have the keys to two." +</p> + +<p> +Then he told the warden all about it. +</p> + +<p> +"Plan number two fails," said the warden, smiling grimly, +"First a cipher, then bribery." +</p> + +<p> +When the jailer was on his way to Cell 13 at six o'clock, +again bearing food to The Thinking Machine, he paused, +startled by the unmistakable scrape, scrape of steel against +steel. It stopped at the sound of his steps, then craftily the +jailer, who was beyond the prisoner's range of vision, +resumed his tramping, the sound being apparently that of a +man going away from Cell 13. As a matter of fact he was +in the same spot. +</p> + +<p> +After a moment there came again the steady scrape, scrape, +and the jailer crept cautiously on tiptoes to the door and +peered between the bars. The Thinking Machine was standing +on the iron bed working at the bars of the little window. +He was using a file, judging from the backward and forward +swing of his arms. +</p> + +<p> +Cautiously the jailer crept back to the office, summoned +the warden in person, and they returned to Cell 13 on tiptoes. +The steady scrape was still audible. The warden listened +to satisfy himself and then suddenly appeared at the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" he demanded, and there was a smile on his face. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine glanced back from his perch on +the bed and leaped suddenly to the floor, making frantic +efforts to hide something. The warden went in, with hand +extended. +</p> + +<p> +"Give it up," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said the prisoner, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +"Come, give it up," urged the warden. "I don't want to +have to search you again." +</p> + +<p> +"No," repeated the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +"What was it, a file?" asked the warden. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine was silent and stood squinting at +the warden with something very nearly approaching +disappointment on his face—nearly, but not quite. The warden +was almost sympathetic. +</p> + +<p> +"Plan number three fails, eh?" he asked, good-naturedly. +"Too bad, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +The prisoner didn't say. +</p> + +<p> +"Search him," instructed the warden. +</p> + +<p> +The jailer searched the prisoner carefully. At last, +artfully concealed in the waist band of the trousers, he found +a piece of steel about two inches long, with one side curved +like a half moon. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah," said the warden, as he received it from the jailer. +"From your shoe heel," and he smiled pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +The jailer continued his search and on the other side of +the trousers waist band another piece of steel identical with +the first. The edges showed where they had been worn +against the bars of the window. +</p> + +<p> +"You couldn't saw a way through those bars with these," +said the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"I could have," said The Thinking Machine firmly. +</p> + +<p> +"In six months, perhaps," said the warden, good-naturedly. +</p> + +<p> +The warden shook his head slowly as he gazed into the +slightly flushed face of his prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +"Ready to give it up?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"I haven't started yet," was the prompt reply. +</p> + +<p> +Then came another exhaustive search of the cell. Carefully +the two men went over it, finally turning out the bed +and searching that. Nothing. The warden in person +climbed upon the bed and examined the bars of the window +where the prisoner had been sawing. When he looked he +was amused. +</p> + +<p> +"Just made it a little bright by hard rubbing," he said to +the prisoner, who stood looking on with a somewhat crestfallen +air. The warden grasped the iron bars in his strong +hands and tried to shake them. They were immovable, set +firmly in the solid granite. He examined each in turn and +found them all satisfactory. Finally he climbed down from +the bed. +</p> + +<p> +"Give it up, professor," he advised. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine shook his head and the warden and +jailer passed on again. As they disappeared down the +corridor The Thinking Machine sat on the edge of the bed with +his head in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +"He's crazy to try to get out of that cell," commented the +jailer. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course he can't get out," said the warden. "But he's +clever. I would like to know what he wrote that cipher +with." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +It was four o'clock next morning when an awful, heart-racking +shriek of terror resounded through the great prison. +It came from a cell, somewhere about the center, and its +tone told a tale of horror, agony, terrible fear. The warden +heard and with three of his men rushed into the long +corridor leading to Cell 13. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +IV +</h3> + +<p> +As they ran there came again that awful cry. It died away +in a sort of wail. The white faces of prisoners appeared at +cell doors upstairs and down, staring out wonderingly, +frightened. +</p> + +<p> +"It's that fool in Cell 13," grumbled the warden. +</p> + +<p> +He stopped and stared in as one of the jailers flashed a +lantern. "That fool in Cell 13" lay comfortably on his cot, +flat on his back with his mouth open, snoring. Even as they +looked there came again the piercing cry, from somewhere +above. The warden's face blanched a little as he started up +the stairs. There on the top floor he found a man in Cell +43, directly above Cell 13, but two floors higher, cowering in +a corner of his cell. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter?" demanded the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank God you've come," exclaimed the prisoner, and he +cast himself against the bars of his cell. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" demanded the warden again. +</p> + +<p> +He threw open the door and went in. The prisoner +dropped on his knees and clasped the warden about the body. +His face was white with terror, his eyes were widely +distended, and he was shuddering. His hands, icy cold, +clutched at the warden's. +</p> + +<p> +"Take me out of this cell, please take me out," he pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter with you, anyhow?" insisted the +warden, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +"I heard something—something," said the prisoner, and +his eyes roved nervously around the cell. +</p> + +<p> +"What did you hear?" +</p> + +<p> +"I—I can't tell you," stammered the prisoner. Then, in +a sudden burst of terror: "Take me out of this cell—put +me anywhere—but take me out of here." +</p> + +<p> +The warden and the three jailers exchanged glances. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is this fellow? What's he accused of?" asked the +warden. +</p> + +<p> +"Joseph Ballard," said one of the jailers. "He's accused +of throwing acid in a woman's face. She died from it." +</p> + +<p> +"But they can't prove it," gasped the prisoner. "They +can't prove it. Please put me in some other cell." +</p> + +<p> +He was still clinging to the warden, and that official threw +his arms off roughly. Then for a time he stood looking at +the cowering wretch, who seemed possessed of all the wild, +unreasoning terror of a child. +</p> + +<p> +"Look here, Ballard," said the warden, finally, "if you +heard anything, I want to know what it was. Now tell me." +</p> + +<p> +"I can't, I can't," was the reply. He was sobbing. +</p> + +<p> +"Where did it come from?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know. Everywhere—nowhere. I just heard it." +</p> + +<p> +"What was it—a voice?" +</p> + +<p> +"Please don't make me answer," pleaded the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +"You must answer," said the warden, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +"It was a voice—but—but it wasn't human," was the +sobbing reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Voice, but not human?" repeated the warden, puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +"It sounded muffled and—and far away—and ghostly," +explained the man. +</p> + +<p> +"Did it come from inside or outside the prison?" +</p> + +<p> +"It didn't seem to come from anywhere—it was just here, +here, everywhere. I heard it. I heard it." +</p> + +<p> +For an hour the warden tried to get the story, but Ballard +had become suddenly obstinate and would say nothing—only +pleaded to be placed in another cell, or to have one of the +jailers remain near him until daylight. These requests were +gruffly refused. +</p> + +<p> +"And see here," said the warden, in conclusion, "if there's +any more of this screaming I'll put you in the padded cell." +</p> + +<p> +Then the warden went his way, a sadly puzzled man. +Ballard sat at his cell door until daylight, his face, drawn +and white with terror, pressed against the bars, and looked +out into the prison with wide, staring eyes. +</p> + +<p> +That day, the fourth since the incarceration of The +Thinking Machine, was enlivened considerably by the volunteer +prisoner, who spent most of his time at the little window +of his cell. He began proceedings by throwing another piece +of linen down to the guard, who picked it up dutifully and +took it to the warden. On it was written: +</p> + +<p> +"Only three days more." +</p> + +<p> +The warden was in no way surprised at what he read; he +understood that The Thinking Machine meant only three +days more of his imprisonment, and he regarded the note as +a boast. But how was the thing written? Where had The +Thinking Machine found this new piece of linen? Where? +How? He carefully examined the linen. It was white, of +fine texture, shirting material. He took the shirt which he +had taken and carefully fitted the two original pieces of the +linen to the torn places. This third piece was entirely +superfluous; it didn't fit anywhere, and yet it was unmistakably +the same goods. +</p> + +<p> +"And where—where does he get anything to write with?" +demanded the warden of the world at large. +</p> + +<p> +Still later on the fourth day The Thinking Machine, +through the window of his cell, spoke to the armed guard +outside. +</p> + +<p> +"What day of the month is it?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"The fifteenth," was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine made a mental astronomical calculation +and satisfied himself that the moon would not rise +until after nine o'clock that night. Then he asked another +question: +</p> + +<p> +"Who attends to those arc lights?" +</p> + +<p> +"Man from the company." +</p> + +<p> +"You have no electricians in the building?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"I should think you could save money if you had your own +man." +</p> + +<p> +"None of my business," replied the guard. +</p> + +<p> +The guard noticed The Thinking Machine at the cell +window frequently during that day, but always the face +seemed listless and there was a certain wistfulness in the +squint eyes behind the glasses. After a while he accepted +the presence of the leonine head as a matter of course. He +had seen other prisoners do the same thing; it was the +longing for the outside world. +</p> + +<p> +That afternoon, just before the day guard was relieved, the +head appeared at the window again, and The Thinking +Machine's hand held something out between the bars. It +fluttered to the ground and the guard picked it up. It was +a five-dollar bill. +</p> + +<p> +"That's for you," called the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +As usual, the guard took it to the warden. That gentleman +looked at it suspiciously; he looked at everything that +came from Cell 13 with suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +"He said it was for me," explained the guard. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a sort of a tip, I suppose," said the warden. "I see +no particular reason why you shouldn't accept—" +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he stopped. He had remembered that The +Thinking Machine had gone into Cell 13 with one five-dollar +bill and two ten-dollar bills; twenty-five dollars in all. Now +a five-dollar bill had been tied around the first pieces of linen +that came from the cell. The warden still had it, and to +convince himself he took it out and looked at it. It was five +dollars; yet here was another five dollars, and The Thinking +Machine had only had ten-dollar bills. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps somebody changed one of the bills for him," he +thought at last, with a sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +But then and there he made up his mind. He would search +Cell 13 as a cell was never before searched in this world, +When a man could write at will, and change money, and do +other wholly inexplicable things, there was something +radically wrong with his prison. He planned to enter the cell at +night—three o'clock would be an excellent time. The +Thinking Machine must do all the weird things he did +sometime. Night seemed the most reasonable. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it happened that the warden stealthily descended +upon Cell 13 that night at three o'clock. He paused at the +door and listened. There was no sound save the steady, +regular breathing of the prisoner. The keys unfastened the +double locks with scarcely a clank, and the warden entered, +locking the door behind him. Suddenly he flashed his +dark-lantern in the face of the recumbent figure. +</p> + +<p> +If the warden had planned to startle The Thinking Machine +he was mistaken, for that individual merely opened +his eyes quietly, reached for his glasses and inquired, in a +most matter-of-fact tone: +</p> + +<p> +"Who is it?" +</p> + +<p> +It would be useless to describe the search that the warden +made. It was minute. Not one inch of the cell or the bed +was overlooked. He found the round hole in the floor, and +with a flash of inspiration thrust his thick fingers into it. +After a moment of fumbling there he drew up something and +looked at it in the light of his lantern. +</p> + +<p> +"Ugh!" he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +The thing he had taken out was a rat—a dead rat. His +inspiration fled as a mist before the sun. But he continued +the search. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine, without a word, arose and kicked +the rat out of the cell into the corridor. +</p> + +<p> +The warden climbed on the bed and tried the steel bars in +the tiny window. They were perfectly rigid; every bar of +the door was the same. +</p> + +<p> +Then the warden searched the prisoner's clothing, +beginning at the shoes. Nothing hidden in them! Then the +trousers waist band. Still nothing! Then the pockets of +the trousers. From one side he drew out some paper money +and examined it. +</p> + +<p> +"Five one-dollar bills," he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +"That's right," said the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +"But the—you had two tens and a five—what the—how do +you do it?" +</p> + +<p> +"That's my business," said The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Did any of my men change this money for you—on your +word of honor?" +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine paused just a fraction of a second. +</p> + +<p> +"No," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, do you make it?" asked the warden. He was +prepared to believe anything. +</p> + +<p> +"That's my business," again said the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +The warden glared at the eminent scientist fiercely. He +felt—he knew—that this man was making a fool of him, yet +he didn't know how. If he were a real prisoner he would +get the truth—but, then, perhaps, those inexplicable things +which had happened would not have been brought before him +so sharply. Neither of the men spoke for a long time, then +suddenly the warden turned fiercely and left the cell, +slamming the door behind him. He didn't dare to speak, then. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes to four. He +had hardly settled himself in bed when again came that +heart-breaking shriek through the prison. With a few muttered +words, which, while not elegant, were highly expressive, +he relighted his lantern and rushed through the prison again +to the cell on the upper floor. +</p> + +<p> +Again Ballard was crushing himself against the steel door, +shrieking, shrieking at the top of his voice. He stopped +only when the warden flashed his lamp in the cell. +</p> + +<p> +"Take me out, take me out," he screamed. "I did it, I +did it, I killed her. Take it away." +</p> + +<p> +"Take what away?" asked the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"I threw the acid in her face—I did it—I confess. Take +me out of here." +</p> + +<p> +Ballard's condition was pitiable; it was only an act of +mercy to let him out into the corridor. There he crouched +in a corner, like an animal at bay, and clasped his hands to +his ears. It took half an hour to calm him sufficiently for +him to speak. Then he told incoherently what had happened. +On the night before at four o'clock he had heard a voice—a +sepulchral voice, muffled and wailing in tone. +</p> + +<p> +"What did it say?" asked the warden, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Acid—acid—acid!" gasped the prisoner. "It accused me. +Acid! I threw the acid, and the woman died. Oh!" It +was a long, shuddering wail of terror. +</p> + +<p> +"Acid?" echoed the warden, puzzled. The case was +beyond him. +</p> + +<p> +"Acid. That's all I heard—that one word, repeated several +times. There were other things, too, but I didn't hear them." +</p> + +<p> +"That was last night, eh?" asked the warden. "What +happened to-night—what frightened you just now?" +</p> + +<p> +"It was the same thing," gasped the prisoner. +"Acid—acid—acid." He covered his face with +his hands and sat shivering. +"It was acid I used on her, but I didn't mean to kill +her. I just heard the words. It was something accusing +me—accusing me." He mumbled, and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you hear anything else?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—but I couldn't understand—only a little bit—just +a word or two." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what was it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I heard 'acid' three times, then I heard a long, moaning +sound, then—then—I heard 'No. 8 hat.' I heard that +voice." +</p> + +<p> +"No. 8 hat," repeated the warden. "What the devil—No. 8 +hat? Accusing voices of conscience have never talked +about No. 8 hats, so far as I ever heard." +</p> + +<p> +"He's insane," said one of the jailers, with an air of +finality. +</p> + +<p> +"I believe you," said the warden. "He must be. He +probably heard something and got frightened. He's trembling +now. No. 8 hat! What the—" +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +V +</h3> + +<p> +When the fifth day of The Thinking Machine's imprisonment +rolled around the warden was wearing a hunted look. +He was anxious for the end of the thing. He could not help +but feel that his distinguished prisoner had been amusing +himself. And if this were so, The Thinking Machine had +lost none of his sense of humor. For on this fifth day he +flung down another linen note to the outside guard, bearing +the words: "Only two days more." Also he flung down half +a dollar. +</p> + +<p> +Now the warden knew—he knew—that the man in Cell 13 +didn't have any half dollars—he couldn't have any half +dollars, no more than he could have pen and ink and linen, +and yet he did have them. It was a condition, not a theory; +that is one reason why the warden was wearing a hunted +look. +</p> + +<p> +That ghastly, uncanny thing, too, about "Acid" and "No. 8 +hat" clung to him tenaciously. They didn't mean anything, +of course, merely the ravings of an insane murderer +who had been driven by fear to confess his crime, still there +were so many things that "didn't mean anything" happening +in the prison now since The Thinking Machine was +there. +</p> + +<p> +On the sixth day the warden received a postal stating that +Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding would be at Chisholm Prison +on the following evening, Thursday, and in the event +Professor Van Dusen had not yet escaped—and they presumed +he had not because they had not heard from him—they would +meet him there. +</p> + +<p> +"In the event he had not yet escaped!" The warden smiled +grimly. Escaped! +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine enlivened this day for the warden +with three notes. They were on the usual linen and bore +generally on the appointment at half-past eight o'clock +Thursday night, which appointment the scientist had made +at the time of his imprisonment. +</p> + +<p> +On the afternoon of the seventh day the warden passed +Cell 13 and glanced in. The Thinking Machine was lying +on the iron bed, apparently sleeping lightly. The cell +appeared precisely as it always did from a casual glance. The +warden would swear that no man was going to leave it +between that hour—it was then four o'clock—and half-past +eight o'clock that evening. +</p> + +<p> +On his way back past the cell the warden heard the steady +breathing again, and coming close to the door looked in. +He wouldn't have done so if The Thinking Machine had +been looking, but now—well, it was different. +</p> + +<p> +A ray of light came through the high window and fell on +the face of the sleeping man. It occurred to the warden for +the first time that his prisoner appeared haggard and weary. +Just then The Thinking Machine stirred slightly and the +warden hurried on up the corridor guiltily. That evening +after six o'clock he saw the jailer. +</p> + +<p> +"Everything all right in Cell 13?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir," replied the jailer. "He didn't eat much, +though." +</p> + +<p> +It was with a feeling of having done his duty that the +warden received Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding shortly after +seven o'clock. He intended to show them the linen notes +and lay before them the full story of his woes, which was a +long one. But before this came to pass the guard from the +river side of the prison yard entered the office. +</p> + +<p> +"The arc light in my side of the yard won't light," he +informed the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"Confound it, that man's a hoodoo," thundered the official. +"Everything has happened since he's been here." +</p> + +<p> +The guard went back to his post in the darkness, and the +warden 'phoned to the electric light company. +</p> + +<p> +"This is Chisholm Prison," he said through the 'phone. +"Send three or four men down here quick, to fix an arc +light." +</p> + +<p> +The reply was evidently satisfactory, for the warden hung +up the receiver and passed out into the yard. While +Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding sat waiting the guard at the outer +gate came in with a special delivery letter. Dr. Ransome +happened to notice the address, and, when the guard went +out, looked at the letter more closely. +</p> + +<p> +"By George!" he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" asked Mr. Fielding. +</p> + +<p> +Silently the doctor offered the letter. Mr. Fielding +examined it closely. +</p> + +<p> +"Coincidence," he said. "It must be." +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly eight o'clock when the warden returned +to his office. The electricians had arrived in a wagon, +and were now at work. The warden pressed the buzz-button +communicating with the man at the outer gate in +the wall. +</p> + +<p> +"How many electricians came in?" he asked, over the +short 'phone. "Four? Three workmen In jumpers and overalls +and the manager? Frock coat and silk hat? All right. +Be certain that only four go out. That's all." +</p> + +<p> +He turned to Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding. "We have +to be careful here—particularly," and there was broad +sarcasm in his tone, "since we have scientists locked up." +</p> + +<p> +The warden picked up the special delivery letter carelessly, +and then began to open it. +</p> + +<p> +"When I read this I want to tell you gentlemen something +about how— Great Cæsar!" he ended, suddenly, as he +glanced at the letter. He sat with mouth open, motionless, +from astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" asked Mr. Fielding. +</p> + +<p> +"A special delivery letter from Cell 13," gasped the warden. +"An invitation to supper." +</p> + +<p> +"What?" and the two others arose, unanimously. +</p> + +<p> +The warden sat dazed, staring at the letter for a moment, +then called sharply to a guard outside in the corridor. +</p> + +<p> +"Run down to Cell 13 and see if that man's in there." +</p> + +<p> +The guard went as directed, while Dr. Ransome and +Mr. Fielding examined the letter. +</p> + +<p> +"It's Van Dusen's handwriting; there's no question of +that," said Dr. Ransome. "I've seen too much of it." +</p> + +<p> +Just then the buzz on the telephone from the outer gate +sounded, and the warden, in a semi-trance, picked up the +receiver. +</p> + +<p> +"Hello! Two reporters, eh? Let 'em come in." He +turned suddenly to the doctor and Mr. Fielding. "Why, the +man can't be out. He must be in his cell." +</p> + +<p> +Just at that moment the guard returned. +</p> + +<p> +"He's still in his cell, sir," he reported. "I saw him. He's +lying down." +</p> + +<p> +"There, I told you so," said the warden, and he breathed +freely again. "But how did he mail that letter?" +</p> + +<p> +There was a rap on the steel door which led from the jail +yard into the warden's office. +</p> + +<p> +"It's the reporters," said the warden. "Let them in," he +instructed the guard; then to the two other gentlemen: +"Don't say anything about this before them, because I'd +never hear the last of it." +</p> + +<p> +The door opened, and the two men from the front gate +entered. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-evening, gentlemen," said one. That was Hutchinson +Hatch; the warden knew him well. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" demanded the other, irritably. "I'm here." +</p> + +<p> +That was The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +He squinted belligerently at the warden, who sat with +mouth agape. For the moment that official had nothing to +say. Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding were amazed, but they +didn't know what the warden knew. They were only +amazed; he was paralyzed. Hutchinson Hatch, the reporter, +took in the scene with greedy eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"How—how—how did you do it?" gasped the warden, +finally. +</p> + +<p> +"Come back to the cell," said The Thinking Machine, in +the irritated voice which his scientific associates knew so +well. +</p> + +<p> +The warden, still in a condition bordering on trance, led +the way. +</p> + +<p> +"Flash your light in there," directed The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +The warden did so. There was nothing unusual in the +appearance of the cell, and there—there on the bed lay the +figure of The Thinking Machine. Certainly! There was +the yellow hair! Again the warden looked at the man beside +him and wondered at the strangeness of his own dreams. +</p> + +<p> +With trembling hands he unlocked the cell door and The +Thinking Machine passed inside. +</p> + +<p> +"See here," he said. +</p> + +<p> +He kicked at the steel bars in the bottom of the cell door +and three of them were pushed out of place. A fourth broke +off and rolled away in the corridor. +</p> + +<p> +"And here, too," directed the erstwhile prisoner as he stood +on the bed to reach the small window. He swept his hand +across the opening and every bar came out. +</p> + +<p> +"What's this in the bed?" demanded the warden, who was +slowly recovering. +</p> + +<p> +"A wig," was the reply. "Turn down the cover." +</p> + +<p> +The warden did so. Beneath it lay a large coil of strong +rope, thirty feet or more, a dagger, three files, ten feet of +electric wire, a thin, powerful pair of steel pliers, a small +tack hammer with its handle, and—and a Derringer pistol. +</p> + +<p> +"How did you do it?" demanded the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"You gentlemen have an engagement to supper with me at +half-past nine o'clock," said The Thinking Machine. "Come +on, or we shall be late." +</p> + +<p> +"But how did you do it?" insisted the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't ever think you can hold any man who can use his +brain," said The Thinking Machine. "Come on; we shall +be late." +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +VI +</h3> + +<p> +It was an impatient supper party in the rooms of Professor +Van Dusen and a somewhat silent one. The guests +were Dr. Ransome, Albert Fielding, the warden, and +Hutchinson Hatch, reporter. The meal was served to the minute, +in accordance with Professor Van Dusen's instructions of one +week before; Dr. Ransome found the artichokes delicious. +At last the supper was finished and The Thinking Machine +turned full on Dr. Ransome and squinted at him fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you believe it now?" he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +"I do," replied Dr. Ransome. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you admit that it was a fair test?" +</p> + +<p> +"I do." +</p> + +<p> +With the others, particularly the warden, he was waiting +anxiously for the explanation. +</p> + +<p> +"Suppose you tell us how—" began Mr. Fielding. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, tell us how," said the warden. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine readjusted his glasses, took a +couple of preparatory squints at his audience, and began the +story. He told it from the beginning logically; and no man +ever talked to more interested listeners. +</p> + +<p> +"My agreement was," he began, "to go into a cell, carrying +nothing except what was necessary to wear, and to leave that +cell within a week. I had never seen Chisholm Prison. +When I went into the cell I asked for tooth powder, two ten +and one five-dollar bills, and also to have my shoes blacked. +Even if these requests had been refused it would not have +mattered seriously. But you agreed to them. +</p> + +<p> +"I knew there would be nothing in the cell which you +thought I might use to advantage. So when the warden +locked the door on me I was apparently helpless, unless I +could turn three seemingly innocent things to use. They +were things which would have been permitted any prisoner, +under sentence of death, were they not, warden?" +</p> + +<p> +"Tooth powder and polished shoes, yes, but not money,". +replied the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"Anything is dangerous in the hands of a man who knows +now to use it," went on The Thinking Machine. "I did nothing +that first night but sleep and chase rats." He glared at +the warden. "When the matter was broached I knew I could +do nothing that night, so suggested next day. You gentlemen +thought I wanted time to arrange an escape with outside +assistance, but this was not true. I knew I could +communicate with whom I pleased, when I pleased." +</p> + +<p> +The warden stared at him a moment, then went on +smoking solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +"I was aroused next morning at six o'clock by the jailer +with my breakfast," continued the scientist. "He told me +dinner was at twelve and supper at six. Between these +times, I gathered, I would be pretty much to myself. So +immediately after breakfast I examined my outside surroundings +from my cell window. One look told me it would be +useless to try to scale the wall, even should I decide to leave +my cell by the window, for my purpose was to leave not only +the cell, but the prison. Of course, I could have gone over +the wall, but it would have taken me longer to lay my plans +that way. Therefore, for the moment, I dismissed all idea +of that. +</p> + +<p> +"From this first observation I knew the river was on that +side of the prison, and that there was also a playground +there. Subsequently these surmises were verified by a keeper. +I knew then one important thing—that anyone might approach +the prison wall from that side if necessary without +attracting any particular attention. That was well to +remember. I remembered it. +</p> + +<p> +"But the outside thing which most attracted my attention +was the feed wire to the arc light which ran within a few +feet—probably three or four—of my cell window. I knew +that would be valuable in the event I found it necessary to +cut off that arc light." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you shut it off to-night, then?" asked the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"Having learned all I could from that window," resumed +The Thinking Machine, without heeding the interruption, +"I considered the idea of escaping through the prison proper. +I recalled just how I had come into the cell, which I knew +would be the only way. Seven doors lay between me and the +outside. So, also for the time being, I gave up the idea of +escaping that way. And I couldn't go through the solid +granite walls of the cell." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine paused for a moment and Dr. Ransome +lighted a new cigar. For several minutes there was +silence, then the scientific jail-breaker went on: +</p> + +<p> +"While I was thinking about these things a rat ran across +my foot. It suggested a new line of thought. There were +at least half a dozen rats in the cell—I could see their beady +eyes. Yet I had noticed none come under the cell door. I +frightened them purposely and watched the cell door to see if +they went out that way. They did not, but they were gone. +Obviously they went another way. Another way meant +another opening. +</p> + +<p> +"I searched for this opening and found it. It was an old +drain pipe, long unused and partly choked with dirt and +dust. But this was the way the rats had come. They came +from somewhere. Where? Drain pipes usually lead outside +prison grounds. This one probably led to the river, or near +it. The rats must therefore come from that direction. If +they came a part of the way, I reasoned that they came all +the way, because it was extremely unlikely that a solid iron +or lead pipe would have any hole in it except at the exit. +</p> + +<p> +"When the jailer came with my luncheon he told me two +important things, although he didn't know it. One was that +a new system of plumbing had been put in the prison seven +years before; another that the river was only three hundred +feet away. Then I knew positively that the pipe was a part +of an old system; I knew, too, that it slanted generally +toward the river. But did the pipe end in the water or on +land? +</p> + +<p> +"This was the next question to be decided. I decided it +by catching several of the rats in the cell. My jailer was +surprised to see me engaged in this work. I examined at +least a dozen of them. They were perfectly dry; they had +come through the pipe, and, most important of all, they were +<i>not house rats, but field rats</i>. The other end of the pipe was +on land, then, outside the prison walls. So far, so good. +</p> + +<p> +"Then, I knew that if I worked freely from this point I +must attract the warden's attention in another direction. +You see, by telling the warden that I had come there to +escape you made the test more severe, because I had to trick +him by false scents." +</p> + +<p> +The warden looked up with a sad expression in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"The first thing was to make him think I was trying to +communicate with you, Dr. Ransome. So I wrote a note on +a piece of linen I tore from my shirt, addressed it to +Dr. Ransome, tied a five-dollar bill around it and threw it out +the window. I knew the guard would take it to the warden, +but I rather hoped the warden would send it as addressed. +Have you that first linen note, warden?" +</p> + +<p> +The warden produced the cipher. +</p> + +<p> +"What the deuce does it mean, anyhow?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Read it backward, beginning with the 'T' signature and +disregard the division into words," instructed The Thinking +Machine. +</p> + +<p> +The warden did so. +</p> + +<p> +"T-h-i-s, this," he spelled, studied it a moment, then read it +off, grinning: +</p> + +<p> +"This is not the way I intend to escape." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, now what do you think o' that?" he demanded, still +grinning. +</p> + +<p> +"I knew that would attract your attention, just as it did," +said The Thinking Machine, "and if you really found out +what it was it would be a sort of gentle rebuke." +</p> + +<p> +"What did you write it with?" asked Dr. Ransome, after +he had examined the linen and passed it to Mr. Fielding. +</p> + +<p> +"This," said the erstwhile prisoner, and he extended his +foot. On it was the shoe he had worn in prison, though the +polish was gone—scraped off clean. "The shoe blacking, +moistened with water, was my ink; the metal tip of the shoe +lace made a fairly good pen." +</p> + +<p> +The warden looked up and suddenly burst into a laugh, +half of relief, half of amusement. +</p> + +<p> +"You're a wonder," he said, admiringly. "Go on." +</p> + +<p> +"That precipitated a search of my cell by the warden, as I +had intended," continued The Thinking Machine. "I was +anxious to get the warden into the habit of searching my +cell, so that finally, constantly finding nothing, he would get +disgusted and quit. This at last happened, practically." +</p> + +<p> +The warden blushed. +</p> + +<p> +"He then took my white shirt away and gave me a prison +shirt. He was satisfied that those two pieces of the shirt +were all that was missing. But while he was searching my +cell I had another piece of that same shirt, about nine inches +square, rolled into a small ball in my mouth." +</p> + +<p> +"Nine inches of that shirt?" demanded the warden. +"Where did it come from?" +</p> + +<p> +"The bosoms of all stiff white shirts are of triple thickness," +was the explanation. "I tore out the inside thickness, +leaving the bosom only two thicknesses. I knew you wouldn't +see it. So much for that." +</p> + +<p> +There was a little pause, and the warden looked from one +to another of the men with a sheepish grin. +</p> + +<p> +"Having disposed of the warden for the time being by +giving him something else to think about, I took my first +serious step toward freedom," said Professor Van Dusen. +"I knew, within reason, that the pipe led somewhere to the +playground outside; I knew a great many boys played there; +I knew that rats came into my cell from out there. Could +I communicate with some one outside with these things at +hand? +</p> + +<p> +"First was necessary, I saw, a long and fairly reliable +thread, so—but here," he pulled up his trousers legs and +showed that the tops of both stockings, of fine, strong lisle, +were gone. "I unraveled those—after I got them started it +wasn't difficult—and I had easily a quarter of a mile of +thread that I could depend on. +</p> + +<p> +"Then on half of my remaining linen I wrote, laboriously +enough I assure you, a letter explaining my situation to this +gentleman here," and he indicated Hutchinson Hatch. "I +knew he would assist me—for the value of the newspaper +story. I tied firmly to this linen letter a ten-dollar +bill—there is no surer way of attracting the eye of anyone—and +wrote on the linen: 'Finder of this deliver to Hutchinson +Hatch, <i>Daily American</i>, who will give another ten dollars +for the information.' +</p> + +<p> +"The next thing was to get this note outside on that +playground where a boy might find it. There were two ways, but +I chose the best. I took one of the rats—I became adept in +catching them—tied the linen and money firmly to one leg, +fastened my lisle thread to another, and turned him loose in +the drain pipe. I reasoned that the natural fright of the +rodent would make him run until he was outside the pipe and +then out on earth he would probably stop to gnaw off the +linen and money. +</p> + +<p> +"From the moment the rat disappeared into that dusty +pipe I became anxious. I was taking so many chances. The +rat might gnaw the string, of which I held one end; other +rats might gnaw it; the rat might run out of the pipe and +leave the linen and money where they would never be found; +a thousand other things might have happened. So began some +nervous hours, but the fact that the rat ran on until only a +few feet of the string remained in my cell made me think he +was outside the pipe. I had carefully instructed Mr. Hatch +what to do in case the note reached him. The question was: +Would it reach him? +</p> + +<p> +"This done, I could only wait and make other plans in +case this one failed. I openly attempted to bribe my jailer, +and learned from him that he held the keys to only two of +seven doors between me and freedom. Then I did something +else to make the warden nervous. I took the steel supports +out of the heels of my shoes and made a pretense of sawing +the bars of my cell window. The warden raised a pretty row +about that. He developed, too, the habit of shaking the bars +of my cell window to see if they were solid. They were—then." +</p> + +<p> +Again the warden grinned. He had ceased being +astonished. +</p> + +<p> +"With this one plan I had done all I could and could only +wait to see what happened," the scientist went on. "I +couldn't know whether my note had been delivered or even +found, or whether the mouse had gnawed it up. And I didn't +dare to draw back through the pipe that one slender thread +which connected me with the outside. +</p> + +<p> +"When I went to bed that night I didn't sleep, for fear +there would come the slight signal twitch at the thread which +was to tell me that Mr. Hatch had received the note. At +half-past three o'clock, I judge, I felt this twitch, and no +prisoner actually under sentence of death ever welcomed a +thing more heartily." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine stopped and turned to the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"You'd better explain just what you did," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"The linen note was brought to me by a small boy who had +been playing baseball," said Mr. Hatch. "I immediately saw +a big story in it, so I gave the boy another ten dollars, and +got several spools of silk, some twine, and a roll of light, +pliable wire. The professor's note suggested that I have the +finder of the note show me just where it was picked up, and +told me to make my search from there, beginning at two +o'clock in the morning. If I found the other end of the +thread I was to twitch it gently three times, then a fourth. +</p> + +<p> +"I began the search with a small bulb electric light. It +was an hour and twenty minutes before I found the end of +the drain pipe, half hidden in weeds. The pipe was very +large there, say twelve inches across. Then I found the end +of the lisle thread, twitched it as directed and immediately +I got an answering twitch. +</p> + +<p> +"Then I fastened the silk to this and Professor Van Dusen +began to pull it into his cell. I nearly had heart disease for +fear the string would break. To the end of the silk I +fastened the twine, and when that had been pulled in I tied on +the wire. Then that was drawn into the pipe and we had a +substantial line, which rats couldn't gnaw, from the mouth +of the drain into the cell." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine raised his hand and Hatch stopped. +</p> + +<p> +"All this was done in absolute silence," said the scientist. +"But when the wire reached my hand I could have shouted. +Then we tried another experiment, which Mr. Hatch was +prepared for. I tested the pipe as a speaking tube. Neither +of us could hear very clearly, but I dared not speak loud for +fear of attracting attention in the prison. At last I made +him understand what I wanted immediately. He seemed to +have great difficulty in understanding when I asked for nitric +acid, and I repeated the word 'acid' several times. +</p> + +<p> +"Then I heard a shriek from a cell above me. I knew +instantly that some one had overheard, and when I heard +you coming, Mr. Warden, I feigned sleep. If you had +entered my cell at that moment that whole plan of escape would +have ended there. But you passed on. That was the nearest +I ever came to being caught. +</p> + +<p> +"Having established this improvised trolley it is easy to +see how I got things in the cell and made them disappear at +will. I merely dropped them back into the pipe. You, +Mr. Warden, could not have reached the connecting wire with +your fingers; they are too large. My fingers, you see, are +longer and more slender. In addition I guarded the top of +that pipe with a rat—you remember how." +</p> + +<p> +"I remember," said the warden, with a grimace. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought that if any one were tempted to investigate +that hole the rat would dampen his ardor. Mr. Hatch could +not send me anything useful through the pipe until next +night, although he did send me change for ten dollars as a +test, so I proceeded with other parts of my plan. Then I +evolved the method of escape, which I finally employed. +</p> + +<p> +"In order to carry this out successfully it was necessary +for the guard in the yard to get accustomed to seeing me at +the cell window. I arranged this by dropping linen notes to +him, boastful in tone, to make the warden believe, if possible, +one of his assistants was communicating with the outside for +me. I would stand at my window for hours gazing out, so +the guard could see, and occasionally I spoke to him. In +that way I learned that the prison had no electricians of its +own, but was dependent upon the lighting company if +anything should go wrong. +</p> + +<p> +"That cleared the way to freedom perfectly. Early in the +evening of the last day of my imprisonment, when it was +dark, I planned to cut the feed wire which was only a few +feet from my window, reaching it with an acid-tipped wire I +had. That would make that side of the prison perfectly dark +while the electricians were searching for the break. That +would also bring Mr. Hatch into the prison yard. +</p> + +<p> +"There was only one more thing to do before I actually +began the work of setting myself free. This was to arrange +final details with Mr. Hatch through our speaking tube. I +did this within half an hour after the warden left my cell +on the fourth night of my imprisonment. Mr. Hatch again +had serious difficulty in understanding me, and I repeated +the word 'acid' to him several times, and later the words: +'Number eight hat'—that's my size—and these were the +things which made a prisoner upstairs confess to murder, +so one of the jailers told me next day. This prisoner heard +our voices, confused of course, through the pipe, which also +went to his cell. The cell directly over me was not occupied, +hence no one else heard. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course the actual work of cutting the steel bars out +of the window and door was comparatively easy with nitric +acid, which I got through the pipe in thin bottles, but it +took time. Hour after hour on the fifth and sixth and seventh +days the guard below was looking at me as I worked on the +bars of the window with the acid on a piece of wire. I used +the tooth powder to prevent the acid spreading. I looked +away abstractedly as I worked and each minute the acid cut +deeper into the metal. I noticed that the jailers always +tried the door by shaking the upper part, never the lower +bars, therefore I cut the lower bars, leaving them hanging in +place by thin strips of metal. But that was a bit of +dare-deviltry. I could not have gone that way so easily." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine sat silent for several minutes. +</p> + +<p> +"I think that makes everything clear," he went on. "Whatever +points I have not explained were merely to confuse the +warden and jailers. These things in my bed I brought in to +please Mr. Hatch, who wanted to improve the story. Of +course, the wig was necessary in my plan. The special +delivery letter I wrote and directed in my cell with Mr. Hatch's +fountain pen, then sent it out to him and he mailed it. +That's all, I think." +</p> + +<p> +"But your actually leaving the prison grounds and then +coming in through the outer gate to my office?" asked the +warden. +</p> + +<p> +"Perfectly simple," said the scientist. "I cut the electric +light wire with acid, as I said, when the current was off. +Therefore when the current was turned on the arc didn't +light. I knew it would take some time to find out what was +the matter and make repairs. When the guard went to +report to you the yard was dark. I crept out the window—it +was a tight fit, too—replaced the bars by standing on a +narrow ledge and remained in a shadow until the force of +electricians arrived. Mr. Hatch was one of them. +</p> + +<p> +"When I saw him I spoke and he handed me a cap, a +jumper and overalls, which I put on within ten feet of you, +Mr. Warden, while you were in the yard. Later Mr. Hatch +called me, presumably as a workman, and together we went +out the gate to get something out of the wagon. The gate +guard let us pass out readily as two workmen who had just +passed in. We changed our clothing and reappeared, asking +to see you. We saw you. That's all." +</p> + +<p> +There was silence for several minutes. Dr. Ransome was +first to speak. +</p> + +<p> +"Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Perfectly amazing." +</p> + +<p> +"How did Mr. Hatch happen to come with the electricians?" +asked Mr. Fielding. +</p> + +<p> +"His father is manager of the company," replied The +Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"But what if there had been no Mr. Hatch outside to help?" +</p> + +<p> +"Every prisoner has one friend outside who would help +him escape if he could." +</p> + +<p> +"Suppose—just suppose—there had been no old plumbing +system there?" asked the warden, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"There were two other ways out," said The Thinking +Machine, enigmatically. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later the telephone bell rang. It was a +request for the warden. +</p> + +<p> +"Light all right, eh?" the warden asked, through the +'phone. "Good. Wire cut beside Cell 13? Yes, I know. +One electrician too many? What's that? Two came out?" +</p> + +<p> +The warden turned to the others with a puzzled expression. +</p> + +<p> +"He only let in four electricians, he has let out two and +says there are three left." +</p> + +<p> +"I was the odd one," said The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh," said the warden. "I see." Then through the +'phone: "Let the fifth man go. He's all right." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0102"></a></p> + +<h2> +The Scarlet Thread +</h2> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +I +</h3> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine—Professor Augustus S. F. X. Van +Dusen, Ph.D., LL.D., F.E.S., M.D., etc., +scientist and logician—listened intently and without +comment to a weird, seemingly inexplicable story. Hutchinson +Hatch, reporter, was telling it. The bowed figure of the +savant lay at ease in a large chair. The enormous head with +its bushy yellow hair was thrown back, the thin, white fingers +were pressed tip to tip and the blue eyes, narrowed to mere +slits, squinted aggressively upward. The scientist was in a +receptive mood. +</p> + +<p> +"From the beginning, every fact you know," he had requested. +</p> + +<p> +"It's all out in the Back Bay," the reporter explained. +"There is a big apartment house there, a fashionable +establishment, in a side street, just off Commonwealth Avenue. +It is five stories in all, and is cut up into small suites, of two +and three rooms with bath. These suites are handsomely, +even luxuriously furnished, and are occupied by people who +can afford to pay big rents. Generally these are young +unmarried men, although in several cases they are husband and +wife. It is a house of every modern improvement, elevator +service, hall boys, liveried door men, spacious corridors and +all that. It has both the gas and electric systems of +lighting. Tenants are at liberty to use either or both. +</p> + +<p> +"A young broker, Weldon Henley, occupies one of the +handsomest of these suites, being on the second floor, in +front. He has met with considerable success in the Street. +He is a bachelor and lives there alone. There is no personal +servant. He dabbles in photography as a hobby, and is said +to be remarkably expert. +</p> + +<p> +"Recently there was a report that he was to be married +this Winter to a beautiful Virginia girl who has been +visiting Boston from time to time, a Miss Lipscomb—Charlotte +Lipscomb, of Richmond. Henley has never denied or affirmed +this rumor, although he has been asked about it often. Miss +Lipscomb is impossible of access even when she visits Boston. +Now she is in Virginia, I understand, but will return to +Boston later in the season." +</p> + +<p> +The reporter paused, lighted a cigarette and leaned forward +in his chair, gazing steadily into the inscrutable eyes +of the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"When Henley took the suite he requested that all the +electric lighting apparatus be removed from his apartments," +he went on, "He had taken a long lease of the place, and this +was done. Therefore he uses only gas for lighting purposes, +and he usually keeps one of his gas jets burning low all night." +</p> + +<p> +"Bad, bad for his health," commented the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"Now comes the mystery of the affair," the reporter went +on. "It was five weeks or so ago Henley retired as +usual—about midnight. He locked his door on the inside—he is +positive of that—and awoke about four o'clock in the morning +nearly asphyxiated by gas. He was barely able to get up +and open the window to let in the fresh air. The gas jet he +had left burning was out, and the suite was full of gas." +</p> + +<p> +"Accident, possibly," said The Thinking Machine. "A +draught through the apartments; a slight diminution of gas +pressure; a hundred possibilities." +</p> + +<p> +"So it was presumed," said the reporter. "Of course it +would have been impossible for—" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing is impossible," said the other, tartly. "Don't +say that. It annoys me exceedingly." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, then, it seems highly improbable that the door had +been opened or that anyone came into the room and did this +deliberately," the newspaper man went on, with a slight +smile. "So Henley said nothing about this; attributed it to +accident. The next night he lighted his gas as usual, but he +left it burning a little brighter. The same thing happened +again." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah," and The Thinking Machine changed his position a +little. "The second time." +</p> + +<p> +"And again he awoke just in time to save himself," said +Hatch. "Still he attributed the affair to accident, and +determined to avoid a recurrence of the affair by doing away with +the gas at night. Then he got a small night lamp and used +this for a week or more." +</p> + +<p> +"Why does he have a light at all?" asked the scientist, +testily. +</p> + +<p> +"I can hardly answer that," replied Hatch. "I may say, +however, that he is of a very nervous temperament, and gets +up frequently during the night. He reads occasionally when +he can't sleep. In addition to that he has slept with a light +going all his life; it's a habit." +</p> + +<p> +"Go on." +</p> + +<p> +"One night he looked for the night lamp, but it had +disappeared—at least he couldn't find it—so he lighted the gas +again. The fact of the gas having twice before gone out had +been dismissed as a serious possibility. Next morning at +five o'clock a bell boy, passing through the hall, smelled gas +and made a quick investigation. He decided it came from +Henley's place, and rapped on the door. There was no +answer. It ultimately developed that it was necessary to +smash in the door. There on the bed they found Henley +unconscious with the gas pouring into the room from the jet +which he had left lighted. He was revived in the air, but +for several hours was deathly sick." +</p> + +<p> +"Why was the door smashed in?" asked The Thinking +Machine. "Why not unlocked?" +</p> + +<p> +"It was done because Henley had firmly barred it," Hatch +explained. "He had become suspicious, I suppose, and after +the second time he always barred his door and fastened every +window before he went to sleep. There may have been a fear +that some one used a key to enter." +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" asked the scientist. "After that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Three weeks or so elapsed, bringing the affair down to +this morning," Hatch went on. "Then the same thing happened +a little differently. For instance, after the third time +the gas went out Henley decided to find out for himself what +caused it, and so expressed himself to a few friends who +knew of the mystery. Then, night after night, he lighted the +gas as usual and kept watch. It was never disturbed during +all that time, burning steadily all night. What sleep he got +was in daytime. +</p> + +<p> +"Last night Henley lay awake for a time; then, exhausted +and tired, fell asleep. This morning early he awoke: the +room was filled with gas again. In some way my city editor +heard of it and asked me to look into the mystery." +</p> + +<p> +That was all. The two men were silent for a long time, +and finally The Thinking Machine turned to the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"Does anyone else in the house keep gas going all night?" +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," was the reply. "Most of them, I know, +use electricity." +</p> + +<p> +"Nobody else has been overcome as he has been?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. Plumbers have minutely examined the lighting +system all over the house and found nothing wrong." +</p> + +<p> +"Does the gas in the house all come through the same +meter?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, so the manager told me. This meter, a big one, is +just off the engine room. I supposed it possible that some +one shut it off there on these nights long enough to +extinguish the lights all over the house, then turned it on +again. That is, presuming that it was done purposely. Do +you think it was an attempt to kill Henley?" +</p> + +<p> +"It might be," was the reply. "Find out for me just who +in the house uses gas; also if anyone else leaves a light +burning all night; also what opportunity anyone would have to +get at the meter, and then something about Henley's love +affair with Miss Lipscomb. Is there anyone else? If so, +who? Where does he live? When you find out these things +come back here." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +That afternoon at one o'clock Hatch returned to the +apartments of The Thinking Machine, with excitement plainly +apparent on his face. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" asked the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"A French girl, Louise Regnier, employed as a maid by +Mrs. Standing in the house, was found dead in her room on +the third floor to-day at noon," Hatch explained quickly. "It +looks like suicide." +</p> + +<p> +"How?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"The people who employed her—husband and wife—have +been away for a couple of days," Hatch rushed on. "She +was in the suite alone. This noon she had not appeared, +there was an odor of gas and the door was broken in. Then +she was found dead." +</p> + +<p> +"With the gas turned on?" +</p> + +<p> +"With the gas turned on. She was asphyxiated." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me, dear me," exclaimed the scientist. He arose +and took up his hat. "Let's go see what this is all about." +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +II +</h3> + +<p> +When Professor Van Dusen and Hatch arrived at the +apartment house they had been preceded by the Medical +Examiner and the police. Detective Mallory, whom both knew, +was moving about in the apartment where the girl had been +found dead. The body had been removed and a telegram sent +to her employers in New York. +</p> + +<p> +"Too late," said Mallory, as they entered. +</p> + +<p> +"What was it, Mr. Mallory?" asked the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"Suicide," was the reply. "No question of it. It happened +in this room," and he led the way into the third room of the +suite. "The maid, Miss Regnier, occupied this, and was here +alone last night. Mr. and Mrs. Standing, her employers, have +gone to New York for a few days. She was left alone, and +killed herself." +</p> + +<p> +Without further questioning The Thinking Machine went +over to the bed, from which the girl's body had been taken, +and, stooping beside it, picked up a book. It was a novel by +"The Duchess." He examined this critically, then, standing +on a chair, he examined the gas jet. This done, he stepped +down and went to the window of the little room. Finally +The Thinking Machine turned to the detective. +</p> + +<p> +"Just how much was the gas turned on?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Turned on full," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Were both the doors of the room closed?" +</p> + +<p> +"Both, yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Any cotton, or cloth, or anything of the sort stuffed in +the cracks of the window?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. It's a tight-fitting window, anyway. Are you trying +to make a mystery out of this?" +</p> + +<p> +"Cracks in the doors stuffed?" The Thinking Machine +went on. +</p> + +<p> +"No." There was a smile about the detective's lips. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine, on his knees, examined the bottom +of one of the doors, that which led into the hall. The lock +of this door had been broken when employees burst into the +room. Having satisfied himself here and at the bottom of +the other door, which connected with the bedroom adjoining, +The Thinking Machine again climbed on a chair and +examined the doors at the top. +</p> + +<p> +"Both transoms closed, I suppose?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," was the reply. "You can't make anything but +suicide out of it," explained the detective. "The Medical +Examiner has given that as his opinion—and everything I +find indicates it." +</p> + +<p> +"All right," broke in The Thinking Machine abruptly. +"Don't let us keep you." +</p> + +<p> +After a while Detective Mallory went away. Hatch and +the scientist went down to the office floor, where they saw +the manager. He seemed to be greatly distressed, but was +willing to do anything he could in the matter. +</p> + +<p> +"Is your night engineer perfectly trustworthy?" asked The +Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Perfectly," was the reply. "One of the best and most +reliable men I ever met. Alert and wide-awake." +</p> + +<p> +"Can I see him a moment? The night man, I mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly," was the reply. "He's downstairs. He sleeps +there. He's probably up by this time. He sleeps usually +till one o'clock in the daytime, being up all night." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you supply gas for your tenants?" +</p> + +<p> +"Both gas and electricity are included in the rent of the +Suites. Tenants may use one or both." +</p> + +<p> +"And the gas all comes through one meter?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, one meter. It's just off the engine room." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose there's no way of telling just who in the house +uses gas?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. Some do and some don't. I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +This was what Hatch had told the scientist. Now together +they went to the basement, and there met the night engineer, +Charles Burlingame, a tall, powerful, clean-cut man, of alert +manner and positive speech. He gazed with a little amusement +at the slender, almost childish figure of The Thinking +Machine and the grotesquely large head. +</p> + +<p> +"You are in the engine room or near it all night every +night?" began The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"I haven't missed a night in four years," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Anybody ever come here to see you at night?" +</p> + +<p> +"Never. It's against the rules." +</p> + +<p> +"The manager or a hall boy?" +</p> + +<p> +"Never." +</p> + +<p> +"In the last two months?" The Thinking Machine persisted. +</p> + +<p> +"Not in the last two years," was the positive reply. "I go +on duty every night at seven o'clock, and I am on duty until +seven in the morning. I don't believe I've seen anybody in +the basement here with me between those hours for a year +at least." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine was squinting steadily into the +eyes of the engineer, and for a time both were silent. Hatch +moved about the scrupulously clean engine room and nodded +to the day engineer, who sat leaning back against the wall. +Directly in front of him was the steam gauge. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you a fireman?" was The Thinking Machine's next +question. +</p> + +<p> +"No. I fire myself," said the night man. "Here's the +coal," and he indicated a bin within half a dozen feet of the +mouth of the boiler. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't suppose you ever had occasion to handle the gas +meter?" insisted The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Never touched it in my life," said the other. "I don't +know anything about meters, anyway." +</p> + +<p> +"And you never drop off to sleep at night for a few minutes +when you get lonely? Doze, I mean?" +</p> + +<p> +The engineer grinned good-naturedly. +</p> + +<p> +"Never had any desire to, and besides I wouldn't have the +chance," he explained. "There's a time check here"—and +he indicated it. "I have to punch that every half hour all +night to prove that I have been awake." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me, dear me," exclaimed The Thinking Machine, +irritably. He went over and examined the time check—a +revolving paper disk with hours marked on it, made to move +by the action of a clock, the face of which showed in the +middle. +</p> + +<p> +"Besides there's the steam gauge to watch," went on the +engineer. "No engineer would dare go to sleep. There +might be an explosion." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know Mr. Weldon Henley?" suddenly asked The +Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Who?" asked Burlingame. +</p> + +<p> +"Weldon Henley?" +</p> + +<p> +"No-o," was the slow response. "Never heard of him. +Who is he?" +</p> + +<p> +"One of the tenants, on the second floor, I think." +</p> + +<p> +"Lord, I don't know any of the tenants. What about him?" +</p> + +<p> +"When does the inspector come here to read the meter?" +</p> + +<p> +"I never saw him. I presume in daytime, eh Bill?" and +he turned to the day engineer. +</p> + +<p> +"Always in daytime—usually about noon," said Bill from +his corner. +</p> + +<p> +"Any other entrance to the basement except this way—and +you could see anyone coming here this way I suppose?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sure I could see 'em. There's no other entrance to the +cellar except the coal hole in the sidewalk in front." +</p> + +<p> +"Two big electric lights in front of the building, aren't +there?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. They go all night." +</p> + +<p> +A slightly puzzled expression crept into the eyes of The +Thinking Machine. Hatch knew from the persistency of +the questions that he was not satisfied; yet he was not able to +fathom or to understand all the queries. In some way they +had to do with the possibility of some one having access to +the meter. +</p> + +<p> +"Where do you usually sit at night here?" was the next +question. +</p> + +<p> +"Over there where Bill's sitting. I always sit there." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine crossed the room to Bill, a typical, +grimy-handed man of his class. +</p> + +<p> +"May I sit there a moment?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Bill arose lazily, and The Thinking Machine sank down +into the chair. From this point he could see plainly through +the opening into the basement proper—there was no door—the +gas meter of enormous proportions through which all the +gas in the house passed. An electric light in the door made +it bright as daylight. The Thinking Machine noted these +things, arose, nodded his thanks to the two men and, still +with the puzzled expression on his face, led the way +upstairs. There the manager was still in his office. +</p> + +<p> +"I presume you examine and know that the time check in +the engineer's room is properly punched every half-hour +during the night?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I examine the dial every day—have them here, in +fact, each with the date on it." +</p> + +<p> +"May I see them?" +</p> + +<p> +Now the manager was puzzled. He produced the cards, +one for each day, and for half an hour The Thinking Machine +studied them minutely. At the end of that time, when +he arose and Hatch looked at him inquiringly, he saw still +the perplexed expression. +</p> + +<p> +After urgent solicitation, the manager admitted them to +the apartments of Weldon Henley. Mr. Henley himself had +gone to his office in State Street. Here The Thinking +Machine did several things which aroused the curiosity of the +manager, one of which was to minutely study the gas jets. +Then The Thinking Machine opened one of the front windows +and glanced out into the street. Below fifteen feet was +the sidewalk; above was the solid front of the building, +broken only by a flagpole which, properly roped, extended +from the hall window of the next floor above out over the +sidewalk a distance of twelve feet or so. +</p> + +<p> +"Ever use that flagpole?" he asked the manager. +</p> + +<p> +"Barely," said the manager. "On holidays sometimes—Fourth +of July and such times. We have a big flag for it." +</p> + +<p> +From the apartments The Thinking Machine led the way +to the hall, up the stairs and to the flagpole. Leaning out of +this window, he looked down toward the window of the apartments +he had just left. Then he inspected the rope of the +flagpoles drawing it through his slender hands slowly and +carefully. At last he picked off a slender thread of scarlet +and examined it. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah," he exclaimed. Then to Hatch: "Let's go, Mr. Hatch. +Thank you," this last to the manager, who had been +a puzzled witness. +</p> + +<p> +Once on the street, side by side with The Thinking Machine, +Hatch was bursting with questions, but he didn't ask +them. He knew it would be useless. At last The Thinking +Machine broke the silence. +</p> + +<p> +"That girl, Miss Regnier, <i>was murdered</i>," he said suddenly, +positively. "There have been four attempts to murder +Henley." +</p> + +<p> +"How?" asked Hatch, startled. +</p> + +<p> +"By a scheme so simple that neither you nor I nor the +police have ever heard of it being employed," was the +astonishing reply. "<i>It is perfectly horrible in its simplicity.</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"What was it?" Hatch insisted, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +"It would be futile to discuss that now," was the +rejoinder. "There has been murder. We know how. Now the +question is—who? What person would have a motive to kill +Henley?" +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +III +</h3> + +<p> +There was a pause as they walked on. +</p> + +<p> +"Where are we going?" asked Hatch finally. +</p> + +<p> +"Come up to my place and let's consider this matter a bit +further," replied The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +Not another word was spoken by either until half an hour +later, in the small laboratory. For a long time the scientist +was thoughtful—deeply thoughtful. Once he took down a +volume from a shelf and Hatch glanced at the title. It was +"Gases: Their Properties." After a while he returned this +to the shelf and took down another, on which the reporter +caught the title, "Anatomy." +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Mr. Hatch," said The Thinking Machine in his +perpetually crabbed voice, "we have a most remarkable riddle. +It gains this remarkable aspect from its very simplicity. It is +not, however, necessary to go into that now. I will make it +clear to you when we know the motives. +</p> + +<p> +"As a general rule, the greatest crimes never come to light +because the greatest criminals, their perpetrators, are too +clever to be caught. Here we have what I might call a great +crime committed with a subtle simplicity that is wholly +disarming, and a greater crime even than this was planned. +This was to murder Weldon Henley. The first thing for you +to do is to see Mr. Henley and warn him of his danger. +Asphyxiation will not be attempted again, but there is a +possibility of poison, a pistol shot, a knife, anything almost. +As a matter of fact, he is in great peril. +</p> + +<p> +"Superficially, the death of Miss Regnier, the maid, looks +to be suicide. Instead it is the fruition of a plan which has +been tried time and again against Henley. There is a possibility +that Miss Regnier was not an intentional victim of the +plot, but the fact remains that she was murdered. Why? +Find the motive for the plot to murder Mr. Henley and you +will know why." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine reached over to the shelf, took a +book, looked at it a moment, then went on: +</p> + +<p> +"The first question to determine positively is: Who hated +Weldon Henley sufficiently to desire his death? You say he +is a successful man in the Street. Therefore there is a +possibility that some enemy there is at the bottom of the +affair, yet it seems hardly probable. If by his operations +Mr. Henley ever happened to wreck another man's fortune find +this man and find out all about him. He may be the man. +There will be innumerable questions arising from this line of +inquiry to a man of your resources. Leave none of them +unanswered. +</p> + +<p> +"On the other hand there is Henley's love affair. Had he +a rival who might desire his death? Had he any rival? If +so, find out all about him. He may be the man who planned +all this. Here, too, there will be questions arising which +demand answers. Answer them—all of them—fully and +clearly before you see me again. +</p> + +<p> +"Was Henley ever a party to a liaison of any kind? Find +that out, too. A vengeful woman or a discarded sweetheart +of a vengeful woman, you know, will go to any extreme. +The rumor of his engagement to Miss—Miss—" +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Lipscomb," Hatch supplied. +</p> + +<p> +"The rumor of his engagement to Miss Lipscomb might +have caused a woman whom he had once been interested in +or who was once interested in him to attempt his life. The +subtler murders—that is, the ones which are most attractive +as problems—are nearly always the work of a cunning +woman. I know nothing about women myself," he hastened +to explain; "but Lombroso has taken that attitude. +Therefore, see if there is a woman." +</p> + +<p> +Most of these points Hatch had previously seen—seen with +the unerring eye of a clever newspaper reporter—yet there +were several which had not occurred to him. He nodded his +understanding. +</p> + +<p> +"Now the center of the affair, of course," The Thinking +Machine continued, "is the apartment house where Henley +lives. The person who attempted his life either lives there +or has ready access to the place, and frequently spends +the night there. This is a vital question for you to +answer. I am leaving all this to you because you know +better how to do these things than I do. That's all, I +think. When these things are all learned come back to +me." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine arose as if the interview were at +an end, and Hatch also arose, reluctantly. An idea was +beginning to dawn in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +"Does it occur to you that there is any connection +whatever between Henley and Miss Regnier?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"It is possible," was the reply. "I had thought of that. +If there is a connection it is not apparent yet." +</p> + +<p> +"Then how—how was it she—she was killed, or killed +herself, whichever may be true, and—" +</p> + +<p> +"The attempt to kill Henley killed her. That's all I can +say now." +</p> + +<p> +"That all?" asked Hatch, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +"No. Warn Mr. Henley immediately that he is in grave +danger. Remember the person who has planned this will +probably go to any extreme. I don't know Mr. Henley, of +course, but from the fact that he always had a light at night +I gather that he is a timid sort of man—not necessarily a +coward, but a man lacking in stamina—therefore, one who +might better disappear for a week or so until the mystery is +cleared up. Above all, impress upon him the importance of +the warning." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine opened his pocketbook and took +from it the scarlet thread which he had picked from the rope +of the flagpole. +</p> + +<p> +"Here, I believe, is the real clew to the problem," he +explained to Hatch. "What does it seem to be?" +</p> + +<p> +Hatch examined it closely. +</p> + +<p> +"I should say a strand from a Turkish bath robe," was +his final judgment. +</p> + +<p> +"Possibly. Ask some cloth expert what he makes of it, +then if it sounds promising look into it. Find out if by any +possibility it can be any part of any garment worn by any +person in the apartment house." +</p> + +<p> +"But it's so slight—" Hatch began. +</p> + +<p> +"I know," the other interrupted, tartly. "It's slight, but +I believe it is a part of the wearing apparel of the person, +man or woman, who has four times attempted to kill Mr. Henley +and who did kill the girl. Therefore, it is important." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch looked at him quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, how—in what manner—did it come where you +found it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Simple enough," said the scientist. "It is a wonder that +there were not more pieces of it—that's all." +</p> + +<p> +Perplexed by his instructions, but confident of results, +Hatch left The Thinking Machine. What possible connection +could this tiny bit of scarlet thread, found on a flagpole, +have with some one shutting off the gas in Henley's rooms? +How did any one go into Henley's rooms to shut off the gas! +How was it Miss Regnier was dead? What was the manner +of her death? +</p> + +<p> +A cloth expert in a great department store turned his +knowledge on the tiny bit of scarlet for the illumination of +Hatch, but he could go no further than to say that it seemed +to be part of a Turkish bath robe. +</p> + +<p> +"Man or woman's?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"The material from which bath robes are made is the same +for both men and women," was the reply. "I can say nothing +else. Of course there's not enough of it to even guess at +the pattern of the robe." +</p> + +<p> +Then Hatch went to the financial district and was ushered +into the office of Weldon Henley, a slender, handsome man of +thirty-two or three years, pallid of face and nervous in +manner. He still showed the effect of the gas poisoning, and +there was even a trace of a furtive fear—fear of something, +he himself didn't know what—in his actions. +</p> + +<p> +Henley talked freely to the newspaper man of certain +things, but of other things was resentfully reticent. He +admitted his engagement to Miss Lipscomb, and finally even +admitted that Miss Lipscomb's hand had been sought by +another man, Regnault Cabell, formerly of Virginia. +</p> + +<p> +"Could you give me his address?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"He lives in the same apartment house with me—two +floors above," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch was startled; startled more than he would have +cared to admit. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you on friendly terms with him?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly," said Henley. "I won't say anything further +about this matter. It would be unwise for obvious reasons." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose you consider that this turning on of the gas +was an attempt on your life?" +</p> + +<p> +"I can't suppose anything else." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch studied the pallid face closely as he asked the next +question. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know Miss Regnier was found dead to-day?" +</p> + +<p> +"Dead?" exclaimed the other, and he arose. "Who—what—who +is she?" +</p> + +<p> +It seemed a distinct effort for him to regain control of +himself. +</p> + +<p> +The reporter detailed then the circumstances of the finding +of the girl's body, and the broker listened without +comment. From that time forward all the reporter's questions +were either parried or else met with a flat refusal to answer. +Finally Hatch, repeated to him the warning which he had +from The Thinking Machine, and feeling that he had +accomplished little went away. +</p> + +<p> +At eight o'clock that night—a night of complete darkness—Henley +was found unconscious, lying in a little used walk +in the Common. There was a bullet hole through his left +shoulder, and he was bleeding profusely. He was removed +to the hospital, where he regained consciousness for just a +moment. +</p> + +<p> +"Who shot you?" he was asked. +</p> + +<p> +"None of your business," he replied, and lapsed into +unconsciousness. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +IV +</h3> + +<p> +Entirely unaware of this latest attempt on the life of the +broker, Hutchinson Hatch steadily pursued his investigations. +They finally led him to an intimate friend of Regnault Cabell. +The young Southerner had apartments on the fourth floor of +the big house off Commonwealth Avenue, directly over those +Henley occupied, but two flights higher up. This friend was +a figure in the social set of the Back Bay. He talked to +Hatch freely of Cabell. +</p> + +<p> +"He's a good fellow," he explained, "one of the best I ever +met, and comes of one of the best families Virginia ever +had—a true F.F.V. He's pretty quick tempered and all that, +but an excellent chap, and everywhere he has gone here he +has made friends." +</p> + +<p> +"He used to be in love with Miss Lipscomb of Virginia, +didn't he?" asked Hatch, casually. +</p> + +<p> +"Used to be?" the other repeated with a laugh. "He <i>is</i> in +love with her. But recently he understood that she was +engaged to Weldon Henley, a broker—you may have heard of +him?—and that, I suppose, has dampened his ardor considerably. +As a matter of fact, Cabell took the thing to heart. +He used to know Miss Lipscomb in Virginia—she comes from +another famous family there—and he seemed to think he had +a prior claim on her." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch heard all these things as any man might listen to +gossip, but each additional fact was sinking into his mind, +and each additional fact led his suspicions on deeper into +the channel they had chosen. +</p> + +<p> +"Cabell is pretty well to do," his informant went on, "not +rich as we count riches in the North, but pretty well to do, +and I believe he came to Boston because Miss Lipscomb spent +so much of her time here. She is a beautiful young woman +of twenty-two and extremely popular in the social world +everywhere, particularly in Boston. Then there was the +additional fact that Henley was here." +</p> + +<p> +"No chance at all for Cabell?" Hatch suggested. +</p> + +<p> +"Not the slightest," was the reply. "Yet despite the +heartbreak he had, he was the first to congratulate Henley on +winning her love. And he meant it, too." +</p> + +<p> +"What's his attitude toward Henley now?" asked Hatch. +His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tense note +imperceptible to the other. +</p> + +<p> +"They meet and speak and move in the same set. There's +no love lost on either side, I don't suppose, but there is no +trace of any ill feeling." +</p> + +<p> +"Cabell doesn't happen to be a vindictive sort of man?" +</p> + +<p> +"Vindictive?" and the other laughed. "No. He's like a +big boy, forgiving, and all that; hot-tempered, though. I +could imagine him in a fit of anger making a personal +matter of it with Henley, but I don't think he ever did." +</p> + +<p> +The mind of the newspaper man was rapidly focusing on +one point; the rush of thoughts, questions and doubts +silenced him for a moment. Then: +</p> + +<p> +"How long has Cabell been in Boston?" +</p> + +<p> +"Seven or eight months—that is, he has had apartments +here for that long—but he has made several visits South. +I suppose it's South. He has a trick of dropping out of +sight occasionally. I understand that he intends to go South +for good very soon. If I'm not mistaken, he is trying now +to rent his suite." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch looked suddenly at his informant; an idea of +seeing Cabell and having a legitimate excuse for talking to +him had occurred to him. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm looking for a suite," he volunteered at last. "I +wonder if you would give me a card of introduction to him? We +might get together on it." +</p> + +<p> +Thus it happened that half an hour later, about ten +minutes past nine o'clock, Hatch was on his way to the big +apartment house. In the office he saw the manager. +</p> + +<p> +"Heard the news?" asked the manager. +</p> + +<p> +"No," Hatch replied. "What is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Somebody's shot Mr. Henley as he was passing through +the Common early to-night." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch whistled his amazement. +</p> + +<p> +"Is he dead?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, but he is unconscious. The hospital doctors say it is +a nasty wound, but not necessarily dangerous." +</p> + +<p> +"Who shot him? Do they know?" +</p> + +<p> +"He knows, but he won't say." +</p> + +<p> +Amazed and alarmed by this latest development, an accurate +fulfillment of The Thinking Machine's prophecy, Hatch +stood thoughtful for a moment, then recovering his +composure a little asked for Cabell. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think there's much chance of seeing him," said the +manager. "He's going away on the midnight train—going +South, to Virginia." +</p> + +<p> +"Going away to-night?" Hatch gasped. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; it seems to have been rather a sudden determination. +He was talking to me here half an hour or so ago, and +said something about going away. While he was here the +telephone boy told me that Henley had been shot; they had +'phoned from the hospital to inform us. Then Cabell seemed +greatly agitated. He said he was going away to-night, if he +could catch the midnight train, and now he's packing." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose the shooting of Henley upset him considerably?" +the reporter suggested. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I guess it did," was the reply. "They moved in the +same set and belonged to the same clubs." +</p> + +<p> +The manager sent Hatch's card of introduction to Cabell's +apartments. Hatch went up and was ushered into a suite +identical with that of Henley's in every respect save in minor +details of furnishings. Cabell stood in the middle of the +floor, with his personal belongings scattered about the room; +his valet, evidently a Frenchman, was busily engaged in +packing. +</p> + +<p> +Cabell's greeting was perfunctorily cordial; he seemed +agitated. His face was flushed and from time to time he ran +his fingers through his long, brown hair. He stared at Hatch +in a preoccupied fashion, then they fell into conversation +about the rent of the apartments. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll take almost anything reasonable," Cabell said +hurriedly. "You see, I am going away to-night, rather more +suddenly than I had intended, and I am anxious to get the +lease off my hands. I pay two hundred dollars a month for +these just as they are." +</p> + +<p> +"May I look them over?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +He passed from the front room into the next. Here, on a +bed, was piled a huge lot of clothing, and the valet, with deft +fingers, was brushing and folding, preparatory to packing. +Cabell was directly behind him. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite comfortable, you see," he explained. "There's room +enough if you are alone. Are you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes," Hatch replied. +</p> + +<p> +"This other room here," Cabell explained, "is not in very +tidy shape now. I have been out of the city for several weeks, +and— What's the matter?" he demanded suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch had turned quickly at the words and stared at him, +then recovered himself with a start. +</p> + +<p> +"I beg your pardon," he stammered. "I rather thought I +saw you in town here a week or so ago—of course I didn't +know you—and I was wondering if I could have been mistaken." +</p> + +<p> +"Must have been," said the other easily. "During the time +I was away a Miss ——, a friend of my sister's, occupied the +suite. I'm afraid some of her things are here. She hasn't +sent for them as yet. She occupied this room, I think; when +I came back a few days ago she took another place and all +her things haven't been removed." +</p> + +<p> +"I see," remarked Hatch, casually. "I don't suppose there's +any chance of her returning here unexpectedly if I should +happen to take her apartments?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not the slightest. She knows I am back, and thinks I am +to remain. She was to send for these things." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch gazed about the room ostentatiously. Across a +trunk lay a Turkish bath robe with a scarlet stripe in it. +He was anxious to get hold of it, to examine it closely. But +he didn't dare to, then. Together they returned to the front +room. +</p> + +<p> +"I rather like the place," he said, after a pause, "but the +price is—" +</p> + +<p> +"Just a moment," Cabell interrupted. "Jean, before you +finish packing that suit case be sure to put my bath robe in +it. It's in the far room." +</p> + +<p> +Then one question was settled for Hatch. After a moment +the valet returned with the bath robe, which had been in the +far room. It was Cabell's bath robe. As Jean passed the +reporter an end of the robe caught on a corner of the trunk, +and, stopping, the reporter unfastened it. A tiny strand of +thread clung to the metal; Hatch detached it and stood idly +twirling it in his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +"As I was saying," he resumed, "I rather like the place, +but the price is too much. Suppose you leave it in the hands +of the manager of the house—" +</p> + +<p> +"I had intended doing that," the Southerner interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'll see him about it later," Hatch added. +</p> + +<p> +With a cordial, albeit pre-occupied, handshake, Cabell +ushered him out. Hatch went down in the elevator with a +feeling of elation; a feeling that he had accomplished +something. The manager was waiting to get into the lift. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you happen to remember the name of the young lady +who occupied Mr. Cabell's suite while he was away?" he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Austin," said the manager, "but she's not young. +She was about forty-five years old, I should judge." +</p> + +<p> +"Did Mr. Cabell have his servant Jean with him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," said the manager. "The valet gave up the suite +to Miss Austin entirely, and until Mr. Cabell returned +occupied a room in the quarters we have for our own +employees." +</p> + +<p> +"Was Miss Austin ailing any way?" asked Hatch. "I saw +a large number of medicine bottles upstairs." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know what was the matter with her," replied the +manager, with a little puzzled frown. "She certainly was not +a woman of sound mental balance—that is, she was eccentric, +and all that. I think rather it was an act of charity for +Mr. Cabell to let her have the suite in his absence. Certainly +we didn't want her." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch passed out, and burst in eagerly upon The Thinking +Machine in his laboratory. +</p> + +<p> +"Here," he said, and triumphantly he extended the tiny +scarlet strand which he had received from The Thinking +Machine, and the other of the identical color which came +from Cabell's bath robe. "Is that the same?" +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine placed them under the microscope +and examined them immediately. Later he submitted them, +to a chemical test. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>It is the same,</i>" he said, finally. +</p> + +<p> +"Then the mystery is solved," said Hatch, conclusively. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +V +</h3> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine stared steadily into the eager, +exultant eyes of the newspaper man until Hatch at last began +to fear that he had been precipitate. After awhile, under +close scrutiny, the reporter began to feel convinced that he +had made a mistake—he didn't quite see where, but it must +be there, and the exultant manner passed. The voice of The +Thinking Machine was like a cold shower. +</p> + +<p> +"Remember, Mr. Hatch," he said, critically, "that unless +every possible question has been considered one cannot boast +of a solution. Is there any possible question lingering yet +in your mind?" +</p> + +<p> +The reporter silently considered that for a moment, then: +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I have the main facts, anyway. There may be one +or two minor questions left, but the principal ones are +answered." +</p> + +<p> +"Then tell me, to the minutest detail, what you have +learned, what has happened." +</p> + +<p> +Professor Van Dusen sank back in his old, familiar pose in +the large arm chair and Hatch related what he had learned +and what he surmised. He related, too, the peculiar +circumstances surrounding the wounding of Henley, and right on +down to the beginning and end of the interview with Cabell +in the latter's apartments. The Thinking Machine was +silent for a time, then there came a host of questions. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know where the woman—Miss Austin—is now?" +was the first. +</p> + +<p> +"No," Hatch had to admit. +</p> + +<p> +"Or her precise mental condition?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Or her exact relationship to Cabell?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know, then, what the valet, Jean, knows of the +affair?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, not that," said the reporter, and his face flushed +under the close questioning. "He was out of the suite every +night." +</p> + +<p> +"Therefore might have been the very one who turned on +the gas," the other put in testily. +</p> + +<p> +"So far as I can learn, nobody could have gone into that +room and turned on the gas," said the reporter, somewhat +aggressively. "Henley barred the doors and windows and +kept watch, night after night." +</p> + +<p> +"Yet the moment he was exhausted and fell asleep the gas +was turned on to kill him," said The Thinking Machine; +"thus we see that <i>he was watched more closely than he +watched.</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"I see what you mean now," said Hatch, after a long pause. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like to know what Henley and Cabell and the +valet knew of the girl who was found dead," The Thinking +Machine suggested. "Further, I should like to know if there +was a good-sized mirror—not one set in a bureau or +dresser—either in Henley's room or the apartments where the girl +was found. Find out this for me and—never mind. I'll go +with you." +</p> + +<p> +The scientist left the room. When he returned he wore his +coat and hat. Hatch arose mechanically to follow. For a +block or more they walked along, neither speaking. The +Thinking Machine was the first to break the silence: +</p> + +<p> +"You believe Cabell is the man who attempted to kill +Henley?" +</p> + +<p> +"Frankly, yes," replied the newspaper man. +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because he had the motive—disappointed love." +</p> + +<p> +"How?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," Hatch confessed. "The doors of the +Henley suite were closed. I don't see how anybody passed +them." +</p> + +<p> +"And the girl? Who killed her? How? Why?" +</p> + +<p> +Disconsolately Hatch shook his head as he walked on. +The Thinking Machine interpreted his silence aright. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't jump at conclusions," he advised sharply. "You +are confident Cabell was to blame for this—and he might +have been, I don't know yet—but you can suggest nothing to +show how he did it. I have told you before that imagination +is half of logic." +</p> + +<p> +At last the lights of the big apartment house where Henley +lived came in sight. Hatch shrugged his shoulders. He had +grave doubts—based on what he knew—whether The Thinking +Machine would be able to see Cabell. It was nearly +eleven o'clock and Cabell was to leave for the South at +midnight. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Mr. Cabell here?" asked the scientist of the elevator +boy. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, just about to go, though. He won't see anyone." +</p> + +<p> +"Hand him this note," instructed The Thinking Machine, +and he scribbled something on a piece of paper. "He'll +see us." +</p> + +<p> +The boy took the paper and the elevator shot up to the +fourth floor. After a while he returned. +</p> + +<p> +"He'll see you," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Is he unpacking?" +</p> + +<p> +"After he read your note twice he told his valet to +unpack," the boy replied. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, I thought so," said The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +With Hatch, mystified and puzzled, following, The Thinking +Machine entered the elevator to step out a second or so +later on the fourth floor. As they left the car they saw the +door of Cabell's apartment standing open; Cabell was in the +door. Hatch traced a glimmer of anxiety in the eyes of the +young man. +</p> + +<p> +"Professor Van Dusen?" Cabell inquired. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said the scientist. "It was of the utmost importance +that I should see you, otherwise I should not have come +at this time of night." +</p> + +<p> +With a wave of his hand Cabell passed that detail. +</p> + +<p> +"I was anxious to get away at midnight," he explained, +"but, of course, now I shan't go, in view of your note. I have +ordered my valet to unpack my things, at least until +to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +The reporter and the scientist passed into the luxuriously +furnished apartments. Jean, the valet, was bending over a +suit case as they entered, removing some things he had been +carefully placing there. He didn't look back or pay the +least attention to the visitors. +</p> + +<p> +"This is your valet?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said the young man. +</p> + +<p> +"French, isn't he?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Speak English at all?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very badly," said Cabell. "I use French when I talk to +him." +</p> + +<p> +"Does he know that you are accused of murder?" asked +The Thinking Machine, in a quiet, conversational tone. +</p> + +<p> +The effect of the remark on Cabell was startling. He +staggered back a step or so as if he had been struck in the +face, and a crimson flush overspread his brow. Jean, the +valet, straightened up suddenly and looked around. There +was a queer expression, too, in his eyes; an expression which +Hatch could not fathom. +</p> + +<p> +"Murder?" gasped Cabell, at last. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he speaks English all right," remarked The Thinking +Machine. "Now, Mr. Cabell, will you please tell me just +who Miss Austin is, and where she is, and her mental +condition? Believe me, it may save you a great deal of trouble. +What I said in the note is not exaggerated." +</p> + +<p> +The young man turned suddenly and began to pace back +and forth across the room. After a few minutes he paused +before The Thinking Machine, who stood impatiently +waiting for an answer. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll tell you, yes," said Cabell, firmly. "Miss Austin is a +middle-aged woman whom my sister befriended several times—was, +in fact, my sister's governess when she was a child. +Of late years she has not been wholly right mentally, and +has suffered a great deal of privation. I had about concluded +arrangements to put her in a private sanitarium. I permitted +her to remain in these rooms in my absence, South. I did +not take Jean—he lived in the quarters of the other +employees of the place, and gave the apartment entirely to Miss +Austin. It was simply an act of charity." +</p> + +<p> +"What was the cause of your sudden determination to go +South to-night?" asked the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"I won't answer that question," was the sullen reply. +</p> + +<p> +There was a long, tense silence. Jean, the valet, came and +went several times. +</p> + +<p> +"How long has Miss Austin known Mr. Henley?" +</p> + +<p> +"Presumably since she has been in these apartments," was +the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you sure <i>you</i> are not Miss Austin?" demanded the +scientist. +</p> + +<p> +The question was almost staggering, not only to Cabell, +but to Hatch. Suddenly, with flaming face, the young +Southerner leaped forward as if to strike down The +Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"That won't do any good," said the scientist, coldly. "Are +you sure you are not Miss Austin?" he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly I am not Miss Austin," responded Cabell, +fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you a mirror in these apartments about twelve +inches by twelve inches?" asked The Thinking Machine, +irrelevantly. +</p> + +<p> +"I—I don't know," stammered the young man. "I—have +we, Jean?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Oui</i>," replied the valet. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," snapped The Thinking Machine. "Talk English, +please. May I see it?" +</p> + +<p> +The valet, without a word but with a sullen glance at the +questioner, turned and left the room. He returned after a +moment with the mirror. The Thinking Machine carefully +examined the frame, top and bottom and on both sides. At +last he looked up; again the valet was bending over a suit +case. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you use gas in these apartments?" the scientist asked +suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +"No," was the bewildered response. "What is all this, +anyway?" +</p> + +<p> +Without answering, The Thinking Machine drew a chair +up under the chandelier where the gas and electric fixtures +were and began to finger the gas tips. After a while he +climbed down and passed into the next room, with Hatch +and Cabell, both hopelessly mystified, following. There the +scientist went through the same process of fingering the +gas jets. Finally, one of the gas tips came out in his +hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah," he exclaimed, suddenly, and Hatch knew the note of +triumph in it. The jet from which the tip came was just on +a level with his shoulder, set between a dressing table and a +"window. He leaned over and squinted at the gas pipe closely. +Then he returned to the room where the valet was. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Jean," he began, in an even, calm voice, "please tell +me <i>if you did or did not kill Miss Regnier purposely?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know what you mean," said the servant sullenly, +angrily, as he turned on the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"You speak very good English now," was The Thinking +Machine's terse comment. "Mr. Hatch, lock the door and use +this 'phone to call the police." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch turned to do as he was bid and saw a flash of steel +in young Cabell's hand, which was drawn suddenly from a +hip pocket. It was a revolver. The weapon glittered in the +light, and Hatch flung himself forward. There was a sharp +report, and a bullet was buried in the floor. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +VI +</h3> + +<p> +Then came a fierce, hard fight for possession of the +revolver. It ended with the weapon in Hatch's hand, and both +he and Cabell blowing from the effort they had expended. +Jean, the valet, had turned at the sound of the shot and +started toward the door leading into the hall. The Thinking +Machine had stepped in front of him, and now stood there +with his back to the door. Physically he would have been +a child in the hands of the valet, yet there was a look in his +eyes which stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Mr. Hatch," said the scientist quietly, a touch of +irony in his voice, "hand me the revolver, then 'phone for +Detective Mallory to come here immediately. Tell him we +have a murderer—and if he can't come at once get some other +detective whom you know." +</p> + +<p> +"Murderer!" gasped Cabell. +</p> + +<p> +Uncontrollable rage was blazing in the eyes of the valet, +and he made as if to throw The Thinking Machine aside, +despite the revolver, when Hatch was at the telephone. As +Jean started forward, however, Cabell stopped him with a +quick, stern gesture. Suddenly the young Southerner turned +on The Thinking Machine; but it was with a question. +</p> + +<p> +"What does it all mean?" he asked, bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +"It means that that man there," and The Thinking Machine +indicated the valet by a nod of his head, "is a +murderer—that he killed Louise Regnier; that he shot Weldon +Henley on Boston Common, and that, with the aid of Miss +Regnier, he had four times previously attempted to kill +Mr. Henley. Is he coming, Mr. Hatch?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," was the reply. "He says he'll be here directly." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you deny it?" demanded The Thinking Machine of +the valet. +</p> + +<p> +"I've done nothing," said the valet sullenly. "I'm going +out of here." +</p> + +<p> +Like an infuriated animal he rushed forward. Hatch and +Cabell seized him and bore him to the floor. There, after a +frantic struggle, he was bound and the other three men sat +down to wait for Detective Mallory. Cabell sank back in his +chair with a perplexed frown on his face. From time to time +he glanced at Jean. The flush of anger which had been on +the valet's face was gone now; instead there was the pallor +of fear. +</p> + +<p> +"Won't you tell us?" pleaded Cabell impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +"When Detective Mallory comes and takes his prisoner," +said The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later they heard a quick step in the hall +outside and Hatch opened the door. Detective Mallory entered +and looked from one to another inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +"That's your prisoner, Mr. Mallory," said the scientist, +coldly. "I charge him with the murder of Miss Regnier, +whom you were so confident committed suicide; I charge him +with five attempts on the life of Weldon Henley, four times +by gas poisoning, in which Miss Regnier was his accomplice, +and once by shooting. He is the man who shot Mr. Henley." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine arose and walked over to the +prostrate man, handing the revolver to Hatch. He glared +down at Jean fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +<a id="p70"></a> +"Will you tell how you did it or shall I?" he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +His answer was a sullen, defiant glare. He turned and +picked up the square mirror which the valet had produced +previously. +</p> + +<p> +"That's where the screw was, isn't it?" he asked, as he +indicated a small hole in the frame of the mirror. Jean stared +at it and his head sank forward hopelessly. "And this is the +bath robe you wore, isn't it?" he demanded again, and from +the suit case he pulled out the garment with the scarlet +stripe. +</p> + +<p> +"I guess you got me all right," was the sullen reply. +</p> + +<p> +"It might be better for you if you told the story then?" +suggested The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"You know so much about it, tell it yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well," was the calm rejoinder. "I will. If I make +any mistake you will correct me." +</p> + +<p> +For a long time no one spoke. The Thinking Machine had +dropped back into a chair and was staring through his thick +glasses at the ceiling; his finger tips were pressed tightly +together. At last he began: +</p> + +<p> +"There are certain trivial gaps which only the imagination +can supply until the matter is gone into more fully. I +should have supplied these myself, but the arrest of this man, +Jean, was precipitated by the attempted hurried departure of +Mr. Cabell for the South to-night, and I did not have time +to go into the case to the fullest extent. +</p> + +<p> +"Thus, we begin with the fact that there were several +clever attempts made to murder Mr. Henley. This was by +putting out the gas which he habitually left burning in his +room. It happened four times in all; thus proving that it +was an attempt to kill him. If it had been only once it +might have been accident, even twice it might have been +accident, but the same accident does not happen four times +at the same time of night. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Henley finally grew to regard the strange extinguishing +of the gas as an effort to kill him, and carefully locked +and barred his door and windows each night. He believed +that some one came into his apartments and put out the light, +leaving the gas flow. This, of course, was not true. Yet the +gas was put out. How? My first idea, a natural one, was +that it was turned off for an instant at the meter, when the +light would go out, then turned on again. This, I convinced +myself, was not true. Therefore still the question—how? +</p> + +<p> +"It is a fact—I don't know how widely known it is—but it +is a fact that every gas light in this house might be +extinguished at the same time from this room without leaving +it. How? Simply by removing the gas jet tip and blowing +into the gas pipe. It would not leave a jet in the building +burning. It is due to the fact that the lung power is greater +than the pressure of the gas in the pipes, and forces it out. +</p> + +<p> +"Thus we have the method employed to extinguish the +light in Mr. Henley's rooms, and all the barred and locked +doors and windows would not stop it. At the same time it +threatened the life of every other person in the house—that +is, every other person who used gas. It was probably for this +reason that the attempt was always made late at night, I +should say three or four o'clock. That's when it was done, +isn't it?" he asked suddenly of the valet. +</p> + +<p> +Staring at The Thinking Machine in open-mouthed astonishment +the valet nodded his acquiescence before he was fully +aware of it. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, that's right," The Thinking Machine resumed +complacently. "This was easily found out—comparatively. The +next question was how was a watch kept on Mr. Henley? It +would have done no good to extinguish the gas before he was +asleep, or to have turned it on when he was not in his rooms. +It might have led to a speedy discovery of just how the thing +was done. +</p> + +<p> +"There's a spring lock on the door of Mr. Henley's apartment. +Therefore it would have been impossible for anyone +to peep through the keyhole. There are no cracks through +which one might see. How was this watch kept? How was +the plotter to satisfy himself positively of the time when +Mr. Henley was asleep? How was it the gas was put out at no +time of the score or more nights Mr. Henley himself kept +watch? Obviously he was watched through a window. +</p> + +<p> +"No one could climb out on the window ledge and look +into Mr. Henley's apartments. No one could see into that +apartment from the street—that is, could see whether +Mr. Henley was asleep or even in bed. They could see the light. +Watch was kept with the aid offered by the flagpole, +supplemented with a mirror—this mirror. A screw was driven +into the frame—it has been removed now—it was swung on +the flagpole rope and pulled out to the end of the pole, facing +the building. To a man standing in the hall window of the +third floor it offered precisely the angle necessary to reflect +the interior of Mr. Henley's suite, possibly even showed him +in bed through a narrow opening in the curtain. There is +no shade on the windows of that suite; heavy curtains +instead. Is that right?" +</p> + +<p> +Again the prisoner was surprised into a mute acquiescence. +</p> + +<p> +"I saw the possibility of these things, and I saw, too, that +at three or four o'clock in the morning it would be perfectly +possible for a person to move about the upper halls of this +house without being seen. If he wore a heavy bath robe, +with a hood, say, no one would recognize him even if he were +seen, and besides the garb would not cause suspicion. This +bath robe has a hood. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, in working the mirror back and forth on the flag-pole +at night a tiny scarlet thread was pulled out of the robe +and clung to the rope. I found this thread; later Mr. Hatch +found an identical thread in these apartments. Both came +from that bath robe. Plain logic shows that the person who +blew down the gas pipes worked the mirror trick; the person +who worked the mirror trick left the thread; the thread comes +back to the bath robe—that bath robe there," he pointed +dramatically. "Thus the person who desired Henley's death +was in these apartments, or had easy access to them." +</p> + +<p> +He paused a moment and there was a tense silence. A +great light was coming to Hatch, slowly but surely. The +brain that had followed all this was unlimited in possibilities. +</p> + +<p> +"Even before we traced the origin of the crime to this +room," went on the scientist, quietly now, "attention had +been attracted here, particularly to you, Mr. Cabell. It was +through the love affair, of which Miss Lipscomb was the +center. Mr. Hatch learned that you and Henley had been +rivals for her hand. It was that, even before this scarlet +thread was found, which indicated that you might have some +knowledge of the affair, directly or indirectly. +</p> + +<p> +"You are not a malicious or revengeful man, Mr. Cabell. +But you are hot-tempered—extremely so. You demonstrated +that just now, when, angry and not understanding, but feeling +that your honor was at stake, you shot a hole in the floor." +</p> + +<p> +"What?" asked Detective Mallory. +</p> + +<p> +"A little accident," explained The Thinking Machine +quickly. "Not being a malicious or revengeful man, you are +not the man to deliberately go ahead and make elaborate +plans for the murder of Henley. In a moment of passion you +might have killed him—but never deliberately as the result +of premeditation. Besides you were out of town. Who was +then in these apartments? Who had access to these +apartments? Who might have used your bath robe? Your valet, +possibly Miss Austin. Which? Now, let's see how we +reached this conclusion which led to the valet. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Regnier was found dead. It was not suicide. How +did I know? Because she had been reading with the gas +light at its full. If she had been reading by the gas light, +how was it then that it went out and suffocated her before she +could arise and shut it off? Obviously she must have fallen +asleep over her book and left the light burning. +</p> + +<p> +"If she was in this plot to kill Henley, why did she light +the jet in her room? There might have been some slight +defect in the electric bulb in her room which she had just +discovered. Therefore she lighted the gas, intending to +extinguish it—turn it off entirely—later. But she fell asleep. +Therefore when the valet here blew into the pipe, intending +to kill Mr. Henley, he unwittingly killed the woman he +loved—Miss Regnier. It was perfectly possible, meanwhile, that +she did not know of the attempt to be made that particular +night, although she had participated in the others, knowing +that Henley had night after night sat up to watch the light +in his rooms. +</p> + +<p> +"The facts, as I knew them, showed no connection between +Miss Regnier and this man at that time—nor any connection +between Miss Regnier and Henley. It might have been that +the person who blew the gas out of the pipe from these rooms +knew nothing whatever of Miss Regnier, just as he didn't +know who else he might have killed in the building. +</p> + +<p> +"But I had her death and the manner of it. I had eliminated +you, Mr. Cabell. Therefore there remained Miss Austin +and the valet. Miss Austin was eccentric—insane, if you +will. Would she have any motive for killing Henley? I +could imagine none. Love? Probably not. Money? They +had nothing in common on that ground. What? Nothing +that I could see. Therefore, for the moment, I passed Miss +Austin by, after asking you, Mr. Cabell, if you were Miss +Austin. +</p> + +<p> +"What remained? The valet. Motive? Several possible +ones, one or two probable. He is French, or says he is. Miss +Regnier is French. Therefore I had arrived at the conclusion +that they knew each other as people of the same nationality +will in a house of this sort. And remember, I had passed +by Mr. Cabell and Miss Austin so the valet was the only one +left; he could use the bath robe. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, the motive. Frankly that was the only difficult +point in the entire problem—difficult because there were so +many possibilities. And each possibility that suggested itself +suggested also a woman. Jealousy? There must be a woman. +Hate? Probably a woman. Attempted extortion? With +the aid of a woman. No other motive which would lead to so +elaborate a plot of murder would come forward. Who was the +woman? Miss Regnier. +</p> + +<p> +"Did Miss Regnier know Henley? Mr. Hatch had reason +to believe he knew her because of his actions when informed +of her death. Knew her how? People of such relatively +different planes of life can know each other—or do know each +other—only on one plane. Henley is a typical young man, +fast, I dare say, and liberal. Perhaps, then, there had been a +liaison. When I saw this possibility I had my motives—all +of them—jealousy, hate and possibly attempted extortion as +well. +</p> + +<p> +"What was more possible than Mr. Henley and Miss +Regnier had been acquainted? All liaisons are secret ones. +Suppose she had been cast off because of the engagement to +young woman of Henley's own level? Suppose she had +confided in the valet here? Do you see? Motives enough for +any crime, however diabolical. The attempts on Henley's +life possibly followed an attempted extortion of money. +The shot which wounded Henley was fired by this man, Jean. +Why? Because the woman who had cause to hate Henley +was dead. Then the man? He was alive and vindictive. +Henley knew who shot him, and knew why, but he'll never +way it publicly. He can't afford to. It would ruin him. I +think probably that's all. Do you want to add anything?" he +asked of the valet. +</p> + +<p> +"No," was the fierce reply. "I'm sorry I didn't kill him, +that's all. It was all about as you said, though God knows +how you found it out," he added, desperately. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you a Frenchman?" +</p> + +<p> +"I was born in New York, but lived in France for eleven +years. I first knew Louise there." +</p> + +<p> +Silence fell upon the little group. Then Hatch asked a +question: +</p> + +<p> +"You told me, Professor, that there would be no other +attempt to kill Henley by extinguishing the gas. How did you +know that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because one person—the wrong person—had been killed +that way," was the reply. "For this reason it was hardly +likely that another attempt of that sort would be made. You +had no intention of killing Louise Regnier, had you, Jean?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, God help me, no." +</p> + +<p> +"It was all done in these apartments," The Thinking +Machine added, turning to Cabell, "at the gas jet from +which I took the tip. It had been only loosely replaced +and the metal was tarnished where the lips had dampened +it." +</p> + +<p> +"It must take great lung power to do a thing like that," +remarked Detective Mallory. +</p> + +<p> +"You would be amazed to know how easily it is done," said +the scientist. "Try it some time." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine arose and picked up his hat; Hatch +did the same. Then the reporter turned to Cabell. +</p> + +<p> +"Would you mind telling me why you were so anxious to +get away to-night?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, no," Cabell explained, and there was a rush of red +to his face. "It's because I received a telegram from +Virginia—Miss Lipscomb, in fact. Some of Henley's past had +come to her knowledge and the telegram told me that the +engagement was broken. On top of this came the information +that Henley had been shot and—I was considerably +agitated." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine and Hatch were walking along the +street. +</p> + +<p> +"What did you write in the note you sent to Cabell that +made him start to unpack?" asked the reporter, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"There are some things that it wouldn't be well for everyone +to know," was the enigmatic response. "Perhaps it would +be just as well for you to overlook this little omission." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, of course," replied the reporter, wonderingly. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0103"></a></p> + +<h2> +The Man Who Was Lost +</h2> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +I +</h3> + +<p> +Here are the facts in the case as they were known +in the beginning to Professor Augustus S. F. X. Van +Dusen, scientist and logician. After hearing +a statement of the problem from the lips of its principal he +declared it to be one of the most engaging that had ever come +to his attention, and— +</p> + +<p> +But let me begin at the beginning: +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine was in the small laboratory of his +modest apartments at two o'clock in the afternoon. Martha, +the scientist's only servant, appeared at the door with a +puzzled expression on her wrinkled face. +</p> + +<p> +"A gentleman to see you, sir," she said. +</p> + +<p> +"Name?" inquired The Thinking Machine, without turning. +</p> + +<p> +"He—he didn't give it, sir," she stammered. +</p> + +<p> +"I have told you always, Martha, to ask names of callers." +</p> + +<p> +"I did ask his name, sir, and—and he said he didn't know +it." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine was never surprised, yet now he +turned on Martha in perplexity and squinted at her fiercely +through his thick glasses. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't know his own name?" he repeated. "Dear me! +How careless! Show the gentleman into the reception room +immediately." +</p> + +<p> +With no more introduction to the problem than this, +therefore, The Thinking Machine passed into the other room. A +stranger arose and came forward. He was tall, of apparently +thirty-five years, clean shaven and had the keen, alert +face of a man of affairs. He would have been handsome had +it not been for dark rings under the eyes and the unusual +white of his face. He was immaculately dressed from top to +toe; altogether a man who would attract attention. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he regarded the scientist curiously; perhaps +there was a trace of well-bred astonishment in his +manner. He gazed curiously at the enormous head, with its +shock of yellow hair, and noted, too, the droop in the thin +shoulders. Thus for a moment they stood, face to face, the +tall stranger making The Thinking Machine dwarf-like by +comparison. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" asked the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger turned as if to pace back and forth across +the room, then instead dropped into a chair which the +scientist indicated. +</p> + +<p> +"I have heard a great deal about you, Professor," he began, +in a well-modulated voice, "and at last it occurred to me to +come to you for advice. I am in a most remarkable position—and +I'm not insane. Don't think that, please. But unless +I see some way out of this amazing predicament I shall be. +As it is now, my nerves have gone; I am not myself." +</p> + +<p> +"Your story? What is it? How can I help you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am lost, hopelessly lost," the stranger resumed. "I +know neither my home, my business, nor even my name. I +know nothing whatever of myself or my life; what it was or +what it might have been previous to four weeks ago. I am +seeking light on my identity. Now, if there is any fee—" +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind that," the scientist put in, and he squinted +steadily into the eyes of the visitor. "What do you know? +From the time you remember things tell me all of it." +</p> + +<p> +He sank back into his chair, squinting steadily upward. +The stranger arose, paced back and forth across the room +Several times and then dropped into his chair again. +</p> + +<p> +"It's perfectly incomprehensible," he said. "It's precisely +as if I, full grown, had been born into a world of which I +knew nothing except its language. The ordinary things, +chairs, tables and such things, are perfectly familiar, but who +I am, where I came from, why I came—of these I have no +idea. I will tell you just as my impressions came to me +when I awoke one morning, four weeks ago. +</p> + +<p> +"It was eight or nine o'clock, I suppose. I was in a room. +I knew instantly it was a hotel, but had not the faintest idea +of how I got there, or of ever having seen the room before. +I didn't even know my own clothing when I started to dress. +I glanced out of my window; the scene was wholly strange to +me. +</p> + +<p> +"For half an hour or so I remained in my room, dressing +and wondering what it meant. Then, suddenly, in the midst +of my other worries, it came home to me that I didn't know +my own name, the place where I lived nor anything about +myself. I didn't know what hotel I was in. In terror I +looked into a mirror. The face reflected at me was not one I +knew. It didn't seem to be the face of a stranger; it was +merely not a face that I knew. +</p> + +<p> +"The thing was unbelievable. Then I began a search of +my clothing for some trace of my identity. I found nothing +whatever that would enlighten me—not a scrap of paper of +any kind, no personal or business card." +</p> + +<p> +"Have a watch?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Any money?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, money," said the stranger. "There was a bundle of +more than ten thousand dollars in my pocket, in one-hundred-dollar +bills. Whose it is or where it came from I don't know. +I have been living on it since, and shall continue to do so, +but I don't know if it is mine. I knew it was money when I +saw it, but did not recollect ever having seen any previously." +</p> + +<p> +"Any jewelry?" +</p> + +<p> +"These cuff buttons," and the stranger exhibited a pair +which he drew from his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"Go on." +</p> + +<p> +"I finally finished dressing and went down to the office. +It was my purpose to find out the name of the hotel and who +I was. I knew I could learn some of this from the hotel +register without attracting any attention or making anyone +think I was insane. I had noted the number of my room. +It was twenty-seven. +</p> + +<p> +"I looked over the hotel register casually. I saw I was at +the Hotel Yarmouth in Boston. I looked carefully down the +pages until I came to the number of my room. Opposite +this number was a name—John Doane, but where the name +of the city should have been there was only a dash." +</p> + +<p> +"You realize that it is perfectly possible that John Doane +is your name?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly," was the reply. "But I have no recollection of +ever having heard it before. This register showed that I had +arrived at the hotel the night before—or rather that John +Doane had arrived and been assigned to Room 27, and I was +the John Doane, presumably. From that moment to this the +hotel people have known me as John Doane, as have other +people whom I have met during the four weeks since I +awoke." +</p> + +<p> +"Did the handwriting recall nothing?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing whatever." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it anything like the handwriting you write now?" +</p> + +<p> +"Identical, so far as I can see." +</p> + +<p> +"Did you have any baggage or checks for baggage?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. All I had was the money and this clothing I stand +in. Of course, since then I have bought necessities." +</p> + +<p> +Both were silent for a long time and finally the +stranger—Doane—arose and began pacing nervously again. +</p> + +<p> +"That a tailor-made suit?" asked the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Doane, quickly. "I know what you mean. +Tailor-made garments have linen strips sewed inside the +pockets on which are the names of the manufacturers and the +name of the man for whom the clothes were made, together +with the date. I looked for those. They had been removed, +cut out." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" exclaimed The Thinking Machine suddenly. "No +laundry marks on your linen either, I suppose?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. It was all perfectly new." +</p> + +<p> +"Name of the maker on it?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. That had been cut out, too." +</p> + +<p> +Doane was pacing back and forth across the reception +room; the scientist lay back in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know the circumstances of your arrival at the +hotel?" he asked at last. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I asked, guardedly enough, you may be sure, hinting +to the clerk that I had been drunk so as not to make him +think I was insane. He said I came in about eleven o'clock +at night, without any baggage, paid for my room with a +one-hundred-dollar bill, which he changed, registered and went +upstairs. I said nothing that he recalls beyond making a +request for a room." +</p> + +<p> +"The name Doane is not familiar to you?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"You can't recall a wife or children?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you speak any foreign language?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Is your mind clear now? Do you remember things?" +</p> + +<p> +"I remember perfectly every incident since I awoke in the +hotel," said Doane. "I seem to remember with remarkable +clearness, and somehow I attach the gravest importance to +the most trivial incidents." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine arose and motioned to Doane to +sit down. He dropped back into a seat wearily. Then the +scientist's long, slender fingers ran lightly, deftly through the +abundant black hair of his visitor. Finally they passed down +from the hair and along the firm jaws; thence they went to +the arms, where they pressed upon good, substantial muscles. +At last the hands, well shaped and white, were examined +minutely. A magnifying glass was used to facilitate this +examination. Finally The Thinking Machine stared into the +quick-moving, nervous eyes of the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +"Any marks at all on your body?" he asked at last. +</p> + +<p> +"No," Doane responded. "I had thought of that and +sought for an hour for some sort of mark. There's +nothing—nothing." The eyes glittered a little and finally, in a +burst of nervousness, he struggled to his feet. "My God!" +he exclaimed. "Is there nothing you can do? What is it all, +anyway?" +</p> + +<p> +"Seems to be a remarkable form of aphasia," replied The +Thinking Machine. "That's not an uncommon disease +among people whose minds and nerves are overwrought. +You've simply lost yourself—lost your identity. If it is +aphasia, you will recover in time. When, I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +"And meantime?" +</p> + +<p> +"Let me see the money you found." +</p> + +<p> +With trembling hands Doane produced a large roll of bills, +principally hundreds, many of them perfectly new. The +Thinking Machine examined them minutely, and finally made +some memoranda on a slip of paper. The money was then +returned to Doane. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, what shall I do?" asked the latter. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't worry," advised the scientist. "I'll do what I can." +</p> + +<p> +"And—tell me who and what I am?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I can find that out all right," remarked The Thinking +Machine. "But there's a possibility that you wouldn't recall +even if I told you all about yourself." +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +II +</h3> + +<p> +When John Doane of Nowhere—to all practical purposes—left +the home of The Thinking Machine he bore instructions +of divers kinds. First he was to get a large map of the +United States and study it closely, reading over and +pronouncing aloud the name of every city, town and village he +found. After an hour of this he was to take a city directory +and read over the names, pronouncing them aloud as he did +so. Then he was to make out a list of the various professions +and higher commercial pursuits, and pronounce these. +All these things were calculated, obviously, to arouse the +sleeping brain. After Doane had gone The Thinking Machine +called up Hutchinson Hatch, reporter, on the 'phone. +</p> + +<p> +"Come up immediately," he requested. "There's something +that will interest you." +</p> + +<p> +"A mystery?" Hatch inquired, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +"One of the most engaging problems that has ever come to +my attention," replied the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +It was only a question of a few minutes before Hatch was +ushered in. He was a living interrogation point, and +repressed a rush of questions with a distinct effort. The +Thinking Machine finally told what he knew. +</p> + +<p> +"Now it seems to be," said The Thinking Machine, and he +emphasized the "seems," "it seems to be a case of aphasia. +You know, of course, what that is. The man simply doesn't +know himself. I examined him closely. I went over his head +for a sign of a possible depression, or abnormality. It didn't +appear. I examined his muscles. He has biceps of great +power, is evidently now or has been athletic. His hands are +white, well cared for and have no marks on them. They are +not the hands of a man who has ever done physical work. +The money in his pocket tends to confirm the fact that he is +not of that sphere. +</p> + +<p> +"Then what is he? Lawyer? Banker? Financier? What? +He might be either, yet he impressed me as being rather of +the business than the professional school. He has a good, +square-cut jaw—the jaw of a fighting man—and his poise +gives one the impression that whatever he has been doing he +has been foremost in it. Being foremost in it, he would +naturally drift to a city, a big city. He is typically a city +man. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, please, to aid me, communicate with your correspondents +in the large cities and find if such a name as John +Doane appears in any directory. Is he at home now? Has +he a family? All about him." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you believe that John Doane is his name?" asked the +reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"No reason why it shouldn't be," said The Thinking Machine. +"Yet it might not be." +</p> + +<p> +"How about inquiries in this city?" +</p> + +<p> +"He can't well be a local man," was the reply. "He has +been wandering about the streets for four weeks, and if he +had lived here he would have met some one who knew him." +</p> + +<p> +"But the money?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll probably be able to locate him through that," said The +Thinking Machine. "The matter is not at all clear to me +now, but it occurs to me that he is a man of consequence, +and that it was possibly necessary for some one to get rid of +him for a time." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if it's plain aphasia, as you say," the reporter put +in, "it seems rather difficult to imagine that the attack came +at a moment when it was necessary to get rid of him." +</p> + +<p> +"I say it <i>seems</i> like aphasia," said the scientist, crustily. +"There are known drugs which will produce the identical +effect if properly administered." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh," said Hatch. He was beginning to see. +</p> + +<p> +"There is one drug particularly, made in India, and not +unlike hasheesh. In a case of this kind anything is possible. +To-morrow I shall ask you to take Mr. Doane down through +the financial district, as an experiment. When you go there +I want you particularly to get him to the sound of the +'ticker.' It will be an interesting experiment." +</p> + +<p> +The reporter went away and The Thinking Machine +sent a telegram to the Blank National Bank of Butte, +Montana: +</p> + +<p> +"To whom did you issue hundred-dollar bills, series B, +numbering 846380 to 846395 inclusive? Please answer." +</p> + +<p> +It was ten o'clock next day when Hatch called on The +Thinking Machine. There he was introduced to John Doane, +the man who was lost. The Thinking Machine was asking +questions of Mr. Doane when Hatch was ushered in. +</p> + +<p> +"Did the map recall nothing?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing." +</p> + +<p> +"Montana, Montana, Montana," the scientist repeated +monotonously; "think of it. Butte, Montana." +</p> + +<p> +Doane shook his head hopelessly, sadly. +</p> + +<p> +"Cowboy, cowboy. Did you ever see a cowboy?" +</p> + +<p> +Again the head shake. +</p> + +<p> +"Coyote—something like a wolf—coyote. Don't you recall +ever having seen one?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid it's hopeless," remarked the other. +</p> + +<p> +There was a note of more than ordinary irritation in The +Thinking Machine's voice when he turned to Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hatch, will you walk through the financial district +with Mr. Doane?" he asked. "Please go to the places I +suggested." +</p> + +<p> +So it came to pass that the reporter and Doane went out +together, walking through the crowded, hurrying, bustling +financial district. The first place visited was a private room +where market quotations were displayed on a blackboard. +Mr. Doane was interested, but the scene seemed to suggest +nothing. He looked upon it all as any stranger might have +done. After a time they passed out. Suddenly a man came +running toward them—evidently a broker. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter?" asked another. +</p> + +<p> +"Montana copper's gone to smash," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Copper! Copper!</i>" gasped Doane suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch looked around quickly at his companion. Doane's +face was a study. On it was half realization and a deep +perplexed wrinkle, a glimmer even of excitement. +</p> + +<p> +"Copper!" he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +"Does the word mean anything to you?" asked Hatch +quickly. "Copper—metal, you know." +</p> + +<p> +"Copper, copper, copper," the other repeated. Then, as +Hatch looked, the queer expression faded; there came again +utter hopelessness. +</p> + +<p> +There are many men with powerful names who operate in +the Street—some of them in copper. Hatch led Doane +straight to the office of one of these men and there introduced +him to a partner in the business. +</p> + +<p> +"We want to talk about copper a little," Hatch explained, +still eying his companion. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you want to buy or sell?" asked the broker. +</p> + +<p> +"Sell," said Doane suddenly. "Sell, sell, sell copper. +That's it—copper." +</p> + +<p> +He turned to Hatch, stared at him dully a moment, a +deathly pallor came over his face, then, with upraised hands, +fell senseless. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +III +</h3> + +<p> +Still unconscious, the man of mystery was removed to the +home of The Thinking Machine and there stretched out on +a sofa. The Thinking Machine was bending over him, this +time in his capacity of physician, making an examination. +Hatch stood by, looking on curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"I never saw anything like it," Hatch remarked. "He +just threw up his hands and collapsed. He hasn't been +conscious since." +</p> + +<p> +"It may be that when he comes to he will have recovered +his memory, and in that event he will have absolutely no +recollection whatever of you and me," explained The +Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +Doane moved a little at last, and under a stimulant the +color began to creep back into his pallid face. +</p> + +<p> +"Just what was said, Mr. Hatch, before he collapsed?" +asked the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch explained, repeating the conversation as he +remembered it. +</p> + +<p> +"And he said 'sell,'" mused The Thinking Machine. "In +other words, he thinks—or imagines he knows—that copper +is to drop. I believe the first remark he heard was that +copper had gone to smash—down, I presume that means?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," the reporter replied. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later John Doane sat up on the couch and +looked about the room. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Professor," he remarked. "I fainted, didn't I?" +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine was disappointed because his +patient had not recovered memory with consciousness. The +remark showed that he was still in the same mental +condition—the man who was lost. +</p> + +<p> +"Sell copper, sell, sell, sell," repeated The Thinking +Machine, commandingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes, sell," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +The reflection of some great mental struggle was on +Doane's face; he was seeking to recall something which +persistently eluded him. +</p> + +<p> +"Copper, copper," the scientist repeated, and he exhibited +a penny. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, copper," said Doane. "I know. A penny." +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you say sell copper?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," was the weary reply. "It seemed to be an +unconscious act entirely. I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +He clasped and unclasped his hands nervously and sat for +a long time dully staring at the floor. The fight for memory +was a dramatic one. +</p> + +<p> +"It seemed to me," Doane explained after awhile, "that +the word copper touched some responsive chord in my memory, +then it was lost again. Some time in the past, I think, +I must have had something to do with copper." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said The Thinking Machine, and he rubbed his +slender fingers briskly. "Now you are coming around again." +</p> + +<p> +His remarks were interrupted by the appearance of Martha +at the door with a telegram. The Thinking Machine opened +it hastily. What he saw perplexed him again. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me! Most extraordinary!" he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" asked Hatch, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +The scientist turned to Doane again. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you happen to remember Preston Bell?" he demanded, +emphasizing the name explosively. +</p> + +<p> +"Preston Bell?" the other repeated, and again the mental +struggle was apparent on his face, "Preston Bell!" +</p> + +<p> +"Cashier of the Blank National Bank of Butte, Montana?" +urged the other, still in an emphatic tone. "Cashier +Bell?" +</p> + +<p> +He leaned forward eagerly and watched the face of his +patient; Hatch unconsciously did the same. Once there was +almost realization, and seeing it The Thinking Machine +sought to bring back full memory. +</p> + +<p> +"Bell, cashier, copper," he repeated, time after time. +</p> + +<p> +The flash of realization which had been on Doane's face +passed, and there came infinite weariness—the weariness of +one who is ill. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't remember," he said at last. "I'm very tired." +</p> + +<p> +"Stretch out there on the couch and go to sleep," advised +The Thinking Machine, and he arose to arrange a pillow. +"Sleep will do you more good than anything else right now. +But before you lie down, let me have, please, a few of those +hundred-dollar bills you found." +</p> + +<p> +Doane extended the roll of money, and then slept like a +child. It was uncanny to Hatch, who had been a deeply +interested spectator. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine ran over the bills and finally +selected fifteen of them—bills that were new and crisp. They +were of an issue by the Blank National Bank of Butte, +Montana. The Thinking Machine stared at the money +closely, then handed it to Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"Does that look like counterfeit to you?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Counterfeit?" gasped Hatch. "Counterfeit?" he repeated. +He took the bills and examined them. "So far as I can see +they seem to be good," he went on, "though I have never had +enough experience with one-hundred-dollar bills to qualify +as an expert." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know an expert?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"See him immediately. Take fifteen bills and ask him to +pass on them, each and every one. Tell him you have +reason—excellent reason—to believe that they are counterfeit. +When he give his opinion come back to me." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch went away with the money in his pocket. Then The +Thinking Machine wrote another telegram, addressed to +President Bell, cashier of the Butte Bank. It was as +follows: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Please send me full details of the manner in which money +previously described was lost, with names of all persons who +might have had any knowledge of the matter. Highly +important to your bank and to justice. Will communicate in +detail on receipt of your answer." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Then, while his visitor slept, The Thinking Machine +quietly removed his shoes and examined them. He found, +almost worn away, the name of the maker. This was +subjected to close scrutiny under the magnifying glass, after +which The Thinking Machine arose with a perceptible +expression of relief on his face. +</p> + +<p> +"Why didn't I think of that before?" he demanded of himself. +</p> + +<p> +Then other telegrams went into the West One was to a +customs shoemaker in Denver, Colorado: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"To what financier or banker have you sold within three +months a pair of shoes, Senate brand, calfskin blucher, +number eight, D last? Do you know John Doane?" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +A second telegram went to the Chief of Police of Denver. +It was: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Please wire if any financier, banker or business man has +been out of your city for five weeks or more, presumably on +business trip. Do you know John Doane?" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Then The Thinking Machine sat down to wait. At last the +door bell rang and Hatch entered. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" demanded the scientist, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +"The expert declares those are not counterfeit," said Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +Now The Thinking Machine was surprised. It was shown +clearly by the quick lifting of the eyebrows, by the sudden +snap of his jaws, by a quick forward movement of the yellow +head. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed at last. Then again: +"Well, well!" +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"See here," and The Thinking Machine took the hundred-dollar +bills in his own hands. "These bills, perfectly new and +crisp, were issued by the Blank National Bank of Butte, and +the fact that they are in proper sequence would indicate that +they were issued to one individual at the same time, probably +recently. There can be no doubt of that. The numbers run +from 846380 to 846395, all series B. +</p> + +<p> +"I see," said Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"Now read that," and the scientist extended to the reporter +the telegram Martha had brought in just before Hatch +had gone away. Hatch read this: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Series B, hundred-dollar bills 846380 to 846395 issued by +this bank are not in existence. Were destroyed by fire, +together with twenty-seven others of the same series. +Government has been asked to grant permission to reissue these +numbers. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"PRESTON BELL, <i>Cashier</i>." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The reporter looked up with a question in his eyes, +</p> + +<p> +"It means," said The Thinking Machine, "that this man is +either a thief or the victim of some sort of financial jugglery." +</p> + +<p> +"In that case is he what he pretends to be—a man who +doesn't know himself?" asked the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"That remains to be seen." +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +IV +</h3> + +<p> +Event followed event with startling rapidity during the +next few hours. First came a message from the Chief of +Police of Denver. No capitalist or financier of consequence +was out of Denver at the moment, so far as his men could +ascertain. Longer search might be fruitful. He did not +know John Doane. One John Doane in the directory was a +teamster. +</p> + +<p> +Then from the Blank National Bank came another telegram +signed "Preston Bell, Cashier," reciting the +circumstances of the disappearance of the hundred-dollar bills. The +Blank National Bank had moved into a new structure; +within a week there had been a fire which destroyed it. +Several packages of money, including one package of +hundred-dollar bills, among them those specified by The Thinking +Machine, had been burned. President Harrison of the bank +immediately made affidavit to the Government that these +bills were left in his office. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine studied this telegram carefully and +from time to time glanced at it while Hatch made his report. +This was as to the work of the correspondents who had +been seeking John Doane. They found many men of the +name and reported at length on each. One by one The +Thinking Machine heard the reports, then shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +Finally he reverted again to the telegram, and after +consideration sent another—this time to the Chief of Police of +Butte. In it he asked these questions: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Has there ever been any financial trouble in Blank +National Bank? Was there an embezzlement or shortage at +anytime? What is reputation of President Harrison? What +is reputation of Cashier Bell? Do you know John Doane?" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +In due course of events the answer came. It was brief and +to the point. It said: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Harrison recently embezzled $175,000 and disappeared. +Bell's reputation excellent; now out of city. Don't know +John Doane. If you have any trace of Harrison, wire quick." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +This answer came just after Doane awoke, apparently +greatly refreshed, but himself again—that is, himself in so +far as he was still lost. For an hour The Thinking Machine +pounded him with questions—questions of all sorts, serious, +religious and at times seemingly silly. They apparently +aroused no trace of memory, save when the name Preston +Bell was mentioned; then there was the strange, puzzled +expression on Doane's face. +</p> + +<p> +"Harrison—do you know him?" asked the scientist. +"President of the Blank National Bank of Butte?" +</p> + +<p> +There was only an uncomprehending stare for an answer. +After a long time of this The Thinking Machine instructed +Hatch and Doane to go for a walk. He had still a faint hope +that some one might recognize Doane and speak to him. As +they wandered aimlessly on two persons spoke to him. One +was a man who nodded and passed on. +</p> + +<p> +"Who was that?" asked Hatch quickly. "Do you remember +ever having seen him before?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes," was the reply. "He stops at my hotel. He +knows me as Doane." +</p> + +<p> +It was just a few minutes before six o'clock when, walking +slowly, they passed a great office building. Coming toward +them was a well-dressed, active man of thirty-five years or so, +As he approached he removed a cigar from his lips. +</p> + +<p> +"Hello, Harry!" he exclaimed, and reached for Doane's +hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Hello," said Doane, but there was no trace of recognition +in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"How's Pittsburg?" asked the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, all right, I guess," said Doane, and there came new +wrinkles of perplexity in his brow. "Allow me, +Mr.—Mr.—really I have forgotten your name—" +</p> + +<p> +"Manning," laughed the other, +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hatch, Mr. Manning." +</p> + +<p> +The reporter shook hands with Manning eagerly; he saw +now a new line of possibilities suddenly revealed. Here was +a man who knew Doane as Harry—and then Pittsburg, too. +</p> + +<p> +"Last time I saw you was in Pittsburg, wasn't it?" Manning +rattled on, as he led the way into a nearby café, "By +George, that was a stiff game that night! Remember that +jack full I held? It cost me nineteen hundred dollars," he +added, ruefully. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I remember," said Doane, but Hatch knew that he +did not. And meanwhile a thousand questions were surging +through the reporter's brain. +</p> + +<p> +"Poker hands as expensive as that are liable to be long +remembered," remarked Hatch, casually. "How long ago was +that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Three years, wasn't it, Harry?" asked Manning. +</p> + +<p> +"All of that, I should say," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Twenty hours at the table," said Manning, and again he +laughed cheerfully. "I was woozy when we finished." +</p> + +<p> +Inside the café they sought out a table in a corner. No +one else was near. When the waiter had gone, Hatch leaned +over and looked Doane straight in the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I ask some questions?" he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes," said the other eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +"What—what is it?" asked Manning. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a remarkably strange chain of circumstances," said +Hatch, in explanation. "This man whom you call Harry, +we know as John Doane. What is his real name? Harry +what?" +</p> + +<p> +Manning stared at the reporter for a moment in amazement, +then gradually a smile came to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you trying to do?" he asked. "Is this a joke?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, my God, man, can't you see?" exclaimed Doane, +fiercely. "I'm ill, sick, something. I've lost my memory, all +of my past. I don't remember anything about myself. What +is my name?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, by George!" exclaimed Manning. "By George! I +don't believe I know your full name. Harry—Harry—what?" +</p> + +<p> +He drew from his pocket several letters and half a dozen +scraps of paper and ran over them. Then he looked carefully +through a worn notebook. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," he confessed. "I had your name and address +in an old notebook, but I suppose I burned it. I remember, +though, I met you in the Lincoln Club in Pittsburg +three years ago. I called you Harry because everyone was +calling everyone else by his first name. Your last name made +no impression on me at all. By George!" he concluded, in a +new burst of amazement. +</p> + +<p> +"What were the circumstances, exactly?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm a traveling man," Manning explained. "I go everywhere. +A friend gave me a card to the Lincoln Club in Pittsburg +and I went there. There were five or six of us playing +poker, among them Mr.—Mr. Doane here. I sat at the same +table with him for twenty hours or so, but I can't recall his +last name to save me. It isn't Doane, I'm positive. I have +an excellent memory for faces, and I know you're the man. +Don't you remember me?" +</p> + +<p> +"I haven't the slightest recollection of ever having seen +you before in my life," was Doane's slow reply. "I have no +recollection of ever having been in Pittsburg—no recollection +of anything." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know if Mr. Doane is a resident of Pittsburg?" +Hatch inquired. "Or was he there as a visitor, as you were?" +</p> + +<p> +"Couldn't tell you to save my life," replied Manning. +"Lord, it's amazing, isn't it? You don't remember me? You +called me Bill all evening." +</p> + +<p> +The other man shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, say, is there anything I can do for you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing, thanks," said Doane. "Only tell me my name, +and who I am." +</p> + +<p> +"Lord, I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +"What sort of a club is the Lincoln?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a sort of a millionaire's club," Manning explained. +"Lots of iron men belong to it. I had considerable business +with them—that's what took me to Pittsburg." +</p> + +<p> +"And you are absolutely positive this is the man you met +there?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, I <i>know</i> it. I never forget faces; it's my business to +remember them." +</p> + +<p> +"Did he say anything about a family?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not that I recall. A man doesn't usually speak of his +family at a poker table." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you remember the exact date or the month?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think it was in January or February possibly," was the +reply. "It was bitterly cold and the snow was all smoked up. +Yes, I'm positive it was in January, three years ago." +</p> + +<p> +After awhile the men separated. Manning was stopping +at the Hotel Teutonic and willingly gave his name and +permanent address to Hatch, explaining at the same time that +he would be in the city for several days and was perfectly +willing to help in any way he could. He took also the address +of The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +From the café Hatch and Doane returned to the scientist. +They found him with two telegrams spread out on a table +before him. Briefly Hatch told the story of the meeting with +Manning, while Doane sank down with his head in his hands. +The Thinking Machine listened without comment. +</p> + +<p> +"Here," he said, at the conclusion of the recital, and he +offered one of the telegrams to Hatch. "I got the name of +a shoemaker from Mr. Doane's shoe and wired to him in +Denver, asking if he had a record of the sale. This is the +answer. Read it aloud." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch did so. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Shoes such as described made nine weeks ago for Preston +Bell, cashier Blank National Bank of Butte. Don't know +John Doane." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Well—what—" Doane began, bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>It means that you are Preston Bell</i>," said Hatch, emphatically. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said The Thinking Machine, quickly. "It means +that there is only a strong probability of it." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +The door bell rang. After a moment Martha appeared. +</p> + +<p> +"A lady to see you, sir," she said. +</p> + +<p> +"Her name?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. John Doane." +</p> + +<p> +"Gentlemen, kindly step into the next room," requested +The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +Together Hatch and Doane passed through the door. There +was an expression of—of—no man may say what—on Doane's +face as he went. +</p> + +<p> +"Show her in here, Martha," instructed the scientist. +"There was a rustle of silk in the hall, the curtains on the +door were pulled apart quickly and a richly gowned woman +rushed into the room. +</p> + +<p> +"My husband? Is he here?" she demanded, breathlessly. +"I went to the hotel; they said he came here for treatment. +Please, please, is he here?" +</p> + +<p> +"A moment, madam," said The Thinking Machine. He +stepped to the door through which Hatch and Doane had +gone, and said something. One of them appeared in the +door. It was Hutchinson Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"John, John, my darling husband," and the woman flung +her arms about Hatch's neck. "Don't you know me?" +</p> + +<p> +With blushing face Hatch looked over her shoulder into +the eyes of The Thinking Machine, who stood briskly rubbing +his hands. Never before in his long acquaintance with the +scientist had Hatch seen him smile. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +V +</h3> + +<p> +For a time there was silence, broken only by sobs, as the +woman clung frantically to Hatch, with her face buried on +his shoulder. Then: +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you remember me?" she asked again and again. +"Your wife? Don't you remember me?" +</p> + +<p> +Hatch could still see the trace of a smile on the scientist's +face, and said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +"You are positive this gentleman is your husband?" +inquired The Thinking Machine, finally. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I know," the woman sobbed. "Oh, John, don't you +remember me?" She drew away a little and looked deeply +into the reporter's eyes. "Don't you remember me, John?" +</p> + +<p> +"Can't say that I ever saw you before," said Hatch, +truthfully enough. "I—I—fact is—" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Doane's memory is wholly gone now," explained The +Thinking Machine. "Meanwhile, perhaps you would tell me +something about him. He is my patient. I am particularly +interested." +</p> + +<p> +The voice was soothing; it had lost for the moment its +perpetual irritation. The woman sat down beside Hatch. +Her face, pretty enough in a bold sort of way, was turned to +The Thinking Machine inquiringly. With one hand she +stroked that of the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"Where are you from?" began the scientist. "I mean where +is the home of John Doane?" +</p> + +<p> +"In Buffalo," she replied, glibly. "Didn't he even +remember that?" +</p> + +<p> +"And what's his business?" +</p> + +<p> +"His health has been bad for some time and recently he +gave up active business," said the woman. "Previously he +was connected with a bank." +</p> + +<p> +"When did you see him last?" +</p> + +<p> +"Six weeks ago. He left the house one day and I have +never heard from him since. I had Pinkerton men searching +and at last they reported he was at the Yarmouth Hotel. I +came on immediately. And now we shall go back to Buffalo." She +turned to Hatch with a languishing glance. "Shall we +not, dear?" +</p> + +<p> +"Whatever Professor Van Dusen thinks best," was the +equivocal reply. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly the glimmer of amusement was passing out of the +squint eyes of The Thinking Machine; as Hatch looked he +saw a hardening of the lines of the mouth. There was an +explosion coming. He knew it. Yet when the scientist spoke +his voice was more velvety than ever. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Doane, do you happen to be acquainted with a drug +which produces temporary loss of memory?" +</p> + +<p> +She stared at him, but did not lose her self-possession. +</p> + +<p> +"No," she said finally. "Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"You know, of course, that this man is <i>not</i> your husband?" +</p> + +<p> +This time the question had its effect. The woman arose +suddenly, stared at the two men, and her face went white. +</p> + +<p> +"Not?—not?—what do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"I mean," and the voice reassured its tone of irritation, +"I mean that I shall send for the police and give you in +their charge unless you tell me the truth about this affair. +Is that perfectly clear to you?" +</p> + +<p> +The woman's lips were pressed tightly together. She saw +that she had fallen into some sort of a trap; her gloved +hands were clenched fiercely; the pallor faded and a flush +of anger came. +</p> + +<p> +"Further, for fear you don't quite follow me even now," +explained The Thinking Machine, "I will say that I know +all about this copper deal of which this so-called John +Doane was the victim. <i>I know his condition now</i>. If you +tell the truth you may escape prison—if you don't, there is a +long term, not only for you, but for your fellow-conspirators. +Now will you talk?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," said the woman. She arose as if to go out. +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind that," said The Thinking Machine. "You +had better stay where you are. You will be locked up at the +proper moment. Mr. Hatch, please 'phone for Detective +Mallory." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch arose and passed into the adjoining room. +</p> + +<p> +"You tricked me," the woman screamed suddenly, fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," the other agreed, complacently. "Next time be +sure you know your own husband. Meanwhile where is +Harrison?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not another word," was the quick reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Very well," said the scientist, calmly. "Detective Mallory +will be here in a few minutes. Meanwhile I'll lock this +door." +</p> + +<p> +"You have no right—" the woman began. +</p> + +<p> +Without heeding the remark, The Thinking Machine +passed into the adjoining room. There for half an hour he +talked earnestly to Hatch and Doane. At the end of that +time he sent a telegram to the manager of the Lincoln Club +in Pittsburg, as follows: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Does your visitors' book show any man, registered there +in the month of January three years ago, whose first name +is Harry or Henry? If so, please wire name and description, +also name of man whose guest he was." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +This telegram was dispatched. A few minutes later the +door bell rang and Detective Mallory entered. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +"A prisoner for you in the next room," was the reply. "A +woman. I charge her with conspiracy to defraud a man +who for the present we will call John Doane. That may or +may not be his name." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you know about it?" asked the detective. +</p> + +<p> +"A great deal now—more after awhile. I shall tell you +then. Meanwhile take this woman. You gentlemen, I should +suggest, might go out somewhere this evening. If you drop +by afterward there may be an answer to a few telegrams +which will make this matter clear." +</p> + +<p> +Protestingly the mysterious woman was led away by +Detective Mallory; and Doane and Hatch followed shortly +after. The next act of The Thinking Machine was to write +a telegram addressed to Mrs. Preston Bell, Butte, Montana. +Here it is: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Your husband suffering temporary mental trouble here. +Can you come on immediately? Answer." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When the messenger boy came for the telegram he found +a man on the stoop. The Thinking Machine received the +telegram, and the man, who gave to Martha the name of +Manning, was announced. +</p> + +<p> +"Manning, too," mused the scientist. "Show him in." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know if you know why I am here," explained +Manning. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes," said the scientist. "You have remembered +Doane's name. What is it, please?" +</p> + +<p> +Manning was too frankly surprised to answer and only +stared at the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, that's right," he said finally, and he smiled. "His +name is Pillsbury. I recall it now." +</p> + +<p> +"And what made you recall it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I noticed an advertisement in a magazine with the name +in large letters. It instantly came to me that that was +Doane's real name." +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks," remarked the scientist. "And the woman—who +is she?" +</p> + +<p> +"What woman?" asked Manning. +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind, then. I am deeply obliged for your +information. I don't suppose you know anything else about +it?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Manning. He was a little bewildered, and after +a while went away. +</p> + +<p> +For an hour or more The Thinking Machine sat with +finger tips pressed together staring at the ceiling. His +meditations were interrupted by Martha. +</p> + +<p> +"Another telegram, sir." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine took it eagerly. It was from the +manager of the Lincoln Club in Pittsburg: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Henry C. Carney, Harry Meltz, Henry Blake, Henry W. Tolman, +Harry Pillsbury, Henry Calvert and Henry Louis +Smith all visitors to club in month you name. Which do +you want to learn more about?" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It took more than an hour for The Thinking Machine to +establish long distance connection by 'phone with Pittsburg. +When he had finished talking he seemed satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +"Now," he mused. "The answer from Mrs. Preston." +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly midnight when that came. Hatch and +Doane had returned from a theater and were talking to the +scientist when the telegram was brought in. +</p> + +<p> +"Anything important?" asked Doane, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said the scientist, and he slipped a finger beneath +the flap of the envelope. "It's clear now. It was an +engaging problem from first to last, and now—" +</p> + +<p> +He opened the telegram and glanced at it; then with +bewilderment on his face and mouth slightly open he sank +down at the table and leaned forward with his head on his +arms. The message fluttered to the table and Hatch read +this: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Man in Boston can't be my husband. He is now in +Honolulu. I received cablegram from him to-day. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"MRS. PRESTON BELL." +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +VI +</h3> + +<p> +It was thirty-six hours later that the three men met again. +The Thinking Machine had abruptly dismissed Hatch and +Doane the last time. The reporter knew that something +wholly unexpected had happened. He could only conjecture +that this had to do with Preston Bell. When the three met +again it was in Detective Mallory's office at police +headquarters. The mysterious woman who had claimed Doane +for her husband was present, as were Mallory, Hatch, Doane +and The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Has this woman given any name?" was the scientist's +first question. +</p> + +<p> +"Mary Jones," replied the detective, with a grin. +</p> + +<p> +"And address?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Is her picture in the Rogues' Gallery?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. I looked carefully." +</p> + +<p> +"Anybody called to ask about her?" +</p> + +<p> +"A man—yes. That is, he didn't ask about her—he merely +asked some general questions, which now we believe were to +find out about her." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine arose and walked over to the +woman. She looked up at him defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +"There has been a mistake made, Mr. Mallory," said the +scientist. "It's my fault entirely. Let this woman go. I am +sorry to have done her so grave an injustice." +</p> + +<p> +Instantly the woman was on her feet, her face radiant. A +look of disgust crept into Mallory's face. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't let her go now without arraignment," the +detective growled. "It ain't regular." +</p> + +<p> +"You must let her go, Mr. Mallory," commanded The +Thinking Machine, and over the woman's shoulder the +detective saw an astonishing thing. The Thinking Machine +winked. It was a decided, long, pronounced wink. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, all right," he said, "but it ain't regular at that." +</p> + +<p> +The woman passed out of the room hurriedly, her silken +skirts rustling loudly. She was free again. Immediately +she disappeared The Thinking Machine's entire manner +changed. +</p> + +<p> +"Put your best man to follow her," he directed rapidly. +"Let him go to her home and arrest the man who is with +her as her husband. Then bring them both back here, after +searching their rooms for money." +</p> + +<p> +"Why—what—what is all this?" demanded Mallory, amazed. +</p> + +<p> +"The man who inquired for her, who is with her, is +wanted for a $175,000 embezzlement in Butte, Montana. +Don't let your man lose sight of her." +</p> + +<p> +The detective left the room hurriedly. Ten minutes later +he returned to find The Thinking Machine leaning back in +his chair with eyes upturned. Hatch and Doane were +waiting, both impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Mr. Mallory," said the scientist, "I shall try to +make this matter as clear to you as it is to me. By the time +I finish I expect your man will be back here with this +woman and the embezzler. His name is Harrison; I don't +know hers. I can't believe she is Mrs. Harrison, yet he has, +I suppose, a wife. But here's the story. It is the chaining +together of fact after fact; a necessary logical sequence to +a series of incidents, which are, separately, deeply puzzling." +</p> + +<p> +The detective lighted a cigar and the others disposed +themselves comfortably to listen. +</p> + +<p> +"This gentleman came to me," began The Thinking Machine, +"with a story of loss of memory. He told me that he +knew neither his name, home, occupation, nor anything +whatever about himself. At the moment it struck me as a +case for a mental expert; still I was interested. It seemed +to be a remarkable case of aphasia, and I so regarded it +until he told me that he had $10,000 in bills, that he had no +watch, that everything which might possibly be of value in +establishing his identity had been removed from his +clothing. This included even the names of the makers of his +linen. That showed intent, deliberation. +</p> + +<p> +"Then I knew it could not be aphasia. That disease +strikes a man suddenly as he walks the street, as he sleeps, +as he works, but never gives any desire to remove traces of +one's identity. On the contrary, a man is still apparently +sound mentally—he has merely forgotten something—and +usually his first desire is to find out who he is. This +gentleman had that desire, and in trying to find some clew +he showed a mind capable of grasping at every possible +opportunity. Nearly every question I asked had been +anticipated. Thus I recognized that he must be a more than +usually astute man. +</p> + +<p> +"But if not aphasia, what was it? What caused his +condition? A drug? I remembered that there was such a drug +in India, not unlike hasheesh. Therefore for the moment I +assumed a drug. It gave me a working basis. Then what +did I have? A man of striking mentality who was the victim +of some sort of plot, who had been drugged until he lost +himself, and in that way disposed of. The handwriting +might be the same, for handwriting is rarely affected by a +mental disorder; it is a physical function. +</p> + +<p> +"So far, so good. I examined his head for a possible +accident. Nothing. His hands were white and in no way +calloused. Seeking to reconcile the fact that he had been a +man of strong mentality, with all other things a financier or +banker, occurred to me. The same things might have +indicated a lawyer, but the poise of this man, his elaborate +care in dress, all these things made me think him the +financier rather than the lawyer. +</p> + +<p> +"Then I examined some money he had when he awoke. +Fifteen or sixteen of the hundred-dollar bills were new and +in sequence. They were issued by a national bank. To +whom? The possibilities were that the bank would have a +record. I wired, asking about this, and also asked +Mr. Hatch to have his correspondents make inquiries in various +cities for a John Doane. It was not impossible that John +Doane was his name. Now I believe it will be safe for me +to say that when he registered at the hotel he was drugged, +his own name slipped his mind, and he signed John Doane—the +first name that came to him. That is not his name. +</p> + +<p> +"While waiting an answer from the bank I tried to arouse +his memory by referring to things in the West. It appeared +possible that he might have brought the money from the +West with him. Then, still with the idea that he was a +financier, I sent him to the financial district. There was a +result. The word 'copper' aroused him so that he fainted +after shouting, 'Sell copper, sell, sell, sell.' +</p> + +<p> +"In a way my estimate of the man was confirmed. He was +or had been in a copper deal, selling copper in the market, +or planning to do so. I know nothing of the intricacies of +the stock market. But there came instantly to me the +thought that a man who would faint away in such a case +must be vitally interested as well as ill. Thus I had a +financier, in a copper deal, drugged as result of a conspiracy. +Do you follow me, Mr. Mallory?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sure," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"At this point I received a telegram from the Butte bank +telling me that the hundred-dollar bills I asked about had +been burned. This telegram was signed 'Preston Bell, +Cashier.' If that were true, the bills this man had were +counterfeit. There were no ifs about that. I asked him if +he knew Preston Bell. It was the only name of a person to +arouse him in any way. A man knows his own name better +than anything in the world. Therefore was it his? For a +moment I presumed it was. +</p> + +<p> +"Thus the case stood: Preston Bell, cashier of the Butte +bank, had been drugged, was the victim of a conspiracy, +which was probably a part of some great move in copper. +But if this man were <i>Preston Bell</i>, how came the signature +there? Part of the office regulation? It happens hundreds +of times that a name is so used, particularly on telegrams. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, this man who was lost—Doane, or Preston Bell—went +to sleep in my apartments. At that time I believed it +fully possible that he was a counterfeiter, as the bills were +supposedly burned, and sent Mr. Hatch to consult an expert. +I also wired for details of the fire loss in Butte and +names of persons who had any knowledge of the matter. +This done, I removed and examined this gentleman's shoes +for the name of the maker. I found it. The shoes were of +fine quality, probably made to order for him. +</p> + +<p> +"Remember, at this time I believed this gentleman to be +Preston Bell, for reasons I have stated. I wired to the maker +or retailer to know if he had a record of a sale of the shoes, +describing them in detail, to any financier or banker. I also +wired to the Denver police to know if any financier or banker +had been away from there for four or five weeks. Then came +the somewhat startling information, through Mr. Hatch, that +the hundred-dollar bills were genuine. That answer meant +that Preston Bell—as I had begun to think of him—was +either a thief or the victim of some sort of financial +conspiracy." +</p> + +<p> +During the silence which followed every eye was turned on +the man who was lost—Doane or Preston Bell. He sat +staring straight ahead of him with hands nervously clenched. +On his face was written the sign of a desperate mental +struggle. He was still trying to recall the past. +</p> + +<p> +"Then," The Thinking Machine resumed, "I heard from +the Denver police. There was no leading financier or +banker out of the city so far as they could learn hurriedly. +It was not conclusive, but it aided me. Also I received +another telegram from Butte, signed Preston Bell, telling me +the circumstances of the supposed burning of the hundred-dollar +bills. It did not show that they were burned at all; +it was merely an assumption that they had been. They were +last seen in President Harrison's office." +</p> + +<p> +"Harrison, Harrison, Harrison," repeated Doane. +</p> + +<p> +"Vaguely I could see the possibility of something financially +wrong in the bank. Possibly Harrison, even Mr. Bell +here, knew of it. Banks do not apply for permission to +reissue bills unless they are positive of the original loss. +Yet here were the bills. Obviously some sort of jugglery. I +wired to the police of Butte, asking some questions. The +answer was that Harrison had embezzled $175,000 and had +disappeared. Now I knew he had part of the missing, +supposedly burned, bills with him. It was obvious. Was Bell +also a thief? +</p> + +<p> +"The same telegram said that Mr. Bell's reputation was of +the best, and he was out of the city. That confirmed my +belief that it was an office rule to sign telegrams with the +cashier's name, and further made me positive that this man +was Preston Bell. The chain of circumstances was complete. +It was two and two—inevitable result, four. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, what was the plot? Something to do with copper, +and there was an embezzlement. Then, still seeking a man +who knew Bell personally, I sent him out walking with +Hatch. I had done so before. Suddenly another figure came +into the mystery—a confusing one at the moment. This +was a Mr. Manning, who knew Doane, or Bell, as +Harry—something; met him in Pittsburg three years ago, in the +Lincoln Club. +</p> + +<p> +"It was just after Mr. Hatch told me of this man that I +received a telegram from the shoemaker in Denver. It said +that he had made a shoe such as I described within a few +months for Preston Bell. I had asked if a sale had been +made to a financier or banker; I got the name back by +wire. +</p> + +<p> +"At this point a woman appeared to claim John Doane as +her husband. With no definite purpose, save general +precaution, I asked Mr. Hatch to see her first. She imagined +he was Doane and embraced him, calling him John. Therefore +she was a fraud. She did not know John Doane, or +Preston Bell, by sight. Was she acting under the direction +of some one else? If so, whose?" +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause as The Thinking Machine readjusted +himself in the chair. After a time he went on: +</p> + +<p> +"There are shades of emotion, intuition, call it what you +will, so subtle that it is difficult to express them in words. +As I had instinctively associated Harrison with Bell's +present condition I instinctively associated this woman with +Harrison. For not a word of the affair had appeared in a +newspaper; only a very few persons knew of it. Was it +possible that the stranger Manning was backing the woman +in an effort to get the $10,000? That remained to be seen. +I questioned the woman; she would say nothing. She is +clever, but she blundered badly in claiming Mr. Hatch for +a husband." +</p> + +<p> +The reporter blushed modestly. +</p> + +<p> +"I asked her flatly about a drug. She was quite calm and +her manner indicated that she knew nothing of it. Yet I +presume she did. Then I sprung the bombshell, and she saw +she had made a mistake. I gave her over to Detective +Mallory and she was locked up. This done, I wired to the +Lincoln Club in Pittsburg to find out about this mysterious +'Harry' who had come into the case. I was so confident then +that I also wired to Mrs. Bell in Butte, presuming that there +was a Mrs. Bell, asking about her husband. +</p> + +<p> +"Then Manning came to see me. I knew he came because +he had remembered the name he knew you by," and +The Thinking Machine turned to the central figure in this +strange entanglement of identity, "although he seemed +surprised when I told him as much. He knew you as Harry +Pillsbury. I asked him who the woman was. His manner +told me that he knew nothing whatever of her. Then it +came back to her as an associate of Harrison, your enemy +for some reason, and I could see it in no other light. It was +her purpose to get hold of you and possibly keep you a +prisoner, at least until some gigantic deal in which copper +figured was disposed of. That was what I surmised. +</p> + +<p> +"Then another telegram came from the Lincoln Club in +Pittsburg. The name of Harry Pillsbury appeared as a +visitor in the book in January, three years ago. It was +you—Manning is not the sort of man to be mistaken—and then +there remained only one point to be solved as I then saw +the case. That was an answer from Mrs. Preston Bell, if +there was a Mrs. Bell. She would know where her husband +was." +</p> + +<p> +Again there was silence. A thousand things were running +through Bell's mind. The story had been told so pointedly, +and was so vitally a part of him, that semi-recollection was +again on his face. +</p> + +<p> +"That telegram said that Preston Bell was in Honolulu; +that the wife had received a cable dispatch that day. Then, +frankly, I was puzzled; so puzzled, in fact, that the entire +fabric I had constructed seemed to melt away before my +eyes. It took me hours to readjust it. I tried it all over in +detail, and then the theory which would reconcile every fact +in the case was evolved. That theory is right—as right as +that two and two make four. It's logic." +</p> + +<p> +It was half an hour later when a detective entered and +spoke to Detective Mallory aside. +</p> + +<p> +"Fine!" said Mallory. "Bring 'em in." +</p> + +<p> +Then there reappeared the woman who had been a prisoner +and a man of fifty years. +</p> + +<p> +"Harrison!" exclaimed Bell, suddenly. He staggered to +his feet with outstretched hands. "Harrison! I know! I +know!" +</p> + +<p> +"Good, good, very good," said The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +Bell's nervously twitching hands were reaching for Harrison's +throat when he was pushed aside by Detective Mallory. +He stood pallid for a moment, then sank down on the floor +in a heap. He was senseless. The Thinking Machine made +a hurried examination. +</p> + +<p> +"Good!" he remarked again. "When he recovers he will +remember everything except what has happened since he has +been in Boston. Meanwhile, Mr. Harrison, we know all about +the little affair of the drug, the battle for new copper +workings in Honolulu, and your partner there has been arrested. +Your drug didn't do its work well enough. Have you +anything to add?" +</p> + +<p> +The prisoner was silent. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you search his rooms?" asked The Thinking Machine +of the detective who had made the double arrest. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and found this." +</p> + +<p> +It was a large roll of money. The Thinking Machine ran +over it lightly—$70,000—scanning the numbers of the bills. +At last he held forth half a dozen. They were among the +twenty-seven reported to have been burned in the bank fire in +Butte. +</p> + +<p> +Harrison and the woman were led away. Subsequently it +developed that he had been systematically robbing the bank of +which he was president for years; was responsible for the fire, +at which time he had evidently expected to make a great haul; +and that the woman was not his wife. Following his arrest +this entire story came out; also the facts of the gigantic +copper deal, in which he had rid himself of Bell, who was his +partner, and had sent another man to Honolulu in Bell's +name to buy up options on some valuable copper property +there. This confederate in Honolulu had sent the cable +dispatches to the wife in Butte. She accepted them without +question. +</p> + +<p> +It was a day or so later that Hatch dropped in to see The +Thinking Machine and asked a few questions. +</p> + +<p> +"How did Bell happen to have that $10,000?" +</p> + +<p> +"It was given to him, probably, because it was safer to +have him rambling about the country, not knowing who he +was, than to kill him." +</p> + +<p> +"And how did he happen to be here?" +</p> + +<p> +"That question may be answered at the trial." +</p> + +<p> +"And how did it come that Bell was once known as Harry +Pillsbury?" +</p> + +<p> +"Bell is a director in United States Steel, I have since +learned. There was a secret meeting of this board in Pittsburg +three years ago. He went incog. to attend that meeting +and was introduced at the Lincoln Club as Harry Pillsbury." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" exclaimed Hatch. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0104"></a></p> + +<h2> +The Great Auto Mystery +</h2> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +I +</h3> + +<p> +With a little laugh of sheer light-heartedness on +her lips and a twinkle in her blue eyes, +Marguerite Melrose bound on a grotesque automobile +mask, and stuffed the last strand of her recalcitrant hair +beneath her veil. The pretty face was hidden from mouth to +brow; and her curls were ruthlessly imprisoned under a cap +held in place by the tightly tied veil. +</p> + +<p> +"It's perfectly hideous, isn't it?" she demanded of her +companions. +</p> + +<p> +Jack Curtis laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," he remarked, quizzically, "it's just as well that we +<i>know</i> you are pretty." +</p> + +<p> +"We could never discover it as you are now," added Charles +Reid. "Can't see enough of your face to tell whether you are +white or black." +</p> + +<p> +The girl's red lips were pursed into a pout, which +ungraciously hid her white teeth, as she considered the matter +seriously. +</p> + +<p> +"I think I'll take it off," she said at last. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't," Curtis warned her. "On a good road The Green +Dragon only hits the tall places." +</p> + +<p> +"Tear your hair off," supplemented Reid. "When Jack +lets her loose it's just a pszzzzt!—and wherever you're going +you're there." +</p> + +<p> +"Not on a night as dark as this?" protested the girl, +quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"I've got lights like twin locomotives," Curtis assured her, +smilingly. "It's perfectly safe. Don't get nervous." +</p> + +<p> +He tied on his own mask with its bleary goggles, while +Reid did the same. The Green Dragon, a low, gasoline car +of racing build, stood panting impatiently, awaiting them at +a side door of the hotel. Curtis assisted Miss Melrose into +the front seat and climbed in beside her, while Reid sat +behind in the tonneau. There was a preparatory quiver, the car +jerked a little and then began to move. +</p> + +<p> +The three persons in it were Marguerite Melrose, an actress +who had attracted attention in the West five years before +by her great beauty and had afterward, by her art, achieved +a distinct place; Jack Curtis, a friend since childhood, when +both lived in San Francisco and attended the same school, +and Charles Reid, his chum, son of a mine owner at Denver. +</p> + +<p> +The unexpected meeting of the three in Boston had been +a source of mutual pleasure. It had been two years since +they had seen one another in Denver, where Miss Melrose +was playing. Now she was in Boston, pursuing certain vocal +studies before returning West for her next season. +</p> + +<p> +Reid was in Boston to lay siege to the heart of a young +woman of society, Miss Elizabeth Dow, whom he first met in +San Francisco. She was only nineteen years old, but despite +this he had begun a siege and his ardor had never cooled, +even after Miss Dow returned East. In Boston, he had +heard, she looked with favor upon another man, Morgan +Mason, poor but of excellent family, and frantically Reid had +rushed, like Lochinvar out of the West, to find the rumor +true. +</p> + +<p> +Curtis was one who never had anything to do save seek +excitement in a new and novel way. He had come East with +Reid. They had been together constantly since their arrival +in Boston. He was of a different type from Reid in that his +wealth was distinctly a burden, a thing which left him with +nothing to do, and opened illimitable possibilities of +dissipation. The pace he led was one which caused other young +men to pause and think. +</p> + +<p> +Warm-hearted and perfectly at home with both Curtis and +Reid, Miss Melrose, the actress, frequently took occasion to +scold them. It was charming to be scolded by Miss Melrose, +so much so in fact that it was worth while sinning again. +Since she had appeared on the horizon Curtis had devoted a +great deal of time to her; Reid had his own difficulties trying +to make Miss Dow change her mind. +</p> + +<p> +The Green Dragon with its three passengers ran slowly +down from the Hotel Yarmouth, where Miss Melrose was +stopping, toward the Common, twisting and winding tortuously +through the crowd of vehicles. It was half-past six +o'clock in the evening. +</p> + +<p> +"Cut across here to Commonwealth Avenue," Miss Melrose +suggested. She remembered something and her bright blue +eyes sparkled beneath the disfiguring mask. "I know a +delightful old-fashioned inn out this way. It would be an ideal +place to stop for supper. I was there once five years ago +when I was in Boston." +</p> + +<p> +"How far?" asked Reid. +</p> + +<p> +"Fifteen or twenty miles," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Right," said Curtis. "Here we go." +</p> + +<p> +Soon after they were skimming along Commonwealth +Avenue, which at that time of day is practically given over +to automobilists, past the Vendome, the Somerset and on +over the flat, smooth road. It was perfectly light now, +because the electric lights were about them; but there was no +moon above, and once in the country it would be dark going. +</p> + +<p> +Curtis was intent on his machine; Reid was thoughtful for +a time, but after awhile leaned over and talked to Miss +Melrose. +</p> + +<p> +"I heard something to-day that might interest you," he +remarked. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Don MacLean is in Boston." +</p> + +<p> +"I heard that," she replied, casually. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is he?" asked Curtis. +</p> + +<p> +"A man who is frantically in love with Marguerite," said +Reid, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Charlie!" the girl reproved, and a flush crept into her +face. "It was never anything very serious." +</p> + +<p> +Curtis looked at her curiously for a moment, then his eyes +turned again to the road ahead. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't suppose it's very serious if a man proposes to a +girl seven times, is it?" Reid asked, banteringly. +</p> + +<p> +"Did he do that?" asked Curtis, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"He merely made a fool of himself and me," replied the +actress, with spirit, speaking to Curtis. "He was—in love +with me, I suppose, but his family objected because I was on +the stage and threatened to disinherit him, and all that sort +of thing. So—it ended it. Not that I ever considered the +matter seriously anyway," she added. +</p> + +<p> +There was silence again as The Green Dragon plunged +into the darkness of the country, the two brilliant lights +ahead showing every dip and rise in the road. After a while +Curtis spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +"He's now in Boston?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said the girl. "At least, I've heard so," she added, +quickly. +</p> + +<p> +Then the conversation ran into other channels, and Curtis, +busy with the great machine and the innumerable levers +which made it do this or do that or do the other, dropped out +of it. Reid and Miss Melrose talked on, but the whirr of the +car as it gained speed made talking unsatisfactory and finally +the girl gave herself up to the pure delight of high speed; a +dangerous pleasure which sets the nerves atingle and makes +one greedy for more. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you smell gasoline?" Curtis asked suddenly, turning +to the others. +</p> + +<p> +"Believe I do," said Reid. +</p> + +<p> +"Confound it! If I've sprung a leak in my tank it will be +the deuce," Curtis growled amiably. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think you've got enough to get to the inn?" asked +Miss Melrose. "It can't be more than five or six miles +now." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll run on until we stop," said Curtis. "We might be +able to stir up some along here somewhere. I suppose they +are prepared for autos." +</p> + +<p> +At last lights showed ahead, many lights glimmering +through the trees. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose that's the inn now," said Curtis. "Is it?" he +asked of the girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Really, I don't know, but I have an impression that it +isn't. The one I mean seems farther out than this and it +seems to me we passed one on the way. However, I don't +remember very well." +</p> + +<p> +"We'll stop and get some gasoline, anyhow," said Curtis. +</p> + +<p> +Puffing and snorting odorously The Green Dragon came to +a standstill in front of an old house which stood back twenty +feet or more from the road. It was lighted up, and from +inside they could hear the cheery rattle of dishes and see +white-aproned waiters moving about. Above the door was a sign, +"Monarch Inn." +</p> + +<p> +"Is this the place?" asked Reid. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," replied Miss Melrose. "The inn I spoke of was +back from the road three or four hundred feet through a +grove." +</p> + +<p> +Curtis leaped out, and evidently dropped something from +his pocket as he did so, for he stopped and felt around for a +moment. Then he examined his tank. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a leak," he said, in irritation. "I haven't more than +half a gallon left. These people must have some gasoline. +Wait a few minutes." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Melrose and Reid still sat in the car as he started +away toward the house. Almost at the veranda he turned +and called back: +</p> + +<p> +"Charlie, I dropped something there when I jumped out. +Get down and strike a match and see if you can find it. +Don't go near that gasoline tank with the match." +</p> + +<p> +He disappeared inside the house. Reid climbed out and +struck several matches. Finally he found what was lost and +thrust it into an outside pocket. Miss Melrose was gazing +away down the road at two brilliant lights coming toward +them rapidly. +</p> + +<p> +"Rather chilly," Reid said, as he straightened up. "Want +a cup of coffee or something?" +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks, no," the girl replied. +</p> + +<p> +"I think I'll run in and scare up some sort of a hot drink, +if you'll excuse me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Charlie, don't," the girl asked, suddenly. "I don't +like it." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, one won't hurt," he replied, lightly. +</p> + +<p> +"I shan't speak to you when you come out," she insisted, +half banteringly. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, you will." He laughed, and passed into the +house. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Melrose tossed her pretty head impatiently and turned +to watch the approaching lights. They were blinding as they +drew nearer, clearly revealing her figure, in its tan auto +coat, to the occupant of the other car. The newcomer stopped +and then she heard whoever was in it—she couldn't +see—speaking to her. +</p> + +<p> +"Would you mind turning your car a little so I can run in +off the road?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know how," she replied, helplessly. +</p> + +<p> +There was a little pause. The occupant of the other car +was leaning forward, looking at her closely. +</p> + +<p> +"Is that you, Marguerite?" he asked finally. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she replied. "Who is that? Don?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +A man's figure leaped out of the other machine and came +toward her. +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +Curtis appeared beside The Green Dragon with a huge +can of gasoline twenty minutes later. The two occupants of +the car were clearly silhouetted against the sky, and Reid, +leaning back in the tonneau, was smoking. +</p> + +<p> +"Find it?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," growled Curtis. And he began the work of repairing +the leak and refilling his tank. It took only five minutes +or so, and then he climbed up into the car. +</p> + +<p> +"Cold, Marguerite?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"She won't speak," said Reid, leaning forward a little. +"She's angry because I went inside to get a hot Scotch." +</p> + +<p> +"Wish I had one myself," said Curtis. +</p> + +<p> +"Let's wait till we get to the next place," Reid interposed. +"A little supper and trimmings will put all of us in a better +humor." +</p> + +<p> +Without answering, Curtis threw a lever, and the car +pulled out. Two automobiles which had been standing when +they arrived were still waiting for their owners. Annoyed +at the delay, Curtis put on full speed. Finally Reid leaned +forward and spoke to the girl. +</p> + +<p> +"In a good humor?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She gave no sign of having heard, and Reid placed his +hand on her shoulder as he repeated the question. Still there +was no answer. +</p> + +<p> +"Make her talk to you, Jack," he suggested to Curtis. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter, Marguerite?" asked Curtis, as he +glanced around. +</p> + +<p> +Still there was no answer, and he slowed up the car a +little. Then he took her arm and shook it gently. There was +no response. +</p> + +<p> +"What is the matter with her?" he demanded "Has she +fainted?" +</p> + +<p> +Again he shook her, this time more vigorously than before. +</p> + +<p> +"Marguerite," he called. +</p> + +<p> +Then his hand sought her face; it was deathly cold, clammy +even about the chin. The upper part was still covered by the +mask. For the third time he shook her, then, really frightened, +apparently, he caught at her gloved wrist and brought +the car to a standstill. There was no trace of a pulse; the +wrist was cold as death. +</p> + +<p> +"She must be ill—very ill," he said in some agitation. "Is +there a doctor near here?" +</p> + +<p> +Reid was leaning over the senseless body now, having +raised up in the tonneau, and when he spoke there seemed to +be fear in his tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Better run on as fast as you can to the inn ahead," he, +instructed Curtis. "It's nearer than the one we just left. +There may be a doctor there." +</p> + +<p> +Curtis grabbed frantically at the lever and the car shot +ahead suddenly through the dark. In three minutes the +lights of the second inn were in sight. The two men leaped +from the car simultaneously and raced for the house. +</p> + +<p> +"A doctor, quick," Curtis breathlessly demanded of a +waiter. +</p> + +<p> +"Next door." +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting for further instructions, Curtis and Reid +ran to the auto, lifted the girl in their arms and took her to +a house which stood just a few feet away. There, after much +clamoring, they aroused some one. Was the doctor in? Yes. +Would he hurry? Yes. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened and the men laid the girl's body on a +couch in the hall. Dr. Leonard appeared. He was an old +fellow, grizzled, with keen, kindly eyes and rigid mouth. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Think she's dead," replied Curtis. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor adjusted his glasses rather hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is she?" he asked, as he bent over the still figure and +fumbled about the throat and breast. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Marguerite Melrose, an actress," explained Curtis, +hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter with her?" demanded Reid, fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor still bent over the figure. In the dim lamplight +Curtis and Reid stood waiting anxiously, impatiently, +with white faces. At last the doctor straightened up. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" demanded Curtis. +</p> + +<p> +"She's dead," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Great God!" exclaimed Reid. "How?" Curtis seemed +speechless. +</p> + +<p> +"This," said the doctor, and he exhibited a long knife, +damp with blood. "Stabbed through the heart." +</p> + +<p> +Curtis stared at him, at the knife, then at the inert figure, +and lastly at the dead white of her face where it showed +beneath the mask. +</p> + +<p> +"Look, Jack!" exclaimed Reid, suddenly. "The knife!" +</p> + +<p> +Curtis looked again, then sank down on the couch beside +the body. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, my God! It's horrible!" he said. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +II +</h3> + +<p> +To Hutchinson Hatch and half a dozen other reporters, +Dr. Leonard, at his home late that night, told the story of the +arrival of Jack Curtis and Charles Reid with the body of the +girl, and the succeeding events so far as he knew them. The +police and Medical Examiner Francis had preceded the +newspaper men, and the body had been removed to a nearby +village. +</p> + +<p> +"They came here in great excitement," Dr. Leonard +explained. They brought the body in with them, the +man Curtis lifting her by the shoulders and the man Reid +at the feet. They placed the body on this couch. I asked +them who she was, and they told me she was Marguerite +Melrose, an actress. That's all that was said of her +identity. +</p> + +<p> +"Then I made an examination of the body, seeking a trace +of life. There was none, although the body was not then +entirely cold. In examining her heart my hand struck the +knife which had killed her—a heavy weapon, evidently used +for rough work, with a blade of six or seven inches. I drew +the knife out. Of course, knowing that it had pierced her +heart, any idea of doing anything to save her was beyond +question. +</p> + +<p> +"One of the men, Curtis, seemed greatly excited about this +knife after Reid called his attention to it. Curtis took the +knife out of my hand and examined it closely, then asked if +he might keep it. I told him it would have to be turned over +to the medical examiner. He argued about it, and finally, to +settle the argument, I took it out of his hand. Reid explained +to Curtis that it was necessary for me to keep the knife, and +finally Curtis seemed to agree to it. +</p> + +<p> +"Then I suggested that the police be notified. I did this +myself by telephone, the men remaining with me all the +time. I asked if they could throw any light on the tragedy, +but neither could. Curtis said he had been out searching for +a man who had the keys to a shed where some gasoline was +locked up, and it took fifteen or twenty minutes to find him. +As soon as he got the gasoline he returned to the auto. +</p> + +<p> +"Reid and Miss Melrose were at this time in the auto, he +said. What had happened while he had been away Curtis +didn't know. Reid said he, too, had stepped out of the +automobile, and after exchanging a few words with Miss Melrose +went into the inn. There he remained fifteen minutes or so, +because inside he saw a woman he knew and spoke to her. +He declared that any one of three waiters could verify his +statement that he was in the Monarch Inn. +</p> + +<p> +"After I had notified the police Curtis grew very uneasy +in his actions—it didn't occur to me at the moment, but now +I recall that it was so—and suggested to Reid that they go +on to Boston and send out detectives—special Pinkerton +men. I tried to dissuade them, but they went away. I +couldn't stop them. They gave me their cards, however. +They are at the Hotel Teutonic, and told me they could be +seen there at any time. The medical examiner and the police +came afterward. I told them, and one of the detectives +started immediately for Boston. They have probably told +their story to him by this time." +</p> + +<p> +"What did the young woman look like?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"Really, I couldn't say," said the doctor. "She wore an +automobile mask which covered all her face except the chin, +and there was a veil tied over her cap, concealing her hair. +I didn't remove these; I left the body just as it was for the +medical examiner." +</p> + +<p> +"How was she dressed?" Hatch went on. +</p> + +<p> +"She wore a long tan automobile dust coat of what seemed +to be rich material, and beneath this a handsome—not a +fancy—gown. I believe it was tailor-made. She was a +woman of superb figure." +</p> + +<p> +That was all that could be learned from Dr. Leonard, and +Hatch and the other men raced back to Boston. The next +day the newspapers flamed with the mystery of the murder +of Miss Melrose, a beautiful Western actress who was visiting +Boston. Each newspaper watched the other greedily to +see if there was a picture of Miss Melrose; neither had one. +</p> + +<p> +The newspapers also carried the stories of Jack Curtis and +Charles Reid in connection with the murder. The stories +were in substance just what Dr. Leonard had said, but were +given in more detail. It was the general presumption, +almost a foregone conclusion, that some one had killed Miss +Melrose while the two men were away from the auto. +</p> + +<p> +Who was this some one? Man or woman? No one could +answer. Reid's story of being inside the Monarch Inn, where +he spoke to a lady he knew—but whose name he refused to +give—was verified by Hatch's paper. Three waiters had seen +him. +</p> + +<p> +The medical examiner had made only a brief statement, in +which he had said, in answer to a question, that the person +who killed Miss Melrose might have been either at her right, +in the position Curtis would have occupied while driving the +car, or might have leaned forward from behind and stabbed +her. Thus it was not impossible that one of the men in the +car with her had killed her, yet against this possibility was. +the fact that each of the men was one whom one could not +readily associate with such a crime. +</p> + +<p> +The fact that the fatal blow was delivered from the right +was proven, said the astute medical examiner, by the fact +that the knife slanted as a knife could not have been slanted +conveniently by a person on her other side—her left. There +were many dark, underlying intimations behind what the +medical man said; but he refused to say any more. Meanwhile +the body remained in the village where it had been +taken. Efforts to get a photograph were unavailing; pleas +of newspaper artists for permission to sketch her fell upon +deaf ears. +</p> + +<p> +Curtis and Reid, after their first statements, remained in +seclusion at the Teutonic. They were not arrested because +this did not seem necessary. Both had offered to do anything +in their power to solve the riddle, had even employed Pinkerton +men who were now on the case; but they would say nothing +nor see anyone except the police. The police encouraged +them in this attitude, and hinted darkly and mysteriously +at clews which "would lead to an arrest within twenty-four +hours." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch read these intimations and smiled grimly. Then he +went out to try what a little patience and perseverance and +human intelligence would do. He learned something of +Reid's little romance in Boston. Yet not all of it. It was a +fact, however, that Reid had called at the home of Miss +Elizabeth Dow on Beacon Hill just after noon and inquired +for her. +</p> + +<p> +"She is not in," the maid had replied. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll leave my card for her," said Reid. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think she'll be back," the girl answered. +</p> + +<p> +"Not be back?" Reid repeated. "Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Haven't you seen the afternoon papers?" asked the girl. +"They will explain. Mrs. Dow, her mother, told me not to +talk to anyone." +</p> + +<p> +Reid left the house with a wrinkle in his brow and walked +on toward the Common. There he halted a newsboy and +bought an afternoon paper—many afternoon papers. The +first pages were loaded with details of the murder of Miss +Melrose, theories, conjectures, a thousand little things, with +long dispatches of her history and her stage career from San +Francisco. +</p> + +<p> +Reid passed these over impatiently with a slight shiver +and looked inside the paper. There he found the thing to +which the maid had referred. +</p> + +<p> +"By George!" he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +It was a story of the elopement of Elizabeth Dow with +Morgan Mason, Reid's rival. It seemed that Miss Dow and +Mason met by appointment at the Monarch Inn and went +from there in an automobile. The bride had written to her +parents before she started, saying she preferred Mason +despite his poverty. The family refused to talk of the matter, +But there in facsimile was the marriage license. +</p> + +<p> +Reid's face was a study as he walked back to the hotel. +In a private room off the café he found Curtis, who had been +drinking heavily, yet who, with the strange mood of some +men, was not visibly intoxicated. Reid threw the paper +down, open at the elopement announcement. +</p> + +<p> +"See that," he said shortly. +</p> + +<p> +Curtis read it—or glanced at it—but did not make a +remark until he came to the name, the Monarch Inn. Then +he looked up. +</p> + +<p> +"That's where the other thing happened, isn't it?" he +asked, rather thickly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +Curtis rambled off into something else; studiously he +avoided any reference to the tragedy, yet that was the one +thing which was in his mind. It was in a futile effort to +forget it that he was drinking now. He talked on as a drunken +man will for a time, then turned suddenly to Reid. +</p> + +<p> +"I loved her," he declared suddenly, passionately. "My +God!" +</p> + +<p> +"Try not to think of it," Reid advised. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll never say anything about that other thing—the +knife—will you?" pleaded Curtis. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course not," said Reid, impatiently. "They couldn't +drag it out of me. But you're drinking too much—you want +to quit it. First thing you know you'll be saying more +than—get up and go out and take a walk." +</p> + +<p> +Curtis stared at Reid vacantly for a moment, as if not +understanding, then arose. He had regained possession of +himself to a certain extent, but his face was pale. +</p> + +<p> +"I think I will go out," he said, +</p> + +<p> +After a time he passed through the café door into a side +street and, refreshed a little by the cool air, started to walk +along Tremont Street toward the shopping district. It was +two o'clock in the afternoon and the streets were thronged. +</p> + +<p> +Half a dozen reporters were idling in the lobby of the +hotel, waiting vainly for either Reid or Curtis. The +newspapers were shouting for another story from the only two +men who could know a great deal of the circumstances +attending the tragedy. Reid, on his return, had marched +boldly through the crowd of reporters, paying no attention to +their questions. They had not seen Curtis. +</p> + +<p> +As Curtis, now free of the reporters, crossed a side street +off Tremont on his way toward the shopping district he met +Hutchinson Hatch, who was bound for the hotel to see his +man there. Hatch instantly recognized him and fell in +behind, curious to see where he would go. At a favorable +opportunity, safe beyond reach of the other men, he intended +to ask a few questions. +</p> + +<p> +Curtis turned into Winter Street and strolled along +through the crowd of women. Half way down Winter Street +Hatch followed, and then for a moment he lost sight of him. +He had gone into a store, he imagined. As he stood at a +door waiting, Curtis came out, rushed through the crowd of +women, slinging his arms like a madman, with frenzy in his +face. He ran twenty steps, then stumbled and fell. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch immediately ran to his assistance, lifted him up +and gazed into the staring, terror-stricken eyes and an +ashen face. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" asked Hatch, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"I—I'm very ill. I—I think I need a doctor," gasped +Curtis. "Take me somewhere, please." +</p> + +<p> +He fell back limply, half fainting, into Hatch's arms. A +cab came worming through the crowd; Hatch climbed into it, +assisting Curtis, and gave some directions to the cabby. +</p> + +<p> +"And hurry," he added. "This gentleman is ill." +</p> + +<p> +The cabby applied the whip and drove out into Tremont, +then over toward Park Street. Curtis aroused a little. +</p> + +<p> +"Where're we going?" he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +"To a doctor," replied Hatch, +</p> + +<p> +Curtis sank back with eyes closed and his face white—so +white that Hatch felt of the pulse to assure himself that the +heart was still beating. After a few minutes the cab stopped +and, still assisting Curtis, Hatch went to the door. An aged +woman answered the bell. +</p> + +<p> +"Professor Van Dusen here?" asked the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Please tell him that Mr. Hatch is here with a gentleman +who needs immediate attention," Hatch directed, hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +He knew his way here and, still supporting Curtis, walked +in. The woman disappeared. Curtis sank down on a couch +in the little reception room, looked at Hatch glassily for a +moment, then without a sound dropped back on the couch +unconscious. +</p> + +<p> +After a moment the door opened and there came in +Professor Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen, The Thinking +Machine. He squinted inquiringly at Hatch, and Hatch waved +his head toward Curtis. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me, dear me," exclaimed The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +He leaned over the prostrate figure a moment, then +disappeared into another room, returning with a hypodermic. +After a few anxious minutes Curtis sat up straight. He +stared at the two men with unseeing eyes, and in them was +unutterable terror. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I saw her! I saw her!</i>" he screamed. "<i>There was a +dagger in her heart. Marguerite!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Again he fell back, unconscious. The Thinking Machine +squinted at Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"The man's got delirium tremens," he snapped impatiently. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +III +</h3> + +<p> +For fifteen minutes Hatch silently looked on as The +Thinking Machine worked over the unconscious man. Once or +twice Curtis moved uneasily and moaned slightly. Hatch +had started to explain the situation to The Thinking +Machine, but the irascible scientist glared at him and the +reporter became silent. After ten or fifteen minutes The +Thinking Machine turned to Hatch more genially. +</p> + +<p> +"He'll be all right in a little while now," he said. "What +is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, it's a murder," Hatch began. "Marguerite Melrose, +an actress, was stabbed through the heart last night, and—" +</p> + +<p> +"Murder?" interrupted The Thinking Machine. "Might +it not have been suicide?" +</p> + +<p> +"Might have been; yes," said the reporter, after a moment's +pause. "But it appears to be murder." +</p> + +<p> +"When you say it is murder," said The Thinking Machine, +"you immediately give the impression that you were +there and saw it. Go on." +</p> + +<p> +From the beginning, then, Hatch told the story as he knew +it; of the stopping of The Green Dragon at the Monarch Inn, +of the events there, of the whereabouts of Curtis and Reid +at the time the girl received the knife thrust and of the +confirmation of Reid's story. Then he detailed those incidents +of the arrival of the men with the girl at Dr Leonard's +house, of what had transpired there, of the effort Curtis had +made to get possession of the knife. +</p> + +<p> +With finger tips pressed together and squinting steadily +upward, The Thinking Machine listened. At its end, which +bore on the actions of Curtis just preceding his appearance +in the room with them, The Thinking Machine arose and +walked over to the couch where Curtis lay. He ran his +slender fingers idly through the unconscious man's thick +hair several times. +</p> + +<p> +"Doesn't it strike you as perfectly possible, Mr. Hatch," he +asked finally, "that Miss Melrose did kill herself?" +</p> + +<p> +"It may be perfectly possible, but it doesn't appear so," +said Hatch. "There was no motive." +</p> + +<p> +"And certainly you've shown no motive for anything else," +said the other, crustily. "Still," he mused, "I really can't +say anything until I talk to him." +</p> + +<p> +He again turned to his patient, and as he looked saw the +red blood surge back into the face. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, now we're all right," he announced. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it happened, for after another ten minutes the patient +sat up suddenly on the couch and looked at the two men +Before him, bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter?" he asked. The thickness was gone +from his speech; he was himself again, although a little +shaky. +</p> + +<p> +Briefly, Hatch explained to him what had happened, and +he listened silently. Finally he turned to The Thinking +Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"And this gentleman?" he asked. He noted the queer +appearance of the scientist, and stared into the squint eyes +frankly. +</p> + +<p> +"Professor Van Dusen, a distinguished scientist and +physician," Hatch introduced. "I brought you here. He +has been working with you for an hour." +</p> + +<p> +"And now, Mr. Curtis," said The Thinking Machine, "if +you will tell us all you know about the murder of Miss +Melrose—" +</p> + +<p> +Curtis paled suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you ask me?" he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +"You said a great deal while you were unconscious," +remarked The Thinking Machine, as he dreamily stared at the +ceiling. "I know that worry over that and too much alcohol +have put you in a condition bordering on nervous collapse. +I think it would be better if you told it all." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch instantly saw the trend of the scientist's remarks, +and remained discreetly silent. Curtis stared at both for a +moment, then paced nervously across the room. He did not +know what he might have said, what chance word might +have been dropped. Then, apparently, he made up his +mind, for he stopped suddenly in front of The Thinking +Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Do I look like a man who would commit murder?" ha +asked. +</p> + +<p> +"No, you do not," was the prompt response. +</p> + +<p> +His recital of the story was similar to that of Hatch, but +the scientist listened carefully. +</p> + +<p> +"Details! details!" he interrupted once. +</p> + +<p> +The story was complete from the moment Curtis jumped +out of the car until the return to the hotel of Curtis and +Reid. There the narrator stopped. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Curtis, why did you try to induce Dr. Leonard to +give up the knife to you?" asked The Thinking Machine, +finally. +</p> + +<p> +"Because—well, because—" He faltered, flushed and +stopped. +</p> + +<p> +"Because you were afraid it would bring the crime home +to you?" asked the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't know <i>what</i> might happen," was the response. +</p> + +<p> +"Is it your knife?" +</p> + +<p> +Again the tell-tale flush overspread Curtis's face. +</p> + +<p> +"No," he said, flatly. +</p> + +<p> +"Is it Reid's knife?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," he said, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"You were in love with Miss Melrose?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," was the steady reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Had she ever refused to marry you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I had never asked her." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Is this a third degree?" demanded Curtis, angrily, and +he arose. "Am I a prisoner?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not at all," said The Thinking Machine, quietly. "You +may be made a prisoner, though, on what you said awhile +unconscious. I am merely trying to help you." +</p> + +<p> +Curtis sank down in a chair with his head in his hands +and remained motionless for several minutes. At last he +looked up. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll answer your questions," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you never ask Miss Melrose to marry you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because—well, because I understood another man, Donald +MacLean, was in love with her, and she might have loved +him. I understood she would have married him had it not +been that by doing so she would have caused his +disinheritance. MacLean is now in Boston." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" exclaimed The Thinking Machine. "Your friend +Reid didn't happen to be in love with her, too, did he?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," was the reply. "Reid came here hoping to win +the love of Miss Dow, a society girl. I came with him." +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Dow?" asked Hatch, quickly. "The girl who eloped +last night with Morgan Mason?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," replied Curtis. "That elopement and this—crime +have put Reid almost in as bad a condition as I am." +</p> + +<p> +"What elopement?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch explained how Mason had procured a marriage +license, how Miss Dow and Mason had met at the Monarch +Inn—where Miss Melrose must have been killed according +to all stories—how Miss Dow had written to her parents +from there of the elopement and then of their disappearance. +The Thinking Machine listened, but without apparent interest. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you such a knife as was used to kill Miss Melrose?" +he asked at the end. +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Did you ever have such a knife?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, once." +</p> + +<p> +"Where did you carry it when it was not in your auto kit?" +</p> + +<p> +"In my lower coat pocket." +</p> + +<p> +"By the way, what kind of looking woman was Miss Melrose?" +</p> + +<p> +"One of the most beautiful women I ever met," said Curtis, +with a certain enthusiasm. "Of ordinary height, superb +figure—a woman who would attract attention anywhere." +</p> + +<p> +"I believe she wore a veil and an automobile mask at the +time she was killed?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. They covered all her face except her chin." +</p> + +<p> +"Could she, wearing an automobile mask, see either side of +herself without turning?" asked The Thinking Machine, +pointedly. "Had you intended to stab her, say while the car +was in motion and had the knife in your hand, even in +daylight, could she have seen it without turning her head? Or, +if she had had the knife, could you have seen it?" +</p> + +<p> +Curtis shuddered a little. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I don't believe so." +</p> + +<p> +"Was she blonde or brunette?" +</p> + +<p> +"Blonde, with great clouds of golden hair," said Curtis, +and again there was admiration in his tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Golden hair?" Hatch repeated. "I understood Medical +Examiner Francis to say she had dark hair?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, golden hair," was the positive reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you see the body, Mr. Hatch?" asked the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"No. None of us saw it. Dr. Francis makes that a rule." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine arose, excused himself and passed +into another room. They heard the telephone bell ring and +then some one closed the door connecting the two rooms. +When the scientist returned he went straight to a point +which Hatch had impatiently awaited. +</p> + +<p> +"What happened to you this afternoon in Winter Street?" +</p> + +<p> +Curtis had retained his composure well up to this point; +now he became uneasy again. Quick pallor on his face was +succeeded by a flush which crept up to the roots of his hair. +</p> + +<p> +"I've been drinking too much," he said at last. "That and +this thing have completely unnerved me. I am afraid I was +not myself." +</p> + +<p> +"What did you think you saw?" insisted The Thinking +Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"I went into a store for something. I've forgotten what +now. I know there was a great crowd of women—they were +all about me. There I saw—" He stopped and was silent +for a moment. "There I saw," he went on with an effort, "a +woman—just a glimpse of her, over the heads of the others +in the store—and—" +</p> + +<p> +"And what?" insisted The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"At the moment I would have sworn it was Marguerite +Melrose," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course you know you were mistaken?" +</p> + +<p> +"I know it now," said Curtis. "It was a chance resemblance, +but the effect on me was awful. I ran out of there +shrieking—it seemed to me. Then I found myself here." +</p> + +<p> +"And you don't know what you said or did from that time +until the present?" asked the scientist, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"No, except in a hazy sort of way." +</p> + +<p> +After a while Martha, the scientist's aged servant, +appeared in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Mallory and a gentleman, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Let them come in," said The Thinking Machine. "Mr. Curtis," +and he turned to him gravely, "Mr. Reid is here. +I sent for him as if at your request to ask him two questions, +If he answers those questions, as I believe he will, I can +demonstrate that you are not guilty of and have no connection +with the murder of Miss Melrose. Let me ask these +questions, without any hint or remark from you as to what the +answer must be. Are you willing?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am," replied Curtis. His face was white, but his voice +was firm. +</p> + +<p> +Detective Mallory, whom Curtis didn't know, and Charles +Reid entered the room. Both looked about curiously. +Mallory nodded brusquely at Hatch. Reid looked at Curtis and +Curtis looked away. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Reid," said The Thinking Machine, without any +preliminary, "Mr. Curtis tells me that the knife used to kill +Miss Melrose was your property. Is that so?" he demanded +quickly, as Curtis faced about wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +"No," thundered Reid, fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +"Is it Mr. Curtis's knife?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," flashed Reid. "It's a part of his auto kit." +</p> + +<p> +Curtis started to speak; The Thinking Machine waved his +hand toward him. Detective Mallory caught the gesture and +understood that Jack Curtis was his prisoner for murder. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +IV +</h3> + +<p> +Curtis was led away and locked up. He raved and bitterly +denounced Reid for the information he had given, but he did +not deny it. Indeed, after the first burst of fury he said +nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Once he was under lock and key the police, led by +Detective Mallory, searched his rooms at the Hotel Teutonic +and there they found a handkerchief stained with blood. It +was slight, still it was a stain. This was immediately placed +in the hands of an expert, who pronounced it human blood. +Then the case against Curtis seemed complete; it was his +knife, he had been in love with Miss Melrose, therefore +probably jealous of her, and here was the tell-tale +bloodstain. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Reid was permitted to go his way. He seemed +crushed by the rapid sequence of events, and read eagerly +every line he could find in the public prints concerning both +the murder and the elopement of Miss Dow. This latter +affair, indeed, seemed to have greater sway over his mind than +the murder, or that a lifetime friend was now held as the +murderer. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile The Thinking Machine had signified to Hatch +his desire to visit the scene of the crime and see what might +be done there. Late in the afternoon, therefore, they started, +taking a train for a village nearest the Monarch Inn. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a most extraordinary case," The Thinking Machine +said, "much more extraordinary than you can imagine." +</p> + +<p> +"In what respect?" asked the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"In motive, in the actual manner of the girl meeting her +death and in a dozen other details which I can't state now +because I haven't all the facts." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't doubt but what it was murder?" +</p> + +<p> +"It doesn't necessarily follow," said The Thinking +Machine, evasively. "Suppose we were seeking a motive for +Miss Melrose's suicide, what would we have? We would have +her love affair with this man MacLean whom she refused to +marry because she knew he would be disinherited. Suppose +she had not seen him for a couple of years—suppose she had +made up her mind to give him up—that he had suddenly +appeared when she sat alone in the automobile in front of the +Monarch Inn—suppose, then, finding all her love reawakened, +she had decided to end it all?" +</p> + +<p> +"But Curtis's knife and the blood on his handkerchief?" +</p> + +<p> +"Suppose, having made up her mind to kill herself, she +had sought a weapon?" went on The Thinking Machine, as +if there had been no interruption. "What is more natural +than she should have sought something—the knife, say—in +the tool bag or kit, which must have been near her? +Suppose she stabbed herself while the men were away from the +automobile, or even after they had started on again in the +darkness?" +</p> + +<p> +Hatch looked a little crestfallen. +</p> + +<p> +"You believe, then, that she did kill herself?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly not," was the prompt response. "I <i>don't</i> believe +Miss Melrose killed herself—but as yet I know nothing +to the contrary. As for the blood on Curtis's handkerchief, +remember he helped carry the body to Dr. Leonard; it might +have come from that—it might have come from a slight +spattering of blood." +</p> + +<p> +"But circumstances certainly implicate Curtis." +</p> + +<p> +"I wouldn't convict any man of any crime on any +circumstantial evidence," was the response. "It's worthless +unless a man is forced to confess." +</p> + +<p> +The reporter was puzzled, bewildered, and his face showed +it. There were many things he did not understand, but the +principal question in his mind took form: +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you turn Curtis over to the police, then?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because he is the man who owned the knife," was the +reply. "I knew he was lying to me from the first about the +knife. Men have been executed on less evidence than that." +</p> + +<p> +The train stopped and they proceeded to the office of the +medical examiner, where the body of the woman lay. +Professor Van Dusen was readily permitted to see the body, even +to offer his expert assistance in an autopsy which was then +being performed; but the reporter was stopped at the door. +After an hour The Thinking Machine came out. +</p> + +<p> +"She was stabbed from the right," he said in answer to +Hatch's inquiring look, "either by some one sitting at her +right, by some one leaning over her right shoulder, or she +might have done it herself." +</p> + +<p> +Then they went on to Monarch Inn, five miles away. Here, +after a comprehensive squint at the landscape, The Thinking +Machine entered and for half an hour questioned three +waiters there. +</p> + +<p> +Did these waiters see Mr. Reid? Yes. They identified +his published picture as a gentleman who had come in and +taken a hot Scotch at the bar. Anyone with him? No. +Speak to anyone in the inn? Yes, a lady. +</p> + +<p> +"What did she look like?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Couldn't say, sir," the waiter replied. "She came in an +automobile and wore a mask, with a veil tied about her head +and a long tan automobile coat." +</p> + +<p> +"With the mask on you couldn't see her face?" +</p> + +<p> +"Only her chin, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"No glimpse of her hair?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir. It was covered by the veil." +</p> + +<p> +Then The Thinking Machine turned loose a flood of +questions. He learned that the woman had been waiting at the +inn for nearly an hour when Reid entered; that she had come +there alone and at her request had been shown into a private +parlor—"to wait for a gentleman," she had told the waiter. +</p> + +<p> +She had opened the door when she heard Reid enter and +had glanced out, but he had disappeared into the bar before +she saw him. When he started away she looked out again. +Then she saw him and he saw her. She seemed surprised +and started to close the door, when he spoke to her. No one +heard what was said, but he went in and the door was closed. +No one knew just when either Reid or the woman left the +inn. Some half an hour or so after Reid entered the room a +waiter rapped on the door. There was no answer. He +opened the door and went in, but there was no one there. It +was presumed then that the gentleman she had been waiting +for had appeared and they had gone out together. It was a +fact that an automobile had come up meanwhile—in addition +to that in which Curtis, Miss Melrose and Reid had +come—and had gone away again. +</p> + +<p> +When all this questioning had come to an end and these +facts were in possession of The Thinking Machine, the +reporter advanced a theory. +</p> + +<p> +"That woman was unquestionably Miss Dow, who knew +Reid and who eloped that night with Morgan Mason." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine looked at him a moment without +speaking, then led the way into the private room where the +lady had been waiting. Hatch followed. They remained +there five or ten minutes, then The Thinking Machine came +out and started toward the front door, only eight or ten +feet from this room. The road was twenty feet away. +</p> + +<p> +"Let's go," he said, finally. +</p> + +<p> +"Where?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you see?" asked The Thinking Machine, irrelevantly, +"that it would have been perfectly possible for Miss +Melrose herself to have left the automobile and gone inside +the inn for a few minutes?" +</p> + +<p> +Following previously received directions The Thinking +Machine now set out to find the man who had charge of the +gasoline tank. They went away together and remained half +an hour. +</p> + +<p> +On the scientist's return to where Hatch had been waiting +impatiently they climbed into the car which had brought +them to the inn. +</p> + +<p> +"Two miles down this road, then the first road to your +right until I tell you to stop," was the order to the chauffeur. +</p> + +<p> +"Where are you going?" asked Hatch, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't know yet," was the enigmatic reply. +</p> + +<p> +The car ran on through the night, with great, unblinking +lights staring straight out ahead on a road as smooth as +asphalt. The turn was made, then more slowly the car +proceeded along the cross road. At the second house, dimly +discernible through the night, The Thinking Machine gave +the signal to stop. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch leaped out, and The Thinking Machine followed. +Together they approached the house, a small cottage some +distance back from the road. As they went up the path they +came upon another automobile, but it had no lights and the +engine was still. Even in the darkness they could see that +one of the forward wheels was gone, and the front of the +car was demolished. +</p> + +<p> +"That fellow had a bad accident," Hatch remarked. +</p> + +<p> +An old woman and a boy appeared at the door in answer +to their rap. +</p> + +<p> +"I am looking for a gentleman who was injured last night +in an automobile accident," said The Thinking Machine. +"Is he still here?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Come in." +</p> + +<p> +They stepped inside as a man's voice called from another +room. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Two gentlemen to see the man who was hurt," the woman +called. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know his name?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir," the woman replied. Then the man who had +spoken appeared. +</p> + +<p> +"Would it be possible for us to see the gentleman who was +hurt?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, the doctor said we would have to keep folks away +from him," was the reply. "Is there anything I could tell +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"We would like to know who he is," said The Thinking +Machine. "It may be that we can take him off your +hands." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know his name," the man explained; "but here are +the things we took off him. He was hurt on the head, and +hasn't been able to speak since he was brought here." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine took a gold watch, a small notebook, +two or three cards of various business concerns, two +railroad tickets to New York and one thousand dollars in +large bills. He merely glanced at the papers. No name +appeared anywhere on them; the same with the railroad tickets. +The business cards meant nothing at the moment. It was +the gold watch on which the scientist concentrated his +attention. He looked on both sides, then inside, carefully. +Finally he handed it back. +</p> + +<p> +"What time did this gentleman come here?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"We brought him in from the road about nine o'clock," +was the reply. "We heard his automobile smash into +something and found him there beside it a moment later. He +was unconscious. His car had struck a stone on the curve +and he was thrown out head first." +</p> + +<p> +"And where is his wife?" +</p> + +<p> +"His wife?" The man looked from The Thinking Machine +to the woman. "His wife? We didn't see anybody +else." +</p> + +<p> +"Nobody ran away from the machine as you went out?" +insisted the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir," was the positive reply. +</p> + +<p> +"And no woman has been here to inquire for him?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Has anybody?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"What direction was the car going when it struck?" +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't tell you, sir. It had turned entirely over and +was in the middle of the road when we found it." +</p> + +<p> +"What's the number of the car?" +</p> + +<p> +"It didn't have any." +</p> + +<p> +"This gentleman has good medical attention, I suppose?' +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir. Dr. Leonard is attending him. He says his +condition isn't dangerous, and meanwhile we're letting him +stay here, because we suppose he'll make it all right with us +when he gets well." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you—that's all," said The Thinking Machine. +"Good-night." +</p> + +<p> +With Hatch he turned and left the house. +</p> + +<p> +"What is all this?" asked Hatch, bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +"That man is Morgan Mason," said The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"The man who eloped with Miss Dow?" asked Hatch, +breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, where is Miss Dow?" asked The Thinking Machine, +in turn. +</p> + +<p> +"You mean—" +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine waved his hand off into the vague +night; it was a gesture which Hatch understood perfectly. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +V +</h3> + +<p> +Hutchinson Hatch was deeply thoughtful on the swift run +back to the village. There he and The Thinking Machine +took train to Boston. Hatch was turning over possibilities. +Had Miss Dow eloped with some one besides Mason? There +had been no other name mentioned. Was it possible that she +killed Miss Melrose? Vaguely his mind clutched for a +motive for this, yet none appeared, and he dismissed the idea +with a laugh at its absurdity. Then, What? Where? How? +Why? +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose the story of an actress having been murdered +in an automobile under mysterious circumstances would have +been telegraphed all over the country, Mr. Hatch?" asked +The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Hatch. "If you mean this story, there's not a +city in the country that doesn't know of it by this time." +</p> + +<p> +"It's perfectly wonderful, the resources of the press," the +scientist mused. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch nodded his acquiescence. He had hoped for a +moment that The Thinking Machine had asked the question as +a preliminary to something else, but that was apparently +all. After a while the train jerked a little and The Thinking +Machine spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +"I think, Mr. Hatch, I wouldn't yet print anything about +the disappearance of Miss Dow," he said. "It might be +unwise at present. No one else will find it out, so—" +</p> + +<p> +"I understand," said Hatch. It was a command. +</p> + +<p> +"By the way," the other went on, "do you happen to +remember the name of that Winter Street store that Curtis +went in?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," and he named it. +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly midnight when The Thinking Machine and +Hatch reached Boston. The reporter was dismissed with a +curt: +</p> + +<p> +"Come up at noon to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch went his way. Next day at noon promptly he was +waiting in the reception room of The Thinking Machine's +home. The scientist was out—down in Winter Street, +Martha explained—and Hatch waited impatiently for his +return. He came in finally. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" inquired the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"Impossible to say anything until day after to-morrow," +said The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"And then?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"The solution," replied the scientist positively. "Now I'm +waiting for some one." +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Dow?" +</p> + +<p> +"Meanwhile you might see Reid and find out in some way +if he ever happened to make a gift of any little thing, a +thing that a woman would wear on the outside of her coat, +for instance, to Miss Dow." +</p> + +<p> +"Lord, I don't think he'll say anything." +</p> + +<p> +"Find out, too, when he intends to go back West." +</p> + +<p> +It took Hatch three hours, and required a vast deal of +patience and skill, to find out that on a recent birthday +Miss Dow had received a present of a monogram belt buckle +from Reid. That was all; and that was not what The +Thinking Machine meant. Hatch had the word of Miss Dew's +maid for it that while Miss Dow wore this belt at the +time of her elopement, it was underneath the automobile +coat. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you heard anything more from Miss Dow?" asked +Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," responded the maid. "Her father received a letter +from her this morning. It was from Chicago, and said that +she and her husband were on their way to San Francisco and +that the family might not hear from them again until after +the honeymoon." +</p> + +<p> +"How? What?" gasped Hatch. His brain was in a +muddle. "She in Chicago, <i>with—her husband</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Is there any question about the letter being in her +handwriting?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not at all," replied the maid, positively. "It's perfectly +natural," she concluded. +</p> + +<p> +"But—" Hatch began, then he stopped. +</p> + +<p> +For one fleeting instant he was tempted to tell the maid +that the man whom the family had supposed was Miss Dew's +husband was lying unconscious at a farmhouse not a great +way from the Monarch Inn, and that there was no trace of +Miss Dow. Now this letter! His head whirled when he +thought of it. +</p> + +<p> +"Is there any question but that Miss Dow did elope with +Mr. Mason and not some other man?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"It was Mr. Mason, all right," the girl responded. "I +knew there was to be an elopement and helped arrange for +Miss Dow to go," she added, confidentially. "It was +Mr. Mason, I know." +</p> + +<p> +Then Hatch rushed away and telephoned to The Thinking +Machine. He simply couldn't hold this latest development +until he saw him again. +</p> + +<p> +"We've made a mistake," he bellowed through the 'phone. +</p> + +<p> +"What's that?" demanded The Thinking Machine, aggressively. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Dow is in Chicago with her husband—family has +received a letter from her—that man out there with the +smashed head can't be Mason," the reporter explained +hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me, dear me!" said The Thinking Machine over the +wire. And again: "Dear me!" +</p> + +<p> +"Her maid told me all about it," Hatch rushed on, "that +is, all about her aiding Miss Dow to elope, and all that. +Must be some mistake." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me!" again came in the voice of The Thinking +Machine. Then: "Is Miss Dow a blonde or brunette?" +</p> + +<p> +The irrelevancy of the question caused Hatch to smile in +spite of himself. +</p> + +<p> +"A brunette," he answered. "A pronounced brunette." +</p> + +<p> +"Then," said The Thinking Machine, as if this were +merely dependent upon or a part of the blonde or brunette +proposition, "get immediately a picture of Mason +somewhere—I suppose you can—go out and see that man with the +smashed head and see if it is Mason. Let me know by +'phone." +</p> + +<p> +"All right," said Hatch, rather hopelessly. "But it is +impossible—" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't say that," snapped The Thinking Machine. "Don't +say that," he repeated, angrily. "It annoys me exceedingly." +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly ten o'clock that night when Hatch again +'phoned to The Thinking Machine. He had found a +photograph, he had seen the man with the smashed head. +They were the same. He so informed The Thinking +Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah," said that individual, quietly. "Did you find out +about any gift that Reid might have made to Miss Dow?" +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, a monogram belt buckle of gold," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch was over his head and knew it. He was finding out +things and answering questions, which by the wildest stretch +of his imagination, he could not bring to bear on the matter +in hand—the mystery surrounding the murder of Marguerite +Melrose, an actress. +</p> + +<p> +"Meet me at my place here at one o'clock day after +to-morrow," instructed The Thinking Machine. "Publish as +little as you can of this matter until you see me. It's +extraordinary—perfectly extraordinary. Good-by." +</p> + +<p> +That was all. Hatch groped hopelessly through the tangle, +seeking one fact that he could grasp. Then it occurred to +him that he had never ascertained when Reid intended to +return West, and he went to the Hotel Teutonic for this +purpose. The clerk informed him that Reid was to start in +a couple of days. Reid had hardly left his room since Curtis +was locked up. +</p> + +<p> +Precisely at one o'clock on the second day following, as +directed by The Thinking Machine, Hatch appeared and +was ushered in. The Thinking Machine was bowed over a +retort in his laboratory, and he looked up at the reporter +with a question in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes," he said, as if recollecting for the first time the +purpose of the visit. "Oh, yes." +</p> + +<p> +He led the way to the reception room and gave instructions +to Martha to admit whoever inquired for him; then he +sat down and leaned back in his chair. After a while the +bell rang and two men were shown in. One was Charles +Reid; the other a detective whom Hatch knew. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Mr. Reid," said The Thinking Machine. "I'm sorry +to have troubled you, but there were some questions I +wanted to ask before you went away. If you'll wait just a +moment." +</p> + +<p> +Reid bowed and took a seat. +</p> + +<p> +"Is he under arrest?" Hatch inquired of the detective, +aside. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," was the reply. "Oh, no. Detective Mallory told +me to ask him to come up. I don't know what for." +</p> + +<p> +After a while the bell rang again. Then Hatch heard +Detective Mallory's voice in the hall and the rustle of skirts; +then the voice of another man. Mallory appeared at the +door after a moment; behind him came two veiled women +and a man who was a stranger to Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm going to make a request, Mr. Mallory," said The +Thinking Machine. "I know it will be a cause of pleasure +to Mr. Reid. It is that you release Mr. Curtis, who is +charged with the murder of Miss Melrose." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" demanded Mallory, quickly. Hatch and Reid +stared at the scientist curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"This," said The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +The two women simultaneously removed their veils. +</p> + +<p> +One was Miss Marguerite Melrose. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +VI +</h3> + +<p> +"Miss Melrose that was," explained The Thinking +Machine, "now Mrs. Donald MacLean. This, gentlemen, is +her husband. This other young woman is Miss Dow's maid. +Together I believe we will be able to throw some light on the +death of the young woman who was found in Mr. Curtis's +automobile." +</p> + +<p> +Stupefied with amazement, Hatch stared at the woman +whose reported murder had startled and puzzled the entire +country. Reid had shown only slight emotion—an emotion +of a kind hard to read. Finally he advanced to Miss +Melrose, or Mrs. MacLean, with outstretched hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Marguerite," he said. +</p> + +<p> +The girl looked deeply into his eyes, then took the proffered +hand. +</p> + +<p> +"And Jack Curtis?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +"If Detective Mallory will have him brought here we can +immediately end his connection with this case so far as +your murder is concerned," said The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Who—who was murdered, then?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"A little circumstantial development is necessary to show," +replied The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +Detective Mallory retired into another room and 'phoned +to have Curtis brought up. On his assurance that there had +been a mistake which he would explain later, Curtis set out +from his cell with a detective and within a few minutes +appeared in the room, wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +One look at Marguerite and he was beside her, gripping +her hand. For a time he didn't speak; it was not necessary. +Then the actress, with flushed face, indicated MacLean, who +had stood quietly by, an interested but silent spectator. +</p> + +<p> +"My husband, Jack," she said. +</p> + +<p> +Quick comprehension swept over Curtis and he looked from +one to another. Then he approached MacLean with +outstretched hand. +</p> + +<p> +"I congratulate you," he said, with deep feeling. "Make +her happy." +</p> + +<p> +Reid had stood unobserved meanwhile. Hatch's glance +traveled from one to another of the persons in the room. +He was seeking to explain that expression on Reid's face, +vainly thus far. There was a little pause as Reid and Curtis +came face to face, but neither spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, please, what does it all mean?" asked MacLean, +who up to this time had been silent. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a strange study of the human brain," said The Thinking +Machine, "and incidentally a little proof that circumstantial +evidence is absolutely worthless. For instance, here +it was proven that Miss Melrose was dead, that Mr. Curtis +was jealous of her, that while drinking he had threatened +her—this I learned at the Hotel Yarmouth, but now it is +unimportant—that his knife killed her, and finally that there +was blood on one of his handkerchiefs. This is the complete +circumstantial chain; and Miss Melrose appears, alive. +</p> + +<p> +"Suppose we take the case from the point where I entered +it. It will be interesting as showing the methods of a +brain which reduces all things to tangible strands which +may be woven into a whole, then fitting them together. My +knowledge of the affair began when Mr. Curtis was brought +to these apartments by Mr. Hatch. Mr. Curtis was ill. I +gave him a stimulant; he aroused suddenly and shrieked: +'I saw her. There was a dagger in her heart. Marguerite!' +</p> + +<p> +"My first impression was that he was insane; my next +that he had delirium tremens, because I saw he had been +drinking heavily. Later I saw it was temporary mental +collapse due to excessive drinking and a tremendous strain. +Instantly I associated Marguerite with this—'a dagger in +her heart.' Therefore, Marguerite dead or wounded. 'I saw +her.' Dead or alive? These, then, were my first impressions. +</p> + +<p> +"I asked Mr. Hatch what had happened. He told me Miss +Melrose, an actress, had been murdered the night before. I +suggested suicide, because suicide is always the first +possibility in considering a case of violent death which is not +obviously accidental. He insisted that he believed it was +murder, and told me why. It was all he knew of the +story. +</p> + +<p> +"There was the stopping of The Green Dragon at the +Monarch Inn for gasoline; the disappearance of Mr. Curtis, +as he told the police, to hunt for gasoline—partly proven by +the fact that he brought it back; the statement of Mr. Reid +to the police that he had gone into the inn for a hot Scotch, +and confirmation of this. Above all, here was the opportunity +for the crime—if it were committed by any person other +than Curtis or Reid. +</p> + +<p> +"Then Mr. Hatch repeated to me the statement made to +him by Dr. Leonard. The first thing that impressed me +here was the fact that Curtis had, in taking the girl into the +house, carried her by the shoulders. Instantly I saw, +knowing that the girl had been stabbed through the heart, how it +would be possible for blood to get on Mr. Curtis's hands, +thence on his handkerchief or clothing. This was before I +knew or considered his connection with the death at all. +</p> + +<p> +"Curtis told Dr. Leonard that the girl was Miss Melrose. +The body wasn't yet cold, therefore death must have come +just before it reached the doctor. Then the knife was +discovered. Here was the first tangible working clew—a rough +knife, with a blade six or seven inches long. Obviously not +the sort of knife a woman would carry about with her. +Therefore, where did it come from? +</p> + +<p> +"Curtis tried to induce the doctor to let him have the +knife; probably Curtis's knife, possibly Reid's. Why +Curtis's? The nature of the knife, a blade six or seven +inches long, indicated a knife used for heavy work, not for a +penknife. Under ordinary circumstances such a knife would +not have been carried by Reid; therefore it may have belonged +to Curtis's auto kit. He might have carried it in his +pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"Thus, considering <i>that it was Miss Melrose who was dead</i>, +we had these facts: Dead only a few minutes, possibly +stabbed while the two men were away from the car; Curtis's +knife used—not a knife from any other auto kit, mind you, +<i>because Curtis recognized this knife</i>. Two and two make +four, not sometimes, but all the time." +</p> + +<p> +Every person in the room was leaning forward, eagerly +listening; Reid's face was perfectly white. The Thinking +Machine finally arose, walked over and ran his fingers +through Reid's hair, then sat again squinting at the ceiling. +He spoke as if to himself. +</p> + +<p> +"Then Mr. Hatch told me another important thing," he +went on. "At the moment it appeared a coincidence, later it +assumed its complete importance. This was that Dr. Leonard +did not actually <i>see</i> the face of the girl—only the +chin; that the hair was covered by a veil and the mask +covered the remainder of the face. Here for the first time +I saw that it was wholly possible that the woman <i>was not +Miss Melrose at all</i>. I saw it as a possibility; not that I +believed it. I had no reason to, then. +</p> + +<p> +"The dress of the young woman meant nothing; it was +that of thousands of other young women who go +automobiling—handsome tailor-made gown, tan dust coat. Then I +tricked Mr. Curtis—I suppose it is only fair to use the +proper word—into telling me his story by making him +believe he made compromising admissions while unconscious. +I had, I may say, too, examined his head minutely. I have +always maintained that the head of a murderer will show a +certain indentation. Mr. Curtis's head did not show this +indentation, neither does Mr. Reid's. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Curtis told me the first thing to show that the knife +which killed the girl—I still believed her Miss Melrose +then—could have passed out of his hands. He said when he +leaped from the automobile he thought he dropped something, +searched for it a moment, failed to find it, then, being +in a hurry, went on. He called back to Mr. Reid to search +for what he had lost. That is when Mr. Curtis lost the +knife; that is when it passed into the possession of Mr. Reid. +He found it." +</p> + +<p> +Every eye was turned on Reid. He sat as if fascinated, +staring into the upward turned face of the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"There we had a girl—presumably Miss Melrose—dead, +by a knife owned by Mr. Curtis, last in the possession of +Mr. Reid. Mr. Hatch had previously told me that the +medical examiner said the wound which killed the girl came +from her right, in a general direction. Therefore here was +a possibility that Mr. Reid did it in the automobile—a +possibility, I say. +</p> + +<p> +"I asked Mr. Curtis why he tried to recover the knife +from Dr. Leonard. He stammered and faltered, but really +it was because, having recognized the knife, he was afraid +the crime would come home to him. Mr. Curtis denied +flatly that the knife was his, and in denying told me that it +was. It was not Mr. Reid's I was assured. Mr. Curtis also +told me of his love for Miss Melrose, but there was nothing +there, as it appeared, strong enough to suggest a motive for +murder. He mentioned you, Mr. MacLean, then. +</p> + +<p> +"Then Mr. Curtis named Miss Dow as one whose hand +had been sought by Mr. Reid. Mr. Hatch told me this +girl—Miss Dow—had eloped the night before with Morgan +Mason from Monarch Inn—or, to be exact, that her family +had received a letter from her stating that she was eloping; +that Mason had taken out a marriage license. Remember +this was the girl that Reid was in love with; it was singular +that there should have been a Monarch Inn end to that +elopement as well as to this tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +"This meant nothing as bearing on the abstract problem +before me until Mr. Curtis described Miss Melrose as having +golden hair. With another minor scrap of information +Mr. Hatch again opened up vast possibilities by stating that the +medical examiner, a careful man, had said Miss Melrose +had <i>dark</i> hair. I asked him if he had seen the body; he +had not. But the medical examiner told him that. +Instantly in my mind the question was aroused: Was it <i>Miss +Melrose</i> who was killed? This was merely a possibility; it +still had no great weight with me. +</p> + +<p> +"I asked Mr. Curtis as to the circumstances which caused +his collapse in Winter Street. He explained it was because +he had seen a woman whom he would have sworn was Miss +Melrose if he had not known that she was dead. This, +following the dark hair and blonde hair puzzle, instantly caused +this point to stand forth sharply in my mind. Was Miss +Melrose dead at all? I had good reason then to believe that +she was <i>not</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"Previously, with the idea of fixing for all time the +ownership of the knife—yet knowing in my own mind it was +Mr. Curtis's—I had sent for Mr. Reid. I told him Mr. Curtis +had said it was his knife. Mr. Reid fell into the trap and +did the very thing I expected. He declared angrily the knife +was Mr. Curtis's, thinking Curtis had tried to saddle the +crime on him. Then I turned Mr. Curtis over to the police. +When he was locked up I was reasonably certain that he +did not commit any crime, because I had traced the knife +from him to Mr. Reid." +</p> + +<p> +There was a glitter in Reid's eyes now. It was not fear, +only a nervous battle to restrain himself. The Thinking +Machine went on: +</p> + +<p> +"I saw the body of the dead woman—indeed, assisted at +her autopsy. She was a pronounced brunette—Miss Melrose +was a blonde. The mistake in identity was not an impossible +one in view of the fact that each wore a mask and had +her hair tied up under a veil. That woman was stabbed from +the right—still a possibility of suicide." +</p> + +<p> +"Who was the woman?" demanded Curtis. He seemed +utterly unable to control himself longer. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Elizabeth Dow, who was supposed to have eloped +with Morgan Mason," was the quiet reply. +</p> + +<p> +Instant amazement was reflected on every face save Reid's, +and again every eye was turned to him. Miss Dow's maid +burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Reid knew who the woman was all the time," said +The Thinking Machine. "Knowing then that Miss Dow +was the dead woman—this belief being confirmed by a monogram +gold belt buckle, 'E.D.,' on the body—I proceeded to +find out all I could in this direction. The waiters had seen +Mr. Reid in the inn; had seen him talking to a masked and +veiled lady who had been waiting for nearly an hour; had +seen him go into a room with her, but had not seen them +leave the inn. Mr. Reid had recognized the lady—not she +him. How? By a glimpse of the monogram belt buckle +which he knew because he probably gave it to her." +</p> + +<p> +"He did," interposed Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"I did," said Reid, calmly. It was the first time he had +spoken. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Mr. Reid went into the room and closed the door, +carrying with him Mr. Curtis's knife," went on The Thinking +Machine. "I can't tell you from <i>personal observation</i> +what happened in that room, but I know. Mr. Reid learned +in some way that Miss Dow was going to elope; he learned +that she had been waiting long past the time when Mason +was due there; that she believed he had humiliated her by +giving up the idea at the last minute. Being in a highly +nervous condition, she lost faith in Mason and in herself, +and perhaps mentioned suicide?" +</p> + +<p> +"She did," said Reid, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +"Go on, Mr. Reid," suggested The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"I believed, too, that Mason had changed his mind," the +young man continued, with steady voice. "I pleaded with +Miss Dow to give up the idea of eloping, because, remember, +I loved her, too. She finally consented to go on with our +party, as her automobile had gone. We came out of the inn +together. When we reached the automobile—The Green +Dragon, I mean—I saw Miss Melrose getting into Mr. MacLean's +automobile, which had come up meanwhile. Instantly +I saw, or imagined, the circumstances, and said nothing +to Miss Dow about it, particularly as Mr. MacLean's car +dashed away at full speed. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, in taking Miss Dow to The Green Dragon it had +been my purpose to introduce her to Miss Melrose. She +knew Mr. Curtis. When I saw Miss Melrose was gone I +knew Curtis would wonder why. I couldn't explain, because +every moment I was afraid Mason would appear to claim +Miss Dow and I was anxious to get her as far away as +possible. Therefore I requested her not to speak until we +reached the next inn, and there I would explain to Curtis. +</p> + +<p> +"Somewhere between the Monarch Inn and the inn we had +started for Miss Dow changed her mind; probably was +overcome by the humiliation of her position, and she used the +knife. She had seen me take the knife from my pocket and +throw it into the tool kit on the floor beside her. It was +comparatively a trifling matter for her to stoop and pick it +up, almost from under her feet, and—" +</p> + +<p> +"Under all these circumstances, as stated by Mr. Reid," +interrupted The Thinking Machine, "we understand why, +after he found the girl dead, he didn't tell all the truth, +even to Curtis. Any jury on earth would have convicted him +of murder on circumstantial evidence. Then, when he saw +Miss Dow dead, mistaken for Miss Melrose, he could not +correct the impression without giving himself away. He +was forced to silence. +</p> + +<p> +"I realized these things—not in exact detail as Mr. Reid +has told them, but in a general way—after my talk with the +waiters. Then I set out to find out <i>why</i> Mason had not +appeared. It was possibly due to accident. On a chance +entirely I asked the man in charge of the gasoline tank at +the Monarch if he had heard of an accident nearby on the +night of the tragedy. He had. +</p> + +<p> +"With Mr. Hatch I found the injured man. A monogram, +'M.M.,' on his watch, told me it was Morgan Mason. Mr. Mason +had a serious accident and still lies unconscious. He +was going to meet Miss Dow when this happened. He had +two railroad tickets to New York—for himself and bride—in +his pocket." +</p> + +<p> +Reid still sat staring at The Thinking Machine, waiting. +The others were awed into silence by the story of the tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +"Having located both Mason and Miss Dow to my satisfaction, +I then sought to find what had become of Miss Melrose. +Mr. Reid could have told me this, but he wouldn't +have, because it would have turned the light on the very +thing which he was trying to keep hidden. With Miss Melrose +alive, it was perfectly possible that Curtis had seen her +in the Winter Street store. +</p> + +<p> +"I asked Mr. Hatch if he remembered what store it was. +He did. I also asked Mr. Hatch if such a story as the +murder of Miss Melrose would be telegraphed all over the +country. He said it would. It did not stand to reason that if +Miss Melrose were in any city, or even on a train, she could +have failed to hear of her own murder, which would +instantly have called forth a denial. +</p> + +<p> +"Therefore, where was she? On the water, out of reach +of newspapers? I went to the store in Winter Street and +asked if any purchases had been sent from there to any +steamer about to sail on the day following the tragedy. +There had been several purchases made by a woman who +answered Miss Melrose's description as I had it, and these +had been sent to a steamer which sailed for Halifax. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Melrose and Mr. MacLean, married then, were on +that steamer. I wired to Halifax to ascertain if they were +coming back immediately. They were. I waited for them. +Otherwise, Mr. Hatch, I should have given you the solution +of the mystery two days ago. As it was, I waited until Miss +Melrose, or Mrs. MacLean, returned. I think that's all." +</p> + +<p> +"The letter from Miss Dow in Chicago?" Hatch reminded +him. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes," said The Thinking Machine. "That was sent +to a friend in her confidence, and mailed on a specified date. +As a matter of fact, she and Mason were going to New York +and thence to Europe. Of course, as matters happened, the +two letters—the other being the one mailed from the +Monarch Inn—were sent and could not be recalled." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +This strange story was one of the most astonishing news +features the American newspapers ever handled. Charles +Reid was arrested, established his story beyond question, and +was released. His principal witnesses were Professor +Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen, Jack Curtis and Mrs. Donald +MacLean. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0105"></a></p> + +<h2> +The Flaming Phantom +</h2> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +I +</h3> + +<p> +Hutchinson Hatch, reporter, stood beside the +City Editor's desk, smoking and waiting patiently +for that energetic gentleman to dispose of several +matters in hand. City Editors always have several matters +in hand, for the profession of keeping count of the pulse-beat +of the world is a busy one. Finally this City Editor +emerged from a mass of other things and picked up a sheet +of paper on which he had scribbled some strange hieroglyphics, +these representing his interpretation of the art of writing. +</p> + +<p> +"Afraid of ghosts?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't know," Hatch replied, smiling a little. "I never +happened to meet one." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, this looks like a good story," the City Editor +explained. "It's a haunted house. Nobody can live in it; all +sorts of strange happenings, demoniacal laughter, groans +and things. House is owned by Ernest Weston, a broker. +Better jump down and take a look at it. If it is promising, +you might spend a night in it for a Sunday story. Not +afraid, are you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I never heard of a ghost hurting anyone," Hatch replied, +still smiling a little. "If this one hurts me it will make the +story better." +</p> + +<p> +Thus attention was attracted to the latest creepy mystery +of a small town by the sea which in the past had not been +wholly lacking in creeping mysteries. +</p> + +<p> +Within two hours Hatch was there. He readily found the +old Weston house, as it was known, a two-story, solidly built +frame structure, which had stood for sixty or seventy years +high upon a cliff overlooking the sea, in the center of a land +plot of ten or twelve acres. From a distance it was +imposing, but close inspection showed that, outwardly, at least, it +was a ramshackle affair. +</p> + +<p> +Without having questioned anyone in the village, Hatch +climbed the steep cliff road to the old house, expecting to +find some one who might grant him permission to inspect it. +But no one appeared; a settled melancholy and gloom seemed +to overspread it; all the shutters were closed forbiddingly. +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer to his vigorous knock on the front +door, and he shook the shutters on a window without result. +Then he passed around the house to the back. Here he +found a door and dutifully hammered on it. Still no +answer. He tried it, and passed in. He stood in the kitchen, +damp, chilly and darkened by the closed shutters. +</p> + +<p> +One glance about this room and he went on through a +back hall to the dining-room, now deserted, but at one time +a comfortable and handsomely furnished place. Its hardwood +floor was covered with dust; the chill of disuse was +all-pervading. There was no furniture, only the litter which +accumulates of its own accord. +</p> + +<p> +From this point, just inside the dining-room door, Hatch +began a sort of study of the inside architecture of the place, +To his left was a door, the butler's pantry. There was a +passage through, down three steps into the kitchen he had +just left. +</p> + +<p> +Straight before him, set in the wall, between two windows, +was a large mirror, seven, possibly eight, feet tall and +proportionately wide. A mirror of the same size was set in the +wall at the end of the room to his left. From the dining-room +he passed through a wide archway into the next room. +This archway made the two rooms almost as one. This +second, he presumed, had been a sort of living-room, but +here, too, was nothing save accumulated litter, an +old-fashioned fireplace and two long mirrors. As he entered, the +fireplace was to his immediate left, one of the large +mirrors was straight ahead of him and the other was to his +right. +</p> + +<p> +Next to the mirror in the end was a passageway of a little +more than usual size which had once been closed with a +sliding door. Hatch went through this into the reception-hall +of the old house. Here, to his right, was the main hall, +connected with the reception-hall by an archway, and +through this archway he could see a wide, old-fashioned +stairway leading up. To his left was a door, of ordinary +size, closed. He tried it and it opened. He peered into a +big room beyond. This room had been the library. It +smelled of books and damp wood. There was nothing +here—not even mirrors. +</p> + +<p> +Beyond the main hall lay only two rooms, one a drawing-room +of the generous proportions our old folks loved, with +its gilt all tarnished and its fancy decorations covered with +dust. Behind this, toward the back of the house, was a small +parlor. There was nothing here to attract his attention, and +he went upstairs. As he went he could see through the archway +into the reception-hall as far as the library door, which +he had left closed. +</p> + +<p> +Upstairs were four or five roomy suites. Here, too, in +small rooms designed for dressing, he saw the owner's +passion for mirrors again. As he passed through room after +room he fixed the general arrangement of it in his mind, +and later on paper, to study it, so that, if necessary, he could +leave any part of the house in the dark. He didn't know +but what this might be necessary, hence his care—the same +care he had evidenced downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +After another casual examination of the lower floor, Hatch +went out the back way to the barn. This stood a couple of +hundred feet back of the house and was of more recent +construction. Above, reached by outside stairs, were +apartments intended for the servants. Hatch looked over these +rooms, but they, too, had the appearance of not having been +occupied for several years. The lower part of the barn, he +found, was arranged to house half a dozen horses and three +or four traps. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing here to frighten anybody," was his mental comment +as he left the old place and started back toward the +village. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. His purpose +was to learn then all he could of the "ghost," and return +that night for developments. +</p> + +<p> +He sought out the usual village bureau of information, +the town constable, a grizzled old chap of sixty years, who +realized his importance as the whole police department, and +who had the gossip and information, more or less distorted, +of several generations at his tongue's end. +</p> + +<p> +The old man talked for two hours—he was glad to talk—seemed +to have been longing for just such a glorious +opportunity as the reporter offered. Hatch sifted out what +he wanted, those things which might be valuable in his +story. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed, according to the constable, that the Weston +house had not been occupied for five years, since the death +of the father of Ernest Weston, present owner. Two weeks +before the reporter's appearance there Ernest Weston had +come down with a contractor and looked over the old +place. +</p> + +<p> +"We understand here," said the constable, judicially, "that +Mr. Weston is going to be married soon, and we kind of +thought he was having the house made ready for his Summer +home again." +</p> + +<p> +"Whom do you understand he is to marry?" asked Hatch, +for this was news. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Katherine Everard, daughter of Curtis Everard, a +banker up in Boston," was the reply. "I know he used to +go around with her before the old man died, and they say +since she came out in Newport he has spent a lot of time +with her." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I see," said Hatch. "They were to marry and come +here?" +</p> + +<p> +"That's right," said the constable. "But I don't know +when, since this ghost story has come up." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, the ghost," remarked Hatch. "Well, hasn't the +work of repairing begun?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, not inside," was the reply. "There's been some work +done on the grounds—in the daytime—but not much of that, +and I kind of think it will be a long time before it's all done." +</p> + +<p> +"What is the story, anyway?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well," and the old constable rubbed his chin thoughtfully. +"It seems sort of funny. A few days after Mr. Weston was +down here a gang of laborers, mostly Italians, came down to +work and decided to sleep in the house—sort of camp out—until +they could repair a leak in the barn and move in there. +They got here late in the afternoon and didn't do much that +day but move into the house, all upstairs, and sort of settle +down for the night. About one o'clock they heard some sort +of noise downstairs, and finally all sorts of a racket and +groans and yells, and they just naturally came down to see +what it was. +</p> + +<p> +"Then they saw the ghost. It was in the reception-hall, +some of 'em said, others said it was in the library, but anyhow +it was there, and the whole gang left just as fast as they +knew how. They slept on the ground that night. Next day +they took out their things and went back to Boston. Since +then nobody here has heard from 'em." +</p> + +<p> +"What sort of a ghost was it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, it was a man ghost, about nine feet high, and he was +blazing from head to foot as if he was burning up," said the +constable. "He had a long knife in his hand and waved it +at 'em. They didn't stop to argue. They ran, and as they +ran they heard the ghost a-laughing at them." +</p> + +<p> +"I should think he would have been amused," was Hatch's +somewhat sarcastic comment. "Has anybody who lives in +the village seen the ghost?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; we're willing to take their word for it, I suppose," +was the grinning reply, "because there never was a ghost +there before. I go up and look over the place every +afternoon, but everything seems to be all right, and I haven't +gone there at night. It's quite a way off my beat," he +hastened to explain. +</p> + +<p> +"A man ghost with a long knife," mused Hatch. "Blazing, +seems to be burning up, eh? That sounds exciting. +Now, a ghost who knows his business never appears except +where there has been a murder. Was there ever a murder +in that house?" +</p> + +<p> +"When I was a little chap I heard there was a murder or +something there, but I suppose if I don't remember it +nobody else here does," was the old man's reply. "It happened +one Winter when the Westons weren't there. There was +something, too, about jewelry and diamonds, but I don't +remember just what it was." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed?" asked the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, something about somebody trying to steal a lot of +jewelry—a hundred thousand dollars' worth. I know +nobody ever paid much attention to it. I just heard about it +when I was a boy, and that was at least fifty years ago." +</p> + +<p> +"I see," said the reporter. +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +That night at nine o'clock, under cover of perfect blackness, +Hatch climbed the cliff toward the Weston house. At +one o'clock he came racing down the hill, with frequent +glances over his shoulder. His face was pallid with a fear +which he had never known before and his lips were ashen. +Once in his room in the village hotel Hutchinson Hatch, +the nerveless young man, lighted a lamp with trembling +hands and sat with wide, staring eyes until the dawn broke +through the east. +</p> + +<p> +He had seen the flaming phantom. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +II +</h3> + +<p> +It was ten o'clock that morning when Hutchinson Hatch +called on Professor Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen—The +Thinking Machine. The reporter's face was still white, +showing that he had slept little, if at all. The Thinking +Machine squinted at him a moment through his thick +glasses, then dropped into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" he queried. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm almost ashamed to come to you, Professor," Hatch +confessed, after a minute, and there was a little embarrassed +hesitation in his speech. "It's another mystery." +</p> + +<p> +"Sit down and tell me about it." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch took a seat opposite the scientist +</p> + +<p> +"I've been frightened," he said at last, with a sheepish +grin; "horribly, awfully frightened. I came to you to know +what frightened me." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me! Dear me!" exclaimed The Thinking Machine, +"What is it?" +</p> + +<p> +Then Hatch told him from the beginning the story of the +haunted house as he knew it; how he had examined the house +by daylight, just what he had found, the story of the old +murder and the jewels, the fact that Ernest Weston was to +be married. The scientist listened attentively. +</p> + +<p> +"It was nine o'clock that night when I went to the house +the second time," said Hatch. "I went prepared for +something, but not for what I saw." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, go on," said the other, irritably. +</p> + +<p> +"I went in while it was perfectly dark. I took a position +on the stairs because I had been told the—the THING—had +been seen from the stairs, and I thought that where it had +been seen once it would be seen again. I had presumed it +was some trick of a shadow, or moonlight, or something of +the kind. So I sat waiting calmly. I am not a nervous +man—that is, I never have been until now. +</p> + +<p> +"I took no light of any kind with me. It seemed an interminable +time that I waited, staring into the reception-room +in the general direction of the library. At last, as I gazed +into the darkness, I heard a noise. It startled me a bit, but +it didn't frighten me, for I put it down to a rat running +across the floor. +</p> + +<p> +"But after a while I heard the most awful cry a human +being ever listened to. It was neither a moan nor a +shriek—merely a—a cry. Then, as I steadied my nerves a little, +a figure—a blazing, burning white figure—grew out of +nothingness before my very eyes, in the reception-room. It +actually grew and assembled as I looked at it." +</p> + +<p> +He paused, and The Thinking Machine changed his position +slightly. +</p> + +<p> +"The figure was that of a man, apparently, I should say, +eight feet high. Don't think I'm a fool—I'm not exaggerating. +It was all in white and seemed to radiate a light, a +ghostly, unearthly light, which, as I looked, grew brighter, +I saw no face to the THING, but it had a head. Then I saw +an arm raised and in the hand was a dagger, blazing as was +the figure. +</p> + +<p> +"By this time I was a coward, a cringing, frightened +coward—frightened not at what I saw, but at the weirdness +of it. And then, still as I looked, the—the THING—raised +the other hand, and there, in the air before my eyes, wrote +with his own finger—<i>on the very face of the air</i>, mind +you—one word: 'Beware!'" +</p> + +<p> +"Was it a man's or woman's writing?" asked The Thinking +Machine. +</p> + +<p> +The matter-of-fact tone recalled Hatch, who was again +being carried away by fear, and he laughed vacantly. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," he said. "I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +"Go on." +</p> + +<p> +"I have never considered myself a coward, and certainly +I am not a child to be frightened at a thing which my reason +tells me is not possible, and, despite my fright, I compelled +myself to action. If the THING were a man I was not +afraid of it, dagger and all; if it were not, it could do me no +injury. +</p> + +<p> +"I leaped down the three steps to the bottom of the stairs, +and while the THING stood there with upraised dagger, +with one hand pointing at me, I rushed for it. I think I +must have shouted, because I have a dim idea that I heard +my own voice. But whether or not I did I—" +</p> + +<p> +Again he paused. It was a distinct effort to pull himself +together. He felt like a child the cold, squint eyes of The +Thinking Machine were turned on him disapprovingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Then—the THING disappeared just as it seemed I had +my hands on it. I was expecting a dagger thrust. Before +my eyes, while I was staring at it, I suddenly saw <i>only half +of it</i>. Again I heard the cry, and the other half +disappeared—my hands grasped empty air. +</p> + +<p> +"Where the THING had been there was nothing. The +impetus of my rush was such that I went right on past the +spot where the THING had been, and found myself groping +in the dark in a room which I didn't place for an instant. +Now I know it was the library. +</p> + +<p> +"By this time I was mad with terror. I smashed one of +the windows and went through it. Then from there, until I +reached my room, I didn't stop running. I couldn't. I +wouldn't have gone back to the reception-room for all the +millions in the world." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine twiddled his fingers idly; Hatch +sat gazing at him with anxious, eager inquiry in his +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"So when you ran and the—the THING moved away or +disappeared you found yourself in the library?" The +Thinking Machine asked at last. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Therefore you must have run from the reception-room +through the door into the library?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"You left that door closed that day?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +Again there was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +"Smell anything?" asked The Thinking Machine, +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"You figure that the THING, as you call it, must have +been just about in the door?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Too bad you didn't notice the handwriting—that is, +whether it seemed to be a man's or a woman's." +</p> + +<p> +"I think, under the circumstances, I would be excused for +omitting that," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"You said you heard something that you thought must be +a rat," went on The Thinking Machine. "What was this?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +"Any squeak about it?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, not that I noticed." +</p> + +<p> +"Five years since the house was occupied," mused the +scientist. "How far away is the water?" +</p> + +<p> +"The place overlooks the water, but it's a steep climb of +three hundred yards from the water to the house." +</p> + +<p> +That seemed to satisfy The Thinking Machine as to what +actually happened. +</p> + +<p> +"When you went over the house in daylight, did you notice +if any of the mirrors were dusty?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"I should presume that all were," was the reply. "There's +no reason why they should have been otherwise." +</p> + +<p> +"But you didn't notice particularly that some were not +dusty?" the scientist insisted. +</p> + +<p> +"No. I merely noticed that they were there." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine sat for a long time squinting at +the ceiling, then asked, abruptly: +</p> + +<p> +"Have you seen Mr. Weston, the owner?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"See him and find out what he has to say about the place, +the murder, the jewels, and all that. It would be rather a +queer state of affairs if, say, a fortune in jewels should be +concealed somewhere about the place, wouldn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +"It would," said Hatch. "It would." +</p> + +<p> +"Who is Miss Katherine Everard?" +</p> + +<p> +"Daughter of a banker here, Curtis Everard. Was a +reigning belle at Newport for two seasons. She is now in +Europe, I think, buying a trousseau, possibly." +</p> + +<p> +"Find out all about her, and what Weston has to say, then +come back here," said The Thinking Machine, as if in +conclusion. "Oh, by the way," he added, "look up something of +the family history of the Westons. How many heirs were +there? Who are they? How much did each one get? All +those things. That's all." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch went out, far more composed and quiet than when +he entered, and began the work of finding out those things +The Thinking Machine had asked for, confident now that +there would be a solution of the mystery. +</p> + +<p> +That night the flaming phantom played new pranks. The +town constable, backed by half a dozen villagers, descended +upon the place at midnight, to be met in the yard by the +apparition in person. Again the dagger was seen; again the +ghostly laughter and the awful cry were heard. +</p> + +<p> +"Surrender or I'll shoot," shouted the constable, nervously. +</p> + +<p> +A laugh was the answer, and the constable felt something +warm spatter in his face. Others in the party felt it, too, +and wiped their faces and hands. By the light of the feeble +lanterns they carried they examined their handkerchiefs +and hands. Then the party fled in awful disorder. +</p> + +<p> +The warmth they had felt was the warmth of blood—red +blood, freshly drawn. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +III +</h3> + +<p> +Hatch found Ernest Weston at luncheon with another +gentleman at one o'clock that day. This other gentleman +was introduced to Hatch as George Weston, a cousin. Hatch +instantly remembered George Weston for certain eccentric +exploits at Newport a season or so before; and also as one +of the heirs of the original Weston estate. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch thought he remembered, too, that at the time Miss +Everard had been so prominent socially at Newport, George +Weston had been her most ardent suitor. It was rumored +that there would have been an engagement between them, +but her father objected. Hatch looked at him curiously; his +face was clearly a dissipated one, yet there was about him +the unmistakable polish and gentility of the well-bred man +of society. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch knew Ernest Weston as Weston knew Hatch; they +had met frequently in the ten years Hatch had been a +newspaper reporter, and Weston had been courteous to him +always. The reporter was in doubt as to whether to bring up +the subject on which he had sought out Ernest Weston, but +the broker brought it up himself, smilingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what is it this time?" he asked, genially. "The +ghost down on the South Shore, or my forthcoming marriage?" +</p> + +<p> +"Both," replied Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +Weston talked freely of his engagement to Miss Everard, +which he said was to have been announced in another week, +at which time she was due to return to America from Europe. +The marriage was to be three or four months later, the exact +date had not been set. +</p> + +<p> +"And I suppose the country place was being put in order +as a Summer residence?" the reporter asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I had intended to make some repairs and changes +there, and furnish it, but now I understand that a ghost has +taken a hand in the matter and has delayed it. Have you +heard much about this ghost story?" he asked, and there was +a slight smile on his face. +</p> + +<p> +"I have seen the ghost," Hatch answered. +</p> + +<p> +"You have?" demanded the broker. +</p> + +<p> +George Weston echoed the words and leaned forward, with +a new interest in his eyes, to listen. Hatch told them what +had happened in the haunted house—all of it. They listened +with the keenest interest, one as eager as the other. +</p> + +<p> +"By George!" exclaimed the broker, when Hatch had finished, +"How do you account for it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't," said Hatch, flatly. "I can offer no possible +solution. I am not a child to be tricked by the ordinary illusion, +nor am I of the temperament which imagines things, but I +can offer no explanation of this." +</p> + +<p> +"It must be a trick of some sort," said George Weston. +</p> + +<p> +"I was positive of that," said Hatch, "but if it is a trick, +it is the cleverest I ever saw." +</p> + +<p> +The conversation drifted on to the old story of missing +jewels and a tragedy in the house fifty years before. Now +Hatch was asking questions by direction of The Thinking +Machine; he himself hardly saw their purport, but he asked +them. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, the full story of that affair, the tragedy there, would +open up an old chapter in our family which is nothing to be +ashamed of, of course," said the broker, frankly; "still it is +something we have not paid much attention to for many +years. Perhaps George here knows it better than I do. His +mother, then a bride, heard the recital of the story from my +grandmother." +</p> + +<p> +Ernest Weston and Hatch looked inquiringly at George +Weston, who lighted a fresh cigarette and leaned over the +table toward them. He was an excellent talker. +</p> + +<p> +"I've heard my mother tell of it, but it was a long time +ago," he began. "It seems, though, as I remember it, that +my great-grandfather, who built the house, was a wealthy +man, as fortunes went in those days, worth probably a +million dollars. +</p> + +<p> +"A part of this fortune, say about one hundred thousand +dollars, was in jewels, which had come with the family from +England. Many of those pieces would be of far greater value +now than they were then, because of their antiquity. It was +only on state occasions, I might say, when these were worn, +say, once a year. +</p> + +<p> +"Between times the problem of keeping them safely was a +difficult one, it appeared. This was before the time of +safety deposit vaults. My grandfather conceived the idea of +hiding the jewels in the old place down on the South Shore, +instead of keeping them in the house he had in Boston. He +took them there accordingly. +</p> + +<p> +"At this time one was compelled to travel down the South +Shore, below Cohasset anyway, by stagecoach. My grandfather's +family was then in the city, as it was Winter, so he +made the trip alone. He planned to reach there at night, +so as not to attract attention to himself, to hide the jewels +about the house, and leave that same night for Boston again +by a relay of horses he had arranged for. Just what +happened after he left the stagecoach, below Cohasset, no one +ever knew except by surmise." +</p> + +<p> +The speaker paused a moment and relighted his cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +"Next morning my great-grandfather was found unconscious +and badly injured on the veranda of the house. His +skull had been fractured. In the house a man was found +dead. No one knew who he was; no one within a radius of +many miles of the place had ever seen him. +</p> + +<p> +"This led to all sorts of surmises, the most reasonable of +which, and the one which the family has always accepted, +being that my grandfather had gone to the house in the dark, +had there met some one who was stopping there that night +as a shelter from the intense cold, that this man learned of +the jewels, that he had tried robbery and there was a fight. +</p> + +<p> +"In this fight the stranger was killed inside the house, +and my great-grandfather, injured, had tried to leave the +house for aid. He collapsed on the veranda where he was +found and died without having regained consciousness. +That's all we know or can surmise reasonably about the +matter." +</p> + +<p> +"Were the jewels ever found?" asked the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"No. They were not on the dead man, nor were they in +the possession of my grandfather." +</p> + +<p> +"It is reasonable to suppose, then, that there was a third +man and that he got away with the jewels?" asked Ernest +Weston. +</p> + +<p> +"It seemed so, and for a long time this theory was +accepted. I suppose it is now, but some doubt was cast on it +by the fact that only two trails of footsteps led to the house +and none out. There was a heavy snow on the ground. If +none led out it was obviously impossible that anyone came +out." +</p> + +<p> +Again there was silence. Ernest Weston sipped his coffee +slowly. +</p> + +<p> +"It would seem from that," said Ernest Weston, at last, +"that the jewels were hidden before the tragedy, and have +never been found." +</p> + +<p> +George Weston smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"Off and on for twenty years the place was searched, +according to my mother's story," he said. "Every inch of the +cellar was dug up; every possible nook and corner was +searched. Finally the entire matter passed out of the minds +of those who knew of it, and I doubt if it has ever been +referred to again until now." +</p> + +<p> +"A search even now would be almost worth while, wouldn't +it?" asked the broker. +</p> + +<p> +George Weston laughed aloud. +</p> + +<p> +"It might be," he said, "but I have some doubt. A thing +that was searched for for twenty years would not be easily +found." +</p> + +<p> +So it seemed to strike the others after a while and the +matter was dropped. +</p> + +<p> +"But this ghost thing," said the broker, at last. "I'm +interested in that. Suppose we make up a ghost party and go +down to-night. My contractor declares he can't get men to +work there." +</p> + +<p> +"I would be glad to go," said George Weston, "but I'm +running over to the Vandergrift ball in Providence +to-night." +</p> + +<p> +"How about you, Hatch?" asked the broker. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll go, yes," said Hatch, "as one of several," he added +with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, then, suppose we say the constable and you and I?" +asked the broker; "to-night?" +</p> + +<p> +"All right." +</p> + +<p> +After making arrangements to meet the broker later that +afternoon he rushed away—away to The Thinking Machine. +The scientist listened, then resumed some chemical test he +was making. +</p> + +<p> +"Can't you go down with us to-night?" Hatch asked. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said the other. "I'm going to read a paper before +a scientific society and prove that a chemist in Chicago is a +fool. That will take me all evening." +</p> + +<p> +"To-morrow night?" Hatch insisted. +</p> + +<p> +"No—the next night." +</p> + +<p> +This would be on Friday night—just in time for the +feature which had been planned for Sunday. Hatch was +compelled to rest content with this, but he foresaw that he +would have it all, with a solution. It never occurred to him +that this problem, or, indeed, that any problem, was beyond +the mental capacity of Professor Van Dusen. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch and Ernest Weston toot a night train that evening, +and on their arrival in the village stirred up the town +constable. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you go with us?" was the question. +</p> + +<p> +"Both of you going?" was the counter-question. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll go," said the constable promptly. "Ghost!" and he +laughed scornfully, "I'll have him in the lockup by morning." +</p> + +<p> +"No shooting, now," warned Weston. "There must be +somebody back of this somewhere; we understand that, but +there is no crime that we know of. The worst is possibly +trespassing." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll get him all right," responded the constable, who still +remembered the experience where blood—warm blood—had +been thrown in his face. "And I'm not so sure there isn't +a crime." +</p> + +<p> +That night about ten the three men went into the dark, +forbidding house and took a station on the stairs where +Hatch had sat when he saw the THING—whatever it was. +There they waited. The constable moved nervously from +time to time, but neither of the others paid any attention to +him. +</p> + +<p> +At last the—the THING appeared. There had been a +preliminary sound as of something running across the floor, +then suddenly a flaming figure of white seemed to grow into +being in the reception-room. It was exactly as Hatch had +described it to The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +Dazed, stupefied, the three men looked, looked as the figure +raised a hand, pointing toward them, and wrote a word in +the air—positively in the air. The finger merely waved, and +there, floating before them, were letters, flaming letters, in +the utter darkness. This time the word was: "Death." +</p> + +<p> +Faintly, Hatch, fighting with a fear which again seized +him, remembered that The Thinking Machine had asked him +if the handwriting was that of a man or woman; now he +tried to see. It was as if drawn on a blackboard, and there +was a queer twist to the loop at the bottom. He sniffed to +see if there was an odor of any sort. There was not. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he felt some quick, vigorous action from the +constable behind him. There was a roar and a flash in his +ear, he knew the constable had fired at the THING. Then +came the cry and laugh—almost a laugh of derision—he had +heard them before. For one instant the figure lingered and +then, before their eyes, faded again into utter blackness. +Where it had been was nothing—nothing. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The constable's shot had had no effect.</i> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +IV +</h3> + +<p> +Three deeply mystified men passed down the hill to the +village from the old house. Ernest Weston, the owner, had +not spoken since before the—the THING appeared there in +the reception-room, or was it in the library? He was not +certain—he couldn't have told. Suddenly he turned to the +constable. +</p> + +<p> +"I told you not to shoot." +</p> + +<p> +"That's all right," said the constable. "I was there in my +official capacity, and I shoot when I want to." +</p> + +<p> +"But the shot did no harm," Hatch put in. +</p> + +<p> +"I would swear it went right through it, too," said the +constable, boastfully. "I can shoot." +</p> + +<p> +Weston was arguing with himself. He was a cold-blooded +man of business; his mind was not one to play him tricks. +Yet now he felt benumbed; he could conceive no explanation +of what he had seen. Again in his room in the little hotel, +where they spent the remainder of the night, he stared +blankly at the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"Can you imagine any way it could be done?" +</p> + +<p> +Hatch shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't a spook, of course," the broker went on, with a +nervous smile; "but—but I'm sorry I went. I don't think +probably I shall have the work done there as I thought." +</p> + +<p> +They slept only fitfully and took an early train back to +Boston. As they were about to separate at the South +Station, the broker had a last word. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm going to solve that thing," he declared, determinedly, +"I know one man at least who isn't afraid of it—or of +anything else. I'm going to send him down to keep a lookout +and take care of the place. His name is O'Heagan, and he's +a fighting Irishman. If he and that—that—THING ever +get mixed up together—" +</p> + +<p> +Like a schoolboy with a hopeless problem, Hatch went +straight to The Thinking Machine with the latest developments. +The scientist paused just long enough in his work +to hear it. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you notice the handwriting?" he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," was the reply; "so far as I <i>could</i> notice the style +of a handwriting that floated in air." +</p> + +<p> +"Han's or woman's?" +</p> + +<p> +Hatch was puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't judge," he said. "It seemed to be a bold style, +whatever it was. I remember the capital D clearly." +</p> + +<p> +"Was it anything like the handwriting of the +broker—what's-his-name?—Ernest Weston?" +</p> + +<p> +"I never saw his handwriting." +</p> + +<p> +"Look at some of it, then, particularly the capital D's," +instructed The Thinking Machine. Then, after a pause: +"You say the figure is white and seems to be flaming?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Does it give out any light? That is, does it light up a +room, for instance?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't quite know what you mean." +</p> + +<p> +"When you go into a room with a lamp," explained The +Thinking Machine, "it lights the room. Does this thing do +it? Can you see the floor or walls or anything by the light +of the figure itself?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," replied Hatch, positively. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll go down with you to-morrow night," said the +scientist, as if that were all. +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks," replied Hatch, and he went away. +</p> + +<p> +Next day about noon he called at Ernest Weston's office. +The broker was in. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you send down your man O'Heagan?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said the broker, and he was almost smiling. +</p> + +<p> +"What happened?" +</p> + +<p> +"He's outside. I'll let him tell you." +</p> + +<p> +The broker went to the door and spoke to some one and +O'Heagan entered. He was a big, blue-eyed Irishman, +frankly freckled and red-headed—one of those men who look +trouble in the face and are glad of it if the trouble can be +reduced to a fighting basis. An everlasting smile was about +his lips, only now it was a bit faded. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell Mr. Hatch what happened last night," requested +the broker. +</p> + +<p> +O'Heagan told it. He, too, had sought to get hold of the +flaming figure. As he ran for it, it disappeared, was +obliterated, wiped put, gone, and he found himself groping in +the darkness of the room beyond, the library. Like Hatch, +he took the nearest way out, which happened to be through +a window already smashed. +</p> + +<p> +"Outside," he went on, "I began to think about it, and I +saw there was nothing to be afraid of, but you couldn't have +convinced me of that when I was inside. I took a lantern +in one hand and a revolver in the other and went all over +that house. There was nothing; if there had been we would +have had it out right there. But there was nothing. So I +started out to the barn, where I had put a cot in a room. +</p> + +<p> +"I went upstairs to this room—it was then about two +o'clock—and went to sleep. It seemed to be an hour or so +later when I awoke suddenly—I knew something was +happening. And the Lord forgive me if I'm a liar, but there +was a cat—a ghost cat in my room, racing around like mad. +I just naturally got up to see what was the matter and rushed +for the door. The cat beat me to it, and cut a flaming streak +through the night. +</p> + +<p> +"The cat looked just like the thing inside the house—that +is, it was a sort of shadowy, waving white light like it might +be afire. I went back to bed in disgust, to sleep it off. You +see, sir," he apologized to Weston, "that there hadn't been +anything yet I could put my hands on." +</p> + +<p> +"Was that all?" asked Hatch, smilingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Just the beginning. Next morning when I awoke I was +bound to my cot, hard and fast. My hands were tied and my +feet were tied, and all I could do was lie there and yell, +awhile, it seemed years, I heard some one outside and +shouted louder than ever. Then the constable came up and +let me loose. I told him all about it—and then I came to +Boston. And with your permission, Mr. Weston, I resign +right now. I'm not afraid of anything I can fight, but when +I can't get hold of it—well—" +</p> + +<p> +Later Hatch joined The Thinking Machine. They caught +a train for the little village by the sea. On the way The +Thinking Machine asked a few questions, but most of the +time he was silent, squinting out the window. Hatch +respected his silence, and only answered questions. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you see Ernest Weston's handwriting?" was the first +of these. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"The capital D's?" +</p> + +<p> +"They are not unlike the one the—the THING wrote, but +they are not wholly like it," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know anyone in Providence who can get some +information for you?" was the next query. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Get him by long-distance 'phone when we get to this +place and let me talk to him a moment." +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later The Thinking Machine was talking +over the long-distance 'phone to the Providence correspondent +of Hatch's paper. What he said or what he learned there +was not revealed to the wondering reporter, but he came out +after several minutes, only to re-enter the booth and remain +for another half an hour. +</p> + +<p> +"Now," he said, +</p> + +<p> +Together they went to the haunted house. At the entrance +to the grounds something else occurred to The Thinking +Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Run over to the 'phone and call Weston," he directed. +"Ask him if he has a motor-boat or if his cousin has one. +We might need one. Also find out what kind of a boat it +is—electric or gasoline." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch returned to the village and left the scientist alone, +sitting on the veranda gazing out over the sea. When Hatch +returned he was still in the same position. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Ernest Weston has no motor-boat," the reporter informed +him. "George Weston has an electric, but we can't get it +because it is away. Maybe I can get one somewhere else if +you particularly want it." +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind," said The Thinking Machine. He spoke as +if he had entirely lost interest in the matter. +</p> + +<p> +Together they started around the house to the kitchen +door. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the next move?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm going to find the jewels," was the startling reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Find them?" Hatch repeated. +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly." +</p> + +<p> +They entered the house through the kitchen and the scientist +squinted this way and that, through the reception-room, +the library, and finally the back hallway. Here a +closed door in the flooring led to a cellar. +</p> + +<p> +In the cellar they found heaps of litter. It was damp and +chilly and dark. The Thinking Machine stood in the center, +or as near the center as he could stand, because the base of +the chimney occupied this precise spot, and apparently did +some mental calculation. +</p> + +<p> +From that point he started around the walls, solidly built +of stone, stooping and running his fingers along the stones +as he walked. He made the entire circuit as Hatch looked +on. Then he made it again, but this time with his hands +raised above his head, feeling the walls carefully as he went. +He repeated this at the chimney, going carefully around the +masonry, high and low. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me, dear me!" he exclaimed, petulantly. "You are +taller than I am, Mr. Hatch. Please feel carefully around +the top of this chimney base and see if the rocks are all +solidly set." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch then began a tour. At last one of the great stones +which made this base trembled under his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"It's loose," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Take it out." +</p> + +<p> +It came out after a deal of tugging. +</p> + +<p> +"Put your hand in there and pull out what you find," was +the nest order. Hatch obeyed. He found a wooden box, +about eight inches square, and handed it to The Thinking +Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" exclaimed that gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +A quick wrench, caused the decaying wood to crumble. +Tumbling out of the box were the jewels which had been lost +for fifty years. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +V +</h3> + +<p> +Excitement, long restrained, burst from Hatch in a laugh—almost +hysterical. He stooped and gathered up the fallen +jewelry and handed it to The Thinking Machine, who stared +at him in mild surprise. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter?" inquired the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing," Hatch assured him, but again he laughed. +</p> + +<p> +The heavy stone which had been rolled out of place was +lifted up and forced back into position, and together they +returned to the village, with the long-lost jewelry loose in +their pockets. +</p> + +<p> +"How did you do it?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"Two and two always make four," was the enigmatic +reply. "It was merely a sum in addition." There was a +pause as they walked on, then: "Don't say anything about +finding this, or even hint at it in any way, until you have +my permission to do so." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch had no intention of doing so. In his mind's eye he +saw a story, a great, vivid, startling story spread all over his +newspaper about flaming phantoms and treasure trove—$100,000 +in jewels. It staggered him. Of course he would +say nothing about it—even hint at it, yet. But when he did +say something about it—! +</p> + +<p> +In the village The Thinking Machine found the constable. +</p> + +<p> +"I understand some blood was thrown on you at the +Weston place the other night?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Blood—warm blood." +</p> + +<p> +"You wiped it off with your handkerchief?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Have you the handkerchief?" +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose I might get it," was the doubtful reply. "It +might have gone into the wash." +</p> + +<p> +"Astute person," remarked The Thinking Machine. +"There might have been a crime and you throw away the one +thing which would indicate it—the blood stains." +</p> + +<p> +The constable suddenly took notice. +</p> + +<p> +"By ginger!" he said, "Wait here and I'll go see if I +can find it." +</p> + +<p> +He disappeared and returned shortly with the handkerchief. +There were half a dozen blood stains on it, now dark +brown. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine dropped into the village drug +store and had a short conversation with the owner, after +which he disappeared into the compounding room at the +back and remained for an hour or more—until darkness set +in. Then he cams out and joined Hatch, who, with the +constable, had been waiting. +</p> + +<p> +The reporter did not ask any questions, and The Thinking +Machine volunteered no information. +</p> + +<p> +"Is it too late for anyone to get down from Boston +to-night?" he asked the constable. +</p> + +<p> +"No. He could take the eight o'clock train and be here +about half-past nine." +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hatch, will you wire to Mr. Weston—Ernest Weston—and +ask him to come to-night, sure. Impress on him the +fact that it is a matter of the greatest importance." +</p> + +<p> +Instead of telegraphing, Hatch went to the telephone and +spoke to Weston at his club. The trip would interfere with +some other plans, the broker explained, but he would come. +The Thinking Machine had meanwhile been conversing +with the constable and had given some sort of instructions +which evidently amazed that official exceedingly, for he kept +repeating "By ginger!" with considerable fervor. +</p> + +<p> +"And not one word or hint of it to anyone," said The +Thinking Machine. "Least of all to the members of your +family." +</p> + +<p> +"By ginger!" was the response, and the constable went to +supper. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine and Hatch had their supper +thoughtfully that evening in the little village "hotel." Only +once did Hatch break this silence. +</p> + +<p> +"You told me to see Weston's handwriting," he said. "Of +course you knew he was with the constable and myself when +we saw the THING, therefore it would Have been impossible—" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing is impossible," broke in The Thinking Machine. +"Don't say that, please." +</p> + +<p> +"I mean that, as he was with us—" +</p> + +<p> +"We'll end the ghost story to-night," interrupted the +scientist. +</p> + +<p> +Ernest Weston arrived on the nine-thirty train and had a +long, earnest conversation with The Thinking Machine, +while Hatch was permitted to cool his toes in solitude. At +last they joined the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"Take a revolver by all means," instructed The Thinking +Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think that necessary?" asked Weston. +</p> + +<p> +"It is—absolutely," was the emphatic response. +</p> + +<p> +Weston left them after awhile. Hatch wondered where +he had gone, but no information was forthcoming. In a +general sort of way he knew that The Thinking Machine +was to go to the haunted house, but he didn't know when; +he didn't even know if he was to accompany him. +</p> + +<p> +At last they started, The Thinking Machine swinging a +hammer he had borrowed from his landlord. The night was +perfectly black, even the road at their feet was invisible. +They stumbled frequently as they walked on up the cliff +toward the house, dimly standing out against the sky. They +entered by way of the kitchen, passed through to the stairs +in the main hall, and there Hatch indicated in the darkness +the spot from which he had twice seen the flaming phantom. +</p> + +<p> +"You go in the drawing-room behind here," The Thinking +Machine instructed. "Don't make any noise whatever." +</p> + +<p> +For hours they waited, neither seeing the other. Hatch +heard his heart thumping heavily; if only he could see the +other man; with an effort he recovered from a rapidly +growing nervousness and waited, waited. The Thinking +Machine sat perfectly rigid on the stair, the hammer in his +right hand, squinting steadily through the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +At last he heard a noise, a slight nothing; it might almost +Have been his imagination. It was as if something had +glided across the floor, and he was more alert than ever. +Then came the dread misty light in the reception-hall, or +was it in the library? He could not say. But he looked, +looked, with every sense alert. +</p> + +<p> +Gradually the light grew and spread, a misty whiteness +which was unmistakably light, but which did not illuminate +anything around it. The Thinking Machine saw it without +the tremor of a nerve; saw the mistiness grow more marked +in certain places, saw these lines gradually grow into the +figure of a person, a person who was the center of a white +light. +</p> + +<p> +Then the mistiness fell away and The Thinking Machine +saw the outline in bold relief. It was that of a tall figure, +clothed in a robe, with head covered by a sort of hood, also +luminous. As The Thinking Machine looked he saw an arm +raised, and in the hand he saw a dagger. The attitude of +the figure was distinctly a threat. And yet The Thinking +Machine had not begun to grow nervous; he was only +interested. +</p> + +<p> +As he looked, the other hand of the apparition was raised +and seemed to point directly at him. It moved through the +air in bold sweeps, and The Thinking Machine saw the +word "Death," written in air luminously, swimming before +his eyes. Then he blinked incredulously. There came a +wild, demoniacal shriek of laughter from somewhere. Slowly, +slowly the scientist crept down the steps in his stocking feet, +silent as the apparition itself, with the hammer still in his +hand. He crept on, on toward the figure. Hatch, not +knowing the movements of The Thinking Machine, stood waiting +for something, he didn't know what. Then the thing he had +been waiting for happened. There was a sudden loud clatter +as of broken glass, the phantom and writing faded, crumbled +up, disappeared, and somewhere in the old house there was +the hurried sound of steps. At last the reporter heard his +name called quietly. It was The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hatch, come here." +</p> + +<p> +The reporter started, blundering through the darkness +toward the point whence the voice had come. Some +irresistible thing swept down upon him; a crashing blow +descended on his head, vivid lights flashed before his eyes; he +fell. After a while, from a great distance, it seemed, he heard +faintly a pistol shot. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +VI +</h3> + +<p> +When Hatch fully recovered consciousness it was with the +flickering light of a match in his eyes—a match in the hand +of The Thinking Machine, who squinted anxiously at him as +he grasped his left wrist. Hatch, instantly himself again, +sat up suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter?" he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +"How's your head?" came the answering question. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh," and Hatch suddenly recalled those incidents which +had immediately preceded the crash on his head. "Oh, it's +all right, my head, I mean. What happened?" +</p> + +<p> +"Get up and come along," requested The Thinking +Machine, tartly. "There's a man shot down here." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch arose and followed the slight figure of the scientist +through the front door, and toward the water. A light +glimmered down near the water and was dimly reflected; +above, the clouds had cleared somewhat and the moon was +struggling through. +</p> + +<p> +"What hit me, anyhow?" Hatch demanded, as they went. +He rubbed his head ruefully. +</p> + +<p> +"The ghost," said the scientist. "I think probably he has +a bullet in him now—the ghost." +</p> + +<p> +Then the figure of the town constable separated itself +from the night and approached. +</p> + +<p> +"Who's that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Professor Van Dusen and Mr. Hatch." +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Weston got him all right," said the constable, and +there was satisfaction in his tone. "He tried to come out +the back way, but I had that fastened, as you told me, and he +came through the front way. Mr. Weston tried to stop him, +and he raised the knife to stick him; then Mr. Weston shot. +It broke his arm, I think. Mr. Weston is down there with +him now." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine turned to the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"Wait here for me, with the constable," he directed. "If +the man is hurt he needs attention. I happen to be a doctor; +I can aid him. Don't come unless I call." +</p> + +<p> +For a long while the constable and the reporter waited. +The constable talked, talked with all the bottled-up vigor of +days. Hatch listened impatiently; he was eager to go down +there where The Thinking Machine and Weston and the +phantom were. +</p> + +<p> +After half an hour the light disappeared, then he heard +the swift, quick churning of waters, a sound as of a +powerful motor-boat maneuvering, and a long body shot out on +the waters. +</p> + +<p> +"All right down there?" Hatch called. +</p> + +<p> +"All right," came the response. +</p> + +<p> +There was again silence, then Ernest Weston and The +Thinking Machine came up. +</p> + +<p> +"Where is the other man?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"The ghost—where is he?" echoed the constable. +</p> + +<p> +"He escaped in the motor-boat," replied Mr. Weston, +easily. +</p> + +<p> +"Escaped?" exclaimed Hatch and the constable together. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, escaped," repeated The Thinking Machine, irritably. +"Mr. Hatch, let's go to the hotel." +</p> + +<p> +Struggling with a sense of keen disappointment, Hatch +followed the other two men silently. The constable walked +beside him, also silent. At last they reached the hotel and +bade the constable, a sadly puzzled, bewildered and +crestfallen man, good-night. +</p> + +<p> +"By ginger!" he remarked, as he walked away into the dark. +</p> + +<p> +Upstairs the three men sat, Hatch impatiently waiting to +hear the story. Weston lighted a cigarette and lounged +back; The Thinking Machine sat with finger tips pressed +together, studying the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Weston, you understand, of course, that I came into +this thing to aid Mr. Hatch?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly," was the response. "I will only ask a favor of +him when you conclude." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine changed his position slightly, +readjusted his thick glasses for a long, comfortable squint, +and told the story, from the beginning, as he always told a +story. Here it is: +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hatch came to me in a state of abject, cringing +fear and told me of the mystery. It would be needless to go +over his examination of the house, and all that. It is +enough, to say that he noted and told me of four large +mirrors in the dining-room and living-room of the house; that +he heard and brought to me the stories in detail of a tragedy +in the old house and missing jewels, valued at a hundred +thousand dollars, or more. +</p> + +<p> +"He told me of his trip to the house that night, and of +actually seeing the phantom. I have found in the past that +Mr. Hatch is a cool, level-headed young man, not given to +imagining things which are not there, and controls himself +well. Therefore I knew that anything of charlatanism must +be clever, exceedingly clever, to bring about such a +condition of mind in him. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hatch saw, as others had seen, the figure of a +phantom in the reception-room near the door of the library, +or in the library near the door of the reception-room, he +couldn't tell exactly. He knew it was near the door. +Preceding the appearance of the figure he heard a slight noise +which he attributed to a rat running across the floor. Yet +the house had not been occupied for five years. Rodents +rarely remain in a house—I may say never—for that long if +it is uninhabited. Therefore what was this noise? A noise +made by the apparition itself? How? +</p> + +<p> +"Now, there is only one white light of the kind Mr. Hatch +described known to science. It seems almost superfluous to +name it. It is phosphorus, compounded with Fuller's earth +and glycerine and one or two other chemicals, so it will not +instantly flame as it does in the pure state when exposed to +air. Phosphorus has a very pronounced odor if one is +within, say, twenty feet of it. Did Mr. Hatch smell +anything? No. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, here we have several facts, these being that the +apparition in appearing made a slight noise; that phosphorus +was the luminous quality; that Mr. Hatch did not smell +phosphorus even when he ran though the spot where the phantom +had appeared. Two and two make four; Mr. Hatch saw +phosphorus, passed through the spot where he had seen it, +but did not smell it, therefore it was not there. It was a +reflection he saw—a reflection of phosphorus. So far, so +good. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hatch saw a finger lifted and write a luminous word +in the air. Again he did not actually see this; he saw a +reflection of it. This first impression of mine was substantiated +by the fact that when he rushed for the phantom <i>a part +of it</i> disappeared, first half of it, he said—then the other +half. So his extended hands grasped only air. +</p> + +<p> +"Obviously those reflections had been made on something, +probably a mirror as the most perfect ordinary reflecting +surface. Yet he actually passed through the spot where he +had seen the apparition and had not struck a mirror. He +found himself in another room, the library, having gone +through a door which, that afternoon, he had himself closed. +He did not open it then. +</p> + +<p> +"Instantly a sliding mirror suggested itself to me to fit all +these conditions. He saw the apparition in the door, then +saw only half of it, then all of it disappeared. He passed +through the spot where it had been. All of this would have +happened easily if a large mirror, working as a sliding door, +and hidden in the wall, were there. Is it clear?" +</p> + +<p> +"Perfectly," said Mr. Weston. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Hatch, eagerly. "Go on." +</p> + +<p> +"This sliding mirror, too, might have made the noise +which Mr. Hatch imagined was a rat. Mr. Hatch had +previously told me of four large mirrors in the living and +dining-rooms. With these, from the position in which he +said they were, I readily saw how the reflection could have +been made. +</p> + +<p> +"In a general sort of way, in my own mind, I had +accounted for the phantom. Why was it there? This seemed +a more difficult problem. It was possible that it had been +put there for amusement, but I did not wholly accept this. +Why? Partly because no one had ever heard of it until the +Italian workmen went there. Why did it appear just at the +moment they went to begin the work Mr. Weston had +ordered? Was it the purpose to keep the workmen away? +</p> + +<p> +"These questions arose in my mind in order. Then, as +Mr. Hatch had told me of a tragedy in the house and hidden +jewels, I asked him to learn more of these. I called his +attention to the fact that it would be a queer circumstance if +these jewels were still somewhere in the old house. Suppose +some one who knew of their existence were searching for +them, believed he could find them, and wanted something +which would effectually drive away any inquiring persons, +tramps or villagers, who might appear there at night. A +ghost? Perhaps. +</p> + +<p> +"Suppose some one wanted to give the old house such a +reputation that Mr. Weston would not care to undertake the +work of repair and refurnishing. A ghost? Again perhaps. +In a shallow mind this ghost might have been interpreted +even as an effort to prevent the marriage of Miss Everard +and Mr. Weston. Therefore Mr. Hatch was instructed to +get all the facts possible about you, Mr. Weston, and +members of your family. I reasoned that members of your own +family would be more likely to know of the lost jewels than +anyone else after a lapse of fifty years. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what Mr. Hatch learned from you and your cousin, +George Weston, instantly, in my mind, established a motive +for the ghost. It was, as I had supposed, an effort to drive +workmen away, perhaps only for a time, while a search was +made for the jewels. The old tragedy in the house was a +good pretext to hang a ghost on. A clever mind conceived it +and a clever mind put it into operation. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, what one person knew most about the jewels? Your +cousin George, Mr. Weston. Had he recently acquired any +new information as to these jewels? I didn't know. I +thought it possible. Why? On his own statement that his +mother, then a bride, got the story of the entire affair direct +from his grandmother, who remembered more of it than +anybody else—who might even have heard his grandfather +say where he intended hiding the jewels." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine paused for a little while, shifted +his position, then went on. +</p> + +<p> +"George Weston refused to go with you, Mr. Weston, and +Mr. Hatch, to the ghost party, as you called it, because he +said he was going to a ball in Providence that night. He +did not go to Providence; I learned that from your +correspondent there, Mr. Hatch; so George Weston might, +possibly, have gone to the ghost party after all. +</p> + +<p> +"After I looked over the situation down there it occurred +to me that the most feasible way for a person, who wished +to avoid being seen in the village, as the perpetrator of the +ghost did, was to go to and from the place at night in a +motor-boat. He could easily run in the dark and land at +the foot of the cliff, and no soul in the village would be any +the wiser. Did George Weston have a motor-boat? Yes, +an electric, which runs almost silently. +</p> + +<p> +"From this point the entire matter was comparatively +simple. I knew—the pure logic of it told me—how the +ghost was made to appear and disappear; one look at the +house inside convinced me beyond all doubt. I knew the +motive for the ghost—a search for the jewels. I knew, or +thought I knew, the name of the man who was seeking the +jewels; the man who had fullest knowledge and fullest +opportunity, the man whose brain was clever enough to devise +the scheme. Then, the next step to prove what I knew. +The first thing to do was to find the jewels." +</p> + +<p> +"Find the jewels?" Weston repeated, with a slight smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Here they are," said The Thinking Machine, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +And there, before the astonished eyes of the broker, he +drew out the gems which had been lost for fifty years. +Mr. Weston was not amazed; he was petrified with astonishment +and sat staring at the glittering heap in silence. Finally +he recovered his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"How did you do it?" he demanded. "Where?" +</p> + +<p> +"I used my brain, that's all," was the reply. "I went into +the old house seeking them where the owner, under all +conditions, would have been most likely to hide them, and there +I found them." +</p> + +<p> +"But—but—" stammered the broker. +</p> + +<p> +"The man who hid these jewels hid them only temporarily, +or at least that was his purpose," said The Thinking +Machine, irritably. "Naturally he would not hide them in the +woodwork of the house, because that might burn; he did not +bury them in the cellar, because that has been carefully +searched. Now, in that house there is nothing except +woodwork and chimneys above the cellar. Yet he hid them in the +house, proven by the fact that the man he killed was killed +in the house, and that the outside ground, covered with +snow, showed two sets of tracks into the house and none out. +Therefore he did hide them in the cellar. Where? In the +stonework. There was no other place. +</p> + +<p> +"Naturally he would not hide them on a level with the eye, +because the spot where he took out and replaced a stone +would be apparent if a close search were made. He would, +therefore, place them either above or below the eye level. +He placed them above. A large loose stone in the chimney +was taken out and there was the box with these things." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Weston stared at The Thinking Machine with a new +wonder and admiration in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"With the jewels found and disposed of, there remained +only to prove the ghost theory by an actual test. I sent for +you, Mr. Weston, because I thought possibly, as no actual +crime had been committed, it would be better to leave the +guilty man to you. When you came I went into the haunted +house with a hammer—an ordinary hammer—and waited on +the steps. +</p> + +<p> +"At last the ghost laughed and appeared. I crept down the +steps where I was sitting in my stocking feet. I knew what +it was. Just when I reached the luminous phantom I +disposed of it for all time by smashing it with a hammer. It +shattered a large sliding mirror which ran in the door +inside the frame, as I had thought. The crash startled the +man who operated the ghost from the top of a box, giving it +the appearance of extreme height, and he started out through +the kitchen, as he had entered. The constable had barred +that door after the man entered; therefore the ghost turned +and came toward the front door of the house. There he ran +into and struck down Mr. Hatch, and ran out through the +front door, which I afterward found was not securely +fastened. You know the rest of it; how you found the +motorboat and waited there for him; how he came there, and—" +</p> + +<p> +"Tried to stab me," Weston supplied. "I had to shoot to +save myself." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, the wound is trivial," said The Thinking Machine. +"His arm will heal up in a little while. I think then, +perhaps, a little trip of four or five years in Europe, at your +expense, in return for the jewels, might restore him to +health." +</p> + +<p> +"I was thinking of that myself," said the broker, quietly. +"Of course, I couldn't prosecute." +</p> + +<p> +"The ghost, then, was—?" Hatch began. +</p> + +<p> +"George Weston, my cousin," said the broker. "There +are some things in this story which I hope you may see fit +to leave unsaid, if you can do so with justice to yourself." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch considered it. +</p> + +<p> +"I think there are," he said, finally, and he turned to The +Thinking Machine. "Just where was the man who operated +the phantom?" +</p> + +<p> +"In the dining-room, beside the butler's pantry," was the +reply. "With that pantry door closed he put on the robe +already covered with phosphorus, and merely stepped out. +The figure was reflected in the tall mirror directly in front, +as you enter the dining-room from the back, from there +reflected to the mirror on the opposite wall in the living-room, +and thence reflected to the sliding mirror in the door which +led from the reception-hall to the library. This is the one I +smashed." +</p> + +<p> +"And how was the writing done?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that? Of course that was done by reversed writing +on a piece of clear glass held before the apparition as he +posed. This made it read straight to anyone who might see +the last reflection in the reception-hall." +</p> + +<p> +"And the blood thrown on the constable and the others +when the ghost was in the yard?" Hatch went on. +</p> + +<p> +"Was from a dog. A test I made in the drug store +showed that. It was a desperate effort to drive the villagers +away and keep them away. The ghost cat and the tying of +the watchman to his bed were easily done." +</p> + +<p> +All sat silent for a time. At length Mr. Weston arose, +thanked the scientist for the recovery of the jewels, bade +them all good-night and was about to go out. Mechanically +Hatch was following. At the door he turned back for the +last question. +</p> + +<p> +"How was it that the shot the constable fired didn't break +the mirror?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because he was nervous and the bullet struck the door +beside the mirror," was the reply. "I dug it out with a +knife. Good-night." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0106"></a></p> + +<h2> +The Mystery of a Studio +</h2> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +I +</h3> + +<p> +Where the light slants down softly into one corner +of a noted art museum in Boston there hangs a +large picture. Its title is "Fulfillment." Discriminating +art critics have alternately raved at it and +praised it; from the day it appeared there it has been a +fruitful source of acrimonious discussion. As for the public, +it accepts the picture as a startling, amazing thing of beauty, +and there is always a crowd around it. +</p> + +<p> +"Fulfillment" is typified by a woman. She stands boldly +forth against a languorous background of deep tones. Flesh +tints are daringly laid on the semi-nude figure, diaphanous +draperies hide, yet, reveal, the exquisite lines of the body. +Her arms are outstretched straight toward the spectator, the +black hair ripples down over her shoulders, the red lips are +slightly parted. The mysteries of complete achievement and +perfect life lie in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Into this picture the artist wove the spiritual and the +worldly; here he placed on canvas an elusive portrayal of +success in its fullest and widest meaning. One's first +impression of the picture is that it is sensual; another glance +shows the underlying typification of success, and love and +life are there. One by one the qualities stand forth. +</p> + +<p> +The artist was Constans St. George. After the first flurry +of excitement which the picture caused there came a whirlwind +of criticism. Then the artist, who had labored for +months on the work which he had intended and which proved +to be his masterpiece, collapsed. Some said it was +overwork—they were partly right; others that it was grief at +the attacks of critics who did not see beyond the surface of +the painting. Perhaps they, too, were partly right. +</p> + +<p> +However that may be, it is a fact that for several months +after the picture was exhibited St. George was in a +sanitarium. The physicians said it was nervous collapse—a total +breaking-down, and there were fears for his sanity. At +length there came an improvement in his condition, and he +returned to the world. Since then he had lived quietly in +his studio, one of many in a large office building. From time +to time he had been approached with offers for the picture, +but always he refused to sell. A New York millionaire made +a flat proposition of fifty thousand dollars, which was as +flatly refused. +</p> + +<p> +The artist loved the picture as a child of his own brain; +every day he visited the museum where it was exhibited and +stood looking at it with something almost like adoration in +his eyes. Then he went away quietly, tugging at his straggling +beard and with the dim blindness of tears in his eyes. +He never spoke to anyone; and always avoided that moment +when a crowd was about. +</p> + +<p> +Whatever the verdict of the critics or of the public on +"Fulfillment," it was an admitted fact that the artist had +placed on canvas a representation of a wonderfully beautiful +woman. Therefore, after a while the question of who +had been the model for "Fulfillment" was aroused. No one +knew, apparently. Artists who knew St. George could give +no idea—they only knew that the woman who had posed was +not a professional model. +</p> + +<p> +This led to speculation, in which the names of some of +the most beautiful women in the United States were +mentioned. Then a romance was woven. This was that the +artist was in love with the original and that his collapse was +partly due to her refusal to wed him. This story, as it +went, was elaborated until the artist was said to be pining +away for love of one whom he had immortalized in oils. +</p> + +<p> +As the story grew it gained credence, and a search was +still made occasionally for the model. Half a dozen times +Hutchinson Hatch, a newspaper reporter of more than usual +astuteness, had been on the story without success; he had seen +and studied the picture until every line of it was firmly in his +mind. He had seen and talked to St. George twice. The artist +would answer no questions as to the identity of the model. +</p> + +<p> +This, then, was the situation on the morning of Friday, +November 27, when Hatch entered the reportorial rooms of +his newspaper. At sight of him the City Editor removed +his cigar, placed it carefully on the "official block" which +adorned his flat-topped desk, and called to the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"Girl reported missing," he said, brusquely. "Name is +Grace Field, and she lived at No. 195 —— Street, Dorchester. +Employed in the photographic department of the Star, a big +department store. Report of her disappearance made to the +police early to-day by Ellen Stanford, her room-mate, also +employed at the Star. Jump out on it and get all you can. +Here is the official police description." +</p> + +<p> +Hatch took a slip of paper and read: +</p> + +<p> +"Grace Field, twenty-one years, five feet seven inches tall, +weight 151 pounds, profuse black hair, dark-brown eyes, +superb figure, oval face, said to be beautiful." +</p> + +<p> +Then the description went into details of her dress and +other things which the police note in their minute records +for a search. Hatch absorbed all these things and left his +office. He went first to the department store, where he was +told Miss Stanford had not appeared that day, sending a +note that she was ill. +</p> + +<p> +From the store Hatch went at once to the address given in +Dorchester. Miss Stanford was in. Would she see a +reporter? Yes. So Hatch was ushered into the modest little +parlor of a boarding-house, and after a while Miss Stanford +entered. She was a petite blonde, with pink cheeks and blue +eyes, now reddened by weeping. +</p> + +<p> +Briefly Hatch explained the purpose of his visit—an +effort to find Grace Field, and Miss Stanford eagerly and +tearfully expressed herself as willing to tell him all she +knew. +</p> + +<p> +"I have known Grace for five months," she explained; +"that is, from the time she came to work at the Star. Her +counter is next to mine. A friendship grew up between us, +and we began rooming together. Each of us is alone in the +East. She comes from the West, somewhere in Nevada, and +I come from Quebec. +</p> + +<p> +"Grace has never said much about herself, but I know that +she had been in Boston a year or so before I met her. She +lived somewhere in Brookline, I believe, but it seems that +she had some funds and did not go to work until she came +to the Star. This is as I understand it. +</p> + +<p> +"Three days ago, on Tuesday it was, there was a letter for +Grace when we came in from work. It seemed to agitate her, +although she said nothing to me about what was in it, and I +did not ask. She did not sleep well that night, but next +morning, when we started to work, she seemed all right. +That is, she was all right until we got to the subway station, +and then she told me to go on to the store, saying she would +be there after a while. +</p> + +<p> +"I left her, and at her request explained to the manager +of our floor that she would be late. From that time to this +no one has seen her or heard of her. I don't know where she +could have gone," and the girl burst into tears. "I'm sure +something dreadful has happened to her." +</p> + +<p> +"Possibly an elopement?" Hatch suggested. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said the girl, quickly. "No. She was in love, but +the man she was in love with has not heard of her either. I +saw him the night after she disappeared. He called here and +asked for her, and seemed surprised that she had not +returned home, or had not been at work." +</p> + +<p> +"What's his name?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"He's a clerk in a bank," said Miss Stanford. "His name +is Willis—Victor Willis. If she had eloped with him I +would not have been surprised, but I am positive she did +not, and if she did not, where is she?" +</p> + +<p> +"Were there any other admirers you know of?" Hatch asked. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said the girl, stoutly. "There may have been others +who admired her, but none she cared for. She has told me +too much—I—I know," she faltered. +</p> + +<p> +"How long have you known Mr. Willis?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +The girl's face flamed scarlet instantly. +</p> + +<p> +"Only since I've known Grace," she replied. "She introduced +us." +</p> + +<p> +"Has Mr. Willis ever shown you any attention?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly not," Miss Stanford flashed, angrily. "All his +attention was for Grace." +</p> + +<p> +There was the least trace of bitterness in the tone, and +Hatch imagined he read it aright. Willis was a man whom +both perhaps loved; it might be in that event that Miss +Stanford knew more than she had said of the whereabouts +of Grace Field. The next step was to see Willis. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose you'll do everything possible to find Miss +Field?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly," said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you her photograph?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have one, yes, but I don't think—I don't believe +Grace—" +</p> + +<p> +"Would like to have it published?" asked Hatch. "Possibly +not, under ordinary circumstances—but now that she +is missing it is the surest way of getting a trace of her. +Will you give it to me?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Stanford was silent for a time. Then apparently she +made up her mind, for she arose. +</p> + +<p> +"It might be well, too," Hatch suggested, "to see if you +can find the letter you mentioned." +</p> + +<p> +The girl nodded and went out. When she returned she +had a photograph in her hand; a glimpse of it told Hatch it +was a bust picture of a woman in evening dress. The girl +was studying a scrap of paper. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" asked Hatch, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," she responded. "I was searching for the +letter when I remembered she frequently tore them up and +dropped them into the waste-basket. It had been emptied +every day, but I looked and found this clinging to the +bottom, caught between the cane." +</p> + +<p> +"May I see it?" asked the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +The girl handed it to him. It was evidently a piece of a +letter torn from the outer edge just where the paper was +folded to put it into the envelope. On it were these words +and detached letters, written in a bold hand: +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + sday<br> + ill you<br> + to the<br> + ho<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Hatch's eyes opened wide. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know the handwriting?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The girl faltered an instant. +</p> + +<p> +"No," she answered, finally. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch studied her face a moment with cold eyes, then +turned the scrap of paper over. The other side was blank. +Staring down at it he veiled a glitter of anxious interest. +</p> + +<p> +"And the picture?" he asked, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +The girl handed him the photograph. Hatch took it and +as he looked it was with difficulty he restrained an +exclamation of astonishment—triumphant astonishment. Finally, +with his brain teeming with possibilities, he left the +house, taking the photograph and the scrap of paper. Ten +minutes later he was talking to his City Editor over the +'phone. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a great story," he explained, briefly. "The missing +girl is the mysterious model of St. George's picture, +'Fulfillment.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Great," came the voice of the City Editor. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +II +</h3> + +<p> +Having laid his story before his City Editor, Hatch sat +down to consider the fragmentary writing. Obviously "sday" +represented a day of the week—either Tuesday, Wednesday, +or Thursday, these being the only days where the letter "s" +preceded the "day." This seemed to be a definite fact, but +still it meant nothing. True, Miss Field had last been seen +on Wednesday, but then?—nothing. +</p> + +<p> +To the next part of the fragment Hatch attached the +greatest importance It was the possibility of a threat, +—— "ill you." Did it mean "kill you" or "will you" or "till you" +or—or what? There might be dozens of other words +ending in "ill" which he did not recall at the moment. His +imagination hammered the phrase into his brain as "kill +you." The "to the"—the next words—were clear, but meant +nothing at all. The last letters were distinctly "ho," +possibly "hope." +</p> + +<p> +Then Hatch began real work on the story. First he saw +the bank clerk, Victor Willis, who Miss Stanford had said +loved Grace Field, and whom Hatch suspected Miss +Stanford loved. He found Willis a grim, sullen-faced young +man of twenty-eight years, who would say nothing. +</p> + +<p> +From that point Hatch worked vigorously for several +hours. At the end of that time he had found out that on +Wednesday, the day of Miss Field's disappearance, a veiled +woman—probably Grace Field—had called at the bank and +inquired for Willis. Later, Willis, urging necessity, had +asked to be allowed the day off and left the bank. He did +not appear again until next morning. His actions did not +impress any of his associates with the idea that he was a +bridegroom; in fact, Hatch himself had given up the idea +that Miss Field had eloped. There seemed no reason for an +elopement. +</p> + +<p> +When Hatch called at the studio, and home, of Constans +St. George, to inform him of the disappearance of the model +whose identity had been so long guarded, he was told that +Mr. St. George was not in; that is, St. George refused to +answer knocks at the door, and had not been seen for a day +or so. He frequently disappeared this way, his informant +said. +</p> + +<p> +With these facts—and lack of facts—in his possession on +Friday evening, Hatch called on Professor S. F. X. Van +Dusen. The Thinking Machine received him as cordially as +he ever received anybody. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what is it?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't believe this is really worth your while, Professor," +Hatch said, finally. "It's just a case of a girl who +disappeared. There are some things about it which are +puzzling, but I'm afraid it's only an elopement." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine dragged up a footstool, planted +his small feet on it comfortably and leaned back in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Go on," he directed. +</p> + +<p> +Then Hatch told the story, beginning at the time when +the picture was placed in the art museum, and continuing +up to the point where he had seen Willis after finding the +photograph and the scrap of paper. He had always found +that it saved time to begin at the beginning with The +Thinking Machine; he did it now as a matter of course. +</p> + +<p> +"And the scrap of paper?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"I have it here," replied the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +For several minutes the scientist examined the fragment +and then handed it back to the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"If one could establish some clear connection between +that and the disappearance of the girl it might be valuable," +he said. "As it is now, it means nothing. Any number of +letters might be thrown into the waste-basket in the room +the two girls occupied, therefore dismiss this for the moment." +</p> + +<p> +"But isn't it possible—" Hatch began. +</p> + +<p> +"Anything is possible, Mr. Hatch," retorted the other, +belligerently. "You might take occasion to see the handwriting +of St. George, the artist, and see if that is his—also +look at Willis's. Even if it were Willis's, however, it may +mean nothing in connection with this." +</p> + +<p> +"But what could have happened to Miss Field?" +</p> + +<p> +"Any one of fifty things," responded the other. "She +might have fallen dead in the street and been removed to a +hospital or undertaking establishment; she might have been +arrested for shoplifting and given a wrong name; she might +have gone mad and gone away; she might have eloped with +another man; she might have committed suicide; she might +have been murdered. The question is not what could have +happened, but what did happen." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I thoroughly understand that," Hatch replied, with +a slight smile. "But still I don't see—" +</p> + +<p> +"Probably you don't," snapped the other. "We'll take it +for granted that she did none of these things, with the +possible exception of eloping, killing herself, or was murdered. +You are convinced that she did not elope. Yet you have only +run down one possible end of this—that is, the possibility of +her elopement with Willis. You don't believe she did elope +with him. Well, why not with St. George?" +</p> + +<p> +"St. George?" gasped Hatch. "A great artist elope with a +shop-girl?" +</p> + +<p> +"She was his ideal in a picture which you say is one of +the greatest in the world," replied the other, testily. "That +being true, it is perfectly possible that she was his ideal for +a wife, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +The matter had not occurred to Hatch in just that light. +He nodded his head, with a feeling of having been weighed +and found wanting. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, you say, too, that St. George has not been seen +around his studio for a couple of days," said the scientist. +"What is more possible than that they are together somewhere?" +</p> + +<p> +"I see," said the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"It was understood, too, as I understand it, that +St. George was in love with her," went on The Thinking +Machine. "So, I should imagine a solution of the mystery +might be reached by taking St. George as the center of the +affair. Suicide may be passed by for the moment, because +she had no known motive for suicide—rather, if she loved +Willis, she had every reason to live. Murder, too, may be +passed for the moment—although there is a possibility that +we might come back to that. Question St. George. He will +listen if you make him, and then he must answer." +</p> + +<p> +"But his place is all closed up," said Hatch. "It is +supposed he is half crazy." +</p> + +<p> +"Possibly he might be," said The Thinking Machine. "Or +it is possible that he is keeping to his studio at work—or he +might even be married to Miss Field and she might be there +with him." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I see no way to ascertain definitely that he is there," +said the reporter, and a puzzled wrinkle came into his face. +"Of course I might remain on watch night and day to see if +he comes out for food, or if anything to eat is sent in." +</p> + +<p> +"That would take too long, and besides it might not happen +at all," said The Thinking Machine. He arose and went +into the adjoining room. He returned after a moment, and +glanced at the clock on the mantel. "It is just nine o'clock +now," he commented. "How long would it take you to get to +the studio?" +</p> + +<p> +"Half an hour." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, go there now," directed the scientist. "If Mr. St. George +is in his studio he will come out of it to-night at +thirty-two minutes past nine. He will be running, and may +not wear either a hat or coat." +</p> + +<p> +"What?" and Hatch grinned, a weak, puzzled grin. +</p> + +<p> +"You wait where he can't see you when he comes out," the +scientist went on. "When he goes he may leave the door +open. If he does go on see if you find any trace of Miss +Field, and then, on his return, meet him at the outer door, +ask him what you please, and come to see me to-morrow +morning. He will be out of his studio about twenty +minutes." +</p> + +<p> +Vaguely Hatch felt that the scientist was talking rot, but +he had seen this strange mind bring so many odd things to +pass that he could not doubt this, even if it were absurd on +its face. +</p> + +<p> +"At thirty-two minutes past nine to-night," said the +reporter, and he glanced at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +"Come to see me to-morrow after you see the handwriting +of Willis and St. George," directed the scientist. "Then you +may also tell me just what happens to-night." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +Hatch was feeling like a fool. He was waiting in a darkened +corner, just a few feet from St. George's studio. It was +precisely half-past nine o'clock. He had been there for seven +minutes. What strange power was to bring St. George, who +for two days had denied himself to everyone, out of that +studio, if, indeed, he were there? +</p> + +<p> +For the twentieth time Hatch glanced at his watch, which +he had set with the little clock in The Thinking Machine's +home. Slowly the minute hand crept around, to 9:31, 9:31½, +and he heard the door of the studio rattle. Then suddenly +it was thrown open and St. George appeared. +</p> + +<p> +Without a glance to right or left, hatless and coatless, he +rushed out of the building. Hatch got only a glimpse of his +face; his lips were pressed tightly together; there was a glint +of madness in his eyes. He jerked at the door once, then ran +through the hall and disappeared down the stairs leading to +the street. The studio door stood open behind him. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +III +</h3> + +<p> +When the clatter of the running footsteps had died away +and Hatch heard the outer door slam, he entered the studio, +closing the door behind him. It was close here, and there +was a breath of Chinese incense which was almost stifling. +One quick glance by the light of an incandescent told Hatch +that he stood in the reception-room. Typically, from floor +to ceiling, the place was the abode of an artist; there was a +rich gradation of color and everywhere were scraps of art +and half-finished studies. +</p> + +<p> +The reporter had given up the idea of solving the mystery +of why St. George had so suddenly left his apartments; now +he devoted himself to a quick, minute search of the place. +He found nothing to interest him in the reception-room, +and went on into the studio where the artist did his work. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch glanced around quickly, his eyes taking in all the +details, then went to a little table which stood, half-covered +with newspapers. He turned these over, then bent forward +suddenly and picked up—a woman's glove. Beside it lay +its mate. He stuffed them into his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Eagerly he sought now for anything that might come to +hand. At last he reached another door, leading into the +bedroom. Here on a large table was a chafing dish, many +dishes which had not been washed, and all the other +evidences of a careless man who did a great deal of his own +cooking. There was a dresser here, too, a gorgeous, +mahogany affair. Hatch didn't stop to admire this because his +eye was attracted by a woman's veil which lay on it. He +thrust it into his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"Quite a haul I'm making," he mused, grimly. +</p> + +<p> +From this room a door, half open, led into a bathroom. +Hatch merely glanced in, then looked at his watch. Fifteen +minutes had elapsed. He must get out, and he started for +the outer door. As he opened it quietly and stepped into the +hall he heard the street door open one flight below, and +started down the steps. There, half way, he met St. George. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. St. George?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"No," was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch knew his man perfectly, because he had seen him +half a dozen times and had talked to him twice. The denial +of identity therefore was futile. +</p> + +<p> +"I came to tell you that Grace Field, the model for your +'Fulfillment,' has disappeared," Hatch went on, as the other +glared at him. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't care," snapped the other. He darted up the steps. +Hatch listened until he heard the door of the studio close. +</p> + +<p> +It was ten minutes to ten o'clock when Hatch left the +building. Now he would see Miss Stanford and have her +identify the gloves and the veil. He boarded a car and +drew out and closely examined the gloves and veil. The +gloves were tan, rather heavy, but small, and the veil was of +some light, cobwebby material which he didn't know by +name. +</p> + +<p> +"If these are Grace Field's," the reporter argued, to +himself, "it means something. If they are not, I'm simply a +burglar." +</p> + +<p> +There was a light in the Dorchester house where Miss +Stanford lived, and the reporter rang the bell. A servant +appeared. +</p> + +<p> +"Would it be possible for me to see Miss Stanford for just +a moment?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"If she has not gone to bed." +</p> + +<p> +He was ushered into the little parlor again. The servant +disappeared, and after a moment Miss Stanford came in. +</p> + +<p> +"I hated to trouble you so late," said the reporter, and she +smiled at him frankly, "but I would like to ask if you have +ever seen these?" +</p> + +<p> +He laid in her hands the gloves and the veil. Miss +Stanford studied them carefully and her hands trembled. +</p> + +<p> +"The gloves, I know, are Grace's—the veil I am not so +positive about," she replied. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch felt a great wave of exultation sweep over him, +and it stopped his tongue for an instant. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you—did you find them in Mr. Willis's possession?" +asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +"I am not at liberty to tell just where I found them," +Hatch replied. "If they are Miss Field's—and you can +swear to that, I suppose—it may mean that we have a clew." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I was afraid it would be this way," gasped the girl, +and she sank down weeping on a couch. +</p> + +<p> +"Knew what would be which way?" asked Hatch, puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +"I knew it! I knew it!" she sobbed. "Is there anything +to connect Mr. Willis directly with the—<i>the murder</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +The reporter started to say something, then paused. He +wasn't quite sure of himself. He had uncovered something, +he didn't know what yet. +</p> + +<p> +"It would be better, Miss Stanford," lie explained, gently, +"if you would tell me all you know about this affair. The +things which are now in my possession are fragmentary—if +you could give me any new detail it would be only serving +the ends of justice." +</p> + +<p> +For a little while the girl was silent, then she arose and +faced him. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Mr. Willis yet under arrest?" she asked, calmly now. +</p> + +<p> +"Not yet," said the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"Then I will say nothing else," she declared, and her lips +closed in a straight line. +</p> + +<p> +"What was the motive for murder?" Hatch insisted. +</p> + +<p> +"I will say nothing else," she replied, firmly. +</p> + +<p> +"And what makes you positive there was murder?" +</p> + +<p> +"Good-night. You need not come again, for I will not +see you." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Stanford turned and left the room. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch, sadly puzzled, bewildered, stood staring after her a +moment, then went out, his brain alive with possibilities, +with intangible ends which would not be connected. He +was eager to lay the new facts before The Thinking +Machine. +</p> + +<p> +From Dorchester the reporter took a car for his home. In +his room, with the tangible threads of the mystery spread +out on a table, he thought and surmised far into the night, +and when he finally replaced them all in his pocket and +turned down the light it was with a hopeless shake of his +head. +</p> + +<p> +On the following morning when Hatch arose he picked up +a paper and went to breakfast. He spread the paper before +him and there—the first thing he saw—was a huge headline, +stating that a burglar had entered the room of Constans +St. George and had tried to kill Mr. St. George. A shot +had been fired at him and had passed through his left +arm. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. St. George had been asleep when the door of his +apartments was burst in by the thief. The artist arose at +the noise, and as he stepped into the reception-room had +been shot. The wound was trivial. The burglar escaped; +there was no clew. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +IV +</h3> + +<p> +It was a long story of seemingly hopeless complications +that Hatch told The Thinking Machine that morning. Nothing +connected with anything, and yet here was a series of +happenings, all apparently growing out of the disappearance +of Miss Field, and which must have some relation one +to the other. At the conclusion of the story, Hatch passed +over the newspaper containing the account of the burglary +in the studio. The artist had been removed to a hospital. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine read the newspaper account and +turned to the reporter with a question: +</p> + +<p> +"Did you see Willis's handwriting?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not yet," replied the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +"See it at once," instructed the other. "If possible, bring +me a sample of it. Did you see St. George's handwriting?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," the reporter confessed. +</p> + +<p> +"See that and bring me a sample if you can. Find out +first if Willis has a revolver now or has ever had. If so, see +it and see if it is loaded or empty—its exact condition. Find +out also if St. George has a revolver—and if he has one, get +possession of it if it is in your power." +</p> + +<p> +The scientist twisted the two gloves and the veil which +Hatch had given to him in his fingers idly, then passed them +to the reporter again. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch arose and stood waiting, hat in hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Also find out," The Thinking Machine went on, "the +exact condition of St. George—his mental condition +particularly. Find out if Willis is at his office in the bank +to-day, and, if possible, where and how he spent last night. +That's all." +</p> + +<p> +"And Miss Stanford?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind her," replied The Thinking Machine. "I +may see her myself. These other things are of immediate +consequence. The minute you satisfy yourself come back to +me. Quickness on your part may prevent a tragedy." +</p> + +<p> +The reporter went away hurriedly. At four o'clock that +afternoon he returned. The Thinking Machine greeted +him; he held a piece of letter-paper in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"The handwriting is Willis's," said Hatch, without hesitation. +"I saw a sample—it is identical, and the paper on +which he writes is identical." +</p> + +<p> +The scientist grunted. +</p> + +<p> +"I also saw some of St. George's writing," the reporter +went on, as if he were reciting a lesson. "It is wholly +dissimilar." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"Willis has no revolver that anyone ever heard of," Hatch +continued. "He was at dinner with several of his fellow +employees last night, and left the restaurant at eight o'clock." +</p> + +<p> +"Been drinking?" +</p> + +<p> +"Might have had a few drinks," responded the reporter. +"He is not a drinking man." +</p> + +<p> +"Has St. George a revolver?" +</p> + +<p> +"I was unable to find that out or do anything except get a +sample of his writing from another artist," the reporter +explained. "He is in a hospital, raving crazy. It seems to be +a return of the trouble he had once before, except it is worse. +The wound itself is not bad." +</p> + +<p> +The scientist was studying the sheet of paper. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you that scrap?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch produced it, and the scientist placed it on the sheet; +Hatch could only conjecture that he was fitting it to +something else already there. He was engaged in this work when +Martha entered. +</p> + +<p> +"The young lady who was here earlier to-day wants to +see you again," she announced. +</p> + +<p> +"Show her in," directed The Thinking Machine, without +raising his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Martha disappeared, and after a moment Miss Stanford +entered. Hatch, himself unnoticed, stared at her curiously, +and arose, as did the scientist. The girl's face was flushed +a little, and there was an eager expression in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"I know he didn't do it," she began. "I've just gotten a +letter from Springfield stating that he was there on the day +Grace went away—and—" +</p> + +<p> +"Know who didn't do what?" asked the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"That Mr. Willis didn't kill Grace," replied the girl, her +enthusiasm suddenly checked. "See here." +</p> + +<p> +The scientist read a letter which she offered, and the girl +sank into a chair. Then for the first time she saw Hatch +and her eyes expressed her surprise. She stared at him a +moment, then nodded a greeting, after which she fell to +watching The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Stanford," he said, at length, "you made several +mistakes when you were here before in not telling me the +truth—all of it. If you will tell me all you know of this +case I may be able to see it more clearly." +</p> + +<p> +The girl reddened and stammered a little, then her lips +trembled. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you <i>know</i>—not conjecture, but <i>know</i>—whether or not +Miss Field, or Grace, as you call her, was engaged to Willis?" +the irritated voice asked. +</p> + +<p> +"I—I know it, yes," she stammered. +</p> + +<p> +"And you were in love with Mr. Willis—you <i>are</i> in love +with him?" +</p> + +<p> +Again the tell-tale blush swept over her face. She glanced +at Hatch; it was the nervousness of a girl who is driven to a +confession of love. +</p> + +<p> +"I regard Mr. Willis very highly," she said, finally, her +voice low. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," and the scientist arose and crossed to where the +girl sat, "don't you see that a very grave charge might be +brought home to you if you don't tell all of this? The girl +has disappeared. There might be even a hint of murder in +which your name would be mentioned. Don't you see?" +</p> + +<p> +There was a long pause, and the girl stared steadily into +the squint eyes above her. Finally her eyes fell. +</p> + +<p> +"I think I understand. Just what is it you want me to +answer?" +</p> + +<p> +"Did or did you not ever hear Mr. Willis threaten Miss +Field?" +</p> + +<p> +"I did once, yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Did or did you not know that Miss Field was the original +of the painting?" +</p> + +<p> +"I did not." +</p> + +<p> +"It is a semi-nude picture, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +Again there was a flush in the girl's face. +</p> + +<p> +"I have heard it was," she said. "I have never seen it. I +suggested to Grace several times that we go to see it, but +she never would. I understand why now." +</p> + +<p> +"Did Willis know she was the original of that painting? +That is, knowing it yourself now, do you have any reason to +suppose that he previously knew?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," she said, frankly. "I know that there was +something which was always causing friction between +them—something they quarreled about. It might have been that. +That was when I heard Mr. Willis threaten her—it was +something about shooting her if she ever did something—I +don't know what." +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Field knew him before you did, I think you said?" +</p> + +<p> +"She introduced me to him." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine fingered the sheet of paper he +held. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you know what those scraps of paper you brought me +contained?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, in a way," said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Why did you bring them, then?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because you told me you knew I had them, and I was +afraid it might make more trouble for me and for Mr. Willis +if I did not." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine passed the sheet to Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"This will interest you, Mr. Hatch," he explained. "Those +words and letters in parentheses are what I have supplied to +complete the full text of the note, of which you had a mere +scrap. You will notice how the scrap you had fitted into it." +</p> + +<p> +The reporter read this: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"If you go to th(at stud)io Wednesday to see that artist, +(I will k)ill you bec(ause I w)on't have it known to the +world tha(t you a)re a model. I hope you will heed this +warning. "V. W." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The reporter stared at the patched-up letter, pasted together +with infinite care, and then glanced at The Thinking +Machine, who settled himself again comfortably in the +chair. +</p> + +<p> +"And now, Miss Stanford," asked the scientist, in a most +matter-of-fact tone, "where is the body of Miss Field?" +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +V +</h3> + +<p> +The blunt question aroused the girl, and she arose +suddenly, staring at The Thinking Machine. He did not move. +She stood as if transfixed, and Hatch saw her bosom rise +and fall rapidly with the emotion she was seeking to repress. +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," flamed Miss Stanford, suddenly, almost +fiercely. "I don't even know she is dead. I know that +Mr. Willis did not kill her, because, as that letter I gave you +shows, he was in Springfield. I won't be tricked into saying +anything further." +</p> + +<p> +The outburst had no appreciable effect on The Thinking +Machine beyond causing him to raise his eyebrows slightly +as he looked at the defiant little figure. +</p> + +<p> +"When did you last see Mr. Willis have a revolver?" +</p> + +<p> +"I know nothing of any revolver. I know only that Victor +Willis is innocent as you are, and that I love him. +Whatever has become of Grace Field I don't know." +</p> + +<p> +Tears leaped suddenly to her eyes, and, turning, she left +the room. After a moment they heard the outer door slam +as she passed out. Hatch turned to the scientist with a +question in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you smell anything like chloroform or ether when +you were in St. George's apartments?" asked The Thinking +Machine as he arose. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Hatch. "I only noticed that the place seemed +close, and there was an odor of Chinese incense—joss +sticks—which was almost stifling." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine looked at the reporter quickly, but +said nothing. Instead, he passed out of the room, to return +a few minutes later with his hat and coat on. +</p> + +<p> +"Where are we going?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"To St. George's studio," was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +Just then the telephone bell in the next room rang. The +scientist answered it in person. +</p> + +<p> +"Your City Editor," he called to Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +Hatch went to the 'phone and remained there several +minutes. When he came back there was a new excitement in +his face. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" asked the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"Another queer thing my City Editor told me," Hatch +responded. "Constans St. George, raving mad, has escaped +from the hospital and disappeared." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me, dear me!" exclaimed the scientist, quickly. It +was as near surprise as he ever showed. "Then there is +danger." +</p> + +<p> +With quick steps he went to the telephone and called up +Police Headquarters. +</p> + +<p> +"Detective Mallory," Hatch heard him ask for. "Yes. +This is Professor Van Dusen. Please meet me immediately +here at my house. Be here in ten minutes? Good. I'll +wait. It's a matter of great importance. Good-by." +</p> + +<p> +Then impatiently The Thinking Machine moved about, +waiting. The reporter, whose acquaintance with the logician +was an extended one, had never seen him in just such a state. +It started when he heard St. George had escaped. +</p> + +<p> +At last they left the house and stood waiting on the steps +until Detective Mallory appeared in a cab. Into that Hatch +and The Thinking Machine climbed, after the latter had +given some direction, and the cabby drove rapidly away. It +was all a mystery to Hatch, and he was rather glad of it +when Detective Mallory asked what it meant. +</p> + +<p> +"Means that there is danger of a tragedy," said The +Thinking Machine, crustily. "We may be in time to +avert it. There is just a chance. If I'd only known this +an hour ago—even half an hour ago—it might have been +stopped." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine was the first man out of the cab +when it stopped, and Hatch and the detective followed +quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Mr. St. George in his apartments?" asked the scientist +of the elevator boy. +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir," said the boy. "He's in hospital, shot." +</p> + +<p> +"Is there a key to his place? Quick." +</p> + +<p> +"I think so, sir, but I can't give it to you." +</p> + +<p> +"Here, give it to me, then!" exclaimed the detective. He +flashed a badge in the boy's eyes, and the youth immediately +lost a deal of his coolness. +</p> + +<p> +"Gee, a detective! Yes, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"How many rooms has Mr. St. George?" asked the +scientist. +</p> + +<p> +"Three and a bath," the boy responded. +</p> + +<p> +Two minutes later the three men stood in the reception-room +of the apartments. There came to them from somewhere +inside a deadly, stifling odor of chloroform. After +one glance around The Thinking Machine rushed into the +next room, the studio. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me, dear me!" he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +There on the floor lay huddled the figure of a man. Blood +had run from several wounds on his head. The Thinking +Machine stooped a moment, and his slender fingers fumbled +over the heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Unconscious, that's all," he said, and he raised the man +up. +</p> + +<p> +"Victor Willis!" exclaimed Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"Victor Willis!" repeated The Thinking Machine, as if +puzzled. "Are you sure?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certain," said Hatch, positively. "It's the bank clerk." +</p> + +<p> +"Then we are too late," declared the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +He arose and looked about the room. A door to his right +attracted his attention. He jerked it open and peered in. +It was a clothes press. Another small door on the other side +of the room was also thrown open. Here was a kitchenette, +with a great quantity of canned stuffs. +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine went on into the little bedroom +which Hatch had searched. He flung open the bathroom +and peered in, only to shut it immediately. Then he tried +the handle of another door, a closet. It was fastened. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Then on his hands and knees he sniffed at the crack between +the door and the flooring. Suddenly, as if satisfied, +he arose and stepped away from the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Smash that door in," he directed. +</p> + +<p> +Detective Mallory looked at him stupefied. There was a +similar expression on Hatch's face. +</p> + +<p> +"What's—what's in there?" the detective asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Smash it," said the other, tartly. "Smash it, or God +knows what you'll find in there." +</p> + +<p> +The detective, a powerful man, and Hatch threw their +weight against the door; it stood rigid. They pulled at the +handle; it refused to yield. +</p> + +<p> +"Lend me your revolver?" asked The Thinking Machine. +</p> + +<p> +The weapon was in his hand almost before the detective +was aware of it, and, placing the barrel to the keyhole, The +Thinking Machine pulled the trigger. There was a resonant +report, the lock was smashed and the detective put out his +hand to open the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Look out for a shot," warned The Thinking Machine, +sharply. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +VI +</h3> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine drew Detective Mallory and Hatch +to one side, out of immediate range of any person who might +rush out, then pulled the closet door open. A cloud of +suffocating fumes—the sweet, sickening odor of +chloroform—gushed out, but there was no sound from inside. The +detective looked at The Thinking Machine inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +Carefully, almost gingerly, the scientist peered around +the edge of the door. What he saw did not startle him, +because it was what he expected. It was Constans St. George +lying prone on the floor as if dead, with a blood-spattered +revolver clasped loosely in one hand; the other hand grasped +the throat of a woman, a woman of superb physical beauty, +who also lay with face upturned, staring glassily. +</p> + +<p> +"Open the windows—all of them, then help me," commanded +the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +As Detective Mallory and Hatch turned to obey the +instructions, The Thinking Machine took the revolver from the +inert fingers of the artist. Then Hatch and Mallory +returned and together they lifted the unconscious forms +toward a window. +</p> + +<p> +"It's Grace Field," said the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +In silence for half an hour the scientist labored over the +unconscious forms of his three patients. The detective and +reporter stood by, doing only what they were told to do. The +wind, cold and stinging, came pouring through the windows, +and it was only a few minutes until the chloroform odor +was dissipated. The first of the three unconscious ones to +show any sign of returning comprehension was Victor Willis, +whose presence at all in the apartments furnished one of the +mysteries which Hatch could not fathom. +</p> + +<p> +It was evident that his condition was primarily due to the +wounds on his head—two of which bled profusely. The +chloroform had merely served to further deaden his +mentality. The wounds were made with the butt of the revolver, +evidently in the hands of the artist. Willis's eyes opened +finally and he stared at the faces bending over him with +uncomprehending eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"What happened?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"You're all right now," was the scientist's assuring +answer. "This man is your prisoner, Detective Mallory, for +breaking and entering and for the attempted murder of +Mr. St. George." +</p> + +<p> +Detective Mallory was delighted. Here was something he +could readily understand; a human being given over to his +care; a tangible thing to put handcuffs on and hold. He +immediately proceeded to put the handcuffs on. +</p> + +<p> +"Any need of an ambulance?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"No," replied The Thinking Machine. "He'll be all right +in half an hour." +</p> + +<p> +Gradually as reason came back Willis remembered. He +turned his head at last and saw the inert bodies of +St. George and Grace Field, the girl whom he had loved. +</p> + +<p> +"She was here, then!" he exclaimed suddenly, violently. +"I knew it. Is she dead?" +</p> + +<p> +"Shut up that young fool's mouth, Mr. Mallory," commanded +the scientist, sharply. "Take him in the other room +or send him away." +</p> + +<p> +Obediently Mallory did as directed; there was that in the +voice of this cold, calm being, The Thinking Machine, which +compelled obedience. Mallory never questioned motives or +orders. +</p> + +<p> +Willis was able to walk to the other room with help. Miss +Field and St. George lay side by side in the cold wind from +the open window. The Thinking Machine had forced a +little whisky down their throats, and after a time St. George +opened his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +The artist was instantly alert and tried to rise. He was +weak, however, and even a strength given to him by the +madness which blazed in his eyes did not avail. At last he lay +raving, cursing, shrieking. The Thinking Machine regarded +him closely. +</p> + +<p> +"Hopeless," he said, at last. +</p> + +<p> +Again for many minutes the scientist worked with the girl. +Finally he asked that an ambulance be sent for. The +detective called up the City Hospital on the telephone in the +apartments and made the request. The Thinking Machine +stared alternately at the girl and at the artist. +</p> + +<p> +"Hopeless," he said again. "St. George, I mean." +</p> + +<p> +"Will the girl recover?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," was the frank reply. "She's been partly +stupefied for days—ever since she disappeared, as a matter +of fact. If her physical condition was as good as her +appearance indicates she may recover. Now the hospital is the +best place for her." +</p> + +<p> +It was only a few minutes before two ambulances came +and the three persons were taken away; Willis a prisoner, +and a sullen, defiant prisoner, who refused to speak or +answer questions; St. George raving hideously and cursing +frightfully; the woman, beautiful as a marble statue, and +colorless as death. +</p> + +<p> +When they had all gone, The Thinking Machine went back +into the bedroom and examined more carefully the little +closet in which he had found the artist and Grace Field. It +was practically a padded cell, relatively six feet each way. +Heavy cushion of felt two or three inches thick covered the +interior of the little room closely. In the top of it there was +a small aperture, which had permitted some of the fumes of +the chloroform to escape. The place was saturated with the +poison. +</p> + +<p> +"Let's go," he said, finally. +</p> + +<p> +Detective Mallory and Hatch followed him out and a few +minutes later sat opposite him in his little laboratory. +Hatch had told a story over the telephone that made his +City Editor rejoice madly; it was news, great, big, vital +news. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Mr. Hatch, I suppose you want some details," said +The Thinking Machine, as he relapsed into his accustomed +attitude. "And you, too, Mr. Mallory, since you are holding +Willis a prisoner on my say-so. Would you like to know +why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sure," said the detective. +</p> + +<p> +"Let's go back a little—begin at the beginning, where +Mr. Hatch called on me," said The Thinking Machine. "I can +make the matter clearer that way. And I believe the cause +of justice, Mr. Mallory, requires absolute accuracy and +clarity in all things, does it not?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sure," said the detective again. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Mr. Hatch told me at some length of the preliminaries +of this case," explained The Thinking Machine. "He +told me the history of the picture; the mystery as to the +identity of the model; her great beauty; how he found her +to be Grace Field, a shop-girl. He also told me of the mental +condition of the artist, St. George, and repeated the rumor +as he knew it about the artist being heartbroken because the +girl—his model—would not marry him. +</p> + +<p> +"All this brought the artist into the matter of the girl's +disappearance. She represented to him, physically, the +highest ideal of which he could conceive—hope, success, life +itself. Therefore it was not astonishing that he should fall in +love with her; and it is not difficult to imagine that the girl +did not fall in love with him. She is a beautiful woman, +but not necessarily a woman of mentality; he is a great +artist, eccentric, childish even in certain things. They were +two natures totally opposed. +</p> + +<p> +"These things I could see instantly. Mr. Hatch showed +me the photograph and also the scrap of paper. At the time +the scrap of paper meant nothing. As I pointed out, it +might have no bearing at all, yet it made it necessary for me +to know whose handwriting it was. If Willis's, it still might +mean nothing; if St. George's, a great deal, because it +showed a direct thread to him. There was reason to believe +that any friendship between them had ended when the +picture was exhibited. +</p> + +<p> +"It was necessary, therefore, even that early in the work +of reducing the mystery to logic to center it about +St. George. This I explained to Mr. Hatch and pointed out the +fact that the girl and the artist might have eloped—were +possibly together somewhere. First it was necessary to get +to the artist; Mr. Hatch had not been able to do so. +</p> + +<p> +"A childishly simple trick, which seemed to amaze Mr. Hatch +considerably, brought the artist out of his rooms after +he had been there closely for two days. I told Mr. Hatch. +that the artist would leave his rooms, if he were there, one +night at 9:32, and told him to wait in the hall, then if he left +the door open to enter the apartments and search for some +trace of the girl. Mr. St. George did leave his apartments +at the time I mentioned, and—" +</p> + +<p> +"But why, how?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"There was one thing in the world that St. George loved +with all his heart," explained the scientist. "That was his +picture. Every act of his life has demonstrated that. I +looked at a telephone book; I found he had a 'phone. If he +were in his rooms, locked in, it was a bit of common sense +that his telephone was the best means of reaching him. He +answered the 'phone; I told him, just at 9:30, that the Art +Museum was on fire and his picture in danger. +</p> + +<p> +"St George left his apartments to go and see, just as I +knew he would, hatless and coatless, and leaving the door +open. Mr. Hatch went inside and found two gloves and a +veil, all belonging to Miss Field. Miss Stanford identified +them and asked if he had gotten them from Willis, and if +Willis had been arrested. Why did she ask these questions? +Obviously because she knew, or thought she knew, that Willis +had some connection with the affair. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hatch detailed all his discoveries and the conversation +with Miss Stanford to me on the day after I 'phoned +to St. George, who, of course, had found no fire. It showed +that Miss Stanford suspected Willis, whom she loved, of the +murder of Miss Field. Why? Because she had heard him +threaten. He's a hare-brained young fool, anyway. What +motive? Jealousy. Jealousy of what? He knew in some +way that she had posed for a semi-nude picture, and that the +man who painted it loved her. There is your jealousy. It +explains Willis's every act." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine paused a moment, then went on: +</p> + +<p> +"This conversation with Mr. Hatch made me believe Miss +Stanford knew more than she was willing to tell. In what +way? By a letter? Possibly. She had given Mr. Hatch a +scrap of a letter; perhaps she had found another letter, or +more of this. I sent her a note, telling her I knew she had +these scraps of letters, and she promptly brought them to me. +She had found them after Mr. Hatch saw her first somewhere +in the house—in a bureau drawer she said, I think. +</p> + +<p> +"Meanwhile, Mr. Hatch had called my attention to the +burglary of St. George's apartments. One reading of that +convinced me that it was Willis who did this. Why? Because +burglars don't burst in doors when they think anyone +is inside; they pick the lock. Knowing, too, Willis's insane +jealousy, I figured that he would be the type of man who +would go there to kill St. George if he could, particularly if +he thought the girl was there. +</p> + +<p> +"Thus it happened that I was not the only one to think +that St. George knew where the girl was. Willis, the one +most interested, thought she was there. I questioned Miss +Stanford mercilessly, trying to get more facts about the +young man from her which would bear on this, trying to +trick her into some statement, but she was loyal to the last. +</p> + +<p> +"All these things indicated several things. First, that +Willis didn't actually know where the girl was, as he would +have known had he killed her; second, that if she had +disappeared with a man, it was St. George, as there was no +other apparent possibility; third, that St. George would be +with her or near her, even if he had killed her; fourth, the +pistol shot through the arm had brought on again a mental +condition which threatened his entire future, and now as +it happens has blighted it. +</p> + +<p> +"Thus, Miss Field and St. George were together. She +loved Willis devotedly, therefore she was with St. George +against her will, or she was dead. Where? In his rooms? +Possibly. I determined to search there. I had just reached +this determination when I heard St. George, violently +insane, had escaped from the hospital. He had only one +purpose then—to get to the woman. Then she was in danger. +</p> + +<p> +"I reasoned along these lines, rushed to the artist's +apartments, found Willis there wounded. He had evidently been +there searching when St. George returned, and St. George +had attacked him, as a madman will, and with the greater +strength of a madman. Then I knew the madman's first +step. It would be the end of everything for him; therefore +the death of the girl and his own. How? By poison +preferably, because he would not shoot her—he loved beauty +too much. Where? Possibly in the place where she had +been all along, the closet, carefully padded and prepared to +withstand noises. It is really a padded cell. I have an idea +that the artist, sometimes overcome by his insane fits, and +knowing when they would come, prepared this closet and +used it himself occasionally. Here the girl could have been +kept and her shrieks would never have been heard. You +know the rest." +</p> + +<p> +The Thinking Machine stopped and arose, as if to end +the matter. The others arose, too. +</p> + +<p> +"I took you, Mr. Mallory, because you were a detective, +and I knew I could force a way into the apartments which I +imagined would be locked. I think that's all." +</p> + +<p> +"But how did the girl get there?" asked Hatch. +</p> + +<p> +"St George evidently asked her to come, possibly to pose +again. It was a gratification to the girl to do this—a little +touch of vanity that Willis was fighting so hard, and which +led to his threats and his efforts to kill St. George. Of +course the artist was insane when she came; his frantic love +for her led him to make her a prisoner and hold her against +her will. You saw how well he did it." +</p> + +<p> +There was an awed pause. Hatch was rubbing the nap of +his hat against his sleeve, thoughtfully. Detective Mallory +had nothing to say, it was all said. Both turned as if to go, +but the reporter had two more questions. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose St George's case is hopeless?" +</p> + +<p> +"Absolutely. It will end in a few months with his death." +</p> + +<p> +"And Miss Field?" +</p> + +<p> +"If she is not dead by this time she will recover. Wait a +minute." He went into the next room and they heard the +telephone bell jingle. After a time he came out. "She will +recover," he said. "Good-afternoon." +</p> + +<p> +Wonderingly, Hutchinson Hatch, reporter, and Detective +Mallory passed down the street together. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0201"></a></p> + +<h2> +Gentleman Coggins: Alias Towers +</h2> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY OSWALD CRAWFURD, C.M.G. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER I +<br><br> +CAPTAIN TOWERS +</h3> + +<p> +"I have always considered," said my friend, Inspector +Morgan, when he paid me a late after-dinner visit, +"I have always considered that the greatest help a +detective can have in following up and finding out about a +crime is to know something beforehand of the criminal's own +private and particular way of looking at things. +</p> + +<p> +"To prove that I should like to tell you the real story of +the great jewel robbery at Balin Abbey, and how the place +was broken into by Ikey Coggins, commonly called Gentleman +Coggins, alias Towers. You read about it, I dare say, +at the time, in the newspapers?" +</p> + +<p> +"I did," I said; "I remember the case vaguely." +</p> + +<p> +"You only read part of the real story; for the general +public never got to know more than a little bit of what +actually happened. The real story is a very curious one." +</p> + +<p> +"I should like to hear it from you." +</p> + +<p> +"You shall," said the Inspector, "only you must let me +tell you about it from the beginning, and in my own way." +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Morgan then told me the following story: +</p> + +<p> +"My first years of services in the army were passed in +India and in the Colonies, and when I got my company and +came home, I exchanged into a smart cavalry regiment. +From that time, things went wrong with me. I had meant, +being a comparatively poor man, and very ambitious, to +work hard and make a serious career of my profession, and, +so far, I had done so; but when I got into the —— I confess +I led a fool's life. Few men can fight against their +environment. The regiment was a sporting regiment, and it was +quartered in Ireland. Unfortunately for me, I had a fair +seat in the saddle, a light hand on the reins, and I could ride +under ten stone. My fellow-officers were good fellows and +sportsmen. The talk at mess was of nothing but polo, +drag-hunts, and steeplechases. I fell into their way. Anything +like serious study was impossible. I bought two polo ponies. +I had part ownership in a famous steeplechaser which I had +ridden more than once to a win. I lost a good deal more +than I could afford at cards. My polo stud was expensive. +I was running fast into debt, but I looked to pull myself free +at a great race meeting in our near neighborhood. The two +chief events of that meeting were the Hunt Steeplechase, in +which I was to ride a friend's hunter, and the Great West of +Ireland Handicap, in which my mount was the horse in +which I held a part ownership, a very famous steeplechaser, +named The Leprochaun. On both events I had laid to win +heavily. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, I have every reason to believe I should have won +both races, paid my debts, pulled myself together, seen what +an idiot I had been making of myself, changed into a quieter +regiment, and made the army a career and perhaps a +successful one. I say I might have done all this but for one +man, my evil genius, Captain Towers, who, about this time, +came into our regiment. He had done service in the +Colonies. No one knew much about him, but he brought with +him a reputation as a sportsman and a rider. Towers was +never liked at mess. He was a cold, quiet, cynical fellow, +with a pale, sinister face, and a horseman's build, +broad-shouldered, clean-limbed, strong, spare, and wiry. I saw at +once that I had a rival in the saddle, and I was not sorry, +for, in point of fact, I had had it too much my own way for +the last year or two, being the only man in the regiment who +fulfilled all the requirements of a race rider, seat, hand, +experience, nerve, and low weight. +</p> + +<p> +"The regiment was at that time mad upon bridge, and +Towers played a good, quiet game. He had certain rare +advantages as a bridge player; he never abused his partner +or made cynical remarks; he won without triumphing, and +he lost gaily. Not that he lost often, and it was soon +observed that no man ever enjoyed so consistent a run of good +luck as Captain Towers. +</p> + +<p> +"He and I having so much in common were thrown +together—but we were never friends. Indeed, I disliked him +and distrusted him from the first. He was not a genial +fellow. He was a man who never lost a chance of sneering at +the four or five things on which men at large do not care to +listen to cynical speech—religion, politics, women, social +honor, and social honesty. He and I sometimes quarreled, +as two men will when one is quick-tempered and the other +coldly cynical. I was fool enough to lend him a hundred +pounds when he first came to the regiment, and he had the +impudence to look upon my loan to him as the act of a fool. +'Why,' he said, 'you never expected to get it back, did you?' +</p> + +<p> +"'You are chaffing, Captain Towers,' I said stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +"'Oh,' he said, 'you may call it chaffing if you like; you +won't get the money out of me! You haven't my I.O.U.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then,' I said, losing my temper, 'you'll allow me to have +my opinion of your conduct, and to let my friends know +what I think.' +</p> + +<p> +"Do, and be hanged to you!' he said. +</p> + +<p> +"We parted uncomfortably. What an infernal blackguard! I +thought. The great race was still in the far future, +when one day Towers came to me and said, overlooking the +bad terms we were on, 'Captain Morgan, I want your opinion +on a matter in which you know more than I do.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What can that be?' I asked, rather amused, for Towers +was not, as a rule, overmodest. +</p> + +<p> +"'The points of a horse.' +</p> + +<p> +"I said nothing, but I thought, What is he driving at now? +</p> + +<p> +"If I had been able to give the right answer to that +question, my life would perhaps have been a different life to +what it has been. +</p> + +<p> +"'The fact is,' he said, 'I am in rather a hole. I got a +letter from a friend in Dublin, last week, offering me a +chaser for sale—the price was reasonable, the mare young +and untried, but she could jump and she could gallop, and +I was tempted. "Send her down," I wired. Well, she has +come; she is standing at Simpson's, and, to look at her, she +is the greatest brute I ever saw. Come and see her.' +</p> + +<p> +"A lover of horses does not lose a chance of seeing something +out of the way in the horse line. Certainly I never saw +a less promising animal than the mare in Simpson's stable; +ewe-necked, a huge, ugly head, vicious eyes, looking round at +us with the whites showing, as we came near the stall. +</p> + +<p> +"'Do you see any points about that mare?" asked Towers. +</p> + +<p> +"'She has big quarters,' I said, 'she ought to gallop, but +her shoulder is straight.' +</p> + +<p> +"'She's the devil's own of a temper, your honor,' said the +groom, 'when a man's on her back; and she cries out if she's +vexed, like a woman. We call her The Squealer.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The Squealer!' said Towers. 'I'll christen her that—she's +unnamed as yet—that is, if I keep her. But shall I? +Shall I pay her journey back to Dublin and send a fiver and +try to be off the bargain?' +</p> + +<p> +"Irish grooms are free with their opinions. +</p> + +<p> +"'Begorra, sir, I'd send a tenner wid her and make sure!' +</p> + +<p> +"'Better see what she can do first,' I said, 'hadn't you? +Take her out with the drag-hounds to-morrow.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Put a saddle and bridle on her now, Pat, and we'll try +her in Simpson's field.' +</p> + +<p> +"Irishmen resent the general use of that common patronymic +which Englishmen think it knowing and friendly to +apply to every Irishman they meet. +</p> + +<p> +"'Me name's Terence, with yer honor's leave,' said the +groom. +</p> + +<p> +"'Is that so? Then, Terence, my man, if you can manage +to sit astride of a horse, perhaps you won't mind putting the +mare round the field?' +</p> + +<p> +"The groom was offended. Every Irishman in or near a +stable can ride, and it was clear that Terence had the seat +and the hand of a good workman when he was on the mare's +back, shoulders well set back, knees forward, hands held low +on either side of the mare's withers. Perhaps the +ill-humor of the man communicated itself to the mare—for +there is no sympathy so close as that between horse and +rider—or perhaps, as Terence had said, she had a bad +temper of her own. Certainly a more cantankerous mount no +man ever had. While she walked, the whites of her wicked +eyes and the wrinkling of her nostrils were the only sign, +but when Terence put her to a canter, she went short, she +bucked, she threw her head up, then put it down to nearly +between her knees, and she stopped in her stride to kick. +</p> + +<p> +"'By Jove,' I said, 'that fellow can keep his seat!' +</p> + +<p> +"'Now we'll try her over the fences,' said Towers. +</p> + +<p> +"The outer circle at Simpson's field was a lane of green +turf. An inner circle was set with fences to represent the +obstacles in a steeplechase or the hunting-field, and was used +to test Mr. Simpson's hunters. +</p> + +<p> +"The groom put the mare at the first fence. She went at +it at ninety miles an hour, stopped suddenly as she came +close up, gave a squeal of ill-temper such as I never heard +from a horse before, and reared badly. +</p> + +<p> +"Towers laughed heartily, while the man was, I could see, +in imminent danger of a broken neck. +</p> + +<p> +"'Drop the curb, Terence!' I shouted, but the advice came +too late. The mare was standing nearly bolt upright, her +head straight up in the air. 'Slip off her, man!' I called out, +and he did so, just in time to save himself from being +crushed. Relieved of his weight, the mare fell to her fore +feet again. +</p> + +<p> +"'I knew she'd rear if he touched the curb, that's her way,' +Towers said, with a broad grin. +</p> + +<p> +"'What! You knew that, and you let him ride her on the +curb?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Pooh! What does a fellow like that signify?' +</p> + +<p> +"The groom had seized the reins and led her back to us. +</p> + +<p> +"'Sure the mare's got an imp of Satan inside her to make +her want to kill the two of us that way!' said Terence. +</p> + +<p> +"'Put on a plain running snaffle,' said Towers, 'and I'll +try her.' +</p> + +<p> +"'You're risking your neck, Towers, for no good. She's +a brute, and you'll make nothing of her for hunting or +racing. Send her back, even if you lose money by it.' +</p> + +<p> +"He did not listen to me, and presently he was on the +mare's back. +</p> + +<p> +"'I want to let her extend herself and see if she can +gallop.' +</p> + +<p> +"She went freer in the snaffle as Towers galloped her +round the outer circle. She seemed to go a little short for +a racer, showing no indications whatever of any remarkable +turn of speed. I have had good reason since to suspect that +Towers, a clever rider, took particularly good care not to +put the mare, as the saying is, 'on the stretch.' +</p> + +<p> +"When Towers rode at the fences, the mare's behavior was +quite changed. She went round the ring at a slow canter, +taking every fence, large and small, in her stride, and taking +them well and easily. +</p> + +<p> +"'What do you think of that?' said Captain Towers, as he +brought the mare back to us. +</p> + +<p> +"'Bedad, sir,' said Terence, putting in his say, 'when she's +in that humor she'd be the very mount for a nervous old +gentleman who loves a quiet day with hounds.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What do you think of her, Captain Morgan?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I agree with Terence, and I don't think she has the making +of a racer in her. Did you try to extend her just now?' +</p> + +<p> +"'All she'd let me,' said Towers. +</p> + +<p> +"'I'd send her back to Dublin, if you'd care to have my +advice,' said I. +</p> + +<p> +"'Wid fifteen golden sovereigns tied to her tail!' suggested +Terence. +</p> + +<p> +"'I'll take your advice, Morgan.' +</p> + +<p> +"When I nest spoke to Towers about the mare it was three +days afterward, and he looked vexed. +</p> + +<p> +"'Would you believe it? They've stuck me with that +infernal mare! The man refused to be off his bargain at any +price, and now I've got her on my hands.' +</p> + +<p> +"'A white elephant! Shall you put her in training?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Is she worth it?' +</p> + +<p> +"Towers never did put the mare into regular training—he +never even let her be properly clipped or singed, and as +the winter came on her coat grew ragged and her fetlocks +were left untrimmed. He took her out once or twice with +the hounds, and he entered her regularly at the drag meets, +but though she jumped cleverly she was never forward with +hounds, and she never came near winning the drag. +</p> + +<p> +"Needless to say he and his unfortunate purchase came in +for a good deal of chaff at mess. He took it in fairly good +part, and defended the mare. 'The more I know her,' he +said, 'the more I like her. She has a temper and is too lazy +to gallop, but I believe she can.' +</p> + +<p> +"Not with that shape, my dear fellow,' said Major +O'Gorman, a keen sportsman, but too stout to ride his own +horses on the turf. 'A horse wants shoulders to land him as +well as hind legs to send him forward, and your mare has +shoulders like a sheep's.' +</p> + +<p> +"You know more of horses than I do,' said Towers almost +humbly. +</p> + +<p> +"'Not difficult,' said O'Gorman behind his moustache. +But Towers did not hear, or pretended not to hear. +</p> + +<p> +"I'd back her even now,' said Towers, 'over a stiff course +against some horses I could name.' +</p> + +<p> +"The weakness we all have for our own property blinds +the wisest of us! and we were a little sorry even for Towers +when we saw O'Gorman's eagerness to take him at his word. +It was a little over-sharp of O'Gorman, we thought, upon the +newcomer. +</p> + +<p> +"'Do you mean any of my lot, Captain Towers? because +if you mean that, I'll do business with you.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I suppose it's cheek of me, but I did mean The Clipper.' +</p> + +<p> +"There was a peal of laughter at the mess table. +</p> + +<p> +"'Owners up?' suggested Towers, and the laugh turned +against the red-faced, burly major. +</p> + +<p> +"'Certainly not,' said O'Gorman; 'you know I never ride +my own horses. I'll put Morgan up.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then I must choose the course!' said Towers sharply and +decisively. +</p> + +<p> +"O'Gorman suspected a trap and hesitated. 'Four miles of +fair hunting country?' he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +"'Quite so,' answered Towers, 'and I to choose it.' +</p> + +<p> +"So the matter was agreed upon for £100 a side. The +Clipper was a clever chaser who had won many a hurdle +race and many a local steeplechase. He was thought even +to have a good chance against The Leprochaun for the Great +West of Ireland Race, having to receive no less than 11 +lbs. from that famous crack. The Clipper could gallop and could +jump, and if his jumping was not always very free, that +would not matter in a match when he could follow a lead +over every fence, for his great turn of speed would enable +him to beat nearly any horse in the last run in. +</p> + +<p> +"There was little betting till the last, so hollow a thing +did the race seem, and so foregone a conclusion its result. +At the last, among the few hundred of sporting men from the +neighborhood and officers from the garrison, almost any odds +could have been obtained against Towers' mare. He himself, +already in the saddle, in his jockey cap and jacket, went +among the crowd and was received with chaff and laughter. +'What odds do you want?' they asked him. +</p> + +<p> +"'What offer?' Towers called out. +</p> + +<p> +"One man in derision offered ten to one. Towers shook +his head and laughed. The other raised his offer to 25 to 1, +and the Captain, saying 'Done with you!' booked the bet in +tenners. +</p> + +<p> +"Others followed half in fun, half in the wish to make a +sovereign or two out of the match, and before Towers and I +stood at the starting-point he must have booked over a +thousand pounds in bets. He asked me, as we stood waiting for +the start, if I would give him the current odds, but I wouldn't +take advantage of him. +</p> + +<p> +"A match between a fast horse who is not a safe and +ready fencer and a slower horse who can jump is generally a +very dull affair. My riding orders were simple. 'Follow +Towers' lead over every fence and race in from the last,' +O'Gorman had said. I did as I was bid, and the race was +conducted mostly at a walk. The fences were big and various; +doubles, bullfinches, a stiff post and rail. A big flying +leap at a brook, the last jump before the finish was also a +brook, but quite a narrow one, not more than 12 feet of water +with a good take off and landing. The brook lay at the +bottom of a slope, so that, coming at it, we had a good view +of the water, and it looked bigger than it was. I could see +why Towers had insisted upon choosing the course. The +Clipper, like most horses, preferred any kind of jump to +water. If he refused anything, he would refuse a water +jump, but O'Gorman's riding orders had provided for this, +and with a lead over the fences there was no danger of his +refusing anything. The most refusing of jumpers will always +follow another horse over a fence. +</p> + +<p> +"Towers and I went over the course at our ease, chaffing +each other. He gave me a good lead over the big brook, and +then pulled up in the middle of the field to let me follow and +rejoin him. +</p> + +<p> +"'There's no use my trying to get away from you,' he said, +'is there? By Jove, The Clipper is a clipper, and no mistake; +and my last chance is gone, I suppose, if he can do water +like that. Come along!' +</p> + +<p> +"I really thought the race was over and was admiring +Towers' pluck. He was always a good loser. +</p> + +<p> +"We were coming back in a great four-mile circle to the +starting-field where the crowd stood and where also was the +winning-post not more than 300 yards from the last fence, +the brook before mentioned. +</p> + +<p> +"We rode pretty fast at it, nearly side by side, The Clipper +only half a length behind Towers' mare. I could see the +green winning flags, beyond the two red ones which marked +the spot where we were to take the brook, and I was already +pulling myself together for the effort to race in. +</p> + +<p> +"We were within five yards of the water when Towers' +mare showed her temper—or perhaps was made to. She +stopped dead short at the edge of the water, gave the strange +squeal I had heard before, and began to rear. +</p> + +<p> +"I jammed The Clipper at the little brook, but the sight +of the water, or more probably the unexpected refusal +of the mare whom he had been following, scared him. +He stuck his fore feet obstinately together at the take +off, and then swerved suddenly some twenty yards to +the left. +</p> + +<p> +"As I made a half circle to put my horse again at the +jump, I could not well see what Towers was about, but they +told me afterward that what happened was this: The mare +almost immediately came down from her rear, and Towers, +who, by-the-bye, carried no whip and wore no spurs, without +turning back, urged his mare to take the brook standing. +She did so at once, with so big a bound as surprised the +lookers on, and then she began to canter very slowly up the +slope toward the winning-post. +</p> + +<p> +"I put The Clipper fast at the brook; he took it splendidly, +and, seeing the slow pace of The Squealer, I made no doubt +of overtaking her, but Towers, looking round, saw me coming +up and mended his own pace. We raced in, I was overtaking +him fast, I had reached his mare's quarters, then the saddle, +then her neck, amid shouts of 'The Clipper wins! The +Clipper wins!' but Towers squeezed pact the post, a winner by +half a head! There was a moment's silence among the +onlookers, so unexpected was the issue of the race. Then in a +moment came a great huzzaing for Captain Towers. He became +at once the hero of the crowd and his win the cleverest +bit of jockeyship ever seen on an Irish racecourse. +</p> + +<p> +"Was it accident, or was it design? Had the mare's +temper prevailed for a moment, or had Towers induced it at +the critical moment? The crowd never doubted but that +Towers had managed the whole thing, nor, to be sure, did I +or any one who saw the race run and knew Towers, have the +slightest doubt on the subject. The ethics of horse-racing +are not very strict, and a trick of this sort is held to be fair +by the majority of racing men. Even O'Gorman laughed +over his loss, like the good sportsman and gentleman he was, +and was seen to shake hands openly on the course with the +winner of the match—whereat the Irish crowd cheered both +gentlemen heartily. +</p> + +<p> +"This affair, however, did not increase Captain Towers' +reputation in the regiment. The race might be all right, +but that long-continued belittling of an animal that if she +could only gallop fairly well could at least jump superbly. +Many of us, too, had lost considerably to him at cards. Good +as his play was, it was not enough to justify his almost +constant winning at bridge, and some of the more suspicious +among us began to make unpleasant remarks, and one or +two of the heaviest losers were so convinced of the unfairness +of his play that they set themselves to watch him. They +found, of course, nothing. Towers was a most scrupulous +player, he always called attention to a player who held his +hand carelessly. His own eyes never traveled beyond his +own hand and the cards on the table. It was noticed that he +was clumsy in handling the pack, that he shuffled and cut +awkwardly, dealing slowly, and carrying his hand, as some +old-fashioned players do, with every card dealt, and dealing +them into four regular little heaps on the table. The +watchers noted all this, and then gave up watching him as a +bad job. +</p> + +<p> +"'It's all luck,' said some of us. 'He'll make up for his +run of luck some day, somehow'—a prediction which came +true in the end, but not quite in the way the prophets had +meant. +</p> + +<p> +"Rather to our surprise, after the exhibition of lack of +speed which The Squealer had made in the match with The +Clipper, Towers had entered his mare for the two chief events +in the Great West of Ireland Race meeting—namely, for +the Hunters' Sweepstakes, for which The Squealer had +qualified, and for the Great West of Ireland Race. We could +not quite make this out, for the mare could not have a chance +in the Hunt Steeplechase even though no better horse than +The Clipper ran in it, and I had every reason to believe The +Clipper would win the race. I had backed him heavily. That +Towers should put his mare into the Great West of Ireland +Handicap, that he should enter such an animal as The +Squealer against all the best chasers in Ireland, and among +them against the famous Leprochaun, seemed nothing short +of madness. Yet there were some of us who, after Towers' +exploit against The Clipper, were quite willing to take long +odds against The Squealer for both races. Towers was one +of them. He said he thought he might win. He laid freely +against any horse in the race, and took all the long odds that +he could get against his own mount. By the day of the race +he had a book which must have totaled over ten thousand +pounds. +</p> + +<p> +"I will not tell you the story of that day's racing," said +Inspector Morgan. "Even now the memory of it is too +unpleasant and the feeling I have against that swindling +scoundrel too bitter. Enough to say that Towers won both +races. +</p> + +<p> +"When he appeared on the course in his preliminary +canter, on his ragged-coated mare, with her ewe neck, her +ugly head, and her shambling, lurching gallop, a shout of +derision went up among the racecourse crowd, and the usual +cheap wit was indulged in. +</p> + +<p> +"'How much the pound, Captain?' 'What price cat's meat +to-day?' 'Take her home and cut her hair, sir, do!' +</p> + +<p> +"When the race began and they saw her take every fence +as if it was playtime with her, keep her place in the first +rank, and that although the race was being run at the usual +break-neck pace of modern steeplechases, an unaccustomed +silence fell upon the crowd. Towers and I were again alone, +every other horse in the race having either fallen or been +out-paced. This time we rode abreast, and I took no lead. The +Clipper was full of go to-day, and full of courage, facing +every jump and clearing everything safely and well. We +raced hard over the last sweep three fields off the finish, and +took the last three jumps simultaneously and abreast. I could +not shake off the mare: we were neck and neck. I plied +whip and spurs, and the brave beast responded, but I +could not get past Towers, and, almost at the post, The +Squealer forged ahead, and won the race by a narrow half +length. +</p> + +<p> +"Amid the shouting of the crowd and the congratulations +of brother sportsmen, Towers kept his usual cool cynicism as +he was being led back to the weighing yard. He caught +sight of O'Gorman's red face in the lane of sportsmen +through which he was being led. +</p> + +<p> +"'I told you, O'Gorman,' he said quietly, 'that I thought +the mare might have a turn of speed in her.' +</p> + +<p> +"The history of the great race of the day was the history +of the Hunt race over again. The mare never made a +mistake at her fences, never seemed to exert herself, and +Captain Towers drew alongside of me on The Leprechaun, and +raced that famous chaser over the last few hundred yards, +beating him as he had beaten The Clipper by the narrowest of +distances at the post. +</p> + +<p> +"That race was the end of my army career. I was in debt +far beyond my solvency. I had lost some hundreds at cards, +and my chances of recouping myself at the race meeting +had been hindered by Captain Towers and his mysterious +mare. +</p> + +<p> +"It was not quite the end of Towers' career, but it was the +beginning of the end. It was not till all racing debts had +been paid to him and done with, that something happened +which was to solve the problem of The Squealer and how +she had come to beat the best horses in Ireland, but another +rather startling event was to happen first, and this also led +to unexpected developments. +</p> + +<p> +"Captain Towers' exploits on the turf had made him +famous, and in sporting circles outside our mess he was +even popular, for he had other claims to society success. He +was musical and had a capital voice, and he was beyond +compare the best amateur actor I have ever known. His +specialty was what on the stage is known as character parts, +old men, particularly foreign old men, when he would make +up and talk in a way to make one entirely forget his own +individuality. The complicated Jew nature he seemed to +have studied as few men have—when and where I could +never guess. He impersonated Shylock once in the trial +scene from the 'Merchant of Venice.' Portia, the Duke, +Bassanio, and Antonio were all forgotten. We had eyes and +ears for him alone. +</p> + +<p> +"In a silly melodrama which the Amateur Dramatists of +the garrison town played in for a charity, Towers had been +asked to choose his part. He chose, to the surprise of every +one, the character of 'Ikey Moses,' a young Cockney Jew, +dealer in old clothes, who, in some way, comes into collision +with the noble Christian hero of the piece and gets the worse +of the encounter. His part consisted only of a dozen or two +of words, but they were delivered at rehearsals with such an +unctuous roll of the lips, such a broad and humorous accent, +half Cockney, half Yiddish, that our stage-manager—a +professional—suggested a little writing up of the part. At the +next rehearsal Towers had put in a few lines and delivered +them with marvelous effect. The whole company applauded +and entreated him to work on, upon the same lines. At every +rehearsal the part grew. Ikey Moses was from the first a +ridiculous, somewhat hateful character—mean, subservient +to his superiors, a bully to his inferiors—spurned by the +low-born heroine, to whom he presumes to offer his obnoxious +addresses. Towers with great skill preserved all the mean +and ridiculous elements in the character, but he converted +the Jew's presumptuous courting of the heroine into a +genuine love. The better elements in the man were seen to +be fighting against his baser side. There was the true +dramatic struggle and contention of passion with passion. +Pathos and even tragedy were latent in the struggle. The +part extended day by day till at last it literally filled the play. +It <i>was</i> the play—the parts of the leading gentleman and lady +were ruthlessly cut down, and when the piece came to be +acted, Ikey Moses, with his comic lisp, his mixture of +knowingness, knavery, and simplicity, was on the stage during +nearly the whole of the four acts, and there was a scene +between him and his sweetheart while he pleads, and she half +pities, half despises him, and finally rejects him, which +stirred the house to unwonted tragic depths. Towers was +cheered when he came on and when he went off, and when +the curtain fell it was amid a tumult of applause. +</p> + +<p> +"I mention this to show what a versatile and accomplished +fellow Towers was, and also because his mimetic powers +have a distinct relation to something I shall have to tell you +presently. With all these talents, enough to raise any man +to a pinnacle of success in almost any line of life, there was +in Towers an instinct toward evil, that demoniac tendency +which drives men to their doom, that mysterious, little +understood impulse which lies deep at the heart of every great +criminal, the tendency to set evil above good which finally +destroys the man's soul. +</p> + +<p> +"Now," Morgan went on, "I must tell you of the incident +which led to the first of a series of catastrophes in Towers' +military career. I have told you how he systematically won +at cards, and how, though we all began to suspect him of +foul play, we never could find anything to justify any +suspicions. The cards he played with belonged to the mess, and +were procured in the usual way by the mess committee for +the time being. Towers went on winning, and we had no +excuse but to go on playing with him. +</p> + +<p> +"There was one young fellow among us who did not take +it so calmly—Terence O'Grady, a hot-headed young Tipperary +giant—a good fellow, popular among us all, a distant +relative of my own, and a man whom I loved as a brother. +He had lost night after night when he played against +Towers, and won only when he found himself Towers' +partner. +</p> + +<p> +"'I know the beggar cheats!' he cried out. +</p> + +<p> +"'Hush!' said an older officer. 'You can't prove it, +whatever you think, and you'd best hold your tongue till you're +sure.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then I'll make sure!' said O'Grady. 'I'll pin him, sir, +never fear but I'll pin him!' +</p> + +<p> +"We laughed at this vague threat—not for a moment +guessing what he meant by his vague threat of pinning Captain +Towers. +</p> + +<p> +"That night O'Grady and I played against Towers and +O'Gorman. It happened that every one of the three of us +had already, in previous play, lost heavily to +Towers—O'Gorman in particular, and O'Grady far more than he +could afford. Towers dealt. We watched with an ill-defined +suspicion the slow and deliberate movements of the dealer. +We always expected something fantastic in the way of a +declaration when Towers dealt, but this time it surprised me +to find that he declared no trumps, for, sitting third hand, +I held seven hearts to the Quart Major in my own hand. I +immediately redoubled, and, to my surprise, Towers +redoubled again. Knowing that my partner would follow the +'heart convention' and play me a heart, I doubled again, and +on a seeming certainty, and so it went on to the extreme +limit. Eventually we stood to win or lose 100 points on each +trick. +</p> + +<p> +"What was my surprise when O'Grady failed to lead a +heart. He had none. Towers easily discarded the few hearts +in his own hand, kept the lead, my hearts never came in, and +we lost the whole thirteen tricks, Grand Slam! +</p> + +<p> +"'Now,' thought I, 'how could Towers possibly have dared +to redouble and to continue to redouble, unless he had felt +sure that O'Grady, with the blind lead, had not a single +heart in his hand? How could he have known this by any +fair means? He could not even have caught a chance glance +at O'Grady's hand, for that young Irishman is short-sighted, +and never holds his cards more than three inches from his +nose. +</p> + +<p> +"I looked at O'Gorman, who is a fine player. He wore +a very grave look. I saw he had arrived at the same +conclusion as I had. Indeed, it was too obvious to miss. +O'Grady's face worked. I thought he meant mischief. +</p> + +<p> +"The score was marked down, Towers cut for O'Grady and +the game went on with varied success till the turn came again +for Towers to deal. +</p> + +<p> +"'Hearts!' said Towers, after a glance at his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"He laid his cards in a neat heap on the table, sat back +and waited for developments; as he did so, he rested both +hands for a moment on his knees. It is an ordinary action +which I have seen many an innocent bridge-player adopt, +but it suggested foul doings to O'Grady. +</p> + +<p> +"'May I play?' he asked me, but his voice was choked +with some strong emotion. +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes,' I answered, and Towers raised his hands from the +table and proceeded to take up his cards. In the moment of +his doing so, and before he could touch the cards, O'Grady +shot out his right hand and grasped Towers by the wrist so +strongly that he could not move it. O'Grady was a fellow +of prodigious strength. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor O'Grady's feat was a poor parody of the old story +of the man who pierces the sharper's hand to the table with +a dagger and offers to apologize if there is not a card +beneath it. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll make you my apologies, Captain Towers,' says +O'Grady, 'if you don't hold a false card in your hand.' +</p> + +<p> +"As is usual in such catastrophes, there was a moment's +silence. Towers, though he could not disengage his hand, +could turn it, and he did so, and showed that it was +empty. +</p> + +<p> +"'You young idiot!' O'Gorman called out. 'Let go! No +one cheats at bridge that way.' +</p> + +<p> +"O'Grady, out of countenance, withdrew his hand, but, +before he had quite done so, Towers had clenched his left +hand, and, half raising himself from his seat, brought his +fist with prodigious force full on O'Grady's temple. As the +young Irishman's right arm and shoulder were extended, his +head inclined somewhat away from the shoulder, and the +temple lying flat to the blow, received it full and without a +glance. O'Grady groaned, his head dropped forward—he +had been felled, as an ox is felled, by the terrible force of the +blow delivered by an angry man. +</p> + +<p> +"'You brute!' I said, but I felt, as I said it, that the +provocation almost justified the assault. +</p> + +<p> +"'I presume the rubber is over for the present,' said +O'Gorman, cold-bloodedly. I'll gather up the cards,' he +added, and he proceeded to put them together in the order +they lay on the table and placed them in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"Towers had left the room. +</p> + +<p> +"'Do you feel any better yet, O'Grady, my boy?' asked +O'Gorman, but the young Irishman lay still. 'Give him +time,' said O'Gorman, 'and a spoonful of whisky, but I say, +what a biceps that fellow must have to deliver such a +smasher, eh!' +</p> + +<p> +"I was dragging O'Grady's lifeless form to a sofa, helped +by O'Gorman, and presently we forced a drop or two of raw +whisky between his lips. +</p> + +<p> +"He opened his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"'I pinned him, didn't I?' he asked, 'and then I seem to +forget. What happened then?' +</p> + +<p> +"'What naturally would,' said O'Gorman. 'You lay hold +of a man's hand and suggest that he cheats, and he hits you +hard over the ear.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I'll have him out for it!' says O'Grady. +</p> + +<p> +"'No, you won't, my boy. It's tit for tat, and that's good +law all the world over.' +</p> + +<p> +"'My head aches infernally,' muttered the young man, +'but I'll have him out on the field and shoot him.' +</p> + +<p> +"'We'll have the blackguard into court first, and get him +time and hard labor for cheating at cards—' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then we've found him out.' +</p> + +<p> +"O'Gorman went to the door and locked it. 'Look here, +you two,' he said, and he took the pack of cards out of his +pocket and spread them, face up, on the card-table. He +counted out the first thirteen. 'There, that was Towers' +hand. This is O'Grady's,' and he counted a second thirteen. +'This is mine, his dummy, and this is Morgan's. Now you +heard him call hearts, didn't you? Let us see what he did +it on. See here, Captain Morgan, he had just three hearts +in his hand, knave, ten, and four, with some strength in the +three other suits. Does any sane man declare hearts with +only three of the suit in his hand? Never. But he might if +he happened to know that his dummy holds five hearts.' +</p> + +<p> +"'How could he guess that?' +</p> + +<p> +"'By some devil's cantrip, sir! That's his secret, Captain +Morgan, and Satan's, his master!' +</p> + +<p> +"The thing had gone beyond a mess scandal. It was made +a matter of regimental inquiry. Just about this time, too, +ugly rumors began to circulate as to Towers' doings on the +turf. The Colonel had received anonymous letters, of which +he took at first no notice, alleging that Towers' mare, entered +under the name of The Squealer as a six-year-old, was in fact +a well-known steeplechaser named The Scapegoat, who had +run in the Grand National at Liverpool two years before, +and had come very near to winning that important event. A +letter from a friend of the Colonel's, a well-known Irish +sportsman, testified to the same effect. He had had his +suspicions aroused, he said, on the day of the race, but not +being sure, for the mare's coat was ragged and her appearance +changed, he had held his tongue. It was not till some +time had passed that he and a companion had examined the +mare in Simpson's stables and he had found his suspicions +confirmed. It was The Scapegoat sure enough. The mare's +teeth had been tampered with, she bore 'mark of mouth' at +variance with the length of her teeth, and that mark had +evidently been 'faked.' Moreover, there was a conspicuous +scar on the coronet of the off hind leg of The Scapegoat +which was hidden by the unusual growth of hair on the +fetlocks of Captain Towers' mare. This mark was looked for +and found on the animal in Simpson's stable. +</p> + +<p> +"On this evidence Towers was summoned before a Regimental +Court of Inquiry and required to give an explanation. +He was also called upon to explain the incidents +during the bridge rubber, interrupted by the action of +Lieutenant O'Grady. He had no excuse to offer for his +redoubling 'No Trumps' and declaring 'hearts' with only three +of that suit in his hand, except that he always played a +forward, dashing game, and found it a winning one. As to his +mare, he denied that she was anything but a young mare +'rising six,' and declared that a friend had picked her up for +him in a Dublin livery stable. +</p> + +<p> +"The inquiry was adjourned for further expert testimony. +A Dublin vet. deposed that the mare's mouth had been +'faked,' that the length of her teeth indicated her age to be +not less than eight. At that age the depression in the corner +teeth of a horse, known as 'mark of mouth,' has disappeared +for more than a twelvemonth. The mare indeed possessed +'mark of mouth,' but it was easy to see that it was a mark +which had been produced by artificial means. +</p> + +<p> +"Captain Towers being asked to explain why he had failed +to singe or clip the mare and thus let her run at disadvantage +to herself with half her winter coat on, replied that +he was opposed to excessive removal of a horse's natural +covering. +</p> + +<p> +"Asked if the growth of hair allowed to grow on her fetlocks +was not designed by him to conceal a scar or blemish +on the mare's coronet, Captain Towers said the same answer +would apply as he had made to the court's former question. +</p> + +<p> +"An eminent detective officer had been brought from Scotland +Yard, an expert in the ways of card-sharping. On being +told of the circumstances of the last rubber played by +Captain Towers, the detective asked for the packs that had been +used. He examined the cards carefully, picked out sixteen +cards from each pack, looking only at the backs, and dealt +them into two heaps, face downward on the table, at which +the officers on the inquiry were sitting. +</p> + +<p> +"We looked at Captain Towers. For the first time his +assumed smile left him and he showed some emotion. He +had turned pale. 'You will probably find, gentlemen,' said +Inspector Medlicott, 'that these two heaps consist of the whole +suit of hearts and the three remaining aces. He turned up +the cards and it proved to be as he said. There lay exposed +all four aces and all the hearts in each pack. +</p> + +<p> +"He handed the bundle of sixteen cards to the President. +</p> + +<p> +"'You will see nothing, sir, in these cards unless you +look with a powerful magnifying glass, and you will feel +nothing, but the man who takes the precaution of slightly +rubbing down the skin of the ball of the thumb and of his +second finger with pumice stone, and so increasing the +sensibility of the skin, can perceive in handling the cards +that each ace has received the prick of a fine needle point, +moving from face to back, and all the hearts similar pricks, +from back to front—the pricks in the case of the hearts +varying in number according to the value of the card. Now +that supplies information enough to a good player to enable +him to win heavily on every rubber.' +</p> + +<p> +"Inspector Medlicott gathered up the cards of one pack +into his hand, shuffled them and turned to the President. +</p> + +<p> +"'If you will allow me, sir, to deal this pack, as if I were +the dealer at a game of bridge, I will show you the <i>modus +operandi</i> of the swindler at the game of bridge.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Certainly, Mr. Inspector,' said the Colonel from the +head of the board table, 'do as you say.' +</p> + +<p> +"Every one in the room was a bridge player, and we +watched the movements of the detective with deep interest. +I glanced at the accused. +</p> + +<p> +"He had turned to a death-like pallor. +</p> + +<p> +"'This,' said Inspector Medlicott, 'is how a card-sharper, +using these needle-marked cards, would probably deal.' +</p> + +<p> +"He dealt the cards and, to my astonishment, he exactly +repeated the slow method of dealing practiced by Captain +Towers—the hand in each case following the card and +laying each card, in its turn, on its respective heap. +</p> + +<p> +"'By so doing,' said the inspector, 'the ball of the thumb +and of the second finger have time to come into contact with +the prick marks on each card.' +</p> + +<p> +"The cards now lay in four heaps on the table. +</p> + +<p> +"'I am able now to tell you, sir,' said Inspector Medlicott, +looking to the President, 'that I have dealt two aces to my +dummy and one to each of my adversaries. I have, as it +happens, given myself four good hearts; there are five small +hearts in my dummy's hand, and my adversaries have each +two. I should accordingly declare hearts on this deal though +I have only four in the suit, and am quite sure to win +heavily.' +</p> + +<p> +"He turned up the cards and showed that he had correctly +described them. +</p> + +<p> +"The evidence was conclusive. +</p> + +<p> +"We looked at Captain Towers. He had covered his face +with his hands. A report of the inquiry was forwarded to +headquarters, and Captain Towers was ordered to submit +himself to a court martial or quit the service. But Towers +did not wait for any instructions from headquarters. He +disappeared suddenly from our midst. The day following +the inquiry he was gone. He had left numerous creditors +behind, which we thought the more iniquitous, as his short +career among us had left him a winner at cards and on the +turf of over £15,000. He had never repaid advances made by +O'Gorman, O'Grady, and myself, Simpson had an unpaid +bill of £50 against him with the mare as set-off, but a +steeplechaser whose teeth have been tampered with is not a very +realizable asset, and he was glad to take £100 from Major +O'Gorman for the animal, with the understanding that the +balance was to be paid to any legal claimant who might turn +up. +</p> + +<p> +"I will observe that the mare's bad temper was a fiction of +Towers'. She had nothing wrong with her but a delicate +mouth, and the touch of the curb was an agony to her that +caused her to rear. She became O'Gorman's favorite hunter, +and won him many a race, but she had to carry weight in +consideration of her previous performances as The Scapegoat, +her old name, which was honestly restored to her. +</p> + +<p> +"A terrible catastrophe followed Towers' disappearance. +If he had not entirely ruined me, he was the actual sole cause +of the ruin of my poor young kinsman, Lieutenant O'Grady. +He had borrowed money from O'Grady when he had any to +lend, won from him at cards and, we now knew, cheated him, +besides inducing him to make absurd books on horse-races +with him. O'Grady was irretrievably insolvent. He came +of a family of good and honorable soldiers. He felt that +honor soiled and sullied, and on the day following Towers' +departure, O'Grady blew his brains out. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall never forget our meeting after the funeral. We +swore among us that if ever the chance presented itself we +would be even with the cold-blooded villain Towers. It has +happened that I alone among us was able to redeem that +oath. +</p> + +<p> +</p> + +<p> +"I cannot lay all the blame of my own misfortunes upon +Captain Towers. Some of it at least was due to my own +stupidity and my own extravagance. +</p> + +<p> +"I could only just pay my debts and I was nearly a +pauper, with no chances left. My purpose was to enlist in +some regiment going to India or the Colonies. I mentioned +my intention to Inspector Medlicott, as a man of wide +experience, to whose society I had taken a fancy. +</p> + +<p> +"'Don't do anything so rash with your life, sir,' he said. +'Don't waste it—you've had your lesson. You've learnt a +lot without knowing that you've learnt anything. Go where +you can use what you have learnt.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And where's that, Mr. Inspector? I am too old and +ignorant of business for an office, and I don't know any +situation where they have any use for the sort of thing I know.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Come to us,' said the Inspector, 'work your way up from +the ranks. It's more interesting than soldiering, and quite +as dangerous.' +</p> + +<p> +"This is how I came to enter the detective force, and I +never have regretted taking Inspector Medlicott's advice. +Nevertheless, I did not take it quite at once. It is a big +jump from being an officer in a smart cavalry regiment to +the rank and file of the Force at Scotland Yard. I hesitated +for a time and tried other ways, but I need dwell no longer +at present upon that interval in my career." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0202"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER II +<br><br> +THE GREAT JEWEL ROBBERY AT BALIN ABBEY +</h3> + +<p> +"You began, Mr. Morgan," I said, "by telling me that you +would give me some account of the great jewel robbery at +Balin Abbey, and the burglar you call Gentleman Coggins." +</p> + +<p> +"I have been telling you about Gentleman Coggins," said +Inspector Morgan, "all along. Captain Towers and +Gentleman Coggins are one and the same person." +</p> + +<p> +"What!" I said, "an officer in the army turned London +burglar! Towers sank so low as that, did he?" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't say 'sank,'" said Morgan, laughing, "say rather he +rose. There is rank in crime as in every other profession. +No man stands so high as Coggins—Ikey Coggins. Captain +Towers, who cheated us all at cards and won those thousands +of pounds on the turf and then let himself be found out, is +not to be named in rank and social position with Ikey +Coggins—<i>alias</i> Conkey Coggins—<i>alias</i> Gentleman Coggins. He +stands at the head of his profession in Great Britain. He +has been suspected and watched by the police for years, and +never once been nabbed, never once been sent to jail, never +once even been brought before a court of justice. It is a +proud position!"—The Inspector smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"Did he go at once from soldiering to burglary?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Morgan. "Captain Towers went first to +America. After a short and successful career in that country, +finding it got too hot to hold him, he got killed in an +accident." +</p> + +<p> +I laughed—"A sham accident, I presume." +</p> + +<p> +"No, the accident was serious enough. One of the biggest +things of the kind in America of that season. Sixty drowned, +forty burned to death, and over a hundred injured for life, +but I don't suppose Towers was anywhere near the place +where it happened. I have kept the announcement of his +death in the <i>Morning Post</i>. It is a curiosity." +</p> + +<p> +The Inspector drew from his pocket a newspaper cutting +and read aloud: "'<i>Obituary Notice</i>. We regret to announce +the death, in the recent accident on the Wabash & +Susquehanna Railway, America, of Captain Towers, late of +H.M.... The great success of Captain Towers as a gentleman +rider on the Irish Turf, his fine horsemanship and his +phenomenal winnings will be in the recollection of our readers. +Captain Towers was not only a gentleman rider of remarkable +skill, but a sportsman of rare integrity. His winning +of a fortune on the Irish Turf was the immediate cause of +his honorable retirement from the British Army. The +sudden melancholy demise of Captain Towers has cut short +what promised to become a very brilliant sporting career +in the United States, where he leaves many admiring +friends.' +</p> + +<p> +"The fact is," said Inspector Morgan, "that Pinkerton's +police were hot upon his scent, and he bolted over here, under +a false name, just in time to save himself. He had won +quite a lot of American money." +</p> + +<p> +"He must have been a rich man with his winnings on both +sides of the water." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but not too rich for the position he aspired to take +up in the profession." +</p> + +<p> +"What!" I said. "It takes capital to set up as a London +burglar?" +</p> + +<p> +"A very large capital. That is, if you have ambition to +take rank. Recollect, too, it is one of the most lucrative +professions in the world. Great lawyers, great surgeons, +great jockeys, are not in it with great burglars. When you +may look to net from £50 to £200,000 a year, you must not +stint in preliminary expenses." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't really see, Mr. Morgan, what a burglar can require +beyond a set of burglary tools, a pair of list slippers, +a mask, a dark lantern, a revolver, and perhaps a few +skeleton keys and center-bits." +</p> + +<p> +Morgan smiled. "That is not enough for the modern +professional. It was all very well for the old-fashioned +cracksman. The modern burglar leads a double life. He passes +half his time in society—of a kind—the other half among +his pals. He has to keep in his pay an army of retainers as +large as a mediæval baron. Some of them are his agents, +some his spies, half the criminal classes in town are his +pensioners, and good pay, too, they get, for if he give less +than the police offer, the rascals would betray him at once. +Then he has to pay for the defense in court of his agents +when they get caught. I calculate that a man in the position +of Ikey Coggins, lately Captain Towers, does not pay away +less than twelve or fifteen thousand a year." +</p> + +<p> +"And it pays him to do that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Handsomely. Why, a single haul like the one at Balin +Abbey must have brought in not far short of £100,000. Even +the papers said £60,000, but ladies, we find, invariably lessen +their losses in these cases." +</p> + +<p> +"Was Towers' name mentioned in the case? I don't +remember his name in the papers." +</p> + +<p> +"He was only known among us as Coggins. His identity +with Captain Towers did not come out at the trial. No +one but four or five persons can know the truth about +it. Of course, my chiefs at the office know, for I told +them." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it to be a secret still?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't see that it's any use making a secret of it any +longer. It's ancient history now. Certainly not to you, +who are, if you will allow me to call you so, a brother official +and something of a colleague. +</p> + +<p> +"You honor me, Morgan, by calling me so. But tell me this +story of the jewel robbery if it's fresh in your memory. It's +anything but fresh in mine." +</p> + +<p> +"It is in mine. It was my first big job, and it won my +inspectorship for me." +</p> + +<p> +"Then, please, Mr. Morgan, tell me the story, and tell it +in your own way. I don't know a better. You give the +length and breadth and look of things and let me see their +working out, so that I could do it all myself if I wanted to. +I never get that sort of thing in books. I suppose it's a +detective's way of telling a story to his brother detective." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose it may be that," said Inspector Morgan. "We +know the importance of detail. One nail-hole in a footprint +on a dusty road may make all the difference between finding +our man or losing him." +</p> + +<p> +I interrupted him as he was beginning his story. +</p> + +<p> +"One thing I want to know first. You said the swindler +Towers, who had given himself out as dead in that name, +was leading a double life in London. Surely he has not +come to life again and resumed his own name?" +</p> + +<p> +Morgan paused. "Well, he is undoubtedly living a double +life. That is certain, for 'Coggins' disappears from time to +time, but, so to say, his life activity goes on." +</p> + +<p> +"And what's his new name? What is his other life?" +</p> + +<p> +"The answer to that question," said Inspector Morgan, "is +the answer to the problem I set myself to discover. You will +see that I did discover it. More by a strange sort of accident +than by any cleverness of mine it came out. That he kept +his secret so long was due to his wonderful talent." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean that the police knew Coggins and could lay +their hands on him when they would, but the other life of +the man was a mystery to them?" +</p> + +<p> +"Just so, and what was the good of arresting Coggins? +He managed that there should never be a scrap of evidence +against him, though we know he was behind every big thing +in London and 100 miles round London. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, when Balin Abbey was broken into, Coggins was +at Pangford, eight miles away, and our fellows had been +there watching him for a week. He was staying at the Balin +Arms at Pangford as Monsieur Dubois, traveling for a Lyons +silk firm and booking a good many orders for silk skirtings +and dress pieces. The man was the life and soul of the +Commercial Room, speaking fluent English with a French accent +and singing French songs to the piano in the travelers' room! +What can you do with such a fellow!" +</p> + +<p> +"What made your people watch him?" +</p> + +<p> +"We had got notice from trustworthy sources that he had +gone to crack a crib, as they call it, on the outskirts of +Pangford. We had three good men on the watch, Sergeant +Smith and two others under him, and they reported that he +was seen at odd hours to be watching and studying this +particular house—a retired manufacturer's villa." +</p> + +<p> +"A blind, I suppose?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not exactly; the house was broken into the very night +following the affair at Balin Abbey, when every one was full +of that, and the fellow got off with £5,000 in plate and +jewelry. The burglary, however, could not be traced to +Coggins, though of course we suspected him. +</p> + +<p> +"It was the day after the great affair at the Abbey that my +chief sent for me. 'There is something going on down in +Somersetshire,' he said, 'which beats us all. Coggins is in +it. I can tell you that much, but I can tell you no more. +We are going to give you a chance of unraveling matters.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Stop, Morgan," I said. "Pray, did your chief know or +did you guess that Coggins and Towers were the same +person?" +</p> + +<p> +"He did not and I did not—at that time. All we knew of +Coggins was that he was a burglaring luminary of the first +order, who had come from nowhere about four years before +and had beaten all our best men." +</p> + +<p> +"Please go on. Forgive me for interrupting. I won't again." +</p> + +<p> +Morgan continued: "'The case,' said my chief, when I +went before him, 'is peculiar, and we are taking unusual +measures to come at the truth. The facts, as we know them, +are these—(Forget what you have read in the newspapers, +the reporters have got hold of some things by the wrong end). +The plain facts are these: +</p> + +<p> +"Lord and Lady Balin were entertaining a house party +at the Abbey some days ago. On the 23d of this month of +January there was a big shoot on. The day was fine, dry +and frosty; the wind got up at night and some rain had +fallen. +</p> + +<p> +"'The ladies joined the guns at lunch time at a point +in the Balin woods some two miles from the Abbey. Every +one of the ladies had elected to walk, except two: the hostess, +Lady Balin, and Lady Drusilla Lancaster, an elderly lady, a +first cousin of Lord Balin. These two ladies were driven to +the luncheon place in her Ladyship's pony phaeton. +</p> + +<p> +"'The fact is important; because that night the Abbey +was broken into, and the room of every one of the ladies was +entered by the burglar, or burglars, except Lady Drusilla's.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Lady Balin's room was not entered?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, it was,' said my chief, 'and the famous Balin +emeralds were abstracted. They are historical jewels, and +cannot be worth less than £20,000.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then the inference which you wish me to draw, that the +four-mile walk and the day in the open air would have made +all the ladies drowsy except the hostess and Lady Drusilla, +partly breaks down.' +</p> + +<p> +"My chief smiled. 'Only partly. Lady Balin is a stout +lady, and presumably a heavy sleeper. That fact would +be known to the dwellers at the Abbey—servants and +others.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah,' I said, 'you suspect connivance of some one in the +house? +</p> + +<p> +"'We are sure of it. The burglar had learnt when to +break in, where to break in, and, being in, where to go. +The house is ancient and very large, and the corridors and +passages and bedrooms are a perfect rabbit warren; no one +but an inmate could make his way about. He made no mistake. +He went into every room where there were jewels to be +got, and he took everything except the pearls and diamonds +of Lady Drusilla. The old lady is more careless even than +most ladies with her jewels, and insists upon her maid leaving +the string of pearls—about the biggest in the country—hanging +by the side of her mirror, and her diamond necklace +and pendant fastened to her pincushion, where she can see +both from her bed in the light of her night-light. Coggins, +or his agent, never troubled her, however, and her diamonds +and pearls were safe in the morning.' +</p> + +<p> +"The chief had turned over the pages of a little MS. pocket-book, +and he referred to an entry in it as he read these +particulars in the habits and behavior of Lady Drusilla +Lancaster. +</p> + +<p> +"'Lord Balin,' my chief went on, 'was here this morning. +He asks, with the sanction of the local police, for the help of +Scotland Yard. He wished to offer a great reward. I +dissuaded him. He was himself of opinion that the burglar +must have a confederate in the house. I told him I had no +doubt of it. I told him I would send a couple of my men +down to make inquiries. These inquiries, as you know, +Sergeant, made openly and to the knowledge of every one, +are worth next to nothing. I told Lord Balin so; but told +him that, with his leave, I would also send down a competent +officer with two assistants, who, while the other officers would +fill the eyes of the people at Balin, would carry on a real +inquiry. Would Lord Balin agree to receive such an officer +as a guest?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Lord Balin hesitated. He said, 'Would the detective be +enough used to the ways of the world not to be discovered at +once by the rest of my guests?' +</p> + +<p> +"'The person I shall choose,' said my chief, 'will run no +such risk.' +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin bowed. 'I have an idea,' he said. 'I have a +distant cousin in Australia of whom I often talk. I have +never seen him since he was a child. Let your officer +impersonate him.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What is his age?" +</p> + +<p> +"'About thirty or thirty-five,' said Lord Balin. +</p> + +<p> +"'Rich or poor?' asked the chief. +</p> + +<p> +"'Fabulously rich. A squatter who has speculated +successfully in gold mines in Western Australia.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The very thing. My officer shall go down in a motor, +with a chauffeur, and an Irish valet, both trustworthy officers +in the force. Pray, Lord Balin, may I ask if you have +lunched?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Not yet. I propose to do so at my club.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Please do, and when you come back I will introduce you +to your relative from Australia!' +</p> + +<p> +"'Before Lord Balin went off to lunch," said my chief, 'I +took down from his lips certain intimate particulars relative +to every guest staying in the Abbey. Here are my +memoranda. Put them in your pocket and study them at your +leisure.' +</p> + +<p> +"My chief, having given me these details of his conversation +with Lord Balin with his accustomed succinctness and +lucidity, turned to me and said: +</p> + +<p> +"'You will guess, Sergeant Morgan, that the cousin from +Australia, whose name is Stanley, is yourself. Macgregor +is your chauffeur, and O'Brien your valet and servant, both +in your division; they will, of course, take their orders +directly from you. Go with O'Brien to the stores now and +make yourself ready to go down to Somersetshire. You +know what a smart man's outfit should be on a country visit. +As you are a millionaire, you may safely outdo good taste. +You will take my own 24 h.p. Napier. Macgregor is +accustomed to drive it, and he will carry you down in less than +five hours. Try to get there before ten, so as to see the guests +and make a good impression before you turn in for the night, +The rest I leave entirely to you. Go now and make your +preparations and purchases, and in two hours' time come +back here and make Lord Balin's acquaintance.' +</p> + +<p> +"When I returned Lord Balin was with my chief. +</p> + +<p> +"He received me very pleasantly. Lord Balin is known +for a charm of manner not common among Englishmen of +his class. In his case it is explainable by the fact that he +was in diplomacy before he succeeded to the peerage. I +think my chief had said more in my favor than he had told +me, for Lord Balin smoothed over a difficult position cleverly +and kindly. He seemed particularly struck by the humor of +the situation, and acted the part of a long-separated relation +to perfection. +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, Mr. Stanley, you have changed less than I +expected. It is true you were a chubby infant of four when +your father carried you off to the Antipodes; you've grown, +my boy, but not out of remembrance. I could swear to those +eyes of yours. You don't remember me, Mr. Stanley—Stanley, +I mean, for I must drop the Mr. with Dick Stanley's +you. +</p> + +<p> +"'Now tell me, my dear Stanley, one thing. Can you +shoot? Have you taken after your poor father in that?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I used to shoot pretty straight,' I said, 'years ago. I +hope I haven't forgotten how.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I'm very glad to hear it. We have a big shoot on +to-morrow, and we want an extra gun. Moreton is half blind, +Pulteney nervous, and there is only myself left to account +for the pheasants, and you, if you will help me. You didn't +bring your guns from Australia?' asked Lord Balin slily. +</p> + +<p> +"'No,' I said, 'I'm afraid I left them behind.' +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind, we can find you all that at the Abbey. I +thought, Sir Henry,' said Lord Balin, addressing my chief, +'that I would not put off this shoot. It is one planned on +pretty much the same scale as the one we had on the 23d, +the day of the robbery, and I thought it would help our +friend'—he turned to me—'that everything should take place +to-morrow as it took place on the day the Abbey was broken +into.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Excellent idea! Pray, Lord Balin, combine your plans +with Sergeant—with Mr. Stanley.' He laughed, shook hands +with Lord Balin, nodded to me, and went off. 'You have +your last orders, Sergeant,' he said to me as he left the +room. +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin and I talked over things in the chief's room, +and the more we talked the more did Lord Balin smooth over +the awkwardness of the situation in which I found myself +about to plunge, into the midst of a kind of society in which +I had practically taken no part for over six years, and in +which I was to appear—with the best of motives, of course—under +false pretences, and in a name which did not belong +to me. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"It was a pleasant drive down to Balin Abbey in Somersetshire: +cold but pleasant. We three professionals talked +naturally of nothing but the great jewel robbery. Certainly +our chief could not have given me a better staff. Macgregor +is a young Scotsman of great intelligence and promise. He +would take advantage of his superior position in the house +as chauffeur to deal with the upper servants. Phelim +O'Brien, a clever, good-looking, lively Irishman, who had +himself served in the Irish Constabulary, had found the +county work in that service too dull, enlisted into a line +regiment, had been an officer's servant, but gave that up for +harder work of a higher kind, and found his way at last to +Scotland Yard. We trusted to him to find out what was +going on among the valets and ladies' maids in the servants' +hall. We naturally talked of 'Coggins,' the mysterious factor +in the criminal world. Coggins, who went about evading +us—the king of burglars, a master of disguise and make-up, +admired and feared by every thief, bully, and hooligan in the +streets—and though always suspected, never arrested. The +very boys chaffed the policeman on his beat with "<i>Yah! +Pinch Coggins—caunt yer? garn!</i>"—and here was this +impudent scoundrel settled down at Pangford, within a few +miles of the scene of his last successful exploit—and not a +single ounce of evidence against him!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0203"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER III +<br><br> +THE CIRCLE AT BALIN ABBEY +</h3> + +<p> +"Balin Abbey, in Somersetshire, is a huge, stately building +of Shakespeare's time, untouched by the hand of the restorer—a +gray pile that stands up amid a wide, flat area of grounds +and gardens contemporary with itself, with stone paved +courts and pathways and tall rectilineal yew hedges. As we +drew up, the moonlight of a wind-still winter night shone +full upon its walls and the few ancient cedars that grew +thereby, and displayed the armorial carvings on wall +surfaces and gable ends. +</p> + +<p> +"The ground is a plain, far and near, and the park studded +with oak trees of great size. No high road runs within a +mile of the Abbey, and I asked myself how the burglar could +approach the house for purposes even of inspection without +arousing observation, but Macgregor reminded me that the +Abbey was one of the famous show houses of England, +containing many valuable works of the great foreign masters +and also priceless family portraits by Reynolds, Romney, +and Raeburn. +</p> + +<p> +"'Be jabers,' said Phelim O'Brien, 'I hope the knowledge +of that same won't reach 'Gentleman Coggins' at Pangford. +If it does, the devil a picture will be left on the walls of +Balin Abbey.' +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I never was so cordially, even so exuberantly, welcomed. +Lord Balin could not better have played the part of a host +welcoming a long-parted relative. His guests, many of whom +had known and heard of my supposed father, came forward +as cordially as their host. It was fortunate for me that I had +done garrison duty in Australia, or I should have been puzzled +by some of the questions I was expected to answer. +</p> + +<p> +"For a moment I was confounded at the responsibility of +my new part and even ashamed of my imposture. I was like +an actor thrust forward upon the stage to act some +important part that he feels to be beyond his powers, and is +astounded at his own undeserved success and the applause of +his audience. +</p> + +<p> +"I could see that there was not a shadow of suspicion in +any of the company that I was anybody but the person I was +impersonating. Presently I began to reflect that to do any +good to my superior and to Lord Balin and his despoiled +guests I must do my utmost to second Lord Balin's +endeavors to put me in the shoes of Dick Stanley's son. So I +let myself go forward, and presently I was, as the saying is, +in the very skin of my part, and I began to be almost +persuaded that I was no other than young Robert Stanley, +Australian squatter and millionaire. I had studied my +chief's note-book in coming down. Most of the guests seemed +to me thoroughly commonplace and uninteresting people. +Lord and Lady Moreton and their two plain, good-humored +daughters, Lord Pulteney, a young man with every appearance +of health and strength, but, according to his own account, +a nerve-shattered neurasthenic, who got one into +corners to complain of his health and the last new theories +on serums, microbes, and what not. Two persons in the +company struck me as standing apart, both were women. +</p> + +<p> +"One was the elderly lady whom I have mentioned before, +Lady Drusilla Lancaster; the other a remarkably smart and +handsome woman who was introduced to me as Mrs. Townley, +I should call her an unusually well-dressed woman from the +milliner's point of view, for I have eye enough to know what +women and milliners mean by well dressed. It generally +leaves men who are worth anything cold, but this woman had +evidently thought less of the fashion plates, in dressing +herself, than of her remarkable beauty of face, hair, eyes and +figure, and dressed to enhance these attributes. Her gown +and its garniture seemed to me to be simple in defiance of +the present mode which is not simple. +</p> + +<p> +"When I put this point of view, admiringly, to Lady +Drusilla Lancaster, that wise lady placed her double +eyeglass upon her austere and aquiline nose and contemplated +Mrs. Townley's half-reclining form with a severe +expression. +</p> + +<p> +"'Pretty creature!' she said, with more contempt than +admiration in her tone. 'That soft cloudy mauve goes +wonderfully with that bright complexion of hers and her golden +brown hair. And that great diamond-clasped pearl dog-collar +on her neck and the pearl embroidery on her dress and +the dog-collar bracelets of diamond and pearls suit her white +skin perfectly. But I think you said, simple?' +</p> + +<p> +"'The effect is simple.' +</p> + +<p> +"'My dear man!'—it was a favorite old-fashioned form of +speech with Lady Drusilla—'my dear man, if simple means +easy and if simple means cheap, that confection is nothing of +the sort. Trust a woman's eyes! Paquin or Raudnitz has +had sleepless nights over that dress, and you may be sure +those <i>nuits blanches</i> will be represented in Paquin's or +Raudnitz's bills!' +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Townley is rich, I believe?' +</p> + +<p> +"'She is a widow, or rather a grass widow, without children, +whose husband came into, or made, a great fortune the +other day—so I hear. Her wealth is one of her many charms.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I never thought wealth was a charm.' +</p> + +<p> +"'It never was one in my best time. It is now. Hideous +people with horrid manners come among us, and if they are +rich, we overlook their looks, and their ways, and adore them. +Then, just imagine what we do with rich people with sweet +faces and figures, who know how to dress and talk, like +Mrs. Townley!' +</p> + +<p> +"'You say <i>her</i> charm. Is her husband, then, a person of +no importance?' +</p> + +<p> +"'On the contrary, a man of great importance and intelligence; +for does he not manufacture the money that pays for +all that luxury? +</p> + +<p> +"'A dull, money-grubbing sort of man, I suppose?' +</p> + +<p> +"'My cousin Balin says not—says he is charming. His +only fault is that he is never, so to say, anywhere. He is +always traveling—always in pursuit of fortune, and always +overtaking it. He even traveled here one day to see his wife +and make Lord Balin's acquaintance. Balin says he is a +delightful man and clever and learned beyond words. He +was interested in everything—the architecture, the abbey +ruins, and, above all, the pictures. It seems he found out all +sorts of masterpieces in the gallery that no one had ever +suspected. The next morning before breakfast he had +disappeared, had rushed down to Southampton to catch the next +steamer for Tokio or the River Plate, I forget which.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I am glad you approve of Mrs. Townley,' I said. 'She is +certainly charming.' +</p> + +<p> +"'She is; but pray do not go and fall in love with her, +Mr. Stanley. Believe me, she is horrid in some ways, and I owe +it to the son of my old friend Dick Stanley to tell him so.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Horrid?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Horrid! A baddish, indiscriminate flirt, a heartless +woman, and a very selfish one, insincere and—all the rest of +it. Mind, I don't say not virtuous. I am sure she is as good +as gold. It makes it all the worse, for it deprives her of the +excuse of temptation.' +</p> + +<p> +"I was so taken aback by this outspokenness that I said +nothing for a minute. 'Now,' said the lady, 'that I have +given myself away, and made you think me a spiteful old +cat, I'll tell you why I said it all.' +</p> + +<p> +"I smiled. 'You spoke out, and I am rather afraid your +voice reached to Mrs. Townley's ears.' +</p> + +<p> +"'My dear man! I talked loud just that I might not be +heard. That woman has the ears of a lynx. If I had dropped +my voice she would have overheard every word I said. She +is not like one of us, who never condescend to listen when +people abuse us. But no, I change my mind, I won't say why +I abuse her. Let's leave her alone. You see I hate her! Tell +me about yourself and your father. I knew him well and +liked him immensely. Shall I confess the truth? I +admired him—we most of us did. You have just his eyes, +Mr. Stanley, and you would be like him but for that horrid beard +of yours. Forgive me for saying that! He was in the Guards +when I knew him first. Then he got into debt—all the nice +ones do—and exchanged into a crack cavalry regiment—which? the +Scots Greys, I think—ruined himself entirely, +and we had to let him go to the land of kangaroos and gold. +Dear Mr. Stanley, if you wore your moustache only, you +would be the image of him. You have just his height, his +square shoulders and his light figure.' +</p> + +<p> +"I may remark here that I had let my beard grow when I +had left the army, short and trimmed back, to be sure—but +it was a most complete disguise. I passed my oldest friends +in the street and they never knew me. There is no such +disguise as a beard. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin followed the hospitable custom of showing +his latest guest his bedroom. I noticed that the guests left +the drawing-room in a body, and we found ourselves in the +great hall from which broad flights of polished oaken stairs +lead in three directions to the bedrooms on the floor above. +On the hall table were two great silver trays, on one of which +had been ranged decanters of white wines and spirits, with +mineral waters. On the other were great crystal decanters of +what looked like barley water. Most of the men and all the +women drank copiously of this soothing and harmless beverage. +All except Lady Drusilla. I filled a glass and brought +it to her. She took it and touched the rim with her lips, +barely tasting the liquid. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is bad luck, isn't it?' she said, smiling (there are few +things more taking than the rare smile of an austere old +woman), 'to refuse the first thing one is offered by a new +friend, and I want nothing bad to come between us two.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Thank you,' I said. 'You don't like barley water?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Well,' she said, 'if I drank as much dry champagne and +sweet Benedictine as some of the women, perhaps I should be +thirsty too. Besides which,' said Lady Drusilla with a +curious bluntness, 'I don't like my drink meddled with by other +people.' +</p> + +<p> +"'How meddled with?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, the other night I came out just before the others. +I was sleepy, and I saw a woman stirring up the barley water +with a long spoon. "What are you doing?" I asked, staring +at her. "Only putting in a little more sugar. It is never +quite sweet enough for me," she said.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I wonder who it was?' I remarked. 'The housekeeper, +perhaps.' +</p> + +<p> +"Lady Drusilla did not appear to hear my question, +'Good-night,' she said, 'and don't dream of burglars.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I shall lock my door,' I said, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +"'I shall not lock mine,' she said, 'for all the burglars in +England, besides—' +</p> + +<p> +"I laughed. 'You are not afraid of seeing a masked figure +with a dark lantern in one hand and a revolver in the +other—' +</p> + +<p> +"'Not at all,' she said, laughing in her turn. 'That is not +the sort of figure I should see. I don't think I should see a +man at all. Oh! I shouldn't be afraid.' +</p> + +<p> +"We both laughed. I don't quite know why. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Townley had interrupted her talk with young Lord +Pulteney and was watching us. Was she, like the man in +the old play, sure we were talking of her because we laughed +so heartily? +</p> + +<p> +"I followed Lord Balin after the others had all said their +last good-nights and had gone to the bedrooms. He showed +me into mine. No sooner had he shut the door behind him +than he sat down and laughed heartily. +</p> + +<p> +"'Now, did I do it well?' he asked. 'I used to be rather +good at private theatricals, but, by Jove, I don't think I ever +played so well as to-night. And you? Do you know the +whole lot of them have been congratulating me on my +new-found kinsman. Lady Drusilla raves about you, and the +beautiful Mrs. Townley is sulking with her for monopolizing +you all the evening. I say, though, my boy, there's one thing +I'm sorry for—damned sorry for!' +</p> + +<p> +"'What is that, Lord Balin?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Why, that it isn't true—that you are not Bob Stanley +and come to settle in the Old Country.' +</p> + +<p> +"I had come to discharge a rather difficult and disagreeable +duty, and, behold, I found myself in a Capua! +</p> + +<p> +"'It's my great wealth that does it, I suppose. Lady +Drusilla tells me wealth is the modern <i>open sesame</i> into +society and into men's and women's hearts.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Not into mine, Stanley—and, by Jove, if you knew her, +not into my cousin Drusilla's either.' +</p> + +<p> +"I thought it about time to get Lord Balin to give me +some particulars. He was prepared. He had brought a plan +of the first floor of the house. +</p> + +<p> +"Morgan took out his note-book, and on a blank sheet of it +drew a rough sketch. +</p> + +<p> +"The cross marks the place where the burglar had forced +an entry, by entering the conservatory, climbing up a ladder +inside, pushing up a skylight, and entering the corridor +which leads to all the bedrooms of the guests. Observe that +the bedroom marked A is mine, opposite to me is the bedroom +B, occupied on the night of the robbery by Mrs. Townley. +While her bedroom was entered and valuable jewels +taken, Lady Drusilla's, marked C, was left unentered, +although the burglar must have passed her door on his way +to the other wing of the house, where every room occupied +by a lady was entered and the jewels abstracted. The passing +by of Lady Drusilla's door, though it was known to every +one what a prize lay there unguarded for the taking, was +unaccountable, and perhaps should furnish some clue to the +thief and the motives of the thief. +</p> + +<p> +"I asked Lord Balin if the forcing of the window leading +from the end of the corridor on the flat roof of the +conservatory might not be a sham entry, while all the time +the real thief was some one, perhaps a servant, in the +house. +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin had considered that, but he did not think it +possible. In the first place, the entry had been effected, +according to the testimony of the two officers from Scotland +Yard, with such skill that it could be the work of no one but +a skilled professional. They would no doubt report all the +circumstances to me, when I should deem it prudent to see +them. I told Lord Balin that the officer Macgregor had been +instructed by me to act as intermediary between myself and +the two detectives, so as not to arouse suspicion by my +speaking to them myself. +</p> + +<p> +"'Then,' said Lord Balin, 'I can't do better than let you +ring for your valet and chauffeur, interview them and leave +you together. If you want to see me in private, you will +always find me alone in the library.' +</p> + +<p> +"Macgregor and O'Brien came and brought with them +the report of the two detectives on the spot. They exactly +confirmed what Lord Balin had told me. The window of the +corridor was strongly barred with iron, and a bar had been +removed from its soldered inlet in the stonework of the +window. A circular hole had been cut through the thick +plate-glass window, exactly over the bolt in the heavy oaken +shutter, the shutter likewise had been neatly perforated with +a burglar's center-bit, the bolt pushed back, and window and +shutter opened. No one but a very clever professional +burglar could do such work so neatly, and even so it was a +job that would take some time to execute. There was the +mark of a hand on the glass and on the shutter, but the +hand had been gloved. No betraying finger-marks had been +left. There were plentiful footprints on the turf near where +the entrance had been effected, the night having been rainy +and the wind high. There were even muddy marks where a +man had trodden in the corridor, but, after four or five steps, +the muddy impressions got fainter, as they naturally would, +and presently disappeared altogether. The prints were +untraceable for this reason, that rough socks had been drawn +over the wearer's boots. So much for the burglar's entry. +The wonder was that any one could break into Balin Abbey, +for a night fireman was on duty all night in the hall. It is +true he was a very old man, and that he remained on the +ground floor and only patrolled the hall and the rooms on +that floor, but the hall runs up nearly to the roof of the house, +and any movement in the corridors would presumably be visible +or audible from below. It seemed, moreover, impossible +to come near the house without being observed, for, at +nightfall, two under-keepers patrol the grounds, with two fierce +bloodhounds in leash. After this patrolling, the dogs, which +are kept shut up in the dark all day, are let loose, and only +taken in again and fed at daylight. This practice, a +precaution against poachers and tramps, had been followed for +years, and was known all over the neighborhood. Under +these difficult circumstances a burglarious entry of the +premises had always seemed to the owners and inmates of Balin +Abbey an impossible circumstance. +</p> + +<p> +"I had suggested to Lord Balin almost at once upon my +introduction to him that the robbery might have been done +by a servant, male or female, either in the service of a guest +or of the family. Lord Balin had told me that this was in +the last degree improbable, from the fact of a curious +domestic usage in existence at the Abbey from the days when +the building had been a conventual house. All the men +servants sleep in the east wing of the third story, and the +women in the west wing—neither inmates of the separate +sleeping apartments being able to reach the lower part of the +house without, in the case of the men, their passing through +a door of which the key is kept by the house steward; in the +case of the women, without their passing through the +bedroom of the housekeeper. +</p> + +<p> +"'This circumstance by itself, therefore, almost precludes +the possibility of collusion between an outside burglar and a +servant.' +</p> + +<p> +"It left this, then, as the inevitable conclusion. The +crime which, from its nature and all the circumstances of +difficulty surrounding it, could not have been committed by any +single unaided burglar, must have been the joint action of a +skilful professional criminal, acting in confederacy either +with an inmate of the house, not a servant, or else with the +connivance and help of one of the gamekeepers, of whom +there was a small army at Balin Abbey. I put this latter +possibility aside almost as soon as it occurred to me, for it is +well known to members of our profession that criminality, +of anything more than a petty larceny character, is nearly +unknown among the gamekeeper class in this country. Taking +them as a whole, a more respectable and honest community +of men does not exist. Apart from which, the keepers +have no access to the dwelling part of the house, and it was +proved that the burglar's confederate had a very complete +and intimate knowledge not only of where the possessors of +the jewels slept, but of exactly where, in what drawers, +cabinets or receptacles, the jewels were kept by their +owners. +</p> + +<p> +"I went to sleep that night with the problem summed up +in its shortest terms: A great and successful jewel robbery, +clear traces of burglarious entry by a most skilful operator, +the fact that the most notorious burglar in Great Britain +had taken up his residence in a town in the neighborhood, +the still more unaccountable circumstance that he still +remained there after the jewels were stolen. What could be the +only deduction from these facts but that, though the robbery +had been successful, the jewels had not yet been carried off +by the principal in the affair. They must therefore still be +in the Abbey. Since the robbery, I had been told that two +additional bloodhounds had been let loose every night. The +ways of these animals are well known, they are the fiercest +among the race of dogs, their natural prey is man, and they +never give tongue but when they scent their quarry. Unlike +almost every other description of dog, they never bark or bay +without cause. Therefore, if a single hound gives tongue in +the night, it would be a signal to the other hounds that their +quarry was afoot, the night would be filled by their baying, +and the whole house instantly on the alert. With four such +animals at large it was certain that no stranger would dare +to approach the windows of Balin Abbey. This, then, was +probably the explanation of the mystery of the continued +stay at Pangford of the burglar Coggins, if indeed he was +the author of the crime. He was waiting to receive the +proceeds of the robbery from his confederate, an inmate of the +Abbey. Why could not the jewels be made up into a parcel +and sent away by post? The answer is that such a proceeding, +since the advent of the police officers in the house, would +be an extremely risky operation. Every postal packet would +be scrutinized. +</p> + +<p> +"So far my conclusions had now led me. I had ordered +Macgregor to be ready for me with the motor by daylight. +O'Brien was to be on the watch round the house as soon +as the hounds were called in, which was always done as +soon as the eye could travel a hundred yards across the +lawns. +</p> + +<p> +"The next day was to bring with it several remarkable +surprises and discoveries." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0204"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IV +<br><br> +THE FIRST DISCOVERY +</h3> + +<p> +"I was up and was dressing before dawn, and from my +window watched the great walls of yew turn from black to +green, and their shadows, across the frost-covered lawns, +slowly shorten, as the sun's globe rose from the eastern woods. +I heard the keepers whistle, and saw the four fawn-coated +hounds gallop slowly and lurchingly toward the sound. As +they went they left their footprints on the white rime which +lay on turf, paths, and flower beds. It was going to be a +glorious day, and presently the sun, in a cloudless sky, would +draw up the slight hoar frost. I went down and went out. +I could hear the snorting of the motor in the stable-yard +where I had told Macgregor to wait for me, but I would go +round, first, by the conservatory under Mrs. Townley's and +my windows, and take a survey of the ground. I could see +for myself how, through the flat roof of the conservatory, +half glass, half lead, the burglar had made his way, and how, +from the roof, he had climbed by the thick stem of a wistaria +to the window of the corridor—a bold and difficult feat, and +one that only a master of his craft could attempt. How had +a man, doing all this at night, escaped the bloodhounds which +were at large every night? It puzzled me. And the +explanation only came later. +</p> + +<p> +"I walked along a broad stone-paved path that leads from +the conservatory, and looked back at the house. Every blind +was down and every shutter closed. The path leads to the +lawn tennis ground. I reached a grassy plot of turf beyond +where the few ruins of the ancient Abbey are visible, ruined +bits of walls and archways rising sheer from level well-shorn +turf. The ground all round was at present one level sheet of +hoar frost, dazzlingly white in the red rays of the rising sun. +</p> + +<p> +"My eye was caught suddenly by a curious break in the +whiteness, a little circular patch of green, no larger across +than the palm of a man's hand, close to a ruined archway +that rose out of the ground and broke the level monotony of +white. Clearly a piece of wood, probably the top of some +half-rotted post, just under the surface, had raised the +temperature and prevented the deposition of frost crystals in +that particular spot. +</p> + +<p> +"Though quite satisfied with my explanation, the fancy +took me to examine into the thing more closely. I went +down on my knees, and perceived at once that the circle was +artificially made, probably by a gardener's trowel. I +perceived that the tool had cut deep all round the little circle. +I took hold of the grass and pulled at it, but the slight frost +had frozen all together. I took a pen-knife from my pocket +and passed the longest blade deep round the circle and pulled +again at the blades of grass. The bit of turf lifted as the +top of a box lifts up and revealed the hole in the ground, +entirely filled by a brown paper parcel a little larger than a +man's fist. +</p> + +<p> +"The jewels? No! Only their gold settings. +</p> + +<p> +"I put the parcel half opened in my pocket, filled in the +hole with a clod of earth, replaced the turfy covering, +stamped all down smooth, and knew that, in half an hour, +when the sun should have melted the hoar frost, not a trace +would be left of my morning's work. +</p> + +<p> +"Who had done this? Who had detached the gems from +their setting and deposited them in this hiding-place? And +why had it been done? To answer the last question first: +The settings were clearly removed to lessen the chance of +detection, and to make the jewels more easy to pass or send +away. Who had taken the stones from the setting? Clearly +not the burglar. It was a two hours' job for an expert, +working with pliers and pincers. He would not have had the +time. Clearly it was the work of his confederate, the inmate +of the house, and he, or she, had hidden the gold settings in +a place where they might reasonably be expected to lie, lost +to man's cognizance, forever. The place of concealment was +admirably chosen—it was a secluded, unfrequented part of +the grounds, where the Abbey ruins lay—and a person +engaged in making the cache in such a spot could safely count +on not being observed by guests or gardeners. +</p> + +<p> +"I communicated my discovery to Macgregor as we +motored to Pangford, where I desired to see the chief of our +agents who were there to watch the suspected Coggins. +</p> + +<p> +"'It's growing warm, sir,' said Macgregor, when I showed +him the jewel settings. 'It's growing warm!' +</p> + +<p> +"I thought so too, yet we were as far as ever from bringing +the thing home to the man we were morally sure was the +real author of the crime—'Gentleman Coggins.'" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0205"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER V +<br><br> +SERGEANT SMITH: HIS OPINIONS AND ADVENTURES +</h3> + +<p> +"Sergeant Smith is in charge of the party deputed to +watch the redoubtable Coggins at Pangford. The Sergeant +is a North country man, senior to me in the force, but of +more recent promotion, a very hard-working, conscientious +man, but, to tell truth, I felt that Smith was not quite a +match for the wily Coggins. I did not let Macgregor take +the motor into the town, but waited outside the houses while +Macgregor went on foot and brought Sergeant Smith to report +and confer with me. +</p> + +<p> +"Sergeant Smith had a strange tale to relate. It appears +to him that Coggins has his heart in his new business. The +Sergeant prudently keeps out of Coggins' way himself for +fear of recognition, but neither of his men have ever seen +him or been seen by him, and they drop from time to time +into the bar parlor of the Balin Arms. From that 'coign of +vantage' they can hear Coggins in the commercial room, +talking loud in broken English, laughing, singing snatches of +French songs, vociferating in his foreign way, joking with +his fellow-travelers, boasting of his commercial successes, +and then again talking over his many customers. For he has +introduced some wonderful 'cheap lines,' as commercial people +call them, in silk ties, smart handkerchiefs, all sold at +remarkably low prices. He is out day after day, and at all +times of the day, with the inn dog-cart and the hostler's boy. +He visits all the neighboring village shops, and talk of him +has gone round the country. 'I suppose,' said Sergeant +Smith, 'he will get a dozen calls in a day from the small +shopkeepers in the towns and villages round about to get +more of his cheap stuff.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And no one, I suppose, has any suspicion about him?' I +asked. +</p> + +<p> +"'No danger! They just think him a smart business man +opening up a new line, and willing to let his stuff go cheap at +first. Naturally, they want to make hay while the sun +shines—and sometimes, Sergeant Morgan, I ask myself if this +Mr. Dubois, as he calls himself—' Sergeant Smith pondered. +</p> + +<p> +"'You ask yourself,' I suggested, 'if Mr. Dubois is really +Gentleman Coggins after all?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Just so,' said Smith, laughing. 'We are beginning here +to ask ourselves that.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I cannot help you, Sergeant Smith, I've never seen +Coggins—but you have.' +</p> + +<p> +"'That's just it,' said Smith. 'I've taken many a squint +at this fellow Dubois through windows and the like, and for +the life of me I can't spot him. The real Coggins is a sallow, +clean-shaven fellow, just like one of those actor chaps you +can see any day by the dozen in the Strand, and the real +Coggins pulls a long face. Now this man is a rosy-gilled +fellow—that's smiling and laughing all the time, no moustache, +but a stiff black beard, shaved a bit on the cheeks, and +going under his chin like a Newcastle ruff—French fashion.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I don't think the office have made any mistake. Stick to +him, Sergeant. It's Coggins, you bet!' +</p> + +<p> +"'I will stick to him, and I have stuck to him, Coggins or +not Coggins,' said Sergeant Smith, 'and I'll give you an +example of how I've done it. Yesterday he ordered the inn +dog-cart and drove out. It was close upon three o'clock in the +afternoon. I thought I would follow him on my bicycle, as +I had often done before in the last three weeks that we have +been watching him. I had not noticed that he had taken +his own bicycle with him in the cart, covered with a rug. He +drove to a village beyond Balin, got out and did business at +the general shop. I held back out of sight, and when I came +up to the trap again the hostler's lad was driving alone.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Why,' said I to the boy, 'where's Mr. Dubois?' +</p> + +<p> +"'He had his bicycle with him,' said the lad, 'and he goes +to Pincote village and gets me to leave samples at places on +the way back to Pangford.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Gone to Pincote, is he?' +</p> + +<p> +"'So I pedaled on fast, and presently got him in sight +again, and he led me a pretty chase long past Pincote, up and +down very bad roads, and I thought I'd just go up to him +for once, and ask him what the devil he was up to. Just at +this moment Dubois dashed into a narrow lane and I +followed him. I felt I had the speed of him, and was +overhauling him fast, when—whuff!—I ran over something and +punctured my tyre badly, very badly, and presently I had to +pull up. I got down, it was a clean cut, and in another part +of the tyre were two tin tacks stuck fast. Had Coggins, or +Dubois, whichever it is, sprinkled the road with glass and +tacks, or was it the work of some cantankerous fellow who +lived near the lane? I saw my man pedaling steadily ahead, +and presently he was out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +"'My bicycle was useless, and I stood over it, thinking +what I should do next. As I stood there cursing my luck I +heard a rustic come singing and whistling down the lane +from the direction toward which I had been traveling. +</p> + +<p> +"'He was a simple-looking young fellow in a tucked-up +smock frock and leather gaiters, with a little battered +wide-awake hat on the back of his head. He carried a bill-hook on +his shoulder, and tied to the bill by a bit of string was a pair +of thick, rough hedger's gauntlets. +</p> + +<p> +"'He stopped whistling <i>The Girl I Left Behind Me</i>, as he +saw me—stood and stared with his mouth open for a +good minute, then began to grin from ear to ear like an +idiot. +</p> + +<p> +"'Practicing to grin through a horse collar, are you, my +lad?' I said. 'Did you never see a punctured tyre before?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Forgie I,' said the fellow, in a strong Somersetshire +brogue. 'Forgie I, zur, fer a venturing to laugh, but I niver +zee two punctured uns in Farmer Joyce's lane, a one day +afoor!' and he laughed out loud. +</p> + +<p> +"'What?' I said. 'Is the other fellow caught too?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Ay, zur, at t'other end of the lane, and a swearing so +terrible bad I had to move away from he. Ha! ha! It do +tickle I!' +</p> + +<p> +"Then he looked suddenly serious. 'Yer moightend want a +bit o' hedging and ditching done, zur? I foinds my own +gloves and my own bill 'uk.' +</p> + +<p> +"'He leant his bill-hook on the ground and dangled his +great leathern gloves at me. +</p> + +<p> +"'I'm reckoned a foine worker!' he added. +</p> + +<p> +"'Tell me where's the nearest blacksmith's forge,' I said, +'and I'll give you sixpence.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Will ee now, zur?' he said with a greedy look in his eyes, +and he came near and held his hand out. 'T'other gentleman +gave I a shilling for tellin' he, but I'll take sixpence from +you, zur.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I put a shilling into his open hand and he began to +direct me. 'You be to go up droo the lane and keep a trending +and a turning to your left and then to your right, and +then to your left and then to your right again, droo the +moorland till you come plump on to a horse pond that's just +over against Jem Bevan's forge, only yer can't see the forge +rightly till you'm turned the next carner. Do ee understand +I, zur? and thanking yer for your shilling, I'll be going on +whoam, zur.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The young rustic was whistling again, and presently +he broke into his song again of <i>The Girl I left Behind Me</i>. +I suppose it was a sort of rustic chaff on his part. +</p> + +<p> +"'I dragged my bicycle up through the lane and out upon +the common, but I never saw a trace of the man I was after, +nor did I find Jem Bevan's forge.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But I suspect, Sergeant Smith, that you had found +Gentleman Coggins himself.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What, the grinning idiot with the bill-hook! Never! +Remember, I know Coggins by sight. This fellow was just +a silly Somersetshire lad with an accent you could cut with +a knife.' +</p> + +<p> +"I said no more, but I had my doubts. 'Tell me one thing, +Sergeant Smith. Is the man Dubois often away in the +night-time? Did you miss him, for instance, on the night of the +23d when the burglary at the Abbey was done?' +</p> + +<p> +"'No, Sergeant Morgan, we did not.' The detective took +out his note-book, and turning back to the date in question, +read out the following: +</p> + +<p> +"'January 23d.—Dubois, supposed Coggins, went out on +bicycle in early morning and never returned till dark. Saw +several visitors before leaving, said to be from neighboring +villages—some of them took samples away with them. He +received these customers mostly in little private office off his +bedroom—my man had looked into this office in his absence +one day, found it spread with samples, mostly cheap silks +and neckties. Same day, brisk business. Inn servants and +people in commercial room complain of Dubois's noisiness. +At 9.30 in the evening, a man, said to be from Pincote, came +to see him. Dubois angry, sent him away, reproved him loudly +for coming to see him late and just as he was going to bed. +</p> + +<p> +"'Allowed man to take parcel of samples, but refused to do +other business with him, told him he must come again at nine +next morning. Dubois called out in the hearing of inn +servants that he was going to turn in. Man left muttering. +Dubois was heard overhead in his bedroom for some time. +Officer remained on watch all night in neighborhood of inn. +Dubois did not go out. Nothing further happened.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Thank you, Sergeant Smith. Tell your men to keep +their eyes skinned. They have to deal with a sharp fellow in +Coggins—very clever at disguises. Let them be sure he +doesn't go out disguised and leave one of his fellows to +stamp about on the floor overhead, making them think +Coggins himself is at home.' +</p> + +<p> +"Sergeant Smith did not relish my advice. +</p> + +<p> +"'I thank you, Sergeant,' he said stiffly, 'for your counsel, +I will do my duty to the best of my ability.' +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0206"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VI +<br><br> +THE NEW BEATER +</h3> + +<p> +"We drove back to the Abbey, and I was in good time to +sit down with the party at breakfast and hear all the +preparations for the coming shoot. +</p> + +<p> +"After breakfast Lord Balin took me into the gun-room +and let me choose a couple of guns. As my host is of about +my own height and arm-length, I found no difficulty in +finding two that he had discarded with advancing age, a rather +heavy Lancaster and a lighter Westley Richards. +</p> + +<p> +"We drove to the woods about a mile away where the +shooting was to begin. Great traditions of sport are +followed at Balin—a company of keepers marshals and directs +an army of beaters, and the procession of shooters, beaters +and guns through the great beech wood is most interesting. +Pheasants and ground game abound, but the shooting is +varied. An occasional roe-deer starts before the beaters in +the copses. Now and again, a glade in the woods opens +and discloses a mere surrounded with willows, rushes and +sedges, where mallard, teal, widgeon and snipe rise before +the guns. +</p> + +<p> +"The day was clear and the air ringing. It is the good +old fashion at Balin Abbey not to repress the homely humor +of the rustic beaters. They seemed to enjoy the sport quite +as much as the gentlemen, and one heard jests and laughter +and mutual chaff among them. Now and again, when the +covert was more than usually thick, I heard singing along +the line. Some one with a clear, resonant voice had started +the well-known Somersetshire song, 'Cham a Zummerzetshire +man,' and keepers and beaters and even 'the guns' themselves +joined in the chorus to this air, known to every soul in +Somerset. +</p> + +<p> +"'Who is it with that good voice?' I asked of one of my +loaders. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is a queer half-cracked fellow that one of the keepers +picked up on the road, looking for a job of hedging and +ditching. He doesn't shirk his work in the woods, doesn't +Joe, and he keeps the line in heart with his songs and +catches.' +</p> + +<p> +"I remembered the misadventures of poor Sergeant Smith. +'What,' I thought, 'has Coggins the impudence to venture +into the lion's den?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Is the fellow,' I asked, 'a Somersetshire man?' +</p> + +<p> +"'By his talk,' said the loader, 'I should say he comes more +Devonshire way, but he knows all our West Country ditties. +Hark to him now, sir!' +</p> + +<p> +"The singer began the first verse of that queer old +Somersetshire ballad— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A shepherd kept sheep on a hill so high,<br> + And there came a fair lady riding by.<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +The long line of beaters and keepers burst out with the odd +uncouth words that form the chorus of the old ballad, and +beat the measure out vigorously with their sticks against the +tree trunks—then the ballad went on with the singer's ready +memory, and the verses were broken into now and again +with the rustle of a pheasant's wings through the tree +branches, the cries of a keeper, 'Hare back,' or 'Cock +forward,' or the banging of the guns. At the end of the song +the gentleman cried 'Bravo!' +</p> + +<p> +"'Where have I heard that voice?' I asked myself, 'that +fine, rolling baritone?' +</p> + +<p> +"We stopped to lunch at an enchanting spot in the great +beech woods. The ladies had already arrived and were sitting +or standing under the trees where the great bulging roots of +the beech trees, covered with moss, emerald green, formed +convenient seats. On the dry bare earth, still spangled with +the fallen leaves, russet gold, the servants from the Abbey +were laying the cloth for luncheon and handing out dishes +from the hampers they had brought. +</p> + +<p> +"The keepers and beaters sat down round a good midday +meal, fifty yards away from us. Much laughter, chaff and +talk was going on among them. We men went forward to +look at the game, laid out in rows on a grassy bank. Lord +Balin congratulated me heartily on my shooting. He and I +between us had accounted for more than three-fourths of +the whole bag. +</p> + +<p> +"We lunched, and the meal was gay. +</p> + +<p> +"'Did you have that delightful Joe again among the +beaters?' asked Lady Drusilla—'the rustic with the lovely +voice?' +</p> + +<p> +"The men told her of his singing of the Somersetshire +ballad and how they had enjoyed it. +</p> + +<p> +"'When one thinks,' said Lady Drusilla, 'that a man with +a voice and memory like that could earn a fortune at those +hateful London music-halls!—and lose his country +complexion, his country figure, and his country health in a +season! How lucky it is no one tells him!' +</p> + +<p> +"The point was debated. Mrs. Townley said he ought to +be told the truth and have his choice offered. She said, +'Surely ignorance is never bliss in this world, and poverty, +I am quite sure, was never a blessing to any one.' +</p> + +<p> +"The discussion went on and only ended by our begging +our host to let the man come and sing to the ladies. +</p> + +<p> +"He came. It was just the man Sergeant Smith had told +me of in the lane, the same leather gaiters, the same tucked-up +smock frock, the same little battered wide-awake hat set +back on his head, that gave him, with his upraised eyebrows +and perpetual smile, an air of rustic simplicity and +innocence. Could this possibly be the redoubtable Coggins? I +had reproved Sergeant Smith for not suspecting him in this +very guise, and now I could hardly bring myself to consider +him anything but what he seemed to be, a simple West +Country lout who was accepted for such in a company of his +own West Countrymen. +</p> + +<p> +"He stood leaning on his beating stick, with his hat in his +hand, seeming half shy, half proud that he had attracted the +attention of 'the quality.' +</p> + +<p> +"He began to sing the old ballad. At first his voice was a +little shaky as if with a natural diffidence before the strange +company. Then he gained confidence and sang, and his +voice rang out clear and ringing. At the end of every verse +came the queer chorus, joined in by the rustics' voices from +the distance, and presently the ladies and gentlemen caught +ap the air too, and the woods re-echoed with a melody +perhaps as old as themselves. Something quaint and old world, +something of rustic wit, rustic humor, and rustic romance +that our modern hurry has quite let slip from our lives +was in the old song. Lord Balin's guests were delighted. +They cheered the singer heartily and asked for another +song. +</p> + +<p> +"I watched every look and turn of the man's face, every +inflection of his voice. Where, when, and in what different +circumstances had it all been present to me?—not the song +indeed, that was new to me, but the ring of the singer's voice, +and all his inflections, all his tricks of manner. Memory +sometimes shuts the gates of consciousness very close, but a +whisper comes at times through the locked portals. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Townley rose and approached the singer—she said +a word or two of praise to him. He took off his hat, bowed +with a bashful, rustic grace, and held it out toward her, +asking unmistakably for a tip. The men laughed at the broad +hint and felt for their purses, and Mrs. Townley searched in +the knotted corner of her lace handkerchief—a lady's +purse—for a coin. +</p> + +<p> +"I stepped quickly forward between Mrs. Townley and the +singer and looked hard at her hands. The man, seeing +himself watched, stepped quickly back. Mrs. Townley laughed +nervously. 'You must sing us another song, Mr. Joe,' she +said, 'and then I'll make a collection for you.' +</p> + +<p> +"I said to myself, 'You will drop nothing into Joe's hat +with my leave, madam,' and I kept a sharper watch than ever +upon the two. I knew not much as yet, but something told +me that I was in the presence of the two chief actors of the +drama at Balin Abbey. Why was Coggins here? for that the +singer was Coggins I had no doubt at all now. Had I had +any before, Mrs. Townley's action and manner would have +sufficed to banish these doubts. +</p> + +<p> +"To what criminal end was Coggins still here? For no +possible reason, I was sure, except that his confederate had +had no opportunity as yet of passing into his hands the stolen +gems whose setting she had hidden among the Abbey ruins. +</p> + +<p> +"How was it I had come to fix the guilt of confederacy so +confidently on Mrs. Townley? The actual evidence was +almost nil. I answer that I arrived partly intuitively at this +conclusion, partly by the elimination of every other possible +personage in the house. That there was a confederate was +certain. The cleverest burglar could not have acted alone. +Who, then, was it? I saw at once that only two persons were +intellectually capable of the difficult <i>rôle</i> played by the +confederate—Lady Drusilla and Mrs. Townley. Lady Drusilla's +character, her age, her antecedents and a certain air of +uprightness about her, put her beyond all possibility of +suspicion. There was nothing of all this in Mrs. Townley. I +had been at once impressed by a tone of insincerity in her +voice, a false gaiety in her manner, a feigned seriousness, and +a constant pretense of sham enthusiasm and sham earnestness. +She was never quite at home among the people of more +assured social position than herself at the Abbey. She had not +their ease and naturalness. All this had set me against her +in spite of her great beauty and her obvious desire to please +and attract. I must confess too that Lady Drusilla's strong +disparagement almost at starting had been for something in +my distrust. With pretty women it is often the first stroke +that wins the game, or loses it for them. If they make that +first happy stroke to their advantage, their charm and beauty +tell on us and they score; if it is we who get in the first +winning point, it is they who lose. Mrs. Townley never made the +first winning stroke; I was in opposition to her from the +first. +</p> + +<p> +"When I saw her rise to go toward the man I knew now to +be the disguised burglar—when I saw her fumble with her +knotted handkerchief, I knew that in another minute the +jewels would have passed from her to him. I had stopped her, +and the moment afterward I almost regretted that I had done +so. What if I had let her pass the stolen gems and then +immediately arrested the culprit with the property on him? What +a coup! What a bold and dramatic situation! Yes! and +what an extremely unpleasant one to every guest present, and +what if a single link in my long line of suppositions and +intuitions and conclusions had broken? What if the new beater +was, after all, a harmless rustic, the jewels not in his +possession at all? What if Mrs. Townley was an innocent lady? +My blood ran cold at the thought of such a catastrophe of +misadventures happening in this delightful woodland scene. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Townley returned to her seat under the beech tree. +I stood watching them both in seeming eager talk with the +other guests. +</p> + +<p> +"'Won't he sing us another song?' asked Lady Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin asked him. The fellow took off his hat and +grinned from ear to ear. +</p> + +<p> +"'Do, Mr. Joe,' said Mrs. Townley, 'some good old country +ditty, and after that we will make a collection for you.' +</p> + +<p> +"Joe played at being the diffident, over-honored minstrel. +At last he set his hat again upon the back of his head, and +slanting his long stick upon his shoulder, he began the first +bars of an air that is known to every English soldier. It is +called 'Turmut Hoeing,' and is the regimental march of the +Wiltshire that was once the 36th Regiment. The words are +simple, rustic and homely, like the air. Here they are, for I +know them by heart: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Some love to plow and some to sow,<br> + And some delight in mowing.<br> + Some, 'mid the hay, will stand all day,<br> + And loves to be a throwing<br> + The new mown hay wi' pitchfork up—<br> + Gie I the turmut hoeing!<br> + Gie I my hoe and let me go<br> + To do the turmut hoeing.<br> + Oh! the hoe! 'tis the hoe, the hoe I loves to handle!<br> + And 'tis just so! ay! 'tis just so, that the hoe I loves to handle.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"The disguised burglar suited his action to the words, +using his beater's staff as a hoe. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "For 'tis the pay, five bob a day,<br> + The farmer is a owing!<br> + Five bob a day will jolly well pay<br> + To set the ale-pot flowing!<br> + So that's the reason that in the season,<br> + When turmut flies be blowing,<br> + I takes my hoe and off I go<br> + To do the turmut hoeing!<br> + Oh! the hoe, &c.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Some loves to sing of early spring<br> + And days of barley sowing,<br> + Some love to rhyme of sweet May time<br> + When daffodils be blowing.<br> + Gie I the moon that shines in June<br> + When turmut fields want hoeing.<br> + Ah! he's no fool who loves the tool<br> + That does the turmut hoeing!<br> + Oh! the hoe, &c.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"The pretended rustic had not sung the first line before +the scales seemed to fall from my eyes—air, voice, and +manner all came back to me in a moment, and, now that I could +remember so much, the face itself began to reveal itself +through all its disguises. I had heard the song sung a score +of times at our mess by Captain Towers, Towers the turf +swindler, Towers the card-sharper, Towers the author of my +ruin, Towers the cause of my kinsman's death, Towers whose +own death I had read in the papers and believed in, three +years before, Towers himself was before me! Here was a +revelation indeed. In a flash and by a sort of accident I had +learnt more than the whole police force of London knew. If +this indeed were Coggins, then Coggins the burglar and +Towers the swindler were one and the same man, and my +triumph was that here stood I face to face with him and he +knew me not! I knew his secret and he never suspected +mine. In truth he had not heard my voice, except in those +tones that a man does not often use in the society of men, +either his equals or inferiors. I had spoken but a word to +Mrs. Townley in his hearing. My face he would not know, it +was sufficiently disguised by my beard. +</p> + +<p> +"I listened to his song, as he sang with excellent comic +effect and in the broadest of Wiltshire accents. The song is +well known in the West, and I want you to read into it all +the character and cleverness which the disguised criminal +was employing, in the presence of his former victim. There +is a humor in naked facts even greater sometimes than the +humor in words, tone and manner, and that form of humor +I was enjoying to the utmost and all to myself, while the +scoundrel was priding himself upon taking us all in. +</p> + +<p> +"The ladies liked the turn the song took in the third +stanza. They thought it poetical. I thought the whole +thing, song included, was more than poetical. It was an +ethical drama charged with human interest, working itself +out toward what critics, I believe, call poetical justice, and +I was being the instrument of all this, and, as I have said, +the sole member of the audience who really understood the +plot of the play! +</p> + +<p> +"When the song and the applause that followed had ended, +Mrs. Townley said, addressing us all, 'Now, please, the +collection.' The singer took off his hat and held it to one after +another of the party of ladies and gentlemen, receiving from +each a coin or two. He came toward Mrs. Townley, who had +taken her seat some way back from the others, as I guessed +with the subject that if anything passed between her and the +singer the action should not be visible to the others. He +had stepped forward and was reaching out his hat toward +her. Just as he was approaching her, I held out my arm and +barred his passage. 'Stop,' I said, 'here is my contribution,' +and I dropped half a crown into the hat. Then suddenly I +took the hat from his hand and handed it myself to +Mrs. Townley. I glanced quickly at both their countenances. +They kept them admirably. There was a smile on hers, a +continued grin on his. +</p> + +<p> +"'Thank you, my lord,' he said to me with a mock +gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Townley fumbled awkwardly for a moment with her +handkerchief, and after a little delay, produced a silver coin. +</p> + +<p> +"I had baffled them once again. +</p> + +<p> +"Presently Mrs. Townley changed her seat and sat down +on the outlying root of a great beech tree. She seemed, for +a moment, to be lost in reverie; she began to trace fantastic +figures on the bare earth with the point of her parasol. +</p> + +<p> +"I went up to Lord Balin and began to talk to him, but +my eyes were fixed upon Mrs. Townley's movements. 'Lord +Balin,' I said, 'will you manage to let me walk with you alone +for a hundred yards, when we go from here? I have +something important to ask you.' I spoke below my voice. +</p> + +<p> +"'Certainly,' said Lord Balin. 'I will manage that,' and +again he began loudly to praise my shooting. +</p> + +<p> +"I smiled, and seemed all ears, but my eyes were following +the point of Mrs. Townley's parasol. +</p> + +<p> +"She had drawn what looked to me like the rude representation +of a tennis racket. Mrs. Townley was, I had heard +an enthusiastic tennis player—was her drawing done in +mere distraction? We are all given to trace meaningless +lines and figures if we happen to hold a stick in our hands, +while our thoughts are otherwise engaged. Yet it looked to +be the representation of a very palpable racquet. The +parasol point had drawn a circle and filled it with cross lines. +Then it drew the shape of a handle. It could surely be +nothing on earth but a racquet. Then came a strange figure, an +arch with a straight line under it. Finally the figure 7. +Could these symbols have any possible meaning for any one? +To Coggins? He was still making his rounds of the guests +with his hat and grinning out his effusive thanks. He +repassed the spot where Mrs. Townley's parasol had been busy. +She had hardly raised her eyes for a second as he went by, +but, when he had passed, she began at once to obliterate the +figures. Presently nothing remained, but the drawn lines +were fast in my memory. The figure of the arch, the +numeral 7, and a racquet. +</p> + +<p> +"That it was a signal I had not the slightest doubt—a +signal to Coggins, and I knew that if I could not interpret +it, the jewels would pass to him and be lost for ever. +</p> + +<p> +"An archway, the figure 7, and a racquet. +</p> + +<p> +"Seven might mean seven o'clock—a racquet might indicate +the lawn-tennis court—but the archway? I had it—it +meant the secluded place beyond the tennis court where the +ruins of the Abbey lay, half buried in the turf. One of the +remains was an archway. Yes, it clearly indicated the very +spot where the jewel settings had been buried. Evidently +something was to happen at seven o'clock that evening, or at +seven next morning, in this unfrequented spot. I would +anticipate the event, whatever it might be, by going there +myself at both hours. +</p> + +<p> +"We had another large covert to shoot, and the keepers +and beaters went off to take up their line. The ladies started +to go home, and Lord Balin and I found ourselves walking +across the fields. +</p> + +<p> +"You have had no time to do much yet, I suppose?' he +said. +</p> + +<p> +"'I have learnt a good deal,' I said, 'in the last half hour.' +</p> + +<p> +"'You don't say so, my dear Stanley! What a wonderful +fellow you are! Why, I have hardly had my eye off you all +day. You have been busy eating your lunch and laughing +and talking with the women. Come, now! What can you +have found out?' +</p> + +<p> +"'First, I have made sure that the burglar is in league with +an inmate in your house.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Not a servant?' +</p> + +<p> +"'No, not a servant.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Mrs.——?' He did not utter the name. +</p> + +<p> +"I nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"'Are you quite sure?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I am quite sure now. I have seen signals passing +between her and the burglar who broke into the Abbey.' +</p> + +<p> +"The burglar who broke into— Are you dreaming? My +keepers—why I could go bail for the whole of them.' +</p> + +<p> +"'So could I, I believe.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then who is the man, and are you sure?' +</p> + +<p> +"'The man I mean is Coggins—Gentleman Coggins, the +smartest operator in his line, who has been living at +Pangford for three weeks past.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, I know that; and how can that lady make signals +to him there from our beech woods?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I could see that Lord Balin was beginning to find my +statements difficult of belief—perhaps he half doubted my +sanity. +</p> + +<p> +"'Mrs. Townley,' I said, 'twice tried to pass something to +the person I know to be the burglar. Twice I was able to +stop her. Then she traced a signal to him with the point of +her parasol on the ground.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And what did she try to pass?' +</p> + +<p> +"'The stolen jewels.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What! they are in her possession?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But they would be bulky—all the stolen jewelry +together would make too big a parcel to pass.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, in their settings—but they have been taken out of +the settings. In their present form they would hardly fill a +tea cup.' +</p> + +<p> +"'How do you know that?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Because the settings are here in my pocket.' +</p> + +<p> +"I showed them. They were squeezed and pressed together. +</p> + +<p> +"'Good heavens!' said Lord Balin. 'Where did they come +from?' +</p> + +<p> +"I explained how I found them. +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin could hardly understand it. 'You were at +work early,' he said. 'By-the-bye, you have not mentioned +one thing. Who is the criminal, the man who has broken +into my house, and to whom you say Mrs. Townley twice +tried to pass the jewels, and to whom she made signals? Who +is this man? Where is he?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Joe the beater, the man who sang "Turmut hoeing" +to us.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Joe the beater!' said Lord Balin, stopping to look me in +the face. 'Why, surely not that weak-brained fellow!' +</p> + +<p> +"'He is the most dangerous criminal in all London.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Is it possible? And I have myself encouraged my +keepers to engage him! He seemed such a merry, harmless +sort of fellow, just a rustic innocent. I even suggested that +he might be taken on as an under-beater and watcher.' +</p> + +<p> +"I told the story of how Sergeant Smith had pursued +him, how he had spoilt Smith's bicycle, and then, hiding his +own, had turned back disguised (the very disguise he had +employed to-day), had sent the Sergeant on a wild goose +chase in search of a forge which never existed, and how this +self-same innocent rustic had been beating the woods all day, +and singing country ditties to us. +</p> + +<p> +"'And what can he be doing here?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Waiting,' I said, 'to get hold of the jewels.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Look here!' said Lord Balin, taking out a whistle and +giving three loud blasts on it. That will bring the head +keeper here—anyhow, we'll get Joe the beater turned off the +place at once.' +</p> + +<p> +"I begged Lord Balin to do nothing of the sort. I undertook +to watch that he did no harm. If he were sent off, I +said, his confederate might devise some new way of hiding, +or getting off with, the jewels. +</p> + +<p> +"When the keeper came up I pretended to be interested in +Joe and his singing. +</p> + +<p> +"'He's a good companionable fellow,' said the keeper. +'We all like him, and as his lordship desires me to engage +him as under keeper, we take him with us on the rounds at +night.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah,' thought I, 'that accounts for a good deal.' +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin sent the keeper back to his duties, and the +shooting began. +</p> + +<p> +"I am afraid my loaders were less pleased with me during +the afternoon shooting than in the morning. The first +condition of good shooting is to have one's attention entirely +concentrated on the matter in hand. A second lost in +recalling one's wandering thoughts is generally the chance of a +shot missed, a head of game thrown away. My thoughts +wandered all the afternoon. What mischief was my old +enemy Towers, now Ikey Coggins, meditating? What did +Mrs. Townley's signal mean? What was the signification of +the mysterious figure of the racquet? Surely the archway +was enough to indicate the spot. The racquet must be a +further special signal agreed upon between the confederates +to which I had no clue. Mrs. Townley would be at home +three hours before me, and would have time to plot many +things. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought of sending a message by one of my loaders +to Macgregor to bid him and O'Brien keep watch on her +movements. Then I heard the cheery voice of Joe the beater +hallooing in the woods, and I thought that, at least while he +was with us, no great misfortune could happen. +</p> + +<p> +"While nay thoughts were thus engaged I missed three +rocketers in succession. My head loader, pulling out his +whisky flask, remarked that I was a bit off my shooting as +compared with the morning. 'This morning, sir,' he was +pleased to say, 'you hardly let a thing pass. Perhaps I may +make so bold as to recommend a drop of this.' +</p> + +<p> +"I took a sip at the proffered flask, and made an effort to +pull myself together, with the good result that I knocked +down a couple of pheasants right and left almost immediately, +and recovered my shooting for the rest of the afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +"It was nearly dark when we reached home, and I asked +Lord Balin to let me slip off quietly to my room. From my +window I saw Mrs. Townley coming back from the lawn +tennis courts. She was an enthusiastic player, and sometimes +went out with a boy to field the balls while she practiced +services by the hour. It was by now so dark that I +could not see whether she carried her racquet with her. As +soon as she had come in I sent for O'Brien. +</p> + +<p> +"'Get me,' I said, 'a stable lantern and carry it unlighted, +with matches, on to the lawn tennis ground there to wait for +me, letting no one see you if you can help it. At what time +are the bloodhounds let loose?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Not till ten, or half-past if no carriage-folk are coming +to the Abbey or going away. They are that fierce they'd be +after the horses in a carriage and pulling the coachman off +his box.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Whistle twice in answer to me, softly, when you hear +me coming.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I will, sir.' +</p> + +<p> +"It was half-past six. I stole out a few minutes afterward, +wrapped in an ulster. I stumbled up the walk in the +pitch darkness, giving a low whistle when I thought I was +near the tennis ground. Then I made toward O'Brien's +double whistle. +</p> + +<p> +"'Here I am, sir,' came O'Brien's whisper close to ma +</p> + +<p> +"'Light the lantern,' I whispered, 'and keep your body +between it and the house.' +</p> + +<p> +"He struck three or four matches before he succeeded in +getting it alight. +</p> + +<p> +"'Don't throw the matches down,' I whispered. 'Put them +in your pocket.' +</p> + +<p> +"I'm doing that, sir,' said O'Brien. +</p> + +<p> +"I took the lantern in my hand and lighted our way to the +Abbey ruins. I held it high up and could make out no one +and nothing. We walked slowly all round the space occupied +by the ruined remains. +</p> + +<p> +"'Is that what you're looking for, sir?' said O'Brien, +pointing to the ruined archway. +</p> + +<p> +"'I see nothing.' +</p> + +<p> +"'It's a spade, or something like it, leaning against that +bit of ruined arch,' said O'Brien, walking toward it. +</p> + +<p> +"'Is it a tennis racquet, O'Brien?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I'm thinking it may be, sir. Yes, 'tis just that very +identical thing.' +</p> + +<p> +"He handed me a large, heavy, substantial racquet. +</p> + +<p> +"'One of the ladies has been playing in the court,' I said, +'and forgot to bring in her racquet.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Sure, 'tis a mighty heavy tool for a lady to handle, sir.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes,' I said, 'and I'd choose a lighter one myself for +convenience. O'Brien, my man,' I said, weighing the racquet in +my hand. 'I'm thinking we may have found what we came +down to Balin Abbey to look for. Go in now and open the +side door, which is bolted inside. See here, I button this +racquet under my ulster. I don't want to go through the hall +where the ladies and gentlemen are and let any of them guess +at what I'm carrying. Then you'll bring Macgregor up to +my bedroom, and perhaps I'll show you both something +queer.' +</p> + +<p> +"When the two officers were in my room I bade them lock +the door. +</p> + +<p> +"'If I'm not mistaken,' I said, taking up the racquet, +'here is the end of all our trouble.' +</p> + +<p> +"The two detectives looked upon me as one who has taken +leave of his senses. The handle of the racquet had, what +many racquets have, a roughened covering of reddish +india-rubber. I pulled it off, and the handle at first sight seemed +to be fashioned just like the handle of any other racquet, but +a close inspection showed an unusually large protuberance +at the end. It seemed to be jointed to the handle, but our +united strength could not pull it off, or unscrew it. +Macgregor happened to have a little steel wrench, belonging to +his motor car, in his pocket. He closed down the holder on +the protuberance and held it fast while I turned the racquet +in his hands. The screw worked loose, and presently the top +was off, showing that a hole about three-quarters of an inch +in diameter had been bored down into the whole length of the +handle. +</p> + +<p> +"I looked in and saw that the cavity was packed tight with +pink cotton wool. +</p> + +<p> +"'Which of you has a corkscrew?' I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"The Scotsman and the Irishman each produced, in great +haste, a neat extracting tool. +</p> + +<p> +"I spread a sheet of newspaper on the table, entangled the +point of the corkscrew with the cotton wool in the handle of +the racquet and gave the screw a turn. I drew forth a great +hank of cotton wool. As the cotton fell upon the table, gems +of extraordinary size came tumbling out with it—some +remained embedded in the cotton, some leapt out upon the +paper—emeralds, green as grass, flat, and as large as a man's +forefinger nail, great blood-red rubies, some faceted, some +cabochon-shaped, sapphires, blue as southern skies, and +diamonds of uncommon size and brilliancy, and this profusion +of precious things lay on the table between us three men, under +the three-fold light of the electric lamps above our heads, +shining and glistening as if they were living, moving things. +</p> + +<p> +"There is, I think, something almost awe-inspiring about +precious stones of such lustre and size to persons unaccustomed +to see and handle them. The two men retired a step or +two from the great treasure before them. +</p> + +<p> +"'There's enough to fill the windows of a dozen jewelers' +shops in Broad Street,' said the practical Scotsman. +</p> + +<p> +"'Bedad! It's nothing short of a king's ransom,' said the +more poetical Irishman. +</p> + +<p> +"I carefully turned up the corners of the newspaper and +made a email parcel of the gems. +</p> + +<p> +"'See, Macgregor, if there's any more inside the racquet.' +</p> + +<p> +"Macgregor banged the handle of the racquet down on the +table—nothing came out. Then Macgregor held up the +racquet to the electric light and squinted into the hole. 'It's +all out, sir.' +</p> + +<p> +"'We must leave it as it was. I will spare you some of the +cotton wool to repack it with.' +</p> + +<p> +"It amused the men to drop bits of coal from the grate +into the cavity that had contained the gems, to fill up the +interstices with cotton wool, pack all tightly, replace the top, +screw it on tightly, and roll on the indiarubber handle cover. +</p> + +<p> +"'Now,' I said to Macgregor, 'carry it down—don't let any +one see you, and hang it up in the passage near the +conservatory with the other lawn tennis things.' +</p> + +<p> +"Macgregor presently returned. It was now a quarter to +eight, and I was dressing as fast as I could for dinner. He +returned to report to me that as soon as he had finished +hanging up the racquet with the others, he had gone toward the +conservatory, just, as he said, from curiosity to find out if +the door leading out was locked at that early hour of the +night. As he went toward it he encountered Mrs. Townley +coming in from outside through the conservatory. She was +wrapped round in a long sealskin cloak, but, for all that, he +could see that she was carrying some sort of a bundle +underneath it. +</p> + +<p> +"'Very odd!' I said. 'What do you make of that, Macgregor?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I make nothing of it, sir, but it seems queer that a +young lady should be out at this hour of the night and come +in carrying a big bundle.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Did she pass through the passage where you had hung +the racquet?' +</p> + +<p> +"'She did, sir, and I was close behind her.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Did she seem to notice that you had put back the racquet +in its place?' +</p> + +<p> +"'She hurried through the passage and looked neither to +right nor left.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Is the night still very dark, Macgregor?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Very dark and overcast, after the fine day, and a little +drizzle of rain has set in.' +</p> + +<p> +"'There's no moon, I think, Macgregor, to-night?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Not till the small hours, sir, by the almanac, and but +little then.' +</p> + +<p> +"'A good night for cracking a crib, eh?' I remarked, +dressing in haste. +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, sir,' said Macgregor, smiling, 'not with those four +savage bloodhounds roaming round the house.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What would you say, Macgregor, if our friend Coggins +had not only humbugged Sergeant Smith, but had got round +the keepers here, and even Lord Balin himself? He has been +going the rounds every night with the watchers. The hounds +must know him by now, and he can come and go as he will +by night or day. What do you say to that?' +</p> + +<p> +"O'Brien stood with my white tie in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"He laughed. 'That beats all, sir! That's cleverness, if +you like, but don't let him beat us, sir, for the dear Lord's +sake! don't let him beat us!' +</p> + +<p> +"'I'm thinking,' said Macgregor, 'that going the rounds +won't help him far with the dogs. They've a kennel of a +dozen of them here. The head keeper showed it me to-day. +Bloodthirsty brutes, every one of them. I'd sooner face four +hungry tigers from the Zoo. Ever since the burglary here +these four fresh hounds have been let loose every night.' +</p> + +<p> +"'That's good news, anyhow,' I said. 'Keep a sharp look +out all the same, you two. See that the conservatory door is +locked—keep my window open, and one of you stay in the +room without a light burning. You may chance to hear or +see something. I'll be back with you as soon as I can.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I hurried down, but I was not the last. Mrs. Townley +was still to appear, and she kept the party waiting. When +she did at last come in, she abounded in pretty apologies—smiling, +nervous, I thought, but full of life and movement. +She wore a resplendent red dress with embroidery of seed +pearl, and a great string of large oriental pearls coiled twice +round her neck and the ends hanging down. Pearls, she had +told me, were her favorite wear. We were told she had lost a +necklace of great pearls and diamonds in the burglary, as +well as two pendants of pearl and diamond of great price. +She deplored these losses hourly, but the wealth of this +beautiful woman even after her losses impressed us all immensely. +I remarked to myself, as I admired the superb pearls on her +neck, that we had not discovered one single pearl among the +wealth of precious stones hidden in the racquet. The fact, +of course, had nothing astonishing for me. +</p> + +<p> +"I took an opportunity of telling Lord Balin that I had +good news for him, but that I would beg him to allow me to +say nothing till the morning. 'The night,' I said, 'may bring +its further developments.' +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0207"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VII +<br><br> +FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS +</h3> + +<p> +"We spoke at dinner of the wonderful voice and cleverness +of the beater, Joe. Mrs. Townley was particularly loud in +her praises, and I myself was quite as enthusiastic about +him as she. Such a man, I said, was much more than a clever +village singer, he had artistic and other talents too, and I +was sure it would not be long before he was heard of in +London. +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin's eye met mine, but he did not smile. +</p> + +<p> +"'We shall miss him when he leaves us!' he said, and he +pinched his lips together as if a sudden emotion held him. +Knowing Lord Balin's sense of humor, I feared an explosion, +and hastened to change the subject. I spoke of the last +woodcock that had got up out of shot and had never been seen +again. A woodcock is a subject of conversation that will +always take English sportsmen from any other talk. +</p> + +<p> +"When I got upstairs it was nearly twelve o'clock. O'Brien +and Macgregor were both in my room, the lights turned off +and the windows open. The four hounds had been let loose an +hour before, they told me, and the keepers gone home. +Leaning out of the window, I could just hear the patter of the +bloodhounds' feet, and their panting breath, as these fierce +creatures ranged over the grass plots and through the +shrubberies round the house. +</p> + +<p> +"'The moon,' I said, 'rises at three o'clock. If nothing +happens between this and then, we may all go to bed.' +</p> + +<p> +"I had an intuition that something would happen, because +I knew the burglar, being disappointed at not finding the +jewels in the racquet, as he had been promised, would take +some further steps to get hold of them. +</p> + +<p> +"Assuming that he guessed nothing of the arrival of myself +and my two subordinates, and there was indeed nothing +to betray any of us to Mrs. Townley, or to himself, he would +naturally conclude that his accomplice had been prevented +by an accident from keeping her word. He would never +dream that so clever a woman had been outwitted. The +jewels were therefore, he would think, still in her possession, +and he would, probably, present himself under his confederate's +window at some appointed hour in the night and Mrs. Townley +would throw out to him the packet of jewels. This +simple and obvious way of getting hold of the jewels had, till +now, been rendered impossible in my eyes by the fact that the +grounds were closely patrolled by keepers every night up to +a certain hour, and after that by fierce bloodhounds. +</p> + +<p> +"But the keeper's revelation that day shook my confidence +in the dogs, for, if Coggins went about at night with the +watchers and their dogs, these latter would naturally get used +to him. I had no doubt that it had been Coggins's original +intention to get hold of the jewels in this simple manner. +But then, after the night of the robbery, the head keeper, to +make things safe, had, as I have said, let loose four instead +of two hounds, and Coggins would of course be a stranger to +two of these animals, if not to all four. So, to get the +jewels, he had to resort to other methods. Hence the +attempts of Mrs. Townley to pass the jewels in the wood and the +later manÅ“uvre of the tennis racquet. Now that he had been +baffled in every attempt, what would he do next? He could +not know, yet, that the stolen property had passed for good +out of his confidante's possession. What did the heavy bundle +brought in by Mrs. Townley portend? What could it contain +except some means of getting into the house, possibly a rope +ladder, or, more likely, one of those knotted ropes which have +lately become a common implement in a modern house-breaker's +trade? Did Coggins meditate breaking in, a second +time, into Balin Abbey? I was pretty sure that he did—not +for purposes of robbery, but to secure the booty he had +obtained through his confederate. +</p> + +<p> +"I had made a fair guess, but I had really no idea to what +lengths the audacity and insolence of this Prince of +Professional Burglars were prepared to carry him. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0208"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VIII +<br><br> +COGGINS'S CROWNING EFFORT +</h3> + +<p> +"There was an empty bedroom in one of the two towers +which rise on either front of Balin Abbey. I had Lord Balin's +permission to use it for purposes of observation, and I +directed Macgregor to go thither and watch. He came to me in +about half an hour to report that he could hear nothing of +the hounds. Generally one or other of them were on the move +all through the night, and their footsteps could be heard, or +their panting as they galloped slowly across the turf, or the +rustling of the evergreens as they pushed their way through +the shrubberies; to-night he had not heard a sign of them. +</p> + +<p> +"'The scoundrel has drugged them or poisoned them!' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"It looked like it. +</p> + +<p> +"'Then he means to be up to something to-night,' said +O'Brien. +</p> + +<p> +"'Go back to the tower, Macgregor, and watch for what +happens. Go, both of you, and keep a good look out, and let +O'Brien come here and report when you notice anything.' +</p> + +<p> +"The tower stands out from the corner of the main building, +and the windows command full views of two sides of the +house, of the front and of the western side where the +conservatory is and to which Mrs. Townley and my rooms look. +Only on this side can the house be broken into. Here, then, +was the point of danger. +</p> + +<p> +"I had waited in the dark for nearly two hours, and, tired +out with my day's shooting and my many anxieties, was all +but asleep, with my arms on the table and my head resting +on them, when O'Brien opened the door hastily and said in +a loud whisper: +</p> + +<p> +"'The rascal's at work, sir!' +</p> + +<p> +"'What's happened?' I asked, hardly daring to believe the +good news. +</p> + +<p> +"'We heard Mrs. Townley open her window just now, and +chuck something out.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The knotted rope!' +</p> + +<p> +"We can't see a thing, the night's so thick, but we can +hear him climbing up against the creepers on the wall, hand +over hand.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Send Macgregor here, and you run to the two constables +below and tell them to post themselves in the passage leading +to the conservatory. There is no hurry. There let them stay +till they hear me give three stamps on the floor overhead. +Then they are to run out and nab any one coming down a +rope from Mrs. Townley's window. Explain it all clearly to +them, O'Brien. Let them stick closely to my instructions; +and then you come back quietly into my room. Pull your +boots off as you come upstairs.' +</p> + +<p> +"Macgregor and I waited a good ten minutes. We removed +our boots as a matter of precaution. Presently +O'Brien entered the room barefoot. We had heard, or thought +we heard, some one stirring in Mrs. Townley's room, but it +was only after some minutes' waiting that we heard the door +softly open. We waited a few minutes. Then I opened the +door of my room and listened. I could hear the sound of +stockinged feet some way up the corridor. I knew it must +be Coggins. +</p> + +<p> +"I followed the footsteps, after, whispering to Macgregor +to follow on some yards behind me. +</p> + +<p> +"'What is he at?' I wondered, as I cautiously went forward +through the darkness in the direction of the footfall. +To what was he leading me? I wondered, for he did not go +in the direction of the living part of the house. +</p> + +<p> +"He seemed to know every inch of the way in the dark, +and turned sharp to the right and left more than once. +</p> + +<p> +"Finally he came to a sudden stop. I heard the opening +of a door; he went forward, half closing it behind him. I +waited for a moment to let Macgregor come up. I could see +now that the burglar carried a dark lantern with him. He +turned it on, flashing the light upon the walls. To my +astonishment he had entered the famous picture gallery of +Balin Abbey. I saw the light of his lantern flash upon great +luminous canvases of Rubens, upon sweet portraits of girls +by Romney and Reynolds, upon masterpieces of Velasquez +and Titian. Was O'Brien's prediction come true? Was the +rascal coveting some of the works of the great masters which +Lady Drusilla told me the Mr. Townley, whom I made no +doubt was Coggins, had once criticized so acutely? I almost +laughed at the fellow's audacity. +</p> + +<p> +"This certainly was his object, and he now set to work to +carry it out. He began with a beautiful picture of three +nymphs in a woodland landscape by Rubens. It was a picture +full of a golden and rosy light, and the bright surface +reflected the gleam of the bull's-eye lantern carried at his +waist-belt. The reflected light clearly revealed all his +movements in outline. He took from his pocket a knife and cut +along the bottom line of the inner frame, then as high as he +could reach on each side. Then, standing on a table which +he had moved in front of the picture, he cut along the top +and sides. In another moment he had put up his two hands +and was steadily ripping the canvas down and off the backing +of the frame, with a dull rasping noise as when a saw passes +through soft wood; then he turned, and for a moment we +could see his face and the knife with its gleaming blade +between his teeth, I saw, too, the handle of a revolver +protruding from his breast pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"He leaped lightly from the table and rolled the canvas +up. His actions were almost monkey-like in their nimbleness. +He moved the table to another picture and we saw the +light stream upon it. It was the portrait of a lady in a gray +dress slashed with black and embroidered with silver lace on +the shoulders and sleeves—the portrait of a young queen, by +Velasquez—a face with a proud disdainful smile. I saw him +use his knife upon this lifelike presentment of a noble +woman, with something of the horror with which I should +see him prepare to attack a living human being. The painted +face and figure formed a point of light in that great vault of +blackness which is before me at this moment that I speak to +you as vividly as I saw it that night. +</p> + +<p> +"Macgregor pressed forward as Coggins passed the knife +quickly round the edge of the picture. I laid my hand on +his shoulder and whispered 'Wait!' in his ear. When the +burglar put up his hand and began drawing off the canvas +from the back, I took advantage of the sound of tearing to +throw wide open the door and, together, we rushed in upon +the burglar. Together, we leaped up at him on the table, +but before we could reach him he had heard us, turned, taken +the knife in one hand and drawn the revolver with the other. +Macgregor had seized one wrist, I the other, in the uncertain +light. The table fell, and all three of us lay struggling on the +ground. One barrel of the revolver went off, and he stabbed +at us both repeatedly with the knife. The burning powder +singed my hair, but the ball struck neither of us, and after +a minute Macgregor got the pistol from him. He had struck +Macgregor once savagely with the knife on the shoulder, +but I had hold of his wrist and the blow glanced, and though +it cut through the cloth of Macgregor's coat, it only just +grazed the skin. The struggle on the floor lasted but a minute +or two. Then we overmastered him. O'Brien ran up as we +held him and slipped the handcuffs over his wrists. The +Irishman picked up the lantern, which had fallen to the ground and +had cast only a flickering and uncertain light during our fight +with the criminal. Not a word had been spoken by any of us. +</p> + +<p> +"'Take him to the room in the tower, Macgregor,' I +whispered in Macgregor's ear, 'and answer no questions if the +prisoner asks any. Make no noise as you go.' +</p> + +<p> +"I had expected the gallery to fill at once with people from +the house, roused by the crash of the falling table, and more +still by the report of the pistol, but nothing of the sort +happened. The picture gallery lies far away from the inhabited +portion of the Abbey, being reached through long and +tortuous corridors. The door had shut to as Macgregor and +I rushed in, and though the noise of the pistol discharge +seemed deafening to us, as it reverberated through the vaulted +roof of the gallery, it turned out that not a soul but +ourselves had heard anything. +</p> + +<p> +"I went downstairs and brought up the two officers from +their post near the conservatory. I told them we had +captured our man, and that their duty would be to watch him +during the night. +</p> + +<p> +"It was now nearly three o'clock. By daylight I was up +again and had gone out. I saw the keepers assembled on +the lawn. They were greatly disturbed by the non-appearance +of the bloodhounds. The dogs had not answered, as +usual, to the keepers' call, and a search in the shrubberies +presently resulted in finding the bodies of all four of them +lying dead and stark. +</p> + +<p> +"I spent two hours in writing a report to my chief. I +felt that luck had greatly befriended me all through—I had +succeeded in every point. I had recovered the lost jewels. I +had brought the robbery home to the actual thieves—that is, +morally brought it home, for even now it was doubtful if +legal evidence could have been brought against Coggins for +the jewel robbery, but I had established a clear case of +burglary in the matter of the pictures against the man +suspected so often and never yet in durance for an hour. +</p> + +<p> +"It was nine o'clock. I dressed and sent in word to Lord +Balin that I would like to see him before breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +"I said, 'My business is done. I have found the stolen +jewels—-here they are,' and I laid the paper parcel before him. +'One of the thieves was Mrs. Townley, but the instigator and +real criminal was Coggins, alias Towers, who is the husband +of Mrs. Townley. The man Coggins broke into the Abbey +last night for the second time, and we were able to arrest him +in the very act of stealing your pictures. He is now a +prisoner in the tower room. No one in the house knows +anything of the matter, not even Mrs. Townley.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Stop! stop!' said Lord Balin, raising his hands. 'You +overwhelm me! What! found the jewels and arrested the +thief? Why—why, you are the most extraordinary fellow in +the whole world—you shoot my pheasants for me when I +couldn't get any one else to, you entertain my guests as no +one else does—and now, in a turn of the hand, you find the +lost property and arrest the thief. You are a wonderful +fellow, my dear Stanley!' +</p> + +<p> +"'Morgan now, Lord Balin—Sergeant Morgan, at your +service. The comedy is over.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Nothing is over, Morgan—if you will let me call you that +and,' he added, holding out his hand, 'and my friend; and do +not forget that I owe you a debt of gratitude that I shall +never be able to discharge.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then he changed the subject suddenly. 'And that poor +woman, Morgan? What are we to do with her—arrest her +too, charge her with the theft, and get her put into prison?' +</p> + +<p> +"'It seems hard upon her,' I said; 'she acted under the +influence and compulsion of her husband.' +</p> + +<p> +"'It is damned hard, Morgan. Though I confess I never +liked the woman; but a pretty woman and my guest! No, no!' +</p> + +<p> +"'The moral evidence,' I said, 'against Mrs. Townley is +overwhelming—the legal evidence almost <i>nil</i>. I doubt if we +could secure a conviction. I have told my chief so. Counsel +for her defense would be sure to argue, If she was the thief, +why did Coggins run the risk of breaking into the house?' +</p> + +<p> +"'To be sure,' said Lord Balin, 'why did he?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Because he would know that he couldn't trust her to do +the trick herself. It takes pluck, nerve and experience which +no ordinary woman possesses. Even if she had all the will +in the world, Mrs. Townley could not have gone through the +rooms single-handed and stolen the jewels herself.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then you think he did it alone?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Alone or together, who can tell?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I tell you what, Morgan. Let's think it over presently. +Come in to breakfast now—the second gong has gone long +ago—come in and be Robert Stanley once more. Let us +ignore everything for the moment and see what this wretched +woman will do and say.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Remember,' I said, 'that she can know nothing as yet. +My men are to be trusted, and they won't have spoken to any +one in the house. The man passed through her bedroom +toward the picture gallery. She certainly knew his errand, +for he had brought a dark lantern and a sharp-cutting knife +with him. He did not return. She would guess that he +found it best to make his escape in some other way than back +through her room, for she, having heard nothing of the +struggle, would naturally conclude that her friend got safe +off.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Just so,' said Lord Balin. 'I will call her in here after +breakfast and tell her what has happened. I shall tell her +she must leave my house at once and for good, but I will tell +her also that, so far as I am concerned, I will not prosecute +her. If the authorities choose to press for a prosecution it +shall not be my act or by my advice.' +</p> + +<p> +"I thought that line was equitable, and I said so. I +ventured to doubt if it were strictly legal. +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin laughed. 'Law be hanged, Morgan! equity +and poetical justice forever! But come to breakfast; you +must be hungry after your night's work.' +</p> + +<p> +"We had sat down and taken our places before Mrs. Townley +entered the room. I cannot say that her face was +pale, for it was more highly colored than ever, but her +unquiet eyes and her trembling mouth told the tale of the +night's anguish. Lord Balin greeted her with no change of +his accustomed morning cordiality. She was more carefully, +more exquisitely dressed than usual, and her hair seemed to +have undergone the attentions of a professional hair-dresser. +She talked and laughed freely, but I could see that she looked +and listened for any stray revelation of the events of that +terrible night. +</p> + +<p> +"The butler came in and spoke in a low voice to Lord +Balin. +</p> + +<p> +"'His Lordship half rose from his seat in anger. Poisoned +them! What! all four? Confound the sneaking villain!' Then +he sat down, having mastered his wrath. +</p> + +<p> +"'I beg your pardon,' he said, turning to his guests, 'but +what do you think? The scoundrel who robbed this house +three days ago, and who has been hanging about the +neighborhood for weeks past, has poisoned four of my +bloodhounds!' +</p> + +<p> +"I looked at Mrs. Townley. She gave a nervous start, and +a shudder shook her whole body for a moment. Lord Balin +caught sight of her frightened face, and in a moment his +chivalry to a guest and a woman came back to him. +</p> + +<p> +"He smiled and changed the subject. So did the meal pass +off, and I could not but marvel at the possibility of what may +happen in a great house, in the night-time, in the way of +moving human drama, and its inmates, guests and servants, +have no inkling of what has passed. +</p> + +<p> +"'Mrs. Townley,' said Lord Balin, but so much in his usual +tone that I could see it did not alarm his guest, 'I have some +news for you. Will you join me in the library presently?' +</p> + +<p> +"Then he left his guests, giving me a look to follow him. +Mrs. Townley rose to leave the room. I opened the door for +her, and followed her into Lord Balin's private room. +</p> + +<p> +"He motioned her to a seat and began at once. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is very painful, Mrs. Townley, for me to have to say +what I am going to. Don't please interrupt me till I have +quite finished, and then say what you will.' +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin's tone was not stern. It was rather sad, but +he spoke without hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +"'I want to speak to you about the robbery of jewels here +three days ago. This gentleman'—he looked at me—'is an +officer of the detective service, and he authorizes me to say +that the settings of the lost gems were found hidden among +the Abbey Ruins; the gems themselves, which you twice +endeavored to pass to the disguised burglar—' +</p> + +<p> +"'Lord Balin!' exclaimed the unhappy woman. +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin went on: 'The stones themselves were finally +found, as had been indicated by you in a signal to the man +Coggins, in the handle of your racquet.' +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Townley groaned and hid her face. +</p> + +<p> +"'They are all there,' said Lord Balin, pointing to a +cabinet, 'except the pearls and diamonds which you told us you +had lost. We have reason to know that your husband broke +into this house on the 23d, and went or induced you to go to +the rooms of the persons who had drunk of the barley water +that you had drugged.' +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Townley groaned again. +</p> + +<p> +"'Your husband broke in for the second time again last +night, passing through your bedroom. He intended to rob +me of the pictures which he had admired at his visit here, +and of which no one knew better than himself the value.' +</p> + +<p> +"When Lord Balin had got so far, Mrs. Townley probably +made sure that her husband had baffled the police once more +and got safely away. She looked up, smiled through her +tears, and shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +"'He was arrested in the very act,' Lord Balin went on, +'and will stand his trial for burglary.' +</p> + +<p> +"The woman's face fell, she almost shrieked put the word +'Arrested!' +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin bowed. 'You do not, I suppose, seek to deny +any part of what I have said?' +</p> + +<p> +"The unhappy woman muttered some incoherent words, +and again hid her face in her hands. +</p> + +<p> +"'I have no intention of prosecuting you, Mrs. Townley. +I shall advise the authorities not to do so, on the ground that +you acted under the compulsion of your husband.' +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Townley raised her head, with something of a +reprieved look in her face. +</p> + +<p> +"'Lord Balin I you are very generous to me—very generous'—she +wept—'to a most unhappy woman—guilty, yes, but, oh, +if you could only know!' +</p> + +<p> +"'Mrs. Townley,' said Lord Balin, almost kindly, 'I wish +to force no confession from you, but one thing I must tell +you. You must leave my house at once, pretexting some +sudden call of business. You will do so without again seeing +my other guests. I will not betray you to them. Now go,' +he said more sternly, 'and make your preparations to leave. +The carriage will take you to the station in two hours' time +from now.' +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Townley got up, and without any leave-taking +quitted the room. Again, as before, I opened the door to let +her go out. +</p> + +<p> +"'Lord Balin,' said I, 'may I ask you a favor? +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>May</i> you ask me!' said my host, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is that you will allow me to have a parting interview +with a lady I have reason to respect very greatly.' +</p> + +<p> +"'My cousin, Drusilla Lancaster?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes.' +</p> + +<p> +"Lord Balin rang the bell and told the butler to beg Lady +Drusilla Lancaster to come to the library in order to hear +some important news. +</p> + +<p> +"'Tell her, please,' I said, 'when she comes, who I am and +why I came here.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I will, Morgan,' said Lord Balin; 'I will, my dear fellow; +but, I say, we won't give that poor woman away even to +Lady Drusilla?' +</p> + +<p> +"'No! no! On no account.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Drusilla,' said Lord Balin, 'I have a confession to make +to you, and to you alone, mind, from my friend here. He is +not Robert Stanley; he is Mr. Morgan, of the detective +service.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I thought he was too nice for a millionaire,' said Lady +Drusilla, smiling, and otherwise unimpressed. +</p> + +<p> +"'I owe him an enormous debt of gratitude,' Lord Balin +went on. 'He has recovered all the jewels that were stolen +here, and he has arrested the thief.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The thief?' asked Lady Drusilla, with a curiously shrewd +look. +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, the famous burglar, Coggins—Gentleman Coggins, +who has baffled the whole London police for four years. Last +night he made an attempt upon my picture gallery, and +Mr. Morgan arrested him in the act.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Well done!' said Lady Drusilla, turning to me. +</p> + +<p> +"'I have begged Lord Balin,' I said, 'to give me the chance +of apologizing to you for the miserable part I played with +you—' +</p> + +<p> +"'Miserable part!' exclaimed Lady Drusilla; 'why, this sort +of thing is nearly the only real action possible in this tame +age. In my eyes—Mr.—Mr.—what am I to call you?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Morgan,' said Lord Balin. +</p> + +<p> +"'In my eyes, Mr. Morgan, you are a knight errant—you +think and you act in the interests of the rest of us, and that +is to be the only sort of knight errant and hero possible in +these days.' +</p> + +<p> +"She came forward and took my hand in both hers. +</p> + +<p> +"'Mr. Morgan, you and I are going to be great friends, +are we not?' she laughed. 'Do, if you please, come and have +tea with me in Hill Street, next Friday.' +</p> + +<p> +"I have nothing more to say about this case at Balin Abbey +except this. My short twenty-four hours' work at Balin +Abbey won me inspectorship, and, on my favorable report, +Macgregor and O'Brien were promoted to be Sergeants. +</p> + +<p> +"But I have gained what I esteem even more highly, the +life-long friendship of my host at the Abbey and of Lady +Drusilla Lancaster. +</p> + +<p> +"The authorities took Lord Balin's advice and did not +prosecute Mrs. Townley. +</p> + +<p> +"Gentleman Coggins, <i>alias</i> Towers, <i>alias</i> Townley, got five +years' penal servitude. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Townley resumed her luxurious life in Park Lane. +Her jewels, her dress, her motor cars, her yacht, her chef, her +charming dinners, her bridge evenings (when the play runs +high) are more than ever the talk of the town. She is said +to be the richest grass widow on this side of the Atlantic; +for she admits herself that grass widow is now quite an +applicable name for her. It is too bad of my husband,' she +says; 'he never seems to have time to come home. One day +I get a postcard from Pekin telling me of how he has a +valuable concession from the Dowager Empress, two months +later a wire comes from South America, then he is heard of +in Japan! It is very hard upon his poor wife.' +</p> + +<p> +"The supposed financial wanderer is, however, still doing +time at Broadmoor, and we, in the force, are wondering +whether, when he comes out, he will resume the very lucrative +business of Ikey Coggins or the far less profitable but safer +profession of city financier. We hope he will continue in the +burglaring rather than the financing line. We know more +now about Gentleman Coggins than we did, and believe we +could catch him tripping; anyhow, we can always follow a +criminal in that line with some hopes of running him in, +whereas the person who practices the more speculative +branches of the profession is mostly quite beyond the reach of +the law." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0211"></a></p> + +<h2> +The Murder at Jex Farm +</h2> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY OSWALD CRAWFURD, C.M.G. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER I +<br><br> +CHARLES JEX +</h3> + +<p> +Inspector Morgan and I were sitting over the fire +one particularly cheerless winter night at my lodgings +in Duke Street. The Inspector had brought with him +a thick bundle of documents. He threw them on the table +between us as he came in. As usual, our talk had fallen +upon the art, or science of crime detection. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you remember," asked Morgan, "my once saying +that the first thing a clever criminal does is to try his best +to block the way of the man who has to follow up the track +of his crime?" +</p> + +<p> +"I shall do that myself," said I, "if I ever commit a +serious crime." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course you would, so should I, and so, I suppose, +would any man with his senses about him. Well, that is +just what a man coming green to detective work is apt to +forget. I came near to forgetting it myself when they sent me +down to Jex Farm to inquire about the murder there. You +must remember the case, for it made a great stir at the time." +</p> + +<p> +"I hope you are going to tell me all about it, Morgan. One +does not carry these things in one's head. One big crime +gets mixed up with another." +</p> + +<p> +"I came here meaning to tell you the whole story," said +the Inspector, taking hold of the bundle of papers and +untying the knots of red tape which bound them together. +</p> + +<p> +"Are these documents in the case?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Plans and reports, and cuttings from newspapers, but +I am only going to ask you to look at some of them." +</p> + +<p> +"If I am not mistaken, Morgan, the papers spoke very +handsomely of your conduct of the Jex Farm case." +</p> + +<p> +"They did, but they had little reason to. If they had +known all the facts as well as you will presently know them, +they might have handled me differently. It is wonderful +what the papers do get to know, but, naturally, they can't +see things from the inside as we can." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Morgan, get to the story. I want to hear it." +</p> + +<p> +"There is not much of a story to tell, so far as the outside +facts were concerned. It is only the inside working of +things that made it interesting. A young girl had been +found lying at the orchard gate of the farm, 37½ yards +from the house, dead, with three pistol bullets in her head. +Suicide was out of the question, the three wounds and the +three bullets precluded that, and there was no pistol about. +Moreover, it was not in evidence that the girl had any cause +for despondency. There was no reason for her taking her +life. But then, again, she was not known to have an enemy." +</p> + +<p> +The Inspector took out a newspaper from the bundle of +documents, docketed <i>Jex Murder Case</i>, and handed it to me. +I read as follows: +</p> + +<p> +"MURDER IN SURREY.—Jex Farm, one mile from the village +of Bexton, in Surrey, was the scene of a terrible and +mysterious crime, on the evening of Wednesday last. A young +unmarried lady of the name of Judson, a niece of Mrs. Jex, +the widowed owner of Jex Farm, was found murdered, late +on Wednesday night, just inside the orchard gate of the farm, +and within a stone's throw of the house. There were no signs +of a struggle, but Miss Judson's gold watch and chain were +missing. The crime must have been committed at late dusk on +Wednesday evening, 17th inst. (October). It is singular that +no sound of firearms was heard by any inmate of the house; +and the crime was not discovered till the family were about to +meet at supper, when Miss Judson's absence was noticed. +</p> + +<p> +"After waiting a while and calling the name of the young +lady in vain, the night being very dark and gusty, young +Mr. Jex and the farm-laborers started out with lanterns. +They almost immediately came upon the dead body of the +unfortunate young lady, which was lying on the walk just +inside the orchard gate, and it is stated that the first discoverer +of the tragedy was Mr. Jex himself. It adds one more +element of gloom to the fearful event when we add that it is +rumored in the neighborhood that Mr. Jex, the only son of +the lady who owns the farm, was engaged to be married to +the victim of this terrible tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +"No clue has yet been obtained. It is clear that the +motive of the crime was robbery—the young lady's valuable +gold watch and chain were missing—and it is supposed in +the neighborhood that, as the high road runs within twenty +yards of the scene of the tragedy, the perpetrator may have +been one of a very rough set of bicyclists who were drinking +at the Red Lion at Bexton in the afternoon, and who were +seen, at nightfall, to retrace their journey in the direction of +Jex Farm. We understand that Inspector Morgan, the well-known +London detective, has been despatched from Scotland +Yard to the scene of the murder. Inspector Morgan is the +officer whose name has recently attained considerable prominence +in connection with the discovery and conviction of the +perpetrator of the great jewel robbery at Balin Abbey." +</p> + +<p> +"Rather penny-a-lining and wordy," observed Mr. Morgan +as I finished reading the paragraph aloud, "but barring the +too-flattering allusion to myself, on the whole, a fair enough +account of the facts. +</p> + +<p> +"I found that it was young Mr. Jex himself who supplied +the information about the bicyclists. He had been shooting +rabbits at an outlying farm of his own a couple of miles +beyond Bexton, and, stopping to get a glass of beer at the chief +inn there, found himself surrounded in the bar by a group +of rowdy bicyclists. The Surrey countryman generally dislikes +the cycling Londoners who travel along the roads of his +county in extraordinary numbers. Mr. Jex had noticed that +these men, instead of continuing their journey toward +London, had turned again in the direction of Jex Farm. If +they repassed the Lion at Bexton, they must have done so at +night, for they were not seen again. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Jex is a fine young man with good looks, a little over +thirty years of age, six foot one in height, a sportsman, and +popular in the neighborhood. But I will confess at once to +you that the ways and manners of the man did not find much +favor with me. However, he seemed very ready to give me +every assistance in his power. He is resolved, he says, to +bring the villains to justice. +</p> + +<p> +"His mother is a kind and motherly old lady, rather +infirm in health and slightly deaf. She herself gave me to +understand that she fully approved of the approaching +marriage of her son. I gather in the neighborhood that Mr. Jex, +like so many of his class, has been very hard hit by the +prevailing agricultural depression, and that his proposed +marriage with his cousin, Miss Judson, an orphan, with a +considerable fortune of her own, was something of a godsend to +himself and his family. +</p> + +<p> +"My written orders from headquarters had been to instal +myself in the house, if I could obtain an invitation, in order +the better to unravel the facts of the crime, and I was to take +my full time in the investigation. I showed my instructions +on this head to Mrs. Jex and her son, and was by them at +once cordially invited to consider the farm my home for the +time being. I thought it best to leave my two subordinate +officers to do outside work and hear and report outside +rumors. They put up at the Lion at Bexton. +</p> + +<p> +"It was a somewhat delicate situation, and I put it plainly +to each of the inmates of Jex Farm, to Mr. Jex, to his +mother, and to a young lady on a visit to them, Miss Lewsome. +I was a detective officer, I told them, on a mission to +detect a great crime. Though I was a guest at the farm, I +was bound, as a police officer, to make a minute inquiry into +everybody's conduct since, and before, the murder. They +must not take it amiss if I was particular in my questions, +and vexatious in my way of putting them. The reasonableness +of all this was apparent to them all, and I at once began +my investigations at the farm and outside it. +</p> + +<p> +"The first person I interviewed was young Mr. Jex himself. +Now, I repeat that I did not quite like young Mr. Jex's +manner. Some witnesses are too shy and too holding back, +and others a good deal too forward, not to say impatient. +Jex was of this class, and I was a little sharper with him in +consequence than I should otherwise have been. On the 17th +he told me he had returned from shooting at his farm on the +other side of Bexton, and he stopped on his way home for a +drink at the Red Lion. +</p> + +<p> +"'At what time?' I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"'It was growing dusk,' said Jex. 'I should say it was +within a few minutes of half-past five or getting on for six; +three men were drinking at the bar, bicyclists; I was thinking +they would be overtaken by night; I did not like the +looks of those men.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Never mind the bicyclists, for the present, Mr. Jex. +You stayed some time in the bar?' +</p> + +<p> +"'An hour or more.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Did you meet any one you knew at the Lion? Any +neighbors?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, I met James Barton and—' +</p> + +<p> +"'Don't trouble yourself with their names just now! You +met friends who can speak to your being at the inn?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I did.' +</p> + +<p> +"'That will do. I want to get to the dates. At about 6:30 +you started for home?' +</p> + +<p> +"'It was on the stroke of seven, by the clock of the Lion.' +</p> + +<p> +"'You had no doubt taken a glass or two of ale?' +</p> + +<p> +"'No, I took a glass of whisky and water.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Or two?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I took two glasses.' +</p> + +<p> +"You took two glasses of whisky and water, good; and +then you set off for the farm? Was your man still with you?' +</p> + +<p> +"'What man?' +</p> + +<p> +"'The man who carried your game, or was it a boy?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I had no man, or boy, with me. I had brought three +rabbits in my pocket, and these I left as a present to +Mrs. Jones of the Lion.' +</p> + +<p> +"You were carrying your gun, of course?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Of course I was.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Was it loaded?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, but I drew the charges as I neared home.' +</p> + +<p> +"'You noticed nothing unusual as you came in?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Nothing.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yet you passed within a yard of the orchard gate where +the poor girl must have been lying dead?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I did, of course, but it was pitch dark under the trees. +I saw nothing but the lights in the parlor windows from the +time I opened the gate out of the road.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And coming along the road from Bexton you did not +notice, or hear anything?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, I saw the lanterns of three cyclists coming toward +me when I had got only a few hundred yards from the Lion. +I never saw men traveling faster by night; they nearly got +me down in the road between them.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Were they the men who had been drinking at the Lion?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I couldn't see, it was too dark. They never slackened +speed; I just felt the swish and wind of their machines as +they shaved past me.' +</p> + +<p> +"'You noticed nothing else on the road home?" +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, I thought I heard some shots far away—poachers, +I thought at the time—in Squire Watson's woods.' +</p> + +<p> +"'How many shots?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Three.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Close together?' +</p> + +<p> +"'As close as I speak now: one—two—three.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Was this long after you met the cyclists?' +</p> + +<p> +"He took a moment to think. 'Come, Mr. Jex, you can't +want time to answer such a simple question?' +</p> + +<p> +"'It was some time before I met them.' +</p> + +<p> +"'How far might it have been from the Lion when you +heard the three shots?' +</p> + +<p> +"'A matter of half a mile or so.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then it was after you met the cyclists?' +</p> + +<p> +"'No, it was before.' +</p> + +<p> +"'It was after, for you told me just now you met them a +few hundred yards on your way home, and now you say you +heard the shots when you were half a mile on your way home. +Half a mile is not a few hundred yards; it is 880 yards.' +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Jex seemed puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +"'You are too sharp on a fellow!' he said. +</p> + +<p> +"'I had need to be, perhaps, Mr. Jex,' I answered. +</p> + +<p> +"'Now, Mr. Jex,' I said, 'there is another point on which I +am afraid I must question you.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I guess what it is,' said he; 'go ahead. You mean about +me and Miss Judson?' +</p> + +<p> +"'That is so, about Miss Judson and yourself. You were +engaged to her?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I was.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Had the engagement lasted long?' +</p> + +<p> +"'A month.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And she had been two months your mother's guest at +the farm?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Going on for three.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And there was nothing standing against your wishes?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I don't understand what sort of thing you mean.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, any misunderstanding between you—quarrels, you +know?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Oh, lovers' quarrels! They don't amount to much, do +they? We had the usual number, I suppose.' (This is a +queer, indifferent sort of a lover, I thought.) +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, even a lover's quarrel has a cause, I suppose—and +it's mostly jealousy; perhaps there was some neighbor +you did not fancy the look of?' +</p> + +<p> +"'God bless you, no! Hiss Judson hardly knew the +neighbors.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Or some old London friend the young lady may have +had a liking for once?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Couldn't be,' said Jex positively. 'Because Mary only +had one friend. She had been engaged to him, and she threw +him over. She fancied me better, you see. She told me all +about him. She told me everything, you know.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah, I suppose women always do!" +</p> + +<p> +"'They do when they care for a fellow,' said Jex warmly. +</p> + +<p> +"The man's way of talking of the poor dead girl grated +upon me most unpleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, perhaps they do, Mr. Jex, but you see, here's a +mysterious crime, and I want to find a motive for it.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Who could have a motive?' asked Mr. Jex. +</p> + +<p> +"'Possibly a disappointed rival—from London.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Why, man,' said Jex, 'I tell you it couldn't be; the man +I spoke of is in New Zealand—thousands of miles away. I +tell you the motive was robbery. Why wasn't the girl's gold +watch and chain taken?' +</p> + +<p> +"'That might be a blind, Mr. Jex,' said I, looking him +straight in the face; 'it's a common trick, that.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Oh, nonsense; we all agreed at the inquest it was robbery, +and we fastened it on to those three cyclists I saw at +the Lion, coming back along the road, hot-foot, just in the +nick of time to do the trick. Don't you go wasting your time, +Morgan, over rivals, and rot of that kind!' +</p> + +<p> +"I let this very positive gentleman run on, but I thought +well presently to throw a little cold water over his cocksureness. +</p> + +<p> +"'Mr. Jex,' I said, 'do you remember that at the inquest +the county police put in plaster casts of all the footprints +found next morning round about where the body had lain?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, what if they did?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Only that I've just compared those footprints with the +bootprints of the inmates of this house, and the marks +correspond with the boots worn by the three laborers at the farm, +and—by yourself.' +</p> + +<p> +"This seemed to stagger him a bit. +</p> + +<p> +"'Of course,' he said, 'we made those marks when we +brought the body in.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I know that,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'And one country boot,' said Jex, 'is just as like another +as one pea is like another.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Not quite so like as that, Mr. Jex, and did you ever know +a cyclist to rids his machine in hobnailed boots? There was +no single footprint in or near the place but what had heavy +hobnails showing. So, you see, the murderer could not be +one of your bicyclists.' +</p> + +<p> +"Jex kept silence for a minute, and paled as I watched him. +</p> + +<p> +"'The man who committed this murder, Mr. Jex,' I said, +'never wore a cyclist's shoe or boot.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I'll tell you what,' said Jex, after a longish pause, 'we'd +trampled down the ground a good bit all round; we must +have trampled out the murderer's footprints.' +</p> + +<p> +"It's just possible,' I said, 'but not likely that he shouldn't +have left a square inch of shoeprint anywhere. However, +that is of no matter to me at present. I've another bit of +evidence that I'll work out first.' +</p> + +<p> +"'A clue?' asked Jex eagerly. 'What is it?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, Mr. Jex, you'll excuse me for not mentioning it +just at present. You'll know soon enough.' I gave him a +moment to think over the matter, then I went on: +</p> + +<p> +"'Now, sir, I should like to ask you one or two more +questions, if you're quite agreeable.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Fire away,' said Jex, 'I'm here to answer you.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I'm told you used to meet Miss Judson on your return +from shooting, or what not, at the orchard gate leading out +of the flower garden?' +</p> + +<p> +"That's so." +</p> + +<p> +"'At nightfall?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, as it grew from dusk to dark.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Might she be expecting you there on the 17th, just as +night fell?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Likely she might.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But about that time you were drinking in the bar-parlor +of the Lion?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, if you call two small goes of whisky and water +after a long walk, drinking, I was.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The landlady is an old friend of your mother's, I'm told?' +</p> + +<p> +"Jex laughed. 'Whoever told you that, told you wrong; +my mother does not particularly cotton to Mrs. Jones.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What! the two old ladies don't hit it off?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Who told you that Mrs. Jones was an old lady?' said +Jex. 'She's a young widow, and a pretty one into the bargain.' +</p> + +<p> +"'That accounts,' said I, 'for the present of rabbits, eh?' +</p> + +<p> +"Jex winked. Decidedly I don't like this young man." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0212"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER II +<br><br> +MAUD LEWSOME AND HER DIARY +</h3> + +<p> +I have mentioned a fourth inmate at Jex Farm at the +time of the murder, in the person of Miss Maud Lewsome, +a young lady friend of Miss Judson's, and a distant cousin +of hers, but no blood relation of the Jex family. Miss +Lewsome had come as a friend of Miss Judson, and had resided +at the farm some five or six weeks. She is a tall, dark, +handsome girl, gentle and reserved in manner, but, as I should +judge, extremely intelligent. I hear that her profession in +life is the literary one, but whether in the way of +novel-writing, or journalism, I am not told. She had also been +for a short time on the stage. I have, as yet, had hardly any +conversation with Miss Lewsome, so overcome is she with the +nervous shock of the tragedy of her dearest friend. +</p> + +<p> +I need not reproduce here at any length the evidence of +the country surgeon who made the post-mortem, as given +at the inquest. It was to the effect that death had resulted +from three bullet wounds in the side of the head, one just +behind the ear and two just above it. The shots must have +been fired from the distance of some few yards, for there +was no burning or discoloration of the skin. That they must +have been fired in rapid succession was evident from the fact +of the three wounds being within a circle whose diameter +was not more than three inches in length. The charges of +powder, in the doctor's opinion, must have been light, for, +after passing through the walls of the skull, there was little +penetration. The bullets, all three, had been extracted—very +small round leaden bullets hardly bigger than large +peas, and not of the conical shape used in revolvers of the +more expensive kind. Death must have been instantaneous, +for the bullets were all three found buried in the brain, one +still spherical, the others flattened by contact with bone. +</p> + +<p> +Now, it is obvious that this circumstance increases the +difficulty connected with the fact that no one at the farm, +neither Mrs. Jex nor Miss Lewsome, nor any of the laborers +or female servants, who were indoors and at supper at the +time, had heard the sound of firearms. It is true that on the +evening of the 17th half a gale of wind was blowing from +the northwest, and the orchard, where the fatal shots were +fired, is nearly south of the house. All doors and windows +were closed, the night having turned cold and rainy, but the +sitting-room faces the southeast, and, though a tall yew hedge +interposed, it was difficult to understand how three pistol +shots, fired less than forty yards away, should not be audible +by the inmates of the room. Was Mrs. Jex hard of hearing? I +asked her. Only very slightly so, she declared. Had she +heard positively nothing? Nothing but the roaring of the +wind in the chimney and, every now and then, the rattling of +the windows. Was she absorbed in reading, or talk? No, +she was knitting by the fireside. Miss Lewsome had been +writing at the table all the evening. From time to time, +Mrs. Jex told me, she had talked with Miss Lewsome, who +had remained with her in the sitting-room from before +sun-down till supper time. +</p> + +<p> +I then examined Miss Lewsome by herself, as I had already +examined Mrs. Jex. She corroborated what that lady had +said. The wind was loud that night, said Miss Lewsome. It +rattled the windows and made a great noise in the chimney. +She was writing all the evening, she said. +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive, my curiosity," I said, "was it something that +took up your attention and would have prevented your +hearing a noise outside?" +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated. "I was writing up my diary," she answered. +</p> + +<p> +"You keep a regular diary?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"May I see it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no!" she said. "That would be impossible. I could +not show it to any one. You must really not ask to see it." +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry," I said, "I am afraid you must let me read it." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because I am a police officer, and am here to inquire into +the death by violence of Miss Mary Judson, and because +your diary may throw some light upon the circumstances of +the crime." +</p> + +<p> +"How can it help you? It is all—personal; all about myself." +</p> + +<p> +"I am not in a position to say how the diary can help me +till I have seen it; but see it I must." +</p> + +<p> +She still hesitated; after a pause she asked: +</p> + +<p> +"Do you really insist?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am afraid I must." +</p> + +<p> +She walked to her desk, opened it, and gave me a leather-covered +book, locked, and put it, with the key, into my hands. +</p> + +<p> +That night I read the diary. The entries were, as Miss +Lewsome had told me, scanty, that is, at first, referring to +such trivial events as her arrival at the farm, for the diary +began with the beginning of her visit. As it went on, +however, the entries became fuller, and the occurrences of the +six or seven days previous to the murder were narrated with +considerable fullness. Before I had ended my perusal of the +book, certain vague suspicions that had already formed +themselves in my mind began to gather in strength and to acquire +full corroboration. +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Morgan picked out, from the bundle of +documents, one marked: <i>Extracts from Miss Lewsome's Diary</i>. +This is what he read out to me: +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 3.—The more I see of what is going on between +Charles and Mary the more I blame myself for my fatal +weakness. Had I only known of their engagement! ... why, +oh, why, did they keep it a secret from me? He never +should have learned my passion for him—never should have +... oh, fool, fool that I have been! Poor Charles, I hardly +blame him. In honor he is bound to poor Mary, and yet I +see, day by day, that he is getting colder and colder to her +and more and more devoted to me. In honor he can't break +off his engagement. Poor fellow, too, he needs his cousin's +money. Without it, I know, ruin stares him in the face. +Were it not for that, as he says, he would break with Mary +to-morrow. I believe him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 5.—What am I to do? The situation becomes +more and more difficult every day. I see that I must leave +Jex Farm, but it will break my heart, and I fear it will +break Charles's too. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 6.—Mary suspects nothing, though Charles grows +daily colder to her. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 11.—Charles and I have had an explanation. I +have told him that I can bear it no longer. He said he +could not break off the engagement; if he could, he would. +He spoke almost brutally. "I must have Mary's money," he +said. "Without it my mother, I, my sisters and brothers +and the farm must all go to the devil. I hate the woman!" +he cried out. "Don't—don't say that, Charles; it is so +dreadfully cruel and wicked. What has poor Mary done to +you?" "She has come between me and the only woman I ever loved. +Is not that enough?" "But you have told me that your +cousin's money must come to you some day or other?" "Yes, +but only on her death." "Don't, Charles, it is too +dreadful." "Yes, isn't it? Just awful!" "Well, but—" He laughed. +"Oh, women never understand business, but I see what you +are driving at, my dear, a <i>post obit</i>, or a sale of the reversion of +Mary's estate, eh?" I nodded, just wishing to see what his +meaning was, but, of course, never dreaming of anything so +mercenary and hateful. He went on: "Then you think, I +suppose, that with the cash in hand I could break off with +Mary and make amends for the wrong I have done you? Is +that your little game?" At that moment I almost hated +Charles. Tears of mortification came into my eyes. "Oh, +Charles, don't think so meanly of me!" "Meanly! Why, +hang it, it was in my own head, why should it not be in yours, +too? You are the cleverest girl I know, for all you are so +quiet; of course, you thought of it! So did I, only that cock +won't fight, my girl. Oh, no; I consulted a lawyer, and he +upset all my little plans. 'You could not raise a penny,' says +he, 'for Miss Judson might marry, and if she does and dies, +her estate goes to her children, if she has any. Anyhow, +you can't touch the reversion till she dies single, or dies +childless.'" "Then, Charles, there is nothing for me to +do but to go out into the wide world, poor, abandoned and +miserable, with all the weight of my sin on me!" He looked +at me a long time with a curious expression in his eyes, +frowning. Then he kissed me suddenly on the mouth. +"Maud," he said, "you love me—really? really? really?" "I +love you," I said, "with all my heart and soul and +strength." "And what?" he asked, "what would you do to gain my—my +company forever?" I made him no answer, for I did not +understand him. I do not understand him now. Then he +said suddenly, "If you look at me like that with those great +brown eyes of yours and kiss me with those lips I would +... by Jove! there is nothing, nothing I would not—" Then, +without another reasonable word and with an oath, he +broke from me and left the room. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The last entry in Miss Lewsome's diary was made and +dated on the evening of the murder, and it was no doubt +written at the very moment that the tragedy was being +enacted within a few yards of the farmhouse windows. The +handwriting of this last entry, I noticed, was as firm as it +had been throughout—such a hand as I should have expected +from what I knew and had heard of this young lady's +character and temperament. She is a strikingly beautiful, +dark-skinned girl, quiet and reticent in manner, impulsive and +headstrong, perhaps, where her passions lead her—the diary +proves this only too clearly—but gentle, repressed in all her +ways and speech; a woman, in short, with such powers of +fascination as few men can resist. It is just such a girl as +this for whom men commit untold follies, and just such a +girl as would hold such an obstinate, dull-witted, overbearing, +young fellow as I see Charles Jex to be, in the hollow of her +hand. These lines that follow are the last in the diary. +</p> + +<p> +"I have had a long talk with Mary to-day. Charlie has +at last spoken to her about his feelings toward her and his +feelings toward me. He has told her plainly that he no +longer cares for her, but that he will marry her if she insists +upon holding him to his promise. The communication has +come upon her as a shock, she said. She was overwhelmed. +She could give him no answer. She could not believe that I +had encouraged him. Did I love him? she asked me. Did +he really love me? Was it not all a horrible dream? I told +her the truth, or as much of it as I dared. I told her he had +made me care for him long before I knew, or even guessed, +there was anything between him and her. I would go at +once. To-morrow I could take the train to town and never +trouble him, or her, or any one connected with Jex Farm +again. Poor Mary cried—she behaved beautifully. She said, +'Maud, you love him, he loves you. You can make him happy, +I see now that I cannot. His happiness is more to me than +my own. I will go away, and you shall be his wife. I will +never marry any one.' We did not speak for several minutes. +I could not at first believe in such a reversal of misery. Then +all the difficulties of the situation flashed upon me. My +poverty; the financial ruin he had to face; the wealth that +would save him. 'No,' I said, 'Mary, it cannot be. You are +generous, and I love you, but it cannot be! I cannot allow +you to make this sacrifice.' We talked long together, and we +both of us cried a great deal. I do not think the world holds +so sweet and unselfish a woman as Mary Judson. Whatever +our lots are in life, hers and mine, we shall always be as +sisters one to the other. To-morrow I leave Jex Farm." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0213"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER III +<br><br> +FRESH EVIDENCE +</h3> + +<p> +The immediate effect upon my mind of the reading of +Miss Lewsome's diary was to supply me with what had been +wanting: a motive for the crime. Everything had pointed in +my estimation to treachery in the household; everything +seemed to be against the possibility of the crime being +committed by an outsider. +</p> + +<p> +Assuming thieves and murderers not connected with the +household, what possible reason could have brought them to +run such a risk as to shoot down an innocent, unoffending +girl within forty yards of a dwelling-house, where probably +several men were within call, and certainly within earshot +of the sound of firearms? Then again, if a stranger had +done this thing for the sake of robbery, how could he be sure +that the girl would have money or a watch about her? A +third and stronger reason against any stranger criminal was +the fact that no stranger had left the imprint of his steps +in the garden plot near the gate on the further side of which +the girl had fallen. Her head, as she lay, all but touched the +lower bar of the orchard gate. She had been shot down at +her accustomed trysting-place with her lover, in the dusk, +and under deep shadow of the trees, in the darkness of late +evening. What stranger could guess she would be there? +What stranger could know so well where and how she would +stand as to be able to fire three following shots, through the +shadows of falling night, with such deadly aim as to take +effect within an inch of each other on the poor girl's temple? +</p> + +<p> +I abandoned the idea of a murder for the sake of robbery. +It was untenable. I scouted the theory suggested by Charles +Jex, and persevered in by him with curious insistence, that +the murderers were the bicyclists whom he had seen in the +bar at the Lion. The murderer was an inmate of Jex Farm; +of that there could be no manner of doubt; the evidence of +the footprints was proof enough for that. +</p> + +<p> +Who, then, was the murderer? +</p> + +<p> +Before I answer that question, I put in another document, +a very important piece of evidence. It is the report—the +very concise and careful report—of one of the most +conscientious, painstaking and intelligent provincial officers I +have ever had the pleasure of doing business with, Sergeant +Edwardes, of the Surrey Constabulary. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The Inspector took up the bundle, selected one paper and +gave me to read—<i>Sergeant Edwardes's Report on the +footprints near the spot where the body of Miss Judson was +found at</i> 9:35 P.M. <i>of October</i> 17, 189—. It ran as follows: +</p> + +<p> +"I have counted 43 distinct human footsteps and 54 partial +imprints. Of the 43, 24 are made by the left foot and only +19 by the right. Of the 54 faint or partial impressions I +found 17 of the left foot and only 12 of the right, the rest are +not distinctive enough to pronounce upon. +</p> + +<p> +"Of the total number of the fainter footprints 18 are +deeply marked in the soft clay, and others are less strongly +impressed. Of the 18 that are deeply marked, 11 are made +by the left foot, 7 by the right. +</p> + +<p> +"This accords with what I was told subsequently—that +Mr. Jex's three laborers, and Mr. Jex himself, on finding +Miss Judson's body, at once took it up in their arms and +bore it to the house. +</p> + +<p> +"Bearers of a heavy weight, such as a dead body, walking +together, invariably bear heavily upon the left foot, both +those who are supporting it on the left and those who are +supporting it on the right side. +</p> + +<p> +"Distinguishing the bootprints by their length, breadth, +and the pattern of the nail-marks upon them, I find that they +are the footprints of five separate persons, all of them men. +I also found, clearly impressed, the footprints of a sixth +person, a woman, namely, those of the victim herself. +</p> + +<p> +"There had been heavy rain in the morning of the 17th, +and the soil is a sticky clay. I examined the marks at +daybreak on the morning of the 18th, and, as it had not rained +during the night, the impressions were as fresh as if they had +just been made. By my orders no one had been allowed to +come near the spot where the body was found during the +night. Just inside the gate of the orchard the grass has +been long ago trodden away by passers-by, leaving the earth +bare; and this patch of bare earth forms an area rather +broader than the gate. On this area the body had fallen, +and round about the spot where it had lain, I found all the +footprints on which I am reporting. +</p> + +<p> +"I have compared the boots worn by the laborers with the +impressions near the gate. They correspond in every particular. +</p> + +<p> +"In the case of the footprints of the three laborers a +majority of the deeper impressions are made by the left boot. +</p> + +<p> +"I therefore conclude that all three men came upon the +spot only to carry away the body of the girl, and hold no +hand in her death. I argue the same from the footprints +made by Mr. Jex. He also had borne more heavily with the +left than with the right foot. He also, therefore, must have +come on the spot only to bear off the body, and could have +taken no part in the girl's murder. +</p> + +<p> +"There are almost an exactly equal number of impressions, +plain or faint, of the footprints of these four persons. +</p> + +<p> +"There remain the footprints of a fifth person. They are +the impressions of a man's foot, but the hobnailed boots that +made them, though full-sized, are of a rather lighter make +than the others, and the nail-marks are smaller, the boots +are newer, for the sides of the impressions have a cleaner +cut, and, what is important, the impressions <i>of the left foot +are in no case deeper than those of the right</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"This person, therefore, clearly did not assist in carrying +the body. The person who left these footprints is, in my +opinion, the man who, on the night of the 17th of October +last, murdered Miss Mary Judson." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0214"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IV +<br><br> +MORE FACTS IN THE CASE +</h3> + +<p> +The conclusion, so clearly and so logically arrived at by +Inspector Edwardes, at once narrowed the field of investigation. +My own inquiries bring out a still more startling discovery. +The footprints alleged by Sergeant Edwardes to be +those of the murderer—the almost self-convicted +murderer—correspond in length and breadth, and in the number of +nail-marks, twelve in the print of the left foot, ten (there being +two gaps) in that of the right, with a pair of boots in the +possession of Mr. Charles Jex. +</p> + +<p> +I did not, however, allow this very damning fact to press +too heavily against Charles Jex. It is absolutely necessary +in inquiries of this very grave character to proceed with +caution and deliberation. Another man might have worn the +boots with intent to deception on the night of the murder. +A murderer, rising the devilish cunning of one who seeks to +compass the death of a fellow-being without risk of +detection, frequently employs such wily precautions as this. +</p> + +<p> +I must first of all seek for a possible criminal among the +inmates of the house. There was Miss Lewsome—but it +could not have been Miss Lewsome, for, first, there was the +direct evidence of old Mrs. Jex that the young lady had not +left her side, in the sitting-room, from sundown till after the +body was found. There is the almost stronger indirect, +undesigned, and internal evidence of Miss Lewsome's diary, +with the entry of this very date calmly and fully set out at +the very time the murder must have been committed. +</p> + +<p> +Then, again, there are the two maids, to all seeming +well-behaved, innocent, rustic girls. It could be neither of them, +for their presence in the kitchen the whole evening was +vouched for by the evidence of the other servants. The same +applied to the three farm laborers. Not one of the servants, +male or female, had left the kitchen or scullery that night. +From sundown to supper-time is the hour of rest and +recreation at a farm, and the day generally ends in talk and +laughter. The whole five of them had been enjoying +themselves noisily round the kitchen fire. Their loud talk and +the blustering wind that roared about the farm chimneys +on this tempestuous evening had, doubtless, prevented any +one of them from hearing the three revolver shots on the +night of the murder. +</p> + +<p> +There remains Mr. Jex. Let us impartially examine the +acts that throw suspicion upon him. Here is a man who +clearly no longer loves, probably never did love, the girl +whom he is about to marry for her money; who certainly +does care for another woman; who has entangled himself in +an intrigue with this second woman, which he may reasonably +expect to come to light at any moment and endanger his +prospects of a rich marriage. Here is a man who, by the +impartial evidence of that woman's diary, has indulged in vague +threats against the murdered girl. He is the only person who +could benefit by her death, and would enjoy a welcome and +immediate relief, by this event, from impending bankruptcy. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, Mr. Jex, at the moment of the crime's +commission, represented himself to have been at Bexton, or +on the homeward road; but we have, of course, no exact +knowledge of the hour at which Mary Judson met with her +death. It clearly took place a little time before or a little +after half past six o'clock. It might be, for all we know, a +good half hour later than Mr. Jex's return to the farm. We +know nothing of Mr. Jex's movements from the time of his +coming home till his entry, at nine o'clock, into the +sitting-room where his mother and Miss Lewsome were awaiting +him. No servant opened the door for him; he let himself +in. No one saw or heard him enter. What was he doing, +during all the time that elapsed between his coming home +and the discovery of the murder? By his own statement +there was an hour and a half to be accounted for. He says +he was taking off his wet things and putting on dry ones, +lounging about in his bedroom, resting. It may be so, but +the time so occupied seems unnecessarily long. +</p> + +<p> +Charles Jex had shown himself, in his talk with me, not +a little of a fool, as well as (assuming his guilt) a brutal +and cruel murderer. It was the very extremity of his +stupidity, indeed, that almost inclined me to hope him +innocent. It was almost unthinkable that such a shrewd fellow +as Jex had the character of being in the countryside—keen +at a bargain, quick at a joke, a hearty, jovial companion at +board and bar, knowing and clever in all the signs of +coming change in weather and market—should have proved so +clumsy and stupid in this deadly affair; leaving traces +enough and supplying motives enough to hang a dozen men. +Of all men, one would suppose that a man of the fields and +a sportsman, used to the marks and tracking of game, would +be careful how he left the imprint of his footsteps on the soft +clay. Why, that evidence alone, with time fitting and motive +thrown in, was enough to bring him to the gallows! +</p> + +<p> +As if this was not enough, further most damning evidence +was presently forthcoming. +</p> + +<p> +I will trace out for you, step by step, the history of the +murder, on the assumption that Jex was the actual +murderer. As to motive I have said enough. No one but Jex +had a pecuniary motive for the murder of the girl, whom he +certainly did not love. The evidence of the footprints was +very strong, but I have said enough of them. To touch upon +the immediate cause of the girl's death, there were three +small bullets found in the brain, I have already told you +that these bullets were not of the conical kind usually found +in revolver cartridges. They were round, and of the size that +is used in the dangerous toys known as drawing-room pistols, +During one of Jex's absences on the farm, I had carefully +overhauled the saddle-room, where the young farmer kept his +guns and ammunition. I found all his guns, cartridge-fillers, +wads, shots of different sizes, arranged with the neat +order that a good sportsman uses. The guns, carefully +cleaned and oiled, were slung on the wall. Two were of the +ordinary kind—twelve-inch bore and double-barreled. A +third was a heavy, single-barreled, percussion-action duck +gun, no doubt meant for use in the neighboring marsh. +Half a dozen old-fashioned shot pouches hung along the wall, +full, or half full, of shot. +</p> + +<p> +These receptacles, as every one knows, were formerly +employed for muzzle-loaders, when men put in, first, the powder, +then the wadding, then the shot, with a second wad over +that, and finally a percussion cap on the lock nipple. One +of these old-fashioned pouches caught my eye. It was of a +larger size than the others. I took it from the wall, held it +mouth downward over my left hand, and pressed the spring +which releases a charge of shot. No shot fell into my hand, +but three slugs of the size of small pistol bullets, I snapped +the spring again, and three slugs again fell out, I +repeated the experiment again and again, every time with the +same result. The brass measure, meant to hold an ordinary +charge of shot that would weigh about one ounce, held just +three of the slugs, neither more nor less, every time it was +opened and shut. It was a revelation, for the slugs were +identical in size and weight with those found in the brain of +the unfortunate girl! The obvious conclusion was that the +murderer had loaded his gun from this leather pouch. +</p> + +<p> +There was another corollary to be drawn. The theory of +three shots from a revolver was no longer tenable; it seemed +clear that the fatal shot had been fired at one discharge, and +from a gun. It was also certain, from other evidence, that +the person who fired the shot had been one well acquainted +with firearms and their use. He would have been anxious +that the discharge of his gun should make as little noise as +possible. A man, knowing in gun-firing, knows that, to do +that, he must use a minimum of powder, with a soft paper +wadding in place of the usual tightly fitting circular wad. +So fired, the report of a gun is little louder than the clap of a +man's two hands when he holds them half-curved. It was in +evidence that the bullets had made but little penetration, +only just enough to kill, and that therefore the charge was +light. It is true that no such paper wadding as I believed +had been employed to muffle the sound of the discharge had +been found near the scene of the murder. There were +further conclusions still to be drawn. The gun was heavy +and unhandy. It could hardly have been used but by a +strongish man, A further conclusion still was this, that for +the three bullets in the charge not to scatter in their +trajectory, the gun must have been held close to the girl's head. +</p> + +<p> +It was well, though not absolutely indispensable, in order +to bring home the perpetration of the crime to Jex, and in +order to show that it was the deed of an expert—in order to +show that his story of his hearing the three shots was a lie, +invented to find a reason for the gun report, fired so close +to the house, having been unheard by its inmates—it was +well, I say, to show that the noise had actually been deadened +by the use of soft paper wadding. +</p> + +<p> +I walked straight to the orchard gate I placed myself +where the murderer must have stood, within two or three +yards of it; he must have fired point-blank at the girl, +suddenly and quickly, in the half dark, before she would have +had time to move. She had, probably, with her hands resting +on the top rail, stood waiting for her lover. The paper +wadding would have flown out from the gun barrel, at an +angle, more of less acute, to the line of fire, right or left of it, +some four or five yards from the muzzle of the gun, and +would have fallen, and must now be lying hidden in the grass +across the gate, on one side or the other of the orchard path. +</p> + +<p> +I searched the long wisps of grass, and, in two or three +minutes, had the satisfaction of finding, half hidden among +them, first one, and then a second piece of crumpled paper +charred and blackened with gunpowder. Inspector Edwardes +had overlooked this important piece of evidence. By the time +I had spread the papers out upon a board, there was little +left of them but a damp film, but enough was left of their +original appearance to show that they were pieces of the +county paper, taken in regularity by Mr. Jex. +</p> + +<p> +The man who fired that shot therefore was a proved expert. +He was one who had strong reason for not wishing the +shot to be heard; and, with half a charge of powder, a light +load of shot, and loose paper wadding, he had taken the very +best means to effect this purpose. Who in the household +was thus expert in firearms? Who, alone, could have known +of the existence of the bullet in the saddle-room? Clearly, +no one but Charles Jex. He had loaded the gun, too, with +paper obtainable in his own house. +</p> + +<p> +I had now more than evidence enough to justify Jex's +arrest for the murder of Mary Judson, but I was willing to +accumulate still more. I therefore contented myself with +obtaining a warrant for his arrest from the magistrates at +Bilford, the nearest large town, and prepared to execute it +the moment circumstances should make it expedient. Jex +had, for some time, shown himself to be uneasy. He shunned +me; it was clear he suspected me of having got upon the trail +of the crime. I became anxious lest he should think the +game was up, and try to escape from justice. I wired for two +officers, and instructed them to watch the farm by night, and +lay hands on the farmer if he should attempt to break away +in the darkness. By day I could keep my own eye upon him. +I did not let him get far out of my sight, but, careful as I +was, he showed signs of knowing he was watched. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning of the 22d of October—it was my third +day on this job—he came down early, dressed rather more +smartly than usual, and, before breakfast, he went round +to the stables. I affected not to have observed this suspicious +movement, and, in the course of the morning, I accepted +Miss Lewsome's invitation to accompany her on a walk to +Bexton. We both went to make ready. Jex left the room at +the same moment. He went toward the stables; I was +watching him from my bedroom window. I ran downstairs, +prepared for what was coming, and, making my way quickly into +the road, stood behind the tall, quickset hedge. +</p> + +<p> +Presently I heard the hurried steps of the groom in the +avenue; in a moment more he had opened the gate wide, +and as he did so, the dog-cart appeared with Jex driving +his gray mare very fast. He called to his servant to look +sharp, and hardly stopped the trap for the man to climb up +behind. I moved quickly in front of the mare. +</p> + +<p> +"Hulloa, Mr. Jex, you're in a hurry this morning!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, confound you, I am; get out of my way, please, or +we shall do you a mischief," and he whipped up the mare +and tried to drive past me. +</p> + +<p> +"Easy! easy! if you please." I took hold of the reins and +kept a firm hold. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what is it?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Going to catch a train, Mr. Jex?" He hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +"You're in good time for the 12:10 up, you know. Going +to town, perhaps?" +</p> + +<p> +"N—no—I'm not. Going to meet a friend at Lingham +Junction, that's all." +</p> + +<p> +"Will you take me with you, Mr. Jex?" +</p> + +<p> +"No room, Inspector. My friend and his things, and my +fellow will take all there is to spare." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, leave Sam behind. I can hold your mare at the +station, you know." He muttered an oath stupidly, but there +was no way for him out of the scrape. +</p> + +<p> +"Jump up, then," he said sulkily. "Sam," he called to his +man, "you can go back to your horses." +</p> + +<p> +I sat by his side in the cart, and we drove at a fair pace +to the station without half a dozen words passing between us. +</p> + +<p> +No doubt he was thinking the matter out; so was I. I +knew just what was passing in his thick head. He was devising +how he might slip into the train while I stood outside, +holding the horse. He forgot the telegraph. Dealing with +these rustic criminals and their simple ways, is bad practice +for us London officers, who have to set our wits, in town, +against some of the sharpest rogues in creation. I thought, +as I sat by Charles Jex, of my old friend Towers, <i>alias</i> Ikey +Coggins, and I laughed to myself as I compared the one +criminal with the other. We got in good time to the station. +The up-train signal only went up as we drove to the gate. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Mr. Jex, you'll be wanting to meet your friend; +shall I walk the mare about?" +</p> + +<p> +"Please to do so, Mr. Morgan," said Jex. "You might +take her two hundred yards, or so, up the road. Keep her +behind that outhouse, where she can't see the train passing, +will you? when it comes in. The mare is a bit nervous." +</p> + +<p> +I laughed in my sleeve at the fellow's shallowness. +</p> + +<p> +"All right, give me the ribbons. Hulloa, you've got a bag!" +</p> + +<p> +"Only a parcel for the up-train." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I see; only a parcel for the up-train. Look sharp, +then, and get it booked while there's time." +</p> + +<p> +I looked up and down the line; the train was not yet in +sight; there was no need for hurry. I turned the mare round +and drove her slowly toward the building Jex had pointed to. +saw him watch us from the station gateway before he went +in. As he disappeared I beckoned to a boy standing by. +</p> + +<p> +"Here's a shilling job, my lad! Just you walk the mare +up to that outhouse, and keep her there out of sight of the +train till I come back." +</p> + +<p> +Then I slipped into the station, and, keeping out of sight, +saw, as I fully expected I should, Jex taking his ticket. +</p> + +<p> +I waited till the train was in, and as the young farmer, bag +in hand, stepped on to the footboard of a second-class carriage, +I walked up to him and laid my hand upon his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"Charles Jex," I said, speaking loud and clear, for him and +the others around to make no mistake about it. "I arrest, you +for the murder, on the 17th instant, of Miss Mary Judson!" +</p> + +<p> +There was a crowd of ten to fifteen porters, guards, +farmers, and others round us in a minute. Jex just swore +once. Most criminals that I have taken this way lose their +pluck and turn pale, but Jex behaved differently. It was +clear that my move had not taken him by surprise. +</p> + +<p> +"I expected as much," he said. He looked round at the +people on the platform—his friends to a man, for the young +farmer was popular in the neighborhood. "Half a minute +more," said he, under his breath, "and I'd have done it." +</p> + +<p> +I slipped one of a pair of handcuffs over his wrist—and +clicked the catch, leaping fast hold of the other iron. +</p> + +<p> +"Anyhow, the game's up now," I said. +</p> + +<p> +"You're right, Inspector, the game's up now, sure enough." +</p> + +<p> +The crowd of his friends became rather obstreperous. I +called on the station-master and his guards to stand by me, +telling him and the people about who I was. +</p> + +<p> +There was a bit of a hustle, and rough talk and threats, +and I tried to get the other handcuff on, but my prisoner +and I were being pushed about in spite of what the station +people did to help us, and I should not have managed it but +for Jex himself. He held his free hand out alongside of the +manacled one. "Oh, damn it, Morgan, if that's what you +want, get done with it, and let's be off out of this." +</p> + +<p> +I put the second handcuff on and clicked the lock. +</p> + +<p> +The sight angered his friends, the farmers standing about, +and one of them shouted: +</p> + +<p> +"Now, then, boys, one more rush to goal and we score!" +</p> + +<p> +"Hold on, gentlemen, if you please," I cried. "I warn you, +in the King's name! This is my lawful prisoner; I'm an +Inspector of Police and I hold a warrant for the arrest of +the body of Charles Jex, for murder." +</p> + +<p> +They held back at this for a moment, and I hurried my +prisoner through the station entrance, and the porters, +guards, and station-master closed round and shut the gate +in the faces of the crowd. I never yet knew a man take it +so coolly as Jex. When we got to the dog-cart, he said: +</p> + +<p> +"I guess you'll have to drive yourself, Mr. Inspector. +With these damned things on my wrists, I can't." +</p> + +<p> +We got in, and I took the reins and drove off fast. +</p> + +<p> +We had traveled some half a mile from the station, and +Jex had not opened his lips. I said: +</p> + +<p> +"So you were going to town, were you, Mr. Jex?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Inspector," he said quietly, "haven't you forgotten to +caution your prisoner before you ask him any questions? +Isn't that the law?" He had me there, sure enough. +</p> + +<p> +"I warn you," I said, coming in with it rather late, I must +admit, "that any statement you make may be used against +you on trial." +</p> + +<p> +"That's just what I had in my mind, Inspector," said Jex, +and he never uttered another word till we neared the farm. +</p> + +<p> +Just as we sighted the farm buildings, I made out on the +road, in the distance, a woman's figure. It was Miss Lewsome. +She stood in the middle of the road, and I should have +driven over her if I had not pulled up. +</p> + +<p> +"What is this, Mr. Morgan?" she cried as we drove up. +"Why is it you who are driving? Tell me—tell me quick." +</p> + +<p> +"You'll know soon enough, Miss Lewsome. Stand aside, +if you please." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! what is it? Charles, speak, for God's sake, speak!" +</p> + +<p> +Jex had kept his hands under the apron; he did not say +a word, but presently he held out his two wrists, manacled +together, for the girl to see. She gave a loud scream. +</p> + +<p> +"O God! you have arrested him, Mr. Morgan! No, no, +you can't—you—" +</p> + +<p> +As she was speaking a faintness came over her; she turned +from red to very pale, muttering incoherent words which we +could not catch, and staggered back against a road gate. But +for the bar of the gate to which she clung, she would have +fallen. "Help her," said Jex. "Get down and help the girl. +You know I can't." +</p> + +<p> +"It's all right, she'll get over it. We'll let her be, and send +the women to her presently," and I drove the cart the forty +or fifty yards that took us into the stable-yard. +</p> + +<p> +It had been my intention to lodge my prisoner, after dark, +that evening, in the keeping of the county police, but events +were to happen before nightfall that put a quite different +face upon the whole case. As soon as I had given the young +farmer into my men's charge, with orders that one or the +other was to be with him till we should give him over to the +police at Bilford, I called to two of the women of the farm, +and went with them to the help of Miss Lewsome. +</p> + +<p> +We found her lying by the roadside, in a dead faint. A +farmer's wife—a passer-by—was kneeling by her side, and +trying to recall her to her senses. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor thing!" she was saying. "It's only a bit of a swound. +She'll come to, if we wait a little." +</p> + +<p> +In two or three minutes Miss Lewsome opened her eyes, +and presently stood up, and, with our help, she walked to +the house. She said nothing, in her seemingly bewildered +condition, of what had happened, and presently afterward +she was induced to lie down in her bedroom, and, for the +time, I saw no more of her. +</p> + +<p> +In little more than an hour, however, I had a message from +her through one of the farm girls. She desired to see me at +once, and alone. +</p> + +<p> +I found her sitting up in an armchair, pale and excited in +looks, but, at first, she did not speak. I drew a chair near +hers and sat down. She did not notice the few phrases of +condolence I tittered. Suddenly she spoke, and I could judge +what she must have felt by the strained tones of her voice. +</p> + +<p> +"He is innocent, Mr. Morgan." +</p> + +<p> +I said nothing. Poor girl! My heart bled for her. +</p> + +<p> +"Innocent, I tell you! Innocent, and you must release him +at once!" +</p> + +<p> +"You must not excite yourself about this matter, Miss +Lewsome. It is not a thing for a young lady to meddle with." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but I must meddle with it! I must, I must!" +</p> + +<p> +She raised her voice to a scream. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes, my poor girl, I know how shamefully you have +been treated." +</p> + +<p> +"I, shamefully treated? No, no! He has treated me so +well. No one could be so good and loyal as he has been." +</p> + +<p> +"Your diary, Miss Lewsome?" +</p> + +<p> +"Lies, all lies, all wicked, cowardly lies, to save myself and +hurt him. Yes, to hurt the only man I ever loved. Oh, I am +a devil, a malignant, hateful devil! No woman, since the +world began, ever schemed so hellish a thing as I schemed." +</p> + +<p> +She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +What should I do? I was wasting my time in listening to +the raving of a love-sick, hysterical girl. I rose to leave her. +</p> + +<p> +"You are doing your health no good, dear Miss Lewsome. +You must see the doctor, not me; he shall give you a +sleeping-draught, and you will be all right again in the morning." +</p> + +<p> +"By the morning you will have gone away, and you will +have taken Charles with you to disgrace, perhaps to death. +No, they can't, they can't! The law can't convict him, can it?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is not for me to say. The evidence is very strong." +</p> + +<p> +"Very strong? But there is not a particle of evidence! +There can be none!" +</p> + +<p> +"If that man did not murder Mary Judson," said I, getting +impatient with her hysterical nonsense, "who did?" +</p> + +<p> +She did not answer for a space of time in which I could +have counted twenty, slowly; but she kept her eyes on me +with a look in them that almost frightened me. +</p> + +<p> +"I did!" she cried out, at last. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah no! young lady, I see what you're driving at, but it +won't do. No, Miss Lewsome, it's a forgivable thing, your +saying this to save your friend, but I tell you it won't do." +</p> + +<p> +"I murdered Mary Judson!" I shook my head and smiled, +</p> + +<p> +"I tell you, I shot Mary Judson on Wednesday night, +did it because I was a jealous, malignant devil, and hated +her, and hated him." +</p> + +<p> +"Quite impossible. You never left Mrs. Jex's side all the +evening, from before sundown till supper-time. It's in evidence." +</p> + +<p> +"She says so—she believes I did not. She dozes for an hour +every evening, and does not even know that she does. I +went from the room. I slipped out the moment she dozed off, +and came back before she woke. Oh, I had plenty of time." +</p> + +<p> +"But your footprints were not there, and Jex's were." +</p> + +<p> +"I put on his boots over my own. I had often done it, in +fun. I did it that day in earnest." +</p> + +<p> +"Did you want to hang him?" +</p> + +<p> +"I did. I hated him so—then." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, in your diary you say you loved him!" +</p> + +<p> +"I did; oh, I do now! But then, when she was alive, I +hated them both—her and him. But you can't understand. +Men can't understand women. I was mad." +</p> + +<p> +"You are mad now, Miss Lewsome, if you think to save +your lover by telling me these falsehoods—for you know they +are falsehoods. Mind, I don't blame you for saying what you +are saying, but don't expect me, or any one, to believe you." +</p> + +<p> +"I shot Mary Judson in the dusk, at the gate, with his gun! +I put three little balls in it that I took from a shot-pouch in +the saddle-room." +</p> + +<p> +"You couldn't load the double-barrel with powder and balls, +without a cartridge, and none was used." +</p> + +<p> +I thought to catch her tripping in her invention here. +</p> + +<p> +"I did not use the double-barrel. I used the single-barrel. +I loaded it as I had seen Charles load it. I put a bit of +paper over the powder, and another over the bullets, and +rammed them down as I have seen Charles do, and I put a +cap on as he had shown me how." +</p> + +<p> +"Come now, that gun with a full charge would have +knocked you down." +</p> + +<p> +"I know it would, but I put in only half a charge." +</p> + +<p> +"Stop a bit now, Miss Lewsome, and I will catch you out. +I have found the paper wadding in the grass. What sort of +paper was it you put in—brown paper?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, a bit of newspaper; the county paper. I tore off a bit +of the <i>Surrey Times</i>." The thing was beginning to puzzle me. +</p> + +<p> +"Another question, Miss Lewsome. You say Mr. Jex is an +innocent man. Then why does he attempt to run away? He +tried this very day to throw dust in my eyes and go by the +express to London." +</p> + +<p> +"I guessed he would, and that is why I wished to get you +out of his way this morning." +</p> + +<p> +"Had you told Mr. Jex, then, what you tell me now?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, but he suspects me—oh, I am sure he knows it is I +who have done this dreadful thing!" +</p> + +<p> +"If he knows that you are the real murderer and himself +innocent, why did he try to escape? You see your story won't +hang together, Miss Lewsome." +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Jex tried to escape, I tell you, to save me." +</p> + +<p> +"But why should he put his own neck in the halter to save +a guilty woman—-if guilty you are?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because he loves me. He would be suspected, not I." +</p> + +<p> +She was certainly in one story about it all. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he loves me so that he has run this great risk to save +me from being found out and hanged." +</p> + +<p> +"He told you this?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, he has told me nothing, nor have I told him anything; +but these last days I have guessed, by his face, that he +knows. I have seen it in his eyes. Oh, he loathes and +despises me now!" I said nothing for a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Miss Lewsome, I will ask you once more deliberately +and, mind you, your story will be sifted to the utmost, and +what you say now may be used against yourself in court. +You tell me you shot Miss Mary Judson after sundown on +the night of the 17th of October?" +</p> + +<p> +"I did." +</p> + +<p> +"You used Mr. Jex's gun, and you charged it yourself?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"You wore Mr. Jex's boots when you went out in the dark +to kill your dearest friend, and you committed this black +crime in order to throw suspicion upon Mr. Jex, who was +your lover?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Oh, I was quite mad! I can't understand it. But +there was only hatred and bitterness in my heart, and I saw +nothing but blood—there was blood in my eyes." +</p> + +<p> +"And what was your object? What did you think would +come of it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing, only I hated her so. I was too miserable, +because the time was coming near when he would marry her +and I be left alone." +</p> + +<p> +"But, according to your first story, you were writing your +diary, if not at the time of the murder, at least immediately +after it was done. Do you wish me to believe that a murderess, +hot-handed, can sit down and write long entries in a diary?" +</p> + +<p> +"It was a lie I told to take you in. I wrote that entry in +the diary—all those lies, to throw dust in your eyes—in the +forenoon." +</p> + +<p> +"You expected nothing, then, from the murder?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think I expected that perhaps Charles would inherit her +money and be able to marry me, when it had all blown over." +</p> + +<p> +"But why did you say, just now, that you hated him, and +had committed this cruel crime to spite him? You must have +guessed that you would bring him in peril of his life." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, you don't understand women. Women understand +women; men never do. I tell you I felt a devil. Why did he +want to make her his wife and leave me in the cold? Oh, I +hated him for that; I should never have killed her if I had +not so hated him." +</p> + +<p> +"Surely you could not have expected him to marry a +woman who had committed a murder?" +</p> + +<p> +"I never thought he would guess. I never thought of all +these discoveries. No one would have known, if you had not +taken him up." +</p> + +<p> +"But you brought that about by wearing his boots, and +firing with his gun and his ammunition." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, yes, there is the pity. I did not reason; I wanted to +punish him for his jilting of me. He would be in my power. +Oh, I did not reason. I only felt a vindictive devil. Have +no mercy on me; I deserve everything. I hate myself!" +</p> + +<p> +I got up. "We will talk of this again to-morrow," I said, +"when you are calmer." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she said quietly, "when I am calmer." +</p> + +<p> +"You will let me send for the doctor?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"To give you a sleeping-draught." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, send for him; but you won't tell Mrs. Jex. She is +old and feeble." +</p> + +<p> +"No, I will tell her nothing to-night, at any rate—nothing +of what has happened. She need not even know that her son +has been arrested. He will not go from here to-night." +</p> + +<p> +"Can you manage that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I can manage that." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The farm servants, of course, knew that their master was +in custody. I told them they were to keep it from the old +lady. I sent one of them for the doctor, and when he came +I bade him give a strong sleeping-draught to Miss Lewsome. +</p> + +<p> +I went into Jex's bedroom. He was lying on the bed, with +the handcuffs on his wrists. My two men were with him. I +motioned them to leave me. +</p> + +<p> +I took out my key, unfastened the irons and removed them. +</p> + +<p> +"What's up?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"I've some fresh evidence, that is all." +</p> + +<p> +"Am I no longer under arrest, then?" +</p> + +<p> +"Please to consider yourself in custody for the present. +I have said nothing to your mother about all this. She knows +nothing. Isn't that better so?" +</p> + +<p> +"Much better. I'll come down to supper, to keep it up." +</p> + +<p> +"I was going to ask you to." +</p> + +<p> +"How is Miss Lewsome?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very excited and disturbed. I've sent for the doctor to +give her a sleeping-draught. Miss Lewsome has made a +communication to me." +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, ay." He showed no further curiosity in the matter. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor came, gave Miss Lewsome a pretty strong dose +of chloral, and departed, having learned nothing, by my +express orders to the servants, of what had taken place that day +at Jex Farm. One of my men remained that night in Mr. Jex's +bedroom, and the other had orders to watch the house +from the outside. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lewsome's absence was easily accounted for to Mrs. Jex, +who was too old and feeble to be easily roused to +curiosity, by a story of a chill and a headache that had obliged +her guest to keep to her bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +The hours after breakfast, next morning, passed slowly. +No fresh developments of any kind occurred. Jex asked no +questions, and I did not care to speak to him. +</p> + +<p> +I waited for Hiss Lewsome's awakening and deliberated +as to my next step. Was her confession to be seriously acted +upon? It had shaken me, but not quite convinced me, +curiously supported though it was by a whole chain of +circumstantial evidence. Was I bound to arrest this evidently +hysterical girl, on the strength of a story which might, after +all, be nothing but a tissue of cunning lies to save her lover? +</p> + +<p> +I have not often been so puzzled. I have not often found +the facts and probabilities, for and against, so equally poised +in the balance. +</p> + +<p> +Midday came and there had been no sign, or sound, of +stirring in Miss Lewsome's bedroom. I sent in one of the +servants and waited outside. Presently the maid screamed +and ran out of the room, pale and speechless. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" I asked, rather fearful myself. "What's +up now, my girl?" +</p> + +<p> +"Go to her, sir; go in to her quick! Oh, I don't know—I +can't tell, but I'm afraid it's— Her hands are cold, stone +cold, and her face is set. I can't waken her!" +</p> + +<p> +She was dead—had been dead for hours—and on the dressing-table, +propped against the pincushion, was a closed letter +addressed to myself. I opened it, and read what follows: +</p> + +<p> +"I, Maud Lewsome, make this dying confession. I, of my +own will, no one knowing, no one advising, no one helping +me, shot my friend, Mary Judson, at the orchard gate of Jex +Farm. I had put on Mr. Jex's boots over my shoes in order +that the crime might be shifted from my shoulders to his. +I shot her across the orchard gate, in the dark, just at +nightfall, when she could not see me. She was waiting for him. +Perhaps I could not have done it, though I had resolved I +would, but that as I came up, she said, 'Is that you, +dearest?' Then I raised the gun and fired—seeing her only in outline +against the little light still in the evening sky. She fell at +once on the place where she stood and made no cry or groan. +</p> + +<p> +"The gun gave no report hardly, but I was afraid they +might somehow guess indoors it was me, and I waited a +long time, not daring to go in. Presently the gate from the +road was opened. I knew it was Charles Jex coming from +Bexton to her, and I was glad then that I had done it. I +thought he would see me if I ran into the house, so I opened +the orchard gate very softly and crouched down beside +Mary's dead body. He came up to the gate and called 'Mary' +twice, but he could see nothing and went away. Then I felt +quite hard and callous, but my mind was very clear and +active, and I thought I would take her watch, so that people +might think she had been robbed. I took it and her chain, +and, coming into the garden again, I buried them with my +hands, two or three inches deep, in the flower-border, near the +porch and smoothed the mould down over it. Then I was +afraid he would hear me in the passage, and I took off the +thick boots and carried them in my hand. I could hear him +in his bedroom overhead, and I took the gun to the saddle-room +and the boots I rubbed dry with a cloth and laid them in +a row with the others. Then I felt I must see him, and I +went up very lightly and knocked at his door and he came +out in his shirt-sleeves and said, in a whisper, 'How pale +you are, Maud,' and he kissed me, and I kept my hands +behind me lest he should see the garden mould on them, but he +did not notice that, and he said again: +</p> + +<p> +"'How pale you look to-night! Have you seen a ghost?' +</p> + +<p> +"And I ran back first to my room and washed my hands +and looked at myself in the glass and thought, This is not +the reflection of Maud Lewsome! This, is the reflection of +a murderess! And in my ears there is always the report of +the gun as I fired it at Mary Judson, and in my nostrils the +smell of the gunpowder smoke, and since then I have heard +and smelt these two things day and night; but Mary's face, +when I killed her, I did not see, and I am glad I did not. +The doctor has given me chloral, and, presently, I shall take +another double dose from a bottle of it I have, and before +morning I shall be dead, for I cannot live after this thing +that I have done. I thought I could forget it, but I cannot, +and I must die. I tell the exact truth now in the hope that +God may listen to my confession and my repentance, and +forgive me for the awful wickedness that I have committed. I +shot her with Charles's large gun; I had watched him loading +it often, and I did as he did, and I put three little bullets in it +that I took from the shot pouch that hangs third in the row +on the wall." +</p> + +<p> +The first thing I did after reading this was to call one of +my men and bid him turn over the soil in the flower border +close to the porch. He did so, and in my presence he found +Mary Judson's watch and chain. Taking it in my hands, I +carried it to Jex. +</p> + +<p> +"We have found this, Mr. Jex." +</p> + +<p> +"Where?" +</p> + +<p> +I told him. He nodded, but said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you, please, read this paper, Mr. Jex?" and I handed +him that on which Miss Lewsome had written her confession. +He read the first few lines and started up. +</p> + +<p> +"Good God! Has she—?" I nodded. +</p> + +<p> +"She took her own life last night." +</p> + +<p> +He sank down on a chair and covered his face with his +hands, but his emotion lasted for a moment only. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor girl!" he said sadly, "I expected it," +</p> + +<p> +"Then you knew she had done the murder?" +</p> + +<p> +He made no answer, but read calmly through the confession +he held in his hand, then he gave it back without comment. +</p> + +<p> +"After this, Mr. Jex, you are, of course, at liberty. I have +only to apologize to you for the inconvenience I have put +you to, but the evidence against you was strong, you must +admit." +</p> + +<p> +"You could not do otherwise, Inspector Morgan, than you +have done," and he held out his right hand to me. +</p> + +<p> +I made some pretence of not seeing his action. I did not +take Charles Jex by the hand. +</p> + +<p> +Except for certain formalities that I need not give you, +there is no more to interest you in the case. I need only add +that with such evidence before us as Miss Lewsome's confession, +it was, of course, impossible to charge Jex with any +part in this murder; but, remembering all the circumstances +since, I have sometimes asked myself, Was the girl alone +guilty, was she a tool in the hands of a scheming villain, or +was she perhaps only a victim and entirely innocent? Women +are, to us men, often quite unaccountable beings. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> + +<h3> +The Border +</h3> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY HENRY C. ROWLAND +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p> +"It is all very interesting," said Jones, "but a bit +unsatisfying." +</p> + +<p> +"The patients in my clinic of psycho-therapy do not +find it so," answered Dr. Bayre. He turned to me. "You +have followed some of my cases. Do you think that the wife +of the <i>ouvrier</i> has found it unsatisfying? Formerly she +received a beating, on an average, once a month, when her +husband was drunk. Now he does not drink, and she is no +longer beaten. There are many similar cases which I have +seen." He lit a cigarette and frowned. +</p> + +<p> +"I beg your pardon, Doctor," said Jones. "I don't mean +to detract from the practical value of your science. I was +speaking generally of the usual manifestations of spiritism: +levitation and telepathy and messages from the dead and all +the rest. In spite of the claims of mediums, I notice that +none of them has taken up Le Bon's challenge in the Matin +to shift a solid weight from one table to another before +witnesses. And they must need the money, too." +</p> + +<p> +"There are reasons. Also there are charlatans. Yet again, +people needing money who could shift weights at will and +without machinery would not be professional mediums. They +would engage in the business of furniture moving." +</p> + +<p> +"But can't you offer this Philistine something concrete +from your own experience, Doctor?" asked I. +</p> + +<p> +"What is the use? He would not believe." +</p> + +<p> +Jones flushed. "I beg your pardon, Doctor. Your word is +far more convincing than my doubts." +</p> + +<p> +The psychologist turned to him with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +"That is nicely put." His fine, broad-browed, highly +intellectual face grew thoughtful. "Yes," he said, "I will show +you something. I do not as a rule waste time convincing +skeptics, but to you I feel that I owe something because I +have so much enjoyed your tales. Excuse me for a moment." +</p> + +<p> +He flicked his cigarette into the fire, rose lightly to his feet +and left the room, to return a moment later with some leaves +of paper held together in clips, and a newspaper. +</p> + +<p> +"This is quite a long story, and as it proceeds you will +recognize the characters and the events. But please do not +interrupt—not even by an exclamation of surprise." +</p> + +<p> +He laid the papers upon the table at his side, leaned back +in his chair and brought the tips of his fingers together. +</p> + +<p> +"One night," said he, "I felt myself to be unduly sensitive. +As I have remarked before, my personal faculty lies almost +wholly in producing or inducing what are known as mediumistic +qualities in others. Myself, I have had very little of +what is known as 'occult experience.' Take, for instance, the +practice of crystal gazing; only twice have I ever seen +anything in a crystal globe, although I have tried repeatedly. +</p> + +<p> +"This night, as I have said, I felt myself to be highly +sensitive, and it occurred to me to look into the ball, so I went +into my study and turned down the lights and set myself to +gaze. I do not know just how long I had been looking, when +suddenly I observed the phenomenon so often described to me +by my patients and others, but seen for the first time with my +own eyes. The crystal clouded, became milky and opaque, +then cleared, and I found myself looking into the face of a +man. He was a handsome fellow, of somewhat over thirty, +thoroughbred in type. The whole face was well known to me; +I recognized it as one that I had frequently seen, and +presently I recalled it as belonging to a gentleman whom I had +often met when riding in the Bois. +</p> + +<p> +"But what impressed me the most was the expression of +earnest, almost agonized entreaty. The eyes looked straight +into mine with an appeal which haunted me. However, knowing +the irrelevance of pictures seen in this way, I tried to put +the vision out of my mind and to congratulate myself that +my efforts had finally met with success. +</p> + +<p> +"Two nights later, I looked into the globe again, when to +my amazement the same face appeared almost instantly; +this time the expression of entreaty, the mute and agonized +appeal, was even more intense, and I saw the lips move as if +imploring aid. Then the picture vanished, leaving me +shocked and startled. +</p> + +<p> +"'This,' I said to myself, 'is more than coincidence.' I +went to my telephone and called up a person with whom I +had several times conducted experiments, and who was +possessed of considerable mediumistic faculty. I requested her +to come to my office at once. +</p> + +<p> +"When she arrived I told what had occurred, and she agreed +that it was undoubtedly an effort to communicate on the part +of some entity who was in trouble. I suggested hypnotism, +but she proposed that we first attempt communication by +means of what is known as automatic writing. +</p> + +<p> +"Before she had been sitting five minutes with the writing +block on her knee, the pencil began to move. At the end of +perhaps ten minutes I looked over her shoulder and found, to +my disgust, the usual jumble of vulgar and meaningless +sentences which is so often the result of this method of +communication. Much disappointed, I put a stop to the writing, +and asking her to wait, I went into my study and wrote a +short note to another acquaintance with whom I have had +many discussions on these matters. The note I gave to my +servant, with instructions to jump into a motor cab and +deliver it at once, bringing the gentleman back with him if +possible. About twenty minutes later he arrived, when I +explained the whole coincidence. +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes' said he, 'somebody is undoubtedly trying to +communicate with you, but is unable to gain access to your +medium. Perhaps we may be able to remedy that.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then go ahead and do so,' said I. 'We are quite at your +command.' +</p> + +<p> +"He went ahead then with a formulary which he had +learned from his Oriental studies in occultism and Hindoo +magic, and which I had always regarded as the mystic rubbish +with which time and tradition have interlarded scientific +truth. First he requested that I sit in the middle of the +room facing my medium and at a distance of about three +feet. Then he closed the doors and windows, and taking the +fire shovel, proceeded to roast incense until we were nearly +choked by the fumes. Thereafter, taking an ebony wand +from his inner pocket, he drew a circle about us, and having +ascertained the points of the compass, drew pentagrams at +the four cardinal ones, accompanying each design with +an invocation. All of this consumed some time, during +which I sat there, half interested, half ashamed and wholly +skeptical. +</p> + +<p> +"'This formula,' he remarked when he had finished, 'is one +used by the Hindoos to keep out undesired entities when it is +wished to communicate with some particular one. Now, +Doctor, please invoke the presence of the person with whom +you want to communicate, and request that he avail himself +of the services of your medium.' +</p> + +<p> +"Accordingly I did so. 'Will the entity whose face appeared +to me in the crystal sphere please to come within the +circle,' said I, 'and transmit his message through the pencil in +the hands of the medium!' +</p> + +<p> +"Several minutes passed without result; then suddenly the +pencil began to move with great rapidity and apparent definite +purpose. The sheets which I have here consist of a copy +of the original, made by myself for reasons which I will +presently relate. I will now read them. The narrative began +abruptly, as you will see, and it was not until I had read for +some length that I was able to recall certain instances." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Bayre adjusted his spectacles, and picking up the sheaf +of pages read as follows: +</p> + +<p> +"'... All that her kindness did for me remained imprinted +upon a brain which she supposed to be stupefied from +violence. For although my body was completely paralyzed +for several days, my mind was active throughout—abnormally +so, I think, as the impressions which remained were strong +and detailed as though of a series of pictures I had painted. +</p> + +<p> +"'Unlike my friend De Neuville and the <i>mécanicien</i>, I +preserved the clearest recollection of the details of the +accident itself. We were making over a hundred kilometers an +hour, I shame to say, upon a greasy road, when that <i>char-à -banc</i> +full of children shot out of the gate and across the track. +At such a moment our actions are governed by some higher +intelligence and we need take no credit for them to ourselves. +A strength not of my body twisted the wheel in my hands +and flung the big car over the edge of the bank. Why not? +A nameless aristocrat, a <i>mécanicien</i> and a mediocre painter! +What did their lives weigh against those of a wagonload of +children? +</p> + +<p> +"'The crash itself is vague, but I remember the dreamlike +journey on the swaying stretcher across the meadow, and +down the cool, shady lane. It was here that De Neuville +spread a scarf over my face, but it slipped off when they get +me down in the antechamber of the chateau. +</p> + +<p> +"'Through half-closed eyes I looked across the threshold +of the somber hall and toward the great stairway. Everybody +was watching the stair, and presently there was a +subdued, expectant murmur. "<i>Voici madame qui descend—voici +madame</i>," I heard in whispers, which carried a note of +relief, of confidence. Numb as I was, a tremor passed +through me. And then I heard the tap-tap-tap of even steps, +and a white-clad figure drifted down within my line of vision. +</p> + +<p> +"'I find it difficult to tell how she appeared to me as I lay +there, an all but disembodied consciousness. What most +impressed me was her exquisite harmony with her surroundings. +Strong and compassionate and undismayed, she crossed the +hall to where I lay, and stood for a moment looking down +upon me, her face tender with sympathy, her eyes very dark +and deep. "<i>Quel malheur!</i>" I heard her say, beneath her +breath. +</p> + +<p> +"'For myself, there was the odd quality of utter detachment +from it all. I could not realize myself that all this was +being done for me. She followed me as they carried me up +the stairs, and for many hours which followed it was only +the delight I found in watching her which held my insecure +soul to its heavy body. It would have been so easy to have +gently loosed my hold and slipped out into the long, cool +shadows. But because of the wish to see her once more I +lingered, at times reluctantly. In this desire to see her there +was nothing personal, nothing of self. I could not speak, +could not feel, could not even formulate an abstract thought, +I could only look at my pictures, but as my mental power +slowly grew these brought daily a deeper delight. It was then +that I began to consider her not as a picture but as a person. +I studied her features, her movements, gestures, expression, +of which last there was never a woman's face so rich. I +watched her, I will confess to my shame, through half-closed +lids, when she thought me still wrapped in clouds. My speech +was not yet articulate, but to myself I called her my "perfect +chatelaine." "These gray walls and velvety lawns and old +tapestries all love her," I thought, "because she has been +wrought by them and their kind from many generations. No +wonder that they enhance her and lend themselves a setting +to her faultless grace! No wonder that she cannot strike a +note to which they fail to vibrate! They belong to her and +she to them, and they love her! Only France could have +produced her," I told myself. "My Perfect Chatelaine!" +</p> + +<p> +"'And so you can imagine my surprise when one evening +she leaned from my window and called down softly to her +little son, in English which carried the unmistakable accent +of my native Virginia: "Your supper is waiting for you, +dear!" +</p> + +<p> +"'No wonder she found me with wide, staring eyes when +she turned to leave the room! An American woman! She, +my Perfect Chatelaine, whom it had taken centuries to +perfect, and whom only France could ever have produced! The +blood rushed to my head. I swear that it was more of a +shock than the four-meter plunge in the racing car! +</p> + +<p> +"'And this was the limit of my knowledge concerning her. +I knew only that she was the widow of the late Count Etienne +de Lancy-Chaumont, that she had a little son whom she +adored and a mother-in-law who was jealous of her. This +much I learned at Chateau Fontenaye. +</p> + +<p> +"'As soon as my doctor would permit, after being taken +back to Paris, I wrote to her, and received in answer a +charming letter which went far toward hastening my convalescence. +Thereafter we wrote frequently, and then one glorious day +when I was sitting on the balcony of my studio at Dinard +she came to me. She must have seen the soul pouring from +my eyes, for her sweet face grew rich as the sunset, while her +breath came quickly. I rose from my <i>chaise-longue</i> and took +the small hand which she offered me. +</p> + +<p> +"'"My Perfect Chatelaine!" was all that I could say. +</p> + +<p> +"'This was the beginning of that brief epoch which comes +in the earthly cycle of most of us to pay so royally for all of +the pain and sorrow and discouragement which go to make a +lifetime. Not long after, on the edge of the cliffs at Etretat, +whither we had motored with a party, we found ourselves +alone, looking out across the bright sunlit sea, the breeze on +our faces and the hiss of the breakers on the cobbly beach +below. There, her beautiful head against my shoulder and her +hands in mine, she confessed to me a love such as I had never +dared hope to gain. +</p> + +<p> +"'Six weeks later we were quietly married in the little +chapel of Chateau de Fontenaye, and the week following +found us in Switzerland. Small need for us to make the +ascent of mountains! We dwelt always on the heights, and +the clouds formed our carpet. But because we were young +and strong and thrilling with life, we must needs make the +ascent. We were both experienced Alpinists and loved the +sport, and so one day, as if to tempt the high gods who had +favored us, we secured our guides—'" +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Bayre stopped abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +"At this point," said he, "the writing was interrupted for +several minutes. When it recommenced I observed that the +pencil was moving more slowly and in quite a different +manner. Leaning forward to look on the pad, I saw to my +disgust that the hand had changed its character, while the words +themselves were random and foolish. +</p> + +<p> +"'Some other intelligence has thrust itself in and got control +of the medium,' said my friend. 'Let us see if we cannot +oust him.' +</p> + +<p> +"With that he proceeded to roast some more incense, then +placed himself in front of the medium and delivered what +appeared to be an exorcism. After that he retraced his circle, +wove his pentagrams, mumbled his Sanskrit formula and then +requested me to reinvoke the desired entity. This I did, +feeling, I must say, rather like a fool, for although my own +psychological work may seem dark and mysterious to the +uninstructed, it is nevertheless all based on well established +scientific knowledge and contains nothing of mummery and +such hodge-podge as meaningless incantations and the like. +Almost immediately the writing recommenced, and I saw to +my gratification that it was in the same hand as the preceding +narrative. But it appeared that some of the connecting +passages had been lost, for the text began in this manner: +</p> + +<p> +"'... looked over the tossing sea of distant snowpeaks, +when the pale beauty of the Alpine dawn burst into flame +before the glory of the sunrise. +</p> + +<p> +"'Side by side in the doorway of the cabane, we stood and +watched the majesty of day unfold itself upon a frozen world. +Roseate rays shot to the zenith; the cold, hard rim of a +distant icepeak melted and swam in the face of the jubilant sun. +Then the blue and saffron of the snow mountains were scored +by crimson bands, exultant tongues of living flame which +leaped from glacier to lofty snow cornice and suffused with +blushes the pale face of the virgin snow. +</p> + +<p> +"'I turned to look into the face of my bride. Her eyes +were brimming, the rosy flush of the sunrise was on her +cheeks and her sweet lips quivered. Her gaze met mine and +she threw her arms about my neck. +</p> + +<p> +"'"It is so beautiful that it frightens me!" she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +"'"What, sweetheart?" I asked. "The Alpine sunrise?" +</p> + +<p> +"'"Yes," she murmured. "It is like my love for you.—each +moment growing fuller and more all-possessing." +</p> + +<p> +"'Our head guide, Perreton, came to the door of the <i>cabane</i> +and pointed out to us our route. +</p> + +<p> +"'"We ascend on this side, madame," said he, "crossing +the snow <i>couloir</i> you see above you, then following the <i>arête</i> +to the other side of the <i>calotte</i> to the left, thence to the +summit. That will take us the better part of the day, but we can +<i>glissade</i> down very quickly on the other side. It should be +easy going. There have been three days of the northeast +wind and the snow is in good condition." +</p> + +<p> +"'Soon afterward we set out, proceeding in two parties, +the first consisting of Perreton, my wife and Regier, while I +followed, leading the porter. +</p> + +<p> +"'The ascent was safe and easy until, about halfway to the +summit, we came to a broad ice traverse where it was decided +to rope all together as the crossing was of considerable width, +with anchorage here and there at long intervals where the +smooth ice was broken by small patches of hard snow. Perreton, +who was in the lead, cut the steps with skill and despatch, +and we were about halfway across when we found ourselves +in a position out of reach of any anchorage and where +every member of the party was in danger at the same time. +In such a place the rope, although of assistance in maintaining +the balance and in giving confidence to the climber, is a +deathtrap to the entire party should one member be guilty of +a misstep. But mountain climbers are not supposed to make +missteps, and it was decided not to unrope. +</p> + +<p> +"'Below us the slope descended steeply for perhaps one +hundred meters, where it ended abruptly in a precipice. But +to experienced climbers like ourselves, possessed of steady +heads and with competent guides, the crossing presented the +very slightest element of danger. So far was an idea of peril +removed from our minds that my wife and I were chatting +back and forth as we slowly proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +"'Perhaps it was this ill-advised relaxation on our part +which led to Zeigler's fatal carelessness. He was the last +man on the rope, and halfway over, all our backs being turned +to him, he proceeded to light his pipe. As fate ordained, just +as the unhappy man was holding the match to the bowl, all +his attention centered on the act, I stepped forward. The +slack of the rope was in his hands, and as it slightly tautened +the pipe was knocked from his mouth and fell. I heard his +exclamation, and, glancing over my shoulder, saw him grab +for it with his free hand. As he did so his foot slipped, and +the next instant he had lost his balance. His <i>piolet</i>, or ice +axe, the spike of which was jammed into the ice, fell to one +side. Realizing his danger, he snatched desperately for the +shaft, but failed to grip it, and sent it spinning down the +slope, he himself sprawling after it. +</p> + +<p> +"'Nothing is more helpless than a climber adrift on an ice +slope without his axe, and, realizing the awful danger should +the rope spring taut suddenly, I was obliged to let go the +shaft of my own <i>piolet</i> in order to gather in the slack with +both hands. Then I braced my feet to meet the strain. +Below me swung Zeigler, quite powerless, and to the right and +slightly above me Regier, who saw what had happened, +quickly gathered in the slack between himself and me. Then +the rope between Zeigler and myself straightened, and to +ease the suddenness of the strain I let it slip slowly between +my fingers until it had run its full length and the tug came +upon the middleman's knot around my waist. +</p> + +<p> +"'And so we stood, Zeigler, glaring up from beneath with +blanched face and wild, terror-stricken eyes; I myself, +barely able to support his weight, wondered how long I could +hold him there. Above me, sturdy Regier, his face frozen as +rigid as the ice upon which we stood, glanced swiftly from +one to the other of us in awful doubt and apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +"'"Can you hold him?" he cried, and his voice boomed +thick and muffled in my ear. +</p> + +<p> +"'"Not for long," I answered breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +"'He glanced over his shoulder at my wife, and I knew +well what was passing in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +"'"Then cut!" he cried hoarsely. "It is death for all of +us!" +</p> + +<p> +"'I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. Regier +raised his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"'"Zeigler!" he cried. "If you are a man—cut the rope!" +</p> + +<p> +"'"God's mercy!" wailed the wretched porter. "I have no +knife!" +</p> + +<p> +"'"Then slip the bowline!" bellowed Perreton. "Monsieur +cannot hold you, and if he falls madame will be dragged to +her death!" +</p> + +<p> +"'And then, in the awful tension, came the voice of my +bride, sweet, tuneful and unafraid. +</p> + +<p> +"'"Madame goes with her husband," she said. +</p> + +<p> +"'Regier swung swiftly in his tracks, growling like a bear. +</p> + +<p> +"'"Madame remains!" he shouted, and raising her ice axe +with one powerful blow, he severed the rope between them, +then came toward me, gathering the slack with his free hand. +</p> + +<p> +"'But he was too late. Below me Zeigler, himself a brave +man and eager to repair his fatal error at any cost, was +struggling to loose the "endman's knot" around his waist. +The vibration from his movements proved too great a strain +for my insecure footing, and I felt the nails of my shoes +grinding through the ice. +</p> + +<p> +"'"Cut between us, Regier!" I cried. +</p> + +<p> +"'"Never!" snarled Regier, plunging toward me. "Cut +below you! Cut! Cut!" +</p> + +<p> +"'"Cut, m'sieu'!" echoed Zeigler stranglingly. "I tell you +to cut!" +</p> + +<p> +"'Regier had almost reached me when my foothold was +torn away and I felt myself going. "At least," I thought, +"there is no need for Regier to die." Snatching the knife +from my belt, I slashed through the rope above me, and as I +did so I fell forward, slipping down upon Zeigler. But my +knife was in my hand, and, throwing myself upon my face, +I bore all of my weight upon the haft, driving the point into +the ice. For a moment I thought that we might clutch it +and arrest our course, but the next instant the blade snapped +and I realized that hope was dead. +</p> + +<p> +"'Downward we slipped, slowly at first, then with gathering +speed. Looking back, I saw my wife, both hands clasped +to her mouth, her face writhing in torture. She looked +toward Perreton, and I knew as well as though she had spoken +the words that had she not been roped to him she would have +flung herself downward to join me. The guide himself, +reading what was passing in her mind, drew in the slack of the +rope between them, and none too soon, for all at once she +screamed, and seizing the <i>piolet</i> by the head, began to saw +impotently at the tough hemp. Perreton cried out, then +walked quickly toward her and tore the axe from her hands, +and this was the last I saw, my wife and the guide struggling +and swaying on the steep, glittering icefield. +</p> + +<p> +"'Down we shot, Zeigler and I, toward the fearful brink—and +the moments were drawn out into an eternity. Down, on +down, tearing our fingers, scraping with our heavy boots, yet +speaking no word, writhing and twisting and with ever-gaining +speed. Then Zeigler reached the brink—a cry burst from +him as he disappeared—the rope tautened violently and I +shot forward—forward and over, and saw beneath me the +abyss yawning in shadows a thousand feet below. The cold +air scorched my face—the soul within me leaped to meet the +infinite—and then, oblivion. +</p> + +<p> +"'I awoke as from a deep and restful sleep. There was no +pain in my body, no sensation but that of dreamy peace and +infinite well being. +</p> + +<p> +"'Far overhead the stars glittered brightly in the cold, +clear sky and the moon looked down directly on me as I lay. +</p> + +<p> +"'Slowly consciousness and memory returned. I realized +all that had occurred: the fearful accident, the swift gliding +down the ice slope, the anguish on the face of my wife, the +soaring plunge from the brink. +</p> + +<p> +"'"A miracle," I thought. "A miracle of miracles. That +one can have such a fall and live! Truly, the high gods have +worked for me!" +</p> + +<p> +"'Awed and wondering, I cast my eyes about. It was a +place of snow and stones, ragged bowlders and broken +fragments of ice. A few feet distant lay the mangled body of +Zeigler, and I shuddered while the wonder within me +increased. +</p> + +<p> +"'"How then," I thought, "can it be that I have escaped +unhurt, unbruised and more at ease than ever in my life?" I +raised myself with a lightness which astonished me, and +saw that I lay on broken rocks, jagged and rough—and as +I looked my soul was enveloped in a great and awful +understanding. For there, grotesquely twisted, lay—my own +body—and I saw that which told me that there was left in it no +trace of what we mortals in our fatuous ignorance call "life." +</p> + +<p> +"'Yet with this realization there came no shock, as we +mortals know it, but a swift and fearful exhilaration. +</p> + +<p> +"'"Then I am free—free!" was all that I could feel. "I +am free of this heavy, senseless thing that lies mangled +here—free to go to her whom I love!" And as if in answer to my +thought came a swift and irresistible impulse. +</p> + +<p> +"'Light as air, I rose from that dreadful spot and found +myself flitting faster than the wind over snow and ice, +glacier and moraine, until the lights of the village below me +sparkled through the frosty air. Yonder was the Alpine +hamlet where we had lodged before beginning our ascent; +there the auberge where we had slept—and then I had reached +it and drifted on the pale rays of the moon through the +frosted window and found myself within the room. +</p> + +<p> +"'Other things had passed me and surrounded me in my +flight; things which you in your world could not understand +and which I myself lack power to express even if I would, +for there is no common language with which to interpret the +conditions of these two worlds of ours, that of the living and +that of the—more alive. As I entered the room all of my +disembodied soul poured out to her whom I love. +</p> + +<p> +"'Sobbing, sobbing, sobbing—the low, breathless grief of +that sweet sufferer who needed only fuller understanding to +raise her from the depths of her despair to joy ineffable. +For a brief moment it seemed that this had been achieved, +From the foot of the bed I whispered her name, and she +heard me and with a wild, rapturous cry sprang upright. +She saw me standing there in the shimmering moonlight, +and I moved to her side and gathered her in my arms, and +the next instant her soul had torn its way from the body +which enthralled it and we were together, happy beyond +description in this new world of mine, while her human +habitation fell back upon the pillows in what men call +"unconsciousness." +</p> + +<p> +"'Yet our peace was not for long. Tied as she was to that +earthly vehicle, she was forced to leave me and return, when, +according to mortal laws, she carried with her no memory of +that which had passed between us but awoke to a grief in +which I shared from beyond. Ah, the needless misery of the +dear bereaved! If only they knew! If only they knew! +</p> + +<p> +"'Since then she has come to me often. But in her waking +state all recollection of these communions is swept away, +nor have I ever again been able to communicate with her save +sleep has loosed the bonds. Even then it happens frequently +that her intelligence is dimmed and distorted by those +fantastic discharges of the sleeping brain which men call +"dreams," and my presence brings neither peace nor +understanding. But waking and sleeping I am with her always, +bound to this phase by her want for me, and sometimes she +feels my nearness vaguely and it soothes her grief. +</p> + +<p> +"'Now I have learned that the strain and the hunger of +her desire has nearly broken her resolute spirit, and I know +that she has formed the determination to break from her +earthly bonds by her own act. Should she do this our +meeting must be long delayed, for in this place where I find +myself there is no entry for those who with their own hands +curtail the mortal span assigned to them. Let her but wail +a little while and we shall be together, happy beyond mortal +conception. But for the suicide there is still another phase, +an intermediate plane, a road still to be traversed before...' +</p> + +<p> +"At this point," said Dr. Bayre, "the writing was +discontinued. It did not much matter, except in the interest of +science, for the message had been delivered. Accordingly I +brought the seance to a close. +</p> + +<p> +"The next day I sent for a mutual friend, for of course I +recognized the identity of the intelligence who had delivered +the message, as no doubt you have done. To this gentleman +I showed the writing, without permitting him to do more +than glance at the text. +</p> + +<p> +"'Is this hand familiar to you?' I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"He nodded, his face very grave. +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes' said he; 'that is the handwriting of poor Stanley +Wetherill. He was killed, as you know, in a mountain +accident while on his honeymoon.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And his wife?' I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"'She is a broken-hearted woman.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Where is she now?' I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"'At the Chateau Fontenaye, I believe. She was a widow +when Stanley married her. He was badly hurt while +automobiling and taken to the chateau. Perhaps you remember +the incident; it seems that Stanley ditched his car to keep +from hitting a <i>char-à -banc</i> full of children going to a <i>fête +champêtre</i>.' +</p> + +<p> +"I asked him then if he could get me a photograph of +Mrs. Wetherill, which he kindly agreed to do. +</p> + +<p> +"That night I made a verbatim copy of the communication +and then mailed the original to Mrs. Wetherill with a note +explaining the whole affair. Two days later, on opening my +newspaper in the morning, I was startled to read the announcement +of her sudden death. The notice said that she had been +found dead in her <i>chaise-longue</i>. In the fire-place were +discovered some burned fragments of paper covered with a +handwriting which was recognized as that of her late husband. +To my infinite relief the post-mortem examination showed +that she had died from 'natural causes.' +</p> + +<p> +"That same evening I sent for the medium who had +assisted me in the investigation and requested her to look +into the crystal ball. After gazing for some time, she saw +the faces of a man and a woman. The expressions of both +were described by the medium as 'radiant.' I then showed +her a photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Wetherill, taken shortly +after their marriage. +</p> + +<p> +"'Are these the people whom you have just seen?' I asked +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes,' she answered, smiling. 'They are the same.'" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0401"></a></p> + +<h2> +The Fenchurch Street Mystery +</h2> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY BARONESS ORCZY +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER I +<br><br> +THE FENCHURCH STREET MYSTERY +</h3> + +<p> +The man in the corner pushed aside his glass, and +leant across the table. +</p> + +<p> +"Mysteries!" he commented. "There is no such +thing as a mystery in connection with any crime, provided +intelligence is brought to bear upon its investigation." +</p> + +<p> +Very much astonished Polly Burton looked over the top +of her newspaper, and fixed a pair of very severe, coldly +inquiring brown eyes upon him. +</p> + +<p> +She had disapproved of the man from the instant when he +shuffled across the shop and sat down opposite to her, at the +same marble-topped table which already held her large coffee +(3d.), her roll and butter (2d.), and plate of tongue (6d.). +</p> + +<p> +Now this particular corner, this very same table, that +special view of the magnificent marble hall—known as the +Norfolk Street branch of the Aërated Bread Company's +depôts—were Polly's own corner, table, and view. Here she +had partaken of eleven pennyworth of luncheon and one +pennyworth of daily information ever since that glorious +never-to-be-forgotten day when she was enrolled on the staff +of the <i>Evening Observer</i> (we'll call it that, if you please), +and became a member of that illustrious and world-famed +organization known as the British Press. +</p> + +<p> +She was a personality, was Miss Burton of the <i>Evening +Observer</i>. Her cards were printed thus: +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + MISS MARY J. BURTON<br> + <i>Evening Observer.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +She had interviewed Miss Ellen Terry and the Bishop of +Madagascar, Mr. Seymour Hicks and the Chief +Commissioner of Police. She had been present at the last +Marlborough House garden party—in the cloak-room, that is to +say, where she caught sight of Lady Thingummy's hat, Miss +What-you-may-call's sunshade, and of various other things +modistical or fashionable, all of which were duly described +under the heading "Royalty and Dress" in the early +afternoon edition of the <i>Evening Observer</i>. +</p> + +<p> +(The article itself is signed M.J.B., and is to be found +in the files of that leading half penny-worth.) +</p> + +<p> +For these reasons—and for various others, too—Polly felt +irate with the man in the corner, and told him so with her +eyes, as plainly as any pair of brown eyes can speak. +</p> + +<p> +She had been reading an article in the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>. +The article was palpitatingly interesting. Had Polly been +commenting audibly upon it? Certain it is that the man +over there had spoken in direct answer to her thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him and frowned; the next moment she +smiled. Miss Burton (of the <i>Evening Observer</i>) had a keen +sense of humor, which two years' association with the +British Press had not succeeded in destroying, and the +appearance of the man was sufficient to tickle the most +ultra-morose fancy. Polly thought to herself that she had never +seen anyone so pale, so thin, with such funny light-colored +hair, brushed very smoothly across the top of a very obviously +bald crown. He looked so timid and nervous as he fidgeted +incessantly with a piece of string; his long, lean, and +trembling fingers tying and untying it into knots of +wonderful and complicated proportions. +</p> + +<p> +Having carefully studied every detail of the quaint +personality, Polly felt more amiable. +</p> + +<p> +"And yet," she remarked kindly but authoritatively, "this +article, in an otherwise well-informed journal, will tell you +that, even within the last year, no fewer than six crimes have +completely baffled the police, and the perpetrators of them +are still at large." +</p> + +<p> +"Pardon me," he said gently, "I never for a moment +ventured to suggest that there were no mysteries to the +<i>police</i>; I merely remarked that there were none where +intelligence was brought to bear upon the investigation of +crime." +</p> + +<p> +"Not even in the Fenchurch Street <i>mystery, I</i> suppose," +she asked sarcastically. +</p> + +<p> +"Least of all in the so-called Fenchurch Street <i>mystery</i>," +he replied quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Now the Fenchurch Street mystery, as that extraordinary +crime had popularly been called, had puzzled—as Polly well +knew—the brains of every thinking man and woman for the +last twelve months. It had puzzled her not inconsiderably; +she had been interested, fascinated; she had studied the case, +formed her own theories, thought about it all often and +often, had even written one or two letters to the Press on the +subject—suggesting, arguing, hinting at possibilities and +probabilities, adducing proofs which other amateur detectives +were equally ready to refute. The attitude of that timid +man in the corner, therefore, was peculiarly exasperating, +and she retorted with sarcasm destined to completely +annihilate her self-complacent interlocutor. +</p> + +<p> +"What a pity it is, in that case, that you do not offer your +priceless services to our misguided though well-meaning +police." +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't it?" he replied with perfect good-humor. "Well, +you know, for one thing I doubt if they would accept them; +and in the second place my inclinations and my duty would—were +I to become an active member of the detective force—nearly +always be in direct conflict. As often as not my +sympathies go to the criminal who is clever and astute +enough to lead our entire police force by the nose. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know how much of the case you remember," he +went on quietly. "It certainly, at first, began even to puzzle +me. On the 12th of last December a woman, poorly dressed, +but with an unmistakable air of having seen better days, gave +information at Scotland Yard of the disappearance of her +husband, William Kershaw, of no occupation, and apparently +of no fixed abode. She was accompanied by a friend—a fat, +oily-looking German—and between them they told a tale +which set the police immediately on the move. +</p> + +<p> +"It appears that on the 10th of December, at about three +o'clock in the afternoon, Karl Müller, the German, called +on his friend, William Kershaw, for the purpose of collecting +a small debt—some ten pounds or so—which the latter +owed him. On arriving at the squalid lodging in Charlotte +Street, Fitzroy Square, he found William Kershaw in a wild +state of excitement, and his wife in tears. Müller attempted +to state the object of his visit, but Kershaw, with wild +gestures, waved him aside, and—in his own words—flabbergasted +him by asking him point-blank for another loan of +two pounds, which sum, he declared, would be the means of +a speedy fortune for himself and the friend who would help +him in his need. +</p> + +<p> +"After a quarter of an hour spent in obscure hints, +Kershaw, finding the cautious German obdurate, decided to let +him into the secret plan, which, he averred, would place +thousands into their hands." +</p> + +<p> +Instinctively Polly had put down her paper; the mild +stranger, with his nervous air and timid, watery eyes, had a +peculiar way of telling his tale, which somehow fascinated +her. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," he resumed, "if you remember the story +which the German told to the police, and which was +corroborated in every detail by the wife or widow. Briefly it +was this: Some thirty years previously, Kershaw, then +twenty years of age, and a medical student at one of the +London hospitals, had a chum named Barker, with whom +he roomed, together with another. +</p> + +<p> +"The latter, so it appears, brought home one evening a +very considerable sum of money, which he had won on the +turf, and the following morning he was found murdered in +his bed. Kershaw, fortunately for himself, was able to +prove a conclusive alibi; he had spent the night on duty at +the hospital; as for Barker, he had disappeared, that is to +say, as far as the police were concerned, but not as far as +the watchful eyes of his friend Kershaw were able to spy—at +least, so that latter said. Barker very cleverly contrived +to get away out of the country, and, after sundry vicissitudes, +finally settled down at Vladivostock, in Eastern Siberia, +where, under the assumed name of Smethurst, he built up an +enormous fortune by trading in furs. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, mind you, every one knows Smethurst, the Siberian +millionaire. Kershaw's story that he had once been called +Barker, and had committed a murder thirty years ago was +never proved, was it? I am merely telling you what Kershaw +said to his friend the German and to his wife on that +memorable afternoon of December the 10th. +</p> + +<p> +"According to him Smethurst had made one gigantic mistake +in his clever career—he had on four occasions written +to his late friend, William Kershaw. Two of these letters +had no bearing on the case, since they were written more +than twenty-five years ago, and Kershaw, moreover, had lost +them—so he said—long ago. According to him, however, the +first of these letters was written when Smethurst, alias +Barker, had spent all the money he had obtained from the +crime, and found himself destitute in New York. +</p> + +<p> +"Kershaw, then in fairly prosperous circumstances, sent +him a £10 note for the sake of old times. The second, when +the tables had turned, and Kershaw had begun to go downhill, +Smethurst, as he then already called himself, sent his +whilom friend £50. After that, as Müller gathered, Kershaw +had made sundry demands on Smethurst's ever-increasing +purse, and had accompanied these demands by various +threats, which, considering the distant country in which the +millionaire lived, were worse than futile. +</p> + +<p> +"But now the climax had come, and Kershaw, after a final +moment of hesitation, handed over to his German friend the +two last letters purporting to have been written by Smethurst, +and which, if you remember, played such an important +part in the mysterious story of this extraordinary crime. I +have a copy of both these letters here," added the man in +the corner, as he took out a piece of paper from a very worn-out +pocket-book, and, unfolding it very deliberately, he began +to read— +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"'SIR—Your preposterous demands for money are wholly +unwarrantable. I have already helped you quite as much as +you deserve. However, for the sake of old times, and +because you once helped me when I was in a terrible difficulty, +I am willing to once more let you impose upon my good +nature. A friend of mine here, a Russian merchant, to +whom I have sold my business, starts in a few days for an +extended tour to many European and Asiatic ports in his +yacht, and has invited me to accompany him as far as +England. Being tired of foreign parts, and desirous of seeing +the old country once again after thirty years' absence, I have +decided to accept his invitation. I don't know when we may +actually be in Europe, but I promise you that as soon as we +touch a suitable port I will write to you again, making an +appointment for you to see me in London. But remember +that if your demands are too preposterous I will not for a +moment listen to them, and that I am the last man in the +world to submit to persistent and unwarrantable blackmail. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "'I am, sir,<br> + "'Yours truly,<br> + "'FRANCIS SMETHURST.'<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"The second letter was dated from Southampton," continued +the man in the corner calmly, "and, curiously enough, +was the only letter which Kershaw professed to have +received from Smethurst of which he had kept the envelope, +and which was dated. It was quite brief," he added, +referring once more to his piece of paper. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"DEAR SIR—Referring to my letter of a few weeks ago, I +wish to inform you that the <i>Tsarskoe Selo</i> will touch at +Tilbury on Tuesday next, the 10th. I shall land there, and +immediately go up to London by the first train I can get. If +you like, you may meet me at Fenchurch Street Station, in +the first-class waiting-room, in the late afternoon. Since I +surmise that after thirty years' absence my face may not be +familiar to you, I may as well tell you that you will recognize +me by a heavy Astrakhan fur coat, which I shall wear, +together with a cap of the same. You may then introduce +yourself to me, and I will personally listen to what you may +have to say. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "'Yours faithfully,<br> + "'FRANCIS SMETHURST.'<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"It was this last letter which had caused William +Kershaw's excitement and his wife's tears. In the German's +own words, he was walking up and down the room like a +wild beast, gesticulating wildly, and muttering sundry +exclamations. Mrs. Kershaw, however, was full of +apprehension. She mistrusted the man from foreign parts—who, +according to her husband's story, had already one crime upon +his conscience—who might, she feared, risk another, in order +to be rid of a dangerous enemy. Woman-like, she thought +the scheme a dishonorable one, for the law, she knew, is +severe on the blackmailer. +</p> + +<p> +"The assignation might be a cunning trap, in any case +it was a curious one; why, she argued, did not Smethurst +elect to see Kershaw at his hotel the following day? A +thousand whys and wherefores made her anxious, but the +fat German had been won over by Kershaw's visions of +untold gold, held tantalizingly before his eyes. He had +lent the necessary £2, with which his friend intended to +tidy himself up a bit before he went to meet his friend the +millionaire. Half an hour afterward Kershaw had left his +lodgings, and that was the last the unfortunate woman saw +of her husband, or Müller, the German, of his friend. +</p> + +<p> +"Anxiously his wife waited that night, but he did not +return; the next day she seems to have spent in making +purposeless and futile inquiries about the neighborhood of +Fenchurch Street; and on the 12th she went to Scotland Yard, +gave what particulars she knew, and placed in the hands of +the police the two letters written by Smethurst." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0402"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER II +<br><br> +A MILLIONAIRE IN THE DOCK +</h3> + +<p> +The man in the corner had finished his glass of milk. His +watery blue eyes looked across at Miss Polly Burton's eager +little face, from which all traces of severity had now been +chased away by an obvious and intense excitement. +</p> + +<p> +"It was only on the 31st," he resumed after a while, "that +a body, decomposed past all recognition, was found by two +lightermen in the bottom of a disused barge. She had been +moored at one time at the foot of one of those dark flights +of steps which lead down between tall warehouses to the +river in the East End of London. I have a photograph of +the place here," he added, selecting one out of his pocket, +and placing it before Polly. +</p> + +<p> +"The actual barge, you see, had already been removed +when I took this snapshot, but you will realize what a +perfect place this alley is for the purpose of one man cutting +another's throat in comfort, and without fear of detection. +The body, as I said, was decomposed beyond all recognition; +it had probably been there eleven days, but sundry articles, +such as a silver ring and a tie pin, were recognizable, and +were identified by Mrs. Kershaw as belonging to her husband. +</p> + +<p> +"She, of course, was loud in denouncing Smethurst, and +the police had no doubt a very strong case against him, for +two days after the discovery of the body in the barge, the +Siberian millionaire, as he was already popularly called by +enterprising interviewers, was arrested in his luxurious suite +of rooms at the Hotel Cecil. +</p> + +<p> +"To confess the truth, at this point I was not a little +puzzled. Mrs. Kershaw's story and Smethurst's letters had +both found their way into the papers, and following my usual +method—mind you, I am only an amateur, I try to reason out +a case for the love of the thing—I sought about for a motive +for the crime, which the police declared Smethurst had +committed. To effectually get rid of a dangerous blackmailer +was the generally accepted theory. Well! did it ever strike +you how paltry that motive really was?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Polly had to confess, however, that it had never +struck her in that light. +</p> + +<p> +"Surely a man who had succeeded in building up an immense +fortune by his own individual efforts, was not the +sort of fool to believe that he had anything to fear from a +man like Kershaw. He must have <i>known</i> that Kershaw +held no damning proofs against him—not enough to hang +him, anyway. Have you ever seen Smethurst?" he added, +as he once more fumbled in his pocket-book. +</p> + +<p> +Polly replied that she had seen Smethurst's picture in the +illustrated papers at the time. Then he added, placing a +small photograph before her: +</p> + +<p> +"What strikes you most about the face?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I think its strange, astonished expression due to +the total absence of eyebrows, and the funny foreign cut of +the hair." +</p> + +<p> +"So close that it almost looks as if it had been shaved. +Exactly. That is what struck me most when I elbowed my +way into the court that morning and first caught sight of the +millionaire in the dock. He was a tall, soldierly-looking +man, upright in stature, his face very bronzed and tanned. +He wore neither moustache nor beard, his hair was cropped +quite close to his head, like a Frenchman's; but, of course, +what was so very remarkable about him was that total +absence of eyebrows and even eyelashes, which gave the face +such a peculiar appearance—as you say, a perpetually +astonished look. +</p> + +<p> +"He seemed, however, wonderfully calm; he had been +accommodated with a chair in the dock—being a millionaire—and +chatted pleasantly with his lawyer, Sir Arthur +Inglewood, in the intervals between the calling of the several +witnesses for the prosecution; whilst during the examination +of these witnesses he sat quite placidly, with his head, shaded +by his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Müller and Mrs. Kershaw repeated the story which they +had already told to the police. I think you said that you were +not able, owing to pressure of work, to go to the court that +day, and hear the case, so perhaps you have no recollection +of Mrs. Kershaw. No? Ah, well! Here is a snapshot I +managed to get of her once. That is her. Exactly as she +stood in the box—over-dressed—in elaborate crape, with a +bonnet which once had contained pink roses, and to which +a remnant of pink petals still clung obtrusively amidst the +deep black. +</p> + +<p> +"She would not look at the prisoner, and turned her head +resolutely toward the magistrate. I fancy she had been +fond of that vagabond husband of hers: an enormous +wedding-ring encircled her finger, and that, too, was swathed in +black. She firmly believed that Kershaw's murderer sat +there in the dock, and she literally flaunted her grief before +him. +</p> + +<p> +"I was indescribably sorry for her. As for Müller, he was +just fat, oily, pompous, conscious of his own importance as +a witness; his fat fingers, covered with brass rings, gripped +the two incriminating letters, which he had identified. They +were his passports, as it were, to a delightful land of +importance and notoriety. Sir Arthur Inglewood, I think, +disappointed him by stating that he had no questions to ask of +him. Müller had been brimful of answers, ready with the +most perfect indictment, the most elaborate accusations +against the bloated millionaire who had destroyed his dear +friend Kershaw, and murdered him in Heaven knows what an +out-of-the-way corner of the East End. +</p> + +<p> +"After this, however, the excitement grew apace. Müller +had been dismissed, and had retired from the court +altogether, leading away Mrs. Kershaw, who had completely +broken down. +</p> + +<p> +"Constable D21 was giving evidence as to the arrest in the +meanwhile. The prisoner, he said, had seemed completely +taken by surprise, not understanding the cause or history +of the accusation against him; however, when put in full +possession of the facts, and realizing, no doubt, the absolute +futility of any resistance, he had quietly enough followed the +constable into the cab. No one at the fashionable and +crowded Hotel Cecil had even suspected that anything +unusual had occurred. +</p> + +<p> +"Then a gigantic sigh of expectancy came from every one +of the spectators. The 'fun' was about to begin. James +Buckland, a porter at Penchurch Street railway station, had +just sworn to tell all the truth, etc. After all, it did not +amount to much. He said that at six o'clock in the +afternoon of December the 10th, in the midst of one of the +densest fogs he ever remembers, the 5.05 from Tilbury steamed +into the station, being just about an hour late. He was on +the arrival platform, and was hailed by a passenger in a +first-class carriage. He could see very little of him beyond an +enormous black fur coat and a travelling cap of fur also. +</p> + +<p> +"The passenger had a quantity of luggage, all marked +F.S., and he directed James Buckland to place it all upon a +four-wheeled cab, with the exception of a small hand-bag, +which he carried himself. Having seen that all his luggage +was safely bestowed, the stranger in the fur coat paid the +porter, and, telling the cabman to wait until he returned, +he walked away in the direction of the waiting-rooms, still +carrying his small hand-bag. +</p> + +<p> +"'I stayed for a bit,' added James Buckland, 'talking to +the driver about the fog and that; then I went about my +business, seein' that the local from Southend 'ad been +signalled.' +</p> + +<p> +"The prosecution insisted most strongly upon the hour +when the stranger in the fur coat, having seen to his luggage, +walked away toward the waiting-rooms. The porter was +emphatic. 'It was not a minute later than 6.15,' he averred. +</p> + +<p> +"Sir Arthur Inglewood still had no questions to ask, and +the driver of the cab was called. +</p> + +<p> +"He corroborated the evidence of James Buckland as to +the hour when the gentleman in the fur coat had engaged +him, and having filled his cab in and out with luggage, had +told him to wait. And cabby did wait. He waited in the +dense fog—until he was tired, until he seriously thought of +depositing all the luggage in the lost property office, and of +looking out for another fare—waited until at last, at a +quarter before nine, whom should he see walking hurriedly +toward his cab but the gentleman in the fur coat and cap, +who got in quickly and told the driver to take him at once +to the Hotel Cecil. This, cabby declared, had occurred at a +quarter before nine. Still Sir Arthur Inglewood made no +comment, and Mr. Francis Smethurst, in the crowded, stuffy +court, had calmly dropped to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +"The next witness, Constable Thomas Taylor, had noticed +a shabbily-dressed individual, with shaggy hair and beard, +loafing about the station and waiting-rooms in the afternoon +of December the 10th. He seemed to be watching the arrival +platform of the Tilbury and Southend trains. +</p> + +<p> +"Two separate and independent witnesses, cleverly +unearthed by the police, had seen this same shabbily-dressed +individual stroll into the first-class waiting-room at about +6.15 on Tuesday, December the 10th, and go straight up to a +gentleman in a heavy fur coat and cap, who had also just +come into the room. The two talked together for a while; +no one heard what they said, but presently they walked off +together. No one seemed to know in which direction. +</p> + +<p> +"Francis Smethurst was rousing himself from his apathy; +he whispered to his lawyer, who nodded with a bland smile +of encouragement. The employés of the Hotel Cecil gave +evidence as to the arrival of Mr. Smethurst at about 9.30 +p.m. on Tuesday, December the 10th, in a cab, with a +quantity of luggage; and this closed the case for the +prosecution. +</p> + +<p> +"Everybody in that court already saw Smethurst mounting +the gallows. It was uninterested curiosity which caused +the elegant audience to wait and hear what Sir Arthur Inglewood +had to say. He, of course, is the most fashionable man +in the law at the present moment. His lolling attitudes, his +drawling speech, are quite the rage, and imitated by the +gilded youth of society. +</p> + +<p> +"Even at this moment, when the Siberian millionaire's +neck literally and metaphorically hung in the balance, an +expectant titter went around the fair spectators as Sir +Arthur stretched out his long loose limbs and lounged across +the table. He waited to make his effect—Sir Arthur is a +born actor—and there is no doubt that he made it, when in +his slowest, most drawly tones he said quietly: +</p> + +<p> +"'With regard to this alleged murder of one William +Kershaw, on Wednesday, December the 10th, between 6.15 and +8.45 p.m., your Honor, I now propose to call two witnesses, +who saw this same William Kershaw alive on Tuesday afternoon, +December the 16th, that is to say, six days after the +supposed murder.' +</p> + +<p> +"It was as if a bombshell had exploded in the court. Even +his Honor was aghast, and I am sure the lady next to me +only recovered from the shock of surprise in order to wonder +whether she need put off her dinner party after all. +</p> + +<p> +"As for me," added the man in the corner, with that +strange mixture of nervousness and self-complacency which +had set Miss Polly Burton wondering, "well, you see, <i>I</i> had +made up my mind long ago where the hitch lay in this particular +case, and I was not so surprised as some of the others. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps you remember the wonderful development of the +case, which so completely mystified the police—and in fact +everybody except myself. Torriani and a waiter at his hotel +in the Commercial Road both deposed that at about 3.30 p.m. on +December the 10th a shabbily-dressed individual lolled +into the coffee-room and ordered some tea. He was pleasant +enough and talkative, told the waiter that his name was +William Kershaw, that very soon all London would be +talking about him, as he was about, through an unexpected +stroke of good fortune, to become a very rich man, and so +on, and so on, nonsense without end. +</p> + +<p> +"When he had finished his tea he lolled out again, but no +sooner had he disappeared down a turning of the road than +the waiter discovered an old umbrella, left behind +accidentally by the shabby, talkative individual. As is the +custom in his highly respectable restaurant, Signor Torriani +put the umbrella carefully away in his office, on the chance +of his customer calling to claim it when he discovered his +loss. And sure enough nearly a week later, on Tuesday, the +16th, at about 1 p.m., the same shabbily-dressed individual +called and asked for his umbrella. He had some lunch, and +chatted once again to the waiter. Signor Torriani and the +waiter gave a description of William Kershaw, which +coincided exactly with that given by Mrs. Kershaw of her +husband. +</p> + +<p> +"Oddly enough he seemed to be a very absent-minded sort +of person, for on this second occasion, no sooner had he left +than the waiter found a pocket-book in the coffee-room, +underneath the table. It contained sundry letters and bills, all +addressed to William Kershaw. This pocket-book was +produced, and Karl Müller, who had returned to the court, +easily identified it as having belonged to his dear and +lamented friend 'Villiam.' +</p> + +<p> +"This was the first blow to the case against the accused. +It was a pretty stiff one, you will admit. Already it had +begun to collapse like a house of cards. Still, there was the +assignation, and the undisputed meeting between Smethurst +and Kershaw, and those two and a half hours of a foggy +evening to satisfactorily account for." +</p> + +<p> +The man in the corner made a long pause, keeping the girl +on tenterhooks. He had fidgeted with his bit of string till +there was not an inch of it free from the most complicated +and elaborate knots. +</p> + +<p> +"I assure you," he resumed at last, "that at that very +moment the whole mystery was, to me, as clear as daylight. +I only marvelled how his Honor could waste his time and +mine by putting what he thought were searching questions +to the accused relating to his past. Francis Smethurst, who +had quite shaken off his somnolence, spoke with a curious +nasal twang, and with an almost imperceptible soupçon of +foreign accent. He calmly denied Kershaw's version of his +past; declared that he had never been called Barker, and +had certainly never been mixed up in any murder case thirty +years ago. +</p> + +<p> +"'But you knew this man Kershaw,' persisted his Honor, +'since you wrote to him?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Pardon me, your Honor,' said the accused quietly, 'I +have never, to my knowledge, seen this man Kershaw, and I +can swear that I never wrote to him.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Never wrote to him?' retorted his Honor warningly. +'That is a strange assertion to make when I have two of your +letters to him in my hands at the present moment.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I never wrote those letters, your Honor,' persisted the +accused quietly, 'they are not in my handwriting.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Which we can easily prove,' came in Sir Arthur Inglewood's +drawly tones as he handed up a packet to his Honor, +'here are a number of letters written by my client since he +has landed in this country, and some of which were written +under my very eyes.' +</p> + +<p> +"As Sir Arthur Inglewood had said, this could be easily +proved, and the prisoner, at his Honor's request, scribbled a +few lines, together with his signature, several times upon a +sheet of note-paper. It was easy to read upon the magistrate's +astounded countenance, that there was not the slightest +similarity in the two handwritings. +</p> + +<p> +"A fresh mystery had cropped up. Who, then, had made +the assignation with William Kershaw at Fenchurch Street +railway station? The prisoner gave a satisfactory account of +the employment of his time since his landing in England. +</p> + +<p> +"'I came over on the <i>Tsarskoe Selo</i>,' he said, 'a yacht +belonging to a friend of mine. When we arrived at the mouth of +the Thames there was such a dense fog that it was twenty-four +hours before it was thought safe for me to land. My +friend, who is a Russian, would not land at all; he was +regularly frightened at this land of fogs. He was going on +to Madeira immediately.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I actually landed on Tuesday, the 10th, and took a train +at once for town. I did see to my luggage and a cab, as +the porter and driver told your Honor; then I tried to find +my way to a refreshment-room, where I could get a glass of +wine. I drifted into the waiting-room, and there I was +accosted by a shabbily-dressed individual, who began telling +me a piteous tale. Who he was I do not know. He <i>said</i> he +was an old soldier who had served his country faithfully, and +then been left to starve. He begged of me to accompany him +to his lodgings, where I could see his wife and starving +children, and verify the truth and piteousness of his tale.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, your Honor,' added the prisoner with noble frankness, +'it was my first day in the old country. I had come +back after thirty years with my pockets full of gold, and +this was the first sad tale I had heard; but I am a business +man, and did not want to be exactly "done" in the eye. I +followed my man through the fog, out into the streets. He +walked silently by my side for a time. I had not a notion +where I was.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Suddenly I turned to him with some question, and +realized in a moment that my gentleman had given me the +slip. Finding, probably, that I would not part with my +money till I <i>had</i> seen the starving wife and children, he left +me to my fate, and went in search of more willing bait.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The place where I found myself was dismal and deserted. +I could see no trace of cab or omnibus. I retraced my steps +and tried to find my way back to the station, only to find +myself in worse and more deserted neighborhoods. I became +hopelessly lost and fogged. I don't wonder that two and a +half hours elapsed while I thus wandered on in the dark and +deserted streets; my sole astonishment is that I ever found +the station at all that night, or rather close to it a +policeman, who showed me the way.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But how do you account for Kershaw knowing all your +movements?' still persisted his Honor, 'and his knowing the +exact date of your arrival in England? How do you account +for these two letters, in fact?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I cannot account for it or them, your Honor,' replied +the prisoner quietly. 'I have proved to you, have I not, that +I never wrote those letters, and that the man—er—Kershaw +is his name?—was not murdered by me?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Can you tell me of anyone here or abroad who might +have heard of your movements and date of your arrival?' +</p> + +<p> +"'My late employés at Vladivostock, of course, knew of my +departure, but none of them could have written these letters, +since none of them know a word of English.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then you can throw no light upon these mysterious +letters? You cannot help the police in any way toward the +clearing up of this strange affair?' +</p> + +<p> +"'The affair is as mysterious to me as to your Honor, and +to the police of this country.' +</p> + +<p> +"Francis Smethurst was discharged, of course; there was +no semblance of evidence against him sufficient to commit +him for trial. The two overwhelming points of his defence +which had completely routed the prosecution were, firstly, +the proof that he had never written the letters making the +assignation, and secondly, the fact that the man supposed to +have been murdered on the 10th was seen to be alive and +well on the 16th. But then, who in the world was the +mysterious individual who had apprised Kershaw of the +movements of Smethurst, the millionaire?" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0403"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER III +<br><br> +HIS DEDUCTION +</h3> + +<p> +The man in the corner cocked his funny thin head on one +side and looked at Polly; then he took up his beloved bit of +string and deliberately untied every knot he had made in it. +When it was quite smooth he laid it out upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +"I will take you, if you like, point by point along the line +of reasoning which I followed myself, and which will +inevitably lead you, as it led me, to the only possible solution +of the mystery. +</p> + +<p> +"First take this point," he said with nervous restlessness, +once more taking up his bit of string, and forming with each +point raised a series of knots which would have shamed a +navigating instructor, "Obviously it was <i>impossible</i> for +Kershaw not to have been acquainted with Smethurst, since he +was fully apprised of the latter's arrival in England by two +letters. Now it was clear to me from the first that <i>no one</i> +could have written those two letters except Smethurst. You +will argue that those letters were proved not to have been +written by the man in the dock. Exactly. Remember, +Kershaw was a careless man—he had lost both envelopes. To +him they were insignificant. Now it was never <i>disproved</i> +that those letters were written by Smethurst." +</p> + +<p> +"But—" suggested Polly. +</p> + +<p> +"Wait a minute," he interrupted, while knot number two +appeared upon the scene; "it was proved that six days after +the murder William Kershaw was alive, and visited the +Torriani Hotel, where already he was known, and where he +conveniently left a pocket-book behind, so that there should +be no mistake as to his identity; but it was never questioned +where Mr. Francis Smethurst, the millionaire, happened to +spend that very same afternoon." +</p> + +<p> +"Surely, you don't mean—?" gasped the girl. +</p> + +<p> +"One moment, please," he added triumphantly. "How did +it come about that the landlord of the Torriani Hotel was +brought into court at all? How did Sir Arthur Inglewood, +or rather his client, know that William Kershaw had on +those two memorable occasions visited the hotel, and that its +landlord could bring such convincing evidence forward that +would forever exonerate the millionaire from the imputation +of murder?" +</p> + +<p> +"Surely," I argued, "the usual means, the police—" +</p> + +<p> +"The police had kept the whole affair very dark until the +arrest at the Hotel Cecil. They did not put into the papers +tha usual: 'If anyone happens to know of the whereabouts, +etc., etc.' Had the landlord of that hotel heard of the +disappearance of Kershaw through the usual channels, he would +have put himself in communication with the police. Sir +Arthur Inglewood produced him. How did Sir Arthur +Inglewood come on his track?" +</p> + +<p> +"Surely, you don't mean—?" +</p> + +<p> +"Point number four," he resumed imperturbably, "Mrs. Kershaw +was never requested to produce a specimen of her +husband's handwriting. Why? Because the police, clever +as you say they are, never started on the right tack. They +believed William Kershaw to have been murdered; they +looked for William Kershaw." +</p> + +<p> +"On December the 31st, what was presumed to be the body +of William Kershaw was found by two lightermen: I have +shown you a photograph of the place where it was found. +Dark and deserted it is in all conscience, is it not? Just the +place where a bully and a coward would decoy an unsuspecting +stranger, murder him first, then rob him of his valuables, +his papers, his very identity, and leave him there to rot. +The body was found in a disused barge which had been +moored some time against the wall, at the foot of these +steps. It was in the last stages of decomposition, and, of +course, could not be identified; but the police would have it +that it was the body of William Kershaw. +</p> + +<p> +"It never entered their heads that it was the body of +<i>Francis Smethurst, and that William Kershaw was his +murderer</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! it was cleverly, artistically conceived! Kershaw is a +genius. Think of it all! His disguise! Kershaw had a +shaggy beard, hair, and moustache. He shaved up to his +very eyebrows! No wonder that even his wife did not +recognize him across the court; and remember she never +saw much of his face while he stood in the dock. Kershaw +was shabby, slouchy, he stooped. Smethurst, the millionaire, +might have served in the Prussian Army. +</p> + +<p> +"Then that lovely trait about going to revisit the Torriani +Hotel. Just a few days' grace, in order to purchase +moustache and beard and wig, exactly similar to what he had +himself shaved off. Making up to look like himself! +Splendid! Then leaving the pocket-book behind! He! he! he! +Kershaw was not murdered! Of course not. He called at the +Torriani Hotel six days after the murder, whilst Mr. Smethurst, +the millionaire, hobnobbed in the park with duchesses! +Hang such a man! Fie!" +</p> + +<p> +He fumbled for his hat. With nervous, trembling fingers +he held it deferentially in his hand whilst he rose from the +table. Polly watched him as he strode up to the desk, and paid +two-pence for his glass of milk and his bun. Soon he +disappeared through the shop, whilst she still found herself +hopelessly bewildered, with a number of snap-shot photographs +before her, still staring at a long piece of string, smothered +from end to end in a series of knots, as bewildering, as +irritating, as puzzling as the man who had lately sat in the +corner. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> + +<h2> +The Mystery of Seven Minutes +</h2> + +<p class="t3b"> +BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p> +<i>SCENE: One end of the main dining-room, the Cafe +Plaisance, New York: a restaurant of the first class, +handsomely appointed and decorated. The right-hand +wall (from the view-point of the audience) is composed of +wide windows heavily draped, which look out on Broadway. +The left-hand wall is broken only by wide swing-doors, near +the back, in front of which, stands a permanent screen of +carved wood and glass: this doorway opens upon the kitchen +quarters. In the back wall, close to the right-hand corner, are +huge swing-doors, closed; when open they show part of a +dimly-lighted lobby. In the back wall, toward the left-hand +corner, is a small, ordinary door which opens on a dark room.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>The restaurant is lighted by means of wall-sconces and an +ornate central chandelier of cut glass lustres. There are +smaller lamps, resembling shaded candles, to each table; but +of these only one is lighted—that which stands on the table +in the center of the stage, next the footlights.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>The stage (which shows less than half the restaurant) is +crowded with tables of all sizes; but to the right these have +been pushed back in confusion against the windows and the +back wall, leaving a broad clear space. The table at center, +down front, has two chairs, and is dressed with service for two +persons; its candle-lamp illuminates the cold remains of a +supper for two. A silver wine-tub stands to one side of this +table, the neck of an opened champagne bottle projecting +above the rim.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>The rising of the</i> CURTAIN <i>discovers several waiters and +'busses busily clearing the tables on the left-hand side of the +stage, under the direction of</i> ANTON ZIRKER, <i>the maitre +d'hotel; while</i> INSPECTOR WALTERS <i>of the New York Police +Department, sits at one of the tables to the right; and a</i> +POLICEMAN <i>in uniform stands before the lobby doors.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER <i>is a handsome, well-conditioned man of about +thirty-five; short of stature, and stout, but quick on his feet, +he carries himself well, with the habit of efficient authority. +His countenance is plum, of a darkish cast, and has alert, +intelligent eyes. He speaks excellent English with a faint accent +which becomes more noticeable in moments of excitement. +He is dressed, of course, in admirably-tailored evening clothes.</i> +</p> + +<p> +INSPECTOR WALTERS <i>is a man of some fifty years, of powerful +build and a prime physical condition. His hair has begun +to show gray at the temples. His face is of sanguine +complexion, with an open expression, and he wears a heavy +grayish moustache. He likewise wears evening dress, and he +shows no insignia to betray his connection with the police +force.... He sits sideways at a table well over to the right, +resting an elbow on its bare top and chewing an unlighted +cigar while he stares steadfastly, with a grave frown, at the +table at center.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>One by one the waiters go off through the service-door, +leaving</i> WALTERS, ZIRKER <i>and the</i> POLICEMAN <i>alone on the +stage</i>. ZIRKER, <i>standing to the left, pauses and glances +inquiringly at</i> WALTERS, <i>who pays no attention. There is a +sound, off-stage, to the right, as of people passing in the street, +a wild blaring of tin horns, clattering of cow-bells, shouts, +laughter. As this dies away,</i> ZIRKER <i>consults his watch.</i> +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>who apparently hasn't been looking his +way—sharply</i>). What time is it? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>startled, stammers</i>). Half-past three. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Uh-huh ... (<i>with this illegible grunt, relapses +and gravely champs his cigar through another pause</i>). +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>nervously</i>). Beg pardon, Inspector— +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Don't interrupt: I'm thinking. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. Pardon! I merely wished to inquire if you'd need +me any longer. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>calmly</i>). I told you, shut up. +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +ZIRKER <i>shrugs and falls silent, but fidgets</i>. WALTERS <i>solemnly +chews his cigar and frowns at the lighted table. The</i> +POLICEMAN <i>yawns eloquently. Presently the pause is broken +by a sound of voices in the lobby. All three men turn their +heads toward the swing-doors: the</i> POLICEMAN <i>vigilantly,</i> +WALTERS <i>expectantly,</i> ZIRKER <i>with a bored, wondering air. +Immediately one wing of the doors is thrust open, and a +young man comes hastily in, nodding in acknowledgment +of a salute from the</i> POLICEMAN <i>and waving a cordial hand +to</i> WALTERS.... <i>He's a good-looking, intelligent, well-bred +youngster, in evening dress under a fur-lined coat; wears a +silk hat and white gloves.</i> +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Good morning, Mr. Alston—and Happy New Year! +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>laughing</i>). Happy New Year yourself! Trust +you to know the time of day, Walters! ... You're in charge +here, eh? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Yes: I happened to be here when the murder +was committed. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>surprised</i>). You were? And let the murderer get +away right under your nose! +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>grimly</i>). No: I didn't let him get away. Did I, +Zirker? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>with a nervous start</i>). Yes—no—that is, I don't +know. You arrested Ruffo, all right. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Yes: I arrested Ruffo all right ... as you say. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Who's Ruffo? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. The waiter nearest the table where the murder +was committed. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. And you think he—? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. I don't know whether he did or not! But he was +there, all right, by his own admission. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. But couldn't you see—? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. No: it was while the lights were out. Didn't +you know that, Mr. Alston? +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. I don't know anything about the case: never heard +a word of it until fifteen minutes ago, when a page called me +to the telephone at the Astor—I was having supper there with +some friends—and the Commissioner asked me to run down +here, look the ground over, and report to him immediately. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Mr. Alston is the new Deputy Commissioner of +Police, you know, Zirker. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>bowing and smiling</i>). But yes: I know that very +well. I've had the pleasure of serving Mr. Alston frequently. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. But tell me: is it true, what I hear, that it was +somebody connected with the Italian Embassy at Washington? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>heavily</i>). The murdered man—identified by +papers in his pocket—was Count Umberto Bennetto, first +secretary to the Italian Legation. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>whistles softly</i>). Whe-e-w! That makes it pretty +serious, doesn't it? And you think this Ruffo...? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Well, he's an Eyetalian—Carlo Ruffo's his full +name. I judged that was enough to hold him on, as a witness. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Nothing more incriminating than that? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. No... Besides, he's an old man—Ruffo is—and +I doubt if he had enough strength to strike the blow that +killed this party. It was a quick, strong, sure thrust—right +here—(<i>indicating spot on his own bosom</i>)—right through the +heart. No fumbling about it: the blow of a practiced hand. +This Bennetto party couldn't have known what killed him. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. But if you don't think this waiter, Ruffo— +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Well, we had to pinch somebody on general +principles, didn't we? +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Why not Zirker, then? (<i>jocularly.</i>) He looks +able-bodied enough—Italian, too! +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>seriously</i>). Well, I did think of it. But he was +a good twelve feet from the table at the time: I know, because +I happened to be trying to catch his eye when the lights +went out; and when they went up again, he was right there +in the same spot. Besides, he isn't Eyetalian. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. He looks it... +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>smiling blandly</i>). But no: Swiss. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Of course: all good restaurateurs are Swiss... +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. So that let <i>him</i> out. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. But come: tell me just how it happened. I take +it, this was the table? (<i>crossing to table at C.</i>) +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. That's it, all right... It was this way: I'm +sitting over here (<i>indicating table up back of that on which +stands the shaded light</i>) and it's about half-past eleven when +I see this party, Bennetto, come in, towed by one of the +swellest dames I ever lay eyes on. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Just the two of them ... alone, eh? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. All alone, and glad of it, if I'm any judge, +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Had they been celebrating a bit—perhaps? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Not so's anybody'd notice it. But then, these +Eyetalians never show their loads. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. So the woman was Italian, too? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. I judged so, from her looks: a dark woman—black +hair—cheeks like blush roses—and her lamps—O +my!—headlights! Everybody turns around to pips her off, the +minute she comes through that door. They goes straight to +this table—it's all ready for them— +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>to Zirker</i>). Count Bennetto had reserved it in +advance? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. Yes, sir: by letter, from the Legation, Washington, +about a month ago. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. And they sits down, and this Ruffo waiter +rustles 'em a quart right away, and just before the lights +goes out—at midnight, you know—he brings in their supper. +And right there happens the first suspicious circumstance. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER <i>shows surprise.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. How so? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. It isn't the supper this Bennetto party ordered. +I don't know what he did order, but I hears him speak +sharply to this Ruffo waiter and say he didn't order steak, +and to take it back and have the order filled properly. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Did what he said seem to make the waiter angry? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. No: he just looks puzzled, and says he'll speak +to the head waiter—Zirker, here—about it, and starts off to +do it, and then it's all lights out, and everybody whooping +and yelling and raising Cain generally. +</p> + +<p> +'ALSTON. But what's suspicious—? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Because—the way I figure it—if this Bennetto +party had got what he ordered, there wouldn't have been a +carving knife with it, like the kind that came with the +steak—heavy enough to kill him. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Possibly... +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. I never thought of that! +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Well, you know, that's my job—thinking of those +little things. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Well, and then...? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Then it's lights up again, and I hear a woman +give a screech that isn't due to champagne, and I looks, and +this Eyetalian party is slumped down sideways in his chair— +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Which chair? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>touching its back</i>). This was Count Umberto's +chair, Mr. Alston. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. And this knife is buried in his chest so deep +none of the blade shows. He's just sitting there, dead and +grinning, like he was defying us to guess what had become +of his lady friend. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. And what had become of her? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>nodding at Zirker</i>). I don't know any more than +he does. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. But I know nothing whatever! +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. That's what I'm telling Mr. Alston: I don't +know any more than you. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. But— +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. She has disappeared—-vanished completely—between +the time the lights went out and the time they went +up again. And how she managed it staggers me. I can see +as far through a stone wall as anybody, but I'll be damned if +I can see how that skirt managed to get out of this restaurant +in pitch darkness, with these tables crowded so close together +that even the waiters could hardly move around—and nobody +know it or see her at any time. I've been over the ground a +dozen times, and I just don't see how it could be done. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. It's impossible. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. And yet it happened. She got away as slick as +a whistle. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>reviewing the ground thoughtfully</i>). You've +moved the tables, of course. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Had to, to take the body out. But I had sense +enough to chalk their positions on the floor before I let them +be moved.... Zirker, you help O'Halloran here put those +tables back in place, will you? ... Just to show Mr. Alston. +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>The</i> POLICEMAN <i>comes down from the door and joins</i> ZIRKER +<i>over to the right, and the two of them shift the tables back +into place.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>looking at the lobby doors</i>). If she went that +way... +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. The only exit that way is to Broadway; and all +the taxi chauffeurs outside swear nobody came out while the +lights were down. Besides, the lights were on the lobby there, +and the cloakroom boy and the guy that runs the newsstand +both say nobody came out during the dark turn. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>turning toward the left; indicates smaller door up +back</i>). And that? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. That's the head waiter's office—Zirker's—and the +door's locked and the key's in his pocket all the time. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Has it any communication with the street? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. A door: but it was locked, too. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>gesture indicating doors in left wall</i>). And that's +the way to the kitchen, I presume? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Right. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. She might have... +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Not unless you allow the whole staff of waiters +here was in the plot to aid her escape. There's half a dozen +of them waiting just outside for the lights to come up, so +they can bring in their orders—and of course them lights +over there: nobody could pass then, without their seeing. +Besides, as far as those two doors are concerned, they're twice +as far from this Count's table, and would be three times as +difficult to reach. You can see for yourself.... +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>By now the</i> POLICEMAN <i>and</i> ZIRKER <i>have rearranged the tables, +in a fashion that bears out Walters' contention as to the +difficulty of reaching the lobby doors.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>thoughtfully</i>). I see... +</p> + +<p> +POLICEMAN. All right, Inspector! +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. All right, O'Halloran. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER <i>makes his way toward the table at center.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. It's a pretty problem.... She simply couldn't +have got away without bumping into somebody. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. Ruffo was standing squarely in the only clear way, +and I only a few feet beyond him. Neither of us... +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. All the same, get away she did. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. You, of course, questioned everybody? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. You bet your life I did. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. And nobody...? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. There's this to be said: everybody was having +too good a time to pay much attention. On the other hand, +everybody that was seated along the lines of exit insists +they'd have noticed anything as unusual as a woman feeling +her way out in the dark. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. In short, it's impossible. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. <i>But</i> it happened!... +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>The lobby doors open and somebody outside whispers to the</i> +POLICEMAN. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. What's that, O'Halloran? +</p> + +<p> +POLICEMAN. You're wanted on the 'phone, Inspector. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Excuse me, Mr. Alston. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>abstractedly</i>). Yes... yes... +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS <i>picks his way up to the lobby doors and goes out.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. I presume, Mr. Zirker, nobody knows who this +woman was? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>with a shrug</i>). If so, they refused to admit its +when Mr. Walters questioned them. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Had you ever seen her before? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. Never in my life. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. She was not in the habit of going round in +company with Count Bennetto, then—I fancy. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. I couldn't say, sir. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Then I infer that Count Bennetto wasn't one of +your regular patrons? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. Not within my time; but then I've only been +maitre d'hotel here for the last two months. I am new to this +country. I never saw Count Umberto before to-night. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Yet you reserved a table for him— +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. His letter was accompanied by a check. +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>Re-enter</i> WALTERS <i>by the lobby doors.</i> +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>cheerfully</i>). Well, that's better: we're on the +trail of the woman, at least. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. But truly? +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. How so? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. One of my men has been going round the hotels. +They've found out that this Bennetto party was registered +at the Metropole as "Antonio Zorzi and wife." +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Oh! +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. That would seem to indicate that Count Umberto +feared something of this sort. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Why do you say that? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. Why else need Count Umberto and his wife adopt +an incognito? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. But she wasn't his wife... +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. You are sure of that, eh? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Somebody else's wife, I guess. This Bennetto +party was unmarried: or so the Italian Embassy tells +Headquarters over the long distance. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. They ... they couldn't tell you who the lady was? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Sure they could: her right name was Zorzi. She +came on from Italy a couple of months ago, with Bennetto. +He'd just been appointed to the Embassy, you see. Of course, +I guess, they thought it would seem pretty coarse work for him +to take her on to Washington; because she stopped here, and +he ran back every week end. Oh, we know all about 'em, now. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. All but how she got away... +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. And where she is. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. That's all we got to find out now. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. It seems to me you've overlooked one direct +inference, Mr. Walters. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Slip it to me: you couldn't do me a bigger favor, +Mr. Alston. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. You've demonstrated conclusively that she couldn't +have left the restaurant while the lights were out. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Have I? I didn't mean to. Because, the facts +are, she did. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. But you say she couldn't... +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. I say, I don't know how she could— +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. But assuming for the sake of the argument that +she couldn't— +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Then she's still here. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Or—this is the bet you've overlooked—she left +before the lights went out. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. What do you mean? +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. If she couldn't and didn't go while it was dark, +she must have gone before. In the noise and confusion of the +jollification, it would have been easy enough for any woman +to have left inconspicuously during the five minutes before +the lights went down. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. That's true. There's only one flaw in your +theory: she didn't. I know she didn't because I was looking +right past her—trying, as I say, to catch Zirker's eye and +order more wine—when the lights did go out. And I know +she hadn't left her seat. Don't go Sherlock-Holmesing, +Mr. Alston: police cases aren't solved on theories nowadays—never +were, for that matter. Excuse me for speaking so bluntly— +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. That's all right. You were on the force when I +was in knickerbockers. I'm here to learn. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. If you want to know how a police detective gets +to work, I'll give you a practical demonstration here and now. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. How? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. The first thing is to figure out how this girl +makes her getaway, isn't it? ... Well, I say she couldn't +without attracting attention. But I'm wrong, for she did. Now +how? Well, she either knew the way out or someone led her +by the hand that did know. That's reasonable, ain't it? +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Perfectly... Isn't it, Mr. Zirker? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. But who would lead her by the hand? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Some guy who knew the ground very thoroughly. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. Myself, for instance. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Oh, I won't go so far as to say that... +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. But why not? Let us reason it out as you suggest. +You need to find somebody thoroughly acquainted with the +arrangement of the tables, to fit your theory. Well, there +was no such person. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Not even yourself? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. Not even myself, Mr. Alston. You see, we've got +fifty extra tables in this room to-night. Our first intention +was to put in only thirty-five, but the demand was so +great—good customers coming at the last moment without +reservation—that we made room for fifteen more. Hence the great +congestion, and hence the fact that not even I was thoroughly +conversant with the arrangement. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. And yet ... she got away! ... The trouble +with your contention, Zirker, is that you don't make any +allowance for average human intelligence. Now I've been +figuring on this lay-out ever since, and I think I see a way. +I'll make you a little bet—a bottle of wine—anything you +like—I can find my way out of this tangle in five minutes of +darkness, and neither you nor Mr. Alston here will be able to +tell how I did it. The only thing I ask is that you sit +tight—you, Zirker, right where you were standing when the +murder occurred, and Mr. Alston where I was sitting—and make +no attempt to confuse me by talking. Is it a go? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. Why, certainly, Mr. Walters: I'll take that bet. +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>after a brief pause, during which he has eyed +Walters intently</i>). I'm in on it, too, Inspector. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS, Good enough. Now take your places. I'll sit +here at the Count's table, in the chair the skirt sat in. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS, ALSTON <i>and</i> ZIRKER <i>take up the positions indicated. +And we'll have the lights out.</i> +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>To</i> POLICEMAN. O'Halloran, put all the lights out. +</p> + +<p> +POLICEMAN. Yes, sir. <i>He turns to the switches beside the +lobby doors and extinguishes first the wall-sconces, then the +central chandelier, leaving the stage in total darkness but for +the glimmer that penetrates the semi-opaque glass panels of +the lobby door. Then, opening one of these, he thrusts his +head out, and calls</i>: Hey, you—put them lights out, d'ye +hear? Inspector's orders. +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>Immediately the lights are switched off in the lobby.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. But Inspector— +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. That's hardly fair, Mr. Walters. The lobby lights +were going when the woman escaped. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. You're right. O'Halloran, you bone-head, why +the devil did you tell 'em to turn off those lobby lights? +</p> + +<p> +POLICEMAN. I thought you wanted 'em out, sir. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Well, I don't. +</p> + +<p> +POLICEMAN (<i>aggrieved tone</i>). But you told me—"O'Halloran," +you says, "put all them lights out," says you. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>furiously</i>). Well, I tell you now, you born simp, +to have the lobby lights turned on! Quick—d'you hear? +</p> + +<p> +POLICEMAN (<i>sulkily</i>). Oh, <i>all</i> right! +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>The lobby doors creak as he thrusts them open. He continues +in the same tone</i>: Inspector Walters says he wants them +lights out there turned on again. <i>A slight pause; then the +lobby lights glow once more, through the glass panels.</i> +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Now I'm starting. Remember, Zirker, if you +catch me without moving, it means a bottle of wine for you. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>with a confident laugh</i>). I'll win that bet. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>his voice sounding from the right of the stage</i>). +Don't be too sure... +</p> + +<p> +PAUSE. <i>A sound is heard of a table moving on the floor. A chair +goes over with a crash. A moment later another topples.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>a sudden cry of triumph</i>). I've got you, Inspector! +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>voice from the right</i>). Well, catch me then. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>in a puzzled tone</i>). But you are here—and your +voice there. What is this—a trick? (<i>A cry of fright.</i>) +Ah-h-h, Madonna mia! What is this? +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON (<i>alarmed—voice from left</i>). What's the matter? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. What devil's work—! +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Lights, O'Halloran—light's up! +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>Instantly the central chandelier floods the stage with light</i>. +WALTERS <i>stands to the right, a revolver in his hand levelled +at</i> ZIRKER. ALSTON <i>has just risen from his chair, where he +sat when the stage was darkened</i>. ZIRKER <i>has jumped up from +his and is cringing back in abject fright and horror from +a</i> WOMAN <i>who stands within two feet of him. The latter has +entered under cover of darkness, when the lobby lights were +out, in company with a</i> PLAIN CLOTHES MAN <i>to whose left +wrist her right is fastened by handcuffs. The</i> WOMAN <i>is the +one described by</i> WALTERS <i>as Bennetto's companion; but she +now wears a neat tailor-made gown, with a fur coat, etc.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>livid with terror—cowers and trembles</i>)—Elena! +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Oh, you know this lady now, do you, Zirker? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER (<i>attempting to recover</i>). I—I do not know her. +Who is she? I—I have never— +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>approaching the woman</i>), Madame, is your +name Elena? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. Don't answer— +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>savagely</i>). Shut up, you damned murderer! +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +(ZIRKER <i>recoils from Walters' revolver.</i>) Madame—? +</p> + +<p> +WOMAN (<i>with an effort</i>). My name is Elena Zorzi. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. What relation are you to this man? +</p> + +<p> +WOMAN. I am his wife. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. His name. +</p> + +<p> +WOMAN. Antonio Zorzi. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Which of you killed Count Umberto Bennetto? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER, Elena, I command you not to answer! +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS, Keep quiet... Here, O'Halloran—grab this +guy before he does anything foolish. +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>The</i> POLICEMAN <i>crosses to</i> ZIRKER, <i>rapidly searches him for +weapons, finds none, and grasps him firmly by the arm.</i> +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS (<i>to the WOMAN</i>). The only way you can save +yourself is by downright confession... +</p> + +<p> +WOMAN. Antonio killed Count Umberto. I was his wife, I +left him for Count Umberto, he followed us to America for +revenge. We didn't know ... neither of us knew ... he +was here... Nor did I see him until just before the lights +went out. Then I saw him standing there, grinning murder +at me... I thought he meant me ... and when in the +darkness he seized my arm and told me to come with him I +was too frightened not to obey. I did not then know he had +killed Count Umberto. He did not tell me until he put me +out of the side door, thrust a steamer ticket into my hand, +and told me to leave the country if I wished to escape +hanging for the murder. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. How did he get you out of this crowded room? +</p> + +<p> +WOMAN. I don't know... He warned me to keep quiet +... and drew me very gently but swiftly away between the +tables ... twisting and turning... And then he opened +that door—(<i>pointing to the door at back, toward the left</i>) and +led me through the room to the street. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. That will do... Well, Mr. Alston? +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON, In Heaven's name, <i>how</i> did you do it? +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Common-sense—every-day police detective +methods. I promised you a demonstration. Now you have +had it. If Zirker hadn't insisted that the woman couldn't +possibly have escaped by way of his private office, I might +have let him slip through my fingers. But it was just that—and +the fact that he had the key in his pocket—that convicted +him. It was clear enough the woman couldn't have left +by way of either the lobby or the kitchen and pantries—without +wholesale collusion, that is. Therefore, it was plain as +day she must have beat it by the only other exit—Zirker's +office. So I kept him here—stalling—until the men working +outside found out what hotel Bennetto and this woman had +put up at. They found out more—that she had returned to +her room alone at twelve-fifteen, in great haste and distress, +changed her dress, packed a bag hurriedly, and left the hotel. +Then we traced her by taxicabs to the Cunard Line pier, which +she reached just ten minutes before the <i>Mauretania</i> sailed at +one A.M. The wireless got us in communication with the +ship, and the captain held her in the Lower Bay until we +could reach her with a police boat and take the woman off. +Until that was accomplished, there was nothing certain—definite—to +go on. I wasn't going to arrest this guy until I'd +given him plenty of rope to hang himself with... But I've +been watching him for three hours, and I felt pretty certain +he'd cave and make some sort of a damaging admission if I +could bring him unexpectedly face to face with the woman he +believed to be safely out of the country. So I framed up this +mild dose of the third degree—and it's worked! +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. I think it'll work out big for you, Inspector, when +I tell the Commissioner. +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>The sound of a patrol wagon gong is heard off-stage.</i> +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. Far be it from me to dodge anything in the line +of official appreciation... Here comes the hurry-up cart. +O'Halloran—Weil—hustle these people out before a crowd +collects. +</p> + +<p class="hanging"> +<i>The</i> PLAIN CLOTHES MAN <i>draws the</i> WOMAN <i>up-stage. The</i> +POLICEMAN <i>is about to do the same with</i> ZIRKER <i>when</i> +ALSTON <i>stops him.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Here ... wait a minute ... I'm still perplexed +about the way Zirker got the woman out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +WALTERS. It's plain enough: he'd had a month's warning +that this thing was going to happen—ever since Bennetto +wrote on from Washington, ordering the table for to-night. +He'd figured it down to the fine point of those five minutes +of darkness to cover the murder and the disappearance of the +woman. He had figured it out to the extent of picking a boat +for her to escape on that left the country within an hour of +the murder. Is it likely he hadn't figured it down to the +point of having a complete floor plan of the room in his mind? +Of course not. He knew his way in and out of those tables +by counting his steps. Didn't you, Zirker? +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER <i>doesn't answer save by a scowl.</i> +</p> + +<p> +ALSTON. Oh, come, be reasonable: I can make things easy +for you in the Tombs if you'll satisfy us. It's no good being +rusty about it. You can't escape the chair anyway you put it. +</p> + +<p> +ZIRKER. You are right. I worked out the table plan a week +ago. +</p> + +<p class="t3"> +[CURTAIN] +</p> + +<p><br><br><br><br></p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77812 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + diff --git a/77812-h/images/img-cover.jpg b/77812-h/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..73c7559 --- /dev/null +++ b/77812-h/images/img-cover.jpg diff --git a/77812-h/images/img-front.jpg b/77812-h/images/img-front.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa0ae20 --- /dev/null +++ b/77812-h/images/img-front.jpg |
