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diff --git a/77812-0.txt b/77812-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bfb9a13 --- /dev/null +++ b/77812-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16422 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77812 *** + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "Will you tell how you did it or shall I?" _Jacques +Futrelle The Scarlet Thread--p. 70_] + + + + + MASTER TALES + + _of_ + + MYSTERY + + + BY THE WORLD'S MOST FAMOUS + AUTHORS OF TO-DAY + + + COLLECTED AND ARRANGED + BY FRANCIS J. REYNOLDS + + + + VOLUME II + + + + P. F. COLLIER & SON COMPANY + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + + + + + Copyright 1915 + BY P. F. COLLIER & SON + + Copyright 1905, 1906 + BY AMERICAN-JOURNAL-EXAMINER + + Copyright 1907 + BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY + _By courtesy of William Randolph Hearst_ + + Copyright 1907 + BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY + + Copyright 1914 + BY SMART SET COMPANY, INC. + + Copyright 1902 + BY C. ARTHUR PEARSON, LTD. + + Copyright 1909 + BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY + + Copyright 1914 + BY ILLUSTRATED SUNDAY MAGAZINE + + + MANUFACTURED IN U. S. A. + + + + + Contents + + JACQUES FUTRELLE + The Problem of Cell 13 + The Scarlet Thread + The Man Who Was Lost + The Great Auto Mystery + The Flaming Phantom + The Mystery of a Studio + + OSWALD CRAWFURD, C. M. G. + Gentleman Coggins: Alias Towers + The Murder at Jex Farm + + HENRY C. ROWLAND + The Border + + BARONESS ORCZY + The Fenchurch Street Mystery + + LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE + The Mystery of Seven Minutes + + + + +The Problem of Cell 13 + +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE + + + +I + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Such a thing is impossible," declared Dr. Ransome emphatically, in +the course of the conversation. + +"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." + +"How about the airship?" asked Dr. Ransome. + +"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." + +Dr. Ransome laughed tolerantly. + +"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 _thought_ out +of existence, or rather which would not yield to any amount of +thinking." + +"What, for instance?" demanded The Thinking Machine. + +Dr. Ransome was thoughtful for a moment as he smoked. + +"Well, say prison walls," he replied. "No man can _think_ himself +out of a cell. If he could, there would be no prisoners." + +"A man can so apply his brain and ingenuity that he can leave a cell, +which is the same thing," snapped The Thinking Machine. + +Dr. Ransome was slightly amused. + +"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?" + +"Certainly," declared The Thinking Machine. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Not unless you entered it with tools prepared to get out," said Dr. +Ransome. + +The Thinking Machine was visibly annoyed and his blue eyes snapped. + +"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. + +Dr. Ransome sat up straight in the chair, interested. Mr. Fielding +lighted a new cigar. + +"You mean you could actually think yourself out?" asked Dr. Ransome. + +"I would get out," was the response. + +"Are you serious?" + +"Certainly I am serious." + +Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding were silent for a long time. + +"Would you be willing to try it?" asked Mr. Fielding, finally. + +"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." + +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. + +"To begin now," added Dr. Ransome. + +"I'd prefer that it begin to-morrow," said The Thinking Machine, +"because--" + +"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?" + +"All right, now, then," said The Thinking Machine, and he arose. + +"Say, the death-cell in Chisholm Prison." + +"The death-cell in Chisholm Prison." + +"And what will you wear?" + +"As little as possible," said The Thinking Machine. "Shoes, +stocking, trousers and a shirt." + +"You will permit yourself to be searched, of course?" + +"I am to be treated precisely as all prisoners are treated," said The +Thinking Machine. "No more attention and no less." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Search him," instructed Dr. Ransome. + +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. + +"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. + +"Would you be convinced if I did not?" inquired The Thinking Machine +in turn. + +"No." + +"All right. I'll do it." + +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. + +"It will be impossible for him to communicate with anyone outside?" +he asked. + +"Absolutely impossible," replied the warden. "He will not be +permitted writing materials of any sort." + +"And your jailers, would they deliver a message from him?" + +"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." + +"That seems entirely satisfactory," said Mr. Fielding, who was +frankly interested in the problem. + +"Of course, in the event he fails," said Dr. Ransome, "and asks for +his liberty, you understand you are to set him free?" + +"I understand," replied the warden. + +The Thinking Machine stood listening, but had nothing to say until +this was all ended, then: + +"I should like to make three small requests. You may grant them or +not, as you wish." + +"No special favors, now," warned Mr. Fielding. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"Not for twenty-five hundred dollars," was the positive reply. + +"Well, let him have them," said Mr. Fielding. "I think they are +harmless enough." + +"And what is the third request?" asked Dr. Ransome. + +"I should like to have my shoes polished." + +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. + +"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." + +"Will this cell do, gentlemen?" asked The Thinking Machine. There +was a touch of irony in his voice. + +"Admirably," was the reply. + +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. + +"What is that noise in there?" asked Dr. Ransome, through the bars. + +"Rats--dozens of them," replied The Thinking Machine, tersely. + +The three men, with final good-nights, were turning away when The +Thinking Machine called: + +"What time is it exactly, warden?" + +"Eleven seventeen," replied the warden. + +"Thanks. I will join you gentlemen in your office at half-past eight +o'clock one week from to-night," said The Thinking Machine. + +"And if you do not?" + +"There is no 'if' about it." + + + +II + +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. + +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. + +At all times of the day there were armed guards in the yard, four of +them, one patrolling each side of the prison building. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Any improvements made here in the last few years?" he asked. + +"Nothing particularly," replied the jailer. "New wall was built four +years ago." + +"Anything done to the prison proper?" + +"Painted the woodwork outside, and T believe about seven years ago a +new system of plumbing was put in." + +"Ah!" said the prisoner. "How far is the river over there?" + +"About three hundred feet. The boys have a baseball ground between +the wall and the river." + +The Thinking Machine had nothing further to say just then, but when +the jailer was ready to go he asked for some water. + +"I get very thirsty here," he explained. "Would it be possible for +you to leave a little water in a bowl for me?" + +"I'll ask the warden," replied the jailer, and he went away. + +Half an hour later he returned with water in a small earthen bowl. + +"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." + +"Thank you," said The Thinking Machine. "I shan't break it." + +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. + +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. + +"Ah, I've got you," he heard the prisoner say. + +"Got what?" he asked, sharply. + +"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. + +"Ain't you got anything better to do than to catch rats?" asked the +jailer. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Finder of this please deliver to Dr. Charles Ransome." + +"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?" + +"And where did he get the pen and ink to write with?" asked the guard. + +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. + +"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. + +"Well, if that--what--what do you think of that?" he asked, dazed. + +The guard took the bit of linen and read this: + +"_Epa cseot d'net niiy awe htto n'si sih_. "_T._" + + + +III + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"It's disgraceful," he snapped, "these rats. There are scores of +them." + +"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." + +"Why?" demanded The Thinking Machine, quickly. His tone was hardly +natural, his manner suggested actual perturbation. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine was silent for a moment. + +"All right," he said, finally. "Do your duty." + +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. + +"The guard brought you those, then?" he asked. + +"He certainly did," replied the warden triumphantly. "And that ends +your first attempt to escape." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"The drainage pipes of the prison lead to the river, don't they?" he +asked. + +"Yes," said the jailer. + +"I suppose they are very small?" + +"Too small to crawl through, if that's what you're thinking about," +was the grinning response. + +There was silence until The Thinking Machine finished his meal. Then: + +"You know I'm not a criminal, don't you?" + +"Yes." + +"And that I've a perfect right to be freed if I demand it?" + +"Yes." + +"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?" + +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. + +"I guess prisons like these were not built for the likes of you to +get out of," he said, at last. + +"But would you consider a proposition to help me get out?" the +prisoner insisted, almost beseechingly. + +"No," said the jailer, shortly. + +"Five hundred dollars," urged The Thinking Machine. "I am not a +criminal." + +"No," said the jailer, + +"A thousand?" + +"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." + +Then he told the warden all about it. + +"Plan number two fails," said the warden, smiling grimly, "First a +cipher, then bribery." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Well?" he demanded, and there was a smile on his face. + +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. + +"Give it up," he said. + +"No," said the prisoner, sharply. + +"Come, give it up," urged the warden. "I don't want to have to +search you again." + +"No," repeated the prisoner. + +"What was it, a file?" asked the warden. + +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. + +"Plan number three fails, eh?" he asked, good-naturedly. "Too bad, +isn't it?" + +The prisoner didn't say. + +"Search him," instructed the warden. + +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. + +"Ah," said the warden, as he received it from the jailer. "From your +shoe heel," and he smiled pleasantly. + +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. + +"You couldn't saw a way through those bars with these," said the +warden. + +"I could have," said The Thinking Machine firmly. + +"In six months, perhaps," said the warden, good-naturedly. + +The warden shook his head slowly as he gazed into the slightly +flushed face of his prisoner. + +"Ready to give it up?" he asked. + +"I haven't started yet," was the prompt reply. + +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. + +"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. + +"Give it up, professor," he advised. + +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. + +"He's crazy to try to get out of that cell," commented the jailer. + +"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." + +* * * * * * * * + +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. + + + +IV + +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. + +"It's that fool in Cell 13," grumbled the warden. + +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. + +"What's the matter?" demanded the warden. + +"Thank God you've come," exclaimed the prisoner, and he cast himself +against the bars of his cell. + +"What is it?" demanded the warden again. + +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. + +"Take me out of this cell, please take me out," he pleaded. + +"What's the matter with you, anyhow?" insisted the warden, +impatiently. + +"I heard something--something," said the prisoner, and his eyes roved +nervously around the cell. + +"What did you hear?" + +"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." + +The warden and the three jailers exchanged glances. + +"Who is this fellow? What's he accused of?" asked the warden. + +"Joseph Ballard," said one of the jailers. "He's accused of throwing +acid in a woman's face. She died from it." + +"But they can't prove it," gasped the prisoner. "They can't prove +it. Please put me in some other cell." + +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. + +"Look here, Ballard," said the warden, finally, "if you heard +anything, I want to know what it was. Now tell me." + +"I can't, I can't," was the reply. He was sobbing. + +"Where did it come from?" + +"I don't know. Everywhere--nowhere. I just heard it." + +"What was it--a voice?" + +"Please don't make me answer," pleaded the prisoner. + +"You must answer," said the warden, sharply. + +"It was a voice--but--but it wasn't human," was the sobbing reply. + +"Voice, but not human?" repeated the warden, puzzled. + +"It sounded muffled and--and far away--and ghostly," explained the +man. + +"Did it come from inside or outside the prison?" + +"It didn't seem to come from anywhere--it was just here, here, +everywhere. I heard it. I heard it." + +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. + +"And see here," said the warden, in conclusion, "if there's any more +of this screaming I'll put you in the padded cell." + +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. + +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: + +"Only three days more." + +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. + +"And where--where does he get anything to write with?" demanded the +warden of the world at large. + +Still later on the fourth day The Thinking Machine, through the +window of his cell, spoke to the armed guard outside. + +"What day of the month is it?" he asked. + +"The fifteenth," was the answer. + +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: + +"Who attends to those arc lights?" + +"Man from the company." + +"You have no electricians in the building?" + +"No." + +"I should think you could save money if you had your own man." + +"None of my business," replied the guard. + +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. + +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. + +"That's for you," called the prisoner. + +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. + +"He said it was for me," explained the guard. + +"It's a sort of a tip, I suppose," said the warden. "I see no +particular reason why you shouldn't accept--" + +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. + +"Perhaps somebody changed one of the bills for him," he thought at +last, with a sigh of relief. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Who is it?" + +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. + +"Ugh!" he exclaimed. + +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. + +The Thinking Machine, without a word, arose and kicked the rat out of +the cell into the corridor. + +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. + +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. + +"Five one-dollar bills," he gasped. + +"That's right," said the prisoner. + +"But the--you had two tens and a five--what the--how do you do it?" + +"That's my business," said The Thinking Machine. + +"Did any of my men change this money for you--on your word of honor?" + +The Thinking Machine paused just a fraction of a second. + +"No," he said. + +"Well, do you make it?" asked the warden. He was prepared to believe +anything. + +"That's my business," again said the prisoner. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Take me out, take me out," he screamed. "I did it, I did it, I +killed her. Take it away." + +"Take what away?" asked the warden. + +"I threw the acid in her face--I did it--I confess. Take me out of +here." + +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. + +"What did it say?" asked the warden, curiously. + +"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. + +"Acid?" echoed the warden, puzzled. The case was beyond him. + +"Acid. That's all I heard--that one word, repeated several times. +There were other things, too, but I didn't hear them." + +"That was last night, eh?" asked the warden. "What happened +to-night--what frightened you just now?" + +"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. + +"Did you hear anything else?" + +"Yes--but I couldn't understand--only a little bit--just a word or +two." + +"Well, what was it?" + +"I heard 'acid' three times, then I heard a long, moaning sound, +then--then--I heard 'No. 8 hat.' I heard that voice." + +"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." + +"He's insane," said one of the jailers, with an air of finality. + +"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--" + + + +V + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"In the event he had not yet escaped!" The warden smiled grimly. +Escaped! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Everything all right in Cell 13?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir," replied the jailer. "He didn't eat much, though." + +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. + +"The arc light in my side of the yard won't light," he informed the +warden. + +"Confound it, that man's a hoodoo," thundered the official. +"Everything has happened since he's been here." + +The guard went back to his post in the darkness, and the warden +'phoned to the electric light company. + +"This is Chisholm Prison," he said through the 'phone. "Send three +or four men down here quick, to fix an arc light." + +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. + +"By George!" he exclaimed. + +"What is it?" asked Mr. Fielding. + +Silently the doctor offered the letter. Mr. Fielding examined it +closely. + +"Coincidence," he said. "It must be." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +The warden picked up the special delivery letter carelessly, and then +began to open it. + +"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. + +"What is it?" asked Mr. Fielding. + +"A special delivery letter from Cell 13," gasped the warden. "An +invitation to supper." + +"What?" and the two others arose, unanimously. + +The warden sat dazed, staring at the letter for a moment, then called +sharply to a guard outside in the corridor. + +"Run down to Cell 13 and see if that man's in there." + +The guard went as directed, while Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding +examined the letter. + +"It's Van Dusen's handwriting; there's no question of that," said Dr. +Ransome. "I've seen too much of it." + +Just then the buzz on the telephone from the outer gate sounded, and +the warden, in a semi-trance, picked up the receiver. + +"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." + +Just at that moment the guard returned. + +"He's still in his cell, sir," he reported. "I saw him. He's lying +down." + +"There, I told you so," said the warden, and he breathed freely +again. "But how did he mail that letter?" + +There was a rap on the steel door which led from the jail yard into +the warden's office. + +"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." + +The door opened, and the two men from the front gate entered. + +"Good-evening, gentlemen," said one. That was Hutchinson Hatch; the +warden knew him well. + +"Well?" demanded the other, irritably. "I'm here." + +That was The Thinking Machine. + +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. + +"How--how--how did you do it?" gasped the warden, finally. + +"Come back to the cell," said The Thinking Machine, in the irritated +voice which his scientific associates knew so well. + +The warden, still in a condition bordering on trance, led the way. + +"Flash your light in there," directed The Thinking Machine. + +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. + +With trembling hands he unlocked the cell door and The Thinking +Machine passed inside. + +"See here," he said. + +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. + +"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. + +"What's this in the bed?" demanded the warden, who was slowly +recovering. + +"A wig," was the reply. "Turn down the cover." + +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. + +"How did you do it?" demanded the warden. + +"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." + +"But how did you do it?" insisted the warden. + +"Don't ever think you can hold any man who can use his brain," said +The Thinking Machine. "Come on; we shall be late." + + + +VI + +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. + +"Do you believe it now?" he demanded. + +"I do," replied Dr. Ransome. + +"Do you admit that it was a fair test?" + +"I do." + +With the others, particularly the warden, he was waiting anxiously +for the explanation. + +"Suppose you tell us how--" began Mr. Fielding. + +"Yes, tell us how," said the warden. + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Tooth powder and polished shoes, yes, but not money,". replied the +warden. + +"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." + +The warden stared at him a moment, then went on smoking solemnly. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Oh, you shut it off to-night, then?" asked the warden. + +"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." + +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: + +"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. + +"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. + +"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? + +"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 _not house rats, but field rats_. The +other end of the pipe was on land, then, outside the prison walls. +So far, so good. + +"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." + +The warden looked up with a sad expression in his eyes. + +"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?" + +The warden produced the cipher. + +"What the deuce does it mean, anyhow?" he asked. + +"Read it backward, beginning with the 'T' signature and disregard the +division into words," instructed The Thinking Machine. + +The warden did so. + +"T-h-i-s, this," he spelled, studied it a moment, then read it off, +grinning: + +"This is not the way I intend to escape." + +"Well, now what do you think o' that?" he demanded, still grinning. + +"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." + +"What did you write it with?" asked Dr. Ransome, after he had +examined the linen and passed it to Mr. Fielding. + +"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." + +The warden looked up and suddenly burst into a laugh, half of relief, +half of amusement. + +"You're a wonder," he said, admiringly. "Go on." + +"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." + +The warden blushed. + +"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." + +"Nine inches of that shirt?" demanded the warden. "Where did it come +from?" + +"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." + +There was a little pause, and the warden looked from one to another +of the men with a sheepish grin. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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, _Daily American_, who will give another ten dollars for the +information.' + +"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. + +"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? + +"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." + +Again the warden grinned. He had ceased being astonished. + +"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. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine stopped and turned to the reporter. + +"You'd better explain just what you did," he said. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine raised his hand and Hatch stopped. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"I remember," said the warden, with a grimace. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine sat silent for several minutes. + +"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." + +"But your actually leaving the prison grounds and then coming in +through the outer gate to my office?" asked the warden. + +"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. + +"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." + +There was silence for several minutes. Dr. Ransome was first to +speak. + +"Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Perfectly amazing." + +"How did Mr. Hatch happen to come with the electricians?" asked Mr. +Fielding. + +"His father is manager of the company," replied The Thinking Machine. + +"But what if there had been no Mr. Hatch outside to help?" + +"Every prisoner has one friend outside who would help him escape if +he could." + +"Suppose--just suppose--there had been no old plumbing system there?" +asked the warden, curiously. + +"There were two other ways out," said The Thinking Machine, +enigmatically. + +Ten minutes later the telephone bell rang. It was a request for the +warden. + +"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?" + +The warden turned to the others with a puzzled expression. + +"He only let in four electricians, he has let out two and says there +are three left." + +"I was the odd one," said The Thinking Machine. + +"Oh," said the warden. "I see." Then through the 'phone: "Let the +fifth man go. He's all right." + + + + +The Scarlet Thread + +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE + + + +I + +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. + +"From the beginning, every fact you know," he had requested. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +The reporter paused, lighted a cigarette and leaned forward in his +chair, gazing steadily into the inscrutable eyes of the scientist. + +"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." + +"Bad, bad for his health," commented the scientist. + +"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." + +"Accident, possibly," said The Thinking Machine. "A draught through +the apartments; a slight diminution of gas pressure; a hundred +possibilities." + +"So it was presumed," said the reporter. "Of course it would have +been impossible for--" + +"Nothing is impossible," said the other, tartly. "Don't say that. +It annoys me exceedingly." + +"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." + +"Ah," and The Thinking Machine changed his position a little. "The +second time." + +"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." + +"Why does he have a light at all?" asked the scientist, testily. + +"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." + +"Go on." + +"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." + +"Why was the door smashed in?" asked The Thinking Machine. "Why not +unlocked?" + +"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." + +"Well?" asked the scientist. "After that?" + +"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. + +"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." + +That was all. The two men were silent for a long time, and finally +The Thinking Machine turned to the reporter. + +"Does anyone else in the house keep gas going all night?" he asked. + +"I don't know," was the reply. "Most of them, I know, use +electricity." + +"Nobody else has been overcome as he has been?" + +"No. Plumbers have minutely examined the lighting system all over +the house and found nothing wrong." + +"Does the gas in the house all come through the same meter?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +* * * * * * * * + +That afternoon at one o'clock Hatch returned to the apartments of The +Thinking Machine, with excitement plainly apparent on his face. + +"Well?" asked the scientist. + +"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." + +"How?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +"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." + +"With the gas turned on?" + +"With the gas turned on. She was asphyxiated." + +"Dear me, dear me," exclaimed the scientist. He arose and took up +his hat. "Let's go see what this is all about." + + + +II + +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. + +"Too late," said Mallory, as they entered. + +"What was it, Mr. Mallory?" asked the scientist. + +"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." + +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. + +"Just how much was the gas turned on?" he asked. + +"Turned on full," was the reply. + +"Were both the doors of the room closed?" + +"Both, yes." + +"Any cotton, or cloth, or anything of the sort stuffed in the cracks +of the window?" + +"No. It's a tight-fitting window, anyway. Are you trying to make a +mystery out of this?" + +"Cracks in the doors stuffed?" The Thinking Machine went on. + +"No." There was a smile about the detective's lips. + +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. + +"Both transoms closed, I suppose?" he asked. + +"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." + +"All right," broke in The Thinking Machine abruptly. "Don't let us +keep you." + +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. + +"Is your night engineer perfectly trustworthy?" asked The Thinking +Machine. + +"Perfectly," was the reply. "One of the best and most reliable men I +ever met. Alert and wide-awake." + +"Can I see him a moment? The night man, I mean?" + +"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." + +"Do you supply gas for your tenants?" + +"Both gas and electricity are included in the rent of the Suites. +Tenants may use one or both." + +"And the gas all comes through one meter?" + +"Yes, one meter. It's just off the engine room." + +"I suppose there's no way of telling just who in the house uses gas?" + +"No. Some do and some don't. I don't know." + +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. + +"You are in the engine room or near it all night every night?" began +The Thinking Machine. + +"I haven't missed a night in four years," was the reply. + +"Anybody ever come here to see you at night?" + +"Never. It's against the rules." + +"The manager or a hall boy?" + +"Never." + +"In the last two months?" The Thinking Machine persisted. + +"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." + +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. + +"Have you a fireman?" was The Thinking Machine's next question. + +"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. + +"I don't suppose you ever had occasion to handle the gas meter?" +insisted The Thinking Machine. + +"Never touched it in my life," said the other. "I don't know +anything about meters, anyway." + +"And you never drop off to sleep at night for a few minutes when you +get lonely? Doze, I mean?" + +The engineer grinned good-naturedly. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Besides there's the steam gauge to watch," went on the engineer. +"No engineer would dare go to sleep. There might be an explosion." + +"Do you know Mr. Weldon Henley?" suddenly asked The Thinking Machine. + +"Who?" asked Burlingame. + +"Weldon Henley?" + +"No-o," was the slow response. "Never heard of him. Who is he?" + +"One of the tenants, on the second floor, I think." + +"Lord, I don't know any of the tenants. What about him?" + +"When does the inspector come here to read the meter?" + +"I never saw him. I presume in daytime, eh Bill?" and he turned to +the day engineer. + +"Always in daytime--usually about noon," said Bill from his corner. + +"Any other entrance to the basement except this way--and you could +see anyone coming here this way I suppose?" + +"Sure I could see 'em. There's no other entrance to the cellar +except the coal hole in the sidewalk in front." + +"Two big electric lights in front of the building, aren't there?" + +"Yes. They go all night." + +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. + +"Where do you usually sit at night here?" was the next question. + +"Over there where Bill's sitting. I always sit there." + +The Thinking Machine crossed the room to Bill, a typical, +grimy-handed man of his class. + +"May I sit there a moment?" he asked. + +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. + +"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. + +"Yes. I examine the dial every day--have them here, in fact, each +with the date on it." + +"May I see them?" + +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. + +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. + +"Ever use that flagpole?" he asked the manager. + +"Barely," said the manager. "On holidays sometimes--Fourth of July +and such times. We have a big flag for it." + +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. + +"Ah," he exclaimed. Then to Hatch: "Let's go, Mr. Hatch. Thank +you," this last to the manager, who had been a puzzled witness. + +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. + +"That girl, Miss Regnier, _was murdered_," he said suddenly, +positively. "There have been four attempts to murder Henley." + +"How?" asked Hatch, startled. + +"By a scheme so simple that neither you nor I nor the police have +ever heard of it being employed," was the astonishing reply. "_It is +perfectly horrible in its simplicity._" + +"What was it?" Hatch insisted, eagerly. + +"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?" + + + +III + +There was a pause as they walked on. + +"Where are we going?" asked Hatch finally. + +"Come up to my place and let's consider this matter a bit further," +replied The Thinking Machine. + +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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine reached over to the shelf, took a book, looked +at it a moment, then went on: + +"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. + +"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. + +"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--" + +"Miss Lipscomb," Hatch supplied. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Does it occur to you that there is any connection whatever between +Henley and Miss Regnier?" he asked. + +"It is possible," was the reply. "I had thought of that. If there +is a connection it is not apparent yet." + +"Then how--how was it she--she was killed, or killed herself, +whichever may be true, and--" + +"The attempt to kill Henley killed her. That's all I can say now." + +"That all?" asked Hatch, after a pause. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine opened his pocketbook and took from it the +scarlet thread which he had picked from the rope of the flagpole. + +"Here, I believe, is the real clew to the problem," he explained to +Hatch. "What does it seem to be?" + +Hatch examined it closely. + +"I should say a strand from a Turkish bath robe," was his final +judgment. + +"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." + +"But it's so slight--" Hatch began. + +"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." + +Hatch looked at him quickly. + +"Well, how--in what manner--did it come where you found it?" + +"Simple enough," said the scientist. "It is a wonder that there were +not more pieces of it--that's all." + +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? + +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. + +"Man or woman's?" asked Hatch. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Could you give me his address?" asked Hatch. + +"He lives in the same apartment house with me--two floors above," was +the reply. + +Hatch was startled; startled more than he would have cared to admit. + +"Are you on friendly terms with him?" he asked. + +"Certainly," said Henley. "I won't say anything further about this +matter. It would be unwise for obvious reasons." + +"I suppose you consider that this turning on of the gas was an +attempt on your life?" + +"I can't suppose anything else." + +Hatch studied the pallid face closely as he asked the next question. + +"Do you know Miss Regnier was found dead to-day?" + +"Dead?" exclaimed the other, and he arose. "Who--what--who is she?" + +It seemed a distinct effort for him to regain control of himself. + +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. + +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. + +"Who shot you?" he was asked. + +"None of your business," he replied, and lapsed into unconsciousness. + + + +IV + +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. + +"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." + +"He used to be in love with Miss Lipscomb of Virginia, didn't he?" +asked Hatch, casually. + +"Used to be?" the other repeated with a laugh. "He _is_ 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." + +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. + +"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." + +"No chance at all for Cabell?" Hatch suggested. + +"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." + +"What's his attitude toward Henley now?" asked Hatch. His voice was +calm, but there was an underlying tense note imperceptible to the +other. + +"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." + +"Cabell doesn't happen to be a vindictive sort of man?" + +"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." + +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: + +"How long has Cabell been in Boston?" + +"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." + +Hatch looked suddenly at his informant; an idea of seeing Cabell and +having a legitimate excuse for talking to him had occurred to him. + +"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." + +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. + +"Heard the news?" asked the manager. + +"No," Hatch replied. "What is it?" + +"Somebody's shot Mr. Henley as he was passing through the Common +early to-night." + +Hatch whistled his amazement. + +"Is he dead?" + +"No, but he is unconscious. The hospital doctors say it is a nasty +wound, but not necessarily dangerous." + +"Who shot him? Do they know?" + +"He knows, but he won't say." + +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. + +"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." + +"Going away to-night?" Hatch gasped. + +"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." + +"I suppose the shooting of Henley upset him considerably?" the +reporter suggested. + +"Yes, I guess it did," was the reply. "They moved in the same set +and belonged to the same clubs." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"May I look them over?" asked Hatch. + +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. + +"Quite comfortable, you see," he explained. "There's room enough if +you are alone. Are you?" + +"Oh, yes," Hatch replied. + +"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. + +Hatch had turned quickly at the words and stared at him, then +recovered himself with a start. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Not the slightest. She knows I am back, and thinks I am to remain. +She was to send for these things." + +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. + +"I rather like the place," he said, after a pause, "but the price +is--" + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +"I had intended doing that," the Southerner interrupted. + +"Well, I'll see him about it later," Hatch added. + +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. + +"Do you happen to remember the name of the young lady who occupied +Mr. Cabell's suite while he was away?" he asked. + +"Miss Austin," said the manager, "but she's not young. She was about +forty-five years old, I should judge." + +"Did Mr. Cabell have his servant Jean with him?" + +"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." + +"Was Miss Austin ailing any way?" asked Hatch. "I saw a large number +of medicine bottles upstairs." + +"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." + +Hatch passed out, and burst in eagerly upon The Thinking Machine in +his laboratory. + +"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?" + +The Thinking Machine placed them under the microscope and examined +them immediately. Later he submitted them, to a chemical test. + +"_It is the same,_" he said, finally. + +"Then the mystery is solved," said Hatch, conclusively. + + + +V + +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. + +"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?" + +The reporter silently considered that for a moment, then: + +"Well, I have the main facts, anyway. There may be one or two minor +questions left, but the principal ones are answered." + +"Then tell me, to the minutest detail, what you have learned, what +has happened." + +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. + +"Do you know where the woman--Miss Austin--is now?" was the first. + +"No," Hatch had to admit. + +"Or her precise mental condition?" + +"No." + +"Or her exact relationship to Cabell?" + +"No." + +"Do you know, then, what the valet, Jean, knows of the affair?" + +"No, not that," said the reporter, and his face flushed under the +close questioning. "He was out of the suite every night." + +"Therefore might have been the very one who turned on the gas," the +other put in testily. + +"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." + +"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 _he was +watched more closely than he watched._" + +"I see what you mean now," said Hatch, after a long pause. + +"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." + +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: + +"You believe Cabell is the man who attempted to kill Henley?" + +"Frankly, yes," replied the newspaper man. + +"Why?" + +"Because he had the motive--disappointed love." + +"How?" + +"I don't know," Hatch confessed. "The doors of the Henley suite were +closed. I don't see how anybody passed them." + +"And the girl? Who killed her? How? Why?" + +Disconsolately Hatch shook his head as he walked on. The Thinking +Machine interpreted his silence aright. + +"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." + +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. + +"Is Mr. Cabell here?" asked the scientist of the elevator boy. + +"Yes, just about to go, though. He won't see anyone." + +"Hand him this note," instructed The Thinking Machine, and he +scribbled something on a piece of paper. "He'll see us." + +The boy took the paper and the elevator shot up to the fourth floor. +After a while he returned. + +"He'll see you," he said. + +"Is he unpacking?" + +"After he read your note twice he told his valet to unpack," the boy +replied. + +"Ah, I thought so," said The Thinking Machine. + +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. + +"Professor Van Dusen?" Cabell inquired. + +"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." + +With a wave of his hand Cabell passed that detail. + +"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." + +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. + +"This is your valet?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +"Yes," said the young man. + +"French, isn't he?" + +"Yes." + +"Speak English at all?" + +"Very badly," said Cabell. "I use French when I talk to him." + +"Does he know that you are accused of murder?" asked The Thinking +Machine, in a quiet, conversational tone. + +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. + +"Murder?" gasped Cabell, at last. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"What was the cause of your sudden determination to go South +to-night?" asked the scientist. + +"I won't answer that question," was the sullen reply. + +There was a long, tense silence. Jean, the valet, came and went +several times. + +"How long has Miss Austin known Mr. Henley?" + +"Presumably since she has been in these apartments," was the reply. + +"Are you sure _you_ are not Miss Austin?" demanded the scientist. + +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. + +"That won't do any good," said the scientist, coldly. "Are you sure +you are not Miss Austin?" he repeated. + +"Certainly I am not Miss Austin," responded Cabell, fiercely. + +"Have you a mirror in these apartments about twelve inches by twelve +inches?" asked The Thinking Machine, irrelevantly. + +"I--I don't know," stammered the young man. "I--have we, Jean?" + +"_Oui_," replied the valet. + +"Yes," snapped The Thinking Machine. "Talk English, please. May I +see it?" + +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. + +"Do you use gas in these apartments?" the scientist asked suddenly. + +"No," was the bewildered response. "What is all this, anyway?" + +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. + +"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. + +"Now, Jean," he began, in an even, calm voice, "please tell me _if +you did or did not kill Miss Regnier purposely?_" + +"I don't know what you mean," said the servant sullenly, angrily, as +he turned on the scientist. + +"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." + +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. + + + +VI + +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. + +"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." + +"Murderer!" gasped Cabell. + +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. + +"What does it all mean?" he asked, bewildered. + +"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?" + +"Yes," was the reply. "He says he'll be here directly." + +"Do you deny it?" demanded The Thinking Machine of the valet. + +"I've done nothing," said the valet sullenly. "I'm going out of +here." + +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. + +"Won't you tell us?" pleaded Cabell impatiently. + +"When Detective Mallory comes and takes his prisoner," said The +Thinking Machine. + +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. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine arose and walked over to the prostrate man, +handing the revolver to Hatch. He glared down at Jean fiercely. + +"Will you tell how you did it or shall I?" he demanded. + +His answer was a sullen, defiant glare. He turned and picked up the +square mirror which the valet had produced previously. + +"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. + +"I guess you got me all right," was the sullen reply. + +"It might be better for you if you told the story then?" suggested +The Thinking Machine. + +"You know so much about it, tell it yourself." + +"Very well," was the calm rejoinder. "I will. If I make any mistake +you will correct me." + +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: + +"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. + +"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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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. + +Staring at The Thinking Machine in open-mouthed astonishment the +valet nodded his acquiescence before he was fully aware of it. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +Again the prisoner was surprised into a mute acquiescence. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"What?" asked Detective Mallory. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Are you a Frenchman?" + +"I was born in New York, but lived in France for eleven years. I +first knew Louise there." + +Silence fell upon the little group. Then Hatch asked a question: + +"You told me, Professor, that there would be no other attempt to kill +Henley by extinguishing the gas. How did you know that?" + +"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?" + +"No, God help me, no." + +"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." + +"It must take great lung power to do a thing like that," remarked +Detective Mallory. + +"You would be amazed to know how easily it is done," said the +scientist. "Try it some time." + +The Thinking Machine arose and picked up his hat; Hatch did the same. +Then the reporter turned to Cabell. + +"Would you mind telling me why you were so anxious to get away +to-night?" he asked. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine and Hatch were walking along the street. + +"What did you write in the note you sent to Cabell that made him +start to unpack?" asked the reporter, curiously. + +"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." + +"Of course, of course," replied the reporter, wonderingly. + + + + +The Man Who Was Lost + +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE + + + +I + +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-- + +But let me begin at the beginning: + +* * * * * * * * + +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. + +"A gentleman to see you, sir," she said. + +"Name?" inquired The Thinking Machine, without turning. + +"He--he didn't give it, sir," she stammered. + +"I have told you always, Martha, to ask names of callers." + +"I did ask his name, sir, and--and he said he didn't know it." + +The Thinking Machine was never surprised, yet now he turned on Martha +in perplexity and squinted at her fiercely through his thick glasses. + +"Don't know his own name?" he repeated. "Dear me! How careless! +Show the gentleman into the reception room immediately." + +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. + +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. + +"Well?" asked the scientist. + +The stranger turned as if to pace back and forth across the room, +then instead dropped into a chair which the scientist indicated. + +"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." + +"Your story? What is it? How can I help you?" + +"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--" + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Have a watch?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +"No." + +"Any money?" + +"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." + +"Any jewelry?" + +"These cuff buttons," and the stranger exhibited a pair which he drew +from his pocket. + +"Go on." + +"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. + +"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." + +"You realize that it is perfectly possible that John Doane is your +name?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +"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." + +"Did the handwriting recall nothing?" + +"Nothing whatever." + +"Is it anything like the handwriting you write now?" + +"Identical, so far as I can see." + +"Did you have any baggage or checks for baggage?" + +"No. All I had was the money and this clothing I stand in. Of +course, since then I have bought necessities." + +Both were silent for a long time and finally the +stranger--Doane--arose and began pacing nervously again. + +"That a tailor-made suit?" asked the scientist. + +"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." + +"Ah!" exclaimed The Thinking Machine suddenly. "No laundry marks on +your linen either, I suppose?" + +"No. It was all perfectly new." + +"Name of the maker on it?" + +"No. That had been cut out, too." + +Doane was pacing back and forth across the reception room; the +scientist lay back in his chair. + +"Do you know the circumstances of your arrival at the hotel?" he +asked at last. + +"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." + +"The name Doane is not familiar to you?" + +"No." + +"You can't recall a wife or children?" + +"No." + +"Do you speak any foreign language?" + +"No." + +"Is your mind clear now? Do you remember things?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Any marks at all on your body?" he asked at last. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"And meantime?" + +"Let me see the money you found." + +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. + +"Now, what shall I do?" asked the latter. + +"Don't worry," advised the scientist. "I'll do what I can." + +"And--tell me who and what I am?" + +"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." + + + +II + +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. + +"Come up immediately," he requested. "There's something that will +interest you." + +"A mystery?" Hatch inquired, eagerly. + +"One of the most engaging problems that has ever come to my +attention," replied the scientist. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Do you believe that John Doane is his name?" asked the reporter. + +"No reason why it shouldn't be," said The Thinking Machine. "Yet it +might not be." + +"How about inquiries in this city?" + +"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." + +"But the money?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"I say it _seems_ like aphasia," said the scientist, crustily. +"There are known drugs which will produce the identical effect if +properly administered." + +"Oh," said Hatch. He was beginning to see. + +"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." + +The reporter went away and The Thinking Machine sent a telegram to +the Blank National Bank of Butte, Montana: + +"To whom did you issue hundred-dollar bills, series B, numbering +846380 to 846395 inclusive? Please answer." + +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. + +"Did the map recall nothing?" + +"Nothing." + +"Montana, Montana, Montana," the scientist repeated monotonously; +"think of it. Butte, Montana." + +Doane shook his head hopelessly, sadly. + +"Cowboy, cowboy. Did you ever see a cowboy?" + +Again the head shake. + +"Coyote--something like a wolf--coyote. Don't you recall ever having +seen one?" + +"I'm afraid it's hopeless," remarked the other. + +There was a note of more than ordinary irritation in The Thinking +Machine's voice when he turned to Hatch. + +"Mr. Hatch, will you walk through the financial district with Mr. +Doane?" he asked. "Please go to the places I suggested." + +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. + +"What's the matter?" asked another. + +"Montana copper's gone to smash," was the reply. + +"_Copper! Copper!_" gasped Doane suddenly. + +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. + +"Copper!" he repeated. + +"Does the word mean anything to you?" asked Hatch quickly. +"Copper--metal, you know." + +"Copper, copper, copper," the other repeated. Then, as Hatch looked, +the queer expression faded; there came again utter hopelessness. + +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. + +"We want to talk about copper a little," Hatch explained, still eying +his companion. + +"Do you want to buy or sell?" asked the broker. + +"Sell," said Doane suddenly. "Sell, sell, sell copper. That's +it--copper." + +He turned to Hatch, stared at him dully a moment, a deathly pallor +came over his face, then, with upraised hands, fell senseless. + + + +III + +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. + +"I never saw anything like it," Hatch remarked. "He just threw up +his hands and collapsed. He hasn't been conscious since." + +"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. + +Doane moved a little at last, and under a stimulant the color began +to creep back into his pallid face. + +"Just what was said, Mr. Hatch, before he collapsed?" asked the +scientist. + +Hatch explained, repeating the conversation as he remembered it. + +"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?" + +"Yes," the reporter replied. + +Half an hour later John Doane sat up on the couch and looked about +the room. + +"Ah, Professor," he remarked. "I fainted, didn't I?" + +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. + +"Sell copper, sell, sell, sell," repeated The Thinking Machine, +commandingly. + +"Yes, yes, sell," was the reply. + +The reflection of some great mental struggle was on Doane's face; he +was seeking to recall something which persistently eluded him. + +"Copper, copper," the scientist repeated, and he exhibited a penny. + +"Yes, copper," said Doane. "I know. A penny." + +"Why did you say sell copper?" + +"I don't know," was the weary reply. "It seemed to be an unconscious +act entirely. I don't know." + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes," said The Thinking Machine, and he rubbed his slender fingers +briskly. "Now you are coming around again." + +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. + +"Dear me! Most extraordinary!" he exclaimed. + +"What is it?" asked Hatch, curiously. + +The scientist turned to Doane again. + +"Do you happen to remember Preston Bell?" he demanded, emphasizing +the name explosively. + +"Preston Bell?" the other repeated, and again the mental struggle was +apparent on his face, "Preston Bell!" + +"Cashier of the Blank National Bank of Butte, Montana?" urged the +other, still in an emphatic tone. "Cashier Bell?" + +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. + +"Bell, cashier, copper," he repeated, time after time. + +The flash of realization which had been on Doane's face passed, and +there came infinite weariness--the weariness of one who is ill. + +"I don't remember," he said at last. "I'm very tired." + +"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." + +Doane extended the roll of money, and then slept like a child. It +was uncanny to Hatch, who had been a deeply interested spectator. + +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. + +"Does that look like counterfeit to you?" he asked. + +"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." + +"Do you know an expert?" + +"Yes." + +"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." + +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: + + +"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." + + +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. + +"Why didn't I think of that before?" he demanded of himself. + +Then other telegrams went into the West One was to a customs +shoemaker in Denver, Colorado: + + +"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?" + + +A second telegram went to the Chief of Police of Denver. It was: + + +"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?" + + +Then The Thinking Machine sat down to wait. At last the door bell +rang and Hatch entered. + +"Well?" demanded the scientist, impatiently. + +"The expert declares those are not counterfeit," said Hatch. + +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. + +"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed at last. Then again: "Well, well!" + +"What is it?" + +"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. + +"I see," said Hatch. + +"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: + + +"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. + +"PRESTON BELL, _Cashier_." + + +The reporter looked up with a question in his eyes, + +"It means," said The Thinking Machine, "that this man is either a +thief or the victim of some sort of financial jugglery." + +"In that case is he what he pretends to be--a man who doesn't know +himself?" asked the reporter. + +"That remains to be seen." + + + +IV + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + +"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?" + + +In due course of events the answer came. It was brief and to the +point. It said: + + +"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." + + +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. + +"Harrison--do you know him?" asked the scientist. "President of the +Blank National Bank of Butte?" + +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. + +"Who was that?" asked Hatch quickly. "Do you remember ever having +seen him before?" + +"Oh, yes," was the reply. "He stops at my hotel. He knows me as +Doane." + +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. + +"Hello, Harry!" he exclaimed, and reached for Doane's hand. + +"Hello," said Doane, but there was no trace of recognition in his +voice. + +"How's Pittsburg?" asked the stranger. + +"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--" + +"Manning," laughed the other, + +"Mr. Hatch, Mr. Manning." + +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. + +"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. + +"Yes, I remember," said Doane, but Hatch knew that he did not. And +meanwhile a thousand questions were surging through the reporter's +brain. + +"Poker hands as expensive as that are liable to be long remembered," +remarked Hatch, casually. "How long ago was that?" + +"Three years, wasn't it, Harry?" asked Manning. + +"All of that, I should say," was the reply. + +"Twenty hours at the table," said Manning, and again he laughed +cheerfully. "I was woozy when we finished." + +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. + +"Shall I ask some questions?" he inquired. + +"Yes, yes," said the other eagerly. + +"What--what is it?" asked Manning. + +"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?" + +Manning stared at the reporter for a moment in amazement, then +gradually a smile came to his lips. + +"What are you trying to do?" he asked. "Is this a joke?" + +"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?" + +"Well, by George!" exclaimed Manning. "By George! I don't believe I +know your full name. Harry--Harry--what?" + +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. + +"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. + +"What were the circumstances, exactly?" asked Hatch. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Do you know if Mr. Doane is a resident of Pittsburg?" Hatch +inquired. "Or was he there as a visitor, as you were?" + +"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." + +The other man shook his head. + +"Well, say, is there anything I can do for you?" + +"Nothing, thanks," said Doane. "Only tell me my name, and who I am." + +"Lord, I don't know." + +"What sort of a club is the Lincoln?" asked Hatch. + +"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." + +"And you are absolutely positive this is the man you met there?" + +"Why, I _know_ it. I never forget faces; it's my business to +remember them." + +"Did he say anything about a family?" + +"Not that I recall. A man doesn't usually speak of his family at a +poker table." + +"Do you remember the exact date or the month?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Hatch did so. + + +"Shoes such as described made nine weeks ago for Preston Bell, +cashier Blank National Bank of Butte. Don't know John Doane." + + +"Well--what--" Doane began, bewildered. + +"_It means that you are Preston Bell_," said Hatch, emphatically. + +"No," said The Thinking Machine, quickly. "It means that there is +only a strong probability of it." + +* * * * * * * * + +The door bell rang. After a moment Martha appeared. + +"A lady to see you, sir," she said. + +"Her name?" + +"Mrs. John Doane." + +"Gentlemen, kindly step into the next room," requested The Thinking +Machine. + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"John, John, my darling husband," and the woman flung her arms about +Hatch's neck. "Don't you know me?" + +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. + + + +V + +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: + +"Don't you remember me?" she asked again and again. "Your wife? +Don't you remember me?" + +Hatch could still see the trace of a smile on the scientist's face, +and said nothing. + +"You are positive this gentleman is your husband?" inquired The +Thinking Machine, finally. + +"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?" + +"Can't say that I ever saw you before," said Hatch, truthfully +enough. "I--I--fact is--" + +"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." + +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. + +"Where are you from?" began the scientist. "I mean where is the home +of John Doane?" + +"In Buffalo," she replied, glibly. "Didn't he even remember that?" + +"And what's his business?" + +"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." + +"When did you see him last?" + +"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?" + +"Whatever Professor Van Dusen thinks best," was the equivocal reply. + +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. + +"Mrs. Doane, do you happen to be acquainted with a drug which +produces temporary loss of memory?" + +She stared at him, but did not lose her self-possession. + +"No," she said finally. "Why?" + +"You know, of course, that this man is _not_ your husband?" + +This time the question had its effect. The woman arose suddenly, +stared at the two men, and her face went white. + +"Not?--not?--what do you mean?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"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 know his +condition now_. 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?" + +"No," said the woman. She arose as if to go out. + +"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." + +Hatch arose and passed into the adjoining room. + +"You tricked me," the woman screamed suddenly, fiercely. + +"Yes," the other agreed, complacently. "Next time be sure you know +your own husband. Meanwhile where is Harrison?" + +"Not another word," was the quick reply. + +"Very well," said the scientist, calmly. "Detective Mallory will be +here in a few minutes. Meanwhile I'll lock this door." + +"You have no right--" the woman began. + +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: + + +"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." + + +This telegram was dispatched. A few minutes later the door bell rang +and Detective Mallory entered. + +"What is it?" he inquired. + +"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." + +"What do you know about it?" asked the detective. + +"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." + +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: + + +"Your husband suffering temporary mental trouble here. Can you come +on immediately? Answer." + + +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. + +"Manning, too," mused the scientist. "Show him in." + +"I don't know if you know why I am here," explained Manning. + +"Oh, yes," said the scientist. "You have remembered Doane's name. +What is it, please?" + +Manning was too frankly surprised to answer and only stared at the +scientist. + +"Yes, that's right," he said finally, and he smiled. "His name is +Pillsbury. I recall it now." + +"And what made you recall it?" + +"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." + +"Thanks," remarked the scientist. "And the woman--who is she?" + +"What woman?" asked Manning. + +"Never mind, then. I am deeply obliged for your information. I +don't suppose you know anything else about it?" + +"No," said Manning. He was a little bewildered, and after a while +went away. + +For an hour or more The Thinking Machine sat with finger tips pressed +together staring at the ceiling. His meditations were interrupted by +Martha. + +"Another telegram, sir." + +The Thinking Machine took it eagerly. It was from the manager of the +Lincoln Club in Pittsburg: + + +"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?" + + +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. + +"Now," he mused. "The answer from Mrs. Preston." + +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. + +"Anything important?" asked Doane, anxiously. + +"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--" + +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: + + +"Man in Boston can't be my husband. He is now in Honolulu. I +received cablegram from him to-day. + +"MRS. PRESTON BELL." + + + +VI + +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. + +"Has this woman given any name?" was the scientist's first question. + +"Mary Jones," replied the detective, with a grin. + +"And address?" + +"No." + +"Is her picture in the Rogues' Gallery?" + +"No. I looked carefully." + +"Anybody called to ask about her?" + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine arose and walked over to the woman. She looked +up at him defiantly. + +"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." + +Instantly the woman was on her feet, her face radiant. A look of +disgust crept into Mallory's face. + +"I can't let her go now without arraignment," the detective growled. +"It ain't regular." + +"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. + +"Oh, all right," he said, "but it ain't regular at that." + +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. + +"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." + +"Why--what--what is all this?" demanded Mallory, amazed. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +The detective lighted a cigar and the others disposed themselves +comfortably to listen. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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?" + +"Sure," was the reply. + +"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. + +"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 _Preston +Bell_, how came the signature there? Part of the office regulation? +It happens hundreds of times that a name is so used, particularly on +telegrams. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Harrison, Harrison, Harrison," repeated Doane. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +There was a pause as The Thinking Machine readjusted himself in the +chair. After a time he went on: + +"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." + +The reporter blushed modestly. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +It was half an hour later when a detective entered and spoke to +Detective Mallory aside. + +"Fine!" said Mallory. "Bring 'em in." + +Then there reappeared the woman who had been a prisoner and a man of +fifty years. + +"Harrison!" exclaimed Bell, suddenly. He staggered to his feet with +outstretched hands. "Harrison! I know! I know!" + +"Good, good, very good," said The Thinking Machine. + +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. + +"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?" + +The prisoner was silent. + +"Did you search his rooms?" asked The Thinking Machine of the +detective who had made the double arrest. + +"Yes, and found this." + +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. + +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. + +It was a day or so later that Hatch dropped in to see The Thinking +Machine and asked a few questions. + +"How did Bell happen to have that $10,000?" + +"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." + +"And how did he happen to be here?" + +"That question may be answered at the trial." + +"And how did it come that Bell was once known as Harry Pillsbury?" + +"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." + +"Oh!" exclaimed Hatch. + + + + +The Great Auto Mystery + +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE + + + +I + +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. + +"It's perfectly hideous, isn't it?" she demanded of her companions. + +Jack Curtis laughed. + +"Well," he remarked, quizzically, "it's just as well that we _know_ +you are pretty." + +"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." + +The girl's red lips were pursed into a pout, which ungraciously hid +her white teeth, as she considered the matter seriously. + +"I think I'll take it off," she said at last. + +"Don't," Curtis warned her. "On a good road The Green Dragon only +hits the tall places." + +"Tear your hair off," supplemented Reid. "When Jack lets her loose +it's just a pszzzzt!--and wherever you're going you're there." + +"Not on a night as dark as this?" protested the girl, quickly. + +"I've got lights like twin locomotives," Curtis assured her, +smilingly. "It's perfectly safe. Don't get nervous." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"How far?" asked Reid. + +"Fifteen or twenty miles," was the reply. + +"Right," said Curtis. "Here we go." + +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. + +Curtis was intent on his machine; Reid was thoughtful for a time, but +after awhile leaned over and talked to Miss Melrose. + +"I heard something to-day that might interest you," he remarked. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +"Don MacLean is in Boston." + +"I heard that," she replied, casually. + +"Who is he?" asked Curtis. + +"A man who is frantically in love with Marguerite," said Reid, with a +smile. + +"Charlie!" the girl reproved, and a flush crept into her face. "It +was never anything very serious." + +Curtis looked at her curiously for a moment, then his eyes turned +again to the road ahead. + +"I don't suppose it's very serious if a man proposes to a girl seven +times, is it?" Reid asked, banteringly. + +"Did he do that?" asked Curtis, quickly. + +"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. + +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. + +"He's now in Boston?" + +"Yes," said the girl. "At least, I've heard so," she added, quickly. + +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. + +"Do you smell gasoline?" Curtis asked suddenly, turning to the others. + +"Believe I do," said Reid. + +"Confound it! If I've sprung a leak in my tank it will be the +deuce," Curtis growled amiably. + +"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." + +"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." + +At last lights showed ahead, many lights glimmering through the trees. + +"I suppose that's the inn now," said Curtis. "Is it?" he asked of +the girl. + +"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." + +"We'll stop and get some gasoline, anyhow," said Curtis. + +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." + +"Is this the place?" asked Reid. + +"Oh, no," replied Miss Melrose. "The inn I spoke of was back from +the road three or four hundred feet through a grove." + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +"Rather chilly," Reid said, as he straightened up. "Want a cup of +coffee or something?" + +"Thanks, no," the girl replied. + +"I think I'll run in and scare up some sort of a hot drink, if you'll +excuse me?" + +"Now, Charlie, don't," the girl asked, suddenly. "I don't like it." + +"Oh, one won't hurt," he replied, lightly. + +"I shan't speak to you when you come out," she insisted, half +banteringly. + +"Oh, yes, you will." He laughed, and passed into the house. + +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. + +"Would you mind turning your car a little so I can run in off the +road?" + +"I don't know how," she replied, helplessly. + +There was a little pause. The occupant of the other car was leaning +forward, looking at her closely. + +"Is that you, Marguerite?" he asked finally. + +"Yes," she replied. "Who is that? Don?" + +"Yes." + +A man's figure leaped out of the other machine and came toward her. + +* * * * * * * * + +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. + +"Find it?" he asked. + +"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. + +"Cold, Marguerite?" he asked. + +"She won't speak," said Reid, leaning forward a little. "She's angry +because I went inside to get a hot Scotch." + +"Wish I had one myself," said Curtis. + +"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." + +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. + +"In a good humor?" he asked. + +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. + +"Make her talk to you, Jack," he suggested to Curtis. + +"What's the matter, Marguerite?" asked Curtis, as he glanced around. + +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. + +"What is the matter with her?" he demanded "Has she fainted?" + +Again he shook her, this time more vigorously than before. + +"Marguerite," he called. + +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. + +"She must be ill--very ill," he said in some agitation. "Is there a +doctor near here?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"A doctor, quick," Curtis breathlessly demanded of a waiter. + +"Next door." + +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. + +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. + +"What's the matter?" he asked. + +"Think she's dead," replied Curtis. + +The doctor adjusted his glasses rather hurriedly. + +"Who is she?" he asked, as he bent over the still figure and fumbled +about the throat and breast. + +"Miss Marguerite Melrose, an actress," explained Curtis, hurriedly. + +"What's the matter with her?" demanded Reid, fiercely. + +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. + +"What is it?" demanded Curtis. + +"She's dead," was the reply. + +"Great God!" exclaimed Reid. "How?" Curtis seemed speechless. + +"This," said the doctor, and he exhibited a long knife, damp with +blood. "Stabbed through the heart." + +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. + +"Look, Jack!" exclaimed Reid, suddenly. "The knife!" + +Curtis looked again, then sank down on the couch beside the body. + +"Oh, my God! It's horrible!" he said. + + + +II + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"What did the young woman look like?" asked Hatch. + +"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." + +"How was she dressed?" Hatch went on. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"She is not in," the maid had replied. + +"I'll leave my card for her," said Reid. + +"I don't think she'll be back," the girl answered. + +"Not be back?" Reid repeated. "Why?" + +"Haven't you seen the afternoon papers?" asked the girl. "They will +explain. Mrs. Dow, her mother, told me not to talk to anyone." + +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. + +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. + +"By George!" he exclaimed. + +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. + +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. + +"See that," he said shortly. + +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. + +"That's where the other thing happened, isn't it?" he asked, rather +thickly. + +"Yes." + +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. + +"I loved her," he declared suddenly, passionately. "My God!" + +"Try not to think of it," Reid advised. + +"You'll never say anything about that other thing--the knife--will +you?" pleaded Curtis. + +"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." + +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. + +"I think I will go out," he said, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Hatch immediately ran to his assistance, lifted him up and gazed into +the staring, terror-stricken eyes and an ashen face. + +"What is it?" asked Hatch, quickly. + +"I--I'm very ill. I--I think I need a doctor," gasped Curtis. "Take +me somewhere, please." + +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. + +"And hurry," he added. "This gentleman is ill." + +The cabby applied the whip and drove out into Tremont, then over +toward Park Street. Curtis aroused a little. + +"Where're we going?" he demanded. + +"To a doctor," replied Hatch, + +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. + +"Professor Van Dusen here?" asked the reporter. + +"Yes." + +"Please tell him that Mr. Hatch is here with a gentleman who needs +immediate attention," Hatch directed, hurriedly. + +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. + +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. + +"Dear me, dear me," exclaimed The Thinking Machine. + +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. + +"_I saw her! I saw her!_" he screamed. "_There was a dagger in her +heart. Marguerite!_" + +Again he fell back, unconscious. The Thinking Machine squinted at +Hatch. + +"The man's got delirium tremens," he snapped impatiently. + + + +III + +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. + +"He'll be all right in a little while now," he said. "What is it?" + +"Well, it's a murder," Hatch began. "Marguerite Melrose, an actress, +was stabbed through the heart last night, and--" + +"Murder?" interrupted The Thinking Machine. "Might it not have been +suicide?" + +"Might have been; yes," said the reporter, after a moment's pause. +"But it appears to be murder." + +"When you say it is murder," said The Thinking Machine, "you +immediately give the impression that you were there and saw it. Go +on." + +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. + +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. + +"Doesn't it strike you as perfectly possible, Mr. Hatch," he asked +finally, "that Miss Melrose did kill herself?" + +"It may be perfectly possible, but it doesn't appear so," said Hatch. +"There was no motive." + +"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." + +He again turned to his patient, and as he looked saw the red blood +surge back into the face. + +"Ah, now we're all right," he announced. + +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. + +"What's the matter?" he asked. The thickness was gone from his +speech; he was himself again, although a little shaky. + +Briefly, Hatch explained to him what had happened, and he listened +silently. Finally he turned to The Thinking Machine. + +"And this gentleman?" he asked. He noted the queer appearance of the +scientist, and stared into the squint eyes frankly. + +"Professor Van Dusen, a distinguished scientist and physician," Hatch +introduced. "I brought you here. He has been working with you for +an hour." + +"And now, Mr. Curtis," said The Thinking Machine, "if you will tell +us all you know about the murder of Miss Melrose--" + +Curtis paled suddenly. + +"Why do you ask me?" he demanded. + +"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." + +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. + +"Do I look like a man who would commit murder?" ha asked. + +"No, you do not," was the prompt response. + +His recital of the story was similar to that of Hatch, but the +scientist listened carefully. + +"Details! details!" he interrupted once. + +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. + +"Mr. Curtis, why did you try to induce Dr. Leonard to give up the +knife to you?" asked The Thinking Machine, finally. + +"Because--well, because--" He faltered, flushed and stopped. + +"Because you were afraid it would bring the crime home to you?" asked +the scientist. + +"I didn't know _what_ might happen," was the response. + +"Is it your knife?" + +Again the tell-tale flush overspread Curtis's face. + +"No," he said, flatly. + +"Is it Reid's knife?" + +"Oh, no," he said, quickly. + +"You were in love with Miss Melrose?" + +"Yes," was the steady reply. + +"Had she ever refused to marry you?" + +"I had never asked her." + +"Why?" + +"Is this a third degree?" demanded Curtis, angrily, and he arose. +"Am I a prisoner?" + +"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." + +Curtis sank down in a chair with his head in his hands and remained +motionless for several minutes. At last he looked up. + +"I'll answer your questions," he said. + +"Why did you never ask Miss Melrose to marry you?" + +"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." + +"Ah!" exclaimed The Thinking Machine. "Your friend Reid didn't +happen to be in love with her, too, did he?" + +"Oh, no," was the reply. "Reid came here hoping to win the love of +Miss Dow, a society girl. I came with him." + +"Miss Dow?" asked Hatch, quickly. "The girl who eloped last night +with Morgan Mason?" + +"Yes," replied Curtis. "That elopement and this--crime have put Reid +almost in as bad a condition as I am." + +"What elopement?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +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. + +"Have you such a knife as was used to kill Miss Melrose?" he asked at +the end. + +"No." + +"Did you ever have such a knife?" + +"Well, once." + +"Where did you carry it when it was not in your auto kit?" + +"In my lower coat pocket." + +"By the way, what kind of looking woman was Miss Melrose?" + +"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." + +"I believe she wore a veil and an automobile mask at the time she was +killed?" + +"Yes. They covered all her face except her chin." + +"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?" + +Curtis shuddered a little. + +"No, I don't believe so." + +"Was she blonde or brunette?" + +"Blonde, with great clouds of golden hair," said Curtis, and again +there was admiration in his tone. + +"Golden hair?" Hatch repeated. "I understood Medical Examiner +Francis to say she had dark hair?" + +"No, golden hair," was the positive reply. + +"Did you see the body, Mr. Hatch?" asked the scientist. + +"No. None of us saw it. Dr. Francis makes that a rule." + +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. + +"What happened to you this afternoon in Winter Street?" + +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. + +"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." + +"What did you think you saw?" insisted The Thinking Machine. + +"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--" + +"And what?" insisted The Thinking Machine. + +"At the moment I would have sworn it was Marguerite Melrose," was the +reply. + +"Of course you know you were mistaken?" + +"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." + +"And you don't know what you said or did from that time until the +present?" asked the scientist, curiously. + +"No, except in a hazy sort of way." + +After a while Martha, the scientist's aged servant, appeared in the +doorway. + +"Mr. Mallory and a gentleman, sir." + +"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?" + +"I am," replied Curtis. His face was white, but his voice was firm. + +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. + +"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. + +"No," thundered Reid, fiercely. + +"Is it Mr. Curtis's knife?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +"Yes," flashed Reid. "It's a part of his auto kit." + +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. + + + +IV + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"It's a most extraordinary case," The Thinking Machine said, "much +more extraordinary than you can imagine." + +"In what respect?" asked the reporter. + +"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." + +"You don't doubt but what it was murder?" + +"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?" + +"But Curtis's knife and the blood on his handkerchief?" + +"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?" + +Hatch looked a little crestfallen. + +"You believe, then, that she did kill herself?" he asked. + +"Certainly not," was the prompt response. "I _don't_ 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." + +"But circumstances certainly implicate Curtis." + +"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." + +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: + +"Why did you turn Curtis over to the police, then?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"What did she look like?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +"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." + +"With the mask on you couldn't see her face?" + +"Only her chin, sir." + +"No glimpse of her hair?" + +"No, sir. It was covered by the veil." + +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. + +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. + +When all this questioning had come to an end and these facts were in +possession of The Thinking Machine, the reporter advanced a theory. + +"That woman was unquestionably Miss Dow, who knew Reid and who eloped +that night with Morgan Mason." + +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. + +"Let's go," he said, finally. + +"Where?" asked Hatch. + +"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?" + +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. + +On the scientist's return to where Hatch had been waiting impatiently +they climbed into the car which had brought them to the inn. + +"Two miles down this road, then the first road to your right until I +tell you to stop," was the order to the chauffeur. + +"Where are you going?" asked Hatch, curiously. + +"Don't know yet," was the enigmatic reply. + +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. + +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. + +"That fellow had a bad accident," Hatch remarked. + +An old woman and a boy appeared at the door in answer to their rap. + +"I am looking for a gentleman who was injured last night in an +automobile accident," said The Thinking Machine. "Is he still here?" + +"Yes. Come in." + +They stepped inside as a man's voice called from another room. + +"Who is it?" + +"Two gentlemen to see the man who was hurt," the woman called. + +"Do you know his name?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +"No, sir," the woman replied. Then the man who had spoken appeared. + +"Would it be possible for us to see the gentleman who was hurt?" +asked The Thinking Machine. + +"Well, the doctor said we would have to keep folks away from him," +was the reply. "Is there anything I could tell you?" + +"We would like to know who he is," said The Thinking Machine. "It +may be that we can take him off your hands." + +"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." + +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. + +"What time did this gentleman come here?" he asked. + +"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." + +"And where is his wife?" + +"His wife?" The man looked from The Thinking Machine to the woman. +"His wife? We didn't see anybody else." + +"Nobody ran away from the machine as you went out?" insisted the +scientist. + +"No, sir," was the positive reply. + +"And no woman has been here to inquire for him?" + +"No, sir." + +"Has anybody?" + +"No, sir." + +"What direction was the car going when it struck?" + +"I couldn't tell you, sir. It had turned entirely over and was in +the middle of the road when we found it." + +"What's the number of the car?" + +"It didn't have any." + +"This gentleman has good medical attention, I suppose?' + +"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." + +"Thank you--that's all," said The Thinking Machine. "Good-night." + +With Hatch he turned and left the house. + +"What is all this?" asked Hatch, bewildered. + +"That man is Morgan Mason," said The Thinking Machine. + +"The man who eloped with Miss Dow?" asked Hatch, breathlessly. + +"Now, where is Miss Dow?" asked The Thinking Machine, in turn. + +"You mean--" + +The Thinking Machine waved his hand off into the vague night; it was +a gesture which Hatch understood perfectly. + + + +V + +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? + +"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. + +"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." + +"It's perfectly wonderful, the resources of the press," the scientist +mused. + +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. + +"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--" + +"I understand," said Hatch. It was a command. + +"By the way," the other went on, "do you happen to remember the name +of that Winter Street store that Curtis went in?" + +"Yes," and he named it. + +It was nearly midnight when The Thinking Machine and Hatch reached +Boston. The reporter was dismissed with a curt: + +"Come up at noon to-morrow." + +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. + +"Well?" inquired the reporter. + +"Impossible to say anything until day after to-morrow," said The +Thinking Machine. + +"And then?" asked Hatch. + +"The solution," replied the scientist positively. "Now I'm waiting +for some one." + +"Miss Dow?" + +"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." + +"Lord, I don't think he'll say anything." + +"Find out, too, when he intends to go back West." + +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. + +"Have you heard anything more from Miss Dow?" asked Hatch. + +"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." + +"How? What?" gasped Hatch. His brain was in a muddle. "She in +Chicago, _with--her husband_?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Is there any question about the letter being in her handwriting?" + +"Not at all," replied the maid, positively. "It's perfectly +natural," she concluded. + +"But--" Hatch began, then he stopped. + +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. + +"Is there any question but that Miss Dow did elope with Mr. Mason and +not some other man?" he asked. + +"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." + +Then Hatch rushed away and telephoned to The Thinking Machine. He +simply couldn't hold this latest development until he saw him again. + +"We've made a mistake," he bellowed through the 'phone. + +"What's that?" demanded The Thinking Machine, aggressively. + +"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. + +"Dear me, dear me!" said The Thinking Machine over the wire. And +again: "Dear me!" + +"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." + +"Dear me!" again came in the voice of The Thinking Machine. Then: +"Is Miss Dow a blonde or brunette?" + +The irrelevancy of the question caused Hatch to smile in spite of +himself. + +"A brunette," he answered. "A pronounced brunette." + +"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." + +"All right," said Hatch, rather hopelessly. "But it is impossible--" + +"Don't say that," snapped The Thinking Machine. "Don't say that," he +repeated, angrily. "It annoys me exceedingly." + +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. + +"Ah," said that individual, quietly. "Did you find out about any +gift that Reid might have made to Miss Dow?" he asked. + +"Yes, a monogram belt buckle of gold," was the reply. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, yes," he said, as if recollecting for the first time the purpose +of the visit. "Oh, yes." + +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. + +"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." + +Reid bowed and took a seat. + +"Is he under arrest?" Hatch inquired of the detective, aside. + +"Oh, no," was the reply. "Oh, no. Detective Mallory told me to ask +him to come up. I don't know what for." + +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. + +"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." + +"Why?" demanded Mallory, quickly. Hatch and Reid stared at the +scientist curiously. + +"This," said The Thinking Machine. + +The two women simultaneously removed their veils. + +One was Miss Marguerite Melrose. + + + +VI + +"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." + +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. + +"Marguerite," he said. + +The girl looked deeply into his eyes, then took the proffered hand. + +"And Jack Curtis?" she asked. + +"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. + +"Who--who was murdered, then?" asked Hatch. + +"A little circumstantial development is necessary to show," replied +The Thinking Machine. + +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. + +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. + +"My husband, Jack," she said. + +Quick comprehension swept over Curtis and he looked from one to +another. Then he approached MacLean with outstretched hand. + +"I congratulate you," he said, with deep feeling. "Make her happy." + +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. + +"Now, please, what does it all mean?" asked MacLean, who up to this +time had been silent. + +"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. + +"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!' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"Thus, considering _that it was Miss Melrose who was dead_, 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, _because Curtis recognized this knife_. +Two and two make four, not sometimes, but all the time." + +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. + +"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 _see_ 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 _was not Miss +Melrose at all_. I saw it as a possibility; not that I believed it. +I had no reason to, then. + +"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. + +"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." + +Every eye was turned on Reid. He sat as if fascinated, staring into +the upward turned face of the scientist. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _dark_ 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 _Miss Melrose_ +who was killed? This was merely a possibility; it still had no great +weight with me. + +"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 _not_. + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +"Who was the woman?" demanded Curtis. He seemed utterly unable to +control himself longer. + +"Miss Elizabeth Dow, who was supposed to have eloped with Morgan +Mason," was the quiet reply. + +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. + +"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." + +"He did," interposed Hatch. + +"I did," said Reid, calmly. It was the first time he had spoken. + +"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 _personal observation_ 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?" + +"She did," said Reid, calmly. + +"Go on, Mr. Reid," suggested The Thinking Machine. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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--" + +"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. + +"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 _why_ 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. + +"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." + +Reid still sat staring at The Thinking Machine, waiting. The others +were awed into silence by the story of the tragedy. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"The letter from Miss Dow in Chicago?" Hatch reminded him. + +"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." + +* * * * * * * * + +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. + + + + +The Flaming Phantom + +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE + + + +I + +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. + +"Afraid of ghosts?" he asked. + +"Don't know," Hatch replied, smiling a little. "I never happened to +meet one." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Whom do you understand he is to marry?" asked Hatch, for this was +news. + +"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." + +"Oh, I see," said Hatch. "They were to marry and come here?" + +"That's right," said the constable. "But I don't know when, since +this ghost story has come up." + +"Oh, yes, the ghost," remarked Hatch. "Well, hasn't the work of +repairing begun?" + +"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." + +"What is the story, anyway?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"What sort of a ghost was it?" + +"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." + +"I should think he would have been amused," was Hatch's somewhat +sarcastic comment. "Has anybody who lives in the village seen the +ghost?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Indeed?" asked the reporter. + +"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." + +"I see," said the reporter. + +* * * * * * * * + +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. + +He had seen the flaming phantom. + + + +II + +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. + +"Well?" he queried. + +"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." + +"Sit down and tell me about it." + +Hatch took a seat opposite the scientist + +"I've been frightened," he said at last, with a sheepish grin; +"horribly, awfully frightened. I came to you to know what frightened +me." + +"Dear me! Dear me!" exclaimed The Thinking Machine, "What is it?" + +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. + +"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." + +"Well, go on," said the other, irritably. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +He paused, and The Thinking Machine changed his position slightly. + +"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. + +"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--_on +the very face of the air_, mind you--one word: 'Beware!'" + +"Was it a man's or woman's writing?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +The matter-of-fact tone recalled Hatch, who was again being carried +away by fear, and he laughed vacantly. + +"I don't know," he said. "I don't know." + +"Go on." + +"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. + +"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--" + +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. + +"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 _only half of it_. Again I heard the cry, and +the other half disappeared--my hands grasped empty air. + +"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. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine twiddled his fingers idly; Hatch sat gazing at +him with anxious, eager inquiry in his eyes. + +"So when you ran and the--the THING moved away or disappeared you +found yourself in the library?" The Thinking Machine asked at last. + +"Yes." + +"Therefore you must have run from the reception-room through the door +into the library?" + +"Yes." + +"You left that door closed that day?" + +"Yes." + +Again there was a pause. + +"Smell anything?" asked The Thinking Machine, + +"No." + +"You figure that the THING, as you call it, must have been just about +in the door?" + +"Yes." + +"Too bad you didn't notice the handwriting--that is, whether it +seemed to be a man's or a woman's." + +"I think, under the circumstances, I would be excused for omitting +that," was the reply. + +"You said you heard something that you thought must be a rat," went +on The Thinking Machine. "What was this?" + +"I don't know." + +"Any squeak about it?" + +"No, not that I noticed." + +"Five years since the house was occupied," mused the scientist. "How +far away is the water?" + +"The place overlooks the water, but it's a steep climb of three +hundred yards from the water to the house." + +That seemed to satisfy The Thinking Machine as to what actually +happened. + +"When you went over the house in daylight, did you notice if any of +the mirrors were dusty?" he asked. + +"I should presume that all were," was the reply. "There's no reason +why they should have been otherwise." + +"But you didn't notice particularly that some were not dusty?" the +scientist insisted. + +"No. I merely noticed that they were there." + +The Thinking Machine sat for a long time squinting at the ceiling, +then asked, abruptly: + +"Have you seen Mr. Weston, the owner?" + +"No." + +"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?" + +"It would," said Hatch. "It would." + +"Who is Miss Katherine Everard?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Surrender or I'll shoot," shouted the constable, nervously. + +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. + +The warmth they had felt was the warmth of blood--red blood, freshly +drawn. + + + +III + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Well, what is it this time?" he asked, genially. "The ghost down on +the South Shore, or my forthcoming marriage?" + +"Both," replied Hatch. + +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. + +"And I suppose the country place was being put in order as a Summer +residence?" the reporter asked. + +"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. + +"I have seen the ghost," Hatch answered. + +"You have?" demanded the broker. + +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. + +"By George!" exclaimed the broker, when Hatch had finished, "How do +you account for it?" + +"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." + +"It must be a trick of some sort," said George Weston. + +"I was positive of that," said Hatch, "but if it is a trick, it is +the cleverest I ever saw." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +The speaker paused a moment and relighted his cigarette. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Were the jewels ever found?" asked the reporter. + +"No. They were not on the dead man, nor were they in the possession +of my grandfather." + +"It is reasonable to suppose, then, that there was a third man and +that he got away with the jewels?" asked Ernest Weston. + +"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." + +Again there was silence. Ernest Weston sipped his coffee slowly. + +"It would seem from that," said Ernest Weston, at last, "that the +jewels were hidden before the tragedy, and have never been found." + +George Weston smiled. + +"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." + +"A search even now would be almost worth while, wouldn't it?" asked +the broker. + +George Weston laughed aloud. + +"It might be," he said, "but I have some doubt. A thing that was +searched for for twenty years would not be easily found." + +So it seemed to strike the others after a while and the matter was +dropped. + +"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." + +"I would be glad to go," said George Weston, "but I'm running over to +the Vandergrift ball in Providence to-night." + +"How about you, Hatch?" asked the broker. + +"I'll go, yes," said Hatch, "as one of several," he added with a +smile. + +"Well, then, suppose we say the constable and you and I?" asked the +broker; "to-night?" + +"All right." + +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. + +"Can't you go down with us to-night?" Hatch asked. + +"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." + +"To-morrow night?" Hatch insisted. + +"No--the next night." + +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. + +Hatch and Ernest Weston toot a night train that evening, and on their +arrival in the village stirred up the town constable. + +"Will you go with us?" was the question. + +"Both of you going?" was the counter-question. + +"Yes." + +"I'll go," said the constable promptly. "Ghost!" and he laughed +scornfully, "I'll have him in the lockup by morning." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +_The constable's shot had had no effect._ + + + +IV + +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. + +"I told you not to shoot." + +"That's all right," said the constable. "I was there in my official +capacity, and I shoot when I want to." + +"But the shot did no harm," Hatch put in. + +"I would swear it went right through it, too," said the constable, +boastfully. "I can shoot." + +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. + +"Can you imagine any way it could be done?" + +Hatch shook his head. + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +"Did you notice the handwriting?" he demanded. + +"Yes," was the reply; "so far as I _could_ notice the style of a +handwriting that floated in air." + +"Han's or woman's?" + +Hatch was puzzled. + +"I couldn't judge," he said. "It seemed to be a bold style, whatever +it was. I remember the capital D clearly." + +"Was it anything like the handwriting of the +broker--what's-his-name?--Ernest Weston?" + +"I never saw his handwriting." + +"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?" + +"Yes." + +"Does it give out any light? That is, does it light up a room, for +instance?" + +"I don't quite know what you mean." + +"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?" + +"No," replied Hatch, positively. + +"I'll go down with you to-morrow night," said the scientist, as if +that were all. + +"Thanks," replied Hatch, and he went away. + +Next day about noon he called at Ernest Weston's office. The broker +was in. + +"Did you send down your man O'Heagan?" he asked. + +"Yes," said the broker, and he was almost smiling. + +"What happened?" + +"He's outside. I'll let him tell you." + +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. + +"Tell Mr. Hatch what happened last night," requested the broker. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Was that all?" asked Hatch, smilingly. + +"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--" + +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. + +"Did you see Ernest Weston's handwriting?" was the first of these. + +"Yes." + +"The capital D's?" + +"They are not unlike the one the--the THING wrote, but they are not +wholly like it," was the reply. + +"Do you know anyone in Providence who can get some information for +you?" was the next query. + +"Yes." + +"Get him by long-distance 'phone when we get to this place and let me +talk to him a moment." + +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. + +"Now," he said, + +Together they went to the haunted house. At the entrance to the +grounds something else occurred to The Thinking Machine. + +"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." + +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. + +"Well?" he asked. + +"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." + +"Never mind," said The Thinking Machine. He spoke as if he had +entirely lost interest in the matter. + +Together they started around the house to the kitchen door. + +"What's the next move?" asked Hatch. + +"I'm going to find the jewels," was the startling reply. + +"Find them?" Hatch repeated. + +"Certainly." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Hatch then began a tour. At last one of the great stones which made +this base trembled under his hand. + +"It's loose," he said. + +"Take it out." + +It came out after a deal of tugging. + +"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. + +"Ah!" exclaimed that gentleman. + +A quick wrench, caused the decaying wood to crumble. Tumbling out of +the box were the jewels which had been lost for fifty years. + + + +V + +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. + +"What's the matter?" inquired the scientist. + +"Nothing," Hatch assured him, but again he laughed. + +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. + +"How did you do it?" asked Hatch. + +"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." + +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--! + +In the village The Thinking Machine found the constable. + +"I understand some blood was thrown on you at the Weston place the +other night?" + +"Yes. Blood--warm blood." + +"You wiped it off with your handkerchief?" + +"Yes." + +"Have you the handkerchief?" + +"I suppose I might get it," was the doubtful reply. "It might have +gone into the wash." + +"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." + +The constable suddenly took notice. + +"By ginger!" he said, "Wait here and I'll go see if I can find it." + +He disappeared and returned shortly with the handkerchief. There +were half a dozen blood stains on it, now dark brown. + +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. + +The reporter did not ask any questions, and The Thinking Machine +volunteered no information. + +"Is it too late for anyone to get down from Boston to-night?" he +asked the constable. + +"No. He could take the eight o'clock train and be here about +half-past nine." + +"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." + +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. + +"And not one word or hint of it to anyone," said The Thinking +Machine. "Least of all to the members of your family." + +"By ginger!" was the response, and the constable went to supper. + +The Thinking Machine and Hatch had their supper thoughtfully that +evening in the little village "hotel." Only once did Hatch break +this silence. + +"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--" + +"Nothing is impossible," broke in The Thinking Machine. "Don't say +that, please." + +"I mean that, as he was with us--" + +"We'll end the ghost story to-night," interrupted the scientist. + +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. + +"Take a revolver by all means," instructed The Thinking Machine. + +"Do you think that necessary?" asked Weston. + +"It is--absolutely," was the emphatic response. + +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. + +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. + +"You go in the drawing-room behind here," The Thinking Machine +instructed. "Don't make any noise whatever." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Mr. Hatch, come here." + +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. + + + +VI + +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. + +"What's the matter?" he demanded. + +"How's your head?" came the answering question. + +"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?" + +"Get up and come along," requested The Thinking Machine, tartly. +"There's a man shot down here." + +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. + +"What hit me, anyhow?" Hatch demanded, as they went. He rubbed his +head ruefully. + +"The ghost," said the scientist. "I think probably he has a bullet +in him now--the ghost." + +Then the figure of the town constable separated itself from the night +and approached. + +"Who's that?" + +"Professor Van Dusen and Mr. Hatch." + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine turned to the reporter. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"All right down there?" Hatch called. + +"All right," came the response. + +There was again silence, then Ernest Weston and The Thinking Machine +came up. + +"Where is the other man?" asked Hatch. + +"The ghost--where is he?" echoed the constable. + +"He escaped in the motor-boat," replied Mr. Weston, easily. + +"Escaped?" exclaimed Hatch and the constable together. + +"Yes, escaped," repeated The Thinking Machine, irritably. "Mr. +Hatch, let's go to the hotel." + +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. + +"By ginger!" he remarked, as he walked away into the dark. + +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. + +"Mr. Weston, you understand, of course, that I came into this thing +to aid Mr. Hatch?" he asked. + +"Certainly," was the response. "I will only ask a favor of him when +you conclude." + +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: + +"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. + +"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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _a part of it_ disappeared, first half of it, +he said--then the other half. So his extended hands grasped only air. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Perfectly," said Mr. Weston. + +"Yes," said Hatch, eagerly. "Go on." + +"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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine paused for a little while, shifted his position, +then went on. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Find the jewels?" Weston repeated, with a slight smile. + +"Here they are," said The Thinking Machine, quietly. + +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. + +"How did you do it?" he demanded. "Where?" + +"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." + +"But--but--" stammered the broker. + +"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. + +"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." + +Mr. Weston stared at The Thinking Machine with a new wonder and +admiration in his eyes. + +"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. + +"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--" + +"Tried to stab me," Weston supplied. "I had to shoot to save myself." + +"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." + +"I was thinking of that myself," said the broker, quietly. "Of +course, I couldn't prosecute." + +"The ghost, then, was--?" Hatch began. + +"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." + +Hatch considered it. + +"I think there are," he said, finally, and he turned to The Thinking +Machine. "Just where was the man who operated the phantom?" + +"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." + +"And how was the writing done?" + +"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." + +"And the blood thrown on the constable and the others when the ghost +was in the yard?" Hatch went on. + +"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." + +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. + +"How was it that the shot the constable fired didn't break the +mirror?" + +"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." + + + + +The Mystery of a Studio + +BY JACQUES FUTRELLE + + + +I + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Hatch took a slip of paper and read: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Possibly an elopement?" Hatch suggested. + +"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." + +"What's his name?" asked Hatch. + +"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?" + +"Were there any other admirers you know of?" Hatch asked. + +"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. + +"How long have you known Mr. Willis?" asked Hatch. + +The girl's face flamed scarlet instantly. + +"Only since I've known Grace," she replied. "She introduced us." + +"Has Mr. Willis ever shown you any attention?" + +"Certainly not," Miss Stanford flashed, angrily. "All his attention +was for Grace." + +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. + +"I suppose you'll do everything possible to find Miss Field?" he +asked. + +"Certainly," said the girl. + +"Have you her photograph?" + +"I have one, yes, but I don't think--I don't believe Grace--" + +"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?" + +Miss Stanford was silent for a time. Then apparently she made up her +mind, for she arose. + +"It might be well, too," Hatch suggested, "to see if you can find the +letter you mentioned." + +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. + +"What is it?" asked Hatch, quickly. + +"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." + +"May I see it?" asked the reporter. + +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: + + sday + ill you + to the + ho + + +Hatch's eyes opened wide. + +"Do you know the handwriting?" he asked. + +The girl faltered an instant. + +"No," she answered, finally. + +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. + +"And the picture?" he asked, quietly. + +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. + +"It's a great story," he explained, briefly. "The missing girl is +the mysterious model of St. George's picture, 'Fulfillment.'" + +"Great," came the voice of the City Editor. + + + +II + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Well, what is it?" he asked. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine dragged up a footstool, planted his small feet +on it comfortably and leaned back in his chair. + +"Go on," he directed. + +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. + +"And the scrap of paper?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +"I have it here," replied the reporter. + +For several minutes the scientist examined the fragment and then +handed it back to the reporter. + +"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." + +"But isn't it possible--" Hatch began. + +"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." + +"But what could have happened to Miss Field?" + +"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." + +"Yes, I thoroughly understand that," Hatch replied, with a slight +smile. "But still I don't see--" + +"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?" + +"St. George?" gasped Hatch. "A great artist elope with a shop-girl?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"I see," said the reporter. + +"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." + +"But his place is all closed up," said Hatch. "It is supposed he is +half crazy." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Half an hour." + +"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." + +"What?" and Hatch grinned, a weak, puzzled grin. + +"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." + +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. + +"At thirty-two minutes past nine to-night," said the reporter, and he +glanced at his watch. + +"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." + +* * * * * * * * + +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? + +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. + +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. + + + +III + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Quite a haul I'm making," he mused, grimly. + +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. + +"Mr. St. George?" he asked. + +"No," was the reply. + +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. + +"I came to tell you that Grace Field, the model for your +'Fulfillment,' has disappeared," Hatch went on, as the other glared +at him. + +"I don't care," snapped the other. He darted up the steps. Hatch +listened until he heard the door of the studio close. + +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. + +"If these are Grace Field's," the reporter argued, to himself, "it +means something. If they are not, I'm simply a burglar." + +There was a light in the Dorchester house where Miss Stanford lived, +and the reporter rang the bell. A servant appeared. + +"Would it be possible for me to see Miss Stanford for just a moment?" +he asked. + +"If she has not gone to bed." + +He was ushered into the little parlor again. The servant +disappeared, and after a moment Miss Stanford came in. + +"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?" + +He laid in her hands the gloves and the veil. Miss Stanford studied +them carefully and her hands trembled. + +"The gloves, I know, are Grace's--the veil I am not so positive +about," she replied. + +Hatch felt a great wave of exultation sweep over him, and it stopped +his tongue for an instant. + +"Did you--did you find them in Mr. Willis's possession?" asked the +girl. + +"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." + +"Oh, I was afraid it would be this way," gasped the girl, and she +sank down weeping on a couch. + +"Knew what would be which way?" asked Hatch, puzzled. + +"I knew it! I knew it!" she sobbed. "Is there anything to connect +Mr. Willis directly with the--_the murder_?" + +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. + +"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." + +For a little while the girl was silent, then she arose and faced him. + +"Is Mr. Willis yet under arrest?" she asked, calmly now. + +"Not yet," said the reporter. + +"Then I will say nothing else," she declared, and her lips closed in +a straight line. + +"What was the motive for murder?" Hatch insisted. + +"I will say nothing else," she replied, firmly. + +"And what makes you positive there was murder?" + +"Good-night. You need not come again, for I will not see you." + +Miss Stanford turned and left the room. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +IV + +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. + +The Thinking Machine read the newspaper account and turned to the +reporter with a question: + +"Did you see Willis's handwriting?" + +"Not yet," replied the reporter. + +"See it at once," instructed the other. "If possible, bring me a +sample of it. Did you see St. George's handwriting?" + +"No," the reporter confessed. + +"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." + +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. + +Hatch arose and stood waiting, hat in hand. + +"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." + +"And Miss Stanford?" asked Hatch. + +"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." + +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. + +"Well?" he asked. + +"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." + +The scientist grunted. + +"I also saw some of St. George's writing," the reporter went on, as +if he were reciting a lesson. "It is wholly dissimilar." + +The Thinking Machine nodded. + +"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." + +"Been drinking?" + +"Might have had a few drinks," responded the reporter. "He is not a +drinking man." + +"Has St. George a revolver?" + +"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." + +The scientist was studying the sheet of paper. + +"Have you that scrap?" he asked. + +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. + +"The young lady who was here earlier to-day wants to see you again," +she announced. + +"Show her in," directed The Thinking Machine, without raising his +eyes. + +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. + +"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--" + +"Know who didn't do what?" asked the scientist. + +"That Mr. Willis didn't kill Grace," replied the girl, her enthusiasm +suddenly checked. "See here." + +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. + +"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." + +The girl reddened and stammered a little, then her lips trembled. + +"Do you _know_--not conjecture, but _know_--whether or not Miss +Field, or Grace, as you call her, was engaged to Willis?" the +irritated voice asked. + +"I--I know it, yes," she stammered. + +"And you were in love with Mr. Willis--you _are_ in love with him?" + +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. + +"I regard Mr. Willis very highly," she said, finally, her voice low. + +"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?" + +There was a long pause, and the girl stared steadily into the squint +eyes above her. Finally her eyes fell. + +"I think I understand. Just what is it you want me to answer?" + +"Did or did you not ever hear Mr. Willis threaten Miss Field?" + +"I did once, yes." + +"Did or did you not know that Miss Field was the original of the +painting?" + +"I did not." + +"It is a semi-nude picture, isn't it?" + +Again there was a flush in the girl's face. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Miss Field knew him before you did, I think you said?" + +"She introduced me to him." + +The Thinking Machine fingered the sheet of paper he held. + +"Did you know what those scraps of paper you brought me contained?" + +"Yes, in a way," said the girl. + +"Why did you bring them, then?" + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine passed the sheet to Hatch. + +"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." + +The reporter read this: + + +"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." + + +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. + +"And now, Miss Stanford," asked the scientist, in a most +matter-of-fact tone, "where is the body of Miss Field?" + + + +V + +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. + +"Well?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +"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." + +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. + +"When did you last see Mr. Willis have a revolver?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Did you smell anything like chloroform or ether when you were in St. +George's apartments?" asked The Thinking Machine as he arose. + +"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." + +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. + +"Where are we going?" asked Hatch. + +"To St. George's studio," was the answer. + +Just then the telephone bell in the next room rang. The scientist +answered it in person. + +"Your City Editor," he called to Hatch. + +Hatch went to the 'phone and remained there several minutes. When he +came back there was a new excitement in his face. + +"What is it?" asked the scientist. + +"Another queer thing my City Editor told me," Hatch responded. +"Constans St. George, raving mad, has escaped from the hospital and +disappeared." + +"Dear me, dear me!" exclaimed the scientist, quickly. It was as near +surprise as he ever showed. "Then there is danger." + +With quick steps he went to the telephone and called up Police +Headquarters. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine was the first man out of the cab when it +stopped, and Hatch and the detective followed quickly. + +"Is Mr. St. George in his apartments?" asked the scientist of the +elevator boy. + +"No, sir," said the boy. "He's in hospital, shot." + +"Is there a key to his place? Quick." + +"I think so, sir, but I can't give it to you." + +"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. + +"Gee, a detective! Yes, sir." + +"How many rooms has Mr. St. George?" asked the scientist. + +"Three and a bath," the boy responded. + +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. + +"Dear me, dear me!" he exclaimed. + +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. + +"Unconscious, that's all," he said, and he raised the man up. + +"Victor Willis!" exclaimed Hatch. + +"Victor Willis!" repeated The Thinking Machine, as if puzzled. "Are +you sure?" + +"Certain," said Hatch, positively. "It's the bank clerk." + +"Then we are too late," declared the scientist. + +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. + +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. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed. + +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. + +"Smash that door in," he directed. + +Detective Mallory looked at him stupefied. There was a similar +expression on Hatch's face. + +"What's--what's in there?" the detective asked. + +"Smash it," said the other, tartly. "Smash it, or God knows what +you'll find in there." + +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. + +"Lend me your revolver?" asked The Thinking Machine. + +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. + +"Look out for a shot," warned The Thinking Machine, sharply. + + + +VI + +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. + +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. + +"Open the windows--all of them, then help me," commanded the +scientist. + +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. + +"It's Grace Field," said the reporter. + +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. + +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. + +"What happened?" he asked. + +"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." + +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. + +"Any need of an ambulance?" he asked. + +"No," replied The Thinking Machine. "He'll be all right in half an +hour." + +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. + +"She was here, then!" he exclaimed suddenly, violently. "I knew it. +Is she dead?" + +"Shut up that young fool's mouth, Mr. Mallory," commanded the +scientist, sharply. "Take him in the other room or send him away." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Hopeless," he said, at last. + +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. + +"Hopeless," he said again. "St. George, I mean." + +"Will the girl recover?" asked Hatch. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Let's go," he said, finally. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Sure," said the detective. + +"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?" + +"Sure," said the detective again. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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--" + +"But why, how?" asked Hatch. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine paused a moment, then went on: + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +The Thinking Machine stopped and arose, as if to end the matter. The +others arose, too. + +"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." + +"But how did the girl get there?" asked Hatch. + +"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." + +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. + +"I suppose St George's case is hopeless?" + +"Absolutely. It will end in a few months with his death." + +"And Miss Field?" + +"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." + +Wonderingly, Hutchinson Hatch, reporter, and Detective Mallory passed +down the street together. + + + + +Gentleman Coggins: Alias Towers + +BY OSWALD CRAWFURD, C.M.G. + + + +CHAPTER I + +CAPTAIN TOWERS + +"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. + +"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?" + +"I did," I said; "I remember the case vaguely." + +"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." + +"I should like to hear it from you." + +"You shall," said the Inspector, "only you must let me tell you about +it from the beginning, and in my own way." + +Inspector Morgan then told me the following story: + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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?' + +"'You are chaffing, Captain Towers,' I said stiffly. + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"Do, and be hanged to you!' he said. + +"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.' + +"'What can that be?' I asked, rather amused, for Towers was not, as a +rule, overmodest. + +"'The points of a horse.' + +"I said nothing, but I thought, What is he driving at now? + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'Do you see any points about that mare?" asked Towers. + +"'She has big quarters,' I said, 'she ought to gallop, but her +shoulder is straight.' + +"'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.' + +"'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?' + +"Irish grooms are free with their opinions. + +"'Begorra, sir, I'd send a tenner wid her and make sure!' + +"'Better see what she can do first,' I said, 'hadn't you? Take her +out with the drag-hounds to-morrow.' + +"'Put a saddle and bridle on her now, Pat, and we'll try her in +Simpson's field.' + +"Irishmen resent the general use of that common patronymic which +Englishmen think it knowing and friendly to apply to every Irishman +they meet. + +"'Me name's Terence, with yer honor's leave,' said the groom. + +"'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?' + +"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. + +"'By Jove,' I said, 'that fellow can keep his seat!' + +"'Now we'll try her over the fences,' said Towers. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Towers laughed heartily, while the man was, I could see, in imminent +danger of a broken neck. + +"'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. + +"'I knew she'd rear if he touched the curb, that's her way,' Towers +said, with a broad grin. + +"'What! You knew that, and you let him ride her on the curb?' + +"'Pooh! What does a fellow like that signify?' + +"The groom had seized the reins and led her back to us. + +"'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. + +"'Put on a plain running snaffle,' said Towers, 'and I'll try her.' + +"'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.' + +"He did not listen to me, and presently he was on the mare's back. + +"'I want to let her extend herself and see if she can gallop.' + +"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.' + +"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. + +"'What do you think of that?' said Captain Towers, as he brought the +mare back to us. + +"'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.' + +"'What do you think of her, Captain Morgan?' + +"'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?' + +"'All she'd let me,' said Towers. + +"'I'd send her back to Dublin, if you'd care to have my advice,' said +I. + +"'Wid fifteen golden sovereigns tied to her tail!' suggested Terence. + +"'I'll take your advice, Morgan.' + +"When I nest spoke to Towers about the mare it was three days +afterward, and he looked vexed. + +"'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.' + +"'A white elephant! Shall you put her in training?' + +"'Is she worth it?' + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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.' + +"You know more of horses than I do,' said Towers almost humbly. + +"'Not difficult,' said O'Gorman behind his moustache. But Towers did +not hear, or pretended not to hear. + +"I'd back her even now,' said Towers, 'over a stiff course against +some horses I could name.' + +"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. + +"'Do you mean any of my lot, Captain Towers? because if you mean +that, I'll do business with you.' + +"'I suppose it's cheek of me, but I did mean The Clipper.' + +"There was a peal of laughter at the mess table. + +"'Owners up?' suggested Towers, and the laugh turned against the +red-faced, burly major. + +"'Certainly not,' said O'Gorman; 'you know I never ride my own +horses. I'll put Morgan up.' + +"Then I must choose the course!' said Towers sharply and decisively. + +"O'Gorman suspected a trap and hesitated. 'Four miles of fair +hunting country?' he suggested. + +"'Quite so,' answered Towers, 'and I to choose it.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'What offer?' Towers called out. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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!' + +"I really thought the race was over and was admiring Towers' pluck. +He was always a good loser. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'How much the pound, Captain?' 'What price cat's meat to-day?' +'Take her home and cut her hair, sir, do!' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'I told you, O'Gorman,' he said quietly, 'that I thought the mare +might have a turn of speed in her.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _was_ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'I know the beggar cheats!' he cried out. + +"'Hush!' said an older officer. 'You can't prove it, whatever you +think, and you'd best hold your tongue till you're sure.' + +"Then I'll make sure!' said O'Grady. 'I'll pin him, sir, never fear +but I'll pin him!' + +"We laughed at this vague threat--not for a moment guessing what he +meant by his vague threat of pinning Captain Towers. + +"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. + +"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! + +"'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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'Hearts!' said Towers, after a glance at his hand. + +"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. + +"'May I play?' he asked me, but his voice was choked with some strong +emotion. + +"'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. + +"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. + +"I'll make you my apologies, Captain Towers,' says O'Grady, 'if you +don't hold a false card in your hand.' + +"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. + +"'You young idiot!' O'Gorman called out. 'Let go! No one cheats at +bridge that way.' + +"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. + +"'You brute!' I said, but I felt, as I said it, that the provocation +almost justified the assault. + +"'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. + +"Towers had left the room. + +"'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!' + +"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. + +"He opened his eyes. + +"'I pinned him, didn't I?' he asked, 'and then I seem to forget. +What happened then?' + +"'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.' + +"'I'll have him out for it!' says O'Grady. + +"'No, you won't, my boy. It's tit for tat, and that's good law all +the world over.' + +"'My head aches infernally,' muttered the young man, 'but I'll have +him out on the field and shoot him.' + +"'We'll have the blackguard into court first, and get him time and +hard labor for cheating at cards--' + +"'Then we've found him out.' + +"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.' + +"'How could he guess that?' + +"'By some devil's cantrip, sir! That's his secret, Captain Morgan, +and Satan's, his master!' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"He handed the bundle of sixteen cards to the President. + +"'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.' + +"Inspector Medlicott gathered up the cards of one pack into his hand, +shuffled them and turned to the President. + +"'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 _modus operandi_ of +the swindler at the game of bridge.' + +"'Certainly, Mr. Inspector,' said the Colonel from the head of the +board table, 'do as you say.' + +"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. + +"He had turned to a death-like pallor. + +"'This,' said Inspector Medlicott, 'is how a card-sharper, using +these needle-marked cards, would probably deal.' + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"The cards now lay in four heaps on the table. + +"'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.' + +"He turned up the cards and showed that he had correctly described +them. + +"The evidence was conclusive. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"'Come to us,' said the Inspector, 'work your way up from the ranks. +It's more interesting than soldiering, and quite as dangerous.' + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE GREAT JEWEL ROBBERY AT BALIN ABBEY + +"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." + +"I have been telling you about Gentleman Coggins," said Inspector +Morgan, "all along. Captain Towers and Gentleman Coggins are one and +the same person." + +"What!" I said, "an officer in the army turned London burglar! +Towers sank so low as that, did he?" + +"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--_alias_ Conkey Coggins--_alias_ 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. + +"Did he go at once from soldiering to burglary?" I asked. + +"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." + +I laughed--"A sham accident, I presume." + +"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 _Morning Post_. It is a +curiosity." + +The Inspector drew from his pocket a newspaper cutting and read +aloud: "'_Obituary Notice_. 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.' + +"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." + +"He must have been a rich man with his winnings on both sides of the +water." + +"Yes, but not too rich for the position he aspired to take up in the +profession." + +"What!" I said. "It takes capital to set up as a London burglar?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +"And it pays him to do that?" + +"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." + +"Was Towers' name mentioned in the case? I don't remember his name +in the papers." + +"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." + +"Is it to be a secret still?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"It is in mine. It was my first big job, and it won my inspectorship +for me." + +"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." + +"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." + +I interrupted him as he was beginning his story. + +"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?" + +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." + +"And what's his new name? What is his other life?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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!" + +"What made your people watch him?" + +"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." + +"A blind, I suppose?" + +"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. + +"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.'" + +"Stop, Morgan," I said. "Pray, did your chief know or did you guess +that Coggins and Towers were the same person?" + +"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." + +"Please go on. Forgive me for interrupting. I won't again." + +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: + +"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. + +"'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. + +"'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.' + +"'Lady Balin's room was not entered?' + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"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.' + +"'Ah,' I said, 'you suspect connivance of some one in the house? + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'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?' + +"'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?' + +"'The person I shall choose,' said my chief, 'will run no such risk.' + +"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.' + +"'What is his age?" + +"'About thirty or thirty-five,' said Lord Balin. + +"'Rich or poor?' asked the chief. + +"'Fabulously rich. A squatter who has speculated successfully in +gold mines in Western Australia.' + +"'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?' + +"'Not yet. I propose to do so at my club.' + +"'Please do, and when you come back I will introduce you to your +relative from Australia!' + +"'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.' + +"My chief, having given me these details of his conversation with +Lord Balin with his accustomed succinctness and lucidity, turned to +me and said: + +"'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.' + +"When I returned Lord Balin was with my chief. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"'Now tell me, my dear Stanley, one thing. Can you shoot? Have you +taken after your poor father in that?' + +"'I used to shoot pretty straight,' I said, 'years ago. I hope I +haven't forgotten how.' + +"'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. + +"'No,' I said, 'I'm afraid I left them behind.' + +"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.' + +"'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. + +"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. + + +"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 "_Yah! Pinch Coggins--caunt yer? garn!_"--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!" + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CIRCLE AT BALIN ABBEY + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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.' + + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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?' + +"'The effect is simple.' + +"'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 _nuits blanches_ will be represented in Paquin's or +Raudnitz's bills!' + +"Mrs. Townley is rich, I believe?' + +"'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.' + +"'I never thought wealth was a charm.' + +"'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!' + +"'You say _her_ charm. Is her husband, then, a person of no +importance?' + +"'On the contrary, a man of great importance and intelligence; for +does he not manufacture the money that pays for all that luxury? + +"'A dull, money-grubbing sort of man, I suppose?' + +"'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.' + +"'I am glad you approve of Mrs. Townley,' I said. 'She is certainly +charming.' + +"'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.' + +"'Horrid?' + +"'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.' + +"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.' + +"I smiled. 'You spoke out, and I am rather afraid your voice reached +to Mrs. Townley's ears.' + +"'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.' + +"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. + + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"'Thank you,' I said. 'You don't like barley water?' + +"'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.' + +"'How meddled with?' + +"'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.' + +"'I wonder who it was?' I remarked. 'The housekeeper, perhaps.' + +"Lady Drusilla did not appear to hear my question, 'Good-night,' she +said, 'and don't dream of burglars.' + +"'I shall lock my door,' I said, laughing. + +"'I shall not lock mine,' she said, 'for all the burglars in England, +besides--' + +"I laughed. 'You are not afraid of seeing a masked figure with a +dark lantern in one hand and a revolver in the other--' + +"'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.' + +"We both laughed. I don't quite know why. + +"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? + +"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. + +"'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!' + +"'What is that, Lord Balin?' + +"'Why, that it isn't true--that you are not Bob Stanley and come to +settle in the Old Country.' + +"I had come to discharge a rather difficult and disagreeable duty, +and, behold, I found myself in a Capua! + +"'It's my great wealth that does it, I suppose. Lady Drusilla tells +me wealth is the modern _open sesame_ into society and into men's and +women's hearts.' + +"'Not into mine, Stanley--and, by Jove, if you knew her, not into my +cousin Drusilla's either.' + +"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. + +"Morgan took out his note-book, and on a blank sheet of it drew a +rough sketch. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'This circumstance by itself, therefore, almost precludes the +possibility of collusion between an outside burglar and a servant.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"The next day was to bring with it several remarkable surprises and +discoveries." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE FIRST DISCOVERY + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"The jewels? No! Only their gold settings. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'It's growing warm, sir,' said Macgregor, when I showed him the +jewel settings. 'It's growing warm!' + +"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.'" + + + + +CHAPTER V + +SERGEANT SMITH: HIS OPINIONS AND ADVENTURES + +"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. + +"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.' + +"'And no one, I suppose, has any suspicion about him?' I asked. + +"'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. + +"'You ask yourself,' I suggested, 'if Mr. Dubois is really Gentleman +Coggins after all?' + +"'Just so,' said Smith, laughing. 'We are beginning here to ask +ourselves that.' + +"'I cannot help you, Sergeant Smith, I've never seen Coggins--but you +have.' + +"'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.' + +"'I don't think the office have made any mistake. Stick to him, +Sergeant. It's Coggins, you bet!' + +"'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.' + +"'Why,' said I to the boy, 'where's Mr. Dubois?' + +"'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.' + +"'Gone to Pincote, is he?' + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'He stopped whistling _The Girl I Left Behind Me_, 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. + +"'Practicing to grin through a horse collar, are you, my lad?' I +said. 'Did you never see a punctured tyre before?' + +"'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. + +"'What?' I said. 'Is the other fellow caught too?' + +"'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!' + +"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.' + +"'He leant his bill-hook on the ground and dangled his great leathern +gloves at me. + +"'I'm reckoned a foine worker!' he added. + +"'Tell me where's the nearest blacksmith's forge,' I said, 'and I'll +give you sixpence.' + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"'The young rustic was whistling again, and presently he broke into +his song again of _The Girl I left Behind Me_. I suppose it was a +sort of rustic chaff on his part. + +"'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.' + +"'But I suspect, Sergeant Smith, that you had found Gentleman Coggins +himself.' + +"'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.' + +"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?' + +"'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: + +"'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. + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"Sergeant Smith did not relish my advice. + +"'I thank you, Sergeant,' he said stiffly, 'for your counsel, I will +do my duty to the best of my ability.' + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE NEW BEATER + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'Who is it with that good voice?' I asked of one of my loaders. + +"'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.' + +"I remembered the misadventures of poor Sergeant Smith. 'What,' I +thought, 'has Coggins the impudence to venture into the lion's den?' + +"'Is the fellow,' I asked, 'a Somersetshire man?' + +"'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!' + +"The singer began the first verse of that queer old Somersetshire +ballad-- + + A shepherd kept sheep on a hill so high, + And there came a fair lady riding by. + +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!' + +"'Where have I heard that voice?' I asked myself, 'that fine, rolling +baritone?' + +"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. + +"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. + +"We lunched, and the meal was gay. + +"'Did you have that delightful Joe again among the beaters?' asked +Lady Drusilla--'the rustic with the lovely voice?' + +"The men told her of his singing of the Somersetshire ballad and how +they had enjoyed it. + +"'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!' + +"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.' + +"The discussion went on and only ended by our begging our host to let +the man come and sing to the ladies. + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _rôle_ 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. + +"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. + +"Mrs. Townley returned to her seat under the beech tree. I stood +watching them both in seeming eager talk with the other guests. + +"'Won't he sing us another song?' asked Lady Drusilla. + +"Lord Balin asked him. The fellow took off his hat and grinned from +ear to ear. + +"'Do, Mr. Joe,' said Mrs. Townley, 'some good old country ditty, and +after that we will make a collection for you.' + +"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: + + "Some love to plow and some to sow, + And some delight in mowing. + Some, 'mid the hay, will stand all day, + And loves to be a throwing + The new mown hay wi' pitchfork up-- + Gie I the turmut hoeing! + Gie I my hoe and let me go + To do the turmut hoeing. + Oh! the hoe! 'tis the hoe, the hoe I loves to handle! + And 'tis just so! ay! 'tis just so, that the hoe I loves to handle. + + +"The disguised burglar suited his action to the words, using his +beater's staff as a hoe. + + "For 'tis the pay, five bob a day, + The farmer is a owing! + Five bob a day will jolly well pay + To set the ale-pot flowing! + So that's the reason that in the season, + When turmut flies be blowing, + I takes my hoe and off I go + To do the turmut hoeing! + Oh! the hoe, &c. + + "Some loves to sing of early spring + And days of barley sowing, + Some love to rhyme of sweet May time + When daffodils be blowing. + Gie I the moon that shines in June + When turmut fields want hoeing. + Ah! he's no fool who loves the tool + That does the turmut hoeing! + Oh! the hoe, &c. + + +"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. + +"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. + +"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! + +"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. + +"'Thank you, my lord,' he said to me with a mock gratitude. + +"Mrs. Townley fumbled awkwardly for a moment with her handkerchief, +and after a little delay, produced a silver coin. + +"I had baffled them once again. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'Certainly,' said Lord Balin. 'I will manage that,' and again he +began loudly to praise my shooting. + +"I smiled, and seemed all ears, but my eyes were following the point +of Mrs. Townley's parasol. + +"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. + +"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. + +"An archway, the figure 7, and a racquet. + +"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. + +"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. + +"You have had no time to do much yet, I suppose?' he said. + +"'I have learnt a good deal,' I said, 'in the last half hour.' + +"'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?' + +"'First, I have made sure that the burglar is in league with an +inmate in your house.' + +"'Not a servant?' + +"'No, not a servant.' + +"'Mrs.----?' He did not utter the name. + +"I nodded. + +"'Are you quite sure?' + +"'I am quite sure now. I have seen signals passing between her and +the burglar who broke into the Abbey.' + +"The burglar who broke into-- Are you dreaming? My keepers--why I +could go bail for the whole of them.' + +"'So could I, I believe.' + +"'Then who is the man, and are you sure?' + +"'The man I mean is Coggins--Gentleman Coggins, the smartest operator +in his line, who has been living at Pangford for three weeks past.' + +"'Yes, I know that; and how can that lady make signals to him there +from our beech woods?' + +"'I could see that Lord Balin was beginning to find my statements +difficult of belief--perhaps he half doubted my sanity. + +"'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.' + +"'And what did she try to pass?' + +"'The stolen jewels.' + +"'What! they are in her possession?' + +"'Yes.' + +"'But they would be bulky--all the stolen jewelry together would make +too big a parcel to pass.' + +"'Yes, in their settings--but they have been taken out of the +settings. In their present form they would hardly fill a tea cup.' + +"'How do you know that?' + +"'Because the settings are here in my pocket.' + +"I showed them. They were squeezed and pressed together. + +"'Good heavens!' said Lord Balin. 'Where did they come from?' + +"I explained how I found them. + +"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?' + +"'Joe the beater, the man who sang "Turmut hoeing" to us.' + +"'Joe the beater!' said Lord Balin, stopping to look me in the face. +'Why, surely not that weak-brained fellow!' + +"'He is the most dangerous criminal in all London.' + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'And what can he be doing here?' + +"'Waiting,' I said, 'to get hold of the jewels.' + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"When the keeper came up I pretended to be interested in Joe and his +singing. + +"'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.' + +"'Ah,' thought I, 'that accounts for a good deal.' + +"Lord Balin sent the keeper back to his duties, and the shooting +began. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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?' + +"'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.' + +"'Whistle twice in answer to me, softly, when you hear me coming.' + +"'I will, sir.' + +"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. + +"'Here I am, sir,' came O'Brien's whisper close to ma + +"'Light the lantern,' I whispered, 'and keep your body between it and +the house.' + +"He struck three or four matches before he succeeded in getting it +alight. + +"'Don't throw the matches down,' I whispered. 'Put them in your +pocket.' + +"I'm doing that, sir,' said O'Brien. + +"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. + +"'Is that what you're looking for, sir?' said O'Brien, pointing to +the ruined archway. + +"'I see nothing.' + +"'It's a spade, or something like it, leaning against that bit of +ruined arch,' said O'Brien, walking toward it. + +"'Is it a tennis racquet, O'Brien?' + +"'I'm thinking it may be, sir. Yes, 'tis just that very identical +thing.' + +"He handed me a large, heavy, substantial racquet. + +"'One of the ladies has been playing in the court,' I said, 'and +forgot to bring in her racquet.' + +"'Sure, 'tis a mighty heavy tool for a lady to handle, sir.' + +"'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.' + +"When the two officers were in my room I bade them lock the door. + +"'If I'm not mistaken,' I said, taking up the racquet, 'here is the +end of all our trouble.' + +"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. + +"I looked in and saw that the cavity was packed tight with pink +cotton wool. + +"'Which of you has a corkscrew?' I asked. + +"The Scotsman and the Irishman each produced, in great haste, a neat +extracting tool. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'There's enough to fill the windows of a dozen jewelers' shops in +Broad Street,' said the practical Scotsman. + +"'Bedad! It's nothing short of a king's ransom,' said the more +poetical Irishman. + +"I carefully turned up the corners of the newspaper and made a email +parcel of the gems. + +"'See, Macgregor, if there's any more inside the racquet.' + +"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.' + +"'We must leave it as it was. I will spare you some of the cotton +wool to repack it with.' + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'Very odd!' I said. 'What do you make of that, Macgregor?' + +"'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.' + +"'Did she pass through the passage where you had hung the racquet?' + +"'She did, sir, and I was close behind her.' + +"'Did she seem to notice that you had put back the racquet in its +place?' + +"'She hurried through the passage and looked neither to right nor +left.' + +"'Is the night still very dark, Macgregor?' + +"'Very dark and overcast, after the fine day, and a little drizzle of +rain has set in.' + +"'There's no moon, I think, Macgregor, to-night?' + +"'Not till the small hours, sir, by the almanac, and but little then.' + +"'A good night for cracking a crib, eh?' I remarked, dressing in +haste. + +"'Well, sir,' said Macgregor, smiling, 'not with those four savage +bloodhounds roaming round the house.' + +"'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?' + +"O'Brien stood with my white tie in his hand. + +"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!' + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"'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. + +"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.' + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS + +"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. + +"Lord Balin's eye met mine, but he did not smile. + +"'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. + +"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. + +"'The moon,' I said, 'rises at three o'clock. If nothing happens +between this and then, we may all go to bed.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 manœuvre +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. + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +COGGINS'S CROWNING EFFORT + +"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. + +"'The scoundrel has drugged them or poisoned them!' I said. + +"It looked like it. + +"'Then he means to be up to something to-night,' said O'Brien. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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: + +"'The rascal's at work, sir!' + +"'What's happened?' I asked, hardly daring to believe the good news. + +"'We heard Mrs. Townley open her window just now, and chuck something +out.' + +"'The knotted rope!' + +"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.' + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"I followed the footsteps, after, whispering to Macgregor to follow +on some yards behind me. + +"'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. + +"He seemed to know every inch of the way in the dark, and turned +sharp to the right and left more than once. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"It was nine o'clock. I dressed and sent in word to Lord Balin that +I would like to see him before breakfast. + +"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.' + +"'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!' + +"'Morgan now, Lord Balin--Sergeant Morgan, at your service. The +comedy is over.' + +"'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.' + +"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?' + +"'It seems hard upon her,' I said; 'she acted under the influence and +compulsion of her husband.' + +"'It is damned hard, Morgan. Though I confess I never liked the +woman; but a pretty woman and my guest! No, no!' + +"'The moral evidence,' I said, 'against Mrs. Townley is +overwhelming--the legal evidence almost _nil_. 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?' + +"'To be sure,' said Lord Balin, 'why did he?' + +"'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.' + +"'Then you think he did it alone?' + +"'Alone or together, who can tell?' + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"I thought that line was equitable, and I said so. I ventured to +doubt if it were strictly legal. + +"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.' + +"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. + +"The butler came in and spoke in a low voice to Lord Balin. + +"'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. + +"'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!' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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?' + +"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. + +"He motioned her to a seat and began at once. + +"'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.' + +"Lord Balin's tone was not stern. It was rather sad, but he spoke +without hesitation. + +"'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--' + +"'Lord Balin!' exclaimed the unhappy woman. + +"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.' + +"Mrs. Townley groaned and hid her face. + +"'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.' + +"Mrs. Townley groaned again. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'He was arrested in the very act,' Lord Balin went on, 'and will +stand his trial for burglary.' + +"The woman's face fell, she almost shrieked put the word 'Arrested!' + +"Lord Balin bowed. 'You do not, I suppose, seek to deny any part of +what I have said?' + +"The unhappy woman muttered some incoherent words, and again hid her +face in her hands. + +"'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.' + +"Mrs. Townley raised her head, with something of a reprieved look in +her face. + +"'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!' + +"'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.' + +"Mrs. Townley got up, and without any leave-taking quitted the room. +Again, as before, I opened the door to let her go out. + +"'Lord Balin,' said I, 'may I ask you a favor? + +"'_May_ you ask me!' said my host, smiling. + +"'It is that you will allow me to have a parting interview with a +lady I have reason to respect very greatly.' + +"'My cousin, Drusilla Lancaster?' + +"'Yes.' + +"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. + +"'Tell her, please,' I said, 'when she comes, who I am and why I came +here.' + +"'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?' + +"'No! no! On no account.' + +"'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.' + +"'I thought he was too nice for a millionaire,' said Lady Drusilla, +smiling, and otherwise unimpressed. + +"'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.' + +"'The thief?' asked Lady Drusilla, with a curiously shrewd look. + +"'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.' + +"'Well done!' said Lady Drusilla, turning to me. + +"'I have begged Lord Balin,' I said, 'to give me the chance of +apologizing to you for the miserable part I played with you--' + +"'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?' + +"'Morgan,' said Lord Balin. + +"'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.' + +"She came forward and took my hand in both hers. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"The authorities took Lord Balin's advice and did not prosecute Mrs. +Townley. + +"Gentleman Coggins, _alias_ Towers, _alias_ Townley, got five years' +penal servitude. + +"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.' + +"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." + + + + +The Murder at Jex Farm + +BY OSWALD CRAWFURD, C.M.G. + + + +CHAPTER I + +CHARLES JEX + +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. + +"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?" + +"I shall do that myself," said I, "if I ever commit a serious crime." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +"Are these documents in the case?" I asked. + +"Plans and reports, and cuttings from newspapers, but I am only going +to ask you to look at some of them." + +"If I am not mistaken, Morgan, the papers spoke very handsomely of +your conduct of the Jex Farm case." + +"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." + +"Well, Morgan, get to the story. I want to hear it." + +"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." + +The Inspector took out a newspaper from the bundle of documents, +docketed _Jex Murder Case_, and handed it to me. I read as follows: + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'At what time?' I asked. + +"'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.' + +"'Never mind the bicyclists, for the present, Mr. Jex. You stayed +some time in the bar?' + +"'An hour or more.' + +"'Did you meet any one you knew at the Lion? Any neighbors?' + +"'Yes, I met James Barton and--' + +"'Don't trouble yourself with their names just now! You met friends +who can speak to your being at the inn?' + +"'I did.' + +"'That will do. I want to get to the dates. At about 6:30 you +started for home?' + +"'It was on the stroke of seven, by the clock of the Lion.' + +"'You had no doubt taken a glass or two of ale?' + +"'No, I took a glass of whisky and water.' + +"'Or two?' + +"'I took two glasses.' + +"You took two glasses of whisky and water, good; and then you set off +for the farm? Was your man still with you?' + +"'What man?' + +"'The man who carried your game, or was it a boy?' + +"'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.' + +"You were carrying your gun, of course?' + +"'Of course I was.' + +"'Was it loaded?' + +"'Yes, but I drew the charges as I neared home.' + +"'You noticed nothing unusual as you came in?' + +"'Nothing.' + +"'Yet you passed within a yard of the orchard gate where the poor +girl must have been lying dead?' + +"'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.' + +"'And coming along the road from Bexton you did not notice, or hear +anything?' + +"'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.' + +"'Were they the men who had been drinking at the Lion?' + +"'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.' + +"'You noticed nothing else on the road home?" + +"'Yes, I thought I heard some shots far away--poachers, I thought at +the time--in Squire Watson's woods.' + +"'How many shots?' + +"'Three.' + +"'Close together?' + +"'As close as I speak now: one--two--three.' + +"'Was this long after you met the cyclists?' + +"He took a moment to think. 'Come, Mr. Jex, you can't want time to +answer such a simple question?' + +"'It was some time before I met them.' + +"'How far might it have been from the Lion when you heard the three +shots?' + +"'A matter of half a mile or so.' + +"'Then it was after you met the cyclists?' + +"'No, it was before.' + +"'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.' + +"Mr. Jex seemed puzzled. + +"'You are too sharp on a fellow!' he said. + +"'I had need to be, perhaps, Mr. Jex,' I answered. + +"'Now, Mr. Jex,' I said, 'there is another point on which I am afraid +I must question you.' + +"'I guess what it is,' said he; 'go ahead. You mean about me and +Miss Judson?' + +"'That is so, about Miss Judson and yourself. You were engaged to +her?' + +"'I was.' + +"'Had the engagement lasted long?' + +"'A month.' + +"'And she had been two months your mother's guest at the farm?' + +"'Going on for three.' + +"'And there was nothing standing against your wishes?' + +"'I don't understand what sort of thing you mean.' + +"'Well, any misunderstanding between you--quarrels, you know?' + +"'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.) + +"'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?' + +"'God bless you, no! Hiss Judson hardly knew the neighbors.' + +"'Or some old London friend the young lady may have had a liking for +once?' + +"'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.' + +"'Ah, I suppose women always do!" + +"'They do when they care for a fellow,' said Jex warmly. + +"The man's way of talking of the poor dead girl grated upon me most +unpleasantly. + +"'Well, perhaps they do, Mr. Jex, but you see, here's a mysterious +crime, and I want to find a motive for it.' + +"'Who could have a motive?' asked Mr. Jex. + +"'Possibly a disappointed rival--from London.' + +"'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?' + +"'That might be a blind, Mr. Jex,' said I, looking him straight in +the face; 'it's a common trick, that.' + +"'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!' + +"I let this very positive gentleman run on, but I thought well +presently to throw a little cold water over his cocksureness. + +"'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?' + +"'Well, what if they did?' + +"'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.' + +"This seemed to stagger him a bit. + +"'Of course,' he said, 'we made those marks when we brought the body +in.' + +"'I know that,' I said. + +"'And one country boot,' said Jex, 'is just as like another as one +pea is like another.' + +"'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.' + +"Jex kept silence for a minute, and paled as I watched him. + +"'The man who committed this murder, Mr. Jex,' I said, 'never wore a +cyclist's shoe or boot.' + +"'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.' + +"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.' + +"'A clue?' asked Jex eagerly. 'What is it?' + +"'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: + +"'Now, sir, I should like to ask you one or two more questions, if +you're quite agreeable.' + +"'Fire away,' said Jex, 'I'm here to answer you.' + +"'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?' + +"That's so." + +"'At nightfall?' + +"'Yes, as it grew from dusk to dark.' + +"'Might she be expecting you there on the 17th, just as night fell?' + +"'Likely she might.' + +"'But about that time you were drinking in the bar-parlor of the +Lion?' + +"'Well, if you call two small goes of whisky and water after a long +walk, drinking, I was.' + +"'The landlady is an old friend of your mother's, I'm told?' + +"Jex laughed. 'Whoever told you that, told you wrong; my mother does +not particularly cotton to Mrs. Jones.' + +"'What! the two old ladies don't hit it off?' + +"'Who told you that Mrs. Jones was an old lady?' said Jex. 'She's a +young widow, and a pretty one into the bargain.' + +"'That accounts,' said I, 'for the present of rabbits, eh?' + +"Jex winked. Decidedly I don't like this young man." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MAUD LEWSOME AND HER DIARY + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Forgive, my curiosity," I said, "was it something that took up your +attention and would have prevented your hearing a noise outside?" + +She hesitated. "I was writing up my diary," she answered. + +"You keep a regular diary?" + +"Yes." + +"May I see it?" + +"Oh, no!" she said. "That would be impossible. I could not show it +to any one. You must really not ask to see it." + +"I am sorry," I said, "I am afraid you must let me read it." + +"Why?" + +"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." + +"How can it help you? It is all--personal; all about myself." + +"I am not in a position to say how the diary can help me till I have +seen it; but see it I must." + +She still hesitated; after a pause she asked: + +"Do you really insist?" + +"I am afraid I must." + +She walked to her desk, opened it, and gave me a leather-covered +book, locked, and put it, with the key, into my hands. + +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. + +Inspector Morgan picked out, from the bundle of documents, one +marked: _Extracts from Miss Lewsome's Diary_. This is what he read +out to me: + +_October_ 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. + +_October_ 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. + +_October_ 6.--Mary suspects nothing, though Charles grows daily +colder to her. + +_October_ 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 _post obit_, 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. + + +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. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +FRESH EVIDENCE + +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. + +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? + +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. + +Who, then, was the murderer? + +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. + + +The Inspector took up the bundle, selected one paper and gave me to +read--_Sergeant Edwardes's Report on the footprints near the spot +where the body of Miss Judson was found at_ 9:35 P.M. _of October_ +17, 189--. It ran as follows: + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"I have compared the boots worn by the laborers with the impressions +near the gate. They correspond in every particular. + +"In the case of the footprints of the three laborers a majority of +the deeper impressions are made by the left boot. + +"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. + +"There are almost an exactly equal number of impressions, plain or +faint, of the footprints of these four persons. + +"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 _of the left foot are in no case deeper than those of the +right_. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +MORE FACTS IN THE CASE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +As if this was not enough, further most damning evidence was +presently forthcoming. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Hulloa, Mr. Jex, you're in a hurry this morning!" + +"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. + +"Easy! easy! if you please." I took hold of the reins and kept a +firm hold. + +"Well, what is it?" he asked. + +"Going to catch a train, Mr. Jex?" He hesitated. + +"You're in good time for the 12:10 up, you know. Going to town, +perhaps?" + +"N--no--I'm not. Going to meet a friend at Lingham Junction, that's +all." + +"Will you take me with you, Mr. Jex?" + +"No room, Inspector. My friend and his things, and my fellow will +take all there is to spare." + +"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. + +"Jump up, then," he said sulkily. "Sam," he called to his man, "you +can go back to your horses." + +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. + +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, _alias_ +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. + +"Now, Mr. Jex, you'll be wanting to meet your friend; shall I walk +the mare about?" + +"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." + +I laughed in my sleeve at the fellow's shallowness. + +"All right, give me the ribbons. Hulloa, you've got a bag!" + +"Only a parcel for the up-train." + +"Oh, I see; only a parcel for the up-train. Look sharp, then, and +get it booked while there's time." + +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. + +"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." + +Then I slipped into the station, and, keeping out of sight, saw, as I +fully expected I should, Jex taking his ticket. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +I slipped one of a pair of handcuffs over his wrist--and clicked the +catch, leaping fast hold of the other iron. + +"Anyhow, the game's up now," I said. + +"You're right, Inspector, the game's up now, sure enough." + +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. + +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." + +I put the second handcuff on and clicked the lock. + +The sight angered his friends, the farmers standing about, and one of +them shouted: + +"Now, then, boys, one more rush to goal and we score!" + +"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." + +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: + +"I guess you'll have to drive yourself, Mr. Inspector. With these +damned things on my wrists, I can't." + +We got in, and I took the reins and drove off fast. + +We had traveled some half a mile from the station, and Jex had not +opened his lips. I said: + +"So you were going to town, were you, Mr. Jex?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"That's just what I had in my mind, Inspector," said Jex, and he +never uttered another word till we neared the farm. + +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. + +"What is this, Mr. Morgan?" she cried as we drove up. "Why is it you +who are driving? Tell me--tell me quick." + +"You'll know soon enough, Miss Lewsome. Stand aside, if you please." + +"Oh! what is it? Charles, speak, for God's sake, speak!" + +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. + +"O God! you have arrested him, Mr. Morgan! No, no, you can't--you--" + +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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"Poor thing!" she was saying. "It's only a bit of a swound. She'll +come to, if we wait a little." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"He is innocent, Mr. Morgan." + +I said nothing. Poor girl! My heart bled for her. + +"Innocent, I tell you! Innocent, and you must release him at once!" + +"You must not excite yourself about this matter, Miss Lewsome. It is +not a thing for a young lady to meddle with." + +"Yes, but I must meddle with it! I must, I must!" + +She raised her voice to a scream. + +"Yes, yes, my poor girl, I know how shamefully you have been treated." + +"I, shamefully treated? No, no! He has treated me so well. No one +could be so good and loyal as he has been." + +"Your diary, Miss Lewsome?" + +"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." + +She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"It is not for me to say. The evidence is very strong." + +"Very strong? But there is not a particle of evidence! There can be +none!" + +"If that man did not murder Mary Judson," said I, getting impatient +with her hysterical nonsense, "who did?" + +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. + +"I did!" she cried out, at last. + +"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." + +"I murdered Mary Judson!" I shook my head and smiled, + +"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." + +"Quite impossible. You never left Mrs. Jex's side all the evening, +from before sundown till supper-time. It's in evidence." + +"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." + +"But your footprints were not there, and Jex's were." + +"I put on his boots over my own. I had often done it, in fun. I did +it that day in earnest." + +"Did you want to hang him?" + +"I did. I hated him so--then." + +"Why, in your diary you say you loved him!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"You couldn't load the double-barrel with powder and balls, without a +cartridge, and none was used." + +I thought to catch her tripping in her invention here. + +"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." + +"Come now, that gun with a full charge would have knocked you down." + +"I know it would, but I put in only half a charge." + +"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?" + +"No, a bit of newspaper; the county paper. I tore off a bit of the +_Surrey Times_." The thing was beginning to puzzle me. + +"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." + +"I guessed he would, and that is why I wished to get you out of his +way this morning." + +"Had you told Mr. Jex, then, what you tell me now?" + +"No, but he suspects me--oh, I am sure he knows it is I who have done +this dreadful thing!" + +"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." + +"Mr. Jex tried to escape, I tell you, to save me." + +"But why should he put his own neck in the halter to save a guilty +woman---if guilty you are?" + +"Because he loves me. He would be suspected, not I." + +She was certainly in one story about it all. + +"Yes, he loves me so that he has run this great risk to save me from +being found out and hanged." + +"He told you this?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"I did." + +"You used Mr. Jex's gun, and you charged it yourself?" + +"Yes." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"And what was your object? What did you think would come of it?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"You expected nothing, then, from the murder?" + +"I think I expected that perhaps Charles would inherit her money and +be able to marry me, when it had all blown over." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Surely you could not have expected him to marry a woman who had +committed a murder?" + +"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." + +"But you brought that about by wearing his boots, and firing with his +gun and his ammunition." + +"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!" + +I got up. "We will talk of this again to-morrow," I said, "when you +are calmer." + +"Yes," she said quietly, "when I am calmer." + +"You will let me send for the doctor?" + +"Why?" + +"To give you a sleeping-draught." + +"Yes, send for him; but you won't tell Mrs. Jex. She is old and +feeble." + +"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." + +"Can you manage that?" + +"Yes, I can manage that." + + +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. + +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. + +I took out my key, unfastened the irons and removed them. + +"What's up?" he asked. + +"I've some fresh evidence, that is all." + +"Am I no longer under arrest, then?" + +"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?" + +"Much better. I'll come down to supper, to keep it up." + +"I was going to ask you to." + +"How is Miss Lewsome?" + +"Very excited and disturbed. I've sent for the doctor to give her a +sleeping-draught. Miss Lewsome has made a communication to me." + +"Ay, ay." He showed no further curiosity in the matter. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +"What is it?" I asked, rather fearful myself. "What's up now, my +girl?" + +"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!" + +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: + +"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. + +"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: + +"'How pale you look to-night! Have you seen a ghost?' + +"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." + +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. + +"We have found this, Mr. Jex." + +"Where?" + +I told him. He nodded, but said nothing. + +"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. + +"Good God! Has she--?" I nodded. + +"She took her own life last night." + +He sank down on a chair and covered his face with his hands, but his +emotion lasted for a moment only. + +"Poor girl!" he said sadly, "I expected it," + +"Then you knew she had done the murder?" + +He made no answer, but read calmly through the confession he held in +his hand, then he gave it back without comment. + +"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." + +"You could not do otherwise, Inspector Morgan, than you have done," +and he held out his right hand to me. + +I made some pretence of not seeing his action. I did not take +Charles Jex by the hand. + +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. + + + + +The Border + +BY HENRY C. ROWLAND + + + +"It is all very interesting," said Jones, "but a bit unsatisfying." + +"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 _ouvrier_ 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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"But can't you offer this Philistine something concrete from your own +experience, Doctor?" asked I. + +"What is the use? He would not believe." + +Jones flushed. "I beg your pardon, Doctor. Your word is far more +convincing than my doubts." + +The psychologist turned to him with a smile. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +He laid the papers upon the table at his side, leaned back in his +chair and brought the tips of his fingers together. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"'Then go ahead and do so,' said I. 'We are quite at your command.' + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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!' + +"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." + +Dr. Bayre adjusted his spectacles, and picking up the sheaf of pages +read as follows: + +"'... 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. + +"'Unlike my friend De Neuville and the _mécanicien_, 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 _char-à-banc_ 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 _mécanicien_ and a mediocre painter! What did +their lives weigh against those of a wagonload of children? + +"'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. + +"'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. +"_Voici madame qui descend--voici madame_," 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. + +"'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. "_Quel malheur!_" I heard her say, beneath her +breath. + +"'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!" + +"'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!" + +"'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! + +"'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. + +"'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 +_chaise-longue_ and took the small hand which she offered me. + +"'"My Perfect Chatelaine!" was all that I could say. + +"'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. + +"'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--'" + +Dr. Bayre stopped abruptly. + +"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. + +"'Some other intelligence has thrust itself in and got control of the +medium,' said my friend. 'Let us see if we cannot oust him.' + +"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: + +"'... 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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'"It is so beautiful that it frightens me!" she whispered. + +"'"What, sweetheart?" I asked. "The Alpine sunrise?" + +"'"Yes," she murmured. "It is like my love for you.--each moment +growing fuller and more all-possessing." + +"'Our head guide, Perreton, came to the door of the _cabane_ and +pointed out to us our route. + +"'"We ascend on this side, madame," said he, "crossing the snow +_couloir_ you see above you, then following the _arête_ to the other +side of the _calotte_ to the left, thence to the summit. That will +take us the better part of the day, but we can _glissade_ 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." + +"'Soon afterward we set out, proceeding in two parties, the first +consisting of Perreton, my wife and Regier, while I followed, leading +the porter. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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 _piolet_, 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. + +"'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 +_piolet_ 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. + +"'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. + +"'"Can you hold him?" he cried, and his voice boomed thick and +muffled in my ear. + +"'"Not for long," I answered breathlessly. + +"'He glanced over his shoulder at my wife, and I knew well what was +passing in his mind. + +"'"Then cut!" he cried hoarsely. "It is death for all of us!" + +"'I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. Regier raised his +voice. + +"'"Zeigler!" he cried. "If you are a man--cut the rope!" + +"'"God's mercy!" wailed the wretched porter. "I have no knife!" + +"'"Then slip the bowline!" bellowed Perreton. "Monsieur cannot hold +you, and if he falls madame will be dragged to her death!" + +"'And then, in the awful tension, came the voice of my bride, sweet, +tuneful and unafraid. + +"'"Madame goes with her husband," she said. + +"'Regier swung swiftly in his tracks, growling like a bear. + +"'"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. + +"'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. + +"'"Cut between us, Regier!" I cried. + +"'"Never!" snarled Regier, plunging toward me. "Cut below you! Cut! +Cut!" + +"'"Cut, m'sieu'!" echoed Zeigler stranglingly. "I tell you to cut!" + +"'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. + +"'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 _piolet_ 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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'Far overhead the stars glittered brightly in the cold, clear sky +and the moon looked down directly on me as I lay. + +"'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. + +"'"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!" + +"'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. + +"'"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." + +"'Yet with this realization there came no shock, as we mortals know +it, but a swift and fearful exhilaration. + +"'"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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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." + +"'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! + +"'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. + +"'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...' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'Is this hand familiar to you?' I asked. + +"He nodded, his face very grave. + +"'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.' + +"'And his wife?' I asked. + +"'She is a broken-hearted woman.' + +"'Where is she now?' I asked. + +"'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 _char-à-banc_ full of children +going to a _fête champêtre_.' + +"I asked him then if he could get me a photograph of Mrs. Wetherill, +which he kindly agreed to do. + +"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 _chaise-longue_. +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.' + +"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. + +"'Are these the people whom you have just seen?' I asked + +"'Yes,' she answered, smiling. 'They are the same.'" + + + + +The Fenchurch Street Mystery + +BY BARONESS ORCZY + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE FENCHURCH STREET MYSTERY + +The man in the corner pushed aside his glass, and leant across the +table. + +"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." + +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. + +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.). + +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 +_Evening Observer_ (we'll call it that, if you please), and became a +member of that illustrious and world-famed organization known as the +British Press. + +She was a personality, was Miss Burton of the _Evening Observer_. +Her cards were printed thus: + + MISS MARY J. BURTON + _Evening Observer._ + + +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 _Evening Observer_. + +(The article itself is signed M.J.B., and is to be found in the files +of that leading half penny-worth.) + +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. + +She had been reading an article in the _Daily Telegraph_. 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. + +She looked at him and frowned; the next moment she smiled. Miss +Burton (of the _Evening Observer_) 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. + +Having carefully studied every detail of the quaint personality, +Polly felt more amiable. + +"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." + +"Pardon me," he said gently, "I never for a moment ventured to +suggest that there were no mysteries to the _police_; I merely +remarked that there were none where intelligence was brought to bear +upon the investigation of crime." + +"Not even in the Fenchurch Street _mystery, I_ suppose," she asked +sarcastically. + +"Least of all in the so-called Fenchurch Street _mystery_," he +replied quietly. + +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. + +"What a pity it is, in that case, that you do not offer your +priceless services to our misguided though well-meaning police." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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-- + + +"'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. + + "'I am, sir, + "'Yours truly, + "'FRANCIS SMETHURST.' + + +"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. + + +"DEAR SIR--Referring to my letter of a few weeks ago, I wish to +inform you that the _Tsarskoe Selo_ 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. + + "'Yours faithfully, + "'FRANCIS SMETHURST.' + + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A MILLIONAIRE IN THE DOCK + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +Miss Polly had to confess, however, that it had never struck her in +that light. + +"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 +_known_ 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. + +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: + +"What strikes you most about the face?" + +"Well, I think its strange, astonished expression due to the total +absence of eyebrows, and the funny foreign cut of the hair." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"Sir Arthur Inglewood still had no questions to ask, and the driver +of the cab was called. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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: + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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_ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"'But you knew this man Kershaw,' persisted his Honor, 'since you +wrote to him?' + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"'I never wrote those letters, your Honor,' persisted the accused +quietly, 'they are not in my handwriting.' + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'I came over on the _Tsarskoe Selo_,' 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.' + +"'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 _said_ 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.' + +"'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.' + +"'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 _had_ seen the starving +wife and children, he left me to my fate, and went in search of more +willing bait.' + +"'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.' + +"'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?' + +"'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?' + +"'Can you tell me of anyone here or abroad who might have heard of +your movements and date of your arrival?' + +"'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.' + +"'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?' + +"'The affair is as mysterious to me as to your Honor, and to the +police of this country.' + +"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?" + + + + +CHAPTER III + +HIS DEDUCTION + +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. + +"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. + +"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 _impossible_ 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 _no one_ 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 _disproved_ that those letters +were written by Smethurst." + +"But--" suggested Polly. + +"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." + +"Surely, you don't mean--?" gasped the girl. + +"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?" + +"Surely," I argued, "the usual means, the police--" + +"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?" + +"Surely, you don't mean--?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"It never entered their heads that it was the body of _Francis +Smethurst, and that William Kershaw was his murderer_. + +"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. + +"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!" + +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. + + + + +The Mystery of Seven Minutes + +BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE + + + +_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._ + +_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._ + +_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._ + +_The rising of the_ CURTAIN _discovers several waiters and 'busses +busily clearing the tables on the left-hand side of the stage, under +the direction of_ ANTON ZIRKER, _the maitre d'hotel; while_ INSPECTOR +WALTERS _of the New York Police Department, sits at one of the tables +to the right; and a_ POLICEMAN _in uniform stands before the lobby +doors._ + +ZIRKER _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._ + +INSPECTOR WALTERS _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._ + +_One by one the waiters go off through the service-door, leaving_ +WALTERS, ZIRKER _and the_ POLICEMAN _alone on the stage_. ZIRKER, +_standing to the left, pauses and glances inquiringly at_ WALTERS, +_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,_ +ZIRKER _consults his watch._ + +WALTERS (_who apparently hasn't been looking his way--sharply_). +What time is it? + +ZIRKER (_startled, stammers_). Half-past three. + +WALTERS. Uh-huh ... (_with this illegible grunt, relapses and +gravely champs his cigar through another pause_). + +ZIRKER (_nervously_). Beg pardon, Inspector-- + +WALTERS. Don't interrupt: I'm thinking. + +ZIRKER. Pardon! I merely wished to inquire if you'd need me any +longer. + +WALTERS (_calmly_). I told you, shut up. + +ZIRKER _shrugs and falls silent, but fidgets_. WALTERS _solemnly +chews his cigar and frowns at the lighted table. The_ POLICEMAN +_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_ POLICEMAN _vigilantly,_ WALTERS _expectantly,_ +ZIRKER _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_ POLICEMAN _and waving a cordial +hand to_ WALTERS.... _He's a good-looking, intelligent, well-bred +youngster, in evening dress under a fur-lined coat; wears a silk hat +and white gloves._ + +WALTERS. Good morning, Mr. Alston--and Happy New Year! + +ALSTON (_laughing_). Happy New Year yourself! Trust you to know the +time of day, Walters! ... You're in charge here, eh? + +WALTERS. Yes: I happened to be here when the murder was committed. + +ALSTON (_surprised_). You were? And let the murderer get away right +under your nose! + +WALTERS (_grimly_). No: I didn't let him get away. Did I, Zirker? + +ZIRKER (_with a nervous start_). Yes--no--that is, I don't know. +You arrested Ruffo, all right. + +WALTERS. Yes: I arrested Ruffo all right ... as you say. + +ALSTON. Who's Ruffo? + +WALTERS. The waiter nearest the table where the murder was committed. + +ALSTON. And you think he--? + +WALTERS. I don't know whether he did or not! But he was there, all +right, by his own admission. + +ALSTON. But couldn't you see--? + +WALTERS. No: it was while the lights were out. Didn't you know +that, Mr. Alston? + +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. + +WALTERS. Mr. Alston is the new Deputy Commissioner of Police, you +know, Zirker. + +ZIRKER (_bowing and smiling_). But yes: I know that very well. I've +had the pleasure of serving Mr. Alston frequently. + +ALSTON. But tell me: is it true, what I hear, that it was somebody +connected with the Italian Embassy at Washington? + +WALTERS (_heavily_). The murdered man--identified by papers in his +pocket--was Count Umberto Bennetto, first secretary to the Italian +Legation. + +ALSTON (_whistles softly_). Whe-e-w! That makes it pretty serious, +doesn't it? And you think this Ruffo...? + +WALTERS. Well, he's an Eyetalian--Carlo Ruffo's his full name. I +judged that was enough to hold him on, as a witness. + +ALSTON. Nothing more incriminating than that? + +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--(_indicating spot on +his own bosom_)--right through the heart. No fumbling about it: the +blow of a practiced hand. This Bennetto party couldn't have known +what killed him. + +ALSTON. But if you don't think this waiter, Ruffo-- + +WALTERS. Well, we had to pinch somebody on general principles, +didn't we? + +ALSTON. Why not Zirker, then? (_jocularly._) He looks able-bodied +enough--Italian, too! + +WALTERS (_seriously_). 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. + +ALSTON. He looks it... + +ZIRKER (_smiling blandly_). But no: Swiss. + +ALSTON. Of course: all good restaurateurs are Swiss... + +WALTERS. So that let _him_ out. + +ALSTON. But come: tell me just how it happened. I take it, this was +the table? (_crossing to table at C._) + +WALTERS. That's it, all right... It was this way: I'm sitting over +here (_indicating table up back of that on which stands the shaded +light_) 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. + +ALSTON. Just the two of them ... alone, eh? + +WALTERS. All alone, and glad of it, if I'm any judge, + +ALSTON. Had they been celebrating a bit--perhaps? + +WALTERS. Not so's anybody'd notice it. But then, these Eyetalians +never show their loads. + +ALSTON. So the woman was Italian, too? + +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-- + +ALSTON (_to Zirker_). Count Bennetto had reserved it in advance? + +ZIRKER. Yes, sir: by letter, from the Legation, Washington, about a +month ago. + +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. + +ZIRKER _shows surprise._ + +ALSTON. How so? + +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. + +ALSTON. Did what he said seem to make the waiter angry? + +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. + +'ALSTON. But what's suspicious--? + +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. + +ALSTON. Possibly... + +ZIRKER. I never thought of that! + +WALTERS. Well, you know, that's my job--thinking of those little +things. + +ALSTON. Well, and then...? + +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-- + +ALSTON. Which chair? + +ZIRKER (_touching its back_). This was Count Umberto's chair, Mr. +Alston. + +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. + +ALSTON. And what had become of her? + +WALTERS (_nodding at Zirker_). I don't know any more than he does. + +ZIRKER. But I know nothing whatever! + +WALTERS. That's what I'm telling Mr. Alston: I don't know any more +than you. + +ALSTON. But-- + +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. + +ZIRKER. It's impossible. + +WALTERS. And yet it happened. She got away as slick as a whistle. + +ALSTON (_reviewing the ground thoughtfully_). You've moved the +tables, of course. + +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. + +_The_ POLICEMAN _comes down from the door and joins_ ZIRKER _over to +the right, and the two of them shift the tables back into place._ + +ALSTON (_looking at the lobby doors_). If she went that way... + +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. + +ALSTON (_turning toward the left; indicates smaller door up back_). +And that? + +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. + +ALSTON. Has it any communication with the street? + +WALTERS. A door: but it was locked, too. + +ALSTON (_gesture indicating doors in left wall_). And that's the way +to the kitchen, I presume? + +WALTERS. Right. + +ALSTON. She might have... + +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.... + +_By now the_ POLICEMAN _and_ ZIRKER _have rearranged the tables, in a +fashion that bears out Walters' contention as to the difficulty of +reaching the lobby doors._ + +ALSTON (_thoughtfully_). I see... + +POLICEMAN. All right, Inspector! + +WALTERS. All right, O'Halloran. + +ZIRKER _makes his way toward the table at center._ + +ALSTON. It's a pretty problem.... She simply couldn't have got away +without bumping into somebody. + +ZIRKER. Ruffo was standing squarely in the only clear way, and I +only a few feet beyond him. Neither of us... + +WALTERS. All the same, get away she did. + +ALSTON. You, of course, questioned everybody? + +WALTERS. You bet your life I did. + +ALSTON. And nobody...? + +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. + +ALSTON. In short, it's impossible. + +WALTERS. _But_ it happened!... + +_The lobby doors open and somebody outside whispers to the_ POLICEMAN. + +WALTERS. What's that, O'Halloran? + +POLICEMAN. You're wanted on the 'phone, Inspector. + +WALTERS. Excuse me, Mr. Alston. + +ALSTON (_abstractedly_). Yes... yes... + +WALTERS _picks his way up to the lobby doors and goes out._ + +ALSTON. I presume, Mr. Zirker, nobody knows who this woman was? + +ZIRKER (_with a shrug_). If so, they refused to admit its when Mr. +Walters questioned them. + +ALSTON. Had you ever seen her before? + +ZIRKER. Never in my life. + +ALSTON. She was not in the habit of going round in company with +Count Bennetto, then--I fancy. + +ZIRKER. I couldn't say, sir. + +ALSTON. Then I infer that Count Bennetto wasn't one of your regular +patrons? + +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. + +ALSTON. Yet you reserved a table for him-- + +ZIRKER. His letter was accompanied by a check. + +_Re-enter_ WALTERS _by the lobby doors._ + +WALTERS (_cheerfully_). Well, that's better: we're on the trail of +the woman, at least. + +ZIRKER. But truly? + +ALSTON. How so? + +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." + +ALSTON. Oh! + +ZIRKER. That would seem to indicate that Count Umberto feared +something of this sort. + +ALSTON. Why do you say that? + +ZIRKER. Why else need Count Umberto and his wife adopt an incognito? + +WALTERS. But she wasn't his wife... + +ZIRKER. You are sure of that, eh? + +WALTERS. Somebody else's wife, I guess. This Bennetto party was +unmarried: or so the Italian Embassy tells Headquarters over the long +distance. + +ZIRKER. They ... they couldn't tell you who the lady was? + +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. + +ALSTON. All but how she got away... + +ZIRKER. And where she is. + +WALTERS. That's all we got to find out now. + +ALSTON. It seems to me you've overlooked one direct inference, Mr. +Walters. + +WALTERS. Slip it to me: you couldn't do me a bigger favor, Mr. +Alston. + +ALSTON. You've demonstrated conclusively that she couldn't have left +the restaurant while the lights were out. + +WALTERS. Have I? I didn't mean to. Because, the facts are, she did. + +ALSTON. But you say she couldn't... + +WALTERS. I say, I don't know how she could-- + +ALSTON. But assuming for the sake of the argument that she couldn't-- + +WALTERS. Then she's still here. + +ALSTON. Or--this is the bet you've overlooked--she left before the +lights went out. + +WALTERS. What do you mean? + +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. + +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-- + +ALSTON. That's all right. You were on the force when I was in +knickerbockers. I'm here to learn. + +WALTERS. If you want to know how a police detective gets to work, +I'll give you a practical demonstration here and now. + +ALSTON. How? + +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? + +ALSTON. Perfectly... Isn't it, Mr. Zirker? + +ZIRKER. But who would lead her by the hand? + +WALTERS. Some guy who knew the ground very thoroughly. + +ZIRKER. Myself, for instance. + +WALTERS. Oh, I won't go so far as to say that... + +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. + +ALSTON. Not even yourself? + +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. + +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? + +ZIRKER. Why, certainly, Mr. Walters: I'll take that bet. + +ALSTON (_after a brief pause, during which he has eyed Walters +intently_). I'm in on it, too, Inspector. + +WALTERS, Good enough. Now take your places. I'll sit here at the +Count's table, in the chair the skirt sat in. + +WALTERS, ALSTON _and_ ZIRKER _take up the positions indicated. And +we'll have the lights out._ + +_To_ POLICEMAN. O'Halloran, put all the lights out. + +POLICEMAN. Yes, sir. _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_: Hey, +you--put them lights out, d'ye hear? Inspector's orders. + +_Immediately the lights are switched off in the lobby._ + +ALSTON. But Inspector-- + +ZIRKER. That's hardly fair, Mr. Walters. The lobby lights were +going when the woman escaped. + +WALTERS. You're right. O'Halloran, you bone-head, why the devil did +you tell 'em to turn off those lobby lights? + +POLICEMAN. I thought you wanted 'em out, sir. + +WALTERS. Well, I don't. + +POLICEMAN (_aggrieved tone_). But you told me--"O'Halloran," you +says, "put all them lights out," says you. + +WALTERS (_furiously_). Well, I tell you now, you born simp, to have +the lobby lights turned on! Quick--d'you hear? + +POLICEMAN (_sulkily_). Oh, _all_ right! + +_The lobby doors creak as he thrusts them open. He continues in the +same tone_: Inspector Walters says he wants them lights out there +turned on again. _A slight pause; then the lobby lights glow once +more, through the glass panels._ + +WALTERS. Now I'm starting. Remember, Zirker, if you catch me +without moving, it means a bottle of wine for you. + +ZIRKER (_with a confident laugh_). I'll win that bet. + +WALTERS (_his voice sounding from the right of the stage_). Don't be +too sure... + +PAUSE. _A sound is heard of a table moving on the floor. A chair +goes over with a crash. A moment later another topples._ + +ZIRKER (_a sudden cry of triumph_). I've got you, Inspector! + +WALTERS (_voice from the right_). Well, catch me then. + +ZIRKER (_in a puzzled tone_). But you are here--and your voice +there. What is this--a trick? (_A cry of fright._) Ah-h-h, Madonna +mia! What is this? + +ALSTON (_alarmed--voice from left_). What's the matter? + +ZIRKER. What devil's work--! + +WALTERS. Lights, O'Halloran--light's up! + +_Instantly the central chandelier floods the stage with light_. +WALTERS _stands to the right, a revolver in his hand levelled at_ +ZIRKER. ALSTON _has just risen from his chair, where he sat when the +stage was darkened_. ZIRKER _has jumped up from his and is cringing +back in abject fright and horror from a_ WOMAN _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_ PLAIN CLOTHES MAN _to +whose left wrist her right is fastened by handcuffs. The_ WOMAN _is +the one described by_ WALTERS _as Bennetto's companion; but she now +wears a neat tailor-made gown, with a fur coat, etc._ + +ZIRKER (_livid with terror--cowers and trembles_)--Elena! + +WALTERS. Oh, you know this lady now, do you, Zirker? + +ZIRKER (_attempting to recover_). I--I do not know her. Who is she? +I--I have never-- + +WALTERS (_approaching the woman_), Madame, is your name Elena? + +ZIRKER. Don't answer-- + +WALTERS (_savagely_). Shut up, you damned murderer! + +(ZIRKER _recoils from Walters' revolver._) Madame--? + +WOMAN (_with an effort_). My name is Elena Zorzi. + +WALTERS. What relation are you to this man? + +WOMAN. I am his wife. + +WALTERS. His name. + +WOMAN. Antonio Zorzi. + +WALTERS. Which of you killed Count Umberto Bennetto? + +ZIRKER, Elena, I command you not to answer! + +WALTERS, Keep quiet... Here, O'Halloran--grab this guy before he +does anything foolish. + +_The_ POLICEMAN _crosses to_ ZIRKER, _rapidly searches him for +weapons, finds none, and grasps him firmly by the arm._ + +WALTERS (_to the WOMAN_). The only way you can save yourself is by +downright confession... + +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. + +WALTERS. How did he get you out of this crowded room? + +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--(_pointing to the door at +back, toward the left_) and led me through the room to the street. + +WALTERS. That will do... Well, Mr. Alston? + +ALSTON, In Heaven's name, _how_ did you do it? + +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 _Mauretania_ +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! + +ALSTON. I think it'll work out big for you, Inspector, when I tell +the Commissioner. + +_The sound of a patrol wagon gong is heard off-stage._ + +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. + +_The_ PLAIN CLOTHES MAN _draws the_ WOMAN _up-stage. The_ POLICEMAN +_is about to do the same with_ ZIRKER _when_ ALSTON _stops him._ + +ALSTON. Here ... wait a minute ... I'm still perplexed about the way +Zirker got the woman out of the room. + +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? + +ZIRKER _doesn't answer save by a scowl._ + +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. + +ZIRKER. You are right. I worked out the table plan a week ago. + +[CURTAIN] + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77812 *** |